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Chapter Text

So this was how it would end. 

Harry had never thought he would live long, not with a Dark Lord out to kill him and the British Wizarding World in full out civil war, but somehow he had expected that he would go out fighting… not like this. 

What was it Snape had said in the memory he’d been given? Ah, yes… raised like a pig for slaughter. How depressingly true. 

The headmaster had manipulated him from start to finish, raised and guided him to this ultimate goal of sacrificing himself. It was all so very clear now that he looked back at it with a more critical eye.

His placement with abusive Muggles, being kept in the dark about his magic until the opportune moment, and being forced through trial after trial every school year. They were all steps towards a greater plan, a way to mould and shape him into the correct pawn.

It was a miracle that he'd made it to the end of the line with the way Dumbledore had gambled with his life.

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, the crisp and cold night air filling his lungs. There was no point in thinking about the past, he scolded himself. He had a job to do, he had to… to… well, he had to die.  

Easy peasy right?

The resurrection stone hummed in his hand, cold yet soothing against his skin, almost like it had a will of its own. 

Harry looked down at the dark gem, gently rubbing his thumb over the crack that had formed when the headmaster had destroyed the Horcrux that resided within the Gaunt ring. 

There was an odd urge that seemed to guide him towards turning the stone, and it happened before he could stop to think. Once… twice… thrice it rotated in his palm, his movements being guided by the stone itself, as if it wanted to be turned. 

Harry honestly didn't expect anything to happen, but all of a sudden, silvery mist started to form around him. It coalesced slowly, shaping itself into something more human. The view that greeted him mere seconds later nearly knocked the breath out of him. 

Harry swallowed heavily, tears filling in his eyes as he looked onto the forms of his parents.

“M-mum? Dad?” 

Harry couldn’t believe his own eyes, they looked so real, much more solid than the ghosts back at the castle. If it hadn’t been for their washed out colours they would almost have looked alive. 

Maybe, he thought, maybe he wouldn’t have to face death entirely alone. He knew what he had to do but it didn’t make it any easier.

“Oh Harry, my sweet, sweet boy.” 

Lily looked at him with a frail smile and teary eyes. She reached out for him, as if she was going to hug him, before realising that the act would be pointless as she was no more than a spirit at the moment. Her arms fell back down to her sides. 

Harry wished for nothing more than being able to hug her back. He wanted his parents. He wanted to have a happy, normal life without war, prophecies and expectations… But that had never been in the cards for him.

“I-I…” Harry had to wet his lips and swallow away the uncomfortable lump in his throat. 

He wanted to tell them how much he missed them both, but did he really? He couldn’t remember them, so what he truly missed was the idea of them. It still hurt though, and the longing was real. 

The closer he looked at the smiling couple, the more it hit him just how young they had been. An ugly voice inside his head piped up, saying how selfish it was to have a child in the middle of a war. He smothered those traitorous thoughts and clenched his fist around the stone. The cold humming, pulsed like a heartbeat, soft and comforting.

“We’re so proud of you,” James said. 

His parents seemed to be grasping at each other’s hands for comfort. 

His father said that they were proud of him, but Harry couldn’t fathom why. Was it for being manipulated so easily? For allowing the public to push him around like a meek dog? Or maybe it was for having no self preservation in the hopes that he would fit the Wizarding World's opinion of the kind of hero he should be? He certainly didn’t feel like there was anything to be proud of…

“You’ve grown so big.” 

His mother’s gentle voice brought him out of his musings and he offered her a strained smile. It wasn’t their fault that his life was the way it was, not entirely. Sure, they could have taken better precautions, or maybe even waited until after the war to have a child, but they couldn’t have known that Dumbledore would place him with Petunia, nor that Voldemort would be so determined to fuck up his life.

He didn’t know what to say to them. 

He had imagined what meeting his parents would be like countless times, but now that they were actually there, in a fashion, he was speechless.

Did it really matter though? He would soon die and join them in the afterlife. Surely they’d be able to reconnect then?

“Will you stay with me? Until… Until I-“ He couldn’t finish the sentence, the words getting stuck like barbed wire in his throat. Thankfully the meaning was obvious.

“Of course sweetheart,” Lily reassured him.

“Until the very end,” James confirmed with a nod, his oval glasses slipping on the bridge of his nose, almost falling off with the movement. He didn’t straighten them, and it made him look oddly boyish, like someone who was far too young to be a parent.

“Thank you…“ 

Harry bit his bottom lip, the nerves making his gut churn. He felt a bit like throwing up despite not having eaten in quite a while.

“I guess this is it then.“ 

He straightened his back and raised the hood of his invisibility cloak until it covered him completely. A thought suddenly struck him. If he could see his parents, maybe Voldemort would be able to as well…

“Will anyone else be able to see you?” He frowned, worrying about the outcome if that was true.

Lily shook her head, red hair fanning about her. 

“No. You are the only one. As long as you touch the stone, we will be here.” Her eyes showed only warmth and love for him, and something seemed to settle inside of Harry, a sense of calm finality. He could do this.

With one final, deep breath, he began his walk to the heart of the Forbidden Forest, his parents’ spirits keeping the Dementors and their chill at bay. 

The walk itself was incredibly uneventful. Not a soul could be seen, and the shadows of the forest, cast by the moonlight, seemed darker and more eerie than normal. Not to mention how quiet it was. Too quiet. He dared not speak to his parents again in case he alerted someone to his presence. Not yet, not until he was ready. 

He hoped Voldemort would kill him quickly. Surely he must want to end this as well, to beat his arch nemesis straight away now that he had him where he wanted him.

The glade where he would meet his end came about much faster than expected. He felt numb and resigned to the fact that he would die. He didn’t want to, of course he didn’t, he had barely had a chance to live after all. But maybe, just maybe, this was for the better. He would be free in a way, and that was awfully tempting. Getting to be with his loved ones was a surprisingly nice thought.

Voldemort stood there in all his pasty white glory, looking more monster than human. Harry wondered if it was the Horcruxes that had caused Voldemort to slowly lose his looks and mind, spiralling into madness the more of them he created. 

The version of Tom Riddle he'd met in the diary came to mind. He had been handsome and charismatic, someone who could have easily become minister if he wanted to. If Tom hadn’t created the Horcruxes, would the war have even happened? 

Surely the extermination of Muggleborns couldn’t have been one of his original goals, he was a Half-Blood himself. Harry’s thoughts wandered as he looked at the creature he had been tasked with vanquishing, still hiding his presence under his trusty cloak.

“I thought he would come…” Voldemort’s voice popped the bubble that was Harry’s musing thoughts.

“I was, it seems… mistaken,” Voldemort continued, red eyes pensively looking at the Elder Wand in his hand.

This was it. End of the line. Harry let the invisibility cloak fall, rendering him visible to everyone gathered in the clearing. His heart thudded wildly in his chest, like a bird desperately flapping its wings.

“No, you weren't,” Harry said, glad that his voice managed to remain fairly even. 

His sole focus was directed at Voldemort, ignoring the ruckus of gloating voices courtesy of the Death Eaters jeering at him. He briefly noticed Hagrid crying out to him, but it didn’t matter, nothing but Voldemort did.

“Harry Potter…“

He was ready.

“–come to die.”

The familiar green light shot out of the Elder Wand, aiming true for his chest. Harry didn’t move. He closed his eyes and let the spell wash over him, greeting death with a smile.

Chapter Text

When Harry regained consciousness, the sight of a pristinely white train station greeted him, and a sense of calm washed over him, spreading throughout his tired bones like gentle water lapping at a sandy beach. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, allowing himself to rest on the floor for a few seconds, simply indulging in what was a rare state of being for him.

Peace was an unfamiliar feeling, but one he felt like he'd earned. He was dead after all. 

The wail of a child stabbed through the otherwise silent station. Harry opened his eyes again and frowned, eyes darting around the area, trying to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. He couldn’t see any children, nor anything else sentient but himself. What the inspection made him realise though, was that he was entirely stark naked. But as soon as he started to feel uncomfortable, he was clothed in trousers and a simple black robe.

“Huh…” Harry murmured to himself.

The crying continued to permeate the station. Wail after wail echoing in the white hall. Harry began to wander about in search of the child, and after a few minutes a feeling of familiarity crept up on him, wrapping around his shoulders like a well worn cloak. It was as if he knew this place from somewhere.

The more he explored the more certain he became that he'd ended up at King’s Cross Station, an empty and completely white version of it at least. If this was what the afterlife had to offer, then he had to admit that it was rather dull, albeit peaceful.

Eventually the noise became louder, indicating that he was on the right track. Green eyes inspected the area, finally settling on a bench and something that seemed to be tucked underneath. 

Instinctively, Harry covered the distance and squatted down to comfort the crying child, however when his eyes fell on the creature, his stomach churned nauseously. 

It was a child, an ugly, deformed baby whose skin was blistering and peeling. It looked painful, incredibly so. The pitiful whines and whimpers tugged at his heartstrings, and without thinking twice his hands reached out to pick it up. But before he made physical contact, a voice he knew intimately spoke out from behind. Harry whirled around, eyes widening at the familiar visage. Dumbledore.

“You cannot help it,” the elderly wizard said, voice filled with sadness.

“Why not?” Harry questioned, anger and bitter resentment churning in his gut at the sight of his old headmaster. He swallowed down the harsh retort laying on the tip of his tongue.

“It is beyond the help of both of us, I’m afraid.” 

Dumbledore sighed as if the revelation pained him. His bright purple robes with twinkling stars seemed entirely too bright and cheerful for the discussion they were having.

“The creature you see before you is the part of Voldemort’s soul that hid within you. When you oh so bravely sacrificed yourself, its fate was sealed, and now, it is dying, “Dumbledore added sagely.

Harry stared at the red skin that cracked whenever the child wriggled, staining the swaddle with blood and pus. 

Sure, destroying the horcrux had been the entire point of Harry’s assisted suicide business. He had done it to make Voldemort mortal again. But… there was something so entirely pitiful about the broken child whimpering for someone to help it. 

His thoughts brought him back to his own years as a child. There had been nobody there for him either. No matter how much he cried, no one ever came. No one ever cared… The kinship Harry had felt for young Tom Riddle, reignited as he looked at the broken piece of soul wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket. 

Harry wanted to rip into Dumbledore for failing them both. Him and Tom, two unfortunate orphans forced into the cruelty of abusive muggles and war.

“He doesn’t deserve to die alone,” Harry said and resolutely picked up the ugly baby, cradling him gently to his chest. 

The wailing quieted down to soft whimpers, the close contact seemingly soothing his pain. He wondered if it was the familiarity of it, the horcrux had resided inside of him for nearly sixteen years after all.

Harry internally questioned where the other dead people were… surely it couldn’t be just him, Dumbledore and the piece of Tom that had been inside his scar? 

He had hoped to be able to see his parents as more than just shades. Sirius too. Although the man hadn’t been the best godfather, he had been the closest thing to a parental figure in his life. Harry hoped that the madness and depression caused by his stint in Azkaban would be cleared in death. It would be nice to get to know him properly this time.

Harry gently rocked the infant in his arms as his eyes and mind wandered. The station was just as vast, white and empty as before. Sunlight shone through the domed, glass ceiling, glittering as it bathed the station in a soft, ethereal glow. Dumbledore continued talking, but it was mere background noise as Harry’s thoughts jumped from one thing to the next.

“You have a choice to make my boy.”

The statement caught his attention, and again green eyes honed in on the headmaster. Merlin how he hated being called that. He wasn’t anyone’s boy. It was demeaning, a way to manipulate his feelings and make him feel like Dumbledore cared about him. 

“What kind of choice?” Harry asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

“A very difficult one I’m afraid,” Dumbledore said gravely. His eyes briefly lowered to the infant, and Harry swore he could see a flash of disgust pass over the headmaster's features before it was gone, replaced by a sad expression.

“You can either go back to complete your destiny, fulfilling the prophecy and vanquishing Voldemort one final time, or you can go on.” Dumbledore looked at him over his half-moon glasses, and it was clear which choice the elderly Wizard thought he should make.

Harry’s stomach churned uncomfortably. Going back to war, to having to fight and kill again… it wasn’t fair. Why should such an enormous burden be placed on his shoulders? Hadn’t he done enough? He had bled for the Wizarding World, killed for them, he had even made the ultimate sacrifice of dying for them. 

No, he thought. He didn’t owe them shit. This was his chance to have peace, and to be with the family that was torn away from him far too early.

No more. 

Wizarding Britain could deal with their own mess. As long as Neville, Hermione, or Ron killed Nagini, then Voldemort would be mortal once again.

He was no stronger or better at magic than the other adults, so why would he stand a better chance of offing him? Dumbledore clearly had put a lot of faith in that twice damned prophecy. Harry on the other hand, after taking four years of Divination with Trelawney, didn’t put much stock in that branch of magic.

Harry decided that for once he was going to be selfish. He wouldn't go back. He would move on to be with his family.

“If I decide to go on, how would I do it?” 

Clearly King’s Cross was some kind of representation of a gateway to the afterlife. The only problem was that Harry didn’t know how the actual process of moving on worked. He assumed it would be a train, but the station seemed empty of them.

“Now, now, Harry my boy. What about your friends? Are you certain this is what you wish to do? The prophecy can only be fulfilled by you after all.” 

The wizened old Wizard gave Harry the ‘disappointed grandfather look’ that he’d been given so many times throughout his Hogwarts career. It didn’t achieve its intended purpose, and instead only served to make him more furious with his old headmaster.

“Just answer the question!” He snapped back, causing the child in his arms to wail in fright at the harsh tone.

“Shhh, shhh. Nothing to worry about Tom. We’ll be going soon. Won’t we, headmaster?” Harry gently rocked the soul shard, trying to calm it down while he gave Dumbledore a hard, determined glare.

The old man sighed in defeat, looking disappointed and discomfited with Harry’s decision, and at the ease of which he cradled the horcrux. Harry didn’t care what Dumbledore thought of him though, he only wanted an answer to his question so he could find peace.

“It is rather simple I find. All one has to do is catch the next train. This is King’s Cross Station after all, is it not?” There was a small smile on the headmaster's face but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Harry frowned at that statement. Sure this was a train station, but so far he hadn’t seen any trains. However, just like with his clothes, a gleaming red steam engine, just like the Hogwarts Express, formed out of mist on the tracks in front of them. 

He blinked slowly in befuddlement, taking in the beautifully nostalgic sight. It was sort of poetic that the train who brought him to the start of his true life, would also bring him to the end.

“Goodbye Professor, hopefully we won’t meet again any time soon.” The bitterness Harry felt towards Dumbledore was still going strong, and he doubted he’d be able to handle being in his presence much longer. It was a miracle that he hadn’t had an outburst already. 

Without another word, nor waiting for a reply, Harry, carrying Tom’s soul shard in his arms, entered the train and found a compartment to sit in.

The train's whistle sounded the beginning of his journey, and slowly but surely, it rattled its way along the tracks, leaving the station and going into the unknown.

Chapter Text

Tom seemed to have fallen asleep in Harry’s arms, soothed by the continuous motion of the train. It was hard to be certain, but at least the whimpering had stopped. 

The realisation that Harry had no idea what to do with the soul shard, suddenly hit him. Did he have to be its caretaker from now on? How would that even work in the afterlife? There were so many unanswered questions, and few to no answers making themselves known. 

A sigh slipped past Harry’s lips and he gazed out through the window to his right. Swirling vortexes of white mist curled around the moving train, creating strange patterns and shapes. It was hypnotic in a way. He was so transfixed with the show that he startled at the noise of someone clearing their throat in front of him, making his head snap forward.

In the seat across from him sat an older gentleman. He looked to be in his late fifties, fair skinned with silvery grey hair cut short and neat. His eyes were dark, nearly black and he'd dressed in what appeared to be a charcoal grey three-piece suit, fob watch included. 

Everything about the man screamed aristocratic and powerful, but unlike the cold sneer Lucius Malfoy often wore, the stranger looked at him with something akin to fondness. Harry couldn’t understand why, because he was certain that he had never met him before in his life. He was fairly sure he would have remembered it. That sort of presence tended to make a lasting impression.

“Err… Hello?” Harry greeted him with hesitation.

“Good evening Harry Potter,” the older man replied with a warm smile that made his black eyes glitter with amusement. 

“I see you have brought an unauthorised passenger along with you. But I am afraid he cannot go where you are headed.” As he spoke, he gestured towards the infant.

Harry frowned and held on tighter to the horcrux baby. There was some instinct deep in his subconscious that told him the man was trustworthy, but the desire to help poor Tom, or at least a part of him, made Harry reluctant to let him go.

“Who are you, and why can’t Tom go where I’m going? You’re not sending him to hell are you?” Harry inquired with suspicion. 

He had no idea whether wizards believed in heaven or hell, or if those things were even real, but if they were, hell sounded like an unpleasant place and definitely not suited for an infant, Dark Lord or not.

“Ah. Yes, I suppose I do owe you some answers. The first, and possibly easiest question to answer will be the one about your so-called Dark Lord. He cannot go to the same place as you, simply because his soul must be whole to do so. Until all of the soul pieces, along with the main soul have been gathered, I will not be able to ferry him into the beyond. Your soul on the other hand is whole and can therefore move on, so to speak.” 

The Conductor, as Harry had decided to call him in his head, looked at him to see if he understood what he was trying to explain.

“That makes sense I suppose… you still haven’t told me your name or why you are here though,” Harry answered, frown still firmly in place.

“Mm,” the Conductor hummed. “I have been known by many names throughout the ages. Hades, Pluto, Nergal, Thanatos, Hel, the list is endless. Each civilisation has had their own beliefs, and it was only natural for them to bequeath me, and those of my realm, unique stories and names to suit their current faith. But no matter the name, there is only one of me.”  

He paused to look down, rubbing his thumb against the simple signet ring he wore on his left hand. From where he sat, Harry couldn’t disclose any details, but it seemed important to him.

“People tend to fear or hate what I represent, though there are a few worshippers mixed in,” he mused. “Who I am, or rather what I am, is Death.“

Penetrating, black eyes locked with wide emerald green. It felt like Harry’s soul was being judged through that one gaze, weighed and measured to see if he would be found lacking.

“And you, Harry Potter, are my Master,” the Conductor, no… Death, finished. His quite frankly ludicrous words echoed in Harry’s head.

“W-what? But that’s… that’s ridiculous! The story of the Hallows is just a story for kids based around some old artefacts! Besides, even if it was real I never owned the Elder Wand. Voldemort killed me with it!” If it hadn’t been for the child in his arms, Harry would have gestured wildly to try and prove his point. 

“Why would Death, err, you, even want a Master in the first place? It sounds kinda demeaning…” Harry said, trying to make sense of the bizarre chain of events. He ran a hand through his untameable mop of messy black hair, making it stick up even worse than it already had.

The ancient being in front of him only smiled indulgently and let him ramble. Time was immaterial where they were, and even if it were not, he had literally aeons of experience with being patient.

“The Hallows, as you may have surmised, are in fact very real. They were given to a trio of brothers that I favoured at the time. Despite what the recent rendition of the story might say, the elder wand, resurrection stone and cloak of invisibility were not given as a curse, tempting them to cross into my realm early. No, the three brothers were each given leave to ask me for something they desired, and I complied within reason. It is sad to say that for the two eldest, what they wanted might not have been what was best for them. Antioch wanted an unbeatable wand, and so I crafted one out of the branch from an elder tree, with the core of a thestral tail-hair. The wand served him well, however his boasting became his undoing. Cadmus, the second brother, wanted a way to bring his fiancé back from the dead, but that is not something I can truly do, except in rare circumstances. There is a balance that must be followed," he explained, looking at Harry with a meaningful gaze.  

"Instead of bringing his loved one back to life, I offered him the next best thing, a way to contact her. And so the resurrection stone was created. It allowed Cadmus to summon the spirits of the dead so he could converse with ease, requiring no magic or rituals on his part. But just like you surely realised in the forest, the spirits that are summoned still remain dead, and cannot physically interact with the world around them. Cadmus, who was already grieving before he was given the stone, could not bear the thought of never being able to touch his fiancé again, and sadly, he ended his own life prematurely." Death seemed to be lost in thought for a little while, reminiscing the past.

Harry remained quiet, listening to the being tell his tale. He was impatient to find out how Death gifting the three Peverell brothers with the Hallows could lead to him being the so called Master of Death, but it probably wasn't smart to interrupt the immortal being who was in control of his afterlife.

"The youngest of the three, Ignotus, who also happens to be one of your ancestors, was a much more humble man. Unlike his eldest brother he didn't desire power, nor had he lost someone that he wished to be reunited with. Instead he asked for a way to hide from his enemies in plain sight." 

"I thought he asked for the cloak to hide from Death? Well, err… you," Harry blurted out before he had the time to realise that he probably shouldn't interrupt. 

Death, in the shape of an elderly gentleman, simply quirked an eyebrow in obvious amusement.

"Not quite. You see the three Peverell brothers were necromancers, ones born with the gift, which is partly why they were so favoured, and also a reason why they were so feared. Ignotus, being very much aware of the danger posed to himself from other wizards, witches, and even muggles, therefore asked for a way to hide. I gifted him one of my own cloaks, the very same you were in possession of, and technically still are,” Death said while looking pensively at the soul shard of Tom Riddle in Harry's arms.

Harry thought about Death’s words. In a way, asking for a method to hide from his enemies, would also be a way to hide from death. Just not Death the being. 

Harry wondered what he would have asked for if he had been in the same position as one of the brothers. He had a feeling it would have been similar to the second brother’s request… He would give almost anything to have his family back. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to wait long until he got to see them again in the afterlife though. The fact that being Death's Master, might have drastically affected said afterlife, still hadn’t hit him.

The mention of the Peverell brothers having been necromancers was something that immediately put Harry on edge. It brought to mind the Inferi in Voldemort’s little murder cave, and the thought of reanimating corpses left a foul taste in his mouth. It just didn’t sit right with him. 

That being said, Harry didn’t actually know much about necromancers, except that they created Inferi and were Dark. But… he had been indoctrinated for seven years into the belief that Dark was bad, and that Death Eater meant evil. When he thought more about it, he realised that he had no idea what the war had actually been about besides pureblood supremacy.

What was Dark magic, really? He felt stupid for not having taken the initiative to learn this while he was actually alive. He’d followed along with whatever Dumbledore said without question. He wished he’d had more time, without a Dark Lord trying to kill him and a puppet-master pulling his strings.

The train rattled on while the two men sat in thoughtful silence. Eventually Harry gathered the courage to ask what was on his mind.

“You still haven’t explained how I got to be the Master of Death… or why you’d even want someone to control you,“ he said.

“Mm, patience. I will get there very soon, I promise.” Death hummed and crossed his legs for a more comfortable position. He still looked regal, Harry thought.

“The cloak I gifted to Ignotus was passed on from him to his firstborn. They had settled down out of the public eye, somewhere they felt safe. He decided that his son would now have more use for the protection the cloak could provide, and therefore left it in his care. It became a tradition for the cloak to be inherited by the firstborn child in the family, be it son or daughter. Eventually, a firstborn daughter of the Peverell family, Iolante, would eventually come to marry a man of the Potter family. I think you can see where I am going with this,” Death said, a smile gracing his pale, thin lips.

Harry nodded. He knew that the cloak had been in the Potter family for generations, it was why he’d inherited it from his father. He wondered what would happen to it now that he was dead. Hopefully one of his friends would get their hands on it. 

Harry couldn't help but feel sad that this would be the end of the Potter line. He obviously had no children himself, being only seventeen and still a virgin. Not that he wanted kids, heavens no! He could barely take care of himself, never mind a child… but it would have been nice to know that the Potter legacy didn’t end with him. There was nothing to do about it now though.

“The cloak is your birthright, and so, when you were eleven, you came into possession of the first Hallow. The second Hallow, the elder wand, you won from Draco Malfoy on th–“

“Malfoy!?” Harry sputtered in shock, cutting off the rest of what the primordial deity was going to say. Again he got a raised eyebrow in return.

“Yes, the youngest Malfoy. He gained the Elder wand’s allegiance on the night that he disarmed Albus Dumbledore. You, in turn, bested Draco Malfoy on the night you escaped from Malfoy Manor, thereby granting you mastery over the second Hallow, despite not physically having it within your grasp. It might interest you to know that Tom Riddle never managed to use it to its full capabilities because of that. The wand already had a master and it was not him, nor Severus Snape as he seemed to think.“ Death’s deep and smooth voice continued the tale.

“The story of how you came into possession of the third and last Hallow should be known to you already, so I won’t bore you with repeating it,” Death added with a dismissive wave of his hand before continuing. “I will however explain to you the reason for why exactly you are the only person who has been able to fully master them.“

Harry sat up straighter at the promise of answers, his green eyes sharpening at the deity. Finally they were getting somewhere. The history lesson was interesting, and he would happily have listened to it any other time, but right now he just wanted to know what the hell was going on.

“The three artefacts I created were not just gifts, they were also a test of sorts. To claim mastery over them, it would never be enough simply to have physical possession, even if out of the three, only the wand needs to be won. There are also hidden traits, or trials you might say, that have to be passed. The first, and maybe easiest one depending on how you see it, is that you have to be born with the gift of necromancy.”

Harry frowned. Death had mentioned earlier that the Peverells were necromancers, but that didn’t explain how he could have mastered the Hallows when he had never even touched that branch of magic, nor did he intend to.

“But I’m not a necromancer…” Harry said.

“Oh quite the contrary,“ Death replied with a big grin, clearly delighted. “You, just like many of your Peverell ancestors, have been born with the gift of necromantic magic. It is rather unique. Only a very small percentage of the magical population have it. And there has not been a Potter necromancer in ages.“

“You make it sound like being a necromancer isn't a choice… Does that mean Tom Riddle was one too? I know he created Inferi…”

“Hm, that is where common knowledge seems to fail people nowadays. True necromancy is indeed something you are born with, young Harry. There are certain branches of necromancy that anyone with interest in the arts may dabble in, but it will never be easy. And there are other branches that are strictly limited to those with an innate gift for it. You see, necromancy is a trait that normally manifests once you have reached your magical maturity, which occurs around one's seventeenth birthday. Tom Riddle was not a true necromancer. Granted, he did dabble in a certain area of the arts, thereby creating Inferi, but he was not born with the gift, and can therefore not be called a true necromancer despite his dalliances,” Death calmly explained.

“If that’s true, then why didn’t I get those powers when I turned seventeen?” 

Harry still didn’t feel convinced that he was a necromancer. It sounded wrong on so many levels. 

Death hummed and fixed his eyes on the baby in Harry’s arms. 

“It is because of that,” he said, pointing at the horcrux. “A true necromancer’s powers will not manifest if there is something interfering with their soul or magical core. The horcrux in your scar was doing both. It was intermingled with your own soul so tightly, that only by dying were you able to free yourself of it, otherwise the venom from the basilisk bite in your second year would have destroyed it. In addition, it was leeching magic from your core to stabilise and keep itself safe. This is also part of what fed your link to him. The fact that a true necromancer cannot split their soul should also alleviate your fears of Tom Riddle being one,“ Death revealed with a nod, as if that cleared up everything. 

It didn’t.

Harry honestly had no clue what to say. Necromancy aside, the thought of a piece of Tom Riddle being so entwined with his own soul and magic made him a bit green around the gills. 

He looked down at said soul piece, sleeping innocently in his arms. He swallowed away the nausea that burned at the back of his throat. It was over now. They were separate entities . For the first time in his life, or… death, whatever, Harry was free! A wave of relief washed over him, and he let out a deep breath that he didn’t realise he had been holding in.

“Okay… okay. So let's say what you’re saying is true and that I believe you. What does being your Master mean?” Harry asked, raising his head to meet Death’s black eyes. 

They were like an endless void. He imagined this would be what looking into a black hole felt like. Hypnotising, making you feel small and insignificant, just a speck of dust in the endless universe. He blinked and averted his eyes, deciding to focus on the misty scenery outside of their compartment window instead.

Death looked at Harry in silence before he decided to put him out of his misery and explain. 

"Being the Master of Death is perhaps not the best title as it is a bit misleading. I am not your slave, nor do you control me. I am, however, quite fond of you, like I was with the Peverell brothers, so I might be willing to offer a hand here and there." Death smiled. 

"With the title comes a few perks of the position. However they are not important right now, so instead I will explain why I chose to look for a Master. There are several reasons. The first is that I am incapable of physically interacting with the mortal realm. By having a Master, I would be able to anchor myself to them, thereby allowing me to take on a more physical form. To put it quite bluntly, I am bored, and wish to have some new experiences. Another reason is that I wished for a companion, someone I will be able to speak freely with whenever the mood strikes me." Death didn't say it out loud, but it was clear that he felt lonely.

Death's monologue soon petered off and Harry was left in deep thought over all he'd been told. As soon as one question had been answered, two more appeared. All this talk of ancestors, Hallows, necromancy and death left him with a headache, which should be impossible, he was dead for crying out loud! He used his left hand to rub his eyes, willing the stubborn pain away. 

"Fine. So I'm supposed to be your anchor to the mortal world because of the Hallows, yeah? That doesn't make any sense! In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly among the living anymore. My dead body is probably being paraded around as proof of Voldemort's triumph over me." He snorted wryly. As if killing someone who let themselves be killed was much of a triumph. But Voldemort loved to gloat.

Death simply hummed at that. He didn't seem interested in elaborating further and instead had his dark eyes fixed on Tom Riddle's soul piece.

Harry lost some of his steam and looked down at the infant as well, trying to puzzle out what had caught Death's attention so suddenly. "Err... what are you looking at?" Harry asked.

"You will have to give it up eventually you know," Death revealed, but not unkindly. "You cannot keep the soul piece with you forever as it is not complete. If you wish to move on, you will have to give it to me. This train will never arrive at its destination until the stowaway is gone."

Harry frowned. "What's gonna happen to him?" he asked slowly. 

He was worried about the soul piece for some reason... Merlin, was he starting to project himself onto the ugly, snivelling mess that was Tom Riddle's broken soul? How fucked up wasn't that? 

"You're not gonna hurt him are you?" Yup, he was definitely projecting.

The ancient being gave him a soft smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling. It made him look like a fond father, one who laughed and smiled a lot. 

"No harm will come to it, I promise. I vow to protect the piece of soul until the others finally join it. Only when it is whole again may the soul pass over." 

Death's spindly fingers reached into the inside of his suit jacket and pulled out what seemed to be a glowing marble the size of a snitch from his inner pocket. Its internal light pulsed, growing stronger and fainter then strong again in a sluggish rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. It was beautiful yet sad.

Harry could see spidery, hairline fractures stretching across the orb. They were dark, like ink, and made the otherwise beautiful thing seem sick and broken. Immediately he realised what it reminded him of, or rather who… 

Tom.

He swallowed away the bile that threatened to rise upon seeing the reflection of what someone was willing to do due to fear. Mutilating their soul beyond recognition. There was no question in his mind of who the orb belonged to. This was Tom Riddle's soul.

"I see that you have already formed an idea of what this is?" Death asked and Harry nodded.

"It... it's horrible," Harry croaked and swallowed hard. There was such a great feeling of wrong with the soul.

"Yes, it is quite sad," Death replied, looking at the fractured soul in his hand. "These are the pieces you have already destroyed. Once the final  horcrux, along with the main soul piece, are destroyed then they will join the rest. That is why I will have to ask you to give up the piece in your arms. The only way for this fractured soul to find peace is by uniting the horcruxes and letting it heal its cracks. Will you allow me to do this?" He looked intently at Harry, the air in their train compartment feeling heavier and more sombre.

"I..." Harry looked down at the child… soul… thing... It was awake but quiet, staring at the orb with big, puffy, red eyes. One grubby little hand sprung free from the cloth it was swaddled in, reaching out towards the glowing orb. It looked like the child wanted to touch it, so Harry leaned forwards until the tip of the child's hand made contact with the soul sphere. 

A bright, nearly blinding light filled the compartment. Harry instinctively brought up one of his arms to protect his eyes. Once the light faded, he lowered his arm and tried to blink away the bright spots dancing in front of him. That was when he realised that the weight he'd been holding for quite some time was not there anymore.

"What the hell was that!?" Harry snapped at Death, ready to chew him out, God or not, only for his vision to be drawn to the soul once again. His eyes went wide with surprise and his jaw dropped in wonder. "It's..."

"Repairing itself, yes," Death finished smugly. "It is not complete, there are still two pieces missing, but eventually it will be hale and whole again."

True to the man's words, the blackened cracks in the soul sphere were melding together in places, the colour fading into the soft hue of the orb. The glow also seemed to get brighter and less sickly, the pulsing growing stronger. 

Harry felt relieved. Even though Voldemort had caused him so much pain over the years, he still couldn't help but feel sorry for the younger Tom Riddle. He had a feeling that he could easily have gone down a similar route if their positions had been switched. 

Well... maybe not the soul splitting thing since he'd never been afraid of dying, but they definitely shared a desire to be better than their abusers, and to show the world that they were great in their own right. 

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes, only now realising that he wasn't wearing any glasses. Clearly one didn't need glasses when one was dead, cool.

"So what now? You said that the train would be able to reach wherever we're going as soon as the horcrux was removed."

"That is correct." Death nodded and returned the sphere back into his inner pocket. "There is just one more thing left to clear up before I leave you to your journey."

The deity gently caressed the signet ring on his hand before slipping it off his finger and holding it out to Harry. "This is a gift for you. Go on, take it," Death encouraged.

Harry hesitated, but slowly reached out to pluck the beautifully crafted ring from Death's hand. It was large, like most signet rings tended to be, with an engraved, black top made from obsidian. The stone was inlaid in a simple, silver frame. Inside, the engravings of the black stone was the mark of the Deathly Hallows painted silver. Triangle, circle, stick. It managed to be elegant in its simplicity. 

Harry wondered why he was given such a gift. Was it a way to show his status as Death's Master? And why a signet ring? Did Death expect him to write any letters soon? 

"Why are you giving this to me?" Harry asked as he looked up, only to find that he was alone in the compartment. Bewildered, he got to his feet and popped his head out of the door to see if the deity was in the corridor, but no such luck. He was truly alone.

Harry returned to his seat and stared at the ring again. He kept at it for a fraction of a second before he decided to put it on. Surely it couldn’t hurt. He knew that there was probably some sort of protocol as to which finger and hand one should wear a signet ring on, but it wasn’t something that had been covered in his Hogwarts education, and therefore he hadn’t learnt it.

A memory of Neville came to mind. Harry had been helping him learn the blasting hex in their fifth year. Wasn’t he wearing some sort of ring on his pinkie finger? The memory was blurry but he thought the ring had been golden. Deciding that it probably didn’t matter, Harry slipped the ring onto the pinkie on his left hand. As soon as it was on, the band resized itself to fit snugly around his finger.

“Huh,” he exclaimed softly to himself. 

He hadn’t expected that to happen. It was strange how much had changed since he died. Death, not the deity but the state of being, gave you such a different perspective on things. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders despite the whole Master of Death thing. 

He closed his eyes and leaned back on the soft, leather bench. There were so many things that seemed excruciatingly clear to him now that he was no longer in the middle of it. Dumbledore’s machinations and betrayal especially. He’d been such a fool. There were so many things in his life that he’d have liked to do differently now that he knew more of what was going on. However, there was no point in crying over spilt milk, or potion, as they would say in the wizarding world. Harry’s lips quirked in a wry smile.  

The train ride continued for what felt like hours, but might have been minutes. The newly deceased wizard spent the time pondering this and that, letting his mind wander while he watched the hypnotic view through the window.

At some point during his journey, the white mist outside gave way to an influx of colours. It started slow, just an infusion of weak pastels, then it got brighter, red, blue, green and yellow, all the colours of the rainbow were represented. They swirled and clashed, merging into each other to create new colours and patterns. It was a beautiful kaleidoscope of colours that whirled past his window. 

Harry sat there in wide-eyed awe, it was nothing like he'd ever seen before. There were even colours he couldn’t describe. Surely they didn’t exist in the mortal world, for they were too wonderful and unique.

The whistle of the train sounded the imminent arrival to their destination, and slowly the train came to a stop. Harry looked outside the window and frowned. There was only a single, nearly empty platform in the middle of nowhere. 

The platform itself was made out of grey stone, and there was an equally grey bench next to a Victorian style lamp post. It was like a lone island in the middle of the vortex of colours. Was this his stop? He had expected more of a… actually, he didn’t know what he’d expected, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“Sooo… I guess this is me,” he muttered to himself and made his way out of the compartment. 

The Hogwarts Express felt eerily silent and empty without the hustle and bustle of schoolchildren going home for the holidays. It was strange being the only one there. Harry pushed those thoughts aside, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the platform. 

As soon as he had both feet planted on the grey stone, the train vanished, leaving him stranded. Confused, he looked around. What was he supposed to do now? The platform was still on its own in a sea of colours. He didn’t dare step off of it in fear of what might happen. What if he got lost forever?

“They could at least have sent a welcoming committee,” Harry grumbled. 

He figured there was nothing more to do than wait, so he made the short walk over to the bench. However, as soon as he sat down there was a rush of air ruffling his hair, and the light in the lamp post started flickering eerily. Then, the light went out, and everything faded into darkness.

Chapter Text

December 1984

Harry awoke with a sharp and desperate gasp for air. The loud scream of something dying filled the dark area he was in, making his head throb and ache. The pain was horrible. It felt like he had been run over by a herd of Hippogriffs. Sure, it was no Crucio, but it still hurt like hell. 

Harry whimpered pathetically, and slowly raised a hand to rub his temple, only for his fingers to make contact with something wet. 

Am I bleeding? Harry wondered, dazed from both the shock and pain. It was hard to tell in the darkness, the only light provided was that of a thin strip that seemed extremely familiar. 

Before he could continue his train of thoughts, trying to figure out what was going on and where he was, a door was abruptly yanked open in front of him. Light streamed into the cramped space, and much to his own horror, he was met with the face of an angry Petunia Dursley. 

What?... His brain ground to a sudden stop. This can't be real…

His aunt was still alive. And yes, Harry was meant to see his family again, but not her. He'd gladly spend the rest of eternity without ever having to be in her presence again.

"Stop that infernal racket, boy!" His aunt screeched as soon as the door opened. Then her eyes fell upon his face and her harping turned into an actual scream of terror. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, eyes going wide. 

Harry, in his own bemused horror at the situation, wondered what it was that she saw. Clearly he was back in his cupboard again, but it was all wrong. The space seemed too large and Petunia too young. 

The wetness on his face seeped down the side of his face, and was now dripping steadily onto his chest.

Petunia simply kept staring, at a loss for what to do. But, within a second or two she pulled herself together. She grabbed hold of Harry's shirt and forcefully pulled him up and out of his cupboard, not caring that she slammed his shoulder painfully into the door frame due to her rough treatment. 

"Upstairs, quickly!" She hissed. "Get that… that freakishness washed away before Vernon sees it."

Her thin lips were pulled so tight that they were almost invisible. Disgust and contempt was evident on her face, and the feeling was entirely mutual, Harry thought. 

Harry stumbled his way up to the bathroom on shaky legs. Everything felt wrong. The steps of the stairs were too long, and the house was too big. He felt like he had walked into a giant version of his miserable childhood residence. 

By the time he made it up the stairs and had locked the bathroom door, he was breathing heavily. His entire right side hurt, especially his ribs. He wondered if one of them might be fractured, at the very least they were bruised. It could have happened during the final battle he supposed, but that explanation didn't sit right with him either. Ever since he died there had been no actual pain, not like this. And his head? That was in a league of its own. 

Harry stepped up to the sink, only to realise that he was too short to turn it on, and to look in the mirror. Luckily there was a step stool in a garishly green colour next to the toilet. It was something he remembered Petunia buying for Dudley when they were younger. It had been there until Dudley, at the age of eight, exclaimed that he was 'too big for it' and that it was ‘a thing for babies’. Not long after, the steps had been thrown out. 

He picked up the stool and carried it over to the sink, thankful that it wasn't very heavy. Harry climbed up to take a look in the mirror. 

Green eyes widened at the reflection that met him. His face was covered in a black, tar-like sludge intermixed with blood that oozed from his scar. It reminded him of each time he'd destroyed a horcrux. The scream suddenly made sense. Sort of. It explained the migraine at least. 

For some reason, the horcrux in his scar had been destroyed. But that shouldn't have been necessary. He saw the horcrux get absorbed by Death on the train. Harry was dead. He shouldn't be in pain, nor should he be as tiny as he was. 

His reflection showed that of a scrawny, malnourished boy around three or four years of age. Black curls stuck up in every which direction, taking on a life of their own. Some of the locks had matted together due to the horcrux sludge and clung to the side of his face. 

Harry stood frozen in place. This couldn't be happening. He shouldn't look like that. He was seventeen and dead, not three and still living with the Dursleys. His breath caught in his throat and he felt like he couldn't get enough air. Tiny black spots swam in front of his eyes, his breathing shallow and fast. 

"Stop dallying and hurry up!" Petunia said in a harsh, clipped voice, and rapped on the door. The sudden noise snapped him out of his growing panic attack. 

"Y-yes Aunt Petunia," Harry replied breathlessly, falling back into old patterns. Merlin how he hated her. 

Quickly, he turned on the tap and let the water run freely. He splashed some of it on his face and began to scrub away the grime with a bit of hand soap. The black sludge mixed with blood stood out starkly against the white porcelain. 

Harry worked on autopilot to clean away the mess on his face, as well as that in the sink, trying not to think about the situation. He knew that if he didn't leave the bathroom spotless then he'd be punished for it later. Then again, he'd probably be punished anyway, that was the Dursley method to stomp the magic out of him. No carrot, only stick.

When the water no longer came out murky, he turned off the tap and finally looked at his reflection again. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead was red and irritated around the edges, having split open when the horcrux was destroyed. It looked fresh, like a cut he'd received only yesterday, not one meant to be several years old. Maybe now that the horcrux was gone it would heal properly and fade.

Getting rid of his brand, so to speak, would be lovely. Maybe it would help with blending in a bit more. Being able to walk around in Diagon Alley without people staring at him because of that stupid scar sounded like a dream. 

"Hurry up!" Petunia screeched, knocking hard on the locked bathroom door once more. 

Harry took a deep breath. "Coming Aunt Petunia!" He replied, and quickly made his way out of the bathroom. 

His aunt inspected him with a critical eye. She sniffed haughtily, almost annoyed that she couldn't find anything to fault him with. His shirt still had some black stains on it, but they blended in with the rest of the wears and tears of the second-hand garment. 

"Well? What are you waiting for? Get to the kitchen." Petunia glared at the little boy and ushered him back downstairs. 

Harry was forced to help with making dinner. He didn't know exactly how old he was, but he did know that it wasn't normal to allow a toddler who still wasn't able to reach the counter on his own, access to knives. Petunia didn't seem to care though. She made him stand on a chair and put a small but sharp knife in his hands. 

The horse-faced woman's demands would have been exceedingly difficult for a normal child of Harry's supposed age. Children were not known for their dexterity or attention to detail, so she gave him suspicious looks when he didn't complain or ask for more directions. All the vegetables he cut ended up nearly perfect. Petunia looked like she'd sucked on a lemon. 

Harry worked on autopilot. Despite knowing what needed to be done, his motor skills were still underdeveloped, so to achieve a somewhat acceptable result he had to move at a much slower pace than he would have preferred. Being a child again sucked.

He briefly wondered where Dudley was, but quickly concluded that day-care was the likeliest option. It made sense, it wasn’t as if the Dursleys would pay for Harry to go as well, he was an unwanted freak and a burden after all. 

Instead of daycare, Harry got chores. They were small ones for now, but he knew the number and difficulty would increase drastically as he got older.

The rest of the day continued along the same vein. Harry couldn't shake the thought that this was all some sort of weird hallucination, but just in case it wasn't, he kept up the charade of being an obedient little boy. 

Once dinner had been prepared, the happy family of three settled down at the table, ready to eat the delicious roasted pork shoulder that Harry and Petunia had prepared.

Harry's stomach growled and cramped painfully. He didn't know how long it had been since he last ate, but the wonderful aromas wafting over to him made his mouth water. He knew, however, that he shouldn't expect to get any of the food he'd slaved over. Growing up, he'd been treated worse than a dog. 

"Take this and go to your room," Petunia said, handing him a glass of water and a small slice of stale bread topped with sweaty cheese. 

Harry took what he was offered, but couldn't help but look wistfully at the table. His uncle glared at him, the colour of his flabby cheeks changing from white to puce at an alarming rate.

Harry would make an educated guess and say that the current ache in his ribs were courtesy of the fat walrus, so he figured it would probably be for the best if he retreated before the man exploded.

Back in his depressing cupboard once more, Harry slowly ate his meagre meal. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. With a deep sigh, he put the plate and glass aside so he could lay down on the ratty mattress. It had been a long and torturously long day. 

Harry still hadn't been able to come to a conclusion as to what was going on. There were so many possibilities. He tried to create a mental list of the most likely reasons. 

1. This was hell and he was to be tortured by the Dursleys for eternity. 

He didn't know what he'd done to deserve something like that, but it was still possible.

2. His life as Harry Potter the wizard was the mad ramblings of a desperately lonely and abused child. 

Possible but unlikely considering the horcrux incident earlier that day.

3. Death had sent him back in time to his living, three (or four?) year-old body. 

The more he thought about it, the more option number three started to sound like the truth. Hadn’t Death said something about Harry anchoring him to the mortal realm so he could alleviate his boredom? 

At the time, Harry had questioned how he could be an anchor while being dead, now it looked like he might have found his answer. He wasn't going to stay dead. 

For hours he laid in his cupboard, questioning everything about his life. He eventually came to the conclusion that no matter the reason for his return to the living, he would have to come up with a plan. In the past, or would it be his future? he'd always rushed in without thinking about the consequences. This time it would be different. He would plan and plot. He was going to be better. No… He was going to be great.  

This time around he wouldn't hold back his love of learning just because he was afraid of losing his first friends. Despite being seventeen, the wizarding world was still a mystery to him, and he had so much to see and experience and learn!

A spark of excitement and trepidation grew inside of him, simmering in his gut like a molten coal. This was a second chance, and he refused to throw it away.

Chapter Text

January 1985

Harry spent the following week creating temporary plans and sorting out what was most important. He kept his head down and did what he was told, trying to avoid any confrontations. 

The first point on his agenda was finding out the date. He was still unsure exactly when he had arrived, all he knew was that his body was young, and it was pre primary school. 

His memories were blurry. So much of what had happened in his original childhood had been suppressed to protect himself. In addition, it had been more than six years since he slept in his cupboard last, and he'd forgotten just how awful it was. 

Reliving the abuse made him wonder why nobody at his primary school had ever called child protection services on the Dursleys. Sure, they wouldn't have known about his cupboard, but day after day he'd show up in ratty clothes several sizes too large, and with his skin covered in bruises. That, not to mention how unhealthily thin he was, should have sent up some red flags.

Someone should have spoken up to the authorities. Unless… could Dumbledore be the reason why they didn't? He was a wizard, a powerful one at that, and using a confundus here, or a little obliviation there, wouldn't be too difficult for someone like him.

Harry swallowed away the lump forming in his throat and rubbed away the moisture in his eyes. Yes, he felt extremely angry and betrayed by Dumbledore; someone he had seen as a grandfather and a mentor, someone that cared about him. That didn't automatically mean he would have gone so far just to make Harry miserable, right? 

He decided that the topic was something he'd rather not deal with. Bottling up his emotions was a prime skill of his. One that definitely came in handy just about now.

Later that day, Harry was locked back in his cupboard after dinner. It had become a routine. 

Harry had come to the conclusion that the reason for him being a child again didn't really matter. Whether it was all a feverish dream, a hallucination, or if he really had died and come back again, he still felt like he was alive, and therefore he was. 

He now had knowledge of the future that he could use to his advantage. That was why he quickly formed a mental list of what needed to be done first.

1. Find out the year and date.
2. Convince (threaten?) the Dursleys into letting him have Dudley's second bedroom. The cupboard was highly inappropriate for anything living, much less a human.
3. Make the Dursleys feed him properly. He refused to be starved again. 
4. Figure out if he still had his magic. 

Harry rubbed his face and felt something hard brush against his cheek. Green eyes opened and stared at his hands in surprise. 

Silvery metal glinted in the dim lighting provided by the lightbulb hanging overhead. The ring Death had given him was still there. Just like on the train, it fit him perfectly, despite currently being a midget.

Harry blinked, once, twice… How had he forgotten about it? And more importantly, how come the Dursleys hadn't noticed and tried to take it away from him? Did it have some sort of notice-me-not or disillusion charm on it? 

Seeing the ring and feeling its weight on his hand made him curious about the being that gave it to him. He had so many questions he wished to ask, and their conversation on the train had been far from enough. 

In the span of one evening, his whole existence had been turned upside down, and he felt like he had no control over anything. Not that he'd had much control to begin with, but still.

While thinking about Death and the consequences of his own choice to ‘move on’, Harry rubbed his right thumb over the engraved symbol of the Deathly Hallows. Just like with the resurrection stone in the forest, the action felt right.

“Hello again, young Master.” 

Death's velvety voice came from inside the cupboard and Harry startled at the sound. His head twirled around, trying to find where the voice had come from, but the cupboard still only contained him, dust, and the spiders hanging in their webs.

“Death?” He hissed out under his breath, careful not to make too much noise. He didn’t want the Dursleys to hear him and decide that they needed to punish him for existing. 

The ancient deity materialised out of thin air, taking on a shadowy version of the gentleman he'd sported at the train. He was tall, and definitely too large to fit, so it was just as well that he didn't become solid, Harry thought. 

"I have to say, this sleeping arrangement is rather… confined. It is common for children to have their own bedroom is it not?" Death asked, looking curiously around the cramped, dusty space. 

"Yeah," Harry grumbled. "But the Dursleys aren't exactly responsible people. They wouldn't waste the space on an ungrateful freak like me." He rolled his eyes and snorted. They were the freaks, not him. 

Death stared intently, making the boy squirm slightly on his mattress. "Then why do you not make them give you a proper room? This is highly inappropriate." The older man certainly didn't look impressed. The cocked eyebrow reminded Harry distinctly of his old potions professor. Yes… definitely not impressed. 

"What am I supposed to do? I'm a child again. I'm bloody tiny! How exactly am I going to make them give me a room?" Harry bit back and glared. The whole child situation was his fault after all.

Death seemed entirely unaffected by Harry's combative behaviour and simply smiled indulgently. He was being treated like a child with a tantrum, Harry realised. 

"You are a wizard, are you not? I believe magic is something you should be quite sufficient at," Death replied. 

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself so he wouldn't shout. 

"First of all I don't have a wand," Harry groused. "Secondly, I'm not allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts. And even if I could use magic, what would I do with it? I'm not going to imperio my relatives despite how tempting it is." 

"Oh but you do have a wand," Death said as if Harry was being obtuse as a rock. "You have mastered the Deathly Hallows. They are, and will always be, a part of you." He looked intently at the child in front of him.

"Did you think I would send my Master back entirely defenceless? No. You merely have to think about the wand and it shall appear." 

"Wh– really?" Harry asked in disbelief. How could the Hallows be a part of him when he didn't feel any different from before? Well, aside from the whole business of being a child again. 

Death nodded and gestured to the ring on Harry's left hand. "That ring is the physical representation of your status as my Master. It will allow you to draw forth the powers within the Hallows. If you wish to use the actual Hallows themselves, you merely have to will them forth." 

Harry looked down at the ring. It was nice to know that he hadn't lost his cloak. It was probably the most important thing he had left of his family's heritage. He didn't know a lot about the Potters, but that cloak had been a part of the family for hundreds of years. It made him feel like he belonged in a way. 

From what Death said, it sounded like the signet ring worked as a sort of storage device as well as a conduit for the Hallows' powers. Thinking about that brought up the question of what would happen to the original Hallows of this timeline. Would they simply disappear from where they were? Dumbledore suddenly finding himself without his wand could cause some problems, Harry thought. 

"What's gonna happen if I decide to summon the wand or cloak? Will they just vanish from where they are now? I'm pretty sure Dumbledore has both at the moment…" he questioned with a frown. 

“Ah, I thought you might ask something like that,” the elderly gentleman hummed. “The answer is no. They will not vanish. However, there can only be one set of Hallows. The ones belonging to you are the real ones, so to speak. Their powers are unique, and because of that, the Hallows of this timeline will become ordinary artefacts. The cloak will still be an invisibility cloak, but over time it will deteriorate like all normal cloaks would. The wand will still be powerful but it has lost its edge. And finally, the stone will revert to being just that, a stone." 

Harry pondered the implications. If he could use the Hallows without having to worry about Dumbledore or anyone else figuring out that he owned them, then that would be a great boon. 

"Oh… That's good," Harry agreed with a nod. 

He had thought about not being able to use magic outside of school. Getting caught was something that frightened him at this point. He was an anomaly, something that shouldn't exist, and he wasn't ready to go on the run from the Ministry again. 

But then it hit him, he was a child, and that meant that any magic he did should be considered accidental magic, right? He had done plenty of accidental magic when he was young without the Ministry interfering. Like the time he apparated onto the school roof, or when he'd turned his teacher's wig blue. 

"The Trace isn't active yet is it?" Harry pondered out loud. If anyone would know it was Death. 

"Not yet, no. It is normally activated once first year students board onto the Hogwarts express for the first time. The wands are then automatically registered with the British Ministry of Magic. Most purebloods get around the rule of no magic during the holidays by having strong familial wards around their properties, or by letting the children borrow an adults' wand. This is however not something you need to worry about when it comes to the elder wand. As it is my own creation, no outside magic will stick to it." Death seemed exceedingly smug about that revelation. The being certainly took pride in the artefacts he had created. 

"Well that's a relief,” Harry muttered to himself.

The elder wand not being affected by the trace was certainly one less problem to worry about. He let a tiny hand run through the messy black curls at the top of his head. 

"Wait, you said purebloods get to use magic during the holidays, that's not fair!" Harry said in outrage, his voice rising as he thought about all the things he could have done during the summers to make his life with the Dursleys easier if only he'd been allowed to use magic. 

"No. I suppose it is not," Death replied with an unconcerned shrug. 

"QUIET IN THERE!" Vernon's voice roared as a fat fist thundered hard enough on the cupboard door to make dust fall from the ceiling and into Harry's hair. 

Harry sucked in a breath, his body instinctively pulling as far away from the door as he could, hoping the walrus of a man wouldn't open it. 

Death glared murderously at the door. 

"What will you do with them? I have no problem should you wish to dispose of them. I unfortunately cannot do the deed myself, but you are free to do whatever you so desire," the deity said with an eerily cold voice, still staring daggers at the door.

The shadows in the small room seemed to grow longer and darker, twisting and snapping like angry snakes at the light. Death took a deep breath to get himself under control. 

"I can't just kill them," Harry whispered, his eyes flickering nervously to the door.

"Yes you could. Quite easily I might add," Death replied, nonchalantly waving his hand. 

That shut him up. It was true of course, but Harry liked to think of himself as a good person. He didn't want to kill Vernon. But… was it because he didn't want to do the deed, or because he wanted him to suffer for all that had been done to him first? 

Harry swallowed away the bile threatening to claw its way up his throat. There had always been a dark and ugly side of himself that he'd tried to push away, one that was eerily similar to Tom Riddle. Sometimes he wondered if the horcrux had actually been able to change him, or if he had always been that way.

"No,” he sighed. "I'll get my revenge eventually, but not like that. I'll figure out what to do… I won't let them treat me the same this time around." 

"As you wish.” Death bowed his head to Harry's decision. 

Harry rubbed his face tiredly. He needed a nap. The day felt like it had lasted forever. This body wasn't built for great stamina yet. 

He thought back to the points on his mental list. He had his magic, check. He could use said magic to make the Dursleys behave and give him a room and more food, check. The last point was figuring out the date. Death could probably answer that. 

"What's the date? Also… why now? Why not send me back to when I was, I don't know, eleven or something?" Harry asked. 

"Do you remember how I said that your soul and the soul shard inside of you had become too intertwined to separate without you dying?" Death asked.

Harry nodded. 

"Well, this was the latest point in which I could safely split the two of you. In addition, you had pneumonia, and was so close to dying that I could force your current soul and magic into that of your younger self. The magical backlash from that was essentially what exorcised the soul shard from your scar,” Death explained. 

Memories of being locked outside in the cold at night sometime after Christmas forced themselves to the front of his mind. Once back inside he'd gotten sicker and sicker until eventually Petunia, worried he might die, had given him some medicine. For most of it he'd been locked in his cupboard, alone, scared and in pain. Harry grimaced. It would have been a sad way to go.

"Today's date is January 3rd 1985,” Death announced. 

"That means I'll be five in a few months, and I'm starting primary school in September." 

Merlin, he'd completely forgotten about that… He'd have to socialise with annoying children and trudge through his muggle education once more. Maybe if he scored above average he'd be able to move up a few years? Otherwise the first few years of primary school promised to be mind-numbingly boring. 

Death was quiet. He almost seemed uncomfortable where he sat. Harry gave him a suspicious look, waiting for the deity to spit out whatever was bothering him. 

"Unfortunately, these gifts you have been given come with a price. You see, there has to be balance. Therefore, as long as you are bound to me you will not be able to die. Or rather, you will not be able to stay dead. The afterlife has been barred to you, I'm afraid." 

Death paused and gazed at Harry with apologetic eyes. His shadowy hand lifted and gently caressed the child's face in a paternal gesture of comfort. 

"I realise that this is not what you had in mind, and for that I apologise, but the dead are not entirely lost to you. With the ring you will always be able to summon their spirits to your side. I understand that it is not the same, but it will have to be enough," Death said softly. 

Harry felt like the world had been pulled away from underneath his feet again. Wide, green eyes stared up at the ancient being with horror. He had come to accept that he'd have to live his life again, even started to look forward to it, but to be told that he would never have an afterlife? That he would never rest peacefully with his family? That was like a sucker punch to the gut. He felt like crying and screaming over how unfair it was, but he was too stupefied to speak. 

Death sighed quietly. He hadn't meant to distress the human so, but he knew it was better to get it out of the way now. He would have to come to terms with it sooner rather than later. 

"I will have to leave you now, young Harry. But remember, if you ever wish to speak with me, or another dead soul, simply use your ring." 

Death lovingly ran his hand through Harry's curls before vanishing into his own realm. 

That night, Harry cried himself silently to sleep for the first time in years. He cried for the loss of his family and his own mortality. He would be alright eventually, he always was, but right now he would allow himself to grieve over the unfairness of it all.

Chapter Text

April 1985

The situation with the Dursleys eventually came to a head one Saturday evening. Dudley was having a sleepover at a friend's place and would be gone until the following day. 

Harry hadn't planned to do what happened, but after it was over, he was glad that the incident had taken place. 

The day had started just like any other. He'd helped Petunia make breakfast, He'd done the dishes without breaking them, he’d folded laundry, and so forth. Basically doing more than any five year old should. 

Around 6pm, Harry heard a car pull up in the driveway, soon followed by the slam of the front door. Vernon was home and clearly in a foul mood. He figured it was best to keep his distance and complete his chores in silence. 

Harry watched through the corner of his eyes as Vernon went straight for the liquor cabinet. He kept dusting the surfaces of the house that he could reach, working as silently as possible. 

His uncle filled a glass with scotch and downed it in one big gulp, before he topped it up again. Instead of leaving the bottle where it belonged, Vernon carried it, and his glass, over to his favourite chair in the living room. 

Petunia waltzed in with a smile on her lips and tried to greet her husband, only to get grunts and clipped replies in return. She too realised that Vernon was best left alone, so she returned to the kitchen with the promise of dinner soon being ready, and that she'd whip up his favourite dessert. 

Harry had never thought about it before, but now he wondered if Vernon was abusive to his wife as well. It didn't seem likely, he had never seen any bruises, and his aunt didn't show any signs of being afraid of him. No, in all likelihood, Harry was their punching bag and they were both despicable human beings that deserved to be miserable together.

"BOY!" Harry was brought out of his bitter musings by the blustering voice of his uncle. Damn it, he thought. He'd been trying to keep himself inconspicuous. 

"Yes uncle Vernon?" Harry replied demurely, not wanting it to seem like he was challenging the man. 

He still hadn't decided what he was going to do about his relatives. He had been back in time for a few weeks but the solution remained elusive. He knew Death had said there was no Trace on him, but the irrational fear of getting caught still lingered. 

"DON'T JUST STAND THERE YOU FILTHY LITTLE FREAK! FETCH ME ANOTHER BOTTLE!" Vernon's face was getting redder and redder as he shouted at his young nephew.

Harry did as he was told and scampered over to the liquor cabinet. By standing on the tip of his toes he managed to wrap his tiny fingers around one of the bottles, he didn't know what it was, but anything would be better than nothing. 

Meanwhile, Vernon was ranting about how he lost a big client at work to 'those corrupt swindlers!', Harry took it to mean the firm's competitors. 

There was a sudden crash, and the sound of shattering glass made the room go deathly silent. Harry looked down in shock at the bottle he had just knocked over due to his uncoordinated, fumbling limbs. Amber liquid pooled on the beige, linoleum floor between jagged pieces of glass, soaking into the rug by the fireplace. 

The room was quiet, calm before the storm. Harry looked at the remains of his accident, he should probably clean that up... 

His eyes darted over to where Vernon had risen from his chair, washed out blue eyes glaring at him with menace and hatred. The face that had previously been red, had now changed into more of a purple hue. Humans definitely shouldn't be that colour, it couldn't be healthy, Harry thought in morbid fascination. 

“LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID YOU UNGRATEFUL FREAK!” Vernon roared, spittle flying in his frothing rage. His jowls quivered, making the fatty double chins that hid his short, wide neck, wobble. 

The ruckus summoned Petunia from the kitchen, but instead of trying to calm down her husband, she merely watched on with a pinched expression. 

Vernon kept spewing his insults and blaming everything on Harry, from his car making weird noises, to the loss of his client at work, the list went on. 

"You should have been killed along with your worthless parents. Filthy, abnormal freaks the lot of you!" The fat man said as he grabbed the front of Harry's oversized t-shirt, shaking the little boy like a rag-doll. 

Before Harry had time to react, a large fist connected with his young face. The force of the punch knocked him into the mantle of the fireplace, and he felt pain blossom in his jaw. Blood filled his mouth and he spit it out on the floor along with the tooth his uncle had knocked loose. 

Petunia's shrill shriek of “Vernon! Not the face, the neighbours will see!” went ignored by both of them.

Harry glared at his uncle with hatred. He felt his magic surging around himself, flooding his veins with cold power.

"They were not worthless, or freaks!" Harry snarled, ignoring the stinging of his split lip and the aching of his bruising face. 

Vernon went apoplectic with rage. How dared the freak talk back to him? He moved forward to beat the boy senseless, but instead of hitting the freak, his fist connected with an invisible wall that shattered the bones of his left hand. The giant walrus of a man howled in pain.

Caught up in the moment, Harry grinned savagely with vindictive glee, his remaining teeth stained with blood. The shield hadn't been a conscious spell, it was more like accidental magic that he had slight control over. 

"Vernon!" Petunia shrieked again as she rushed over to her injured husband. 

The man's anger hadn't abated, if anything the vitriol he spewed only got stronger. 

Instead of the boy backing down as Vernon expected, he had always been meek and rarely fought back after all, Harry took a step closer, green eyes nearly glowing with unholy power and menace.

"How dare you! We took you in by the goodness of our hearts despite you being a nasty little burden, and this is how you repay us?" Petunia harped in outrage, joining her husband.

"Heart?" Harry asked calmly, too calm. "You don't have a heart auntie. Neither of you do." 

Harry sneered, an expression that didn't belong on such a young face. It unnerved the two adults.

"But that's okay, neither do I," he continued, lying just to creep them out. 

He took another step forward and made a squeezing gesture with his left hand, watching with malicious satisfaction as Vernon began choking on thin air, his stubby hands clawing at his throat, trying to get rid of what was cutting off his air. 

"STOP IT!" Aunt Petunia cried out, face pale as a ghost and hands trembling in fear. "You're going to kill him!" 

"Yes, it would be such a shame, wouldn't it?" Harry sighed theatrically, but still loosened his magical grip. He didn't actually want to murder the man. He was just angry, very very angry… He needed to hurt and punish someone for all that had been done to him. 

"Things are going to change from now on," Harry said and looked right into his aunt's terrified eyes. She was the most intelligent out of the two adults. "I'll no longer be sleeping in the cupboard.” He spat out the word. 

"From now on, I'm going to claim Dudley's second bedroom. I won't be doing any slave labour for you either. If the work is too much for you alone, make Dudley do it, he could use some discipline." He glared at them both, seeing if they would speak up against him. 

Vernon started to bluster, but as soon as Harry tightened his grip on his magic, the man nodded his head in agreement, cowed for now. 

"I'm gonna go have a bath, you should probably take him to a hospital or something," Harry said with a nonchalant gesture to Vernon, his expression blank, and his anger and oppressive magic reigned in. 

"I'll give you one day to have my new room sorted." He waited for his aunt's shaky nod of assent before he walked up the stairs to have a nice long bath. 

He heard the front door close and the car start. Petunia had taken his advice to rush her injured husband to the emergency room then, good. It would give him some time alone in the house to get his shit together. Also, to eat. 

Now that the adrenaline of the situation had started to abate, Harry felt dead tired and slightly shocked at his own behaviour. He hadn't meant to hurt Vernon that badly, but by Merlin did it feel good. Like a dam finally breaking, the anger and resentment from his childhood had bubbled up to the surface.

In the past he had been powerless to do anything against his abusers, but not anymore. Vernon and Petunia were never going to hurt him again, he would make sure of it. 

He used the step stool in the bathroom to have a look at himself in the mirror. It wasn't pretty. Almost the entire left side of his face was swollen and bright red in colour. His upper lip had split open when Vernon's fist knocked out one of his canines. Right now he blessed his Potter luck that at least it was just a baby tooth and that his permanent one would come out later. 

As he filled the bathtub with hot water, he thought back on the 'accidental' magic he had used. Was it really accidental? Even though his body was only four, Death had said that he'd sent his old magic through as well.

Wait… hadn't he mentioned the ring he'd been given working as a sort of amplifier for the Hallows? Harry looked at the innocent piece of jewellery adorning his left pinkie finger. 

Had he just done wandless, wordless magic? Wasn't that supposed to be extremely difficult? Harry frowned and instantly winced as the action pulled on his painful injuries. 

He would have to experiment on that later to see whether it was a fluke brought on by his heightened emotions. Being able to do wandless magic would be a great ace up his sleeve if he could replicate it. 

Harry lowered himself down into the steaming water, sighing in content. He let the heat soothe his aching bones. He hoped this new power dynamic between him and his relatives would last, but he had his doubts. Still, he'd take what he could get. If Vernon and Petunia acted up again he'd just have to show them who was in control. 

Only about an hour and half had passed by the time Harry had cleaned himself, patched up his injuries and eaten a small meal. 

Without thinking twice he collected his fallen tooth off the floor and returned to his cupboard. It wasn't by any means comfortable, but he was dead on his feet and about to pass out any second. 

This would be his last night in the cramped area, if his face hadn't hurt so much he would have grinned victoriously. Instead he huddled underneath his threadbare blanket and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the mattress, exhaustion keeping the nightmares at bay. 

The day after, Harry was moved into Dudley's second bedroom. Unlike in his first timeline, the rotund child hadn't had enough time to turn it into his toy graveyard yet. Sure there were a few broken items here and there, but it had mostly been used for storage. 

Petunia had done a good job of cleaning it up. At the end of the room there was a nice, wooden bed next to a small nightstand. 

The room itself had originally been intended as an office for Vernon, so there was still a beautiful, mahogany desk underneath the window.

Harry wondered where the desk had gone in the future, because he could distinctly remember having one of much poorer quality. Maybe they sold it just to buy something shittier since it was meant for him? It wouldn't surprise him. 

The bed had been added to the room once they bought a new and better one for the guest room. Marge usually stayed in that room when she visited and the old bed wasn't big enough for her anymore. To Harry it was actually rather luxurious. It was obviously well worn, but it was heaps better than his cupboard, or camping in random forests. 

Petunia had even been nice, or scared, enough to supply a fluffy down pillow and a thick duvet, all of it covered in freshly cleaned bedding. 

Harry sat down on the wooden chair, his feet dangling underneath him. His magic had helped speed up the healing of his injuries, which made them look even worse today than the day before, all black and purple. If he went outside and the neighbours saw, surely the police would be called. 

When he was younger that was something he would have loved, a chance to be free of the Dursleys. But now, being at Privet Drive was almost a comfort in its familiarity. As long as he didn't have to worry about being beaten or not getting to eat, this house could be a decent enough base for the time being. He wasn't ready to show his hand to Dumbledore or the ministry yet. 

Plus he didn't know if the supposed blood wards even existed. Was there even such a thing as blood wards? He certainly hadn’t noticed them in all his years living at Privet Drive. Then again, it wasn’t like he knew much about wards, the regular kind nor the blood kind.

Dumbledore had said that they would keep him safe as long as Harry considered the place his home. But… ever since he started Hogwarts, Privet Drive had stopped being his home. He never thought of it as such. Hogwarts was his real home. Which made him wonder how they could have been effective, if they were at all.

Also, why was only a few weeks during the summer enough to ‘charge’ them? It didn’t make any sense, and Harry thought that they might just have been a ploy to keep him with the Dursleys so he’d be meek and downtrodden.

However, if the wards did exist, then it would be foolish of him to leave them completely. He decided to put those thoughts on ice for the time being, until he was able to research wards more closely.

Harry realised that the way he'd spoken like an adult yesterday must surely have frightened Petunia just as much as the magic had. It wouldn't surprise Harry if she thought of him as a monster or spawn of the Devil. That was fine though, they were monsters too, just of a different variety.  

Thinking about that day brought Harry's thoughts back to the wandless magic. He wondered if it would be possible to recreate it. 

Over the next few months Harry practised wandless magic for at least an hour or two every day. It was exhausting, and often without results. 

He'd done some tests with and without the ring and concluded that yes, the ring did work as a conduit for his magic. 

He ran the same tests with the elder wand and figured out that doing wordless magic with the wand required the same amount of effort as doing it with just the ring. 

These discoveries meant that he wasn't suddenly some all powerful wizard who could do wandless magic of incredible feats. What he had done to the Dursleys was a combination of wordless magic where he used the ring as his 'wand', and accidental magic brought forth due to his heightened emotional state. 

Still, he kept practising with his alternative magical focus. Levitating objects, lighting fires, extinguishing said fires, and so on. The more he practised the actions the easier they became. 

He went through all the spells he had learned at Hogwarts, trying to succeed in casting them wordlessly. For some he failed and for others he succeeded. But no matter what, he refused to give up. 

It took effort and concentration, but Harry was determined to get it right in the end, even if it took him years. 

September 1985

It was the first day of primary school and Harry watched the tiny children being led by their parents through the gates and into the classroom. He had been dreading this day for a while now. Spending his time together with a bunch of snot-nosed five-year-olds who needed to learn their A, B, C's was not exactly his idea of fun, it was more like a nightmare. His only hope was to prove enough of a 'genius' to skip a few years. Of course he wasn't really a genius, but being an eighteen-year-old man in a five-year-old’s body would definitely make it seem like it. 

Harry wasn't dumb though, no, far from it. He didn't have an eidetic memory, but it was still above average. 

There were several reasons why he had gotten such poor grades in school the first time around. In primary school he had been punished whenever he got better grades than his aunt's precious Duddikins. As a young child, that made him stop trying. What was the point in doing well if you were scolded and punished for it? Staying in his cupboard without food, or earning another bruise was definitely not worth it. 

At Hogwarts, the Dursleys hadn't been the problem. They never saw his grades, nor would they have cared if he did well at his 'freaky school'. No, the problem had been Hermione and Ron. They were his first friends and he was afraid of losing them. 

Ron didn't seem to care about his studies at all, and would often mock those who did, so Harry followed his example. Always doing enough to get by but never to exceed. 

Hermione on the other hand, was the opposite. She had a fierce competitive streak and almost a compulsive need to be the best academically. He was afraid that if he got grades that were equal or better than hers then she wouldn't want to be his friend anymore. At the time, Harry hadn't been willing to risk it, so he'd dumbed himself down and made minimal effort. 

He had decided that this time would be different. He was going to learn everything he could. 

Harry heard his name being called and turned his head to see who it was. His aunt stood a few feet away, face pinched and pale, almost as if she was afraid he would torture her if she as much as spoke to him. Ever since 'the incident', as he liked to call it, the adults in the household had changed their tune in regards to him. Now they were afraid of him, and that emotion easily trumped that of the other negative feelings they harboured.

Harry didn't mind. In fact, he derived some sort of sick glee from it. They had hurt him so much over the years. He had been an innocent child who knew nothing of what he was or why his relatives wouldn't love him. 

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he said softly and followed after the skittish woman into the classroom where he and the other five year olds would reside for the next school year. He sighed mentally, it was going to be a loooong childhood. 

Petunia introduced him to the teacher that would be the children's main point of contact during their first year. She seemed nice enough. Harry gave her a slightly strained smile and returned the greeting. 

His aunt hightailed it out of there as fast as she could, Harry wished he could do the same.

He sat down at one of the available desks and waited for the games where the children introduced themselves to be over, only vaguely making an effort. He wasn't exactly interested in making friends.

Chapter Text

October 1985

Day in and day out were the same. He no longer had to do any chores, but school was awfully dull. Thankfully he had managed to bully Petunia into letting him get a library card at the local library so he could borrow more appropriate books to read. He needed to brush up on his muggle education. 

The whale and his wife still hadn't made any new attempts at putting Harry 'back in his place'. He didn't doubt that the fear they now held would eventually go away, Vernon wasn't known for being intelligent, but he'd deal with that when the time came. For now he would simply enjoy the freedom it gave him, and the wariness they held for him. 

Dudley was still young enough that upon his parents telling him to stay away from Harry, and seeing how scared they were of him, he kept his distance, which suited Harry just fine. 

He hadn't talked to Death or summoned anyone else since the day after he arrived in this timeline. It had been months. The idea of calling forth his parents had been very tempting, but he didn't know what he would say to them. How was he going to explain everything that had happened? Instead of opening up that can of worms, he refrained, cowardly as it may be.

Recently, however, he had been thinking about summoning someone who could teach him more magic. He was most likely going to be stuck in the muggle world for years to come, and although catching up on his muggle education was interesting and necessary, he had a deep need and desire to learn more about the magical world he belonged to. 

Harry wanted to be more prepared by the time he reached Hogwarts. The problem was just that he didn't know who he was going to summon. Death was out of the question, he didn't know how to deal with the deity yet. Ideally he would have loved to talk to one of his Potter ancestors, but he was sad, and ashamed, to admit that he didn't know any of their names. 

The only magical people he knew the names of, that were dead, and that he actually wanted to possibly talk to, were the Peverell brothers and Iolanthe Potter née Peverell. 

In the end he decided to speak with Ignotus Peverell. He wasn't entirely sure how the whole process of summoning worked, but he figured that if he took the same approach as he did with Death, then maybe he would get it right. 

Harry had locked himself in his room and used the elder wand to cast a notice-me-not and a silencing charm on the door. He didn't want anyone to walk in on him talking to empty air, that was strange even for wizards. Yes the Dursleys were already scared of him, but he didn't want them to think he was a complete nutter too! 

Harry sat down on the comfortable bed that was now his and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He thought of the stories about the three brothers, Ignotus in particular. He thought of what Death had told him about the necromancer, how he seemed to care about his family, how he was a decent man, at least that was how Harry pictured him. 

With his mind focused on the idea of Ignotus Peverell, he rubbed his thumb over the symbol engraved in the silver and obsidian ring. 

"Well this is new," a deep, raspy voice said with curiosity. 

Harry's eyes flew open and he drank in the sight of the unfamiliar man. He looked nothing like he'd imagined he would. Ignotus appeared old, maybe around eighty years of age, it was always hard to tell with wizards since they aged differently to muggles. 

The clothes he wore seemed more muggle than wizard, maybe it had been a way to better blend in? Harry couldn't remember when the Statute of Secrecy came into effect, and wasn't that just embarrassing?

The ancient wizard had pale skin, dark eyes, and a well trimmed beard. And although his hair was grey from old age, it still held a few strands of rich brown here and there. His eyes were deep and soulful, portraying a man who had lived a life well worth living. 

"You must be the young Potter I was informed about. You have caused quite a stir on the other side. Everyone is interested in getting to know who Death's mysterious Master is,” Ignotus said humorously, eyes glittering with mirth. "I have to admit though, you are much smaller than I expected." 

Harry snorted and ran a hand through his hair." It's not my fault that Death decided to shove my soul into a four-year-old body," he grumbled. 

"But yeah, I'm Harry Potter. And you're Ignotus Peverell right?" Merlin, he hoped the summoning had worked as it should. 

Well, even if this wasn't the Ignotus Peverell, at least it would be someone he could talk to, hopefully a wizard.

"Right you are," the newly identified Ignotus said with a quick nod. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of being summoned for, young Master?" 

Harry hesitated, nervous now that the opportunity to ask was finally there. 

"Er… I was wondering if you could maybe teach me some magic?" Harry blurted out at a rapid pace, his young voice sounding squeakier than normal and a tad bit desperate. His cheeks burned with embarrassment when Ignotus laughed. 

"So you wish to learn some magic, lad? Sure, sure. I don't have much else to do these days so why not. It might prove to be enriching for the both of us," Ignotus replied with a chuckle. The man made himself comfortable on the chair by Harry's desk. 

Even though he wasn't solid and couldn't actually interact with his surroundings, the action served to provide a sense of comfort, by seeming more human and alive. 

In truth, whether he hovered in a sitting position just over the chair or floated upside down in the air, didn't really matter to the spirit, but it would put the young boy at ease he thought.

"How about we start by getting to know each other. You said Death sent your soul into this body, how old were you when that happened? Knowing your age would greatly help with putting together a curriculum for you,” the dead necromancer stated. 

"Seventeen… I was seventeen when I died and uh, got sent back here. My birthday is in July so I guess that means I'm eighteen now?" Harry replied. 

"Seventeen, hm? I suppose you went to Hogwarts then? Which house were you in? Me, personally, I was a Ravenclaw, always had a big thirst for knowledge. My brothers, not so much. Oh they were both intelligent men, don't get me wrong, but they didn't enjoy academics the way I did. My eldest brother, Antioch, was a Gryffindor. He was always loud and brash, got himself killed because of it, he did." Ignotus sighed. 

"Um, I'm sorry about your brother… and uh, I was in Gryffindor too, but–" Harry took a deep breath, he hadn't told this to anyone before and for some reason it made him nervous. There was still that ingrained sense of 'the whole house being rotten' that had been knocked into him by those around him. But he felt like he needed to tell someone, and Ignotus was a neutral party. Plus, who was the spirit going to tell? The man was dead and could only communicate with him and other dead spirits as far as Harry was aware. 

"The sorting hat wanted to place me in Slytherin. The only reason I didn't go there was because the first friend I made told me the house was evil, and so I begged it to put me anywhere but Slytherin." 

Harry sighed. 

"To be honest I don't think I'll get into Gryffindor a second time." Harry looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to be in his old house, it would put him in the 'hero' and 'golden-boy' position again, something he wanted to avoid at all costs. He was no hero, not this time.  

"Mh, I see. However you have nothing to be ashamed of, young man. True, each house has their own characteristics that they value, but we as humans are more complex than just the traits of our Hogwarts house. One can be brave in the face of adversity but still have a cunning mind. One can work hard and use creativity to reach one's ambitions. A well rounded person will normally contain a good mix of all the houses. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?" Ignotus looked intently over at the young wizard. 

"I… yeah I think so. We aren't defined by which house we are sorted in…” 

Deep down it was something he already knew, but years of conditioning and upholding the stereotypes made it hard to accept. 

“Correct.” 

“I think I needed to hear that," Harry admitted quietly.

He was most likely bound for Slytherin this time, and although he knew the house wasn't evil, nor were all of them Death Eaters, he still had a handful of prejudice that he struggled with. Hopefully he'd be able to get rid of it before he turned eleven. 

He offered the old man a watery smile. "What was your favourite subject in school?" Harry asked, figuring it was a topic that probably wouldn't make him an emotional wreck. 

"Hmm, I enjoyed most of my subjects back then, however runes and blood magic quickly became my most favoured,” Ignotus mused. 

Harry frowned at the mention of blood magic. 

"Um.. I don't think they teach blood magic anymore, isn't it… you know, bad magic?" He asked hesitantly. 

Ignotus seemed shocked at the very idea of it. "Bad? Heavens no! What made you think something like that? Blood magic is more Grey than Black and can be used for all kinds of purposes! Sure, blood can be used in some rather nasty rituals, but so can various plants and animals, does that make them bad or evil? No!" Ignotus exclaimed. 

"Blood magic is more often used for protection, healing, wards and so forth. At least they were in my time. Blood can be combined with rituals, runes, even potions! Did you know that using blood in certain potions can make it possible for it to be tailored specifically for you? It is a highly interesting field of study, and–” 

Ignotus cleared his throat, breaking off the passionate ramble he'd begun when he saw Harry's flummoxed expression. 

“As I mentioned, blood magic is highly versatile. It will probably interest you to know that it is a key factor when one sets out to create family tapestries. It has to be weaved in with the threads of the fabric, you see."

"I guess I just have a bad experience with my blood being taken unwillingly. I had– well I guess it's have now, since he's still around… There's this Dark Lord trying to kill me, and when I was in my fourth year he sort of kidnapped me and used my blood to create himself a new body…" Harry slowly replied, rubbing the spot on his arm where Wormtail had cut it open during the ritual. The scar was gone, but he could still remember the pain and fear that accompanied it. 

"That is rather unfortunate," Ignotus gravely replied. "We will have to discuss how you plan to deal with this Dark Lord at a later time. From what I can understand, you still have a few years until he will become an issue, correct?"

"Yeah… I need some more time to think about it to be honest. My entire life after I went to Hogwarts has been about fighting him. It wasn't fair of them to put it all on a kid, I still don't think it is. But… I can't just leave him to terrorise and murder whoever he wants either, right? I dunno." Harry sighed tiredly. "I'll think about it."

"Don't worry lad, we will figure something out. And since you asked to be tutored, I promise that I will do everything in my power to make sure you are ready to face whatever comes next," Ignotus promised solemnly. 

"Thank you." Harry said, feeling incredibly grateful to the older wizard.

"Well, since it seems the Hogwarts curriculum has changed rather drastically since I was in school, how about you tell me which classes you took and how well you did in them." 

As Harry talked about his classes, the stories seemed to merge into that of his entire Hogwarts career, everything from trolls and alchemical stones to his bitter potions professor that had saved his life so many times. The words flowed out of him like a river. 

Harry spent hours telling Ignotus what had happened in his life, unable to stop once he’d first begun. It felt good to unload on someone who had absolutely nothing to do with it. His ancestor was an objective party. 

By the end of it all, Harry's voice was hoarse with use and he felt tired to the bone, but relieved and maybe a tiny bit lighter. 

"That is quite a life you've had young man," Ignotus said with a pensive frown, having been quiet during Harry's monologue, only nodding and humming at the right places. 

"I for one, am glad that you will not have to go through it again unprepared for what awaits you. No heavy burden like that should have been placed on the shoulders of a child." He spoke in a sombre voice. 

"I am sorry for what you've been through." He looked at Harry with grave sincerity, making a lump form in his throat. 

"Thanks," he choked out

Ignotus merely nodded at that. "We will begin your lessons tomorrow. For now I will let you rest. Summon me when you are ready." 

And with that, the spirit of Ignotus Peverell vanished, going back to the realm of the dead until he was summoned once more. 

Harry let out a drawn out sigh. That conversation had taken a lot out of him. Ignotus was a surprisingly easy person to talk to, and didn't seem to judge Harry's actions, or lack thereof, but it had gone on forever. It was nice to be heard though.

His small frame flopped down onto his back, resting comfortably on the bed as he stared up at the ceiling. Without much further ado, Harry got ready for bed and curled up underneath the warm duvet, exhausted and excited about the promise of learning more magic.

Chapter Text

October 1985

Harry awoke bright and early the next day, thankful that it had been another nightmare free night. He didn't have them as often as he used to, nor as often as he'd expected considering the war he'd just gone through.

He wondered if the nightmares had been exacerbated by the horcrux living in his scar. It would explain why things had calmed down ever since he came to this timeline. Additionally, he felt more at ease and clear headed now that he'd come to terms with his situation and set himself some goals for the future.

The young boy slipped out of bed and continued with his morning routine. He padded down to the kitchen for breakfast on socked feet.

Harry moved one of the chairs to the counter and quickly set out to make himself some scrambled eggs and toast. Meanwhile, the kettle finished boiling and he poured some of the hot water over his Tetley tea bag, letting it steep for a few minutes while plating his food.

It smelled delicious, and Harry's stomach growled in appreciation. It was nice not having to worry about food anymore. Maybe this time he wouldn't end up with stunted growth due to malnutrition.

It wasn't that he minded being short, but a few more inches would have been nice. He'd been told that both his parents were quite tall, so his stature shouldn't be the fault of genetics.

Harry sat down at the table and doctored the tea to his liking, two sugars and a splash of milk.

Tea itself was a luxury he didn't get to indulge in before his Hogwarts days, and since then he’d found that he quite liked it. He'd drink almost any tea, but he preferred a hardy black tea with a bit of milk and sugar for sweetness. It was comforting and reminded him of home, of Hogwarts. 

He inhaled the fumes before digging into his meal. Ever since 'the incident', he had slowly adjusted his eating habits, going from small bland meals to more hearty foods and bigger portions. It took time for his body to adjust after surviving so long on meagre rations, but now that his stomach could handle it, he happily indulged in eating whatever he desired.

After polishing his plate, Harry went about cleaning up after himself. Even if he refused to do chores for the Dursleys, that didn't mean he was a slob.

The other occupants of the house were still asleep, which was a normal occurrence on Saturday mornings. Then again, it was only 6:30am. Harry simply hadn't shaken off the habit of rising early, it was ingrained into him by now. Not that he minded, he liked having the early hours to himself.

He cast one last look over the spotless kitchen before trotting back up to his bedroom. Today was going to be the start of his tutoring by Ignotus and he was excited.

Harry had nicked a brand new notebook from Dudley's school supplies that he was sure the boy wasn't going to miss. It had a hideous pattern on the front in red, green and yellow, making it look like a Christmas tree on acid. Harry wondered what on earth had possessed Petunia into buying something like that.

He'd ask his aunt for some new stationery for himself in a few days, he thought. She had already gotten him some more appropriate clothes.

They weren't new, but he didn't necessarily need brand new clothes, second hand was fine as long as they were whole and fit him. The only thing he put his foot down for getting used, was underwear and socks. Those were items that were cheap new, and he'd rather not wear someone else's knickers, thank you very much.

Harry closed the door behind him and used the elder wand to apply the same spells as yesterday for privacy.

Since his meeting with Ignotus, he had been thinking more about his parents. Was it really right of him to feel so angry with them? They hadn't done anything to deserve this behaviour from him. Plus, he did want to see them again, even if it wasn't in the afterlife like he'd hoped.

Maybe this was his chance to slowly get to know them. Death had said that he couldn't die, and being distant from them forever didn't sound like something he wanted to do.

It would most likely be awkward at first, but he decided that it was going to be worth the effort, hopefully.

Harry sat down at the head of his bed and crossed his legs. He drew in a deep breath before going through with the summoning process. He would tell his parents everything, he decided, even the gritty bits about his childhood that he hadn't shared with Ignotus.

The spirits of James and Lily Potter appeared in front of the small boy, looking exactly the same as they had in the forest.

A gasp tore itself from Lily's lips when she saw him.

"H-Harry?" She asked hesitantly, one hand clutching at her chest.

"Hey mum," he replied with a watery smile.

He hadn't thought it would be so hard, but seeing them again almost knocked the air out of him. It was bittersweet in a way.

"Oh my baby!" Tears streamed down Lily's face as she rushed over to the young child's side. She tried to cup his face with her hands but they went straight through him.

"My poor, poor baby," Lily sobbed.

For her it had been nearly no time at all since the attack that resulted in her death, whereas for Harry it felt like a lifetime ago.

"It's okay mum. I'm okay,” Harry said in an attempt at soothing her, shooting James a pleading look.

The shocked man thankfully took the hint and guided his wife to sit down on the bed next to Harry. They couldn't touch the living but they stayed as close to him as they could. James wrapped his arms around Lily and held on tightly, the action bringing comfort to them both.

"How old are you Harry?" His father asked, voice rough with emotion.

Harry sighed. He'd known this was going to be a long and difficult conversation, but somehow it felt even harder than expected.

"It's... complicated. I'm both five and eighteen." The adults seemed lost for words at this proclamation.

"I'll tell you the entire story if you promise not to interrupt."

His parents gave him their word, and so the tale began. Unlike with Ignotus, Harry told them everything, every dark and ugly detail.

He started with his childhood, laying it out from start to finish, not leaving out any of the nasty parts of the abuse he'd suffered at the hands of his loving relatives.

His mother had gone pale as a ghost, whereas James looked like he wanted to murder someone. Both kept their promise however, and stayed silent.

Harry continued with his years at Hogwarts, then the war and ultimately his sacrifice that had been plotted by Dumbledore.

He explained how he had unknowingly gathered the Hallows and become the Master of Death, and with it gained both gifts and curses. Not being able to die was nice in the short run, but he imagined that at some point, one just had enough of life and wanted to rest. Harry would never get that.

"That nasty, lying, manipulative, old wanker!" Lily hissed out in seething rage at the end.

"I knew we shouldn't have trusted him! I told you it was an awful idea to let him cast the fidelius for us!" Lily screeched and hit James in the chest, again and again, all out of tears by now and instead filled with motherly rage for the injustice her child had suffered.

James simply let her, looking both green and apoplectic at the same time.

"I know Lils, you're always right. We should have… we should have let you cast it and have me as the secret keeper. We just… we thought we were so clever." 

James looked lost. The hero worship and faith he'd had in Dumbledore completely crumbled, just like it had for Harry not long ago.

"Wait… you're saying Dumbledore knew who was the secret keeper all along?" Harry cut in, indignant rage simmering deep in his gut.

“Of course he knew, he was the one who cast it.” 

"Sirius rotted twelve years in Azkaban without a trial just because Dumbledore decided not to say anything?”

Harry did not understand… Why would Dumbledore not want Sirius released if he knew he was innocent? It took him a few seconds before the answer hit him. 

“He wanted me locked up with the Dursleys… I would have been too unruly if I was raised by Sirius…" Harry continued monotonously. 

He hadn't thought the betrayal could go deeper, but he kept being surprised. Every new thing he learned was like a knife in the back, digging deeper and deeper, widening the wound.

"I'm gonna bloody strangle the twinkling, old codger with his own beard," Lily snarled. 

James snorted. "In case you haven't noticed, we're dead."

"There is nothing stopping me when he's dead along with us," she added testily, glaring at her husband.

James threw up his hands in defeat, clearly not about to step in the way of his wife on a warpath, which was probably wise.

Harry closed his eyes. This conversation had brought forth so many new revelations that he'd rather not deal with. They hurt, they really really hurt.

He still didn't know if the blood wards were actually there on the property, but the truth was that Dumbledore had known that Sirius was innocent, and instead of getting him a trial which would have cleared up everything, he'd tossed him into Azkaban just so he wouldn’t be able to raise Harry.

Because a Harry raised by a brash and cocky Sirius, would not have been as easy to manipulate and control as one who was abused by his relatives. A Harry raised by Sirius would not sacrifice himself, nor let Dumbledore make all the decisions for him.

Harry had to admit that while he didn't think Sirius would have been the most responsible guardian, anyone would have been better than the Dursleys.

He took a deep breath and opened his green eyes, looking at the bickering couple.

“I’m going to ruin him,” Harry calmly vowed, making his parents quiet down and look at him. 

It wasn't something he had planned on doing initially, but the more he heard about Dumbledore’s machinations, the more he craved revenge. For him, his parents, for Sirius… even Tom Riddle.

Lily seemed all aboard that notion, whereas James was hesitant.

“Dumbledore is a very powerful man, Harry. Not just magically, but politically. He has a reputation that will make anything you try extremely difficult. Wouldn't it be better to just leave Britain? Let them destroy themselves instead of getting involved,” James suggested with a worried frown.

“No… I want to change things. And if I run away then Sirius will be trapped in Azkaban until he eventually breaks out or dies... I can’t allow that, not when I know he’s innocent. I need to come up with a plan to get him free. And as for Dumbledore…I want his reputation in shambles. I don't care how long it'll take,“ Harry stated firmly. 

He had made up his mind, and no matter how hard James tried to convince him otherwise, Harry refused to budge.

His father sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Alright kid, if that’s what you want to do, then that is what we’re doing. We’ll help you as much as we can.”

Lily looked like a vindictive demon, grinning sharply. “I’m going to see what kind of dirt I can dig up on the manky pillock. Dead people are inordinately chatty,” she hummed manically.

James gave his wife a wary look.

“Thank you, both of you,” Harry said softly, their support warming him to the core.

“Is it okay if I call you back later? I promised Ignotus that we’d start my lessons today.” He felt exhausted, but a promise was a promise. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Lily replied, her expression turning into a loving smile.

“I want you to know how proud I am of you for taking your education seriously. I know you can do anything you put your mind to, and we will be here for you every step of the way, no matter what you decide.” His mother tried to caress his face, hand hovering just above his skin.

“I mean it, Harry. No matter what you choose to do with your life, even if it is following Voldemort, I will support you. All I ever wanted for you, was for you to live and be happy.“

Harry looked at her in shock, eyes blown wide. She couldn't truly mean that could she?

“But he killed you!” He blurted indignantly, repulsed by the mere suggestion of collaborating with their murderer.

“Yes he did. And still I wouldn't mind as long as you followed your heart and did what made you happy,” his mother replied calmly.

“Right James?” She turned her head to confront her husband, eyes glaring daggers at him to confirm her statement.

“Er… right.” James swallowed and nodded with a faint grimace.

Harry wasn't sure if his father was completely in agreement with his mother, but knowing that she would go to such lengths for him, just to make him happy, was a strange and exhilarating feeling. 

“Okay honey, you best get to your lesson now. Me and your dad will start talking to people, see if we can find some skeletons in Dumbledore’s closet.” Her eyes shone with unholy glee at the opportunity.

The two spirits vanished, and Harry sucked in a deep, shaky breath. That had been way more emotionally draining than he’d prepared himself for.

He was in no condition to focus on a lesson following that, and was grateful that he and Ignotus hadn’t agreed on a set time. He figured a cup of tea would help calm him. 

When he walked down the stairs, he could hear the sounds of Aunt Petunia watching a rerun of one of her soaps. He thought it was Coronation Street but he couldn't be sure.

As soon as Petunia's eyes fell on him, she stiffened. Her skin paled and Harry could see her clutching the pillow by her side. The young boy gave her a blank, indifferent look before continuing into the kitchen to make his tea, and to grab an apple if they had any.

Originally he'd planned to start the lesson straight after drinking his tea, but some sunshine and fresh air would probably do him good. His mind was still an unfocused mess.

"I'm going for a walk. I should be back in an hour or two,” Harry announced monotonously, not waiting for an answer. He doubted he'd get more than a nod anyway.

The sun shone brightly in the morning sky, and the early October air was crisp and refreshing. Harry wrapped the wool scarf tighter around his neck and started walking down Privet Drive and into the nearby Magnolia Crescent.

There was a loud yowl coming from his right and Harry turned to the side. He recognised the characteristic lion tail of a kneazle. It must belong to Mrs Figg down on Wisteria Walk. She bred the little critters.

He could clearly remember her house reeking of cat urine and old cabbage whenever she had to babysit him. She used to show him mountains of pictures that she’d taken of her cats. Thankfully that hadn't happened since he returned to this time, nor did he plan to let it. She was a bloody spy for Dumbledore and a member of the Order.

Harry crouched down and put out his hand for the kneazle.

"Hello, I'm Harry. I don't think we've met before." He spoke softly and smiled as the kneazle purred and rubbed against his hand.

"I have to admit that you have much nicer fur than Mr Tibbles," Harry said, making the feline preen under the praise. It wasn't a lie either. The kneazle had a speckled, silvery coat, making him look almost like a miniature snow leopard, or a lynx. He was quite handsome.

"I'm just going to walk around the area, you're free to join if you'd like."

Harry knew that kneazles, even part-kneazles, were extremely intelligent in comparison to regular cats, so he had no doubt that it would be able to understand him.

The park was unfortunately filled with children playing, so he and his kneazle companion walked away. There was no set destination in mind, Harry merely enjoyed the mindless exercise after such heavy subjects being spoken about with his parents.

"I guess I'll see you around sometime," Harry said as he patted the feline one final time. They had circled back to the edge of Privet Drive. His companion turned to the left while Harry walked forward.

Safely back in his room, with rosy cheeks from the cold, Harry laid down on his bed. He felt calmer and more relaxed.

Life wasn't so bad right now. He knew it would become more complicated when it was time for Hogwarts, but at the moment he could enjoy the freedom he had to simply exist. There were no great expectations of him from anyone, and he had the opportunity to learn whatever he desired. It was a heady thought.

Harry looked at the small alarm clock on his nightstand. It read 11:38am. He figured he should get on with the day and summon Ignotus.

He jumped up onto the wooden chair, its legs having been made longer through transfiguration a while back. He was still short for his age so the boost in height made it easier for him to work at the desk.

The ugly notebook he’d nicked, and a pencil, was pulled out of one of the drawers. Looking around, Harry decided that he was ready for the lesson to begin, and so, quickly summoned Ignotus with his ring.

Without much further ado, Ignotus appeared.

"Good morning sir," Harry said with a smile. "Hope I didn't disturb you."

"Oh not at all!" Ignotus chuckled. "I was merely discussing today's lesson with one of my brothers. Cadmus in particular wanted to know what I planned on teaching you. He asked whether he could help with the divination branch of necromancy, but I told him that we needed to get you up to par with the basics first before starting anything more complicated."

The spirit stopped talking when he saw the uncomfortable posture of his young student.

"You don't seem too excited about this. If you aren't interested in meeting Cadmus that is fine, I am perfectly capable of covering that particular subject."

"No, it isn't that… I don't mind meeting your brother. It's just that I don't know if I actually want to learn necromancy, you know?" Harry slowly admitted. 

The thought of necromancy still made him extremely uncomfortable. He had to swallow away bile at the memory of the inferi in Voldemort's cave.

"Ah. I see." Ignotus hummed thoughtfully.

"I will advise you to think about this and come up with reasons as to why it makes you uncomfortable. Then, in the future we can go over the list together, and maybe I will be able to convince you that necromancy isn't as bad as the stigma will have it. And if after that, if you still aren't interested in learning any of the necromantic arts, then that is perfectly fine. I will not pressure you,” the dead wizard promised.

"Yeah I… I can do that," Harry replied with a nod. He made a small note of it at the top of the page so he wouldn't forget.

"I had a question I hoped you might be able to answer, sir."

"Go ahead." Ignotus nodded with a soft smile.

"What can you tell me about blood wards? I remember you mentioning them yesterday, but you didn't go into detail. Dumbledore says the reason I have to stay here with my relatives is because of blood wards. They were placed here after my mum sacrificed herself to save me from Voldemort when he tried to kill me as a baby. It isn't something we've covered in school, and I guess I just want to know if he lied to keep me here, or if they are actually real and offering me some sort of protection." Harry sincerely hoped it wasn't all just a lie. He wouldn't put it past the headmaster though.

"Hmm. A sacrifice is a powerful thing, especially if she set up a ritual around it," Ignotus mused thoughtfully.

"If I were alive, I would be able to check and see if there are wards around this property connected to you. But as I don't have a body, nor magic, that is out of the question. I hadn't planned on bringing up blood magic so soon since you seem to have some trauma related to it, but if you want to know the answer to your question, the best I can offer is to teach you the methods to find out. It will however take time. You still need a foundation to build this knowledge upon. It might take months, or even years for you to be able to safely work with blood wards. If you are prepared to put in the dedication needed to learn this, then I will adjust my lesson plans to support your goals."

Years… Harry hadn't thought it would take that long, but it did make sense. This was an area of magic he knew nothing about. Normal wards were complicated in their own right, blood wards probably more so.

"I don't mind how long it takes, I just want a definitive answer to whether Dumbledore kept me here on purpose to make my life hell… or if there was an actual reason to ignore the abuse." Harry sighed and ran hand through his black locks.

His hair had gotten longer since he arrived. He refused to let Petunia anywhere near him with scissors. He actually planned on growing it out a little, hoping that it would make it slightly more manageable.

Ignotus gave him a good long look before he nodded decisively. "I will change my plans then. Luckily what I had planned for today is still needed for your new goal. But first, let's get any questions you might have, out of the way. Is there anything else you wish to know?"

"Uhm… oh! Yes, actually there is! It's sort of related to the blood wards though. You mentioned family tapestries yesterday, and I was wondering how you go about making one. Do you think it's something I'd be able to do? The only tapestry I've seen belonged to my godfather, and he didn't like it very much because of his family." 

Harry sighed. 

"I don't know anything about my family history… I don't even know the names of my grandparents. No one ever bothered to tell me, and I guess I was too distracted to ask about it.”

His voice was filled with self loathing and grief. It felt like everyone had kept things hidden from him, and he'd been too self-obsessed to dig deeper.

Harry took a calming breath before he continued.

"I suppose I just want to find out their names, and see if there are any distant living relatives aside from my aunt and cousin. I mean, they can't be the only ones alive, right?" Harry looked desperately at the older wizard, praying that he had some answers to give.

"As for living family, I'm afraid I can't tell you. Creating a family tapestry might indeed give you the answers you seek though. Unfortunately, as with blood wards, it is something that is very difficult to create. Normally I would have suggested for you to see a tapestry maker of good renown and get one made for you, but since you've told me that blood magic is considered Dark these days, and taking into account your celebrity status and young age, that would be nearly impossible. In addition, making a family tapestry requires a lot of blood, it is therefore important that whomever you give the job to, is someone you trust not to misuse said blood. It could have catastrophic consequences if it got into the wrong hands." Ignotus frowned and rubbed his beard pensively.

"Seeing as you have no such contact, I will need to find someone in the realm of the dead to teach you how to weave one. That is if you are agreeable to summoning someone else."

"Yeah that's fine,” Harry agreed, happy to know that in the future he'd have his very own family tapestry. 

He wanted to display it proudly in his house when he finally got one in the future. Maybe he'd put it in his study? Yes, that sounded brilliant.

"I thought I might inform you that there exists an alternative to the tapestry. There is a lineage potion you could make. It is however out of your capabilities at this moment. The drawback of this potion is that it will only show three generations back. In addition, it only shows the parents of each generation. So no siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles et cetera. As you are hoping to find living family members, this is probably not something worth wasting your time on right now," Ignotus added.

"Yeah. Potions is probably my worst subject because of Snape. It's kinda funny if you think about it, it was the subject I was looking forward to the most when I came to Hogwarts. It reminded me of cooking, which I'm pretty good at. But because Snape seemed to hate me from the start, I never bothered to put in any effort. He graded me down no matter how well I did." Harry shook his head with a wry smile.

"He'll be surprised this time though” 

Harry smirked mischievously. Snape being biassed towards the Slytherins would definitely be to Harry's advantage, since that was where he was headed. He couldn't wait to shock the bitter dungeon bat.

Ignotus laughed heartily. "By that time we will have made a potions master out of you, I'm sure." The old man returned the smirk, eyes glittering with humour.

Ignotus clapped his hands together. "Well! If that is all, we will get started on your first lesson. Today we'll begin by learning the history behind the elder Futhark alphabet."

Harry paid rapt attention as the spirit detailed the rich history behind the Norse runic alphabet. He explained its areas of application with magic, and how it had developed from older runic scripts, which they would cover in more detail eventually.

His pencil had to be sharpened several times during the long lecture due to heavy note taking. It wasn't until his stomach growled that he realised they had been at it for hours.

Harry cast a quick tempus, finding out that it was already 4pm. He blinked in surprise.

"Ah, I think you're due a break. My apologies for dragging it out so long. It has been a very long time since I had a physical body myself," Ignotus apologised.

"If you wish to continue after your break, simply summon me. Meanwhile I am going to search for a weaver to help with your tutoring. They will be able to cover things I cannot."

"Thank you for taking the time to teach me, sir, I really appreciate it. It was a great lesson. I never knew runes could be used for so much! No wonder Hermione kept gushing about it," Harry said with a happy little grin.

"You are most welcome, young man." Ignotus smiled softly before disappearing.

Harry slipped down from the tall chair and stretched out his muscles with a groan, his back making cracking sounds as he bent forward to touch his toes. Next time he'd ask for a break sooner.

A sandwich was made and scarfed down quickly. He returned to his bedroom and decided to take a short nap, his body was young and needed more sleep than he was used to.

The alarm he’d set woke him up an hour later, and he yawned.

"I guess I should summon Ignotus again," Harry mumbled to himself.

With a groan of effort, he sat up and called the spirit of Ignotus Peverell from beyond the Veil.

"Hello again, sir. Did you find who you were looking for?" Harry asked.

"Hello to you too, young Master. And no, not yet. However, I have a few leads that I will investigate once we finish for the evening. Are you ready to proceed? I would like for us to go through the elder Futhark alphabet. I think sowilo will be highly appropriate for you. Do you know why?" Ignotus asked.

Harry shook his head in puzzlement. Why would a  rune have any special meaning to him?

The spirit pointed towards the scar on Harry's forehead. It had healed perfectly since the exorcism of the horcrux, and now there was only a faint, pink line left. It still held the same lightning bolt shape, but he hoped that with a little more time it would fade and become hard to notice.

"Your scar is the exact shape of the sowilo rune. I believe it was part of the protective ritual your mother set up for you that night. It is a rune that represents life and power among other things. Quite accurate if we consider what happened."

Harry thought that he’d have to ask his mother about it when he summoned her next. He also wondered if it was possible for him to leave a sort of open invitation for the spirits to come see him. Did he really need to summon them each time? They seemed perfectly able to return beyond the veil of their own will.

The lecture itself continued for several hours, detailing a brief overview of the runes in the elder Futhark alphabet. By the time Harry was ready for bed, he was so exhausted that he fell asleep instantly.

Chapter Text

December 1985

Harry's life consisted of primary school during the daytime and tutoring in the evenings.

In primary school he had finally been deemed advanced enough to be moved up a year, however there was apparent concern about the development of his social skills, so they were hesitant to move him up further than that.

His current antisocial behaviour with his peers didn't help matters either. It was annoying, but Harry couldn't exactly come out and tell them that they were wrong about everything because he was an adult. That wouldn't go over well.

Although he wasn't moved up with the older students, the teachers still provided him with work that was leagues above the year he was in. Harry hoped he'd be allowed to take his O-levels and A-levels before he went to Hogwarts. If not, then he'd sit them during the summer holidays in the following years.

For his non-magical studies, he'd managed to get in touch with several people that had been actual teachers when they were alive. He summoned them whenever he had any subject related questions, otherwise he mainly did self study.

In his magical subjects, Ignotus remained his main tutor, but eventually, other people were brought in to teach the subjects Ignotus didn't feel he could cover well enough.

Cadmus had apparently been a potions master, but had admitted that so much had changed in the field since he was alive that he felt teaching Harry alone would be an injustice towards his education. So instead of Cadmus taking the sole responsibility, he worked together with a recently deceased potions master from Columbia named Martin Rodriguez. Together they got his potions knowledge from acceptable to outstanding. Harry soaked up the information they were offering like a dry sponge, eager to understand the whys and hows behind it all.

They couldn't do any practical brewing yet since Harry lacked the right equipment and ingredients, but his potions theory was finally up to par.

Ignotus continued to teach him runes, arithmancy and blood magic. They had covered the most used runic alphabets, and Harry felt like he now held a good understanding of them and their use.

Runes was something he could practise extensively in his bedroom without the need for special equipment. In the beginning, all he did was copy rune after rune until he could do the correct shape of each one in his sleep.

Ignotus was very firm on that part. One misdrawn line could cause the whole runic array to change meaning or misfire, sometimes having grave consequences.  

When it came to blood magic, he was taught the basics, but since Ignotus didn't know the method of weaving family tapestries, he had acquired the help of a sarcastic woman named Ophelia Gavras from Greece. 

The weaving technique she used had been passed down in her family for generations, but she was more than happy to teach it to Harry. Her ungrateful grandchildren had scoffed at her knowledge when she tried to give it to them. “And look at where they are now, dirt poor and barely able to feed their children,” she'd said with a derisive sneer.

Apparently snubbing her had soured Ophelia’s disposition to the point of her deriving some vindictive satisfaction out of letting the family secrets go to someone else. Harry didn't complain considering it worked in his favour.

Arithmancy was often used when creating your own spells, and Harry found the branch of magic to be very similar to muggle mathematics, a subject he'd had a natural knack for in primary school. He took to the magical subject like fish to water, and once again he cursed himself for not having picked different electives while he was at Hogwarts.

Something Ignotus had been interested in learning, was exactly which sacrificial ritual Harry's mother had used. Harry himself was also curious, and so a meeting between the three had been set in motion.

Before Harry summoned his mother and Ignotus, he transfigured some socks into a comfortable sitting group consisting of three plush chairs and a small table for himself. Even though the spirits didn't need the chairs, it made him feel more at ease, plus, he was sure his mother would appreciate the gesture.

On the table, one could find a well used notebook, a black pen, and a steaming cup of tea. The notebook was there in case he felt like something needed to be documented. He wanted to know everything he could about the ritual that had saved his life, even if he realised that at the moment, the information would probably go way over his head.

His eyes roamed over the area one last time, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Everything seemed to be in order so he sat down and called the spirits to himself.

“Hello darling,” his mother greeted him softly and sat down in the chair to his left.

Ignotus nodded his head in Harry’s direction and took place in the other chair.

“Good evening Mrs Potter. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Pardon for the frankness, but the subject of your actions prior to your death has been a much discussed topic between me and your son. I have made many speculations as to what kind of ritual you partook in on that fateful night, and as such I am thrilled to finally be able to hear what you have to say!” Ignotus’ inner scholar shone through at the prospect of solving a puzzle.

“Please, call me Lily,” she laughed.

“Very well, then you may call me Ignotus,” the older wizard acquiesced with a nod and a smile.

“I can't believe I'm finally gonna know the truth… Everyone seems to think I was the one who did something to defeat Voldemort. But I mean, come on! How dumb isn't that? I wasn't even out of nappies!” Harry gestured wildly.

“And Dumbledore kept saying how it was the ‘power of love’ that saved me,” here he made quotation marks with his fingers and scoffed. “But if that was true, then there would be plenty of children alive who had their mothers die for them, wouldn't there? I don't know. It always sounded like rubbish to me,” Harry mumbled sourly.

There was a snort coming from Ignotus. “The power of love?” he muttered with an incredulous shake of his head. “Although love is indeed a powerful force, I sincerely doubt it would be able to achieve a feat on such a scale,” he said, looking over to Lily. “Why don’t you instead explain to us what you did?”

Lily bit her bottom lip. “You have to understand, by the time we knew that Voldemort was out to kill us, I knew I couldn't leave Harry’s fate up to chance. I did what I had to do.” 

She almost seemed nervous to admit what she had done. Harry wondered how bad it could be. He was fairly sure that she hadn't sacrificed anyone to save him, well, other than herself that is.

“In the beginning we went from safehouse to safehouse, always a step ahead of the Death Eaters. It was a very stressful time, and James kept joining the Order on missions, fighting for the cause, as he called it. I begged him to stay home with me and Harry, but he felt that he had some sort of responsibility towards the Order. I suspect Dumbledore convinced him because James was a powerful duelist and easy to manipulate. He worshipped the very ground that old bastard walked on.” Her lips thinned in anger at the mention of her old headmaster.  

“I had to do something to keep you safe,” she exclaimed and looked at her son. “Staying home alone made me feel so worthless, like I was nothing more than a trophy wife, only suitable for cooking and childrearing. Not that I would have left you alone with someone else even if I could, not at a time like that,” she sighed.

“Sirius was just as devoted to the fight as James was, but I never managed to figure out if it was because he wanted to stand beside James, or because he wanted to stick it to his family. It could have been either, both, or neither. One of the times he came to visit, and it was just you and me at home, I convinced him to get some books for me. Begged him actually. They… were quite illegal, and him being an Auror should have made him report me right away, but I knew he wouldn't. His idea of right and wrong has always been a bit messed up, probably due to being raised as a Black. However, he loved you and his friends immensely, and would have broken every law in the world if it meant to keep you safe, that much I knew.”

Harry listened with rapt attention. This was a view of the past that he’d never gotten before. It painted a vastly different picture than the stories he had been told after his parents death. They had been elevated almost to saints post mortem. But getting to know them now, with all their faults and quirks made them more real, more human.

And Sirius… hearing about him made Harry's heart ache for the godfather he could have been if it hadn't been for Azkaban and the war. One day he'd get him out. He wasn't strong enough right now, but one day he would be ready, he made a promise to himself.

“After a few weeks of searching, he found one of the things I’d asked for, Ritualibus et Sanguinem Magicae. It was an old tome on rituals and their connection to blood magic. Runes was always one of my best subjects besides charms, and I realised that even though rituals were illegal, they were deeply connected to runes and could maybe provide the solution I was looking for. It gave me hope and a purpose. It took me some time to translate the contents of the book. I had to be careful so James didn't see it, or what I was working on. I love him dearly but he is extremely biassed when it comes to Dark magic. He hates it with fervour, no matter if it's a harmless ritual or runes infused with your own blood. In his eyes, Dark equals evil," she sighed. "I couldn't risk it. I have no idea what he would have done if he found out."

Harry frowned. "Were you worried he might hurt you?" He didn't like to think that his father would be capable of something like that, but sadly enough, the memories from Snape did make it a possibility. He had a tendency towards cruelty when he felt it was justified.

"Heavens no!" Lily snorted. "And even if he'd tried, I would've had him on his arse and out of the house in minutes. Yes, I preferred not to be on the front lines of the war, but I was still very skilled with a wand," she admitted with a mischievous smirk.

"No, mostly I worried that he'd find a way to stop me. That's why I worked in secret. When I'd finally translated the book, I settled on a ritual I thought might work. It needed some changes, but I was fairly confident. I invested all my time in making it just right. In the end, I had no way to test it to be sure, I just had to pray and hope that it would work like I wanted it to. Clearly it did," Lily said, smiling lovingly at her son.

Harry swallowed away the lump in his throat. It felt so strange knowing that someone had loved him so much that they were willing to give up everything just to keep him safe.

"May I inquire as to which ritual it was?" Ignotus asked curiously.

"It was a sacrificial ritual meant to give the caster strength by blooding a witch or wizard. Essentially transferring some of that person's power over to the one who did the ritual. It didn't have to be voluntary… Obviously this wasn't what I wanted to happen, but I was able to change it to meet my criteria," Lily replied.

"Hmm, I think I know which ritual you speak of. It should be classified as Black magic, at least it was in my time. That ritual was designed to steal life and power from other living beings, and worked best if the sacrifice was, as you said, unwilling. Nasty, nasty stuff," Ignotus explained with a grimace. "How did you manage to turn it into a protective ritual instead?"

"It wasn't easy," Lily replied. "It took months of work. I had to reverse it so that my willing sacrifice would power it."

The two spirits then went into arithmancy and runic theory that made Harry's head spin. They might as well have been speaking Greek for all that he understood it.

"You used sowilo as an anchor," Ignotus said in reverence, eyes flickering to Harry's forehead, "–binding the rune to your blood and lifeforce, making the runic ritual activate once all the right requirements were met. I suspect your willing death was one of them?"

Lily nodded. "My death and blood. It took a while to prepare everything. It had to be done at the right moon phases for it to work to its full effect. That Voldemort chose to attack on Samhain was a strike of luck on our part. I suspect it strengthened the power of my sacrifice, making the protection more extensive."

"Is that why Quirrel burned when I touched him?" Harry asked pensively.

"I suspect so,” his mother replied.

"I wonder if it's still active, or if going back in time has changed it…" Harry pondered.

"It should still be in effect, but it's impossible to tell without testing it. And I rather you didn't seek out my murderer at only five,” Lily deadpanned and gave him a flat look.

"Hey! I have no such plans. Give me some credit will you? I'm in no rush to put myself in danger. I've had enough fights to last me a lifetime."

"I wish you hadn't gone through all of that. It breaks my heart to think about,” his mother sighed. 

"Sometimes, I think the best thing I could have done, would have been to take you and run off to Australia to raise you in secret. Maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part, but we probably could have made it. Voldemort never had much of a following outside of Britain, and to a lesser degree eastern Europe.”

"I'm sorry things went the way they did. But I'm glad I have a chance to get to know you now, even if you didn't get to raise me." Harry offered a small smile, fingers clutching his nearly cold cup of tea. He had mostly forgotten that he had it.

"Yes, so am I. Promise me you will give them hell for me? I will teach you some nasty and humiliating curses for anyone who tries to control or hurt you," she said with a malicious smile that promised pain for those who upset her baby.

Harry swallowed. "I promise. I'm my own person this time."

The trio went silent, each lost in their own thoughts. It took Ignotus to break it.

"You said blood was one of the requirements for the ritual to activate, yes? When did you put that in motion?" He asked.

"When I took Harry and ran upstairs I'd already cut myself accidentally on some debris. I used the blood from that and smeared a little on his forehead, over the sowilo rune that had been drawn in both our blood during one of the preparatory stages. Since it didn't require me to draw the rune again, it wouldn't look suspicious. It was just a little blood that could have come from anywhere."

The conversation on runes, blood, rituals and arithmancy continued between the two scholars, and Harry slowly nodded off in his chair, tea cold and forgotten on the table, notebook untouched.

~

In the following year, Harry lived and breathed for his magical education, and by the time his sixth birthday came around, he was finally ready to start working on his family tapestry. The only problem was that he didn't have the tools nor supplies he needed, and the only place he could get them were in Diagon Alley, or similar shopping districts abroad.

It posed a conundrum, one he wasn't quite sure how to solve. He was physically too young to go to Diagon Alley on his own, and he absolutely did not want to take Petunia with him. First of all she was a liability, and secondly her hatred for magic made persuading her more effort than Harry was willing to expend.

Option number two was imperioing a muggle to chaperone him, but it made something ugly squirm in his gut. It wouldn't be the first time he'd used the imperius curse, and probably not the last either, but he felt like it should always be used when there was no other way. 

Option three was talking to Death, asking him to be his chaperone. With Harry being his anchor to the mortal realm, he would be able to take a physical form in the living world.

Harry had talked to him a few times since the train, and they now held a more amicable relationship. Death clearly cared about him, even though Harry was still miffed about the whole 'not being able to die' thing.

"Sweetheart, you're sulking," his mother said, bringing him out of his musings.

"Just call him, you know he won't deny you."

"But I don't want to call him," Harry whined. "He's always so nice."

"Yes, because that is absolutely terrible. Heaven forbid someone is nice to you. How awful," Lily drawled sarcastically and rolled her eyes at her son's antics.

"Fine, fine," Harry sighed. "I'll summon him tomorrow. Happy now?"

"Yes." His mother grinned at him.

Harry rolled his eyes.

The day after, he did as promised and summoned Death. The being took the familiar form of the elderly gentleman he'd first met. Unlike the other spirits Harry could summon, Death came in a fully physical package that could interact with the world around it.

"You called, Master?" The deity queried with a fond smile. Even though he was no servant, the title of Master had stuck, and he seemed to get some sort of amusement out of teasing Harry with it.

Sometimes, Harry wondered if Death viewed him a bit like a pet, one you'd indulge in almost anything. His mother said that she didn't think that was the case, but couldn't be sure since the only time she'd met the being was when she'd died. Apparently Harry was a rare case there too.

"Yes,” Harry sighed.

"I need to go to Diagon Alley soon, or somewhere similar so I can do some shopping. My magical education is at a bit of a standstill at the moment for subjects that require supplies and tools. Problem is that I'm still tiny. Going alone as I am will draw too much attention."

"And therefore you are in need of a chaperone," Death replied with a hum. "I take it you wish for me to accompany you?"

"Yeah. After that I should be able to brew some polyjuice potion so I can go on my own. I'm starting to go stir crazy over here. I need those supplies," Harry confessed with a heavy sigh. 

He ran a hand through his dark locks. His hair now fell nearly to his shoulders, and just like he'd hoped, the length took away some of the wildness, leaving him with waves instead. 

Harry felt like the style gave him more of an aristocratic, wizarding look. He liked it. However he didn't think he'd let it get any longer than to his shoulders.

"I will join you on your trip whenever you are ready," Death agreed with a nod. "Do you wish to proceed right away or do you need more time?"

Harry blinked in bemusement. Sure, he'd expected Death to say yes, because up until now he'd never denied Harry anything, but he hadn't expected him to be available right this minute.

"Uhm… just give me like ten minutes and then I'll be ready?" Harry hesitantly replied.

He got a nod in agreement.

Harry quickly jumped down from his chair and ran over to his wardrobe. He pulled out a shirt that no longer fit him and transfigured it into a simple robe to put over his clothes. It wouldn't last forever, but it would do its job for the duration of the trip.

Next on the agenda was the colour of his hair. More than once had he wished that he had the metamorphmagus ability that Tonks possessed. It would have made his life so much easier. Nevertheless, Harry managed to change his hair from pitch black to a sandy blonde with a charm his mother had taught him.

His scar was still pink, but it was no longer raised or exceedingly prominent. It would fade with time. But for now it was a liability and he needed it gone. For that purpose he'd nicked a concealer from Petunia's makeup bag.

Using a conjured hand mirror, Harry applied the makeup over the scar, making it nearly invisible to the naked eye. He did a final scan over himself and deemed the masking job adequate.

When he turned to Death the being was no longer there. Or rather, in his place stood a sandy blonde woman with blue eyes and a modest dress. It looked expensively made and well tailored. The gold embroidery shimmered against the black fabric in a way he'd only ever seen wizarding attire do.

Harry blinked. "Er… Death?" He asked the woman just to be sure. She looked too solid to be a spirit though.

The woman nodded, long, wavy locks of blonde hair bobbing along with the movement.

"Yes. I thought I could pose as your mother. However if this form makes you uncomfortable I can change it to your liking." Her voice was soft and gentle, like a warm summer breeze.

"Er… no it's fine. Thank you." 

They did in fact look like mother and son now, so that made the plan even safer.

Harry thought about how they were going to get to the Alley. They could take the train to London but it would be unnecessarily time consuming, not to mention expensive. He only had bits and bobs that he'd squirreled away from Petunia over the past year. It wasn't much though, and a train trip for two would completely deplete his stores. 

He needed to go to Gringotts to withdraw some money from the Peverell vault. He didn't dare use his Potter trust vault. He had no idea if Dumbledore had any control or insight into it, but seeing as he had the key in his possession, that made everything highly suspicious.

The second option was taking the Knight Bus, but Harry had no Knuts or Sickles on him, which rendered that option moot.

That only left apparating. Harry wondered if Death was able to take them.

"Can you apparate us to the Alley?" Harry asked.

Death quirked her head in thought.

"No. Apparition is not within my abilities. My magic differs from that of witches and wizards. I am able to travel through shadows though. It is a skill you yourself will also be able to do in time, with enough practice. It comes from the gifts I gave you. In return for being my anchor to the mortal realm you gained a fraction of my power. To me, it is inconsequentially small, but to you it will prove quite a boost I should imagine."

That was something Harry hadn't known. He gaped at Death. He thought he was done with being surprised by the deity's proclamations, but apparently not.

Harry shook off his stupor and gave the woman a stern look, as stern as a six year old face could get at least. "We'll talk about that later. For now I'd like you to transport us to the Alley, preferably without being noticed."

"Of course, Master," the woman replied with a beaming smile and twinkling eyes. She held out her hand for the young boy.

Harry glared at her. Why was it that he always felt like some sort of cute, furry little animal that the deity could coo over and pet whenever she was around?

"This will be fun!" Death chirped happily.

Harry wasn't sure he agreed. He gave her a wary look before grasping on to the offered hand. He had a bad feeling that Death was going to screw with him on this trip.

The world around them dissolved into black smoke, and from one step to the next, they were in the back of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry had to admit that it was the most comfortable form of magical travel he'd experienced so far. Neither floo, portkey or apparition seemed to agree with him much. Maybe it was a practice thing? He didn't know.

Death held on to his hand and tapped the bricks serving as the entrance to Diagon Alley with her free hand. The brick wall shifted and moved, opening up to the cacophony of sounds and colours that was England's magical shopping district.

Until now, Harry hadn't realised just how much he'd missed the energy and vibrancy that came with being saturated with magic on all fronts. He soaked in the ambient magic and sighed softly. 

It was still the early hours of a Friday morning, so the streets were not as full as later in the day. Witches and wizards milled about the Alley quickly to get to where they needed to go.

"Come along Tom, we have to get to Gringotts before we can do our shopping. Maybe if you're good I'll get you a treat!" His 'mother' chirped cheerfully.

Tom? Harry almost sputtered out loud, his brain coming to an abrupt halt. Oh she was good, really good, playing the part of doting young mother perfectly. Harry glared at the being before playing along. She was there to provide him a disguise after all.

Technically he didn't have anything to complain about since she was doing a stellar job, but Harry thought she was deriving way too much amusement out of it.

The supposed mother and son walked hand in hand to the enormous, white, marble bank. It stood out starkly among the colourful and odd wizarding shops. Harry had always thought it was rather beautiful in its clean elegance.

They nodded their heads in a polite greeting to the goblin on guard outside the doors to Gringotts, earning one in return.

Once inside, Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the spot where he and his friends had broken out of the bank on the back of a dragon. The poor thing was probably still in the darkness underneath. Harry felt pity for it. It didn't deserve the pain and fear that was its current life. A majestic creature being chained up like that was just sad. He wondered if there was something he could do to help.

However, he wouldn't be breaking in, or out again, that was for sure. The goblin race was one he preferred to have on his good side. Destroying their bank and stealing a dragon would surely put him on top of their hit list.

"It's our turn now Tom. One of the tellers are free," Death said, guiding the reminiscing child over to the available till.

" Greetings master goblin.”

Death spoke politely in the goblin language, causing the teller’s eyes to widen with surprise. The guttural sounds had been pronounced perfectly and with ease.

Language didn't seem to be a barrier for the deity, which made sense really, Harry thought. What did surprise him however, was the fact that he could understand what was being said. He wondered if it was because he was holding Death's hand.  

"My charge would like to access his vault. But first, we would like to do an inheritance test, in private please," the woman continued.

If the goblin was surprised by this request, it didn't show. He had gotten his facial expression under control quickly after the first slip.

With a sharp nod, the teller called for another goblin to take them into one of the private offices. Harry was glad to note that it wasn't Griphook, the backstabbing traitor.

The walls of the office were luxuriously decorated with silvery weapons and artwork of great battles. It was the first time Harry had seen the inside of a goblin office. In the past, his trips to Gringotts had consisted of going quickly in and out of his vault, nothing more.

A door opened, and what seemed to be an elderly goblin with white, thinning hair, stepped inside. He greeted his clients with a brusque nod before seating himself behind an intricately carved desk, looking over at them shrewdly.

"I am master Ragnok, how may Gringotts be of service?" He said curtly, words almost a sneer.

"We would like an inheritance test for my charge," Death answered without missing a beat or being put out by the other’s attitude.

"Inheritance tests cost 100 Galleons," the goblin declared, steepling his long, talon-like fingers together while he looked at the blonde woman over his glasses.

Harry thought he came across as haughty, not expecting Death and him to be able to pay the cost.

"That will be no problem," Death replied with a sweet smile. "Darling, show the nice goblin your ring."

Harry didn't know what good it would do, but did as he was told, holding out his left hand so the signet ring was clearly visible.

The only sign of the ring meaning anything to Ragnok, was the slight widening of his eyes. Other than that, the goblin kept his composure well.

"The Peverell ring," Ragnok mused. "It hasn't been seen in generations, much less been worn."

The sharp gaze that had evaluated Death only seconds prior, now moved to focus solely on Harry. Apparently wearing the ring meant something special. 

Harry wondered if Ragnok knew about his status as the Master of Death, and the powers the ring contained. He hoped not. It wasn't something he wanted as public knowledge. Since his death, Harry had developed a distrust for the living, rightfully so, he thought.

"Very well," Ragnok raptly agreed. “Gringotts will issue the test for the standard fee as agreed upon.”

The goblin reached into a desk drawer and pulled out what looked like a large, gold and silver cube with inlaid gems. It made Harry think of one of those puzzle boxes with how the metal was sectioned into parts. The top held a small, round, runic seal, engraved into what Harry assumed was a ruby.  

Unintelligible runes went along the upper edge of the cube, making him wonder what kind of runic alphabet they belonged to as he’d never seen anything similar.

Ragnok pressed a gnarled finger against the seal on top, and the seal, along with the upper sections of metal, dissolved into nothing. Out from the box came seven round crystals, each glowing a different colour. One of them was larger than the others and took a position in the middle with the other crystals orbiting it. It reminded Harry of an atom with the way the crystals moved around the core.

The beautiful gems hovered over the box they came out of, and Harry could barely take his eyes away from them.

"Give me your hand, dear, the left one," Death said, shifting Harry’s attention onto herself.

He placed his hand in hers, and without using a wand or speaking a word, a small, nearly painless cut appeared at the tip of his middle finger.

A thick, red, drop of blood welled up, and Death guided his finger over to the strange contraption. She placed it on the softly glowing opal in the middle of the box.

The runic circle around the opal suddenly lit up, and Harry felt the blood, along with a thread of his magic being sucked into it. He startled, and quickly yanked his hand away, but it was already over.

Ragnok noticed the child’s alarm and began explaining the contraption and its purpose.

"Each individual who signs up with Gringotts, either through opening a new vault, inheriting one, or being employed by the bank, has to donate a drop of their blood and magic. The sample goes into a filing system of sorts that cannot be tampered with." 

While he talked, the orbs rapidly changed colours.

"The blood and magic you just gave, is being checked against previous samples to see if there are any heirships or vaults you are eligible to inherit. Inheritances that aren't bequeathed to a family member, or that you have no claim to through blood and, or, magic, will have to be looked up through name," the goblin explained.

"What do the crystals do?" Harry asked curiously.

"The six smaller crystals act as a magical energy source for the artefact to process the samples you just gave. The one in the middle is the actual information base. It is linked to this parchment," Ragnok gestured to a piece of parchment laying on his desk, "which will display what you are eligible to inherit."

The entire process turned out to be much more intricate than Harry had expected. For some reason he thought there would be something like a potion that would list all his vaults and titles, but no. He was kinda glad though, this method seemed much more thorough.

He watched as words appeared on the parchment. From where he sat he couldn't see what it said, but it still filled him with relief that the artefact was working.

As soon as the writing stopped, the crystals dimmed and floated back down into the box one by one, the smaller ones first, followed by the large one last. The lid materialised out of nowhere, along with the seal, closing the box shut. Lastly, the glow of the opal died out, leaving only a pretty cube on the desk. It looked very inconspicuous considering what it actually was.

Ragnok picked up the parchment and read through it. Harry couldn't see the goblin’s expression, but there was a thoughtful hum coming from him.

"You are full of surprises Mr Potter," Ragnok said, the words making Harry's blood turn to ice.

The grip he had on Death's hand tightened as his panic started to rise. Paranoia struck hard. How did the goblin know? Had he informed anyone? Was this whole thing just a ploy to buy time so Dumbledore could arrive and obliviate them all?

Harry's breathing sped up, on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Calm down, Master," Death murmured quietly next to his ear. "The test shows the Potter vaults, you are the only Potter left, so it was a logical leap for him, nothing more."

Her dainty hand gently squeezed his, the action and words grounding him into reality. He got himself under control and felt embarrassed about his overreaction. 

He wondered if picking up Occlumency again would be a good idea. He had planned on starting it eventually, but this incident proved that the sooner he got his mind under control, the better.  

Ragnok had watched the entire thing with shrewd eyes. "I am not able to disclose what happens during this meeting to anyone if that is your concern, Mr Potter. "

Harry looked inquiringly at Death for guidance. The woman gave him a quick nod which soothed his worries.

"Oh, good. What does the parchment say?"

"There are a few things that were expected, like the Potter and Peverell vaults, and a few others that I have to admit came as quite the surprise," Ragnok replied.

The parchment was handed over to Death as she was posing as his guardian at the moment.

"How curious," she uttered as her eyes scanned the document.

The parchment was then passed over to Harry so he could have a look. His eyes widened the further down he got.

-------------------------------------------------------

Available vaults, titles and properties

Potter estate

Titles: Lord Potter - Right by blood and magic

Vaults: 410, 687, 812

Properties: Potter Cottage - Godric's Hollow

Peverell estate

Titles: Lord Peverell - Right by blood and magic

Vaults: 106

Properties: Île de Anastasie - English Channel

Slytherin estate

Titles: Heir presumptive - Right by blood and magic

Vaults: N.A

Properties: N.A

Black estate

Titles: N.A

Vaults: 702

Properties: N.A

----------------------------------------------------

Most of what was written he'd expected, like the Potter and Peverell estates. Ignotus had told him that only those with a natural gift for necromancy would be able to inherit the title, which explained why his father hadn't been able to pick it up.

The Black vault he figured came from Sirius. He hadn't known about it in his first life, but then again, he'd never actually had the time to touch any of what he inherited from his godfather, except from Grimmauld Place and Kreacher.

What did surprise him however, was how many vaults the Potter estate held. He'd been under the assumption that his trust vault was all there was. No one ever told him any different.

Lastly came the Slytherin estate. That had completely blindsided him. He didn't see how it could be correct. The Horcrux was gone from his scar, so there shouldn't be any connections between him and Voldemort anymore. If the parchment was correct though, that made his second year at Hogwarts all the more ironic. He’d actually been the heir of Slytherin.

"What does heir presumptive mean?" He asked Death hesitantly.

"It means that unless the current Lord Slytherin has any children, then you are next in line to inherit. If he dies childless then the lordship goes to you." She explained calmly.

"I suspect you may have some ties to that bloodline through your mother. She never took an inheritance test, correct?" She turned to Ragnok and inquired.

"You assume correctly. This type of test is not often requested due to the price, and it is not well known amongst those of muggle descent. Mrs Potter neé Evans never asked for one," Ragnok confirmed.

"Now, unless you have any objections, I will have to send word to the account managers of each estate Mr Potter has inherited something from. They will be able to walk you through the titles, vaults and properties you have inherited, as well as the contents of your vaults."

Harry frowned. He didn't want to be revealed to more people but it sounded like he had no choice.

"They aren't allowed to tell anyone that I've talked to them right?" Harry asked.

"The Black and Slytherin manager may inform the Lord of their respective estate if the Lord enquires about it. However, they are not obligated to inform them without being questioned. Since you are the last member of the Potter and Peverell estate, the same does not apply. You are technically the Head of both families despite your age," Ragnok explained.

Harry nodded, his worries assuaged somewhat. Voldemort was still incorporeal and wouldn't be speaking with his account manager any time soon. As for the Black Lord… Harry had to admit that he didn't know who he was. Sirius had been in control of the Black estate by the time he broke out of Azkaban, which meant that whoever Lord Black was, would most likely die within the next few years.

"Please send for the Peverell and Black manager. If it's possible, I'd like to make an appointment with the Potter and Slytherin manager at a later date," Harry said firmly.

If Ragnok was surprised by this, or by the fact that Harry's supposed guardian was deferring to a six year old child, then he didn't show it. The goblin nodded and wrote something down on a piece of parchment. The note was placed into a small, carved, wooden box. The runes on the lid lit up within a minute, and Ragnok opened it, pulling out a different note.

"The Peverell and Black managers will be here within ten minutes," Ragnok relayed the information from the note.

"While you are speaking with them, I will cross check your name against any non related beneficiaries. I suspect there are many who have left you something in their wills after your supposed defeat of the Dark Lord."

"What? Really?" Harry was startled. It had never even crossed his mind before that people who didn't know him would want to write him into their wills.

He should have suspected it though, he was a 'hero' in the eyes of the public after all. That made him think of mail. Shouldn't he have gotten some? Even just a thank you note? Not that he wanted fanmail, but famous people got fanmail all the time didn't they? Could Dumbledore have done something to redirect the mail? He decided to discuss it with his mother and Ignotus when he got home.

"Yes. It was quite common, especially for minor Houses who lost all of their heirs in the war," Ragnok answered with a nod.

"If you find anything, can we schedule another meeting later?" He asked. Just like with the Potter and Slytherin estate, he wanted to make his visit as quick as possible this time around.

Harry was incredibly curious about the Potter estate and what people may have willed to him, but he had a feeling it would take him all day to go through it. Right now all he wanted was some money so he could get his shopping out of the way. He knew mostly what the Peverell estate had in store for him, Ignotus had informed him before he left, and his inheritance from the Black estate only held one vault and no titles so he figured it wouldn't take too long.

Ragnok agreed to set up a new meeting in a week, then left. Harry remained seated next to Death.

It didn't take long for the door to open again. Two unfamiliar goblins entered. The first one, an ancient looking, surly goblin with glasses and barely any hair, introduced himself as Grapnok, account manager to the Blacks. The second, a much younger goblin with slicked back, black hair and a haughty look on his face, introduced himself as Raatok, the Peverell account manager.

Harry immediately took a dislike to both of them, each for different reasons. He didn't voice his opinion out loud though.

"My charge was informed by master Ragnok that he has a vault from the Black family. We would like to get that out of the way first before we deal with the Peverell estate," Death said primly.

"Very well," Grapnok's gravelly voice replied as he hobbled over to the desk.

The elderly goblin placed a thick book in front of himself and flipped the pages in silence, ignoring the other occupants of the room. A finger trailed down the contents of the page until it stopped.

"Ah, it seems one Sirius Orion Black set up a trust vault for his godson, Henry James Potter, January 22nd, 1980."

Harry blinked dumbfounded at Grapnok. Had he heard wrong or did the goblin just call him Henry? It had to be a mistake, surely? The goblin was practically ancient, maybe he read it wrong… Either way it was definitely another thing he had to bring up with his mother when he got home. The list just kept getting longer. He sighed internally. Merlin how he hated surprises.

"Vault 702 currently contains 820 Galleons, 136 Sickles and 427 Knuts," Grapnok said and looked up at Harry.

It was a lot more than Harry had expected from that vault. He wondered why Sirius never mentioned it in his previous life. Had the man thought that he'd already used it up?

Harry looked over at Death and squeezed her hand, hoping she'd be able to take charge of this meeting, at least until the Black account manager was out of the room. He didn't trust Grapnok not to go blabbing to whoever was Lord Black at the moment.

"We would like a new key to the vault made and any others invalidated," Death demanded.

Grapnok sneered at Harry's guardian but seemed to comply. A note was sent through the message box, the same one Ragnok had used earlier.

"A new key can be picked up at the entrance in half an hour. All other keys have been disconnected from the vault. Sirius Orion Black will however still have access to the vault until the day Mr Potter turns seventeen, as is stipulated in the contract," he offered sourly.

Death nodded. "That is acceptable, thank you master Grapnok. There will be nothing further today."

The wrinkly, old goblin bared his sharp teeth in a sneer, then nodded. He closed his book and hobbled back out of the room.

The entire time this went on, the Peverell manager had seemed impatient, as if he was too good to be there, and now that it was just him and the two 'humans' left, he finally let his true colours shine.

"So what is this nonsense about a child being the Peverell Lord?" Raatok sneered demeaningly. "I don't believe it for one second. You're lying. There hasn't been a Peverell Lord for generations."

Death raised an eyebrow and stared back just as disdainfully. "Mind your tongue," she said sharply. "Have your elders taught you nothing?" She cocked a blonde eyebrow. "An inheritance test does not lie, nor do we. It is most unwise to insult your clients."

Raatok's face twisted in insulted anger. Harry watched the scene unfold with bemused fascination. He couldn't ever remember having met such an unpleasant goblin. Griphook had been a backstabbing arsehole, but this guy was just so full of himself. This had to be Raatok's only job, surely other people wouldn't agree to being treated like this?

The two beings rapidly exchanged words, Death getting more and more annoyed, and Raatok nearing a stage of apoplectic rage. Harry thought he behaved like an entitled toddler with a tantrum. Actually, he reminded him a bit of Dudley.

"I see that we will get nowhere with this." Death finally stated. With a simple gesture a large moth appeared in her hand. She guided it to her mouth and whispered something before sending it to fulfil its task.

Harry inspected the moth as it flew away, finding it eerily beautiful with its brown and yellow hues. On its back was a white marking that resembled a skull. He had never seen an insect like it before.

The moth flew straight through the closed door, behaving like a messenger patronus, which made him wonder whether it was actually solid, or if it simply looked that way. He was leaning towards the latter. It probably was some fancy death magic.

Raatok's tirade about Harry not being the Peverell Lord kept going, he didn't even notice when the door opened and Ragnok stepped in.

"What is this?" The senior accountant hissed, causing the younger one's head to snap around, stopping his vitriol mid-sentence.

"Have you no shame? Embarrassing Gringotts like this in front of clients. You should be sent back to the carts! Never in all my years working here have I experienced such despicable behaviour. You shame your clan Raatok," Ragnok sneered.

The younger goblin sputtered and tried to defend himself.

"But master Ragnok, he is just a child! Clearly they are lying! To open the Peverell vault and claim the Lordship he has to have gone through magical maturity and gained necromantic abilities. He's only six. It's impossible!" He retorted hotly, gesturing wildly towards Harry.

Ragnok gave the Peverell manager a hard look. "It does not matter to Gringotts if he's six or three hundred, the test does not lie. You know this!"  

"Um… is it possible to change managers?" Harry's tiny voice broke through the tense argument. His eyes darting between the two. Raatok looked incensed and deeply offended, whereas Ragnok was practically gleeful at the suggestion.

"Yes, it is more than possible. All it requires is for you to sign a document, Mr Potter," Ragnok replied with a shark-like grin, black eyes glittering.

"Wha-!? You can't just sign over the position! It's been in my clan for generations!" Raatok blustered, incensed at the very suggestion.

"Well, perhaps it would still be with your clan if it wasn't for your shameful behaviour," Ragnok replied merrily. He turned to face Harry "Did you have someone particular in mind, Mr Potter?"

"Well, if you're not too busy master Ragnok, I thought maybe you could do it?" Harry said, and if anything, the goblin's dark eyes gleamed even stronger at the suggestion.

"Oh it would be my pleasure, Mr Potter." Ragnok grinned, looking like the cat who got the canary.

It sounded like the Peverell estate still held some value with the goblins, it made Harry curious just how much it was actually worth.

“Now that we’ve gotten that sorted, we should be able to go through your assets together. And may I thank you for this opportunity. I’ve wanted to stick it to that clan for ages. I won't bother you, or your guardian with goblin business, Mr Potter, but know that I greatly appreciate it," Ragnok admitted as he put away the contract he and Harry had just signed in blood.

For Ragnok to be this happy about his new position must mean that there was a significant amount of gold and status involved. Harry honestly didn't mind if the goblin boosted his reputation or pockets from his interactions with him. All Harry cared about was having a manager that he could somewhat trust, and if not exactly trust, then at least get along with and be taken seriously by.

"Did you find any wills with my name in it?" Harry enquired curiously.

"Yes, in fact there were quite a lot. All varying in value. Some bequeathed money, artefacts or other gifts, and some even left property. I will need to look through it more closely before I can give you a complete list, but I will have it ready for when we meet again next week," Ragnok replied and opened the book and folder that he'd taken from Raatok.

"The Peverell estate, however, will be easier to deal with," he continued, eyes scanning the pages in front of him.

"I will try to be quick, as you seem eager to get on with your day." Ragnok's lips twitched in a faint smirk.

"This," he said and held out a silver key with the Peverell crest on, "is the key to your vault. Normally you would have to try on the lordship ring first to see if it would accept you, but seeing as you are already wearing it, that point is moot."

Harry took the key with his tiny hand and softly brushed his finger over the familiar crest. It was the same as the symbol on his ring, that of the Deathly Hallows.

"The property that comes with the Peverell estate have, according to these files, not been tended to for a very long time due to the family wards. I cannot say what kind of condition the house or surrounding land will be in. The wards are still standing strong, keeping out anyone who isn't family or those that have been accepted by the Head of House, which is now you. I expect that you might find some sort of book or stone within the property that is connected to the warding scheme, allowing you to give others access if you so wish."

Harry had already been told about the property by his ancestor so he nodded at Ragnok's explanation. He expected it to be severely overgrown. Hopefully the house itself hadn't rotted away.

"Île de Anastasie, or Resurrection Island as it is also called, is located somewhere in the English channel. The island has been made unplottable and therefore I can't help you with more accurate directions. However, I suspect that you might find some clues in your vault.”

Harry didn't actually need any clues to find the island. Ignotus had already informed him about the directions for it. He planned on asking Death if she could take him there by shadow travel one day soon. That way he could apparate there himself the next time. He hoped to be able to turn the island into a sort of base for himself. Freedom from the Dursleys and the world was alluring.

"The contents in vault 106, aside from money, consists of various books, weapons, artefacts, furniture, jewellery and other miscellaneous items. I have a comprehensive list here for your perusal," Ragnok said as he duplicated a stack of parchment and handed it over to Harry.

"When it comes to monetary funds, the last Peverell Lord allowed Gringotts to use the liquid assets in the vault towards investments that might prove profitable for both the Peverell family and the bank. This was in 1648, and Gringotts has since then increased the value of the Peverell estate by over five million Galleons."

Green eyes were wide as saucers as he listened to the amount of money in the Peverell vault. His vault. Ignotus had spoken to Gerrard Peverell, the man who closed down the island because there were no eligible heirs with the talent of necromancy to take over the lordship, and he said that the vault at the time contained only around twenty thousand Galleons.

No wonder that Raatok's clan had been so happy about keeping the manager position within their ranks. A 10% commission for the manager was huge.

"B-but… That's…" He didn't know what to say. 

He'd thought his trust vault from his parents had made him rich when he first saw it, even if it would barely cover him out of Hogwarts if he spent it frugally, but this? It was an incomprehensible amount to a boy who'd grown up in a cupboard with only ratty hand-me-downs and too little food. 

Harry opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

"Quite a lot, indeed." Ragnok smirked. "And seeing as your manager gets 10% of any investments, well, let's just say that it is a very lucrative position."

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "Explains why you were so happy to take over the job, not that I mind." 

He looked intensely at the senior manager. 

"As long as you keep my secrets and talk to me like an adult, I don't see why we can't have an exceedingly fruitful business relationship."

He returned Ragnok's shark-like grin. Of course, with his own blunt, pearly whites, it didn't make quite the same impression, but the expression was nonetheless very disturbing to see on a child.

"I look forward to it, Mr Potter, or should I call you Lord Peverell now?" Ragnok retorted with a mockingly raised eyebrow.

Harry snorted. "No, Mr Potter will do for now. Just don't say it in public."

Ragnok tilted his head in acquiesce.

"Would you like to visit the Peverell vault before you leave? If not I can arrange for a money pouch to be brought up."

Although there was plenty he'd like to have a closer look at in the vault itself, especially the books and artefacts, he didn't want to take up any more time.

"Just the money, please. I think I'll have a look after our next meeting. Could you withdraw ten thousand Galleons for me?" Harry asked, feeling hesitant about taking out that much money. It was practically a fortune to him, even if it didn't make a drop in the ocean that was the Peverell vault.

"Certainly,” Ragnok acquiesced, making a note of it. "Gringotts offer money pouches with added Feather-Light and Extension charms on them for a fee of five galleons. Considering how much you plan on withdrawing I would recommend getting one. That much gold is quite heavy."

"Oh. Yeah that'd be great. Just charge it from my vault along with the fee for the inheritance test," Harry replied.

"Very well. Is there anything else I can do for you today?" Ragnok inquired as he stipled his claw-like fingers together.

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't think s–" He abruptly stopped and frowned. There had been that issue with the post. He didn't know for sure, but it did sound plausible that there was something interfering with the owls.

“Actually, I think someone might be intercepting my mail. Is it possible for me to buy something similar to those boxes you use?" He gestured to the carved box on Ragnok's desk.

The goblin seemed thoughtful. "It isn't normally done, but I suppose I could make an exception. For a fee of course," he smirked.

"Of course,” Harry snorted. "I wouldn't have expected anything less. So, how much?"

"I cannot say just yet. I will have to bring it up with our crafters first. However, it should be ready by our next meeting."

Harry nodded his head. "Alright. Then we have an agreement. Until then, please don't send me any owls. I don't know who might read them, although I have my suspicions." 

Dumbledore was the top contender. Although, whether he actually read the letters, or just collected them somewhere, was still in question.

"As you wish." Ragnok gave a quick nod. "Well then, Mr Potter. I shall see you again next Friday."

Harry smiled and jumped down from the chair he'd been sitting in. "Thank you for all your help today master Ragnok." He bowed politely. "I look forward to our meeting next week."

"As do I, Mr Potter," Ragnok replied, giving an equally respectful nod without having to get out of his chair.

Harry and his chaperone left the office and collected the money and keys at one of the tills. Finally he could do what he came to the Alley for.

Let the shopping begin!

Chapter Text

August 1986

"Why did they just accept that you never introduced yourself with a name?" Harry asked Death once they were out of the bank's marble doors. 

The blonde woman that the being posed as, smirked mischievously. "They thought I had already given it." 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really? How nice it must be to be able to make people think whatever you want them to,” he said in a sarcastic tone. 

"Yes, it is quite nice!" The woman holding his hand beamed brightly, letting out a chiming laugh. 

"Now then, where to, young Master?" Death inquired with a soft smile. 

"Slug & Jiggers, I think. Cadmus and Martin will skin me alive if I don't bring back some equipment. And to be honest, I'm actually excited to do some brewing, you know? There are so many things that can be done with potions! I never realised quite how versatile it was." 

Harry felt like the child he physically was. The thought of being able to create concoctions that could do almost anything was exhilarating, especially without Snape berating his every move and breathing down his neck. 

"Very well. Do you have a list?" His chaperone asked. 

Harry nodded and dug said list out of his trouser pocket. There was no way he'd be able to remember every little thing his tutors had asked him to get without it. He had a good memory but not that good. 

The list was seemingly endless. They had a lot to buy today. He owned no magical equipment nor ingredients, but hopefully after this trip he wouldn't have to go to the magical districts in a while, at least not as a child. 

One of the first things he planned to brew was an ageing potion to make him look his mental age, or older than now at least. It wouldn't last for more than a few hours, but that was plenty of time to get things done. 

"Actually, maybe we should get a trunk or a bag first… It's going to be a lot to carry, and not everything can be shrunk down," Harry reasoned. "I think I remember seeing a luggage store somewhere around here."

He looked around, eyes roving for where he might find said shop. If it came down to it, he could just ask someone for directions, or Death could. 

Harry looked up at his chaperone and noticed that her eyes seemed slightly distant. In a fraction of a second the look was gone and she appeared fully operational again. 

"It's this way," she said. "Just down the road, then the first turn to the left." 

Harry blinked slowly. "Did you figure that out just now?" 

"Yes," Death replied with a cheeky grin.

Harry wanted to roll his eyes but refrained. Instead he began walking in the direction Death had given him, the deity staying close by his side. 

It only took them a few minutes to reach Carkitt Market, where the luggage shop, among others, was located. A wooden sign hung above the door to the shop, signalling that they were in the right place. 

Stowe & Packers Magical Bags, had a little bell that chimed as soon as they entered the store. Trunks of varying sizes, materials and colours, stood stacked in every corner, along with bags of various types. 

"Welcome to Stowe & Packers, how may I help you?!" A bright, young woman's voice reached them, followed by the witch herself. 

She appeared to still be of Hogwarts age, so Harry assumed it was a summer job. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail with a ribbon in Hufflepuff colours. 

"Mum wants to buy a new bag for my dad. He travels a lot and needs lots of space," Harry said with wide, innocent eyes, practically making the girl coo at his cute little adult act. 

"Oh aren't you just adorable!" She smiled widely. "What kind of bag did you and your mummy have in mind?" The girl looked from him to his 'mother'. 

"Something practical and small. Maybe a leather satchel or a messenger bag," Harry replied. 

The cashier looked over to Death for confirmation. Once she got a nod in agreement, she happily started showing Harry and his ‘mother’ all the different satchels and their functions. There were more charms and enchantments available than Harry thought possible. Of course the price tag also climbed the more of them were added, but money wasn't an issue to him anymore. Even if he wanted to be frugal, this was something he justified buying because he would use it for years to come. 

"What do you think, Tom? Would your father like any of these?" Death asked her 'son' with an amused smile. 

Harry severely wanted to glare at the being for that name, but he kept up his charade as a precocious child. He pointed to one of the more high end satchels in dragonhide from a Romanian Longhorn. The scales were a green so dark they almost appeared black. Harry found it beautiful with its silver clasps.

It was a simple yet elegant bag. It was something he could use now as well as when he went to Hogwarts. The inside held an Extension charm and had various compartments that could be changed, each with a different purpose in mind. One was a cabinet for storing potions and ingredients, another held a shelf for books, the third was for writing implements like quills, ink and parchment, and the final room was for various items. There was even a Muggle version that could be activated, showing the bag as it should have been if it hadn't been enchanted. That would come in handy since he planned on using the satchel at his primary school. 

In addition, the bag came with some standard Anti-Thievery and Feather-Light enchantments. Harry planned on adding his own security measures to the satchel once he got home. Ignotus had taught him some obscure ones that would make the bag open only to him and no-one else. Simply having something password protected wasn't good enough. 

"This one?" The cashier asked and picked up the satchel, showing off the bag and its features to Death. "It is a very good choice!" 

"Yes, that will do,” Death confirmed with a smile. 

"Would you like me to wrap it up for you?" The young woman asked as she brought it over to the cash registry. 

"No, that's not necessary. I think Tom would like to carry it himself." Death smirked and glanced over at the small child. 

The cashier wanted to coo at the boy but seemed to pull herself together. Instead she grinned brightly at the two. 

"Of course! That will be 124 Galleons, Ma'am." 

"Go on, Tom, pay the nice lady," Death said and leaned closer so she could mock whisper to the young witch. "He's been ever so excited, carried the money all the way from the bank he did." 

Harry glared at Death, but did as told and dug the required amount of Galleons out of the money pouch. Merlin how he hated being a child. He couldn't wait to brew his potions. His companion merely laughed at his plight. 

Next stop was Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. When they got inside, Harry fished out his shopping list again. He let Death have a look so they could get what they needed as quickly as possible. There were a few people milling about the aisles, mainly checking out the ingredients. 

The duo decided to split up to save time. The blonde woman drifted off to the ingredient section while Harry went to find a good set of stirrers and phials. 

Who he saw there made him stop in his tracks. It was his first time seeing someone from his past in the magical world, and green eyes soaked up every detail. 

He looked tired, more drawn and weary than a man his age should. Still, he appeared young, so much younger than Harry had ever seen him. He should be only twenty-six right now. It was hard to think how much five years was going to change him.

Harry had never associated the word handsome with him before, rather the opposite, but now he could awkwardly admit that he found him somewhat decent looking. And wasn't that a psychiatrist's wet dream? 

His slick, black hair was pulled back in a small ponytail, looking much healthier and cleaner than he was used to seeing it. However, his skin was pale, almost sickly so, and held large, shadowed bags underneath his eyes. Harry felt himself worrying about his health. He looked too thin, did he eat enough? 

"Excuse me sir, could you lift those phials down for me? I'm too short," Harry asked in his most polite voice, pointing to the unbreakable crystal phials next to the ones the man was looking at. 

Black eyes stared down at him. Harry made sure not to look directly at them. He doubted his old professor would use legilimency on such a young child, but it wasn't a risk he was willing to take. He really needed to start on his occlumency soon. 

"And what, pray tell, do you need crystal phials for?" The sullen man asked in his baritone voice, an eyebrow quirked. He didn't look very impressed. 

"My mother is tutoring me in potions and she promised we would do some brewing when we got home. We just have to get my equipment first!" Harry beamed up at him, playing all the cute and innocent cards that he had in his arsenal. "I just love potions, don't you? They are incredible!" Harry gushed. For some reason he wanted Snape to approve. He wanted it so badly. 

If anything the man seemed slightly baffled by the young child's proclamations, and his dark eyes widened when he caught sight of those startlingly green eyes that immediately made him think of Lily, despite the shade being wrong. Hers had been more of a deep forest green, whereas the child had brilliantly emerald eyes, similar to that of the killing curse. 

His posture softened and he picked the phials off the shelf, holding the set out for the boy. 

"Is your mother here with you?" He asked. 

"Thank you sir,” Harry replied when he took the phials. "She is picking out our ingredients I think." 

He fished out his list and scanned it quickly. 

"Do you know which knives I should get? She said to get a good set that had a silver one in it"  

Snape studied him in silence, as if weighing his worth, before sharply turning around, black robes flaring out dramatically behind him. "Follow me."

Harry scrambled to keep up with the potion master's long strides, keeping a tight grip on his phial set so he wouldn't drop it. 

He watched as his old potions professor carefully selected the best knives. They weren't cheap, but Snape probably figured that if his mother had asked him to get crystal phials instead of glass, then they could afford it. 

"These knives will last you a lifetime if you care for them properly." 

Instead of picking one of the pre-made sets, he had made his own and placed the knives in a proper case that would keep Harry from cutting himself, in addition to keeping them sharp. A cleaning cloth in soft leather was picked down from one of the shelves and added to the collection.  

"Ah, Professor Snape! Lovely to see you again. Helping a muggleborn with his shopping?" A fat, middle-aged wizard with a receding hairline and washed out blue eyes walked towards them. "He's a bit young tho, ain't he?" The man frowned and peered closer at the boy. He wore the shop's logo on the front of his blue robe, so Harry assumed he worked there. 

"No, Mr Jigger. The boy is here with his mother, he merely required some assistance with getting the items off the shelves due to his stature," Snape replied monotonously, face not giving away any emotions. Those occlumency barriers must be hard at work to mask his annoyance. 

"Oh! How nice of you professor!" The man was way too jovial for both Harry and Snape's tastes. It felt fake. 

"Tom? Oh there you are. Who are you speaking to, darling?" Death in the disguise of his 'mother' swooped in. She held a cauldron in each hand, both filled with paper bags and glass phials containing various potion ingredients. 

"Professor Snape and Mr Jigger. The professor helped me get the phials and knives you wanted," Harry replied with a sweet smile, showing his 'treasures' to the being. 

"Thank you for the help, professor. Tom has been ever so excited about finally getting to brew with me and his uncle. I think I might have a little potion master on my hands!" Death exclaimed with a tinkling laugh, blonde curls bouncing enchantingly with her movements. 

Mr Jigger was practically drooling all over himself as he stared at the beautiful woman. Harry couldn't help but sneer at the disgusting behaviour. Even if she was beautiful, that didn't mean she was an object to be ogled and lusted after, like a dog in heat. 

Harry's derisive expression was mirrored by the acerbic potion master. 

"Mr Jigger, could you be a dear and carry these back to the till for me? They are quite heavy and my arms are getting tired. I would appreciate it ever so much," Death asked, batting her eyelashes coyly. 

The round man fell for the act hook, line and sinker. He puffed up like a proud peacock and grabbed the heavy cauldrons, barely able to lift them himself, even though they had looked light when Death carried them. He could have simply levitated them, but apparently that didn't cross his mind. Probably due to all his blood going to a different place. 

Snape quirked an eyebrow and seemed somewhat amused and impressed by her technique. "I don't think I have ever seen him that agreeable to physical labour before." His lips twitched in a wry smirk. 

"Yes, sometimes it helps to be extra persuasive." Death chuckled and turned to Harry. "Did you get everything on the list Tom?" 

"Almost, I still have to get the stirring rods," Harry replied. 

"I saw some by the cauldrons, we can pick them up on our way to the till," Death said and fondly ran her fingers through Harry's blonde curls. "Again, thank you for the help professor Snape. We should go pay before Mr Jiggers comes back." 

"Bye professor Snape!" Harry said and waved at the young teacher. He let Death guide him over to the till.

They left the young potions master curious about who they were and whether he might get 'Tom' in his class sometime in the future. He hoped so, it would be nice to have a child there who was polite and could follow instructions, not to mention not blow themselves up. 

Cauldrons, ingredients and other equipment were stored in the green satchel slung around Harry's shoulders, yet it didn't weigh more than it originally had. He didn't think he'd ever get over how much he loved magic. 

After the apothecary, they entered Needle & Thread: magical supplies for all your crafting needs. It was a shop Harry hadn't even known existed in his previous life. The inside was a colourful mishmash of craft supplies. The ground floor held fabrics of all types, colour, pattern and make. Everything from expensive silk to robust linen. There were rolls upon rolls. 

A large cabinet in the corner was filled to the brim with buttons, thread and needles. From the bottom of the stairs he could see up to the first floor where they had yarn and knitting needles, and probably much more. He figured it was best to ask someone where to find what he needed, otherwise he'd spend hours in there just looking. Harry briefly wondered if this was where Mrs Weasley bought the yarn for her Christmas sweaters. 

Death curiously wandered along the aisles, brushing her fingers over the different fabrics. At some point, Harry lost sight of her and decided to finish on his own so they could go home. The shop wasn't overly crowded so he easily found a staff member. 

"Pardon?" Harry piped up behind an elderly gentleman who was stocking one of the cabinets with new needles. His hair was tied back at the nape of his neck in a style similar to what he'd seen Mr Malfoy wear. 

The man looked around in confusion. 

"Down here, sir," Harry said, bringing the man's eyes to him. 

"Oh! My apologies young man, I didn't see you there." He smiled kindly. 

Yes, that was quite obvious, Harry thought, pushing down the instinct to roll his eyes. "I was wondering if you could help me find these things? Mother has a new weaving project she wants to do." 

He handed over the part of the list pertaining to the tapestry weaving. 

There was nothing on there that would give away what the project was about. It was mainly the technique and blood that made it work the way it did. The supplies were average, if expensive. 

"A large loom, needles, silver and gold thread, Araknos silk thread…" The clerk read the list out loud, muttering the last few items under his breath. 

"Quite the project your ma's attempting. I don't think we have that much Araknos silk in stock. Is she here with you today?" He asked, peering down at Harry. 

The boy nodded his blonde head. "She's looking at the fabrics I think." 

"Good good," the man mumbled. "Let's see if we can find her then." 

But before they could start their search, Death appeared, holding some candles, carving tools and chalk in various colours. Harry realised that they had been on his list, just not the one he gave the clerk. 

"Mother, I gave the man your list." 

"You did? Wonderful! So, do you have what I need, sir?" The woman uttered with a dazzling smile worthy of Lockhart. Actually, the fraud should take notes. 

"Yes ma'am, most of it. There is a problem with the Araknos silk though. We have some, but not as much as you have written down. We import the silk from Greece and the demand isn't that big because of the high price. I'll be happy to order some more for you if you're willing to wait? If I put in an order today it should be here within a fortnight." 

"That would be lovely. I'll pay for what I'm collecting today and then you'll get the remainder when the rest of the silk arrives. I will come back in two weeks." Death nodded. 

Their purchase was soon gathered up and paid for. It came to a startling 5422 Galleons, 13 Sickles and 16 Knuts. Even though Harry knew he could more than afford it, it still made him squirm uncomfortably. The large amounts of gold thread and Araknos silk was what made it so costly. Hopefully the end result would be worth it. 

Honestly, it made sense why so few had family tapestries, looking aside from the whole 'illegal' issue with blood magic, you'd still have to be fairly rich to be able to afford it. 

The Araknos silk was something he hadn't known about in his first life. He knew that Aragog and the other Acromantulas produced silk that was highly sought after, but hard to get due to their viciousness and sentience, but for some reason he never connected the dots that there might be other spider species that also produced silk. The Araknos spider was one of those.

Ophelia had explained how they were a species endemic to Greece, and that they only thrived there. They were slow to breed and produced few offspring, hence why their numbers remained low, despite wizards trying everything they could to boost their fertility. In addition, the spiders were said to be the descendants of Arachne herself, a weaver from Greek mythology who challenged Athena to a weaving contest. She had originally won, but due to her insulting the gods, and Athena being a poor loser, the goddess had transformed her into a spider as revenge.

It was an interesting story, and Ophelia had insisted that Araknos silk was the only silk good enough for his tapestry. Whether that was because she came from Greece herself, and therefore had it as a tradition to use it, or it was the actual truth, Harry didn't know.  

Harry decided to call their trip done for now. His body was getting tired and he needed something to eat. They had gotten almost everything he'd intended to buy, and whatever was left could be bought next week after he'd finished with his meeting at Gringotts.  

"Can you take us back home now?" Harry mumbled quietly to the woman standing next to him. 

"Of course, young Master," Death replied, grabbing his hand and whisking them away, back to Privet Drive through the shadows. No one seemed to notice the pair vanishing without a sound. 

Harry flopped down onto his bed face first. He was exhausted and his head was spinning. The day had been an emotional rollercoaster. He groaned. 

A laugh came from his right and he startled. 

"You're still here?" Harry asked, barely bothering to turn his head around to look at Death. The deity was seated in a transfigured chair, once again in his gentleman form. 

"What? Not even a thank you for escorting you?" The smirk on Death's face made Harry want to punch him. Death was a twat.  

"Why the bloody hell did you choose the name Tom?" Harry grumbled.

"I thought it was amusing. No? Just me? Pity," the being laughed. 

"You're horrible," Harry deadpanned. He closed his eyes and sighed, relaxing in silence for a few minutes. "Thank you." 

"Any time, young Master. You only have to ask," Death replied softly. 

Harry swallowed away the lump in his throat. After he'd been told he couldn't die, he'd wanted to hate Death, but he kept doing shit like this, making him feel wanted and special. He thought he was done seeking approval from parental figures but apparently not. In moments like this, Death was like the father or grandfather he never had. 

Harry realised that Death being, well, Death, meant that the deity would never die either, and thus never leave him. They would be stuck together for eternity, for better or for worse. To a lonely child, turned lonely man, it was a somewhat comforting thought.

Chapter Text

August 1986

The day after his visit to Gringotts, Harry finally had the time to talk to his mum. The rest of his relatives, the living ones that is, had decided that going on a trip to the beach was a good idea. The Dursleys had rented a small cottage in Cornwall for the coming week. It had taken minimal persuasion for them to leave him home alone. 

Aunt Petunia was still frightened of him, and Vernon kept his distance. But judging by the amount of foul looks he'd gotten from the fat walrus lately, he expected him to have a violent outburst soon. Harry was secretly looking forward to it, because it posed an opportunity for him to hurt the man under the excuse of self defence. At least that is what he convinced himself of. 

His relatives being away meant that he had the entire house to himself. He relished the opportunity to do whatever he wanted without having to plan his actions around where the Dursleys were. 

This was what led to him being in the kitchen, baking while chatting to his mother. He liked listening to her talk. It felt like they were finally able to make up for lost time. They probably would never have a normal parent/child relationship, but close friends was still nice. 

"Harry, you really should talk to your father more often… He wants to get to know you as well." 

Harry sighed. He'd wanted to avoid this topic. Sure, he wanted to get to know his father, but he wasn't as easy to talk to as Lily. And to be honest, what he'd gotten to know so far, he hadn't especially liked. James was a bit of an arse. 

"I know... Maybe tomorrow alright?" 

"Okay. I love you, Harry, we both do…" 

"I love you too mum." 

It probably wasn't the kindest or smartest solution, but he decided to simply ignore the topic. Denial was great until it came back to bite you in the bum. 

Harry continued puttering about the kitchen, the radio buzzing in the background. He rolled out the sweet, yeast dough he'd made a few hours ago. For some reason he'd been craving cinnamon rolls lately, and this was the result. He planned to keep them stored in his nightstand drawer. 

It might sound strange, but one of his recent projects had been to turn his nightstand into an expanded coldbox to keep his foodstash in. Even though he didn't technically need to hoard food anymore, it was an ingrained habit from his first childhood. Too many nights had he gone hungry to the point of his stomach cramping with pain, for him to stop stowing away food in various places. 

"Mum?" 

"Yes?" She sounded hopeful, making Harry feel slightly guilty. 

"When I went to speak with the goblins. Gornuk, the Black estate's manager, he called me Henry…I figured he just read it wrong since he's so old, right?" Harry laughed nervously and looked at his mother through the corner of his eyes.

Lily's expression was puzzled, making Harry's stomach sink. "What do you mean he read it wrong?" She asked, sounding confused.

Harry swallowed. "Well, my name is Harry right? I mean why would he call me Henry?" 

Lily blinked, completely baffled. "Do you mean no one ever told you? Not even Sirius?" 

"Told me what?" 

"That Harry is just a nickname… You were named Henry James Potter. Henry for James' grandfather. We decided to use Harry as a nickname to honour my own father. Someone should have told you… Harry is only meant to be used by family and close friends. I… I'm so sorry you didn't know." She looked devastated. 

Harry, no, Henry? Felt like he didn't even know who he was anymore. He couldn't fathom why anyone would want to keep his given name from him. Why had Dumbledore marketed 'Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived' and not 'Henry Potter'? Why was Harry acceptable and Henry not? 

"Did Dumbledore know? About my name I mean," Harry questioned. 

"Yes, James was rather close with him so he was invited to your naming ceremony. It was a small affair because of the war. Other than us three, Frank, Alice, Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus and Peter were there." 

Harry licked his lips, they felt so incredibly dry. He kneaded the dough harshly, channelling his anger into something productive. 

"Why didn't they tell me?" 

"I don't know…" Lily paused, hesitating to speak her mind. 

"But?" 

"But I have an idea. From what you told me of your past, Dumbledore used you as a front figure for the Light side of the war. Even though Henry is used in the muggle world as well, it is considered an old pureblood name in the wizarding world. You being introduced as Harry, would make you sound informal and more muggle. Maybe he thought that you would come across as more approachable and not be lumped in with the purebloods. As for Remus and Sirius, they probably thought you knew and chose to use Harry." 

Harry was silent, he'd already thought Dumbledore had taken everything away from him the first time. But now, finding out that not even his name was correct… it left a foul taste in his mouth. 

"I'm going to ruin him. Completely. He will wish he was never born when I'm done with him," Harry declared apathetically, his voice entirely void of emotion. 

Lily didn't say anything, but she agreed. Had she still been alive, she would have ripped the man to shreds. No kind of pain was good enough for the old bastard. 

Harry sighed as he spread butter, cinnamon and brown sugar over the rolled out dough. Why was his life so fucked up? What had he done to deserve all of this? 

"Alright, so I'm named Henry, brilliant . Any more surprises in store? Was I secretly born a girl? Do I have an evil twin that was adopted away at birth? Maybe Snape is my father?" 

Lily snorted loudly and rolled her eyes. "No, seeing as we only slept together once when we were sixteen, I very much doubt it." 

Harry choked on air. "You slept with Snape?!"  

He couldn't believe his own ears. He hadn't meant it as an actual possibility, he was just being sarcastic. He didn't want to hear about his mother having sex with anyone , much less his old professor. 

"He had a pretty huge co–" 

"NO!" Harry shouted, looking at her with big, horrified eyes. "Not another word!" 

Lily merely laughed. 

Harry's brain sputtered, desperately trying to come up with a different topic. 

"W-why are there three vaults in the Potter estate?" Harry asked. It was the first thing that came to mind. 

His mother gave him a huge, mischievous grin, clearly understanding what he was trying to do. Still, she indulged him. 

"Well, unless something has changed, those should be the main family vault, your trust vault and my personal vault. I opened one after my first year at Hogwarts, and put money in it whenever I could. Saving up for a rainy day pretty much," Lily explained. 

"There is a family vault?" Harry felt like all he was doing today was repeating his mother's words. 

"Of course there is. The Potters were a well off pureblood family. That vault has been in their family for generations." 

Harry sighed and rolled up his dough into a long log and cut it into slices. "Of course it has. I know nothing about anything it seems. My entire life I've been kept in the dark about my own family, and I was too stupid to ask." 

"Oh Harry… you're not stupid. You were a child in a war played by adults. None of it is your fault." She looked sombrely at her young son. 

"I know… but it still feels shitty," he muttered, twirling the sliced dough, one end in each direction, before twisting it up in a knot and placing it on the baking tray. The process was continued until the entire tray was full. He set a timer and let the dough finish proving.

They kept chatting idly until the timer rang, indicating that the rolls were ready to go into the oven. Harry put the tray inside and set the timer again. 

"I wonder what happened to the books at the cottage," his mother pondered. "I kept them in an enchanted locket that I hid in my jewellery box because I was afraid James might find them. I hope it wasn't stolen after we died."

"Could they have placed it in your vault?" Harry inquired. 

"It is a possibility, I suppose. You should ask Kartaak, that's the Potter manager, whether there have been any deposits to the vault after our deaths. I hope he's still alive. He was rather ancient last time I saw him. We only met a few times after James and I got married, but he seemed decent enough." 

They continued talking while Harry worked on the rest of his baked goods. The timer eventually dinged and he took the freshly baked cinnamon rolls out of the oven and placed them on a wire rack to cool. 

Another batch of rolls were put in the oven and Harry went to put on the kettle. He still hadn't eaten breakfast and his stomach was rumbling from the delicious aromas filling the room. His mouth watered at the thought of a sweet pastry and a cup of tea. 

Lily grinned. "Now, it's time for little boys to eat their breakfasts. And don't you dare eat only sweets!" She gave him a mock glare. 

In response Harry picked up one of the cinnamon rolls and shoved it into his face.

Lily gasped in feigned outrage. "Stop that right this instant, young man!" She tried to hold in her laugh but soon, both she and her son were giggling hysterically, pieces of cinnamon roll crumbling and falling onto the table. Both laughed until tears ran down their cheeks.

~

Mr Rodriguez, or Martin as he demanded to be called, appeared bright and eager for a day of second hand potions brewing. 

"Good morning Harry! Ready to do some brewing today?" 

Harry let out a groan, feeling disoriented and still mostly asleep. 

"I told you he wouldn't be awake yet you harebrained fopdoodle," the familiar voice of Cadmus Peverell butted in. 

Harry groaned again and opened his eyes. "What time is it?" He groused, barely able to string the words together. He felt like he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. 

"Too early," Cadmus muttered. 

"Oh come on! The sun is already up. Well, somewhere it is. No dawdling kiddo, up and at 'em! Chop chop!" Martin clapped his hands together, trying to rouse the child. 

Harry peered at the small alarm clock on his nightstand. The hands showed 3:35 am. He threw a dirty glare in Martin and Cadmus' direction. He'd barely gotten 4 hours of sleep because he stayed up late setting up his loom and preparing the Araknos thread. 

"Why the hell did you let that giant tosser come here at bloody three thirty in the morning?" Harry asked Cadmus grumpily. 

The young, yet ancient spirit, squirmed slightly under the green-eyed gaze. "It's not like I could have held him back," Cadmus mumbled. 

Both men had died fairly young, and they certainly acted it at the moment. Harry let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes. This was going to be a long day. 

"Fine. Let me get ready and I'll set up my cauldron in the kitchen," Harry muttered dully.  

He ignored the bickering spirits and went to the bathroom to do his business. At least having the entire house to himself was a blessing when he got woken up in the middle of the bloody night to brew potions. 

A standard pewter cauldron filled with clear water as a base stood ready on the kitchen table. Harry guided his magic through the Peverell ring. Since the Hallows were now a part of it, he could use it as a replacement for a wand. It had taken a while to get used to it, but now he felt even more comfortable with the ring than he did with a standard wand. He lit a steady flame underneath the cauldron and waited for the water to come to a boil. 

Martin and Cadmus were both supervising his knife skills as he sliced, diced and crushed various ingredients. First in the cauldron would be the thinly sliced newt spleens, followed by diced banana and crushed lacewing flies. 

The two tutors watched mostly in silence, only coming with a few suggestions and tips here and there. They praised him whenever he did particularly well, but for the most part he didn't need any guidance. 

He had studied this potion relentlessly in the week leading up to the brewing. Not to mention that it was a fourth year potion he'd already brewed before. It hadn't been perfect back then, but it had been acceptable enough for consumption. 

Harry stirred ten times clockwise and two times counter-clockwise, quickly lowering the heat. He waited until the boiling stopped then added porcupine quills. The potion changed colour from a pale yellow to sky blue. He turned up the heat and let it simmer for another eight and a half minutes before repeating the stirring pattern. The colour changed to a deep blue, indicating that it was finished. The heat was turned off completely so the potion could cool down. 

The entire brew had taken about an hour and half. He smiled wistfully at his own accomplishment. He remembered how thoroughly he'd hated brewing this the first time around. Snape and the Slytherins had ruined potions for him back then.

It was funny actually, how if only the potion master hadn't been the way he was, then potions would probably have been one of Harry's best subjects. 

"Well done! I knew you could do it," Martin praised loudly, bringing Harry out of his reminiscing. 

The Colombian spirit beamed brightly at him. His shiny white teeth contrasting with his tan skin and chestnut hair. He was young. Maybe in his early thirties. He said he'd been killed in some gang drama. Apparently he'd been part of one. 

Harry struggled to connect the cheerful young potions master with illegal activities and Colombian gangs, but facts were facts. 

"Thanks. I can't wait to try it. I want to feel like myself again, not a child," Harry sighed. 

"Well, I couldn't have done it any better myself," Martin confessed. 

"You've come a long way, Master of Death," Cadmus offered. 

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "I've told you, it's just Harry." 

"So you have," Cadmus hummed. 

"And still you seem to forget it," Harry mumbled as he cleaned up his workstation and waited for the potion to cool down. 

The second Peverell brother ignored him and instead peered curiously at some of the modern appliances that seemed completely alien to him. 

"What did you say this did again?" Cadmus inquired, finger going through the electric kettle. 

"It boils water," Harry absentmindedly replied, wiping down the table one last time. 

Cadmus looked baffled. "But there isn't any fire or coals. And I cannot see any runes." 

"It's electric," Harry said, then realised it wouldn't explain much. "It runs on er… muggle magic. Sorta." 

"How curious." 

Martin rolled his eyes and laughed fondly. "You're so fucking out of date." 

Cadmus huffed and muttered. "Try dying in the 12th century and see how well informed you'd be." 

Harry's lips twitched in amusement at the duo's banter. With a small ladle, he began transferring the ageing potion over to his crystal phials. The entire batch contained about 30 doses. He wasn't quite sure how long the potion would last, it all depended on its potency. He'd have to take one later to test it out before he decided to go out in public. Reverting from adult to child in the middle of muggle London would not go over well. Nor would it in the wizarding world for that matter. 

He debated going back to bed, but it was already 6am so he let go of that idea. He could take a small nap later. 

"I hope you don't have any big lessons planned today, because my mind is nowhere near able to handle that right now." 

"Nope!" The heavily tattooed Colombian crowed happily. 

Harry glared at the man and wondered how the hell a gangster became such a cheery person. It shouldn't be legal. 

He collected his filled phials and stored all but one safely inside the potions cabinet in his satchel. The rest of his brewing equipment and ingredients were returned to their rightful place. 

~

Harry stood in his bedroom, naked as the day he was born. The reason for this was the phial of ageing potion in his left hand. If he'd calculated correctly, one dose should increase his age by about fourteen years. Growing that much would be severely stupid while still being dressed as a child. He didn't much fancy the idea of choking on his own clothes. 

"Bottoms up, I guess " he muttered to himself before downing the entire thing. 

It had a cloyingly sweet, and slightly tangy taste, not awful, but definitely not pleasant. 

His arms were the first to grow, then followed by legs and torso. The process was slow as bones, muscle and connective tissue stretched and warped. Once the transformation was complete, Harry was on his arms and knees, panting. 

His entire body ached. He should have expected it, really. Normally there wouldn't be too many changes with an ageing potion due to the user already being an adult, but Harry had been a child. He had to force his body to grow into a much larger shape, not just age up his features. 

A groan left his chapped lips, and he realised that the sound was darker than what he'd gotten used to. It worked then, Harry figured. But instead of getting up to check, he allowed himself to flop down onto the carpeted floor. He needed a few minutes to recuperate. 

Once his body stopped feeling like one giant bruise, he conjured a large mirror so he could verify the transformation. 

Green eyes inspected the mirrored image and a broad grin split his face. He appeared to be in his early twenties. He was taller than what he'd been in his previous life, but still not what anyone would consider tall . He was around average and very happy with that. 

The second thing he noticed was how he had none of the scars from his past. Of course he hadn't had them as a child either, but it was a relief not to see them again. 

His body was lean but not emaciated. A decent diet for the past year had done him good. He could stand to build some more muscle though. Maybe he should add some light exercise to his regular schedule? It was probably a good idea. 

Satisfied that his potion worked as it should, he transfigured a pencil into a t-shirt and a piece of paper into shorts. He'd rather not walk around naked, despite having the house to himself. 

Once properly dressed, he grabbed a pastry and a cup of tea, and placed himself on the sofa in front of the telly. It was an action he'd never been allowed to do in his past. The Dursleys treated him like a dog who wasn't allowed on the furniture. 

Now, with vindictive glee, he sat down and watched the mindless drivel that he hadn't been allowed to watch as a child. Not that the programs were particularly interesting, but it was the principle of it that mattered. 

"Are you honestly going to stay in front of the television all day?" His mother's voice came from behind, nearly making him jump out of his own skin. 

"Don't do that!" He squeaked, heart hammering wildly in his chest. "Your privilege to come and go as you please can be withdrawn, you know." 

Lily laughed and came to sit down next to him. She looked at him wistfully. "You look so handsome. I still can't believe that you are actually an adult already. I really wish I could have seen you grow up for real." 

"I know mum." Harry's voice was soft, full of affection and love for the woman that would do anything to make him happy. 

"You would have been the best mother in the world. Even if your taste in men is dubious," he teased with a smirk.

"Harry!" His mother exclaimed and smothered a laugh. She shook her head and smiled. 

"Oh you are horrible to your old mother." 

The two shared a grin. 

"So, what are your plans for today?" She asked and pretended to lean her head on his shoulder. 

"I'm not sure. I can't go anywhere public because of the potion. I have to wait and see how long it lasts before I leave the house. Although…I suppose I could go and have a look around Resurrection Island if Death is free to transport me," Harry mused. 

"Didn't you plan on making the island into a safe house?" Lily asked. 

"Yeah. I need to check what kind of condition the house is in though. It'll probably need some renovations if it's still standing. I should get a wizarding tent when I see the goblins on Saturday, just to be sure." 

"Mh. Yes, it's probably a good idea. Even if you don't plan on using it on the island, it's something that's smart to keep available in case you need it," his mother replied. 

"I've been thinking about maybe getting a house-elf," Harry slowly said, airing the idea to his mum. He still had no idea how she, being a muggleborn, would react to it. Hermione's S.P.E.W came to mind. 

"Oh? Well, it is a good idea I suppose. As long as you have enough work for them. They tend to get depressed if they have nothing to do." 

"So you're not gonna yell at me for keeping slaves or something?" He inquired, still hesitant. 

Lily snorted. "House elves aren't slaves. Well, they weren't originally at least. They are a symbiotic species that need to siphon off magical energy from another being or place because they cannot activate their own." 

"What?" Harry frowned. "But I've seen both Dobby and Kreacher perform their own kind of magic that's different to what wizards do." 

"Yes, once they have a bond with someone, or a place that is saturated in enough magic, they can use their own magic. Think of it like electricity. They need to be plugged into an electrical socket to be able to draw on that energy and use their magic. In addition, without that kind of bond they will age much faster and not be able to reproduce," Lily explained.

"In the past, house elves would enter a mutually beneficial agreement with other magical beings. Work for magic essentially. However, they were still free to leave at any time and seek out new hosts or to stay unbonded. The problem today is that they are treated as property by wizards and witches, and not given the choice to leave if they want to. The bond performed today is much tighter than it used to be. I have a theory that at some point, wizards created a new form of bond and tricked the elves into forming it." 

Harry thought it explained a lot about the house-elves' origins, and it put Hermione's campaign to forcefully “free” all elves in a pretty bad light. He wondered if she'd done any research on the subject or just instantly became indignant on their behalf because of the ethical dilemma. 

Harry remembered the house-elves that cleaned their dorm being horrified by the thought of being freed. And considering what he now knew, freedom would eventually equate an early grave.

"Maybe Ignotus knows the old form of the binding? I don't want to bind the elves so tightly to me that they can't leave if they want to." 

Harry frowned. It was a lot to think about before going through with it. Luckily there was no rush, he just thought they might be able to look after the island, and the animals that might still be there. 

"He probably does. And if not he can always find out," his mother replied. 

"Speaking of finding out, I don't think I've ever asked what it's like. On the other side, I mean. Is it like being alive?" Harry enquired curiously. It was something he frequently found himself thinking about. 

"No. It's… strange. We don't have shapes like we do when we are alive or when you summon us, we just exist. Time doesn't seem to move, or maybe it moves too quickly? I don't know. Souls usually only mingle with those they were close to before death, so we don't get any new information from the living unless someone dies. It's why we had no idea what happened to you after Voldemort killed us. It's nothing like being alive but it is… peaceful. It's hard for me to explain because there isn't anything I can compare it to." 

"Oh…" 

It hadn't been what he expected. Obviously he had no way of knowing what death would be like, but he'd made up some ideas in his head that now were proved to be entirely wrong. 

"So no heaven or hell then?" 

His mother slowly shook her head. "I don't think so? You need to ask Death himself if you want more details." 

"Mh, okay." 

He probably would ask one day, but it wasn't really important at the moment. It was just his curiosity rearing its head. 

The two of them stayed in front of the tv for another hour, watching BBC and simply enjoying each other's company.

After lunch, Harry worked for a while on his weaving project. The large parts of the loom were so much easier to move now that he had a longer reach. He dedicated a few hours and a bit of blood towards that project. 

Afterwards he was so exhausted that he had to lay down for a small nap. He set an alarm so he wouldn't sleep through the day. 

90 minutes later, the high pitched beeping of his alarm clock woke him up. With bleary eyes and a heavy arm, he fumbled around for the off button, finally finding it. 

The room became blessedly silent.

That was when Harry noticed the tenting of his shorts. He looked at it with wide, baffled eyes. It was an entirely unexpected reaction. As a child he didn't have the hormones for that kind of physical reaction, so he hadn't been faced with that sort of thing in years, not since his past life. 

Harry blinked slowly and debated whether he should ignore it completely, or deal with it the good old fashioned way. 

The way the fabric of his briefs rubbed against his sensitive areas when he shifted his hips, made the decision for him. 

His mind conjured a lovely fantasy for him while he worked. It began with a beautiful, brown haired girl with soulful caramel eyes and plump lips, but as he got further into it, getting closer and closer to release, the image shifted. 

Caramel deepened to black, and the hair that had previously been chocolate curls, now hung straight, black as an oil spill, framing a sallow, hook nosed face. 

A jolt of shock surged through him, making every nerve ending tingle with pleasure, shame and disgust as he tipped over the edge. 

Harry laid there panting, staring up at the ceiling. And that was the moment he realised exactly what, or rather, who had become the unwilling star of his fantasy. The horrifying realisation was like a bucket of ice being poured over him, washing away any pleasantness he might have felt.

“Fuck,” he groaned and ran a shaky hand through his messy curls. He needed a shower, and to forget that memory completely. No one could ever find out.

It was just an overload of hormones because of the ageing potion... Yup… That was the reason. Nothing more, nothing less.

Absolutely…

Anything else was too mortifying to think about.

Chapter Text

August 1986

Harry got dressed after a long shower and staunchly ignored the memory of what had happened when he woke up.

His dark hair was damp, and he used his fingers to brush through the black waves before pulling the locks at his temples backwards. He tied them together with a hairband at the back of his head to keep them out of his eyes. 

Harry fetched his satchel from the kitchen table. He'd decided that he wanted to have a look at Ilê de Anastasie today. The nap he took earlier had given him enough energy to keep going. 

He cast a quick Tempus to check the time. It was already 5:48pm and it made him realise that the potion he took earlier in the day should have already worn off. 

He was surprised that he'd actually managed to brew something that was better than the standard recipe. Cadmus and Martin's help had really paid off. They'd be so proud. Snape was in for the shock of his life when he returned to Hogwarts in a few years, Harry thought with a smirk. 

He was curious to see just how long the ageing potion would last. A normal dose was supposed to keep his age altered for roughly eight hours. It had already been nearly ten since he drank it, which meant that he could change back at any moment. Thankfully it didn't matter if he changed back on the island, there shouldn't be anyone alive who had access to it other than him.

"Death?" Harry asked aloud. 

"Yes Master?" The deity's voice replied from the shadows. 

"Do you have time to take me to Resurrection Island?" He inquired. 

"Yes, but I cannot stay. Call for me if there is an emergency or if you want to go back," Death replied. 

A shadowy tendril reached out for Harry's leg, and once it got hold, the world dissolved into black smoke. He was promptly spat out onto a grassy field, feeling mildly disoriented. His eyes fell on a dilapidated old house that was bathed in the evening sun. 

Harry barely had the time to blink before a loud pop announced the appearance of a hysteric house-elf. The little critter was practically ancient, with large, sunken eyes and paper-thin skin. It looked like a leaf might break its brittle bones if it landed on them.

His eyes were wide with shock. Gerrard Peverell had said that there were still elves when he was alive, but that was over three hundred years ago! Did house-elves even live that long? 

"Er… hello?" Harry greeted hesitantly. 

"Hastow returned?!" The poor elf cried, tears streaming down its wrinkly face. 

It bowed, but its back was already so crooked that its long nose nearly touched the ground. 

"Hey it's alright, please take a deep breath. I can't understand you." 

The elf was getting more agitated, speaking rapidly in what Harry assumed to be an older version of English since he could understand a few words here and there. Quickly he summoned Gerrard to act as a translator. 

"Is that Ditty?” Gerrard asked, blinking in surprise. “Heavens, she's still alive after all these years? I would have thought they'd leave the island in search of work elsewhere… I can't believe she stayed," he exclaimed. 

"I don't understand what she's saying!" Harry hissed quietly under his breath to the spirit, barely moving his lips so the elf, Ditty? Wouldn't become more upset. 

"Oh that poor old thing,” the long dead wizard said sadly, looking from the elf to Harry. 

"She says that she and her family stayed on the island, tending to the house and grounds as much as they could. They were loyal and happy, so instead of leaving as I'd told them, they stayed, hoping a new lord would come by soon. She is begging your forgiveness for the state of the house," the man said, looking upset. 

"What do I say so she'll understand?" Harry asked, feeling sorry for the old elf and her kin.  

The previous Peverell Lord thought for a moment, before slowly pronouncing the words Harry would have to use. By now, Harry had realised that the spirits he talked to didn't actually speak English with him, they spoke the language they were used to. But, since language wasn't a barrier in death, neither was it to Harry and those he summoned. 

Living beings were a different matter though, as Ditty showed. Because of this, both the spirit and Harry would have to focus on the words if they wanted them to appear as anything other than English. 

"Ditty," Harry said softly and crouched down so they'd be almost at eye level. 

He placed his hand gently on her shoulder, careful not to add any pressure or weight. She looked so frail that he was worried he'd hurt her. 

He repeated what Gerrard told him, explaining that he was the new Peverell Lord and that she, and any other elves that were left, were welcome to bond with him. He'd happily share some of his magic. 

His Middle English was choppy and he stumbled over the words now and then, but Ditty seemed to understand well enough. 

She cried harder at his proclamation though, sobbing deeply as she told him how she was the last one left. There had been three elflings born after the island closed down, but since there were only the Naiads and Dryads left on the island who could bond, and they had already given what magic they could to the island itself, the younglings died early. The elves stopped reproducing after that, and slowly, one by one, they all died. 

Ditty knew she didn't have many years left, that's what made her even more ecstatic to finally have another Peverell on the island, her years of waiting had not been in vain. 

Gerrard stayed around, and Harry was immensely grateful to have someone there to translate. In addition, he added interesting anecdotes about the island and the magical creatures that inhabited it. 

The house was in dire need of repairs. The wood had rotted away in places, and in others, Harry could see the stone crumbling from years of harsh weather. 

It definitely wasn't as bad as it could have been though, and Harry felt cautiously optimistic about his chance of restoring it. He hoped it was possible, because he'd rather not tear the entire thing down and start over. 

Due to the state of the house, he didn’t bother to enter. Death by falling rubble was not a way he wanted to go.

"Ditty, you have done well," Harry said, slowly forming the unfamiliar words. He really needed to teach her modern English somehow. This was getting ridiculous. 

"Can she read?" Harry asked Gerrard. 

"I am not sure. She was a very young elf when I left. The others might have taught her, but I cannot know for certain," the man replied. 

Harry sighed. He really hoped she knew how to read. It would make things easier for him. Maybe he could get her some books and dictionaries? Surely something like that had to exist.

"Would you like to bond with me, Ditty?" Harry asked upon Gerrard's prompting. 

The poor elf was reduced to hysterical weeping again, this time from happiness. Harry awkwardly patted her shoulder. 

With Gerrard instructing him, Harry went through the old form of bonding, where Ditty was free to leave if she felt that Harry wasn't treating her well enough, or for any other reason she might have. 

Harry didn't expect her to ever leave, not when she'd waited so long for another Peverell, but he was still adamant about giving her the opportunity. No elf would be his slave. Having grown up pretty much as a house-elf himself, he knew what it felt like to be under someone else's thumb, punished for the tiniest infraction, imagined or otherwise. 

Once the bonding was complete, Ditty seemed to have a lot more energy. She was still an old elf, much, much older than Kreacher had ever been, but the new connection to a fresh magical source had rejuvenated her to some degree. 

Harry didn't think she would have lasted much longer if he hadn't visited. Most likely, she only had a few years left at most, even with the new bond.

He decided that he had to get another elf to help her around the island so she didn't work herself to death. She could teach them how the island worked. 

Harry and Gerrard leisurely wandered around the island, seeing the sights so to speak. Most of the land consisted of a massive forest, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Harry had known that the island was large, but now he realised just how large. He doubted he'd be able to cross it in a day just by walking. 

The first thought that struck him was that he should get a broom. It was the perfect tool for getting around quickly. Plus he loved flying, and here he didn't have to worry about anyone seeing him. It would be nice to feel the wind in his hair again. Flying had always brought with it a feeling of freedom and happiness. 

"You should have a look at the barns," Gerrard suggested, drawing Harry's attention. 

"I put them under stasis when I left, but I didn't expect that it would take this long before they were discovered again. The stasis and extension charms might have failed for all I know. I really hope they haven't though," he admitted with a grimace.

Harry didn't know what would happen if an extension charm failed, but he assumed from the spirit's expression that it wouldn't be pretty. 

Gerrard led the way to the field at the back of the house and Harry tagged along. The sight that greeted them was eerie, yet beautiful. There were rows upon rows of small stone barns, except, they didn't look like barns at all, nor stone. The magically extended habitats were all about twelve feet tall, and had been rounded into domes. 

Green grass and wildflowers covered the mounds, leaving only the seamless, grey granite doors visible in the front. Birds and insects seemed to thrive amongst the colourful flora, fluttering from place to place with ease. Bees buzzed between the flowers, gathering pollen and nectar for their hives. 

The shapes instantly made him think of hobbit-holes for some reason. 'The Hobbit' was a book he had enjoyed as a child when he'd hidden away from Dudley in the school's library.  

What made the scene eerie however, was the multitude of moss-covered animal skeletons that lay scattered about. Some were more or less intact, while others had been broken and split up in the surrounding, grassy field. 

Two of the barns had at some point imploded, like a star going supernova, causing everything inside to be drawn to the centre before exploding outwards with massive force. The hundreds of animal remains and rubble shed some light on the incident. 

"The extension charms must have broken," Gerrard concluded with a sigh. "Looks like it was the capricorn and pegasi enclosures that imploded." 

"Maybe Ditty can tell us more? She would have been here," Harry suggested. 

"Perhaps. I doubt it matters much now though. The animals are long gone. It looks like the extension charms are still functional for the other barns, I just hope the stasis is still up and running. I used a runic stasis charm, so you will have to check that the runes are still imbued with magic." 

Harry felt weary just looking at the amount of barns that had to be checked. Did he honestly have to do it today? One day extra surely shouldn't matter, right? 

"I'll have a closer look tomorrow if that's alright with you. My body is starting to feel itchy so I think the ageing potion I took is starting to wear off. Plus I'm exhausted." 

Gerrard complied with a nod. 

"Ditty?" Harry called, and the sweet old elf appeared in front of him. He asked Gerrard to supply translations and was able to ask the elf if she wanted to stay on the island for now or come home with him. He had a nice, warm bed she could sleep in. 

Ditty cried and sang his praises. Unlike Dobby, Harry didn't think it was because she was used to being abused, and that any kindness was seen as extraordinary, rather, she had just been alone for too long. 

The elf happily agreed to come along and Harry gently took her small hand in his and apparated them into his bedroom. 

Harry tried to explain the facilities of the house that might be strange to her, and helpfully guided her over to his aunt and uncle's bedroom. He took malicious delight in knowing that something so 'freakish' would be 'soiling' their perfectly normal bed by laying in it. 

He had been right in thinking that the ageing potion would stop working soon. For merely ten minutes after arriving back at Privet Drive, his body began to shrink, the process even more uncomfortable than growing had been. He groaned, and once the change was done, there was a young boy passed out cold on the floor in a pile of transfigured clothes. 

Surprisingly enough, when he awoke bright and early the next morning, he was laying comfortably in his bed and not on the floor. It took his sputtering brain a few seconds to realise that it was probably Ditty's doing. She must have levitated him onto his bed. 

And once he pulled off his blanket he noticed that she'd clothed him in pyjamas as well. He should probably be embarrassed, but he just couldn't be bothered. She was such a sweet being. 

Harry yawned and stretched, making his back crack. Having to constantly call Gerrard to translate for him was not an ideal solution, there had to be an easier way to communicate with his new elf. He wondered if his mother might have any suggestions. 

He went through his morning routines, and ended up back in the kitchen, where a steaming cup of tea awaited him. He had no idea how Ditty knew where everything was, but he was grateful nonetheless. It brought a soft smile to his face. 

"Thank you Ditty." The young boy said, not knowing if she was still around or if she had gone back to the island. Either way he got no reply. 

Harry deeply inhaled the fumes rising from the earl grey. It was something Petunia had bought for whenever she wanted to be fancy. In all honesty there was nothing special about it. The tea was good, don't get him wrong, but it wasn't as luxurious as the horse-like woman liked to think. 

"Mum?" Harry asked aloud, knowing she would heed his call. 

"Good morning Harry," Lily said as she materialised in the chair opposite him. "How did your exploration go yesterday?" 

"It went well. I got a house-elf actually… You know how Gerrard Peverell closed down the island in 1438? Well, apparently the house-elves stayed instead of moving somewhere else. Ditty actually knew Gerrard when he was still alive. I don't know how much older she can get, but I'll try to make her life comfortable for as long as I can." 

Harry looked at the cup in his hands and smiled fondly again. "I think you'll like her. She's very sweet." 

"Poor thing. It can't have been easy for her living alone for so long. Was the house in good enough condition for her to stay there? Do you know where she sleeps?" Lily frowned. 

Harry let out a sigh. "No, I didn't ask. We have a bit of a communications issue at the moment. I had her sleep in Petunia's bed last night though." 

Harry smirked. ''I bet auntie dearest is going to love that, don't you think?" He cocked an eyebrow. 

His mother guffawed heartily and wiped away a tear. "Oh yes I'm sure she will." 

"Anyway, back to the communications issue. Since Ditty is so old, she only speaks Middle English. And I'm nowhere near fluent. Actually, I can’t speak much at all. I only learned a few words yesterday. So, basically, what I'm trying to ask is, do you know any ways for us to communicate without needing Gerrard as a constant translator?" Harry queried. 

"Well, you could use a translation charm. It isn't a perfect method long term, but seeing as Middle English and modern English are fairly close to each other, it should be able to ease your way into teaching her the modern form of the language. Just don't use it for long periods of time or in a crowded place with foreigners. Trust me, it will give you a massive migraine," Lily explained. 

The translation charm did sound much better than what he'd been doing so far. 

"Can you teach me?" He asked hopefully.

"Of course." Lily pulled her wand out from her pocket and went about showing him the correct movement. The charm was a fairly easy one, but it required a constant flow of magic to keep it up. Harry managed it after a few attempts, feeling relieved that he'd be able to talk to Ditty on his own now. 

"Thanks," Harry said, stomach rumbling. 

"Of course, sweetheart. Now go make breakfast before you pass out," his mother chuckled and made a shooing motion. 

Harry rolled his eyes, but obeyed, making a quick sandwich that he nearly inhaled. 

"By the way, did you figure out how long your potion lasts?" Lily inquired curiously. 

Harry's eyes widened. It dawned on him that he had forgotten to check the time when he got home. He groaned loudly and thumped his head on the table. 

"I'll take that as a no then," Lily said drily. 

"I forgot about it," Harry grunted. "I passed out as soon as the potion stopped working and I didn't check the time when I left the island." 

He sighed. 

"I know it lasted more than ten hours, but that timeframe is highly inaccurate. I'll have to test it again, making sure I stay inside after the ten hour mark so you or someone else can monitor when the change happens. I'm not sure if I passed out yesterday due to the potion or if it was that combined with exhaustion." 

Harry rubbed his eyes, feeling annoyed with himself for not thinking to check the time before he apparated yesterday. He sighed. There was no use crying over spilt potion. 

"Ditty!" Harry called, summoning the elf from wherever she was. 

When the pop sounded the old elf's arrival, Harry cast the translation charm on himself and on Ditty, feeding them both with magic. It would make them able to understand each other.

"Lord Peverell called? What can Ditty help you with?" The elf asked in a thin, squeaky voice, eyes alight with adoration. 

"I wanted to talk to you if you're free?" 

"Of course Lord Peverell! Ditty is always available," she replied with a nod. 

Harry smiled fondly. 

"Where do you normally sleep, Ditty? Surely not in the house? It can't be safe anymore." 

Harry frowned. What if she slept outside? Sure, it wouldn't snow in the winter but it still got cold, and what if she caught pneumonia or something from a rain shower? No. He wouldn't allow it. He'd find a different solution. 

Ditty squirmed, hesitant to answer. Her body language was more than enough to give her away. 

"I don't want you sleeping in the house until it's habitable again, what if you got injured or sick? I would never forgive myself. From now on, I would like you to sleep here, in the house. Is that okay with you, Ditty?" He asked softly. 

"Yes, Lord Peverell," Ditty replied. 

"Good." Harry smiled at her. "Lastly, I wanted to ask whether you're able to do a task for me. It shouldn't be too taxing, but take as many breaks as you need, and please don't rush!" 

He waited until he got a nod in reply. 

"I would like you to check the runes on the remaining barns. Check if there is still magic powering them, and take note if any of them is in danger of failing. You don't have to get it all done today though." 

"Ditty will get it done," she promised with a firm nod. 

"Thank you. That would be all for now. I'll call you if there is anything else. And don't hesitate to come back here if you need a rest or run into any kind of problems." 

Ditty gave a second nod before vanishing. 

~

"Mum?” Harry asked hesitantly. It was a few days after he visited the island, and alongside working on his projects, he'd had a lot of time to think. 

“Yes darling?” Lily replied absentmindedly, green eyes roving over the open page of yesterday’s newspaper that Harry was diligently turning for her.

Since she couldn't touch anything, Harry had offered to turn the pages of books and newspapers so she could still read and keep up to date. 

“I've been thinking…” Harry said slowly.

He took a deep breath before he continued, watching his father from the corner of his eye. 

“I want to help Snape. Not just to survive but to be happy. He's done so much for me, saved my sorry hide countless times. Yeah, he was a pretty horrible professor, and he did bully me because of his past with dad and Sirius, but… I've been thinking about it a lot and I think– I think he could really use a friend you know? Someone better than Lucius Malfoy and his lot.” 

"Snivellus?! Whatever for?" His father exclaimed in disgust, face contorting in an ugly grimace. It seemed his hatred for the potions master hadn't faded in death. It was ridiculous. 

"Don't call him that!" Harry hissed. He hated that his father was like this still, mean and spiteful, even in death. 

His dad knew what Snape had done for Harry in his past life, how he'd kept him alive for years, how he'd suffered greatly for the war, how he'd died to make sure Voldemort was defeated. Yes he was a bitter and cantankerous professor, but… maybe Harry could change that.

"And why shouldn’t I help him? Maybe you want me to be a bully like you instead, hm? Maybe I should go around tormenting my classmates because I think I'm so rich and perfect? You'd like that wouldn't you?" Harry muttered bitterly, the memory of his father pantsing Snape in front of everyone still clear in his mind. 

Lily sighed, she had been expecting a confrontation like this for a while. James was unfortunately a bigot, just towards a different group than the ones the Death Eaters targeted. She loved him, but she could admit that he was far from perfect, they really had gotten married way too young. 

"That– that's not what I meant and you know it!" James shouted back, becoming just as agitated. 

"No?" Harry raised an eyebrow and gave a sneer worthy of his old professor. "Then what did you mean? That Snape isn't worthy of a friend just because of his magical core type? That he is Dark and therefore he must be evil?" 

The young boy was on his feet in an instant, tiny hands clenched into tight fists. 

"You bloody bullied him from the start!" Harry shouted. "I've seen some of the so-called pranks you pulled on him, and they were cruel and pathetic. You should be ashamed of yourself because I certainly am!" His breath was laboured with anger, coming in quick, ragged gasps.

"Harry…" his mother began, trying to defuse the situation in any way she could. 

"No! You were an awful friend as well! Who the bloody hell throws someone away like that after one incident? Someone you'd been best friends with for years, all because of one bad word?" 

Harry was on a roll and refused to take any shit from the married couple, it didn't matter that they were his parents. They had behaved poorly and he was going to tell them exactly how disappointed in them he was. 

He would never have done that to Hermione or Ron, never. He'd stuck around through Ron's bitterness, his insecurities, his betrayal during the tournament, and abandonment during the war. He had taken him back each and every time. That was what friends did; they made concessions, they realised that people were complicated, and that there was usually more going on behind the scenes than they knew. 

"He only said that because he–” Harry pointed to James, "and his pack of sycophants, had just humiliated him in front of everyone! Snape stayed outside your dorm for fucking hours, begging you to just talk to him, but did you give him the chance to explain? No!" By this point Harry was pacing furiously, spitting the words out and gesturing sharply with his hands. 

He knew they were only human, and everyone made mistakes, but he just didn't understand how they could have behaved like that. His father in particular. 

"Don't talk to your mother like that!" A furious James stepped closer with a raised wand. 

Harry stopped in his tracks and stared at the man with frosty eyes. "What? Going to hex me because of it? Hang me up by my ankle and pull down my trousers? How brave of you, such a noble Gryffindor," Harry sneered. 

He knew that James couldn't use magic, he couldn't even touch him, but the fact that he even took such a stance in front of him, pissed him off. It reminded Harry of Vernon and all the abuse he'd had to suffer over the years. 

"Get out... OUT!" Harry roared. 

The lights flickered and the temperature dropped, his magic seeping out into the environment. James didn't have time to answer before he was forcefully dragged back by his ankle through the veil. His eyes were wide in surprise and his fingers clawed uselessly at the floor.

Harry panted heavily, his breath misting in front of him due to the cold air. The room felt oppressive and dark, not unlike that of a dementor being nearby, just without the soul sucking and happiness draining. 

He closed his eyes and tried to get his magic back under control. He used one of the meditative techniques Ignotus had taught him. Deep breath in, hold it, breathe out. Let every worry wash out with your breath, focus only on the feeling of air going in and out of your lungs. 

Slowly his breathing evened and heart rate stabilised. The temperature had gone up a few degrees but was still chilly. 

"Harry…" 

His mother's hesitant voice made him open his eyes. She looked worried. He felt slightly guilty about it, but this had been a long time coming. 

"Sorry for yelling at you, but I still stand by what I said. Dad was a massive bully and you were a bad friend," Harry muttered, glaring at his feet. 

"I didn't mean for this to turn into an argument, I just wanted to tell you that I want to help Snape." 

"You don't have to apologise. I'll admit that your father wasn't perfect… still isn't, but you don't know the entire story between me and Severus," Lily said softly. 

"Then explain it to me. Try to make me understand how you could just drop him like that. You knew what kind of people he was surrounded with, what kind of pressure they were putting on him…" 

"Yes. And that is why I still regret some of what happened. It is a long story, but I think you should know about it if you plan to befriend him. God knows he could use one of those," she muttered then let out a sigh.

"This might be old news to you, but Severus and I were neighbours. We both lived in a small mining town called Cokeworth, and ever since he saw me displaying accidental magic, we were inseparable. He taught me everything he knew about the magical world. Eileen, his mother, had been born a Prince, but was cast out of the family when she decided to run away with a muggle. She had secretly been telling Severus about his status as a wizard because she knew he would get his letter once he turned eleven." Lily took a deep breath and exhaled. 

"Tobias, Severus' father… he wasn't kind to them, actually he was rather like Vernon. Just stronger and more fit. He worked at the mines, and for a time I think he and Eileen were happy. But then Severus was born, and soon things got harder financially. He'd always been one to drink, but when the mine started dismissing workers, he took to the bottle with vigour. He vented his frustrations out on Severus and his mother. Before he was fired, it had been a slap or two and raised voices, but nothing overly horrible. When his father lost his job, things got much, much worse for Severus and his mother."

Lily's eyes were distant as she talked about the past. 

"I'd bring him around home sometimes. I think mum and dad felt sorry for him. Everyone knew what was going on, but it wasn't something one spoke about, because it was private family business," she spat out venomously. 

"When we got to Hogwarts we were sorted into different houses, him in Slytherin, and me in Gryffindor. I know he was disappointed that we didn't end up in the same house, but we stayed as close as ever. Then James and his friends began targeting Severus and the other Slytherins with their pranks. Whenever I was around I'd give them back as good as they gave. They thought they were so clever with their tricks," she huffed and rolled her eyes. 

"During the summer before our fifth year, Severus and I had slowly begun dating. It wasn't anything big, nothing had really changed between us, it just felt like a natural way to experiment. We held hands, shared some kisses now and then, you know, normal teenage stuff. It was the happiest I've ever seen him, I think," Lily revealed with a saddened smile. 

"We were getting more serious, and one night things escalated. We'd gone camping just the two of us in a nearby forest. We shared a tent and, well, I think you already know what happened," She said wryly, chuckling at Harry's grimace of discomfort.

"Then school began and we had to keep our relationship quiet because of the people in his House. I didn't want James or his friends to find out either. I knew he liked me, and it would just make things extra hard for Severus."

Lily fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, eyebrows dipping in a frown.

"We'd been arguing a lot in the months leading up to June. I was worried about him and the friends he kept. Some of them were alright, but most of them were headed towards the new political movement led by Voldemort. Severus was enamoured with some of their beliefs at the time. Obviously they didn't broadcast their darker and more disturbing goals, they waited with that until you were too far in to leave. I tried to get him to distance himself from them but… he wanted their approval. Being a poor halfblood in Slytherin wasn’t easy back then.” 

"Then in June, before school let out, the incident with James and the rest of the marauders happened. You've already seen the memory. He called me a mudblood. Normally, I would have been more understanding, he was upset and humiliated, but at that point he was still my boyfriend. That wasn't something that should have even crossed his mind. Yes he wanted to apologise afterwards, but in my mind he had already broken off our relationship and chosen his friends over me." 

Lily sighed and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. 

"I'm not proud of how I behaved, Harry. Maybe I could have been more understanding, but there are some lines that should not be crossed," she said, looking right at him. 

"I think I might have calmed down given enough time, maybe even accepted his apology at some point, but things wouldn’t have been the same between us. That day changed everything.”

Harry thought about how complicated the situation had been. Maybe he'd been a bit rash with his wording. His mother was allowed to feel angry and betrayed, and he couldn't put Snape's choices entirely onto her. He just… related somehow. He knew what it was like to feel desperate and alone in the world. 

“I didn't find out until years later, but… Severus’ mother died that summer, and I've often wondered whether that, combined with our breakup, was what gave him the final push into the arms of the Death Eaters. At that point he had no one left but them. If there is something I regret, then it's that. Seeing him on the opposing side of the war… it hurt, deeply.”

"You loved him…" Harry said with dawning realisation. 

He'd always thought the love had been one-sided from Snape's side, but apparently that was wrong, no matter what everyone else seemed to think. 

"Yes I did… and I still do. It's hard to stop caring about someone when you've known them for so long." Lily sighed and looked distantly out the window. 

"I'm sorry… I had no idea," Harry replied quietly. 

"Do you ever wonder what might have happened if you'd forgiven him before you died?” He asked. 

"Yes, sometimes. But thinking like that won't change anything. Things happened the way they did and now we all have to live with the consequences of our actions. I'm really proud of you though, for wanting to help him despite how he treated you. Not many would do the same in your situation. I need you to promise me you won't risk yourself by doing it though. Be careful," she pleaded solemnly. 

"I promise," Harry said with a smile. 

That night, he went to bed with a mind full of thoughts about the past and the future. Maybe if he played his cards right, he might be able to make a difference to more lives than just his own this time around. 

Chapter Text

August 1986

He hadn't seen James since their fight. His mother had pleaded with him to just talk to the man, but Harry was still angry. His father was a bully. That was a fact he'd already been aware of, but he'd thought it was something he left behind in his teenage years. He should have realised that it wasn’t that quick, nor easy, to change one's stripes. 

Harry sighed. He didn't know what to do about James. He wanted his father in his life, of course he did, but was he really willing to expose himself to the man's biased and degrading opinions? His mother was easy, maybe too easy, to be around. She would support him wholeheartedly no matter what he decided. His father on the other hand was still stuck in his bigoted ways it would seem. 

The more Harry learned about blood magic and rituals, the more he realised that what he’d always assumed to be 'dark magic' wasn't inherently evil or bad, it was all up to the person who used it. James was not happy about him venturing into those branches of magic, and he made his opinions on the matter abundantly clear. 

Necromancy wasn't a topic that was ever touched upon. Despite Harry having been born with a natural gift for it, he still had his reservations. But, Ignotus was starting to wear him down on a few of the more harmless fields of study. 

Harry cast a quick tempus charm and rubbed his face. It was nearly time for his appointment at Gringotts. He'd be seeing the Slytherin manager first, then Kartaak, the Potter manager, and finally Ragnok. He didn't want to give his secrets away to the Slytherin or Potter manager so he'd have to go as a child. It sucked, but he figured he could take an ageing potion before leaving Ragnok's office. 

Once again he donned a slightly different appearance. His hair was blonde and his scar hidden away by makeup. He'd transfigured a dark blue robe to wear over his other clothes so he wouldn't stick out too much in the Alley. 

He debated whether he should risk apparating alone, or if it was better to ask Death for a ride. Harry sighed, knowing that between the two, there wasn't really a choice. 

"Death?" He asked, resigned to another day of being 'Tom'. 

"Yes, little Master?" The old gentleman said as he materialised next to him. 

The being took in Harry's resigned expression and grinned widely. "Are you perhaps in need of a chaperone again?" He sounded practically giddy. 

"Yes," Harry groused. 

"How delightful!" Death exclaimed with a laugh and instantly changed into the blonde woman that had acted as Harry's mother the last time. 

"Will we be going right now?" The deity inquired. 

"Yes," Harry muttered and sullenly grabbed the woman's hand. 

The two of them stepped through the shadows, and in an instant they appeared in front of Gringotts' white walls. Harry's heart rate sped up, and his head jerked to each side to see if anyone had noticed, but the witches and wizards on the street merely walked past them, ignoring their presence completely. It was like they couldn't see them at all. He gave Death a puzzled look. 

"I figured you might be in a rush," she admitted with a bright smile, before tugging him along inside the bank. 

"My charge has a meeting in master Ragnok's office," Death announced to the teller. 

They were told to wait until a goblin was free to escort them there. Harry suspiciously watched the people who hustled back and forth inside the bank, looking for any familiar faces. 

His chaperone gently nudged him, and the two followed their goblin guide. The office looked just the same as last week. Harry climbed up into one of the chairs that were set up in front of the desk and prepared to wait again. 

Ragnok had agreed to let the other managers use his office for the duration of their meetings that day. The goblin in charge of the Slytherin estate was the first one of the lot. 

Death was enjoying her role as a doting parent a little too much, Harry thought. Her slender fingers were carding through his hair, playing with the blonde strands. He huffed and swatted her hands away with a glare. Of course, he ended up looking more cute than angry thanks to his young face. The deity merely smirked in amusement, bloody menace was what she was. Harry almost felt like pouting, but he had enough self control not to sink that low. 

In came an elderly goblin who was dressed sharply in a black, three-piece suit, and a green silk cravat. He looked rather dashing for a goblin. 

"Well met," the goblin said and nodded his head at the two guests, eying them with shrewd, black eyes. "I am master Karrnok."

Harry thought he fit the image of a Slytherin pretty well, probably must be a cunning bastard if he was chosen by Voldemort personally. Not that there was anything wrong with a good dose of cunning. 

Harry and his chaperone returned the greeting. 

"It seems that you, Mr Potter, are the heir presumptive to the Slytherin lordship. It's rather curious don't you think? Imagine my surprise when your name was the one who appeared in my ledger." 

The goblin seemed amused of all things. He did know who his original client was right? 

"Why?" Harry asked, looking at the goblin with big, innocent eyes. 

The goblin studied him, peering over his long nose with calculating eyes. Harry would bet his entire trust vault that Karrnok would happily watch him and Voldemort battle it out, preferably to the death, without a single preference for who might win. He seemed like the type who didn't care who owned the estate as long as profit was made. 

"No matter. Let's get on with business. Although the Slytherin family is an old pureblood family, there was never an heirship ring crafted, or if there was, then it has been lost for centuries." 

Karrnok steepled his fingers together in front of him on the desk and leaned forward. 

"In addition, since the current Lord Slytherin wasn't aware of having an heir, there hasn't been a trust vault made available for your disposal, nor do you have access to the main vault." 

"Are there any obligations or requirements he must meet to inherit the lordship one day?" Death asked. 

"Yes. However, both have already been achieved. The first is a right by blood, the second is the ability of parseltongue." 

Karrnok's eyes were hungry as they looked at the child. "Most intriguing,” he hummed. "You are not going to be what the wizards expect you to be, will you?" He mused. 

Creepy fucking goblin, hired by a creepy fucking Dark Lord, Harry thought with a glare. 

"I don't think that is any of your business," he replied waspishly. It didn't quite have the same effect as if he'd been an adult though, instead he sounded like a petulant child. 

"No, perhaps not. But I will be keeping an eye on you Mr Potter. I think we can expect great things," Karrnok said with a sharp grin. 

"That would be all for now. I will inform Lord Slytherin of your heirship status when he decides to reappear. In addition, you will be notified if there are any changes made to your status or financial situation." 

"Any letters you wish to deliver to my charge should be handed to master Ragnok first. He has a method to contact us, as normal owls are unable to locate us," Death explained, ensuring that Dumbledore wouldn't find out about Harry's connection to the Slytherin line before they were ready. Not that they were expecting to hear anything from Voldemort until Harry enrolled at Hogwarts, but it was better to be safe than sorry. 

"I will make note of that," Karrnok replied, writing a little footnote in his ledger. "I will inform Ragnok that our business has been concluded for now." The goblin gave them a curt nod then walked out the door. 

"Well, that was uneventful," Harry muttered once the door closed. 

Death cocked a fine, blonde eyebrow. 

"Well it was!" Harry huffed. 

"Perhaps. But at least you got confirmation that Karrnok won't try to give either of you the upper hand. He seemed rather impartial," Death pointed out. 

They were left to wait for another twenty minutes before the door opened and in came someone new. Harry assumed that it was Kartaak. The goblin matched the description his mother had given of him. 

Kartaak was tall for a goblin, but old, and almost gaunt, with only a few wisps of white hair on his otherwise bald scalp. His back was crooked and he used a cane to move. There was a younger goblin by his side, carrying the books for the Potter estate. 

"You must be the young Potter boy I was informed about," the ancient goblin said in a raspy voice, adjusting the large glasses on his nose as he took a closer look. 

"Mh, you look more like a Black than a Potter. It's the cheekbones and nose I think. Hmm." He seemed lost in thought as he stared at Harry. 

Death cleared her throat, startling the old goblin out of his musings. "Perhaps we can begin the audit? We are here to hear about the vaults, their contents and how the estate is faring," she pointed out, not unkindly.

"Ah, yes. Yes, of course. Let me see." 

Slowly, Kartaak turned the pages of the first ledger until he found what he was looking for. "Ah! Here we are. The Potter estate has three vaults and one property. Vault number 410 is the Potter family vault. Vault 687 is the trust vault for the Potter heir, and lastly, vault 812 was the personal vault of Mrs Potter née Evans," the old goblin explained as he duplicated the list detailing the contents of each vault. 

They were handed over to Harry who quickly took a look at them, eyes widening with surprise. 

"What happened to the family vault?" He asked accusingly. 

"Hum, So you noticed." Kartaak sighed. "Your late father was rather frivolous with his money. He didn't have the head for investments like your grandfather did, and so he spent what he had without a care for when it might end. It wouldn't have mattered if it wasn't for the war. The main Potter vault was well padded and new investments were being made. But unfortunately the war did happen, and your father made large donations to the war effort. I'm not actually sure if he was aware just how large the donations were. They were however signed by him and delivered here in person. I had no choice but to execute the transfers." The old goblin looked disgruntled at the memory. "Which is why the main vault is nearly empty. There has been some income from previously made investments, but not much." 

"Who collected the money?" Harry asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer. 

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," Kartaak grunted, clearly not very fond of the old headmaster. Which wasn't that weird considering he had left the goblin in charge of a moneyless vault. 

Harry sucked in a deep breath. This wasn't really news, he shouldn't be upset about it. It had been war, and Dumbledore used the money towards defeating Voldemort. Yes it absolutely sucked that his father had been so irresponsible, but he couldn't really blame Dumbledore. That was what logic told him, but still he felt furious with the headmaster, and with James. 

Harry rubbed his face. He felt Death's hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing it in what Harry assumed to be a comforting gesture. 

"So the main vault is empty. What about the property in Godric's Hollow? Have any steps been taken to secure it from trespassers?" The deity inquired. 

Kartaak shifted his attention over to the blonde woman and spoke after taking a sip of water from the conjured glass on the desk. "The ministry has claimed the rights to the property and is using it as a national landmark. With Mr Potter still being so young, and none of his guardians having done anything to stop the process, I'm afraid the ministry has been able to do whatever they please." 

Harry frowned. He didn't particularly want the property, not with all the bad memories it held, but he didn't like the thought of it being used as a tourist attraction, where people could come by and gawk at the place where his parents were murdered. 

The ministry's takeover was illegal, and it irked him something fierce, but there really was only one option here, and that was leaving it be. Closing it from the public now would alert Dumbledore that something was going on. 

"What about my parents’ things?" Harry piped up. 

"Mm. I believe some of it was deposited into the main vault after their deaths. Far from everything however. Opportunists scavenged the house for valuables before anyone thought to collect anything you might want in the future. What was gathered will be on the list you were given," Kartaak explained. 

The chance of his mother's pendant, containing all of her dark and illegal books, being in the vault was next to nil. The first thing any thief would go for was the jewellery. Harry sighed, feeling dejected. 

He knew mostly what his mother's vault contained, and with the added inventory he'd just been handed, there really was no need to discuss it in detail. 

"I'd like a new key made for the family vault and the one that belonged to my mother, please," Harry requested. "Invalidate any existing copies. Also, if you want to communicate with me please go through Ragnok and not by owl. He knows how to contact me. Thank you for taking care of everything until now, I appreciate it." Harry plastered on a smile. 

Kartaak studied the boy before he nodded in assent. "I have had the honour of working with three generations of Potters before you, and I am looking forward to seeing what you will do in the future. You remind me somewhat of your grandfather, he was a shrewd businessman with a keen eye for details." 

The goblin pulled out a small box and placed it in front of Harry. "Before you leave, you should try on your lordship ring. Normally I would be presenting you with the heirship ring, but your case is a curious one. For some reason you have skipped the heirship position entirely in my ledger. I won't pretend that I'm not intrigued in finding out how this is possible, but I won't pry. Stranger things have happened when one deals with magic." 

Harry's mouth was dry when he reached out for the silver box. At least he was thankful that Kartaak couldn't inform anyone of what happened in this meeting without his permission. And since any post would be given to Ragnok, he didn't have to worry about Dumbledore reading something confidential from a letter. 

The lid of the box slid smoothly on its hinges as Harry opened it, revealing a gold signet ring with a round and flat centre of lapis, much like the Peverell ring, just with a different design. Royal blue sapphires were embedded into a circle around the centre, glittering beautifully in the light. 

The blue lapis top of the ring held an engraved version of the Potters family's crest. The crest itself was filled with a coat of gold. He reverently studied the design. It was a standard pointed shield surrounded by laurel leaves. The inside of the shield was adorned with an oak tree in the middle.

Harry swallowed hard. It was the first time he'd seen it. No one had ever bothered to show him anything with the crest on it in his previous life. It also made him wonder why Ron, or even Neville, had never asked about him not wearing his heirship ring. They were both purebloods so they should have known about the rings and their significance, Neville even wore his own, now that Harry thought about it…

Ron not mentioning could probably be put down to either ignorance or jealousy, but not Neville… 

"Do I just put it on?" Harry asked quietly. 

"Yes, any finger will do."

Harry hesitated for a few seconds before reverently sliding it on his left index finger. There was a moment when the ring burned, before a familiar and comforting magic washed over him, speaking of home and belonging. It enveloped him completely, and he closed his eyes to bask in it as the ring resized to fit his small finger. 

"Congratulations Lord Potter." Kartaak nodded his head. 

"Unless you have anything else you wish to discuss, I will leave you two for now. Your new keys can be picked up at one of the tills when you leave." 

The goblin hummed to himself as he closed his book. "I am available if you ever need to contact me about your accounts. Good day to you, Lord Potter." 

"Good day, master Kartaak." 

The fresh-faced goblin assistant returned to carry out the books when Kartaak left. 

Ragnok must have been informed about the meetings being over, because it didn't take long before he was seated in his office chair again. His eyes zeroed in on the new ring on Harry's finger. "Had a productive morning, I see?" He smirked. 

"Somewhat, yes," Harry replied and felt like rolling his eyes. 

"Did you manage to get the mailbox we discussed?"

Ragnok nodded and pulled a carved, wooden box out of one of his extended desk drawers and slid it towards Harry. 

The box was made of walnut wood. The warm shade of brown, with its intricate carvings of runes and Celtic knotwork, made it a beautiful piece of art. The crafters had even carved the Peverell crest on top of the lid. It was exquisitely made, and Harry found himself running his hand over the smooth finishes with appreciation. 

"How much will it cost?" He asked, not expecting it to be cheap.

"The price came to 180 galleons, with the added enchantments," Ragnok said. "I took the liberty of having the funds transferred from your account." 

Harry nodded. That was far from as bad as he'd expected. "How does it work?" 

"Your box is linked to mine," Ragnok explained as he opened Harry's box and placed a quill inside. "Everything that's put in here will be transferred to mine once you close the lid." 

He continued with the demonstration, closing the lid of Harry's box, making the runes on the other softly light up. "Once something has been sent to you, the runes on your box will glow, indicating that you have mail. Yours differs from the standard Gringotts boxes in that it is connected to mine alone." 

"I've asked Kartaak and Karrnok to send any messages they have through you. I hope that's alright?" 

"That is fine. Also, If you have any letters you wish to send through owl post, I may be amenable to post them for you. For a fee of course." Ragnok grinned, making Harry snort. 

"Of course." Harry smiled wryly. 

They hashed out rates until they were both happy and had come to an agreement. 

"I have a request that I'm not sure is entirely legal," Harry voiced slowly. "Or if it's even possible." He licked his lips nervously. 

Ragnok seemed intrigued and leaned forward in his chair with a raised eyebrow. "I'm listening." 

Harry took a deep breath to steady himself. "I want to create an adult persona for myself as Lord Peverell. People won't take me seriously no matter how intelligent I am. They'll only see a kid getting involved with things he's too young to understand. Having an adult persona is going to give me some freedom to start moving politically." 

Ragnok stared intently at the young boy. Creating fake identities wasn't all that uncommon, and Harry already being Lord Peverell would make it much easier. What was uncommon however, was for a child to take on the mantle of an adult. A six-year-old child nonetheless. "And you are sure of this?" He inquired. 

"Yes," Harry nodded firmly, looking the goblin straight in the eye. "There's also going to be a large amount of galleons as a commission if you can make this happen." 

Ragnok was quiet for a few minutes, making Harry sweat internally where he sat, but he kept up a firm and determined exterior. He wouldn't back down on this. For his future plans to work, this was crucial. 

"It can be arranged," Ragnok slowly admitted, "and seeing as you are Lord Peverell, it isn't technically illegal. What has to be forged however, are details of your birth and parentage if you want a more solid identity. In addition, you would need a minimum of OWL results to legally carry a wand in Britain." 

Harry thought about that, sitting his OWLs shouldn't be too difficult right? He'd already done it once and passed well enough. "When are the exams held?" He queried. 

Ragnok raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Do you intend to take them?" 

"Well, you said I needed to take my OWLs to legally carry a wand right? It'll help establish my identity here in Britain, and I'm fairly confident that I'll be able to pass," Harry answered with a light shrug. 

The goblin eyed him with surprise and a little disbelief. "And your guardian is in agreement with all of this?" He asked and turned his attention to Death, who had been mostly silent until then. 

"Yes, he has my full support, master Ragnok. And as for a background, we have that arranged already." 

She pulled a stack of documents out of a purse Harry hadn't noticed earlier, and handed them over to Ragnok. This wasn't something they had planned, so he had no idea what those documents said. 

Ragnok read through them in silence, flipping the pages as he rapidly digested the information. "You've been thorough," he murmured, peering at the blonde woman. 

"Yes. I saw no reason not to be. I think you will find everything you need in there." Death gestured to the documents. 

"During the second world war, Grindelwald was obsessed with the Peverell family. There were a few who still carried the name despite not being able to pick up the lordship. He hunted them down for information on something he thought they might possess, but he never found what he was after. It was believed that he killed them all." She tucked a blond strand behind her ear. 

"However, one of the families was aware of the danger they faced, and therefore squirreled away their young daughter into the Henley family living in Canada. They raised her as their own, claiming that she was biologically theirs. Due to this, she managed to escape Grindelwald's persecution and lived until adulthood. She in turn got married and had her own child on samhain of 1966, a young boy by the name of Harrison Steele," she elaborated. 

"And you want young Mr Potter to take on the role of Harrison Steele," Ragnok continued sceptically. 

"Yes. Harrison's parents were hermits, living deep in Canada's wilderness long before they had him. They had no friends, and taught their child themselves, not trusting anyone else. His mother was a paranoid sort, his father not any better. Sadly, they died in a tragic hunting accident. They were both animagi, the mother a caribou and the father a grizzly bear. One day while out in the forest, a muggle hunter found a lonely caribou walking around. Thinking how lucky he was, he aimed his rifle and fired, killing her instantly. Her husband heard the shot and came running, only to find his beloved wife dead on the ground. The hunter was shocked to see the caribou transforming into a woman, but he didn't have much time to think of the consequences of his actions before a large bear went for his throat and mauled him to death. Harrison's father carried his wife back home and buried her in the backyard. He told his son to go check their snares in the forest, and when Harrison returned, he found his father dead in the living room, having killed himself by a gunshot to the head, leaving only a letter explaining why. Hardened by losing both his parents on the same day, Harrison packed up his belongings and decided to travel the world, eventually coming to Gringotts here in England," Death finished.

"And how much of this is true?" Ragnok asked.

"Most of it. Except that young Harrison died as a toddler and was buried in the garden. His mother was never the same after that. Hence why nobody saw much of her. Nobody knew of his death," Death answered. 

"How do you know all of this?" Ragnok asked suspiciously. 

"I have my ways," was the airy reply coming from the woman.  

Silence reigned in the office and Ragnok seemed conflicted. "Very well… Lord Peverell," he looked sharply at Harry. "I will make this happen. You have to give me a few weeks to arrange it all, but I will keep you updated through letters." He wasn't happy about it, but Harry was his client and he didn't want to lose the Peverell estate to someone else. 

~

They discussed the new identity some more before moving on to the things people had willed to their 'saviour'.

"Strangers left me all of this?" Harry asked with wide eyes as he perused page after page detailing money, artefacts, and properties that had been left to him in people's wills, or gifted to him after the war. 

"Yes, most notably was Adeline Astorp, an old spinster who had no children or living family she felt were good enough to inherit. She left you everything she had, which was quite a lot. Not so much in liquid assets as in properties and stocks. She died last year and her properties have been locked down as they were. There are a few holiday homes around the world you might find interesting." Ragnok smirked at Harry's wide eyed astonishment. 

"France, Greece, America, Indonesia…" Harry read out loud, still completely baffled. "How do I get access to them?"

"Some of the properties are unfortunately being rented out. They have contracts that last for a certain amount of time. The rent is being deposited into the vault she left you," Ragnok explained. "The properties she used herself were locked by Gringotts. I can give you the ward stones that act as keys for each property, the wards should then acknowledge you as someone who has a right to be there. If you do this, I would recommend clearing the ward books for allowed visitors so none of her unhappy relatives pay you a visit."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to process it all. What on earth was he going to do with all of this? It felt so… so ridiculous. One person shouldn't have this much. He rubbed his face. "Will they take any damage from staying locked up for a while longer?" He didn't want to deal with them yet. He had so many other things to focus on. 

"No. There is no need to rush in claiming them. As long as the wards Gringotts placed around them still stand, there will be no issues." 

Harry nodded gratefully. "Can you close all the minor vaults on this list and have the money transferred to the Potter family vault? The rest can stay in its own separate vault if possible."  

"Of course." Ragnok fished out a document and handed over a quill to Harry. It thankfully wasn't a blood quill. "Sign here and it will be arranged." The goblin pointed to the last line of the parchment. 

Harry made sure to read it in its entirety before he signed anything. It was something Ignotus had knocked very firmly into his head. Everything seemed to be in order so Harry confidently scribbled down his name and stamped the drop of red wax next to it with the Peverell ring like Ragnok instructed him.

"I want to visit the Peverell vault today if I may." Harry looked up at his manager. 

"I will have someone escort you there. Do you wish to go right away?" Ragnok inquired. 

"Yes, There’s just one thing I have to do first." Harry replied and placed his mailbox into his dragonhide satchel. While his hand was down there, he fished out a potion phial and looked at Death. "Transfigure my clothes for me?" 

She lifted a delicate eyebrow and smirked in amusement, giving him a little nod in acquiescence. 

Harry uncorked the phial and drank its content in one big gulp. The transformation happened quickly, and he was immensely glad that Death was able to alter his clothes in tact with his growth. When he looked down he realised that the clothes had become much fancier than what he'd been wearing earlier. The robe was black with a tight, high collar and silver buttons down the front. It looked perfectly tailored, and had embroidered silver accents. He raised an eyebrow at the deity, ignoring the pains and aches of his body. 

"So is this the shape you wish to take for your new identity?" Ragnok asked, looking surprised and calculating at the same time, thoughtfully taking in the black hair, green eyes, and aristocratic face. 

"Yes," was the only answer he gave. 

The cart goblin, that Harry didn't know the name of, sped up their ride. Down, down, down the rabbit hole they went, further down into the depths of Gringotts than Harry had ever been before. The Lestrange vault was nothing in comparison to how deep the Peverell vault laid. 

Harry thought he saw a flash of orange from the corner of his eye, and he was once again reminded of the poor dragon being kept down in the dark as a guardian. There was nothing he could do about it, not unless he wished to make an enemy of the goblins again. 

The ride felt like it went on forever, but finally they seemed to have reached their destination. The cart slowed down to a stop and the goblin ushered them out. 

Harry looked up at the large onyx door that was seamlessly integrated with the rough, stone walls surrounding it. Without thinking about whether he should maybe keep his hands to himself, he placed his palm on the inky black door. There was a sudden, sharp stab, and Harry yelped in surprise at the pain. He jerked his hand back quickly, but when he looked at it, there were no wounds or marks. 

"Key please," the surly goblin sneered and seemed disappointed for some reason. He held out his hand for the key, completely ignoring the young man's pain. 

"What the bloody hell was that?!" Harry burst out, hand still throbbing. 

"That was the wards on the door testing your blood and accepting it," the cart driver replied. 

"And what would have happened if they didn't?" Harry hesitantly asked with a frown. 

The goblin gave a malicious smile full of sharp teeth. "Nothing nice." 

Without further chitchat, the goblin inserted the key into a keyhole that Harry had been certain wasn't there earlier. He figured that he probably didn't want to know what happened to those whose blood was rejected. But in the future he'd best keep his hands to himself. You'd think he'd have learned that by now. 

The key was turned and removed. The onyx door rushed out and down like a waterfall of thick, black, smoke, going between their feet before it dissolved. The vault now stood open, and Harry moved inside once he'd gotten his key back. A misty barrier formed behind him where the door had once been. He could see the blurry shapes of Death and the goblin outside but no sounds entered. Maybe it was because only he was of Peverell blood? He'd have to ask Gerrard to see if he should start panicking.  

He looked around himself. The vault was large and cavernous, much larger than he'd expected. He had also anticipated to see mountains of gold, but luckily the goblins had placed it all into crates with Gringotts' logo on them. Some were open, but most of them were closed and stacked on top of each other. Going by the amount supposed to be there, he suspected that the crates were bigger on the inside. Since he was already standing next to them, he shoved a good amount of galleons inside his money pouch. He didn't bother counting them, simply pushing the coins into the open pouch. 

He didn't know how much a wizarding tent cost, but he expected it to be expensive. Not to mention the price of an elf. That being said, he still didn't know where to find one. Did you just… buy them in a shop? Maybe his mother would know. 

Harry walked further in and summoned Gerrard. Since he had been the last Peverell in the vault, he hoped he could function as a guide. 

Gerrard blinked and looked around the vault. His eyes settled on the many crates of gold and his eyes widened. "They've made good use of the gold I left in the vault before my death I see." 

Harry grinned wryly. "Yes. You should have seen my shock when I found out. Ragnok said there are over five million galleons." 

The spirit choked on empty air. "You jest?!" 

"Nope!" Harry cheerfully exclaimed, popping the p. He grinned widely. "This vault is loaded. Anyway, I called you for two reasons actually. First is the barrier on the door." He gestured to the silvery mist. "Is that normal or should I start screaming bloody murder?" He cocked an eyebrow. 

Gerrard rolled his eyes. "It is perfectly normal, yes. You must have brought the key with you inside the vault. The barrier appears when that happens. It is to give the client some privacy while inside. I'm not sure if it is a feature that's there for all Gringotts vaults, but it has been in effect here for as long as I can remember." 

"Oh, that's a relief. So I just walk out when I'm done, yeah?" Harry received a nod in confirmation.

"Good good. So, over to the second thing I called you for. Would you mind showing me the way to the books?" Harry gleefully rubbed his hands together. He had become a bit of a bookworm lately. 

Seeing as Gerrard didn't have anything better to do, he was dead after all, he complied. The two of them chatted amicably while walking around the large vault. Harry found a few items here and there that he picked up and stuffed into his satchel so he could get a better look at them later. 

The books he'd been after had all been packed into enlarged trunks that would protect them from time and other environmental damages. Instead of collecting just a few books, he shrunk the entire lot and placed the miniature trunks into his bag. He felt excited about going through them later. 

Then it hit him, most, if not all of them, were going to be in languages he didn't know yet. Such as Latin, Ancient Greek, Old English and Middle English… He groaned. 

"Do you think Death will be willing to hold my hand for a few hours each day so I can read these books?" He asked Gerrard jokingly... sort of... not really. 

Gerrard looked horrified at the mere suggestion. 

"Yeah, maybe not. He'd just use the opportunity to play with my hair, the creepy sod," Harry muttered, causing Gerrard to look near to fainting, could dead people faint?  

"You should not speak so disrespectfully about Lord Death!" Gerrard scolded him. 

Harry just stared blandly back. "You do realise that he is outside that barrier, dressed as a woman and pretending to be my mother, yeah?" He gestured towards the entrance with his thumb. "Perks of being his so-called Master I suppose." He shrugged. 

Gerrard opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, not a single word coming out. 

"Sooo, do you know where the wands are? I saw some listed on the inventory," Harry asked, looking around the mishmash of items. It reminded him a little of the Room of Hidden Things back at Hogwarts. Cabinets filled with trinkets, furniture in all shapes and sizes, trunks with old clothes, and so on. It was like stepping back in time, and it made him realise how little wizards had really changed since the middle ages. 

Gerrard was still lost for words, probably having a bit of an existential crisis. So instead of answering, he walked in a different direction. Harry followed, figuring maybe he was taking him to the wands. He hoped one of them would work for him. He needed it for his Peverell persona. He didn't want people to know that his ring was a conduit on par with a wand. It was either that, or them thinking he was a master of wandless magic, which would cause a lot more problems than an alternative magical focus. 

They walked past a rack of fancy weapons that Harry thought were pretty cool, but he'd probably never use. When did you need a mace in this day and age? The answer was hopefully never. 

"Is that a… human skull?" Harry hesitated as he stopped next to a wooden bookcase with skulls of various sizes placed on one of the shelves.

"Hm? Oh yes, that one belonged to my mother," Gerrard absentmindedly replied, as if there was nothing odd about keeping a human skull on a shelf. 

"As in, that is your mother, or that she owned it?" Harry asked dubiously, wondering whether he actually wanted to know the answer. 

He got a strange look from the spirit, which frankly, Harry didn't think he deserved. He wasn't the one who kept human remains on display. 

"It was my mother, yes. She wanted me to keep her skull so I could easier communicate with her after her death." Gerrard spoke as if that was a completely natural thing to do. 

Harry looked at him with wide eyes before inching away from the shelf and its morbid contents. "Er… right. Nifty that. So… wands?" 

"This way," Gerrard said and continued walking. 

When he finally stopped, they stood in front of a large display case filled with mounted wands. There was a plaque under each wand with the name of their original owner, as well as a date of birth and death. Some even had a mention of the wood and core type. 

Harry spotted Gerrard’s name and studied the wand above it. It was a dark wood with a simple but sturdy handle. It wasn't the most extravagant when it came to looks, but it was attractive in its simplicity. 

"Alder wood with a core of dragon heartstring," Gerrard spoke softly. He looked at the wand with nostalgia and longing. "It served me well during my life." 

Harry hesitated before asking. "Do you mind if I try it? I don't have to, there are plenty of others to choose from." 

The spirit seemed to collect himself and shook his head. "No, go ahead. It would be an honour for it to be in use again. However, I don't think it will be the right wand for you."  

Harry grasped the handle of the wand and immediately knew that he was right. It reminded him of one of the Snatchers’ wands they'd acquired while on the run in his previous life. He might be able to use it, but never well. He placed it back on the rack and looked through the rest, searching for familiar woods or names. 

"Any suggestions?" 

Gerrard looked at the wands on display and pointed to a light, honey brown wand that had the name Richard Peverell, attached to it. “Try that one, it belonged to my grandfather. It is made of fir, although I am uncertain of its core.”  

Harry did as he was told and picked it up. Unlike Gerrard’s wand, this one felt much better. He tried levitating one of the pewter goblets standing on a table next to the display case. The goblet easily floated in the air. It worked well for him, however, he could feel that there was some resistance, and he had to channel more magic than what he had to with the elder wand or his old holly wand. 

"You should try the original wand of my brother Antioch,” a voice said from behind, making Harry lose his concentration, causing the goblet to fall with a loud clang onto the rock floor. He whipped around and aimed the wand at the intruder, curse at the tip of his tongue. 

“Ignotus!” Harry hissed, “I nearly cursed you!” He lowered the fir wand and rubbed the side of his face. “What is it with you and mum sneaking up behind me all the time?” 

“A coincidence I'm sure,” Ignotus replied.  

“Rude is what it is,” Harry muttered. 

Ignotus ignored him. “And besides, cursing me would only have resulted in you destroying your own property.” He lifted an eyebrow in amusement. 

Harry glared at him. “Yeah, yeah. You said something about your brother’s wand?” 

“Yes.” Ignotus walked closer to the display and looked at the many wands until he found the right one. He pointed towards a light, caramel coloured one with runic markings engraved into the handle. It looked like it had darkened with age. “Elder wood with a core of dragon heartstring. A Welsh Green to be precise. Give it a go.” 

Harry didn’t see why not, so he reached for the old wand. But as soon as his fingers wrapped around the handle, the wood started smoking and splintering. The ring on his left hand burned indignantly, sending jolts of pain up his arm. Harry immediately let go of Antioch’s wand, letting it clatter on the ground. By the end of it, the wand was entirely unrecognisable and beyond repair. 

“What the hell?!” Harry looked with wide eyes at the Peverell ring that was thrumming with satisfaction. 

The spirits were quietly looking on at the scene unfolding, equal expressions of shock on their faces. “I don't think the Hallows liked the competition of another wand made of elder,” Ignotus weakly said. 

Harry opened and closed his mouth dumbly. The Hallows had incinerated a wand just because it was also made of elder wood? He felt speechless. It luckily hadn't behaved like that with Gerrard's alder wand, so that meant it was probably safe for him to use anything that wasn't made of elder. Who would have thought that a wand could be jealous?

Ignotus cleared his throat. "Well, that was… less than ideal, no wands made of elder then." 

He and Gerrard discussed between themselves before pointing out three more wands they felt might be suitable for Harry. 

The first wand was made from walnut. It was long and thin, with minimal decorations and carvings. The rich, dark colour and smooth finish more than made up for its simplicity. Gerrard said that it was a wand that had belonged to his uncle, and that its core was a barghest heartstring. 

The second was a more robust, medium brown wand, made from pine wood. It was simple but still handsome, and had a core of unicorn hair. The wand had belonged to Iolanthe Potter née Peverell, Ignotus' granddaughter. 

The third was a pitch black wand made from ebony wood. It was beautiful and sleek, with fine carvings of snakes in a Celtic knotwork pattern curling around the middle of the handle. It held a core of crushed basilisk fangs and Ignotus explained that it had belonged to Anatolios Peverell, the son of a Greek woman who married a Peverell. She had brought with her the parseltongue ability and passed it on to her son. Unfortunately the gift had gotten lost through the generations, and it wasn't until Harry was conceived that it reappeared within their family line. 

Harry tried the walnut wand first. Like with the fir, it was easy to use, in fact it was a much better fit. It didn't make his magic sing like the elder wand or his old holly wand, but it was a decent enough choice. He placed it down onto the nearest table before moving on to the next, figuring it was best to try them all before making his final decision. 

The second wand, he immediately knew was wrong for him. He wasn't sure if it was the wood or the unicorn hair, but it was not compatible at all. It felt icy in his hand so he quickly placed it back in the display case. He shook out his right hand afterwards to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. 

The ebony was last, and by then Harry had almost settled on choosing the walnut wand. But then he picked up the ebony wand and it was incredible! He thought the holly wand had been compatible, but that was nothing in comparison to this. It wasn't connected to him in the same way as the elder wand was, nothing would ever be, but Anatolios’ wand sent warm tingles up his arm as it shot out green and gold sparks. "This," Harry said breathlessly. "This is my wand." 

"I expected as much," Ignotus admitted with a thoughtful hum. "Ebony wands usually select wizards or witches who are not afraid to be themselves and will stand firmly against outside pressure. This, combined with your past history with Slytherin's basilisk, and your parseltongue ability, is probably what made it choose you. It will serve you well, I should think." 

He looked down at his clothes and realised that he was wearing pocketless robes and had nowhere to place his wand. "Er… where do wizards keep their wands when wearing robes?" He asked, feeling exceedingly dumb. He'd lived as a wizard for six years in his first life and the thought had never struck him before. 

Ignotus did indeed look at him like he was a hopeless imbecile. Gerrard on the other hand merely seemed baffled. 

"And where, pray tell, were you keeping your wand before you acquired your ring?" Ignotus asked, severely unimpressed. 

Harry's cheeks heated up. "Back pocket mostly," he muttered. Ignotus wasn't the first to point out what a bad idea that was. He remembered Moody's mention of him blowing his own arse cheek off one day. 

"Oh for-!" Ignotus exclaimed, stopping halfway to take a deep breath. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is there a wand holster in here somewhere?" He asked Gerrard. 

The other spirit nodded and pointed to one of the cabinets a few feet away from the wands. "They should be in the second drawer…" 

Ignotus fastened his eyes on Harry and pointed to the very same cabinet. "You will go over there and select a holster. And if I ever find out that you have not properly taken care of your wand, I will haunt you for the next century," he declared sternly. 

Harry walked to the cabinet with his proverbial tail between his legs. "It's not my fault nobody ever told me," he mumbled, feeling sullen and knowing that Ignotus would make real of his threat somehow if he didn't take better care of his wands. 

"You should have asked," Ignotus drawled, not feeling the slightest bit sorry for his young protégé. 

"Well I'm asking now," Harry snapped back. 

He opened the drawer and looked at the so-called holsters with confusion. He'd expected something like a tube the length of your forearm, instead they were small, oval boxes made out of differently coloured dragonhide. They almost looked like wristwatches entirely made out of hide, Harry thought. He picked up one that was black and eyed Ignotus in confusion. "How does it work?" 

"Fasten it to the wrist on your wand-arm with the holster facing down." 

Harry did as he was told and fastened the buckle on top of his right wrist. As soon as he'd done this, the buckle merged with the hide and resized to fit his wrist like a second skin. He barely even noticed it was there. 

"Now you hold the end of your wand against the tip of the holster," Ignotus instructed and pointed to where he wanted Harry to place the wand. 

Harry pressed the handle of the ebony wand against the holster, and to his shock, it was sucked inside. He looked at the inconspicuous little device with wide eyes. "How do I get it out again?" 

"There are two ways. The first is to press here and here at the same time." Ignotus pointed to the two little symbols etched on both sides of the oval wand holster. "The second is to send a small burst of magic into the holster. This is the preferred method as it will give you access to your wand the fastest. Try it a few times."

Harry pressed a finger against each symbol, and sure enough, the wand popped out. He could see what Ignotus meant about this not being the preferred method though. It was almost clumsy the way he had to pull the handle of the wand out with his left hand, and then transfer it to his right. In a life or death situation he'd be cut down before he even got the wand halfway out. 

He hoped the second way would be better. He returned the wand to the holster and focused on sending a small tendril of energy down his wrist and into the holster. As soon as the magic connected, the ebony wand shot out of the holster and straight into his hand. Harry's eyes widened with surprise. "Well that's handy," he said. 

"When you get home I'll teach you how to tune it to yourself, that way it cannot forcibly be removed from your body," Ignotus proclaimed. 

Before leaving the vault, Harry had summoned his mother to ask where he could get a house-elf. She told him that the only place she knew of was through the House-Elf Placement Agency in Carkitt market. The downside to going there, however, was that he needed to register the elf with the ministry. And considering that getting an elf as Harry potter was out of the question, and that he didn't have his Peverell identity set up yet, that meant he had to go through more illegal routes. 

His mother suggested speaking to Regulus Black, as he had been one of the more pleasant people she knew that was from a Dark family and also had joined the Death Eaters. He would most likely know where Harry needed to go. 

"I'd forgotten about Regulus…" Harry admitted. "He was the one who found the horcrux locket originally, you know. Died for it rather gruesomely I'd imagine." 

Harry shivered as he thought about the cave infested with inferi. He forced the bile that threatened its way up his throat, down again. It was a memory he’d rather not remember. Just imagining the horrible end Regulus must have met there… he didn’t want to think about it.

"From what I gathered he was a good kid who got dealt unlucky cards." Lily sighed. "Talk to him, I'm sure he'll appreciate the company even if he doesn't have the answers you seek." His mother smiled softly. 

"I will. Harry promised. 

His mother left and Harry looked at the shimmering barrier that covered the vault's entrance. It still seemed extremely suspicious, but Ignotus had insisted it would be safe to walk through. He had no other option if he wanted to leave, so Harry sucked in a deep breath and stepped into the mist.

Chapter Text

August 1986

Harry stepped out of the misty vault barrier and took a deep breath. The moment he'd crossed the threshold completely, the obsidian began to reform, and in an instant the inky black stone was integrated with the walls again. 

"Did you find everything you wanted?" Death asked and rearranged Harry's hair with her fingers. 

"Yes, I got it all.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“We can leave now," he told the crotchety goblin that was tapping his foot impatiently, looking exceedingly displeased with the long wait he’d had to endure. Harry didn't care. 

The ride back up to the surface seemed to somehow go faster than when they'd been going down. Maybe the goblin was trying to make him motion sick? Well, he'd have to try much harder to achieve something like that, Harry thought. 

Just as Kartaak had promised, the keys to his mother's vault, and the Potter family vault, were waiting for him at the till. He put them with the rest in his satchel and stepped out of the bank. 

"You don't have to come with me, you know. I'm more than capable of doing my own shopping," Harry said to Death, trying to convince her that he didn't need a chaperone anymore.

"I know." Death grinned widely. "So, where are we off to first?" 

Harry let out a sigh. So much for doing this on his own. At least being able to go as an adult was an improvement from last time. 

"Twilfitt and Tattings, I think. I will need some proper clothes to wear if I plan on using this identity in public. Transfigured clothes won't do in the long run." 

Except perhaps those Death made for him. He ran his hand over the smooth material of his robe, hoping it would last longer than the standard transfiguration, because it truly was a work of art.  

Harry and Death entered the pristine shop, a little bell above their heads signalling their entrance. Unlike Madam Malkins, the area was large and airy. The powder blue walls were tastefully decorated with moving wizarding pictures of men and women wearing clothing designs that seemed to be 'in' this season. 

One of the corners held a seating area with luxurious furniture that seemed right out of the Victorian era. A small house-elf in a nice little uniform popped by from time to time with fresh pastries and tea to those who waited, either for their order, or for their companions to finish their fitting. 

Harry was startled by whom he saw daintily sipping at a cup of tea. She was young, beautiful and blonde. Harry had only met Narcissa Malfoy a few times in his past life, and never actually spoken to her, but she was easily recognisable. Her face was that of a pureblood mask, completely cold and in control. It was something he needed to practice himself. Their eyes met and he offered her a polite but disinterested nod in greeting. He couldn't let it slip that he had any idea who she was. 

A middle aged woman with sharp features and perfectly coiffed brown hair stepped up and greeted them with a smile. "Welcome to Twilfitt and Tattings, how may I assist you today?" 

"I heard that this was the place to come to if one was in need of some quality clothing." Harry offered a thin smile. 

"You have heard correctly, sir. Perhaps you and your companion would like to step into one of our private rooms while we discuss designs and materials?" The seamstress suggested. 

Harry realised that Death actually seemed to have much better taste when it came to clothing than himself, and didn't that sting. It wasn't as if he'd had the opportunity to dress in anything fancy growing up. Fashion was so far out of his comfort zone that it was ridiculous. What this meant however, was that he'd have to bring Death with him for guidance. He felt like sighing. 

"That would be appreciated." He nodded and followed the witch into the private room. 

The private room was much akin to a small office, with comfortable chairs spread out around an oval table, a small, raised podium in front of a large mirror, and a cabinet with colour and fabric swatches. He noticed that there was a sketchpad made from parchment on the table as well as charcoal sticks for drawing. The three of them sat down. 

“What exactly did you have in mind?” The seamstress who introduced herself as Mrs Yaxley, asked while looking at her two clients.  

Harry pushed the thought that she might be the wife of a Death Eater to the back of his mind, choking the voice that instinctively screamed ‘evil’. 

“He needs a few robes for daily wear, along with trousers, shirts and waistcoats. Preferably in soft, durable materials and dark colours,” Death butted in before Harry had the time to answer. “Accenting colours in silver, gold and green are acceptable,” she added. 

“It seems my cousin Morticia is very eager to speak on my behalf today.” Harry gave Death a light glare and then sighed. “Unfortunately she is correct. I’m afraid I need almost an entire wardrobe.” 

“Yes, that is what happens when you manage to get your trunk swallowed by a Selma while fishing in Norway," The blonde woman tutted and shook her head. 

Mrs Yaxley gasped and looked horrified at the thought of him losing all his clothes, and not the fact that he'd apparently almost been eaten by a vicious sea serpent himself. 

"You poor lad. No wonder you need everything!" She patted his hand gently. "Not to worry, we'll get you sorted out right away. I'll make sure you have something you can take home with you today. The rest might require a few days to get done." 

"Thank you." Harry smiled appreciatively.

Mrs Yaxley went straight ahead and began discussing designs, cuts and fabrics. It all went completely over his head, and he sat there looking like a brainless idiot. Death thankfully took pity on him, and remained in charge of the discussion. Harry made a few suggestions here and there, but mostly stayed quiet. 

In the end, the two women had designed an entire wardrobe for him. Everything from shirts and robes to socks and underwear. Harry had blushed when they got to that part. 

"If you come back in about four hours, I should have some essentials ready for you," the seamstress promised with a smile. "Would you like me to owl you the rest of your order once it's finished?" 

"No, I'll come by and pick it up myself. Do you have any idea when it might be ready?" He asked. 

"No more than five days. I'll make it a priority."

Harry thanked her before leaving with Death. He noticed that Narcissa was gone by the time their appointment had finished. 

Walking around Diagon Alley without people staring was incredibly freeing. Being just a stranger among the masses was the complete opposite of his past life. No photographers trying to take a sneak picture, no pedestrians calling him either a hero or villain, no reporters writing drivel, it was peaceful. He smiled softly to himself. 

Harry's eyes took in the comforting sights of Diagon Alley. Wizarding Britain was fucked up for sure, but this little shopping district was so filled with magic and curiosities that it could make you forget about it for a little while. 

He walked around without a particular destination in mind, he had a few hours to burn after all. He spied Fortescue's ice cream parlour not far away, and it brought back good memories from his past. The summer of Sirius’ prison break was probably the best in his life until now. He'd spent weeks living at the Leaky Cauldron. During the day he'd walk around the Alley, doing some window shopping. He always ended up at Fortescue's. 

Florean Fortescue himself would often help Harry with his homework or offer up an extra scoop of ice cream when he was there. The more Harry thought about it, the more he realised that Mr Fortescue had probably been the best adult in his short life. At least in the sense that he didn't want anything in return for his kindness. Harry decided that he'd stop by and get an ice cream before he returned to Privet Drive, and if he left a large, anonymous tip, well, no one would complain. 

Next to Fortescue's there was a second-hand bookshop. He'd never been inside before, but he thought he remembered the Weasleys getting their school books from there. He stepped inside. It was filled from floor to ceiling with books of various sizes, topics, and conditions. It was pure chaos compared to a proper library. Still, Harry thought there might be some gems hidden among the rest. 

A disinterested man sat by the counter, reading some sort of romance novel according to the cover. He didn't seem to notice, or care, that a potential customer had entered, which suited Harry just fine. 

Ever since dying and coming back, Harry had renewed his love for books and reading. As a child it had been his only respite from an abusive home, and he would often spend his breaks between lessons holed up in the school library. He'd been clever and intelligent, but the desire to learn and excel has been crushed fairly quickly due to his relatives. 

"Do you think there is some sort of system in here?" Harry asked Death as he skimmed through the backs of some well used books. "The Chudley Cannons: Fact and Fiction," Harry read out loud. It was a book Ron would probably love. 

"There doesn't seem to be a system, no," Death said as she curiously peered around the narrow aisles. "Is there something in particular you are looking for?" 

"Maybe something on runes or transfiguration?" He hadn't come in with anything particular in mind, but now that he thought about it, maybe he should get something on the animagus transformation. It was a good skill to have if he got a practical animal out of it. Either way, it didn't hurt to have another card up his sleeve. "Actually, please tell me if you find anything on animagi." 

Death responded positively, and vanished somewhere between the stacks to look for books that might interest her Master. 

With his left hand, Harry cast a quiet silencing charm around himself before summoning his mother. He wanted to let her have free reign of the shop. "Hi mum. I thought you might want some new reading material. Just tell me if there's anything you want and I'll add it to my own purchase." He grinned at her. 

Lily returned the grin. "You know me well, son of mine," she responded as she rubbed her hands together. "I hope you've brought enough money to indulge your old mother." 

Harry rolled his eyes and snorted. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, mother dearest," he quipped back with a smirk. 

Lily guffawed and began trawling the shop for interesting titles. Every time she found something, she'd call out for Harry and have him collect the books for her. More and more books found their way into Harry's arms, and eventually it got so heavy that he nearly dropped them all. That was when he remembered that he was a bloody wizard. He felt like kicking himself. He retrieved his ebony wand and used it to levitate the books, like he should have done from the start. 

"Oi! Is this supposed to be a hint or something? I'll have you know that my cleaning is spotless!" Harry indignantly said as he levitated down 'Household Charms And How To Use Them'. 

The insult actually stung. Due to his upbringing he'd become a bit of a neat freak, and his living area and trunk had always been clean and organised. At Hogwarts he'd managed to tone it down slightly so the other boys in his dorm wouldn't notice how obsessive he could get, but it had been extremely hard. He was particular about his things, and didn't like others touching them without permission either. 

"Not with spells it isn't," Lily absent-mindedly said as she perused the top of the shelf by floating several feet above the ground. She wasn't aware of Harry's 'issues' since she wasn't around him at all times. Of course she knew that he was extremely tidy and clean for a boy his age, but she hadn't seen how it could sometimes get to the point of obsession. "It will save you time." 

Harry swallowed down the hurt. It hadn't been a dig at him in any way, merely his mother trying to be helpful. "Thank you," he mumbled. 

Death eventually made her way back to them, but when Harry went to introduce her to his mother, Lily was already gone. Odd, he thought, but let it be.

"Did you find anything?" He asked the deity. 

"Yes, there were a few curious titles around, some quite old but still in decent condition," Death said, carrying seven different tomes in her arms. 

Harry peeked at the top one. 'The Animal Within' it said. It had to be something about the animagus transformation, he figured. That or werewolves. The books were added to his total and he decided to pay. He'd already collected more than he'd be able to read in months. In addition to anything that caught his or his mother's fancy, he'd also gathered a full set of school books from year one to seven, for all the subjects he intended to take, which was all of them.

If Hermione Granger could get a time-turner in her third year to take all the subjects, then he didn't see why he wouldn't be able to take all the exams as well. He wanted to trounce Riddle's exam scores. It had become one of his goals for the future, and he had plenty of time to prepare. 

Harry cleared his throat to get the attention of the clerk sitting behind the counter. The man had been so absorbed in his romance book that he startled at the sound, nearly dropping said book. 

"I would like to pay, if possible," Harry said, levitating the books into neat stacks on top of the counter. However, not all of them fit so a few piles remained floating to the side. 

"Oh, right, yeah," The man agreed and began adding up the total. 

"Do you need a bag?" He hesitantly asked, looking at the mound of books that would be leaving the shop.

 "No that's fine, I've brought my own," Harry replied. Once a book was registered by the clerk, Harry levitated it into the book compartment in his satchel.

"That'll be 54 galleons and 11 sickles," the clerk read out the final sum. 

Harry summoned 55 galleons out of his money pouch and handed them over. Considering the worth of all he'd bought, a few sickles extra was definitely not a hardship to give away. 

Harry cast a tempus and wondered if maybe he should get a wristwatch instead of having to use magic whenever he wanted to know the time. It would be much more practical in the muggle world. He wondered where wizards bought something like that, did they have their own watch makers?

"Do you know where I can acquire a good wrist watch?" 

The man blinked slowly before he answered, still in a bit of a daze after the large sale he'd just made. 

"Uuuh. There's Chroniker's down in Horizont Alley I think." 

Harry thanked the man and quickly made his way over to Horizont Alley. It was a side street that intersected with Diagon, Carkitt Market, and Knockturn Alley. Walking briskly, it didn't take him long to reach his destination. 'Chroniker's Timepieces' had a vast array of clocks in stock. Everything from fob watches to big grandfather clocks and sweet little pendants. 

An elderly man with wild, white hair sticking up in every direction, met them as soon as they entered. Harry explained what he was looking for, a wrist watch that would automatically adjust to the size of the wearer. According to Mr Chroniker that was no problem. Most of his wrist watches were self-sizing. 

He showed Harry several models, some were small and simple, while others were big and flashy. In addition, there was a plethora of enchantments and extra features that he had no idea existed. Why would anyone want a watch that gave motivational speeches at random intervals? Or a watch that loudly screamed every hour? People were strange. 

Instead of the more eclectic watches, Harry selected one made of platinum with a dark, brown, leather strap. It was a classic style with no fancy decorations or 'bling'. It did however have some nifty enchantments beside the automatic sizing. 

The crown held three specific settings that could be activated by pulling it out into the correct notch and twisting it clockwise before pressing it down. The first setting was your standard watch with three hands. The second was an alarm function that would send magical vibrations up your arm until you turned it off. Mr Chroniker guaranteed that it would wake you up fast. The third and final setting was a monthly calendar that showed the date and moon phases. In addition to all of this, it had a slew of standard charms placed on it to keep it from breaking or being damaged. It could even be taken for a swim or thrown into a fire without getting a scratch, according to the watchmaker. 

Harry paid and put it on his left wrist immediately. He looked down to check the time and realised that they still had over an hour left before they could pick up his order at Twilfitt. Plenty of time to get the rest of his shopping out of the way. 

On top of the list was a wizarding tent and a decent broom. He knew that his beloved Firebolt wouldn't be out for years to come, so he'd just have to settle for a Cleansweep or a Comet for now. He wasn't entirely sure what was on the market in the eighties, but he was sure he'd find something good enough. He was mostly just planning to use it for leisurely rides around the island, not games of Quidditch. 

With all their shopping concluded, and clothes picked up, Death transported them through the shadows to Ilé de Anastasie.

Chapter Text

September 1986

Harry had finally acquired a tent of good quality from Horizont Alley. He planned to set it up permanently on the island, or at least until the house was restored. He took a deep breath of fresh air. He didn't think he'd ever stop marveling over how beautiful Resurrection Island truly was

He used his new broom, a Comet 220, to circle around the open area of the island, trying to find the perfect place to pitch his tent. Being back in the air was exhilarating. Even if the broom was nowhere near as fast as his old one, flying brought a sense of absolute freedom. In the air, nothing else mattered. He let himself bask in the release of endorphins for a few minutes before continuing his search. 

In the end he found a nice and flat spot not far away from the house. It was in a large and open glade surrounded by oak trees. Harry flew down to have a closer look. It was perfect. After seeing the carnage that had come from the expansion charms failing on the old barns, he didn't dare settle down close to them. 

"Oh, this is nice," Lily said, once again appearing out of the blue. At least this time she had the decency to do it in front of him and not from behind. 

"Are you setting up your tent here?" 

"Yeah." 

Harry fished the matchbox sized tent out of his satchel and placed it on the ground. With a tap of his wand, the tent expanded and folded outwards, rearranging itself until it looked like a classical, muggle tent meant for two people at the most. The outer fabric was brown with orange accents. 

Harry pulled aside the fabric door and looked over his shoulder. "Why did you disappear earlier? I wanted to introduce you to Morticia.” He snickered at his own, silly dig at Death, and stepped inside. 

Lily was quiet as she followed her son. She hesitated before saying, "It isn't done. We don't speak with Death unless he calls for us. For me to force my company upon you while Death was there… it would be extremely rude." 

Harry just blinked in bafflement. It was hard to correlate the freely spoken arsehole of a being that Death was in his company, compared to the reverent respect Lily, and Gerrard Peverell held for the deity. 

"He cares for you though, that much I can tell." She smiled softly. "The rest of us are nothing special to him, just another soul among billions, but you? You are unique. One of a kind." 

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. "It's only because he needs someone to be his anchor. It isn't me he's really interested in, it could be anyone," Harry mumbled. 

Even though Death had said it would take someone special to become his Master, Harry still struggled to believe him. There was nothing special about him, even though the world seemed to disagree with that sentiment at times. 

"I don't think you're right," Lily voiced softly. "I believe you were picked specifically. I mean, think about it. What are the odds of you surviving a curse that means instant death, only because of an untested sacrificial ritual? It's microscopic. How do you know Lord Death didn't give a helping hand so to speak?"

Harry frowned. "He's not allowed to interfere with the balance of life and death, he said so himself." 

"Maybe," his mother hummed dubiously. 

"It doesn't matter." Harry shook his head "Feel free to look around, I'm just going to cast some wards. I'll be quick." 

Technically the island was already warded and should be safe, but after living through a war, it was only natural to become paranoid. Using the elder wand in his ring, he set up various wards in a 20 feet radius around the tent. It would keep away animals, insects and humans. In addition, it would obscure sound and scents that came from within the warded area. Harry would be alerted immediately if someone, or something, managed to cross the ward line. 

Harry returned to the tent. As soon as he stepped inside he entered a warm and welcoming entrance hall that led into a large, homely living area. There was a grand fireplace in the centre with two comfortable wingback chairs, and a sofa placed around a dark wooden coffee table. The walls and decorations were carefully selected in tones of caramel, cream and rusty browns. It gave the room a comforting feel, and it was a place where Harry could picture himself curled up in front of the fire with a good book and a cup of tea.

To the left of the sitting group stood a large dining table, with eight chairs placed around it. The tent had mostly been furnished when he acquired it, a perk of having a money pouch full of galleons at his disposal. 

"What do you think?" He asked when he noticed his mother coming from the direction of his study. 

"It's beautiful, but it must have cost you a fortune." She frowned. "Just because you have money doesn't mean you have to spend it all." 

Harry snorted. "I know mum. Yes it was expensive but it is an investment that was worth it. This is going to be my home for most likely years to come. I'd rather get something a little more expensive and have everything I need rather than finding myself missing something and then regretting it. It's not like I bought a mansion or something. Plus you'll be happy to know that I made sure the elves will have their own quarters." 

He grinned widely. He was actually really excited to show it to Ditty after he was done with it. He planned on shrinking all the furniture in the room so it was appropriate for an elf. 

Lily beamed at her son. "I'm sure Ditty will love it!" 

"Yeah, I still feel bad knowing she's slept in that old house for so many years… it's a wonder she's still alive." 

Harry walked around the tent, inspecting everything once more. The inside looked more like an actual house than the tent the Weasleys had used during the Quidditch World Cup. 

Upon entering, there was a bathroom to the right. A few steps further up, the hallway split up, forwards leading to the living room and the right hall leading to the two guest-rooms, each with their own bathroom attached. Once inside the living room, there was another little hall to the right. This led to the study and the master bedroom. To the left of the living room was the kitchen, potions lab, hobby room and elf quarters, amongst other things. 

All the rooms were decorated in calm and homely colours. After six years surrounded by the glaringly bright red of the Gryffindor dorms, Harry was happy to live in a place with more of a light and earthy colour palette. This was his first home and he loved it already. It was all his and no one else's. 

He began pulling things out of his satchel, placing them strategically around the house. Food and tea went into the kitchen cabinets, new towels in the bathrooms, he put on freshly cleaned sheets in the master bedroom, as well as placing his clothes in the walk-in closet. In the elf quarters, he shrank the two single beds so they were child sized, continuing the process with the rest of the furniture in there. He wanted to surprise Ditty. Again he put on sheets and made the beds. He only had one elf for now, but that would hopefully change soon. Harry looked around himself and was satisfied with the result. 

"Ditty!" He called, putting the translation charm on himself, and on her once she arrived. 

"Master Peverell calls. What can Ditty do for the young lord?" The elderly elf asked. 

Harry smiled fondly at her and crouched down so they were more equal. "This is your new room Ditty. You might have to share it with another elf eventually, but for now it is all yours. There is a bathroom to the right with everything you might need, and if I've forgotten something, all you have to do is ask, okay?"

The little house-elf stared at him with wide, disbelieving, tennis-ball sized eyes. "For Ditty? You… got this for Ditty?" Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as thin and frail arms wrapped around him. Harry gently hugged her back.

“Yes, it's all yours,” Harry mumbled and softly rubbed the crying elf’s back. “There is food in the kitchen if you get hungry, and hot water in the bathroom if you want to have a bath or shower. I placed some soaps and toiletries in there too.” 

“Lord Peverell is s-so kind,” Ditty sobbed. 

Harry waited until she let go before he stood up again.

His mother watched it all with an overwhelmingly loving smile. “I’m proud of you, Harry,” she said, her voice quiet and filled with fondness. 

Harry returned her smile. "Ditty, when you have the time, could you transport my loom and equipment over from Privet Drive? I have a room set up for it down the hall from here. I’ll show you where it is.” 

Ditty finally stopped crying and seemed to get herself under control. She gave a firm nod and followed after the lord of the estate. 

"You don't have to do it right now, but sometime before tonight would be appreciated. My…" Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Relatives will be coming back from their holiday, and I'd rather not take the risk of them seeing anything magical, even though my room is warded." 

"Ditty will do it right away Lord Peverell," she declared and popped away before Harry could put up a protest.

"I… guess that's sorted then?"  He looked at his mother who merely laughed. 

"Why don't you make yourself something to eat and tell me what your account managers said? How is the Potter estate faring? It should have accumulated some interest in the years we've been dead." 

She smiled, blissfully unaware of the reality of the matter. His mother was not going to like what he had to tell her. 

"Are you sure you want to know?" Harry asked slowly once he’d settled down by the fireplace with a warm cup of tea, and a ham and cheese sandwich. 

"Yes of course. Why wouldn't I?" Lily replied with a puzzled expression. 

Harry grimaced. "Well… there isn't anything left in the Potter vault… not in the way of money at least." He said it quickly, like ripping off a plaster. 

His mother blinked and opened her mouth, completely bemused. "What do you mean there is nothing left? There were hundreds of thousands of galleons, possibly millions!"  

Harry let out an explosive sigh and sank down into his wingback chair, watching the fire dance merrily over the logs in the fireplace. 

"Dad donated it all to Dumbledore… it was supposedly for the war effort, but I don't know anymore. I find myself wondering what on earth went through his head. Kartaak didn't even seem to think that he was aware of just how much he was giving away. I don't know what's worse, that he's so dumb that he didn't read the cheques before he signed, or that he willingly gave away our entire fortune to Dumbledore. I get that it was war and he felt like he needed to help, but what did he think would happen if you won the war? He'd have been destitute, without a job and having a child to provide for." Harry sighed and sipped his tea. 

Lily was silently fuming. How dare he make such decisions without her. They had been married, every financial decision he made would affect them both, not to mention Harry. She was going to tear him a new arsehole as soon as she got her hands on him, peaceful afterlife be damned. 

"You didn't know…" Harry realised. "I'm sorry, but sometimes I wonder what you ever saw in him. I know you love him, and I suppose I do too in a way, but… I just don't understand. He was so cruel during school, so bigoted and irresponsible. You are like the complete opposite of him." Harry frowned. 

Then a thought struck him, one that made his gut churn with nausea. "Did you… did you settle with him because you got pregnant?" 

Lily was quiet, seemingly conflicted in what she wanted to say. "No. Not entirely. I'll admit that the pregnancy was what made us get married quicker than we had intended, but you weren't the reason why we were together." She spoke slowly, measuring her words. 

"I honestly don't know if I can give you an answer that will satisfy you. Love isn't rational. And with him… there was a lot of arguing, things we didn't see eye to eye on. And after we got married I began to see different sides of him. I think that is when our varying upbringings showed the most. To him a mother and wife should take care of the house and children, not work or have aspirations for a career. In addition he wanted an entire Quidditch team of children, whereas I was happy with one or two. I refused to become a broodmare." She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Obviously we should have discussed all of that before we got married but… I was pregnant, it was war, and we were both young and in love." His mother sighed. 

"What about now… in the afterlife. Do you… do you still want to be with him?" Harry hesitantly asked. 

Lily was quiet, looking at the fire instead of her son. It made her auburn hair shimmer in the glow of the flames. Harry waited, letting her think. 

"The realm of the dead, it's so different from being alive, Harry," she began. "Over there we are just incorporeal souls. A relationship like what you think of isn't the same there. Technically we aren't even married anymore. It is possible for souls to remain connected after death, but you'd have to do a bonding ceremony that included soul magic, and those have been illegal for decades. With good reason I might add. Tying yourself to someone in that manner for eternity is a big decision, bigger than anyone can ever make I think." 

"I'm sorry you didn't get to live for long enough to figure out what you wanted to do with your life," Harry softly voiced. 

"Yes. So am I. But I'm happy for the most part, so don't worry about me." She smiled. 

They kept talking about the past and future, discussing Harry's goals in life amongst other things. At the end she reminded him to speak with Regulus Black, and he decided that it was something he'd do now that his mother was leaving. She said she was going to have a stern talk with James. Harry assumed it meant that she was going to yell at him. 

He took a deep breath. Ditty had been kind enough to refill his cup of tea and bring a plate of biscuits without him asking for it. She was such a dear. He absent-mindedly rubbed his ring and summoned the soul of the man he wished to speak with.

"Good evening Mr Black." Harry smiled kindly at the extremely confused spirit that appeared in front of him.

Regulus was tall, much taller than Harry could ever hope to be, with wavy dark hair that reached to his shoulders. It was a style similar to Harry's own, and looking at Regulus made him realise that maybe he did indeed share more characteristics with the Blacks rather than the Potters. The cheekbones were the same as his own, high, sharp and aristocratic. They also shared a Greek nose. All in all, it made Regulus a very handsome teenager when you paired it with his pale skin and stormy, grey eyes. 

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, good sir, for I do not know your name nor where I am," Regulus admitted, eyes having settled onto Harry. Thankfully they were more curious than hostile.

Harry smiled but it was strained. For some reason he felt nervous. "I'm Harry Potter, or, Henry I suppose? Er… either way just call me Harry." 

Regulus cocked an eyebrow at the less than stellar introduction. "Very well, Harry, it is a pleasure to meet you. Now, do you mind telling me why I'm here? And also where here is." 

"It's a long story…" Harry said with hesitation. 

"Well, seeing as I'm dead, I'm not exactly going anywhere am I?" Regulus snorted and seated himself in the chair opposite Harry. 

"Er… no, I suppose not." Harry bit his lip and clutched at his cup. "I'd offer you some tea but…" 

"But I'm dead. Yes, yes, I'm aware, get on with it." Regulus gestured impatiently with his hand. 

Harry sighed and began his story. He didn't go into as much detail as he had with his parents and Ignotus, but it was still a lot to get through. It got easier each time he told someone about his past. In a way, it was almost therapeutic. 

He swallowed hard when he got to the part about the cave and the inferi. As bad as the memory was to him, surely it must be much worse for Regulus. The spirit looked pale and green at the same time. Harry wondered if you could have panic attacks while being dead, because he certainly looked to be on the verge of one. 

"That’s-" Regulus' Adams apple bobbed and he cleared his throat. "I thought it would work," his voice was hoarse. "Destroying the horcrux… It was supposed to be my final act of good. He was supposed to become mortal." 

He looked devastated and Harry felt horrible for having to bring him the bad news. 

"I'm sorry." 

"No. No, don't be. You fixed what I arrogantly started but couldn't complete. I'm the one who should be sorry for causing you such a mess." Regulus rubbed his face and took a deep breath, collecting himself. 

"Looking back at it, my ingenious plan was really quite foolish. I now see several ways that would have ensured my survival. I truly messed up, didn't I?" Regulus looked wretched. 

"And poor Kreacher, all alone with that hag that calls herself mother. Not to mention an evil artefact he cannot destroy. Oh Merlin, Sirius in Azkaban." He hid his face in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. 

Regulus was silent as the seconds ticked by. Harry started to get uncomfortable. Should he say something? Was he supposed to comfort the spirit? Offer words of encouragement? Fuck, he was so bad at this kind of thing. 

Thankfully he didn't have to do anything. Regulus' head snapped up and he stared intensely at Harry. "So, how are you going to fix it this time? There has to be a reason why you summoned me besides a mere chat." 

Harry wet his lips, feeling insecure about his own plans all of a sudden. "Er… well…" 

"Please tell me you have a plan." 

"Er… sorta?" Harry replied hesitantly. 

"Well, do go on. Explain it to me," the dead teenager demanded. 

Harry sighed. "Well, first I need to set up an adult identity for myself. My body and real identity as Harry Potter is only six in this timeline. I've talked to my account manager at Gringotts about it, and since I have already claimed the lordship, he's going to establish my identity as Lord Peverell. I need to sit the OWL exams to be allowed to carry a wand though. I don't know if I'll have to take them at Hogwarts, or if I'll be able to go to the ministry instead." Harry sipped some tea, feeling Regulus urging him on with his eyes, willing him to get to the important parts. 

"I'm not sure if your mother is still alive or not. I suppose I could try to summon her… although, I'd rather not talk to her. Maybe asking Death would be easier." Harry murmured the last part to himself. 

"No need for any of that. I can confirm that she is dead, unfortunately." Regulus wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I try to stay as far away as possible." 

"Oh… that makes things easier. Do you know who is Lord Black at the moment? Will he notice if someone enters Grimmauld Place?" Harry asked. 

Regulus looked thoughtful. "The current head of house should be my grandfather, Arcturus. You said that Sirius is set to inherit the title, which means that grandfather never changed his will." 

He leaned back in the chair and steepled his hands together on his stomach, still managing to look regal despite the position. 

"The wards should be dormant for those of Black blood, only barring entrance to non-family members. They aren't connected to Grandfather either, so he won't notice it if you go there. The problem would be the various portraits sending messages to whomever have their allegiance." 

Harry thought about the second copy of Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait that hung in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. "Do you think I'd be able to bond Kreacher to myself?" 

"I'm not sure," Regulus answered pensively. "He is tightly bonded to the Black family, and although the blood you've gained from your grandmother is there, I don't know if it would be enough. It is certainly worth a try. But perhaps don't go as yourself, neither this form nor the child, just in case things don't work out." 

Harry nodded. "I'm going to brew some polyjuice potion soon. I can try to enter Grimmauld and talk to Kreacher when it's ready. Do you mind if I have the conversation in your bedroom? It has no portraits so there is a much smaller chance of them overhearing anything. I thought I'd use my invisibility cloak to get inside unseen." 

The other waved his hand nonchalantly. "Have at it. It's not like I have any use of it anymore. Take whatever you want while you're there. I'm sure no one is going to miss it. Sirius is probably going to give it all to you anyway." 

After that, Regulus seemed to just... stick around. Whenever Death wasn't nearby, Regulus would be there. He'd join in on Harry's lessons with the other spirits, follow him to primary school to keep him entertained with interesting stories and magical theories, watch him weave his family tapestry for hours on end while providing snarky commentary, he simply didn't seem to want to leave. 

Regulus had also taken it upon himself to teach Harry about pureblood culture and etiquette, because apparently,according to the Black scion, Harry was a savage with the grace of a drunken Hippogriff. At least he was happy with the clothes he had gotten from Twilfitt and Tattings. 

Harry, for the most part, didn't mind the other boy's clinginess and constant presence, in fact it was comforting to always have someone his own age to talk to. Although he loved his mother greatly, some things were just too weird to share with her. 

They grew closer as time passed, and Harry found himself sharing things he hadn't shared with anyone. Hopes and fears, how he'd felt those nights when he'd laid in his cupboard, thinking that death might be a better existence than the constant torture he received at the hands of his relatives. 

Speaking to Regulus was nice, he seemed to understand. 

"Your muggles are disgusting," Regulus declared with a sneer one evening while Harry was on his way to his bedroom in Privet Drive. Technically he didn't really use it as a bedroom anymore, why would he when he had a whole house all to himself? But he needed to keep up appearances. 

"They aren't my muggles, but yes. They very much are disgusting," Harry murmured with a wrinkled nose. 

They watched the two males of the Dursley family stuff their faces with no sense of manners or pacing. There was grease and gravy everywhere, dripping down their chins and onto their stained shirts. Petunia was her usual self, picking at her food like a bird while topping up her Diddykins and husband's plates at regular intervals. 

The happy family didn't pay any attention to him as he quietly slinked up the stairs and into his room. He let out a long sigh of relief once the door closed and the wards powered up. 

"I don't understand why you haven't dealt with the male yet. You should get rid of him!" Regulus stated indignantly.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. This was far from the first time they'd had the exact same conversation, in fact Regulus wasn't the only spirit with homicidal tendencies. His mother was firmly on Regulus' side in this, she wanted Vernon to suffer. 

"You know why. If Vernon disappears, Dumbledore will find out and start to investigate. I can't afford to have his scrutiny on me right now. You know that!" Harry hissed back. He was so tired of defending his thoughts on the subject. 

"You don't have to kill him! You could just punish him to make him behave. You've done it before, what's so different about now?" Regulus was nearly shouting. 

"You've told me what he did to you… what he would have kept doing if it wasn't for you being an adult this time around…"

Regulus crossed his arms defensively across his chest, his face drawn taut in a frown. He looked anywhere but at Harry. "I worry about you, you pillock… this isn't healthy. What if he catches you unaware?" 

Harry felt baffled. He knew Regulus liked spending time with him, but no matter how friendly they’d become, he hadn't thought he actually cared or was worried about him. In general, he wasn't used to people worrying about his well-being, rather the opposite. He swallowed away the lump in his throat. 

"I… well… it's not like he can actually kill me right?" Harry tried going for humour and a half-hearted smile.

Regulus didn't buy it. Oh no, his eyes flashed dangerously and he glared at the small boy. "Just because you can't die doesn't mean you should expose yourself to abuse," he snarled and began pacing furiously. "What about your pain? Both mentally and physically. Not dying is not equal to no one being able to hurt you!" He sucked in a sharp breath and stopped, glaring at the wall. 

"You need to make a decision. You keep creating excuse upon excuse and they are not good enough. I won't have it anymore." He shifted his stormy grey eyes so that they looked right into Harry's wide green ones. "Stand up for yourself! I thought you said you wanted to destroy Dumbledore, what is keeping you back from destroying someone that’s caused you even more physical harm?!" Regulus shouted. 

"Because I'm afraid I'll become like him!" Harry shouted back at his friend. He sat down in the bed and buried his face in his tiny hands. 

"Like who?" Asked Regulus quietly. "The muggle?" 

Harry was silent, swallowing away the lump in his throat, not daring to look at Regulus.

"Like Tom," he whispered. "Like Voldemort… I'm afraid that if I enjoy it, because I know that I will, then I'll be one step closer to becoming him. We've always been similar, him and I, so incredibly similar. What's going to stop me from going further? To just take whatever I want with no concern for the consequences or who I'm hurting? What if I end up going mad in the same way he did? I'm already immortal, who's going to stop me?"  

Regulus sat down on the bed next to Harry and dearly wished that he could actually give him a hug, but sadly, that wasn't possible, so he'd have to settle with his presence and comforting words. 

"You are wrong," he said softly. "You are nothing like Voldemort. Take it from someone who served under him. The fact that you even worry about turning into him is proof enough. You are at your core a decent person, Harry. You don't crave power so that you may lord it over others, you want it so you can protect yourself and be free, maybe even help those who are less fortunate. Wanting to take revenge on someone who's hurt you, and enjoying it, is human." Regulus licked his lips and hesitantly continued. 

"I think... I think I need to tell you a story." 

Regulus took a deep breath. "Once, there were two brothers who loved each other greatly. They were thick as thieves and did everything together. Then one day, something changed. The oldest brother hid himself in his room and cried and cried. The youngest, worried about what had happened to his usually brave and cheerful brother, crept into the room and asked. The oldest tried to put on a brave front and said that it was nothing, but the youngest could tell he was lying. He knew something was wrong, but not what. That night, the youngest brother curled up in bed with the oldest and held him until they both fell asleep." 

Harry listened quietly to Regulus' tale. 

"Things went almost back to normal after that. For a month or two, the oldest brother was quieter than normal and didn't want to play with the younger, but eventually his mood seemed to settle. Every now and then the oldest brother would have moments where he hid away and cried. The youngest brother still didn't know why, but he tried his best to be there for him. By the time the oldest had turned ten, the crying had stopped. Instead of being withdrawn he seemed resigned yet combative, always fighting with their horrid mother. Their father, he preferred to stay away from." 

"When the oldest turned eleven, there was the much awaited Hogwarts letter. He was so excited for what the magical school would bring. He couldn't wait to get away from his parents. But despite the excitement, there was also worry for the younger brother. He would spend a year alone with their parents while the older was away at school. The youngest brother was of course sad, he wouldn't get to see his brother for a long time after all, but he didn't understand why the older brother didn't want to leave him with their parents. They had never done anything to hurt him besides a few cruel words here and there." 

Regulus sat ramrod straight on the bed, his eyes far away. He took a deep breath. 

"A few weeks after the older brother went away to Hogwarts, something happened with the younger brother. The father entered his room one night, reeking of alcohol. The younger brother was confused, he didn't understand what his father wanted with him so late, he had never been in his bedroom before." 

Harry closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. He had an idea where this might lead and it made his stomach churn. 

"The father told the younger brother he was a good boy." Regulus swallowed hard. "He said he was pretty. A tease. The father said that if he told anyone what happened, he would kill the older brother. The younger, frightened and confused, begged his father to stop, but he didn't. Now the younger brother understood what had made the older brother cry all those years ago. The younger brother was too scared to confide in anyone about what had happened, what kept happening, so he bottled it up, and like with the older brother, he was relieved when the time to go to Hogwarts finally came. It was there the older brother had gotten a taste of freedom that he did not want to let go of. That sense of freedom caused friction within the family, which eventually caused the older brother to run away to a friend's house, leaving the younger brother with all of his responsibilities. The younger brother was angry with the older, but he kept his feelings hidden behind a mask of indifference. He strove to appease his family and be the heir they had always wished the eldest would be." Regulus sighed. 

"In addition to those responsibilities, the mother was pushing the younger son towards a new political movement that was on the uprise, led by someone she'd been at Hogwarts with. The younger son thought that some of their beliefs were sound, and so, to appease his mother, he joined their movement when he was barely out of Hogwarts. However it quickly turned out to be something vastly different than what the younger brother had imagined. It was nothing more than a group of sadistic men and women who wanted an outlet for their depraved desires. And at the top was the worst of them all. A power hungry man who sought immortality so he could rule forever with an iron fist. The younger brother had grown disillusioned with the movement, but it was a group you joined for life. He had no way of retreating, and so, when he found out what the leader of the movement had done to achieve his immortality, the younger brother decided to do whatever he could to make the leader mortal once again." Regulus took a short break to wet his lips. 

"The younger brother knew that what he planned to do would kill him. And so, he decided to get revenge on his father for all the pain he'd caused the brothers as they grew up. It would be his final act before he went to his death." The spirit became quiet, lost in thought. 

The minutes ticked by and eventually Harry quietly asked, "what happened then?" 

Regulus startled slightly at the young voice. He looked at Harry intensely. "And then," he said, "then the younger brother went to his father's study and killed him." 

Harry's eyes were wide with shock. "You- but…" he swallowed. He could see now why Regulus had decided to share the story. It was all about pain and revenge. "Did you regret it afterwards?" 

"No. He deserved every torturous minute of his demise," Regulus sneered. "I would happily do it again if I had the chance." 

"He hurt you. You and Sirius. He-" he wanted to state the obvious, that their father had raped two little boys, but it was just too cruel, too awful. How was their pain in any way similar to his own? Harry had been beaten black and blue but never had he been defiled in that way. It sounded worse to him, way worse. 

"Yes he did. Just as your uncle hurt you. Hopefully not in the same way, but still vicious and unacceptable. People like that don't change. They derive pleasure out of hurting those who are smaller and weaker than themselves. If you hadn't been available he would most likely have found someone else. You taking revenge on him would be natural. I'm not saying you have to kill him, it might not be the right solution for you, but something has to be done." Regulus managed to be soft and yet firm at the same time. 

Harry took a deep breath. "Okay," he whispered. The thought of Vernon beating someone else because he wasn't an available target anymore was a big factor in his decision. But also, the fact that Regulus was still kind and good despite having murdered his own father in cold blood, had settled some of his fears. Maybe him dealing with Vernon wouldn't cause him to spiral into the same pattern as Voldemort had. 

Chapter Text

October 1986

"Is it ready?" Regulus asked as he peered over the rim of the cauldron. 

"Yeah." 

Harry separated the bubbling, mud-like concoction into labelled phials. The polyjuice potion was difficult to brew, and it had taken over a month with Cadmus and Martin hanging over his shoulder, but it was well worth the effort. 

For the final component of the potion, Harry had gone into muggle London to collect hair samples from various people. With the help of his invisibility cloak, he'd snuck into hair salons and gathered up copious amounts of hair from each customer. By now he had a large collection of hair from people of all ages, genders and ethnicities. The samples had been carefully organised and labelled with the correct description of their appearance. 

Harry was a paranoid bastard, hence why he'd brewed so much of the potion, and filched so much hair. He probably had around thirty different identities to choose from. For his trip to Grimmauld Place he'd selected a man in his early forties, with short, wavy, black hair, and a neatly styled beard. Combined with pale skin and blue eyes, he looked like he could have been a Black relative, which was why he'd been chosen. 

Getting Kreacher on his side would be a hard job, if it was even possible. Looking like a Black might help, and Harry would happily make life easier for himself if he could.

Harry stepped out of his clothes, by now so used to having Regulus around that there was no shame. Besides, nakedness always made the pureblood uncomfortable, so he turned away as soon as he saw Harry start to undress. He felt a tingle of guilt rise up when he remembered why the other might be squeamish about nudity, but he forced it down again, Regulus could leave whenever he wanted.

"Ugh. I hate taking this potion, it always tastes disgusting." Harry wrinkled his nose as he added a strand of black hair from the man he'd be transforming into. 

The potion bubbled merrily and changed colour from muddy brown to a dark violet. With one quick chug, Harry downed the sludgy potion like a shot of firewhiskey. 

"Ack!" He grimaced at the taste and consistency. His skin began expanding and bubbling like the potion itself had. It morphed and changed him until in the place of a child, stood a tall man in his forties.

Without further ado, he got dressed in simple but expensive robes that would make a good first impression. Regulus had obviously been the one to select them, since Harry was 'hopeless' according to the spirit. 

Harry snorted. "You can turn around now. I'm decent." The voice was much deeper than his would probably ever be. It held almost a gravelly component to it. 

"Took you long enough," Regulus sniffed haughtily. "Well, are you ready? You know where to apparate right?" 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes mother. I have also packed my lunch-box and finished my homework," Harry snarked, causing Regulus to huff. 

"Let's go." 

Harry took a deep breath and wrapped the invisibility cloak around himself. He spun on the spot, vanishing with a loud crack. 

Another crack, like that of a backfiring exhaust of a car, was the only thing that announced his presence to the dreary London street. It felt like a lifetime since he'd been there last, and yet, everything looked the same. Slowly, Harry made his way over to the front entrance of the Black property. He could feel the wards testing him, but they thankfully allowed him entrance. Regulus followed close behind him. 

The hallway was dark and silent, looking eerily like it had when Harry saw it for the first time. The only difference was that it was cleaner, probably because Walburga hadn't been dead for long. 

Before entering, Harry had silenced himself. He moved like a ghost through the empty hallway, past Walburga's sleeping painting and the troll-leg umbrella stand. He grimaced at the mounted house-elf heads on the wall by the stairs. That was one thing he'd happily have Sirius remove once he inherited the house again. 

Up the stairs he went, all the way to the fourth floor, where only Sirius and Regulus' bedrooms resided. Quickly, he opened the door to his friend's room and slipped inside. He let out a breath of relief. So far so good. 

Even though there were no portraits on this landing, he still placed a silencing charm around the room before he returned his cloak to the Peverell ring.

"It hasn't changed at all… I would have thought mother would have done something to it, but… it's like I never left." Regulus spoke in a quiet, melancholy tone, letting his fingers ghost nostalgically over the carved bedpost. 

"It still looked like this in the nineties. It was the only room Kreacher bothered to clean. I think he kept it almost like a shrine to your memory," Harry quietly replied. 

Regulus was silent for a moment. Taking everything in before he sighed. "He's a good elf." 

Harry wasn't entirely sure he agreed, but then, the Kreacher he'd met had been one who was isolated for years, constantly exposed to Voldemort's horcrux. Maybe he would be better now? He didn't have high hopes. 

"I'm going to call him now. Are you ready?" Harry asked. Regulus nodded firmly. 

"Kreacher!" 

The crotchety old house-elf appeared in the room with a pop. "Who calls Kreacher? Not master he is, oh no. Kreacher should inform mistress, he should. Filthy intruder, defiling good master Regulus' room," the ugly elf groused and glared at Harry. 

"I am a friend of Regulus, Kreacher. He sent me to help you with his last wish. I know the task you have been given, and how you have been unable to complete it. I'm afraid no house-elf magic will be able to destroy such a vile thing." Harry spoke with an authoritative yet gentle voice. 

Kreacher stilled at the mention of Regulus and his task. His eyes widened. "Intruder knows of the locket? Oh Kreacher tried everything he did!" The elf wailed. "Crushing, burning, freezing, everything Kreacher tried but nothing worked!" By this point he was sobbing fully, grasping the hem of his dirty pillowcase and looking absolutely wretched.  

Harry's eyes quickly darted over to Regulus, only to find him crying as well, if silently. It truly showed how much he cared for the elf. 

"It is not your fault Kreacher, you did well. If you give the locket to me I promise to get rid of the evil within. That way your duty to master Regulus will be fulfilled," Harry calmly promised. 

Kreacher's grimy face was streaked with tears and snot. He eyed Harry with a mixture of suspicion and hope. 

"Kreacher, would you like to speak to master Regulus again?" Harry asked as he crouched down next to the old elf. He'd gotten an idea, a brilliant idea. It wasn't something they had planned, and Regulus looked startled, but Harry felt confident.  

The hope in Kreacher's eyes had dimmed and been replaced with malice. "Intruder tells lies, he does. Good master Regulus is dead, Kreacher knows this. Nasty intruder tries to trick old Kreacher, he does. Says he can let Kreacher talk with good master." The elf had returned to muttering insults, much like he did in Harry's past. 

"I do not lie," Harry said sternly. "I am a special kind of necromancer with the ability to speak to the dead."

With a flashy hand gesture, the resurrection stone appeared in his left hand. It hovered just over his palm, rotating lazily. 

"I keep my word. For today, I will let you borrow this stone. As long as you hold on to it, you will be able to speak to your old master." Harry held out his hand towards the house-elf. 

Kreacher's hand shook as he hesitantly reached out for the black rock. It was a hard tale to believe, but his masters had always talked about necromancy with reverence. If there was even a slight chance that he might be able to see his good master again, then he had to try. His spindly fingers closed around the rock. 

However, nothing seemed to happen. No master appeared. "Kreacher was right, yes he was. Nasty intruder only lies and tricks." He glared at Harry who only smiled in return. 

Regulus cleared his throat, making Kreacher's head snap to the side with widening eyes. "Please do not insult my friend, Kreacher. He is a very prestigious lord. It wouldn't do for the House of Black to make an enemy out of him, now would it?" 

"Master Regulus!" Kreacher gasped and threw himself at the young spirit's feet. The problem was that Regulus wasn't solid, so instead of hugging his feet like he'd planned, Kreacher went right through him. 

"I'm still dead, Kreacher, this is merely an apparition of my soul." Regulus crouched down with a soft smile. 

The old elf had gone back to wailing his apologies for leaving him in the cave, for not destroying the locket, for everything he could think of really. 

"I'll let you two talk alone," Harry murmured and donned his invisibility cloak again. 

He figured they had a lot to discuss. Besides, Regulus would do a much better job of convincing Kreacher to bond with him if possible. He didn't really want the surly old thing, but Regulus was immensely fond of him. And since Harry was fond of Regulus, he was prepared to at least try to persuade the elf. 

He walked down the stairs and onto the third floor. The library should be there to the right. In his first life, he and the other children hadn't been allowed in there because of all the supposedly dark books, and by the time Harry inherited the house and used it as a hideout, the library was nearly empty due to Sirius and Mrs Weasley's purge. 

Harry opened the door slightly and squeezed inside. The room was spacious, and wide bookcases lined the walls from top to ceiling. A large fireplace stood proudly at the shortest wall. Harry wondered if it was a wizarding thing to have fireplaces everywhere.

Just like in his tent, there was a sofa, two wingbacks, and a table next to them. The furniture all looked vintage and had probably been in the Black family for generations. 

He did a quick search for portraits, and when he found none, he removed his cloak so he could have a better look at the books. With a flick of his hand, the oil lamps on the walls ignited, bathing the room in a soft glow. It definitely wasn't ideal. In addition he conjured some balls of light that hovered in the air around him. 

Considering who had owned the library, he made sure to cast detection charms to check for curses on any book he wanted to have a closer look at. And boy was he glad he did. Some of the books held some nasty curses. He'd rather not have his innards liquefied, thank you very much. 

He noticed a book on blood magic, in fact it was another copy of the book his mother had used for her ritual research. Curious about its content, he slid it out of the shelf and walked over to one of the chairs. Some of the rituals, like his mother had mentioned, were rather gruesome, but others could have done so much good if they hadn't been illegal. Harry became engrossed with the book, and that was how Regulus and Kreacher found him an hour later. 

"Lord Peverell."

Harry's head snapped up at the sound of Regulus' voice. His eyes narrowed when he heard his title being used. He was supposed to stay incognito until they'd gotten either a vow of silence, or a bond with Kreacher. 

"We have reached a conclusion," Regulus continued with a bow. After all, he was of a lower rank than the other if one went by the pureblood hierarchy. "Since you are of Black blood, Kreacher has agreed to try and bond with you. In addition, the locket will be entrusted into your care." 

Harry studied Regulus and the bowing elf whose nose was nearly touching the carpeted floor. "Very well." He closed the book and placed it on the table before standing up. 

"First the locket and then we will try the bond, but only if you are certain Kreacher. I will not have you taking orders from other members of the Black family. You will be in my employ and only mine. Is that understood?" He looked sternly at the elf. He would not have another betrayal like the one that had led to Sirius' death. 

Because he didn't fully trust Kreacher, he would be using the bond that was common in this day and age. He didn't like it, but he was paranoid enough not to give in to his own bleeding heart. 

Kreacher looked hesitantly to Regulus for confirmation, before resolutely nodding. "Kreacher will serve Lord Peverell." The elf bowed again then walked forward, presenting Slytherin's locket to his new master. 

The wrongness of the horcrux made Harry feel nauseous. He tried not to let it show. He held open an iron box that was lined with velvet. Hopefully it would dampen the aura the artefact gave off until he could deal with it. 

"Place it inside the box."

Kreacher lowered it into the container. Harry snapped it shut as soon as the last part of the chain coiled up inside. Immediately, the air felt lighter, and Harry lowered his shoulders, not realising until then just how tense they had been.

"Thank you Kreacher." Harry put the corrupted artefact into an expanded trouser pocket. "Now, as for the bonding, we will have to try breaking the one you already have with the House of Black." 

"Actually, I had a thought as to how that might be possible," Regulus began. "It was based on the story you told me of your other house-elf friend, the one who wanted to be free. You see, I theorize that if an elf wants to be free, he, or she, will be able to break the bond as long as there are sufficient means to provide a loophole of sorts. Take your friend for example. His old master didn't give him a piece of clothing with the intent of freeing him, in fact he didn't actually give him any clothes at all. But the elf decided that that was what had happened, and so he broke the bond and freed himself," Regulus finished, looking exceedingly smug about his conclusion. 

"That is… rather clever. And you believe we will be able to achieve the same?" He cocked an eyebrow. 

"I do," Regulus confirmed. "Kreacher, go fetch what we spoke about." 

"Of course, Master Regulus," The elf said with a reverent bow before popping away, only to return four seconds later with an elegant, black button-up shirt made out of silk.

"Lord Peverell, would you be so kind as to levitate this for me?" Regulus queried. 

Harry thought he understood what the young spirit wanted, so he levitated the shirt so that it looked like Regulus was holding it. 

"I, Regulus Arcturus Black, hereby release you, Kreacher, from your faithful service to the House of Black. Please accept this shirt as a token of the honourable completion of your long service."

Harry lowered the shirt into Kreacher's trembling hands. The elf grasped the fabric tightly and a pitiful little whimper escaped his lips as he felt the bond to the family dissolve. 

"It's alright Kreacher. You'll be bonded again, and Lord Peverell is a kind and benevolent master. He will treat you well." Regulus soothed his childhood friend and confidante. 

Instead of using the form of bond he'd performed with Ditty, Regulus guided Harry through the much stricter one that most wizards used. A thread of magic formed between him and Kreacher, creating an invisible bond that latched onto Harry's magical core. It was strange how different it felt to the one he'd made with Ditty. It felt stronger and more permanent. He wondered if it would hurt if it was broken against one of the participants’ wills. It made him think of poor Winky. No wonder she had been so depressed afterwards.

"Well done Kreacher, and welcome to the House of Peverell. There are a few orders I will have to give before we continue. The first, is that you may not share my secrets to anyone sentient, either by writing, speaking, miming, or any other way you can think of to communicate. The second, is that as an elf in my household, you will have to dress appropriately. You are a servant of an Ancient and Noble House, and I will not have my elves dressed in rags." Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste. He bloody hated the tea towels and pillowcases he'd seen so many elves wear. It was beyond oppressive and demeaning. 

"This is not me giving you clothes as a sign of freedom, but a work uniform so that you won't put my House to shame. Is this understood?" He raised an eyebrow and peered sternly at the old elf. 

"Yes Master Peverell, Kreacher understands. He will not give away your secrets to anyone, no he won't. Good Master Regulus says you are to be obeyed like you were him, so obey Kreacher will." The elf nodded. 

"Good. The third order is that you may not physically punish yourself for any misdeeds. If you have done something that you think is against my orders or something you feel you must punish yourself for, then you are to come to me immediately and I will decide which action to take." Harry paused. "If I am around muggles," here he grimaced slightly at the thought of primary school, which was torture. "Then you have to wait until I am alone so that nobody sees you. Understood?" He added. 

Kreacher nodded. "Yes Master Peverell." 

"Brilliant!" Harry grinned widely. "Kreacher, you will be happy to know this. Unless Sirius has any children in the future, I'm set to be the next Lord Black after him." 

Harry didn't really care about the title, he had more than enough already, but he figured this would make Kreacher happy. After all, he'd still be serving the Black family in a way. 

The elf looked from Harry to Regulus with wide and hopeful eyes. "Master Peverell speaks the truth?" He asked shakily.  

"Yes, he does, Kreacher. I told you I wouldn't let you go to a different family entirely. He is a Black through and through," Regulus confirmed. 

Kreacher turned to face Harry again, and he swore he could see little hearts in the old elf's eyes. Well, guess that was all it took for him to become loyal , Harry thought and mentally gave himself a pat on the back. He checked his watch and figured it was probably time to return home for dinner, his polyjuice potion would be wearing off soon since he'd only taken a small dosage. 

"I will be leaving now," Harry announced to the two of them. "Take care of my stone until I call for you. And Regulus, maybe give him a rundown of my current situation? Make sure to avoid speaking in front of any paintings however. They can't hear you speak but they can certainly hear Kreacher." 

"Of course, Harry. I'll fill him in on your ridiculous life." Regulus' lips twitched in a smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes. The worst part was that Regulus wasn't wrong. His life was absolutely ridiculous. "I'll see you two later." He wrapped the cloak around himself and vanished from sight.

Chapter Text

November 1986  

"Harry, your box is glowing," Regulus said as he waited for Kreacher to turn a page in the book he was reading. It had been collected from the Black library and Kreacher had been allowed to borrow the resurrection stone again so he could turn the pages whenever Regulus wanted it. 

Harry himself was busy weaving his family tapestry. It was coming along nicely according to Ophelia, the woman teaching him the craft. She surmised that if he kept up the pace he was at, then the weaving would be done in a few weeks. 

"Hmm?" Harry absent-mindedly hummed. 

"Your box. Kreacher says there is a letter for you." 

"Can you read it to me? If you haven't already noticed, my hands are rather occupied." 

Harry kept on weaving. 

"I thought you said no one but you could open the mailbox?" Regulus sceptically replied. 

"Ah, yes, about that. I added Kreacher and Ditty the other day. I figured it might be wise to have them check it regularly. I tend to forget." Harry grinned sheepishly. 

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Fine, Kreacher, collect the letter and lay it out so I can read it, please." 

The elf happily obeyed, and placed the pages of the letter on top of the table for his master. 

"So what does it say?" Harry asked, fingers nimbly working on his project. 

"It is from Ragnok again. He's saying that he's finally managed to create your second identity, the only thing that's missing are your OWL results. However he is advising you not to use your persona in public until you have sat your exams due to wand regulations," Regulus paraphrased. 

Harry groaned. He'd mostly forgotten about the exam issue. "Do you know when I can take them?" 

"To my knowledge they are only held at Hogwarts in June, and at the ministry in July for those who are homeschooled, or wish to sit an exam in a subject they didn't take at Hogwarts."  

"July?! I have to wait nearly a year until I can take them? Uuugh." Harry groaned again. "I guess that gives me plenty of time to brush up on the subjects I haven't used in a while." 

He sighed, resigned to another year of living the life of Harry Potter, child extraordinaire. At least he had polyjuice for when he desired a break. 

"Yes, you'll probably need it," Regulus replied in a dry tone. 

"Oi! I'm very clever, my mum told me so!" Harry retorted jokingly.

"Yes I'm sure she did. A very intelligent woman that one, but unfortunately she has a blind spot when it comes to her offspring." Regulus smirked and waited for the indignant reply to shoot back at him. 

"Hey! Some friend you are," Harry laughed.

The laughter was infectious, and soon Regulus joined in. "I'll have you know that I am a great friend." 

"Yes, yes you are." Harry smiled softly to himself. 

Regulus awkwardly cleared his throat. "So… which subjects do you intend to take the exams for?" 

Harry hummed thoughtfully "At least all the core subjects. And I've gotten pretty good at runes and arithmancy so maybe I'll take those too. Are the NEWTs held at the same time? Maybe I could sit one or two. Having just OWLs will look rather pitiful, don't you think?" 

"They are held in August usually. But honestly? If you don't plan on getting a proper job with that identity, I wouldn't bother. You can always sit the NEWT exams later if you wish to. Focus on getting your OWLs out of the way for now," Regulus suggested. 

"I suppose you're right," Harry murmured. "When do I have to sign up?" 

"Probably a month in advance just to be safe. Write a letter to Ragnok about it and he should be able to get you the right forms," his friend replied. 

Harry nodded his head and thought it all over while he weaved. Regulus went back to reading. 

~

"It's done!" Harry joyously proclaimed. 

Finally the weaving of the tapestry was complete. It had taken months of hard work, and copious amounts of blood, but he was finally done! 

"Now all that's left is waiting for the full moon, and I'll be able to see the names of my family… I-" he sighed wistfully. "I hope there is someone alive other than me. I know it's far-fetched but… It would be nice."

"Even if there isn't, you will have a link to both your past and present. This is a great feat you have accomplished. Not many have the skill, or dedication, that it takes to create an artefact like this," Ignotus said, looking proud of him. 

Harry smiled back. Ignotus was right of course, he usually was. This was something to be proud of. It was something he had done himself, all on his own. A tapestry that would last for generations, maybe even aeons if it was cared for properly. It would be his, and his alone. 

"Have you brewed the potion that is required for the final stage?" Ignotus questioned. 

"Yes, it's in the potions cabinet," Harry replied. 

Ignotus nodded in approval.

It took another week and a half until there finally was a full moon Harry could use. The large tapestry had been doused in the special potion, and now all Harry had to do was wait. It was a nerve wracking experience. If he had done everything correct, names and designs would appear on the blank slate as the tapestry bathed in the moonlight. 

Minutes ticked away into hours and Harry could see something taking form, colours and shapes stretching across the fabric. He chewed the inside of his cheek ragged while nervously waiting for the results. 

"Why is this taking so long?" He muttered to himself.

His mother snorted. "Children, always so impatient," she tutted. 

Harry rolled his eyes. He sat outside under the clear night sky. It was fortunate that it hadn't been cloudy, otherwise he would have had to wait until the next full moon. As it was, he was seated in a transfigured chair, wrapped up in a warm quilt that Kreacher had fetched for him. The October night was chilly, but he barely noticed it in his excitement. 

"Master Peverell needs to eat more. Only skin and bones he is," Kreacher groused, shoving a large bowl of beef stew into Harry's tiny hands. It smelled delicious. 

"Thank you Kreacher." 

He smiled at the crotchety elf who now had a tendency to mother him. Harry thought it might have something to do with his body looking like a child, and according to Regulus, one that resembled himself when he was young. Plus, having a close friendship with the elf's previous master definitely helped. 

Kreacher muttered something about young masters who should be in bed at such a late hour. It made Lily snicker. "Oh he's so precious. You know he's right darling, after all, don't you have to do your homework on the numbers one to twenty?" She teased. 

Harry huffed. The worst part of it was that she wasn't entirely wrong. He did have homework in maths where he had to write down the numbers and do stuff like 1 + 2. Sometimes he felt like killing himself just to get out of primary school, only to remember that it wouldn't do him any good since he'd just be revived again according to Death. He still hadn't died since he came back in time, and he hoped to keep it that way. 

He inhaled the aroma of the stew, sighing contently where he sat. Life was mostly good right now. He grabbed the spoon and blew gently on the piping hot food. The hearty stew warmed him from top to bottom. Kreacher really was a good cook when he made an effort. Harry hummed happily. 

The food quickly vanished into Harry's stomach, and within seconds of emptying the bowl, it was taken away by Kreacher. With a full belly, and snuggled up in warm blankets, his eyes started to feel heavy. He tried to keep them open, but it was no use.

"Harry!! It's finished!"

The sound of his mother practically screaming in his face startled him so badly that he fell out of his chair in a tangle of limbs and fabric. "Ow." He muttered before a cracking yawn split his face. Then he registered what his mother had actually said when she woke him up. The tapestry! 

He rushed over to the transfigured table to have a look at his project. It was beautiful. The artwork had created itself with the help of the spells, potion, and weaving techniques he'd used. The tapestry held a dark grey background, nearly black, with green leaves wrapping around the frames of each relative. Flowers of different colours bloomed around the frames among the leaves. Ophelia had explained it to him before. The colours signified whether the person was a muggle, squib or magical. Wizards and witches had flowers in shades of blue, squibs were purple and muggles were orange and yellow. In addition, each little portrait was framed by a gold or silver border, gold for the living and silver for the deceased. 

Harry reverently let his fingers trail the gold thread that connected his image to his mother and father. Most of their flowers were still in bloom, but he noticed that the snapdragons around his own border did not look the same as those surrounding the rest of the tapestry. The snapdragons amidst the blue asters and forget-me-nots of his mothers frame, had become little skulls. It was the same with the other frames. It was beautiful in its own way. Lily hovered over his shoulder, just as curious to have a look at their shared ancestry as he was. 

"That doesn't make any sense," his mother suddenly mumbled. "My grandmother was named Daisy…" 

Harry looked at her frowning face and then back to the tapestry, trying to spot what it was that had unnerved her. He followed the line from Lily to her mother, and instead of finding who he and Lily expected to be her grandparents, it was someone completely unknown. One Amaryllis Sayre and Marius Black, both squibs according to the purple hollyhocks and foxgloves. What interested Harry the most however, was the fact that Marius' snapdragons had not wilted into skulls, and that his frame was gold instead of silver, indicating that he was still alive.

He couldn't believe it… there was someone else alive out there other than Petunia and Dudley. He wasn't the last of his family! It was more than he could ever have hoped for. 

He looked at the date of birth, realising that Marius would only be around seventy-one, still a decent age for a squib. Even though they couldn't access their magic, they were far from muggle. They still had a magical core, albeit underdeveloped, and that core gave them a few perks, such as living longer than your average non-magical neighbour. 

"Regulus!" Harry shouted for his friend. 

"Yes, yes! What is all this hullabaloo about?" He huffed, annoyed because he was forced away from the book he’d been engulfed in. 

"Look!" Harry ignored the surly mood and pointed to Marius' name on the tapestry. 

Regulus hovered closer, eyes widening as he caught sight of the surname. "Marius Black," he murmured. "He is one of ours I think. I've only heard the barest mentions of him. He's been burned off the tapestry back at Grimmauld Place. He must have been born a squib, but the Black tapestry has no way to track it like yours do. I'm assuming they disinherited him when he didn't get his Hogwarts letter."

His grey eyes scanned the tapestry, and his eyebrows shot up. "If you take a closer look, you will find that he was also the older brother of Dorea Potter née Black, your paternal grandmother." 

"WHAT?!" Lily shrieked, horrified by the news. Dorea was her grandaunt which meant that James was technically her cousin. Not a first cousin but still close enough to make her uncomfortable. "Oh dear… oh god." 

His mother was having something of a mental break and he didn't know how to help. Harry looked over to Regulus who was just as uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. 

"Er, mum? You okay over there?" He hesitantly asked. 

"Oh yes, just peachy darling. Mummy just needs some time to process the fact that she had an incestuous relationship with your father." 

Regulus snorted loudly. "Hardly. If you look at it, Harry is much less inbred than most of the purebloods, no webbed toes for him, the lucky bastard," he muttered. 

Harry gave the dead teenager a strange look, whereas Lily snorted and giggled hysterically. 

"You have webbed toes?" Harry asked incredulously. 

Regulus glared petulantly at him. "I just said so, didn't I?" 

Harry blinked slowly, taking in the quirk of his friend's feet. His eyes shifted down, as if he could see them despite Regulus wearing polished, black leather shoes. 

"My eyes are up here," he voiced drily. 

Harry's head snapped back up and he grinned sheepishly. "Sorry." 

Regulus rolled his eyes. 

After the whole tapestry incident, Harry had decided to sleep in. All the excitement had worn him out, so it wasn't until 1pm that he sat seated at the kitchen table, nibbling on some toast courtesy of Kreacher. The old elf had filled the table with various sorts of delicious breakfast items and Harry felt bad that it might go to waste. He definitely wouldn't be able to eat it all. He could put some of it under stasis he supposed, but in the future he would have Kreacher restrain himself a little. He hated wasting food.

"How is mum today? Still taking the news about her grandparents hard?" Harry asked when Regulus joined him at the table. 

"Mh. I haven't seen her much. She probably went beyond the veil for some quiet time. Emotions are different there." Regulus shrugged. 

"I have been thinking-" he began.

"Well that's new," Harry quipped back with a small smirk. 

The spirit let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, how amusing, ha ha. I'm being serious here, Harry." 

"No you're not, your brother is!" Harry's laugh was more of a cackle.

"Of for-" Regulus sucked in a deep breath and exhaled in an explosive sigh. "You are such a little shit sometimes, you know that right?" 

Harry grinned widely. "It might have been mentioned once or twice." He smugly sipped his tea as Regulus' eyes rolled in exasperation. 

"Yes, well, I have an idea for how we might find Marius." 

That got Harry's attention and he sat up straighter in his chair, eyeing Regulus intently. 

"What if we have spirits like myself looking? Everyone is connected to someone right? You said Ignotus managed to find you several tutors, both wizard and muggle, despite having no close contacts from the last, what, six-hundred years, give or take? With this network of the dead, there are bound to be plenty of people who've had contact with Marius during their lives. I thought I'd dig around in my own family for clues, since most that might have known him are dead by now," Regulus explained. 

"That could actually work! " Harry exclaimed in excitement.

Immediately, he called Ignotus and explained their situation. The old spirit promised he would try to find someone who knew Marius, but that it might take time. It was easier to find someone with a particular skill set among the dead rather than one single living being. Harry didn't mind though. He had a living great-grandfather and that was all that mattered. He would happily wait if it meant he got to see him. He wondered what he would be like. 

Days passed into weeks, and still they had gotten no closer to find Marius Black. Harry had spoken to his great-grandmother Amaryllis, but her tale was a sad one. Dropped off at the doorsteps of St Mary's Convent in Manchester as a young child, with only a given name. The girl was raised and taught by the nuns like so many other orphans. The convent was her entire life, and so she had decided to devote herself to God and do as the other nuns did. 

However when she turned fifteen, there had been an incident. She'd gotten to know a few girls from the local community, and had one evening gone with them to a party. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time. At first she said no to the drinks being offered, but eventually she gave in. One became two, and two became three. That was how she met Marius, both young, drunk and full of hormones. 

Their short little tryst however, had grave consequences. The seed planted inside of her grew, and nine months later, a baby girl was born. It was seen as a terrible sin at the time, a child born out of wedlock of all things. But she wasn't the first woman the nuns had come across with that issue. She was allowed to stay her path as a prospective nun, but had to give up the rights to her daughter. Little Iris was raised in the convent for a while, along with the other orphans, until at the age of one she was adopted by a nice couple who couldn't have children of their own. 

Amaryllis never saw Marius again after that party, and the man never knew that he had a child. Even if she had wanted to track him down to tell him, it would have been impossible. He wasn't from around Manchester at all, no, she said he spoke with a posh accent that screamed money. 

Harry had felt sorry for Amaryllis, but she claimed that her life hadn't been all bad, she had gotten to be around children for most of her life, even if none of them were her own. 

He sat deep in his own thoughts when someone spoke his name. He blinked slowly as his green eyes focused on the woman in front of him. "Yes miss Richards?" Harry asked his teacher. 

"Are you alright Harry? You seem out of sorts today," she asked kindly with mild concern.

Harry sighed and bit his bottom lip. "It is the curriculum miss Richards. It's too easy. Are you certain I can't be moved up a year again?" Harry tried to go for big, pleading, puppy-dog eyes, and the teacher melted. She'd had a sweet spot for him since day one due to his polite and well spoken nature. 

"I can ask the headmistress again, but I can't promise anything. I'll see if I can get some books from year three though so you can work ahead, okay?" She smiled brightly at him and Harry tried to return it. 

He'd said it before and he'd say it again, primary school was torture. 

Chapter Text

November 1986

Harry sat in front of his tapestry, studying all the names and faces of his ancestors and how they connected to each other. His excitement about Marius hadn't faded, not exactly, but it had calmed down since there were no new clues to be found. 

Instead, he focused on learning the names and stories of his other relatives. He even summoned a few, like his grandmother Dorea. She had been shocked to find out that James' bride had been related to her brother Marius. She said she remembered Marius well, even though she'd only been a little girl when he was sent away. They hadn't talked much about him in her family after that day, but she had always wondered what happened to him, and whether he was happy. He had been such a kind older brother to her. 

The tapestry had been hung up on one of the walls in Harry's study. It reached almost one end of the room to the other. Ophelia had told him how to manoeuvre the tapestry itself. Seeing as it went back for hundreds of years, and would continue to document future generations, it was obvious that one simple tapestry would never be big enough. Therefore it was interactive in a way. By using a wand or alternative focus, the owner, or those keyed in, could shift the view to focus on specific parts of the family tree, going further back, forward, up or down. Right now Harry was inspecting his own connection to the Black family. 

Even though it was through incest, sort of, he felt happy to have a bond to Sirius that wasn't just as his best friend's son.

"We are actually third cousins through your father," Regulus said, watching the tapestry and its faces along with Harry. "And third cousins once removed through your mother. You might not be the offspring of someone as inbred as most purebloods, but welcome to the club." He snickered. 

Harry rolled his eyes. He had to admit that who were cousins to whom, and how many times removed they were, was very confusing. Regulus took to it like a duck to water however. It had to be due to his upbringing. 

"So Lily is both my mother and my cousin once removed?" He asked with a frown, trying to wrap his head around it. 

"No. She would be your mother and your second cousin due to James and Lily's mother being cousins," Regulus explained, pointing to the different pictures on the tapestry. 

"Your mother and father, however, were cousins once removed." Regulus smirked. "So much for marrying a muggleborn." He snickered. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "This is all sort of fucked up and confusing." 

"Yes it rather is, isn't it? I find it highly entertaining." Regulus grinned. 

"Of course you would." Harry snorted. 

He followed the line that connected his father to Dorea Potter née Black, and Charlus Potter. They were Harry's grandparents. And Dorea just so happened to be Marius Black's sibling. And Marius in turn was the father of Iris Andrews, Harry's grandmother on his mother's side. It made his head spin.

"What are the odds of two squibs meeting and having a child without even knowing about each other's backgrounds? It makes me wonder just how many squibs are actually born and then forgotten. It might be connected to the purebloods inbreeding. Are muggleborns actually a thing, or do they essentially come from squibs?" Harry mused thoughtfully. It was an interesting topic to do research on. Maybe it was something he'd dedicate time to in the future. 

~

"Lord Peverell." 

Ditty's thin old voice roused Harry from his nap. He'd fallen asleep with the Daily Prophet on his chest. He tried to keep updated on the current state of affairs in magical Britain, but the Prophet was mostly drivel and gossip. 

"Hn?" Harry yawned and stretched. "Yes Ditty?" 

Kreacher had been teaching her modern English, but it was slow going. To make life easier for himself, Harry mostly used the translating charm whenever he called her, or when she came to speak with him, like now. 

"Kreacher and I have been thinking, sir. You should get some younger elves and open the barns. Neither of us are young anymore and the barns shouldn't be under stasis much longer," she explained.

Harry had noticed that her vocabulary was much larger than any other elf he'd met. Kreacher came close but he had the odd quirk of speaking in third person. He wondered if it was because they were old, or if the other elves simply weren’t taught.

He thought of what she'd said. It was something he had intended to do, but with the addition of Regulus and Kreacher to the household, and the ongoing search for Marius, it had slipped through the cracks. 

"You're right Ditty. I promise I'll do my best to hire some young elves to help. I would be very grateful if you could teach them everything you know about the barns and animals within." He smiled at her. "Maybe we can start harvesting potion ingredients again, it could prove a profitable side business as well as keeping my own storages stocked." 

The elf nodded her head happily. “Thank you, Lord Peverell!"  

With that sorted, Harry had spoken to Regulus about how to go about acquiring said elves. The elf placement service in Diagon was out of the question. He didn't want to be registered with the ministry, nor forced to use the standard bonding ritual. Because of that, it looked like Knockturn was the only option for him. Regulus advised him where to go. It was a sordid place, and much more exclusive and hidden than shops like Borgin & Burkes. 

Before his trip, Harry had taken a dose of polyjuice potion with the hair of a large and burly muggle. The man was tall and muscular, with a light brown buzz-cut and many facial scars. Harry assumed he'd been a soldier or had an accident. Either way, it left him looking intimidating, which was perfect for his current needs. He dressed in an all black robe with a large hood that would partially obscure his face when pulled up. 

Reaching Knockturn Alley was an easy feat. It held several entrances, so if you didn't want to go through Diagon you could just choose one of the other access points. With the help of Regulus and Caractacus Burke, a greedy old shopkeeper who had been one of the founders of Borgin & Burkes when he was still alive, Harry made his way deeper into the seedy underbelly of wizarding Britain. 

"It's in here," Caractacus grunted and gestured to a small shop front that held an old wooden sign over the door, saying 'Haitty's Jewellery'. 

Compared to many of the other businesses in Knockturn, this one looked rather mundane and inconspicuous. There was no door, only a bead curtain. The beads were made of bone and painted in different colours and patterns. They clacked against each other when Harry brushed them to the side and entered the store. 

The inside was slightly larger than the outside but still small. The entire shop was filled with colourful bone jewellery of varying shapes and sizes. Caractacus said they were African inspired for the most part, and that some of the bones likely came from humans. The front was a mostly legal operation, it was what went on in the back that was a different matter. 

"Miss Haitty?" Harry asked the elderly woman sitting in a chair behind the counter, keeping his voice detached from emotion. It came out more as a grunt. 

The woman looked like an innocent grandmother with her short and round stature, greying afro, dark skin and large glasses. She smiled at Harry and put down the bead she was painting. "That I am, lad. How may I help you? Out looking for a gift for your girlfriend perhaps? I have some lovely necklaces." Even her voice was soft and innocent. 

Harry confidently spoke the French passphrase that Caractacus had made him memorise. It translated to 'the path to entertainment lies within the marrow’.

"Ah, I see," Miss Haitty hummed. "Right this way then." 

She led Harry to one of the display cases in the back of the store. A particular bead was taken off one of her necklaces and placed into an indent in the case. She repeated the phrase Harry had used, and much like a vanishing cabinet, the door opened and led to somewhere else. 

"Step right through." She held the door ajar and gestured for him to move inside. 

Without any outward hesitation, Harry entered the display case, only to step out into a warm and clean lobby of sorts. The lighting was still dim due to only a few oil lamps on the walls, but the dark red paint and carpet made it all appear more expensive than it probably was. He looked around and was greeted by a young and cheerful elf, dressed in a clean pillowcase, who led him towards one of the lounges. The humans, or he assumed them to be human, waited until he was seated before they approached. 

Two men, both roughly middle aged and dressed in expensive robes, joined him in the lounge. One of them was big and muscly, not as large as the shape Harry had chosen, but clearly meant to intimidate. The other, a slightly younger fellow, looked slick and oily. Harry had chosen a chair and so they seated themselves on the sofa opposite him. 

"Welcome sir," the younger of the two greeted with a sleazy smile. Harry immediately disliked him. 

"What are you looking for today? We have a wide selection of elves for sale, young, old, male, female, we’ve got everything you might desire! But perhaps you'd like to have a look at the wares before making any kind of decision? Who knows, maybe more than one will tempt you this evening," he said with a laugh.

Harry hated this, he hated it with all his heart. Selling sapient beings like they had no thoughts or feelings was despicable. This was a place for the depraved. Those who wanted an elf to use and abuse until they were so broken that death was the only option. There was a prominent feeling of 'use and discard' here. Why care about the harm you caused the elf when you could just get a new one afterwards? 

He forced down his own thoughts on the operation and nodded his head. "I need them young and able to work," he grunted. 

"Oh we have plenty of those! If you'll please come with me, we can have a look at some of the merchandise. Any preferred gender?" The slimy man cheerfully asked. 

Harry shook his head. He figured it was better to just act big and brooding rather than slip up and say something sarcastic or offensive. The two wizards led him to another room that was filled with elves, mostly young. Some even carried elflings in their arms. There were a few more mature elves, but most seemed to be the age of Dobby or younger. Harry wanted to take them all just to save them. He wondered how big of a dent it would make in his Peverell account. 

The gathered elves were clean, but downtrodden and shackled together. They looked hopeless, a feeling Harry knew very well from his childhood years. They all had their eyes fastened to the floor, too afraid to look at the humans inspecting them. Some even trembled.

"How old are they?" Harry managed to ask, not taking his eyes off one of the elflings that was clutched to what he assumed was its mother's chest. They all looked so young in comparison to Ditty and Kreacher. Young and resigned to the life they would have. How could he leave them there when he had the opportunity to help? The answer was that he couldn't. 

"The youngest are about three years old and the oldest is ninety-eight. Elves age and develop slower than wizards, so they'll stay nice and supple for you in many years to come, sir." The salesman grinned widely. 

The implication that Harry wanted them for his own sexual pleasure made him feel sick to the core. It was horrible. Absolutely vile. He swallowed away the bile and licked his lips, which probably sent a different signal than what he was feeling. "How much?" 

"For which one?" The sleazy man asked. 

"All of them," Harry said before he had the time to think it through. Caractacus cursed in the background for his brash way. 

"You say exactly what I say kid, got it? He's gonna swindle you here and backwards the way you're going," Caractacus groused and cursed Harry's incompetence. 

Harry didn't reply, but he fully intended to follow the old shopkeeper's advice. He had been a greedy bastard, and knew how to haggle. After all, he was the one who bought Slytherin's locket from Merope Gaunt for a measly five galleons.

"A-all fifty-three of them?" Mr sleazy, as Harry had decided to call him, stuttered in shock. 

Harry merely grunted in confirmation. He could see the greedy light being lit in the other’s eyes. 

"Two hundred thousand galleons," Mr Sleazy said smoothly.

"That is outrageous!" Harry sneered disdainfully, repeating Caractacus' words. "They are barely worth ten!" 

They kept haggling back and forth, pressing the price further down until it finally reached an acceptable range for Caractacus. He said that Harry was still being overcharged, but Harry had been sweating internally the entire time and wanted it over. He'd most likely have paid the two hundred thousand in a heartbeat if it wasn't for Caractacus being there. He just wanted the elves freed. 

Mr Sleazy licked his lips. "Thirty thousand, that is my last and final offer.” 

"That’s acceptable," Harry replied. 

The elves were mostly unbonded, and the only reason there had been elflings were that the sellers owned bonded breeding pairs. Harry was thankful for the fact that with the bond they used, fertility was low. It would be a while until they had new elflings for sale. Hopefully by then he would have figured out a way to disband their operation completely. 

The house-elves looked frightened for what their future held now that they were sold. Harry's appearance was grim as well, not aiding the situation. Mr Sleazy on the other hand was thrilled. 

"Would you like a glass of firewhiskey to settle the deal, sir?" 

"No. I would like to pay and take my new house-elves with me. I have plans," he said monotonously. 

To finalise the purchase, the two of them signed a contract that transferred ownership for a given amount of galleons. It didn't require names, but a magical imprint of sorts. It couldn't be traced or used for anything else, but it made the contract official and binding. It was an added security measure for both parties involved. Harry would get his elves without the seller swindling him, and Mr Sleazy would get his money. 

Harry conjured a large rope and silently used the portus spell to turn it into a portkey. He levitated it towards the elves and ordered them all to grab on to the rope. 

"Thirty thousand, like agreed," Harry said as he handed over a money pouch with the correct amount.

He had made sure that Ragnok was ready to transfer the money to the mailbox that he'd brought with him. He had it disillusioned inside one of his expanded pockets so the Peverell crest wouldn't show. All he had to do was send a note with the correct amount and then stick his hand in his pocket to withdraw the pouch from the mailbox. 

"It has been an absolute pleasure doing business with you sir!" Mr Sleazy replied with a cheshire grin as he accepted the money. 

Harry merely grunted and took the key to the shackles that the blighter handed to him. He grabbed on to the conjured rope and looked at the elves. "Anyone not touching the rope, speak up!" There was only silence and so he activated the portkey with a flash of his magic, transporting them all to the glade where his tent stood. 

"That bloody sleazy cunt! He should be hanged with his own entrails!" Harry snarled, finally unable to keep his anger bottled up anymore. His magic leaked out into the surroundings, making the temperature drop and grass shrivel at his feet. 

"Harry calm down! You are scaring the elves!" Regulus urged insistently. 

Harry took a couple deep breaths, gasping more than breathing. He was so furious. How could someone willingly sell elves like that, knowing they would most likely meet a fate worse than death? It was inhuman, it was cruel, it was despicable. Harry had to grasp on to the rudimentary occlumency barriers he'd created so far, slipping behind them to calm himself. His face evened and became blank. The temperature went back to normal, but the grass around his feet remained dead. That was something he definitely needed to get a handle on. 

"Sorry, you're right Regulus." 

The elves were all clumped together, meek and terrified. Harry smiled gently at them, but with a face like his, it didn't entirely work. 

"I know you are all probably scared and uncertain of what might happen now," Harry spoke softly. He'd used a sonorus to make his voice loud enough for all to hear. 

"Before we go any further and I explain what's going to happen, I will have to get a vow from each and every one of you not to reveal my secrets, and the location of this island, to anyone living, dead, or otherwise sentient. So if you could please line up in a straight line that would be good." 

The chains rattled as the elves shuffled about and spread out into a line. Harry began at one end, getting the unbreakable vow first before unlocking their shackles, much to their surprise. When all the elves had taken the vow, and been freed from the chains that bound them, Harry took a step back from the group. They were uncertain and hesitant, but slightly less scared now that they weren't chained up. 

"Kreacher! Ditty!" Harry called and the two elves appeared by his side. They had been informed of his planned trip, but their eyes widened when they saw the number of elves gathered. There were fifty-three of them. Harry had acquired a small army of house-elves. 

"Everyone, this is Kreacher and Ditty, they are both in my employ, working for the Peverell and Potter estate." As soon as he said Potter, the gathered elves began whispering among themselves. A few of the older ones began looking hopeful. 

"My name is Henry Potter, or Harry Potter as most people know me as. In addition, I am Lord Harrison Peverell. I have brought you all here because I would like you to work for me." He spoke kindly. 

"I wish to offer you a bond that will not chain or make you slaves. You will get magic, food and housing from me, and in return, I get loyalty and labour. With this bond you are free to leave whenever you want if you do not like it here. Clothes will not free you because this is a mutual bond that you do not need to be freed from. Ditty here has forged the same bond with me. She is over three hundred years old and remembers the time when wizards didn't treat elves as slaves but as beings worthy of respect. I want that to be true for this day and age as well. No matter what you decide, whether you leave in search of work elsewhere, or you decide to bond, this island will always be open to you and your children." 

The elves' murmur had gotten loud by now, some were crying from happiness, some looked angry, thinking he was tricking them, and some looked thoughtful. 

"What proof does we's have of this, sir?" One of the older elves asked in a squeaky voice. 

Harry thought about it for a second. "Would a magical oath suffice?" 

The elf slowly nodded its head, and fifty-three pairs of eyes were now settled on Harry. 

"Harry you can't be serious?! Oaths are dangerous when unplanned!" Regulus fretted in the background. 

Harry raised his left hand and spoke clearly. "I, Henry James Potter, Lord Potter and Peverell, swear on my life that the offer I just made to the assembled elves was truthful to my own knowledge." 

A golden light glowed around his ring, judging the oath before it dissipated into the air. Seeing as he was still alive, the elves believed him. Suspicion and mumbling had turned into cheerful chattering and excitement. 

"You don't have to decide right now, you are free to rest, bathe and have some food while thinking it over. The offer still stands. Kreacher will be able to show you around." Harry gestured to the still crotchety elf. 

"I know youse be's telling the truth, sir, but how's it possible?" A young elf asked hesitantly. "Harry Potter is only a child…" She squirmed slightly under Harry's gaze, shuffling her feet and twisting at the hem of her pillowcase. 

"It is a very, very long story that I prefer not to tell for now." He smiled kindly. "But I still physically am a child. I took polyjuice potion today to be able to free you. I apologise for not doing so sooner." 

The little elf ran forward and hugged his legs. Tears streamed down her face and Harry hoped they were from happiness. "I's wants to bond sir!" She hiccoughed. 

Harry laughed warmly and crouched down, patting her on the back. "Alright. What is your name?" 

"I is called Minky, sir," she sniffled. 

"Alright Minky, give me your left hand please." 

She did as she was told and placed her left hand in his. He clasped the hand gently in both of his, and began the ritualistic chant that Gerrard Peverell had taught him. Just as when he’d bonded to Ditty, he felt a thin thread of magic hooking into his core, almost like an electrical power cord connecting to an outlet. It was light and easily disconnected should either of them wish it. The amount of magic he had to give for the elf to be able to use her own was minimal, and so it wasn't really something he would feel unless he knew where to look. 

Minky thanked him profusely and continued to cry. Once the first bonding was done, and the others had seen it for themself, they were all eager to create one as well. What Harry was offering them was a dream come true. 

That night, Harry went to bed utterly exhausted, but happy with himself for the good deed he'd been able to do. However, just before he fell asleep, Regulus had been so kind as to inform him that the amount of galleons he'd paid Mr Sleazy was nearly sixteen years worth of income for a regular ministry worker. Harry tried to ignore it, not because he cared about losing the money, but because of who profited from it.

Chapter Text

December 1986

Harry made sure that all the rescued house-elves  had decent clothes and a good place to sleep in the time after their rescue. The elf quarters in his tent were far too small for all of them, but luckily he had several guest rooms that could be used until he found a better solution. He'd enlarged all the beds in the three bedrooms, creating bunk-beds so everyone would have a place to sleep. For clothes, he transfigured most of them. He planned on getting fabric so the elves could make their own, and desperately hoped some of them knew how to sew. 

Despite the rather makeshift setup, the elves themselves were all extremely happy and grateful for every little comfort they got. It made Harry's heart ache. 

He tried to remember all of their names, he really did, but there were simply too many of them. Regulus had suggested electing a few elves that would speak for the group as a whole and bring up concerns if they had any. Harry thought it sounded like a good idea, but he'd try to interact with them all as much as he could nonetheless. He was certain he'd get all their names with time. 

"Minky!" Harry called. She had quickly become one of his favourites. 

"Master Peverell be's calling?" The young elf asked with pure adoration in her eyes. Come to think of it, a lot of the elves now held the same look. 

Harry smiled. "Good morning Minky. I was wondering if any of you have particular skills, like say construction, sewing, gardening and so forth? Could you please ask around for me?" 

"Of course sir! I will do that rights now!" She brightly replied and popped away. 

Minky reminded him a bit of Dobby with her cheerful attitude and abundance of energy, only less crazy. He sighed as he thought of Dobby's situation. He wanted to free him but there was no way he could do that yet. Malfoy manor was out of his reach for now, so he put it out of his mind. There was no use worrying about it, it wouldn't change anything. 

He continued his magical studies while he waited for Minky to return. He was brushing up on his astronomy, and had several large textbooks open on the desk in front of him. His tutors had covered parts of the astronomy curriculum already since it was very important both for potions, herbology and rituals, but certain aspects hadn't been touched since the first time he sat his OWLs. 

A plate with a thick slice of glorious treacle tart, and an unsweetened mug of black tea, appeared in front of him. Harry could feel his mouth water. 

"Thank you Kreacher," he murmured blissfully around the first bite. The syrupy goodness was heavenly, and paired nicely with the black tea. 

Lately, Harry didn't have to cook any of his meals because Kreacher insisted on doing it. On top of that, the elf kept giving him treats and snacks throughout the day, spoiling him rotten.  

The pastry was quickly devoured, and Harry sighed contently. With a rejuvenated spirit and feeling full of energy, he returned to his studies. At some point there was a mention of the animagus potion in relation to the full moon and it made him think of his own progress on the matter. 

The animagus transformation was something he'd wanted to do ever since he found out Sirius and his father had been animagi. And so, with the help of his tutors, he began the process in late August. 

He held a mandrake leaf in his mouth for a month, which was then used in the animagus potion along with a strand of his hair, dew from a place untouched by sunlight or human feet for seven days, and the chrysalis of a death's-head hawk moth. The potion itself had been brewed inside a crystal phial and left undisturbed in a dark place. Since then, it had been in its final phase, and all that was needed to complete it was a thunderstorm. 

"I has spoken to the other elveses, sir!" Minky announced, rousing Harry out of his reading. 

"Wonderful! What did they say?" Please let there be someone skilled with needle and thread, he thought. 

"Mipsy, Tookey, Sampy, Lumsy and Tippy can sew, Hanny and Dutty haves worked with animals before, Tappy and Kipley were owned by other masters before they came to the bad place-" Minky shuddered at the reminder of where they had lived. "And they says theys did building and gardening when still with the old masterses." 

She kept going, mentioning names and particular areas the different elves had skills in. 

"Thank you Minky." 

Harry looked thoughtful. If Tappy and Kipley knew how to build, then maybe they could teach the others and get started on the main house. It was in sore need of repair. If they managed to get it habitable again, then the elves would have a permanent place to stay. Expanding some rooms magically should be a piece of cake once the main construction was solid. Harry quickly wrote down the names of Mipsy and Kipley, annotating sewing and construction behind their respective names so he wouldn't forget. 

"Anything for youse master Peverell," Minky replied. "Is there anything else I can be's doing for youse?" She looked hopeful and Harry almost felt bad that he couldn't think of anything. 

"No, that would be all for now Minky." Harry smiled apologetically. 

Around midday, Harry was tired of sitting inside, buried in heavy tomes. He required fresh air and sunlight, so he wandered out onto the property. 

The sun was still high in the sky and the temperature was comfortable despite it being late in the year. Kreacher had forced him to put on a scarf however, because 'little master must not get sick'. Sometimes the crotchety old elf coddled him more than his own mother. 

Speaking of his mother, Harry hadn't seen her for weeks, and he was beginning to get worried. 

"Do you think mum is okay?" Harry asked Regulus, but before the other could answer he continued. "Should I summon her to ask? No… no that would be rude, wouldn't it? I'm sure she'll be fine and come to me when she wants to talk about it." He nodded to himself.

The dead teenager merely raised an eyebrow and responded in a dry voice. "Seems like you've got it all sorted then."

Harry looked sheepish. "I want to take at least one of the barns out of stasis today. Ditty said that the charms have all held so far, but I don't want to take the chance of them failing now that I'm here. She's been asking me to do it ever since I got here actually. I just didn't have the time to take care of the animals all by myself." 

"Mh. I bet the elves will be happy to have something to do," Regulus replied as they walked side by side.

With the addition of so many elves, Harry needed to keep them occupied with something. Humans might be happy to laze about all day, but house-elves were not. The barns and house provided a perfect opportunity for them to do something productive.  

The grass and flowers were still wet from last night's rain. The sun's rays reflected in the water droplets, making everything sparkle with life. Harry loved his island for its beauty and peacefulness. It was so tranquil, like the world outside didn't exist at all. 

Some days he contemplated just staying on the island and giving up on his life as Harry Potter completely. Saying 'fuck you' to the world would have been a dream come true. Maybe he could take up knitting as a hobby and live as a hermit forever? 

But no, he couldn't do that, he still had people he cared about and wanted to help in the wizarding world. It was a tempting thought however. 

Harry and Regulus walked through the forest in companionable silence, listening to the sounds of the wildlife. Singing birds, buzzing insects, and woodland critters scuttling through the grass and foliage made for a comforting symphony. 

It took maybe thirty minutes for Harry to reach the beginning of the hilly landscape that was actually the barns of the estate. They had been made to be a part of the area, all round domes of rock, covered in grass and flora. 

"Ditty." The ancient elf popped in before him. "Have you spoken to the other elves about the barns?" Harry questioned. 

"Yes Lord Peverell. They are excited to begin working. Not many have dealt with animals before but they are eager to learn." She looked just as eager herself. 

“I think we are going to start taking them out of stasis today. Probably not all, but a few as a trial run. Do you have any suggestions as to which ones? Something that will be easy to manage for the other elves until they get the hang of it,” Harry queried. 

Ditty slowly nodded. "There is the Dodo enclosure, sir. They are very peaceful.” 

Harry’s eyes nearly bugged out. There were Dodos on the island? What the actual hell? He looked in shock at Regulus. “Aren't they supposed to be extinct?” He squeaked. 

Regulus looked equally shocked, mouth agape and nodding dumbly. “Uh. Yeah.” 

Harry cleared his throat, his brain desperately trying to catch up with the fact that the Dodo wasn't as dead as everyone though. Were they the last ones left? Was he responsible for keeping an entire species alive? Shit… how many specimens were there? Could the population sustain itself? 

His mouth felt dry. 

“O-okay. Dodos. Perfect.” He licked his lips. “Any other suggestions?” 

Ditty nodded. “The Re'em and Aurochs sir. They mostly keep to themselves. The old masters used the Aurochs for meat and dairy products. They have been bred on the island for many generations.” 

Harry frowned. He knew about Re’ems from the book ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’, they were an endangered unicorn-like species from eastern Asia with golden fur. However, he’d never heard of an Aurochs. He looked at Regulus who’s eyes had gone even wider if possible. Harry groaned. 

“Don’t tell me either of those are supposed to be extinct as well. Besides, what even is an Aurochs?” 

“Aurochs are an old bovine species that used to roam wild here in Europe. They are much larger than normal cattle, said to reach at least six feet in height. They and the Dodo have been presumed extinct since the sixteen-hundreds.” 

Regulus looked calculatingly at the many barns disguised as grassy mounds. He probably wondered if any other endangered or extinct species might be hidden inside, held in stasis for the last four hundred years, Harry certainly did.

Harry took a deep breath and exhaled. “Alright. Ditty, can you show me to the Dodo enclosure?” He had to admit, he felt a bit like the child he was on the outside at the prospect of being able to see real, live Dodos. He wondered why they even had them here. 

"Of course, sir." Ditty's thin, raspy voice agreed happily and she took his hand, transporting them both to the right barn. 

"Thank you," Harry absent-mindedly said as he stepped closer to the runes carved into the wall beside the door. They glowed lightly, indicating that they were still active. There were two different sets, one for the stasis and one for the extension. 

Harry had to conjure a step-stool to be able to reach them. He placed his left hand onto the runic array for the extension, letting his magic flow out to refresh the runes so they wouldn't end up with another imploded barn on their hands. He really should do this with all the other barns as well, as soon as possible. 

The runes soaked up his magic greedily, like a dry sponge gorging itself on water. Once the extension runes glowed brightly again, he moved his hand over to the second runic array, the stasis. But instead of fuelling the runes, he used a technique Ignotus had taught him for dismantling them safely.

It took time, but in the end the runes had been rendered obsolete. They were now nothing more than carvings in the rock. He left them there to ease the process if he wanted to put the barn under stasis again in the future. 

He stepped down and looked at Regulus with a huge grin. “Excited to see Dodos?” 

The dead teenager returned the grin. “Let's go see some dumb birds.” 

Harry laughed and pressed his hand to the small crystal embedded in the wall to the right of the door. It was something he hadn’t been able to see from a distance, but Gerrard Peverell had explained its purpose. 

Once it was touched, the crystal made the dark, stone door shimmer, and it became a silvery barrier that led to the enclosure. The door was warded so that the animals couldn't come within a certain radius of the opening. Harry quickly walked through the barrier. It felt like water, and yet when he came out on the other side he was completely dry. 

The first thing that hit him was the heat. It came so unexpectedly that he sucked in a sharp breath. An artificial sun shone bright in the sky. Harry used his hand to shield his eyes from the glare. Ditty and Regulus had followed him inside the barn, which looked more like a tropical island. 

To his left, he could see a stretch of palm trees that led to a sandy beach. The water lapped peacefully at the edge of the shore. The rest of the enclosure was a large and luscious tropical forest. For Harry, who had never travelled beyond the shores of Britain in his too short first life, this was a completely new and exciting world. It ignited a desire to travel one day, to see what was out there.  

“Are Dodos magical creatures?” Harry queried as he looked at the massive birds trotting around without a care in the world. They seemed to be roughly the same height as him, with huge, curved beaks and bald faces. The first thought that struck him was that they could probably peck him to death with those beaks if they wanted to. Thankfully they appeared more interested in resting in the sun and eating palm fruits. 

“Not that I’m aware of.” Regulus seemed almost awed by the not-so-extinct birds. “If they are, then it’s not something I've read about. It has been almost four hundred years since they existed though, so it might be forgotten knowledge. You should ask the ancestor who brought them here, surely they would know.” 

“I will. This is nice though. Do you think they are friendly? They seem rather docile. Do you think one would let me pet it?” Harry asked curiously. 

Regulus was thoughtful. “Maybe? But Harry… Have you seen their size? One peck or kick could do some serious damage. At least try it when you aren't pint sized.” 

Harry sighed. “I suppose you are right.” To be honest, he probably wouldn't have gone close no matter what Regulus had answered. He had some instincts of self-preservation after all. 

They didn't stay long in the Dodo enclosure after that, the heat got to be too much with what Harry was wearing. With another press of the button on the outside, the stone door reformed. 

After that, Harry repeated the process with the barn that contained the Re’em. They were beautiful but shy creatures, so he only got a quick glimpse of them through the trees before they were gone. They had the body of a horse, only more stout, with cloven feet like that of a goat, and a gorgeous coat with a lustrous golden shimmer. The horn on their head differed from that of the unicorn, instead of being straight it stood at an angle, bending slightly back towards the skull. 

The Aurochs were next. Stepping through the barrier led him to a platform that was raised roughly ten feet above the ground. Stairs led down to the grassy steppes stretching out below. From Harry’s viewpoint he could see almost the entire enclosure. A substantial herd of about one hundred individuals, give or take, was grazing in the sedge meadow far to the right. The open areas were surrounded by a large oak forest. 

Harry was blown away by how massive the Aurochs seemed, even from far away. They easily reached a height that far surpassed his own as an adult in his previous life. 

“They look a bit like overgrown cows…” he said, having almost expected something entirely foreign.

The only thing that separated them from your standard cow was their elongated and muscular bodies. The horns were also larger and curved at different angles. In addition, he couldn't see any pronounced udders like that of a milk cow. But in general, they were large cows. Very large cows. 

Regulus snorted. “Did you think they had three horns or something?" 

Harry glared up at the spirit. "Well excuse me for having high standards after bloody Dodos."  

The dead teenager had no witty comeback to that. 

Once Harry was back outside, he summoned Hanny and Dutty, the two elves that had worked with animals before. He explained what his plans with the barns were, how he wanted to keep the animals thriving, and to collect any potion ingredients they might give away voluntarily, or harvest them if an animal died. Hanny and Dutty were both in charge of the project under Ditty's management, and they were to include and train as many elves as possible. Harry informed them that he would open more of the barns as soon as they had trained up some of the younger elves. 

Harry apparated to the front of the house. This was the closest he'd ever been. He hadn't dared to go inside to explore, the house was hazardous to say the least. 

It looked like a lot of the base structure could be salvageable though. The foundation was built from sturdy rocks, but it was overgrown with moss, and nearly all the wooden components of the house were rotten and collapsed. 

"It's not much to look at is it?" Regulus said as he wrinkled his nose in distaste. 

"Maybe not, but I think it could become nice with a little care and attention. Rebuilding it feels right somehow. It's belonged to my ancestors for hundreds of years, I don't want it to crumble because of me. There must be so much history within those walls." Harry sighed. 

"Kipley!" He called, and immediately recognised him as one of the older elves who had asked about his truthfulness when he first brought them to the island. He stood out with his dark blue eyes and three feet of height, standing taller than most of the others. 

"What can I do for youse, master Peverell?" 

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Kipley. I have a project you might be able to help me with. Minky told me that you have some skill in building, correct?" 

The elf nodded, his large, round eyes flicking to the dilapidated building next to them. 

"Good. As you might have already guessed, I intend to rebuild this house. I thought that maybe you and some of the other elves would be able to do it? I can get you any materials you need," Harry asked hopefully. 

Kipley took a good long look at the house, evaluating the damage. "We can do it sir," he nodded. "But it wills take time." 

"Oh that's a relief! Can you make me a list of what you need? I'll make sure to get it from somewhere else. I don't want to cut down too many of the trees here, the dryads probably won't be too happy with me if I level their forests entirely just for the sake of a house." 

He hadn't met any of them yet, despite living for months on the island, but he figured razing their forest was a big no no. “Perhaps speak with Tappy? I hear she has some skills with construction as well.”

Kipley looked at the house with determination and well-contained excitement. “I wills talk to Tappy and look at the house, sir. I wills leave a list of materials for youse on your desk when we are done.” He nodded firmly then popped away. 

Back in the tent, Harry summoned Mipsy about making clothes for herself and the other elves. Seeing as he knew next to nothing about tailoring or sewing in general, he again asked for a list and said he’d get all the supplies for her in the muggle world. Mipsy however, had other ideas. She replied that she could easily get what she needed in the wizarding world provided she was given the money for it. Nobody bothered to check elves or ask who owned them as long as they could pay for the wares. 

Not having to do the shopping took a big load off his shoulders. He had no idea what to get, so it was perfect that one of those who were going to do the actual work picked out exactly what she wanted herself. He ended up giving her a pouch of 150 galleons and telling her to buy whatever she needed, and to come back if she ran out of money. 

Mipsy had looked at him with bulging eyes when he handed her that much gold. She promised to spend only what she had to, and that it would be more than enough. 

Harry tried to convince her to buy only good things for herself and the others, and that money was no problem, but Mipsy shook her head and wouldn't hear of it. "Master Peverell has already spent too much on us elveses." 

A few days after that conversation, all the elves were dressed nicely in cute little outfits. They ranged from glaring colours in ridiculous combinations, to more subdued greys and neutral shades. The elves had all been able to request what they wanted, and what they now wore said a lot about their personality. Minky had chosen a cute little dress in bright yellow, with pretty, orange flowers that bloomed and turned back into a bud on a slow loop. Kreacher still wore the shrunken, black shirt Regulus had gifted him, paired up with black trousers. 

"Harry! I think we might have found something on Marius' whereabouts!" His mother's loud and excited voice startled him out of his focused brewing, almost making him pour in the entire bottle of stewed mandrake instead of the required teaspoon. It would have been a disaster. 

"Mum!" Harry hissed. "You've got to stop doing that! I could have blown myself up!" Yes he was excited about hearing the news, but he preferred not to have a very painful, and possibly deathly, potions accident because of his mother's exuberance. 

"O-oh I'm so sorry! I didn't think-" 

"No you didn't." Harry cut her off sharply. "Could you please wait in the living room? I should be finished soon." He didn't see her crestfallen face. 

He finished brewing his strong invigoration draught and left the filled phials on the cooling rack. Lately, he'd had this urge to stock up on potions with healing properties. It was probably caused by his post-war paranoia, but he was of the opinion that one should always be prepared. Constant vigilance and all that rot. The invigoration draught itself wasn't exactly used for healing, but it could still come in handy if he ever needed an extra boost of energy. 

He cleaned his cauldron before exiting the potions lab, following the hall into the living room. He spotted his mother standing by the fireplace. Her head snapped to the side when she heard his footsteps. 

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you while you were brewing. I just got some news and I was so excited and I'm so so sorry… please forgive me?" her eyes were wide and glistening with unshed tears. 

Harry sighed. "Mum, I know you didn't mean it, but having an open invitation to visit doesn't mean you should do so without checking if the situation is appropriate first. Things could have gone really wrong… " Harry rubbed his face with one hand. He was tired from brewing all day. 

"It's good to see you though. I began to worry about you. I haven't seen you since we found out about your grandparents." He offered a smile as he sprawled into his favourite chair by the fire. Lily's body slacked in relief. 

"I needed some time to come to terms with my relationship with James." She grimaced. "Had I known what I know now, I probably wouldn't have gotten together with him. It isn't so close a familial relation that it's illegal in the muggle world, but it's still frowned upon." She sighed. "After that, I decided to help with the search for anyone who might know anything about my grandfather." 

"What did you find?" Harry asked curiously now that the shock was over and he'd calmed down. He sipped on the tea Kreacher brought him.

"Oh! We found someone who knew Marius! Well, somewhat. She was a patient of his, you see. Apparently he works as a doctor! Can you imagine?" Lily beamed at her son with a light laugh. 

"Really?" Harry was surprised. A doctor was not a profession he'd expected someone with a magical background to gravitate to. "Do you know which hospital it was at?" 

"She said it was the National Hospital in London where he removed a tumour from her brain!" Lily was practically vibrating in her spot from excitement. "My grandfather is a neurosurgeon!" 

Mother and son shared wide, excited grins. "We can go investigate when I have my Christmas break!" Harry replied, feeling the nervousness and hope churn in his stomach. They had a lead! 

The holidays thankfully came quickly, and Harry was polyjuiced and ready to investigate London almost as soon as the gates of his primary school closed behind him. After he’d made his mandatory approach to the Dursley household of course. This was a daily occurrence, he had to keep up his cover. Strangely enough, the Dursleys never asked what he did alone in his room all day, and why he rarely, if ever, got anything to eat from the kitchen, yet didn't seem to be starving.

Petunia was scared of him, so that might be why. And Vernon, well, Vernon was under the imperius. Harry had hesitated at first, but after his talk with Regulus and the revelations it brought, Harry had come to terms with his own need for revenge. The time wasn't now, but that didn't mean he would allow Vernon to do as he pleased and possibly take him by surprise. Through the mind control spell, he'd mostly just demanded him to be polite to Harry when needed, and to ignore his presence the rest of the time. Petunia and Dudley didn't need any spells to control them, not yet at least. 

In the last week, the spirits had managed to find out more about Marius. They still didn't know where he lived, but Lily had managed to track down an old nurse that had worked at the same hospital as him. She'd explained that although Marius had worked at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery for most of his career, he had decided to take on an easier job once he hit fifty-five. He'd wanted to spend more time with his wife, she said. She didn't know the name of his new workplace, but she knew it was somewhere around Kensington. 

So to Kensington Harry went. He was wearing the form of a rail thin, middle aged man with ginger hair, sallow skin, and a receding hairline. His nose was too large for his gaunt face, and the lips were thin and drawn. Harry had transfigured a dark suit for the purpose of his outing. Kensington was a posh area and he didn't want to stick out too much. Dressed as he was however, he looked like a businessman, one among many. 

Harry walked into the first GP surgery he could find and quickly realised that the receptionist was being very unhelpful when it came to giving out information about the other employees. He tried talking to her but she only rebuffed his questions. 

“I’m not asking for an address, just whether he works here or not!” 

The young woman wrinkled her nose as she looked at Harry with a frown. “Do you have an appointment, sir?” 

Harry sighed explosively. “No! I only want to know whether Dr Black works here.” This shouldn't be difficult to answer, Harry thought. Surely who worked there wasn't confidential? 

The receptionist kept stalling, and eventually Harry got fed up with it. He only wanted a simple yes or no answer. He quickly checked that no one was watching before sending a whispered confundus her way, making her shudder and blink in rapid confusion. 

“Where was I?” She asked bewildered. 

“You were just going to tell me whether Doctor Marius Black works here,” Harry replied calmly. 

“Oh. Oh yes, of course. Let me just check the files. I’m new here you see, haven't worked here for long. My mother was the one who got me the job actually! Did you know? She's the one in charge of hiring people here.” 

The girl chattered on happily, the confundus making her say whatever came to mind. She quickly went through the employee register. “Mmh. No. No Dr Black I'm afraid.” 

Harry sighed, he knew it couldn't have been that easy. He asked for the addresses to the other GP surgeries in Kensington, and at least here she complied. She wrote it down neatly on a piece of paper for him, including directions. 

"Thank you for your help." Harry's smile was strained but she didn't seem to notice. 

"Bye!" The girl waved at him as he left. 

For hours, Harry wandered from one GP surgery to the next, asking questions and digging around for Marius Black. He got a lot of practice with the confundus charm that day. Harry was tired and disappointed. No matter how many he talked to, he didn't get any helpful answers. Many seemed to recognise Marius by reputation, but didn't know where he currently worked.

Harry sighed. He’d make one more attempt before calling it a day. The previously sunny afternoon had turned grey and cloudy. London was cold in December, and Harry regretted not bringing a scarf and some gloves. Of course he could have transfigured some, but then he'd have to find a secluded place first, and he simply couldn't be bothered. There was only one clinic left on the list. 

Regulus hadn't joined him today for some reason. He said he had some more research to do beyond the veil. Harry assumed it meant talking to dead family members. 

"Good evening." Harry offered a tired smile to the old and wrinkly woman sitting in the reception of the GP surgery.

"Hello, how may I help you?" She returned the smile kindly. 

Harry felt hopeful that maybe he didn't have to confund this one. "I was wondering if you have a Doctor Black working here? He was an old friend of my mother who recently passed away. They lost touch with each other over the years and she hadn't heard from him for a long time. I thought he might want to attend her funeral, but unfortunately I don't know where exactly he works. My mother was sure it was somewhere around Kensington so I've been walking from place to place. Hopefully you can help me." 

"Oh goodness! You poor thing. Oh sit down, you look freezing." The old lady, Mrs Anderson according to her name tag, ushered him into one of the nearby chairs. 

The waiting room was nearly empty due to the late hour. She fetched him a cup of tea and Harry sighed in contentment when his cold digits wrapped around the warm mug. 

"Thank you." He sipped the tea politely and waited for her to respond. 

"You're welcome dearie. Now, we used to have Dr Black working here a few years back, lovely man he was, so handsome." 

Mrs Anderson sighed dreamily as she remembered the tall and charming doctor. She seemed to collect herself though and continued. 

"He left when his wife became ill, wanted to take care of her himself as far as I know. I haven't seen him since. It was such a shame." Mrs Anderson sighed. "There was a bit of an age gap between them, but they always seemed so happy together." 

This was it. Another lead! Finally Harry had something more to go on. "Do you know where he lives? So I might invite him to the funeral?" He asked hopefully, not really expecting her to know however. 

"Hmm no… but it should be in the files. It isn't technically above board but… I can probably bend the rules a little bit." Her smile was full of pity. 

Harry felt his heart drumming loudly in his chest. His hands clutched the mug tightly. Could he be this lucky? An address. An actual address. 

"You just wait here a minute, dear." She patted his hand gently before walking over to her desk where she opened one of the drawers in the filing cabinet. Her fingers leafed through the files until she found the one she was looking for. 

The minutes ticked by excruciatingly slow. Harry's leg began bouncing with nervous energy, and he had to force himself not to rush over to Mrs Anderson and act like a rash teenager. He could wait. He had time. 

He took a deep breath, looking around at the empty waiting room. The last patient had been called inside to speak with their GP just as Mrs Anderson led him to the chair, so it was just him, plenty of chairs, and a few potted plants. A radio buzzed in the background, quietly playing a generic Christmas song. 

The clock on the wall was annoyingly loud in the empty room. Harry bit the inside of his cheek, gnawing it raw. His eyes flickered from the clock to Mrs Anderson, she was writing something down it seemed. Was it the address? 

"Sorry for the wait, love. Here you go." The old lady smiled kindly at the sickly looking man Harry had disguised himself as, and handed him a piece of paper that was folded in half. 

"Thank you, ma'am, you have no idea how much I appreciate this." 

Harry reverently held the paper. It was pure willpower that let him slip it in his pocket without reading it. "I won't forget this. Mother will rest easy now that I've at least made the effort to reach out to her old friend." He smiled. 

"Oh tosh, it was nothing at all." She waved it away and Harry swore he even spotted a tiny blush on her cheeks. She ushered him out the door, telling him to make sure to take care of himself. Harry promised he would. 

He quickly walked down the street. The wind had picked up and once again he cursed himself for not bringing a scarf and some gloves. Once he had put some distance between himself and the clinic, he finally pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket. 

Dr Marius Black 

Black Cottage, Snakes Lane, Ugley Green

CM22 6HW 

Hertfordshire

Harry stared for what was probably minutes, memorising every word. His great-grandfather lived in Hertfordshire, only a 30 minute train ride away from London. He could go there right now if he wanted! 

But no, that was an exceedingly bad idea. Harry was tired, and soon his polyjuice potion would go out of his system. Besides, did he really want to meet his great-grandfather for the first time wearing the shape of a middle aged muggle who looked like he might faint any second? No. He definitely did not. 

Harry drew in a shuddering breath. He'd return home for now. Regroup and come up with a plan before he did something stupid. He was an adult so he should act like it. Well, mentally he was, sort of. 

He needed to find a secluded place to apparate from. He looked around himself. The street seemed to take a turn to the left further ahead, into what he hoped might be an empty side alley. If anything it would probably provide more cover than the main road. 

He set a brisk pace, wanting to get out of Kensington before it started to rain. The grey clouds were threatening an impending downpour, and he did not want to be caught in it.

Someone screamed and he sharply turned his head in the direction of the sound, left hand instinctively raised in a position ready to fire spells at a second's notice. But instead of seeing a person, Harry was met with two large, glowing orbs, immense pain, followed by an all encompassing darkness. 

Chapter Text

December 1986

It was a perfectly normal day for Stanley Davies. At 7am he kissed his wife goodbye and patted their cat, Mr Whiskers on the head before he left the house. The day was like any other, ordinary, boring, and entirely unremarkable. 

Stanley Davies drove his trusty old Ford Fiesta to work, listening to a morning talk-show as he went. It was all about Christmas dinner and how to get the perfect roast turkey. He didn't really pay attention. Mrs Davies was the one who did all the cooking at home, and no matter what, it always turned out delicious. 

Mr Davies worked for a transport company that moved fresh produce and other food items from storage and over to the many grocery shops and institutions around the country. One might think that Stanley worked in the administration and logistics department, after all he was a smart man, but no. Stanley Davies was an ordinary man who was happy to do hands-on labour. 

That morning he had clocked in as usual and helped load the many crates into the company lorry. He had a long day of driving ahead of him, and strangely enough, he was looking forward to it. His route that day mostly consisted of London and the surrounding counties, like Hertfordshire and Surrey. 

The day went by without an issue. He drove to each destination, unloaded the right crates, collected empty ones, then continued on to the next stop. On and on. 

Stanley Davies was a healthy man for the most part. Perhaps a little pudgy around the belly due to his wife's good food and his many hours sitting on the job, but he had no known problems. Well, there was that one time he and his mate, John, had watched a football match on the telly, but Stanley didn't think it was anything to worry about. 

For a few seconds, Stanley had frozen in his seat. When he came to again, he felt confused, several seconds of the match were gone, and he didn't know what had happened. His friend had been concerned, but Stanley brushed it off, it was probably just indigestion. 

The incident was promptly pushed to the back of his mind and ignored for the next year, until the problem refused to be forgotten. 

Stanley Davies, the entirely average lorry driver, had been on his way to one of the local Sainsbury's in Kensington when it happened for a second time. This time however, he was in a much more precarious situation than the first. 

His body went rigid, and the foot resting on the accelerator pressed it down firmly without his consent. All it took was a few seconds for a disaster to happen. When Mr Davies recovered from his blackout, it was already too late to change the path of the massive lorry headed straight for a ginger businessman. The man was only a few feet away, staring wide-eyed at his impending doom. 

Stanley Davies hit the breaks as hard as he could and tried to swivel away, but it didn't matter. The front of the lorry hit the man with a loud thud, dragging him under the many wheels. 

Unfortunately, the horror didn't end there, a human body is not made to withstand the weight and power of a 40 tonne lorry driving at 50 miles per hour.

The tyres screeched to a halt, and then, everything was eerily silent. Mr Davies breathed heavily in shock, he could smell the putrid scent of burning blood and flesh running through his ventilation system. 

"Oh holy fuck. Shit shit shit. Is he alive? He's dead inn'e? Oh god, oh bloody hell, what have I done?!" Stanley Davies, the driver of the lorry, muttered hysterically as he stepped out of the vehicle and looked around. 

The road glistened red in the gloomy afternoon, and the blood painted the front and side of the white lorry like a grotesque picture. 

"I-I didn' see him, I swear! H-he just came out of nowhere a-and…" the driver and bystanders had reached panicked hysterics. The entire thing had happened on a busy London street in front of dozens. Some took pictures, some cried, and others threw up. Sirens could be heard in the distance.

When the paramedics arrived, there was nothing left to save. The poor young man was dead the instant he'd been sucked in under the tyres that dragged him across the road. The unknown man was nothing more than human slurry and chunks of flesh and bone on the asphalt by the time the lorry stopped. 

Instead of checking the remains, the paramedics immediately went to the driver, who had gone into a state of shock. 

~

Harry opened his eyes. He was on his back, naked again. 

How lovely. 

In addition, he seemed to be back in his seventeen year old body according to the many scars littering his skin. Although he had missed being an adult physically, the malnutrition and map of scarring was not a welcome sight. 

"I have to admit that I did not expect you back here so soon," Death suddenly said with a hint of exasperation and baffled amusement. 

Harry’s head snapped to the side, meeting Death's eyes with horrified embarrassment. His face and neck burned. His hands immediately went to cover his privates. It was one thing to undress in front of the dead spirits, but Death was an entirely different matter. 

“Oh no need to be embarrassed Harry, death happens to all. Well, nearly all. But perhaps it is your nakedness that bothers you? How quaint.” The deity chuckled and got out of his chair to drape one of his cloaks over Harry’s shoulders, much to the teenager's relief. 

“Where are we?” Harry asked as he looked around himself. It wasn't Kings Cross Station, that was for sure. Instead it seemed to be a large and lavishly decorated office.

"This-" Death gestured around the warm and well lit room, "is my home. Or rather, the part of it I spend most of my time in." 

The deity walked back to his large desk and sat down in the comfortable wingback chair behind it. The desk itself, and the surrounding furniture, were all made of a dark, yet warm, wood. The silver-haired gentleman made a small waving gesture, making the piles upon piles of paperwork order themselves and fly into a filing cabinet near the wall. What a primordial god needed paperwork for was a mystery.  

"I thought you said I couldn't die?" Harry questioned, transfixed as he watched the desk clear itself. 

"Ah… well, the correct phrasing would be that you cannot stay dead,” Death said. “Dying is a simple matter. Your soul however, cannot remain here, so you will have to go back once your vessel is in acceptable shape." 

"My… vessel?" Harry frowned. 

"Yes, your physical body. It is what anchors you to the mortal realm, and no way of destroying it will be permanent due to your bond to me," Death explained. 

The being waved his hand and another chair appeared in front of his desk. "Have a seat, you might be here for a while." 

Harry numbly sat down in the offered chair. It was extremely comfortable. It suddenly dawned upon him what had really happened. He'd been killed. Run over by a lorry of all things. How was this his life? 

He cleared his throat. "How's the driver? Is he alright?" Harry inquired. He doubted it had been a pretty sight. 

“Physically, he is in perfect shape, aside from the little syncope that caused his blackout, mentally however… I fear it might take a while for him to process and get over the accident, if he ever will. Killing another human being, accident or no, seems to weigh heavily on the human psyche,” Death said in a dispassionate way, displaying his lack of humanity no matter how much like a human he looked at times. 

With a snap of his fingers, a white bone china tea set with gold details appeared on the desk, along with a tall petit four stand with several layers, each containing a different sweet treat.

“Tea?” The deity asked calmly as he poured himself a cup.  

“Er… yes please,” Harry replied, accepting the delicate cup of steaming tea. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep gulp of the golden liquid, nearly moaning. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He couldn't even describe it. It went down his throat like liquid silk, flowing out to every inch of his being, bringing warmth, and a sort of hum with it. The buzz made him lightheaded and slightly giddy. 

“What is this?” Harry asked incredulously. 

“Hm? It's tea, didn’t I already say? How curious,” Death mused, looking puzzled.

“This bloody well isn't tea!” Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. “I know tea and this is far from it. Tea doesn't make you feel so… so- good,” Harry eloquently finished. 

If there was ever a moment Harry had seen the deity look confused, now was it. He looked down at the tea set, trying to figure out what could have caused Harry to say such odd things. 

The ancient being hummed thoughtfully as he lifted up one of the cubes made of brown sugar and inspected it closely. 

Harry thought the sugar looked more golden than what was probably normal, but other than that, it seemed fairly average.

"It must be the ambrosia," Death mused. "Food and drinks are a thing of the mind in this realm. Departed souls have no need for physical sustenance, and technically neither do I. Unfortunately, conjured foodstuffs taste rather bland here, so I add ambrosia as a flavour enhancer. I haven't tried to give it to a human before, this is the first time. Although, I suppose it does not count. After all, you are not entirely human anymore," Death said, as if the revelation wasn't completely mind-boggling. 

"W-what?!" Harry sputtered, nearly choking on his second sip of tea. "What do you mean I'm not human?!" His green eyes were blown wide open with shock and horror. 

Death smiled softly. "I said not entirely. After all, what mere human could withstand the pressure on their mind and soul of being tied to me for eternity? I'm afraid I had to make a few… modifications, so to speak, to make it possible. Living until the end of all things is not easy, a human mind and soul wouldn't be able to take it without slowly going mad. And that is not something I wish for you." 

Harry licked his lips, mouth feeling dry as a desert. Having to live forever was one thing, but not being human? That was something entirely unexpected. He should have seen it coming really. What human lives forever? Even Nicholas Flamel had an expiry date. 

Harry sucked in a deep and desperate gasp of air. If it wasn't for the effect of the ambrosia calming him, he'd likely be having a minor panic attack. 

"So… not human. What exactly does that make me then?" Harry asked, already bottling up his feelings about the matter, pushing it deep down behind his occlumency barriers. 

"Hmm, human 2.0 perhaps?" Death suggested humorously, making Harry snort. 

The being sighed. "In all honesty I am not quite sure. This has never been done before, you are one of a kind. If it makes you feel any better, the bond is causing some unintended side-effects on my end as well." 

This caught Harry's attention and he perked up. What on earth could the side-effects be for a primordial God? "Like what?" He asked curiously.

Death hummed and picked up one of the delicate petit fours. "I find myself… more-" he distantly looked at the treat, seemingly struggling to find the right word. "More emotional I suppose. I feel more than I used to. It is perplexing and yet exciting. Sometimes, when you feel something really strongly, it will bleed through. I only get an echo, but it is still more than I have ever felt on my own." 

He bit into the tiny cake, seemingly not being bothered about his own revelation. Harry however, was bothered. The bleed-through of emotions sounded way too much like the connection he'd had with Voldemort through the horcrux in his scar. Hang on… did that mean? 

"I'm not your horcrux am I?" Harry looked at the deity with trepidation. 

The other merely looked puzzled. "No, what made you think that?" He sipped his tea. "If anything, I would be your horcrux,” Death added with an amused smirk. 

Harry, on the other hand, found absolutely no humour in the situation. His eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, and his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. 

"Oh calm yourself Master of mine. I am merely jesting. Your soul is completely intact and untarnished, no need to fret." Death chuckled and waved it away. 

Harry slumped back in his chair and rubbed his face with his free hand. "You are horrible," he muttered petulantly. Death merely laughed. 

The two settled in a comfortable silence as Death finished his tea and Harry peered around, looking at the bits and bobs lining the room. 

"How exactly does fixing up my body work? How badly damaged was I?" Harry asked. Being hit by a lorry at over 50 miles per hour would probably not have been kind to his body. 

The deity actually grimaced at that. "Your body was almost entirely destroyed. As we speak, there is a clean-up crew gathering what parts of you they can. Your remains will be cremated and your personal effects collected for any relations that might claim them once they have found your identity." 

Harry frowned. "What will happen to my rings?" 

The Peverell and Potter ring was something he dreaded to lose. They felt almost like a part of him by now, especially the Peverell ring. It might be strange but he felt a much stronger connection to the Peverell family than that of his father. Well, perhaps it wasn't so strange after all. He had developed a rather close relationship with Ignotus and Cadmus. Ignotus was like a kind but firm grandfather, and Cadmus acted as a moody uncle who got excited about potions and complained about Martin and his exuberance. In addition to that, there was Resurrection Island. It was his now and it held so much history. 

“No need to worry,” Death reassured him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I have taken the liberty to transport any items you might wish to keep over to the bedroom in your tent. They will be there waiting for you once your vessel has regenerated." 

Harry felt relieved, at least his rings were safe. That only left the whole regeneration process to deal with. 

"How exactly can my body be regenerated if it's as destroyed as you say, and then supposed to be cremated on top of it all?" He asked. 

"The process is connected to what I told you about modifying your soul. You see, when I sent your soul and magic back in time, your young body was not yet dead. Even if it was lingering on the brink of death, the soul was still tethered to its vessel. When I forced your older soul and magic into that body, your young and old soul merged, the older taking over that of your younger self," Death elaborated as two orbs of bright light appeared over his palms. 

The one in his left hand was much larger and brighter than the other. With the help of the orbs he illustrated what had happened to Harry's soul. The larger, and older one, pretty much absorbed the smaller and less powerful light.

"The younger soul did not die however, it is still a part of you, albeit a small and non-sentient one. It functions as a blueprint of sorts for your current body in this timeline. Whenever you die and your soul gets ripped from its vessel, the body will begin regenerating itself, always reverting back to its original form," Death continued. 

"In cases where your vessel is too injured to easily fix, like in your current situation, a part of your body will be moved to your island so that it can regenerate. Essentially regrowing a new body from that part." 

"And that's what you've done today?" Harry questioned curiously. 

Death nodded and refilled Harry's teacup. "Regenerating an entire body will however take longer than if you only received a few targeted injuries. I am not sure exactly how long, 

"What happens to the remains of my body parts that are left behind?" 

"It will turn to ash. Which is why it is convenient that they plan on cremating you either way," Death replied. 

Harry hummed as he took another sip of the wonderful tea that had been spiked with ambrosia. It didn't have the same buzz as the first time, but it did taste incredible, making him feel warm and content. 

"Would you like to have a look at the regenerating process? I can supply a scrying mirror of sorts," Death suggested with steepled fingers in front of himself. 

"Er…" Did he really want to see himself being put together? It probably wasn't pretty. 

Unfortunately, his curiosity got the best of him. 

"Sure." 

With the wave of a hand, a large, ornate mirror appeared in front of Harry. At first, the only thing he could see was his reflection, that of a too short, and too skinny, teenage boy. But then the view changed, the mirror rippled as if the glass was made out of water, and once it settled, Harry was met with a nauseating sight. Oh how he wished he'd refused the offer to look. He had to swallow hard. 

There, on the green forest floor, laid a small, pitiful thing. Theoretically he knew that the thing was him, but it was hard to feel attached to a rib cage filled with exposed entrails and organs. The skeleton was mostly there, flesh knitting itself over bone in places. It was truly a macabre sight. He turned away, nauseated. 

“How long do you think it’ll take?” 

Death waved it away unconcerned. “A day perhaps? Possibly two. Who knows. My magic isn't made for healing so I had to connect the regeneration process to your own core through your soul. The only thing we can do is wait and see. You should feel it when you are ready to go back." 

After that, Death had pulled a seemingly ancient tome out of his bookcase and handed it to Harry. The deity said it would keep his mind occupied while he waited. 

Harry, not having anything better to do, opened the book to distract himself from the gruesome sight in the mirror. The book was an interesting one. It was written by a pharaoh wizard from ancient Egypt. However, he wondered why the book was written on thick paper and not papyrus scrolls. He figured it probably had something to do with this being Death's realm and all. 

Every now and then, Harry would sneak a quick glance at the mirror. Even though Death had said it might take days for the body to finish, it certainly didn't look that way in the mirror. The body was slowly taking shape and looking more human by the minute. There was still no skin however, only muscle fibres being stretched over bone and ligaments, some areas still uncovered. 

What might have been an hour, or five, had passed when Harry suddenly felt a strange tugging sensation. He looked toward the mirror and frowned, the body wasn't completed yet. There were still parts left uncovered by skin, and the eyeballs hadn't finished growing in their sockets. Harry stared wide-eyed at the unfinished child's body, the tugging only growing stronger by the second. 

"No! You can't be serious?! It isn't finished!!" He desperately exclaimed, the tugging being almost unbearable by now. Death didn't have time to answer, only frown.

With a frightened shriek, Harry's soul was forcefully sucked back through the veil and shoved into the unfinished vessel. 

The pain and darkness overwhelmed him. Everything hurt, excruciatingly so. Harry wanted to scream but his vocal chords hadn't finished knitting together yet. His mouth opened anyway, letting out his agony in a silent cry of pain.

Harry wanted to die. It was unbearable. It hurt more than he'd ever hurt before. It felt like an eternity of burning and stabbing, every part of him alight with a torture worse than the cruciatus curse. 

His heart beat sluggishly in his chest, pumping out blood to every part of his twitching body. He had no idea how long it took for his voice to finally function, but once it did, he screamed, he screamed himself raw. 

"Please make it stop. Kill me. Please, please, please. Just kill me." 

It was like a mantra being said, first in his head and then aloud, pleading for anyone to take affair and do something. 

Even though his eyes had finally filled in their sockets, he was too far gone to actually see. Tears streamed down his face as he cried and whimpered, constantly pleading for death until his voice was hoarse and naught but a whisper. 

The deity sat there with him through it all. He had pulled Harry up to lay with his head in the being's lap, long and thin fingers gently carding through the young boy's black locks. He spoke soothing words that went unheard by Harry. All he could focus on was the pain. 

By the time it stopped, and his body had completely finished regenerating, Harry had passed out in Death's lap. The god gently took the naked boy in his arms and carried him to Harry's bedroom in the tent. He laid him down on the large double bed and tucked him in, settling in a nearby chair to wait until his Master regained consciousness once more.  

When Harry woke, the sun was shining annoyingly in his eyes. He groaned and rolled over on his side, away from the stupid ball of gas. His entire body ached. It wasn't exactly painful, not after what he'd previously experienced, but it wasn't nice either. Mostly, he felt numb and detached from everything. 

"I'm glad you are conscious again, young Master," Death spoke softly from somewhere in front of him. 

Harry opened one eye to peer groggily at the deity. He seemed concerned for some reason. 

"I am truly sorry for what happened. I didn't think…" the primordial deity frowned. "Instead of waiting until your vessel was complete in its entirety, your soul got pulled back as soon as it was functioning at minimal capacity. I am sorry for the pain I caused you." And the god truly did look sorry. 

Harry licked his lips. "Will this happen every time?" He asked groggily. It was a terrifying thought. 

"No," Death firmly replied. "I have taken the time to modify the process a bit. If you shall ever need to regenerate again, your soul will not be returned until the vessel is completed in its entirety." 

The old man hesitated before continuing. "I could feel the backlash of your pain and… it was highly uncomfortable. I wish I could have done more to stop the anguish for you, but again, my magic really is not suited to healing." 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, relieved that at least this was a one time experience. "It's fine," he muttered and wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. It wasn't, not really. It had been a mistake from Death's side, sure, but it was one that had grave consequences. 

He rolled over onto his other side, ignoring the glaring sun just so he wouldn't have to face the entity sitting at his bedside. 

Death let out a quiet sigh. "I will leave your personal belongings on the night-stand."  

Harry heard the items being put down and then felt a gentle hand stroking his hair. The comforting feeling eventually vanished along with the god himself. 

Harry was okay, everything was fine… at least that was what he told himself as he curled up into a tight ball. All he needed was a day to process everything and then he would be back on his feet again, ready to carry on.

Chapter Text

December 1986  

It took the entire day, and a worried Kreacher before Harry finally managed to drag himself out of bed. The first thing he did was put on the clothes his fretting house-elf had laid out for him. After that came his rings, then his wristwatch, and lastly the holster that contained the ebony wand.

He still didn't know if there was any special way to wear the rings, it had completely slipped his mind to ask Regulus, but he felt like the index finger was best for the Peverell ring. It seemed more important having it placed there, like it was held in a higher regard than the Potter one. It might just be his imagination, but that was the way it felt. Perhaps it was merely because he was more attached to the Peverell ring due to the Hallows they contained. 

Next to his belongings laid a bloodied piece of paper that made Harry grimace. It was the address for Marius that he'd been given. Had he not died, he probably would have rushed there immediately the next day. Now however, he would take his time to get back on his feet, maybe see if anyone had any news. 

Kreacher popped in once Harry was decent, muttering under his breath. He gave the child a firm glare. 

"Young master has had everyone worried he has," Kreacher grumbled. "Gone for days, doesn't even leave a note, oh no. No concern for–" 

The elf kept going with his ramble, and Harry blinked slowly as he processed Kreacher's words. Had he just said days? Surely not… 

"Kreacher, what day is it?" Harry asked with trepidation. 

The wrinkly elf narrowed his eyes at his dumb master who didn't take care of himself properly. "It is Wednesday, December 24th, 1986," Kreacher groused, speaking slowly, as if Harry were an exceedingly unintelligent child. 

The 24th… it was Christmas eve. Harry had lost more than five days. It shouldn't be possible. His stay with Death in the afterlife had only felt like a few hours, how did he miss five whole days? 

He couldn't judge the hell that was regrowing skin and other body parts, it had felt like an eternity to him, but it shouldn't have taken that long compared to the rest of the process. 

Harry opened and closed his mouth. Five days… 

"Harry! Where in Merlin's name have you been?!" Regulus' worried voice shrilly exclaimed, breaking through the young wizard's dazed thoughts. 

Regulus had tried to reach his friend for days, but been unable to access the living world. Normally, Harry was like a shining beacon, but in the past five days, it was like the light had been snuffed out, gone entirely. And once it came back, there was a barrier keeping him from appearing in Harry's vicinity. It hadn't broken until now. 

Harry blinked and shifted his gaze over to the frowning teenager. "I died." He licked his lips and swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Death had to regenerate my body. My soul was supposed to return to it once it was completed, but… apparently he miscalculated. The body was only partially complete." Harry grimaced. "I didn't have eyeballs… amongst other things." 

Regulus looked horrified and astonished. "How did you manage to get yourself killed in Kensington of all places? In broad daylight." 

Harry gave the dead teenager a sour look. "I got hit by a lorry," he mumbled, cheeks dusting pink. 

"A–" Regulus' words were cut short by an incredulous laugh bubbling through. "You got run over?" He asked, giggling in shock at the ridiculousness of it. 

"Of all the things to finally kill you… a-a lorry?" He laughed.

"Yes, yes, rub it in," Harry sneered, more embarrassed than angry. So much for his paranoia making him aware of his surroundings. 

Regulus struggled to get his laughter under control, it was slightly hysterical. He drew a few wheezing breaths, hiding his face in his hands. "S-sorry, sorry. Are you okay?" 

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm fine. I'd rather not talk about it." 

Kreacher had listened in on the one-sided conversation, only hearing Harry's part. His bulbous eyes nearly bugged out of his skull after hearing that his young master had died. 

Harry snuck the elf an apprehensive look through the corner of his eyes. This didn't bode well, he thought. Kreacher was going to up his mothering now. Harry wanted to groan. 

"So, Regulus, anything happen on your side since we last spoke?" Harry asked, desperate to get onto a different topic. He didn’t want to think about the trauma of immortality and regeneration. It would be firmly bottled like the rest of his shitty childhood.  

The teenage spirit had thankfully managed to compose himself somewhat. "Yes actually. I finally managed to contact my great-grandfather, Sirius Black II. Since he died before I was born, I didn't have anything connecting us. Getting hold of him was a bit of a challenge," Regulus explained. "He had plenty of information you should hear though. I recommend summoning him for a chat." 

Harry nodded. More information definitely wasn't a bad idea. "Thank you for looking." 

Before Harry went ahead and spoke with more dead family members, he needed tea, plenty of it. He asked Kreacher if he could make some, and the old house-elf popped away with a glint in his eyes. Harry wondered whether he should be concerned about that.

Once stationed at the dining table, Kreacher returned with the promised tea, in addition to a veritable feast of food. Harry looked forlornly at the spread, there was enough to feed an army. 

His stomach growled as the scents wafted over to him, and he admitted to himself that eating probably was a wise idea. He just wished that Kreacher hadn't made so much. 

Harry sighed. There was no point in telling the old elf that he was displeased, he tended to find loopholes so that he got his will in mothering him to death. Harry knew that he meant well, so he pushed it out of his mind. The elves could probably eat what was left. If not, there were always stasis charms, or the animals in the barns. 

"Will you stay for this conversation?" Harry asked his dead friend once he'd eaten and gotten ready to summon another dead, Black relative. 

"Of course. I'll stay as long as you want me here," Regulus promised.

Harry found that he wanted to make a good impression for some reason. This was one of his ancestors, albeit not in a direct line. He had seated himself in his study with a freshly made pot of tea. 

While thinking of Sirius Black II, he rubbed the Peverell ring, focusing on bringing him through the veil. 

Summoning people he didn't personally know had gotten easier with time. He still needed a name, a face, or a relation to someone for it to work. Trying to summon, say, John Smith, without having a face or relation in mind, would most likely end up in failure. He didn't think his ring was able to bring back all of the men with that name at the same time, but it wasn't something he wanted to try. It sounded like chaos. 

"Good evening Mr Black. Thank you for heeding my call," Harry calmly greeted the surprisingly young-looking gentleman. 

He should be in his seventies, but he seemed more like he was in his fifties. His hair was long and brown, without a speck of grey. It had been pulled back at the nape of his neck in what was considered a traditional style for wizards. 

The man himself was tall, which seemed to be a common thing for members of the Black family. He wore elegantly tailored, dark robes, indicating his wealth and status, and his posture was prim and proper. 

"Lord Peverell." He nodded his head briefly in greeting. He seemed tense, strangely enough. His eyes flickered towards Regulus, and then back to the child stationed behind the large desk. 

"My great-grandson informed me of your desire to find my nephew, Marius. Has he displeased you in any way my lord?" 

Yes, Sirius II was definitely tense and nervous. The reason why? Harry had no idea. Did he think he was going to kill his nephew or something? A small frown found its way onto his face and he looked accusingly at Regulus. The teenager, however, looked anywhere but at him.

"No, he has not. You may rest assured that I have no malicious intentions towards your nephew." He paused and glared slightly at the youngest Black. "Your great-grandson on the other hand…" 

Sirius II's expression had turned from tense to outright worried. He grabbed onto his great-grandson's arm, grasping it tightly to hopefully stop his dumb, teenage mouth from running away with him, unleashing the wrath of a necromancer and the Master of Death. 

Regulus huffed petulantly. "It wasn't my story to tell, Lord Peverell.” 

Harry snorted. "Since when have you called me lord?”  

The entire scene unfolding in front of him was amusing, at least to Harry. Sirius II however, seemed genuinely frightened for his descendants. 

"I'm trying to put you in a good light you idiot!" 

"Regulus!" Sirius II snapped out, concerned about his great-grandson's cheek. “Please my lord, he is young and foolish, he doesn't–”

Harry chuckled. "Mr Black, there is no need to worry." He offered a placating smile. 

"If you have a look at the tapestry to your right–" he gestured to the wall, "I think you will find exactly why I have summoned you today. Start at Henry James Potter and work your way up on the maternal side." 

The elder Black hesitantly let go of Regulus and turned to face the tapestry. Blue eyes scanned the names, following the mostly dead maternal line, until finally a familiar name struck him. His eyes widened. There, bordered in gold, was Marius, his young nephew. Well, not so young anymore. 

"He had a daughter… I never knew," Sirius II murmured quietly. 

"Which isn't so strange considering you cast him out of the family. I have seen the tapestry, I know that he was burned off it." Harry said in a detached manner. In all honesty, it was still something that annoyed him, but he knew the Blacks weren't the only ones to discard their squibs, he remembered the Weasleys and their 'accountant' relative that they didn't speak about. At least Marius hadn't been killed, like so many other unfortunate squibs in the past. 

"He was cast out, yes, of sorts," Sirius II murmured, still looking at the tapestry. "Marius was a very sweet boy as a child, and I found myself growing fond of him while he grew up. Once the news came that there was no Hogwarts letter on his eleventh birthday, well… let's just say that it came as no surprise to me. I had hoped he was a late bloomer, of course, but as the years passed and he showed no signs of accidental magic… I had to come up with an alternative. With the help of my goblin manager, I managed to set up an account in a muggle bank. I filled it with pounds over the years, hoping that I wouldn't have to use it when Marius turned eleven." 

"You eased his way into the muggle world, didn't you?" Harry queried.

"As much as I could." Sirius II nodded and sighed. "There were many in the family that would have taken more… permanent measures if they had known what I did with him. It was better for everyone to think him gone." 

"But he wasn't, not really," Regulus butted in, drawing the gaze of his ancestor. 

"No, he was not. I sent him to a good muggle boarding school where he spent most of his remaining childhood. With the help of a large donation he was able to stay there even during the normal holidays. I didn't want him to go to an orphanage, so that was the best solution I could think of at the time. I gave him access to his bank account and made sure to deposit a decent sum every year. Luckily he had always been smart when it came to money." 

The elder Black turned to face the young necromancer that had summoned him. The child was eerily intelligent for his age, it was no wonder why he was nervous around the young lord. He held a startlingly large amount of power in his tiny hands. 

"There were rumours of the Peverell line having merged with the Potter family at some point. If I may be so rude as to ask, is that how you gained your title, my lord?" 

Harry grimaced at being called 'my lord'. He had ignored it the first time, but it reminded him so much of Voldemort that it made his skin itch. 

"Please, as you can see from the tapestry, we are family. You may call me Henry," Harry said with a strained smile. "And to answer your question, yes, of sorts." He gestured it away. 

The tenseness the elder Black had held since his arrival, loosened somewhat. He still wasn't entirely at ease, but neither was he expecting to be struck down for the slightest infringement. "Very well, Lord Henry." He nodded his head. 

Harry sighed lightly, it was an improvement he supposed. Anything was better than 'my lord'.

Regulus on the other hand, had to choke down a snort of laughter. 

"Did you keep in contact with Marius?" Harry inquired after sending a sharp look Regulus' way. 

The dead wizard hesitated. "No… Not directly. I oversaw his progress academically and made sure he had anything he would need, but I thought it best to cut contact for his own sake. I kept an eye on him over the years. I know he found it hard in the beginning, but he persevered and flourished eventually. He even found a lovely woman to marry.” 

That caught Harry’s attention. He steepled his fingers in front of himself on the desk and locked his eerie green eyes onto the spirit as he leaned forward. “Yes, I heard mentions of a wife, is she still alive?” 

The child’s expression put the man on edge again. “No, she is not,” he answered slowly. “She crossed the veil two years ago after a long period of illness.” 

Harry’s face split in a triumphant grin. If she was dead, that meant he could talk to her! Of course, he didn’t think about how utterly creepy it must be to seem happy about someone’s illness and following death. Regulus had gotten used to his strange thought process and moods, Sirius II had not. 

“What is her name?” Harry was eager to summon her right away. 

“Evelyn Black née Pryce.” 

Harry smiled widely. “Thank you Mr Black, you have been most helpful today. I might summon you again if I have the need, I hope that is alright?” 

“Yes of course, Lord Henry!” The spirit readily agreed and licked his lips nervously. The familial connection still hadn’t put him entirely at ease it seemed. 

“Good! Enjoy the rest of your evening Mr Black.” Harry said with a firm nod, before unravelling the spirit's connection to the living world. 

“Well, that went rather well I think!” Harry brightly exclaimed. “You were right, he did have some interesting information. But don't think I've forgotten about the whole lord business. Seriously, he seemed terrified of me, what did you say to him?" Harry raised an accusing eyebrow. 

Regulus looked sheepishly around the study, avoiding Harry's eyes. "I might have mentioned your status as Master of Death, and that you were a necromancer. Also, I may or may not have forgotten to mention your actual age." 

Harry snorted and chuckled. "Forgot my arse." 

It wasn't as if he actually minded. At least fear seemed to get the man talking. Harry shook his head fondly. 

"You are a prat. He looked like he would have a heart attack any moment." 

"He's already dead so it hardly matters," Regulus responded with a haughty sniff. 

Harry rolled his eyes. The teapot on his desk refilled itself with warm tea, and the cup got replaced by an invisible Kreacher. At least he assumed it was him. It could have been any of the other elves on the island as well, they all doted on him something ridiculous. 

"Have you talked to Evelyn before?" Harry asked as he poured a fresh cup of tea. 

"No, she isn't one of my contacts so finding her, even with a name, has been difficult. Besides, I only learned of her a few days ago."

"I guess we'll both get to know her now then." 

Harry nodded decisively, drawing a deep breath before he focused on summoning the woman that would have been his great-grandmother through marriage if she was still alive. 

A thin, old woman, with a magenta coloured head wrap, and red, cat-eye glasses, appeared in the study where Sirius Black II had previously been. Her eyes were a warm shade of brown, and her skin pale with a dusting of freckles. She wore a floral nightdress and had a large, knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders. All in all she looked like a kind, but frail, grandmother.

The elderly woman blinked in befuddlement, adjusting her glasses with one hand. “Well hello there dear, who might you be?" 

"Henry, ma'am," Harry answered with a soft smile. "And this is my cousin Regulus Black."

"Black? Oh you must be relatives of my Marius then! How lovely." She leaned forward to get a closer look at Harry. 

"Oh my… you're even alive!" She laughed cheerfully. 

"I'm assuming you are that dreadful necromancer that Sirius warned me about then?" 

"That would be me, yes," he replied. Evelyn's cheeky smile was infectious, and Harry couldn't help but return it.

"I would offer some refreshments, but… well." He gestured towards her general state of being dead and incorporeal. 

"What a polite young man you are." She smiled and waved off the suggestion. "Don't worry about me, dear. I might be dead, but I'm feeling much better than I have for many, many years. The only thing I regret is not being able to be here for Marius. I hope he's not grieving too heavily," Evelyn sighed. 

"Can you tell me more about him? Marius I mean," Harry asked with thinly concealed hope. 

"Yes of course, but why are you interested in him? He hasn't been in contact with any of his family members before," the old woman curiously inquired. 

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek before answering. "He's my great-grandfather." 

Evelyn gasped and covered her mouth. Her eyes were wide with surprise. 

"He's your–? Oh you must call me nana! I insist!" The old woman happily exclaimed once she'd gotten over the initial shock. 

"This is wonderful news, Marius will be so happy! We never managed to have kids ourselves. How did this happen? Where are your parents?" 

Harry resigned himself to filling in the story for her. He told her about Marius' quick tryst with Amaryllis as a teenager, about the child they unknowingly conceived, and how the baby was adopted away without Marius being aware she ever existed. 

Harry told her of his own mother and her deplorable sister. He mentioned his childhood, the Dursleys, and his hopes that Marius would want him for simply being himself, not some hero put on a pedestal by the light faction. 

He didn't mention anything about his past life, it was something very few knew, even among the dead. He might tell her if they got closer, but for now, she got a modified truth. 

When Harry's story reached the part about his childhood, silent tears streamed down Evelyn's face. "Oh Henry, this is absolutely horrible," she said, voice quivering.

"Tomorrow I want you to go straight to Marius and stay there, do you hear me?" She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. 

"You don't even know where I live. I might be really far away from where your husband is," Harry stated. 

"Oh come now, none of that nonsense. Sirius informed me about you wizards and your teleportation. Appyvate I think he called it? Either way, I won't stand for you staying with those horrible relatives of yours! They should be thrown in prison for child abuse," she huffed indignantly. 

Harry heard Regulus snort softly at her butchering of the word apparate, and his own lips twitched upwards in amusement. He didn't intend to inform her that only adult wizards were supposed to be able to apparate, Sirius II would tell her if she asked. 

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I can't apparate somewhere I haven't been before though, or somewhere I don't know where is. I plan on travelling from London. Will you be able to guide me?" Harry asked, flashing her some hopeful puppy-dog eyes that made her melt and agree in an instant. 

The two of them spent hours simply chatting and getting to know each other. Despite being dead, and not related by blood, Evelyn was the grandmother he had always wanted. She was a colourful and strong woman with lots of warmth and kindness towards those around her. 

She told him the story of how she and Marius had met. He was the handsome new specialty trainee at the hospital she worked as a nurse at. It was a bit of a cliche, she admitted, but they had immediately fallen head over heels for each other. Marius was raised as a proper gentleman, Evelyn said, detailing the many courting gestures her husband initiated. Everything from flowers with meaning, which she found out later, to pretty jewellery. 

“We lived a happy life for the most part,” Harry’s self-proclaimed ‘nana’ said. “But I have to admit that the last few years weren’t easy, especially not for Marius. I struggled with persistent breast cancer that refused to go away no matter how much treatment I got.” Evelyn sighed. 

“In addition to the cancer, I fear that my memory had begun to deteriorate. Poor Marius had to deal with all of it on his own. I’m glad he has you now, Henry.” She smiled softly. 

“He needs someone in his life. Neither of us had much family to begin with, you see. I’m worried he might have holed himself up in the house now that I’m gone. Getting to meet you tomorrow will be the best Christmas present he could get. I’m sure of it.”  

“I hope so,” Harry replied with a feeble smile. 

“Thank you for telling me more about yourself and Marius, I really appreciate it.” 

“No need to mention it, dearie. Now, you be a good lad and summon me tomorrow, yes? I will be very cross if I find out you didn’t.” She gave Harry a stern look, making him chuckle as he made his promises for the morrow.

Finally, when Evelyn vacated the world of the living once more, Harry sank deeper into his chair by the fireplace. Thoughts buzzed away inside his head of the day's newfound knowledge. He was going to see his great-grandfather tomorrow. The very thought made his stomach flutter with nerves and anxiety. What if the man didn't like him? What if he was prejudiced against magicals since he got cast out for being a squib? 

“Hey, it’s going to be fine,” Regulus told him in a soft voice. “Trust in nana Evelyn, yeah?” A great, big grin split his face and the two friends laughed. 

Regulus was right of course. Everything would be fine. And even if Marius wanted nothing to do with him, well, it wasn’t as if he could lose something he never had to begin with. 

Chapter Text

December 1986

Time had finally come for Harry to visit his great-grandfather, Marius Black. It was Christmas day, and ideally, he should have waited longer, done some more research on the man, prepared himself mentally and so forth, but Harry was desperate for a familial connection that wasn't rotten. He just wanted to be able to see him, to talk to him in person. 

His mother had wanted to come, but for once, Harry had declined her request, and rescinded the open invitation to the living world. He wanted to do the first meeting on his own, once that was done, she would be more than welcome to join him. 

After a short train ride and two connecting buses, Harry could finally step out into the cold, afternoon air of Ugley Green. He pulled his dark, wool coat closer and wondered if it might snow. The little village was still pretty far south, so it wasn't likely, but it had happened before. 

Evelyn, Marius' deceased wife, was guiding him through the country roads, down Ugley Green and into Snakes Lane. She chatted merrily with her great-grandson, so happy that her poor Marius would finally have a child to take care of, even if it was an odd little necromancer. 

In all their years together, Marius had never told her about the magical world, so that had come as quite the surprise when she died. Once dead, she was well met by her husband's paternal uncle, Sirius Black II. The two of them had hit it off splendidly, and he had informed her of Marius' childhood and why he didn't seem to have any family. It was something that had always puzzled her. 

"Don't worry, dear, Marius is going to love you. We always wanted children, you know." 

Evelyn sighed solemnly. 

"I know," Harry murmured in reply, feeling sorry for the old couple. But at least they had been very happy together. 

Harry’s boot clad feet made crunching sounds as he walked up the long, gravel road that led to Black Cottage. The garden surrounding the estate was sizable and beautifully designed. Even in winter, despite the trees having lost their leaves, the grass and shrubs remained a deep green. 

The house itself was large and charming, in a cosy, old-fashioned type of way, without appearing ostentatious. Harry studied the building as he got closer, eyeing the detailed brickwork and many windows.  

He had to take a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. It took five whole minutes before he had gathered up enough courage to ring the doorbell. He might have an adult mind, but that didn't stop the anxiety and hope from churning in his gut like a raging inferno. 

The seconds ticked by as if in slow motion. What couldn't have been more than ten seconds had felt more like ten minutes. 

The door slowly opened, revealing a puzzled older man with short, black hair and grey eyes. He looked down at Harry with surprise and peered around to see if he had a chaperone with him. 

"Excuse me sir, are you Dr Marius Black?" Harry asked nervously, voice childishly high and squeaky. 

The older gentleman blinked slowly, as if not believing his own eyes or ears, completely baffled by the odd situation. "Yes, that I am," he replied. "How may I help you?" 

Harry took another deep breath before blurting it out. "Y-you are my great-grandfather!"

Okay, so that hadn't come out exactly like he wanted it to. He had rehearsed a fancy monologue that Regulus had helped him with, but apparently his nerves got the best of him and he was now acting his physical age. 

Marius' eyebrows shot up into his hairline "I'm afraid you've got the wrong man." He smiled kindly. "My wife and I never managed to have any children so I can't be your great-grandfather."

"You are. I took a lineage potion and you showed up on my mother's side. You had a child with Amaryllis Sayre in 1932," Harry quickly responded, lying a bit to keep his family tapestry a secret. 

He might be desperate for a familial connection, but he wasn't dumb enough to spill all his secrets. Besides, he had brewed, and taken, a lineage potion to use as a cover story during this meeting, so it wasn't entirely untruthful.  

He licked his lips anxiously as he waited for a reply. Marius' eyes had gone wide as saucers at the mention of Amaryllis and the lineage potion. 

The old surgeon frowned and looked around again, probably hoping to get a glimpse of any adults. "Did you come here on your own? Where are your parents?" He asked. 

"Yes sir," Harry said calmly as he looked up at the squib with wide, green eyes that screamed innocence. "My parents are dead." 

"They are–... right. I suppose you better come inside then," Marius suggested, looking slightly lost as he held the door open for the young boy. 

Harry followed inside and sat down on the offered sofa, feet dangling off the edge. He played up the child act so as not to unnerve him more than he already had. 

"Sophie!" Marius called before letting out a short whistle. A large and slender, grey dog, with short fur and grey-blue eyes, trotted into the living room, happily wagging its tail. 

"This is Sophie. She'll keep you company while I make us some tea." 

Marius smiled, making the laugh lines around his eyes become even more pronounced. He gently stroked the dog’s head. 

Harry thought he seemed like a kind, much older version of Regulus. One who dressed in knitted cardigans and tweed jackets. 

Sophie the Weimaraner went over to sit next to Harry's legs, wagging her tail and demanding head scritches. Harry happily complied. 

The old gentleman left and Harry could hear him puttering around in the kitchen. Within a few minutes he returned, carrying a tray with cups, tea and biscuits. 

Marius let the tea steep for a little while longer before he poured them both a cup, asking for Harry's preferences for sugar and milk. Once they both held a warm cup, Marius began the conversation anew. 

"What's your name, boy?" 

Even though the tone of voice was entirely different from how Vernon would say it, Harry couldn't help but flinch and grimace, hunching his shoulders instinctively at the moniker. 

"Please don't call me that," Harry mumbled, clutching his mug of tea tightly. "My name is Henry." 

Marius frowned as he looked at his defensive position, thinking it didn't bode well for his home-life.

"Alright Henry. Would you mind telling me how old you are?" 

"I turned six in July." 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. No amount of planning could have prepared him for how awkward and hard this meeting would be. He wanted to connect, but in Marius' eyes he was an actual child, and Harry was not willing to contradict that assumption just yet. 

"That is a very good age," Marius said almost patronisingly, it probably just felt that way since Harry was much more intelligent than he was being given credit for. 

"Do you know your surname, Henry?" The squib calmly asked, offering him some biscuits. 

"Yes, but I am not sure if I want to give it yet…" Harry reasoned. He took a deep breath before he continued. "I came here because I wanted to meet you, sir. Most of my family is dead, and the ones I have left are… inadequate." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. 

"You showed up on my lineage test so I thought that maybe, well… maybe you'd want to meet me too?" He kept his hands busy with scratching behind Sophie's ears. 

Marius appeared slightly startled by Harry's mannerism and eloquence, but took it in stride. "Right you are, Henry. But would you mind telling me what was on that lineage test of yours? Did you bring a copy?" 

Harry slowly nodded and dug his hand into his satchel. He had prepared for this, so out came a rolled up scroll of parchment that he handed to the old man. He hooked his eerily intelligent eyes into Marius' pale ones and began talking. 

"I have obscured the names of my mother and my relatives on my father's side. I don't trust you yet, but I want to." 

"You… obscured them?" Marius repeated in baffled surprise. He might not be a wizard himself, but he grew up in the Black family, and even he knew that performing intentional, wandless magic at the age of six was not common. In fact it was rather shocking. 

He blinked away his astonishment and unfurled the scroll. His eyes quickly darted to the right side of the parchment, and true enough, the names were all blurred and unreadable to him. He knew that if he kept trying to decipher them, it would only lead to a massive headache, so he didn't bother. 

The left side only held one blurred name at the very top. He followed the lines to the name Iris Evans and Harry Evans, Henry's maternal grandparents, then continued down to the last line. And there it was, his own name in magical ink. It knocked the air out of him. He had a daughter… Iris. She was his and he'd never known. His mouth felt dry and he had to close his eyes to keep the tears at bay. 

"Evelyn and I couldn't have children ourselves. We gave up trying over thirty years ago," Marius murmured, voice heavy with emotion. "My daughter, is she–?" He swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence. 

Harry smiled softly. "I'm afraid so. She and my grandfather died before I was born, an unfortunate car accident apparently." 

Marius sighed. It had been expected, but it was still devastating. He had a daughter that he never even got to see. 

Harry hesitated before saying, "you have a living granddaughter though. But… she probably wants nothing to do with you. My aunt is–" Harry grimaced. "Not a very nice person. she hates everything magical, and even though you aren't a wizard, you’re still a part of that world in her eyes." Plus, he didn't want to share Marius with Petunia of all people. 

Marius watched Harry intently, making the seemingly small child avert his gaze. Those grey eyes were piercing, making Harry feel exposed. 

"You live with your aunt, don't you, Henry?" The man asked softly. 

"Yes. Unfortunately," Harry muttered, sounding bitter. He focused on the cup of tea in his hands. 

The fact that Henry was there on Christmas day said more than words ever could, Marius thought. What six-year-old child willingly left his family on the best day of the year to seek out a stranger, family or no? It spoke of something being seriously wrong at home. 

"Earlier you said that you didn't trust me yet, what can I do to earn that trust?" Marius asked. 

Harry's eyes snapped up to meet his great-grandfather, narrowing as they judged his sincerity. He seemed honest enough. Harry stuck his hand into his satchel and pulled out a golden fountain pen and another piece of parchment. Silently he handed the contract over to Marius, eyes never leaving him as he read through the document.

Marius' eyebrows climbed higher and higher upon his forehead the more he read. It was a hand written, magically binding contract, meant to be signed in blood. What kind of child was this? He glanced with wide eyes to the six-year-old boy sitting opposite him with startlingly intelligent, green eyes. 

He was just a child, yet he demanded that he sign a binding contract that would keep Marius from sharing his connection with him to anyone else without his permission. It was one thing amongst many that had been listed. Unlike an unbreakable vow, the contract couldn't kill him or remove his 'magic', all it did was make it impossible for him to breach the clauses. He would physically be unable to do it. 

Was this something Marius wanted to do? It was a big commitment to make. What if Henry got into trouble and he needed to speak to another adult about it? He eyed the boy again, realising that if he wanted a relationship with the lad, then this was something he had to do. He didn't like it, not at all, but it was necessary.

The child was neglected, if not abused, that much was clear, and if Marius refused to sign the contract, then Henry would disappear back to his family and out of his life. Marius didn't want that to happen. Both for his own sake, but mostly for Henry’s. He had never known his daughter or granddaughter, but this was a chance to get to know a part of his family. 

"You are absolutely certain of this?" Marius inquired gravely. "This is a very severe and permanent step to take." 

"I know," Harry agreed. "But it is that or nothing. You will understand if you sign it." 

He liked this ultimatum about as much as Marius did, but he had a history of betrayal, and he wasn't willing to take the risk. If his great-grandfather refused to sign the contract, then he would have to obliviate him of this meeting and try to convince him again later. Harry held the gold fountain pen out towards Marius. 

The old man sighed and took the pen. He raised a single eyebrow as he inspected it. "Did you make this yourself?" He could see runes engraved into the metal. 

Harry nodded. "It is my version of a blood quill. It will leave no wounds or scars, and it is painless. The tip will automatically clean itself of any remaining blood." 

Marius was flabbergasted. Yet again this child kept showing skills that were way above his peers. And how he'd learned all of it in a household where his aunt hated magic, that was a mystery. He placed the contract on the table and uncapped the fountain pen. With one final look at the boy, and a sigh, he gave in and signed the contract with a flourish.

He could feel the contract take effect, hooking on to his internal magic. As a squib he didn't have access to it, but it was still there on the inside.  

Harry felt the tension drain out of him as the contract bound Marius Black to not reveal his secrets. He didn't plan on telling him everything, but now he could at least share his identity and a modified truth. 

"Well Henry, I think I am owed some explanations now, don't you?" Marius said with a raised eyebrow, handing back his pen. 

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Sorry for coercing you into signing the contract. I am very glad you did though. First, I think you should know my full name and the complete results of the lineage potion." 

With a flick of his wrist, the magic that obscured the writing on the family tree, lifted. 

Marius' eyes widened as he read Harry's lineage test in its entirety. "Henry James Potter," he murmured in shock. "You are Dorea's grandson..." 

Even he, a man who lived almost entirely separate from the magical world, had heard about Harry Potter and how he defeated their last Dark Lord. If there were more secrets like this, the contract suddenly made all the more sense. 

"I thought your name was Harry?" Marius questioned, making the boy roll his eyes. 

"Clearly it isn't," Harry drawled. 

The old man snorted. "No, I suppose not. So, Henry, how come you were able to track me down? You mentioned your aunt not being fond of magic, so it doesn't sound like she would have been willing to help." 

Harry hesitated before sharing a half truth. "I… can speak to dead people." 

The silence hung heavy in the air after that. Harry swallowed hard as he waited for a reply. 

Marius sucked in a sharp breath at the revelation that explained so much. Necromancy. It had to be. A natural gift for it as well. Necromancy was a rare ability, one most would keep secret for fear of persecution in today's political climate. The contract made even more sense now. 

"I spoke to my grandmother about you earlier, and she said that although she grew up happy in an adopted family, she would have loved to meet you if she'd known about you," Harry softly revealed. 

Marius swallowed hard and rubbed at his glistening eyes. Family was a bit of a sore area for him. Evelyn had died a few years ago, and now it was just him and old Sophie left. They didn't have any children, and Evelyn had been an only child, so there were no nieces and nephews to dote on either.

His side of the family was a moot point. The Blacks had cast him out as soon as they realised that he wouldn't be receiving his Hogwarts letter. Thankfully, his uncle, Sirius, who was Lord Black at that time, had a bit of a soft spot for Marius. So instead of tossing him out on his arse with nothing to his name, he had set up a bank account for him and made sure that he had opportunities available in the muggle world. He was fully aware that he had been much luckier than most squibs from his generation. 

Marius cleared his throat and composed himself. "I would have liked to meet her as well."

"So, dead people, huh?" The old man asked, not unkindly. "That is a rather… unique gift. I assume it is how you found out I was a squib from the Black family?" 

Harry nodded, relieved that the other seemed to take it well so far. "I spoke with your uncle, Sirius Black II. He kept an eye on you until he died, just to make sure you were doing okay. He couldn't let anyone in the family know about that though, since you had been cast out." 

Sirius died over thirty years ago, and thus he had no idea where Marius currently resided. His great-grandfather didn't have to know that particular detail though. 

He let him digest that before he continued. 

"Also… I spoke with your wife," Harry murmured, looking at Marius through his eyelashes. "She was very kind to me." He fidgeted with his cup. "She was the one who insisted I come see you right away actually." 

"She–" Marius swallowed hard. "Yes she always had a big heart." He paused, clearing his throat. "Is she here right now?" He asked, slightly hopeful, despite not being able to see her. 

Harry shook his head. Evelyn had vanished before Harry rang the doorbell. She said that she would be available if Harry needed her, but that she thought he should do this on his own first. "No, sorry." 

"Er… I brought you something. Since it's Christmas day and all,” Harry hesitantly admitted as he rummaged around his satchel for the wrapped up present. 

"Evelyn said you would like it so I hope…" Harry trailed off, feeling self-conscious as he watched Marius take the medium sized box with surprise. 

"I'm sorry that I didn't get you anything in return," Marius murmured, feeling bad that he was the one opening a gift and not the actual child. 

Harry laughed it off. "That's alright, you couldn't have known I’d show up." 

Slowly, Marius undid the bow on his present before opening the lid. Puzzled, he pulled out the glass contraption that was on the inside. Once he'd gotten it out of the box he could see that it was something akin to a geometric, art deco inspired terrarium. It was in the shape of a teardrop. The inside held a purple flower in full bloom, an iris to be precise. The flower had a soft ethereal glow to it, and its petals held drops of what looked like morning dew. It was a beautiful piece of art. 

Harry was extremely nervous as his great-grandfather inspected the gift. "There is a metal stand that you can place it in," Harry said, gesturing to the bronze stand that the glass and metal teardrop could rest comfortably in. 

"I made it an iris because your daughter was named Iris," Harry murmured softly, biting the inside of his cheek in nervousness. 

"It's beautiful," Marius whispered, choked up on emotions. 

And it truly was beautiful. Even with the help of magic, he was amazed at what his great-grandson had created. He was so young and yet so talented. 

"Thank you." 

Without asking for permission, Marius pulled Harry into a hug. The child understandably stiffened at the sudden contact, and he was quickly reminded of his suspicions about the boy's home-life. 

"I apologise, I should have asked for permission before I hugged you," Marius said, quickly letting go once he realised he was making him feel uncomfortable. 

"It's fine… just give me a warning next time please?" Harry said with a strained smile. 

"Of course. I won't purposely do anything you feel uncomfortable with," Marius solemnly promised.  

~

As he laid in bed, thinking about the day's events, Marius Black struggled to come to terms with what had happened. 

He had a great-grandson, a small boy the age of six, who lived in an abusive household led by his own granddaughter. Marius itched to do a medical check on the boy, but he had to be careful and take things slow so he didn't spook him. 

The child was intelligent, extremely so, not to mention highly independent. If he pushed too hard, too soon, it could end with the boy disappearing completely, and Marius would have no way to track him down. 

Henry was sleeping in the guest bedroom, joined by Sophie for comfort. Marius was at a bit of a loss of what to do with him. Due to the contract, he couldn't contact anyone about him, nor find out where he lived. He also suspected Dumbledore would have put up wards to hide his presence for those looking for him. He was the Boy-Who-Lived after all, and what a ridiculous moniker that was. 

Yet, he couldn't in good conscience allow the child to continue living with his granddaughter if she was as abusive as he thought. Little Henry hadn't told him much of his life so far, he was mostly vague, but a few things had stuck in Marius' mind. Such as how things used to be worse, but that he had it handled now that he could use his magic. 

Henry didn't look starved, not exactly. He was on the small side for his age, and a tad too thin, but that in combination with his stunted growth, defensive mannerism and aversion to touch, spoke of something having only changed recently. Marius would bet his fortune that it was due to Henry gaining better control of his magic. Being able to threaten his relatives, and actually follow through with said threats must have drastically changed the power dynamics of the household.

"Oh Evelyn, what am I going to do?" The old man murmured to himself, staring at the picture of his wife on the night-stand. 

"You would have known, you always had an answer for everything." 

Marius sighed and rubbed his face. Being able to speak to the dead sounded like a very helpful ability right about now. Too bad he didn't have a shred of talent for it, or magic for that matter. 

Marius shook his head, he was in for a long and sleepless night if he kept dwelling on what to do with Henry. For now, the most important part was that the boy was tucked safe and sound into a warm bed. He didn't think Henry would sneak away during the night, at least he hoped not. So with that he laid down, hoping to at least get a few hours of rest.

Chapter Text

December 1986

Harry struggled to fall asleep in the unfamiliar bed. Even with the large and cuddly Sophie curled up next to him, sleep was elusive. 

"How did it go?" Regulus quietly asked as he appeared. He had kept his distance until now, letting Harry's first meeting be private. 

Harry gave Regulus a small smile as he cast a silencing charm on the room. "It went well I think. I got him to sign the contract, and he didn't run for the hills when he heard I was a necromancer, so that's something right?" 

"See? I told you it would be fine." Regulus smiled and looked around the room. "Are we staying at his house?" 

Harry sighed. "For tonight, yes. I don't really feel comfortable enough to sleep though. Probably leftovers from the Dursleys." Harry grimaced. "I know it's probably silly, but–" 

"No, not at all," Regulus firmly countered. "Wanting to protect yourself is entirely natural. In fact it's an instinct you should listen to more often. Although, in this situation, I don't think you have much to worry about. Set some wards if that makes you feel better. In addition, I promise to keep watch and wake you up if anything suspicious happens," he solemnly offered

Harry let out a deep breath. "Thanks. That'll probably help, yeah." 

After casting all his wards, Harry curled up under the duvet and wrapped a small hand around the large dog next to him. He closed his eyes and slowly, after hours of restless tossing and turning, fell asleep. 

"Hey, time to wake up!" Regulus's voice penetrated through Harry's sleepy haze. It felt as if he'd just closed his eyes. 

Immediately he sat up straight, a sickly, yellow spell glowing in his left hand, ready to be fired. His heart hammered wildly in his chest as Harry blearily looked around for a threat, finding none.  

His abrupt movement had startled the poor dog, who was now looking confused and shied away from the magical energy emanating from the young child. 

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Regulus apologised. "I just wanted to inform you that Marius is on his way here to check on you and tell you breakfast is ready."

"S'fine," Harry grunted and rubbed his face before quickly dismantling the wards he had put up. He was just in time as well, because only a minute later, there was a knock on the door. 

"Henry? There is some breakfast in the kitchen if you would like some," Marius called out from the other side of the door, confirming what Regulus had just told him.

"Thank you sir, I'll be out in a minute," Harry replied.

He quickly climbed out of bed and got dressed in a dark green, button-up shirt, black trousers, and a black waistcoat that Death had ordered from Twilfitt and Tattings. He looked like a proper, pureblood heir, Harry thought. It was a little posh, but the fashion was growing on him. He liked being able to wear tailored clothes in soft, warm materials. 

“How did you sleep?” The old surgeon asked with a gentle smile as Harry and Sophie padded into the kitchen. Marius opened the door leading out to the back garden, letting his old companion outside to do her business.

“I didn't know what you liked so I made a bit of everything,” Marius said apologetically as he poured them both a cup of tea. “Please, help yourself.” 

There were fried sausages, bacon, eggs, toast, mushrooms, tomatoes, and baked beans, pretty much a full English breakfast apart from the black pudding. Harry’s stomach rumbled and his cheeks flushed slightly pink. Marius merely smiled and sat down at the table, opposite his great-grandson. 

“Don’t feel pressured into eating anything you don't like.” 

“Thank you,” Harry murmured. 

The two of them ate in comfortable silence, and it made Harry realise that this was the first meal he’d shared peacefully with a family member in, well, ever. At least that he could remember. It sent a spark of warmth into his chest, making him smile softly. 

The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent getting to know each other. It was awkward and slightly stilted, but they did their best. Thankfully, Marius had given up on talking to him as a child. Of course, he wasn't entirely treated as an adult either, but he was given freedom and intelligent conversation.

It didn't pass him by that Marius was fishing for more information on his home-life and family, he was not as subtle as he might think. Harry shared a few tidbits here and there, but he didn't want to worry him too much. 

Truthfully, the situation was under control now, and he very rarely saw the Dursleys at all. Of course, he made sure to stop by the house every day after school to keep up appearances, and to let Mrs Figg catch a glimpse of him outside in the garden every now and then, but it honestly wasn't that bad anymore. Annoying, yes, but not bad. 

It was getting late in the day, and Harry was worrying over how he should break it to Marius that he had to leave. 

"Sir…" 

"It's just Marius, Henry," the old man humorously scolded him. "Or, grandfather if you'd like. After all, if Evelyn has proclaimed to be your nana, well, it's only right I should be your grandpa." He kept his voice light but Harry could tell that the man was nervous about his reaction to the proclamation. 

Harry had to swallow hard and put his occlumency to work. "I… I'd like that. I've never had a grandfather before." Well, not one that he knew. 

"It will be a first for both of us then." Marius smiled. 

Harry's own returning smile was strained but honest. Now he felt extra bad for leaving. 

"Sir, er… grandfather," Harry almost had to taste the word as he said it, so unfamiliar was it to him. 

"What I wanted to say is that, well, I've really enjoyed today and yesterday, but… I sort of have to leave." 

Marius seemed worried at that proclamation. The man crouched down so he was the same height as Harry, a concerned frown marring his features. 

"Where will you be going, Henry?" 

Harry swallowed away another lump that formed in his throat due to his grandfather's concern. 

"I have places I need to be," Harry said. "One of the spirits told me about a safe place that I stay at whenever I'm not with my relatives. I have some projects there that I need to check on. I promise to come back to visit, if you'll have me?" 

"Of course. You are always welcome here," Marius immediately confirmed, easing Harry's fears. 

"But… I worry about you going on your own. I know you are a very independent and intelligent young man, but it is a dangerous world out there. Can't you stay here? At least let me escort you to where you're headed?" 

"Listen, I know you mean well, but I'll be fine." Harry tried to reassure his new grandfather. "Now that I know where you live I can just apparate here and back." 

Okay so that was probably an ability he should have kept to himself judging by the flabbergasted expression on the old man's face, but he thought that having a safe way of travel would ease his worries. 

Marius' eyes were huge at the mention of apparition. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. He had to clear his throat twice, before weakly saying, "you are just full of surprises aren't you?" 

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Having dead people to tutor you helps. So… may I go now? I promise to return tomorrow." 

Of course, Harry wouldn't let himself be stopped, both he and Marius Black knew that. He would be leaving either way, the only question was whether it would be on good terms or not. 

Marius sighed and looked at Harry in resignation. "Will you promise to be careful? And to return straight here if you run into any kind of problems?" 

"You have my word," he gravely promised with a nod to assuage his fears. 

"Very well, I suppose that will have to be enough. Do you want me to pack you something to nibble on if you get hungry?” 

“It’s very kind of you, but no thank you. I have food where I’m going,” Harry politely declined. 

The farewell between the two took longer than Harry had expected, and it wasn't until he arrived on his island that he felt he could breathe properly.

The stay with Marius had been an exhilarating experience, but also extremely exhausting, not to mention emotionally draining. 

Harry had come to the conclusion that he and his grandfather needed a way to communicate with each other. An owl was out of the question for several reasons, as were mobile phones. Even if the mobile phones that he remembered from the nineties existed, he was unlikely to get any signal on the island. 

He needed something small and portable, something that they could talk through on a regular basis. That was when it hit him. The two-way mirror Sirius gave him in his first life. It would have been perfect. 

It had originally belonged to Sirius and Harry's father when they were young, which meant that James would probably know where to get them, or how to make them if they were their own creations. 

Harry thought long and hard on whether he wanted to talk to his father again. He'd had plenty of time to calm down since their previous fight, and he hoped James had as well. Maybe they could mend some bridges. Being distanced from his father forever was not something he wanted. 

With a deep sigh, Harry rubbed his temples and downed an ageing potion. He felt like this would be a conversation that could benefit from talking adult to adult. James still hadn't seen him fully grown, maybe seeing him like that would hit home that he wasn't actually a child. 

Harry put on one of the expensive, dark robes, with silver buttons that Death had gotten for him. He'd secretly admit to himself that the age and robe was a bit of a power-play. He wanted to show that he wasn't inferior to his father and that he wouldn't allow himself to be treated as a child, nor as a victim to be bullied. 

When he was ready, Harry straightened his back and summoned James into his study with determination. 

"Good evening, father," Harry greeted the spirit who was now physically the same age as himself.

"H-Harry?" James asked, sounding both confused and hopeful. 

"Correct," Harry curtly replied and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat, we need to talk."

James eagerly plopped his arse down into the chair, figuratively speaking. The man opened his mouth to speak, but Harry held up a hand to stop him before he could begin. 

"Before you say anything, I want you to listen to me," Harry said in a commanding voice that refused to take no for an answer. James remained silent. 

"I understand that your experiences growing up were extremely different from my own. You were raised in a loving family surrounded by wealth and splendour, whereas I grew up bullied and in a cupboard. I'm not saying this to make you feel bad about your own childhood. Yes you were spoiled, but that wasn't your fault. What I'm trying to get at here, is that your view of the world isn't the only 'right' one out there. I want to have a relationship with you, to be able to talk and get to know each other better. But for that to happen you need to grow up and cast aside some of your childish prejudice towards anything with the mention of being dark. If you don't, I doubt we will be able to get along. After all, the reason why I'm able to talk to you is because I'm a necromancer. That is an ability that is classified as darkest of the dark by the ministry. It's a part of who I am, and it won't go away no matter how much you dislike it," Harry finished, staring keenly at his father over his steepled fingers, elbows resting on the desk. 

James swallowed hard before he finally managed to find his voice. 

"I know. And I want to say that I'm really sorry for how I behaved. It's just… Being back here in the living world, it gives us back the personality and emotions we had before we died. I'm not using it as an excuse! Just hear me out!" James desperately pleaded as he saw Harry about to interrupt. 

"Beyond the veil we don't really have emotions, we're just knowledge and experience packed up in a soul. When I was sent back there, it gave me the time to think about everything rationally, and you're right. I was spoiled and prejudiced. My behaviour towards Snape and the Slytherins was not okay. I was a bully, and that is something I have to come to terms with. But please Harry, let me have a second chance? I promise to work on my issues," James begged, eyes shining with hope.

Harry was silent, watching the nervous man with scrutiny to judge his sincerity. Eventually he gave in, deciding to believe him for the time being. 

"Alright. We can try again. But you have to be on your best behaviour and think before you speak. I understand that change won't come overnight, but I have to see that you are making an effort." 

James nodded fervently with a wide, goofy grin on his face. "You won't regret it!" He said. 

"I hope not," Harry murmured. 

A few seconds of silence ticked by and James squirmed a little in his seat. Harry decided that now was probably a good time to breach the subject he had initially brought his father there for. 

"The two-way mirrors you and Sirius used when you were in Hogwarts, did you make them yourself?" Harry curiously asked. 

James grabbed on to the change in conversation like a lifeline, eager to talk about something that wasn't bad or depressing. 

"No, but I'm fairly sure we could have made a pair if we put our minds to it!" James cheerfully added. "The ones we had were bought from Janus Galloglass in Diagon. I got them on a whim to help with our pranks, and boy did th–" James stopped mid sentence and grimaced. "Right, bad subject. Er, why do you ask? Do you want to make some yourself?" 

"Mh, no, not particularly. But I could use a pair for myself and Marius. Did mum tell you about him?" Harry asked, receiving a nod in reply. 

"Oh, good. Well, I went to see him yesterday and only got back today. Obviously he's worried about me since in his eyes I'm only six. I figured if we had a way of talking together, then he'd feel more at ease with letting me out of his sight. I want to get to know him, but I still need freedom and space." Harry shrugged. 

"You should make a trip to Diagon then. Galloglass probably sells them on the regular even though they are expensive. If not, then we have to do some research on how to make them ourselves," James thoughtfully replied. 

Harry checked his wristwatch. "If we hurry, we can probably make a trip to Janus Galloglass tonight." 

That being decided, Harry grabbed his money pouch and a polyjuice potion. Once properly disguised, the trip to Diagon Alley was quick and pain free. Harry ended up purchasing three sets of mirrors. One for himself and Marius, and the other two because he wanted to experiment with them. In addition, he got to have a few strained, but somewhat pleasant, hours of interaction with his father. 

The addition of Regulus, Kreacher and Marius in his life had pushed forward the issue of Sirius and how to free him. Originally he had wanted to do it through political means, but it would simply take too long. There was also the danger that Sirius might be Kissed instead of freed because the ministry wanted to shove their misdeeds under the rug. No, he needed to take a different approach, one where nobody was any wiser of the escape happening. 

Harry was brooding.

"What crawled up your arse and died?" Regulus drawled. 

"Your brother," Harry deadpanned, only to grimace in disgust at his own unfortunate wording. 

"I'm thinking about how to pull off his escape. It has to be a clean and untraceable operation. Everyone has to think he is still safely tucked away in the high security wing of Azkaban." 

Harry sighed and laid down on the sofa in his living room. 

"I thought about polyjuicing someone to replace him, but that means having to kill the replacement so that the transformation is permanent. We would have to create a new identity for Sirius and he'd lose his inheritance amongst other things. It would honestly create more problems than it's worth. Unless…" 

He'd suddenly gotten an idea. A ridiculous idea, but an idea nonetheless. He sat up straight. 

"Unless? What's rolling around in that dusty brain of yours?" Regulus queried with a raised eyebrow. 

"Unless I can create a fake body through necromancy. If that body is able to live and function, somewhat, and survive until we're ready to get him exonerated–" 

"Then you'll be able to save both his mind, reputation and inheritance!" Regulus finished in excitement. "Is it possible?" 

"I don't know… I would have to ask Ignotus. He's wanted me to use my necromantic gifts from the start but I haven't been willing to. But for Sirius? For him I'll do it," Harry said with determination. 

"Summon him! This could be our chance to free my brother," Regulus impatiently urged him on. 

Harry nodded and concentrated on calling Ignotus to himself. 

"Good evening gentlemen," the wizened spirit said in a jovial mood. "Quite the intense expressions you've got there. Anything the matter?” 

"Is it possible to create a fake body for someone through necromancy?" Harry quickly asked, making Ignotus' eyebrows shoot up. 

"One that will still live, breathe and eat. Essentially look alive. It doesn't need to speak or have a personality as long as it functions," Regulus cut in, looking hopeful and slightly desperate as the older man took his time digesting the question. 

"It is possible, yes," Ignotus carefully replied. "However the process to achieving what you want is one of the less… pretty branches of necromancy. It is not what I expected you to start on first." He frowned deeply. 

"It can be achieved in several ways, but I take it time is of the essence?" He got a nod from Harry and continued.

"Hm. That leaves you with two options. The first, is to find someone who is recently deceased and has a similar body shape to Mr Black, and then revive them. Which is harder than it sounds. Then for likeness you would have to apply human transfiguration. This is however a less secure method considering you want his physical appearance to be identical and permanent, correct?" 

"Yes." Harry replied, his stomach churning at the very thought of reviving corpses. 

"The second, and probably most secure method, would be to select someone you wish dead, feed them polyjuice potion with a hair or something similar that belongs to Mr Black, kill them, and then resurrect them." 

Harry swallowed hard. "But… wouldn't that just create an inferius that looked like Sirius?" 

Ignotus shook his head. "Not at all. The process is vastly different. Inferi are created by a witch or wizard who doesn't have the natural abilities you do, it is a bastardised resurrection ritual if you will. Your creation will be able to take simple orders and has no interest in maiming or killing anything, unless that is what you order it to do." 

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He didn't like any of those options, but he'd already promised he would try necromancy if it was a viable option. He rubbed his face. "For the second option… does it matter if it is a muggle or wizard?" Not that there was a difference to Harry, it was still a life. 

"No. The only requirement is for the person to be human since you want to use polyjuice potion. Other than that, anyone can be selected," Ignotus explained as he looked from one to the other. 

"I think I will let you mull this over for now. If you do decide that this is the method you wish to pursue, then I will happily guide you. But for now, consider your options, all of them." With those words, the old wizard left the two youngsters to their own thoughts. 

"He said it didn't have to be someone young… we could find someone who's already dying anyway?" Regulus suggested quietly. "You could give someone who's in a lot of pain a peaceful end." 

Harry grimaced. "It can't be someone noticeable or well loved. If they go missing it could create problems." He sighed. "Maybe a criminal of some sort?" 

They were both deep in thought. "Are you going for a muggle or a wizard?" Regulus asked. "Because I know plenty of Death Eaters that would serve the world much better as dead." 

"That… is not a bad idea actually. But most of them will probably be hard to corner." 

Harry pensively tried to remember who was the worst during the war. One of the first that came to mind was Fenrir Greyback. Problem was that he was a werewolf and therefore could not take the potion. 

"I would have picked your cousin Bellatrix if it wasn't for her already being imprisoned," Harry muttered.

"What about Walden Macnair?" Regulus suggested. "He was always one of the more sadistic ones. Or the Carrow twins." He grimaced at the memories he had of them. 

Speaking of sadism made a lightbulb go up in Harry's head. A creepy, malicious smile spread across his lips, showing way too much teeth. 

"What brilliant plan did you just come up with in that messed up head of yours?" Regulus slowly asked, only making Harry's grin widen. 

"Oh I have the perfect person in mind for this. Ever heard of a woman named Umbridge?" 

"The ministry woman who tortured you and other students with a Blood Quill?" Regulus raised an eyebrow. 

"That's the one!" Harry chirped with vicious glee. 

"Well, I suppose she would be a decent option. Do you know where she lives?" Regulus pondered. 

"No, but I can find out. She's probably working at the ministry, so it won't be hard to do some stalking under my cloak, or while polyjuiced," Harry mused. 

He felt vengeful excitement building up in his gut. He would get revenge and the opportunity to free Sirius. It was perfect. Harry had a toad to catch. The hunt was on!

Chapter Text

December 1986

"Lord Peverell sir! There's be a thundystorm now!" The squeaky voice of Minky the house-elf exclaimed as she popped into Harry's study. 

At first, Harry didn't understand why a thunderstorm was important. He looked up from his plans to free Sirius and frowned. He opened his mouth to question why the thunderstorm mattered, when it hit him, the animagus potion!

"REGULUS!" Harry shouted for his friend who was reading in the living room as he scrambled over to the dark area he had placed the potion in. 

His small hands grabbed the crystal phial before he ran outside the tent with a hammering heart. He'd waited months for this, it was finally time! 

"You always make so much noise," Regulus muttered once he reached the practically vibrating child. He raised an eyebrow quizzically. 

"The animagus potion! It's done!" Harry grinned so wide that the dead teenager worried he might split his face in two. 

Regulus eyed the lightning that flashed across the sky, followed by rumbling thunder not long after. 

"I need you to pay attention to what I transform into," Harry said as he pulled the cork out of the phial. "See if I have any identifying marks." 

When he got confirmation, Harry recited "Amato Animo Animato Animagus" for the final time with his ring placed over his heart. It was a procedure he'd done religiously every sunrise and sundown since the potion was created. It was quickly followed by downing the blood-red potion. 

Immediately, his entire body was suffused with a sharp, fiery pain. His first thought was that something had gone wrong, that he'd made a mistake somewhere along the way, and would now suffer gruesome and permanent mutations. 

He could feel the blood pumping through his veins and the excruciatingly loud beat of his heart. Then, in an instant, there was another heartbeat, just as loud as his own, and the image of a black bird flashed through his mind. 

Harry fell to his knees, heaving for breath as his body morphed and changed in a painful transformation. His limbs shortened, changing form into wings and thin legs. His nose and mouth elongated into a black beak, and the hairs on his body morphed to a shiny, black plumage of feathers. 

He needed to go. To escape. To fly, far, far away. 

Without thinking about it, his wings flapped on their own accord, and within a second his small body was airborne. Soaring through the cold evening air, Harry let out a "caw" of exhilaration. Nothing could compare to this feeling of freedom. 

The rush of endorphins was unlike anything he had ever felt. Harry flew until his new wings could no longer take the strain. It could have been hours or days as he was completely unaware of anything but his own escape from humanity and its plights. 

He managed to return to the place where the initial transformation had taken place and landed gracefully, chest heaving in exhaustion. His transformation back to a human went much smoother than the opposite, it was fast and painless. 

Harry laid on the cold ground, panting heavily, his breath misting in front of him. That had been incredible. 

“Are you alright?” Regulus’ worried voice called out, bringing Harry out of his euphoric haze. 

“Y-yeah,” he croaked, not moving a muscle. 

If he had anything to say about it, he’d just call it a night and take a good, long nap on the grass. The cold could go fuck itself because he was tired, so, so tired. He closed his eyes. 

“You can’t sleep out here, Harry,” Regulus huffed in exasperation. “I’m serious…” 

There was no reply. 

The teenager heaved a great, big sigh, and called for Kreacher who was borrowing the resurrection stone again. 

“Bring him inside, please. Make sure he doesn't freeze to death,” Regulus ordered the elf who immediately snapped his fingers and levitated the exhausted child. 

When Harry regained consciousness again, it was to the feeling of being cocooned in warmth. He snuggled further into the soft blankets and groaned at the sensation of his aching muscles being pulled.

“So you’re back with us, are you?” Regulus’ sarcastic drawl penetrated his bubble of warmth and niceness. 

“Go away,” Harry grunted, earning a snort in reply. 

“No. Now get up. Kreacher has drawn you a bath with salts that will help ease your sore muscles.” 

Regulus was being incredibly bossy for someone dead, Harry thought. Still, a hot bath did sound nice. With a loud groan, he got himself untangled from the layers of blankets and slowly made his way to the master bathroom. 

As he sank down into the warm water, Harry moaned softly. It was indeed worth the short, but painful, walk to get there. The heat and bath salts eased his overexerted muscles. 

Rationally, he knew that he shouldn't have flown for so long, but he hadn't been entirely in control. It was apparently a common side effect of the first transformation, where the animagus would follow the animalistic instincts more than their own human mind. Thankfully it didn't last, and from now on, he would be fully in control of himself. He was just glad he didn't eat something disgusting like a worm while he was out of it. 

“What kind of bird was I?” Harry asked with his eyes closed, resting in the large tub. Kreacher had made sure that there was a thick layer of bubbles to hide his modesty, or simply because he was a child and children liked bubbles, Harry wasn’t entirely sure. 

“Some type of crow,” Regulus replied. “It was hard to tell which species as you didn't remain still for long, and the lighting was suboptimal. I’ll be better able to tell when you transform next.” 

“A crow? That's brilliant.” 

Harry grinned goofily. He was extremely pleased that it was something with the ability of flight, and a crow was a decent enough bird, he thought. He couldn't wait to soar again, this time while retaining his faculties. 

“It suits you,” Regulus said, making the young animagus preen.

“Crows are arseholes.” 

He smirked at the child’s indignant protest.

Learning how to fly wasn't as easy as Harry had thought it would be. The second time he transformed he hadn't been guided by instinct, and so, the result was a lot of flapping and bruises, both physically and to his ego. 

Regulus spent most of the day laughing until he cried, that arse. The only thing he'd done to pull his weight was identify the species of crow Harry could turn into. Apparently, Harry's animagus form was a carrion crow. A small and sleek, black crow that was native to most of western Europe. It was an exceedingly common bird, and so it would be perfect for spying, if only he could get his wings to function properly. 

Regulus also informed him that he had no identifying marks that he could tell. All in all he looked like a pretty common crow. Although, he'd noted that in the sunlight his feathers had a beautiful and vibrant green sheen rather than purple, but that in itself wasn't uncommon either. If he'd have to guess, Regulus assumed that the colour of his iridescent sheen was supposed to relate to the colour of his eyes, but he couldn't be certain. 

Harry was very happy with his form. He had worried about being something useless, like a slug or a flobberworm. However, as a normal bird he'd enjoy much more freedom than if he'd been, say, a tiger. And it wasn’t just because of the ability to fly, but also because he would blend in almost anywhere. Nobody questioned a crow out in the wild. 

By the time primary school started up again after the holiday, Harry had finally gotten the hang of how to fly. It was now almost second nature to him. 

In addition, he had been practising how to travel through the shadows with help from Death. Since wizards didn't know how to ward for that form of transportation, Harry would be able to whisk Sirius away with him once he enacted his plan of breaking him out of Azkaban. 

Aside from all his practice and planning, Harry made sure to visit his grandfather every now and then. Marius had been very happy to receive the other piece of the two-way mirror set Harry had bought. It made life easier for Harry since he didn't have to visit daily. As long as his grandfather got a call to make sure he was safe, then he was satisfied. Well, not entirely, but it was the best he would get, and Marius knew that. 

As for the resurrection ritual Harry had to perform, Ignotus had suggested doing it on the day of Imbolc or Beltane, all depending on when he managed to get his hands on Umbridge.

Imbolc and Beltane, along with Samhain and Lughnasadh, were days where the natural magic of the world was much stronger than normal. Each festival represented a certain aspect of magic, and as such, different types of magic would be better suited to one day over another. But no matter what, for rituals, all four days would be a boon to the caster. So although Samhain was the most ideal day for magic involving souls and the dead, Imbolc and Beltane would also suffice. 

Imbolc, however, was fast approaching, and Harry had his doubts whether he'd be ready in time. He had managed to collect every component he would need except for Umbridge. 

On days when Harry had school, he would send some of the elves to keep watch outside the entrances to the ministry. However, it quickly became apparent that Umbridge had to be using the floo network to and from work since none of the elves saw any sign of her.

On the weekends, Harry donned his animagus form and spied around Diagon for a peek of the toad. He had nearly given up, when one Saturday evening in late January, he caught a flash of a bright pink cardigan. 

His first thought was that it was a wonder that her style hadn't changed in the nearly ten years it would take before she terrorised Hogwarts. Her reign of terror wouldn’t happen twice though, he'd make sure of that.

The black crow followed her from a distance until it saw an opportunity. Under the cover of invisibility, Harry transformed back into a human and ventured closer. The toad of a woman was heading in the direction of Madam Malkin's. 

Even had Umbridge seen it coming, she would not have been able to dodge the whispered curse aimed point blank at her back. The imperio washed over her in a wave of tranquillity.

Umbridge blinked slowly as the curse took effect, her will bending to Harry's command. She stopped, as if she'd changed her mind about seeing the seamstress, and then briskly walked towards the apparition point. 

Harry followed suit, staying close by. Once she’d reached her destination, Harry grabbed her arm with a disgusted grimace and apparated away. 

"You got her?" Regulus asked in baffled surprise as the unknown woman, and an invisible Harry, arrived in the tent’s study. 

"Yes," Harry grunted and let go of her arm as quickly as possible. 

"She's… uglier than I imagined," Regulus mused with a wrinkled nose. 

Harry snorted. "She looks exactly the same ten years from now, only more wrinkles." 

He released the invisibility coating him and glared at his most hated professor. She didn’t even deserve the title.  

"What now?" Regulus asked. 

"Now, we make her willingly disappear from Britain," Harry replied and scrambled around his study for the portkey he'd created not long ago. 

“The plan is for her to resign her position at the ministry and make it clear to any friends and family, if she even has any of those, that she is moving to Nigeria to get married. She found herself a prince, apparently.” 

Harry snickered at his own ingenuity. The fraudulent letters had been a thing in recent years. Petunia even got one in the post, much to his aunt's horror. How dare a black person write to her? It was ridiculous. Harry almost wished she and Vernon would have fallen for the bait. But alas, their racism saved them. 

Harry made Umbridge cut her own finger and smear a drop of blood onto the coin that served as a portkey to the island. The blood would key it to her, ensuring that no one could activate it in her stead, nor hitch a ride. Any attempts to tag along would lead to splinching and dismemberment for the stow-away. 

"Do you think it will work?” Regulus questioned after he’d calmed down from laughing. 

“It doesn't really matter. Either way she will have an excuse to resign and leave. I honestly doubt anyone is going to miss her and look closer. And even if they do, she will be long gone by then,” Harry responded.  

“I don’t like letting her out of my sight now that I have her, but it is necessary,” Harry admitted with a sigh. 

It felt wrong, but for his plans to work, Umbridge would have to disappear naturally instead of suspiciously. He didn't need people making a big deal out of it and send the aurors looking. 

Harry once again grabbed onto her arm and whisked them away, this time to the Forest of Dean. From there, Umbridge would be able to apparate away and continue with her day, setting in motion Harry’s plans. She had instructions to activate the portkey once she'd fulfilled all her objectives of making a clean, and somewhat believable move. 

~

"Do you feel ready for tonight's ritual?" Ignotus gravely asked as he oversaw Harry's preparations. 

"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry murmured, feeling somewhat queasy with nervous energy.

Due to their plans involving a dead body, Ignotus had suggested that they perform another ritual before the resurrection. After all, Harry would need a corpse for the necromancy to work, so why not use Umbridge’s death for something that would benefit him? 

Although he was struggling with the thought of what he was about to do, Harry had agreed without much fuss. He told himself that it would be worth it, that it was necessary. 

It had taken them days, if not weeks of research to find the right ritual. He'd combed through countless dusty tomes from the Black library, and even more from the Peverell vault. Eventually, they came across a ritual whose purpose was to strengthen the caster’s mind and memory. Harry immediately knew that was the one.

The day before Imbolc, they gathered outside in a forest clearing. Harry had stayed up late the previous night, carefully painting a large, ritual circle with a mixture of crushed chalk and his own blood.

Sumerian runes trailed along the inside of the outer edge, followed by a pentagram, and countless runic arrays. For the ritual to work as it should without any unintended side-effects, the runes and their placement were of utmost importance. Just a small mistake and Harry could end up blowing himself to bits. 

He preferred to keep all his limbs firmly attached to his body, which was why he'd spent numerous hours painstakingly painting them, triple checking each and every one to make sure they were perfect.

Candles were placed at each point of the pentagram along with bowls of sage, caraway seeds, snowdrop petals, and jobberknoll feathers. Just like the content of the bowls, the colour of the candles represented a specific feature, all carefully selected to enhance memory and cognitive ability.  Blue stood for wisdom and stability, purple for power and creativity, and yellow for intellect.

Umbridge had returned to the island a few days prior after completing his orders. She had resigned from her job, packed up her home, and officially purchased an international portkey to take her overseas. 

Ever since she found her way back, Harry had enjoyed getting revenge for what she did to him and numerous other students while she was the High Inquisitor at Hogwarts. 

He had purchased a blood quill from Knockturn and made her write with it, commanding her to repeat the line over, and over, and over, until the magic of the quill had torn through skin and muscle, just like it once did for Harry.

He made sure she would feel everything, every scratch of the pen. She screamed at first, screeching about how she was an 'important ministry employee' and to 'stop this at once!' After that came the tears and pleading. 

Her attempts at bribery, promising him gold and power beyond his wildest dreams if only he were to release her, were pathetic. Harry didn't listen. He merely smiled pleasantly as the magic of the quill did its job, forcing her hand to write until the words had been etched deeply into her left hand. 

I will not harm children.

Those were the words being written. They rang true enough, considering she would soon be dead, and unable to do much of anything. Harry told himself he was doing the world a favour by getting rid of her. 

The sadistic little beast inside his chest that he'd always tried to keep hidden from the world, was howling in glee at the chance for revenge. It gorged itself on her screams, feeling like justice had been righteously served.

People wouldn't get to walk all over him this time. According to his relatives, he was a monster, and perhaps they were right. Harry was a monster, and he'd just discovered that he had teeth.  

"I think that is enough for now," Harry said calmly to the pale and shivering woman in front of him that looked ready to pass out any second. 

Her skin was pasty and covered in a sheen of sweat, causing her mousy brown curls to lay flat against her face. The blood loss and pain had taken its toll. Magic was the only thing keeping her conscious. 

"Kreacher, bring her back to her cell. Make sure she gets a blood-replenishing potion, but don't heal the wounds beyond keeping her from bleeding out. We need her alive for tonight's ritual." 

Kreacher nodded his head, seemingly more than happy about Harry's newest forage into torture.

Umbridge moaned feebly as Kreacher brusquely moved her to the improvised holding cell Harry had set up in the clearing. It resembled a large cage with metal bars going around the entire thing. He'd transfigured and warded it to hell and back, so even had she had access to a wand, there was no way she'd be getting out, Harry had made sure of that.

The hours went by until finally the clock struck midnight and the moon was high in the sky. It was the night of Imbolc, a time for new beginnings and growth. Harry would be performing the first ritual as the sun rose on the horizon. The second ritual, where he'd actually revive her body, would happen in the last hours of the day. That would give him a few hours to rest and recuperate in between.

He had prepared various potions for energy and wakefulness beforehand, just in case he was dead to the world by the time he needed to perform his last ritual. He had instructed Kreacher to feed them to him if he wasn't up by then. 

Harry began his final preparations. He stepped out of the simple black robe he had been wearing, leaving it over a conjured chair. 

Slowly, he began to paint runic arrays in a mixture of ash and blood. Runes for protection, clarity, wisdom and power went on his newly shaved head, continuing down his neck and arms until they reached the back of his hands. 

Umbridge had been unrobed as well, and strangely enough, the sight almost made him more uncomfortable than the prospect of murder. She wouldn't be staying in that form for long, though. 

Harry had fortified his occlumency barriers especially for tonight, preparing himself for the sight that would greet him once the ritual was over. It would no longer be Umbridge's corpse laying on the ground, but someone else entirely. 

"It is almost time," Ignotus said. "You have to give her the potion now." 

Harry nodded and grabbed the phial of polyjuice potion he had kept on hand just outside the circle.

Kreacher had been back to Grimmauld Place to nick a few hairs from a hairbrush in Sirius' bedroom. Harry had tried the potion beforehand just to be sure it actually was actually Sirius' hair and not somebody else's. There was no room for error.

The phial was uncorked and held up to Umbridge's lips. "Drink," Harry ordered. 

The imperioed woman obediently did as she was told, gulping down the foul, frothing liquid without hesitation.

Immediately, her skin began to bubble and change. Her limbs stretched, and her body grew thinner and thinner. After a minute, the change was complete, and in Umbridge's place lay Harry's godfather, in all his unkempt, emaciated glory. 

Harry had to swallow away the lump in his throat before he hid his emotions behind his occlumency barriers. His face smoothed out and his breathing evened. He was doing this for Sirius. Even though the thing in front of him looked like his godfather, it wasn't him, not really. 

Harry knew what he had to do next. Ignotus had detailed the ritual and its effects near daily, so he was intimately familiar with all the practicalities, no matter how grotesque they might be. 

Harry levitated the polyjuiced Umbridge into the middle of the pentagram, having her sit in a kneeling position. Swiftly, Harry followed suit with a ritual dagger in his right hand, but instead of kneeling, he stood, facing his godfather's doppelganger. 

As the first rays of sunlight hit the horizon, Harry cut the inside of his left hand, letting the blood drip down onto the pentagram as he chanted the practised words. 

Blood infused with magic from the chant, activating the ritual. The mixture of blood and chalk burned, searing itself into the earth underneath. It glowed a bright orange, illuminating the young boy and his kneeling sacrifice. 

The candles lit up, and the ingredients within the five bowls caught fire when the magical flames passed each point of the pentagram. The heavy scent of burning sage filled the clearing.

The magic of the ritual, combined with the natural magic of Imbolc, rushed through Harry's veins, making the air feel charged and heavy. 

He continued his chant as if in a trance, grabbing hold of the ragged man's long, matted hair with his left hand. He tilted the head forward, letting the chant build power. And just as it reached its crescendo, Harry sliced through his godfather's pale neck. 

Blood spurted out from the wound. It pulsed and dripped into the awaiting bowl underneath them. The dark, red liquid glistened in the light from the circle. 

Umbridge, disguised as Sirius, twitched and choked on her own blood, and it was only the imperio that kept her from moving out of the circle. 

It was very much a disturbing scene, and something that most likely would haunt Harry's nightmares for years to come. But for now, he was completely caught up in the rich magic that saturated the air. 

Harry's voice was hoarse from use as he spoke the final verse. And just as Umbridge took her last breath, Harry drank from the bowl containing her lifeblood, swallowing down the thick, warm liquid until he could swallow no more. 

The fire started in his belly, spreading out to every fibre of his being, burning, searing, tearing, until finally it reached his head and pain exploded behind his eyes. 

Harry screamed and clawed at his eyes and face, leaving it covered in bloodied scratches where his nails broke the skin. Thankfully, the pain didn't last long before he passed out, slumping over the naked corpse of his godfather's doppelganger like a marionette with its strings cut. 

Chapter Text

February 1987

"Master Henry! Master Henry needs to wake up now!" 

Harry groaned. He had a migraine of the century and his mouth was dry as a desert. In addition, he was cold and sticky. He opened his crusty eyelids slowly, the sunlight sending sparks of pain into his brain. This ritual better be worth it, he thought. 

Kreacher stared at him from outside the now inactive circle. The candles had burned down, leaving puddles of hardened wax, empty ingredient bowls, and a magical circle scorched into the earth.

The old elf frowned and did not seem happy with the situation. 

Harry tried to prop himself up with shaky hands, finding his skin sticking to something underneath. He looked down, and saw Sirius' soulless, grey eyes staring sightlessly back at him. 

Dried blood covered both their bodies, and as Harry looked at the slit throat, knowing he had been the one to do it, he scrambled away to throw up.

Coagulated blood mixed with bile, and chunks of half-digested food, splattered onto the grass. Kreacher was by his side in an instant, wrapping him in a warm blanket and popping him inside the tent for a bath. 

The old elf shoved potion after potion down Harry's throat, and little by little, he began to feel better. The blood was scrubbed off his skin and his wounds healed. 

Kreacher mollycoddled him the entire afternoon, making sure he was clean, warm, fed and rested. By the time Harry had to start making preparations for his final ritual, he felt somewhat ready to face the corpse outside again. 

Fake-Sirius, as he'd decided to call the corpse, lay on the ground where he had been left. Harry took a deep breath and levitated him out of the circle. 

He meticulously began healing any external damages that had been caused during the ritual. With a flick of his hand, and a scourgify later, Fake-Sirius' skin was free of blood and grass. Next came the deep gash across his neck. The tissue slowly knitted itself together until not even a scar could be seen. Fake-Sirius was as good as he'd get. 

Harry covered him with a blanket. He didn't particularly want to see him like that, nor his privates for that matter. It was disturbing on so many levels. 

The necromantic ritual was not as intricate as the sacrificial one he’d performed as the day began. Seeing as the goal here was to resurrect a body, and not kill it, there was no human sacrifice necessary. Yes, it required a bit of preparation, but mostly it relied on the necromancer's innate powers. 

"You did the sacrificial ritual perfectly,” Ignotus praised him softly.

Harry tried to smile but it came out more like a grimace. "I don't know if I should be happy about that or not…. I think…” He took a deep breath. “I think it would have been much easier if she hadn't looked like him."

Harry licked his dry lips, eyes flickering to the right where Fake-Sirius lay. 

"I don't plan on doing any similar rituals in the near future, but if the opportunity presents itself… with the right person, then I suppose I'm not entirely opposed to it." 

And wasn't that a shocker? Harry had gone from hollering about how bad and evil the dark arts were, and now he had performed Black Magic. And he wasn't against doing it again… oh how things had changed. 

"That is perfectly understandable," Ignotus replied with a nod. "They can be dangerous if you do them too often. So if you wish to perform a similar ritual in the future, you must promise to partake in a cleansing ritual first." He was extremely firm on that last part, making Harry solemnly promise. 

"When will I notice the effects from the ritual? I don't feel any different," Harry questioned as he pushed three large pegs into the ground, forming a large triangle around Fake-Sirius. 

Each of the pegs were created from the femur bone of a thestral, and had been carved with runes. 

"You should gain the full effect by the end of the week. I never partook in this particular ritual myself, but I knew people who did, and found that it greatly improved their memory,” Ignotus answered. 

Harry hummed as he thread a thin rope made out of silver wire and thestral tail hair, through the holes carved out at the top of each peg, connecting the three of them. He took a step back to have a better look at his handiwork and nodded to himself. 

"Don't forget the sigils," Ignotus prompted. 

Harry hadn't forgotten, but he appreciated the reminder. He picked up the pot of ink and the brush laying next to it. With practised precision, he painted the seven sigils onto Fake-Sirius' body. The first four were made on the limbs, one for each arm and leg. The next two were painted onto the eyelids, then finally, the last sigil went onto Fake-Sirius' forehead, where the third eye was supposed to be. 

The sigils and necromantic rituals were something that had been passed down in the Peverell family for generations, first by word of mouth, then through carefully kept grimoires. They were a closely guarded secret, and as such, different families with the gift would have their own special rituals and sigils. Harry was extremely lucky to have all his ancestors at his beck and call, ready to aid him whenever he so required it. Ignotus was a prime example of this. 

"Good enough?" Harry asked for verification. 

"I could do no better myself," Ignotus proudly declared, making Harry smile. 

There wasn't much else to do but wait for the right moment now. Sunset would be around 5 pm, and the ritual was best performed in moonlight, so they were to wait for the final hour of the day.

Harry managed to have a long nap and some dinner before it was finally time to resurrect Fake-Sirius. He dressed in a thick wool sweater that one of the elves had knitted for him, as well as a warm hat for his now bald head. He'd definitely have to take a hair-growth potion before he returned to primary school.

Imbolc had fallen on a Monday that year, and so, Harry had made Petunia call the school and say he was sick with the flu, and that he would be staying home for a few days. He needed the time to recuperate from the rituals. 

"Alright, let's get you up and walking again," Harry murmured to Fake-Sirius. He cracked his fingers and positioned himself at the point of the triangle next to Fake-Sirius' head. 

Ignotus watched from the sidelines as Harry began. He closed his eyes, feeling for the spark of necromantic magic within himself. Once found, his hands moved over Fake-Sirius' head in a fluid pattern, pulling and changing invisible strings of magic like only someone born with the gift could.

Slowly, the magic began pooling in his hands, dark, smoky magic with crackles of luminous green that were now visible to the naked eye. 

Harry's eyes opened, and he looked down upon the corpse. The same type of magic that covered his hands was now running along the rope made of thestral hair and silver wire. The green magic snapped and crackled around it like electricity, wild and charged. 

Harry was connected to the triangle through his magic, and once that connection was fully established, the current flew into the dead body, latching on to the seven sigils and powering them. 

The connection between Harry and Fake-Sirius grew, until there was a bond tying his magical core to the body below. It was a curious thing. It felt similar to the bond he had to Kreacher, but at the same time not. 

Harry fed more and more magic into the bond, nurturing it until it could take no more, like a cup that was already filled to the brim. 

With a few murmured words of power, he let go of the magic he had been channelling, allowing it to dissipate into the atmosphere. 

Harry breathed heavily, his breath misting in the chilly night air. The glow from his magic had gone, leaving the two beings bathed in moonlight. 

He looked with wide, green eyes at Fake-Sirius. Had it worked? He could feel the connection at the back of his mind, but the body was just as still and lifeless as before. 

"You need to give it a command." 

Ignotus' words broke through Harry's exhausted daze. His eyes flicked to the spirit, who seemed pleased, so maybe he hadn't failed after all. Harry took a deep breath. 

"Sit up," he ordered, and much to his surprise, and satisfaction, Fake-Sirius did sit up. His face split into a wide grin. 

"Minky!" There was a soft pop, and there the adoring little elf was. 

"Can you clean the ink off his body please?" 

Minky looked at the resurrected body with wide eyes. "O-of course Master Peverell. I can be's doing that." She seemed to gather herself and the surprise changed to determination. 

Harry wondered how complicated orders Fake-Sirius could obey. "You are to follow Minky and do as she says." 

Fake-Sirius stood up, still entirely naked, a sight Harry would be happy not to see again any time soon. He grimaced. 

"Bring him inside the tent and give him a simple robe please. You don't need to clean him, he has to stay filthy. Just make sure the ink is all gone," Harry explained to Minky who nodded in understanding. 

The little elf grabbed on to Fake-Sirius' hand and popped away. 

Harry sighed and quickly looked at his watch. Half an hour past midnight, still time for plenty of sleep. He eyed the equipment he'd used and then groaned. He knew he couldn't leave it there, no matter how much he wanted to crawl under a nice, warm blanket. 

Well, better get to it. The rope came first. Harry removed it from the pegs and then wound it up into a neat little ball that he stored in a special silk pouch.

Next came the pegs. He levitated them out of the ground and used a scourgify to clean them of any remaining dirt that clung to the bone. Then he gently placed them in a padded pouch. It shrank as soon as he tied it together. 

Harry cast one final look over the clearing. Anything remaining, like the remnants of his first ritual, could be dealt with later. Without further hesitation, he stepped through the shadows and into his bedroom, collapsing onto the soft mattress. 

When Harry next woke, he had slept for two whole days, as Regulus so kindly informed him. The strange thing was that he felt good, extremely good. He was actually more rested than he'd felt in years. 

In addition, his mind felt clearer, like someone had finally put the world into focus. The many dusty corners of his brain had been thoroughly cleansed by a gust of fresh air. 

When he read a book, he actually remembered it, word for word. Learning had never been easier, it was as if his brain could finally connect the dots. 

When he first delved into his mindscape after the ritual to have a look at his occlumency barriers, Harry was in for a big surprise. Those who dared to enter without permission would be met by an endless black void that would suck you in and drown out any sensation. 

No sight, touch, smell or taste, everything was just numb. For an intruder it would be true, isolated torture. In those conditions, even a short stay could feel like hours. 

"How is Fake-Sirius holding up?" Harry asked his deceased friend once he opened his eyes from the inspection of his mind. 

"Fake-Sirius?" Regulus replied with a raised eyebrow in puzzled amusement. 

"Yes, you know, the decoy," Harry said matter-of-factly as he downed a hair-growth potion that made his scalp tingle and itch. 

Hair quickly sprouted out where the itch was, and grew until it came just below his ears in black waves. Harry called for Kreacher and had him give him a haircut, apparently he'd always been the one to cut Regulus' hair. 

"Fake-Sirius, as you're calling him, is doing fine. He doesn't speak, but he's very obedient and does what Minky orders him to. I think mostly he's been sitting in the living room." 

Harry let out a relieved breath. Good. He could still feel the bond he'd created to Fake-Sirius, he wondered if he could give mental commands as well. The whole necromancy thing was new to him, and even Ignotus said that it was uncommon to start with the resurrection of humans, normally a fresh necromancer would begin with small animals and build up to something more complex. But, Harry had been impatient so here they were, with a walking dead Fake-Sirius sitting in the living room. 

"I'm getting him out this weekend. He's waited long enough," Harry declared with resolve shining in his eyes. 

"I'll do some scouting on Friday after school, make sure everything lines up like I want it to. Then I'll put the plan into motion. By Sunday evening, I will have him freed and on the island." 

That evening, Harry went around the tent and warded all the areas Sirius wouldn't be allowed to enter, such as the potions lab, study and Harry's bedroom. He had keyed the wards to himself and those magically bonded to him, thereby letting the elves come and go as they pleased. 

He didn't want Sirius in areas where he could discover anything about Harry's real identity, the tapestry hanging in the study was a good example of something that needed to remain hidden for now. 

He also had valuable items from the Peverell family, such as tomes and artefacts that he didn't want destroyed in case Sirius lost his thin grip on reality. Harry had no idea what his mental state would truly be like, but he wasn't very optimistic. 

Kreacher had been ordered to not under any circumstance let himself be seen by Sirius. Harry didn't need the added mistrust of him being connected to the Black family. This was going to be difficult enough as it was. 

~

Cold. 

He was always so cold. It had seeped into his very bones at this point. He feared he would never be warm nor happy ever again. 

Gone. 

They were all gone. James and Lily, dead. Regulus, dead. Remus... abandoned. Peter, traitor!  

Padfoot growled. He wanted to rip and bite the little rat! Tear its head off and feast on its innards! 

Only Harry was left. Little Harry. Sweet baby Harry. 

The black dog curled up even tighter, trying to block out the despair clinging to the very walls of his cell. It was easier like this. Everything was dulled as Padfoot. The pain, the hunger, the cold… It was easier to ignore. 

One of the dementors hovered outside the cell for a few seconds, drinking in what good feelings the animagus had, making Padfoot whimper. There weren't many positive emotions left anymore. 

He clung to his thoughts of revenge. The dementors couldn't take those, they weren't happy.

Finally, the monster seemed satisfied, floating away to its next victim. Padfoot shivered. 

Hungry. So hungry…

His stomach was so empty it ached. The wardens didn't bother feeding the high security prisoners often. Why go in amongst the dementors for scum? 

He had no idea how long he'd been locked up. It felt like a lifetime. Sleep was the only thing worthy of doing, and even there, memories and nightmares haunted him. 

Padfoot let his flea-infested tail wrap over his face, blocking out the moonlight shining through the bars of his tiny window. It wasn't insulated from the wind, and cold air would constantly blow in, but with the dementors around, it hardly made much of a difference. 

Cold. Always cold. 

"Caw!" 

Padfoot raised his head in confusion, suddenly staring at a black crow that tilted its head and stared right back. 

It was an anomaly. No animal got near Azkaban of their own free will. Padfoot wondered if he could catch and eat it. It was an opportunity too good to pass up. 

That idea changed, however, when the crow held out its foot towards the dog, a small letter clutched in its claws. 

Padfoot blinked, too startled to do anything. The crow cawed again, sounding impatient. 

Slowly, exceedingly slow, Padfoot transformed into Sirius. His hair went down his back in a thick, matted mess, filled with fleas and lice. It smelled disgusting and felt even worse. The bushy beard he'd been forced to grow wasn't in much better condition. 

The prisoner uniform he'd been given upon his arrival hung loosely on his emaciated form, and provided no additional warmth from the cold.

Sirius shakily reached out a bony hand towards the letter. It was a dream, it had to be. No one got letters in Azkaban, at least not delivered directly like this.

Frozen fingers fumbled with the black, wax seal. He didn't pay attention to the symbol, too busy with getting to the letter itself. 

Dear Mr Black

Do you wish to be free? If so, wear the ring.

Sincerely 

A benefactor who believes in your innocence

What…? Of course he wanted to be free! Was this a joke? 

Wear the ring, it said. What ring? 

Sirius frowned and looked into the envelope, it was empty now that he'd removed the letter. He didn't recognise the handwriting either, so it wasn't Remus trying to break him out. Not that he thought the spineless wolf would. He hadn't seen him even once since he was tossed in a cell without a trial. He hadn't even seen Dumbledore… 

"Th–" He tried to speak but broke out into a bout of coughs and wheezes. 

He hadn't spoken for years and his lungs weren't in the best condition. Once the coughing subsided, he tried again. 

"Th-there is no ring," he rasped out, not really thinking the bird would understand him, but figuring it was worth a shot. 

The animal tilted its head again. There was intelligence in those black eyes, Sirius thought.

The bird shuffled and held out its other foot. A black silk pouch was tied to a small bracelet that wrapped around the skinny leg. Sirius figured there had to have been a notice-me-not on it since he hadn't seen it until now. 

With trembling hands from the cold, he unfastened the pouch. When he opened it, a silver ring shimmered in the moonlight. He looked from the ring to the bird. Was he really going to do this? For all he knew the ring could be cursed and sent to kill him. 

Did it really matter though? Dying wouldn't be so bad. Certainly a hell of a lot better than staying in Azkaban for the rest of his life. 

Sirius took a deep, raspy breath. If he died he'd get to see his friends again. And Reggie… he'd be able to apologise for being a shitty older brother. If the ring gave him that, or freedom, well, it wasn't much of a choice.

That decided, he closed his eyes, steadying himself with a deep breath before they fluttered open again. He slid the ring onto his index finger. There was a sharp stab of pain, then everything went dark. 

~ 

Harry watched as Sirius mused on what to do with the ring, debating whether he trusted it or not. Harry had known there might be a possibility that Sirius wouldn't take the bait, but he'd gambled on the man's desire for freedom winning over his suspicion. 

His bet paid off. Sirius put on the charmed ring. It held a single use dosage of a heavy sleeping draught that would keep him knocked out for hours unless he got an antidote first. 

Harry flew in through the window and transformed back into his human form, the ring around his foot changing size with him. He'd cloaked himself in invisibility just to be on the safe side. 

A shrunken, Fake-Sirius was pulled out of a pocket and placed on the floor. Harry returned him back to his normal size, and with a quick switching spell, Fake-Sirius was wearing the uniform Sirius had been dressed in. In return, Sirius was clad in a simple black robe. 

Before Harry flew to the prison, he had instructed Fake-Sirius how to act. He was to eat what he was given, relieve himself regularly, and spend most of his time pretending to sleep huddled up on the thin mattress. He was to ignore any taunts coming from the wardens, and prison guards, and keep to himself for the most part. Not that the last order would be very difficult, considering Sirius lived in isolation. 

The decoy had his orders, so Harry simply let him be. He grabbed Sirius' hand and whisked them away through the shadows. Not a single soul in Azkaban was aware of what had taken place. 

When Harry stepped through the shadows and into his tent, Minky and Tilly were waiting for them in the living room. He had asked them if they were willing to help him with Sirius once he managed to free him. The elves had of course been overjoyed by the opportunity to do something for their beloved master. 

After he bought and bonded with them, the entire colony of house-elves now adored the very ground he walked on. He found it slightly disturbing at times. 

Harry had filled Minky in on the plan, explaining that he was going to swap the resurrected corpse out for the real man. 

"Please give him a bath and get rid of any bugs. As for his hair and beard… I don't think there is a way to salvage what's there, so just shave it all off," Harry instructed as he removed the silver ring from Sirius' finger. 

The elves nodded their heads in understanding and popped away with the sleeping escapee. 

"Merlin… he looks awful," Regulus said forlornly at the sight of his filthy and emaciated brother. 

Sirius was covered in thick layers of grime that would no doubt take several washes to get properly rid of. The elves had quite the job in front of them. 

Harry sighed. 

"I know… I just hope he's faring better psychologically than when we first met. He's only been five years in Azkaban compared to the twelve in my past. Five years is still an eternity in there though."

Harry had no idea what to do about his godfather's health, physically or psychologically. He wasn't a healer or a psychiatrist… which, Harry was sure Sirius could benefit from actually. 

There didn't seem to be much focus on the damages of the mind in the wizarding world. There had never been any mention of Ginny getting counselling after her year of being possessed and nearly killed, nor any of the other victims that year.

Sirius had suffered more trauma and abuse than most, and was a prime candidate for therapy. The fact that Harry himself should probably also see a therapist was promptly ignored. He was doing just fine. 

Were there squib psychiatrists out there? Maybe magical healthcare in other countries had developed more when it came to mental afflictions. Perhaps he could get a magical psychiatrist from the States or something? It was worth researching. 

Harry contemplated getting some rest, but put it out of his mind. It was nearing Sunday morning and he had things to do. He went to the potions lab and grabbed all the potions he thought he might need for Sirius. He had summoned a healer to guide him through a general health check once Sirius was clean.

In preparation for that, and just his paranoia in general, Harry had brewed all kinds of healing potions. He was stocked for almost any kind of emergency, and it was something he felt rather proud of. 

He walked to the guest room he had prepared for Sirius' recovery. It had large windows with a beautiful view of the forest. Harry hoped it would be a peaceful place for Sirius to recuperate in. 

The elves had all moved out of Harry's tent. He'd followed through on his promise to get them proper housing, and had purchased several smaller tents to call their own. They had, of course, been very grateful, and excited to be allowed to decorate and change them to their liking.

Even Ditty had moved in with the rest. Being able to spend the last years of her life with her own kind, surrounded by elflings and youngsters that were interested in hearing her stories, was a dream come through for her. 

Harry had redecorated the elf quarters of his home into a room for Sirius. It even had its own private bathroom. Harry figured it would be something Sirius would appreciate after his stint in Azkaban.

Instead of going with the bold and loud colours of Gryffindor that Sirius would probably have chosen himself, the walls were painted a warm shade of sandy brown. The rest of the room had been decorated in cream and tan, with the addition of potted plants here and there. 

Harry put the potions on the night-stand and took a deep breath. He had actually done it. He'd gotten him out of Azkaban. He almost couldn't believe it. 

~

Sirius slowly came out of his deep slumber. Instinctively he curled up tight and kept his eyes closed. He could still remember the ridiculous dream he'd had. A messenger crow and a magical ring for escaping, as if someone would ever want to get him out of Azkaban. 

Foolish.  

The bed was so nice and warm that he didn't want to get up. He curled up even tighter, burying in the heat.

Wait. Warm? Nothing was warm in his cell, nor nice and comfortable… Sirius’ eyes snapped open and he looked around himself in wide-eyed shock. This was a dream, it had to be. 

He got out of the large bed on shaky feet, realising that he was dressed in comfortable, burgundy pyjamas made out of soft flannel. It felt heavenly against his irritated skin. 

The next thing he noticed was the lack of hair. He ran his hands over the stubbly scalp and his cleanly shaved face. 

His eyes fell on the windows leading to the outside. A forest. He was somewhere surrounded by a fucking forest. He wasn't in Azkaban… Sirius didn't have enough positive emotions left for hope and dreams, which meant that it had to be real. 

Something wet trickled down his cheeks, and when he touched it, he realised that he was crying. An incredulous, barking laugh bubbled up. He laughed and cried until he was wheezing and coughing for breath. He was free!!!

"Mr Black! Youse should not be out of bed!" A young house-elf said as she appeared in his room. 

The elf, bless her heart, frantically tried to usher him back into the soft bed. For once, Sirius was too physically exhausted and still out of it, to put up a fight. The bed sounded wonderful for his weary bones. 

"W-where am I?" He croaked out through chapped lips, licking them for moisture. 

"I can't be telling youse sir," the elf replied  uncomfortably as she helped him back in bed and fluffed the pillows behind his back. 

"I will tells master Peverell that youse be awake now. He be's waiting," she said before popping away. 

Was it just him or had he seen little hearts appear in her eyes as she spoke about her master? 

Weird. 

Sirius thought the name seemed familiar somehow, but it didn't ring any immediate bells. He leaned back against the soft pillows and closed his eyes, happy to bask in the warmth he had so sorely missed.

~

Harry had kept himself busy most of the night, waiting for Sirius to come out of his potion induced slumber. It was a nerve-wracking experience. He had no idea what kind of mental state his godfather would be in. Was he suicidal? Dangerous to his surroundings? To the elves? 

He stayed awake, worrying about every scenario he could think of, until Regulus ordered him to bed, saying he would keep an eye on Sirius and wake him when he stirred. 

Kreacher, the little traitor, had been the one to hound him to bed like a scolding mother. With a sigh, Harry had complied, and he was out like a light within the hour. His sleep hadn't been restful however, so when Regulus arrived to wake him, he was already up and ready. 

"He's crying… and laughing," Regulus revealed softly, his voice tinted with worry. 

"Ah… Yes. I suppose he would be. It isn't all that surprising really. He's been through a lot. At least he isn't destroying anything. How did he treat Minky?" Harry questioned as he buttoned up his waistcoat. 

He had decided to dress more muggle than purely wizarding to try and persuade Sirius that he wasn't all that bad. Charcoal trousers and waistcoat, paired with a grey button-up shirt, and a red tie  was the attire for the day. 

"Well enough," Regulus supplied. "He only asked her where he was. What will you tell him?" 

Harry thought about it for a moment. "I will tell him that this is a well warded island where he'll be safe to recover in peace." 

A pop announced Minky's arrival in Harry's bedroom. 

"Mr Black's awake, sir," Minky proclaimed with her big, adoring eyes. 

Harry smiled at her. "Thank you Minky, I will see him now. Please prepare something that will be easy for him to digest. Perhaps some broth and crackers?" 

Minky nodded and popped away. 

Harry took a deep breath. "Well, time to see my deranged godfather." 

He smoothed his face into neutrality before raptly knocking on the door. There was a short pause before a familiar voice spoke.

"Come in."

Chapter Text

February 1987

"Come in," Sirius' rough voice said. 

Harry let out a breath of air and strode confidently inside. 

"Good morning Mr Black. It is good to finally see you awake." He offered a small smile. 

Sirius' sunken and haunted eyes widened when he first caught sight of him. "R-Reggie?" He whispered with undisguised hope. 

Harry wanted to grimace, but instead he just curiously tilted his head. Regulus on the other hand whimpered like a wounded animal. 

"I'm afraid not. My name is Harrison Peverell and you are staying in my home." He gestured around himself. 

Sirius swallowed hard. For a second he thought the man looked like his younger brother. It was the cheekbones, hair, and posture that did it. 

They held similar mannerisms, but upon closer inspection he could easily find the differences. The height for one was a dead giveaway. Regulus had been tall, just like Sirius himself.

"S-sorry… you just look a bit like someone I used to know." 

Another coughing fit wracked his body, and Harry immediately stepped closer with a worried frown. 

"Would you let me run a general diagnostic charm on you to check your health?” Harry asked. “That cough is rather worrisome. I’m well stocked up on potions that should help, but I need to know what's wrong before I administer them."

Sirius closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the soft pillows in exhaustion when he finally caught his breath again. 

"Sure, go ahead." 

He wasn't in any position to decline. Besides, what kind of idiot would say no to healing potions when he had them offered? 

Harry nodded gratefully and called forth his ebony wand. He moved the wand in slow and steady motions while he chanted the correct words, making glowing diagrams appear in the air. The magical patterns and colours that hovered over Sirius' body changed, some lighting up and some dimming. 

To Sirius, it all looked like nonsense, and he had no idea how to decipher any of the patterns. The words and arrays were somewhat familiar though. The healers at St Mungo's had used the same spell plenty of times after his auror missions. 

The green-eyed man frowned and muttered something under his breath. 

"So what's the prognosis?" Sirius wheezed. 

"You're rather ill, Mr Black. In addition to your malnutrition, skin rashes and sores, you have a troubling infection in your lungs. Luckily it is all curable, but it will take time to heal fully." 

"Sirius… it's just Sirius," Harry's godfather muttered. 

"Very well, Sirius. I suggest you take it easy for the time being and gather your strength. Minky, the elf you met earlier, as well as Tilly, have agreed to heed your call while you are staying with us. They will aid you with anything you might require." 

Harry handed three potion-phials to Sirius. 

"These will help reduce your fever and fight the infection you are harbouring. In addition, the green one is to soothe your stomach and make it easier for you to start eating rich and solid foods again." 

"Thanks…” 

Sirius hesitated before he seemed to gather his courage. “Why–" He licked his dry lips. "Why are you doing this for me?" He asked, clutching the potion phials like a lifeline. 

Harry met the troubled man's eyes and thought for a second before replying in a gentle but no-nonsense voice. "Because no one else would. I know of your innocence Sirius, and nobody deserves what you've had to go through." 

Sirius swallowed hard at that proclamation. It still left hundreds of questions swirling in his mind, but he was so tired and grateful. At this point, it didn't even matter if his rescuer was a Death Eater or not, as long as it meant that he got to be free of Azkaban. 

"You should take those potions and rest. I will have Minky bring you something to eat, and some creams and salves for your skin. I thought you might want to apply those yourself. There is a bathroom through the door to your left, any basic toiletries you might need should be there already. If you can't find something, simply ask Minky or Tilly." Harry gestured to the door and paused.  

"Since this is my home, I ask that you respect my privacy and leave the doors that are locked alone. Other than that, you are free to go wherever you please. This isn't meant to be another prison but a safe place to heal and recover. The island is large and occupied by only animals, house-elves and myself, so going for a walk is perfectly safe. Although, I would prefer getting your infection under control before you venture out into the cold." Harry smiled and made to leave. 

"Thank you," Sirius said quietly, still not entirely believing his luck. 

Harry's smile softened. "You're welcome." 

~

For the first few days, Harry didn't see Sirius much. The Black heir spent most of his time recovering from his infection, sleeping, and eating. 

Harry made sure that the elves knew exactly which potions to give Sirius, and when, so at least he was following his potion regiment. 

Regulus spent a bit of time following Sirius, but eventually, he returned to Harry's side, saying it was too hard to watch the husk of a man his brother had become. He did add that he overheard Sirius trying to grill the elves with questions about their master and which 'side’ he was on. 

Obviously, Sirius' subtle attempts at interrogation hadn't been very subtle at all, and the elves only had good words to say about their master. Not that they actually knew, or cared about any of Harry's plans or ideals, it wasn't something he spoke with them about. 

Even though Harry had a visitor staying with him, he still had to go through his routine of school on the weekdays. He found it dreadfully boring, but there was an upside to it. He realised that if he simply confunded his teacher to believe he was there, doing his work like everyone else, then he could put up a notice-me-not charm around his desk in the back corner, making everyone leave him alone. That way he'd be able to read to his heart's content.

Recently he had been devouring medical books of any kind, both muggle and wizarding. He wanted to help Sirius heal as much as he could. Besides, it was really interesting. Who knew, maybe the hat would place him in Ravenclaw this time? 

~

"We need to talk," Sirius stated one day as he walked into the living room while Harry was doing some arithmancy work by the fireplace. The young necromancer lifted an eyebrow and closed his book. 

"Very well. Have a seat then." He gestured to the other chair and patiently waited for his godfather to sit down. 

Sirius looked, well, serious, no pun intended. His face sported a small frown, and Harry could tell that he was slightly tense and apprehensive about the conversation. 

"Would you like some tea?" Harry offered.

Sirius nodded stiffly in confirmation so Harry had one of the elves bring in a fresh pot and an extra cup. Finally, when they both had a warm cup in hand, Harry leaned back in his chair and fixed his eyes on Sirius. 

"I'm listening." 

Sirius swallowed and licked his lips. "So, I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me, getting me out of Azkaban and letting me stay here and all, but… I want to know which side you are on.” 

Harry hummed. “Which side of what, I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.” 

Of course he knew Sirius meant the war, but if the man wanted answers then he would have to call up his Gryffindor courage and simply ask. 

Which was exactly what he did. “Are you a Death Eater?” Sirius looked extremely uncomfortable as he asked. 

Harry studied him carefully. “Would it matter?” He retorted calmly and sipped his tea. He merely wanted to fish for a reaction, see where Sirius stood in all of this. 

His godfather grimaced. “Honestly? At this point? No, not so much. I won’t be able to support the same things you do, but I’m still very grateful for you getting me out of prison and letting me stay here.” He went quiet. 

Harry was honestly surprised. Sirius had been a staunch fighter for the light in the last war, a hater of anything 'dark'. Maybe his stay in Azkaban had affected him more than he originally thought? 

He placed his cup on the table and began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Sirius looked on in confusion until Harry’s arms were bare, showing no signs of the Dark Mark, faded or not. 

“You may rest assured that I am not, nor will I ever be, a Death Eater,” Harry proclaimed. 

The very notion of it was ridiculous. He would never kiss the robes of anyone, especially not someone as insane as Voldemort. 

"Oh…" Sirius said dumbly. "Well… that's good then?" He looked a little lost but also relieved, as if he'd already expected the worst of his rescuer. 

Harry gave a wry smirk. "Why, not the answer you expected?" 

".... no, not really…" Sirius sheepishly replied. 

Harry snorted. "Anything else you want to ask while you are at it? I hear you've been pestering Minky and Tilly with questions, so we might as well get it over with." He waved his hand nonchalantly. 

Sirius seemed to gather enough courage to continue. "How did you know I was innocent if you weren't a Death Eater?" 

"Ah… that is… complicated. There are more than one reason. Most of them I am unable, or rather, unwilling to tell you unless I get a vow of secrecy or a signed contract. As you might have realised I am a very private person, and this is something I’d rather not get out to certain ears.”

Sirius frowned and thought about it in silence while his companion returned to his tea. “If I do the vow, or sign the contract… you’ll be honest with me? You’ll tell me why you’re doing all of this and what your goals are?” He licked his lips again. “Because you’re a Slytherin if I’ve ever seen one, you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart are you? There has to be a motive, something you’ll gain in return.” 

Harry had to admit that it was quite reasonable thinking for Sirius, surprisingly enough. He wasn’t ready to tell Sirius the entire truth, even with a contract or vow, but if the man committed to stay silent in return for information, Harry would be willing to share partial truths. He hummed.

“If you agree to make a vow or sign a contract, I will be reasonably honest with you. If there are things I cannot say, I promise to tell you as much as is appropriate. You have to understand, I am playing a dangerous game here, not just for myself but someone who is important to the wizarding world. And also… someone who is important to you.” Well, Harry Potter was important to the British wizards and witches, so it wasn’t entirely a lie. 

Sirius merely looked confused at the statement. He blinked in silence a couple of times, frowning. Who did he have that was important to him but also the wizarding world? 

It was clear he hadn't picked up on the hint Harry had given him. He wanted to roll his eyes but refrained. "I will tell you if you sign a contract." 

His curiosity won out, and Sirius nodded. "Alright, I'll sign. But I get to read it properly first and alter any points I don't like." 

"We can discuss the points, yes," Harry agreed. He snapped his fingers and Minky appeared. 

"Fetch one of the secrecy contracts from my study, please." 

"Yes Lord Peverell!" The little elf happily popped away to fulfil her orders.

She quickly returned with the contract and looked lovingly at her master. "Anything else I can do for youse sir?" 

"Thank you Minky, that would be all for now." Harry smiled softly. 

The smile on the young Lord's face was kinder than any Sirius had seen before. It made his face look younger and much gentler than the posh pureblood he'd been acquainted with so far. Clearly the elves loved him, and he in return seemed fond of them. He couldn't be all that bad could he? 

"You care for your elves," Sirius stated. 

"Yes, I thought that was rather obvious." Harry's lips twitched in a small smile. 

"They are hard-working and loyal as long as you treat them decently as sapient beings and not property. Did you know that they used to have their own culture and language? One of the elves here, Ditty, is over three hundred years old and such a sweet lady. She was young back then, but she still remembers what it was like. I'm saddened that much seems to be lost, at least here in Britain. How you wizards treat the elves in this day and age is atrocious! It is cruel and despicable!" Harry's voice got more passionate the longer he spoke, and a sneer marred his face when he mentioned the British wizards. 

Sirius' eyes widened. Of everything that would rile up the young Peverell, house-elf rights had not been the first thing to come to mind.

"I uh… I had no idea. I mean I know some families don't treat their house-elves well and all, but I had no idea about the culture bit." He stopped to think. "Hang on… you said wizards like you're not a part of that group…" Sirius frowned. 

The other man was quiet. He studied Sirius and shoved the contract with a gold fountain pen laying on top, towards him. "Sign and you will find out."

Fucking cryptic bastard, Sirius grumbled. He picked up the parchment and read through it in silence. He had to admit that it was a solid contract that offered protection both ways, which surprised him. He hadn't expected Peverell to add a clause that said the secrets Sirius shared while explicitly saying they were secrets, would 'not be shared with a living soul without his permission'. 

He found the wording a bit odd, what type of soul but living was there? Still, it seemed good enough. The contract was of the type that made it physically impossible to breach and he preferred that over losing his life or magic. 

"You already had this prepared for me didn't you?" Sirius muttered as he uncapped the pen. He had expected a quill, but the pen was much fancier and easier to use, so he didn't complain. 

"Yes," Harry simply replied. 

Without any flourishes, Sirius scribbled his signature onto the contract and handed it over to his companion. 

Harry felt incredibly satisfied once he watched the magic take hold and then signed the contract himself, feeling it bind him. His side of things wouldn't restrict him much however, considering most of the people he talked to were dead and not living, which Sirius would soon find out. 

He flashed Sirius a toothy grin. "Now that we have that sorted, fire away." 

Sirius was starting to wonder if maybe he didn't want to know all of this after all. "The wizard thing first… you are a wizard right?" His mind immediately went to vampire, but Peverell didn't match the characteristics of one. 

"That is actually a very good question. Yes I am a wizard… but I am also more in a sense. This also circles back to your question of how I knew you were innocent. You see… I can speak with the dead." 

Harry watched as Sirius choked on his tea and spit it out on the floor. He wrinkled his nose and vanished it instinctively with a wave of his hand. 

"Regulus… your brother, has become one of my closest friends after his death, if not the closest. He was one of the reasons why I freed you. Knowing you were in that foul place broke his heart." 

Sirius looked devastated and pained at the mention of his brother, it seemed that the news of him still caring about him overshadowed the fact that Harry was a necromancer. 

"The second reason… is because someone else wanted me to. Someone who is important to you and me both. This person shares my gift of communicating with the dead. He is like me, and I care very much for his well-being." 

"Who?" Sirius choked out. 

Harry was quiet, merely watching the other man. "Henry James Potter." The charged words hung heavy in the air. 

Sirius' eyes had gone wide and wild. "You know where Harry is?! And what the hell do you mean he's like you?! He isn't a fucking necromancer, that I know for sure!" Sirius was on his feet in insulted rage, spitting the words out. 

Harry studied the other with calm calculation. That hadn't gone as well as he hoped.

"No matter how much you rage about it, Henry Potter is, and will always be, a necromancer." Which was something he had finally come to terms with himself. 

"The House of Potter once had a man who married a woman from the House of Peverell. The family gift of necromancy was passed down through the Potter line because of this. True, not many Potters have had the gift, but little Henry does." 

Sirius growled like the mangy mutt he could transform into. "How do you know?" 

"I talked to his parents, who in turn talked to him." 

Harry could see what a kick in the gut that was for Sirius. The anger was all but ripped out of him and he looked ragged and pale. The grief crashed over him once more. 

"J-James and Lily?" He rasped out. "Harry can… He's been talking to them? Y-You're sure?" He flopped down in the chair like a marionette who'd had its strings cut. 

Harry nodded. "Yes." 

Sirius swallowed hard. "How is he? Where is he? I'm his godfather, he's supposed to be with me!" He was mostly rambling at this point. 

"Henry is doing as well as he can given the circumstances. He was placed with his maternal aunt, and the first few years were… not pleasant, as I've come to understand." He couldn't help but grimace. 

"PETUNIA?!" Sirius shrieked. "They put him with Petunia?” He looked absolutely horrified. 

"Dumbledore did, yes. There are supposedly blood wards around the property that are tied to his mother's sacrifice. I haven't been able to check them out yet to see if it's true." 

He really should start studying blood wards soon. He'd have to bring it up with Ignotus. 

Sirius was seething, his mood changing at the blink of an eye. He was back on his feet, pacing in sharp circles as he cursed Dumbledore, Voldemort and everyone he could think of. He muttered death threats for the Dursleys under his breath. His head snapped up and stormy grey eyes locked with Harry's calm, green ones. 

"Why haven't you taken him away from them?" Sirius snarled accusingly. 

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "What makes you think I even know where his residence is?" 

"Don't fuck with me now Peverell," Sirius growled threateningly. 

Harry sighed. "Sit down before you hurt yourself. The reason why I haven't done anything is because he has the situation under control by now. Yes, yes, I know, he's only six." Harry gestured for Sirius to keep quiet while he explained. "But he is also very intelligent and has great control over his magic. In addition, he has a great-grandfather that he regularly visits and is very fond of. Moving him now would create chaos. Dumbledore would search high and low for him. If I made my debut in British politics just after something like that, what do you think would happen? I would have everyone's eyes on me, scrutinizing me, trying to find out whether I had anything to do with the Potter heir's disappearance. Which I would." He tried to make Sirius understand that this wasn't something that would benefit anyone. 

"Henry has the situation under control. I sent one of my ancestors to tutor him, and he has already learned ways to threaten and control his relatives into obedience, so they no longer pose a threat to him." He shrugged. "If you'd like, I could try to make contact with the child's great-grandfather, perhaps he would be willing to arrange a meeting between the three of you," Harry offered, hoping Sirius would latch on to that instead of focusing on homicide and gaining custody of his godson. 

Sirius was once again sitting and frowning deeply. He didn't understand who this great-grandfather could be. Lily and James' grandparents were all dead, and Peverell had stated that Harry went to visit him so that must mean he was still alive. 

Harry… little Harry who he remembered playing with as Padfoot. Little Harry who would cling to his fur and burst out in peals of laughter as he rode on his back. That precious little boy was with Petunia because Sirius hadn't been there for him when he needed him the most. The anger went out of him like a balloon being popped. He sighed and rubbed his face. It was all so confusing, and now the guilt was returning full force. 

"I'm supposed to be in Azkaban though. How do you explain that to whoever Harry's supposed great-grandfather is?" Sirius muttered. The prospect of seeing his godson was becoming bleaker and bleaker. 

"I just… I need to know he's okay, I promised I would look after him." He had to make sure he was actually alright, no matter what Peverell said, he needed to check himself. 

"If you leave the arrangements to me, I promise you will meet Henry soon. You have to trust that I mean well." Harry frowned, just like with the elves, he needed a grander gesture to spark the seed of trust into growing. He pulled out his ebony wand and placed the tip over his heart.

"I swear on my life that I harbour no ill intent towards Henry James Potter." Which in all honesty was true, since he was Henry James Potter. The golden glow lit up the room, checking his truthfulness. Once it found no lies, it vanished. 

Sirius looked on with his mouth open in flabbergasted shock. That had been severely unexpected. With a magical oath like that, Peverell would have no way of harming Harry or planning something nefarious towards him. 

"Well why didn't you just do that to begin with?" Sirius huffed and crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child. 

March 1987

Harry was on a mission to arrange the meeting between himself, Marius, and Sirius as he'd promised. For Sirius, having someone else to talk to, especially a doctor like Marius, would be good for him, and probably Marius as well. He had gotten the impression that his grandfather was a bit of a recluse after nana Evelyn died. 

"Grandfather?" Harry called out as he entered the large and cosy cottage. There was no answer. He wandered in search of Marius and eventually found him in the back garden tending to some of the rose bushes. 

"Henry!" His face lit up in a large smile once he caught sight of him. "I wasn't expecting to see you today, what a pleasant surprise. Is everything alright?" 

Harry returned the smile and sat down on the closest bench. "Everything is fine, can't I just come to visit without a reason?" 

Marius smiled wryly. "Yes you can, but normally you don't. So, what is on your mind today?" He asked while he kept working. 

Harry hesitated for a few seconds before continuing. "There is something I need to tell you… and you're probably not going to like it very much," he admitted, chewing on his bottom lip. 

"Perhaps not, but I'd rather you told me anyway." Marius smiled kindly. 

Harry took a deep breath, it was best to just get it over with. "Just so we're extra clear, this falls under the secrecy contract." 

Marius chuckled. "Doesn't everything?" 

"Well… yes…" Harry muttered, making the older man laugh softly. 

"I've been in contact with my goblin manager at Gringotts. I took an inheritance test and… I got the Peverell Lordship." 

Marius had stopped working and was watching him with wide eyes. 

Harry hesitated before making the ring on his left hand visible, showing it to his grandfather who was struck speechless. 

"The ring accepted me, so I am now Lord Peverell, and technically an adult in the eyes of Magic and the law." 

"You…" 

"I talked to the Peverell manager and he's setting up a legal persona as Lord Peverell for me… I've been brewing ageing potions," Harry continued, looking at his hands. "I want to start trying to make a difference in politics and the legal system as soon as I can. But… that's not what I really wanted to tell you." 

Harry anxiously bit his bottom lip. "I broke Sirius Black out of Azkaban." 

If Marius had been shocked by the previous news, this last revelation was a sucker punch to the gut. He looked ashen and breathless. 

"Y-you what?" He whispered, wondering why he hadn't heard anything of a breakout on the news or in the Daily Prophet. 

"He's been living with me ever since. He's doing much better!" 

"Henry… that man is extremely dangerous! He was the Dark Lord's most trusted servant, his right hand." 

His grandfather was working himself into a worried frenzy. The gardening tools were all but forgotten, and he immediately began checking his grandchild over for any injuries. 

"That's just the thing, he wasn't," Harry declared, gently pushing his grandfather's hands away. 

"Sirius Black was an innocent man put in Azkaban without a trial. Think about it, grandfather. Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he could have easily gotten Sirius a trial if he wanted to. He did it for Severus Snape, a man who was actually a Death Eater, he even got him out of Azkaban! So why didn't he do it for Sirius? If he was Voldemort's supposed right hand man, a trial would have been imperative for gathering intel about the Death Eaters and their plans. Why did they just ignore all of that and lock him away? It isn't logical. Unless… it benefited Dumbledore somehow." 

Harry explained his thought process as calmly as he could, laying out the facts. 

Marius was kneeling in front of the child that had once again shifted his entire world-view. Marius had never been a supporter of Dumbledore, but he'd never imagined he would do something like this either. Sirius was a Black. He was family, even though Marius was technically disowned. 

"My parents and Regulus told me about Sirius. He was reckless and cocky when he was younger, and wasn't one to follow rules. Since they named him my godfather, he would have gained custody of me after mum and dad died. What do you think would have happened to me if I had been raised by someone like him?" Harry questioned rhetorically.

"It was much better for Dumbledore to place me with relatives who would abuse me, make me meek and downtrodden enough to see him as a grandfatherly saviour once I enter the wizarding world again. He would have manipulated me, I'm sure of it,” Harry said firmly. "And even if that is only speculation on my part, the facts remain that Sirius Black was not my parent's secret keeper, nor did he betray them. They told me so." 

Marius Black blinked slowly, taking in the overload of information that his young grandson had just dumped on him. He didn't know what to say or do. How did one proceed with the knowledge that your six-year-old grandson successfully broke a supposed mass-murderer out of the most secure prison in Britain? 

"Right… I'll put on the kettle then," Marius said and got up on his feet. Tea, the British solution to every problem. 

Harry followed his dazed grandfather into the kitchen. He must really be out of it, Harry thought. Marius didn't even take off his muddy boots before he went inside. 

As he made some tea the old fashioned way, steeping the leaves in the pot, Marius tried to process what his grandson had told him. He still didn't know if he believed everything, but one thing stood out as highly plausible. A Black being thrown in Azkaban without a trial due to prejudice? Oh yes, that was far too easy to believe. Whether Sirius was actually innocent or not, that was a different matter. 

He wondered why Lord Black hadn't demanded a trial. Thinking of Arcturus made him realise that he didn't actually know if he was alive or not, he hadn't exactly kept up with his relatives. 

Marius placed the tea tray on the kitchen table and sat down. "I want to meet him," he said, brokering no argument. He wanted to know whether Sirius was safe for his grandson to be around. 

Harry looked relieved. "You do? That's good. It's actually one of the reasons I wanted to tell you all of this. Sirius wants to meet his godson, which is me, obviously, but he doesn't know that Lord Peverell and Henry Potter are the same person. I don't want him to find out either. Not yet." 

He took a sip of the tea Marius had procured, it was delicious as always. The fragrant hints of bergamot was soothing. 

Marius sighed. Trust his grandson to make everything more complicated than it had to be. He rubbed his face wearily. "Where are you keeping him? Please don't say with your other relatives." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, he's not with the Dursleys." 

He omitted saying that Sirius would probably have murdered them in cold blood if they were within near vicinity of each other, it didn't exactly support his case of him being innocent of manslaughter.

"Remember that safe place that belonged to my ancestors?" Harry asked, receiving a nod in return. "Yes, well, those ancestors were the Peverells. It is a large, unplottable island somewhere in the English channel that has been warded to hell and back. Security is the least of our concerns. And also… I had Sirius sign a contract similar to yours." Harry grinned sheepishly. 

The old man sighed, feeling every one of his years in his bones. "When do you want this meeting to take place?"

"I was thinking maybe next weekend?" Harry said with hopeful eyes. 

"Very well, next weekend it is,” Marius answered with a frown. 

Quite frankly, he wanted to meet the supposedly innocent ex-convict as soon as possible. He would go today if he could, but seeing as he had no way of getting to the mysterious Peverell island, that meant that it was all up to Henry. It was a dynamic that he didn't much appreciate, but acknowledged that he couldn't change. 

The closer to the weekend they got, the more frantic and anxious Sirius became. Harry tried his best to calm the man down, they had become better acquainted since the whole contract ordeal, but nothing he did seemed to work. In the end, he gave up, and let the stupid mutt do as he pleased. 

"He won't get here faster by walking a hole in my rug," Harry muttered as he turned a page of his muggle book on human anatomy. 

Sirius's pacing back and forth was getting extremely annoying. He knew he could retreat to his bedroom or study, but he liked sitting in the living room. 

"What if Harry doesn't like me?" Sirius blurted out. "What if he hates me and wants nothing to do with me? James and Lily has probably already told him how I left to chase down Wormtail and now he hates me and I'm a terrible human being and he's completely right and, and–" 

Sirius was spiralling into an anxiety-ridden rant and Harry needed to put a stop to it right away. He got up, grabbed his shoulders firmly, and locked emerald green with stormy grey. 

"You're not a terrible human being, nor does Henry hate you. You need to take a deep breath and calm yourself, can you do that for me?" 

Sirius sucked in a sharp breath and held it. 

"I need you to trust me when I say that Henry will not hate you. Just don't corner him. He comes from an abusive household… I think you know a little something of what that's like?" Harry spoke in a calm yet assertive voice.

Finally, Sirius exhaled, and his shoulders slumped against Peverell's grip. The anxiety was still there, churning away on the inside, but the physical contact was grounding him into reality. Sirius swallowed hard. 

Peverell was right, he had to be careful with Harry. He wasn't like James, carefree and arrogant. From what he'd been told, Harry sounded more like his younger brother, quiet, cautious, intelligent… 

Sirius closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. 

"Show Marius that you are innocent and safe to be around, and he will surely let you see Henry soon. After all, James and Lily had nothing but kind words to say about you," Harry murmured, making Sirius snort in self-deprecation. 

"And now I know you're lying," he chuckled. "Lily for sure would have plenty of shit to say." He flashed a wry grin. 

"Maybe a thing or two." Harry smirked. "Like that time you stole Nancy Jones' underwear and got caught trying it on." 

Sirius' eyes had gone wide as saucers. "She told you? She promised not to tell!" He whined, cheeks dusting pink.

Harry laughed. "Yes, she told me. Apparently it is a sight she never wants to see again." 

"I'd lost a bet." Sirius grumbled. "The panties were James' idea, the sodding git even brought a camera. Thank Merlin for Lily's horrible timing." 

The two of them shared a smile and Harry finally released him, returning to his chair. 

"Thanks," Sirius mumbled. 

Harry nodded and went back to his book. 

Friday evening came around quickly. Harry had invited Marius over to the island. He knew beforehand that he'd be in his Peverell persona. That way, Marius would have a chance to observe the dynamic between Sirius and himself, and to judge his supposedly innocent family member.

"Are you gonna get him now?" Sirius questioned, fidgeting nervously with the cuff of his shirt. 

This would be the first human being, other than Harry, that he'd seen for ages. His social skills were pretty rusty after his stay in Azkaban, but he was desperate to make a good first impression, and had therefore dressed in a nice button-up shirt instead of his usual preference for t-shirts and jeans. 

"Yes. We should be back soon,” Harry confirmed with a reassuring pat on his arm. “Don't worry Sirius, everything will be fine."

Without much further ado, Harry apparated to his grandfather's cottage. Marius was prepared to see him aged up, but it still came as a bit of a shock. 

"Henry? Is that you?" Marius asked with wide eyes as he took in Harry's new appearance. “My goodness…”

Correlating the young man standing in front of him, with the small boy he'd gotten to know was proving to be a challenge. 

"Yes." Harry smiled. "And to be honest, this form is more comfortable than being a child. I swear I was born an old soul." He chuckled at his own joke. 

Marius had to shake himself loose from his stupor. What he felt about the matter wasn't important, what mattered was assessing the level of threat Sirius Black might pose to his grandson. He straightened his back and held out his arm. "Be that as it may, I think it is time for me to meet with Mr Black." 

Harry smiled and held on to his grandfather's arm. "Please don't judge him too harshly... he's been through a lot and his health isn't all there anymore. He's still healing, both physically and mentally." 

"I promise to assess him fairly. No doubt you could need another person in your corner if he is, as you say, innocent and sane," Marius replied. 

Harry hummed non-committally. He wouldn't say Sirius was sane exactly… but he wasn't dangerous, not to Harry at least. He was more worried about what Sirius might do to himself.

Harry turned on his heel and apparated them to the clearing in the forest where he had his tent pitched. Marius looked alright, if a bit green around the gills. 

The old man took a few deep breaths to still the nausea. Apparating was something he hadn't done since he was a young child, and he'd happily avoid it in the future if he could. He still marvelled over how a child Harry's age had that much control over his magic, neither of them had been splinched, there wasn't even a hair out of place. 

"Are you ready to move inside?" Harry asked kindly. "I can have Minky make you a cup of tea if you'd like?" 

"I am fine, no need to worry," Marius replied with a strained smile. "However, some tea would be nice, in a bit."  

They entered the tent, and the first thing that came to mind when Marius caught sight of Sirius, was how he was most definitely a Black. The second, and probably most shocking to his system, was how young and sickly he looked. 

Marius studied him, allowing his eyes to trace up and down. Sirius was tall and rail thin, with sickly pale skin that looked like it hadn't seen sunlight for years, and a short buzz cut that was slowly growing out. All of the above were visible signs of his stay in Azkaban.

That was to be expected though, what wasn't, was his nervousness. He looked about ready to pass out. In fact, he hadn't even noticed their arrival. Sirius stood by the fireplace, staring sightlessly into it, one hand drumming repeatedly against his thigh. 

Harry cleared his throat to get Sirius' attention. 

"Sirius, I brought over doctor Marius Black, Henry's great-grandfather." 

Sirius startled at Harry's voice, like a skittish dog. His head snapped around and he stared at Marius with wide, shocked eyes. The fact that Marius was a Black, had not been mentioned in their earlier conversations. He stood frozen in place, eyes transfixed on the man that bore resemblance to his grandfather Pollux, on his mother's side. 

"This is where you are supposed to introduce yourself, Sirius," Harry urged him on, not unkindly. 

It seemed to break the spell, so to speak, and Sirius stepped forward with his hand stretched out and his jaw set in a tight and uncomfortable smile. 

"Nice to meet you. Peverell over here has probably told you already, but I'm Sirius Black, Harry's godfather..." 

Marius shook his hand with a firm grip. 

"He's informed me, yes. Please call me Marius, seeing as we are both ‘Mr Black’, it might become a bit confusing." His smile was a bit tighter than normal, but not unfriendly. 

Sirius relaxed slightly. "Just Sirius then. Say… you don't happen to be part of the wizarding Black family?" He hesitantly inquired. He should probably have known already, but he'd kind of hated everything named Black just on principle back when he was young. Family history had been of no interest to him, much to his mother's ire. 

Marius snorted. "If you are asking whether I am a relative or not then yes, I am. Your grandfather Pollux was my older brother." 

"I knew you looked like him!" Sirius exclaimed then frowned. "Why haven't I heard of you?" He knew that James' mother had been sisters with his grandfather, but there had never been mentions of a Marius Black. 

"You didn't tell him?" Marius turned to the shortest man in the room with a raised eyebrow. 

Harry shook his head. "I didn't think it was my secret to tell." 

Marius hummed enigmatically. "Well, the answer to your question, Sirius, is quite simple. I am a squib." 

He said it without any shame or hesitation. A life without magic was something he had come to terms with and accepted a long time ago. He had made something of himself, even without the wonderful spark of mystical energy that ran in his family. He had saved countless lives on the regular with only his mind and bare hands. If anything was rewarding, then it was that. 

"Oh…" Sirius said dumbly. He was about to say 'I'm sorry', but bit his tongue before it slipped out. Marius didn't look like he would appreciate it. 

"Well, now that the introductions are over, let's have some tea!" Harry nervously ushered the two men into the living room. 

As soon as they sat down, a delicate tea set appeared on the table. Harry poured them a cup each, feeling awkward in the continued silence. He noticed Sirius squirming slightly in his seat, uncomfortable yet desperate for answers. 

Marius was the only one who appeared fully at ease. His blue eyes pierced through his brother's grandchild as he waited for his tea. 

"My grandson, and Lord Peverell, both tell me that you are innocent of the crimes you have been accused of. Why should I believe them?" 

Sirius' eyes widened. He hadn't expected him to go right for the jugular. He licked his lips nervously.

"If I can give you definite proof, will you let me see Harry?" 

Marius eyed Lord Peverell who looked hopeful for a positive reply, at least that was what Sirius assumed, before he set his sight on Sirius once more.

"If I believe your innocence, and feel that you are safe to be around, then yes," the eldest of the three replied. 

Sirius let out a relieved sigh and turned to Peverell. "Do you have it?" 

Harry nodded and fished a small crystal phial out of his pocket. "I brewed it myself." 

He held it out for Marius who took it with baffled shock. The phial contained a clear liquid that he could have easily mistaken for water, had it not been for the neatly written label stating that it contained veritaserum.

"And you are absolutely certain that this is safe to consume?" He murmured. 

Veritaserum was exceedingly hard to produce properly, especially for someone Harry's age. In fact, it almost shouldn't be possible, but Marius had given up on being surprised by what his grandson threw at him. 

"Yes, I tried it out on myself first to make sure," Harry replied nonchalantly, waving off the question and the stern look he got from Marius for testing potions on himself that could have fatal consequences if brewed incorrectly.

Marius wasn't able to scold his grandson right then due to the ruse Harry wanted to keep, but he would definitely let him know he was displeased once they were alone again. 

"Very well. Open your mouth please, Sirius," the doctor ordered. 

Three drops of the potent liquid were placed onto Sirius' tongue, turning his eyes glassy and his facial features blank and emotionless. 

"What is your full name, and date of birth?" Marius questioned to establish that the potion was working as it should. 

"Sirius Orion Black, November 3rd 1959," was the monotonous reply coming from the supposed mass-murderer. Everything seemed to be in order. 

He continued with a more pointed question. "Were you a follower of Lord Voldemort?" 

"No," Sirius said.

"Were, or are you a Death Eater?" Marius specified. 

"No."

"Did you give away the location of the Potters to someone who might have wished them harm?" 

"No, not that I'm aware of," Sirius said, the answers being dragged out of him whether he wanted to or not. 

He had nearly no occlumency shields to speak of anymore to help dampen the effects of the potion, Azkaban had thoroughly shredded them to pieces. Of course, that was a moot point seeing as he wanted to tell the truth anyway. 

"Did you kill Peter Pettigrew?" Marius questioned, trying to find something that would make him guilty. It wasn't that he wanted the young man to be a murderer, of course not, but if he was, then it would make his stay in Azkaban feel more justified. If it turned out that his grand-nephew was innocent of all charges, it would mean a gross miscarriage of justice had taken place. 

"No," Sirius dully replied. 

He hadn't killed Peter, but he wished he had. Normally, questions like this would have gotten him all fired up and agitated, but the potion kept a firm lid on all of his emotions. Which was probably for the best. He wanted to make a somewhat good impression after all. 

Marius, on the other hand, was honestly baffled and horrified. Every question he had asked, and assumed he would get a positive reply to despite Henry's fervent reassurances, had been answered in the negative. For all intents and purposes it seemed that Sirius Black was telling the truth, or what he perceived to be the truth. 

An innocent young man, and he was barely a man back then, had spent over five years in the worst prison in the world. He didn't know of any other country that had a prison as barbaric as Azkaban. 

"Did you kill any muggles in the days following James and Lily Potter's murder?" Marius finally asked, just to be entirely certain. 

The answer he got was the expected 'no'. Marius sighed deeply and rubbed his face, the news was disturbing on so many levels. 

"Do you harbour any malicious intent towards Henry James Potter?" 

"No." 

"I think that will be all I need." Marius sighed again and turned to his grandson. "Do you have the antidote as well?" 

Harry nodded and administered the antidote to the veritaserum. 

Sirius shuddered as he slowly regained control of his own body and mind. He licked his dry lips and quickly took a big gulp of tea to wash away the cottony feeling in his mouth. 

"I want to sincerely apologise for my suspicions, but I think you will agree that your case did not look very promising," Marius said with more warmth in his voice than earlier. 

Sirius grimaced. "That's one way to put it. The little rat bastard got me good." He grunted and finished his cup. "So… will you let me see Harry now?" Sirius asked with a hint of desperation and hope.

"I think that can be arranged eventually, yes," Marius slowly replied with a smile, forcing himself not to look in his grandson's direction. 

"Once Henry himself is ready for it, and you feel like you are healthy and stable enough from your stay in prison," he added. 

Sirius took a deep breath before he lost his temper with the older man for not letting him see Harry right away. He knew he still wasn't all there mentally, if he ever was, but he needed to see him! 

Harry realised where this might be headed, so to call it off before they had a verbal explosion on their hands, he offered a compromise. 

"How about you arrange a few mirror calls between Sirius and Henry? They can get to know each other that way." 

He gave his grandfather a pointed look. 

Marius had to admit it wasn't a bad idea, per se, or rather, it wouldn't have been if Harry didn't already spend so much time around him. By now, he knew that Sirius didn't have any intentions to hurt Harry, but he wasn't safe to be around either, not for a little boy, no matter how mature he might think himself. But once again, Marius had no choice but to follow his ridiculous grandson's whims. 

"Fine. I will speak with Henry and arrange for a call."

Sirius' stormy mood immediately lifted, and he grinned from ear to ear. 

With that ordeal over with, and Marius somewhat approving of Sirius, Harry mentally gave himself a pat on the back for a job well done. The talk turned to how Marius could be Harry's great-grandfather, and the doctor explained the situation to Sirius. 

Sirius had shown his shock when he realised that he and Harry, as well as Lily, were related much closer than he'd previously imagined. He knew of James' heritage, of course he did, but Lily came as a surprise. They had all thought she was a muggleborn. 

The conversation kept going, and Harry was pretty sure that Marius was evaluating Sirius' mental state. His godfather didn't seem to notice, but Harry picked up a few of the more subtle questions. 

A pop, and the appearance of a young house-elf clad in a vibrant, yellow and orange dress, called the conversation to an end. 

"Dinner be's ready now Master Peverell!" Minky happily proclaimed. "If youse and guests move to the table, we elves will serve youse." 

"Ah! Yes, thank you Minky," Harry said with a fond smile. He stood up and held his hand out to the large dining table. "Gentlemen, if you'd please take a seat, the elves have prepared a lovely meal for us." 

Sirius, not one to say no to anything edible after years of being starved, quickly made his way to the table. When his back was turned, Marius faced Harry and gave him a look that said 'we will talk about this later'. 

Harry grimaced. He had forgotten to tell Marius about the elves… which meant that he'd be getting an earful later. And he hadn't even gotten to how he ended up acquiring said elves, nor how many of them there were… Yes, that was a conversation he wasn't looking forward to at all. 

The meal was exquisite. Roast beef from their own aurochs, glazed with mustard and honey gathered from bees on the island. The elves had happily taken to managing all the different animal enclosures, as well as planting fields for vegetables and fruit. When it came to food, the island was pretty much self-sustained.

Harry loved helping the elves with tending to the plants and animals whenever he had some time to spare, in a way it felt therapeutic. It was incredible knowing that it was all his, that as long as he nurtured and cared properly for his estate, he would never run out of food.

The conversation had picked up between his two guests, and Harry was happy to eat in silence and let the two men get to know each other better. 

The evening came to a close after dessert had been consumed, and they were all full and satiated. The two Blacks had agreed to arrange a mirror meeting between Sirius and his godson for the following week. 

Harry, feeling like a bit of a coward, but deciding to call it self preservation, had sent his grandfather away with a portkey instead of apparating him home. That way he could postpone their imminent talk. 

He had received a look in response when he handed over the spoon that acted as a portkey, and he knew he was in for an excruciatingly long conversation about responsibility and being careful the next time they saw each other.

"That went better than I expected!" Sirius cheerfully said, noticing none of the tension that had been between the other two as they parted. 

"Yes, I rather thought so. You luckily didn't manage to scare him away. But hey, there is still next time." Harry grinned at his godfather, who replied with an indignant "oi!"  

Chapter Text

April 1987

With Sirius rescued and well on the road to a full recovery, at least physically, Harry was reminded of the rat living amongst the Weasleys. 

Peter wasn’t an immediate threat. After all, he had spent years living in the same dorm room as Harry without running, but he preferred to have him under control since he needed him to clear Sirius’ reputation.  

Harry had been studying the redheaded family for the entire weekend as a crow. He sat up in a tree and kept a watchful eye. At one point, the twins had been sent outside for causing trouble. They looked sullen, and no more than eight, or nine years old. Harry flew closer to hear what they were saying. 

"I can't believe mum thought we would actually ruin Ginny's dress! She probably cut it herself just so she could get a new one," Fred, or it might have been George, dejectedly said. 

The other twin shrugged, but looked just as angry. "Doesn't matter. It's always our fault." 

The two of them shared a miserable look and plopped down with their backs to the tree Harry was in. 

He felt sorry for them in a way. Although he had wished for a family growing up, it couldn't be easy being so many, having to fight for the attention of their parents. Not to mention how they constantly seemed to struggle financially. 

A few times, Harry had wondered why Mrs Weasley didn't work as well. Surely there must be something she could do? With them having seven children, a second income, no matter the size, would drastically improve their finances, it was common sense really. 

He wished he could help, but he knew they were too proud to take on a donation from some stranger. He might not be able to donate to the family, but at least he could give the twins a little something to brighten their day. They had been good friends. 

He flew away until he felt secure enough to use his cloak. He wrapped it around himself like a second skin and transformed. Once human, he fished around in his pockets until he found what he was looking for, a single gold galleon. To him it was nothing, but to the twins it would be a large treasure. 

He flew back to the orchard with the gold coin in his beak. He silently landed on one of the lower branches and let the coin fall, hitting one of the twins in the head. 

"OW!" Twin one shouted and immediately got to his feet. Twin two looked startled and confused. 

"Something just fell on my head!" Twin one proclaimed. 

Twin two had just figured out what exactly it was, and he picked up the gold coin with huge eyes that threatened to pop out of his skull. 

"I-it's a galleon!" 

"What?! For real?" Twin one scrambled closer to get a better look at the coin in his brother's hands.

Harry cawed in delight at their shock, bringing their eyes upon him. He fluttered his wings and tilted his head. 

"D'you think–?" Twin one asked as he peered at his brother, then back at the bird. 

Twin two nodded. They seemed to communicate wordlessly between each other, and Harry wondered what they were thinking. 

Then, all of a sudden they both fell to their knees and leaned forward in a praying position. 

"Hail Loki! God of mischief and mayhem. We are but your humble servants!" 

Harry let out startled squawk. They thought he was a god? He couldn't help but laugh, a great rattling birdy laugh that was more eerie than cheerful. 

The two boys took that as confirmation however, and began chatting his ears off, telling him about all the pranks they'd done and the ideas they had. They told him of their dreams, and Harry felt nostalgic for some reason. They were so young and full of hope for a brighter future. 

He stayed with them for nearly an hour, until their mother called them in for lunch. Harry watched as they ran back inside, brightened by their new acquaintance, Loki, the crow who was really a god in disguise. Harry mentally chuckled. 

He could faintly hear them telling Mrs Weasley about how 'Loki' had visited them as a crow and brought them a galleon. She didn't believe them however, and ushered them inside. Harry could see their dejected little faces and hoped they kept the galleon for themselves. 

Over the next three months, Harry regularly visited the Weasleys. Both to keep an eye on Wormtail, but also because he thought the twins could probably use a little attention from their new godly patron.

He brought them random things. Sometimes it was coins, both muggle and wizarding, sometimes it was bottle caps, and sometimes it was things from the muggle world. 

Once, just to see what the two terrors would do, he'd brought a shiny zippo lighter. The unholy glee on their faces when they understood that it could make fire, would forever remain one of Harry's most treasured memories.

“Anything interesting in the Prophet today?” Harry asked Sirius as he sat down at the kitchen table for some breakfast and a well deserved cup of tea.

He had been awake and studying for hours already. He’d found that after the ritual he did to fortify his mind, he needed less sleep than he was used to, which resulted in roughly two to four hours nightly. He suddenly had more time on his hands to indulge his renewed thirst for knowledge and planning. Book after book was devoured. Sirius thought he was mental. 

"Mm. Well apparently there is a manhunt out for a certain Lord Peverell," Sirius replied calmly. 

Harry choked on his tea and violently coughed to clear his airways. "Wh-what?!" He squeaked and looked at Sirius with wide green eyes.

Had all his plans been ruined already? He couldn't even think of anything he might have done that was illegal in his Peverell persona. 

Sirius grinned widely and let out a barking laugh. 

“You’re fresh meat, mate. All the lords and ladies are drooling to find out who the mysterious new lord of House Peverell is.” 

He snickered at Harry’s forlorn expression. 

“B-but… How did they even find out that I exist? I haven't appeared in public yet!” He lunged across the table and snapped the newspaper from the mutt, desperate to find out what was going on. There was a tugging match until finally Harry won, leaving Sirius pouting. 

“There have been rumours of a new lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell appearing. When will this mysterious lord make his first ventures into society?” Harry incredulously read out loud. 

“According to a reliable source at the ministry, the young lord has signed up to take his OWLs and NEWTs this summer,” he continued. Who the hell had leaked the information? 

He quietly read the rest of the article, but it was mostly speculations about his past, financial status and whether he was single. Harry groaned loudly and buried his face in his hands. 

“Fuck,” he oh so eloquently uttered. 

Sirius snickered. “Rather you than me. Time to start licking the arse of high society.” He flicked his tongue out at the young lord and wiggled it. 

Harry grimaced. “You are disgusting.” 

“And proud of it!” Sirius beamed. “But for real, you gotta find yourself a wife soon. It’s only proper.”  

He snickered and shoved a freshly baked croissant into his mouth. The pastry crumbled and flaked onto the table. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don't think that is on my agenda in the slightest. The ladies will be sorely disappointed." He handed the newspaper back to Sirius and took a sip of his cup. 

"I had hoped to keep my existence on the down low until after my exams. I suppose that is only a pipe dream now,” he sighed.

“Cheer up. It could be worse. At least this island is a bloody death trap for anyone trying to enter unannounced,” Sirius said with a shrug, making his rescuer smirk in malicious amusement. 

The look sent shivers down Sirius' spine, and he was incredibly glad that they were on the same side, whichever side that was. 

"Sooooo. What are your plans for today?" He queried as he piled up his plate with the heavenly pastries that the elves had made. 

Harry watched in disgust as his godfather smothered the entire plate of pastries with strawberries and chocolate sauce. It was a mess, even more so once he began actually eating.  

"I, my dear friend, am going to catch a rat.”

The smile he gave was a frightening sight of all teeth and malice. If Sirius hadn't been so thrilled about what this meant, he would have been shuddering at the unholy look. 

“Fucking finally!” He grinned like a madman and was on his feet in an instant, eyes wild. “When do we leave?! I can't wait to wrap my hands around his fat little neck and wring it good,” he growled aggressively.  

Harry glared at him. “There is no we. I'm collecting him on my own. Please do remember that you are still someone that's supposed to be in Azkaban. Besides, we need Pettigrew alive.”

Sirius snarled, Peter was his to capture, his to kill. 

"This isn't up for discussion, Sirius. I thought it would be fair to inform you of his imminent capture, but now I'm not so sure," Harry said before he walked to his bedroom, leaving him to stew in his own anger and murderous thoughts. 

Time was ticking down to when Percy would leave for Hogwarts, and by default, Wormtail as well. If Harry wanted to catch Peter this year, he had to do it soon. That was what caused him to shadow travel into Percy's bedroom cloaked in invisibility one Saturday night in June. 

Percy was fast asleep, the fat rat laying next to him on the pillow. Without complicating matters, Harry snuck closer, his movements hidden by invisibility and silencing charms. He eyed his target with cold calculation. Killing the rat would have been so incredibly easy, but he needed him alive, for now at least. 

A quick and silent stunner hit Wormtail in the back to keep him from running away. Harry was taking no chances. He levitated the traitorous rodent into his hands and returned to the island through the shadows. Poor Percy would have to find himself a new pet, because this one was not coming back.  

“And now, you ugly little prick, it's time to sleep for a very, very, long time,” Harry muttered, placing Wormtail on top of his desk. 

A small potion bottle with an eyedropper was quickly gathered from one of the many cabinets in Harry’s study. It contained a clear, watery liquid that looked entirely inconspicuous, much like veritaserum. The handwritten label on the front however, would dissuade one from that thought. 

The draught of living death was not a potion to be trifled with. If wrongly brewed, or too large a dose given, it could send the victim into a permanent sleep that no potion or spell could reverse, or alternatively, lead to death. 

Harry knew that his was brewed to perfection however, and he already had the ideal dosage for Wormtail planned out. He opened the rat’s mouth and placed one tiny drop of the clear potion onto his tongue. 

His breathing stilled and the beating of his heart slowed down, preserving him almost in a state of suspended animation. 

There was no way he was escaping on his own now, but just to be certain, Harry locked him in a cage small enough that he’d be unable to transform back into a human.

One of the elves were put in charge of looking after him, making sure he didn't actually die before Harry had use of him. The potion would keep his body from needing anything, but it was best to err on the side of caution. 

The following morning, Sirius was anxiously waiting for Harry to exit his bedroom and join him in the kitchen. 

He hadn't gotten much sleep that night. Knowing that his friend was out there looking for the traitor, while he remained on the island had been excruciating. 

"Did you get him?!" Sirius almost growled, on his feet instantly as soon as he saw Peverell. 

Harry blinked slowly. "Yes. Peter Pettigrew has been captured and taken care of, for now. And no, you may not torture or kill him, at least not yet." 

Sirius opened his mouth to hotly give the other a piece of his mind on that subject, but Harry sternly cut him off before he could begin.

"You will not jeopardise my plans for your public exoneration with your need for rash and hotheaded vengeance," he hissed, eyes alight with fury. He had worked too hard for Sirius to mess it all up now. They needed Peter .

Sirius shied back like a kicked puppy, taken aback by the other’s sudden vehemence. Once again he hadn't thought Peverell actually cared.  

"Unless you want to live the rest of your life hidden away on this island, never seeing another human being again, you will calm your temper and try to think rationally. Do you think Henry would be happy to hear that his godfather once again put his own need for revenge before what was best for him? He needs you to be healthy and free, someone he can rely on when things get tough. For once in your life, think before you act!" 

Harry had to take a deep breath to calm himself before he said something he would regret. Sirius went quiet, staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. He opened and closed it but no sound came out. 

In the blink of an eye, Sirius had become Padfoot, and the large black dog rushed past his rescuer. 

"You can't just run away every time the conversation goes somewhere you don't like, Sirius!" Harry shouted after his damn mutt of a godfather. 

"Bloody flea-bitten mongrel," Harry muttered to himself. Regulus, who was still following him most of the time, guffawed at the ruckus. 

"Your brother is an idiot." 

"Yes. Clearly he wasn't born with full mental faculties, I've been aware for a while," Regulus said in a blasé way, waving it off with a hand. 

Harry snorted. "Will you please make sure he's alright and not drowning himself in the bathtub?" 

Regulus chuckled. "Yes, I will endeavour to save my brother from his own stupidity, yet again." 

"Before you go… have you considered letting him talk to you? I think it might be good for you both, clear the air so to speak. From what I've gathered, he feels extremely guilty about ignoring you after you went to Hogwarts," Harry added. 

Regulus hummed non-committally. "I'll think about it," was his reply, before he floated away to hunt down his errant brother.

~

Marius wasn't fond of Harry living alone with a mentally unstable man. He had tried to convince the boy to move into the cottage with him, but had given up with a sigh when Harry firmly refused. 

"Is there nothing I can say that will change your mind?" Marius despondently asked. 

"I very much doubt it." Harry smiled apologetically. 

"You know why I can't move here. I have to keep up appearances with my relatives so that Dumbledore doesn't find out what I can do. I also want a few more years before I am exposed to him and the other wizards as Henry Potter." 

Marius knew when he had a futile fight on his hands. His grandson was as stubborn as his wife had been when she put her foot down. "I do not like this, Henry." He sighed, knowing that he was beaten. 

The mirror that belonged to Marius was handed over to Harry in preparation for the call between him and Sirius. 

The first mirror call between them would turn out to be strangely awkward. Even though he'd gotten to know Sirius much better than in his original timeline, it was as an adult and not the child he now had to pose as. He began to wonder if the ruse was really worth it. Was he making things overly complicated for himself? Perhaps... The fear that Sirius wouldn't accept him for who he really was if he found out, was still there. 

"H-Harry," Sirius choked out, on the verge of tears as soon as he saw the little boy through the mirror.

He wasn't a tiny clone of James as he'd expected, in fact, he reminded him more of Regulus as a child, or, strangely enough, Peverell.  

"Hello Mr Black," Harry replied gently. 

Sirius laughed wetly at that, voice trembling as he spoke. "Call me Sirius. Mr Black was my father." 

Harry offered a weak smile as he was reminded of the truly abhorrent acts Orion had performed on the two brothers.

"Then call me Henry, please. Mum told me that was my actual name and not Harry." 

Maybe it was a little cruel to make Sirius use the more formal version of his name, but he was trying to get used to it himself. People would have to earn the right to call him Harry from now on. 

Sirius had to swallow away the lump in his throat and blink away the tears. He wanted to hold him, to give him a great big hug and let him ride on Padfoot's back again like he used to, but he couldn't. He had to keep it together for the duration of the talk, then he could curl up as Padfoot and wallow in his own grief and misery. 

"Right, Henry it is." He tried to speak but his voice was thick with emotion. He licked his lips nervously. "How are things at home? Are you happy? Safe?" 

Harry smiled, it was strange seeing Sirius like this. Young, insecure, wanting to do what's best but not really knowing how. He wasn't in a good place mentally, but he was far from the same man Harry had known. With time and support, he fully believed Sirius would be able to recover and live a good life. 

"I'm doing alright. My relatives stay away from me, or ignore me most of the time. Petunia is frightened of me, and Vernon has been dealt with. I'm as safe and happy as I can be, I suppose. I have my own room, enough food, all the books I could want, there isn't really anything I need. I visit my grandfather sometimes, I'm with him now as you probably already know," Harry rambled. 

Sirius noticed that Harry didn't speak like a six year old should, he was far more eloquent than what was normal. He was immediately reminded of what Marius had said about his intelligence. Prodigy, he had called him, and Sirius was inclined to believe him. 

"Did you know that I'm your godfather? I thought, maybe one day you'd, you know, maybe like to live with me or something," Sirius mentioned, letting out a nervous laugh. 

Harry was reminded of the first time Sirius had asked him to live with him. Back then he had jumped on the opportunity and the hope it gave, now his answer would be very different. 

"Yes, my parents already told me everything about you." He offered a smile. "And as for living with you… I suppose it might be possible in the future, once your name has been cleared and your health is up to par." 

Sirius' face fell, the hopeful expression crumbling. He tried to hide the disappointment, of course he did, but he wasn't very successful. 

"Right… of course. You'd probably want to live with your great-grandfather instead, anyway," Sirius muttered. 

Harry sighed. "It isn't because I don't want to live with you, it just isn't feasible yet. And as for my grandfather, I've told him no as well. The reasons are different from yours, of course, but I still can't live with either of you." 

Well… at least he was on equal terms with Marius, Sirius thought. 

The two of them kept the stilted conversation going for another ten minutes. By that point, there was simply nothing left to talk about. Harry hated how awkward the situation was, but unless he wanted to expose himself then there was no other choice. 

~

Lately, Sirius had been studying him whenever they were in the same room, often with a thoughtful frown. Harry had no idea what had brought on the new mood so he simply ignored it. 

They got along better than ever, and he could honestly say that he considered Sirius a sort of friend at this point. Regulus still remained his closest friend, but it was nice having human company that wasn't, well, dead.  

Despite the late hour, Harry was completely engrossed in his work, furiously scribbling down runic arrays and arithmetic calculations into his trusty notebook. 

He was trying to create an item that would change someone's appearance, working almost like polyjuice when the artefact was worn. He wanted the effects to be permanent as long as the user kept it on, not just masking them with an illusion or a glamour.

So far he wasn't having much luck. 

He'd created a few prototypes, but they had all malfunctioned in some way or other. One even exploded, giving him some nasty burns to his hands. Thankfully the house-elves were all gems and had taken care of him after his little mishap. 

That was why he was currently trying to figure out what went wrong with his last attempt, and seeing if he could somehow fix it. 

He had been awake for the past four days, devouring books and coffee like a man possessed. Much of this time was spent in the living room with his work spread out on the large dining room table. Books, broken pencils and sheets of paper with runes and calculations littered every available space. 

Sirius had been watching Peverell intently throughout his obsessive work-spree. There was something about him that he just couldn't put his finger on. He had his suspicions, but they were quite frankly ludicrous, and he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn't entirely all there in the head. 

He watched Peverell downing another cup of coffee. He wondered how long he'd been awake. Whenever Sirius went to bed, Peverell was seated by the table, and when he woke up, the man still hadn't left his position. 

Sirius pondered whether he should interfere somehow, but the memory of the first time he'd done so during one of his projects, made him grimace. Who knew such a small man could have such a foul temper. His arse still stung at the memory of the powerful stinging hex that had been flung his way. 

Harry felt a little strange but ignored it, he was too absorbed in his work, therefore the tingling in his bones got promptly pushed aside as unimportant. 

What couldn't be ignored however, was how the room seemed to shift and grow around him, and all of a sudden he could barely reach up to his work. His fingers were tiny, and he blinked dumbly at the hand he'd used to write only a few seconds ago. 

"AHA! I knew it!" Sirius exclaimed. 

Harry startled at the sound and blinked blearily, looking at Sirius and then at himself. It took a precious few seconds before it clicked in his sleep-deprived mind what had happened. 

"God fucking damnit," Harry groaned. 

He had been caught red handed. The ageing potion had worn off right in front of Sirius' eyes. There was no way of covering it up unless he went as far as obliviating his godfather, and to be honest, he didn't want to mess with Sirius' already fragile mental state. 

"I knew there was something fishy going on!" Sirius crowed triumphantly. 

Harry sighed and rubbed his face. He was too tired to deal with this. He hadn't slept for far too long and was dead on his feet, which was probably the reason why he had been forgetful enough to miss taking his ageing potion within the time limit. 

"Give me three hours and I'll explain," Harry grunted out and ignored Sirius' protests. 

He gave him an icy glare, promising painful retribution should he push the case further right then. Sirius wisely shut up.

He frowned, but slowly nodded, noticing the large, black bags under his godson's eyes. He always seemed to have black shadows underneath his eyes, but now they were even more pronounced than usual. 

"Well, that's one less problem to deal with," Regulus said from the corner, wearing a smug smirk that Harry wanted to punch off his aristocratic face. 

Regulus had actively tried to convince Harry to let Sirius in on the whole Master of Death thing. According to him, it would make his life easier. Which, yes, Harry could agree that it probably would, but he had been hurt so many times in the past that giving his trust to someone, no matter how much he cared for them, was hard. 

"Shut up, not another word from you," he growled towards the dead teenager with a light glare, too tired to care about how strange the one-sided conversation must look to his godfather, despite knowing he could speak to the dead.

Harry ignored both Black brothers and promptly went to bed, petulantly slamming the door to his room. Sirius winced at the sound. 

Three hours went by, and Harry was still asleep. It took nearly five hours before he opened his eyes. He groggily looked around, fumbling out of habit for glasses he didn't need, nor have for that matter. 

The memories of the events that had transpired earlier in the day finally made themselves known. Harry groaned. He'd have to face Sirius and tell him the truth, or at least parts of it. This had not been part of his plan, but it was too late to change anything now. 

Harry sighed. He had the elves prepare him breakfast while he showered and got dressed. There was no point in taking an ageing potion since the cat was already out of the bag. 

He dressed in the same manner that he'd gotten used to, and actually found himself enjoying. Soft black trousers, a dark green button-up shirt in silk, and a black waistcoat to complete the look. Was it extravagant and 'posh'? Yes, absolutely. Did he care? No, not at all. 

"Is Sirius still in the living room?" He asked Regulus who just appeared. 

"No… he's laying as a dog outside your bedroom door," Regulus admitted. 

Harry snorted. "Of course he is," he muttered, lips twitching upwards. 

He finished his breakfast in silence, feeling more ready to face his godfather on a full stomach.

"Luckily for him, this door opens inwards," Harry muttered and opened the door. 

Padfoot, the massive, black dog with shaggy fur, was firmly asleep, drooling on the floorboards. 

Harry sent a mild stinging hex towards Padfoot's rear end, smirking as the dog yelped loudly and got to his feet. The dog turned around to look at him with wide, betrayed eyes. He whined pathetically, making Harry roll his eyes. 

"Come along then, we have a lot to discuss," Harry said as he walked past him, heading towards his study.

Even though Sirius was warded against entering, that was only on his own. Harry had the ability to allow him inside if he wanted to. He held the door open and Padfoot trotted inside. 

"What's going on here? Are you really Harry?" Sirius asked as soon as he changed back. 

He wore a deep frown as he stared at the child of his best friend, who might not be a child after all, nor James' son. It was extremely confusing. He'd tried to figure it out during his hours of waiting, but it had only made his head hurt. 

Harry sighed. "To put it simply? Yes, I am." 

He sat down in the chair behind his desk and elongated the legs with a wave of his hand. Sirius watched in awe at his supposed mastery of wandless and wordless magic. 

"You should probably sit down. I suspect we're going to be here for a while." Harry gestured towards the other chair. 

Sirius slowly did as he was told, still looking confused and hesitant. 

"How can you be both Harry and Peverell? How are you able to do the magic you do? Hell, if you are Harry, how the hell did a six-year-old break me out of Azkaban?" Sirius rambled, looking like he'd just had the rug pulled out from underneath him. 

"It's complicated. Extremely complicated," Harry admitted as he ran a hand through his hair. 

He had thought a little on how he wanted to explain it all, and in the end, he had settled on showing the man some of his memories. 

Harry levitated a stone basin from one of the shelves, setting it onto the desk. Runes and strange symbols were carved into the stone, glowing softly. The inside of the shallow basin contained a silvery, almost fog-like liquid. 

"Are you willing to view some memories with me? I think it might make things easier to explain." 

Sirius looked at the pensive that he remembered seeing once in James' father's study when they were kids. It had to have come out of the Potter family vault, he thought. 

"Yes…" 

Harry let out a relieved sigh. "Alright, please give me a moment to extract the memories I want you to see." 

He placed his left index finger to his temple and sorted through the most important memories. Silvery strands were pulled out one by one, then guided into the basin. He opened his eyes and looked at Sirius. 

"Are you ready?" 

Sirius hesitated before he nodded. The two of them touched the memories in the pensive and were immediately transported into the first of many that awaited them. 

They arrived in darkness, only a small light shining through the underside of a door. Harry intimately knew every inch of the area, it had been his bedroom for almost ten years after all. 

"Why is it so dark?" Sirius muttered, unable to see anything. He wondered why this memory was in any way important. 

"It is my bedroom. Or rather, it used to be," Harry replied calmly. He hated having to relive this, but needs must. 

"Just wait." 

Mere seconds later, there was a pounding on the door and Petunia's screeching voice telling him to get out. The lock on the door was pushed aside and the door yanked open, light spilling into the tiny, dusty cupboard, and the small child inside. 

Harry was around seven at the time but looked much younger due to his stunted growth and malnutrition. The large and baggy hand-me-downs didn't do him any favours either. 

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," the young voice meekly replied, scurrying out of the cupboard to do the tasks demanded of him. 

Sirius watched the memory unfold with horror. 

"You slept in a cupboard?" He whispered, his voice failing him. He felt angry, so incredibly angry on Harry's behalf, and also saddened and guilty. 

"Until I got my Hogwarts letter, yes," Harry replied monotonously, occluding heavily to get through the painful memories. 

The answer, however, caught Sirius' attention. With much sheer willpower, he tore his eyes away from the memory of his godson and looked at the real boy. "What do you mean? You're only six,” he said disbelievingly. 

"Mm, we'll get to that, just keep watching." 

Sirius wanted it all to stop. He wanted to scream and cry as he watched the scenes unfurl in front of them, being unable to stop any of it. 

Little Harry, abused by his aunt and uncle, sleeping in a cupboard and working like a house-elf. He saw bruises and bullying. He saw a young boy who was resigned to it all until one day, a special letter arrived. 

He got to see Hagrid breaking down a cottage door and finally giving the kid his letter, telling him that he was a wizard. He saw memories of the child growing up into a man, memories of a Philosopher's Stone, basilisks and dementors.

He saw himself, having spent twelve years in Azkaban. He saw how he, half crazed and starved, hunted down Wormtail in a school full of children, bringing with him the horror that were dementors. 

He watched as not once did he put Harry first, or did anything to help him as he went through a deathly tournament and got captured by Voldemort. He saw the resurrection and the torture. How could this have happened? It wasn't supposed to be like this, Voldemort was supposed to be dead! 

But the memories kept playing, and he was too shocked to speak. He numbly followed after his godson, hearing him explain a few things here and there, adding information to the memories themselves. 

Sirius watched himself die, recklessly throwing himself into battle, treating it like a game. He saw how he kept mistaking Harry for James, and how in the end, he got shot down by his cousin Bellatrix, falling into the veil.  

"Your death was probably the hardest one out of all the people I lost," Harry admitted in a soft tone. 

"You were my ticket away from the Dursleys, a sort of father figure I'd always wanted. I'm sure you cared about me as well, even though at times I question whether it was me as a person, or just because I was a memory of my father. A replacement of sorts." Harry sighed.

Sirius felt sick to the core and his breath was ragged. He wanted to throw up. He'd thought the worst was over, but no, things only got worse from there. War, horcruxes, death and sacrifice. 

He watched as a young man went towards his own execution, thinking he could finally find peace, only to start all over from the beginning. Everything made sense now, in an extremely fucked up way. 

The two wizards were spat back out into their bodies and silence reigned in the study for minutes that felt like hours. 

Harry watched his godfather trying to process what he had just seen and heard. He almost felt a bit bad for dropping everything on him like that, but he didn't know how else to make him believe it all, to make him see the importance of secrecy, and for him to work on his trauma. 

"Th-that… that was all true wasn't it?" Sirius eventually asked, voice rough. 

"Yes. Unfortunately." Harry grimaced. "I know it's probably really hard to believe, but it is true. I’m willing to vow on it if you'd like." 

"No… No, that's not necessary," Sirius replied. He covered his face in his hands and took a deep breath.

"I- I'm so sorry… for everything," he croaked out. 

"It is what it is." Harry waved it off. "Hopefully things will be different this time," he answered with a small smile. 

"You look like you probably need some time to digest. Plus it is getting late, we can continue this once you've gotten some rest." 

Sirius nodded, and transformed into Padfoot, something he did lately when things got too complicated. The dog padded after Harry into the living room, where he curled up in front of the fire, hiding his muzzle underneath his tail. 

"How is he taking it?" Regulus asked as Harry returned to the dining table, and his work. 

"Mm, I'm not sure." He snuck a glance at the dog resting at the other end of the room. "Better than I expected I suppose. I don't think it has fully sunk in yet." 

"I would like to talk to him soon if that's alright," his mother said, surprising both him and Regulus. 

"Uh, sure," Harry conceded. "Why though? I'd have thought dad wanted to be first in line." 

Harry eyed Regulus who looked away, still not ready to confront his brother. 

"Oh, James wants to speak with him again, of course he does. But we both agreed that it would probably be best if I went first,” Lily replied with a serene smile. 

"What do you want to talk to him about?" Harry asked, feeling curious and wary all of a sudden. 

His mother hummed vaguely. "That is between me and him." 

Harry blinked. Well alright then. She was correct of course, he wasn't entitled to know what she wanted to speak to her friend about. He had a feeling it might be about him, but there was no way to find out unless she told him. 

"Alright. Let's give him some time to think about everything he's learned before we spring speaking to the dead on him as well though," Harry declared. 

The spirits easily agreed and left him to his own devices. Regulus was the only one who stayed with him, as per usual. Harry took one look at the mess he'd made on the dining table and instantly lost all his motivation to continue. He’d tidy up and sort through his notes later, he decided. 

He left Sirius to his own thoughts in front of the fire, heading outside to help the elves in the greenhouse they had set up for potion ingredients that weren’t native to Britain. He found working with plants and animals soothing and peaceful, and that was something he sorely needed right now. 

~

That night, Sirius struggled to fall asleep. His mind kept churning, throwing around everything he had learned. If Harry hadn't come back in time, if that was what had happened, and not some fucked up visions of the future, then he would still be locked up in Azkaban for another seven years. The very thought of it made him shudder. How he had survived in that hell for twelve years in Harry's original timeline was anyone's guess. He certainly didn't know. 

A sigh slipped past his lips and he opened his eyes. It was no use, his brain simply would not shut down. He could always go and beg Harry for a sleeping potion… It was tempting, but no. 

It felt as if something was watching him, making his skin crawl. Suspiciously he looked around the room, finding nothing out of the ordinary. But even though he couldn't see anything, the hairs at the back of his neck stood up. Sirius shuddered. Something wasn't right. 

"Who's there?" He growled, anxiously snapping his head from left to right. 

"Show yourself!" Sirius reached for his wand, only to realise that he didn't have one. 

Fuck! 

He hadn't even thought about that until now. Peverell hardly ever used his, and Sirius had been years in Azkaban without one. It was something he found himself being ashamed about forgetting, considering he had been an auror. Moody would have flayed him alive if it had happened in the past. 

Nightmarish, black tendrils of shadow seemed to spread outwards from a spot in the corner, covering more and more of the room. Sirius' heart hammered rapidly in his chest and his hands trembled. Was this a nightmare? It had to be right? That or a hallucination. 

He ran for the door and tore at the handle, only to find it locked. The sudden, rattling breathing behind him made him turn his head, and what he saw made his blood turn to ice in his veins. 

A dementor. His breath came in short and shallow gasps as the panic set in. How did it get in here? Harry had said it was safe, he'd promised. Had it all been a dream? Was he still in his cell in Azkaban? 

Sirius' legs could no longer hold him up and he slowly slid down with his back against the door, his whole body rocking with tremors. 

"Sirius Black," a deep voice called out from underneath the hood of the black cloak. 

If Sirius hadn't been panicking so badly, he would have realised that no dementor could speak with a voice like that, and also, that the typical cold and despair that followed the soul sucking monsters was not present. 

"Wh-what do you want?" He weakly replied, voice trembling with fright. 

The creature seemed to study him from the shadows. Seconds ticked by in what felt like several lifetimes. Sirius swore he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. 

"I have come to give you a warning, Sirius Black," the voice finally replied. 

"A-a warning?" He stuttered. 

Even though he was frozen with fear, there was a little voice inside his head murmuring that this was not a dementor. 

"My Master has put a great deal of trust in you today. I am here to make sure you do not break it. As such, this is a warning as much as it is a threat," the being, that Sirius now realised was probably Death, proclaimed gravely. 

He swallowed hard. "Y-your Master… you mean H-Harry?" 

The dark tendrils that covered the room retreated back into the being. The cloaked form swirled and changed, and where the Grim Reaper had previously been, now stood an elderly gentleman that he remembered seeing in Harry's memories. 

"Y-you're Death…" Sirius stuttered. 

"I am," the old man confirmed. 

His black eyes latched onto Sirius' grey ones, and the young wizard felt like his soul was being laid bare, judged by an endless void. He couldn't look away no matter how much he wanted to. 

"Abuse the trust you have been given, in any way, and I will make your afterlife extremely unpleasant. Your wizarding prison will be nothing in comparison to an eternity in my realm," Death ominously promised.

The threat sent shivers up Sirius' spine and he had to take a deep breath. The immediate panic had faded, and instead left a deep and heavy sense of pressure. 

But this was Harry they were talking about. Sweet little Harry who he'd loved from the moment he'd heard of his conception, and even more so once he set his eyes on his pudgy little face after birth. He might not be so little anymore, not mentally at least, but Sirius still loved him. 

"I won't betray him," Sirius promised firmly, his mind made up. 

"He's my godson. And even if he isn't really a kid anymore, I'll protect him." And he meant what he said. 

Harry was the only thing he had left to live for. If Harry wanted to go for world domination, then Sirius would be right there by his side. Of course, he really hoped that wasn't one of his goals, but if it was, well… Sirius would be his right hand man. 

"Mm, I will keep you to your word, Sirius Black," the primordial god hummed. "And remember, should you break it, you will find no escape in death."

Sirius licked his lips nervously. "Understood." 

He had no plans of deviating from his devotion to Harry, if anything, this conversation, if one could call it that, had helped settle his loyalty. 

Death gave him a stern look, judging his honesty, before he nodded. "Very well, I trust you will treat my Master appropriately," he said before he vanished. 

Sirius let out a relieved sigh once the god left. Despite the terrifying experience, he now felt more at ease than he had in a long time. 

He had a new goal in life, and that was to make sure Harry's plans went the way they should. He would tell him so over breakfast, Sirius thought with determination as he wandered back to bed, confident that he would be able to sleep now that he'd made up his mind. 

He transformed into Padfoot and curled up on the mattress, sleep always came easier to him as a dog. 

~

Harry was blissfully unaware of how Death had decided to take matters into his own hands. He thought the conversation he'd had with Sirius, more like a show and tell really, had gone relatively well. At least his godfather hadn't accused him of being someone else, or of possessing the body of his godson, which Death had reassured him that he wasn't. 

Harry had returned to his project in the living room. As soon as he went over what he'd written, he realised how utterly bonkers some of the calculations were. Some sentences began on one topic and then abruptly changed into something else. Clearly, working while sleep-deprived was not good for decent productivity. He honestly should have gone to bed ages ago instead of wasting time. 

"Don't take it too hard, young man. Work is never wasted. Consider it a lesson learned instead," Ignotus kindly said after reading over Harry's shoulder and hearing him mutter under his breath. 

Harry sighed and rubbed his face. "You're right." 

He sorted the many sheets of paper into different piles. One of them, the one with his nonsensical scribbles, was to be recycled later by the elves. 

"Do you know if I'm even on the right track? Is what I'm reaching for just the dreams of a madman?" Harry questioned. 

"Is it possible to create something like this? Yes, I believe so," Ignotus mused. "One can achieve almost anything with magic as long as one puts in the effort. Besides, there already exists many ways to alter one's appearance, be it through potions or spells, so I firmly believe this is something you will be able to invent in due time. How long it might take, I cannot tell you." He shook his head. 

Harry found that encouraging, and the two of them ended up discussing Harry's theories and possible changes that could be made to the artefact. At the end of it all, he felt like he had some new and promising directions to take his research.

Chapter Text

June 1987

The morning after Death had threatened Sirius, he was determined to speak with Harry and proclaim his unwavering loyalty. He made his way over to the kitchen, having been told by Minky that 'master Peverell be's baking'. 

Sirius was surprised. Considering all the chores involving cooking that Harry had been forced to do at the Dursleys, and yet not been allowed to eat what he made, he hadn't expected his godson to voluntarily do it again. He certainly wouldn't have done it.

Then again… Sirius could scorch water if he so much as looked at it. Lily had wisely banned him from using the kitchen appliances after he nearly burned down their cottage while trying to cook them breakfast. 

He watched as Harry stood on top of a chair so that he could properly reach the counter, sprinkling various seeds on top of perfectly round buns. 

"Good morning Sirius," Harry murmured softly, not turning his head to look in his direction. "Did you sleep well?" 

"Uh, yeah… eventually," Sirius replied. "Do you, er, need help with anything?" He asked. 

Harry looked at him with a raised eyebrow and wry smirk. "I have been informed by my mother that you are not allowed in the kitchen, so no." Harry snickered.

"It's probably safest for my home if you keep your hands to yourself. Feel free to have a seat, though. The rolls should be ready in fifteen minutes or so," he offered as he put the bread rolls into the oven. 

With a wave of his hand, and a few muttered cleaning spells later, the counter was as good as new, not a speck of flour or dough in sight. 

"Do you want tea?" Harry questioned since he was already making some for himself. 

"Yes please," Sirius answered as he sat down.

They quickly had a cup of tea in hand, and drank it in companionable silence. Even though it didn't show on the outside, Harry was nervous to hear how Sirius had taken the recent information. He really didn't want to lose his godfather from his life. It was possible that he wanted nothing to do with him now, but he chose to push those thoughts aside as much as possible. 

"So, now that you know about my past, and what might have been our future, how do you feel about, well… everything, I suppose?" Harry took a deep breath and watched Sirius intently. 

"I'm older than I physically look, and not exactly the nicest person. You can't be a father figure to me anymore, since I don't need one, but I do hope we might be friends. No matter what happens, you are still my godfather, and I do care for you," Harry sincerely said, looking down at his cup. For some reason he expected rejection and he was steeling himself for the verbal blow. 

Sirius on the other hand, felt touched about his godson's honesty. "Harry… You don't have to explain. I get it. I've been thinking about it a lot, and it doesn't matter. You're all I have left in this world. And I don't mean just as a memory of James and Lily, but as yourself." He paused and bit his already chapped bottom lip, brows furrowing. 

"I haven't told anyone about this yet," Sirius slowly continued, "but I can't have children of my own. I got hit with a nasty, and severely illegal curse during the war. I'm pretty sure it came from my lovely cousin," he sneered at the memory of Bellatrix. 

"Anyway, it's probably for the best that I can't have kids, I'm not exactly father material…" Sirius snorted in self deprecation before he stopped and took a deep breath.

"I think I'm getting a bit off track. What I'm trying to say is, that from the moment you were born, I've felt like you were partially mine as well. I've loved you unconditionally from the very beginning, and I'm not about to stop now. I'll follow you anywhere, Harry. I failed you in your first life but not again, I swear. No matter what you decide, I'll be right by your side, if you'll have me." 

Harry swallowed hard. Hearing something like this would have meant the world to him when he was younger and Sirius had just escaped, in a way it still did. But that man was not the same as this one, there were years of torture and trauma between them, and Harry was glad that he'd managed to spare him years of his prison sentence. 

"Sirius… I am probably going to do things you won't agree with, things that are considered illegal and dark. I'm not a light wizard… and although I don't consider myself dark either, I have many opinions and thoughts that would gain support from that faction here in Britain." 

"I know." Sirius snorted and rolled his eyes. "You're a necromancer, of course you aren't light. Besides, I'm not really light either. Although I don't support Voldemort's tactics and plans, for many reasons, I was raised in a dark family, and I appreciate many of the traditions in our society. Not all of course, but some. Even though I fought on the light side of the war, it was mainly because the opposition were terrorists. Trust me, I have nothing against you using dark magic." He paused. "Although some of it might make me squeamish, depending on what you do. But that's besides the point. You're stuck with me. I'm not leaving." His jaws were set in a stubborn and determined way. 

Harry couldn't help but let out an incredulous laugh. "You're actually being serious? You'll stay no matter what I do? What if I decide to go on a murdering rampage, slaughtering muggles and muggleborns, would you still blindly follow me?" Harry asked with his young voice, the topic sounding wrong leaving his lips. 

Sirius frowned, but his face was still stubborn as a mule. "From what I've learned about you until now, both from living with you and seeing your memories, I don't think that's the type of person you are. But… essentially, yes, I would. I'd probably try to talk you out of it, but if that's the way you want to go, then I'll be by your side." 

"Sirius… that type of devotion, it's not healthy," Harry said with a frown. 

Although he felt touched beyond belief that Sirius would stand by him no matter what, that kind of relationship sounded detrimental and deeply unhealthy.

"I want a friend and a family member… not a follower. I'm not Voldemort, I don't subjugate people to my will." 

Well… not often, and not unless it was necessary. He certainly didn't derive any pleasure from it. Even Vernon was only being kept under the imperius until Harry could enact his revenge. He had big plans for when the time was right. 

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying you're anything like that monster, I'm just trying to get across that you're all I have left. Plus, my morals have always been a bit… skewed." He shrugged and gestured it away with his hand. 

"I blame my upbringing. Besides," Sirius grinned widely, "I'm looking forward to the chaos you're gonna cause. I'm good at chaos, I can help!" 

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He'd been so worried about how his godfather was going to take it all, and here he was, willing to follow him even if he became a Dark Lord. Which was a frightening thought, but not one that was ever likely to happen. He'd rather sequester himself away somewhere and watch the wizards battle it out among themselves instead of being involved in another guerrilla war. 

"You're an idiot,” Harry declared, still laughing. 

"Very much so!" Sirius cheerfully quipped, looking like a dog who'd just gotten a bone. If anything, his grin brightened at the other's amusement. 

Harry chuckled and shook his head in mirth. "Fine, you may stay, you moronic mongrel." 

Sirius looked like Christmas had come early, and if he'd been in his dog form, Harry was sure he'd have wagged his tail furiously. 

The alarm on his wristwatch sent magical pulses up Harry's arm, notifying him that his bread rolls were done. He quickly rushed over and pulled them out of the oven.

They ate breakfast together, both in a much lighter mood than they'd been feeling for weeks. It was calm and comfortable.  

"What do you plan on doing about Remus?" Sirius eventually questioned once they had retreated to the living room. 

Harry grimaced. It was a loaded question. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure. I care for him a great deal, but I don't trust him in the slightest. His loyalty to Dumbledore is too strong." He paused, looking at his godfather. 

"Maybe we can start by making his life a little better? Offer him a job of sorts? Feel free to come with ideas," Harry suggested. 

Sirius furrowed his brows in thought. He too wanted to help Remus. Even though the betrayal of being left to rot in Azkaban without a visit, without even questioning whether he could have done what he was accused of, still stung, Sirius loved him. 

"I think a job could be good. He's always had trouble keeping one due to being a werewolf, or being hired at all for that matter… How are you going to pull it off though? It's not like you can bring him here," Sirius said. 

"I know," Harry replied, rubbing his face. "I have been thinking about maybe selling some of the potion ingredients we produce on the island. There's more than I can ever use myself, especially now that we have the greenhouses set up.”

“You could open an apothecary?” Sirius suggested. “Maybe even hire a potions master to brew some general potions and tinctures, in addition to a few shop assistants and a manager. You should still be able to make a profit by selling quality ingredients.”  

“That's not a bad idea actually. I’ll have a talk with my account manager about looking for property in one of the Alleys, either for rent or sale,” Harry mused and summoned some stationery so he could forward his request to Ragnok. 

Harry and Sirius discussed the practicalities at length, and it was decided that they would try to offer work to minorities or otherwise marginalised groups, if possible. Getting everything ready and actually opening up a storefront would take time, but Sirius was thrilled to have something to contribute with, something that would help both Harry and his old friend. 

~

"Are you sure this is wise? His mind is still fragile… I don't want to undo any of the progress he's made," Harry questioned his mother. 

Lily rolled her eyes. "It'll be fine. Sirius is durable enough to handle it. Come on, dear, do as I say now," Lily urged. 

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Fine, but if he becomes more depressed after this, I reserve the right to say I told you so."  

The redhead snorted and gestured with her hand to Padfoot who was lounging by the fireplace. 

"Sirius? Would you mind transforming back for a bit? I have something I would like to talk to you about," Harry said after he'd taken down the silencing spell around himself. 

Padfoot lifted his head and looked curiously at Harry with his grey eyes. In the blink of an eye he'd changed back into a tall and extremely skinny man. At least he was no longer emaciated. 

"What's up?" Sirius asked, wondering what his godson might want. 

"You remember how I acquired all three of the Deathly Hallows?" 

"Yeah, becoming the Master of Death is a bit of a hard thing to forget, Harry, even for me," Sirius snorted in amusement, a big grin spreading on his face. 

"Yes… Well, I would like to lend one of them to you for today. There are some people that want to speak to you, and I think, maybe, you'd like to talk to them as well." Harry slowly explained as the resurrection stone materialised in his hand. He held it out for his godfather to take. 

Sirius' mouth had gone dry, and he stared at the black stone with wide-eyed shock. "Is that… is that the resurrection stone?" He asked breathlessly. 

"Yes,” Harry replied with a soft smile. 

Sirius almost couldn't believe it. He knew the Hallows were real, of course he did, Harry being the Master of Death kind of proved that, but he'd never thought he would be able to use them. He swallowed hard. 

"A-are you sure?" 

The offer was so incredibly tempting. Sirius wanted to lunge for the stone right away to get a chance to see his friends again, but the thought of Death's wrath stilled him. 

"Your–" he was about to say servant, but Death was far from one of those. "Death… he won't mind?" Sirius asked, licking his lips nervously. 

Harry gave his godfather a puzzled look. "No, why should he? The Hallows are technically a part of me now. I can lend them to whomever I want, but they still belong to me. Even if someone were to run away with one of them, thinking they could keep them, they will find their way back to me," he explained. 

"Right…" Sirius mumbled as he reached for the stone with a trembling hand. The temptation was too great to resist. And after all, Harry was offering.

Sirius took a deep breath. His bony fingers reached out and wrapped around the inconspicuous stone. 

"Hello Sirius," Lily's gentle voice said, making his breath catch in his throat and a pained whine escape.

“Lily," Sirius whispered, voice rough as tears welled up in his eyes. 

Harry decided that this was the right moment to leave, Sirius didn't seem to notice him anyway. Besides, he had promised to give them some privacy. 

He left his godfather alone with the stone, figuring that either he, or his mother, would come find him when they were done. 

Harry didn't see hide nor hair of Sirius for the rest of the day, nor the day after. He began to worry, and had one of the house-elves check up on him, just to make sure he wasn't harming himself. 

Thankfully, it seemed that after those two days had passed, Sirius had collected himself and came to return the stone. He actually appeared calmer, and Harry assumed he had taken the time to work on some of his feelings of guilt, at least he hoped so. 

"Thank you," Sirius said with a tired smile as he handed over the resurrection stone. 

~

Time passed as usual, with nothing particularly exciting happening. It was July the 20th, and finally time for Harry to make his first appearance as Lord Peverell in public. 

He had dressed himself in the fine, black robes, with silver buttons and embroidery that Death had crafted for him. It had been a transfiguration, but the deity promised that it was permanent. 

Harry had prepared for all his exams and found that he was more than ready. The sacrificial ritual he’d performed a few months back had pretty much given him an eidetic memory, and all the books he'd read since then were clear as day in his mind. The OWLs would be a piece of cake. 

The exams were spread out over the entire week, starting with charms theory and arithmancy on Monday morning, followed by a charms practical in the evening. Harry had decided to sit all the core subjects as well as arithmancy and runes. 

Against Regulus' advice, Harry had also signed up for five NEWTs in August. Defence against the dark arts, transfiguration, potions, runes, and arithmancy to be specific. It wasn't technically necessary for him to do so, since he didn't plan on getting an actual job, but he wanted to take them. 

He felt like it would be good to see what the NEWTs were like, since he never got to sit them in his original timeline. He felt fairly confident that he'd do well though. If not O's then at least Exceeds Expectations.

In addition to the purely academic side of it all, having NEWTs would make him come across as more intelligent, and he was sure it would aid instead of hinder his political career. 

"Good luck!" Sirius gave him a huge grin and both thumbs up. 

"Thanks." 

Harry smiled and gave his godfather one last wave before he apparated to London and headed for the Leaky Cauldron. From there, he planned on flooing to the ministry. 

Harry arrived in the ministry atrium without any fanfare. Once he stepped out of the floo, without falling on his arse this time, because Regulus had made him practise, his eyes immediately fell on the disgusting fountain displaying wizarding superiority. 

The fountain of Magical Brethren, as it was called, depicted a wizard and witch standing tall with their wands raised high, surrounded by other magical beings looking adoringly up at the wizard. As if a goblin would ever look at a human like that, never mind a centaur.  

Harry suppressed the urge to grimace and briskly walked to the security desk. He waited in line among the many ministry workers and stepped up to the desk when it was his turn. 

"Wand please," the security guard demanded dully, not even bothering to look up. 

Harry held out his ebony wand, hilt first, towards the man who looked exceedingly bored with his job. The guard placed the wand onto a scale that scanned the wand's wood and core type, as well as measuring its length. 

"Ebony wood with a core of basilisk fangs, twelve inches, registered to…" The guard paused and blinked perplexed. "We don't seem to have you on file." 

He frowned, finally looking up from his work. 

"Ah, no. I suppose you wouldn't. It is a family wand that hasn't been in use since long before the ministry was founded," Harry explained. "You can write it up under Harrison Peverell, I am here to sit my exams." 

The security guard's eyes widened, even he had heard the gossip going around about the newest Lord Peverell. "Y-you're…" 

Harry merely smiled placidly, waiting for things to move along. For some reason he was expecting things to get disrupted like they would have been if he’d gone as Harry Potter in the past, call it paranoia.

Luckily, everything went smoothly, and Harry’s wand was returned. He could feel the nearby people gawking and whispering as he confidently strode to the exam locale. At least this time, it wasn't because of something that happened when he was a baby. In fact, their interest was sort of founded, it wasn’t often a member of a supposedly dead noble family re-emerged.   

The OWLs proved to be much easier than Harry had expected. He didn't know why he'd thought it would be a challenge, but it definitely wasn't. He was leagues ahead of the demanded curriculum. It made him glad that he had signed up for the NEWTs as well. Maybe they would be a bit more mentally stimulating. One could hope. 

Not much else happened that week. Harry returned daily to take his exams, spent time with his family, and worked on his various projects in the evenings. It wasn't until the last day of his exam week that something changed. 

After completing a ridiculously easy defence against the dark arts practical, Harry met someone he'd hoped not to see for years to come. 

"Ah, Lord Peverell! What a surprise to meet you here." 

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?" Harry asked, cocking an unimpressed eyebrow. 

Oh he definitely knew that conniving arsehole, he just couldn't let it show. 

Dumbledore chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling as usual. Harry wanted to gouge them out of his face with a spoon, but he kept his expression blank and passive. He sent a prayer of thanks to Ignotus for the suggestion of doing the ritual that had strengthened his mind and also his occlumency barriers. 

"Oh no, not at all," the old man replied with an amused smile, playing up his benevolent grandfatherly act no doubt. Harry wasn't fooled. 

"I am merely a curious old man." Dumbledore chuckled. "You see, I read about your return to Britain in the Daily Prophet lately, and as I am the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I wished to congratulate you on your new position. I assume we might see you in the next session?" 

Their eyes met, and Harry could feel the briefest touch against his mind, trying to read his surface thoughts. He was furious but not surprised. He managed to remain calm and only narrowed his eyes shrewdly at the wizened old wizard. 

"I would advise you to keep your mind to yourself Mr Dumbledore," Harry sharply stated.

Dumbledore was met with an endless black void when he tried to use legilimency, and he instantly recoiled, flinching just slightly. He had never encountered a defence like that before, and it was greatly unsettling. 

The old wizard seemed to gather himself momentarily, only taking a fraction of a second to regain his bearings. 

"Of course, do forgive an old man." He tried to go for a disarming smile and an apologetic tone.

"Make sure it does not happen again Mr Dumbledore, I do not take kindly to infringements upon my privacy, no matter how old the person might be." Harry spoke coldly, green eyes piercing into the headmaster's blue. 

Dumbledore conceded with a nod of his head and the conversation naturally ended soon after.

The headmaster made his excuses before slinking away. He'd said he looked forward to seeing Peverell in the next Wizengamot meeting, Harry doubted he was being truthful. 

He was silently fuming after his meeting with Dumbledore, but he kept it together until he arrived at the safety of his island. 

Sirius heard the telltale crack of apparition outside the tent. He rushed out to greet his godson, only to see him storming off into the forest. He quickly scurried after the raging young man, watching as he unleashed untold destruction upon the innocent forest. The longer he kept going the darker the spells became. Sirius didn't dare interfere. 

Finally, when Harry had worn himself out, to the point that he was panting in the midst of a tree massacre with sweat trickling down his neck, Sirius approached him. 

"Sooo… I take it something happened?" He hesitantly asked. 

Harry ground his teeth together before he looked up, growling his answer. "Dumbledore approached me and tried to enter my mind." 

Sirius grimaced. That explained the fury. 

"Of course he didn't manage to, my protections all held as they should, but the sheer audacity!" Harry snarled and ran a hand through his black locks.

He took a few deep breaths, calming himself. It was expected. He knew Dumbledore was an immoral, manipulative bastard with zero scruples. 

"Do you wanna get drunk with me?" Sirius asked out of the blue, startling Harry from his own thoughts. 

"What?" He blinked and looked at his godfather, not quite computing the question. 

"You know, drunk, from alcohol. I don't think I've ever seen you drink, which sure, might have been weird when you look like you're six, but you're not right now. Sooo wanna drink?" 

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "You're only asking because you can't find the alcohol yourself, aren't you?" He replied wryly, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. 

Sirius pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe," he muttered. "I still think getting drunk would do you good." 

"You know what? Fine. Let's drink." Harry shrugged and began the walk back towards the tent, Sirius tagging after him like a happy puppy who just got promised a ball.

~

That evening, Albus Dumbledore sat in the grand chair behind his desk, pondering the meeting he'd had with the young Peverell lord. 

From their brief conversation he hadn't been able to tell whether he would be an ally or an opponent. The man kept his cards close to the chest, and the brief brush of legilimency he'd attempted had been firmly rebutted by the most unusual defence he'd ever encountered. 

Albus sighed and rubbed his temples. Harrison Peverell was an enigma. A mystery no one knew the answer to. Who was he? Where had he come from? How could he claim the Peverell lordship after the line had been presumed dead for centuries? There were so many questions and no forthcoming answers. 

Most importantly, he needed to know whether the man was a dark wizard or not. The very thought that he might become another Dark Lord the likes of Gellert or Tom, made the tired old wizard's blood run cold. 

Back in the day, when he and Gellert were young, their obsession with the Peverells and the Deathly Hallows had been strong. They'd scoured every bit of information they could get their hands on, eventually giving them a lead on one of the Hallows. 

Albus looked at the elder wand laying innocently in front of him. It was a deceiving artefact, always searching for a new and stronger master, usually leading to the former's early demise. He had won it off Gellert during their big duel, and he wouldn't lie, its power had enticed him as much as it had his former lover 

In their search, they had learned about the Peverell family and why there hadn't been a lord of their House in hundreds of years. The lord, or lady, seeing as they had never cared much for the patriarchal system strangely enough, needed to be a born necromancer to take up the lordship. 

This meant that Harrison Peverell was a necromancer, a fact Albus found extremely concerning. Not much was known about what a true necromancer could do anymore. The practice was deemed dark and illegal in many countries, and rightly so, he thought. Of course, the young man being born with those abilities didn't mean he had to use them. 

He had gone looking for books on the topic, but most of them only contained information on the necromantic arts for those without the natural gift.