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Chapter Text

Harry Peverell, 6 years old, was sitting under the almond tree, having a tea party with his friend Mr Rabbit. Of course, tea party was just a fancy way of saying. He simply propped up an old dilapidated wooden table, placed two chipped cups on the table, and sat across from an old stuffed rabbit. Well, he was in an orphanage. So, yeah, couldn't ask for too much.

But, in his mind, it was indeed a tea party. And Mr Rabbit was not just a stuffed animal, but actually a friend who could listen to Harry's confidants. Harry appreciated that, since no one in this goddamn orphanage was wise enough to talk to him.

“Oh, Mr. Rabbit. If only the rest of the people here are half as competent as us. ”

Harry said to Mr Rabbit, and sighed as he looked towards the playground in the distance. A group of children, both boys and girls, were racing to chase a ball.

It was silly. Fucking stupid. The nuns asked what they wanted, and all they asked for was that stupid ball? Geez. If Harry could say something, he would ask for a bookcase full of books. Knowledge is the key to freeing one from suffering - Harry had heard someone say so, or he simply made it up himself.

But well, they wanted a ball, and they were given a ball. Harry really didn't feel so bad about it. Although it was a stupid thing, he couldn't deny that the children looked happy. Overall, Harry was a very reasonable boy.

On the opposite side, it seemed that Mr. Rabbit also agreed with Harry's opinion. Mr Rabbit's ears swayed slightly, perhaps because a gust of wind blew, but Harry believed that Mr Rabbit was actually wiser than any stupid kid in the playground.

Harry lifted the teacup and lightly touched the one in front of Mr Rabbit with it. He was very careful, trying to touch it lightly, afraid that the tea cup would break. Originally, he had an old plate to make a tea party. It was used to hold the cake - if he had any. But last month, it was smashed by an idiot named John. So Harry had to be extra careful with the remaining items. The tea party was one of the reasons Harry was able to keep himself relaxed and calm. If he couldn't hold the tea party anymore, then maybe something terrible would happen. Harry wouldn't say anything in advance, but yeah, better keep it like always.

But, of course, some people were very stupid.

Just as Harry was about to end his little tea party by shaking hands with Mr Rabbit, the damn ball flying towards where he was sitting. Of course, Harry could feel it coming towards him - he wasn't stupid, but he was outside right under the sun. So Harry could do nothing but watch the horrible ball hit his poor tea table. Harry's two small teacups fell to the ground, and broke. They were already fragile and chipped, and the fact that the ball hit them sealed their fate.

Harry looked up blankly at a group of children running towards him. It was a group of five. John, Nathan, Vivian, Darien and Mary. It could be said that they were the little bosses of this orphanage, and often made the other children scared. John was the tallest and bigest kid. Nathan had always followed after John and did whatever the taller one did. Vivian had a filthy mouth, and was a nightmare for the rest of the girls. Darien was less talkative, but not much nicer either. Mary went from being bullied by Vivian, to becoming a little maid who followed Vivian and bullied the others. In short, they were a bunch of bullies, yes.

At first, they didn't pay much attention to Harry. Because Harry was only six years old, while those bastards were eight or older with John being the oldest, eleven. But for some reason, John became interested in Harry. The big kid started to find reasons to mess with him. Of course the rest of John's group also joined in to make Harry's life worse. But actually it wasn't that bad.

Harry didn't think what these brats did to him was so terrible. In fact, they often just jostle Harry, or throw things at him, making his clothes dirty. Compared to what they did to other children, what they did to Harry was relatively light. The most annoying one was actually Vivian. From the beginning Vivian only followed John to annoy Harry. But time passed, and the little bitch grew to detest Harry and call him derogatory names and insult him with terrible words.

“Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry I hit you with the ball!”

John stepped forward, pretending to be friendly, grabbing Harry's shoulders with both hands. The corner of Harry's mouth immediately quirked up, but he quickly regained his expressionless expression.

“Are you okay? Looks like you're fine. Very good.”

After saying that, the big kid pushed Harry hard, causing him to fall to the ground. It didn't give Harry too much pain, just a little sore ass. He raised his head, eyes blankly looking at John.

Unlike other kids, who were often scared or cried when bullied, Harry wasn't actually afraid of this bunch of idiots. He could have said something, but chose not to, because he didn't want to give those idiots any reaction.

“This fagot is dumb!” Vivian said, glancing at Harry, eyes filled with hatred. “He never said anything!”

The six-year-old tilted his head, pretending not to understand what Vivian was saying, and that angered her even more.

Standing beside Vivian, Nathan raised his hand, and with a bang, a large lump of mud was thrown at Harry. The boy froze, then looked down at his muddy shirt.

The children in front of Harry laughed, and followed each other, throwing mud at Harry, and at Mr Rabbit. Nathan didn't stop there, but moved forward to flip over Harry's miserable tea table, causing him to fall over and break a leg.

Harry still didn't react, he just sat there, and let the fools continue to laugh and throw mud at him. And that worked. Perhaps his unresponsiveness bored those bastards, and eventually they left too, presumably to find another victim.

“He really likes me, doesn't he?”

Harry whispered, and turned to look at Mr. Rabbit, covered in dirt all over his body. He slowly stood up, and sighed. Well, maybe his weekly tea party couldn't be held anymore. Pity.

“Let's clean you up, Mr Rabbit.” Harry picked up Mr Rabbit, then started walking towards the building. “Nun Aubrey won't be happy.”

*

That night, while everyone else was asleep, John left the room, apparently wanting to go down to the kitchen for a drink. However, as soon as he reached the stairs, all the lights in the orphanage went out.

John just felt a push behind him, before falling to the ground.

Worse yet, when he fell to the bottom of the stairs, the wooden cupboard with ornaments nearby also fell on top of his right leg.

In the night, John's terrified scream woke everyone up. Everybody. Except Harry.

In a bedroom shared with another child, Harry rolled over in bed. His eyes were still closed, but the corners of his mouth were clearly lifted.

*

The doctors did all they could, but John's right leg could not be restored. Sure, he was still able to use it, but he would limp for the rest of his life.

*

A week later, Nathan carelessly fell face down in a pile of mud while chasing another child. Mud got into Nathan's eyes. Even after being washed, Nathan's eyes were still swollen and red, so much so that the nuns had to take him to the hospital.

A few days later, the children in the orphanage learned that Nathan's eyes were infected, and that he was officially blind.

*

A large tree branch fell and hit Vivian a week later. Its sharp branch pierced her throat, causing blood to flow everywhere.

After returning from the hospital, Vivian was no longer able to speak.

Perhaps that was a good thing, since her foul mouth would get her killed sooner or later.

*

Within three weeks, three out of five bullies each had an accident. Even if people were blind, they would still notice something strange here. The Maron acted quickly, and transferred all five of those idiots to another facility.

Harry continued his afternoons under the familiar almond tree. He couldn't hold tea parties anymore, so he just stared blankly at the sky.

About half a year later, news about Darien and Mary - the two remaining pieces of the previous five bullies arrived. Apparently, Darien, from being a bully, was bullied at the new facility by older kids. To the point of suicide by jumping into the lake. They tried to save the boy, but it was too late.

Mary was adopted by a middle-aged couple, but unfortunately, on the way home from the orphanage, a traffic accident happened, killing all three of them.

Harry sighed under the almond tree, feeling so sorry... He hadn't even done anything about them yet.

He guessed that life had its way.

*

Nun Aubrey was not a good person. Harry wasn't even sure if she was really a nun. Several times, he'd seen her smoke and drink, and leave the orphanage late at night. But hey, that was none of his business, so Harry didn't say anything.

She was always scowling, grumpy with the children in the orphanage. And for some reason, she seemed to dislike Harry very much.

Maybe it's because she has to help him wash Mr Rabbit many times, since Harry has always kept the habit of dragging Mr Rabbit around. Harry did try to keep Mr. Rabbit clean, but hey, it happened.

When Harry was eight years old, nun Aubrey thought he was too old to play with stuffed animals. So she took Mr Rabbit away from Harry. Harry was a little heartbroken, but gradually felt okay, because their orphanage was really lacking quite a lot and maybe other children would need Mr Rabbit's wisdom to grow up to be a perfect person like Harry.

But then, there was no presence of Mr Rabbit in the orphanage. Harry followed the last bit of trail with his special ability, and went to the incinerator at the back of the orphanage. After rummaging around for a while, all Harry found was a pink bow that clearly belonged to Mr. Rabbit.

The boy sat down on the ground. Tears flowed from his eyes. His hand clutched the dirty bow, and scenes began to appear in his mind.

Harry could see nun Aubrey shoving hot cigarette butts at Mr Rabbit, making holes in his poor friend. Sometime, for some reason, nun Aubrey took Mr. Rabbit as something to vent, constantly throwing Mr. Rabbit everywhere, even taking a dagger to stab the poor rabbit. And finally, she threw Mr Rabbit into the incinerator.

Harry tried to wipe away his tears, whispering something that no one could hear. After a while, he got up, and returned to his bedroom.

*

For the next week, Harry continued to wear a dirty pink bow around his neck the way Mr Rabbit had worn, and repeatedly appeared in front of nun Aubrey. He always looked at the nun with lifeless eyes, and tilted his head as if he were just a lifeless dummy.

Nun Aubrey seemed to have realized something, and kept avoiding Harry. But that didn't stop him from constantly appearing behind her like a little ghost. Each time, Harry made her scream in terror. The others in the orphanage did not understand at all, and assumed that she had lost her mind.

*

It was a hot day, and nun Aubrey hid in a corner to drink. She looked into the distance, and suddenly saw Harry standing under the almond tree tilting his head to look at her. That startled her and choked on the alcohol, drenching a large patch of her clothes.

By the time she calmed down, Harry was gone.

The nun cursed silently, took out a cigarette, lit it, and started smoking. After a while, she finished smoking and casually threw the butt on the ground.

A strange wind blew, causing the burning cigarette butts to cling to her body. For a moment, she only had time to scream out in pain before a fire engulfed her entire body.

The next day, Harry's roommate Riley told him that nun Aubrey had suffered severe burns all over her body, and would no longer work at their orphanage.

Harry looked out the window at the sky, and whispered:

“That's what she deserves.”

*

Unlike nun Aubrey, nun Claire was a good person. She even gave Harry some money, when he expressed that he wanted to dye his hair for his ninth birthday.

So, Harry had been out of the orphanage for a few hours, and when he returned, his raven black hair had turned to golden blond. God knew where he went and how he used that little money to get it, but damn, it looked fabulous.

Harry was very pleased with his new haircut. It made Harry look like an angel, innocent and lovely. So for the next year, Harry was extra sweet, and extra smiley with everyone in the orphanage.

It was as if he had turned into a completely different person.

*

When Harry was ten years old, it was reported that a group of people were going to the orphanage, and it looked like they were going to adopt some children. So Harry helped his roommate, Riley, retouch to look cleaner and nicer. Good thing Riley didn't look too bad, so Harry just had to help him straighten his hair, clean his teeth, and lend him a clean set of clothes. Riley had turned into a completely new child.

Of course, with so much Harry's work, plus Harry locking himself in his bedroom so he wouldn't see anyone, Riley was adopted. His new parents looked rich, and Harry was pretty happy for Riley.

While packing, Riley cried, and hugged Harry:

“Harry, thank you very much. I promise to visit you soon!”

Harry smiled, and patted Riley on the back, saying nothing.

*

Of course, Riley didn't visit Harry as promised. Years later when Harry was an adult and returned to visit the orphanage, he also learned that Riley had never once returned to visit the people at the orphanage - even though he had lived a very good and wealthy life.

But, at ten years old, Harry was pleased. He finally had his own bedroom. God, it was so bad sharing a room with someone else.

Did Harry really want to help Riley get adopted? Maybe. But after all, he got what he really wanted.

Therefore, Harry completely forgot about Riley's promise. It didn't matter, and Harry never cared about it.

People's promises are like garbage, it's best not to take them.

*

By the time Harry was eleven years old, his life seemed pretty good. Sure, he was in an orphanage, and lacked quite a few things and clothes, but overall it wasn't too bad.

Since he changed his hair color and changed his life attitude, other people seem to like him more. In fact, Harry has learned to smile more, even though at times he was cursing inside.

He had his own bedroom, and nun Claire kept giving him interesting books to read. So Harry had no reason to complain.

On his eleventh birthday, an owl flew into Harry's bedroom through the window. It carried an envelope, and dropped it on Harry's bed before flying away.

“Well, that was... weird.”

Harry sat up and took the envelope. After a while, having read the letter inside, Harry smiled, and whispered:

“Hogwarts? Sounds like fun.”

Magic? Yeah. It explained everything.

His future would be very interesting.

Chapter Text

Mr Snape was not a pleasant person, so Harry was a little suspicious when the man approached and introduced himself as a professor at Hogwarts. He didn't look like a good teacher, or someone fit to teach young children. On the contrary, he looked like a super villain, an eccentric fit to lock himself in dark dungeons.

Of course, one cannot judge a book by its cover. So Harry kept his mouth shut and said only what was necessary.

“Mr Peverell, when did you know you had magic?”

To Snape's question, Harry tilted his head, pretending not to understand, and answered innocently:

“I have magic?”

On the opposite side, Mr Snape, or Professor Snape gave Harry a pointed look. Perhaps if the other children sitting in front of Snape had received that look, they would have panicked or dared not say anything, let alone lie to him. But Harry was never a normal kid. He swayed his legs slightly, comfortably receiving the sharp gaze of the terrifying man in front of him.

Of course, Harry could totally answer truthfully – he knew he was special, or had magic, by the time he was five years old. But for some reason, Harry felt like teasing Snape. Like, he looked bored and monotonous with his ice-cold expression, and Harry wanted to see other expressions on this man. It was strange that Harry was interested in such a stranger. In fact, it was the first time Harry was interested in someone. He sensed there was something special about Snape, and couldn't wait to learn more about this grotesque man.

“Mr Peverell, you should answer my question seriously.”

Harry puffed his cheeks, looking very offended when Snape didn't believe him. But under his razor-sharp gaze, the boy finally sighed, and said:

“Okay, I know about it yesterday, when the owl delivered the letter to me.”

“Really?”

Harry smiled mischievously, didn't answer, but asked him back:

“Well? What do you think?”

On the opposite side, Mr Snape cupped his forehead, unable to believe that the child before him was not at all afraid of him. Merlin, even that little brat Henry Potter was afraid of him, and yet this boy could smile like that in front of him! The nerve!

Severus Snape sighed, feeling it was unfair that he had to take on this damn task. He looked at Harry Peverell again, and at last had no choice but to stand up and say:

“Fine. Get ready, I'll take you to Diagon Alley to shop for the school year.”

Just as Snape was about to leave this pitifully dingy room, he felt the hem of his shirt be pulled back. Turning around, he saw only the kid's sad face.

“Shopping? But I don't have any money…”

With that, Harry lowered his head and looked down at his empty hands, swinging his legs and pouting. For some reason, Snape felt something heavy suddenly appear in his heart, making him uncomfortable. What was that feeling called? Sad? Sympathize?

Anyway, Severus Snape sighed once more, his voice softening and comforting the kid:

“Gringotts Bank offers a very low interest rate loan to Hogwarts students. You don't have to worry about money.”

Immediately, Harry lifted his head, his sky-blue eyes glowing with hope. And they spooked Snape a little.

“Really?”

Professor Snape nodded involuntarily, then pointed at the door:

“Hurry up, we don't have much time.”

Harry immediately smiled brightly, he quickly stood up, grabbed the bucket hat hanging from the coat rack, put it on his head and chased right behind the professor.

*

Diagon Alley was a new experience for Harry. It was awfully crowded, and Harry immediately did something that startled Snape to the point of shock - he grabbed the professor's hand.

“I'm scared.”

He said as the professor looked at him, and more determinedly clung to his large arm. For Mr Snape, after determining for a while that Harry showed no sign of letting go of his hand, he could only sigh for an unknown number of times this day, and took the initiative to take the boy's small hand.

The man led the boy down the main road, towards the largest white building in the Alley. As they moved, it seemed that many people recognized the professor, and gaped at him holding a child by the hand. The professor felt like his reputation was shattering, but for some reason, he didn't feel that bad.

Gringotts was a strange place, it was a bank, but operated by goblins. Harry had no problem with them, but still felt a little strange being stared at.

It wasn't his hallucination - the goblins did stare at Harry. Professor Snape asked for a student loan agreement, and Harry simply signed it. But the goblin who was in charge of signing the contract kept frowning at Harry, as if he was wondering something. As Harry followed the professor out of the bank, he could still feel eyes behind him.

Ollivanders was their next destination, since the most important thing a Hogwarts student needs to have is a wand that belongs to them.

The shop was strange, but its owner - Mr Ollivander - was even stranger - when he saw Harry he said:

“Oh, who do we have today? I don't think I know you.”

Of course he didn't know Harry, since they'd never met? Harry narrowed his eyes, a little distrustful of the silly old man.

He left the talking part to Professor Snape, while he looked around a bit. A few minutes later, Mr Ollivander motioned for Harry to come forward, and passed him a rather elaborate wand.

“Holly and the phoenix feather, just a wild guess of mine.”

The Peverell boy continued to narrow his eyes, following the old man's instructions, and took the wand. However, when he picked it up, less than five seconds later, a strange black flame erupted, causing him to panic and drop it. Hell, even Professor Snape and Mr Ollivander themselves were startled by what had happened. By the time Harry had calmed down and hastily picked up the wand, it had been burned to the point of being unrecognizable. From a beautiful wand, it turned into a black, smoking wand.

“Sorry.” Harry said hastily, feeling quite sorry for the wand himself. “I don't know why it happened like that.”

In contrast to Harry's worried expression, Mr Ollivander looked fine, and Harry could even see the excitement in his eyes. It was a strange thing, and Harry felt even more suspicious.

“Curious!”

Mr Ollivander said nothing more after that, but continued to pass Harry a few more wands. However, unfortunately, their fate was the same as the first wand - burned to coal. By the time the tenth wand burned up exactly the same, even Harry was annoyed.

“You stay here and continue to choose your wand.” Professor Snape said while looking at his watch, a little impatient that they were spending so much time in a store when there were still many places they had to go. “I'll go buy the rest, okay?”

Harry pouted, a little displeased. He also wanted to go shopping, not stay in this silly store and burn dozens of more wands. And also, since when Harry has had to have a wand to do magic?

But, as a cute, wise and reasonable boy, Harry could only nod, and sadly watch Mr Snape leave the shop.

“Now, can you try this?”

Mr Ollivander said after ten more wands were no match for Harry either. He handed him a new one, this time looking more promising.

“Cypress and Unicorn hair.”

As he passed it over to Harry, his eyes filled with meaning, as if he was expecting something. Harry snorted, a little uncomfortable, but took the wand anyway.

Thankfully, it didn't instantly burn like previous wands. But unfortunately, when it immediately broke in two.

“Well, Mr Peverell, you're probably an interesting person indeed.”

Interesting? Of course Harry was an interesting person. Not only that, in his own opinion, he was also a wise and perfect person.

Harry got a little impatient. His feet kept hitting the ground, creating a strange rhythm. He scanned his surroundings, not feeling any wand in the store that would suit him.

“Perhaps it will fit.”

Mr Ollivander muttered a little. He then left Harry and hurried to the back of the store. Harry didn't quite know what the old man was doing, he heard only a few loud noises, as if he was looking for something.

About five minutes later Mr Ollivander came out, carrying a rather old-looking black box. He set it on the counter, looked at it, then back at Harry, and sighed.

“I never thought that one day I would take this out.”

He pushed the box towards Harry, and he immediately opened it. Inside the box is a wand that doesn't look very special. It was a straight, long, dark brown wand. Boring, and unremarkable at first glance, but Harry could see a bit of black moving around it.

“Acacia and Thestral tail hair, unstable, and only go well with the most gifted witches and wizards.”

Harry frowned, very familiar with the feel of the wand. He picked it up, and instantly black smoke poured from the wand's tip, like a snake that began to coil around Harry.

He knew he shouldn't use it, since it was a harbinger of what he saw. But, well, the most gifted wizard sounded cool, and Harry always wanted the best and to be the best.

The Peverell boy pouted and moved his hand, and the thin black smoke followed, moving at his command. Finally, he tapped the tip of his wand on the counter, and the black smoke disappeared in an instant.

“I will take it.”

Mr Ollivander narrowed his eyes, as if he wanted to say something. But at that moment Professor Snape returned, causing his words to catch in his throat.

In a split second, Harry was back to his cheerful self. He hurriedly hopped up to the professor, and showed off the wand he had just received.

Professor Snape sighed in satisfaction, quickly paying Mr Ollivander, before taking Harry's hand again and leaving the shop. Mr Ollivander watched their backs, and whispered in contemplation:

“A death wand... for a death person.”

*

Just as they were about to leave Diagon Alley to return to the orphanage, a shop suddenly caught Harry's eye. It was a small shop, with places to sit down inside, and a small area outside with a bunch of tables and chairs. Harry had very good eyesight, so he could see through the shop window what was inside.

The boy pursed his lips, pulled Professor Snape's hand back, pointed at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor with the other, and said:

“Ice cream!”

Professor Snape rolled his eyes at him, completely unable to believe this damn kid would ask for ice cream. First holding hands, then ice cream, what would be next? His head on a stick?

“Seriously?”

“What?” Harry immediately puffed his cheeks. “So a poor orphan can't eat ice cream?”

The professor took a deep breath, then raised his hand to rub his temples. In the end, Professor Snape gave in, and led the kid to the ice cream shop.

Professor Snape had intended to buy Harry an ice cream, but Harry was determined to buy another one for the poor professor who had been tormented by him since the beginning of the afternoon. So, he told the shop owner - Mr Florean Fortescue - that he wanted strawberry and coconut ice cream for him, and lemon mint ice cream for Professor Snape.

Originally, Harry was not that kind of a person. But overtime, he had learned to live a little more authentically, and do what he liked, instead of living a closed and lonely life like in the early years of his life. So, he wanted to annoy Snape, he would annoy Snape. He wanted ice cream, and he would eat ice cream. At the age of eleven, Harry felt that he was so good, fresh, and much happier than before. Mr Rabbit was gone, and Harry had to live his life well, so as not to disappoint his expectations.

Harry smiled, surreptitiously raising his head to look at Professor Snape. The poor man was trying to eat his ice cream, apparently not very familiar with the food. That image seemed a bit funny, a serious professor, always frowning, but holding a child's hand and eating ice cream with him on the sidewalk. Harry didn't quite understand why, but he felt a little amused.

But suddenly, Harry heard Professor Snape's name being called. He turned, and saw a red-haired woman waving at the professor.

The professor coughed. He hurriedly shoved the remaining ice cream into his mouth, and in two bites he finished it. Harry gaped, looked at the professor hastily wiping his mouth, then looked down at the ice cream in his hand.

Wow, so ice cream can be eaten like that!

*

The Potter family actually didn't need to go to Diagon Alley at this point, since they've done most of the shopping due to the mother of the family's thoroughness. Still, Henry was a growing boy, and Lily Potter felt it was a good idea to buy her son some extra clothes. And maybe some fancy robes for some special occasion.

Other family members did not share the same interest in shopping as Lily. James always found it time consuming and boring. Henry was just like his father, always lamenting when his mother dragged him to Diagon Alley. Lily's little daughter - Rose - was only five years old, and had not yet understood the greatness of shopping.

“Lily!” James poked her shoulder as she tried to pick some fruit from a nearby stall. Lily wanted to turn around and hit her husband's arm, but what he said next stunned her. “Am I dreaming? Is that Snape eating ice cream with a child?”

The red-haired woman hurriedly followed the direction of her husband's hand, and actually saw her longtime friend standing with a child in front of the ice cream shop.

Lily Potter gasped, seemingly unable to believe what she was seeing.

“Should I call the Aurors?”

Her husband asked, and Lily wasn't sure if he was joking or telling the truth. Anyway, the relationship between him and her friends wasn't very good, and while it was better than when they were in school, they weren't friendly in general.

“James!” Lily hit her husband's arm. “Be nice!”

“Not today!!” James Potter raised his hands in surrender. “You know what? I won't spoil today's fun! So I'm going to buy some wine for dinner tonight!”

As soon as he said that, James hurriedly ran away, leaving Lily sighing and rolling her eyes helplessly. She turned to call out her friend's name, pulling back Henry who was about to run away with his father.

“Severus!”

Lily dragged Henry and Rose across the street to meet her friend. The closer she got, the better she saw the child with him. Severus was the same as always, always looking serious and scowling.

For the child, Lily could only feel surprised. As first, she wasn't sure if the kid who was staying at Severus was a boy or a girl, but then she realized it was a boy - a very pretty one. He had a delicate face, with shoulder-length wavy golden blonde hair and blue eyes as clear as the sky. Lily felt a little strange as she looked at the kid, but still couldn't figure out what that feeling meant.

“Severus, what are you doing here?”

Her friend sighed, looking very tired.

“Accompanied this one shopping for the new school year.” After saying this, he pulled the child's hand who was half-hiding behind him to the front and introduced: “This is Professor Potter, she also works at Hogwarts.”

The kid looked uncomfortable, but still looked up at Lily and greeted her:

“Hello, Professor Potter.”

Lily smiled. She sat down, and held out her hand to the kid. For some reason, she felt very fond of the child in front of her, maybe because of the boy's appearance was pretty, or maybe for other reasons.

“Hello, what's your name?”

“My name is Harry, Harry Peverell.”

Lily could hear Severus sigh, and she understood why. As soon as she heard the boy's name, her heart ached a little. But Lily was a strong woman, and she wouldn't do stupid things like burst into tears in public.

“Nice to see you, Harry.” Lily said, then hurriedly pulled Henry and Rose over. “These are my children, Henry and Rose. Henry will actually be in his third year at Hogwarts this year. So if you have any trouble, don't be afraid to come to me or him!”

The boy, Harry, smiled and nodded, looking a little shy. Lily suddenly felt a little dazed, wanted to reach out to touch the boy's cheek, but stopped when her friend patted her shoulder.

“Lily, good to see you, but I have to bring this kid home.” He pointed to his watch, indicating that it was late. “Besides, I have some work to do at the office.”

Lily rolled her eyes. She knew well what Severus was thinking. He must have had a rough day, and didn't want to face her like that. Having been friends for many years, Lily was well aware of Severus' vices, and she always acted like she didn't know the truth.

“Well, then hurry and bring him home! Goodbye, Harry!”

Severus ran faster than riding a broom, causing the poor boy to struggle to follow. Lily rolled her eyes, and smiled upon seeing that scene. After many years, her friend was still the same as before.

“Henry, is that a boy or a girl?”

Her little daughter asked her brother Henry, while still on tiptoe, tried to follow the direction the boy had just left. Henry scratched his head, unsure of how to answer.

“Name is Harry, so he must be a boy.”

Henry also followed Harry's back, feeling uncertain. The boy looked extra pretty, and wore a pink bucket hat. With his thirteen-year-old mind, Henry still thought that pink was a color for girls.

“He's pretty.” Rose hugged her mother's leg, yawning tiredly. “I want to be like him.”

Lily shook her head and smiled, picking up her daughter. She still couldn't help it, once more looked at the direction the two had left just now. There was some bitterness in her heart, and Lily thought to herself:

“If my Harry’s still...”

Lily took a deep breath, stopping herself in time before completing that thought. She turned to pat her son on the shoulder and said:

“Come on, let's find your father and go home.”

Chapter Text

Harry almost laughed when he saw Mr Snape run for his life as he returned him to the orphanage. The man sure was an interesting man, and Harry enjoyed teasing and tormenting him.

He returned to his room, first carefully removing his bucket hat. It was the only good looking item Harry owned, so he was very careful when using it. Professor Snape bought Harry two sets of Hogwarts uniform robes, but after looking at them for a while, Harry didn't like them very much.

He opened the trunk he had brought back from the Alley, and began spreading his purchases on the bed. There were a few things that were rather strange and Harry didn't know what they were for, but there were also a few things that caught the boy's attention. Harry picked up a book, flipped through a few pages to read the contents, and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

In addition, he had a bag of money. Those were the galleons he had borrowed from the bank. The bag was kinda heavy, and when Harry held the gold coins in his hand he felt unbelievably happy. Yup, he loved money. The shame was that Professor Snape instructed him to keep this money carefully and use it wisely.

There were also some clothes, not ugly, but boring. Harry didn't like them, but still felt good having new clothes. Well, maybe he would go shopping at normal stores, after all he still has some normal money left.

Harry jumped onto the bed, instantly regretting the firmness of the bed giving him a bit of a backache. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed, wondering if the beds at Hogwarts were comfortable. The school sounded like an interesting place, and Harry was very excited about it, but if it was worse than this orphanage Harry wasn't sure he wanted to go there.

The Peverell boy hummed a strange tune, his eyes sparkling brightly as he thought about the future. But just a few minutes later, a strange noise interrupted his thoughts. Harry sat up and looked out the window at the noise, and tilted his head in confusion when he saw a small owl carrying an envelope.

“What do we have here?”

Harry opened the window, but the owl didn't fly in, it just stood there, he didn't understand why, but he could see the owl's fear.

With confusion, Harry took the letter, and the owl quickly flew away as if some predator was chasing after it. Harry pouted, looking dissatisfied with the service!

But the letter in his hand immediately caught Harry's attention.

For some reason, the goblins King sent a letter to Harry, asking to meet him at Gringotts the next morning. The boy frowned, thinking back to the strange attitude of those short creatures at the bank. He was pretty sure Goblins King was a very high position? Why did that person want to meet Harry?

But, hmmm, Harry wasn't worried. At least they sent him a letter and made an appointment to meet him, instead of kidnapping him or something. Harry wasn't the type to think too much, nor was he the type to worry. Things will happen, and Harry will deal with them when the time comes.

“Dinner and reading until morning, I guess.”

Harry shrugged, leaving his small bedroom.

*

Morning came, and Harry was ready to go to Gringotts. He put on his best clothes, and once again put on his pink bucket hat. Harry did not go to the Alley through the pub like yesterday, but sat on his bed and concentrated.

A few seconds later, black auras appeared around Harry like tentacles - they looked horrible, and at first glance had nothing to do with Harry's appearance at all. They quickly surrounded Harry, forming a large black cocoon. When they disappeared, Harry was no longer in the tiny bedroom in the orphanage.

At the same time, a black energy smelling of death appeared inside Gringotts Bank, immediately activating the alarm system. A series of fully armored goblins rushed inside, surrounding that suspicious mass of black energy.

In their surprise, Harry Peverell walked out, he put his hands on his hips, squinting his eyes and looking around:

“What? Have you never seen humans before?”

The spears in the goblin guards' hands were still pointed at Harry, and he pouted sulkily. They invited him here, and they treated him like that? How rude.

But before anything could happen, a voice rang out from behind them:

“Mr. Peverell, we see humans often, but this is the first time we see someone like you.”

Harry turned around, and saw an elderly goblin moving through the crowd towards him. He was dressed luxuriously, with a golden crown encrusted with all kinds of shining gems on his head. He must have been the Goblin King.

With just a wave of his hand, the guards hurriedly left, leaving Harry, himself and a few other goblins standing in the deserted bank. It seemed that the king knew what Harry was thinking, he immediately said:

“The bank is closed today, so there is no one else but us.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned. “And what is the purpose of this meeting?”

“Just to check a few things, Mr. Peverell.”

The Goblin King moved closer to him, and held out his hand to Harry. Although Harry didn't quite understand the purpose of the guy in front of him, with minimal politeness, he still shook hands with him.

“Tell me, Mr Peverell, what do you know about your name Peverell?”

The King asked as he led Harry into a discreet meeting room, where several other goblins were already waiting. He invited Harry to sit down, and Harry did not refuse.

“It’s a name.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, quite looking forward to what was about to happen. As a child growing up in an orphanage, of course Harry always wanted to know about his identity. Sometimes he wondered what had happened to his parents. Were they dead or alive? And why was Harry sent to the orphanage? There were so many questions, and it was possible that the conversation ahead would tell Harry something.

“Peverell is not just a name, but an important name. Most people in the wizarding world think that Peverell is just a name in legend, but we goblins know very well their existence. The Goblins Nation is closely linked to the Peverell family, and we have always been loyal guardians of the Peverell family estate.”

“Estate? Do you mean money?”

Harry's eyes opened wide, and the Goblin King could see a strange green light that seemed to glow behind the blue.

“Yes, the Peverell family owns thirty biggest vaults in our bank. And let me tell you, their value is probably more than the whole of England.”

“So you're telling me I have a lot of money?”

“Yes, and no.”

The King stood up, signaling to the other goblins nearby. They immediately brought up a few tools and placed them on the table in front of Harry. Harry could see a small scroll, a silver cup, a silver needle, a strange-looking pen.

“According to our information, the Peverell family became extinct many years ago. Therefore, we cannot determine whether you are a descendant of them or not. The purpose of this meeting is to test whether you are a Peverell family member or not.”

Having finished speaking, the King waved his hand, a goblin dressed in white who looked like a nurse approached, nodded to Harry and said:

“Mr Peverell, I'm going to need to take some blood from you so I can run a test.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but then shrugged. He obediently held out his hand. But when he thought they were going to take blood like a human hospital does, they didn't. The goblin used that big silver needle to prick the tip of Harry's thumb, making him startled in pain.

“Ouch! You are hurting me!”

The goblin rolled his eyes, said nothing, just took five drops of Harry's blood into a silver cup. His silence made Harry feel really annoyed, he snorted coldly, and mumbled:

“Rude!”

No one answered Harry. They just stared at the goblin dipping the tip of the pen into the silver cup, and immediately five drops of Harry's blood disappeared, or were sucked in by the pen. To Harry's surprise, the pen automatically flew up, and began writing red letters on the prepared paper. Harry glanced at what the pen wrote, and raised an eyebrow.

Turns out, Harry was indeed a descendant of the Peverell family, and may have been the last living member of the family. That meant he had full access to the Peverell family's assets, including huge amounts of money, or items they kept in thirty vaults in the bank in addition to many other real estate properties scattered throughout England.

“I hope you don't feel offend.”

The Goblin King looked at him with complicated eyes, while they waited for the black payment card that Harry requested. With that black card, Harry can pay for any service in the wizarding world inside and outside his country, and even the normal world.

“People of the Peverell family usually have dark hair and green eyes, so we weren't sure at first.”

“Oh, like this?”

Harry tilted his head, instantly, his golden hair turned pure black, his beautiful blue eyes turned emerald green. Some points on his face also look sharper, though not too different.

The Goblin King opened his eyes wide and whispered in disbelief:

“A Metamorphmagus.... amazing.”

Harry didn't understand what he was saying, but he didn't care too much. In the blink of an eye, his hair and eye color changed back to blonde and blue. Although Harry didn't notice, to those in the meeting room, they thought that with just a few small changes, Harry Peverell looked like two completely different people.

Very quickly, the black card that Harry wanted was brought out. He took it, absolutely loving the feeling it gave him. Harry's eyes lit up, thinking of what he could do with it.

“We have maintained the Peverell villa for many years, so it is always ready for you to move in at any time. Do you want to go there now?”

“No, not yet, I have other plans.”

“Mind to tell me?”

“Shopping, duh.”

Harry winked at the Goblin King, and he skipped out of the bank.

*

To make up for not being able to shop the day before, Harry spent money to his heart's content.

First destination was Madam Malkin's. Harry walked inside, and luckily it wasn't too crowded, just a few children and their parents picking out things. There was a relatively prominent child with platinum blonde hair, but Harry didn't pay much attention to him.

A clerk quickly approached Harry and let him try on some clothes. Harry tried on luxurious robes for special occasions, and looked at himself in the mirror.

“Dammit.” Harry exclaimed suddenly, attracting the others' attention. “I look so damn pretty.”

Having finished speaking, he turned around in front of the mirror, admiring his excellent appearance. Call him a narcissist, but Harry actually thought his appearance was excellent. Plus, he was very smart, and he had a lot of money. Who else could be more perfect than Harry?

The clerk smiled, constantly complimenting Harry's appearance, from his flawless skin to his big, beautiful eyes. Harry enjoyed that, and turned to say:

“You know what? You are a good clerk. I will buy them all. Pack me all the clothes in my size, yes, and accessories, shoes and hats too.”

As he spoke, he showed his powerful black card. With just one swipe of the card, all the money was paid. Even Madam Malkin herself came out to thank him. A few hours later, after discussing further with the owner about the designs he wanted and paying a large amount of money upfront to order the clothes, Harry left the store with satisfaction.

Harry went from store to store, buying whatever he liked. Of course he didn't need to bring them with him, but told the stores to deliver them to the bank, since the goblins were still waiting to take him to the Peverell mansion.

As he passed by the bookstore, Harry saw a child around his age standing alone outside, but still peeking inside the bookstore. Harry looked at the child's clothes, feeling that they were quite plain and old, and the child reminded Harry of himself before.

“Aww, poor boy.”

Harry sighed, thought for a moment, then clicked his tongue and waved his hand, gesturing to the child as he said:

“You, come here.”

The child turned to look at Harry, and at first looked around, thinking that Harry was calling someone else. But after determining that Harry was calling him, he hesitated a bit, but also walked over to where Harry stood.

Harry didn't waste time saying hello or doing any nonsense, he tilted his head, looked at the child from head to toe and made a suggestion that even he found strange:

“I'm going shopping, and I need someone to hold things for me. If you can help me, I'll pay you twenty galleons, okay?”

The boy scratched his head, not quite understanding Harry's purpose, but the number twenty galleons was still very attractive. Thinking for a moment, the boy nodded.

“Of course!”

With twenty galleons, he could buy a lot of things! There were some books that he really wanted to read, but hadn't had the chance yet! His dad said he would give them to him for his birthday, but he can't wait until next year!

As for Harry, he shrugged and didn't say anything else but started to move, leading the boy behind him to continue shopping. He was no longer a poor boy, and twenty galleons was not a large amount of money, on the contrary, compared to the total assets of the Peverell family, it was only worth a hair.

Of course, Harry wasn't that cruel of a person, he didn't need the boy to hold everything he bought. Most of what he bought was taken to the bank, and the boy only needed to paw Harry for some items such as paper, ink, quills, ect. But it was still a difficult shopping day for the boy since Harry walked from store to store non-stop for several hours.

They stopped to rest and have lunch - Harry's treat, but then continued their journey. Harry learned that the boy's name was Jacob, Jacob Black, and he also introduced himself. But other than that, he didn't say anything else, and the boy Jacob wasn't the talkative type either. Therefore, they maintained silence during the shopping trip.

As Harry walked towards a nearby street, Jacob quickly stopped him.

“That's Knockturn Alley.” Jacob looked ahead hesitantly. “It's a dangerous place, and mostly only sells things related to Dark Arts. My father said I couldn't go there.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. Wow, he has a father, so that's better than me - he thought. But anyway, Harry did not force the boy to follow him. The Peverell boy took out a small cloth bag, inside were twenty gold coins, and said:

“Well, then you should go to the bookstore and buy what you want. I'll just go for a walk.”

Having finished speaking, Harry waved his hand, then turned around and walked away, not paying attention to the boy exclaiming that he should be careful. Knockturn Alley sounded like an interesting place. Dark Arts? Harry liked that.

But after an hour of walking around, Harry felt annoyed, not interested anymore. Most of the things here have no effect at all, most 'Dark Arts' items have turned out to be fake and useless. He found Knockturn Alley to be a boring, boring, and shabby place, and even the so-called dangerous atmosphere did not interest Harry at all.

He looked around and decided to turn into a nearby alley to return to Diagon Alley. However, when Harry had only stepped twenty steps into the alley, a beam of green energy hit his back, causing Harry to almost fall.

“Ouch, that's rude!”

With a troubled look on his face, Harry turned around, and saw a man holding a wand in his hand pointing towards him, clearly this person had just attacked Harry.

“What's your problem!?”

The man quickly took a few steps back, his face panicked, as if he was not looking at an eleven year old child but at a terrible monster. He turned and ran away, leaving Harry confused.

“People in the wizarding world are really strange.” Harry whispered, frowned, and shot a blast of dark energy from his fingertips after the man. “So confusing and rude.”

Harry sighed sadly and continued walking towards Diagon Alley. It didn't take long for Harry to reach the bookstore. Jacob Black was inside and happily reading a book, and Harry could see his shopping cart filled with books. That made Harry's expression soften, and he gave a small smile.

“Hey.”

Harry greeted Jacob, turning to tell the bookstore owner that he wanted to buy all the books in the store. Well, he could buy one of each, but why bother?

Jacob Black looked at Harry with wide eyes, still unable to believe his wealth. But Harry was unexpectedly the first to open his mouth with a question:

“The spell with green light. ‘Avada’ something something, do you know what it is?”

“Avada Kedavra?”

“Yeah, that.”

The boy turned to look at Harry with suspicious eyes, and said something that made Harry frown:

“That's the Killing Curse. Harry, what did you see in Knockturn Alley?”

“Nothing.” Harry quickly pouted. “It's boring and old, and there's nothing worth buying.”

Jacob Black breathed a sigh of relief when he learned that nothing happened in Knockturn Alley. His father had once told him that he should never step foot in that evil place, because if anything happened, even his father's friend - Mr. Potter - could not save him.

“So, the Killing Curse, it's used to kill people, right?”

Jacob nodded at Harry's question, and added:

“It was one of the three Unforgivable Curses, and if a person used it, they could be sent to Azkaban!”

Harry had no fucking idea what was Azkaban, but he didn't ask, because he already had the answer he wanted.

The books in this store were the last things Harry needed to buy. So after they were personally transferred to the bank by the store owner, he was no longer interested in shopping.

Before saying goodbye to Jacob Black, Harry took ten more galleons from his pocket, and stuffed them into the poor boy's hand.

“Buy yourself something pretty to wear.” Harry patted Jacob's shoulder before leaving. “You dress like a fucking hobo.”

Jacob scratched his head, not understanding what 'hobo' was.

*

As Jacob was about to leave the Diagon Alley to go home, two familiar voices rang out from far away, causing him to take a few steps back in fear. Anyway, he sneaked out of the house to go for a walk without telling his parents.

“Jacob!!”

“Jacob Black!!”

However, when they ran to Jacob, they did not scold him or hit him, but hugged him. Jacob smiled, burying his head in the crook of his father's shoulder, feeling warmer than ever. Sure, they weren't rich, but he felt very happy.

They did complain for a while, but not for long. Suddenly, his father sat down, put his nose close to Jacob and asked:

“Jacob, did you meet your Aunt Lily?”

“No?”

Jacob tilted his head, then tried to smell the scent on himself. His two dads have a very good sense of smell, and they can smell things that other people cannot detect. Jacob didn't have that ability, but they said it would develop as he got older.

“I only went with one boy. He paid me twenty galleons to hold his things while he shopped! Dads, look, I bought a lot of books!”

Contrary to Jacob's excitement, his two fathers turned to look at each other. One of them grabbed Jacob's shoulders and asked seriously:

“Jacob, who is that boy, what does he look like? What's his name?”

Jacob was a bit startled by his father's sudden change, but quickly calmed down, and replied:

“Uhm... His name is Harry. He didn't tell me his last name though.”

“Where did he go?”

“Uhm, to the bank? Just now.”

Jacob's two fathers turned to look at each other again, and nodded to each other. One of them rushed towards the bank, while the other stood there hugging Jacob. About ten minutes later, his father returned, and said sadly:

“They closed today, no trace left.”

His father hugged his father's shoulders, and Jacob could see that the two of them were very sad.

“Should we tell Lily and James? Remus?”

“No, we shouldn't. We'll tell them if we're more certain.”

Jacob blinked, not understanding what his two dads were saying, but it seemed important. But while they were returning home, he still couldn't stop his curiosity, and asked:

“Dads, what's a hobo?”

*

It was evening, and instead of sleeping in the large and sumptuous Peverell mansion, Harry sat in an armchair in an old house in the corner of Knockturn Alley, watching the man in front of him being torn apart.

It was the same man who attacked him that afternoon. If it was normal like every other day, Harry wouldn't care much, after all he posed no danger to Harry. But then he learned something quite confusing.

“Killing Curse?”

Harry whispered, his voice completely obscured by the man's screams. On the floor in front of Harry, the man was being torn to pieces by black energy tentacles, blood and viscera splattered everywhere.

A drop of blood splashed onto Harry's cheek, and he raised his finger to wipe it away. He held out his red finger in front of his face, his cold, emotionless eyes staring at the red color before him.

“I'm still alive, or am I?”

No one cared when screams rang out in Knockturn Alley.

Chapter Text

Sitting at the Slytherin's table, Harry felt terribly bored. The day passed, and Harry became more and more fed up with the uniform pompousness of the children in this house. Maybe they really were bad seeds of Hogwarts as others have said. But Harry couldn't admit it, because that would be like saying he was also a bad seed, since he was also a Slytherin.

In just one month, a lot has happened. Harry moved out of the orphanage completely and moved to live permanently at the Peverell mansion. It was a nice place, and Harry felt it was quite unfair to call it a mansion. To be more precise, it was a castle, large, majestic and beautiful, and had everything Harry needed inside.

He went out a few times, but most of the time Harry locked himself in the mansion, improving his knowledge of the wizarding world by reading books. The number of books he bought from Diagon Alley helped him a lot, but it was still nothing compared to the private library inside the mansion. There were a lot of books in the library, and even though Harry was a fast reader, he had only read an eighth of the books inside. But it was okay, he brought a lot to Hogwarts to read, and if he finished reading he could ask his house-elves to bring other books.

And when the day came, Harry just had to go to the train station, then go to Hogwarts like other children. He simply found an empty cabin, then locked it from the inside and slept until he got there.

The sorting ritual was boring the fuck out of him, and after what felt like half an hour, the ugly hat shouted 'Slytherin' and freed Harry from the boring wait. Maybe he should have thought harder about the hat's choice and asked for another house, but at that time he was tired of waiting.

So yeah, the result was he was stuck with Slytherin, the most hated house in Hogwarts. Yay.

The only good thing about that was he met Professor Snape again, since he was head of Slytherin. But the Professor ignored him, and Harry immediately thought of a few ways to stop the man from continuing to do so.

Harry had to share a dorm room with five other boys, and it annoyed him, a lot. Sure, the room was larger than it looked from the outside, and the six beds in the room weren't very close together, but that still annoyed Harry. He heard that in Slytherin's dorm there were a few single-person rooms, but they were usually for the head boy or head girl or the Slytherin's quidditch captain. So yeah, what a fucking life.

His roommates didn't make it any better. The platinum-haired boy was acting like a brat and constantly boasting about his father, while the two boys who were like his servants continued to stupidly follow along.

The Zabini kid was arrogant and looked at others with half-hearted eyes, well, Harry had to admit that that attitude reminded him of himself. But anyway, Harry did not enjoy that boy.

The last one, something something Nott, was a little better, when he didn't say anything and seemed like a loner. But still, Harry could still see a bit of arrogance and complacency in his eyes, like all the other Slytherin students.

There was nothing Harry could do, and he could only endure. Well, maybe it would get better, Harry doubted it, but still.

He only had two classes on the first day, but they were fine enough. Transfiguration and Charms were easy enough, and Harry felt it was pointless that he had to waste time participating in them. He had skimmed over the knowledge of year one, and everything that was taught in year one, Harry was able to do by the time he was six years old. So yeah, boring.

He was the first person to be able to perfectly turn a match into a needle, as well as the first person to be able to use 'Lumos'. Both Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were extremely impressed with his outstanding abilities, and they gave him five points each, for a total of ten points for Slytherin on the first day of class. Harry was quite satisfied with that, and it earned him strange looks from the students in his house.

After Charms, Harry still had free time, so he decided to walk around a bit before going to the main hall for dinner a few hours later.

Hogwarts was beautiful and exciting, and Harry had to admit it was better than the orphanage. Talking paintings always surprised Harry, as did the fact that the characters in the paintings could move back and forth between paintings. The occasional appearance of ghosts would raise Harry's eyebrows, but it was not something to worry about. The moving stairs were a bit tricky, but Harry quickly understood the rules of their movement.

As Harry walked through a hallway, someone called his name. Harry turned around, and saw a dark-haired boy wearing a blue-trimmed Hogwarts uniform running towards him. A Ravenclaw, huh? Harry felt quite familiar, but didn't really remember who he was.

“Harry? Harry Peverell?”

The boy stopped in front of Harry and panted, seemingly not very healthy. Harry tilted his head, and asked:

“Who are you?”

The boy looked kinda disappointed that Harry didn't remember him, but still regained his composure immediately, and introduced himself again:

“I'm Jacob Black, we met at Diagon Alley!”

“Ah.” Harry nodded, remembering who the boy was. “Can I help you?”

It was good to see someone with a relatively good personality, especially when Harry was fed up with those Slytherins. So Harry's mood improved and he didn't feel bothered.

“Uhm, my dad said I shouldn't accept your money, 30 galleons is a lot of money... So I want to return it to you.”

“Oh, how cute.”

Harry thought of those thirty galleons, and shrugged. Sure, for a normal child, it might have been a large amount of money, but Harry was not a normal child. There was enough gold in the Peverell family vaults to last him a lifetime without having to work, and even then there would be a huge amount left over. So Harry patted the boy's shoulder, and shook his head:

“You don't have to. I'm filthy rich, and thirty galleons is nothing to me. It's not even enough for me to buy a pair of designer shoes.”

With that, Harry smiled and took out the remaining five galleons he was carrying, and thrust them into Jacob Black's hands. Well, what could Harry say? He liked good kids. And good kids need to be rewarded. Reward with what? Money. And what if those kids were extra good? More money, of course!

“I can't take it! Harry, that's a lot of money!”

The boy pushed five gold coins back at Harry, which made the Peverell boy roll his eyes. Harry's expression suddenly changed, and his eyes narrowed, looking dangerous. Jacob Black opened his eyes wide, was a little startled and took a step back.

“Listen, Black.” Harry reached out and grabbed his chin, making him look straight into his eyes. “I give you those stupid gold coins and you will like them, understand?”

Jacob Black nodded in confused panic, and he didn't understand why he felt that way. But Harry Peverell seemed to have some invisible pressure that made Jacob listen in a strange way.

“It's our instinct, Jacob.” Jacob remembered his dad's words. “When we feel that feeling, we either have to run away immediately, or we have to obediently listen to them.”

On the opposite side of Jacob, that strange pressure disappeared without a trace, leaving Harry Peverell's face as bright as the radiant sun. Jacob shivered, feeling that the boy's smile before his eyes was like an evil black cat he had met before.

“Now, is there anything else?”

Regarding Harry's question, Jacob hesitated a bit. He did have another question, this time related to studying. However, before Jacob could open his mouth to ask, a voice rang out from behind him.

“Excuse me, are you Harry Peverell?”

Jacob quickly turned around, and discovered a Gryffindor girl standing behind him, of course her question was directed towards Harry, not Jacob.

As for Harry, he raised an eyebrow at the bushy haired girl who had approached him. Like, wow, her hair, interesting. That wasn't something he saw often.

“Yes? And you're...?”

“I'm Hermione Granger.”

The girl held out her hand, and Harry was quite surprised. In less than a day after arriving at Hogwarts, Harry learned about the great hatred between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Students from these two houses almost never live together well, and there are often arguments between the two sides. Again, Harry blamed the pompousness of those Slytherin brats, but well. Although he was a bit surprised that a Gryffindor girl approached and actively talked to him, with basic politeness, Harry still shook hands with her.

“I heard that you are the first person to be able to perfectly transform a matchstick into a needle.” Hermione said, unable to hide her curiosity. “To tell you the truth, I tried many times, but still couldn't do it. So I want to ask you a little bit about your experience. Can you help me?”

“That's my question too!”

Jacob quickly raised his hand and spoke, receiving a nod from Harry.

“Of course, let's go to the main hall.”

Harry smiled and motioned for them to move forward. To him, houses rivalry was stupid, and he didn't care about that nonsense. Those two kids asked him about studying, and Harry was willing to help them. After all, Harry felt like he was still a very reasonable and kind person. Yeah, kind, if necessary.

“One of the two main factors that lead to success in casting this spell is complete imagination.”

Harry said as they sat down at the Ravenclaw's table, since Harry didn't want to take the two kids to Slytherin or sit with the Gryffindors. Dinner was still over an hour and a half away, and the main hall wasn't really crowded yet.

“Like, how would you like to turn this match into a needle? What is its material like? What is its weight? What is its design? Its color? Before you use the spell, you must clearly understand the object you want the match to turn into.”

As he spoke, Harry pointed his ugly wand at a match on the table. Instantly, it immediately turned into a bronze needle with a dragon head-shaped tip and a needle body decorated with intricate dragon tail motifs. His actions attracted a lot of attention, from both students and professors.

“Transfiguration is like painting, but you have to know what you have to draw and imagine it right away, instead of holding a brush and sitting around all day.”

Harry pushed aside the bronze needle he had just transformed, and took out two other matches and placed them in front of Hermione Granger and Jacob Black.

“Now, we won't need to imagine a complicated needle design. I need you to think of the most ordinary iron needle, with a sharp tip, and without any design. Do it.”

Hermione and Jacob both nodded, they pointed their wands at the match in front of them, and recited the spell. Sure enough, it got a little better, as the two matchsticks in front of them became almost like two iron needles, just not completely perfect. Hermione's needle still had a bit of the wooden stem of a matchstick, while Jacob's needle lacked the sharp tip that a needle should have.

“This is hard.” Jacob sighed. “I don't think I can do it today.”

Hermione said nothing, but her expression was no better than Jacob's. Harry stood behind them and raised the corner of his mouth, not blaming them, but on the contrary cheering them on:

“You guys did a great job. And you should remember, imagination is only one of two main factors.”

The kids looked somewhat comforted, and they turned to look at Harry with appreciation. But they were too naive, and were quickly hit in the face with the truth when Harry continued:

“Now, the second factor. It means you have to really, really want the spell to work. You must not think that you will fail, but the opposite, and must think of succeeding at all costs. To make it easier to imagine, let's see. Okay, this is just a basic year one spell. What do you think your parents would think if you couldn't even do something as simple as it?”

The two kids' faces turned pale, and Harry smiled happily. However, his voice seemed to carry cold ice, and each sentence seemed to pierce the listener's heart.

“Oh, the children we try to raise despite the hardships. And they couldn't even use a simple spell. What a disappointment.”

Harry grinned, finding it very interesting to look at the two pale and white faces before his eyes. Ha, children. Very easy to change their mood. He knew that was toxic as hell, but hey, it worked.

Hermione and Jacob took turns casting the spell, and this time, they succeeded. Under the pressure that Harry applied, the two matches in front of them turned into two complete iron needles, without any flaws.

Harry clapped his hands, and said:

“There you go. See? It was so easy, right?”

Harry felt his work was done, so he gently waved to the two kids, and then returned to the Slytherin table, taking out a book to read while waiting for dinner.

The students who had witnessed the scene just now looked at him with complicated eyes. Meanwhile, at the teacher's table, Lily Evan nudged Severus Snape, and said:

“I now understand why the boy was sorted into Slytherin. That last part was unnecessary, and kinda cruel.”

Severus Snape sighed, not having any opinion on Lily's words. He himself didn't feel that what Harry said about disappointing the kids' parents was cruel. Sometimes, pressure will make people try harder to succeed, especially pressure coming from their own family. Merlin knew how hard Snape had tried to cope with that damn pressure during his time as a student at Hogwarts, and yes, it worked, so the boy was right.

The only thing that worried Severus Snape was that the boy had come into friendly contact with a Gryffindor student, especially a muggle-born Gryffindor. He loved his house, but he also knew how Slytherin worked. And that was like an act of suicide in Slytherin's social circle.

“Those Slytherins will eat him alive.”

*

“I can't believe you could be so friendly with a mudblood!”

Harry raised his head, and put down his knife. The Peverell boy tilted his head to look at the ugly girl sitting nearby who was looking at him and speaking.

“It makes me wonder if you're really a Peverell, or just a mudblood who happened to have that name.”

Oh yeah, there they go again. Never a quiet moment in Slytherin. Sometimes Harry wondered, for what reason could the children in this house spew so much shit?

Even though he was a bit annoyed, Harry remained calm, and replied with a bright smile:

“Close your mouth, honey. Ugly people should never talk.”

Immediately, all the Slytherins sitting nearby stopped eating, and looked towards him. Harry glanced around slightly, and noticed that a few corners of some mouths were tending to curl up.

“Wha… What did you just say?!”

“I said ugly people should never talk.”

Harry continued to smile brightly, looking nothing less than an angel.

“And Pansy, honey, you're ugly. You have a pug face, a crooked nose, and your lips look like two pieces of badly cut pork stuck together. Your hair is as stringy as a broom, and I bet the hair on your back is as well. You're way overweight, that I should call you a fatty. Oh and fatty, your eyes are so ugly, they remind me of the eyes of dead fish. And guess what, that's not the only thing about you that reminds me of dead fish. You smell like one too. Probably because of all the shit inside you. Honey, you're so full of shit that the toilets are jealous of you.”

Harry's voice was sweet and clear, and it should be used to say nice words or sing songs, instead of saying such terrible words to an eleven year old. He also knew that it was unfair, and that Pansy Parkinson looked nothing like what he had just described. But well, she had upset Harry, and he wouldn't hesitate to use cruel words to make her angry and hurt. After all, who cares?

“Yeah, that's why you shouldn't say anything.” Harry nodded, seemingly satisfied with what he said. “You are ugly, and no one wants to be with you. If you keep your mouth shut, you'll probably live to be fifty years old before you commit suicide in loneliness. But if you stubbornly open your mouth and spit shit like that, I'm afraid you won't be able to live until you graduate from Hogwarts.”

Having said that, Harry blatantly rolled his eyes and looked around. His eyes were like someone from above looking down at the Slytherins below. And what came out of his pretty mouth next directly made the Slytherin students pale.

“Just act like obedient little death eaters, like your Slytherin friends here. You don't want to be destroyed by a Gryffindor baby like your dear Dark Lord, do you?”

Harry smiled coldly, not caring that he had angered the other Slytherins. He didn't believe in the subtlety and cunning that people thought of Slytherin. Instead, Harry had a tendency to say the most hurtful things to other people's faces. Why? Because he didn't care.

“Peverell!! How dare...”

Another Slytherin student banged on the table and stood up, looking very angry. Harry could recognize this person, he was Marcus Flint, the captain of Slytherin's quidditch team. Why, because Harry thought he looked funny.

But before Flint could finish his sentence, a tall figure wearing a black cloak appeared right in front of the Slytherin table.

“Is there something wrong here?”

The children quickly became serious, and Marcus Flint immediately sat down. In this situation, the most normal person was Harry, as he turned to look at the man, and smiled as brightly and innocently as possible:

“Nothing, Professor Snape. Just a small, heated conversation between friends.”

Harry could see a bit of worry in Snape's eyes as he looked at him, and it surprised him quite a bit. However, Harry didn't really take it to heart, but just found it quite interesting.

“If you're done eating, return to the dormitory. Don't cause any trouble.”

“Yes, Professor.”

The Slytherins said in unison, and Harry smiled.

They followed each other back to the Slytherin dormitory, but Harry stayed a bit since he didn't want to go with them. About fifteen minutes later, he stood up, and began to return to the dorm in the dungeon on his own.

The moment Harry set foot in the Slytherin common room, he knew something was wrong, as there was a bunch of Slytherin students gathered, and they were staring at Harry. The Peverell boy raised an eyebrow, understanding the worry in Professor Snape's eyes from before.

“Oh, what do we have here?”

Harry tilted his head and smiled, not feeling anything at all. If it were another child, he probably would feel scared. But he was Harry Peverell, and a bunch of students was the last thing Harry felt would endanger him.

“Harry Peverell.” Pansy Parkinson laughed sadistically. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

Standing in the middle of the room, Marcus Flint nodded and smiled equally despicably. The corner of Harry's mouth curled up, waiting for what would happen next.

“As a Slytherin, you are not allowed to be friendly with mudbloods and bloodtraitors. And you will have to respect fellow pureblood Slytherins, do you understand?”

“No.” Harry grinned. “Fuck of ugly, I will talk to who I want and say what I want to say. How about you mind your own business?”

Harry's calmness and ease, along with his smile, surprised many people. He didn't look scared at all, and some people quickly became angry at his attitude.

“Get him!”

Marcus Flint said to a few other Slytherins standing next to him. Three other tall looking boys started moving towards Harry, while two others behind him blocked the door.

“Oh, I see, you will use violence against me. What would Professor Snape have to say about this?”

Marcus Flint laughed, his voice carrying malicious intent.

“What's in Slytherin stays in Slytherin.”

“That's interesting.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at the scene, saying nothing more, letting the children think they could do something. The moment the three boys approached him, suddenly their three shadows on the ground seemed to come to life, they suddenly turned into three sharp spikes, and suddenly circled up and stabbed straight into their stomachs.

The screams were horrifying, and soon blood was all around Harry.

The Peverell boy laughed, and waved his hands. All the shadows of the people standing in the common room - except for Harry's - turned into black tentacles that grabbed their necks. He waved his hand again, and the damn children were all thrown to the ground, everyone was extremely scared and turned pale.

Harry walked towards Marcus Flint, the soles of his shoes drenched in blood, leaving red marks with every step he took. Marcus and Pansy were still being strangled by the black tentacles, leaving not a single drop of blood on their faces. Harry turned around and lightly stepped on the ground, immediately, a throne appeared behind him. The Peverell boy sat down and crossed his legs, the smile on his face never disappearing.

“So, what lesson do you want to teach me?”

His voice was filled with malicious teasing. Harry looked around, and was pleased with how scared everyone was.

“Please stop.” Another tall boy with some courage stepped forward and spoke, but unable to hide the fear in his eyes at the absolute power. “They have learned their lesson.”

Harry looked at the badge on his robe, and realized that the person just now was the head boy of Slytherin. The boy tilted his head, without any emotion in his eyes. His eyes when looking at the head boy were like the eyes of a dead person, emotionless, and without any life at all.

“You did nothing when they blocked the door and wanted to do violence to me, and now you have something to say. You know what? You deserve this too.”

Having finished speaking, the head boy's shadow on the ground immediately shot up and wrapped around his neck. Harry guided him to the same place as Marcus and Pansy, letting them experience the feeling of their breathing gradually disappearing and their chests becoming uncomfortably burning.

“Now, I've heard you guys talk a lot of craps about blood purity and look down on people you consider 'mudblood'. That makes me quite curious, is there really any difference?”

“As he spoke, Harry squeezed his hand. Those tentacles made of shadow squeezed the necks of the other three people even tighter, until they vomited blood. Harry laughed at the helplessness of the three people in front of him, then reached forward. Harry's fingernails scraped against his left wrist, creating a small scratch. Harry's blood quickly spilled out, covering his hand, but the scratch quickly healed and disappeared.

“Now, Pansy, honey, do you see any difference between your blood and mine - the one you call a mudblood?”

Harry brought the tentacle that was tying Pansy Parkinson's neck closer to him, and raised his hand to the girl's face. The pug face girl kept shaking her head, blood and tears kept flowing from her mouth and eyes.

“See? You yourself feel that they are no different.”

Harry smiled, and this time commanded the other two to come before him. Both Marcus Flint and the head boy shook their heads and answered no to Harry's question, and Harry was extremely pleased.

“Hmmm... I still need someone else to check, just to be sure. Draco Malfoy?”

Yeah, that blonde brat that pissed Harry off. Harry waved at him, and Malfoy had no choice but to tremble and walk toward the Peverell boy in fear. Faced with Harry Peverell's bloody hands, Draco Malfoy could only hesitantly deny the difference between the red on his hand and the red below.

“N..No. There... There is no difference.”

Harry smiled, and used a bloody hand to gently pat the side of Malfoy's face, the movement was as gentle as a caress, but it gave Draco Malfoy a chill, causing cold sweat to soak the back of his shirt.

“Good boy.”

Feeling enough, Harry put his hand down. The tentacles instantly disappeared, and the wounds on the people in front of him also disappeared as if they had never appeared. The three boys who were stabbed in the stomach had stopped bleeding. There was a hole in their shirt in the stomach area, but there was no other damage to their skin.

See? Harry was still a kind and reasonable boy.

“Now, a new rule. No one can say 'mudblood' in front of me, ‘cause I will fucking cut you to see if your blood is that pure or not.”

No one dared to object, because they did not have that ability. Slytherin's politics? Just some bullshit from kids who haven't grown up yet. Only absolute power, was the type of politics that interested Harry.

“Oh, and Marcus.” Harry looked at Marcus, who was breathing hard on the ground, his clothes soaked in blood. “I give you half an hour to move all your stuff out of that room, do you understand?”

Of course Marcus Flint understood, he didn't dare not understand. He immediately nodded, and hurriedly ran away. Harry laughed, and said:

“And honey, don't get any blood in my fucking new room!”

Having finished speaking, Harry happily looked around, discovering that the other children were still standing around. He raised his eyebrows, his tone immediately changed:

“What are you looking at? Move!”

Very soon, the whole common room was left with only Harry sitting on his throne. Yeah, that was necessary. Harry knew a thing or two about cruel kids. To deal with that, he needed to be crueler than them. Well, the sorting hat sorted him into Slytherin for some reason, right?

Just as Harry was feeling very satisfied with what was happening, the main door suddenly opened, and in walked Severus Snape. The Professor looked in surprise at the bloody scene around him, along with the eleven year old child who looked like an angel sitting on a throne in the middle of the room.

The child looked at him, smiled innocently, and said:

“Good evening, Professor.”

Chapter Text

The talk with Professor Snape went as smoothly as Harry expected. After all, no one died. And 'what's in Slytherin stays in Slytherin'.

The Professor's attitude towards Harry had changed, he was more cautious. But Harry didn't care, and to be honest, he wasn't sure he was interested in Snape anymore.

Oh, the Professor for sure knew what happened, knew what the other Slytherins would do to Harry once he returned to the dormitory. But he did nothing, nor did he intend to help Harry. Sure, he came to check, probably to prevent things from going any further. But it was clear that he also wanted the other Slytherins to change Harry's behavior more or less, to be more compatible with his damn house.

Harry did not value such people, nor was he interested in them. He should have come out to help Harry from the beginning, or he should have completely ignored everything. But that half-lean, half-fat attitude of his made Harry feel very meh. And that was a ‘no’ in his book.

But anyway, Harry got what he wanted. The other Slytherins stayed away and didn't bother him, and he had the bedroom to himself. So Harry was still relatively satisfied, and in a very good mood in the following days.

His new room had been decorated by his house elves, with the main colors based on Harry's requests. In less than a day, the bedroom, which at first looked quite simple and unkempt, had become quite a luxurious room, suitable for an brilliant and important person like Harry. It looked completely different from the rest of Slytherin, and Harry liked that.

Inside the room was even installed a large wardrobe, so Harry could store a few things he liked inside. It wasn't so important, since he always had to wear that painfully ugly school robe outside.

The bathroom had also been expanded, and included a luxurious bathtub so Harry could take a relaxing soak whenever he wanted. He also ordered some new shower gel, the scent was quite fragrant and cool.

But more importantly, his bedroom was bright, not gloomy like other rooms in the Slytherin dormitory. Harry had never liked darkness or gloom, on the contrary, he liked sunshine and light, and felt that an existence as special as his own needed to stand in the light so that all others can admire.

So yeah, Harry was very satisfied with life at Hogwarts. It wasn't so bad, his quality of life wasn't much worse than when he was at the Peverell mansion. Although Harry wished the classes were more challenging to suit his level, at least it was something.

Astronomy was about observing the night sky and stars, which was quite interesting, but not something too grand. In this regard, Harry felt that normal people had progressed further than the wizarding world. Plus the class took place at night, so Harry wasn't very interested. He treasured his sleep, since it was one of the key points to keeping his appearance youthful and radiant. Maybe he was still too young to worry about it, but well, it was never too early to prepare.

Herbology was about playing with dirt and plants, and Harry didn't have much interest in the subject. He liked his clothes clean, thank you very much. But Harry was patient enough anyway. Professor Sprout was nice, though. So Harry had no problems with this subject at all.

History of Magic was boring the hell out of him. The professor turned out to be a ghost, and apparently couldn't stop talking about the goblins wars. And most of the knowledge of this subject Harry had read before, so during class, he simply did his own work instead of listening to lectures.

Flying class was stupid. Harry held the old broom in his hand and bared his teeth in disgust.

“Wow...” Harry said, not caring if anyone heard or not. “This thing is fucking hideous.”

Naturally, others heard. It wasn't like Harry had spoken in a low volume, after all. The Gryffindors and Slytherins turned to look at Harry as he rubbed his fingers, letting the dust fall to the ground.

“Ew. No.”

Harry threw the broom to the ground, not wanting anything to do with it. First it was ugly, then it was dirty. And Harry couldn't imagine sitting on top of it and flying like an idiot. Since when did he need a broom to fly? Oh please, the only thing worth having Harry's precious ass sit on was the seat of a fucking BMW!

Well, not really, but the point was that Harry didn't want to have to use such a broom. The last time he checked, the brooms sold at Diagon Alley were not so bad. How the hell did they let the students at Hogwarts use brooms that were ugly, old, and looked like they hadn't been cleaned in decades? Was this school not having a fucking budget?

 “Mr Peverell.” Professor Hooch - the one who taught the class - sighed. “You must use it like all your other classmates. If you don't, then I'm afraid it will be ten points from Slytherin.”

Harry rolled his eyes, considering turning the professor into a toad or burning the broom with fire. But in the end, he didn't choose either option, but gently waved his finger. Instantly, the ugly broom on the ground turned into a pink broom that looked garish and stupid, but well, at least it was better than its previous form.

“Uh. Fine!”

Harry cursed under his breath, and held out his hand. He didn't need to shout "Up!" Like other children, the broom just automatically flew into his hand. Professor Hooch sighed, her salary was not enough for her to deal with such cases.

The class returned to action, and instead of paying attention to Harry, the professor went around helping other students who couldn't summon their brooms to their hands. But unfortunately, a chubby kid in Gryffindor somehow flew up wildly and ended up breaking his arm. There was no other way, Professor Hooch had to take him to the hospital wing, and let the class operate on its own.

Harry stood in a corner, not wanting to come into contact with the other children. He sat on the pink broom, and let it hover a fair distance above the ground. Harry crossed his legs and looked around absentmindedly, whispering a strange melody in his mouth.

But the silence was quickly broken when a girl approached him. Harry looked over, and realized it was the girl who asked him yesterday about turning a match into a needle. Yeah, Hermione Granger or something like that.

“Hi.” The girl looked hesitant. Harry looked down, and once again frowned at the sight of that ugly old broom. “I... I didn't have a chance to thank you before. So, thank you for your help.”

Harry tilted his head, feeling a bit amused. To be honest, Harry didn't think he was actually doing her any great favors. Sure, he explained some issues, or pointed out a few key points when using magic, but hey, it was purely a matter of personal ability. Like, anyone can talk about theory, but in terms of practice, it's a different story. According to Harry, Hermione Granger and Jacob Black were competent, and superior to most children their age. So Harry's help was just a small boost to their long learning process ahead.

So Harry just nodded, accepting the girl's thanks.

“But, how can you do that?”

Hermione Granger asked, her eyes looking at the way Harry floated in the air carrying a bit of jealousy mixed with curiosity.

“Honey, it's a fucking broom.” Harry rolled his eyes, not feeling like riding a broom was anything cool. “It's very easy, same principle as last time. Try it.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, eyeing the broom in her hand suspiciously. It didn't take long before she was able to mount it, and was flying up to Harry's level. The Peverell boy clapped his hands, not sparing a word of praise for the bushy haired girl:

“See? You are smart. I like it.”

As for Harry's praise, Hermione seemed shy. The girl scratched her ear, and replied:

“Thank you.”

“Oh?” Suddenly, Harry's expression suddenly changed. The satisfied smile on his face disappeared immediately, replaced by a steely face that didn't look very happy. “So you really think you're smart huh?”

Harry's sudden change made Hermione open her eyes wide, she was a bit startled, an indescribable feeling began to invade her mind. It was like... fear, but not really.

But Harry quickly burst into laughter, his expression returned to the same happiness as just a moment ago, completely losing that scary expression. Harry waved his hand at Hermione, his voice filled with joy:

“Calm down, I'm just kidding. You are really smart. Let's get out of here.”

“Get... get out of class? I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Come on. Do you really care about flying with a broom?”

Harry rolled his eyes, and guided the broom down to the ground. He threw down the pink broom, not bothering to change it back to its original form. Hermione was a bit confused, but still landed on the ground and followed Harry to sneak out of the training ground. As they left, something seemed to have happened, probably some Slytherin and Gryffindor kids arguing, and well, Harry wasn't in the mood for it.

As they walked together, Harry turned to look at Hermione's hair, and raised an eyebrow.

“Wow... Your hair...”

Hermione quickly touched her hair, a sad look on her face. It seemed like she herself was not very satisfied with her hair. Well, it was bushy, and curly, and didn't contribute anything to her otherwise presentable face.

“I know, it's really bad, right?”

“No?” Harry quickly responded. “I would call it special. Yeah, your hair is special. But have you ever thought about straightening your hair? I think straight hair will suit your face very well.”

“My mother doesn't allow it. She said I would have to wait until I was fifteen at least.”

“It makes sense.”

Harry nodded, feeling it wasn't so bad. They were only eleven years old, and who knew how they would change in the future? They should patiently wait until puberty, and then make decisions about their appearance. Hey, Harry didn't exactly care about that, since he could look whatever he wanted. But other children were not as lucky as him.

“Is that a tattoo on your finger?”

This time, it was Hermione's turn to ask. She stared at his right hand, the index finger of Harry's right hand to be exact. The Peverell boy smiled and raised his hand in front of his face, letting the girl see the tattoo clearly.

“It's pretty right? Having an empty hand looks monotonous, but I don't like the feeling of wearing a ring. So I got a tattoo.”

It was a small tattoo, like a ring, around the base of Harry's index finger. It was black and had a strange pattern, sometimes resembling stylized skulls connected together. Hermione had some doubts, with Harry Peverell's bright and radiant appearance, such a tattoo was a bit inappropriate.

“Did it hurt?”

“Justtttt a little.”

Harry smiled and withdrew his hand, and at the same time, the two of them entered the main hall. Well, it was still school time, so it was still a bit empty. But fortunately, Harry saw a familiar face, none other than Jacob Black - the boy dressed like a hobo.

Harry motioned to Hermione, and the two of them walked towards Jacob. The Black boy looked surprised enough, but happy to see them, well, mostly to see Harry. The moment Harry and Hermione sat down, the boy quickly shot out a series of questions, seemingly prepared in advance.

“Calm down, nerdy.”

Harry smiled pleasantly, first taking out a luxurious looking glass from his magic bag. Yes, it was a fucking magic bag that was designed to look like a wallet. He also took out a bottle of purple water, and poured it into that glass. Immediately, the fragrant smell of grapes spread. Harry contentedly picked up the glass and took a sip, then turned and said to the two children who were looking at him with wide eyes:

“Now shoot.”

“Harry, is that alcohol?”

“No, Jacob.” Harry rolled his eyes and conveniently swirled the glass in his hand, causing the purple liquid to swirl evenly. “It's grape juice, I'm not crazy to drink alcohol at school.”

Jacob breathed a sigh of relief, and Harry felt a bit amused. Perhaps the boy was the nervous type, and was very responsible. That was fine, those qualities didn't bother Harry anyway.

Then they talked. Not really chatting, since Hermione and Jacob constantly talked about school matters, mainly asking Harry questions they didn't know. The Peverell boy did not feel bothered. He liked smart people.

Harry patiently answered and explained each problem one by one, and before he knew it, there were other people entering the main hall. As he explained a bit about the history of goblins and its importance, a voice rang out from behind him:

“What do we have here? A Slytherin sitting with a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor?”

“Weird, right?”

Harry turned around, and what caught his eye were two red heads. It was two students who looked a bit older than him, a pair of twins since they looked identical, and, well, they both had red hair, that type of red hair that was hard to find and looked very hideous. The Peverell boy tilted his head, then looked at the two of them from head to toe.

The two red-haired boys stepped back, a bit surprised by the Slytherin boy's nakedly appraising eyes towards them. They turned to look at each other for a moment, seemingly confused, but then shrugged and laughed.

“What’s your name, Slytherin boy?”

Harry didn't answer them, just narrowed his eyes. He looked at the old-looking school robes on the two of them, along with the two pairs of clearly worn-out shoes they were wearing.

“Honey, broke people should never laugh.”

Well, that surprised them. But before they said anything, Jacob Black quickly walked past and pushed them, keeping them a little away from Harry.

“Oh quit it Fred, George. He is my friend!”

The two boys raised their eyebrows at Jacob, their expressions identical. Then they took the Ravenclaw boy's shoulders at the same time, and said in unison:

“Well, if you say so.”

To be honest, Harry didn't hate them. First of all, these two seemingly older boys, Fred and George, looked quite handsome. Not the kind of handsome that would make others admire, but the kind of boyish and easy on the eyes. And well, that was one of the important factors for Harry to determine his attitude towards strangers. Plus, they seemed quite protective of Jacob Black, and at the same time, Hermione, even though they didn't say anything to her. So Harry assumed they were good people.

Fred and George pushed Jacob back to his seat, and they walked around to sit on either side of Jacob, facing Harry. Their eyes could not hide curiosity, along with a bit of mischief. They reached out their hands, and said:

“Seriously, what's your name? I'm Fred Weasley.”

“And I'm George Weasley.”

Ah, the Weasleys, famous with red hair. Harry had read about them, a relatively old family that had gradually declined economically. That would explain why their clothes looked so old.

But hey, Harry won't look down on them because of their economic conditions. Yes, although Harry was rich, before that, he was just an orphan boy in a small orphanage.

“Harry Peverell.”

Harry stretched out his hand, intending to shake hands with them, but the two boys opposite him did not shake his hand, but gently took his hand and brought it to their lips, kissing it in turn. Wow, that was unpredictable, and kinda nice.

“Eww, what are you guys doing!”

Jacob frowned and quickly pushed Fred and George away. He then looked at Harry apologetically, but Harry just smiled, and said:

“No, Jacob. That's how you treat royalty like me.”

“You're damn right!” Fred and George laughed, and winked at Harry. “Nice to meet you, princess.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Harry wasn't shy either, winking back, looking extremely suggestive. Oh yeah, he learned that expression from watching Marilyn Monroe movies. Neat. “But honey, I told you, broke people should never laugh.”

Well, that made them laugh even harder. Harry rolled his eyes, also feeling a bit happy because of their laughter. After that, they continued chatting, not for long, before they returned to their seats at the red and gold house's table. There was also a dark-haired boy, who waved at Jacob and Hermione and looked at Harry with strange, suspicious eyes. Harry recognized him, apparently as the son of Professor Potter, the woman he had met the first time he came to Diagon Alley.

The three Gryffindors seemed close to each other, and kept sneaking glances in this direction. Jacob sighed, and explained:

“Sorry, they are a bit overprotective, since they are like my brothers.”

“Yeah.” Hermione nodded. “They are good people. They just don't like Slytherin very much.”

Harry smiled and nodded, not doubting what they said. Right after that, he turned around and coincidentally met George Wealsey's eyes. Harry winked at him, and George quickly put his hand over his heart, feigning surprise. That made Harry chuckle, and turn around.

“No problem, I can see how Slytherin and Gryffindor hate each other.”

“But you are very nice.” Hermione pouted. “Perhaps there were misunderstandings? Not all Slytherins are bad?”

“Oh no, they really are a bunch of garbage people. Except me, of course.” Harry said with certainty. His eyes hardened, his expression also changed from smiling to serious. “At this point, it's best that you don't come into contact with any Slytherin other than me, okay?”

Faced with Harry's seriousness, Jacob Black and Hermione Granger could only nod obediently. Upon their obedience, Harry returned to a happy, smiling state, as if such a brief change was very normal for him.

“So, you are very close with Fred and George.”

“Oh, yes, I've known them for a long time.” Jacob nodded. “My two dads and their parents are close friends, well, and so is Professor Potter's family. My dads and Mr Potter were housemates in the same year, and are best friends.”

“Wait, you have two fathers?”

Well, that was new. Harry raised his eyebrows and asked. Immediately, Jacob looked worried, and Harry could understand why he looked that way. But hey, Harry didn't really care, just a bit surprised.

“Yes…?”

“Must be nice.” Harry sighed and looked at Jacob with a bit of jealousy. “I don't have parents. It must be nice to have a dad or two.”

And Hermione and Jacob didn't know what to say to that.

*

Potions class was okay, Professor Snape was harsh enough for his students. Harry proactively paired up with Hermione and spent all his time in class commanding the girl to brew the perfect potion. That was the benefit of having smart friends.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was interesting, not because of the content of the class, but because of who taught it. Professor Quirrell looked pathetic, constantly stuttering and not teaching anything properly. Most of the students chatted or fell asleep during class, except for Harry who stared at Professor Quirrell from the beginning to the end of the class. Harry's eyes seemed to carry the winter wind, cold and emotionless.

When class ended, Harry was the last person to leave. He slowly walked towards the door, before turning around and suddenly asking the professor:

“Professor, you know that no one can escape death, right?”

Having finished speaking, Harry smiled brightly, while the professor looked at him in panic. Harry didn't wait for an answer, but just turned and left.

That night, when he was in his own room, Harry smiled, using his left hand to touch the tattoo on the index finger of his right hand. A stream of black smoke immediately poured out from the tattoo, it curled around Harry's body, then gathered into the shape of a stick. Harry reached out and caught it, and the smoke instantly turned into a large black sickle.

“No one can escape death. It's just a matter of time.”

Harry's voice was as gentle as the wind, and no one could hear it except him. A moment later, Harry waved his hand, and the sickle disappeared.

“Maybe later.”

Chapter Text

It was early October when Harry decided that it wasn't worth his time to study Astronomy and History of Magic. And to be honest, Harry felt like there were a lot of other things that weren't worth his time at Hogwarts, but well, he couldn't rush it all at once.

Therefore, he only chose these two subjects to do a little preparation. Harry then sent a letter to the Ministry, and received the response he wanted early the following week.

“What is that?”

His Ravenclaw friend asked while they sat together at recess. Harry didn't answer him, but just passed over the letter he had just received. Jaco read the contents of the letter and gasped. He turned to look at Harry - who was enjoying his tea and cake - then returned to reading the letter again.

Hermione couldn't stop her curiosity, so she snatched the letter from Jacob's hand and read it herself. But when she finished reading, her reaction was not much different from Jacob's.

“Harry, this is crazy.” Hermione put the letter down on the table and turned to look at Harry seriously. “You really want to do the Astronomy and History of Magic O.W.L.s at this time? Harry, you're just a first year student!”

Harry raised his eyebrows, raised the glass of grape juice and sipped slowly. He didn't say anything, but just smiled after putting down the glass.

Sure, he was an eleven year old in his first year at Hogwarts, but that had little to do with his academic ability. Harry was still very confident in himself, not to mention he had gone through a few exam questions for these two subjects, and felt they were quite easy. After all, it was Astronomy and History of Magic, what could be difficult?

Furthermore, there was no set age limit for taking O.W.L.s, and anyone could take those tests at the Ministry if they wanted, as long as they paid a certain fee.

As long as he passes those two O.W.L.s, he will be able to skip these two subjects from year one to year five. Well, what could Harry say? He really needed free time, and didn't want to stay up late to observe a few damn stars in the sky.

Not only Astronomy and History of Magic, Harry had plans for other subjects as well. According to his plan, before third year, he will achieve O.W.L.s for all core classes. Like, sure, Hogwarts was fun and exciting, but not being able to go out during his stay made Harry feel quite frustrated. He was little Lord Peverell, and he had a lot of plans and projects that needed to be done.

So yeah, fuck off, boring classes.

“I'm more concerned about my store opening than about that.”

Harry calmly drank his grape juice, not showing any signs of worry on his face. The two children turned to look at him, not sure what he meant.

“Store? What store?”

The Peverell boy put the glass in his hand on the table, tilted his head and smiled:

“Oh, right. I haven't told you yet. I'm preparing to open a shop selling potion ingredients in Paris, it will open in early November this year.”

Hermione and Jacob gasped in disbelief as they looked at Harry who looked as if what he had just said was just a normal story.

Geez... Right, that was one of the reasons he needed more free time. As much as he loved spending money, Harry also loved making money. Once Harry had the powerful gold coins in his hands, in addition to tossing them around depending on his mood, Harry also took great pleasure in filling all of his vaults with them.

“Harry... You're just an eleven year old kid! Is that even legal?”

To the bushy haired girl's question, Harry shrugged, well, he was pretty sure it wasn't legal. But hey, the goblins assured Harry that it was no problem at all. According to the Goblin King, the Goblin Nation has always been loyal to the Peverell family, and their interests always go together. The richer the Peverell is, the more the goblins will benefit. Harry had no doubt about it, as the magic within him always gave off a feeling of intimacy when he was near those goblins.

“This is crazy.” Jacob tried to take a deep breath. “We're the same age, but while I was trying to prepare for tests, you were preparing to open a store in France.”

“What can I say? I love money.”

Harry covered his mouth and smiled softly, his eyes narrowed, he looked like a cunning cat with countless dark plans. Jacobs shivered slightly, the slightly scared feeling from before came once again, but quickly disappeared when Harry took out two beautiful invitations from his pocket.

Hermione and Jacon each picked up one, and quickly realized they were two invitations to a tea party. With their names clearly stated in a formal manner. Once again, they turned around and looked at Harry with wide eyes. The blonde boy always made them startled, or confused, or both.

“A tea party?”

“Yes!” Immediately, Harry's voice became excited. “You will need it. Now that we are friends, I think we should get used to each other's way of life. You see, because of you, I tried to sit here in the main hall and listen to you talk about boring things. So I think it's pretty fair for me to ask you to join my monthly tea party.”

Hermione opened her card, and magically the writing began to appear. The butterfly patterns inside were constantly moving, and the flowers in the corner of the invitation gradually bloomed beautifully. This card itself was already a piece of complex magic.

“This is amazing!”

“Of course sweetheart.” Harry covered his mouth and laughed, his voice filled with pride. “Everything that comes from me is of the best quality.”

Jacob and Hermione turned to look at each other, a bit at a loss for words at Harry's strange behavior. Sometimes the blond boy acted differently from other eleven year olds, and they didn't really know how to feel. Sometimes Harry was extremely arrogant and rude, but sometimes he was easy-going and very understanding. As first-year children themselves, they still didn't understand the complex mood swings and personalities of their new friend.

“Anyway, when I say "tea party", it means a real party, with real food and real drinks, and other great things too. So, remember, wear your best clothes. I would be very disappointed if you guys show up like some homeless guy.”

As he spoke, Harry stood up. He took back his glass, and waved goodbye to his two friends:

“Now, excuse me, I have to go see the head of my house. Apparently I need to inform him about my plans to take the O.W.Ls soon. Merlin, that is so troublesome. Can a boy do whatever he wants in this fucking school?”

With that, he sashayed away, gradually disappearing from the sight of the two poor children who were still speechless.

*

Professor Snape didn't seem too amused when Harry barged into his office without knocking. He looked up from the pile of documents on his desk, and his eyes fell on Harry with suspicion.

Ever since the accident in the Slytherin dormitory, Professor Snape has had a completely new look at the Peverell boy. The first time the two of them met, he thought that Peverell was just a childish boy and a bit stubborn and mischievous. But later, when he realized that behind his innocent face was something more dangerous and difficult to grasp, it was all too late.

Harry placed the envelope from the Ministry on Professor Snape's desk, simply explained to him, and asked him to sign his permission to leave Hogwarts to take his exams.

“Yeah, that's it, I need your permission, yada yada. Not really, but well, it will help us avoid many unnecessary problems.”

“And what happens if I don't?”

“Oh, I would be so sad.” Harry looked sad, as if he was about to cry, but just a second later his eyes hardened and became dangerous. “Probably will leave Hogwarts anyway, it's easy, and it's not like I really need your help to do that. But I will still be very sad, so I will do something wrong. Like makes Slytherin students' lives hell.”

If someone dared to stand in front of Snape and threaten him, it meant that that person was very sure of their abilities and what they could do. Severus Snape did not doubt that, and he was quite sure that the boy could absolutely do so.

So he lowered his eyes, sighed, and signed the paper.

“What do you plan to do with your free time when you no longer need to study Astronomy and History?”

In response to Snape's question, the boy tilted his head to think for a moment, his index finger curling a strand of blond hair.

“Hmmm, I don't know. Murder someone?”

Professor Snape glanced at him, and that look made Harry couldn't help but laugh. The boy covered his mouth and laughed, then gently waved his hand, showing that he was just joking.

“Whatttt? I'm just kidding. We all know that I will use my free time to plan the genocide of all muggleborns and become the new Dark Lord, just like all the other Slytherins will do.”

Mr. Snape glanced at him even more, but then he calmed down, stopped looking at Harry and continued doing his work.

“You are very prejudiced against Slytherin.”

“Awww, not really. I just don't like it when other people act like they're superior to me, when in truth they're not.”

As he spoke, Harry approached Professor Snape's potions shelf, looking at the beautiful potions displayed above. He curiously poked some potions with his finger, restraining the urge to snatch them.

“Plus, it's school, it's not that important. I'll probably graduate sooner, so who cares about those stupid kids? As long as they don't cause trouble for me, the last thing I care about is them.”

It was true, Harry didn't really care. He even felt it was stupid for a school to classify students into four houses. But he won't say that. Slytherin or not, he didn't care. He came to Hogwarts to learn, not to be looked down upon. If the students from other houses behaved the same way, Harry wouldn't hold back either. Come to think of it, what he did that day seems to have been quite gentle. Geez, he was such a good person.

“You feel like it's right to attack people every time they say something you don't like.”

“Oh, no, I never said that.” Harry turned and raised an eyebrow at Snape. “And I've never done that. I did what I did only because I had to. They intended to attack me, Professor Snape. I am an understanding and kind person, but I am not stupid.”

Once again, Harry walked towards Snape's desk. He received the signed paper, and nodded with satisfaction. Feeling that there was nothing else necessary, Harry walked towards the office door and said:

“I think you should thank me, professor. I have taught your beloved Slytherins a very important lesson: do not run your mouth unless you have the power to deal with the consequences. I, myself, have nasty opinions about many things, but I keep most of them to myself because I know that if I voice them, it will be tantamount to social suicide. So yeah, you're welcome.”

As he opened the door, Harry turned around, smiled at the professor, and waved goodbye.

Again, he was such a nice person.

*

Harry's tea party took place on Sunday afternoon, right before Harry left Hogwarts to take his exams. The venue was an empty classroom that had not been used for a long time. And with just a few spells, it became the most splendid place an eleven year old could imagine.

Hermione and Jacob arrived at the same time, invitations in their hands. They didn't look too bad. Hermione wore a beige dress, looking a bit serious for a tea party. Jacob... Well, he tried. A little shabby, but Harry could see he was trying, at least he looked better than when they first met.

“Oh wow, that's a huge improvement.”

Harry tilted his head, relatively satisfied with Jacob's appearance. He seriously raised his hand to adjust the slightly misaligned bow tie on the Ravenclaw boy's neck, then patted the boy's shoulder and said encouraging words:

“See? You don't look bad! All you need to do is spruce up your appearance a little! I can see the potential in you!”

Jacob scratched his head, looking extremely embarrassed, not sure if it was because he had to dress like that or because Harry praised him.

“Rea...Really?”

“Of course!” At Jacob's question, Harry rolled his eyes, and once again patted him on the shoulder. Then he turned to look at Hermione, and clapped his hands. “And Hermione, ooh, I like it, very classy.”

Not as embarrassed as Jacob, Hermione looked relaxed, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Really? This dress was something my mother forced me to bring to Hogwarts as a precaution for important occasions. But I don't like beige, I think it's quite old so I don't often wear it.”

“No, it's not old!” Harry shook his head and waved his hand. “It's very trendy, very "girl boss" i must say! Love it.”

Yep. And enough of that fashion bullshit. Harry led his two friends into the room, and the two young kids gasped in surprise when they saw the decoration inside. The old classroom has become a beautiful room filled with lights and flowers. In the middle of the room's ceiling was a brilliant crystal chandelier that looked luxurious, and right below was a wooden tea table painted white. Nearby were small carts filled with candies they had never seen before, and colorful bottles of drinks in languages they didn't even know which country they belonged to.

Three children sat at the table. And of course, as host, Harry was the one who helped them make tea. The fragrant smell of tea rose, different from the tea they usually used for meals in the main hall. Hell, even the teacups looked more luxurious than the clothes they were wearing...

“Now, try those.”

Harry pulled the cake cart over, and took some nice looking cakes and placed them on the table, in front of his friends. The two poor children swallowed their saliva, unable to touch the exquisite works of art in front of them. It wasn't until Harry frowned that they started eating.

“Harry, how did you get these into Hogwarts?”

“I have my way.”

The Peverell smiled, his eyes narrowed, looking very mischievous. He reached out and gently tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear. He himself was wearing a white suit, just looking at it, one could tell it was very expensive. Hermione and Jacob couldn't help but admit, Harry looked like a little prince. And that made them even more curious about his family.

They chatted for a bit, of course it was mostly about studying. As first years, they really didn't have many topics to talk about. And quickly enough, it cut to Harry having to take his O.W.Ls the next day.

“Are you prepared for tomorrow?” Asked Hermione. “I know you're very smart, but it's the O.W.Ls, Harry.”

“Oh, nothing to worry about. I am very confident that I will do well.”

Harry put down his cup of tea, and began explaining to Jacob and Hermione the main points in the exams. He even encouraged them to follow him, registering for O.W.Ls in a few subjects in advance, to have more free time. Jacob looked hesitant, while Hermione seemed a bit interested.

“Like I told you, those damn exams are not the problem at all. I'm more worried about my store that's about to open. Can you believe it? In the entire wizarding world of England, there isn't even a single person who speaks French!”

Several people had already sent in applications, and Harry felt that some of them had quite ideal profiles. But it was disappointing that no one spoke French when the upcoming store was located in Paris! Like, hell no, it was a high paying job, and Harry wanted the best and most suitable people!

“Why don't you hire French people? Wouldn't that be more convenient?”

“Oh, Hermione, you don't understand. There is no way in hell that I trust that rude bunch to run my store.”

Next, Harry and Hermione sat and debated whether the French were really rude or not, while Jacob sat thoughtfully, and kept sneaking glances at Harry. The boy looked more serious than usual, and after a while, he finally gathered his courage and turned to Harry:

“Uhm... Harry. It's embarrassing, but I'd like to recommend someone for the job. My... My father is a Hogwarts graduate with high scores, and he can speak French fluently... I think he is very suitable for that job!”

Harry and Hermione stopped talking, and simultaneously turned to look at Jacob. The boy blinked, looking extremely shy, his cheeks were red. Harry raised an eyebrow, feeling that with Jacob's personality, it was unbelievable that he would proactively suggest something, let alone ask for a job for his father. But hey, there was no harm in that, right?

“That's interesting.” Harry placed his hands on the table, his expression starting to become serious. “Tell me more about your father.”

Jacob swallowed, still unable to get used to Harry's sometimes unexpected seriousness. But he mustered up his courage and began to introduce his father to Harry. As he spoke, he noticed Harry's expression growing more interested.

“Hm...”

Harry tilted his head, thinking for a moment. Then he turned to look at Jacob, and nodded:

"This is very unprofessional, but I'm interested. After this party, you should send a letter to your father, and tell him I want to see him tomorrow, after I finish my exam."

“Yes!” Jacob seemed about to jump for joy, and Harry smiled, his expression relaxed again. “I will send him a letter!”

The party continued in a cozy atmosphere. Overall, Harry was still a relatively easy-going and friendly person, in his opinion. He listened to his two friends, and smiled when he heard something interesting. Since Jacob was the only one of them who grew up in the wizarding world (of course Hermione and Jacob didn't know that), he told them amazing stories, making Hermione constantly marvel. On the contrary, Hermione introduced them to the interesting points of the normal world, and Jacob kept widening his eyes in disbelief, and asking innocent questions that made Harry feel that he was adorable.

The party ended at five o'clock in the afternoon, but no one of them wanted to go to the main hall for dinner, since the sweets had filled their stomachs. Harry even took out two large boxes, and filled them with some things for Hermione and Jacob to take home to eat, or share with their housemates if they wanted.

Harry would never admit it, but it was the most fun tea party he'd ever held. Before that, Harry's tea party at the orphanage was just a childish game he was trying to play. But now, everything was possible, and Harry loved it.

Of course, Harry wouldn't stop at tea parties. There were many things he wanted to do, big things he wanted to achieve.

And no one in this world could stop him.

Evening came, and the Peverell boy went to bed with a bright smile.

Chapter Text

Turned out, Professor Potter was the one escorting Harry to the Ministry to take his exams. He didn't have any opinion about it, like fine, whatever. There was a bit of awkwardness when he was around Professor Potter, but he didn't think much about it and simply assumed it was because they weren't familiar with each other.

“Are you ready, Mr. Peverell?”

“Of course.”

Harry smiled and answered, then offered his hand to Professor Potter. It was strange when he felt the comfortable warmth of the professor's hand, like it was suspiciously familiar. But again, he didn't have time to think too much, as soon they arrived at the Ministry.

“Mr. Peverell, why do you want to take the tests early?”

Professor Potter asked as they waited for the time to enter the exam room. Harry looked up, seeing a curious look on the woman's face. He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curled up, and replied indifferently:

“I think you already know the reason.”

Of course, it was clear to everyone why Harry wanted to take his History and Astronomy O.W.Ls early. Anyone who has attended Hogwarts has certainly known the horror of having to sit in a classroom and listen to a boring lecture from a ghost. It was ridiculous. And Harry felt insulted at having to waste his precious time on such useless things. He came to Hogwarts to grow, not to lower himself to that level.

“I don't think it's that bad.” Professor Potter shook her head, of course she had to defend her colleague.  “Professor Binns is a good teacher, although his teaching method is a bit slow. If students listen carefully to the lecture, I think they will realize the interesting points of this subject.”

“Yeah yeah whatever, can we go yet?”

Harry rolled his eyes, not in the mood to argue with the woman about whether Professor Binns was a good teacher or not. He had already arrived in front of the exam room, so it would be meaningless to discuss things that were no longer important.

About eight o'clock in the morning, the exam room door opened, and a witch stepped out, beckoning Harry inside. Occasionally there would be a few people who came to the Ministry to take the exam, but during this time Harry was the only one.

The test was easy, Harry read the questions, and rolled his eyes. He quickly used the quill given to him to write down the answers, continuously without stopping. In just half an hour, Harry finished the exam, and he left the exam room with the witch's complicated eyes and Professor Potter's surprise.

Well, what did they expect? It was just History of Magic.

“Maybe I should register for the N.E.W.T test for this subject as well.”

Yeah, and also Astronomy. Maybe after he got the results.

The time it took each person to take the exam was two hours, but it only took Harry half an hour to complete it all. So he had the next hour and a half, plus thirty minutes of rest until the Astronomy exam started. That had been part of his plan, and Harry turned to Professor Potter and asked:

“During this free time, can I go to Gringotts? I have an important meeting there.”

“Gringotts? Meeting?” Professor Potter asked, unable to believe the boy's request in front of her. But after thinking for a bit, she gradually understood. “Is that your real goal? Using the excuse of having to take two O.W.L.s early just so you can leave Hogwarts?”

Harry shrugged, not answering the professor's question. He looked up at her, his eyes clearly showing "you should decide quickly, or I can go to Gringotts by myself".

Lily Potter sighed, feeling there was no other way with the child. He looked like a little angel, but his true personality was so far from that. In the end, she could only resign herself to it, and took Harry to Gringotts as he wished.

“You can go to the waiting room, there is delicious tea and cakes. Or you can help yourself and go wherever you want.” Harry said as they appeared in the main hall of Gringotts, where goblins were waiting for him. “I'll see you back here in an hour and thirty minutes.”

The Peverell boy waved, then was escorted by several goblin guards to enter the inner area. He didn't even care what the female professor thought about those things. Well, to be fair, he never really cared what anyone else thought. Like, come on, they weren't important, so why should he care.

And right, he had his own office at Gringotts. That was one of the benefits of being a Peverell. The room was luxurious, and tailored to Harry's taste. It looked quite similar to his study at Peverell mansion, which Harry absolutely loved.

About fifteen minutes later, while Harry was reading a page of documents, there was a knock on the door from outside. He waved his hand, and the two doors opened wide. Standing outside was a man, and two goblins escorting him.

“Please come in.”

As the man entered the office, Harry could see his appearance a little more clearly. Quite tall, about six feet, two inches. A decent face, although there are a few small scars on it. He had light brown hair, but it was a little dull, probably from stress. Harry could see he was a little tired, but actually not too bad. There were some details that reminded Harry of Jacob, no wonder the man was the boy's father. Finally, he looked at the clothes on the man's body, then nodded, relatively satisfied with his efforts.

“Mr. Lupin-Black, right? Thank you for coming here. I was quite looking forward to this meeting when I saw your profile.”

Harry pointed to the chair across from his desk, and invited the man to sit down. He was telling the truth, he was quite interested in this meeting, when he saw the man's almost perfect profile the night before. According to Jacob, the man was a Gryffindor student. It was unbelievable that a student in that house had such good academic records. Well, not really, Harry was just being a bitch about it. He knew too well that that wasn't the case, and that a person's house had nothing to do with their academic performance. But being a Slytherin, that was quite normal to have a grudge against everyone, right?

The man sat down, but didn't say anything else but just stared at Harry. At first Harry didn't pay attention, but gradually discovered there was something strange about the man in front of him. Harry straightened up, and asked seriously:

“I'm sorry, but is there something on my face?”

That made the man come back to his senses. He quickly looked away from Harry, snorted softly, and replied:

“No... Nothing at all. It's just that you look a bit familiar.”

Behind his desk, Harry stopped flipping through files, and tilted his head to look at Remus Lupin-Black. Hm? Familiar? That was... interesting.

“Do you know Professor Potter? She's my friend, and she works at Hogwarts.”

Oh yeah, she brought me here - Harry wanted to say that, but he just nodded, waiting for what happened next.

“About ten years ago, she lost her second child in an accident... you know, involving You-Know-Who. And you look quite similar to her... Especially the eyes.”

“Oh.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, then looked at the man without showing any emotion. Again, that was interesting. He didn't know about that, about Professor Potter losing her second child. Hm, what was that about? The Savior of the Light? Henry Potter, right? Yeah, he never really cared about that nonsense, so he only skimmed through that piece of history.

“The kid was also named Harry.”

“So they named their first child Henry, and then they named their second child Harry? Do they hate their children or something?”

As he spoke, Harry rolled his eyes. He went back to flipping through his files, his expression completely neutral.

“But anyway, I can see your intention here. But let me just assure you that I am the legal heir of the Peverell family. Oh, and did you know? The Potter is actually a branch descended from the Peverell family. I think I read about it in my family tree…”

The boy lightly tapped his finger on the table, and several documents on a nearby shelf flew in front of him. Harry used his quills to write a few lines on paper, which didn't look like English. Then, he rolled up the document, and stuffed it into a metal tube behind his seat. The document quickly disappeared, probably reappearing on some goblin's desk.

“… So you could say we are related, of course very distant. But I can understand if there are some similarities between me and them in terms of appearance.”

Having said that, he once again looked at Remus Lupin-Black, who looked disappointed with Harry's answer. The Peverell heir raised the corner of his mouth, tilted his head and asked:

“Well, you must have been very close to them, to the point of recounting their tragic story during your job interview.”

His eyes were cold, and his voice carrying a bit of sourness.

“But I'm not here to hear about a crappy story about someone's life. Mr. Lupin-Black, do you really want this job?”

On the opposite side, Remus Lupine was almost choked. The boy in front of him was cold, and scary, and gave him feelings that an eleven year old should not give. He didn't know how to describe it, but it was cold and sharp, like there was a knife pressed against his neck.

“No, no. I really want this job.”

“Good. Now let's talk about that.”

Harry smiled, but contrary to his usual smile, this time his smile did not carry any warmth. He came to this meeting for work, and emotions were the last thing he needed.

The man began to introduce himself a bit, and Harry felt his interest slowly return. Although he felt quite annoyed by what had happened before, he couldn't help but admit that Remus Lupin-Black was a talented person with an impressive record and was the most suitable person among the applicants. Hell, the man could even speak French fluently. Overall, that was quite impressive.

“About the benefits you will receive when doing this job.” As he spoke, Harry handed the man a small stack of documents. “As you know, when you take this job, you will be living abroad for most of the year, with the exception of some pre-negotiated holidays. So with that, I will provide you with a suitable and convenient accommodation for your work. It's an apartment just down the street from where you'll be working, and it's luxurious and spacious enough, so you can live comfortably. You can even bring your family there to live.”

Yeah, that was nice of him, Harry felt like he was really such a good boss. Was there anyone else who could provide for their employees as well as him?

“In addition to your monthly salary, well, because of your… condition, the store will provide you with enough ingredients to brew three Wolfsbane potions. Since Wolfsbane potion is not a store item, I'm afraid you'll have to brew it yourself, or ask the potioneers working in the store to brew it for you. You will have to pay them yourself though. Your choice.”

Harry could see Remus Lupin-Black was gagging on the other side, and that made him even prouder. Again, he was such a nice boss. A pretty, nice, generous boss. He was so perfect, and he wanted everyone to know how perfect he was.

“How... how did you know?”

“Oh, it's quite obvious, isn't it?”

Harry ignored the man's look of panic and curiosity and continued looking at the documents on his desk. Merlin, he really needed more time to do this.

But it was true, it was quite obvious, or Harry was just a bit more sensitive to magic. He can recognize each person's uniqueness by sensing their magic. Unlike the usual theory, for Harry, each person's magic is like their aura, it constantly surrounds its owner. From a very young age, Harry was able to grasp the differences in those "aura". Through it, he even learned how to hide his own aura, and mask it with another type of magic to fool those who are naturally sensitive to magic. For Mr. Lupine-Black, Harry could easily tell the difference, since his magic was a bit wild and ferocious. He had also met a few other people with the same "aura", that was the time he went to Knockturn Alley. Hmm, there was quite a werewolf population in England, and maybe he should do something about it.

“Come to think of it, you should have put 'Lycanthropy' on your profile under health problems. Although it's not a big deal for me and it obviously doesn't affect my overall opinion of you. But I think it would be better if we were honest with each other, right?”

“Now, about your work. You know, I wouldn't pay that much just to hire someone to look after the store. As the store's manager, in addition to having to do all the duties of a manager, you also need to participate in a number of other tasks. For example, you will have to attend some parties or meetings of those obnoxious French people. So if you really want this job, I hope you should prepare in advance, I mean in terms of appearance. Like, buy new, nicer clothes.”

Oh yes, Harry wasn't just looking for a good manager, he also needed their face value. That was why he had a bit of trouble choosing between the candidates. Remus Lupine-Black didn't look bad, and would probably be considered decently handsome if he was properly groomed and dressed a bit more smartly. To be honest, it wasn't that important, since Harry was pretty sure that some nobles looked ugly as shit. But as the heir of the Peverell family, of course he wanted the representative of the store named after his family to have a reasonable appearance.

Having finished speaking, Harry stopped and put the quill down. He passed the man another stack of papers, this time with a work contract attached.

“Here is a more detailed look at what you have to do, along with a sample work contract. You can take them home and read them more carefully, and give me your answer within three days. Since I'm at Hogwarts most of the time, it would be best for you to contact my manager at Gringotts, Ironfang. He will guide you through the rest of the job and help you with some important things, like moving your family to France, for example.”

He stood up, and held out his hand, smiling. Remus Lupin-Black quickly stood up and shook hands with him, and that made Harry feel relatively pleased.

“You might do a good job, Mr. Lupin-Black. And you probably need this job anyway. Jacob is a good boy, and you would want all the best for him, right?”

The meeting ended when Harry began clearing things from the table, and headed towards the door despite the fact that Remus Lupin-Black was still standing inside the office.

“See you later, Mr. Lupin-Black, I must now return to the Ministry to take my Astronomy O.W.L.”

Harry left, not even giving the man another look. He did not return to the main hall to meet Professor Potter, but actually headed towards the vaults area. He needed to get some things from his vaults, and also needed to entrust some other work to the goblins.

Waiting for the appointed time, Harry returned to the main hall, where Professor Potter was already waiting. He smiled, reached over and said:

“Thank you for your cooperation, Professor Potter. I am very grateful for this.”

Professor Potter could only sigh, she said nothing else, and apparated them back to the Ministry.

There was still half an hour left until Harry had to take his Astronomy O.W.L. So they stopped at the Ministry cafeteria to rest a bit, and Professor Potter was kind enough to treat him with cakes and soft drinks. Although Harry felt that these foods were rubbish, he didn't say anything and just smiled. He got what he wanted, so there was no reason to act like a bitch.

While eating the cake, Harry absentmindedly looked into Professor Potter's eyes. In just a second, he looked away, feeling that there were indeed some similarities between them.

But he was a Peverell, wasn't he. It was written in blood on the Peverell family tree kept at Gringotts. Harry didn't think the goblins would be wrong about that. He even took the blood test.

He really hoped he was right.

“Lily?”

But of course, Harry's life wouldn't be Harry's life anymore if it weren't more volatile. As he and Professor Potter sat together, a man's voice rang out from behind him, and Harry could see Professor Potter's eyes light up at the sound.

Harry turned around, and was a little stunned when he discovered that the voice came from a man. That was a tall, thin man with hazel eyes and untidy black hair that stuck up at the back. On his face was a pair of glasses, and like Professor Potter, his eyes lit up when he saw her.

The Peverell boy turned back, his eyes lacking any warmth. He felt a bit cold in his hand, and quickly adjusted his emotions. Immediately, the smile returned to Harry's face, warm, and full of happiness like he usually showed every day.

“What are you doing here?” The man asked as he approached them. “And this is...?”

“James, this is Harry Peverell, I brought him here today so he can take his O.W.Ls.”

“Woah.”

The man, James, who Harry assumed was James Potter, the head of the British Auror Office as he had read, and the husband of Professor Lily Potter. He pushed up his glasses and looked at Harry with surprise mixed with a bit of admiration.

“How old is he?”

“Harry is a first year student.”

Lily Potter herself also felt that for such an eleven year old child to be able to take the O.W.Ls exam was very good. So her expression was a little happier, it could be seen that overall she still liked children, especially smart children.

“That's really impressive.” James Potter raised his eyebrows and held out his hand to Harry. “Hello, I am James Potter, Professor Potter's husband.”

“Hello, Mr. Potter.”

Harry shook hands with Mr. Potter, and he looked so happy and radiant, such an angelic child.

“You are a smart one, aren't you?”

The blond boy did not answer, just smiled and retracted his hand, feeling a little nostalgic for the warmth coming from the man's hand. What was that feeling? That was strange, and confusing, and Harry didn't like it.

“How about you guys stay here and talk?” Harry stood up, smiled apologetically and pointed down the distant hallway. “I need to go to the restroom real quick.”

He gently waved his hand, saying goodbye, then walked quickly towards that hallway. After walking a little further, he turned left, and entered a restroom that was luckily empty. Harry walked over to a sink, and looked into the mirror.

His left hand came up and pressed against his left cheek. In an instant, his hair color changed from blonde to jet black. The beautiful blue eyes also gradually darkened, then turned into a cold emerald color. A few other details on Harry's face immediately became sharper, though they didn't change much. The bridge of his nose was a little higher than usual, and it gave Harry a more arrogant look. Only a few small details changed, the Peverell boy's appearance looked like a different person.

“Oh.”

Harry Peverell looked at his reflection in the mirror. This... was strange. He almost forgot he had a face like this, since he had become accustomed to being bright and cheerful.

The boy grabbed his hair, and pulled it back, to make it look a little neater. Then he raised his index finger and gently touched the bridge of his nose. Instantly, a pair of glasses appeared, and Harry cursed under his breath.

His emerald green eyes seemed to react to his mood, and began to glow, as if there was a fire, or a deadly green light waiting to come out and destroy everything.

But then, he calmed down. Harry put his hands on the edge of the sink, and sighed.

“Harry Potter?” The boy rolled his eyes and whispered. “They probably hated me or something. Who would name their second child Harry when their first child's name is Henry?”

A moment later, Harry raised his head. He had returned to his usual appearance, blond, bright and cheerful. But his eyes still lingered a bit of that mysterious green color.

“Merlin, give me a fucking break.”

Chapter Text

Normally, Harry was the type of person who always faced and solved the problems he encountered. But this time was different. Even when he received the results of his two exams with Outstanding scores for both, and was officially exempted from studying Astronomy and History, his life still didn't get much freer. Turned out, being a lord of a house was not simply opening a few stores or checking a few papers. It was a real responsibility, and Harry couldn't ignore it.

So yeah, Harry didn't have time to care about the thing with the Potters. Not when he was dealing with a deadly crisis. Apparently, some fuckers decided that it was a good idea to steal two entire Peverell family kiosk right at the cruise dock. Well, on of that was his daily supply of good shower gel and shampoo, along with luxurious perfumes from France. Dear Merlin, can a pretty boy comfortably beautify himself without worry in this fucking country?

And not to mention those French aristocrats were acting extra pompous and assuming they were above the Peverell just because the store manager Harry chose was a not so handsome thirty something man. Maybe Harry was too confident, as he built a plan without thinking about force majeure situations. But well, it happened, and the best he could do was try to fix it no matter what, even by force.

The ministry was being extra useless, and failed to provide any help or any information. Harry should have known that he shouldn't rely on anyone but himself. And he was trying his best to control his anger and not burn down the ministry.

And it didn't get any better when it was Halloween, and Hogwarts was decorated with ugly, monstrous things. Like, who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to use the skulls as lanterns? The whole place was tacky, tasteless, and looked like a shit show that deserved to be buried in hell.

As he walked down the hallway, those ugly decorations annoyed him even more. Oh and those fucking ghosts keep flying around uncontrollably and making stupid kids scream in fear. That was stupid, and jarring. You study magic and you're afraid of ghosts? Like, the fuck?

“Caught a firstie skipping class!”

Just as his mood was not good, Peeves the fucking poltergeist had the audacity to suddenly appear in front of Harry, point at him, and laugh as if Harry looked weird.

“And he's not wearing a uniform!”

Harry's eyes narrowed, he put his hands on his hips. Yes, he skipped school for two days, and he wasn't wearing his uniform. In this situation where he was mentally unstable, Harry didn't want to torture himself with that boring school robe. Instead, he was wearing a fancy fur coat, and sunglasses to hide his slightly dark eyes from not sleeping for two days in a row. And this fucking poltergeist... how dare he!

So Harry raised his middle finger, and smiled.

“Go kill yourself, Peeves.”

“Oh, the little faggot is cranky today!” This Peeves, for some reason, thought it was a good idea to dance around Harry while continuing to annoy him with words. He didn't even realize when Harry's fingernails had dug into his palm. “And you silly little faggot, Peeves can't die, he's a poltergeist!”

“Oh… really?”

Well, one needed to learn.

Suddenly, and no one knew how, but in the blink of an eye, Harry Peverell's right hand was on Peeves' neck. The boy was small, and so was his hand, but it had an unusually strong grip. The poor poltergeist, who just a moment ago was happily dancing, was now locked, unable to move, and could only scream in pain.

“I didn't know that ghost or poltergeist could feel pain, it was certainly interesting to know.”

“I'm sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Ahhhhh!!!”

The spot where Harry's finger made contact with Peeves' neck turned red, seemingly the main cause of the pain. To be honest, Harry found it quite liberating to cause pain to Peeves, but he quickly realized that he was not alone in this hallway. There was some gasp, probably coming from other students. So Harry let go, letting the poltergeist fall to the ground gasping in pain, his face paler than ever.

At least Peeves was smart enough to regain his sanity, and quickly ran through the wall and fled in fear. Pretty sure in the near future, the poltergeist won't be stupid enough to get close to Harry again.

Hiding his eyes under sunglasses, Harry looked around, and sighed quietly before continuing to walk forward. The people were looking at him like he was a monster, but to be fair, he was behaving like a monster. His bad. But sometimes his mood ruined all the plans he made.

But of course things weren't that easy, when Professor McGonagall appeared, and almost yelled at him with her stern voice.

“Mr Peverell! Where's your uniform?”

Like, fuck, he wouldn't be able to do the same as he did with Peeves, or could he? Anyway, he was in no mood to deal with all that bullshit. So instead of saying something, Harry just gave the old hag two middle fingers and continued walking, completely unconcerned about the poor professor constantly deducting points from Slytherin for being disrespectful or some shit like that. Like hell Harry cared.

"Harry!"

This time, someone else called him, but luckily it wasn't stupid people with dumb shit coming to bother Harry, but Jacob and Hermione. From afar, they quickly ran up to Harry, and walked on either side of him, their faces looking slightly worried.

“I haven't seen you for three days.” Hermione said, and Jacon nodded in agreement. “What happened? Are you okay?”

For a moment, Harry wondered what to say to them. He didn't necessarily tell the truth about his situation, since he thought these two eleven-year-olds couldn't help him. And if they couldn't help him, why should he bother trying to explain anything? But then, he was like "fuck it" and decided that it wouldn't hurt to tell the truth, after all he had no reason to hide it.

“I'm in distress. Someone robbed my goods at the docks. I haven't slept or eaten anything for two days. I'm cranky, and annoyed like hell.”

And of course, the two kids were completely unable to help or say anything when Harry provided them with input. They could only look at each other awkwardly, while trying to think of something appropriate to comfort Harry. But well, at least they were worried about him, Harry was pretty okay with that.

“Thank you though. Want to go to the kitchen?”

“The kitchen?”

“Yes, it's right there.”

Harry pointed forward, but instead of the kitchen door, where he was pointing, there was a picture hanging on the wall. It was a food-themed paintings with various types of fruit. Before Jacob and Hermione could voice their concerns, Harry spoke first:

“Tickle the pear.”

“The… the pear?” Jacob hesitated. “You really mean tickle it?”

Harry tilted his head, not answering. Jacob and Hermione turned to look at each other again, before taking out their wands and using them together to tickle the pear. Indeed, it worked. The pear quickly giggled and turned into a large green door handle, revealing the entrance. Harry stepped forward and grabbed the handle, opening the door, and right before their eyes was the warm Hogwarts kitchen.

“This is so cool!” Hermione exclaimed as she walked inside with Harry and Jacob. “Harry, how do you know how to get into this place?”

“I heard a dumb Hufflepuff boy say how to get into the kitchen out loud in the hallway to his friend.”

Yeah, that was right after Harry returned from the Ministry after completing his two exams. Harry accidentally heard how to get into Hogwarts' kitchen. At first he didn't care much, but the results showed it was a good thing to know. The boy was cute though. Dark eyes. Dark hair. Probably was the most handsome boy Harry had ever seen. But of course, not as cute as Harry. But hey, that was kinda close, and Harry wouldn't deny it. So he did not hesitate to speak his mind.

“He was handsome, probably the best looking person at Hogwarts. Oh, he's right here.”

As they entered the kitchen and Harry was speaking, he looked to his right, and saw the "dumb Hufflepuff" in his words sitting in the corner munching on a sandwich. Oh wow, that was embarrassing. But seeing the boy again made Harry feel like there was nothing wrong with his words.

He was really cute.

“Anyway, can i have an iced coffee and a salad, please?”

Harry said to a house elf who approached and greeted them, then he led his two friends to the table on the left side of the kitchen. Not long after, an iced coffee and a salad arrived. Harry quickly took a sip of his coffee, feeling relatively comfortable as its coolness slid down his throat. The salad was okay, nothing really outstanding, but nice nonetheless. As he ate his first meal after two days of not eating anything, Harry could feel a curious gaze coming from the right side of the kitchen. But he pretended not to see, because as said, that was quite embarrassing. Instead, he focused on chatting with Jacob and Hermione.

“You haven't eaten anything in two days, are you sure this is enough?” Hermione looked at Harry's salad with concern, even a girl like her felt it was very small and not enough to fill a stomach. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, not necessary. I'll look for something more classy when I go out tonight.”

“You will leave Hogwarts tonight?” Jacob asked, then felt that he might have spoken a little too loudly, so he lowered his voice and continued after looking over at the Hufflepuff boy and breathing a sigh of relief when the boy looked like he didn't care about them. “Why?”

"Didn't I said that my business had some problems. Some stupid people robbed my goods. So I had to go investigate to get them back. And also my supply of shower gel and shampoo for next month is also in danger, so it is necessary."

Harry put down his fork, not even finishing his salad. But Harry knew very well that not finishing his food would hurt the house elves in the kitchen, so he just gently waved his hand and the leftover salad immediately disappeared.

“But... But you will miss the Halloween feast!”

“Whatever.” Harry rolled his eyes, not even caring about some fucking feast. “Halloween is all about dressing up with costumes, otherwise I don't care about this damn day.”

Jacob looked confused, so Hermione explained to him in a low voice:

“In the normal world, or the Muggle world, people often play dress up on Halloween.”

“Really? That sounds fun.”

“It is fun.” Hermione nodded, and turned to look at Harry. “What do you want to dress up as, Harry?”

Harry tilted his head in thought, well, he had never thought about that. But if he had to, he'd probably dress up as something... scandalous. Yeah, there was no point in playing dress up if he had to dress up as something boring.

“Maybe, like, a Playboy bunny?”

Immediately, Hermione gasped, and opened her mouth in disbelief, while Jacob again looked absolutely confused due to not understanding what a Playboy bunny was. But it seemed they weren't the only ones who heard Harry's answer, as he heard a hiccup coming from the right side of the kitchen. The Peverell boy looked over, and raised his eyebrows when he saw the handsome boy was trying not to laugh.

Well.

“Anyway…” Harry stood up and walked towards the kitchen door as he spoke. “I'll go to my room and take a thirty minute power nap before leaving. You guys have fun without me, okay?”

Damn. Talk about embarrassing.

*

Harry stood in front of a shop in Knockturn Alley, still wearing the clothes he wore at noon.

The ministry, as said, was useless. But luckily he had a good employee. Remus Lupin, along with his husband, discovered a shop that suddenly displayed some of the items that were stolen from two kiosks at the docks. It didn't mean the shop had anything to do with the robbery, but Harry was willing to try, since the item on sale was his favorite shower gel. For Harry, that was enough of a reason to do something about it.

The kind of shower gel that Harry liked was not a common type of shower gel sold in the wizarding world. It was prepared by him at the request of a famous potioneer in France, with a pleasant scent of green apple and mint. He didn't even intend to sell this shower gel, but simply wanted to keep it for himself. And now it was out in public, and Harry was fucking seething!

His signature scent! How dare they!

He knew that getting angry because of a fucking shower gel was not cute, but, the fuck? So he kicked open the door of the store, and walked inside like a tempest.

Luckily there was no one else inside besides someone who looked like the store owner. Of course, the way Harry entered the store caused a huge shock. The man, fat, didn't even have time to say anything, when he was pulled so hard that he fell down before Harry's feet. In just a split second, Harry's small hand had grabbed his fleshy neck, and he quickly felt Harry's five fingertips becoming hotter.

“Tell me.” Harry asked. He waved his other hand, and a green glass vase flew into his hand from a nearby shelf. “Where the fuck did you get this?”

The fire in his eyes was burning strongly, to the point of scaring the poor man shitless. He was so panicked that he couldn't say anything other than babbling some nonsense.

“Oh what the hell.”

Harry wasn't patient enough to play this game. Instead of waiting for an answer from the man who was so scared that he lost the ability to speak, Harry looked directly into his eyes. Immediately, screams of terror rang out, echoing outside the store. But well, this was Knockturn Alley.

Legilimens. The spell to read mind. Harry had never intended to learn it. Sure, it would be convenient if he knew how to use it, but he didn't have time to practice. So if he wanted to read someone's mind, which was not something he liked to do, he would use force to enter that person's mind. Like he was doing. The downside of it? Using magic to penetrate a person's mind is guaranteed to bring extreme pain as the magic is suppressed by another source of magic from the outside. The victim was going to have a headache, depending on the severity, it could be just a small pain, but it could also be so painful that it seemed like their head would explode when their mind was thoroughly searched.

The screaming made clear the man's level of pain.

After what felt like five minutes, Harry let go, leaving the man lying panting on the floor while still screaming in pain. Hmm, Harry might have felt more guilty, if he hadn't discovered this fucking pig was involved in a robbery ring. Or should he say, that the whole Knockturn Alley was involved in it, more or less.

But well, he got the answers he needed, and he knew where he had to go to get his goods back.

Harry snapped his fingers, and the bottles on the shelves that were clearly his immediately disappeared. He coldly glanced at the man on the floor, before turning around and leaving.

It was a bit early to kill someone.

*

Fenrir Greyback.

That was an unfamiliar name. Harry didn't know that person. He had never been in contact with that person. And pretty sure there was no animosity between that person and the Peverell family. So the reason why Fenrir Greyback and his pack decided to rob the Peverell family of their goods is unknown.

“Probably because they are desperate.”

Harry whispered as he slowly walked closer to the house, or to be more precise, the shack, in the middle of a quiet forest. It was hard to believe that that place was home to a werewolf pack of twenty people, all of them male. Harry didn't know why the pack had no women, but well, he had no need to find out.

But back to the thing, yes, probably because they were desperate. Being werewolves wasn't an easy task, Harry was pretty sure most of them didn't choose it. Having to endure discrimination, along with difficulty finding work to support themselves and their families, must have pushed them to the point of becoming thieves.

As someone with a kind and loving heart - Harry thought so about himself - he somehow understood the difficulties of the werewolf pack. But then, they had Fenrir Greyback as their leader, so Harry was like, "ha ha fuck you".

According to what he found in the memories of that fat man in Knockturn Alley, Fenrir Greyback was a bad werewolf that was willing to do anything no matter how wrong to achieve his goals. He intentionally attacks normal people for no reason, well, there was actually a reason, to turn them into werewolves and make his pack stronger. He even attacked children.

And that was enough for Harry to cure him.

In fact, Harry was going to cure all of them.

He knocked three times on the door of the shack, and waited for it to open. The moment the door opened, Harry struck. In just a blink of an eye, there was blood, and screams, and he had more than one thing in his hand.

It was a heart.

The Peverell boy threw it to the ground, and casually stepped on it.

Harry stepped inside, not caring that the blood and gore on the ground stained the soles of his shoes. There was a strange wind, and his black hair swayed slightly, his emerald eyes seemed to be on fire. Yeah, he was in his "Harry Potter" form, the one he was born with. Damn, just thinking of the name Harry Potter made him feel sick in his stomach. Harry didn't expect anyone else nearby to see what he was about to do, but just in case.

“Where is my goods?”

Harry asked as he struck again, this time, with a scythe suddenly appearing in his hand. There were two heads that flew up in the blink of an eye, and landed on the ground making two terrifying noises.

He didn't care for the answers though. At the end of the day, his goal was to cure these werewolves. His scythe flew up, and with a strong swipe down, there were several more bodies. Unfortunately for these werewolves, this night was not the night of the full moon. But some of them tried to fight Harry by aiming a few deadly spells at him, to no avail. Partly because Harry kept using magic to block those spells, partly because those spells were used very poorly. Harry assumed it had something to do with his power, since most dark creatures were afraid of him. Did werewolves count as dark creatures? Harry wasn't sure. Maybe yes, maybe just half. But damn, he hated the smell of blood.

The point was, it was easy. By the time there was no one else standing but Harry, he waved his hand in satisfaction. The scythe, huge compared to Harry's small body, was gone.

“One, two...” Harry looked around, counting the number of bodies on the ground. “... Eighteen, nineteen. Oh.”

Someone was missing.

So much for a pack leader.

The inside of the shack was actually expanded by some kind of expansion spell. It didn't take Harry long to find a room that served as a warehouse, with most of Harry's goods stacked inside. Some of the other things were probably sold, but Harry was satisfied with what he found, and he assumed that the damage was just a cost to teach him a lesson about dock security. Maybe he would hire better security.

After he was done, Harry walked out of the shack, and looked into the distance.

“I will cure you later, Fenrir Greyback.”

See, Lycanthropy was not a kind of power, or a kind of magic. It was a pathology, it was a curse. It will make life difficult for those infected. Some have found their own cure, like Remus Lupin, by remaining a good person and trying his best to work for himself and his family. Others were not as bright, but instead fell into a darker path, like Greyback and his pack. For those people, Harry was willing to cure them. By sending them to Death, ending their miserable life. There was no better cure for such people. Harry truly believed they were in a better place, thanks to him.

“Merlin, I am such a good person.” Harry whispered. “With a heart of gold.”

Chapter Text

“Troll?”

Harry asked, placing the strawberry he was about to eat on his plate. He was having breakfast with Jacob and Hermione at the Ravenclaw's table, when the news of what happened the previous evening came to him.

“A mountain troll.”

Jacob nodded and handed Harry a book. It had already opened to a page, and on the page was a drawing of a large, ugly creature, with short legs and a long upper body, and strong-looking arms dragging a wooden club.

Harry glanced at the page, seemingly not paying much attention, he was too busy looking at his pretty face in the hand mirror. He combed his beautiful platinum blonde hair while looking in the mirror, wondering whether or not to cut it - it had grown a bit since he had come to Hogwarts.

Meanwhile, Jacob and Hermione took turns telling Harry about what had happened when he left Hogwarts. About a troll and how a certain bathroom had been destroyed and how Hermione had almost died, something something about that. It sounded interesting, but to be honest, he didn't care that much.

After solving his supplies problem, Harry felt better, and was quickly back to his usual self. Well, there was the thing with the Potters, but he chose to ignore it, since it didn't matter, for now. Like, sure, he was pretty curious about what had happened, about how he went from Harry Potter to Harry Peverell and passed the blood test. But he was only eleven, and there were more important things to do, like shopping and hanging out with his friends. Plus he needed to be a little more sure before making any big decisions, especially when those decisions would one hundred percent affect his otherwise very good life. He was pretty, rich, and that was it.

He didn't need to stir things up. He was way too content with his life. And he decided not to think too much about it. Like, let time answer or something like that. Whatever.

“That's so unfair.” Harry put the mirror and comb down on the table, looking unhappy that Jacob and Hermione's story had ended. “Why did fun things have to happen when I wasn't around?”

“Harry, it's not fun, I almost died!”

The Peverell boy rolled his eyes, shrugging, feeling nothing was wrong with him. Duh, she almost died, but she survived, right? What was a big deal about that? It wasn't like he was talking to a corpse or something.

“Umm… So?”

Harry's curly-haired friend gasped, unable to believe what she had just heard. She looked at Harry for a moment, then rolled her eyes, and continued:

“Anyway, there was a nice Slytherin girl who saved my life. There were more nice Slytherins than people thought.”

“Yeah, she seems nice.”

And that, made Harry laugh. A bit too loud. And attracted the attention of the other students at the Ravenclaw's table. He quickly fell silent, still keeping the smile on his mouth, and his eyes carrying a playful amusement.

“A Slytherin? Nice? You two must be insane.”

On the opposite side, Hermione sighed, a bit helpless before Harry's hostility towards Slytherin, especially when they boy was a Slytherin himself. It was a bit weird. Like, how come one hated their own house so much like that?

“Harry, you know that's not fair, not everyone in Slytherin is bad. The girl who saved me was kind, she even gave me a handkerchief to wipe my face before leaving!”

“Sweetie, that shit means nothing.” Harry tilted his head, looking straight into his female friend's eyes. “Who knows, maybe that handkerchief was poisoned or cursed. You can't really trust those Slytherin whores.”

Yep. He said it. And both Hermione and Jacob gasped. Their eyes widened, unable to believe what they had just heard. After a long moment, Jacob covered his mouth, stammering in horror:

“Harry! You shouldn't say that! It's a bad word!”

“Uhh. Whatever.”

The Peverell boy waved, rolling his eyes at Jacob before turning his attention to Hermione and asking:

“And where is that handkerchief?”

Oh my god you really think it's bad?

Hermione shook her head, looking at Harry as if he were an alien, but still she took a handkerchief from her robe and held it out for Harry to examine.

It was a plain-looking white cloth handkerchief. Harry poked it with his index finger, and frowned. Of course it wasn't poisoned or cursed - Harry didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to do that at Hogwarts - but well there was nothing such as too careful.

“So? How is it? Is there anything wrong with it?”

“No.” Harry snorted, tossing the handkerchief back to Hermione. “It just very cheap.”

“I can't believe you really though that.”

“Hermione, that's not some mere jokes.”

Harry sat up abruptly, his voice becoming serious and his volume becoming low enough for only the three of them to hear. The sudden change in his attitude and actions once again made Hermione and Jacob flinch. The usual playfulness and mischief in his eyes had also completely disappeared, leaving him with a pair of emerald eyes as cold as December lake water.

“There are bad people in this world. If you have read about the history of the British wizarding world, you must know about the war just over ten years ago. It was not just a simple war, it was more terrible than anything you can imagine. For example, that boy, what is his name again? Oh, Neville Longbottom, the one in your house Hermione, his parents were tortured by those bad people to the point of insanity and they still have not recovered. Mind you, we are living in the wizarding world, with magic and potions, but what those bad people did to Longbottom's parents and many others still cannot be recovered, so you know how serious and terrible it is. And most of the bad people - those Death Eaters - in that war came from Slytherin and most of the current Slytherin students are their descendants or related to them. Hermione, you come from the Muggle, normal world, so you may not know. But Jacob, you just have to ask your dads and they can tell you the most horrible stories about the war. And I'm a Slytherin myself, I've heard what they said and seen what they did. So when I say you should be careful, you should really be careful.”

Both of his friends fell silent, trying to process what they had just heard from Harry. Jacob looked serious, clearly knowing a little more about the war and the Slytherins than Hermione did. His hand tightened on the niawx he was holding, as if remembering something terrible - his face paled a little.

After a while, Hermione swallowed, hesitated a bit, then asked doubtfully:

“But the war is over and the bad guys are caught, right? I mean I can understand your concern, but we can't assume that all the kids in Slytherin are clones of those guys and will grow up to be terrible villains, right?”

Harry Peverell tilted his head, his mouth curved into a knowing, creepy smile. And he sent shivers down Hermione and Jacob's spines.

“Yeah, you're probably right.”

That was what Harry said, after a long moment of staring at Hermione with that creepy smile. He chuckled, then returned to his usual demeanor.

“Oh I want to go shopping real bad.”

The topic changed quickly, and anyone who heard could tell that the Peverell boy was dimissive and didn’t want to waste time talking nonsense to people who didn’t want to listen.

Like, what did they expect?

Harry decided to ignore Hermione and her belief in the goodness of others. He looked around, quickly spotting the Weasley twins waving at him, so he winked at them before blowing them a kiss, then laughed when he saw the twins pretending to fight over who would get it.

There there, that was the crowd that deserved his attention, instead of the slippery Slytherin snakes.

“Harry, Harry, there she is!”

Hermione, still a little tone deaf, suddenly grabbed his hand and pointed to one side. Harry hated that, but still, being a very kind, very polite, and very pretty boy, he reluctantly looked in the direction his female friend was pointing, only to discover an unfamiliar face slowly walking towards the Slytherin table.

“Daphne! Daphne!”

Hermione stood up, shouting and waving at the girl, looking very excited. Geez, Harry rolled his eyes, not knowing what to say to his dear friend to explain to her that what she was doing was only causing more harm, to both her and that poor Slytherin girl.

All those Slytherin brats immediately looked at Hermione, some of them not hiding their displeasure, then looked at the girl suspiciously. One girl, Tracey Davis, Harry remembered her name, gestured to that Daphne girl, but the girl just shrugged, turning and walking towards Hermione.

That, was interesting.

Harry smiled, tilting his head to watch her as she got closer.

She was a tall girl, taller than any first year student at Hogwarts he had ever seen. Not even the boys in their first years were as tall as her, which was impressive. But other than that, she looked quite plain. Her face did not look particularly attractive - as a girl. But she did have long, straight hair, which was obviously well-groomed.

He had never seen this girl before.

“Harry, this is Daphne Greengrass, the one who saved me yesterday.” Hermione excitedly introduced them to each other. “Daphne, this is my friend Harry Peverell.”

“Heyyy.”

Harry pulled his brightest smile and sweetest voice, no one knew he was feeling a little devilish inside. Really, he was built like an angel, which was both a blessing and a curse to others.

“Hey Daphne!” Harry said, not caring about her last name. “I've heard Hermione talk about you, you were so, like, so cool.”

“Erm... Thank you?”

Daphne Greengrass looked embarrassed, but still sat down when Hermione made her. She nodded slightly at Jacob, who gave her a pitying look that she couldn't quite understand.

“You're a Slytherin right? How come I've never met you before?”

“I used to go to Beauxbatons. But I transferred here a few days ago.”

“Oh, Beauxbatons.” Harry raised an eyebrow, sitting up straight, immediately interested. “France, such a beautiful country. The people there are so nice and kind, I bet you fit in like you're one of them.”

Hermione and Jacob turned to look at Harry, unable to believe what he had just said. He was talking about France and the French as if he had never cursed them before. Hermione wanted to say something, but found herself unable to interject as Harry had quickly led Daphne Greengrass into an elaborately sweet trap.

“Welcome to Hogwarts anyway. This school looks old, but it's pretty fun and the students here are friendly...” Harry said as he made a point of sneaking a glance at the Slytherin table. “At least the students in the other houses were friendly.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

Daphne replied curtly, not seeming to be very interested in the conversation. But her attitude did not disappoint or annoy Harry Peverell, on the contrary it only increased his interest, and the smile on his face became even brighter.

“Hey, how can you do that?”

He lowered his voice, a look of innocent curiosity on his face.

“Do what?”

“The Slytherins.” He hesitated, looking a little frightened, and Hermione and Jacob gasped in silence, unable to believe what they were seeing. “I mean, they wouldn't be kind to you talking to other students, especially a muggle-born in Gryffindor. Wouldn't you be worried about that?”

“Oh fuck them. I don't care about those houses rivalry bullshits. If they don't like it they can go suck their own dick and cry about it.”

Oh, wow.

“Oh. My. God.” Harry said, pointing at Daphne and turning to look at Hermione. “So bitchy, love her.”

Hermione smiled wryly, not knowing what to say. She sensed something was wrong with Harry, but she couldn't quite place what it was.

Meanwhile, Harry once again turned one hundred percent of his attention to Daphne Greengrass.

“You're so cool. I wish I could be as cool as you. I'm a Slytherin too, and when I started talking to Jacob and Hermione the other Slytherins were threatening me and like, so cruel to me.”

After he had said this, Harry pulled a new face: a sad and pitiful one, which was never seen before, much to the surprise of his two still-silent, gaping friends. And with a tone that was so shaky and sad, he began to tell a story that, except for Daphne Greengrass, no one would believe:

They were like, so cruel. The perfects pretended not to see when the others pushed me down and, like, punched me. They even tore up my books, and then completely isolated me.

Harry looked down at the table, a tear rolling down his left cheek.

“I was so sad and lonely, and confused.” He looked up at Daphne with teary eyes. “I really just wanted to be nice and friendly to everyone.”

And for some reason, Daphne Greengrass bought that.

Like, really believed that.

She banged the table angrily, which made the people sitting nearby jump and look over curiously, while Hermione and Jacob both looked shocked and terrified, mostly at their friend Harry fucking Peverell.

“Fucking ridiculous! That is blatant bullying! I'm going to talk to them!”

She glared angrily at the Slytherin table, where the Slytherins had all stood up and left, presumably to their dormitories. There was like a fire burning in Daphne's eyes, and when she looked at Harry, her expression softened and she said comfortingly,

“Don't worry. I will not let that happen again.”

With that, she waved goodbye to them, then quickly chased after the Slytherins, leaving Hermione, Jacob, and Harry sitting there in silence.

“Well.”

Harry tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, the mysterious smile returning. He looked in the direction Daphne Greengrass left, the devil in him seemed to be laughing heartily.

“That, is interesting.”

A righteous Slytherin? It sure was interesting. And Harry couldn't wait to see what happened next.

“Why did you do that Harry?” Hermione asked, unable to hide her panic and worry. “She could be in big trouble!”

“Oh please sweetie. She was already in trouble the moment you decided to call her out in public in front of those Slytherins.”

Harry stood up, deciding it was time to leave.

“I love you sweetie, you're my friend, but don't be fucking stupid.”

And he left. Quick as the wind.

*

Daphne Greengrass was going to cause a scene, mostly because she couldn't stand the bullying happening in her house, or in the school in general. Even those French snobby people wouldn't act so rudely! To think those Slytherins actually bullied an innocent boy... fucking unforgivable!

But the moment she entered the Slytherin dormitory, Tracey Davis, a roommate of hers, suddenly pulled her back to their room, with such surprising force.

“Let me go!” Daphne jerked her hand back the moment they entered the room. “What are you doing!”

“I should be the one asking that! What the hell are you doing?! Didn't I tell you not to associate with that Gryffindor girl anymore? And you do it, and worse, you talk with Harry Peverell?”

“So?”

Daphne's eyes widened, extremely angry at her roommate.

“Why can't I? Because you'll bully me like you did to Harry?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Tracey Davis asked in shock, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“Oh I know what you guys did! You guys bullied a poor boy just because he talked and became friends with students from other houses! God! If I had known the Slytherins were a bunch of bullies I would have never... What's with your attitude?”

On the opposite side, Tracey Davis squinted, hands on hips, looking at Daphne like she was an idiot. She rolled her eyes, not believing that the new member of Slytherin could be such a person.

“That's not what happened.”

“Well.” Daphne, although still angry, from her roommate's attitude, she quickly realized that something was a bit odd. “So what happened then?”

Tracey Davis sighed, thought for a moment, and said:

“That day, the boys really did attempt to teach him a lesson, but it backfired on them real fast. Daphne, he really did counterattack, and literally used his magic to maul his attackers before strangling them almost to death. There was blood on the floor, but it was other people's blood, not his. Even the upperclassmen couldn't stand up to him, I'm telling you. He even kicked Marcus out of his single bedroom and took that room for himself. I don't know what you heard, but it clearly wasn't true.”

Daphne Greengrass stood there, eyes wide, face drained of blood. And that made Tracey feel a little sorry for her.

“And also, we didn't shun him because we hated him. We stayed away from him because we were scared shitless, Daphne. There was even a talk about him possibly being a new Dark L...”

Before she could finish speaking, Daphne Greengrass had already turned and left the room. The poor girl headed towards the common room, and caught a glimpse of Harry Peverell turning the corner. Daphne hurried after him, but immediately regretted it.

It was a dark, secluded hallway, leading to an elegant door that was completely out of place in the Slytherin dormitory.

She could almost sense darkness on the other side of the door.

Daphne tried to turn around, but found she couldn't - she was frozen with cold. And to her horror, the door slowly opened, making a chilling creak.

There was Harry Peverell, sitting on a resplendent throne in the middle of a brightly lit room, a smile on his face that if Daphne didn't know better, she would have assumed was innocent.

He tilted his head to look at Daphne Greengrass, before pouting and saying,

“Tracey really ruined the fun, huh?”

Daphne flinched, thinking of her roommate, and looked at Harry Peverell's disappointment. Between the frantic fear telling her to run and the guilt that something bad would happen to Tracey Davis, she chose to stay and stepped forward. Daphne's fists were shaking, but her eyes were steady.

“I know the truth.”

On the opposite side, the boy with the emerald eyes raised an eyebrow.

“Why did you lie? And what do you want from me?”

Harry laughed. Softly. But his laughter made the poor girl's skin crawl.

“Why... Don't be so serious. I'm really just curious.”

The young lord Peverell stood up, walking slowly towards the door.

“Hermione really is my friend. So I did wonder when I heard that a Slytherin student had helped, or saved her. Slytherin? Helping people especially a muggle-born Gryffindor? You know, one can never be too carefull.”

“But you are... really interesting.” There was that knowing and little evil smile again. “You are kind, and righteous, and full of justice. Tell me, dear Daphne, the hat said you were best suited for Gryffindor, but you begged it to put you in Slytherin, didn't you?”

As Harry approached the door, and leaned against the doorframe, Daphne Greengrass standing on the opposite side had turned pale. Well, to be fair, she had been pale before, but this was the paleness that impressed.

“Oh, the wizarding world people with their pride in their families... Kids who insist on living a life that doesn't suit them just because they're afraid of disappointing their parents... I love it. It's led to some interesting situations, hasn't it?”

Harry looked at Daphne, and he knew he was right.

“Aww, don't be scared. I'm really not a bad guy.” He shrugged, returning to his usual laid-back demeanor. Hey, sometimes it was good to be scary, but really, he still thought he was better suited to being a cute boy. “I like you, Daphne, and I've decided that we're going to be really, really good friends from now on. So cheer.”

Harry Peverell grabbed the door handle, started to close it, but not before saying one last thing.

“And honey, you are not very pretty and you are not very bright. So to fix that, we will go shopping tomorrow.”

Daphne stood there dumbfounded, flashed a dazzling smile by him.

“I'm so glad we had that talk.”

Urgggg. He really was a kind and friendly person.

And he slammed the door.

Chapter Text

“Quick question, why are we sitting at the Ravenclaw's table?”

Daphne Greengrass asked, looking around a little awkwardly, then temporarily relieved when she found no one was looking at them, or wondering why there were two Slytherin and a Gryffindor among the kids in blue and gold.

“Well, Gryffindor kids are loud, and annoying.” Harry replied, taking a suspicious-looking sip of grape juice from his jewel-encrusted gold goblet. “We don't have a Hufflepuff, so no to Hufflepuff. And Slytherin... you know, they hate me, and they scare me.”

“More like they scare of you.”

That, made Harry cover his mouth and giggle, as if he had just heard something very funny.

“Oh my god, you are, like, so funny. I love that.”

“Uhm? What happened?” Hermione, who was sitting on the side, finally asked in confusion. “Why do you two seem so close? Didn't you just meet yesterday?”

Hearing that, the tall girl opened her mouth, wanting to say something, looking like she wanted to deny it. But before she could say anything, Harry patted her shoulder and laughed ha ha, lightly, but enough to make her shiver and close her mouth.

“Oh my god Hermione, don't you know. Yesterday Daphne scolded the Slytherins who bullied me!”

The boy looked so radiant, and except for the poor Slytherin girl, no one would have imagined that most of the things that came out of his mouth were blatant lies. And he lied so skillfully, without changing his expression or hesitating, as if he had known how to lie since he was in his mother's womb. That was super horrified.

For someone that looked like an angel, his personality was awful.

“She was like, so strong, so good, so brave.” Yep, the bullshit continued to spew from his mouth, and surprisingly Hermione and Jacob seemed to trust them completely. “The Slytherins were so scared of her that they stopped bullying me. That was like, a miracle. Sorry Hermione, your spot is taken, Daphne is my new best friend now.”

“Oh thank god…”

The Gryffindor girl muttered and rolled her eyes, sounding as if a burden had been lifted. Even Jacob Black clapped his hands lightly, happy that she was finally freed from such an arduous task.

“Hah, whatever. We'll go shopping.”

Though it had been announced yesterday, Hermione, Daphne, and Jacob were all confused as to why Harry wanted to go shopping, and why they had to go with him. Jacob, innocently, asked, and it was clearly a bad idea:

“Why do we have to go shopping? What do you want to buy?”

“No, no, this trip is not for me.”

Harry grinned, his bright face and dazzling blond hair making him look like a little sun, but of course the kind that sears everything in the most insensitive way.

“It's for you guys.”

“What does it mean?” Hermione asked, and again, she quickly regretted it just a moment later. “I'm pretty sure I have everything I need.”

“Really?”

Harry tilted his head and asked, his attitude suddenly changed, his smile also disappeared. The boy put his hands on the table, his clear blue eyes looked straight at Hermione, filled with rare seriousness. This sudden change, although it happened often, but every time it made Hermione and Jacob startled.

“Hermione, Jacob, Daphne.” Harry called out each person's name, “Now that you guys are old enough, I think I should tell you something very important.”

Harry held out his small and delicate right hand, and to the puzzlement of his three friends, Harry began to tap a rhythm. It wasn't long, only a few seconds, but it gave off a mysterious feeling to those who witnessed it. The tattoo on the base of his index finger flashed, and a mysterious black ring with a transparent stone appeared in its place.

“Maybe you already know, maybe you don't, but let me reintroduce myself, I am Harry Peverell, the heir, as well as the current Lord of the Peverell family, the oldest and most powerful family not only in the British wizarding world but the entire world.”

As he spoke, he used his other hand to point at the ring. It was beautiful, it was unclear what material it was made of, but it was a rare pure black color and was delicately carved into the shape of a black rose, but one could also vaguely see that it looked a bit like a skull.

“I maybe don't look like one, but I am really an important person.”

And before his friends could ask "what's the point of that", Harry withdrew his serious expression, smiled, and continued in a voice that couldn't be sweeter:

“And now that you're my friends, best friends even, it only makes sense for me to make you my new project, where I'll help you become a bit more... presentable. You know, to fit in with the crowd you're in.”

“Uhm excuse me you bitch!” Daphne rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. “I think I'm pretty presentable!”

Hearing his new friend say that, Harry slowly glanced at her, without changing his expression, he just tilted his head slightly and asked softly, and slowly:

“You really think so?”

And that, was how an eleven-year-old boy destroyed his friend's confidence.

“Anyway. Don't be mad, I don't mean to put you down. I simply see your potential and I want to help you unleash it, to become better versions of yourself. Like, Jacob, I know there's some problem with your family and the Blacks, and I'm sure your dad won't like it, but I think you look just like a proper Black, like the bone structure or something. You're a real aristocrat, there's no hiding it, and it's a shame you mask it in stuff that makes you look like, as I said, a fucking hobo.”

Jacob's eyes widened, his mouth hanging open, not knowing what to say. That was like, a family secret, and even he himself had no idea why his two fathers had estranged themselves from the Black clan. To hear that from an outsider? Wild.

Harry didn't give Jacob a chance to say anything, since he immediately looked at Hermione, and bombarded her with an equally shocking barrage of words:

“And Hermione, girl, I know you're a muggle-born and all, and that doesn't mean you're any less than the rest. I also know you value brains over looks, but wouldn't a pretty face complement a smart brain? Honey, intelligence is good, but it's in your head, while your face is what people see first. And let's be honest, who cares to get to know someone who isn't beautiful? Maybe blind, but well. The point is, I can help you. Don't you want to be pretty, like me? Don't you want to be cool? Don't you want to be popular? Isn't that why you picked Gryffindor in the first place?”

“And you. You're...” Immediately, Harry turned to Daphne. He looked her up and down with a judgmental gaze, and lowered his voice, “... Something.”

“Oh wow.”

Daphne Greengrass opened her mouth, only able to say that and nothing else. Or rather, she was too shocked to speak. And she couldn't believe that the little bitch in front of her could say such a long, horrible thing, without any hesitation or concern for the feelings of those listening.

Fucking evil little bitch!

“So? What do you guy thing? Agree? Touching? Want to thanks me?”

“First of all, thanks for pointing out my potential.”

Hermione sighed, her expression a little complicated, and she herself didn't know how to feel, whether to be angry or grateful to Harry. She suppose to be angry, right? But the little shit's words did hit Hermione's sore spots, making the girl quite bitter and temporarily not knowing how to refute.

So she did what she was most familiar with since knowing Harry Peverell - keeping calm, comforting herself that he meant no harm, and answering in a perfunctory way:

“But do we really need to go shopping? How about I just wear my best clothes when I'm with you?”

“Yeah, you really don't have to do that for us...”

That was Jacob, who was in the same mood as Hermione. But of course, Harry fucking Peverell wasn't going to let anyone get in the way of what he wanted to do. And once again, he used his angelic face to its fullest extent - a bright and gentle smile appeared, making all three children sitting near him freeze, as if a powerful floodlight was shining directly into their eyes.

“I know, that's what makes me so nice.”

The little lord Peverell picked up his extremely colorful and luxurious goblet, took a big gulp, before his eyes flashed with mischief. After drinking, he put the goblet down, placed a hand on his chest, sighed, and looked rather melancholy. And when he opened his mouth, the others thought he was going to start singing something, like, a musical number, but thankfully, no.

“Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I, and let's face it, who isn't less fortunate than I? My tender heart tends to start to bleed. And when someone needs a makeover I simply have to take over, I know, I know exactly what they need.”

Dear lord.

“And even in your case.”

He looked at each of them in turn, and Daphne, Jacob, and Hermione all felt as if they were inferior beings being judged by some powerful cosmic force.

“Luckily it's not the toughest case I've yet to face. So don't worry, I'm determined to succeed! Follow my lead, and yes indeed, you will be... Presentable!”

All three of his friends sighed.

Hermione raised her hands and rubbed her face, trying to keep herself from screaming. Jacob collapsed onto the table, unable to protest, he was still a little afraid of Harry, though he didn't know why. Daphne, well, she didn't know if she could do anything, and she even felt relatively okay, at least Harry Peverell in her eyes was just a brat right now, not a new dark lord like the rumors in Slytherin.

“Anyway, we're going after Potions. We'll have lunch at a fancy restaurant, then go shopping all afternoon. Sounds good, right?”

“Harry, I have class in the afternoon.”

“Oh, right.” Harry turned to look at Jacob, not very interested. “You're a Ravenclaw, I see. But come one, it's not the first time you've skipped class right?”

That was the end of the conversation, basically Harry wasn't going to let the others say no. When he said they were going shopping, they were going shopping, no more bullshit about it.

And who cares about classes? Harry didn't. Erm, he wasn't going to waste his precious time on those stupid like classes just to learn trivial things that weren't interesting. And neither should Jacob. Lord, maybe Harry should help his friends prepare for their O.W.L.s first, so they could have some free time or something.

After that, they sat together for a bit longer, before Daphne, Harry, and Hermione left together to go to the Potions class, since Slytherin and Gryffindor shared, like, most of the classes and Potions was one of them.

They were a bit late, mostly because Harry was slow, and constantly distracted and worried about his appearance. But Professor Snape said nothing when they arrived, just gestured for them to take their seats, and didn't even take points off Hermione.

Potions was one of the classes that Harry actually cared about and enjoyed. It was very practical - Professor Snape made them all memorize it before they started brewing, of course - and Harry enjoyed that. But that didn't mean he enjoyed brewing easy potions for stupid kids, though. Not to mention, most of the time they would spend three or four lessons brewing a kind of potion. That was because there was always a stupid kid messing things up. The last time, a kid named Longbottom blew up his cauldron and was burned so badly that he had to be rushed to the Hospital Wing. And then Professor Snape was even more careful and strict and only when everyone in his class could somewhat brew the potion could they move on to the next kind of brew.

Since Harry became friends with Hermione, every Potions session he paired up with the girl, well, more accurately, forced the poor girl to sit with him. He did help when things got tough, but most of the time he let Hermione do all the work and he just sat on the sidelines watching, or looking in the mirror admiring his pretty face.

The Slytherins in his class had no opinion, they didn't dare say anything about him doing nothing. Some Gryffindors looked at him curiously, but they were too afraid of Professor Snape to say anything.

And the Professor, hmm, let's just say that he let Harry do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn't cause trouble.

Sometimes, when Professor Snape saw Harry sitting around bored or there was like, sparks of mischief in his eyes, he would give Harry something to do, like, give him a book about advance potions and let him read, or let him brew some kind of potions that clearly too complicated for a year one. Not very often, though, but still Harry enjoyed that.

Hermione looked jealous, and curious about their relationship, but was too afraid to ask Harry.

After Potions, they had a free afternoon. Usually Hermione and Jacob would study or prepare or something, and Harry would take care of his personal matters outside of Hogwarts. But as they(Harry) agreed(forced) to(them), Harry gave his poor friends about half an hour to get ready, before meeting them in the main hall.

Meanwhile, he went to the bathroom to like, touch up a bit. It was not easy to be a pretty boy, though.

The bathroom near the Slytherin's dungeon was totally dark, so he didn't like it. The one in Ravenclaw was a bit far away, and Harry didn't want to hurt his precious feet. He'd heard the one in Gryffindor Tower was nice, but he hadn't tried it yet. The dormitory room was a bit of a hassle, and Harry didn't want to see the annoying people there for the time being.

So the other choice was the one that was near the Hufflepuff dorms. It was bright enough, and clean, geez, those Hufflepuffs really were a hard-working and clean bunch.

When inside, he stood in front of the big mirror and examined his face a bit, feeling extremely satisfied.

Harry thought of his appearance with black hair and emerald eyes, then slightly raised his eyebrows a bit, feeling that his that face was actually very delicate and beautiful, because after all it was not much different from his current face. He had observed a bit, and affirmed that face of his had more features similar to Professor Potter than her husband, which, was a good thing in his opinion.

But actually, he liked this more. With this, he could say the most mean and obnoxious things and could get away with them just because he was small and looked like an angel.

And what else could he say? It was perfect.

After a bit, like, five minutes, while Harry was still fondly examining himself, he heard something outside. It was the sound of two people, a male and a female, probably both students.

Harry didn't care much, but he did hear some interesting things, well, mostly the girl kept bombarding the boy with silly questions, acting cute and clearly showing she was obsessed with him. Huh, imagine being that desperate, he could never.

“Oh, Cedric, I'm glad you like it...”

“Of course, your drawing is beautiful. Thank you very much, Cho.”

And it was going on for a while, yada yada. Not until like another five minutes, when Harry heard something shocking.

“So annoying.”

Harry heard the boy say, as the girl seemed to have left. He opened his eyes wide, turned back to look at the door, and immediately felt that things were getting interesting.

“This is rubbish.”

The door to the bathroom opened, just in time for Harry to see the boy crumpling the drawing into a ball, and the boy saw Harry leaning against the sink to look at him with eyes filled with joy.

Time seemed to freeze, and the two stood there looking at each other for a moment.

Harry looked the boy up and down, silently taking back what he had said earlier about him could never being desperate for a boy... Dear lord, this boy was gorgeous, and he could totally see why that girl sounded so obsessed.

He looked a bit familiar though, like he had seen him somewhere before.

But well, none of his problem.

Harry turned around, pretending nothing had happened, continuing to focus on his beautiful face. He took out his comb and started to brush his hair. But meanwhile, that boy, Cedric or something, started to come closer, and Harry could see in the mirror that he was smiling a rather interesting smile.

“Hello...” The boy approached, leaning his hip against the sink, he was quite tall. “We've met before, haven't we?”

Harry turned to him, and raised an eyebrow, as if asking 'when?'.

“In the kitchen, right?”

Harry tilted his head at the mention. He thought for a moment, then quickly remembered, oh yes, they did see each other in the kitchen just a few days ago.

“Oh, I see.”

Having said that, he didn't care anymore, continuing to look at his reflection in the mirror. But that only made the boy's interest grow.

“I am Cedric, Cedric Diggory.”

Oh, the hot and famous one - Harry thought to himself, remembering some gossip he had heard about a hot boy in Hogwarts, so that person was this boy.

“Harry Peverell.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry.” The older boy moved a little closer, and without beating around the bush, asked directly, “But tell me, how much did you hear just now?”

“Pretty much everything.” Harry smirked and glanced over, looking provocative. “Why, afraid I'd tell her?”

Cedric Diggory raised an eyebrow, then began to change his expression from interested to sad very quickly, which surprised Harry quite a bit - he thought he was the only one who could pull this shit.

“Well, I do think someone has to break it to Cho then.” The taller boy shrugged, “She's a nice girl, I really think so. It's just, she's a bit clingy, you know.”

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Harry rolled his eyes, making it clear to the boy that he didn't give a shit about him and that girl Cho. But hey, suddenly a happy idea popped into his head, and Harry was immediately interested. The little lord Peverell turned to look at Cedric Diggory, asking:

“Cho, as Cho Chang, Ravenclaw?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, then I can understand.”

Diggory smirked, straightening up, his face looking very interested and waiting for Harry's explanation.

“I don't know if I should say this, but she's not pretty.” Harry put an index finger to his lips, and chuckled, as if thinking of something funny. “I mean, she's kinda cute alright, but she's not pretty, not beautiful, just boring in general. And I think it's common knowledge that us... hot people, won't settle for less, right?”

Hearing that, Cedric Diggory burst out laughing, he threw back his head and laughed loudly, making Harry a little startled. But since it was lunchtime, and most of the people were in the main hall, so for the time being no one heard that laughter except Harry.

“Well well, Harry Peverell, I think you're absolutely right!”

Yeah, of course he was right. In fact, he was always right. He was Harry Peverell, Lord of the house of Peverell, and also the prettiest, smartest boy at Hogwarts. And basically everything that spewed from his mouth was always the truth that everyone else had to cherish.

It was like, fact, though, and everyone knew, so Harry didn't really care when Cedric Diggory said he was right. He looked at himself in the mirror, smiling sweetly once more, before turning and heading for the door.

But Cedric Diggory, with a bold move, stopped him, and said:

“Hey, I think we should be friends.”

“No.” Harry jerked his hand out of Cedric's large one, smiling warmly, but his words were cold. “I think we should never see each other again.”

And with that, Harry Peverell walked away, leaving Cedric Diggory standing there with a sly smile, like a cat seeing a delicious mouse. And if Harry knew what his words would bring in the future, he would regret it very much and want to slap himself in the face.

But that was for later.

Harry quickly found his friends in the main hall, ready to go shopping. All three of them, Daphne, Hermione, and Jacob, were dressed neatly, it seemed that what he had told them that morning had been taken seriously, and Harry was glad of that. But it wasn't like those clothes they were wearing would stay long though, Harry had a plan for them - to throw them in the fireplace or something.

“So, where are we going?” Daphne asked, “And how do we get out of Hogwarts?”

“Diagon Alley, of course. And I have a way, just trust me.”

Harry winked at his friends, before looking around, and spotted a familiar tall figure turning towards the way to the dungeon. He quickly signaled Daphne, Hermione, and Jacob to follow, and chased after the figure.

“Professor Snape!”

Chasing after Harry, when hearing him call out like that, his three friends immediately stiffened, their steps also slowed down, keeping their distance, while Harry himself quickly approached the Professor - who was sighing when he heard and saw Harry.

Daphne, Hermione and Jacob gasped, as Harry fucking Peverell grabbed the Professor's grumpy robe sleeve and shook it back and forth, after saying something and receiving a shake of the man's head.

“Please! Please! Please! I promise I'll be good!”

They followed at a distance, so they couldn't hear everything Harry said, but the way he talked and acted with the most terrifying professor at Hogwarts made them swallow their saliva in fear. But what was even more terrifying was that Professor Snape wasn't angry, but instead revealed a rare look of resignation.

Harry Peverell followed the Professor closely, until they reached the door of his office near the dungeon. And of course, he achieved his goal. He signaled to his friends, so that they followed him into Professor Snape's office.

The office was nice though, much nicer than Daphne, Hermione and Jacob had imagined. They had expected the "dungeon bat" office to be scary, like, filled with skulls and dangerous potion cauldrons, but instead, it looked neat and clean, and surprisingly bright.

“Here! We will use this!”

Harry pointed to the fireplace, and quickly explained how to use the floo network to his three friends. And before they used the fireplace to leave Hogwarts, Harry turned back to Professor Snape, who was sitting at his desk trying to look indifferent to them, and said:

“Don't worry, Professor, we'll be back before six!”

The poor professor sighed again, choosing to focus on his papers rather than the little shit who was always trying his best to annoy him.

Daphne, the bravest of Harry's three friends, quickly pulled his hand back. The tall girl quietly looked fearfully at Professor Snape, then asked softly:

“How the hell did you do that?”

Harry didn't really want to answer or explain much, he wanted to quickly leave Hogwarts and go to some fancy restaurant for lunch and then go shopping. But then, he looked at Professor Snape, and he smirked.

“Well, Professor Snape and I knew each other before Hogwarts.”

He said it loudly, enough for everyone in the office to hear, which made Daphne shake his hand in fear to tell him to shut the fuck up. But Harry kept talking, of course so the Professor could hear and look at him.

“He's like, a father to me.”

Immediately, Harry could hear the poor Professor coughing. He turned to look at the man with the brightest smile, while Professor Snape continued to cough uncontrollably, unable to believe his ears.

“Now, now, come one, we're late!”

Harry helped his friends into the fireplace, before entering himself. He certainly wouldn't leave like that though. The little evil turned back, waved at Professor Snape, and said loudly:

“Bye, dad, see you later!”

Poor Professor Snape still coughed for a while, though.

Chapter Text

“Is what you say really true?”

Daphne brought it up again, as they emerged from the fancy restaurant Harry had taken them to for lunch, feeling satisfied and full. She had wanted to ask that since they had stepped out of the fireplace, but there had been no time since lunch was immediately afterwards and Harry Peverell had spent a good deal of time 'hinting' at them about proper, aristocratic dining.

“What? About Professor Snape?”

“Yes! Are you guys really that close?!”

“Uhm, duh, yeah?” Harry raised an eyebrow at Daphne, before putting on his fancy sunglasses and motioning for the others to follow him. “You saw for yourself right. We're very close, I mean, have you seen him act like that with other people? To me he's a very nice and kind person, a big softie i would say.”

“Softie?! That’s crazy!”

Daphne shook her head, unable to believe that someone had just called Professor Snape a "nice and kind" and "big softie". Even though he was head of her house Slytherin, Daphne could not deny that he was a difficult, and scary man.

“Yeah... I don't buy it.”

That was Hermione, who looked just as shocked as Daphne.

“A few days ago he took 10 points from Gryffindor because, apparently, Ronald Weasley was 'breathing too loudly' in class.”

And also, Jacob had something on his mind. He looked over at Harry with a suspicious gaze, and said:

“He once told Cho Chang, a year 3 girl, that she should stop looking like a love sick fool, and also, took 10 points from Ravenclaw for that. She cried a whole afternoon, Harry.”

“I mean, can you blame him?” Harry shrugged and continued walking forward. “Ronald Weasley was annoying, and Cho Chang did look like a love sick fool. That's like, facts.”

“Okay, he doesn't even treat Draco Malfoy, who is his godson, like he does you.”

“Oh, come on, are you really comparing me to Malfoy?” Harry rolled his eyes, “I'm exceptional, I'm the best, I'm pretty, I'm nice, and I'm everything that Draco Malfoy couldn't even dream of being. Of course Professor Snape would like me better.”

This time, it was Daphne's turn to roll her eyes. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something shady to Harry, but at the same time her eyes darted forward and immediately what she was about to say became three simple words:

“What the fuck?”

Hermione and Jacob also had the same reaction. And that was understandable, since what they saw was quite shocking, in Harry's opinion. Even Harry himself would have been quite surprised if he hadn't been involved in it.

In front of them, the north side, Diagon Alley, where there used to be a shop called 'Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions', had completely changed.

It used to be a bustling corner near the goblin bank, with a variety of shops. But now, all the shops nearby were turned into more luxurious, beautiful, and modern buildings. At first glance, there was a cafe, a bookstore, and a... doll shop? And also, an apothecary, a cosmetics store, a pet shop. But the one that was the biggest, most eye-catching, with the size of five shops on a block put together, was a clothing store. It was grand, it looked luxurious, and it had a sign with its name 'TPE' - explained right below as 'The Peverell Experience'.

The three kids immediately turned to look at Harry Peverell, and in return he gave them a brightest smile. Yep, that was his. All his.

“You... did THAT?!”

Harry fucking Peverell, wearing his best fur coat and sunglasses, lifted a hand to gently tuck back a few strands of platinum blonde hair, looking like the most stylish angel, shaking his head and saying:

“Gosh, I'm so good at this.”

“This is crazy.” Hermione scratched her head, still unable to believe the sight before her. “It was originally Madame Malkin's, right? I swear I only bought my school robes here a little over a month ago.”

“Yeah, same.”

“A month? Fuck that, I bought my school robes just last week and I swear all this... I really don't remember those buildings.”

Harry walked towards the shop first, not even looking back and said:

“That is the power of money and magic, honey.”

Yep, that was right. Money and magic, the two most wonderful things ever. Geez, since entering the wizarding world, Harry has learned many interesting and useful lessons. For example, money can make the world go round. And magic can make the world go round twice as fast. And the result of that combination? Absolutely wonderful.

So he had spent a lot of money, the amount of gold coins withdrawn from the Peverell vaults would have made anyone's eyes glaze over. But it had been a worthy investment, and within a short time Harry was starting to see a return. And by his reckoning, if everything went according to plan, he would have made back tenfold his investment within two or three months.

After all, the wizarding world, more specifically the wizarding world of Britain, was quite backward. It was the twentieth century, but they still lived like it was medieval in many ways. The clothes, the food, the music, almost everything was backward, and that was Harry's greatest advantage.

He would provide the new, the modern, and the novel. He would bring the gooped and the gagged. He would change everything about the old wizarding world, and make it a better place than it had ever been. And then, everyone would remember Harry Peverell as a savior, an icon, a light that led them out of the dark ages.

God, just thinking about all that made Harry almost feel like he was walking on clouds.

But that would be a while. And to make it more effective and engaging, he needed a big bang. A very, very, very big big big bang. Still had no idea how to do that though.

“So Madame Malkin really sold her store to you like that?”

“Of course.” Harry turned back, winking at Hermione who had asked, “Remember, this world runs on money. What money can't buy, a lot of money can. Also, it's not like she quit her career though, she just sold the store, got a bunch of money, and then came to work for me and made ten times what she was making a month with that shabby store. Smart woman, huh.”

His friends were speechless, and followed him inside the store, which was even more grand inside. From the outside the store looked like five stores combined, but inside it was the size of a big ass mall. They could only gape in amazement, and look at everything with the most admiring eyes.

Almost everything related to fashion was inside. There were thousands of rows of constantly rotating clothes, and hundreds of lifelike mannequins wearing the latest fashions. There was a huge corner dedicated to the latest handbags that any girl would envy. Oh, and the section for men's fashion was just as grand, and not at all boring like other places.

“Lord Peverell.” A beautiful young lady came forward and greeted Harry with the most cordial attitude, “Welcome back. How can I help you today?”

“I need some, no, a lot of clothes for my friends. Can you be a dear and bring all you can, please?”

“Absolutely!”

She said, smiling brightly at the kids again before hurrying away. But as she left, two other staff members arrived, and very respectfully invited Harry and his friends to the VIP area, where they were seated on a luxurious sofa and served soft drinks and various sweets. Harry was used to it, while his friends were not - they looked like they had just seen a ghost, their mouths wide open.

Harry Peverell sat down right in the middle of the sofa, crossed his legs, and took a glass of juice from a staff after clapping his hands gently to signal:

“Okay, let's start this shit.”

As if they had been trained and prepared for years, the staff hurriedly, but in unison, pushed out a series of clothes racks. They were not ordinary racks, but racks made of silver, intricately carved and studded with luxurious gems. Oh, and the clothes, there were countless of them, and just looking at them was enough to dazzle Hermione, Daphne and Jacob.

“Hermione, you're an easy case, you first.” Harry gestured for Hermione to come forward, and pointed to a large mirror as it was pushed forward by a staff member, “Just stood in front of it for a moment.”

“Do I really have to try on all these clothes?”

The girl asked, clearly not the type to enjoy shopping and trying on clothes. But as she finished asking, the mirror in front of her flashed, and to her, Daphne, and Jacob's amazement, it copied and reflected her. Of course, it wasn't the usual reflection of other mirrors.

“Don't be silly, we don't do those shit here.”

Harry waved to a staff member, and she pushed a rack over, and took out a pretty pink dress from it. Instantly, Hermione's reflection in the mirror was wearing the dress without her having to.

“What the...”

Hermione's mouth fell open, and she took a few steps back, unable to believe her reflection in the mirror. The dress was cute, a bit short for her liking, but trendy, and perfectly suited her figure.

“You're still young, so we won't go too hard for that.” Harry said, gesturing again, “But how about we change your hairstyle? Uhm, can someone help me?”

Some staff hurriedly ran off to get something, while Harry shook his head and frowned, clearly not pleased with their delay.

“Ugh, so unprofessional.”

Luckily for the staff, they quickly brought over a catalogue of just in time hairstyles to distract Harry from his disappointment at their omission. One of them wanted to open the pages so that Harry and his group could try each style, but Harry waved his hand, he had already made up his mind.

“I think you just need long, straight hair.”

With his words, the catalogue in the staff's hand was lifted up by an invisible force, and flew towards Harry. When it landed in his hand, it was opened to the page he wanted. The boy pointed a finger at the page, and immediately Hermione's reflection in the mirror changed. Instead of her original thick and messy hair, it had become a long, straight hair that was much more fashionable and elegant.

“The length was a little off.”

Harry muttered, thinking for a moment, and glanced at Hermione for an estimate, then tapped the catalogue again. Hermione's hair in the mirror was shorter, just past her shoulders.

“Hmm, perfect. You see, with this kind of hair, you can create many other styles that look neater and more elegant. Or if you want to look a little more chic, you can curl it slightly.”

As Harry said, he tapped the page repeatedly, and Hermione's hair in the mirror changed continuously according to his words, before returning to the shoulder length Harry had chosen for her.

“Harry, I'm not straightening my hair, my mother will kill me. She thinks I'm too young for that.”

Hermione said as she looked at herself in the mirror, and anyone around could feel the regret coming from her voice and eyes. Obviously, she really liked the "her" in the mirror.

“Who said anything about straightening your hair?”

Harry shrugged, waving again at a staff member who quickly handed him a glass vial filled with an amber colored liquid.

“This is my new version of a hair straightening potion that instantly straightens your hair for twelve hours before it goes back to its original style. You just use it, and when you get home stop before twelve hours. Your parents won't know, they're normal people right?”

“Wait, what?”

Hermione was completely speechless, and still looked shocked and incredulous as a staff sat her down and began using an ivory comb and began brushing her hair while applying the potion.

“You even thought of that? Her hair?”

Daphne sat next to Harry, asking. In which the boy smiled brightly:

“What can I say. I came prepared.”

While they were busy fixing Hermione's hair, Harry quickly did what he did best - picking out clothes. A pile of racks was pushed in front of him, and Harry quickly picked out the ones that pleased him the most.

“That. That. That. This one is cute. Wait.” Harry tilted his head, looked at one rack, and frowned, “That shirt, the brown one, yes, that it. Go throw it in the fireplace and burn it. I can't believe that ugly shit is in my store.”

Yep, that was his store, so his words and decisions were paramount. A staff hastily took the shirt out, and actually threw it into a nearby fireplace as Harry said, to the astonishment of Harry's three friends.

When Hermione finished fixing her hair, she looked like a new person. A prettier, better, more wonderful person. And with the clothes Harry forced her to change into, she looked like the most fashionable girl in London.

The mirror had returned to its basic function - reflecting, and Hermione could only sigh and lament:

“I can't believe I'm saying this, but I do look good.”

“Of course, honey.” Harry stood up, walking towards the handbags the staff brought him. “I rarely hang out with ugly people, so you guys should be more confident in yourselves.”

He picked up a beautiful white dragonskin bag, and turned to look at his three friends. If it were anyone else, no one would have imagined that a beautiful and innocent-looking boy like him could say something so obnoxious just a few seconds ago. But his friends?

They looked a little... relieved.

Cause they knew there was some truth in Harry's words.

“Oh my god.” Hermione covered her face, bowed her head and groaned, “What is up with me? Why do I feel like he's right?”

Immediately, Daphne and Jacob said:

“Corruption.”

“You are ruined”

Harry chuckled, not believing they were right. He gestured to the staff, who gathered up the mountain of clothes Harry had picked out for Hermione and arranged them neatly before placing them in a small jewel-encrusted wooden box. It was magic, of course, no box that size could hold that many clothes. Wasn't new though.

He passed it to Hermione, and she took it, knowing full well she couldn't refuse.

“Jacob, you're up.”

Jacob Black sighed, stepping forward, prepared for this. And just like Hermione, another pile of clothes racks were pushed out, and Harry sorted through them faster than ever.

“Ooh, this is cute.” Harry picked up a pink shirt, “Does it match?”

Jacob looked at the shirt, extremely frightened. He quickly stepped back, waving his hand to refuse:

“Uhm, it's a girl's shirt right?”

“It's unisex.”

“How is it unisex?”

“Jacob, honey.” Harry rolled his eyes as he tossed the pink shirt to a staff member, who wrapped it up for him, “Everything is unisex if people stop being a little bitch about that.”

It was a bit confusing, but as long as he didn't have to wear that shirt, Jacob sighed in relief. Well, it's not like that was something Harry had in mind for the boy.

“You are a member of the Black family. You have that natural look of being aristocratic. So I thought it would be wise to exploit that dark, mysterious aspect. So, dark clothes, simple but a little formal, with attention to detail.”

Jacob's reflection in the mirror changed constantly, and Harry was quite pleased. As he said, he rarely hung out with ugly people, so of course Jacob wasn't bad looking if he dressed properly. And no matter how much his fathers tried to deny it, there was no hiding the Black blood in him. Harry could see that Jacob would become one of the brightest and most handsome boys at Hogwarts, in just a few years.

Harry was quite excited for that moment, but for now... He turned to Daphne.

“You’re next.”

This time, it was, way, way, way harder.

Harry clasped his hands behind his back, walking around to observe Daphne as his friend stood there awkwardly under his scrutiny.

“You're... interesting.”

“Thank you?” Daphne frowned, not feeling very good, but tried to take it as a compliment. But as Harry circled her a little more, she grew impatient and snapped, “Uhm, can we just get on with it?”

Harry Peverell finally stopped. He frowned, wanting to say something, but decided not to and let the staff start passing out the clothes.

The results, well, were just as he had thought. Odd. Those clothes, those dresses, looked odd on Daphne. No, it wasn't because she was ugly, again, Harry wouldn't hang out with ugly people. On the contrary, Daphne's features looked quite beautiful, and sharp, yes, that was the word.

“How about we stop there?”

Daphne sighed, she knew her own problem - she looked odd in those dresses, but it wasn't something she could fix. Like, could people fix their appearance? To some extent, yes, but not a lot.

“It's not about your face or your bod.”

The Peverell boy tilted his head in thought for a moment, unable to bear defeat before this gal. He had a few ideas, but didn't know where to start. Hmm, maybe he needed a bit of help.

He glanced over at the sofa, where Hermione was holding a book that he didn't know where she got it from, and she was reading intently. Jacob, on another hand, was looking around curiously, looking innocent as he sat shaking his leg.

“Wait.” He immediately turned to look at Daphne, “What do you think about pants? Like, boy pants?”

Harry didn't even let Daphne answer. He snapped his fingers, and the staff who were standing nearby waiting for his every word immediately sprang into action. The nearby racks were cleared away, and other racks of boy clothes were pushed forward.

The image of Daphne in the mirror kept changing, and this time, it was much better.

This girl was really suited for boy clothes!

“Hermione! Look!”

Harry called, and his female friend stood up immediately. Hermione didn't need to hear the question, because just looking at the mirror she understood everything.

“Oh my god.”

“Right?” Harry opened his mouth wide, which was rare, “This is the most handsome girl in Hogwarts that I have ever seen!”

“She really is!”

Now, that, was really gooped and the gagged. Who knew Daphne had it in her?

Harry tapped the hair catalogue happily, shortening her hair in the mirror. As for Daphne, she raised an eyebrow at her reflection, clearly pleased with what she saw.

But then, the reality hit her.

“I can't. My mother will kill me.”

“Uhhh, parents...” Harry rolled his eyes, motioning for the staff to pack up his things. “The most hypocritical creatures. Pretty sure most of them did stupid things in their youth, but then they want their kids to be perfect. But it's okay, you can keep the clothes, maybe the hair will have to wait a few more years.”

“I like that.”

To be honest, Harry almost told Daphne to cut off that hair, and put on a wig when she got home. But well, he couldn't do that in a humane way. See? He really was the kindest person on Earth.

The group spent like another hour in the store, as Harry let them take whatever they liked. Of course the kids were shy and reluctant, so Harry had to lead them around and stuff things into their hands. Accessories were necessary, there were sunglasses, hats, gloves,... Everything they needed, the store had. Oh, and cute shoes!

“You really are good at this, huh?”

Daphne said as she put on a pair of sunglasses. She had changed into a new outfit, trousers, a shirt with a small tie, and a small waistcoat over it. With her superior height, she really suited these clothes, and was really handsome.

“Of course.”

Harry tossed his hair proudly, he felt this was a perfect day - his mission had been a success, he had made his friends presentable, no he had turned them into some good looking and trendy kids.

“Harry! Can we go to the bookstore?”

Harry sighed, unable to refuse when Hermione and Jacob looked at him with those big puppy eyes. He just waved them away, and turned to whisper to Daphne:

“Those fucking nerds.”

“Speak for yourself.” Daphne shrugged, “I'll follow them.”

The three of them headed towards the door, looking extremely hurried. Harry wasn't really interested in books, he thought he had read enough of what he needed to. After all, books couldn't make him prettier. So he decided to stay in the store for a bit, yeah, there were some very cute shoes.

But his three friends had not yet gone out the door, when it opened, and another entered.

“Uncle James!”

Harry Peverell stiffened.

That was Jacob's voice. So 'uncle James' probably was James Potter. Uhhh, why? Why now? What a way to ruin a day! Harry had previously decided to ignore everything related to his background, and that meant limiting contact with people related to that matter.

He took a deep breath, and turned back.

James Potter, looked exactly the same as the last time he saw him. Tall, dark hair, and glasses. Harry had to calm himself down that, yes, no one would notice the resemblance between them. He was now a platinum blonde boy with an angelic face, absolutely no one would notice!

Over there, Mr Potter was stroking Jacob's head, seemingly joking with him, looking very intimate. That sparked some strange feelings in Harry's heart, but like always, he quickly suppressed those feelings and threw them to the back of his mind.

Harry couldn't hear what they were saying though, he was trying to sort out his emotions. He only saw Jacob pointing at him, and then the man started walking towards.

“Hello, we've met before, you're Harry Peverell, right?”

The man's voice was deep, and warm, and it made Harry feel a little odd, but he still put on the brightest smile he could muster, and replied:

“Hello, Mr Potter.”

“So, you are the owner of this place, very impressive.” The man said, taking out what looked like a coat, “But Madam Malkin seemed to have forgotten that she had promised to fix this coat for me. Is there anyway that I can reach her?”

“Oh, she's in Paris, you know, studying fashion. I don't think she'll be back for two weeks.”

By that, Mr Potter's face looked sad, which, again, made Harry Peverell feel strange. So instead of refusing this, he held out his hand,

“Can I see it?”

Of course, Mr. Potter did not hesitate, but handed the coat to Harry. It, the coat, looked quite good, good material, meticulous and delicate sewing, but it looked quite old and had a big hole like a burn mark.

“It looked fine, but why don't you buy a new one? The cost of repairing it must be no less than buying a new one.”

“Well, my wife bought it with her first month's salary, so it's kinda hard to replace.” The man scratched his head, but his expression became gentler than ever when he mentioned his wife. “She was very sad when she burned it when she was brewing a potion.”

The little lord Peverell blinked, looking at the coat in his hand before gently stroking it. After a few seconds, he looked up at James Potter, and smiled:

“It's okay. You can leave it here. The staff will fix it.”

“Really? Thank you so muc…”

This awkward conversation hadn't even ended, when there was a loud bang outside the store. Mr James Potter, as an Auror, quickly ran outside, with Harry chasing after him.

There were several louder bangs, and when they stepped out of the store, the sky was pitch black even though it was only four o'clock in the afternoon. And there was a green mark that looked like a skull standing tall in the sky.

Harry looked up at Mr Potter, and saw his panic.

“The Dark mark!”

The man immediately turned to look at Harry, pointing inside the store:

“You stay there, okay?”

And then he ran off, leaving Harry standing there with his head tilted, watching for a long moment, before he was pulled back to reality by three of his friends bursting out of the bookstore across the street.

“Harry!”

“What's going on?!”

The raven-haired boy waved at them, pulling them into the store. He was quite confident in the sturdiness of his buildings. After all, he had spent a lot of money to build such a defense system, not just for show. Harry, closing the store door, said loudly:

“It seems there's an attack coming from Knockturn Alley. But don't worry, the Aurors will be there soon, and this store is very sturdy. Just calm down and stay where you are, okay?”

Luckily, the people inside the shop were fine. They looked a little panicked, but still kept their composure and stayed where they were as Harry had instructed.

Harry led his friends back to the sofa, sat them down, and left after telling them:

“I need to go to the bathroom for a bit.”

He did go into the bathroom, and locked the door.

Meanwhile, in Knockturn Alley, there was a lot of explosions. A bunch of people in black robes, wearing skull masks covering their faces were fighting with the newly arrived Aurors. Spells, curses and jinxes were flying in the air, and screams were everywhere.

In a dark alley, Harry Peverell appeared.

“I don't like this.”

He whispered, then poked his head out to look at the chaos outside, and just in time to see Mr. Potter fighting five masked men at once.

Despite the advantage in numbers, those guys didn't look like they could overwhelm the man, but rather the opposite. James Potter was extremely skilled, continuously shooting spells from the tip of his wand, and in just a moment he had taken down all of them, before moving on to the next target.

“I didn't need to worry about this place, they could manage it fine.”

The boy looked up at the green skull in the sky for a moment, before closing his eyes. There was some kind of magic, dark magic, that made him feel not very happy. A summoning spell, to be precise. Quite an old spell, Harry didn't know where these guys found this spell, but to be able to use it to this extent seemed pretty good.

Harry Peverell opened his eyes, and the emerald color was back in them, and brighter than ever.

He turned, and disappeared into the darkness.

When he reappeared, it wasn't that dark alley anymore, but a dark hallway with flickering firelight. It looked like he was in some ancient dungeon. But who knows, this Knockturn Alley was filled with some pretty old buildings, maybe it was just, like, a style or something.

Harry can hear the spell being chanted.

He stepped forward. Still in his fur coat and fashionable outfit. Well, he didn't exactly have time to get ready, did he? But well.

There was a large stone door at the end of the corridor, and Harry didn't even try to sneak up - he swung his arm, and directly shattered the door into a hundred pieces with his unstopable magic.

“Who are you!!”

“It's just a kid!”

“Just kill it!”

A green beam of light shot towards Harry's chest, causing him to take a few steps back. But the boy did not fall, only looked at his chest, and then raised his head, frowning:

“Rude.”

Still alive.

Someone had screamed, something something about him being a monster, and Harry didn't like it. Monster? How dare they!? He, Harry fucking Peverell, was the most beautiful, gentlest, most generous boy! If he had to be compared to anything, it would be an angel! How they fucking dare to call him a monster?!

Spells and curses continued to fly at him, but the boy just stood there motionless, looking at the cloaked men before him like the lowest of creatures.

His fingers moved a little, and before they knew it, he was gone.

A few heads fell to the ground.

There was a circle inside the room, with six people sitting around it trying to cast the spell while the rest tried to protect them from anyone who might enter. But well, it changed real fast. The spell snapped, and instead of magic being poured into the circle, six heads fell to the ground instead.

Blood was flowing everywhere, quickly obscuring what was suspicious below.

Standing in the middle of the room, was a boy with dark hair, and emerald eyes that held no emotion. In his small hand was a giant scythe, it didn't look like he could use it.

But the heads on the ground were proof he did.

“No one should play with Death and its magic.”

His cold voice sent chills down the spines of the others, and they felt themselves frozen, unable to move or speak. They were there, like stone statues, completely under the boy's control.

“And what the fuck is with your name? Death Eaters? The hell? That is so disrespectful.”

Harry let out a long sigh, looking around before shaking his head:

“You guys choose this.”

And with a wave of his hand, black flames burst forth, engulfing all the remaining people. Only intermittent screams could be heard, sounding horrifying, but well, fitting, consider they were indeed being burned alive.

Harry turned again, and disappeared.

It was about half an hour later, when Mr Potter returned to Harry's shop, looking tired, but relieved to see that the kids were safe inside. He explained a little to them, reassuring them that everything was settled and telling them to return to Hogwarts.

And Harry? He just stood to the side, silently looking at the man with curious eyes. No one knew though, he had sunglasses on his face.

“Hey. You were so calm back then, that was good.” James Potter leaned down and smiled at him, and touched Harry's shoulder lightly. “I won't tell the others that you guys skipped school, but just, go back and stay in Hogwarts for the time being, okay?”

The boy nodded, smiled, and pointed to a staff member standing nearby holding the coat that had been mended to look like new. That brought another smile to the man's tired face, and for once, Harry felt good.

“Harry, we should go back.”

His friends waved at him, and he quickly ran towards the fireplace where they were standing. But not before looking at James Potter again.

His left shoulder, where Mr Potter had touched him earlier.

Warm.

Chapter Text

The 'accident' at Diagon Alley was a hot topic... for a day or two, before all attention was focused on the opening day of the TPE store. Fashionable clothes in the wizarding world? Hell yes. As long as there were young people, the demand for fashion would be high. After the war, the wizarding world's population had recovered and grown significantly, and it was a good opportunity that Harry Peverell seized.

“This is ridiculous.” Daphne sighed, throwing the paper down on the table, “I can't believe the Daily Prophet is making a front page about Harry's shop, rather than the Diagon Alley terrorist attack.”

The paper had a full-front-page spread of Harry fucking Peverell in the middle of a chaotic scene, surrounded by a whirlwind of smoke and spells gone haywire. His raven hair was indeed flying in the wind, but instead of the panic that should have been on his face, there was a look of concern but still fucking pretty.

Her friends, Jacob and Hermione, were busy sipping their tea, seemingly not bothered by the lack of concern in the media.

“It's just the Prophet being the Prophet,” Jacob said with a shrug, his eyes not leaving the history book.

It was true that the Daily Prophet had been a staple in the British wizarding world, with more copies flying off the shelves than any other newspaper. But, it had gotten a bit of a bad rap lately for not looking all that fancy. To the muggle-born folks, it might have seemed like a normal paper, but those who had grown up with magic knew there was something not quite right about it in those days.

Back in the day, the Prophet was like the golden child of the newspaper world, full of solid news and stories that really made you think. But, it had gone downhill recently. It had turned into a gossip column on steroids, full of sensational headlines and stories that were more about stirring the pot than telling the truth. It was as if they were playing to the crowd that loved a good scandal, rather than giving the people what they really needed: the facts.

For those who missed the good old days, it was pretty sad to see. The Prophet had been the place to go for serious, thought-provoking journalism, but it had transformed into something else entirely. Now, it was all about the latest who's who and who said what behind whose back. It was like it had lost its way, focusing on the trivial stuff that didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. And let's not forget, it wasn't just the content that had changed—the tone had shifted too. It had traded its wand for a knife, stabbing away at reputations with innuendos and spiteful whispers.

“I think he paid them.”

Daphne frowned, speaking, and with each second she became more certain. There was no other reasonable explanation.

“Wait, what?” Hermione's eyes widened, “You can pay to manipulate the news?”

Daphne and Jacob looked at each other, and sighed.

As if on cue, the infamous Harry Peverell graced the grandiose main hall with his presence, swaggering in like he owned the place in a garish white mink coat that was about as appropriate for the English climate as a snowboard in a library. To top it off, he had the audacity to accessorize with a pair of ostentatious sunglasses that screamed “look at me!” and a plastic cup of iced coffee, because apparently, the boy had never heard of a good old-fashioned cup of tea.

The precocious eleven-year-old was a vision of haughty disregard, his attire a slap in the face of the school's storied tradition. It was as if he'd woken up that morning and decided that Slytherin's colors had been replaced with haute couture and that the Sorting Hat had whispered 'Vogue' into his ear instead of a house. The ensemble was so ludicrously over the top, it was a wonder the other students hadn't started a petition to send him to Beauxbatons.

It was utterly preposterous for an eleven-year-old to carry himself with such poise, yet somehow, it was impossible to picture him in the standard school robes. It was as if the very fabric of the wizarding world had been tailored to suit his avant-garde tastes.

The professors' disapproving glances? Oh, please. He couldn't give two fucks about their antiquated sense of fashion. Their stodgy expressions were as irrelevant to him as a Quidditch rulebook at a muggle sports game. Harry walked with the confidence of a celebrity who'd just snubbed the paparazzi, making it clear that he was the protagonist in this tale, and everyone else was merely a side character.

Harry sauntered over to the table where his trio of comrades had made themselves comfortable. Upon laying eyes on them, he couldn't help but let out a dainty “ew” at the sight of their Hogwarts garb, which was so not the look he had envisioned for the occasion. He then proceeded to gracefully lower his fabulous self onto the seat, as if the mere act of sitting could somehow elevate their fashion choices.

“This place is such a downer.”

Harry muttered, barely glancing at the unappealing spread before him. He took a half-hearted sip of his iced coffee, the plastic cup hitting the table with a dull thud.

“I mean, I'm not asking for a full-on renovation, but could they at least sprinkle some cheer in the decor?”

Daphne, the ever-so-serious one, couldn't help but broach the topic first. She pointed at the paper and inquired with a raised eyebrow:

“Was this little masterpiece yours?”

“Mmhmm,” Harry barely glanced up. He looked about as enthused as a sloth at a sprinting contest. “Yep, dropped a bit of coin on that trash. But hey, I looked fab in the pic, right?”

The girl, towering over her friends, stared at him. She tried to decide whether to laugh or lecture. After a moment, she let out a world-weary sigh and said: “Harry, didn't you realize people were dying out there? That wasn't exactly the kind of headline we were looking for in our morning reading material.”

But Harry, that poster boy for apathy, just flipped his platinum locks and picked up a dessert fork with the enthusiasm of a man poking a dead slug. He jabbed at the pudding with contempt and quipped, “Some people and their dark arts shenanigans. It wasn't like they were using dark magic for bake sales. They had it coming. Totally deserved it, if you ask me.”

Ah, dark magic. It was the ultimate gamble for those too foolish to understand the consequences. Harry, bless his cold heart, didn't see it as inherently evil. No, it was just a tool, and apparently, some folks were too stupid to wield it correctly. So, they got what was coming to them.

“Seriously, Daphne, you're just eleven,” Harry quipped, completely ignoring how ridiculous it sounded coming from his mouth, considering he was also an eleven year old who acted and spoke strangely.

Ignoring the fact that he was breaking the 'no magic in public spaces' rule like it was a piece of old chewing gum stuck under his shoe, Harry had the audacity to snap his fingers with a flourish. Poof! Three invitations appeared as if by magic, which, let's face it, they were. He tossed them to his friends like they were nothing but yesterday's newspaper.

The trio stared at the cards like they'd just been handed the secrets to the universe. The invites were fancy, like something out of a fairy tale, and apparently, they were all invited to this shindig in the main hall on Sunday night. How utterly scandalous of Harry to throw a party right under the nose of the school's strict rules.

“Darling, it's going to be the party of the year, so don't you even think of not going. I've got costumes sorted for each and every one of you.”

Harry said with a flair that was almost as dramatic as the entrance of the owls that followed. As if on cue, the feathery little messengers swooped into the grand hall, raining down invitations like glittery confetti. Oh, the audacity! He had invited everyone from those dreadful Slytherins he unfortunately shared a dorm with to the esteemed professors and all the way down to the lowly staff members. How utterly inclusive of him.

The students, bless their gossiping hearts, couldn't help but snatch up the envelopes that had plopped down before them. Their eyes grew wide with excitement and a hint of greed as they devoured the contents. It wasn't just any old party invite, no, it was an all-access pass to the latest fashion craze courtesy of TPE. Who in their right mind would decline free, fabulous attire? It was like telling a muggle they couldn't have a taste of Butterbeer.

Everyone in the room was buzzing with excitement, their eyes darting around to see who had received one. It was like watching a bunch of puppies fighting over the last treat in the jar. The invitations were the talk of the town, or in this case, the talk of the castle. And why wouldn't they be? After all, who doesn't love a good party, especially when you're dressed to the nines and you didn't have to spend a single knut?

Hermione's mouth gaped like a fish out of water as she held the card in her hand, “A party? Here, in this main hall?” she questioned, sounding utterly unconvinced.

Jacob looked even more bewildered, his hand making its way to his hairline for a good old-fashioned head-scratch.

“I thought that was, like, totally against the rules?”

And there was Harry Peverell, the epitome of cool, casually tossing aside his fork to reclaim his iced coffee.

“Oh, darling,” he drawled, “It's called the power of money. Maybe it's time for you two to get with the program?”

All eyes inevitably fell upon Harry, and wouldn't you know it, Harry absolutely reveled in the attention. The room was filled with folks clutching their cards, their gazes brimming with unspoken inquiries, yet they all seemed too intimidated to actually come over and bother him.

He was Harry Peverell, the one and only, the lord and master of the Peverell estate, and it was only natural that he had scaled the lofty heights of society, leaving a trail of envy in his wake.

The blame for all this, Harry thought with a smug tilt of his head, lay squarely at the feet of his wealth. If he'd been some penniless orphan, things might've played out differently. Maybe then he'd have had that jet black hair everyone associated with hardship and he'd have been one of those goody-two-shoes types, desperately striving for academic excellence.

But fate had other, more fabulous, plans for him. Instead, Harry was Harry fucking Peverell, and his platinum blonde locks gleamed just as ostentatiously as his cold, hard cash.

Ah, but the universe had other plans, as usual, and Harry's fleeting moment of delight was cruelly snatched away. The grand entrance of a few figures into the Great Hall had caught everyone's attention, but it was Jacob's dramatic jumping jig that truly stole the show.

“Daddy!” he had squealed, and Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. Who did the universe decide to grace them with this time? Oh, just the usual suspects: the Auror squad, with James Potter at the helm, naturally. And let's not forget his trusty sidekick, Sirius Black, with Jacob's dear old dad following them. How utterly charming.

The man had looked as smug and heroic as ever, as if the past day hadn't crushed Harry's soul into a fine dust. Harry couldn't help but glare at him, even as Hermione had cooed over the tiny human James was carrying.

“Isn't that Mr. Potter?” She had asked, all wide-eyed and innocent. “And his daughter, she's adorable!”

Yeah, sure, Harry had thought, she's just peachy. What was her name again? Something with a flower, like every other bloody Evans. Rose, that's it. How original.

The sight of Professor Lily Potter sprinting towards her husband had been like a dagger to Harry's gut, and Henry Potter's eager scurry from the Gryffindor table to join the reunion had been the twist of said dagger. The whole display had been nauseatingly heartwarming.

“Look at the sweet little family. How cute.”

Harry had said through gritted teeth, his voice a syrupy mess of sarcasm. The sunglasses he had on had barely contained the eye roll that would have sent his true feelings soaring across the hall.

Just fabulous, Harry's day had officially taken a nosedive. The bitterness was practically seeping into his soul. And why? Because apparently, the universe had a wicked sense of humor and decided to throw Harry Potter into the life of Harry Peverell. Who knew that being a celebrity wizard came with a twisted plot twist that involved an identity swap and a trip to the local orphanage?

But wait, let's not forget the delightful little question mark hanging over his head: “Why on Earth did his life kick off in such a dump?” It was like someone looked at the happily ever after blueprint and said, “Let's start with 'once upon a time' and skip straight to 'but wait, there's more.'“

And as if dodging the truth and ignoring the existential dread wasn't enough, Harry had to deal with the fact that his heart was still beating to the tune of human emotions. So, yes, Harry Peverell, the boy who could probably charm a dragon to do his laundry, felt a pinch of sadness when he caught a glimpse of the “family” frolicking in the warm embrace of togetherness.

What a delightful surprise, the little guy was still equipped with a fully functional human emotional spectrum. Joy, pain, and everything in between—his life was basically a never-ending buffet of feels. How utterly splendid.

With a dramatic swallow that could've won awards for Best Performance in a Throat-Constricting Moment, Harry hauled himself to his feet. He'd clearly had his fill of the day's family reunion circus.

“Don't you dare miss it,” he announced to his trio of companions, “the party's this coming Sunday night.”

As he spun on his heel, exiting the scene with the grace of a diva, Daphne's voice chased him like a pesky fan:

“But where are you off to?”

Without breaking his stride or bothering to look back, Harry flung his words over his shoulder with all the charm of a royal wave.

“Either the loo, or to commit murder. It's a toss-up, really.”

*

Oh, Harry, always picking the loo over murder, the drama king. As if anyone would suspect him of plotting the demise of a happy family just because he couldn't stand the sight of them. The Hufflepuff bathroom remained its pristine self, a beacon of cleanliness in the school's otherwise chaotic halls. Empty, too. How considerate of everyone to leave him to his brooding.

He peeled off those ridiculous shades, revealing eyes as cold and unfeeling as the marble walls surrounding him. Emerald orbs stared back from the mirror, and Harry couldn't help but scoff at his own pathetic mug. The nerve of that reflection, reminding him of who he was—or rather, who he wasn't supposed to be.

The brother of the chosen one, the boy who lived, the second-born son of the fabled Potter line—what a load of rubbish. He was Harry Peverell, thank you very much, and he'd chosen this life, the lie that allowed him some semblance of peace. The future could keep its pesky truths; for the time being, he needed this, this façade, this escape from the burdens of his true identity.

So he rubbed at those eyes, willing the irritation to leave him be. But alas, the annoyance lingered, like the smell of old potions in a forgotten corner of the dungeons. This was his destined path, he told himself, with all the enthusiasm of someone choosing between detention and a root canal.

As Harry managed to pull himself together, getting back into his usual fabulous groove, a pesky little knock echoed through the bathroom. He swiveled around, and there was Cedric Diggory, lounging against the doorframe like he owned the place. That smug look on his face, like the universe had just handed him the crown for most annoyingly attractive person of the hour.

“Well, if it isn't Harry Peverell,” Cedric purred, his voice a syrupy concoction of sweetness and mockery that had Harry's skin doing the cha-cha. Who knew the golden boy had this cheeky side to him? But hey, Harry had to admit, it was a refreshing twist to the usual goody-two-shoes routine.

“Cedric Diggory,” Harry shot back, playing along. “Should I be worried you're taking up stalking as a new hobby?”

The laugh that spilled out of Cedric was like a well-timed punchline. Classic Diggory, always ready with the charm.

“As tempting as that sounds,” he said, sauntering over to Harry with all the grace of a runway model, “I've got a more pressing matter.”

The boy whipped out the card with the flourish of a magician revealing his trick. “Do you, by any chance, need a plus one for whatever this shindig is?”

Cedric's grey eyes danced with a challenge, his dark hair framing his face like a picture-perfect poster boy. It was absurd, really, how a third-year could manage to be the school's reigning heartthrob. But Harry couldn't help but be drawn into the game, his curiosity piqued by this unexpected turn of events.

Harry couldn't help but snicker to himself, flipping a lock of his fabulous hair with a dramatic flair. “Seriously?” he thought, eyeing Cedric Diggory with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Is this bitch for real?”

“You're asking me to be your plus one?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow so high it practically disappeared into his hairline. “To my own party?”

Cedric held up a finger, shaking his head with a smug grin.

“No, no, Harry,” he corrected, taking a step closer to the Gryffindor. “I'm asking to be your plus one. There's a world of difference, darling.”

The emerald-eyed charmer remained silent, tilting his head in a way that screamed 'I dare you to explain.'

Cedric chuckled, obviously enjoying the moment:

“Wouldn't it be splendid if you had some arm candy to show off your clothes at the party? You know, something to make them pop.”

“And you're just the man for the job, huh?” Harry quipped, turning to the mirror to fluff up his already flawless platinum locks.

“I like to think so,”

Cedric said, shrugging with a smugness that was almost too much to handle.

“After all, you did say us attractive people need to stay together, right?”

“Oh, please,” Harry rolled his eyes, playing with his hair like a peacock preening its feathers. “There are plenty of boys at Hogwarts who could do the trick if they wore my designs.”

“Such as?” Cedric's voice was a blend of curiosity and skepticism.

“Well, the Weasley twins aren't exactly hard on the eyes.”

Wow, even Harry was trying not to laugh at the absurdity of his own lie. Cedric's eyebrow shot up so fast it was a wonder it didn't get stuck.

“Are you being serious?”

“So rude,” Harry gasped, faking offense. “Are you saying that they're ugly?”

The taller boy couldn't help but laugh, the sound grating on Harry's nerves. “Fine,” Harry said with a smirk. “The clothes will be at your place this afternoon. Model them for me, won't you?”

“A pleasure,” Cedric said, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

“And don't be late. I expect you to pick me up at the Slytherin dorm at seven on Sunday. Sharp.”

“It's a date,” Cedric said, extending his hand.

“A business arrangement.”

Harry corrected, taking Cedric's hand firmly.

The two shared a knowing look. Cedric knew exactly what he was getting himself into, and Harry had to admit, he was a bit intrigued by the boy's audacity.

The drama with his true identity and the Potters was completely put to the back of Harry's mind, and he couldn't wait for Sunday.

It was going to be a great day.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts was in chaos.

Not the usual chaos of Weasley pranks, Peeves’ mischief, or the occasional rogue spell gone wrong. No, this was a different kind of madness. The kind that had students abandoning their books, ignoring their homework, and panicking over something far more critical than schoolwork:

The Party.

Sunday was fast approaching, and with it, the most anticipated event of the year. The usual hum of academic discussions had been replaced with frantic debates over robes, accessories, and hairstyles. Even the Ravenclaws, normally so composed, could be seen huddling in corners, whispering about the latest fashion trends and which colors suited them best.

The Great Hall was a war zone of gossip and fabric samples. Owls flooded in and out, delivering last-minute custom orders from TPE, Twilfitt and Tatting’s, and even Madam Malkin’s, though everyone knew that only those with true taste (or the right connections) managed to get their hands on TPE’s finest.

And Harry? Oh, he fucking loved it. Every single second of it.

There he stood, in his most fashionable, most expensive clothes, draped in wealth and confidence, watching as Hogwarts descended into delightful, glorious chaos. Students stumbling over each other, making a mess of every corner of the castle, their carefully constructed little worlds cracking apart under the weight of their own pathetic greed. And why? Because of him. Because he had decided it would be so.

Honestly, it was almost too easy. A handful of galleons here, a whispered suggestion there, and suddenly the whole school was a circus. He hadn’t even tried all that hard. They thought they were so clever, so principled, so above it all. But in the end, people - wizardkind included - were so laughably predictable. So simple. So vain. So eager to be led around by someone with enough charm and resources to do it properly.

And Harry? He stood there, watching it all unfold, feeling amazing. Smug, satisfied, untouchable. Because look at him - really look at him. One word, one well-placed coin, and the world bent to his will. It always had. It always would.

And then, a voice. Smooth. Warm. Carrying just the right amount of humor.

“Quite the lively gathering, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry didn’t jump, but he did blink. Because standing beside him, hands folded neatly behind his back, looking down at the chaos with mild interest, was Albus Dumbledore.

He tilted his head, looking at the man properly. The long silver beard, the twinkling eyes, the undeniable air of someone who knew entirely too much but liked to keep it entertaining. The Headmaster of Hogwarts. A legend. And, up until this exact moment, someone Harry had never spoken to directly.

His lips curled just slightly:

“If you’re looking for an explanation, sir, I’m afraid I’m just an observer. An innocent bystander.”

Dumbledore hummed, eyes still on the students below. “Ah, of course. Just a simple young man, admiring the natural ebb and flow of Hogwarts student life. How silly of me to assume otherwise.”

Harry didn’t miss the note of amusement in his voice. He smirked.

“Exactly. Glad we’re on the same page.”

Dumbledore nodded, stroking his beard as if deep in thought. “And tell me, my dear bystander - does it feel as enjoyable from up here as it does down there?”

Harry exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking back to the scene below.

“I imagine it’s less stressful from up here. No risk of getting trampled by the masses.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Ah, yes. There is a certain luxury in having the higher ground, isn’t there? It allows one to see the whole picture. To anticipate movements before others do.” He turned slightly toward Harry, those ever-twinkling eyes watching him with quiet curiosity. “It’s a rather powerful vantage point, wouldn’t you agree?”

Harry’s smirk didn’t falter, but he could feel the weight of the words beneath the playful tone.

A light conversation, on the surface. But not really. Still, he played along, tipping his head slightly.

“I suppose it is. Though, I imagine it must get a bit dull after a while. Watching. Always watching.”

Dumbledore hummed again, his gaze drifting back to the students. “Oh, not at all. It’s rather fascinating, actually. People - especially young ones - are very predictable. Given the right conditions, the right… incentives… they will always behave exactly as expected.” He smiled, eyes twinkling. “And yet, they always believe they are making their own choices. Isn’t that funny?”

Harry let out a quiet laugh.

“Hilarious.”

Dumbledore turned to look at him again, expression still light, but something thoughtful lingering beneath it.

“It’s a fun game, isn’t it?” He said mildly. “But do be careful, dear boy. The higher the ground, the steeper the fall.”

Harry rolled his shoulders, his grin sharp:

“Good thing I have excellent balance, then.”

Dumbledore chuckled, reaching out to lightly pat Harry’s shoulder - a grandfatherly gesture, as if Harry were simply a mischievous child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Yes,” he mused, stepping away, robes trailing behind him. “Let’s hope that remains true.”

And with that, he wandered off, leaving Harry standing there, watching as the chaos below carried on.

Harry exhaled, shaking his head.

What a strange old man.

*

In just one night, the Great Hall of Hogwarts had been utterly transformed. Gone were the long wooden tables, the floating candles, the usual dark and medieval air of the castle. Instead, the space gleamed with a soft, ethereal glow. Bright lights shimmered from enchanted chandeliers, casting a golden hue over the scene. Luxurious white satin draped from the high vaulted ceiling, catching the light like ripples of moonlit water. A full orchestra played in the corner, their enchanted instruments producing melodies that wove through the air like a spell of their own.

The scent of indulgence lingered everywhere, rich chocolate, freshly baked pastries, rare fruits, and delicacies imported from the farthest corners of the wizarding world. Crystal goblets clinked as house-elves hurried about, ensuring every glass remained full with only the finest drinks, both magical and mundane.

The guests were stunned.

Students, usually so accustomed to the rugged, old-world charm of Hogwarts, now stood slack-jawed at the sheer luxury surrounding them. The professors, always so composed, looked equally enchanted, their expressions betraying their surprise. Even the outside guests: ministry officials, foreign dignitaries, and wizarding elites, seemed momentarily taken aback, their eyes flicking over the dazzling display like they had just stepped into a dream.

It was almost too much. Too perfect.

It felt like stepping into a fairy tale, a world too beautiful to be real.

And yet… there was something almost unsettling about it. The extravagance, the perfection - it was so overwhelming, so absolute, that it felt designed to be. As if someone had gone through great lengths to ensure that, for this one night, reality would be utterly forgotten.

The guests were dressed to impress, everywhere one looked, robes shimmered, gowns flowed, and even the professors, who had arrived with the solemn intent of keeping order, looked far more refined than usual.

Among the sea of elegance, however, a select few stood out effortlessly.

Harry’s three friends - Hermione, Jacob, and Daphne - wore the outfits he had prepared for them, and without question, they were among the most striking figures in the room.

Hermione’s dark blue gown draped over her frame with effortless grace, her usually unruly hair now tamed into soft curls that framed her face. Around her neck, precious stones glittered under the enchanted lights, adding a quiet regality to her presence.

Jacob, on the other hand, looked every bit the nobleman, his tailored suit accentuating his sharp features, his posture poised, exuding an air of effortless charm. He had always been handsome, but tonight? He was downright devastating.

And then there was Daphne. Eschewing traditional gowns, she stood tall in sleek, tailored trousers paired with an exquisite silk shirt, the rich fabric catching the light with every movement. Her choice of attire only emphasized her striking height, setting her apart with a confidence that was both bold and undeniably chic.

Together, they were impossible to ignore, three dazzling figures in a world of already stunning elegance.

The other students couldn’t hide their surprise at the transformation of the three eleven-year-olds.

Hermione, Jacob, and Daphne - already names well known among their peers, for reasons - now drew even more attention than ever. Whispers spread like wildfire, eyes filled with curiosity and admiration as they passed. Some students even turned fully just to get a better look, as if unable to believe that these three children could shine so brilliantly.

“Is that really them?” someone murmured, eyes still locked on the trio.

“They look like actual nobility…” another voice chimed in, laced with both envy and awe.

There was no denying it, on this lavish, extravagant night, Hermione, Jacob, and Daphne didn’t just blend into the elegance surrounding them. They stood out. They commanded attention.

But that didn’t mean the three of them were comfortable with it.

Hermione tried to hide the slight furrow of her brow, but she couldn’t stop her thoughts from drifting back - just weeks ago, these same students had looked at her with barely concealed disdain. Whether it was for her wild, frizzy hair or, well, her relentless enthusiasm for learning, she had never been the kind of girl who earned admiration.

And now? Now they were staring in awe, whispering about how beautiful she looked.

The realization didn’t bring her joy. If anything, it felt like a slap to her eleven-year-old face, like the world was sneering at her and saying: See? Intelligence and hard work never mattered. But put on a pretty dress, curl your hair just right, and suddenly, you're worth noticing.

And as for Jacob, well, it was hard to say he was completely comfortable, even if he genuinely liked what he was wearing.

The outfit was impeccable - tailored to perfection, rich fabrics that draped just right, making him look like he had stepped straight out of some aristocratic portrait. But as he caught his reflection in the polished silver of a serving tray, a thought crept into his mind, uninvited and unwelcome.

He imagined his father seeing him like this. The way his brows would furrow, half in disapproval, half in irritation.

Jacob might have been just a child, but he was smart enough to recognize it - his father despised the upper class. There was a bitterness there, one Jacob hadn’t fully unraveled yet, but he knew it was real. And as he stood here, dressed like some noble heir, looking every bit the part of the world his father resented…

He couldn’t quite shake the flicker of guilt curling in his chest.

Maybe Daphne was the most at ease out of the three.

She was, well, fortunate. She didn’t have the same struggles as Hermione, constantly fighting for respect among her peers, nor did she carry the quiet burden Jacob did with his family. Truthfully, she had been blessed. Born into a noble, wealthy family, she had never truly lacked anything. She was a Slytherin, and even though she had only transferred to Hogwarts recently, she had already made a few decent friends in her house. And, of course, being close to Harry only solidified her standing among them - though she had yet to fully realize just how much that meant.

If anything was on Daphne’s mind, it was the oddly satisfying feeling of wearing this outfit.

While every other girl in Hogwarts, from first-years to seventh-years, had arrived in dazzling gowns - elegant, graceful, shimmering with femininity - Daphne stood there in her tailored trousers, sleek and striking, different and bold.

And she loved it.

She wasn’t just comfortable - she was thriving. Everything about her ensemble went against what was expected of her, especially by her family - especially by her mother. And yet, for the first time in her life, Daphne felt good. Free. Completely, unapologetically… herself.

As they stood there, at this grand party, smiles carefully placed on their faces, accepting the awed and curious gazes thrown their way, Daphne, Jacob, and Hermione couldn’t help but think of him.

Harry. Harry Peverell.

Really, he was the beginning of all this.

They thought of his effortless confidence, the way he carried himself like he owned the world and everything in it. The unshaken pride in his every movement, every word. Sure, sometimes he was rude - borderline insufferable, even. Arrogant, self-absorbed. But somehow, none of it diminished his presence. If anything, it only added to that strange, undeniable pull he had.

They had all been drawn in by it, helpless against his orbit, until before they even realized it, they had become his. His friends. His people.

And maybe, just maybe, deep down, they all hoped that by standing beside him long enough, by being close to him, that intoxicating, unshakable confidence would eventually rub off on them too.

And, of course - because fate had a sense of theatrics - just as they thought of him, Harry Peverell made his entrance.

And what an entrance it was.

The music stopped, as if the castle itself had paused to acknowledge his arrival. And there he was - Harry Peverell, striding into the hall with effortless grandeur.

His platinum blonde hair gleamed under the enchanted lights, shifting with his every step, catching the glow like strands of liquid silver. His face - beautiful, almost unfairly so - was lit with a pride that never wavered, an aura of untouchable confidence that made it seem like the very air bent around him. And those eyes - deep, ocean-blue, sharp, drinking in every gaze directed at him as though it were nothing more than his right to be admired.

But he wasn’t alone.

Walking beside him, perfectly poised, was Cedric Diggory - and that, that was a surprise.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Since when had they known each other? And why were they arriving together? Questions formed and dissolved in people’s minds, curiosity buzzing like a swarm of bees.

But for many - especially the girls - those thoughts didn’t last long.

Because Cedric, Hogwarts’ golden prince, with his striking features, grey eyes, and effortless charm, was devastating up close. And standing beside Harry Peverell, the two of them were almost too much - like walking myths, impossible and surreal.

The whispers, the stolen glances, the sheer attention in the room - it was intoxicating.

And Harry?

Oh, Harry thrived in it.

They made their way toward the grand stage, and as they reached the steps, Cedric extended a hand, effortlessly steadying Harry as he stepped up. Smooth, practiced, like this was something they did.

And once again - every single eye in the hall was on Harry Peverell.

He didn’t even bother with the formal dress robes everyone else had painstakingly chosen for the occasion. No rich fabrics, no extravagant embroidery, no perfectly tailored suits. No - Harry had gone in the complete opposite direction.

Skin-tight trousers. A stylish, fitted t-shirt. A sleek leather jacket thrown over his shoulders, effortlessly cool. Silver jewelry - rings, chains, small but deliberate pieces of metal that caught the light with every movement. It was nothing like his usual refined, aristocratic style. And it definitely didn’t match the dreamy, elegant atmosphere of the party he himself had orchestrated.

But damn, he made it work.

Like, seriously. Damn.

This boy knew exactly how to stand out, no matter the setting. When everyone else wore stiff uniforms, he draped himself in silks and furs, looking every bit the extravagant noble. And now, when the entire room was dressed in their most luxurious finery, Harry Peverell walked in looking like a mini rock star - rebellious, effortless, utterly unapologetic.

He didn’t just refuse to blend in. He made sure he never could.

Harry Peverell stood at the center of the stage like he belonged there - like this whole damn party, this whole damn castle, was nothing more than a backdrop for him.

His presence was unshakable, demanding attention without asking for it. He knew he was being watched, and he basked in it - thrived in it.

With a slow, practiced motion, he swept his platinum hair back, the strands catching the glow of the enchanted lights like threads of spun silver. His face - that face - was the kind that didn’t belong in reality, something too perfect, too serene, like a painting of an angel come to life.

And yet, for all that beauty, the boy was anything but angelic.

His lips curled at the edges, not quite a smile, but something sharper - mocking, knowing. His deep blue eyes, cool and calculating, flickered over the crowd below. He wasn’t searching for anyone. He wasn’t seeking approval. No, his gaze carried the lazy, detached amusement of someone looking down on the world from a throne, wondering how long he should bother entertaining the people before growing bored and moving on.

One hand rested on his hip as he tilted his head, as if weighing whether or not he even felt like speaking.

Of course, he did. Just not much.

Because really, why waste words when his mere existence did all the talking? And so, with that same lazy, arrogant ease, he finally said:

“If you want to be cool and pretty like me, come to TPE.”

Then, as if that statement hadn’t just thrown the entire hall into a stunned, disbelieving silence, he flipped his hair back again, slower this time, letting the motion linger just enough to be obnoxious.

“That’s all.”

And just like that, he turned and stepped off the stage, not bothering to see the absolute madness he had left in his wake.

The reaction was instant.

Students erupted into cheers, some outright screaming. The audacity. The drama. The bitchiness of it all. Some people looked outraged, some shook their heads in disbelief, and yet - no one could look away.

Because that was Harry Peverell.

Untouchable. Unbothered.

And still, somehow, the most captivating thing in the room.

As the crowd was still reeling, a famous band took the stage, and the hall exploded with energy. Music, dancing, shouting - the night had well and truly begun. And at the center of it all, watching from the side with an expression that could only be described as pleased, was Harry Peverell.

Because, really, who else could turn a single sentence into an event?

The party exploded into life.

The moment the music started, the entire hall transformed from a scene of refined luxury into something alive, thrilling, electric. The enchanted lights above shifted into dazzling, ever-changing hues, casting a dreamlike glow over the grand space. The melody of classical instruments was gone - replaced by something faster, louder, pulsing with energy that made it impossible not to move.

Laughter and conversation filled the air, blending seamlessly with the beat of the music. Students, professors, and even the prestigious guests from outside Hogwarts were swept up in the sheer extravagance of it all.

And oh, the food.

The long banquet tables, once pristine and untouched, were now swarmed with eager partygoers indulging in the most decadent of delicacies. Towers of glittering macarons, delicate chocolate truffles filled with molten caramel, and miniature cakes topped with edible gold flakes stood as edible works of art. Platters of buttery lobster tails, perfectly seared steak bites, and crisp, golden tarts filled with exotic fruits were refilled the moment they so much as threatened to run out.

The drinks were no less extravagant.

Elegant crystal glasses brimmed with shimmering, color-changing elixirs, each sip bringing a different fruity burst of flavor. Bottles of cooling lavender-infused lemonade, spiced pumpkin fizz, and effervescent fairy nectar were arranged on floating trays that glided smoothly through the crowd, offering refills without a single drop spilled.

But what truly set the party apart were the games - because, of course, a Harry Peverell event wouldn’t be just about eating and dancing.

Scattered throughout the hall were small, elegantly designed game stations, each offering exclusive fashion pieces from TPE as prizes. And the students? They were obsessed.

Near the east wing of the hall, a sleek enchanted claw machine gleamed under the lights, filled not with cheap toys, but TPE’s limited-edition accessories - gold-stitched gloves, silk scarves that shimmered with embedded stardust, charmed sunglasses that adjusted their tint to suit the wearer’s mood. Students crowded around, eager to test their luck, while some watched with envy as the luckier ones walked away with their prizes.

In another corner, a style roulette wheel spun at dazzling speed. Players placed bets on a category - jewelry, outerwear, footwear - and if the wheel landed on their choice, they won an exclusive piece from the TPE collection. Someone had just walked away with a pair of dragonhide boots, and the excitement in the air only grew.

A particularly competitive group had gathered around a fashion quiz booth, where correct answers about famous wizarding designers and historical trends earned points toward TPE rewards. Hermione - predictably - was wiping the floor with everyone else, already accumulating an impressive stash of prizes.

And in the very center of it all, lounging on a luxurious velvet sofa, drink in hand, basking in the spectacle of his party, was Harry Peverell.

Unbothered. Unrushed. And watching, with quiet amusement, as Hogwarts drowned in the world he had created.

Daphne slid onto the velvet sofa beside Harry, arms crossed as she eyed him with amusement. He was lounging like a tiny king, one leg crossed over the other, an arm draped lazily over the couch, swirling his drink like he was too important to actually do anything at his own party.

She huffed:

“So, what, you threw this whole party just to sit here and watch?”

Harry didn’t even look at her. He took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the moment, before answering with absolute certainty.

“Yes.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He let out a satisfied sigh, tipping his head back slightly. “Look at them, Daphne. Look at my party. My beautiful guests, my beautiful games, my beautiful self.” He waved a hand lazily at the grand scene before them, then gestured at himself. “Do you think a masterpiece joins the gallery? No, darling, it is admired.”

Daphne snorted. “You are so full of yourself.”

“And yet, here you are. Sitting next to me. Asking me questions.”

The girl rolled her eyes but let her gaze drift across the party, and immediately had to stifle a laugh.

“Speaking of your party.” she said, nodding toward the minigame booths. “Hermione is singlehandedly ruining everyone’s chances at that fashion quiz.”

Harry followed her gaze and chuckled. Hermione stood at the quiz booth, her voice clear and confident as she answered every question without hesitation. The other competitors looked exhausted, some already slinking away in quiet defeat. The poor booth attendant had long stopped pretending it was a fair competition and was now just silently handing Hermione prizes, one after the other, as if she had accepted her fate.

Harry shook his head, amused.

“Good. She needs this.”

“Hermione dresses fine.”

“She was wearing wool socks with ballerina flats last month, Daphne.”

“...Okay, maybe she needs a little help.”

Harry smirked. “Exactly.”

Daphne giggled, then let her eyes wander across the party again—until they landed on Jacob, standing near the refreshment table.

And well.

Jacob had always been polite, friendly, and easy to talk to, and tonight, that was working in his favor. He wasn’t exactly surrounded, but there was a small group of students lingering near him, chatting with him between bites of dessert, laughing at things he said, subtly complimenting his outfit. It wasn’t obvious, and Jacob himself seemed completely unaware, but there was an unspoken interest there—something different from the usual casual conversations between classmates.

“Oh wow, how dare they?” Daphne mused, watching as one of the girls nudged a plate of pastries slightly closer to him, an invitation more than an offering. Jacob, completely oblivious, just smiled and took one, saying a bright thank you! without a second thought.

Harry groaned, shaking his head.

“Painful.”

“Yeah.” Daphne grinned. “Remember how they ignored him back then?”

“It’s tragic,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Look at him, smiling at everyone, accepting food, thanking people…” He grimaced. “I can’t watch this.”

Daphne laughed. “And what, you think you could teach him something?”

Harry placed a hand over his chest, as if deeply offended by the question.

“Daphne, please. If Jacob is going to be a friend and standing next to me, he needs proper training.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow, amused:

“Oh? And what’s lesson one?”

Harry sighed dramatically, glancing at Jacob again, who was now nodding eagerly as another student talked animatedly beside him, utterly engaged in the conversation.

With all the gravity of someone bestowing ancient wisdom, Harry finally said:

“Stop looking so grateful.”

Daphne burst out laughing.

The music shifted to a livelier beat, the kind that made feet tap and heads bob whether people realized it or not. The atmosphere in the hall was warm, glittering with energy, laughter blending into the melody.

Hermione, still riding the high of her quiz victory, ran to them and suddenly grabbed Daphne’s wrist.

“Come on,” she said, her eyes alight with excitement. “Let’s dance.”

Daphne blinked, startled. “What?”

Hermione didn’t wait for a real answer. With a determined tug, she pulled Daphne off the velvet sofa, dragging her toward the dance floor.

“Wait – Hermione, I don’t even…”

Too late. They were already in the middle of it.

Daphne barely had time to register what was happening before Hermione was spinning her around, laughing. It was infectious. The hesitation melted away, and soon, Daphne found herself moving to the music, twirling in time with Hermione’s enthusiastic steps. They didn’t dance like the elegant witches in high society, nor with the careful poise expected at formal gatherings. They danced like kids, which they were, spinning too fast, laughing too hard, bumping into each other as they tried to match the beat.

It was fun. Too fun.

And it was strange, too, at least, to the onlookers. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin, holding hands, laughing freely, moving together as if house rivalries were some distant, meaningless thing.

Harry, still comfortably lounging on his sofa, watched them with a slow, knowing smirk. Adorable, he thought. Completely ridiculous, but adorable.

His amusement was short-lived, though, because before he could make another comment to himself, two identical figures dropped onto the couch on either side of him.

“Enjoying the show, Your Highness?” Fred drawled, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“Or are we witnessing the rare moment where Harry Peverell wishes he were down there instead?” George added, mirroring his brother’s pose on the other side.

Harry barely reacted, only raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Oh, please. I don’t wish for things, I cause them.”

The twins exchanged a glance over his head, smirking.

“Of course you do.”

Harry simply sipped his drink, watching as Hermione spun Daphne once more, their laughter ringing above the music. Yes, it was his party, but he had to admit, watching it unfold might be the best part.

Fred and George, ever the dramatists, exchanged a glance before lifting Harry’s hand in unison. With the exaggerated grace of high society gentlemen, they each pressed a slow, ridiculous kiss to the back of it.

“Oh, Your Excellency.”

Fred sighed, as if overwhelmed by Harry’s mere presence.

“Your Royal Highness,” George added, just as breathless.

Harry arched a perfectly unimpressed eyebrow.

“Charming.”

The twins, grinning, leaned back against the couch, comfortably draping themselves over him.

“But really,” Fred said, nodding toward the dance floor, where Hermione and Daphne were spinning each other around, lost in laughter. “How’d you pull that off?”

“A Gryffindor and a Slytherin,” George mused, shaking his head. “Together, and they don’t even care what people think.”

Fred said, mock-serious:

“They should at least pretend to care.”

“Yes, make it interesting.”

Harry, for his part, simply widened his eyes, the very picture of innocent confusion. “What do you mean? That’s just the power of kindness, my dear Weasleys. Pure-hearted generosity, warmth, and goodwill.”

For exactly half a second, there was silence.

Then the twins absolutely lost it.

George doubled over, smacking a hand against the armrest of the sofa. Fred wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, shaking his head like he had just heard the funniest joke of his life.

“Goodwill, he says…”

“Pure-hearted! Oh, that’s rich!”

Harry simply smiled, taking another slow sip of his drink as they wheezed beside him. Eventually, still grinning, Fred nudged him with an elbow.

“Alright, alright, Your Holiness, we’ll let you keep your secrets.”

“But where’s your date, then?”

George asked casually, though both twins were already looking in the same direction. They knew exactly where that answer was.

Across the hall, Cedric Diggory stood in the middle of a small crowd, all easy charm and practiced warmth. The foreign aristocrats Harry had invited to the event were utterly taken with him, hanging onto his every word as he flashed that golden-boy smile of his.

Harry smirked, tilting his head toward the scene.

“Over there, working the room.”

Fred and George exchanged an amused look.

“Poor thing,” Fred murmured, shaking his head.

“Abandoned by his own date,” George added, feigning sympathy. “How do you cope?”

Harry snorted, eyes glinting.

“Oh, please,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “Cedric isn’t a date.”

He took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down, smirking.

“He’s jewelry.”

The twins immediately collapsed into laughter again, throwing their arms over Harry’s shoulders in approval.

“You know, Harry.” Fred mused, tilting his head as if in deep thought. “For someone so divinely gifted, you spend an awful lot of time just sitting around in this party.”

“That’s right.” George nodded solemnly. “Tragic, really. A celestial being reduced to a mere spectator.”

“How do you live like this?”

Fred asked, shaking his head in mock pity.

 “Oh, darlings,” Harry gave them a slow, unimpressed blink before sipping his drink, completely at ease. He sighed, voice dripping with amusement. “When you’re this radiant, you don’t need to do anything. Existing is already an event.”

The twins cackled. Fred leaned in conspiratorially:

“But surely, Your Majesty, you must be bored just sitting here?”

“Right.” George waggled his eyebrows. “What about a dance?”

Harry let out a delicate, perfectly timed scoff:

“No.”

Fred gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “No? Have we been rejected?”

George wiped an imaginary tear. “Our hearts, Fred. They ache.”

“You’ll live.” Harry gave them a pitying look. “Go away, handsome twins.”

“Well then, if not a dance, how about we introduce you to some interesting people?” Fred suggested, his grin absolutely devious. “We do know some very exciting individuals.”

Harry pursed his lips, as if actually considering it, before wrinkling his nose like the very idea was offensive:

“No, no. If anyone truly interesting is here, they can come find me.” He flicked his platinum hair back, sighing dramatically. “I mean, really. A precious existence like mine? Lowering myself to approach people? Please.”

Fred and George completely lost it, one of them actually falling off the couch laughing.

“Merlin, I love you,” Fred wheezed.

“Never change,” George added, wiping at his eyes.

Harry simply smirked, elegantly picking up his drink.

“As if I would.”

The conversation continued for a little while longer, filled with teasing remarks and laughter, until eventually, the twins decided they had more mischief to cause elsewhere.

“Well then, Your Radiance,” Fred said, dusting off his suit.

“It’s been a pleasure basking in your divine presence,” George added, giving Harry a mock bow. “But duty calls.”

“And by duty, we mean chaos.”

With a shared wicked grin, they sauntered off, already whispering plans to each other, leaving Harry lounging comfortably on the velvet couch. He sighed, stretching his arms along the backrest, before letting his gaze lazily sweep over the hall.

The party was, undeniably, a massive success. The music played on, students danced and laughed, professors mingled with foreign guests, and the overall atmosphere was one of dazzling excitement. Even the ones who had arrived with skepticism had long since been won over by the sheer luxury of it all.

His gaze drifted toward a darker corner of the room—where, of course, stood none other than Professor Snape, brooding as if the very act of existing pained him. The man was a portrait of irritation, his usual scowl in place, arms crossed tightly as he watched the festivities with thinly veiled disdain.

But. Even he wasn’t immune.

Because despite all that signature gloom and doom, despite the clear disapproval radiating off of him, he was still wearing the suit Harry had specifically picked out and had delivered to him. A sharp, tailored ensemble, deep black with the subtlest silver details that caught the light when he moved. It was a far cry from his usual sweeping robes, and for the first time ever, the infamous dungeon bat actually looked like a proper gentleman.

Harry, unable to help himself, smirked.

Well. At least for one night, Severus Snape would look presentable. He was certain that by tomorrow, the man would be right back in his all-consuming cloak of doom and misery, pretending this night never happened.

But still. It counted.

Harry sipped his drink, still watching Snape with quiet amusement. It was almost impressive, really, how the man could stand there, surrounded by all this liveliness, and still look like he was plotting at least three murders.

Across the room, a couple of professors were stealing glances at their colleague, clearly surprised by his appearance. Even McGonagall, elegantly dressed in deep emerald robes, seemed to give Snape an approving once-over before turning back to her conversation.

Harry chuckled to himself. Who knew with the right suit, even Hogwarts’ resident bat could pass as a functional member of society?

Of course, Snape had to ruin it eventually. As if sensing Harry’s gaze, the man turned his head slightly and glared - a sharp, dark look that practically screamed I hate this and I hate you.

Harry?

Oh, he just beamed in return, wiggling his fingers in a little wave.

Snape’s scowl deepened, if that was even possible, before he dramatically swept his cloak (which really didn’t go with the suit, but whatever) and turned away, disappearing into the crowd.

Harry laughed under his breath, shaking his head. Predictable.

Letting his eyes wander again, he took in more of the night’s successes. Students were still busy at the mini-game booths, some proudly showing off the prizes they had won - exclusive accessories and stylish pieces from TPE they wouldn’t have been able to get otherwise.

The party was nothing short of magnificent. The lights, the music, the lavish decorations, it was everything Harry had envisioned and more. And the best part? He didn’t even need to do anything anymore.

But, of course, something had to ruin the moment. Stepping out of the crowd, dressed in a sharp black suit that complemented his features almost as well as Harry’s own carefully curated outfit, was none other than Henry Potter.

Henry Potter stepped out of the crowd like he belonged there—relaxed, at ease, radiating that effortless golden boy charm. The black suit he wore was tailored well, fitting snugly over his frame in a way that made it clear he hadn’t just thrown it on, but also hadn’t spent hours obsessing over it the way some people might. It was that natural kind of attractiveness, the kind that didn’t have to try too hard but still made people look twice. His dark hair, perpetually unruly like his father’s, only added to the appeal, giving him that just-the-right-amount-of-messy aesthetic. And his eyes - warm, bright green - held a mix of curiosity and amusement as he made his way toward Harry.

Harry, for his part, had to fight the instinctive urge to roll his eyes.

Henry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

As if that meant anything.

Harry had never understood the hype. The way people whispered about him, the way they looked at him with admiration, as if just being the Boy Who Lived was some kind of achievement. Henry hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t fought some grand battle or made some brilliant move that earned him his fame. He’d been a baby. A literal, drooling, useless baby.

And yet, here he was, beloved, respected, idolized, all because his mother had done something extraordinary.

Harry found it ridiculous.

Of course, Henry himself didn’t seem to act like someone who reveled in all that attention, which was marginally better. But it didn’t change the fact that Harry found his entire existence to be a bit much.

And now, Henry Potter was standing right in front of him.

“Harry Peverell.”

Henry Potter greeted, his voice smooth and polite.

The pretty Peverell boy barely looked up. He blinked, slow and deliberate, before tilting his head slightly. “I’m sorry, but, who are you?”

Henry quirked a brow:

“Really?”

Harry blinked again. Innocently.

The older boy let out a light chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t know who I am?”

Harry placed a delicate hand over his chest, feigning realization. “Oh, wait, are you one of my fan club members? You should have said so sooner.”

“Merlin, you are something else.”

Henry let out an actual laugh at that, short and surprised. And Harry, well, Harry simply smiled, radiant.

“Well, since you’re asking, I’m Henry Potter,” Henry said, gesturing toward himself, finally introducing his name like it meant something.

Harry offered him a polite, completely blank stare. “Should that mean something to me?”

Henry grinned. “Most people recognize ‘Potter’ when they hear it.”

“Oh, I suppose I have heard that name before.” Harry sighed dramatically. He tapped a finger against his chin. “Something about a family of decent standing, right?”

Henry just shook his head in amusement. “You’re impossible.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Not a compliment.”

Harry beamed.

Henry huffed a quiet laugh before shifting gears. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh? How intriguing,” Harry drawled. “People rarely ask me questions.”

Henry rolled his eyes at that one. “Right. So…” his expression grew mildly curious “…what exactly is your purpose in befriending Hermione?”

Harry stilled for just a fraction of a second.

Then, he let out a light breath, as if the question was so silly it barely warranted a response. His gaze flickered to the dance floor, where Hermione and Daphne were still moving with the music, laughing, bright, and completely unaware of the conversation happening. Then, ever so slowly, he turned back to Henry, his blue eyes half-lidded, his expression unreadable.

“Well,” he said at last, “how about you go ask her?”

Henry studied him for a moment. The amusement in his face didn’t fade, but something in his eyes sharpened, like he was actually considering the suggestion. Then, with a slight sigh, he muttered:

“You and Greengrass must be different from the rest of your House if she trusts you this much.”

Harry didn’t react. But for just a second - just a flicker - his eyes darkened. Then, just as quickly, his perfect, serene smile returned.

“Oh, Henry,” he murmured, leaning back with effortless grace, “you flatter me.”

Henry smirked. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

Harry just smiled wider.

Henry frowned slightly, his expression shifting just a fraction, still composed, still that same infuriatingly pleasant presence, but now tinged with something just a little more serious.

“You and Greengrass,” he said slowly, “should treat Hermione well.”

For a second, there was silence. Then, Harry laughed.

Not just a chuckle. A real laugh, light and airy, but undeniably mocking.

“Oh, darling,” he drawled, blue eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s adorable.” He tilted his head, lips curling into something that almost looked sweet - if not for the sharpness in his gaze. “Perhaps you and your House should take a good, long look in the mirror before coming to me with that.”

Henry's brow furrowed:

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry leaned back slightly, hands resting elegantly in his lap. “Oh, Henry,” he sighed, feigning pity. “If someone from your House, a Gryffindor, of all things, has to seek out friendship elsewhere, especially from Slytherins…” his voice lilted, teasing, before dropping just a little lower, just a little colder “… then isn’t that just a spectacular failure on your part?”

Henry blinked. And Harry smiled, brilliant and insincere.

“I mean, really,” he continued, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Gryffindor, the House of courage, loyalty, bravery…” he said the words with exaggerated reverence before rolling his eyes. “And yet, somehow, two Slytherins were more willing to stand beside her than anyone in your little red-and-gold club?”

The pretty Slytherin boy clicked his tongue.

“That’s a bit embarrassing, don’t you think?”

Henry looked away for a second, expression unreadable. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more resigned.

“I tried,” he admitted. “I really did. And, honestly? There are people in our House who don’t hate her.” His green eyes flicked back to Harry. “But… you know how people are.”

Harry gave a dismissive wave of his hand, unimpressed.

“I do.” He agreed. “Which is why your words are entirely unconvincing.”

Henry let out a slow breath, studying him. But Harry wasn’t done.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on one delicate hand, eyes twinkling with something dangerously amused. “It’s almost funny, don’t you think?” he murmured. “That we - a couple of Slytherins - were willing to be her friends… and yet the people who were supposed to have her back didn’t?”

“Well…” He sighed, mockingly wistful. “I guess the House of Lions isn’t quite as noble as it pretends to be.”

Henry didn’t respond immediately. He simply stood there, lips pressed into a thin line, gaze contemplative.

And Harry? Harry just smiled. Like an angel.

The Peverell pretty boy regarded Henry with a look so thick with mockery it was practically dripping. His blue eyes sparkled with something sharp, something pointed, and then, with an effortless flick of his wrist, he waved Henry away, dismissive, indifferent, bored.

“Honestly,” Harry drawled, tilting his head, “you should really do something about your little House situation. I mean, come on, Henry Potter, if you’re going to carry around the whole Boy Who Lived title like some tragic little badge, the least you could do is use it properly. Talk some sense into your people, or something.” He smirked, leaning back as if this entire conversation had been a mild inconvenience. “And until that happens, until you actually do something useful, don’t waste my time lecturing me about my friendships.”

Henry let out a quiet sigh. Not irritated. Not frustrated. Just… soft.

And when he looked at Harry again, there was nothing confrontational in his gaze - only something gentle, something kind.

It made Harry’s stomach twist uncomfortably. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way Henry Potter had the audacity to stand there, looking at him like that, like he understood something Harry didn’t.

“Alright,” Henry said simply. “I get it.”

Then, with a small nod, he turned to leave.

And Harry watched… watched as the boy’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, as if some invisible weight had settled over them.

It was strange. Something about it didn’t feel like victory.

For a second - just a second - there was a weird, unwelcome sensation creeping into his chest, something that almost resembled…

No. No, he wasn’t going to entertain that thought.

With a sharp inhale, Harry snapped his gaze away, redirecting his attention elsewhere - anywhere. As if looking away would make the whole thing disappear.

Harry bit his lip, just for a moment, before schooling his expression back into something perfectly indifferent.

Maybe, one day, the truth would come to light.

Maybe, one day, he’d finally uncover why he was Harry Peverell and not Harry Potter.

But today was not that day. And right now?

Right now, he wasn’t ready.

Not to dig into the past. Not to ask why.

And certainly not to waste even a sliver of his precious attention on them - the people who were supposed to be his family, but who, in reality, were nothing more than strangers wearing familiar names.

So, with a final flick of his platinum hair, Harry exhaled, smoothing out his expression like one would straighten a silk glove, and turned away, back to the party, back to his world, where things made sense.

Where he decided what mattered.

Just as Harry had settled back into his usual unbothered state of mind, he appeared.

Cedric Diggory.

With that obnoxiously bright, obnoxiously handsome smile of his.

The older boy came to a stop right in front of Harry, hands in his pockets, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“So…” He drawled, tilting his head slightly. “Are you just going to sit there all night at your own party?”

Harry arched a perfectly shaped brow, eyes flicking over Cedric in mild boredom. “Why? Do you miss me, Diggory?” His voice was light, teasing, but just sharp enough to be a little bitchy.

Cedric let out a short chuckle, completely unfazed.

“Not particularly,” he admitted easily, grinning. “Just curious. I thought you'd be out there stealing the spotlight.”

Harry gave a lazy flick of his wrist.

“Please. As if I need to try for that.”

“Hah!” Cedric laughed again, then, eyes glinting, he leaned in slightly. “Anyway, I've accomplished what I came here for.”

Harry’s lips curled. “Made connections, have you?”

“Plenty,” Cedric confirmed, smirking. “I’d say tonight was a success.”

Harry hummed in approval, his amusement sparking.

Good. He liked that.

He liked people who knew exactly what they wanted and weren’t afraid to do whatever it took to get it. He liked people who were confident, who were ambitious, who understood the game and played it well.

People like Cedric.

And the best part? Neither of them even pretended otherwise. They both knew what this was. They were using each other, openly, unapologetically. And honestly? Harry found it delightful.

Cedric regarded him for a moment, his silver-grey eyes unreadable. Then, with an easy smile, he extended a hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Dance with me.”

For the first time that night, Harry actually smiled. A small, knowing smile.

Then, without hesitation, he reached out, placed his hand in Cedric’s, and stood up.

At least something entertaining was happening tonight.

Chapter Text

The next day, Monday, arrived like a hangover.

The Great Hall had begrudgingly returned to its usual stoic self, the long wooden tables back in their neat, boring rows, the enchanted ceiling mimicking the pale morning sky. But the air was different. It still crackled with leftover energy, a hum of static electricity from the night before. The usual sleepy murmurs of a new week were gone, replaced by a cacophony of excited whispers and animated chatter. Yesterday's party wasn't just a memory; it was the most seismic event to ever grace the wizarding world, if the students’ breathless retellings were anything to go by.

And in one corner of the Ravenclaw table, now an established outpost, a familiar splash of red and green sat nestled amidst a sea of blue.

Jacob sighed, poking his fork into the very soul of his fried egg. “Yesterday was… a lot.”

Daphne propped her chin on her hands, a sly, predatory smirk playing on her lips. “Why? I thought you were rather enjoying your newfound celebrity status.”

Jacob’s eyes went wide, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. “They’re so… clingy. I don’t even know what they want from me.”

Hermione, who now sported a ridiculously expensive-looking silver clip in her hair, joined in on the teasing. Her own smirk was small, but no less potent. “Well, the thing is, you are popular now. Shouldn't that make you feel a little more confident?”

Jacob looked at Hermione, then let out another long-suffering sigh.

But all three of them knew she was right.

It wasn't that they wanted to be popular, not in the way they would ever admit out loud. But the party, the glow-up, the sheer, unrelenting force of everyone’s attention… it had left a strange, addictive warmth in its wake. It was the feeling of being the center of the universe, of standing on a mountaintop instead of cowering in a valley. And strangely, it wasn't suffocating or frightening like they thought it would be. It was a shield, forged from the admiration of others, and it made them walk a little taller, hold their heads a little higher. It felt good. Dangerously good.

Perhaps, the thought drifted between them, unsaid but universally understood, this was the inevitable side effect of being friends with the most confident person in all of Hogwarts.

Hermione, ever the practical one, glanced around. “Where is Harry, anyway?”

Daphne shrugged, her elegant posture not faltering for a second. “No idea. He was still holed up in his private kingdom when I left the dungeons this morning.”

Just as they spoke of the devil, he appeared.

Harry fucking Peverell swanned through the grand entrance of the Great Hall, not so much walking as strutting, a one-boy parade of defiance against everything Hogwarts stood for. His "fuck the uniform" policy was in full effect, today's choice being a ridiculously sharp, cream-colored cashmere sweater and trousers so perfectly tailored they probably cost more than a professor's monthly salary. The sunglasses came off with a slow, deliberate motion as he approached, revealing eyes that swept over the room with the casual boredom of a king surveying his slightly disappointing kingdom. The professors, at this point, had clearly surrendered. There was a collective, unspoken sigh that rippled through the staff table - a silent admission that this was a battle lost long before it had even begun. They just shook their heads, a gesture of weary resignation.

He slid into the seat beside Daphne, draping himself over the bench with an air of profound exhaustion, as if the mere act of gracing them with his presence was a monumental effort. He picked up a cup of tea, sniffed it, and immediately set it down with a look of utter disgust.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice a silken, unimpressed drawl.

His three friends stared at him. It was Hermione, ever the curious one, who broke the silence. “How do you feel, Harry?”

“Feel what?” Harry arched a perfect eyebrow, his expression making it clear he found the question ridiculous. He stuck his tongue out just a fraction, a look of pure distaste on his face. “If you’re asking about my mood, it’s… normal. Ugh, why do they serve this trash tea at Hogwarts?”

“Yesterday was an event,” Daphne pressed, unable to hide her disbelief. “As much as I hate to admit it, probably the biggest thing to happen this year. And you feel… normal?”

Jacob nodded in agreement, his eyes wide. “Yeah, what about feeling proud? Or happy? Or… something?”

Harry cast a look of withering contempt at the platter of sausages on the table, his voice light and airy, yet completely devoid of emotion. “Well, I don’t mix business with pleasure. Last night was hardly something that brought me joy…”

Of course, that was a lie. Watching an entire castle of supposedly dignified witches and wizards lose their collective minds over a few free clothes and some decent music? That was the most fun he’d had all month. But he would never, ever let them know that. Instead, he continued, a note of finality in his tone.

“It was just a PR party for my brand. I’ll save my excitement and my happiness for more personal occasions. Like, a birthday. Or a wedding. Or something .”

“Whatever,” Hermione said, her voice a little too light, a little too pleased with itself. She waved a dismissive hand, the expensive silver clip in her hair glinting. “I’m just happy for all the clothes I won. I’ll probably have to clear out some of my old things…”

Her sentence trailed off. Her mouth fell open slightly, as if the words had come from someone else entirely. Her eyes, wide and horrified, snapped to Harry. “Merlin,” she breathed, a hand flying to her chest. “I don’t even sound like me. You’ve ruined me!”

Daphne let out a low, throaty chuckle. Her eyes, sharp and amused, slid over to Harry, who was still meticulously examining a slice of toast as if it were a particularly offensive piece of modern art. “That’s what you get when you hang with this one,” she purred.

Their conversation was cut short. The low hum of the Great Hall quieted as Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat at the staff table. His voice, calm yet carrying an undeniable authority, echoed through the hall. He spoke of the party's success, a brief nod to the host, before his tone shifted. “…However, I must also address a more serious matter. Late last night, an attempt was made to enter the restricted corridor on the third floor.” A murmur went through the students. “I trust this will not happen again,” he finished, his twinkling eyes sweeping over them all, a silent warning that was anything but gentle.

“The third-floor corridor?” Jacob frowned, his brows knitting together in thought. “That sounds familiar.”

“The Headmaster did say it was forbidden at the start of the year,” Hermione confirmed with a nod, ever the one to remember pronouncements from authority figures.

“What could be in there?” Jacob pouted, his curiosity clearly piqued despite the warning. “It sounds a bit exciting.”

“Probably something dangerous… and valuable,” Daphne mused, taking a slow sip of her tea. Her gaze drifted toward the staff table. “Valuable enough for a few Aurors to be staying at the school to guard it.”

Harry didn't say anything. His beautiful, clear blue eyes flickered to the staff table, landing on Professor Potter. Beside her, predictably, was her husband, James Potter, currently bouncing their small daughter - Roselia? Rosie? Whatever - on his knee. The seat that was usually occupied by Professor Snape, however, was conspicuously empty.

He let his gaze linger on the nauseatingly wholesome family picture for a fraction of a second too long, a coldness settling in his stomach. With a slow, deliberate eye-roll that no one else saw, he wrenched his attention back to his own table.

He let out a soft, dismissive sound, a little puff of air that spoke volumes of his boredom. “Who cares, anyway?” he said, his voice dripping with his signature brand of bitchy indifference. “There’s barely anything interesting or truly valuable in all of magical Britain.”

The conversation then took a sharp, inexplicable turn toward the Quidditch season.

Harry, who had been listening with the detached air of a god contemplating the brief, pointless lives of mayflies, visibly recoiled. He picked up his fork and began to methodically torture a piece of toast, stabbing it with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Ugh,” he finally groaned, the sound a masterpiece of bored suffering. “Sports.”

“I’ll be cheering for the Slytherin team, of course,” Daphne announced, taking a delicate sip of juice. She had no desire to be branded a house traitor. “But,” she added, a pragmatic edge to her voice, “I’m not an idiot. The odds of Gryffindor or Hufflepuff taking the cup are insultingly high.”

“Henry is a good player,” Jacob agreed with a nod.

At the mention of Henry, Hermione’s gaze drifted over to the Gryffindor table, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “He… did invite me to come watch,” she admitted, her voice strangely flat. “Promised he’d save me a front-row seat, too. But I’m not sure if I should go.”

Daphne’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up. “A front-row seat?” she repeated, incredulous. “He can actually arrange that?”

Hermione shrugged, turning back to face them. Her voice was a blank slate, devoid of any feeling. “Well, people basically treat him like a saint in Gryffindor.”

“That's true,” Jacob confirmed, before shrugging himself. “But the Hufflepuffs have a great chance, too. They’re a strong team, especially now that Cedric Diggory is playing for them this year.”

“Diggory?” Daphne scoffed, her nose wrinkling slightly. “The handsome one? And how, exactly, do you know how he plays? Are you an expert now?”

“Well, there’s a saying among the Ravenclaw girls,” Jacob began, propping his chin on his hand as he recalled the whispers he’d overheard. “Something about how Cedric Diggory is just… amazing at everything. Apparently, his academic scores are the best in his year, even though he’s not a Ravenclaw.”

The air suddenly went still. The discussion of Hogwarts’ two most prominent golden boys hung between them. Then, as if moved by a single, unspoken thought, all three of them turned their heads in unison to look at the fourth member of their group. The boy in question had momentarily ceased the brutal execution of his toast. He looked up, blinking innocently. “What?”

“What do you think about it?” Daphne asked, her voice laced with genuine curiosity. “About Diggory?”

Harry stared at her. His perfectly shaped lips parted. He rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it might have physically pained him.

“The hell do I care?”

Thankfully, the miserable affair that was breakfast eventually ended, with everyone scattering to their respective classes. And Harry? Oh, Harry went in the complete opposite direction of the classrooms, sauntering back toward the dungeons with the unhurried grace of someone who considered timetables a quaint suggestion for lesser beings. He couldn't care less about Potions or Charms. Not today.

As he descended the cold, stone steps, the air growing damper and the light fading, he idly contemplated his options. He could be productive, of course. There were investment portfolios in the Gringotts Peverell branch that needed reviewing, and that new line of enchanted cosmetics wasn't going to launch itself. Or… he could take a nap. A long, luxurious, beauty-preserving nap in his ridiculously comfortable bed, shielded from the dreary mundanity of school life. The decision was, frankly, agonizing.

Just as he was weighing the pros and cons of world domination versus silk pillowcases, two shadows burst from a side corridor, leaping out with a synchronized, guttural roar that was clearly meant to be terrifying.

Harry didn't flinch. He didn’t even pause. He simply came to a smooth stop, tilting his head slightly as the two figures landed in front of him, their dramatic poses held for a moment too long in the echoing silence. He let a slow, unimpressed blink punctuate the quiet.

The shadows resolved into the familiar, grinning faces of Fred and George Weasley.

Harry slowly placed a hand on his hip, his lips curving into a lazy, knowing smirk. “Well, well, twins,” he purred, his voice dripping with amusement. “To what do I owe the pleasure? A special occasion?”

The two Weasley boys broke into matching grins, instantly abandoning their menacing stances to flank him, their energy a whirlwind of contained chaos. “Just wanted to see how our dear princess was holding up,” Fred said, nudging him playfully with an elbow.

“Make sure all this fame hadn't gone to your head,” George added, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh, quit it,” Harry rolled his eyes, though the playful edge in his voice betrayed his amusement. He waved a dismissive hand. “Now that you’ve had your fun, how about you tell me about your little adventure last night?”

“What?” Fred’s eyes went wide with practiced innocence.

“What adventure?” George followed up, looking just as clueless.

“We stayed in the common room like good, diligent students!”

“Dreaming of our upcoming exams!”

Harry didn’t say a word. He just smiled. A slow, cat-like smile that said he knew everything and was simply enjoying the performance.

The twins glanced at each other, then shrugged in unison, their act collapsing in an instant.

“Oh, whatever,” Fred sighed, running a hand through his red hair. “Who are we kidding?”

“We did happen to take a stroll toward the third-floor corridor last night,” George admitted, leaning in conspiratorially.

“But,” Fred added, his voice dropping to a whisper, “someone got there before we did.”

The twins exchanged another look, a shared, sly smile passing between them.

“A figure, all in black,” George explained. “Cloak pulled up, face completely hidden. You couldn’t see a thing.”

“And they didn’t even use a spell,” Fred continued, his eyes alight with the thrill of the memory. “Somehow, that person just… unlocked the door. We heard the click.”

“The Aurors must have some kind of silent alarm on it, though,” George mused. “They were there in a flash, so the cloaked figure didn’t actually get inside.”

“But we did hear something,” Fred finished, leaning even closer. “A low growl. And we saw a shadow on the wall, just for a second. Huge. Sounded like a dog.”

Harry Peverell arched a perfect eyebrow, a flicker of amusement and mischief dancing in his eyes before being swiftly replaced by his usual placid boredom. He tilted his head. “And how is that any of my business?”

“Oh, come on,” Fred said, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders with an easy familiarity that Harry found relatively irritating. “Princess, you seem to be full of classified information. How about you share some of it with us?”

“That’s right,” George chimed in, draping his own arm over Harry’s other shoulder. “How about a little favor for your loyal knights?”

Loyal knights? That was new. Since when? Oh, people with their self-proclaimed titles. Harry rolled his eyes, but anyway, this would be a moderately entertaining distraction before he went on to do his own shit. So, he gracefully shrugged out from under their arms, turning to face them.

“Oh, believe me, I don’t know everything. I’m just a first-year,” Harry said with a shrug, his tone suggesting the very idea was preposterous. But then, he lifted a single finger, twisting a lock of his shimmering platinum blonde hair as if deep in thought.

“See, the magical beasts on that side are quite numerous, but most of them aren’t suitable for guarding something inside a castle. That eliminates a fair number of possibilities. Also, ruling out a few other options not worth mentioning, that leaves a sphinx and a Cerberus. A sphinx?” He scoffed. “There’s no way it would growl upon seeing someone. Merlin knows that species is far too busy being pretentious and wise before it eats you… So, my guess is a Cerberus.”

The twins tilted their heads in perfect unison. “Cerberus?”

“Yeah, a three-headed dog. Quite rare, and quite dangerous.”

Harry held out his hand, his index finger tracing a glowing white circle in the air. Within the circle, a vivid, lifelike image of a monstrous three-headed dog appeared, snarling silently.

“…This species isn’t usually found in Britain, but who knows?” Harry shrugged again, the magical image dissipating into motes of light. “Maybe you should ask the groundskeeper. Isn’t he a maniac when it comes to all the magical animals?”

“But you surely know how to deal with it, don’t you, princess?” the twins asked with matching, hopeful grins.

Harry waved a dismissive hand, acting as if he couldn’t believe the question.

“Why? Me? No way!” He said, his voice scandalized. “I only know how to deal with unfashionable clothes!”

With that, the boy turned and began to walk away, calling over his shoulder, “Just be careful, twins. I wouldn’t want my favorite admirers in this lame-ass school to get eaten by a dog.”

Reaching a turn in the corridor, Harry glanced back at them, winking. “Maybe try singing it a song or something.”

The twins watched him go, a shared look of confusion on their faces, before they shrugged and headed off in the opposite direction.

As for Harry? Well. He did turn the corner, intending to continue his leisurely journey back to the dungeons, but the sight that greeted him made him stop dead in his tracks.

Cedric fucking Diggory was leaning against the wall, watching him with a knowing, infuriatingly handsome smile.

"Cedric Diggory," Harry lifted his chin, his gaze freezing over just a fraction. "I didn't realize you were a stalker."

The handsome boy laughed, a smooth, practiced sound. He raked a hand through his hair before closing the distance, one hand bracing against the stone wall, the other on his hip. It was a pose more pompous than any Slytherin rat Harry had ever had the displeasure of knowing. But damn it all, the look suited Diggory in a way that was infuriatingly good, even better than the fake, good-boy charm he usually paraded around.

He said, his voice laced with mock injury, while his face feigned a look of hurt, "Why are you treating me with such distance? Didn't we have a wonderful time yesterday?" And then, a theatrical puff of air, a sigh of profound disappointment. "I was just hoping you'd be half as friendly to me as you are to the twins."

Harry rolled his eyes so hard he felt them in the back of his skull. Duh, he thought. I treat the twins that way because they aren't some kind of predator in sheep's clothing, constantly staring at me like I'm a delicious-looking snack. Honestly, this fucking Diggory boy, somehow, gave him goosebumps. Just a little. And Harry did not consider that a good thing.

"Oh, quit it, Diggory," Harry pouted, his face a mask of angelic innocence that was a stark, venomous contrast to his tone. "What do you want?"

"Relax, princess ," the taller boy grinned, a flash of white teeth that only made Harry more irritated. "I just wanted to invite you to watch me play Quidditch."

Quidditch. Fucking… sports. Harry's brow furrowed dangerously, but before he could deliver a scathing refusal, Cedric Diggory pressed on.

"The thing is," he began, "this is the year I start playing, and, unlike Potter, who got to play from his first year, which I think is rather unfair, I don't have that much support or trust from the others."

Seeing Harry tilt his head, a flicker of genuine interest in his eyes, Cedric continued, his smile never wavering.

"So, I have to pull every string I have. You know, people like us," he said, the words a silken thread meant to bind them, "we have to aim for the very top, don't we?"

A slow, meaningful smile spread across Harry’s face. Oh, this was getting good.

"I want to be captain of the Hufflepuff team," Cedric said, his voice a low, confident murmur. "And that takes a lot of work. Aside from my Quidditch skills and my ability to communicate with my housemates, what could be better for raising my profile than having the support of the little Lord Peverell?"

Harry let out a small, quiet laugh. It wasn’t a sound of pure amusement; it was a sound of recognition. The kind of sound one makes when they’ve been playing a simple game of checkers and suddenly realize their opponent has been setting up a chessboard the entire time.

"Interesting," the Slytherin boy said, his eyes narrowing on Cedric with a challenging glint. "And you expect me to do all that for free? Sitting in a sweltering crowd for nothing?"

"Who said anything about 'nothing'?" Cedric countered quickly, his voice smooth as silk. "You see, as all eyes are on us, what would happen if I were to wear a few TPE items... or strut around the school in TPE clothing? Eye candy isn't just for looking, you know."

Harry planted a hand on his hip, arching a perfect eyebrow. "Oh... oh."

"So," he continued, the words dripping with a delicious mix of sass and amusement, "you want me to show up and cheer for you, and at the same time, you want me to sponsor you with clothes? You are one brave boy, Cedric Diggory."

"Don't say it like I'm using you," Cedric laughed, that handsome, infuriating smile spreading across his face again. "I think it's a fair trade, isn't it?"

"Fair? I don't think so."

Harry brought a single, elegant finger up to tap against his chin, feigning a look of profound, agonizing thought. "Even when I think really hard, I still feel like I'm getting the short end of the stick. So..." The boy's gaze flickered back to Cedric, a spark of calculation lighting up his blue eyes. "Let's see, how about we adjust the terms a little?"

He tilted his head. "First, I won't be attending any Quidditch match except for the final."

"That's easy," Cedric nodded, a hint of his own charming arrogance showing through. "Team Ravenclaw can't stop my team."

"That's good to hear."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So, the final match. I will appear, and I will obediently sit and cheer for you in the Hufflepuff stands."

"But."

As he spoke, Harry's eyes went cold, the playful light draining away to be replaced by something sharp and unyielding. "Obviously, in the final, you'll have to play against Gryffindor, with Henry Potter as their captain. So, I want, in this match, for you and Hufflepuff to win. In front of all of Hogwarts. In front of James and Lily Potter. You get it?"

Cedric stared at Harry, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features before it melted back into a teasing smirk.

"Damn," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. "What did that boy do to you?"

"I want your answer, not your question."

Cedric saw the hard, unbending seriousness in those sapphire eyes, the absolute resolve, and then he laughed. A real, genuine laugh.

"Alright, princess," he said, winking. "I had no intention of losing to Potter anyway. I always research my opponents thoroughly."

"Good. Then that's a deal."

Cedric straightened up, holding out his hand, and Harry took it. Their eyes met for a brief moment, a silent, mutual understanding passing between them. But then, of course, Cedric fucking Diggory had to ruin the seriousness with his playful bullshit.

"I might need a new broom though..."

Harry rolled his eyes, snatching his hand back. He turned to leave, calling over his shoulder as he walked away. "I'll send the newest model over. Practice hard. Don't disappoint me."

Cedric stayed right where he was, leaning back against the cold stone wall, watching the boy's retreating figure. An interested, deeply amused smile spread across his lips.

Chapter Text

November arrived with the dreary, persistent drizzle of a British autumn, washing away the last glittering remnants of the party. The initial buzz faded, replaced by the monotonous hum of school life. The Great Hall returned to its state of organized boredom, and students, with a collective groan, begrudgingly turned their attention back to textbooks and looming exams.

But the new normal had its quirks.

Cedric Diggory, true to his word, had seamlessly transformed into a walking, breathing TPE advertisement. On weekends, when the suffocating grip of the school uniform loosened, he would strut through the castle corridors and the grounds of Hogsmeade in the latest TPE offerings. One Saturday it was a sharp, dark green blazer that made his grey eyes pop, the next, a ridiculously soft-looking cashmere knit that had more than a few girls swooning. Unlike Harry, who treated the school's dress code as a quaint, historical suggestion to be ignored with extreme prejudice, Diggory was clever. He played the part of the perfect, rule-abiding Head Boy in waiting, only flexing his sartorial influence when it was perfectly acceptable to do so. He maintained his flawless public image, all while subtly broadcasting the Peverell brand to every corner of Hogwarts.

And, ugh, it was working.

Back in the solitary splendor of his private chambers, Harry scanned the latest sales reports delivered by a discreet Gringotts goblin. The parchment, enchanted to update in real-time, shimmered with figures. The Hogwarts demographic, while not the primary target - that honor belonged to the obscenely wealthy adults with galleons to burn - was showing a rather delightful spike in sales. Mail orders for TPE accessories were flooding the owlery.

Diggory. The boy was, frankly, an insufferable peacock, preening and posing with that infuriatingly charming smile of his. But Harry had to admit, the peacock knew how to strut. It was a tragic, undeniable fact that Cedric Diggory was probably the most handsome boy at Hogwarts, a reality that annoyed Harry to no end. But he would rather be forced to wear secondhand robes for a year than ever let that smug bastard know it.

He did, however, decimate the Ravenclaw team in their first Quidditch match of the season. The final score was so lopsided it was almost embarrassing. So, Harry gave him that. The boy was effective. A very handsome, very effective tool.

Jacob, bless his tragically earnest heart, was devastated. He’d moped for a solid day after the match, his usual bright-eyed optimism replaced by the solemn gloom of a true sports fan who’d just watched their team get utterly annihilated. Harry found it fascinating, in the way one might observe a particularly dramatic insect.

Honestly, the theatrics. All this emotional turmoil over a bunch of students chasing balls on flying sticks? He rolled his eyes internally. Geez, what a monumental waste of energy. Go get a job. Start a hedge fund. Do something useful.

Harry, naturally, had more pressing matters to attend to than the fragile ego of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. A new month had dawned, which, according to the new, non-negotiable social calendar he had imposed upon his friends, meant one thing: it was time for tea. He had briefly considered inviting a few other… potentials. The Weasley twins were moderately amusing, and Cedric Diggory was, well, useful. But the effort of vetting them for worthiness felt exhausting. Who had the time?

Besides, the tea party was a mere amuse-bouche. The main course, the event that was currently consuming his every waking thought, was Christmas. The TPE Christmas Gala. This wasn't some school-sponsored sock hop with sad little sandwiches and punch. This was for adults. Real, grown-up adults with vaults full of Galleons and a desperate need to be told what to wear. This, Harry had decided, would be the most important social event of the wizarding year. The one that solidified his brand, his influence, his sheer, undeniable power. So, yes, preparation was everything.

That, of course, included his entourage. They had to look the part. They had to be… presentable.

He found them huddled in one of their now-customary empty classrooms, a little pocket of sanity away from the rest of the school. He took a moment to appraise them. Yes. A definite improvement. The glow-up was holding. His work was paying off. It wasn't even a hard job anymore, really. Just a matter of maintenance.

Feeling a flicker of satisfaction, he pulled two envelopes from the inner pocket of his ridiculously expensive coat. They weren’t mere paper, they were thick, pearlescent cardstock, shimmering with a faint, silvery magic. The wax seal was a tiny, intricate ‘P’. He slid them across the desk toward Hermione.

“What are these?” she asked, picking one up with delicate curiosity.

“Invitations, darling. Do keep up.” Harry said, already retrieving two more sets for Daphne and Jacob. He leaned back against a desk, crossing his arms. “One is for our monthly tea party,” he announced, his voice a silken purr of bored authority. “The other,” he paused, letting the dramatic weight of the moment settle, “is for the TPE Christmas Gala.”

Daphne raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Another party?”

“Please,” Harry scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Last month was a product launch for children. This,” he gestured with a flick of his wrist, as if the very concept was self-evident, “is an event . For the people who actually matter.”

Jacob, who had been quietly examining his own set of invitations, looked up, a familiar crease of worry forming between his brows. “But… it’s during the school break. We’re supposed to go home.”

“Oh, Jacob, honestly,” Harry sighed, waving a dismissive hand as if swatting away a particularly bothersome fly. “Your father, Remus, will be there. He’s my employee, remember? So naturally, you and your other father will be attending as well. It’s practically mandatory. No more questions from you.”

He then pivoted, his attention shifting to the two girls with the smooth precision of a predator selecting its next target. A dazzling smile bloomed on his face, the kind that was both blindingly beautiful and utterly terrifying. “And for you two,” he purred, “I will arrange for the most luxurious transport to fetch you. You’ll arrive like the most honored of guests. How does that sound?”

Daphne simply shrugged, an elegant, practiced gesture that bespoke a lifetime of such occasions. Growing up in the rarified air of the magical aristocracy, another grand, stuffy party was hardly cause for alarm. It was just… another Tuesday.

Hermione, however, was a different story. She shifted uncomfortably, her brow furrowed with the familiar anxiety of someone who still believed in rules and parental permission slips. “I… I might need to ask my mum,” she stammered, twisting a strand of her newly straightened hair.

Harry waved his hand again, the gesture so full of breezy confidence it was almost an insult. “Darling, just tell her it will be good for your future.” His eyes gleamed with a sudden, sharp intelligence. “There will be guests from Paris, Milan… designers, potioneers, ministry officials from across Europe. Making an impression, building a network… it’s not a bad idea for a clever girl like you, is it?”

He paused, tapping a single, elegant finger against his chin as his gaze swept over them, a general inspecting his troops. “The outfits I will handle personally, of course. There. Everything is taken care of. You just have to show up.” He stopped, placed a hand over his heart, and let out a long, theatrical sigh that was a masterpiece of feigned martyrdom. “Oh, I’m such a good friend.”

And as much as they loathed to admit it, as much as every rational part of their brains screamed that this was all some magnificent, narcissistic power play, his three friends felt a flicker of undeniable excitement. They had all seen the scale of his last party, the one he’d thrown for a bunch of students at Hogwarts. If that was just a warm-up, what would a real, adult-focused gala be like? Knowing Harry, it would be nothing short of legendary.

So, just like that, it was a sealed deal.

Time slid by in a blur of whispered gossip and rustling TPE shopping bags. Before they knew it, the last dreary days of November had arrived, and with them, the time for their next sacred ritual.

The tea party was held in another forgotten classroom, but one would never know it. Harry had transformed it into a breathtaking winter wonderland. Enchanted frost glittered on the windowpanes, forming intricate, lacy patterns. Delicate ice sculptures of mythical beasts stood shimmering in the corners, refracting the soft, silvery light that filled the room. The air itself smelled of cinnamon and chilled pine. And in the center of it all, four children, dressed in elegant, themed attire of winter whites, silvers, and deep blues, sat around a table laden with towers of snowflake-shaped macarons and tiny cakes dusted with edible silver.

Daphne placed her teacup - a delicate porcelain thing that she had to admit held the most delicious tea she’d ever tasted - down onto its saucer with a soft click. She looked around at the opulent scene, then at her friends, a look of wry amusement on her face.

“So, this is it?” she asked, her voice dry. “The famous tea party? We just get all dressed up to sit here and drink tea? Is this really all there is to it?”

“We don’t just drink tea,” Harry said, winking over the rim of his own cup. His eyes sparkled with a familiar, dangerous mischief. “We spill the tea, honey bee.”

Hermione sighed, a sound that was becoming her default reaction to anything Harry said. She took it upon herself to explain. “Yes, basically it’s just that . But the rule is, we’re not allowed to talk about anything boring. No schoolwork, no business, nothing that doesn’t involve some sort of drama or gossip.”

“I still don’t entirely get it,” Jacob confessed, propping his chin on his hand. He looked around at the glittering decorations, a hint of wonder still in his eyes. “But the tea and the cakes are really nice, though. So I’m not complaining.”

Daphne, after a moment of silent consideration, set her teacup down with a delicate click. "So," she began, her voice a dry, aristocratic drawl, "we talk. Like, really talk."

"Oh, absolutely," Harry chirped, his blue eyes dancing with a light that was far too mischievous for someone who looked so angelic. "As Hermione so brilliantly explained, we adhere to a strict 'no boring shit' policy. No homework. No business ventures. No Quidditch scores." He shuddered theatrically at the last word. "Only the good stuff. The drama. The dirt. The delicious, unfiltered truth."

Hermione nodded, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "He's right. And it's not just about gossiping. It's about… perspective."

And as the conversation began to flow, for the first time, Daphne Greengrass truly understood what it meant to "spill the tea." It wasn't just about sharing secrets. It was about sharing your version of the truth, your unfiltered opinion, delivered with the kind of sharp, unapologetic wit that was both brutal and exhilarating. And, to be fair, she had never known a tea party could be this… viciously entertaining.

Harry, naturally, kicked things off. He launched into a spectacular, detailed monologue about the pompous rats in Slytherin, dissecting their pathetic social climbing and ridiculous pure-blood posturing with the precision of a master surgeon. He didn't just mock them, he painted a picture so vivid, so hilariously pathetic, that even Daphne, a Slytherin herself, had to stifle a laugh behind her teacup.

Then it was Hermione's turn. She spoke of the subtle, simmering tensions in the Gryffindor common room, the ridiculous arguments between Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown over who got the comfiest armchair by the fire, and the sheer audacity of some of the older students who thought their house status gave them a free pass to be idiots. The others listened intently, chiming in with surprisingly helpful and occasionally bitchy advice. "Tell him he sounds like a dog choking on gravel," Harry had offered helpfully.

Even Jacob, quiet, sweet Jacob, had tea to spill. He leaned forward, his eyes wide with the thrill of sharing a secret. "You know the Ravenclaw girls in the upper years?" he whispered. "They're completely insane. Half of them act like they'll literally faint if Henry Potter so much as glances in their direction. And the other half," he rolled his eyes, "are even worse about Cedric Diggory. It's a full-blown civil war up there. They write his name on everything. Their books. Their parchments. I think one of them tried to enchant her toast to spell out 'Cedric' this morning."

The revelation that the supposedly stoic, intellectual Ravenclaws were just as prone to lovesick foolishness as anyone else was met with delighted gasps. Who knew the bookworms were so dramatic?

Daphne, for her part, mostly listened. It was her first official tea party, after all, and her new friends didn't expect her to bare her soul just yet. She offered a few dry, cutting observations about some of the pure-blood families' more ridiculous traditions, her aristocratic disdain a perfect, complementary flavor to the conversational chaos.

But the true main event, as always, was Harry. After listening to everyone else, he set his cup down, a look of profound suffering on his beautiful face. "Alright," he announced, "can we talk about the real tragedy at this school?"

He paused for dramatic effect.

"The fashion. It's a criminal offense." He went on a spectacular rant, his voice rising and falling with the rhythm of a seasoned performer. "I mean, honestly. Some people here dress so horribly, the clothes basically hang themselves in the wardrobe out of sheer despair. The color combinations are an assault on my very soul. The fabrics look like they were woven from depressed dish rags. It's a pandemic of bad taste, and I am suffering."

His tirade was so pointed, so hilariously cruel, that the others couldn't help but burst into laughter. It was a strange, liberating sound. Just a few months ago, they would have been shocked, maybe even offended by his words. Now? Now, they were in on this shit.

"Maybe next year I'll launch a fashion magazine or something," Harry mused, pouting as he examined his perfect nails. "A monthly guide. 'Peverell's Precepts for the Pathetically Dressed.' It could be a public service."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "You know," she said, a grin on her face, "the fashion in the wizarding world really is strange compared to the Muggle world. All the robes and pointy hats… it's a bit much."

Harry's head snapped up, his expression one of dead seriousness. He pointed a dramatic finger at her, his eyes blazing with purpose. "Yes! Exactly! And that, my dear friends, is why I'm here." He placed a hand over his heart, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, filled with a gravitas that was utterly absurd.

"To save this magical world from its greatest enemy: bad taste."

The tea party, as it turned out, was a roaring success. And who knew that four eleven-year-olds, dressed in their finest, sitting in a magically decorated classroom just to talk shit about everyone they knew could be so profoundly, wonderfully entertaining?

After that, time seemed to blur into a monotonous cycle of classes and cold weather.

Schoolwork, for most students, was a waking nightmare. The end of the term loomed, bringing with it a tidal wave of essays and exams that had the entire castle in a state of low-grade panic. For Jacob and Hermione, however, it was just another Tuesday. Those two fucking nerds were comically overprepared for anything that even remotely smelled of academia, their notes pristine, their homework submitted days in advance. Daphne, while not exactly an academic titan, was navigating the workload with a surprisingly cool head, thanks in no small part to the constant, borderline aggressive tutoring from her two nerdy best friends.

And Harry? Please. As if the Hogwarts first-year curriculum could ever pose a challenge to the Peverell heir. He was bored. Utterly, profoundly bored.

By mid-December, the castle had surrendered to the festive spirit. Garlands of holly and mistletoe were draped over ancient archways, and the suits of armor in the corridors were enchanted to sing slightly off-key Christmas carols, which was more annoying than charming. Towering Christmas trees, glittering with magical baubles and real, fluttering fairies, stood in the Great Hall. And surprisingly… Harry didn't hate it. It was a marginal improvement over the usual dreary, medieval aesthetic. A small, insignificant point of approval in a sea of things he found grating.

The preparations for the TPE Christmas Gala were, thankfully, a far more interesting distraction. They were nearly complete. His manager, a ruthlessly efficient goblin named Ironfang, had dispatched nearly all the invitations to the most important witches and wizards in Britain and across the continent.

The whispers started small, a ripple in the high-society pond. Then they grew. The talk of the TPE Christmas Gala swelled from a quiet murmur into a deafening roar. This wasn't going to be some tacky party in a school hall for a bunch of students. No, this was the real deal. An exclusive, opulent event for the movers and shakers of the wizarding world. Even the major newspapers, from the Daily Prophet in Britain to some other magazines in France, were breathlessly reporting on it as the single most anticipated event of the year.

And TPE? Well, let's just say sales had reached a new, dizzying height. Because really, who wanted to show up to the most glamorous party of the year in their old, hopelessly out-of-fashion robes? And what could possibly be more appropriate, more correct , than wearing TPE to a TPE party?

Overall, for Harry, it had been a very, very productive month.

But of course, someone had to try and ruin it. Well, not ruin it, exactly. Just… poke at his mood. Just a little.

It was the day before students were set to go home for the break. Harry was sauntering through a quiet corridor, mentally reviewing the gala's seating chart, when a figure materialized from the shadows, blocking his path. Cedric Diggory leaned against the stone wall, casual and infuriatingly handsome, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“So,” Cedric drawled, his voice a low, teasing murmur that made Harry’s skin prickle with irritation. “When are you going to give me that invitation to your big-ass party?” He pushed off the wall slightly, cornering Harry with an effortless confidence. He leaned in, his voice dropping even lower. “You can’t forget about your brand’s face, can you?”

Harry didn’t move. He simply lifted his chin, his blue eyes turning to chips of ice. The air between them crackled.

“Brand's face?” he said, his voice a soft, venomous purr. “Diggory, don’t get it twisted.” He let a slow, cold smile spread across his lips. “You are a side deal.”

Cedric blinked, then threw his head back and laughed, a rich, genuine sound that echoed in the empty corridor. He wasn't offended. He was delighted. "A side deal, huh?" he repeated, his grey eyes dancing with amusement. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Harry simply stared, his angelic face a mask of bored contempt.

"You wound me, princess," Cedric sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Here I am, working tirelessly to make your little brand look good, and I don't even get an invitation."

“That party is an international event , Diggory,” Harry rolled his eyes, the gesture so full of disdain it was practically a physical blow. “You are… a school project. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Ouch.” Cedric clutched his chest, feigning a look of profound heartbreak that lasted for exactly two seconds. The pained expression melted away, replaced by that familiar, infuriatingly handsome smirk. He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “How about another deal, then?”

Harry’s perfect eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch.

“If you give me one of those precious little invitations,” Cedric proposed, his grey eyes glinting with mischief, “I will not bother you again. For the rest of the school year.”

The Peverell heir froze, his gaze flickering over Cedric’s smug, grinning face. The offer hung in the air, glittering and tempting. The rest of the year? No more 'accidental' run-ins in corridors? No more charming invitations to mind-numbingly boring sporting events? Just… peace?

Harry let out a cold, unimpressed huff of air. Without a word, he snapped his fingers.

A invitation appeared, hovering silently in the space between them. A moment later, a sleek, ink-black quill with a shimmering silver nib materialized beside it. Harry plucked the pen from the air, his movements sharp and impatient. He scribbled a name onto the cardstock with elegant, angry strokes, then conjured a small, intricate seal bearing the Peverell 'P'. With a decisive press, he stamped the wax.

“There,” he said, his voice clipped and cold as he thrust the finished invitation toward the older boy. “Take it. And keep your promise.”

Harry turned on his heel and walked away without a backward glance. He felt a flicker of irritation, a sour taste in his mouth at having been so transparently manipulated. But, well. The thought of several months free from Cedric Diggory's charming bullshit? That was a pretty good return on investment.

The next day, the Hogwarts Express wheezed and puffed at the station, a dusty, old-fashioned metal snake waiting to swallow up the student body. Harry, naturally, couldn’t be bothered. The thought of cramming himself into a stuffy compartment with a horde of over-excited children for several hours was, frankly, an insult to his very existence. He had places to be, a gala to host, and a world to conquer. A grubby train ride was not on the agenda.

He also saved everyone the trouble of a tearful, drawn-out goodbye. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be seeing his friends in a week. Honestly, the dramatics. He dispatched them with a lazy wave and a simple, “Don’t show up to my party looking like you just wrestled a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Ciao.” And with a flicker of magic that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and disdain, he was gone, leaving the plebeian mode of transport far behind.

The gala was held on Christmas Eve, a decision of perfect, calculated timing. The venue was not some rented hall or repurposed ballroom. It was a sprawling Peverell estate nestled deep in the Scottish Highlands, a place so remote and magically concealed that most of the wizarding world didn’t even know it existed. Tonight, it was a vision carved from ice and starlight. The theme was a continuation of his little tea party: Winter Wonderland. But this wasn’t the quaint, charming version. This was Winter Wonderland on a god-like scale, a breathtaking, almost aggressive display of wealth and power.

As guests arrived, their carriages and Apparition points depositing them onto a pathway of glittering, magically solidified snow, they fell silent. The estate rose before them not as a building, but as a palace of sculpted ice, its towers and turrets glowing with a soft, internal light. Every tree on the vast grounds was draped in shimmering, enchanted icicles that chimed like tiny bells in the wind. The air was crisp, scented with pine and a hint of something sweet and cold, and the very ground sparkled as if paved with diamonds. For the first time in the lives of many of the most powerful and jaded witches and wizards in Europe, they were utterly, completely stunned. This wasn't just luxury, it was art. It was a statement.

The guests began to filter in, a river of silks and velvets in shades of winter blue, silver, and pristine white, all adhering perfectly to the theme. A sleek, black supercar, a Muggle contraption so out of place it was a spectacle in itself, purred to a stop near the entrance. A liveried house-elf opened the door, and out stepped Hermione. She was a vision in a gown of midnight blue silk that seemed to absorb the starlight, a delicate tiara of what looked like frozen dewdrops nestled in her elegant, upswept hair. She looked, for all intents and purposes, like a true princess arriving at the ball.

Jacob, accompanied by his two fathers, had arrived earlier. He stood near the entrance, greeting a few familiar faces. The usual boyish uncertainty was gone, replaced by a quiet, aristocratic confidence that sat on him as naturally as the exquisitely tailored, dark grey suit he wore. The raw potential Harry had seen was no longer just potential, it was a reality.

And Daphne? Daphne simply looked like she had come home. Dressed in a stunning floor-length gown of shimmering silver, her blonde hair styled in a way that was both severe and elegant, she moved through the crowd with the effortless grace of someone born to rule. She didn't need to try, she just was the sole heiress of a powerful, ancient family.

The three of them found each other near a towering ice sculpture of a rearing hippogriff. They knew, without a single word being exchanged, that Harry would absolutely take all the credit for their dazzling appearances. And, strangely, not one of them was bothered by it.

The air thrummed with the sound of an enchanted orchestra, the food and drink were things of myth and legend, and the sheer, breathtaking beauty of it all was almost too much to process. Hermione glanced around, spotting a few familiar faces from Hogwarts. The Malfoys were there, of course, looking impeccably styled but visibly annoyed that this wasn't their party. A few other students from prominent families milled about, clinging to their parents' sides, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and intimidation.

Then, the music softened. A hush fell over the great hall of the ice palace.

It began subtly. A single, perfect snowflake drifted down from the magically enchanted ceiling, then another, and another, until a gentle, glittering snow began to fall upon the guests, melting into harmless motes of light just before touching them. The wind picked up, not a harsh gust, but a soft, melodic sigh that swept through the hall. It gathered the snowflakes from all corners of the room, pulling them toward the center, forming a swirling, luminous vortex of ice and light.

A figure, hazy and indistinct, began to form within the whirlwind.

The vortex of snow parted like a curtain, slowly, dramatically. And there, revealed in the heart of the storm, stood Harry Peverell. He was the very picture of a fairy tale prince, an ethereal being carved from winter itself. His platinum hair was a halo of silver-gold, his sapphire eyes seeming to hold all the stars of the night sky within them. He wore a formal suit of the purest white, sharp and impeccably tailored, with a magnificent cloak of white fox fur draped over his shoulders. His jewelry was not gold or silver, but something that looked like spun ice, transparent and glittering. And floating just above his head, a final, perfect touch of arrogance, was a small crown of jagged, shimmering ice, held aloft by magic alone. He was a vision in white and ice, a creature of such perfect, cold beauty that he didn't seem real.

He looked out at the sea of powerful, older witches and wizards, his expression utterly unfazed, his confidence an unshakeable fortress. He raised a hand, and the hall fell into absolute silence.

His voice, when he spoke, was clear, pleasant, and carried an impossible weight of authority for one so young.

"Welcome to the TPE Christmas Gala!"

The moment the words left his lips, the sky outside the ice palace's vast windows exploded in a silent, breathtaking display of silver and blue fireworks. The guests, snapped out of their trance, erupted into applause that thundered through the hall like a tidal wave.

Harry stood there, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. He wasn't just throwing a party.

He knew he was making history.

The rest of the party was, for the most part, wonderful. Minus, of course, the few faces Harry didn't care for but had to greet with a smile so bright it was practically a weapon. He drifted through the glittering crowd, a vision in white and ice, exchanging pleasantries with a German dignitary here, a French fashion editor there. His performance was flawless. He was the perfect host: charming, attentive, and utterly in control.

He only needed to say a few words, a brief, elegant welcome. The rest of the nitty-gritty, the actual work of managing the event, was handled by the people he paid handsomely to do so. Because, honestly, why the hell should the boss do everything? His job was to be the centerpiece, the untouchable, shimmering ideal that everyone aspired to. The rest was just details.

The night was a whirlwind of dazzling magic and unrestrained luxury. At some point, after a particularly stunning display of enchanted ice sculptures that morphed and danced in time with the music, a new performer took the stage. The music shifted, a familiar, powerful voice filling the grand hall.

Hermione, who had been chatting animatedly with a potioneer from Milan, suddenly froze. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropping. She sprinted across the polished ice floor, grabbing Harry’s arm just as he was politely extricating himself from a conversation with the German gentleman. She pointed a trembling finger toward the stage.

“Is that fucking Cher ?!” she hissed, her voice a mixture of awe and utter disbelief.

Harry followed her gaze, his expression one of profound boredom. He gave a slow, deliberate roll of his eyes. “Of course it is, darling,” he said, his tone suggesting this was the most obvious thing in the world. “The real deal.”

“She’s… a witch?” Hermione stared at the stage, where the iconic singer was belting out a ballad, her presence as electric as any spell. “I… I can’t believe this.”

Harry gently, but firmly, removed her hand from his arm. He gave her a pointed look, the kind one might give a particularly slow, but well-meaning, house-elf. “Get used to it, darling,” he said, his voice a cool, silken thread. “A lot of famous people are witches.”

And with that, he turned away, resuming his duties as the evening's untouchable host.

People approached him in a steady stream, a river of power and influence flowing toward its source. Not one of them dared to treat him like a child. Not to his face, at least. Because as ridiculous as it might sound, the eleven-year-old boy before them was the real deal. The Lord of House Peverell. The black ring on his finger, ancient and cold, was all the proof they needed. Everything went smoothly, seamlessly, exactly as he had planned.

His friends, while not possessing Harry's natural talent for schmoozing, held their own. They didn’t shy away when approached, engaging in conversations with a newfound confidence that Harry, of course, took full credit for. His little project was a resounding success.

Cedric Diggory, looking devastatingly handsome, was a networking machine. He moved through the crowd with an easy charm, making connections, his smile a carefully wielded tool. Harry caught his eye once, a flicker of grudging approval passing through him. The boy was annoying, a complete peacock, but at least he knew what he was doing.

There were, however, a few people Harry actively avoided. He saw them, acknowledged their presence with a flicker of his gaze, and then promptly steered clear. The Potters. And Jacob’s other father, Sirius Black. Why? Just because. He didn't need a reason.

After three whole hours of partying, punctuated by several dazzling TPE fashion shows that had the guests whispering with a mixture of envy and desire, the gala finally began to wind down. The guests, their minds still reeling from the sheer opulence of it all, slowly began to depart.

Harry stood at the grand entrance, bidding his three friends farewell. As they left, he didn't forget to press lavish gift bags into their hands, the same ones every other guest had received. They were heavy with expensive perfumes, TPE accessories, beauty potions, and other priceless trinkets. It was a massive investment, a small fortune in every bag. But what the hell. Harry was confident he could make back ten, a hundred times what he’d spent.

The point wasn't just to make a shit ton of money, anyway. Though, he did rather enjoy that part.

The point was to make the name Peverell mean something again.

The last of the gilded carriages had rolled away, their magical glow fading into the Scottish night. The ice palace stood silent, a vast, glittering monument to a party that was now just an echo. Harry stood alone in the grand hall, the air still thick with the ghost of perfume and the faint, sweet scent of melting sugar. He looked around at the wonderland he had created - well, paid people to create - and let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh. It wasn't a sigh of sadness, or even exhaustion. It was the quiet, hollow hum of a mission accomplished, the silence that comes after a perfectly executed storm.

He gave a final, polite nod to a lingering house-elf who was meticulously vanishing stray confetti, his smile a perfect, practiced curve that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The performance was over.

And then, of course, a shadow detached itself from the archway.

Cedric Diggory appeared as if from nowhere, leaning against a pillar of sculpted ice, the very picture of casual elegance. In his hand, he held one of the ridiculously lavish TPE gift bags. He raised a perfect eyebrow.

“Princess,” he drawled, his voice a low, amused purr that cut through the silence. “I must say, this was a wonderful party.”

Harry’s eyes, which had been sweeping over the hall with a kind of detached ownership, snapped to him. They narrowed, the warm sapphire turning to chips of glacial ice. “Diggory,” he said, his voice clipped and cold. “Keep your promise.”

The taller boy just shrugged, a lazy, infuriatingly graceful movement. “Well,” he said, pushing off the pillar and sauntering closer, “this isn’t Hogwarts, is it? So, technically, it doesn’t count.”

“That is not what we agreed upon,” Harry rolled his eyes, the gesture so full of disdain it was practically a physical blow.

“What we agreed upon?” Cedric scratched his head, his expression one of pure, unadulterated innocence. The gesture was so casual, so offhand, and yet, damn it, he still looked impossibly handsome. “I’m sorry, I don’t seem to recall anything at all.”

Harry let out a cold huff of air through his nose. He had no interest in playing this game. He turned away, his posture radiating a boredom so profound it was almost an art form.

A soft whistle cut through the air. Cedric was looking around the grand hall, his gaze sweeping over the glittering ice and opulent decorations. His voice, when he spoke, was laced with a delicate, cutting mockery.

“Well, the party’s over now. Time to return to your lonely castle with, probably, no one around, huh?”

Before Harry could spin around and deliver a retort so venomous it would curdle milk, Cedric was in front of him. He held out a small box, wrapped in exquisite silver paper and tied with a black silk ribbon.

“Merry Christmas, princess.”

He pressed the gift into Harry’s hand, the sudden warmth of his fingers against Harry’s a fleeting, unwelcome shock. Before Harry could even process the gesture, Cedric was already turning, walking toward the grand entrance.

Halfway there, he stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder, a wicked, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He gave a slow, deliberate wink.

“Try not to miss me too much.”

Harry stood there, frozen, the small, perfectly wrapped box resting in his palm. He stared at it, then at Cedric’s retreating back. For a long, burning moment, he considered throwing the damned thing right at the back of his smug, handsome head.

*

That night, in his room, in his castle, Harry stared out the window. Outside, the snow fell in a silent, unrelenting curtain, blanketing the world in a pristine, indifferent white. Inside, there was only silence. A deep, heavy silence that the crackling of the grand fireplace couldn’t quite fill.

He leaned his forehead against the cold glass, the sharp chill a welcome, grounding sensation. He closed his eyes.

What were normal children doing at this exact moment? Huddled around a crackling fire, probably, wrapped in the warm, smothering embrace of family. A cacophony of laughter and shouted joy, the syrupy, genuine happiness of a shared Christmas.

Harry let out a soft breath, a small, white cloud against the dark pane.

Well, back then, at the orphanage, Christmas had been… different. There was never much, just threadbare decorations and watery hot chocolate. But still, it had been a bit more fun than this. The nuns, the ones with actual hearts, they did try their best. He remembered telling Ironfang to send a generous, anonymous donation to the orphanage, hoping the funds would help them have a better Christmas this year. As much as Harry wanted to forget he was ever a part of that place, as much as he wanted to erase that chapter of his life, he couldn’t. The past was a stubborn, uninvited ghost.

He opened his eyes and pushed himself away from the window, turning to survey his room. It was fancy, of course. Cavernous, even. A monument to everything he could possibly desire, filled with silks and velvets and priceless artifacts.

A bitter smirk twisted his lips. He remembered Diggory’s parting shot. Yeah, what a lonely castle.

Speaking of the devil… that fucker did give him a gift, didn’t he?

He approached the desk where the small, silver-wrapped box sat, looking ridiculously out of place in the vastness of the room. He unwrapped the paper with a careful, almost surgical precision.

Inside was a music box. Carved from a dark, polished wood.

Harry arched a perfect eyebrow.

On the small wooden base stood two figures. One was a tall, handsome boy with a charming, infuriating smile. The other was a smaller, slighter figure with an angelic face and an air of bored contempt. They weren't masterfully carved, the edges a little rough, but they were somehow, annoyingly, full of life.

There was a small, almost hidden button on the side. Harry pressed it.

A gentle, tinkling melody began to play, soft and sweet. The wooden figures jerked into motion. The Cedric Diggory figure turned, offering a hand to the tiny Harry with a flourish. Its voice, magically imbued and unmistakably teasing, filled the quiet room.

“May I have this dance, princess?”

The miniature Harry planted its hands on its hips, its head tilting at a sassy angle. Its voice, sharp and undeniably bitchy, shot back.

“Shut up Diggory, don’t bother me!”

Harry burst out laughing. A real, genuine laugh that startled him with its warmth.

"How the hell did he make this thing?" he whispered, a smile he couldn't control spreading across his face.

The Peverell boy sank into the plush armchair by the fire, holding the small music box in his hands. He watched the little scene play out again, and again. The teasing invitation, the sharp retort, the tinkling melody that looped endlessly. He kept watching, and he kept giggling, a soft, amused sound that was entirely his own.

Well, the music and the laughter, maybe they did push back against the vast, echoing silence of the castle.

Just a little.

Chapter Text

Christmas, and then the New Year, arrived and departed with all the fanfare of a damp squib. The Peverell estate, vast and glittering under a blanket of pristine snow, was a silent, beautiful prison. The quiet was a novelty that quickly soured into sheer, unadulterated boredom. Of course, Harry did his due diligence as a fabulously wealthy and benevolent overlord to his small circle of friends. He showered them with gifts so extravagant they were less like presents and more like statements of power. A set of first-edition, signed magical theory books for Hermione, so rare they probably belonged in a museum. A custom-made, professional-grade potions kit for Daphne, complete with stirring rods carved from unicorn horn and cauldrons of solid silver. And for Jacob, a ridiculously expensive, enchanted satchel that was bigger on the inside and could hold the entire Hogwarts library, because, well, the boy needed a better bag. It was a monumental waste of Galleons, and Harry adored every second of it.

Their presents to him were, predictably, less about monetary value and more about… effort. Which Harry found quaint. Hermione sent a collection of classic Muggle literature, bound in handsome leather with a thoughtful, handwritten note about the importance of understanding different worlds. How sweet. Daphne sent a set of exquisitely crafted self-inking quills, each feathered with a different, iridescent plumage that shimmered in the light. Practical, elegant, very Daphne. Jacob’s gift was a hand-knitted scarf in a shade of eye-searing mustard yellow that clashed violently with everything Harry owned. It was lumpy, uneven, and clearly the product of many frustrating hours of amateur needlework. Harry stared at it for a full minute, then, with a sigh of profound suffering, decided it was the most tragic, and therefore most amusing, thing he had ever received. He supposed he would have to wear it at some point, just to see the look on Jacob’s face.

Other than that, the holiday was a void. A glorious, productive void. Harry spent his days not lounging by the fire, but conquering the world from his ridiculously opulent study. He reviewed quarterly reports from TPE, his mind a sharp, cold machine of profit margins and marketing strategies. He drafted plans for global expansion, sketching out potential storefronts in Paris, Milan, and even a ridiculously ambitious flagship in magical Tokyo. When he grew tired of commerce, he would retreat to the Peverell library, a cavernous, echoing space that smelled of old parchment and forgotten magic. He didn't read for pleasure, he read for maintenance. A mind as brilliant as his required constant stimulation, lest it grow dull like the wits of the common rabble. He skimmed through ancient texts on soul magic and dabbled in obscure runic translations, not because he needed to learn, but because it was good to remind himself of all the things he already knew. His intellect and soul, he mused, were already perfect. This was just polishing the diamond.

Time, when one is actually accomplishing things instead of participating in the dreary, sentimental rituals of family, flies. Before he knew it, the break was over. The Hogwarts Express was chugging its way back to the castle, and Harry, with a flicker of magic that smelled faintly of disdain, reappeared within the familiar stone walls. The castle greeted him with its usual damp, medieval gloom, a dreary backdrop for the radiant masterpiece that was himself. He was back. And he was bored.

And the first person he decided to bother was not one of his adoring, newly fashionable friends. Oh no. That would be too predictable. He had a different target in mind. With a sense of renewed purpose that was almost alarming, he strode through the corridors, his expensive leather shoes clicking against the stone, heading straight for the dungeons. He didn’t knock.

Severus Snape looked up from a particularly volatile-looking potion he was brewing, his expression already one of profound, world-weary irritation. He didn't even have to see who it was. There was only one student in the entire school with the sheer, unadulterated audacity to barge into his private office without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Professor! You didn’t come to my Christmas party!”

Harry Peverell’s voice, a saccharine confection of feigned injury, bounced off the cold dungeon walls. He flounced into the office, his ridiculously expensive leather shoes making sharp, impertinent clicks on the stone floor. Without a hint of hesitation, he skipped right over to Snape’s workbench, peering into the cauldron with wide, curious eyes. The liquid bubbling within was a viscous, shimmering substance of an unpleasant, murky puce.

“Ooh, what’s this concoction?” Harry chirped, leaning in a little too close for comfort. “It looks fascinating.”

Severus Snape let out a long, suffering sigh, the sound a familiar companion in the presence of this particular student. He carefully stirred the potion one last time before looking up at the boy. Harry had already plastered a look of perfect, cherubic innocence onto his face, his blue eyes wide, his lips curved into a slight pout. It was a performance, and they both knew it.

“I have no interest in parties, Mr. Peverell,” Snape said, his voice a low, flat monotone. “And this is a new project.”

“Aww,” Harry tilted his head, the pout deepening into something truly tragic. “But I was so sad you didn’t come, though.”

Snape took a shallow breath, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. He didn’t believe a word of it. The boy didn’t have a sincere bone in his entire, exquisitely dressed body. “What do you want, Mr. Peverell?”

The name, Peverell, still sparked a flicker of curiosity in him. The first time he’d met this boy, he was a nameless orphan in a drab, miserable institution. The next time, he was the proclaimed Lord of the most ancient and powerful wizarding house in Britain, a family thought to have died out centuries ago. What in Merlin’s name had happened? The thought was intriguing, but Snape swiftly dismissed it. The personal lives of students outside the walls of Hogwarts were not, and should not be, his concern. He looked at Harry again. The boy was staring at him, a sly, knowing smile spreading across his face, like a cartoon cat that had just spotted the canary. Why, Snape wondered, did that particular image come to mind? That, he decided, was also none of anyone’s business.

“I’ve decided I want to kill all the Slytherin rats,” Harry said, his voice as sweet as poisoned honey, his face a beatific mask of angelic purity that was a violent contradiction to the words tumbling from his mouth. “All of them.”

Professor Snape gave him a pointed look.

Harry giggled, a light, airy sound. He waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, Professor, you’re no fun at all. But anyway…”

He snapped his fingers. A folded copy of a magazine appeared in his hand.

“Remember two years ago, when you published the formula for your new potion in ‘Potioneer Weekly’?” He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, what a dreadful name for a magazine.” He flipped the publication open to a specific page, his movements sharp and precise. “Here. This ‘Moonlight Touch’,” he tapped a picture of a small, elegant silver jar filled with what looked like a pearlescent lotion. “Wow, now that’s a name. Love it. Huge fan. Heals scars, restores tissue, leaves no trace? A truly monumental invention.”

The professor had stopped stirring. He watched Harry, his dark eyes waiting for the inevitable point.

“Now, you were generous enough to provide the entire brewing formula, a truly noble decision, I must say,” Harry purred. “And thanks to that, I was playing around with the recipe and I had a thought. Wait a fucking minute, what about this theory?”

Another snap of his fingers. A neatly bound stack of parchments materialized in his other hand. The handwriting on them was impeccable, the diagrams clean and precise. He held it out to Snape.

Severus Snape frowned but took the document. He began to read. His dark eyes, usually narrowed in perpetual irritation, widened almost imperceptibly. He looked up at Harry Peverell, then back down at the parchment in his hands.

Harry brought a single, elegant finger up to twist a lock of his platinum hair. “Well,” he continued, “I did feel my theory was quite possible, but I don’t really want to do the work myself. You know, being a Lord of a great house is a very busy, very demanding job.”

“This would require a few minor changes to the base ingredients,” Snape said, his voice laced with a newfound interest, a spark of academic curiosity he rarely showed. “But… it’s possible.”

Harry let out a dramatic, theatrical sigh of relief. “Thank you!” he chirped. “So, the point is, I want you to help me perfect this. TPE will be launching a new cosmetics line soon, and I want this to be our flagship product.”

“Why?” The professor’s frown returned. “You have all the money you could ever need. You could hire the best Potioneers in the world to research this for you. Why come to me?”

“Oh, I am doing that right now.”

Harry stared at Snape, his blue eyes unblinking. He snapped his fingers a third time. A Gringotts cheque and a self-inking quill appeared, hovering in the air. Harry plucked them from the air, scribbled a number with so many zeroes it looked more like a curse than a currency, and held it out.

“Of course, I could do that myself. But I don’t want to. After all, Moonlight Touch is your creation. While it wouldn’t be illegal to continue the research and development, for me, it would feel… unethical.” He smiled, a picture of false sincerity. “So, I am seeking a partnership with the greatest Potions Master in Britain at this moment. To develop your own recipe, to create a new, improved product that will be entirely credited to you.”

Snape took the cheque. He looked at the number written on it, and for a moment, he was speechless.

“In addition to this,” Harry pressed on, his voice a silken wave of temptation, “there will be a state-of-the-art laboratory, equipped with everything you could possibly need, and an entire team for you to command. All of it, for you.” He tilted his head. “This will be a little side-project for you. I’m sure you’ll find this far more stimulating than spending all your time babysitting a castle full of dunderheads, right?”

Severus Snape looked at Harry, the curiosity returning, stronger this time. He glanced down at the cheque in his hand. After a long, tense silence, his eyes hardened.

“I’m in.”

The cat-like smile returned to Harry’s face. He let out a satisfied laugh. “Good. My manager will be in contact with you soon. I hope our collaboration will be a pleasant one.”

The boy waved at Snape, then turned, skipping toward the office door with a triumphant bounce in his step. He pulled the heavy door open and stepped out, but then he paused. He poked his head back inside, a wicked, knowing glint in his eyes. He winked.

“In the meantime, try not to get dragged into any drama at this school, Professor. Not even when it involves people you know.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Snape standing in the sudden silence of his office, a cheque for an impossible sum of money in his hand, and a deeply unsettling feeling of confusion in his gut.

*

And with that, the grand, glittering chaos of the holidays receded, and the dreary, monotonous rhythm of school life settled back in. Things, for the most part, returned to a state of boring normalcy. The castle corridors echoed once more with the shuffling of feet and the dull murmur of students dreading their next class. Harry, of course, glided through it all, a radiant vision of bored perfection. His classes were a triviality, a series of mind-numbing exercises he could complete in his sleep. His free time was spent lounging in their designated empty classroom, holding court with his friends, who were now a permanent, fashionable fixture at his side. The January tea party came and went, a delightful little pocket of vicious gossip and exquisite pastries in an otherwise bleak month.

February blew in with a damp chill and the roar of the Quidditch crowd. Two more matches were played, cementing the season's rivalries. Hufflepuff, led by the infuriatingly competent Cedric Diggory, had utterly annihilated the Slytherin team in a match so one-sided it was almost pathetic. Harry heard the news, of course. The dungeons had been thick with the sour gloom of defeat for days. Did he care? Absolutely not. The Badgers, as they were called, now sat comfortably at the top of the leaderboard, their point total a testament to Diggory’s skill. Hot on their heels was Gryffindor, their own victories securing a spot in the final. The gap wasn't insurmountable, but it was there. The stage was set for the most anticipated match of the year: Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor.

Things, however, started to get interesting a few days later, long before any balls were chased or brooms were mounted. Harry and Daphne were taking a leisurely stroll through a sun-dappled corridor, critiquing the profound ugliness of a nearby tapestry, when they stumbled upon a scene so unexpected, so gloriously dramatic, that they both stopped in their tracks.

There, in the middle of the hallway, was Hermione. Fucking Hermione. And she was in the middle of a screaming match with a gaggle of other Gryffindor first-years. Her hands were on her hips, her posture was ramrod straight, and her face, usually a canvas for earnest concentration, was twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated contempt.

“Oh, shut up, you gaggle of brainless nifflers,” Hermione snapped, her voice cutting through the air like shards of glass. She narrowed her eyes, and the effect was surprisingly menacing. “So what if I lost the house fifty points? According to my calculations, I’ve earned Gryffindor over seventy points since the start of the year. So even with that deduction, I am still a net positive to this house, which is more than I can say for any of you.”

She took a predatory step forward, singling out one girl who looked ready to burst into tears. She jabbed a finger right in the girl’s face. “You actually have the nerve to blame me for that? When you spend your stupid time doing stupid things like drooling over some upper-year boys? You haven’t brought a single point to Gryffindor, have you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She pivoted, her gaze landing on another girl, a sickly sweet smile spreading across her face. It was a smile so full of scorn it was practically a curse. “And you,” she purred, “you’re just the same. While I work my ass off to bring points in, what are you doing? Trying so desperately to look pretty, only to end up looking as ugly as shit with that stupid face of yours?”

Daphne’s eyes widened. “Wow,” she breathed, nudging Harry with her shoulder. “Did she learn that from you?”

Harry brought a silk handkerchief to his eyes, dabbing at imaginary tears. His voice was thick with emotion. “My baby’s all grown up,” he sniffled. “I’m so proud.”

Over on the battlefield, Hermione was still on her rant. She tore into them, her words a relentless barrage of sharp, brutal truths and even more brutal insults. She left no room for retaliation, her logic as sharp as her tongue. The little Gryffindors were left sputtering, their arguments dissolving into pathetic whimpers before they could even be fully formed.

It wasn’t until the stern, familiar figure of Professor McGonagall came striding down the hall, her expression thunderous, that the tirade was interrupted.

“Miss Granger! Language!” the old head of her house exclaimed, her voice cracking like a whip.

Hermione simply rolled her eyes. With a final, magnificent gesture of defiance, she flipped a single, elegant middle finger at the entire group of her now-sobbing housemates. Then, she turned on her heel and began to walk toward Harry and Daphne, completely ignoring the poor professor behind her, who, after a moment of stunned silence, managed to choke out, “Ten more points from Gryffindor!”

As Hermione approached, looking as cool and unbothered as a queen departing a peasant uprising, Harry and Daphne began to clap. It was a slow, deliberate, deeply appreciative applause.

“I’m impressed, Hermione,” Daphne said, a genuine smirk gracing her lips.

Harry nodded sagely, his own smile a beacon of pure, malicious pride. “So proud of you.”

“Can you believe that?” Hermione hissed, her voice a low, furious tremor as they stalked toward their familiar empty classroom. The usual scholarly calm had been blasted out of her, replaced by a righteous, simmering rage. “Those absolute fuckers had the nerve to corner me, to actually surround me and spew their shit, when there are two other people who lost a hundred points combined and are walking around completely unscathed! No one is blaming them!”

As it turned out, the catalyst for this magnificent meltdown was, of all things, a dragon.

Hermione, pacing the stone floor of their sanctuary like a caged, very well-dressed tiger, recounted the whole sordid affair. Apparently, the Boy Who Lived and his ginger sidekick, Ronald Weasley, had discovered that the oafish groundskeeper was secretly harboring a newborn dragon. In a feat of brilliant, Gryffindor-brand logic, they decided the best course of action was to smuggle the highly illegal, fire-breathing beast to the top of the tallest tower so Weasley’s older brother could swoop in and whisk it away to Romania.

And Hermione, bless her once-naive heart, had been dragged into this shit show. Henry Potter, knowing she was the only one with a functioning brain cell between them, had casually asked her for some research on Norwegian Ridgebacks. Yada, yada, one thing led to another, and she found herself aiding and abetting in the name of house unity and friendship.

Before she knew it, the three of them, with the added, unwelcome bonus of Draco Malfoy who had tried to snitch on them, were caught. The result? Fifty points deducted from each of them, and a delightful evening of detention for all.

“Henry Potter and Ronald Weasley cost the house just as many points as I did, but has anyone said a single word to them? No! But me? Oh yes, they all came for me!” Hermione finally stopped pacing, whirling to face her friends, her eyes blazing. “Fucking unfair! Do they think I’m some kind of easy target?”

She collapsed onto a chair, breathing heavily. Daphne, looking utterly unbothered and impossibly chic, nodded slowly before sliding a cup of tea across the desk toward her. “Yeah,” she said, her voice a dry, silken drawl. “Those fuckers are completely out of their minds.”

Harry just smiled. Oh, this was delicious. He watched Hermione, a flicker of genuine, malicious delight in his eyes. People live, and people learn. You care too much about others, you put their needs before your own, and what happens? They disappoint you. They use you. They throw you to the wolves the second things get inconvenient. At least Hermione was learning this lesson now, a bit earlier than most. It was a crucial part of her development. He was so proud.

Just then, the door creaked open and Jacob slipped inside, his expression a mixture of worry and secondhand frustration. He’d clearly already heard the news. He sat down, his voice a low whisper.

“Henry is looking for you, Hermione. To apologize, or something. He looks… horrified. He knows what just happened in the corridor.”

“Oh, like hell I care,” Hermione rolled her eyes, the gesture so sharp and full of scorn it could have cut glass. She took a long, angry sip of her tea. “I couldn’t give a rat’s arse about him or any of those stupid Gryffindors anymore. Whatever.”

For the next half hour, they did what friends are for. They comforted Hermione. Which, in their case, meant a glorious, no-holds-barred trash-talking session about the entire Gryffindor house. Harry led the charge, of course, dissecting their self-righteous hypocrisy with surgical precision. Daphne chimed in with her own brand of cool, aristocratic disdain, and even Jacob, sweet, gentle Jacob, muttered something about how they were all obnoxiously loud anyway.

Still, as Harry leaned back, sipping his own perfectly brewed, non-Hogwarts-issue tea, a small, secret smile played on his lips. This was excellent drama. And he had a front-row seat.

Anyway, the following evening, Hermione’s detention took place. And yes, it was in the evening. In the fucking Forbidden Forest.

For some reason, Professor McGonagall, or, as Harry had now affectionately dubbed her in the privacy of his own magnificent mind, the ‘Old Fart,’ had decided it was a stroke of genius to send a handful of eleven-year-olds and one slightly older but equally useless thirteen-year-old into the Forbidden Forest. At night. With the only supervision being a fucking half-giant that Harry was quite sure had a brain the size of a pea.

Who said anything about old and wise? Some people, ahem, McGonagall, clearly got more stupid the older she got. It was a tragedy, really.

Like, seriously, who the hell does that?

Harry wasn't sure if the old professor was just tragically overconfident in the safety of Hogwarts in general, and the Forbidden Forest in particular, or if her brain was genuinely shrinking as she got older. But the point was, it was dumb. Monumentally, breathtakingly, criminally dumb.

He meant, at that point, just tie a few rocks to their ankles and toss them into the Black Lake. That would be less gruesome and far more straightforward. A quick, efficient mercy killing. Sending a bunch of children into a forest filled with things that actively want to eat them, at night, as a punishment? That was just poor planning.

And, as much as Harry wanted to pull up a chair, pop open a bag of enchanted popcorn, and watch this absolute shit show of a detention unfold, he couldn't quite let his very natural, very healthy enjoyment of other people's suffering get in the way of, you know, basic friend-preservation. Ugh, morals . So inconvenient.

So, with a sigh that could curdle milk, he moved. To where? Well, to the staff quarters, of course.

Every professor at Hogwarts had their own private room, a little sanctuary away from the hormonal chaos of the student body. Which was kind of neat, in a tragic, 'I’ve given up on life and now live in a glorified stone closet' sort of way. The corridor was predictably drab, lined with sad, little portraits of forgotten wizards and the kind of uninspired stonework that just screamed 'budget cuts'.

But anyway, he came to a stop before a particular door. Not McGonagall's - that old fart was a lost cause. Not Snape's - he'd probably offer to push them deeper into the forest himself. No, Harry stopped in front of the door with a small, brass plaque that read 'L. Potter'. He paused, smoothing down the front of his ridiculously expensive cashmere sweater. He was about to put on a performance, after all. He had to look the part.

Then, he knocked. Three sharp, decisive knocks that echoed in the quiet corridor, demanding attention.

The door swung open not with the gentle click of a professor welcoming a student, but with a weary creak, revealing a figure that was decidedly not Professor Lily Potter. James Potter stood there, his untidy black hair sticking up at the back in a way that seemed to be a family trait, his hazel eyes blinking behind a pair of glasses. He looked tired, but the exhaustion melted away into pure surprise the moment he saw who was standing on his doorstep.

"Oh," he said, straightening up slightly. "You're… Harry, right?"

Harry was not in the mood for pleasantries. The auras of the Potters, so intertwined and sickeningly sweet, always left a sour taste in his mouth. He had a mission, a performance to deliver, and he had no intention of wasting time on small talk. He looked past the man, his gaze as cold and sharp as a shard of ice.

"Your son," Harry began, his voice a flat, emotionless statement of fact, "is currently serving detention."

James Potter blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "What?"

The little lord Peverell had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes into the back of his head. Honestly, were all Gryffindors this slow on the uptake? Just as he was about to deliver a more pointed, perhaps more insulting, clarification, another figure appeared in the doorway behind James. Lily Potter, her red hair tied back loosely, looked from her husband to the small, impeccably dressed boy, a question in her green eyes.

She had arrived just in time for the punchline.

"Yes," Harry continued, his voice taking on a sweet, almost singsong quality that was far more menacing than any shout. "He and a few of his little Gryffindor friends, and a Slytherin for some reason, are being punished. And somehow, the old woman in charge of your house thought it was a brilliant idea to send them all into the Forbidden Forest. At night. As a detention."

The effect was instantaneous. Both adults stared at him, their faces a mask of stunned disbelief. Harry let a slow, beatific smile spread across his face, enjoying the stunned silence before delivering the final blow.

"That's right," he chirped, "at this very moment, they've probably already ventured deep into the woods. And the best part? The only one accompanying them is that half-giant."

"What!?" The word exploded from both of them at once.

They turned to look at each other, a frantic, panicked energy suddenly filling the small space of the doorway. "I didn't know Henry had detention!" Lily exclaimed, her voice rising in alarm.

"Well, I knew," James shot back, running a hand through his already messy hair, "but I didn't think Professor McGonagall would go that far!"

Before their parental panic could escalate into a full-blown argument, Harry clapped his hands together. The sound was sharp, loud, and utterly imperious, cutting through their frantic exchange like a whip crack.

"Uhm, excuse me," he said, tilting his head with an expression of profound boredom. "How about less talking and more going straight to get them out? Chop, chop." He looked from one adult to the other, his blue eyes gleaming with a cold, impatient light. "We don't exactly know what will happen if you're slow, though, do we?"

That did it. James Potter didn't say another word. He gave his wife one last, wide-eyed look, and then he bolted, his long legs carrying him down the corridor at a speed that was frankly impressive. It was a reasonable reaction, Harry mused. Imagine hearing your thirteen-year-old son was taking a midnight stroll through a forest filled with things that actively wanted to kill him. Tragic.

Professor Lily Potter, for her part, rushed back into the room, emerging a second later with a heavy cloak. She threw it over her shoulders, her movements hurried and jerky. She paused just long enough to look at Harry, her expression a strange mixture of gratitude and frantic worry.

"Thank you for telling us," she said, her voice breathless. "But please, go back to your room, okay?"

Harry wanted to say something deeply sarcastic. Something along the lines of, Oh, don't worry, I have no intention of getting my cashmere dirty . But he held his tongue, simply watching as the professor took off after her husband, her footsteps echoing down the stone hallway.

Merlin, of course he was going back to his room. The drama was delicious, a delightful little spectacle he had orchestrated perfectly. But did he want to be a part of the actual, messy, probably muddy bullshit of the rescue mission? Absolutely not.

He turned, the satisfying echo of chaos still ringing in his ears. His work here was done. He had protected his asset, Hermione, by setting her own protectors on the case. A perfect, clean operation.

But just as he was about to take a step, the door to the Potters' room creaked open one more time.

Harry froze, his eyes widening. A tiny figure stepped out into the corridor, rubbing a sleepy eye with a small fist. A little girl, no older than five, with a riot of red hair that seemed to have a life of its own, was looking around the empty hallway with wide, confused green eyes.

"Mom?" she asked, her voice a small, quiet whisper. "Dad?"

Oh, fuck, Harry thought, his mind going completely blank.

The little girl's gaze landed on him. She tilted her head, her curiosity overriding her confusion.

Harry Peverell wanted to evaporate. To simply melt into a puddle of expensive cologne and sheer annoyance and seep between the cracks of the ancient flagstones. Nope. Absolutely not. He wanted no part of this, especially not a part that involved a small, red-headed, five-year-old plot twist.

But before he could even think to snap his fingers and disappear, a blur of motion shot out from the doorway. A tiny hand, shockingly strong for its size, latched onto the hem of his cashmere sweater with the tenacity of a barnacle.

The little girl looked up at him, her green eyes wide and impossibly clear. “Brother?” she asked.

A chill, colder than the dungeon air, snaked its way down Harry’s spine. His face, usually a canvas for bored perfection, twisted into a scowl. “I am not your brother,” he snapped, his voice sharp and cold. “Are you stupid or something?”

The girl, despite his harsh words, didn’t even flinch. It was as if his insult had bounced right off an invisible shield of childish determination. She just tightened her grip, her gaze unwavering. “Where’s mom and dad?”

Probably getting eaten alive in the forest, Harry thought, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. But he couldn’t possibly say that to a five-year-old. He let out a long, suffering sigh. “They’re busy,” he said, his tone dripping with dismissive frost. “Go back into your room and sleep.”

Oh yeah, as if it were that simple. As if you could just tell a kid what to do and expect them to obediently trot off.

Of course, it wasn’t. The girl - Rosie? Roselia? Ugh, whatever her tragic flower name was - clung to his sweater with both hands now, her lower lip beginning to tremble ominously. “I want mom and dad.”

Merlin. Harry cursed silently. He hated this. This was fucking annoying.

“Bitch, don’t cry,” he hissed, leaning down slightly. “You’ll look even uglier if you cry.”

Well, that didn’t help. The child’s mouth crumpled, her eyes welling up with fat, glistening tears. A tiny, hiccupping sob escaped her. Panicked, Harry backtracked with a speed that was frankly embarrassing.

“Okay, okay, fine! I’ll find them!”

“Really?” The little girl sniffled, looking up at him through her tears. She hastily wiped her eyes with the back of a tiny fist. Then, without a second’s hesitation, she let go of his sweater, held up her arms, and commanded, “Up, up.”

Really, bitch? How old are you? You're are like, five, not three! Harry’s mouth fell open. He stared at her, utterly aghast. This tiny human was actually demanding to be carried.

But he didn’t really have a choice, did he? He couldn’t just leave her here in the corridor alone. Well, he could just shove her back in the room and lock the door, but the resulting tantrum would probably be loud enough to wake the castle’s founding fathers from their eternal slumber.

So, with a groan that was pure, theatrical suffering, he bent down and scooped her into his arms.

“Oh shit, you’re heavy.”

The girl let out a delighted little giggle, wrapping her arms around his neck. Harry, who was not exactly known for his towering height or brawny physique, staggered for a moment. Carrying a five-year-old was a genuine physical challenge. Even if the girl was kinda small compared to other normal five year olds.

“Wow, this little bitch is dumb, ugly, and fat!” he declared loudly, hoping the insult would somehow crush the strange, unwelcome warmth that was starting to flicker in his chest.

The girl, who either didn’t understand or simply didn’t care, just giggled again, a happy little sound that was deeply, profoundly irritating.

Harry sighed, the sound a gust of pure resignation. He shifted her weight, whispering a spell so quietly it was just a breath of air. The crushing weight in his arms immediately lightened, becoming almost nothing. He had to carry this small, annoying creature to find her equally annoying parents. Just wonderful.

The walk to the forest was hell.

For a boy like Harry, who believed he was sculpted from starlight and spun from silk, the simple act of traversing the damp Hogwarts grounds at night was an insult. With a child in his arms. It was a violation of some fundamental cosmic law. Even with the whispered spell that had rendered the little girl as light as a bundle of feathers, the sheer indignity of it weighed on him like a block of lead. Someone like him was created to be lifted up, to be adored from below, not to act as a glorified transport for some sniveling brat. The fact that he was doing it, right now, was a source of profound, simmering irritation that made his teeth ache.

The girl, Rose, as she had chirped at him when they started moving, did not stop talking. A constant, twittering stream of nonsense flowed from her, the mindless, happy chatter of a little bird that was deeply, profoundly annoying.

And wow, she really was stupid. At one point, after a particularly long and rambling monologue about a sparkly rock she’d found, she tilted her head back, her green eyes wide and vacant.

“Brother, where’s mom and dad?”

Merlin, again? Are you dumb? Harry snapped, his patience finally shredding like cheap parchment. The carefully constructed mask of bored indifference cracked, revealing the raw annoyance beneath. “I am not your fucking brother!”

But before his venom could fully land, a loud boom echoed from the direction of the forest, a concussive thump of magic that made the ground tremble slightly. The girl flinched in his arms. Harry’s eyes darted toward the sound. “There,” he said, his voice sharp and clipped, using the explosion as a convenient excuse. “They’re probably there!”

He picked up his pace, his expensive shoes squelching unpleasantly in the damp grass. This was all so wrong. Right now, he should be slipping between silk sheets in his magnificent, soundproofed bedroom, not traipsing through the muck with a fat, dumb child clinging to him like a limpet. Ugh, Hermione owed him for this. She owed him big time.

Merlin, he should have just gone into the forest himself and dragged his friend out. That would have been so much less annoying. It might have raised a few questions, sure, but whatever. This was so fucking annoying !!!

Somehow, Harry endured. He reached the edge of the dark, looming woods just as two adult figures emerged, their expressions grim. A sullen little pack of children trudged behind them, followed by the half-giant, who looked like a shuffling monument to useless confusion.

“Oh, good,” Harry called out, his voice ringing with false cheer. He strode forward into the surprised silence of the group and, without any ceremony, shoved the little girl into Professor Lily Potter’s arms.

“Your daughter was a terrible nuisance,” he announced, his voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “How about you lock your door next time? Or get someone to watch her? Or just drug her? Do you have any idea how heavy she is?”

He didn’t even bother to wait for a reaction, didn’t glance at the shocked faces of the Potters. He was done. His carefully cultivated aura of amusement had been utterly corroded by raw irritation. He kept his expression fixed in a mask of pure annoyance, spun on his heel, and walked away, leaving the drama he had so desperately wanted to see forgotten in his wake.

Once he was sure he was out of sight, shrouded by the castle’s deep shadows, Harry vanished.

When he reappeared, it was in the vast, silent expanse of his private bedroom in the Peverell castle. He pursed his lips, sinking onto the edge of his enormous bed. He took a slow, deep breath, then another, his eyes closed, trying to force the frantic, ugly energy out of his system.

A moment later, he stood, moving with a stiff, unnatural grace to the small tea table in the corner of the room. He poured himself a glass of cool, clear water. He drank it in one long, deliberate swallow. He was trying to calm down, to push the events of the night away, but the images kept flashing behind his eyes, sharp and unwelcome. The happy family. The parents, frantic, rushing to save their child.

That… that had nothing to do with him.

From the very beginning, all he had ever had was himself. And now, it was himself and a shit ton of money. He was, and always had been, a lonely outsider.

Thinking of that, a surge of something hot and bitter rose in his throat. He threw the empty glass against the far wall. It shattered, the sound of breaking crystal sharp and violent in the crushing silence.

Harry bit his lip, hard. He tasted the coppery tang of blood.

Yeah, just an outsider.

Chapter Text

The next morning, and the few miserable days that followed, were an absolute fucking letdown.

Harry had been hoping for fireworks. He’d envisioned shouting matches echoing through the corridors, public firings delivered with theatrical flair, maybe even a few satisfying tears from Professor McGonagall. Instead, he got silence. A suffocating, tense silence that was about as thrilling as watching paint dry, a thick blanket of unspoken drama that made Harry want to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

Other people, the general, clueless population of Hogwarts, remained blissfully unaware that anything of note had happened that night. The incident had been swept under the rug with a speed and efficiency that was, in Harry’s opinion, a testament to the sheer, breathtaking stupidity of the parties involved.

Fools. Utter, sentimental fools, the Potters.

Honestly, if, by some bizarre twist of fate, Harry ever found himself burdened with a child, and that hypothetical, and undoubtedly fabulous, offspring was sentenced to detention in a forest filled with things that eat people? Oh, he’d turn this entire drafty castle into a pile of smoking rubble. He’d have the Ministry on the line so fast the Floo network would catch fire, demanding the immediate termination of the person responsible. He’d sue them for child endangerment, slander, emotional distress, and probably for having offensively bad taste in architecture, until they were broke and begging for mercy. Then, he’d get them tossed into Azkaban. Finally, he would yank his child out of this death trap of a school and enroll them somewhere with competent staff and a basic understanding of not murdering its students.

Like, what the fuck were the Potters even doing?

But whatever. Not his circus, not his monkeys.

The one, tiny, glittering silver lining in this whole dreary shenanigan was Hermione. Her simmering dissatisfaction with Gryffindor in general, and McGonagall in particular, had officially boiled over into a glorious, full-blown inferno of contempt. The girl, after a day of being interrogated by Aurors and another spent effectively quarantined in her dorm, was finally unleashed back into the world.

“I can’t believe I almost died,” she seethed, the words a low hiss as they all sat at their usual commandeered spot at the Ravenclaw table. “Just because of some stupid adult’s decision.”

She sat ramrod straight, a picture of righteous fury. Next to her, Daphne sipped her tea with an air of aristocratic calm. Across from them, Jacob looked on with wide, concerned eyes. And Harry? Harry was holding his fork, methodically torturing the fried egg on his plate, his expression one of profound, philosophical disgust for the poor, defenseless breakfast food.

“I heard the whispers, but what actually happened?” Daphne asked, her voice a cool, curious drawl.

“I want to know, too,” Jacob chimed in, leaning forward. “Even Henry’s keeping his mouth shut.”

At the mention of Henry, Hermione let out a long, weary sigh and shook her head. “Well,” she said, her voice dripping with scorn, “he almost died, too. So don’t blame him for not wanting to chat about it.”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “That night,” she began, her voice dropping, “we found a cloaked figure in a clearing. It was… it was drinking blood from a unicorn’s neck.”

Daphne’s teacup paused halfway to her lips. Jacob’s jaw went slack.

“When it saw me and Henry, it just came after us. I thought we were dead. Then, Mr. Potter showed up, he drove it back with his spells. They fought for a bit, until Professor Potter arrived to help. Only then did the dark figure finally run off.” She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “It was horrifying. Truly terrifying.”

Harry’s eyes flickered toward her for a fraction of a second, just long enough to register the genuine fear still clinging to her. Then, his attention returned to the methodical destruction of his egg.

Drinking unicorn blood?

Hmm, interesting, he thought, a slow, cold curiosity beginning to bloom in the back of his mind.

It took a considerable amount of placating to coax Hermione back from the brink of a full-scale Gryffindor civil war. Most of the heavy lifting, of course, was done by Daphne and Jacob. Daphne, with her cool, aristocratic logic, pointed out that getting expelled for hexing her housemates into oblivion would be a tragic waste of a perfectly good education. Jacob, ever the gentle soul, just kept patting her arm awkwardly and offering her chocolate frogs, his wide, earnest eyes radiating a sympathy so pure it was almost painful to watch.

Harry, for his part, did chime in. Once. Maybe twice. His contributions were less about emotional support and more about fanning the flames of Hermione’s righteous fury, aiming it squarely at the true villain of the piece. “Honestly, darling, what do you expect from an old hag whose signature look is ‘sad, shapeless tartan’? Her brain is probably just as outdated as her wardrobe.” But hey, he was participating. That had to count for something.

Later that day, as Harry sauntered back toward the dungeons, his steps felt a little lighter, a little bouncier. The saltiness from the Potters’ pathetic lack of a public showdown with McGonagall still lingered, a faint, bitter aftertaste. He’d been robbed of a truly spectacular display of parental rage, and he would not soon forget it.

But this… this was better. So much better. This wasn't some petty squabble over school rules. This was sinister. This was delicious. Drinking unicorn blood? That was an act of pure, screaming desperation. It was the last resort of a creature clinging to a cursed half-life, a pathetic, corrupted existence. And Harry had a very, very good guess as to who was pathetic enough to be lurking around Hogwarts in such a state.

Oh, this is so fun, he thought, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. Who knew this dreary castle held such delightful secrets? He’d sensed it, of course, from the moment he arrived. A faint, discordant note in the castle's magical symphony, a little pocket of darkness hiding behind a stutter and a ridiculous purple turban. But now, it was out in the open, playing its hand. The game was finally starting, and Harry couldn’t wait to see how it would all play out.

Suddenly, a voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and clear.

“Harry Peverell!”

Harry paused, his smile freezing for a fraction of a second before melting back into a mask of bored indifference. He turned, slowly, elegantly, expecting some sniveling fan or a Slytherin rat with a death wish. To his surprise, it was neither. It was Henry Potter, and he was striding toward him, his expression a mask of grim determination.

“I heard what happened that night,” Henry Potter said, his stride finally coming to a halt a few feet in front of Harry. The determination on his face softened, replaced by something that looked suspiciously like genuine concern. “Thanks. For everything.”

Harry’s face remained a perfect, placid mask. He didn’t so much as blink. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Potter,” he said, his voice as smooth and cool as polished marble. “I did that for my friend. You were just an unfortunate accessory to the situation.”

The boy seemed momentarily flustered, the tips of his ears turning a faint shade of pink. He ran a hand through his messy black hair, a nervous habit that Harry found utterly pathetic. A kicked puppy. That’s what he looked like. A kicked puppy that was still trying to wag its tail. “Right,” he mumbled, offering a small, awkward smile. “Well, thanks anyway.”

A surge of pure, unadulterated annoyance washed over Harry. How could anyone be so… spineless? To just stand there and smile after being so thoroughly, so beautifully insulted? Geez. The lack of self-respect was nauseating.

Harry let out a delicate, long-suffering sigh and began to examine his perfectly manicured nails with an air of profound boredom. “Yeah, whatever,” he drawled. “Is there an actual point to this, or are you just enjoying the sound of your own voice? I have things to do that don't involve meaningless chit-chat.”

“Right,” the Potter boy said, his friendly demeanor evaporating in an instant. He straightened up, his expression turning serious. He cast a quick, furtive glance down the empty corridor before lowering his voice. “Do you know what that thing was? The one in the forest?”

Harry’s gaze slowly lifted from his nails. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. A slow, knowing smirk began to play at the corners of his mouth.

Oh, now this was getting interesting.

“Why?” he purred, the sound a low, amused hum. “Why would you think I'd know anything about it? You're the one who had the thrilling, near-death experience, Potter. Not me.”

“Fred and George,” Henry said, his voice firm, unwavering. He looked at Harry with a certainty, a level of absolute trust that was, in Harry’s opinion, deeply, tragically sad. “They said if anyone in this castle knew what was really happening, it would be you.”

But, well, what the hell. This was fun. So much fun. A light, airy laugh escaped him, the sound echoing softly in the stone corridor. Those mischievous little rats, he thought, spreading rumors. How delightful.

“Oh, I don’t know everything,” he said, the words a silken, knowing drawl as he thought of the two troublemakers. “But it’s not necessary. When you’re presented with certain… clues, it's not terribly difficult to piece together the rather pathetic puzzle, is it?”

Henry Potter looked at him, his green eyes filled with a raw, earnest expectation that was almost pathetic. Harry burst out laughing, a light, airy sound that was completely devoid of warmth. He gave a lazy, dismissive wave of his hand, as if shooing away a particularly persistent gnat.

“Oh, come on, Potter,” he drawled, his voice a silken thread of condescension. “This isn’t some complex arithmancy equation. You have to deduce this one for yourself. It’s really not that difficult.”

He paused, a cruel, mocking smile spreading across his beautiful face. “Besides,” he added, the word dripping with scorn, “I have absolutely no intention of getting tangled up in the sacred, oh-so-important duties of the ‘Chosen One’.” His gaze hardened, the playful light in his blue eyes extinguishing in an instant. “Don’t you ever, for a single, pathetic moment, think I’m going to become one of your little sidekicks.”

His eyes, which just a moment ago had been sparkling with amusement, seemed to freeze over, turning into chips of cold, sapphire ice. With a final, withering glance, he spun on his heel and began to walk away, his posture radiating a finality that left no room for argument.

But just before he reached the turn in the corridor, he stopped. He stood there for a moment, his back to the stunned Gryffindor, before turning his head just enough to look back over his shoulder. Henry was still frozen in place, his face a mask of shocked disbelief.

“But,” Harry said, his voice a low, conspiratorial purr that was far more dangerous than any shout. “Since I’m feeling so generous today… why don’t you focus on what’s actually being guarded in that little third-floor corridor? Find out what it is, and then ask yourself a very simple question: who in this castle would need something like that?”

Harry Peverell tilted his head, his angelic face framed by a halo of platinum hair, a final, devastatingly sweet smile gracing his lips. “A little hint: Nicholas Flamel.”

And with that, Harry walked away.

The moment he turned the corner into an adjacent, blessedly empty corridor, the entire energy of his small frame shifted. The bored, brittle ice of his posture melted away, replaced by a triumphant little bounce in his step. He was practically gliding, a low, satisfied hum vibrating in his chest. A flicker of something predatory and ancient, a spark of emerald green, flared in the depths of his blue eyes for a single, terrifying second before vanishing, swallowed once more by the placid sapphire.

Well, well, well.

The pieces were on the board. The actors had their scripts - or at least, the one he’d so generously provided for them. Now, all he had to do was find a comfortable seat and wait for the curtains to rise. The beautiful, inevitable chaos was about to begin, and Harry Peverell had a front-row ticket to the best show in town.

And, true to his word, Harry waited.

He minded his own business, and honestly, his life was busy enough. The days blurred into a dizzying whirlwind of responsibility and luxury. There were fortunes to manage, endless streams of Galleons flowing in and out of Gringotts that required his signature, his approval, his sharp, calculating gaze. Then there were the designs, sketches for TPE’s spring collection piling up on his desk, each one a stroke of pure, marketable genius that needed to be perfected. There were meetings, hushed conversations with goblin bankers and sneering French aristocrats and surprisingly competent potioneers. And, of course, there was his social life, the carefully scheduled hours spent with his friends, molding them, enjoying their company, ensuring his little project continued to flourish. Who knew a life could change so drastically in less than a year? He’d gone from a clever, lonely orphan in a threadbare sweater to… this. A king in his own right.

By the time the Quidditch final arrived, a roaring, boisterous affair that had the entire school buzzing with a pathetic, primal energy, Harry kept his promise. He appeared.

Cedric Diggory spotted him almost instantly. From the center of the pitch, surrounded by the nervous energy of his teammates, he broke away. His broom cut through the air, a smooth, graceful arc that ended with him touching down just a few feet from Harry. He landed with an effortless confidence that was deeply, profoundly annoying, his broom held loosely in one hand. He winked.

“You kept your promise, princess,” he said, his voice laced with a satisfaction that made Harry’s teeth ache.

Harry didn’t even look at him. His gaze was fixed on his own hand, admiring the pristine, perfect state of his fingernails. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he murmured, the words a little puff of bored air.

Cedric took a step closer, his larger frame casting a shadow over Harry. He leaned down, his mouth hovering just beside Harry’s ear, his whisper that was far too intimate for the public setting. The crowd, the noise, the entire world seemed to fade away, and more than a few curious eyes turned their way.

“I see you did something to distract the Potter boy, didn’t you?”

Having planted the seed of his suspicion, Cedric straightened up, a challenging, knowing glint in his grey eyes. He crossed his arms, raising a single, perfect eyebrow, waiting.

“Oh, why would you think that?” Harry finally lifted his gaze from his hand, flipping a lock of platinum hair over his shoulder with a gesture of pure, unadulterated nonchalance.

“I don’t think,” Cedric corrected, clicking his tongue. “I know. I saw you and Potter talking.”

“Oh wow,” Harry sighed, the sound a masterpiece of theatrical weariness. “Now you sound like a real stalker, Diggory.”

“Only for you, princess,” the boy winked again, and the casual, charming delivery of the line was so irritating it was almost an art form.

Harry rolled his eyes. This was ridiculous. The grand, delightful drama unfolding within Hogwarts, the whole pathetic saga of the Sorcerer’s Stone and the half-dead Dark Lord, had absolutely nothing to do with Cedric Diggory. And it needed to stay that way. Harry was the director of this little tragicomedy, and he refused to let some handsome, overconfident Hufflepuff wander onto the stage and start ad-libbing. No, the script was perfect as it was. Henry Potter, the tragic hero, needed to stumble his way to the finish line on his own for maximum entertainment value.

Harry lifted a hand, his elegant fingers snapping together, tapping against his thumb in a rapid, chattering motion, perfectly mimicking a yapping mouth.

“Diggory, you are like this,” he said, his voice cold like frost.

Then, with a final, decisive snap, he closed his fingers into a tight fist, the motion sharp and final.

“And I want you to be like this.”

Cedric threw his head back and laughed, a rich, genuine sound that echoed slightly in the open air of the stadium. His grey eyes lit up, not with offense, but with amusement.

Just then, Harry’s friends appeared, navigating the edge of the bustling crowd. Hermione, Daphne, and Jacob came to a stop a few feet away, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and caution. Harry, without taking his eyes off Cedric, gave them a wave of his hand.

He then pivoted back to the handsome Hufflepuff, his posture radiating an unearned and utterly magnificent sense of entitlement. His pretty face was a mask of bored impatience.

“Now,” Harry purred, his voice full with condescension. “Where are our seats?”

Cedric, still grinning, simply gestured for them to follow. He led them with an easy grace, parting the sea of yellow and black robes like a ridiculously good-looking Moses. Jacob, Hermione, and Daphne exchanged uncertain glances but trailed behind, caught in the wake of Harry’s inexplicable authority.

They were led to the very first row of the Hufflepuff stands. The seats were wide, clean, and offered a perfect, unobstructed view of the entire pitch. Other Hufflepuffs craned their necks, whispering and pointing at the bizarre entourage that had just invaded their prime territory.

Harry arched a perfect eyebrow. He scanned the pristine seating, his expression suggesting he found it barely adequate. Whatever, he thought with a mental shrug.

He sat down, crossing his legs with the elegance of a king ascending his throne. His friends, sensing the silent command, quickly took their seats beside him.

Cedric leaned down, his smile never faltering. “Enjoy the show, princess,” he winked one last time.

Then, with a final, charming grin, he leaped onto his broom and shot back toward his team, a streak of yellow against the bright blue sky.

The image was, frankly, kind of funny. Two Slytherins and a Ravenclaw, sitting primly in the heart of the Hufflepuff section. And if that wasn’t strange enough, a Gryffindor was also nestled among them, while her own house team was about to play in the most important match of the season.

Daphne leaned over, her voice a low, amused whisper in Hermione’s ear. “Hermione, you know what you’re doing is completely ending your social life in your own house, right?”

Jacob poked his head out from beside Harry. “Yeah,” he added worriedly. “Quidditch is kind of a big deal for them.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, the gesture so sharp and full of scorn it could have cut glass. She waved a dismissive hand. “Like hell I care.”

That earned her a small, approving nod from Harry. Right, he thought, who cares? He couldn’t wait for this stupid thing to end.

The whistle blew, and the final, decisive match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff began.

And… Harry understood absolutely none of it.

Yeah, yeah, it was the most popular sport in the wizarding world, whatever. He didn’t care. And he certainly didn’t understand how people found the sight of students chasing each other on flying sticks to be so thrilling.

But, he had to admit, Henry Potter and Cedric Diggory… they were good on their brooms.

Henry Potter had a raw, natural talent for flying. Harry could see it in the way he moved, the effortless and wild energy in his turns, the fierce intensity in every sharp change of direction. Cedric Diggory, on the other hand, was all about flawless technique. Every movement was perfect, standardized, a textbook example of how one should fly.

If Harry had to point out a difference, it was that Potter actually looked like he was having fun. Cedric? Well, it was hard to say. Harry had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t actually enjoying this. Yeah, whatever, just his feeling.

Harry spent the majority of the game looking at his nails, then at his friends, then at the ground, then at the sky.

Goddammit, it was fucking boring.

Right now, he could be doing something far more interesting. Like shopping. Or simply sleeping in his ridiculously comfortable bed.

By the time Harry felt like he was about to die of sheer, soul-crushing boredom, something happened.

A tiny, glittering speck of gold appeared, zipping through the air near the Gryffindor goalposts.

The Snitch.

That, at least, signaled the beginning of the end. The chase began in an instant, a spectacular aerial pursuit with two main characters rocketing across the sky: Potter and Diggory.

The chase was, Harry hated to admit, actually kind of spectacular.

It was a breathtaking, dizzying blur of red and yellow, a high-speed dance painted across the vast canvas of the sky. Potter was a force of nature on a broom, all raw instinct and wild, unpredictable swoops. Diggory was a machine, a marvel of perfect form and calculated precision. They were neck-and-neck, a hair's breadth separating them as they twisted and dove, their bodies nearly parallel to the ground one moment, shooting straight up toward the sun the next.

For a moment, it seemed like Potter might pull ahead, his smaller frame giving him an edge in a tight turn. But Diggory, with the cool, unflappable judgment of a master strategist, anticipated the move. He cut a sharper, more efficient angle, his broom responding to his commands with the instant obedience of a well-trained hound. He was a fraction of a second ahead, his eyes, grey and sharp as flint, locked onto the shimmering gold of the Snitch. He had the upper hand, his standardized perfection a powerful weapon against Potter’s untamed talent. Potter was right on his tail, a shadow of fierce determination.

But then, something shifted.

It was a hiccup in the air, a faint, unnatural tremor in Potter’s broom that no one else seemed to notice. A wobble so slight it was almost imperceptible. But Harry saw it. More than that, he felt it. A sticky, malicious thread of magic, thin and venomous, wrapping itself around the Gryffindor’s broom. A flicker of irritation, sharp and unwelcome, pricked at Harry.

As much as he loathed Potter and wanted nothing to do with his pathetic little hero’s journey, this was another matter entirely. This was about branding. About image.

Cedric Diggory would win. Harry had no doubt about that. He could see the fire in the Hufflepuff's eyes, the burning need to prove himself. But a victory against a sabotaged opponent? A win handed to him because some pathetic loser decided to interfere? That wasn't a victory. It was a handout. It was tacky. And Harry Peverell did not associate with tacky. A win like that would tarnish Diggory’s image, and by extension, it would splash a bit of that pathetic mud onto Harry himself.

No. This wouldn't do at all. Whoever you are, you fucking quit it.

Harry’s face went cold, his expression freezing into a mask of bored contempt. His finger, resting on his thigh, twitched once.

Above, the brilliant blue sky vanished. Dark, bruised clouds boiled into existence from nowhere, swallowing the sun in an instant. A sudden, violent wind whipped through the stadium, tearing at the house banners and making the crowd gasp.

For less than a second, a moment so brief it was more a feeling than a sight, a shield of absolute black, a void that swallowed light, shimmered into existence around Henry Potter. It pulsed once, a silent, powerful beat that slammed the malice back towards its pathetic source.

Harry’s lips curled into a faint, satisfied smirk. His finger moved again.

The clouds vanished as quickly as they had appeared. The wind died. The sun blazed down once more, the sky a perfect, unbroken blue. The entire interruption had lasted no more than a breath.

The chase was over.

With a breathtaking, tight spiral that defied gravity, Cedric Diggory shot forward. His hand closed around the fluttering gold. He held it up, a triumphant fist against the sky.

A tsunami of yellow and black roared through the stands. Hufflepuff had won the Quidditch Cup.

In the midst of the deafening celebration, Harry stood up. He stretched languidly, a single, perfect hand covering a delicate yawn.

“Well,” he announced to his friends in a voice that was full of  his signature brand of bitchy indifference. “That was boring. I’m leaving.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and began to descend the steps, a vision of bored perfection in a sea of screaming fans. His eyes, cool and calculating, scanned the celebrating chaos on the pitch below, searching. He found him. Henry Potter was hovering near the ground, his parents rushing to his side. The boy was smiling, a bitter but genuine smile, as his mother wrapped him in a warm, tight hug and his father clapped him on the shoulder.

Harry let out a cold huff of contempt. He spun on his heel and walked away, the sounds of celebration and sickeningly wholesome family comfort fading behind him.