Chapter Text

Prologue

There was a storm outside. He could hear it but didn't have the strength to open his eyes to check. Not that he cared about the weather. At 105 years old, Harry Potter had not stepped outside his cosy cottage in years. He had been alone for so long… and now he was dying. His loyal house elves would find him in the morning, stiff as a board, and that would be that.

For some reason, his mind wandered to when it all started. Voldemort, his parents, the Dursleys… Hogwarts. He had not spared a thought for that time of his life since… He couldn’t even remember. The Wixen world had moved on without him, although they sometimes still wasted some ink in the Prophet pondering on their saviour’s life. Those editions usually ended up thrown in the nearest fireplace. He had wanted a quiet life, but perhaps he had overdone it a bit. 

After the war, it seemed as though he was destined for a wonderful life. He had Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, no more dark lords were trying to take over the world (or at least the British wizarding world, Harry had never been convinced that Voldy had had any plans for the rest of the world) and he was alive, which he had not seen coming at all… but then time passed and plans changed. 

Mostly, it was his relationships that had started to change. Back when it was all happening, he had been convinced that people around him were changing, and that was why everything had gone wrong. Years later, he had accepted that the people in his life had not really changed; he had simply had enough time to realise that he did not like them.

The first to go was Ron. Not a big surprise there,  their friendship had been on and off from the beginning. After the war, both Harry and his best friend joined the Auror training program, choosing to skip their seventh year at Hogwarts and accept Kingsley’s offer just six weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts. 

Harry had done well, at least according to their training officers. During those first few years on the job, Harry had convinced himself that he loved being an auror, but with the wisdom of old age, he could admit that he had hated every minute of it… However, he had been doing well, and what else could he have done?

Ron had struggled. He wasn’t terrible, they did have some experience fighting dark wizards, but being an auror in peacetime was much different from being a fugitive during a war. Just weeks after they had joined, the whinging began. Too many hours, too much paperwork, on and on it went.  “They don’t respect us, Harry!” “Who does he think he is, telling me what to do?!” “I bet he was a fucking Slytherin, that bastard, bet he sided with you-know-who!” 

Soon enough, Ron was asked to resign, and the ginger had spent the next three years at the burrow being coddled by Molly, who believed every one of his complaints that painted poor Ronikins as the victim of a corrupt system. Harry had tried to be nice about the whole thing, but any mention of his success in his career had put Ron in a foul mood, and honestly, he couldn’t stand to be around him anymore. The last time he had heard of Ron, he was working at his brother’s shop during the day, and at night he became a regular at the Leaky Cauldron, telling war stories to anyone who would listen while drinking his wages away.

At the same time, there was Ginny. They had started dating right after the Battle, and at first, it was fine. At the time, he would have said that they had an amazing relationship, but he knew better now. Every decision he had made for himself had to be discussed, and he was sometimes baffled by how contrary she was. She wanted him to join the Aurors, but spent that first year complaining that they could barely see each other because she was at school and he was busy. When she graduated and joined the Harpies, he had been happy for her, but again, they had had busy schedules. He had been fine with it, they still saw each other most weekends and they were young, they had time but then, out of nowhere, she left her team and started talking about marriage and kids and buying a house… and sure, he wanted those things, but he wasn’t ready yet. She kept pushing, kept forcing him to go out with her in the wizarding world, which he hated since everyone kept staring at them, and then the journalists would arrive and they’d end up in the Prophet the next day… It took him six months to realise how happy she was about those articles, six months to realise how Molly had been trying to pressure him to buy a ring for her daughter… He had always felt guilty about it, but the face she had made when the prophet had announced their breakup kept him smiling for weeks.

  His relationship with the entire Weasley family was strained after that, between Ron resenting him for his success and his breakup with Ginny, he had not been comfortable around them. George was the only one he had kept in contact with, mostly through letters. 

The end of his relationship with Hermione had been gradual and free of drama. She chose to focus on her studies and then her career, which ended her relationship with Ron in just a few months. Harry had tried to stay in contact, and the rare times they saw each other had felt refreshing compared to his time with Ron or Ginny. After she had graduated, she joined the ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and for the first year, they had lunch together at least once a week and hung out every other weekend. Then it became one lunch a month and a few weekends a year until she started cancelling or even telling him she was too busy, which, granted, she was. After an entire year of not seeing her and barely getting any answers to his owls, he had simply let her go. 

Once he was truly alone with just a few acquaintances, but no real relationships of any kind, he started to reflect on a lot of things. His life, his former friends, the decisions, both his and others that had led him to where he was… and in the end, he chose to leave. He quit his job, bought a house in the Highlands which he warded to hell and back, and spent the next 74 years in peace. He read, learned skills just for fun, including occlumency (He would have bragged about it to Snape’s portrait except he was ashamed to admit that it had taken him 16 years…), he rejoined the muggle world which allowed him to enjoy anonymity while he explored his sexuality, something that had not even crossed his mind before which now seemed stupid since he was more attracted to men than women… He had not been completely cut off from the Wixen world (a term created by Hermione during her first few weeks as Minister); he kept up with the news, occasionally going to galas or memorials to show his support for worthy causes. He still had contacts, although mostly through owls. Neville was a dear friend, and Draco kept him up to date on the Ministry gossip.

However, now that he was quite literally on his deathbed, he could be honest and say that his life, even with its difficult start, had been rather boring, and he wished he had not just given up on it so easily.

Oh well. Maybe dying wasn’t so bad after all. 

The first clue that told him he was dead was the lack of pain. He hadn’t felt so well in decades. The second clue was the fucking white King's Cross Station he found himself in when he opened his eyes.

I swear if that old manipulative coot shows up, I’m going to shove him in front of the first moving train I find.

“Don’t worry about that, his soul moved on long ago.”

“SHIT!” Harry shouted when a deep, unnatural voice came from behind him. He turned around only to realise there was nothing there. “The fuck…”

“I do not have a physical form.”

Harry sighed and then paused… Something was weird. He looked down at himself and, seeing his young, unblemished hands, started to touch his face frantically. His skin felt tight, there were no wrinkles, no sagging skin… He was young again. Looking down again, he observed his clothes… He knew those blood-spattered jeans. He remembered the last time he had worn those sneakers.

“I swear, if you tell me that everything I've lived since the last time I was here was some kind of dream, I’m going to scream. What the hell?!”

“No, this appearance was chosen by your subconscious, probably since this is what you looked like last time.”

“Oh, thank Merlin… Anyway, I’m guessing you are… Death?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, so how do I… you know, move on?”

“You don’t.”

“Excuse me? What do you mean I don’t? That’s how it works, right? You die and then you move on to the great beyond or whatever.”

“Well… You could do that.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

“I would rather you go back.”

“Back?!” Harry screeched at the nearest bench, he really wished Death had a form he could stare down. “What the hell for?”

“To start over.”

“Start over… Wait, when you say go back, back to where? Or better yet, when?”

“You can choose.”

For a moment, Harry’s mind went blank. Back when he was a teenager, he tended to blow things up when overwhelmed: furniture, quills… his aunt Marge. Now, when he felt too many things at once, he just put up his occlumency walls and… stopped. After a few minutes, he finally decided to move, sitting on the bench he had been staring at and burying his face in his hands.

“You can choose.”

“I heard you the first time… First of all, why? I’m guessing you don’t allow everyone to go back, that would be a clusterfuck of a timeline.”

“You could do better.”

“Wow, that’s not insulting at all.” Harry deadpanned.

“You were not meant for this life. Many died that could have lived.”

“You know, I don’t appreciate being manipulated. Been there, done that… I didn't even get a t-shirt.”

“Then go back. You know better now.”

Harry sat there for what felt like hours. He listed the pros and cons and imagined scenarios of what he could change. When he started to hum Should I Stay or Should I Go by The Clash, he could have sworn that Death had snorted. Or maybe he was losing his mind; that was definitely more plausible.

“Ok, Ok… How far can I go back? And let’s be clear, I am not going back to diapers, that’s just… no.”

“You choose.”

“Right…right. How about the day I got my first Hogwarts letter?” Harry suggested. He didn’t have time to wait for an answer as everything went black… and then he woke up in his cupboard under the stairs at 4 Privet Drive.

“Rude.” He mumbled only to sigh when he heard how high his voice sounded. In the back of his mind, he heard the fading voice of Death. “Don’t give up this time.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

It took Harry a few minutes to manage a wandless Tempus, but he was glad to see that he must have arrived at midnight, so he had some time to prepare. He tried to remember as much of the original day as possible, but in the end, he just came up with: 1: cook breakfast and 2: get the mail. That’s all he needed, really, for that day, so the next step was to figure out what to change. The obvious first step was to hide his letter, but what to do next was not as straightforward.

If he got his letter, then he would need to answer it, and then he would be expected to get his school supplies and get to platform 9 ¾ on September 1st, which was 6 weeks away. The wise thing to do would be to do all of that while staying at the Dursleys and then just leave a note to his aunt, however… he had zero interest in staying with this pathetic excuse of a family. 

Once again, he found himself listing the pros and cons while humming the Clash. As far as he knew, the only person from the Wixen world who was keeping an eye on him was Mrs Fig, and since nothing ever happened when he was locked up in his cupboard for days, he assumed that she wasn’t very good at it. He seriously doubted that his relatives would report him missing since that would get the authorities involved, and that would not end well for them. Now, that was a thought… Should he report the abuse? He wasn’t the worst case of abuse out there; they mostly ignored him and used him as a house elf, but they also starved him and forced him to sleep in a cupboard. Harry daydreamed for a moment about seeing them in handcuffs, but ultimately, if that happened, he couldn’t be sure of where he would end up. He needed to be left alone for now; he was not looking forward to being treated as a child again, and there was no need to abandon what little time he could have to himself.

Decisions somewhat made, Harry tried to sleep, although his old cot mattress did not make it easy. Soon enough, he heard movements in the house, and his aunt banged on the cupboard door to get him started on breakfast.

“Don’t burn anything!” She barked as he entered the kitchen wearing the best outfit he could find. How had he survived so long with such a small amount of clothes? How did no one notice the emaciated child wearing ratty old clothes that didn’t fit him? 

He started breakfast, which was a lot harder than he thought it would be. He had not cooked in years and, no longer being used to being so small, he found himself stumbling and banging against furniture all the time. By the time everything was ready, Uncle Vernon was sitting at the table reading some work documents while Dudley paraded around in his Smeltings uniform, hitting everything in sight with his stick.

Finally, the mail arrived, and Harry waited to be told to get it before leaving the room. There it was. A thick yellow envelope with green lettering addressed to Harry Potter, the Cupboard under the stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging.

Now that he was an adult, Harry had no problems admitting how fucked up that address was. He seriously hoped that it was just some magic quill and that no one had read it, although with the hundreds of letters they had sent the first time around, that seemed dubious to him. Regardless of that new observation, he quickly hid the letter in his cupboard and went about his day as if nothing was amiss. He cleaned the kitchen, grabbing some leftover breakfast as he went, and, when no other instructions came his way, he went to his cupboard. The letter was the same as last time, as far as he could remember, and he honestly couldn’t tell if Dumbledore thought that his aunt would remember and would be willing to help him or if the lack of details was on purpose. There were no indications on how to send an owl, where to find the supplies, or even how to find the platform for the train. Was it such common knowledge in the Wizarding World? How did foreign students find out all of that? Or Muggle-borns? Did Hermione ever tell him how she found out? He couldn’t remember, but maybe there was something about a Professor? 

Well, no matter.

Harry grabbed a broken pencil and the cleanest piece of paper he could find, which turned out to be a torn-out page from his notebook from his last year in primary school, and wrote a polite letter agreeing to attend Hogwarts. He signed it and folded it, writing Professor McGonagall’s name on one side. After checking that the coast was clear, he left his cupboard and got out of the house through the back door. It was a long shot, but luckily, just as he thought, the owl that had delivered the letter was still close enough to hear him call for it.

With that done, Harry only had to wait for nightfall to make his escape and get to Diagon Alley.

Once he was locked up inside his cupboard, Harry settled on his mattress to meditate. He checked his occlumency shields but found a strange resistance. It felt like a thick wall of slime blocking his mind and preventing him from reaching within, something that was required to truly protect one’s mind. At first, he thought it was just due to his young age and lack of practice. He briefly contemplated the thought that he might have to relearn the skill, something he was not looking forward to, but then a thought crossed his mind. Maybe it was the Horcrux? He pushed harder, trying to power through that strange wall, and analysed it as he went. The magic felt foreign yet familiar. It wasn’t his own, that was for sure. It didn’t seem to affect his scar either, no matter how hard he pushed through. After two hours, he finally understood why it felt so familiar. Dumbledore. That slimy, disgusting wall reeked of the old coot’s magical signature. What the hell was this thing? Had it been there before? What was it doing?

After another hour, Harry had just managed to map out the array of whatever spell was causing the thing, although as it turns out, there were multiple spells woven through it. He wasn’t sure what their purposes were, but he knew he wanted them gone. What right did that bastard have to mess with his mind? Sadly, it would have to wait. He could tell that it would take days to unravel the whole thing, and he would need to be out of that blasted house first.

Harry figured he had waited enough. A quick wandless Alohomora took care of the lock, and he silently made his way to the door. He had already decided not to steal anything, there was no point since Gringotts had everything he could need and while he was convinced that they would not call the authorities, he had no desire to give them any more reason to. 

The street was empty, but the lights were still on. He started to walk, making sure no one was around and steering clear of the few houses that still had lights on. Twenty minutes later, he found what he looking for. The house was huge and isolated. He remembered his aunt complaining about the Jones family, mostly because they had more money and a bigger house than her. Most importantly, they left every summer for their vacation house in the south of France… or was it Brittany? Either way, the house was empty and they were loaded, so Harry did not feel any guilt when he used a few wandless spells to get into the house and steal a few pounds. They probably wouldn’t even notice the theft since it was just a couple of tenners that were in the pockets of the jackets in the hall.

Money acquired, Harry made his way to the bus station on Westhumble Street and thankfully made it before the last bus, which left 4 minutes before midnight. He had to use a few confundus charms on the poor muggles who tried to help him and he sat at the back of the bus in the hopes that the driver and the few other travellers would forget about the homeless-looking child travelling alone.

At around 2 am, the bus finally made it to Charing Cross station, and Harry was glad that the Leaky Cauldron was on the same street as he was absolutely knackered. The pub was understandably empty at that time, and Harry made sure to move quickly and quietly to the back door before Tom saw him. He forced his magic to the surface and used his finger to tap the bricks, allowing him access to Diagon Alley. He wished he could just rent a room and continue his plan the next day, however, he could not use spells on Tom, nor could he afford to be recognised while he was alone in the middle of the night. Thankfully, the people he needed to see first couldn’t care less that he lacked proper supervision, and they were open 24/7.

The goblin guards barely spared a look his way when he entered the bank. Just like the rest of the alley, the bank was empty except for one teller who was dozing on his chair. Harry made sure to make noise as he walked towards the goblin, allowing the creature to pretend he had been awake the whole time. 

“Hello, Master Goblin. My name is Harry Potter, I would like to gain access to my trust vault, please.” Harry said politely. He knew what would happen next since he had gone through the same thing after the war… Although this time, there was no risk of him getting beheaded for theft and destruction of property.

“Do you have your key, Mr Potter?” The goblin asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I was not aware that I needed a key. My aunt just said to go to the bank…”

“I see. We will need to confirm your identity in some other way then… I assume that you do not have a wand yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well.” The goblin grumbled as he descended from the towering desk chair. “Follow me.” 

Harry followed the goblin through multiple corridors, they finally stopped in front of a simple door with a nameplate made of wood that simply read ‘Bannuk - Junior teller’. The room was small. There was just enough space to walk on one side of the small desk that was covered in books and scrolls, enough that when the goblin sat on his rickety wooden chair and Harry sat on the opposite side, neither of them could see the other. The last time Harry had been in a Gringotts office, it had been Ragnok’s, an opulent office decorated with goblin-made weapons on the walls. Clearly, the goblins working the night shift were at the bottom of the ladder.

“Oh… right.” The goblin said before snapping his fingers to vanish everything from the desk. “Now, to make sure that you are indeed Harry Potter and to see if you do have an account in Gringotts, I will need a few drops of your blood on this parchment,” Bannuk said as he handed a thick yellow parchment to Harry.

“um… I don’t have anything to… uh…” 

“Right, of course…” The goblin opened a drawer and took a small dagger out, which he handed to Harry.

“Thanks.” Harry took the dagger and used it on the tip of his left ring finger, he took care to wipe it with his shirt before giving it back. Finally, he squeezed his finger until a few drops fell on the parchment and stopped when words started to appear.

Harry James Potter

Son of James Fleamont Potter and Lily Jane Potter née Evans.

Born July 31 st , 1980 in London.

Accessible vaults: Trust vault 687

Vaults accessible at majority: Potter vault 471, Evans vault 1846

No properties available

No surprises there. It was a bit shorter than last time since Sirius was still alive and Harry had not inherited the black vaults and estate yet. Hopefully, he won’t for a long time. He really had to make some kind of plan for the rat… Well, that could wait. Maybe he was a terrible person for not rushing to his godfather’s rescue, but he had a feeling that having Sirius out and about would hinder him more than anything…

“It would seem that you are indeed Harry Potter.” The goblin said.

“Well… yes. Could I have a money pouch linked to my trust vault? I don’t fancy carrying a bunch of Galleons everywhere I go, and I need to buy my supplies for Hogwarts…”

“Of course! Of course… Although at your age, you will only be allowed to take out 100 Galleons per week. Any higher sum would need to be approved by a guardian.

“Could I save some of my allowance to make bigger purchases in the future without my guardian?”

“Yes, although I would suggest getting a secured bag for your savings. The money pouch can only be used for withdrawals directly from your vault. It is also not meant for deposits, those have to be made in person or through a transfer chest, which you are too young to purchase.” Bannuk snapped his fingers once again, and a small black leather pouch appeared on the desk. “This pouch is our most popular product; it has all the standard protection enchantments and will be keyed to your magical signature, so only you will be able to take money out of it. Simply feed some of your magic to it and it will be ready.”

“How much does it cost? Would that be part of my weekly allowance?”

“The cost is five Galleons, and no, any transaction with the bank does not count towards allowances. Is there anything else that Gringotts may do for you, Mr Potter?”

“No, thank you, sir.”

“Then I will escort you out.”

Harry followed Bannuk all the way back to the main hall of the bank. He made sure to thank the teller again before leaving the building. Diagon Alley was still dark, and when Harry cast a tempus he realised that he still had a few hours to kill before any of the shops would open. Once again, he wished he could just book a room at the Leaky and sleep for a few hours, but sadly, that would be too risky. He decided to find somewhere hidden to sit instead and hoped that by this time tomorrow, he would once again have a warm bed to sleep in. That 100 Galleons a week could be a problem, though.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

After finding a narrow space between two buildings where he could hide behind some crates, Harry started to meditate again. The array of magic that Dumbledore had put in his mind was like a tight knot made of multiple threads, so he tried to pull at different threads to see if they could start to unravel. By the time the sun rose, he had managed to loosen a couple of them and more importantly he figured out what some of them did… and he was pissed. He couldn’t understand them in detail, but the main idea was to make him… subservient. Malleable. Sort of like water on clay, it would make it easier to convince him, to change his mind, or even to prompt him to do things he normally wouldn’t. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that what he had thought was just him growing up after the war had probably been the array fading progressively after the war. He didn’t know a lot about mind magic outside occlumency however, he had read something about long-term legilimency influences, and, if he remembered correctly, the influence would slowly dissipate after the death of the caster. That would also explain how Dumbledore had been with him that first time in limbo, he had been in his mind the whole fucking time.

That old coot was even more of an asshole than he thought. What else did he do… Wait, no. What else will he do? Harry was going to have to dodge the old man’s attempt at manipulation and plot to defeat Voldy again at the same time. What a nightmare. Why did he agree to this again?

At last, the sun rose and shops started to open all over the alley. Harry had thought things through while meditating, and the first thing he needed was somewhere to stay until September 1 st . Today was Friday, July 26th 1991. His allowance was renewed every Monday, so he hoped that he could find something cheap, otherwise, he might have to risk the leaky or keep sleeping rough until he saved enough. His first idea was to get a trunk apartment, something with at least a kitchen and bathroom, which would allow him to be comfortable and would be cheaper than staying at the Leakey for several days. He couldn’t remember how much they cost, but he wasn’t sure that 100 Galleons would be enough. The other solution was a Wizarding Tent, which basically did the same thing, but it was much cheaper than the trunk, as far as he could remember. The only issue was that a trunk could be easily hidden with a few notice-me-not spells in an unused alley, a park somewhere or an abandoned building; a tent was a lot harder to hide in the city, so he would need to travel a bit to find a place to set it up. 

If he thought it would work, he would forge a note from Petunia to allow him to withdraw more money, but the goblins were not stupid. Maybe he should have stolen more than a few quids in that fancy house… 

He continued to ponder the subject while he walked to the first shop. Bagends & Sach was the best choice for a trunk. In his previous life, he had bought a few of their apartment trunks for travelling. He wouldn’t be able to buy the same ones this time since he doubted that he could afford one with a library and potion lab, but hopefully, they had cheaper options.

Harry entered the shop with trepidation. It was still quite early in the day, the shopkeeper was busy in a corner stacking brand-new standard school trunks, the same ones he had bought with Hagrid last time. They cost 6 Galleons and 10 sickles, but they didn’t have any enchantments, not even a feather-weight charm. He ignored them and made his way further in the back, where a sign advertised ‘Apartment Trunks, the best way to travel!’. The first trunks were too extravagant, some had enough space to play Quidditch inside, others had up to 10 bedrooms or even a ballroom. Harry kept looking until he found a more affordable-looking option. Before he could find one, he heard someone come up behind him.

“Can I help you, young man?”

“Yes, please. Do you have small apartment trunks? Something with just the basic necessities?”

“Certainly!” The shopkeeper exclaimed as he led Harry further down the aisle. “Here we are! Here is our simplest model. It has a large living space with a kitchen and enough space for a living room and a bed, as well as a bathroom with a shower, a sink and a toilet.”

“How much?”

“80 Galleons if you take it without extra furniture, but we can add a bed for 10 extra Galleons.”

Harry sighed in relief, he could afford it. He would have a bed to sleep on without risking being seen. He would only have 10 Galleons for the next three days, but that should be enough for groceries; He would wait for Monday to start his school shopping.

“That’s perfect, I’ll take it with the bed, please.”

“Are you sure? That’s a pretty big expense for someone your age.”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s just that my weekly allowance is 100 Galleons, so I was afraid that I would have to save for it.” Harry said pompously, channelling his inner Malfoy. Better this shopkeeper thought he was some Pureblood brat rather than a street urchin spending stolen Galleons.

“Alright then. Any preference for the colour of the trunk?”

“Standard brown leather, thank you.” No need to make it ostentatious; he couldn’t risk the trunk being stolen while he was inside. 

Once the shopkeeper got his trunk ready, he showed Harry how to switch between the regular trunk, which was as big as his former school trunk, and the stairs that led to his living space. He also showed him how to shrink it by feeding some magic to a rune on the lock, and obviously, how to unshrink it. This was followed by a ten-minute lecture about the risks of shrinking the space with living beings inside that featured some gruesome stories of horrible pet deaths. Harry nodded along before happily paying for his purchase and leaving with one less worry. 

He decided to make his way to the local wizarding grocery shop, which wasn’t much different from a Muggle one except for the abundance of pumpkin drinks and pastries. He bought enough food for the next three days, which cost him another 5 Galleons.

With only 5 Galleons left for this week, it was time to get his trunk settled. He discreetly left Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron and walked for a few minutes until he found an abandoned building; It looked to have been some boutique at one point, but the shop front was boarded up and most of the walls had graffiti on them. He once again used wandless magic to unlock the side door in the alley and explored to shop until he decided to put his trunk in the storage room on the second floor, which was filled with old boxes that were covered in dust. He used some of the boxes to hide his trunk and used a few more spells just to be sure that he wouldn’t be disturbed. 

Finally, at 9:46 in the morning, Harry Potter settled into his new home. He put away his groceries, ate a quick meal, cleaned up and at last, laid down in his new bed where he promptly fell asleep.

The next few days were a blur. Harry woke up from his nap somewhere in the afternoon, which led him to force himself to sleep that night and wake up early the next day just so he wouldn’t completely fuck up his sleep cycle. He spent most of his waking hours removing the threads of the magical array in his mind or planning the next few weeks. He wished he had thought to buy a notebook and some pens, or maybe he should get quills, both to help with planning and to practice writing with the things since he had converted to pens during his first few months of auror training. He still couldn’t figure out why Wixens were so attached to their antiquated writing utensils and made a mental note to get basic stationery items in the Muggle world before he left for school. He would write his essay with a quill if they insisted, but there was no way that he would torture himself just to take notes. Not that he would struggle much with his studies, but he was sure that he wouldn’t remember some basic theories that he had not needed to know since his OWL exams. History of Magic would also be just as annoying as before since he had barely studied the subject while in school, let alone after. Unless one counted the few history books he had enjoyed in his spare time, but somehow he could not see Binns teaching them about the Wizarding sexual practices of the 16th century or the Gender Identity of the mediaeval Wixen… Anyway, planning and meditating kept him busy, and by the time Monday arrived, he had removed half of the disgusting mind-altering array. He had debated staying in another day to try to remove the rest, but he was getting low on food and there were a few things he wanted to buy quickly, so as soon as the shops opened, he was back in the Alley with his shrunken trunk in his pocket.

His first stop was at Eeylop’s Owl Emporium. He had been afraid that seeing Hedwig would be too overwhelming, but it had been multiple decades since she had died to save him and in the end, seeing her just made him smile. He bought her as well as everything she would need. Outside the shop, he let her out of her cage and told her to go hunting and then wait for him near the Leaky Cauldron in a couple of hours. 

His second stop was Ollivanders, which went the same way as before, complete with creepy fun facts about his dead parents and their murderer. Finally, he bought a couple of outfits at Madam Malkin’s and converted the rest of his money into Muggle pounds. Once he had settled Hedwig and his trunk in the same storage room as before, he left again, this time for the nearest Tesco, and bought muggle food items as well as a couple of notebooks and pretty multicoloured pens… for no specific reasons other than once he had thought of writing down his plan to defeat Voldemort in pink glitter, the idea wouldn’t leave his mind. He had to save the Wixen world, but nobody had said that he couldn’t be fabulous while doing it.

Weeks went by without a hitch, especially after his third trip to Diagon Alley when he used 75 Galleons to get his eyes fixed and then paid 20£ at a local barbershop to get a haircut. Now his hair was short on the sides but longer on top, which allowed his curls to fall just enough on his forehead to hide his scar. With his new looks and a slowly expanding wardrobe with both Muggle and Wixen clothes, he looked nothing like his father. Granted, he had to use a shit tone of product on his hair when he went out in public, but it was worth it.

Another positive note was that he was finally free of old Dumbles’ mind fuckery. Goodbye, gullible self-sacrificing hero, hello unhinged paranoid old recluse with functioning occlumency.

By the time September 1 st arrived, he had reread all of his first-year books, because showing up being capable of casting owl-level spells without remembering any of the theory behind first-year ones would have been too much of a red flag, and he had written a list of potential plans for the school year with glittering rainbow coloured pens. Some of those plans may be very unlikely to occur since they included the murder of one Albus too-many-names Dumbledore, but a guy could dream.

At 9:45 am on September 1 st , Harry went through the barrier to get to Platform 9 ¾ with a devilish smile on his face. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

  Platform 9 ¾ was very quiet but not as deserted as Harry had hoped. Maybe he should have arrived sooner, but he wasn’t sure when the barrier opened and had not wanted to wait around on the Muggle side for hours. Still, there weren’t many people and no one was paying attention to him, which was all that mattered. He quickly made his way to the train, thankful that his trunk could be shrunk, and found a compartment towards the front. He had tried to remember the details of this day before, but the only thing he could recall was the Weasleys and how Molly had been complaining about muggles… in a muggle train station. He also remembered Ron joining his compartment and hoped he wouldn’t do it this time.

As 11 o’clock approached, more and more people arrived on the platform and boarded the train. So far, no one had tried to join him, but he had seen some familiar faces in the crowd outside. Hermione dragged her parents through the barrier before climbing on board while shouting her goodbyes. Seamus had arrived with his mother, who had started to cry, so he spent twenty minutes making her laugh before getting on the train. Seeing Neville was painful. His tall, charismatic friend was back to being a trembling 11-year-old who cowered under his grandmother’s judgment. Cedric… to be honest, Harry had forgotten about Cedric, but there he was, alive.

After a while, three older years, two boys and a girl who looked like they could be fifth year or maybe sixth, asked to join his compartment, although they didn’t wait for an answer before settling down and ignoring him as they started to talk about their summers. They were probably hoping that he would leave, but he had no intention of doing so.

Harry kept people-watching while checking the time regularly. He couldn’t remember when the Weasleys arrived last time, but they had not been late… Yet, five minutes before the train was meant to leave, there was not a single redhead in sight. Except for Hannah Abbot, or at least that’s who Harry thought she was… After watching the platform for an hour, he had come to realise that he could not remember most of these people.

Another minute passed, and finally, the Weasleys emerged from the barrier. First was Percy who seemed pissed off for some reason, then the twins arrived followed by a red-faced Ron and finally Molly rushed through dragging a crying Ginny by the arm. 

It took a moment for Harry to arrive at the conclusion that they had actually been waiting for him, meaning that his first meeting with the Weasleys had been planned, probably by Dumbledore, although Harry had no proof of that. Watching the redheads jumping on board while Molly screamed at them to behave, Harry started to wonder if he had underestimated the Headmaster. He would have to tread carefully while at Hogwarts; the last thing his plan needed was for the manipulative old coot to get involved.

Twenty minutes into the journey to Hogwarts, when Harry was trying to read ‘An Introduction to Ingredient Preparation’ by Howard Notes, the teenagers who had invaded his compartment remembered that he was there. One of them, a short and stocky blond boy wearing stylish Muggle clothes, stared at him for a minute before he finally started to talk.

“So, you’re a firsty, right?” He said with a smirk that made Harry uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Harry said without looking up from his book.

“Don’t you want to meet other first years? I’m sure you could find some in another compartment.” The boy said with what he probably assumed was a convincing, innocent tone of voice. 

“I was here first. If you want your own compartment, you know where the door is.” Harry said while trying to focus on his book. He was a decent brewer by now, but he had mostly learned how to brew basic potions just so he didn’t have to rely on poorly brewed apothecary ones. _He couldn’t prove it, but he had been certain that the declining potion quality of Britain's apothecaries over the last few decades before his death had been a direct result of Severus’ death and the lack of qualified potion masters at Hogwarts._ He knew the man was probably going to treat him like shite, just like he had before, but Harry would still do his best in potion class, and revising the basics of ingredient preparation seemed like a good first step in the right direction.

The boy who had tried to get him to leave was quickly forced to stop his attempts by the girl next to him, and the journey continued in relative silence. The three older students in the compartment kept talking among themselves, but they were easy to ignore as Harry read. At half past noon, the trolley lady came by and the students bought a few sweets for themselves. When Harry declined to buy any, the girl offered to get him some, probably thinking he didn’t have any money. A weird conclusion since Harry, unlike his previous first-year self, looked nothing like a street urchin. In fact, in the dark blue robes he had selected for this day and with his hair perfectly coiffed, he looked just like the few rich pureblood children he had seen in Diagon Alley.

It was a nice offer, but Harry was sadly too old to consider sweets and chocolate frogs a proper meal, so he refused and took out the lunch he had prepared and put under a stasis charm that morning out of his black leather satchel. He particularly enjoyed the disbelieving looks he got from the older students as he ate his three-course meal out of Muggle to-go glass containers. 

The rest of the journey went by with no surprises; the only major event had been another teenager stopping by to spread the ongoing rumour that Harry Potter was going to start Hogwarts this year, but no one could find him on the train. Harry had to bite his tongue the whole time and was somewhat gratified when they didn’t even spare him a glance throughout that conversation. He still hated the Harry Potter books that had been published over the last few years, but if people wanted to waste their time searching for a messy-haired specky git with a visible scar on his forehead because some desperate author thought they knew what he would look like, he was not going to stop them.

Soon enough, the train arrived near Hogsmead, and Harry decided to change into his uniform in the bathroom rather than doing it surrounded by strangers. Once changed, he waited in the stall for the train to stop, not wanting to stand awkwardly in the hallway. 

Hearing Hagrid’s booming voice calling for first years made his heart ache. Hagrid had died just two years before him, his giant blood keeping him going far longer than the average Wixen. He hadn’t kept in touch with the man and had regretted it deeply when he had read his obituary in the Prophet. Now, here he was, with barely any grey hair and that huge brown coat.

Harry forced himself to focus, using a bit of occlumency to hide behind. He joined Hagrid and the first-years, getting his first look at a tiny Draco with his stupid sleeked back hair. He hoped they could be friends this time, but he also knew that this wasn’t the same Draco he had known. This Draco still worshipped his father and believed in the superiority of his blood and name. Harry had to be careful in how and when he approached the people he truly wanted in his life, and so far, the only plan he had for that aspect of his life was to wait and see.

Hagrid guided them to the boats, and Harry placed himself with a group of students whose names he couldn’t remember, avoiding Ron’s boat like the plague. Seeing the castle was not as overwhelming as he thought it would be, in the end, he just felt excited at the idea of getting to spend a few years in the first place he had felt at home.

By the time they were welcomed by Professor McGonagall, the novelty of seeing people who had been long dead had worn off, and Harry happily followed his classmates in the small hall where they were asked to wait for their sorting. Harry stayed in the shadows, pretending to admire the paintings and armour decorating the room. He heard Hermione talking to whomever would listen about what she had read, and hoping that reading all of the first year books and Hogwarts, A History would be enough. Meanwhile, Ron spoke to Seamus about having to fight a troll for the sorting. Honestly, Harry would have preferred a troll; at least they couldn't read your mind. He knew in which house he would like to be sorted, and he even had a second choice, just in case the hat was stubborn, but in the end, he wouldn’t know where he was going to end up until the stupid hat was on his head.

He started to hear his name come up in conversation, but thankfully, the ghosts arrived just in time to take their attention away from the Boy-who-lived and the fact that he was supposed to be there before they took notice of the dark-haired, green-eyed boy who was avoiding them all.

McGonagall came back, and soon enough, they were following her to the Great Hall, where the Sorting Hat was waiting for them.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

Apparently, Hannah Abbot was, in fact, a blonde and not a redhead. Oh well… He couldn’t be blamed for not remembering people he had barely spoken two words to in his entire school career.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The hat shouted, sending the first of the forty first years to the house of the badgers. Harry wouldn’t mind Hufflepuff. It was his backup house. He would look awful in yellow, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and if his first choice didn’t pan out, he would have to deal.

The sorting continued, and Harry realised that he had ignored most of his year mates’ existence in the past, especially anyone who had not been boys in Griffindor, except Hermione and Draco. Maybe he could do better this time.

As the list of names went on and the number of first years waiting dwindled, Harry could feel more and more gazes on him. When “Parkinson, Pansy” was called, the atmosphere in the room changed, and many students held their breath for each new name that started with a P. Finally, after the Patel twins were separated into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and Sally-Anne Perks went to Hufflepuff, McGonagall seemed to pause for just a moment before she read “Potter, Harry”, and the room became as silent as a tomb.

Harry made his way to the stool where he sat, and the hat was dropped on his head. He didn’t give the hat any time to say anything and just repeated one word over and over in his head.

“Obstinate are we? That’s more of a Gryffindor trait.”

“I swear to Merlin, if you send me to Griffindor, I will transfigure you into the Minister's stupid bowler hat !” Harry answered, still in his head, not wanting the entire faculty to hear him threaten a precious Hogwarts artefact. 

“Well, if that means so much to you…” The hat grumbled before shouting half-heartedly, “RAVENCLAW!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Harry ignored the mixed reactions caused by his sorting and simply made his way to the Ravenclaw table. He sat next to Padma Patil at the end of the table and remained silent as the sorting continued. He tried to fit in, clapping with his housemates when Lisa Turpin joined them, but the stares were disturbing. He should be used to it by now, but truth be told, he was already regretting his choice to relive it all. 

Dumbledore gave his speech, complete with the warning about the third-floor corridor, and then finally the food appeared. It was time to eat, but more importantly, it was time to socialise. 

“So, you’re Harry Potter then?” Terri Boot started from a couple of seats to Harry’s left. All of the first-year Ravenclaws were looking at him, all of them in some form of awe or curiosity, except Padma, sitting opposite him, who was the only one serving herself food and genuinely looked as if this was an everyday conversation.

“Yes, I am. You’re Terri, right?”

“Is it true what they say?” Goldstein asked with a sneer. “You killed You know who?”

“How the hell should I know? I was a baby. Could you pass the chicken, please?” Harry asked in the direction of the chicken. 

“So you don’t remember anything?” Terri asked as an exasperated Sue Li went over him to grab the chicken and pass it to Harry.

“Could we maybe talk about something other than that time my parents died?” Harry snarked before biting into a chicken drumstick.

“Which subject are you more interested in? I’m looking forward to charms, I hear Professor Flitwick is very good.” Padma interjected before the boys could say anything else. Harry gave her a grateful look before answering.

“I don’t know if I’ll be any good, but I like what I’ve read regarding potions.”

“My brother says Professor Snape is really strict. I like herbology, though.” Sue continued the conversation. They kept talking about classes for a while, then moved on to which of the textbooks they had read. Harry refrained from smirking at the blushing Goldstein, who seemed to be the only one of the first-year Ravenclaws to not have opened a single book this summer. The annoying git had tried to interrogate Harry three times about Voldemort until Mandy Brocklehurst had told him to kindly shut up. 11-year-old Harry would have answered all their questions, hoping to finally make friends. Old-man Harry was happy to ignore impertinent questions and let the girls stir the conversation towards more suitable topics. He also avoided looking at the head table, no matter how many times he felt the adults’ eyes on him.

Once the feast was over, he followed the fifth-year prefects, one of whom was familiar to Harry, though it took him a few minutes to remember that she was Percy’s girlfriend. Unlike the Gryffindor common room, which was on the seventh floor of the main building and was then divided into multiple small towers for the dorms, the Ravenclaws' common room was in a different building. They had to go through the main hall, then climb to the defence corridor on the second floor, walk out to a stone overpass with a beautiful view of the main courtyard and the surrounding buildings, which led to another building where they started to climb a circular staircase until they finally reached a massive door with a bronze raven knocker.

“This is our common room door. To get in, you must knock and then answer a riddle. If you can’t find the answer, simply knock again, and you will be given another riddle. After three tries, the portraits inside the common room will send someone to let you in.” Prefect Clearwater said, trying to sound reassuring. She knocked at the door with confidence, and a disembodied voice asked: “What can you break, even if you never pick it up or touch it?”

Embarrassingly, the blond girl froze as the first years looked at her expectantly. The boy prefect, Robert Hilliard, was just unhelpfully giggling. Harry decided to end this and loudly proclaimed: “A promise.” Hoping it was the right answer. 

It was, indeed, the correct answer, and Clearwater led them inside after congratulating Harry with a condescending “Good job!” as if she had been waiting for them to answer all along. The door led to a circular hallway with stairs going up on both sides. This led to a massive circular room, which seemed to take up the entire first floor of the tower, as the only places without windows were the stairs that kept going up, probably to the dorms.

The stone floor was covered with many rugs in different shades of blue and bronze. The room was divided into small areas, some with couches around circular fireplaces, some with tables and chairs, usually accompanied by bookshelves. Some of the windows had reading nooks with padded sills and cushions, some even had heavy curtains that could cut off the reading nook from the rest of the room. 

Harry had never been in this common room before, which had probably been a good thing since he would have been furious. This common room was five times bigger than the Gryffindors’. Harry had spent most of his time as a lion fighting for the one couch and two armchairs, sitting on the floor or on his bed. They had had a table, but Harry had barely used it for homework, not wanting to fight Percy and later Hermione for it. Why did the Gryffindors have to be squished like sardines if this was an option?

His inner monologue prevented him from hearing the first part of the Prefects’ speech, but he did hear something about study groups and tutoring. The Ravens seemed so organised, they even gave them a map for each important location in the castle. Before being sent to bed, Professor Flitwick came by to welcome them and remind them that they could come see him in his office during his office hours, which were written on his office door. 

Finally, Harry found himself in his dorm, which was one floor above the common room. He shared with the other three boys, but the room was big enough for each to have some privacy. They each had the standard canopy bed, a dresser with a divider, a small desk with a comfy chair and an empty bookshelf. Each area had a huge rug that felt heavenly under his bare feet.

Harry reviewed the day’s events in his head as he drifted to sleep and concluded that, for the moment, everything was going great.

Harry was in a good mood when he entered the great hall for breakfast the next day. His dormmates had still been asleep by the time he was showered and dressed for the day, so no one interrogated him, and he had managed to find his way to the great hall even though the Ravenclaw tower had been mostly unknown to him, and he had not been in this castle for over 80 years. Harry sat at the right table, making sure that muscle memory wouldn’t make him sit with the lions by mistake. The hall was mostly empty, seeing as the first class of the day would start in two hours, but Harry liked an early start. Professor Flitwick saw him and came down from the dais to give him his schedule, praising him for being so eager to start.

  While it was not mentioned, Harry was pretty sure his classes would be with the Hufflepuff. He could not remember his original schedule, but he was almost certain that they had potions on Fridays. Not this time. He had potions on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Today, it looks like he would start with double Herbology, followed by charms, then lunch, DADA, History and Transfiguration. He had 4 hours of each class every week, except Astronomy, which only took place on Thursday from 10 pm until midnight. Harry wished they could just use a planetarium; there was one in the astronomy tower, a couple of floors below the observation deck, but their teacher refused to study the stars during the day. At least that meant he wouldn’t have any classes on Friday mornings. 

Eating breakfast, Harry thought about his plans, which, until Christmas and hopefully the return of his cloak, consisted of lying low. He was going to be friendly, but not to the point where someone ended up following him around all day under the pretext of being best friends. He did not need people asking questions about his whereabouts. He would do well in class but not overdo it. A solid plan that worked fine through herbology, where he paired up with Sue and realised that he was a bit rusty in the subject, but could still remember a few useful things. He hit a snag in charms, as he could not fake not being able to cast the spell Flitwick started them with and got praised by the small professor for lighting the whole room with his Lumos. He was either going to have to practice doing it wrong or come to terms with being considered a genius for a few years. 

DADA was… painful. Although not literally, as his occlumency shield seemed to block whatever link had given him headaches the first time around when in the same room as Quirrelmort. No, the painful part was the stupid fake stuttering and the incompetence of the teacher… and also the smell of garlic. That’s probably why, in his next class, Harry decided to enact just one of his subsidiary plans, although he called them sidequests in his journal. He had a list of things he’d like to do, things that are not important in the grand scheme of things but would make his life more comfortable…, or just make things interesting. Although, to be fair to Quirrell, the idea came the moment Harry walked into his History of Magic class and the ghost of Professor Binns started talking about goblin wars without even acknowledging their presence.

Harry survived the hour by reading, his classmates looking at him as if he had grown an extra head as he simply took out his current read and started reading in full view of the ghost… not that he said anything. 

Transfiguration ended just like Charms; his match became a perfect needle on the first try, and Professor McGonagall applauded him and gave him 5 points. Harry was just glad that he had stopped himself from doing it silently at the last moment…

Not having his cloak, Harry decided to enact his first sidequest before dinner. He went to his dorm after class and took what he would need before making his way to the room of requirement. He made sure to be alone before pacing three times and entering his desired room, a ritual room. He had not been sure if it would work, but a ritual room was just a circular platform with markings for North, East, South and West. He could have done without it; it was just simpler that way. 

Placing his candles at the cardinal points and lighting them, Harry sat at the centre of the circle and started chanting. He had done this particular ritual a couple of times. After coming back in time, he had reread about it and had written down what he needed in his journal when this idea had come to him. After a little over an hour, Professor Binns appeared before him. Unlike the ghosts he had done this to before, the Professor did not scream or beg or even thank him. He just floated there, and then a white light engulfed him, and he disappeared.

“Rest in peace, sir.” Harry said as he watched his History of Magic professor move on to his final resting place. After so many years, he probably deserved it.