Managing to kill Lord Voldemort, Harry now faces the fates themselves. Watch as he's thrown back in time to his eleven year old self and given a second chance at life, a chance to right past wrongs.
Author of Original Story: Curalium Lacrimo
Pairing: (tentatively) Harry Potter/ Luna Lovegood
Rating: M for Future Content
Archived: fanfiction(dot)net under pyrodaemon; hpfandom(dot)net under pyrodaemon.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Hello everyone as you can see I've been given permission from the wonderful Curalium Lacrimo to continue 'A New Chance'. This is all the chapters she had up beta-ed by myself and the lovely tranquilitygal95. Hopefully you guys like the rest of the story just as much as you liked the first six chapters. I'm going to post a chapter every seven to twelve days unless something goes wrong. I will not be posting on any national (US) holidays as I always travel out of town to visit my relatives but I will try posting just before them.
He had done it.
He couldn’t believe he had done it, but he had.
In the end it had been easy, no huge bursts of light, no extravagant scheme but he had still done it. He had defeated the Dark Lord.
But it was at a price.
They had been battling in the Ministry, throwing a wide array of spells and pretty much destroying everything around them when they had suddenly found themselves in the Veil Room, deep in the Department of Mysteries. They had been throwing around some curses, each hoping to catch the other out, but it had become apparent that they truly were each other's “equal”. So, when Voldemort had his back to the Veil, and knowing the Dark Lord kept a high-level shield up at all times – which is what made him seem so invulnerable to others; most people couldn't even cast that spell let alone keep it up all day and night – Harry did the only thing he could think of doing.
He leapt straight at the Dark Lord, throwing them both into the Veil.As Harry floated through a dark mist, he smirked. The look on the Dark Lord’s face had been /priceless/.
Looking around for what must have been the hundredth time, he wondered where he could be. He’d been... floating in this eerie mist for what was probably about three or four hours. He was about to try and call out for the third time when the fog-like mist started swirling around him, becoming solid. Before he could even blink he was in a stark white room with beautiful tapestry lining its edges.
The tapestry wasn’t really of any specific thing as far as he could tell, but he soon found that if he stared at it long enough he could almost see the tapestry moving and a brief flicker would show itself to be picture. Hearing something moving behind him he tensed and spun around, his wand, which he had managed to keep through the entire ordeal, clasped firmly in his hand and raised to let out the first curse that came to mind. However, of all the monstrous and bizarre sites he had prepared himself for, what he faced definitely wasn't what he thought he would see.
Three women were working peacefully on the tapestry that he had stared at the entire time he'd been in the white room.
The first had short curly blonde hair and sky blue eyes, reminding him of what angels were supposed to look like; she had a basket of threads on the floor next to her and was setting them into the tapestry. A happy smile flit across her face every time a thread was attached and it seemed that her attention was completely on what she was doing as she didn’t give any indication that she noticed Harry was even there.
The woman next to her had wavy, shoulder-length, brown hair and dark green eyes; she was weaving the threads with great care and looked very kindly, but she, like the first, seemed too engrossed in her work to notice Harry.
The last woman had long straight pitch-black hair and stark white eyes, but unlike the other two, she was currently facing him and despite the fact her white eyes seemed unseeing, she definitely knew he was there. There was something off about the last woman, she had an aura about her that gave Harry the chills. As if to add to the morbid air that clung to her, in her hand was a pair of sharp, silver scissors, which she used to cut, what seemed to be, random strands of thread.
Frankly she was a little creepy.
Looking around the room yet again Harry tried to figure out where he was, who they were, and what he was doing here. As if the third one could sense his unspoken question, she started to speak in a age-roughen voice, “Hello child. I suppose you’re wondering who we are. My name is Atropos. To my right is Lachesis, and that’s Clotho. We, my dear, are the Fates.”
Their names sounded vaguely familiar to Harry, but having spent most of his time with his nose in a book or training for the last 4 years, that wasn’t exactly unexpected. A deep, surprisingly warm laugh could be heard from Atropos; then she smiled at him, and while it wasn’t exactly reassuring, it was warmer than he had anticipated. Atropos sighed, “You weren’t supposed to die you know.” She said almost conversationally. He was about to ask how she’d know that when she continued, “But then again, neither was he. I usually see things clearly. Even when Destiny decides he wants to meddle and throws in one of those damnable prophecies. But this time it went wrong. So I am going to give you a chance to change things. You may either go onto purgatory, or go back in time, to try and change what once was.”
“What? But wait, if I went back wouldn’t I just do everything the exact same way?” Harry asked, confused and more than a little startled. Was this even /possible/? Or was he still in that black mist, alone and delusional?
“You would keep your memories as they are, child.” The green eyed lady said patiently in a lilting voice.
“What about everyone else - Voldemort, Dumbledore - would they keep their memories as well?” Harry asked, not quite sure that he wouldn't still be back in his bed at headquarters and this entire day hadn't just been a dream. If that was the case then this was a really strange dream, and he'd have to remember not to eat whatever he ate before he went to bed. Ever again.
“No child, only you would know of the future.” The third fate said, absently cutting a thread.
Realizing that this could really be happening, and knowing his luck as it was, he couldn’t help but wonder if he should bother. He could go on to the other side, with his parents, Sirius, Remus, McGonagall… But if he went back, perhaps he could save some of them, give them more of a chance at life, and he’d see his parents again. Eventually.
“I’ll do it.” Harry said, almost in a whisper, his “saving people thing” winning out again.
There was that eerie smile again from Atropos.
“Clotho, Lachesis, it is time.” Atropos said to the other two ‘fates,’ and as she did they all stopped what they were doing, their instruments freezing in mid air and the tapestry which had previously been faintly sparkling and moving, froze.
“I, Atropos, daughter of Zeus, Cutter of Threads, do hereby invoke Chronos, god of time to…” the rest of what she was saying was cut off as the other two women started speaking and all three voices rose and fell in an uncanny echo, and the mists from earlier swam in to surround Harry, once again becoming solid. As the black mist finally became a blanket, there was a sound similar to thunder and three voices as one said, “And so it shall be.”
But as Harry felt himself fall into the dark abyss he was sure he heard one of them say, “I hope this is worth it, sister. You do realize we’ll have to start over again, don't you?”
And suddenly, almost as fast as it had begun, the mists stopped and he felt himself fall onto something solid. As he was going to open his eyes, which he didn't remember closing, a screech he hadn’t heard in 3 years came through the door, “Up, up, get up, Boy!” That was when Harry realized just when and where he had landed. And it definitely wasn’t a dream.
It was Hell.
“GET UP!” came that same shrill voice that made Harry wince.
Groaning Harry shouted back, “I’m UP!” There was some angry muttering but his Aunt Petunia walked away.
He couldn’t believe it; why in Merlin’s name did they have to send him here? To this place? Just how young was he? Looking around he saw the cupboard was slightly cramped, so he’d say he was between 9 and 11; definitely the later years though. Before nine years of age the cupboard had, sadly, seemed like a vast space to the small, undernourished boy he'd been.
Reaching up he blindly searched for the light cord and pulling at it he couldn’t help but blink blearily as light spread around his cupboard chasing away the shadows that collected every night. Grabbing his glasses he searched for some clothes, flicking off a spider here and there as he pulled on a dull grey t-shirt that was nearly small enough to fit him as it was several years old. He wasn't as lucky with the jeans and had to tie them to his waist with a spare bit of twine. When he was finished he opened the door and stumbled out of the cupboard as he tried to get used to his smaller body.
Entering the kitchen he looked at the calendar on the wall near the door and saw it read July 1991, meaning it was the summer before his first year and he wasn't even eleven yet. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go through everything he did last time to get his letter. That had been a mess and didn't need repeating.
Apparently he wasn’t moving fast enough because his uncle yelled at him to get a move on and make breakfast. So throwing one last mournful look at the calendar he started to make the bacon and eggs the two males demanded they have every morning as he put some toast in the toaster.
Going through the monotonous and easily remembered task of making breakfast, he quickly analysed his situation. Being from the future was going to be trouble since, even though he was 19, nearly 20 when he ‘died’, he wasn’t even 11 here. He hadn't even started Hogwarts, yet, and was supposed to be ignorant of the Wizarding World where he'd spent nearly ten years of his life. The fact of the matter was that he had learned and trained enough to have earned his mastery in quite a few subjects. He thought about McGonagall who had tutored him in the Animagus Transformation and Advanced Transfigurations before she had died only 4 months ago, but now she was alive; alive and teaching at Hogwarts. And that thought was going to take some getting used to. Everyone was going to be alive now. He'd have to condition himself to remember that.
They were alive.
Putting the food on the table he got himself a glass of water and some toast, hastily eating it, lest it be taken from him, as he walked upstairs to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror he studied himself and couldn’t help but frown. He hated being this short, he'd always hated being this short. He'd been the shortest person he knew even in younger year groups at Hogwarts and until he was fourteen he'd often been mistaken as a first or second year. He hadn’t had a major growth spurt until 7th year, and even then he’d only been 5'7". Though in the end he hadn’t really minded it, he’d been fast and agile, which had saved him on a number of occasions where being tall and muscular would have only hindered him. It had taken him a long time to accept that his height wasn’t a bad thing in every situation.
Harry's Sensei Muzuki Matsushika had been a great help with this, refusing to allow him to sulk about it, though her techniques usually involved putting him in situations with other trainers in which only speed and agility could be used effectively. He’d gained quite a few painful bruises that way and had learned to stop sulking, at least in anyone's presence, lest it get back to his Sensei and she start his extra training again.
Looking at himself again he glared at his glasses. In the future a potion had been developed to heal eyesight problems, or rather he had invented it. It had been his first masterpiece in his seventh year. Snape had let up on him in his final year, their relationship was an odd one since they mainly argued -- they had still both hated each other and had very little respect for each other, but they had learn to work together -- and when they had to work together they simply worked in silence. Or it had been until Harry received his mother's diary from the Family Vault, which he'd never heard about and had found some things out about Snape that changed his entire perspective on his relationship with Snape, his mother, and his father. Nevertheless Snape couldn’t deny his potion skills and had provided him the room and ingredients that would allow him to develop a potion which in his words “would stop him bumbling around like a blinded bat every single time those stupid glasses get knocked off.”
Smiling in remembrance Harry was about to head downstairs when he thought of something. Turning to the mirror he focused on the talent that Ollivander had helped him with. It had been a potions accident which had brought out this latent power, and he doubted he’d ever have tried to use it if Ollivander hadn't been there when it happened and taught him just what he was dealing with.
Staring at the mirror he concentrated on his magic, trying to find the latent ability he knew was there. Of course if he hadn't known approximately where it was it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. But as it was… his eyes flashed silver.
Briefly and only briefly did his eyes flash silver, but that was enough to secure his power and so the silver ring that he’d had ever since the potions accident circled his iris again. The talent was mage sight, not as developed as Ollivander’s but it was useful and came in handy as it could be used to detect magic, to see it in all its glory. He wasn’t nearly as good as he could be with it, having only found it six months ago, and his gift wasn’t developed enough to study anything in depth, but it was trained up enough that it had saved his life twice since he established it.
Turning back around, Harry headed downstairs to his cupboard to wait for his aunt to give him the chores for the day. Sitting in his cupboard he sighed in annoyance, remembering that he’d have to go through removing his magical block all over again. The block itself was caused by the Killing Curse and was what stabilized the link between Voldemort and himself. When he had removed it the first time, under the careful guidance of Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster, he’d not been able to achieve his full magical potential and a portion of his magic was forever damaged. It had taken nearly two months before he could begin training properly. Though thankfully it should be easier this time around as he was still young and hadn't used his magic as often. This time around, he grinned, he could do so many things differently. While he couldn’t free Sirius just yet, he could capture Wormtail and thereby prove Sirius’s innocence. Maybe doing that would bring Fudge down a notch, or perhaps he'd make enemies inside the Ministry before fifth year.
Well, at least this time he would be able to focus on his strengths rather than wasting his time with things like Divinations or running around the school like a little moron fighting with that pest Malfoy.
He was good at Potions, he had a knack for Charms, something he had no doubt gotten from his mother, he was decent at Transfigurations, not on the level of Dumbledore, but then nearly no one was, and he’d always had a talent for Defense. Herbology he was only so-so in as he could seem to keep the more advanced plants alive, or from trying to kill him, but he had a more than decent book knowledge through his Potion experiments. After all, you could only rarely find a plant that wasn't used in Potions. He was pretty bad at History, too, come to think about it, but that was Binns' fault; if he had paid attention he would've gotten decent grades, probably nothing more than an A, an E if he was lucky, but he never cared all that much for History anyway. He’d probably still pick Care of Magical Creatures, just to appease Hagrid, though he didn't really have much talent in that area. He'd have to keep an eye on the large man, he couldn't have him causing all those problems this time around. Maybe he'd help the man with lesson plans.
However he’d make sure he took Ancient Runes; after meeting with Sensei Mizuki he had found out where his talents truly lay. Sensei Mizuki was a very old Japanese lady with black eyes and white hair, who had trained him in martial arts and Ancient Runes. Being a Rune Master herself, she had gladly told him he was as well; informing him that it was rare that anyone had natural talent with Runes.
He also found it hilarious that he had a Rune on his forehead... his scar, it was Sowilo, which meant the sun and stood for power and life force. She had once told him it was no coincidence, but he had to go and die before she could explain it, didn’t he?
He was taken out of his musings when the cupboard door opened and he was handed a list of chores.
The next few weeks were spent in a manner similar to his first day back. He pondered the past and future while he did chores and built up his Occlumency walls while simultaneously testing out his talents. He worked on Ancient Runes most of the time, tracing Runes through the air with wandless magic, something apparently all natural Rune Masters were born with and good at. Harry mostly used the Runes to help with his numerous chores, making some of the more difficult ones easier to do so he would get fed.
He also had to get his Animagus Forms back, but that would take training, both of his body and his magic. When he found out he had two, he had been shocked, but McGonagall explained that it was common for strong witches or wizards to have two forms. If more people took on Animagus Forms then it would be more commonly documented. And if he father, Sirius and Peter had gone through McGonagall to train they would have had two forms as well.
His forms, he thought, fit him perfectly. First was his magical form, a Snidget, which could turn invisible and move so quickly you almost thought they’d Apparated. He was glad that a person's Animagus Forms reflected on their human form, and if you were magical some of the power could be transported to your human form from your Animagus Forms. His had made it so his butt wasn’t kicked too badly when he had practiced with Sensei.
His second form was normal and surprised him, but delighted McGonagall. He was a cat, a black cat with amazing emerald green eyes, but a cat none the less. It was dead useful when he didn’t want to be noticed, and, much to his surprise and profound relief, some of the gracefulness from his Animagus Forms had shown in his human form as well, again making it so he had a chance against Sensei Mizuki.
His small cupboard didn’t allow for much, though, and he had to wait to break his magical block until after he got his wand; there was no way he was going to go through the training to get his Animagus Forms until after his block was removed. Though he hoped he would recover before he got to Hogwarts.
On July 24th Harry got up bright and early, and after making breakfast eagerly waited until his uncle told him to get the post. This was the day that he’d first found his Hogwarts letter. It had been branded in his mind and he didn't think he would ever forget it.
Sure enough not five minutes later his uncle said, “Go get the post, boy.” Instead of arguing he left without fuss, keeping his emotions off his face. He walked into the hall, grabbed the post, quickly snatched his Hogwarts letter. He slipped it through the gap between his cupboard door and the frame and walked back to the kitchen where he gave his uncle the rest of the post.
Ignoring his uncle's talk of Marge, he quickly ate his food and left the kitchen.
Walking into his cupboard he turned on his light and excitedly grabbed his Hogwarts letter. Ripping it open he quickly took out the list, turned over the actual letter and taking a pen out from under his mattress, wrote a reply. Harry admired the flowing script that McGonagall had drilled into him in a series of detentions after she got fed up with the scribbles he had tried to pass off as writing.
Looking it over he nodded, satisfied. It read;
Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,
I was wondering if this was a joke or real? It would explaina lot, but if you could send someone to clear everything up
for me I would be extremely grateful.
Harry J. Potter
Harry shoved the list and the pen back under his mattress before carefully folding up the letter and placing it in his overly large pocket. When his aunt told him, ten minutes later, that he’d be doing the garden then cleaning the lounge that day, he tried to look dismayed but was inwardly jumping for joy.
Slowly walking outside he started to do the gardening, while he waited for his aunt to leave the kitchen. Once she did he looked around the garden, and just as he suspected a barn owl was sitting on the garden wall. Harry held up his arm and gave a soft whistle, and the owl swept over to him. He tied the letter to the owl's leg then watched as it took off into the distance. Harry set to work with a vengeance on the garden, fearing the consequences of it not getting done in time. He hadn't eaten in two days, after all, as he'd been too excited about the letter that he knew was coming.
The rest of the day was spent masking his excitement, since it wouldn't do to have the Dursleys suspect anything. That night in bed he quickly erected his Occlumency shields to their strongest level before settling into a peaceful sleep, his dreams filled with magic and all the wonders he knew he'd find at Hogwarts. He knew from conversations with Hermione in their early years at Hogwarts that a professor would be there the next day to take him to Diagon Alley.
It had begun.
As the last remnants of sleep faded from Harry’s mind, he realised what day it was. This was it; this was the first step in changing everything. And if his cousins old hand-me-down watch was right it was 5:30, which meant he had two hours to kill until he even had to be up.
Realising he wouldn’t get any more sleep, he leaned against the wall and started idly drawing Runes in the air. Looking in front of him he grinned; to any other person it would look like an intricate design of patterns. To him it looked almost like English. He could tell it wasn't but he was as fluent in reading Runes as he was in reading English. Sending a wave of magic to the center, he watched as the Rune did its job, cleaning the cupboard and protecting it from fire for the next two years. Perhaps he'd create one that would drive away pests. He knew there was a Rune like that at the school but didn't know the details, and it didn't work very well anyways seeing as spiders and mice had free reign. At least the mice that the cats belonging to students and Mrs. Norris didn't eat.
Runes, he had learned in the past -- or was that the future? -- were an intricate, delicate magic that could do almost anything. It could create wards, clean, heal and even kill if you were good enough.
Although, he thought as he rubbed his now scar free shoulder, it wasn’t smart to try and cast a Rune during a battle. He had been stupid enough to stop and try to create a shield, since Rune shields were known for their strength. He hadn’t expected, however, for the Death Eater to throw a severing charm at him before he'd finished.
Though, in his defense, the Death Eater got his own when the unfinished Rune exploded, wild magic skipping Harry, who had had the sense to duck, and threw the Death Eater nigh on twenty meters away, snapping the man's neck.
That was definitely a dangerous problem with Runic Magic. If you didn’t complete a Rune, well, it was never good. If you were like Sensei Mizuki, you could control and dispel the wild magic, but he didn’t want to even think of how much practice she had had, or the scars she had to have gotten.
Getting bored he practiced levitating a pigeon feather he had found by using his wandless magic, which most natural Rune Masters used to create Runes, rather than use wands. Aside from drawing the Runes, in which you just had to let your magic flow and do its purpose, his wandless magic wasn’t too developed.
Though he could levitate things, he couldn't do anything major with wandless magic at this point. Not to say that what he could do wasn’t useful. In battle if he lost his wand, he could fling his opponent against a wall or levitate his wand back to him. In times of desperation he'd even Accioed his wand to his person. The problem was that he tired easily, as his wandless magic was really only designed to amplify his Runic Magic. It was dead annoying though, he could create a thousand Runes and not break a sweat, but do maybe 6 low-level spells and he’d be sweating buckets and shaking from fatigue.
Sighing in frustration he quickly practiced dispelling a low-level Rune, his muscles relaxing when the Rune decided that it would cooperate. He wished he could practice something other that Runic Magic but he knew that Runic Magic was an ability that allowed him to draw on the magic around him, using his core to hold the magic only briefly. He couldn’t risk using his core in a more direct way right now as the more magic he practiced the longer it would take to unblock.
He couldn’t wait until he could do Parselmagic though; it was something he had seen snake-face do and had long since looked up in the Chamber of Secrets. It was only useful in offensive curses because of its nature. You had to, obviously, speak in Parseltongue.
Though you needed an immunity bite from a snake to do the magic in the first place. Voldemort wasn’t advanced as him in Parselmagic because he’d got himself bitten by a lower level snake, a common gardener snake if Harry remember correctly. Harry, however, had gotten his immunity bite when he survived the basilisk, the king of all snakes. So, naturally his Parselmagic had been stronger. Although, he annoyingly knew less.
He would have to get an immunity bite again, which wouldn’t be pleasant. He supposed he could have gotten it from a snake at the zoo when he went with the Dursleys this time, but it just seemed better to try and hold out for the basilisk. Not that he wished that mess on Ginny Weasley again.
Thinking about all the different types of magic he could practiced when he removed the block made him nearly quiver with delight. He could hardly wait until he could fly in his Snidget form again. Though little was known about Snidgets, he had found out they could turn invisible. He was trying to transfer that over to his human form before he died; he was sure he had almost done it.
Thinking about that he realized he had almost done a lot of things. He had been about to take his masteries in Potions and Defence. He'd been just months from his Masteries in Charms and Transfiguration, and he had about a year until he could take his Mastery in Runes; not that he couldn't do the practical side but he still had a lot to learn about the theory and you had to be trained in something for a year before you could take a Mastery. Masteries were almost like the magical equivalent to a Muggle degree. It wasn't unknown for people to get more than one but it wasn't common either. You could get three different levels depending on your grades, first class, second class or third class. First was, naturally, the best and third the worst. Not that there was a 'worse' in Master Level work.
He had wanted to take them and show the world that he wasn’t just the stupid Boy-Who-Lived. But that’s pretty much out the window now, Harry thought, I'll have to go through the motions and 'relearn' everything all over again. It'll be at least nine years before I can even think of getting them again.
He also had to retrain his body, which had been difficult enough the first time he did it. Of course he’d been training a bit in doing his chores. He’d lift heavier loads than he normally would and it wasn’t as if he didn’t have some muscle; he had to doing all the labor intensive chores since he was little, after all. This time though, he wouldn’t lose his muscles going into first year; he’d just train more. It wasn't like he had to actually spent time studying the material after all.
Looking at his watch he saw it was 7:20. Might as well get up and get dressed and make breakfast, Harry thought as he grabbed his glasses. He couldn’t keep the annoyance from showing on his face when he realized he’d have to wait to make his potion until at least third year. He knew he’d have to wait a while, since it was HIS potion and he couldn’t just start making potions out of the blue. Though that wouldn't stop him from getting some new glasses until he could.
Walking into the kitchen he started to make breakfast, careful to keep the fat from splashing on his best clothes. Not that his best clothes were all that good, they consisted of dark blue jeans, which Aunt Petunia had obviously gotten him from a thrift shop for some special occasion she didn’t want him to look like a ‘freak’ for, and a dark green t-shirt which must have been from a few years ago because it wasn’t too loose, though it was fading a little. His scruffy black trainers were for once not too scruffy, since Dudley had had a growth spurt a few years ago an was unable to wear them, while Harry's feet had been too small for them until just after he'd arrived back in time. It was one thing Harry was happy for, not having to wear something Dudley’s feet had been in. After all, who really knew what fungus Dudley's sweaty, disguising feet had?
When his Aunt came down she was surprised to see him in the kitchen. Looking at her he realized she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be happy or annoyed at his initiative, so she ignored him and sat down.
“Would you like some orange juice, Aunt Petunia?” he asked politely, wanting to be on her good side for today. She looked suspicious but nodded.
For the rest of breakfast she looked over at him, warily, from time to time but said nothing, preferring to dote on Dudley, who’d been forced to come down early that day since they were going on a trip to the shops. His Uncle Vernon had just gone out to work when his Aunt Petunia started telling him that he’d be staying at Mrs. Figg's. Just after she finished there was a knock at the door.
“Get the door.” She said absently, turning back to Dudley again.
Using his mage sight he looked at the entrance hall, ignoring the wards as he focused on seeing through the door. He smiled when he saw there was indeed a magical signature. His mage sight couldn’t tell him much but he could see if something was charmed -- he still hadn't figured out how to tell what spell had been used, but he was working on it -- and could see the currents of magic running through a person's body.
Opening the door, he almost fell backwards when he saw Professor Flitwick. He had been almost positive McGonagall or Hagrid would come for him. Though this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. In his past life he had gotten on very well with Flitwick, being trained by him in Charms after small man approached him, telling him that he was positive that he had his mother's talent. Though this time, he thought, I should be able to do better now that my magic will have more time to recuperate from the block and that almost none of my magic should be damaged. Shaking himself out of his stupor he asked, “How may I help you?”
“Ah, hello. My name is Filius Flitwick, I’ll be one of your professors at Hogwarts. I was sent to show you around the magical world.” The small professor said. Harry smiled and stepped aside, he hadn’t realized how much he missed the cheerful professor until he seen him.
“Come in, I have to get my list.” Harry said. It was a novel experience not having to look down at the professor, who was about four foot, five inches tall.
Filius Flitwick had been surprised when Minerva had asked him to go get Harry Potter, she had said that she had already responded to another student and so couldn't make the trip to get Harry and show him around. He had been rather excited, though not for the reason everyone thought. Harry Potter was Lily Evans' son; he didn’t care one whit about him being the Boy-Who-Lived or any of that rubbish. Lily Evans had been a dear friend and an excellent student while she'd been alive. It had seemed to Filius that the young girl had never wanted to stop learning even after she'd left Hogwarts; she'd been a true Ravenclaw at heart, even if she had been a Gryffindor in name. They'd started up a correspondence into the theory behind several spells after Lily had left Hogwarts which had turned into a deep friendship between the former student and her old mentor.
Filius walked up to a relatively normal house. It was bland but some people, he knew, preferred that to the extraordinary, and knocked on the door. A few moments later it was opened by a small boy with the bright, emerald green eyes he’d only seen once before in Lily Evans. He introduce himself and was shocked out of his stupor when the young Potter boy asked him in.
He watched as the boy walked over to what appeared to be a cupboard and walk in. While the boy was in there a woman who he presumed was Lily’s sister came down the hallway. Seeing him her eyes went wide and her face pale and pasty before she looked around wildly, presumably for Harry. Though, Filius would have sworn he heard her whisper 'Vernon'.
Meanwhile Harry had pulled his list out from under his mattress and drew a Rune he used to be very familiar with. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about it seeing as he used it every day, sometimes twice a day in his future/past life. Pushing his magic to seal it off he stepped through it and absorbed it. Putting his hand up to his hair he smiled and took the comb off the one shelf he was allowed and ran it through his no longer messy hair. The Rune was something Sensei had taught him after she got fed up with his hair and his ineffectual attempts to fix it. She used one herself to comb and braid her waist-length white hair in matter of seconds instead of the the minutes it would have taken to care for hair as long and thick as Sensei's mane had been.
His Rune calmed his hair which apparently, at least according to his past-life Flitwick, made him look a lot more like his mother, especially since it brought the red highlights that had been hidden in his messy mop out. The fact that back then he also didn’t wear glasses also made it look like more like his mother than his father.
Walking out of the cupboard he saw his Aunt and stalled for a second before speaking as nonchalantly as he could, “I’m going to be getting my school supplies, Aunt Petunia, I’ll see you later.”
With that his Aunt was left gaping in the hallway as Flitwick asked him to take hold of his arm and they Apparated away.
They reappeared in the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron and Harry watched as the diminutive professor tapped the right brick and the wall melted away. He couldn’t help but gasp, Diagon Alley never got any less impressive, no matter how often he saw it.
While Harry was looking at Diagon Alley, Filius Flitwick was looking at Harry. He looked a lot like Lily, he had her bone structure, her stature, her eyes, his hair had very faint highlights, and while the color was that of his father's, it did not stick up as he was sure it would have. He had Lily's nose as well.
He smiled at the expression on Harry's face, the awe and fascination. Seeing that look on eleven-year-olds' faces for their first dose of real magic never got boring. Maybe this was why McGonagall sent him to Harry. After all, he had been the teacher to help Lily in Diagon Alley.
”We have to go to Gringotts first, that’s the wizarding bank.” Filius found himself saying as he started walking towards the bank, Harry following him while he looked around rapidly, as if wishing to take it all in at once.
Harry smiled at the thought of going to Gringotts. The goblins had been pressured by Voldemort to choose a side during the War and they had chosen to fight against the megalomaniac. He had learned some Gobbledygook when a group of goblins had been stationed with him and had nothing but the highest respect for most goblins.
Walking into Gringotts he followed his professor as the diminutive man lead him up to one of the tellers. The teller received Harry's gold key and, after inspecting it, shouted for “GRIPHOOK!” and very familiar goblin came to the counter and took the key.
“Follow me.” The goblin said, walking over to where Harry knew the carts were.
“You go on, Harry, I don’t much like the cart rides.” Professor Flitwick said, taking a seat in the comfortable looking chairs place at intervals all around the lobby.
Nodding Harry caught up with Griphook and climbed in the cart after him. Harry was grinning widely by the end of the hair-raising ride. Getting out of the cart he followed Griphook to what he knew was simply a trust fund his parents had left him in case anything had happened to them. He couldn’t wait until he could go to the Family Vaults once again.
He watched as Griphook opened the Vault and, ignoring the green fog that bellowed out, he walked into the vault, being careful not to breath in the noxious gas, and heard Griphook tell him how much the coins were. Taking out the bag Griphook had given him at the start of the ride he piled some galleons, sickles and knuts into the leather pouch.
Harry kept out a single galleon.
At the end of the ride, before going into the main lobby, Harry turned to Griphook and gave him the galleon saying, “May your gold always flow.”
Griphook looked downright shocked but replied with the traditional “May your life bare fruitful riches.” With that Harry walked out of Gringotts with Flitwick, not noticing Griphook hurrying over to another goblin, whose eyes grew wider as Griphook said more.
Harry followed Flitwick as he walked over to a very familiar looking shop, Ollivander’s. Stepping in he felt the familiar presence of Orion Ollivander and turned around in time to see a very surprised Ollivander step out of the shadows.
“Ahh, Harry Potter, I’ve been waiting for you.” Ollivander’s eyes seemed to glow, something that Harry knew was the man's Mage sight, before blinking rapidly and looking at Harry oddly. The man shook himself then went into the same speech he had the first time around. “Wand arm?” he finally asked.
“I write with my right, sir.” Harry said, still playing the part of the innocent muggle-raised wizard. He'd actually been trained, by Mad-Eye the paranoid old bastard, to use his wand in both hands. He was ambidextrous now through training and didn't favor either hand or arm now.
He watched in amusement as the tape measure spun around him in an intricate dance. Ollivander eventually clapped his hands and said, “That’s enough.” and the tape measure sped back to him, collapsing on the floor in a heap near him. Harry went through all the wands as he did the first time, when he saw his old wand – holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather – he looked at Ollivander, after 3 years of receiving training from the man he knew Ollivander expected this one to work for him. Picking it up he felt a little connection but nothing note worthy. This was no longer his wand. His magic was very different now and he'd need a very different wand.
Ollivander looked confused but took the wand back without commenting on it and gave him another wand and another. Eventually Ollivander appeared defeated yet oddly eager and said, “I guess I’ll be making you a custom wand.”
Ollivander, with a quick “follow me,” led Harry to a back room he had been to in his past life often enough. He saw Flitwick get off the chair he’d placed himself in and follow them, a look of curiosity on his withered face.
The entire process was almost identical to the last time he'd had a custom wand made. Walking over to the wand cores and picking out what he felt connected to he ended up getting the exact wand he'd had in his first life.
Eleven and a quarter inches long made of English Holly with the core of a Royal Phoenix. It was a beautiful wand, and an amazing process to watch. Ollivander had to concentrate on the owner's magic while making the wand, a hard thing to accomplish. But the end product was amazing, there were Runes along the handle and the white grain seemed almost iridescent. It showed that Ollivander was truly a master of his craft.
Harry paid Ollivander his money and left with a shocked Flitwick. “Where do we go now?” Harry asked, trying to seem more timid and innocent.
Flitwick smiled cheerfully and led Harry to Fischer's Luggage, Carriers, Crates and Trunks, where he bought a standard school trunk with minimal security and only a small hidden compartment. Shrinking the trunk Flitwick passed it to Harry, who, just for his professor, put an awed look on his face. They then headed over to Flourish & Blotts to get Harry's school books when they ran into someone Harry didn’t think he’d be seeing so soon.
“Harry Potter, I presume.” The familiar voice of Professor McGonagall asked him. He nodded, making sure to look slightly confused as he shook her hand. Of course he understood why she’d know who he was, but she didn’t need to know that. It wouldn't do to appear to knowledgeable at this time, after all. “I’m Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor House.” She said, smiling at him.
Just as Harry was opening his mouth to introduce himself, a younger Hermione Granger came up to them saying, “Wow! Would you look at all these books? I got all the ones on the list, but I also got Hogwarts, A History, it sounds fascinating, have you read it?”
Hermione was just as he remembered her, at least at this point in time. McGonagall smiled at Harry and walked away with Hermione before Harry could say anything to either of them. Having seen Hermione he was reminded of how they’d all drifted apart before, during the War.
Hermione had done research for the Order and the War, but still found the time to seek Harry out and speak to him. Ron Weasley was a strategist who had come into himself and forgotten Harry and their friendship, he'd even dumped Hermione after a year of dating. Harry, of course, was a fighter who was expected to spend all his time finding new and better ways to fight the Death Eaters.
It hurt, he thought as he realized that he had been basically friendless when he died. And to think we all used to be such good friends. We did everything together and I thought we'd die together. Bill and Charlie Weasley, Ron's oldest brothers, were fighters as well, so they were some of the only Weasley’s Harry spent a great deal of time with. Fred and George were creators, creating prank items that could be and were deadly in battle, such as mines and grenades; they even used a swamp in one fight in which three Death Eaters had gotten themselves trapped. Despite being very busy the twins were always popping around to see him, although sometimes he thought it was more to test products on him than to talk to him. He knew, when his temper cooled and the worst of the pranks disappeared that it was just the way the Twins were and they didn't mean any harm by it. After all, they treated Bill and Charlie the same way and they only saw the older men when they saw Harry.
Harry wondered, briefly, if he’d still make the same friends, but shook away his thoughts when Flitwick asked if he was ok, and nodding, he collected the needed books and a few extra, which he allowed Flitwick to shrink and put in his trunk.
The rest of the trip was fairly normal, or as normal as it would get, being him. They got his school robes and Harry got a few casual clothes. He also went to the opticians to get new glasses, they were fairly simple silver oval rims. Looking in the mirror at the opticians it hit him that he looked a lot different than he had the first time.
It was then that Harry fully comprehended what this meant. He wouldn’t have to act as everyone expected. The first time he had been forced into situations in which he acted like everyone wanted, but he was so tired now, he just wanted to be himself, and it was with relief that he realized he finally could be.
Gathering his thoughts together yet again he convinced Flitwick to allow him to get a wand holster, which the small wizard said wasn’t really necessary yet, but agreed could be useful. After that they made their way to the Apparition point.
They landed in an Alley near Privet Drive and Harry convinced the professor that he’d be all right and that he wanted his trunk kept shrunk.Harry watched as the professor Apparated away and walked over to number 4 Privet Drive, knocking on the door. He only had a second to wonder if his uncle would kill him when he was viciously dragged in the home by the man.
As his uncle started to throw punches, all deliberately missing the face, Harry realised that this last month was not going to be a good one. He remembered belatedly that Dudley hadn’t been cursed and Vernon hadn’t been threatened so there was nothing stopping them. They hadn't even seen the letter with the address so had no paranoid delusions that they were being watched. Harry wasn't even sure if little Flitwick could've scared Vernon without dire threats and a show of what the professor could do to him. After all, Hagrid's size had scared Vernon just as much as the curse the large man had put on Dudley.
Harry winced as he was thrown into the cupboard and the door bolted tightly. Groaning with effort he hid the still shrunken trunk under the mattress and curled up into a ball.
It was going to be a long month...
Meanwhile Filius Flitwick was walking up to the gates of Hogwarts, a feeling of dread had settled over him when he left the Potter boy, though he couldn't longer dwell on it when Minerva engaged him in a conversation about the student she had taken to Diagon Alley, a bright witch named Hermione Granger.
However he still couldn’t quite shake that feeling of dread.
As always any questions or comments can reach me through review or a PM and I'll do my best to answer. One question: do you guys like the big space between paragraphs or should I take them out?
May 21, 2008