Chapter 1
Harry had hoped that the death of Voldemort would bring peace. That life would resume and continue on as it had prior to his rebirth. But the losses had been too great. The divide amongst the people too wide. Wizarding society would always show the scars that war had inflicted. After the death of Voldemort, the Death Eaters had scrambled. Harry had been requested to aid in the post war clean up process and had been rounding up escaped Death Eaters with the surviving Aurors for the last few weeks. Harry was tired. He just wanted the fighting to end and it seemed that no matter how hard they worked, people continued to die at the hands of the remaining Death Eaters.
It was during one such mission that Harry found himself caught by surprise. An explosion rocked the stone beneath his feet and before he had time to react, he was being buried under the stone wall he was standing in front of.
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When he awoke, something was different. Something was wrong. He shifted slightly, immediately recognizing that he was in a bed. He attempted to open his eyes and had to immediately close them against the bright white hospital lights. He reached out with his hand, attempting to find his glasses on the bedside table but came up empty. Carefully, he slowly peeled his eyes open, wanting to know where exactly he was. He was quick to recognize the sterile walls of St. Mungo’s.
He then started taking stock of his body, making note that he did in fact still have all four limbs. Silently thanking every deity that he was not going to be the next Mad-Eye Moody, he attempted to climb out of bed, only to set off a blaring alarm. He jumped in surprise, flinching back away from the door as it opened. A man in a white robe entered, several Aurors visible through the open doorway.
“Hello, son,” the man said in a gentle voice. “Can you tell me your name?”
And that one question told him more than anything else possibly could. He definitely was not where he was supposed to.
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The discovery that he was some illegitimate child of Charlus Potter had come as a nasty shock, both to him and apparently to his biological father. Finding out that he was no longer a legal adult had also been a shock. The only explanation that he could think of was some sort of time travel/reincarnation situation. He had apparently been found unconscious in the middle of Diagon Alley after a Death Eater attack. He had been brought to St Mungo’s and ultimately identified. He was now Harry Charlus Potter, illegitimate 15 year old son to Charlus Potter. He had yet to see the man himself, who was apparently a well known Ministry official. His sudden appearance had caused quite the scandal, if his chatty nurse was to be believed. The man’s wife, Dorea Potter had visited him several times and had been nothing but kind. However, Harry could not shake off of the feeling that his appearance would not go over well within the family, which caused significant disappointment. He had wanted to know his family his entire life. If he was transported to this new world for a fresh start and never got to know them, he would be beyond devastated. He just wanted a chance to know those that he had lost due to the first war.
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Any hope that he would find acceptance with his new father was quickly squashed. The man’s stilted hello upon his discharge from St. Mungo’s had said more than the man ever could. Harry did his best to bury his disappointment at the man’s attitude and did not allow his emotions to show on his face as he was escorted through the floo to the couple’s home. As an offshoot from the main Potter family, they did not live at Potter Manor and instead had a separate house and property, both of which were still much nicer than Harry had ever thought he would live in. After their arrival to the house, the man was quick to leave Harry to Dorea, whose face clearly showed her irritation at the man’s behavior. She apologized quietly and then showed him to his room, which was clearly a guest room on the main floor.
Harry had sat on the edge of the bed in the very empty room and gazed at his hands in his lap for a long time before crawling under the covers and closing his eyes. When a knock sounded on his door to summon him to dinner, he was too deeply asleep to respond.
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The awkward silence amongst the three stretched on for the next several days, until a cheerful voice emerged from the floo. Harry had no idea that Charlus and Dorea had a son. An adult son who was quite a few years older than he was. The man had stepped into the sitting room and the Potter family resemblance once again proved itself to be strong, but the man also carried his mother’s dark hair and eyes. Monty, his name was. Named after the current head of the Potter family, Fleamont. The man, his older half brother, had smiled at him before sweeping him into a conversation about charms.
For a second, he allowed himself again to hope that he would find the love and acceptance of a family he had always dreamed of being a part of. He ignored Charlus’ dark glare over his glass of whiskey from across the room and Dorea’s awkward shuffling beside him, clearly wanting to join in on the boy’s conversation.
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In the days that followed, Harry did his best to ignore his father’s clear disdain for him. He threw himself into interacting with his new older brother. His entire life he had wished for an older sibling. He had dreamed of having an older brother to fend off his relatives and school yard bullies. Someone who could have shielded him from the vicious rumors at Hogwarts and to have had his back when even his best friend turned on him. Monty was easy going and fun to be around. The man was in his early twenties and was an apprentice under a ward master but had asked for several days off to deal with the “family issue” that was Harry’s sudden appearance. It seemed that the boy was just as thrilled about the potential of having a sibling as Harry, and Harry allowed himself to bask slightly in the feeling of a blood connection that enjoyed being with him, for the Dursley’s never had.
He quickly took a shine to Monty, following him around when he visited the house, only to return to his room when the man left. He hoped that over time he would build more of a relationship with his father and step mother of this world, but as his first week passed in their custody, this did not seem to be happening.
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The tension came to a head two weeks after he moved in. The rest of the Potter family were visiting. Fleamont, Euphemia, and his now cousin James had introduced themselves. James was only a year older than Harry and the two were quick to bond over Quidditch. Soon the two school-aged boys were happily talking about various plays and maneuvers, completely missing the growing tension amongst the adults.
“You know, Harry,” Fleamont had said, plucking a glass of wine from a house elf with a serving tray and causing both boys to shift their attention to him. “Your discovery caused quite the shock to the family.”
“I imagine it did,” Harry said uneasily.
“Euphemia, James, and I were overjoyed at the prospect of another Potter, as our line has suffered significantly over the last few generations, with fewer and fewer born as the years go by.” Harry had nodded, unsure of where the man was going with this. It was the man’s next words that caused the glass Charlus was holding to shatter in his grip, “I am sure you are enjoying the chance to get to know your father.”
The aforementioned man had growled in his throat loudly before dropping the remnants of his glass onto the whiskey soaked floor below. “He is no son of mine,” the man had scoffed, his magic beginning to angrily roll off of him.
“Charlus-” Dorea had tried, taking a step towards the man, but it was no use. The man had drawn in his wand and in his anger it had begun to spit sparks, the man’s angry gray eyes fixated on Harry’s form.
If Harry had not grown up dodging physical blows from the Dursley’s and had not survived through the war, he would not have managed to dodge the blasting hex that burst from the man’s wand, his anger at Harry’s existence causing his magic to lash out.
Harry sprung out of the way, toppling over a lamp. He landed flat on his belly and it took only a split second to get his legs under him. Several people were shouting around him, but he paid little attention to what was being said. Before anyone could grab him or more spells could be flung, he was racing away from the sitting room, his legs carrying him faster than they ever had before.
There were more shouts from behind him. He raced through the house, eventually throwing himself through a window in his haste to get out. To get away from the man who had clearly just attempted to harm him. Harry raced across the grounds in the pitch black. It wasn’t until he had bypassed the wards that he remembered that he still had the ability to apparate. As he turned on his heel, he saw several forms rushing out of the house after him, but they were too late. He was gone.
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He had hoped that he would never again return to the Forest of Dean. And yet, here he was. However this time, he was very much on his own. He did not have any friend’s by his side. He didn’t have Ron’s humor and companionship. He didn’t have Hermione’s brain. He felt their absence in his soul. After appearing in the spot that they had stayed in for so long, he had collapsed. Gasping breaths had turned into anguished sobs. He was unsure how long he had spent on the damp forest floor, voicing his upset into the leaf litter under him.
When the sun eventually started to rise, he swallowed his sobs and got to his feet. There were things that he needed to do, irregardless of if his family wanted him or not.
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Chapter 2
The appearance of a vigilante had caught the wizarding public by surprise. People speculated that he was a Ministry hitman gone rogue or the devastated lover someone killed by the Death Eaters. The young man’s face was always masked. In the early days of his sudden appearance, the Ministry had demanded that he be detained for questioning. Any and all attempts to arrest the unknown man had been unsuccessful as he was quick to disappear from the scene.
From the sidelines, the magical people cheered on this unknown soldier as he cut down Death Eater after Death Eater. The man seemed to have few qualms in taking the lives of the masked terrorists, unlike the Ministry. His body count had quickly grown and many knew it was only a matter of time before the unknown man garnered the attention of the Dark Lord.
And they were right.
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Though in a younger body, Harry had the advantage of previously living through the second war. He had quickly discovered that the Trace had not been reapplied to his wand and his knowledge of past and future events put him at a distinct advantage against Voldemort. Still, collecting and destroying the Horcruxes took time and planning.
For months he lived off of very little, returning to the Forest of Dean where he had built a hideout. He stole what he needed from the Death Eaters that he killed, including weapons, clothes, and when they had galleons on them, enough money to keep a small supply of food. As summer turned to fall and then fall into winter, he did single handedly what had taken him and his friends close to a year to accomplish.
After sneaking into Hogwarts to get the last of the Horcruxes, the diadem, he had made his way to Hogsmeade, knowing that if he garnered enough attention in a public place that dark forces would quickly move in.
So Harry ordered a butterbeer at the Hog’s Head, ignoring the heavy glances of the other patron’s around him. He drank from the yellowed glass tankard, taking enjoyment in the temporary peace and normality that buying a drink in the pub provided him. His infamous cloak doing all the work in drawing the attention of his enemy. He placed a few knuts on the grungy counter just as the door was blasted off of its hinges, causing the other patrons to duck for cover and the barkeeper to curse worse than a sailor.
He turned, blasting the two Death Eaters that had rushed inside out and stepped through the doorway into the open air. He was unsurprised to see a semicircle of Death Eaters around the rundown pub. Nor was he surprised by the presence of the Dark Lord.
His boots were loud on the cobblestones as he stepped further away from the pub and into the circle of Death Eaters. Around them, other patrons out shopping rushed into buildings, slamming doors behind them in their haste to hide.
“Perfect timing,” Harry said in a casual tone of voice. “I just finished my pint.” He stopped, still several yards away from the man who had ruined his life. He twirled his wand slowly in his hand, taking in the man’s appearance. The man still appeared somewhat human. His body not yet of magic’s creation and he had not yet separated his soul into as many pieces as he had in Harry’s time. Still, the creation of several Horcruxes had left the man with a distinctly inhuman appearance. His eyes were already ruby red and his skin an unnatural white, causing him to appear to glow in the evening air.
“Reveal yourself,” the man said with a slight inhuman hiss to his voice.
“Has it bothered you,” he replied as he pulled down his hood, revealing his face for the first time since he ran away all those months ago, “to not know who has been thwarting you these last several months?”
The man flung a sickly green curse at him, which Harry easily recognized and side stepped, allowing it to hit the bar sign behind him.
“You want to duel Tom?” he asked in a mocking tone of voice. “Then let’s duel like men. Tell your minions to not step in. Face me by yourself. Be a man. Or has your quest for immortality warped you too much?”
Harry knew that his words would quickly get him what he asked as well as whip the man in question into a fury. He was not disappointed. The windows of the buildings around them shattered as the man’s nostrils flared.
The man’s Death Eaters took several steps back, but remained in a circle around them. Beyond this he could see many eyes anxiously watching the scene from windows. A few brave people had stepped outside to watch the standoff. Others had likely flooed away. Harry couldn’t find it within him to begrudge them for it, for it had always needed to come down to the two of them anyway.
The spells and curses exchanged between the two were largely silent. Harry twisted and dodged out of the way, causing the man to grow more and more annoyed. He flung several joke hexes at the red eyed man, chuckling mockingly at him as one caused a rubber snake to take the place of his yew wand. Seconds later, thousands of shards of broken glass flew at him from all directions. Instantly, he raised his wand, creating a dome of magic around him that further degraded the glass into a sand. Soon, he was surrounded by piles of it. Using his magic, he brought forth a massive gust of wind, kicking up the sand and obscuring him from view and swallowing the two opponents. He could hear the shouts of the Death Eaters and their Lord, as he instructed them to remain where they were.
“The boy is mine!” the man shrieked as he braced himself against the sandstorm. “He shall not escape me!”
Harry willed the sand to settle. His form was once again visible to those around him, but he was now standing directly behind the Dark Lord.
“I don’t want to,” he said, signaling to the man where he was. Before the man could turn, Harry drew a knife, which he had stolen several months prior from a Death Eater he had taken down, and stabbed it into the side of the man’s neck.
Blood burst forth like a geyser as shouts of surprise rang out from around them. They would be too late to save the bleeding Dark Lord, however, and the man bled out on the cobblestones in front of the Hog’s Head. No horcruxes left to save him.
The last thing Harry saw before months of exhaustion claimed him, was the anxious face of Monty blasting Death Eaters out of the way to get to him.
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Chapter 3
The discovery that a child had been the one who brought one of the worst Dark Lords in history to his knees had startled and shamed the wizarding world. It had spurred the Ministry into a heavy handed clean up and Aurors were granted powers that resulted in a significant number of Death Eaters to be put behind bars or six feet under the ground.
The Potter family had been pushed into the spotlight and many speculated that the family had been training the child in secret his entire life, that his discovery in the summer had been fabricated. The family did not respond to the rumors, shaken as they were by the teen’s dramatic reappearance and what had become of him. None more than the boy’s own father. The following day found the man silently sat at the still unconscious boy’s bedside in St. Mungo’s. He did not reach out to touch the child and did not ask questions about his wellbeing to the constant stream of hospital staff entering and exiting the room. Instead, he looked into the almost emaciated face of the child he had wrongfully forsaken months before. When he left several hours later, he cast his eyes down to avoid the accusatory glare of his oldest son, who had just arrived to check in on his recently discovered brother.
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Harry stepped into the noisy Great Hall on silent feet. The Ministry had mandated that he attend school given his age. It was not something he was looking forward to in the slightest, but he didn’t really have anywhere else to go and anyplace other than the Potter house was probably preferable.
The chatter of the children around him came to a quick halt as those around him recognized him from the papers. The two Aurors seeing to his transfer from St. Mungo’s to Hogwarts lingered in the doorway as he continued his path towards the front of the hall where the old Sorting Hat sat waiting for him. It was highly uncommon for students to start at Hogwarts later than their first year. It was almost unheard of for a child to start in the middle of the term. Excited whispers were passed from student to student as the hat was dropped over his head, obstructing his view of the hall. When the inevitable “Gryffindor!” was shouted to the impatiently waiting hall of children and adults alike, he stood without his face betraying how he felt about his sorting and made his way towards the now loudly cheering gold and maroon table.
“Har!” a voice called out to him, causing him to turn his head towards the end of the table. “Come sit!” Heart in his throat, he went and sat next to the man who had briefly been his dad in his previous life. The older boy was quick to pat him on the back and introduce him to the people around them. Not knowing what to say, Harry focused on his plate, missing the concerned looks James sent him throughout the meal.
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Harry Charlus Potter wasn’t what the public expected. He was a quiet, shy, and traumatized boy of 15. He did not participate in classes unless called upon. He did not willingly make friends. James Potter dragged his cousin into everything, forcing the boy into being around his own friends. The sixth year Gryffindor class as a whole seemed to adopt the younger boy, who seemed both older and younger than 15.
Eventually, small hints of the boy beneath the mask began to shine. The green-eyed boy was quick to be recruited for his house Quidditch team and had been bullied into running a dueling club, which had quickly grown in size as word had spread that the person who killed the Dark Lord would be teaching others how to duel.
Before the end of the year, the child had settled considerably, some of the tension gone from his shoulders and a few less shadows in his eyes. He had been exchanging letters with members of the Potter family, and the tension had lifted considerably.
Harry had been somewhat caught off guard when Charlus had written to him soon after his discharge from St. Mungo’s, apologizing for everything he had and had not done since Harry’s discovery. He had struggled with what to say in return, but he had agonized over the man’s rejection of him long enough and he had spent his entire life dreaming of a chance to have a family. He was willing to give the man a chance to get to know him, even if he was afraid of being rejected by the man after he grew to know Harry for real.
It was with this attitude that he rejoined the Potter family. The tension was still there and Charlus had continued to apologize for his reaction, explaining that he had been ashamed that people had known about his affair during a difficult period in his marriage. Harry had accepted the apology graciously but had still not allowed himself to fully let his guard down around the man. That is until the man started making a concerted effort to spend time with him. Soon after the beginning of the summer holiday, Harry found himself frequently flying with the man, Monty always quick to join in if he wasn’t at work. The three of them bonded as Dorea watched them fly, a glass of red wine usually in one hand and a journal in her lap. It wasn’t the family he had imagined he would ever be a part of, but it was his family and for the first time in his life, the thought of returning home for school holidays excited him.