Chapter 1
Astrophysics. Just hearing the word made Harry dream of far-off galaxies, black holes spinning in space, and the endless reach of the universe. To him, it was a perfect mix of order and mystery, all tied together by mind-bending math. He couldn't picture himself studying anything else—no other field would let him explore the unknown so completely.
Astrophysics wasn’t for the weak. It took everything—your time, your sleep, even your sanity. Harry had read that it was one of the hardest degrees you could choose. He couldn't agree more. From the moment he started his first class at Hogwarts, he felt both thrilled and terrified, like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking into the vastness of an ocean. Quantum physics, electromagnetism, thermodynamics—it was all so detailed, so exact, yet so maddeningly abstract.
But for Harry, the challenge was part of the excitement. It wasn’t just numbers or equations on a page; it was the universe, endless and mysterious, waiting for him to make sense of it.
Harry had always known he’d become a scientist. It was in his DNA, literally. His mother was one of the country’s leading biologists, a freaking genius in genetic research. She had spent years studying the human genome, discovering patterns in DNA that no one else had thought to search for. His father was no less brilliant. He was a theoretical physicist who thrived when it came to complex equations that looked like utter nonsense to most people, but to him… they were holding the secrets of the universe. If he ever got around to finishing them, that is. His father had always been more drawn to the "what if" questions than the definite answers, and Harry couldn’t blame him.
Harry’s godfather, Sirius, was different. He wasn’t the careful, methodical scientist his parents were. He was chaos incarnate. Sirius had been a physicist too, once, but he had burned out of academia in spectacular fashion after a falling out with his faculty over some radical new theory he’d been obsessing over. Now, Sirius mostly drifted around, dabbling in private research, occasionally teaching a guest lecture at some university or another, and generally causing trouble wherever he went.
But if there was one thing Sirius was passionate about, it was the stars. The entire Black family had an obsession with naming their children after celestial bodies—Sirius, Regulus, Andromeda, Bellatrix, Narcissa—the list went on. The Blacks had a long line of astrophysicists in the family, people who made a real mark with their research. But now most of them were, at best, eccentric—and at worst, downright dangerous for humanity.
Growing up, Harry had spent hours with Sirius and Regulus, his godfather’s younger brother, staring up at the sky. Sirius would point out the constellations with dramatic flair, making up wild stories about how they came to be. Regulus, the quieter of the two, would sit beside Harry and explain the science behind it all—how the light they were seeing had traveled millions of years across space to reach them, how some of the stars they were looking at might not even exist anymore. Harry had been fascinated by both—the myths and the science—and it was those nights spent watching the sky that had planted the seed of astrophysics in his mind.
When Harry had decided to major in astrophysics, literally no one had been surprised. Not his parents, not Sirius, not even Regulus, who had gone into a similar field himself. It was just… expected. Harry Potter, the boy who had spent his childhood gazing at the stars, would grow up to study them.
Now, Harry was twenty-three, in his final year at Hogwarts, and neck-deep in his master’s thesis. His topic? The behavior of dark matter around supermassive black holes and how it might influence the formation of galaxies. It was the kind of research that could change how scientists understood the universe, and Harry couldn’t get enough of it. He spent hours buried in data, running simulations, and pouring over papers that seemed to raise more questions than they answered.
Some days, it felt like trying to solve an impossible puzzle with pieces that didn't quite fit together. Other days, it was like a flash of clarity—everything clicked. The next day he would be back at square zero.
It didn’t help that his mentors were some of the most demanding professors at Hogwarts. They pushed him hard, expecting nothing less than perfection.
Harry rubbed his eyes and stared at the whiteboard in his tiny dorm room, equations filled every inch of it, scrawled in his messy handwriting. Half of them didn’t make sense anymore. His head hurt just looking at them.
This is what you signed up for, Potter, he reminded himself. You wanted this.
And he did. He really did. He just wished that, sometimes, it could all be a little… easier.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Harry blinked, shaking himself out of his mathematical daze.
"Come in!" he called, his voice quite hoarse from hours of disuse.
The door creaked open, and Hermione stepped inside. She was in her final year as well, but she had taken a different path—chemistry, studying under one of Hogwarts’s most ruthless professors, Severus Snape. If anyone understood the sheer pressure of Harry's situation, it was Hermione.
"Working on your thesis?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she took in the downright chaotic state of his room.
Harry let out a groan, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. "Is it that obvious?"
"You look like you haven’t slept in days," Hermione said dryly. She walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, giving him a sympathetic look. "How’s it going?"
"Terrible," Harry admitted. "Every time I think I’m getting somewhere, the math doesn’t add up. I’ve redone the same calculations five times, and I’m still missing something."
Hermione nodded, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe you’re overthinking it. Sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one."
Harry snorted. "Simple? We’re talking about the origins of the universe, Hermione. Nothing about this is simple."
"True," she conceded, "but that doesn’t mean you can’t take a step back and look at it from a different angle. Sometimes when you’re too close to a problem, you miss the obvious solution?"
She was kind of right. He’d been staring at the same equations for so long that they had started to blur together in his mind, giving him nothing but a dull headache. Maybe what he needed wasn’t more work but a break—a chance to clear his head and come back to it with fresh eyes.
"I guess you’re right," he muttered, pushing his chair away from the desk. "I just… I want this to be perfect, you know?"
Hermione’s expression softened. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Harry, you’ve already proved that a hundred times over. You’re one of the brightest students in the program—everyone knows that. You just need to have a little faith in yourself."
Harry managed a small smile. "Thanks, Hermione. I needed to hear that."
She smiled back, then glanced at the clock on his wall. "Speaking of taking a break, you got your invite to the symposium tomorrow, right? Tell me you’re coming! Professor Dumbledore said it’s going to be a big deal, and when he says that… it really is going to be major."
Harry perked up at that. The symposium had been on his radar for weeks, but he’d been so buried in his thesis that he’d almost forgotten about it. Now, thinking about it, he realized it was exactly the kind of inspiration he needed.
"Yeah, I’ll be there," he said, feeling a flicker of excitement for the first time in days. "It might be just what I need to get out of this rut."
"Good,” Hermione said with a nod. "I’ll see you there, then. And Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Promise me that you will try to get some sleep tonight."
Harry only managed to chuckle, "I’ll do my best."
He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks and was doubtful he’d get one tonight. But when Hermione was your best friend, you didn’t dare say no.
Harry sprinted through the university corridors, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He’d been buried in his thesis work, as usual, and time had slipped away from him... once again. Now the grand lecture hall was in front of him, and he could already hear the murmur of the crowd.
As he pushed open the heavy doors, the sight that greeted him was a sea of students and professors, all engrossed in the presentation. Harry winced, realizing he’d missed the opening. He scanned the room for an empty seat, his eyes darting over the packed rows.
The only available spot was in the front row, directly next to a familiar face. Draco Malfoy, a journalist major known for his biting columns, sat with an air of nonchalance that really seemed at odds with the intense atmosphere of the symposium. Harry’s stomach churned slightly. He and Malfoy had never seen eye to eye, and the idea of sitting next to him was less than appealing. But there was no other choice. He could either sit in the back, which was against his preference, or take the empty seat beside Malfoy. So, he gloomily accepted the situation and headed for the front row.
Malfoy glanced up from his notepad the moment he sensed movement beside him. His eyes met Harry's, and the familiar, amused smirk curled across his lips.
"Potter," Malfoy said, raising an eyebrow. "Late as usual, I see."
Harry clenched his jaw, forcing a polite smile as he sat down. "Malfoy,” he replied, his tone curt. “It seems we’re both here for the same reason."
Malfoy’s lips curled into a smirk. "I wouldn’t have pegged you for a symposium enthusiast. Thought you’d be more into, I don’t know, actual science rather than listening to other people talk about it."
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "It’s called staying informed. Some of us take our research seriously."
Malfoy chuckled, a sound that was more mocking than friendly. "Well, if you’re here for Voldemort, you’re in for quite a show. His theories are all the rage. But you and the other nerds from your major should already know that."
Harry just rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the stage. It was hardly the first time someone had called him a nerd, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Malfoy’s snide remarks were more about his lingering bitterness over not being accepted into the same major as Harry, than anything else.
The room buzzed with the kind of quiet anticipation that made the hairs on Harry’s arms stand on end. Voldemort was already at the podium, every inch of him radiating authority. His eyes, very sharp and intelligent, swept over the audience like a predator surveying its territory. There was something magnetic about him—something that commanded attention without a word.
When he spoke, his voice was smooth, reverberating through the packed lecture hall. It wasn’t just the words that held Harry’s focus, but the way Voldemort delivered them—each sentence was a perfectly aimed shot, precise and powerful. Harry, who had been stewing in irritation over Malfoy’s obnoxious commentary earlier, found his annoyance dissolving as he became absorbed in the theories being laid out before him. Voldemort was discussing dark matter in ways that most theorists wouldn’t dare, challenging every assumption and pushing the boundaries of accepted science. Harry was disturbingly… attracted to him.
Everything that man was saying was fascinating, but then—halfway through—something in Voldemort’s theory tripped an alarm in Harry’s mind. A detail about dark matter's interaction with cosmic structures didn’t add up. His brow furrowed as he mentally retraced Voldemort’s logic, searching for the flaw.
Malfoy, ever perceptive when it came to Harry’s moods, leaned in. “What’s the matter, Potter?” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. "You look like you’re about to sword fight someone, only with equations."
Harry shot him a sidelong glance. "There’s a problem with Voldemort’s theory... Something’s off with how he’s describing dark matter’s influence on galactic formation."
Malfoy’s eyebrow arched in interest. "Oh? Going to call him out on it, then? This should be good."
Harry grunted in response, his eyes never leaving the stage. Malfoy’s sarcasm was grating, but the truth was, Harry was considering confronting Voldemort about it. The thought of challenging someone as knowledgeable—and respected—in the field was daunting, but the potential flaw gnawed at him. He couldn't just let it go. He had to ask him as soon as possible.
As the lecture wrapped up, Harry was already on his feet, making a beeline for the front. Malfoy, of course, wasn’t far behind, clearly intent on watching whatever spectacle Harry was about to create.
"I wouldn’t miss this for the world," Malfoy quipped, his voice light and teasing. “Let’s see how you handle yourself against him."
Harry ignored him, focusing instead on the looming figure at the podium. Voldemort was fielding questions from the audience, his responses swift and precise, with just a hint of condescension for anyone who dared ask something foolish. Harry waited, heart pounding, until finally, it was his turn.
He cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Hello sir, my name is Harry Potter,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady. "I’m currently researching dark matter around supermassive black holes, and I noticed a potential inconsistency in your theory regarding its interaction with cosmic structures. Can you specify how you consider those interactions in your approach?"
Voldemort’s eyes locked onto Harry’s, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Harry thought he saw a flicker of curiosity, but it was quickly masked by the usual cool calculation. "A perceptive question, Mr. Potter," Voldemort said, his voice even. "What, specifically, do you believe is inconsistent?"
Harry stepped closer, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline. "In your model, you propose that dark matter plays a dominant role in the formation and structure of galaxies. But recent observations of high-redshift galaxies seem to suggest otherwise. The influence of dark matter appears to be less significant during certain stages of galactic evolution than your model predicts."
Voldemort’s expression shifted, the cool detachment giving way to something more engaged. "I see," he said slowly. "You’re suggesting that my model overestimates the consistency of dark matter’s influence across different evolutionary stages. How, then, do you propose we account for this?"
Harry’s confidence grew. "I think incorporating a variable component could help—one that adjusts the influence of dark matter depending on the stage of galactic formation. It would require recalibrating the model, but it could resolve the discrepancies we’re seeing."
For a long moment, Voldemort didn’t speak. His gaze bore into Harry, as though weighing the merit of the suggestion—and perhaps the audacity of the person making it. Finally, his lips curled into a faint, almost visible smile. "A variable component… an intriguing idea. It would add complexity, yes, but it might indeed address the observational data you’ve cited. Of course," he added, his voice taking on a sharper edge, "such adjustments would require meticulous testing and a considerable shift in the current theoretical framework."
Harry nodded, already anticipating this pushback. "True, but without adjusting the model, we risk being outpaced by the observational data. The field is moving faster than our theories are evolving."
Their exchange crackled with intensity, the air between them seeming to hum with unspoken challenge. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though acknowledging the depth of Harry’s understanding without actually saying the words. "You are... persistent," he remarked, almost amused. "It’s not often I encounter someone so willing to dissect my theories in such detail."
Before Harry could respond, a nearby scientist chimed in, his voice casual, but his words painfully dismissive. "Dark matter’s just a theoretical construct anyway," the man said, his tone earning him a collective groan from the surrounding crowd, including Harry.
Voldemort’s face darkened, his patience clearly thinning. "It’s always enlightening," he muttered, dripping with sarcasm, "to hear such insightful contributions to the discourse."
Harry snorted, unable to contain his laughter. "Amazing how some people manage to turn complex ideas into child’s play, isn’t it?"
Voldemort shot Harry a sidelong glance—was that the ghost of a smirk?—before returning to the conversation. "Indeed," he replied.
Voldemort studied Harry for a moment longer, his gaze sharp and assessing. Harry felt his pulse quicken—not from fear, but from the intensity of the moment. The sheer force of Voldemort's attention was almost suffocating, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. There was a thrill in matching wits with someone so remarkable, in knowing that he had earned even a sliver of the man’s respect.
Voldemort’s lips curved slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. "Mr. Potter," he began, his voice low and measured, "you’ve presented some intriguing points today. It’s clear this debate won’t be resolved in a few minutes." His dark eyes held Harry’s with a magnetic intensity, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. “How about we schedule a more... private meeting to continue our conversation?"
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Their debate had been thrilling, their exchanges... electrifying. And Harry felt like the offer—seemingly casual—carried weight beneath the surface. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just an academic discussion.
For a beat, Harry hesitated, then nodded, his voice steady though his mind was racing. "That sounds... good. I’d be interested in continuing the discussion."
Voldemort’s expression didn’t change, but Harry thought he saw a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "I’ll have my assistant contact you with the details. I’m looking forward to seeing just how far your theories go, Mr. Potter."
Harry wasn’t sure if the meeting would just be about dark matter.
And if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t mind it one bit.