Harry Potter & The Hand God

It started with James Potter. It started with Lily Potter and Petunia Evans and Merlinism and promises unable to be taken back. Devotion and marriage and some strange mix of sisters being sisters even when their last names have changed. Passiveness that Harry Potter would have never allowed. Blackmail and hatred and the bystander effect and -- and, I would say most importantly, love. 

I’d say it started with love.

It continued, really, with the death of James Potter. With Lily joining bodies with her son. Harry Potter’s life of ignorance and disturbed trust; the blurring of enemy and ally until one can completely replace one with the either -- this, my friends, is how it continued.

And this is how it ends.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Harry Potter’s mounting health issues are a constant in his life. Like his disability, it’s something he has learned to accept without improper anger. He’s very well adapted to it. He thinks that if he only has so long to live, then it is all the more reason to get to work.

This feeling -- already urgent -- is given purpose upon the revelation that his father is not, and has never been, quite who he seems. The information that James is Merlin makes a lot of people’s actions sense -- the Ministry unfairly pardoning him; Snape’s hatred toward him; the goblins' odd reactions to him. It’s weird, he thinks, that so many people knew who he was and that none of them thought to tell him. Perhaps there’s more who are like Snape; convinced that Harry already knows everything there is to know about James because he is James himself. 

Perhaps. But also unlikely. The whole world does not think him James. And that means some people hide this information from him for reasons he’s yet to discover. He has accepted this fact enough to want to change it -- the more he understands his influence on the Ministry, the more he can come to utilize it. 

All the acceptance in the world, though, cannot change the fact that his body is not friend. (Nor is it his own -- and those two things are more than mere coincidence.) His classmate, Erada, gave him a prophecy, rough around the edges, saying that he would die -- and soon.

He gave the information to Blaise and got a “I will look into this -- and I will give my all to protect you in the meantime” in return, and though Harry has no idea what ‘this’ is… he’s got a few ideas.

Unbeknownst to him, Blaise is not the only one invested in fixing what is deemed broken. Tom is even further along in his research -- having, even, a name for Harry’s condition and a perpetrator located -- and despite the countless dead ends he’s encountered, he’s devoted. Harry Potter is merely a demigod, but Tom will worship him like he is all his father is and more. A man in love is a spiritual one. 

So Harry has many people working for him and though they work hard and, to the best of their abilities, quickly -- the fact of the matter is that the people working against him are working faster. 

This comes to a head during that long, long winter break at Hogwarts. 

Tom is doing one last patrol around the castle before he heads off to end. He has to do these way less often now -- considering the population in Hogwarts at the moment has significantly dwindled and most of his teachers want him to ‘enjoy his break!’ -- and so it is complete chance that he finds Harry Potter.

Harry Potter had kissed Tom on the cheek after dinner, said, “I’m pooped -- I’m heading to bed now, okay? See you in the morning. I love you.”

And Tom had flushed -- the reality of their relationship is still new and fresh in the way that every “I love you” has his heart fluttering -- and returned the gesture. He frowned when Harry gave the affection to Neville, but here are some things you must accept in the moment… and some things you must resolve to change later. 

Tom would also, he’d like to venture, like to say that he knows Harry quite well. Harry is not exactly boastful -- but he is no way subtle, and he’s not interested in trying to be. His heart is worn on his sleeve and in his throat so, yes, it’s like Harry has said before: He is not ‘fucking shady.’

And so when Tom sees Harry out of bed -- which he had particularly said he wasn’t going to be -- in the middle of the night, his mind does not make any outrageous jumps. Harry Potter is not out at night, doing anything nefarious. Tom is not suspicious -- in fact, he’s worried. 

Because Harry had said he wouldn’t be out here, Tom gets the sense that this isn’t Harry.

It is Lily.

Tom thinks back to the first time he ever gave Harry Potter the light of day -- the day everything continued and the day, for Tom, that everything started -- and is given deja vu.

He tucks himself around the corner and watches. If Lily can give anything away here -- if she starts talking to James again, if she gives away some sort of motive -- then Tom wholeheartedly wants to be there for it.

But something’s wrong. Harry is kneeling on the floor, hands tangled in his hair, curled up so tight it is like he’s holding himself together at the seams. He is… in some sort of pain. And when he sits up a little, Tom does not see Lily’s color shine through his eyes.

There is no hot pink. And so there is no Lily. And so, Tom thinks, what the fuck is Harry doing here? He is not shady and not a liar and, against all of that, he’s out after hours.

Tom steps out from behind the wall with careful, measured steps. He speaks, softly, “Harry?” Harry’s head turns toward him, but it obvious despite the distance that he does so more from the sound rather than any kind of actual recognition.

Tom’s frown deepens. He walks closer, trying not to instigate any tenseness in Harry. “Are you alright?” he asks. 

Harry stares at him with blank, wide eyes -- so unlike the normal passionate look he wears -- and rises on unsteady, shaking legs. He adjusts his glasses with a pale, oddly carried hand. He glances around the corridor. He licks his lips once.

“How…” he says, eyebrows furrowed, “did I get here?”

Tom swallows. “I don’t know, Harry. I assumed you wandered off.”

“No,” says Harry, placing a hand to his temple, eyes squeezing shut. “No, no…”

“No?”

“Where is here?”

Tom is close now. He grabs, gently, Harry’s hand from his temple and holds it in his own. “The corridor,” he says, the words trying their best to clog in his throat. “Of the fifth floor--”

“No,” Harry says again, ripping his hand away from Tom’s. “Where is here?”

Tom stares at him. “Hogwarts,” he says. He tries not to sound so hollow and if Harry notices, it is the least of his concerns. 

Harry is not comforted. He licks his lips again. He opens his mouth and the words that spill out of it have Tom’s heart nearly stopping in his chest. 

“Who are you?”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Tom sits with Harry on the floor for some time. Here’s what he thinks happened: Lily talked with James. Lily then dragged Harry and her to the infirmary for Madame Pomfrey to erase the memory of it. Madame Pomfrey either went too far, or… and this is a scary thought, even a mild Obliviate caused his already fragile mind to shatter. Harry woke to find himself in the middle of a strange corridor and did not have the wits about him to go any further. 

This -- something similar to it -- had happened before. Hermione and Ron have faced a Harry who was clueless to who they are and that did, to his credit, pass. So Tom resolves to wait a minute. Harry eventually recalled who Hermione and Ron were and Tom has no reason to believe that this would not be the same.

Tom waits a minute. Then five. Then ten. Twenty, thirty… forty five minutes have passed when Tom has to accept that years of ceaseless Obliviates have finally done their damage. Years of still growing health problems have come to an anti-climatic peak; the dominos have fallen and Tom does not like where they have landed.

Harry sits on his bed, flipping through his journal, brows furrowed. He does not know these names, these places, does not know any of these entries -- doesn’t know his own name.

He can’t remember anything. 

Tom sits on the floor, watching him, contemplating. He tries not to let his emotions -- his wave supon waves of emotions that want to badly to consume him, to barge into the Hospital Wing and curse Madame Pomfrey until she’s the one suffering like Harry shouldn’t be -- control him. Though this will not fix itself on its own, there’s no reason to think it can’t be fixed at all.

And that brings him to the second issue. 

What does he do?

Because, loathe he is to admit it, it’s like Pomfrey said -- he’s no professional healer. Even if he knew how to fix Harry -- and he doesn’t, despite his weeks of best efforts -- he doesn’t know if he’d have the skill or experience to do it on his own.

And he likes doing things on his own! Before Harry, he’d answer to no one. His Knights were in a constant power play centric game of cat and mouse with him, but Tom knew, at the end of the day, that Tom is the cat. He’s in control; a mastermind of his own deliberately planned destiny.

And so that is why this is problematic (terrifying.) He knows what to expect if he brought Harry to the Hogwarts infirmary; Madame Pomfrey trying some semblance of her best. But without addressing the prime issue -- the issue that Pomfrey causes -- Harry…

Well. Harry would stay shattered.

The only other viable option -- the only one that shows promise, that can save the boy he loves -- is terrifying because Tom does not know what would happen. He doesn’t know if he would get in trouble. He doesn’t know if people would use the incident against him. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know -- he just can’t.

And that is terrifying, the prospect that the empire he has been building for the past seven years can come crashing down that easily. One fell swoop and it could all be over. And the prospect that it won’t? The prospect that nothing will happen and that Harry, even with the help of dozens of the wizarding world’s best medi-witches, will stay (shattered) a shell of himself -- and the prospect that he can pass him getting Harry help as some sort of Prefect’s duty….

It’s up in the air. All of it. And Tom has never liked things so indeterminate.

But Tom rises from the floor, brushes the dust of his robes, and inclines his head at Harry. “Get up,” he says. “C’mon -- we’ve got to go.”

Harry eyes his outstretched hand warily. After a moment, he takes it. “What are we doing?” he asks.

Something I should have done a long time ago.

You’re mine -- and nothing to you is secondary. Haven’t I always done that? Protect what belongs to me? This is no different. This si what I should’ve done the moment I cared to even want to.

I am protecting you. I am uncaring of the personal costs. 

(The things love will make you do.)

Tom squeezes his hand. “We’re going to get you to St. Mungo’s.” And not even Madame Pomfrey will stop him.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Hermione is writing essays. It is an odd thing to do, with Christmas just two days away, with plans to go over to the Weasley household, but it is also a Hermione thing to do. Her version of relaxation is the soothing feeling of accomplishment.

She is huddled over her desk, quill scratching away far past the time the sun has set. Papers are sorted, neatly, on her desk.

And I tell you, friends, that this is how the beginning of the end starts: by chance. By complete and total chance. There is destiny in coincidence.

Hermione sees, out of the corner of her eye, the piece of parchment dedicated to Harry’s surveillance charm. Ever since the incident where he forgot her name, they’ve, upon Tom’s advice, been supervising Harry to the best of their ability. When they cannot be with him, she and Ron take turns watching over their surveniance charm.

It tells him his position in the castle, who is near him, and his current physical state. From their time watching it, they’ve yet to be lucky enough to experience anything out of the ordinary. 

Hermione grabs -- for no reason at all; it’s far too late for Harry to be up -- the parchment. She watches Harry interact with Pomfrey in the infirmary and Hermione expects it is a normal interaction. Pomfrey is his guardian. Where is the suspicion in familiarity? 

And the moment Hermione thinks to look away, go back to work, Harry’s physical state goes from normal -- all systems functioning as they should -- to erratic. Uncertain.

Harry walks and walks until, all of a sudden, he just stops. He is in the middle of a corridor, unmoving, for ten minutes until Tom finds him.

They go to Harry’s dorm. Then to Albus Dumbledore’s office. They stay there for some time. 

Hermione watches this all with a confused experience and an attentive eye.

And… Hermione thinks this is not normal. This is several shades of out of the ordinary. 

Maybe everything is fine. Maybe Harry just had an accident and maybe Pomfrey has nothing to do with it and maybe it is pure and mere coincidence.

It’s entirely possible that everything is fine and what she just saw is worthless.

It’s just that, for some reason, Hermione does not think it is. 

She writes down her findings, includes the surveillance parchment, and seals them both in a letter. 

In the morning, she will walk to the post office. She will send it to the P.O. box that connects to the wizarding world and try to think nothing more of it. 

In the morning, an owl will swoop into the office of Albus Dumbledore -- filled with still bickering students and staff alike -- and the letter it carries will change everything. Or… or it will help change everything.

This, my friends, my readers, is the beginning of the end, and it started a long, long time ago.