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“-. February 20, 1993 .-“

Harry woke up in the hospital wing. Which confused him. Why was he here? He felt great! Why am I in here, Hogwarts?

Hogwarts didn’t reply. It was still fast asleep. Which was more than fair.

“Don’t move too quickly.”

Nicolas was at his bedside.

Harry shot up in bed so fast that all the blood rushed out of his head. The world promptly floated away from under him and he collapsed back with a groan and his vision a blur. He shut his eyes in the hopes of riding out the dizzy spell. Great. He got to feel great while everything else felt horrible at the same time, score another world’s first for Harry Potter, everybody.

Nicolas’ warm hand laid over his forehead. “I did say not to move too quickly, little one.”

Harry brought his hands up to hold it, just to make sure it was real. To make sure he wouldn’t pull away too soon. “How did I get here?” He barely strung out the words, his tongue was so heavy. It felt like just minutes ago he was still a statue down in the Chamber, but at the same time it felt lifetimes away… “What happened?”

Nicolas gently thumbed Harry’s forehead. “What do you remember?”

“I was a statue for…” An all too vivid hallucination came back to him. “Four days I think?”

“Let’s try something else. What is your name?”

Eh? “Harry James Potter.”

“Parents?”

Harry blinked his eyes open in confusion. “James Potter and Lily Potter. Why are you asking this?”

Nicolas went to withdraw his hand but Harry tightened his grip before he could think about it. He promptly pretended he needed the leverage to help himself to a sitting position. Nicolas thankfully didn’t comment on his embarrassing clinginess.

“You’ve just suffered severe head trauma, Harry.” Nicolas compromised by leaving his hand over Harry’s on the bedside. “This is me running a cognitive test. What day is it?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. “I don’t know, how long since I clocked out? Wait, when did I pass out? I only remember up until you dropped your hat on my head and then…” Then it was all…

A dream.

“It is February 20 of 1993. That means you’ve been in here for…” Nicolas trailed off leadingly.

Harry searched Nicolas’ face. “… Two days?” He hedged, then felt relieved when he got a nod. He opened his mouth, then closed it and looked around. His bed was surrounded by dividers and no sounds seemed to be coming from beyond them. That… that was a relief actually. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

A whole lot of being paralysed, terrified and going crazy and then suddenly – no. No, not suddenly at all, but he couldn’t remember almost any of it. There was just one sight he didn’t need to struggle to remember among the many fading from his mind. “Did I stab myself in the head?”

“Starting strong, I see,” Nicolas said drily. He watched Harry for a moment, then raised his other hand entreatingly. “I would like to use legilimency. Is that alright?”

“… As long as you keep asking, I guess it’s fine.” Harry was sure Nicolas always would, but it felt important to say it aloud for some reason.

“Thank you, Harry.” Nicolas pulled his chair closer and locked their eyes together. “Relate the events in your own words.”

Harry thankfully recalled everything up to looking in the Basilisk’s eyes almost perfectly. He remembered his time as a statue almost as well, but for that he wasn’t thankful. His words came increasingly haltingly the further he tried to describe what going mad with paralyzed terror felt like, until he had to take breaks to drink water and wait for his hands and knees to stop shaking.

“We can take a break.”

“No,” even Harry’s breath was tight, but he could do this. He had to do this now, he… “It’s alright if it’s-“ It’s alright if it’s you, but Harry’s words caught in his throat. “I don’t want to do this twice.” It was the sort of weakness Harry had learned the hard way to never show, but…

“Then I am honoured.”

Nicolas guessed what Harry was thinking even without reading his mind. Harry didn’t know what the feeling was called, but it was… It was good.

The rest of what Harry remembered was not as good. It was more confusing than anything.

“You were visited by a geriatric Canadian,” Nicolas flatly summarised. “A geriatric Canadian that either translocated into the Chamber of Secrets in full defiance of Hogwarts wards, or astrally projected. Immediately and spontaneously in response to your accidental intrusion. He also somehow left physical evidence of his passage in the form of a drawing. Made in charcoal on paper, neither of which was conjured.”

“Really? That sounds-” wicked “-powerful.”

“Well intentioned as well,” Nicolas said pensively. “His apparent power and insight into you and your situation is daunting. But he also invested time, energy and goodwill into averting your descent into madness. He even left a physical sign that you had not hallucinated, though that is not the most remarkable thing. What is noteworthy is that he departed without demanding payment, just as the situation turned sufficiently muddled that Magic did not know to initiate a life debt. It’s enough to make me wonder if he came up with an agenda in those few seconds after he became aware of you, or if he’s just mad.”

“I thought all old wizards were mad,” Harry muttered, then blushed at inadvertently calling Nicolas crazy too.

Nicolas didn’t say anything though. Just watched him patiently.

It made Harry feel all warm and fuzzy and tongue-tied. He needed a while before he was able to string words together again. The wait also worked to bring out another vague impression of a new memory. The worst and best of all his memories. “There was another wraith, wasn’t it?”

“There was,” Nicolas said grimly. “The wraith in Ravenclaw’s Diadem was a horcrux, a splinter of Tom Riddle’s soul that he broke off through ritual murder to prevent his soul from passing on upon the body’s death. During your out-of-the-body experience, you intimated that the diary of Tom Riddle – the item that Ginevra Weasley was under the control of, it seems – was another such item. They have both been destroyed as of yesterday. You have already deduced the rest.”

“I had one in my forehead,” Harry breathed. “I had a piece of my parents’ murderer inside me. Inside my head.” Now that he knew it, he could actually remember some things after his return to his body a bit better. But a bit better wasn’t much improvement over nearly nothing. “I can remember everything that happened after I was petrified up to when you found me.” Harry said, desperately trying not to think about the fact that he had apparently been the host of Voldemort’s soul his whole life. “But not afterwards, even after I… returned to my body apparently? I must have done it, if I did… that.”

“You did. After you rode the White Hart to perform an exorcism on Miss Weasley, led your own version of the Wild Hunt through half the castle in broad daylight, captured the malignant spirit in the middle of Potions class, then promptly followed this by improvising a shaman’s spirit channelling to draw Gryffindor’s sword from the stone in front of a quarter of the school. You used said sword to slay the basilisk shortly after, in case that hasn’t come back to you yet.”

Harry didn’t reply. He was too stunned.

“The swordsmanship could be explained via Gryffindor’s assistance, but you also displayed spell mastery well ahead of even a full Hogwarts education. I assume this means you were able to draw on those past lives you mentioned in your letters, which doubtlessly compounds your inability to recall things now.”

“What?” Harry could only stare in open-mouthed shock. “What?”

Nicolas reached into a bag next to his chair and pulled out a rolled up sheet of paper. “Do you recall this at all?”

Harry shook his head in a vain attempt to get a hold of himself. “… I remember seeing him draw.” Harry said slowly. “But everything after is a blur, except for when I… stabbed myself in the forehead with a basilisk fang apparently. I was trying to get the thing out of my scar, wasn’t I? Why can’t I remember?”

“Long-term memory self-actualises by assimilating from short-term memory, and short-term memory amounts to only about ten minutes. Breaking free from the confines of the flesh lets you dream entire lifetimes in moments, but you still only retain ten minutes’ worth when you return and ‘wake up’ as it were. You’ve yet to overcome this limitation.”

The penny dropped. “Is that what the rune stick and hat are for?”

There was an approving glint in Nicolas’ gaze. “The diviner’s path does indeed rely on overcoming this limitation, but I will refrain from influencing your path any further.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Harry balked in complete disbelief. “It’s way too late for that!”

“I’ve been guiding and teaching, Harry. Only what I did the other day was an overstep.”

“Says who? I don’t!”

“Nevertheless, I stand by my decision,” Nicolas was firm. “You’ve saved innocents, saved the school from closing, slain a thousand years-old class five monster, and used the spoils from that feat to destroy a living horcrux without killing said first living horcrux for the first time in history. You even had enough gumption at the end to use a heretofore untapped metamorphmagus talent to defeat what was probably the strongest petrification curse of the last thousand years. I cannot even begin to think of a better balance of help and restraint on my part. I would be mad to change my approach now.”

Again with using not being mad as a defence, was Harry truly so lucky that he got the only old wizard that wasn’t crazy? Wait, no, don’t tempt fate!

“It’s alright Harry.” Nicolas squeezed his hand, smiling reassuringly while completely misunderstanding Harry’s internal crisis. “You saved the girl. You slew the demon. You expelled the parasite. You even redeemed your reputation and that of all who believed in you, building an immortal legend in the doing. You’re alright now, better than ever. Take a moment and bask in your accomplishment, little one. You deserve it.”

“That’s not the point!” Harry cried, and wait, why was he freaking out? “That’s not it at all, don’t change the subject! I didn’t - Immortal legend!?” Harry shrieked as embarrassment did what everything else had failed. Shrieked! “I don’t want an immortal legend!”

Nicolas turned stern. “If you keep screaming at me it will hardly get any smaller.”

Harry snapped his mouth shut and blushed.

Nicolas crossed his arms and waited, but his patience felt a lot less emboldening now.

Harry’s heart sank. “I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Nicolas softened back to his usual self. “I forgive you. If it becomes a habit, though, I’ll not be as lenient.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry muttered, then mentally slapped himself for acting like Nicolas was Uncle Vernon. He thinned his lips, sat up straight and looked Nicolas in the eye. “It won’t happen again.”

“Oh I’m fairly sure it will, you’re a bullied child that’s regained just enough self-worth to push boundaries.” How did grownups make you feel good and bad all at once? “But the spirit of your promise is appreciated. Here. Your drawing.”

Harry blinked and accepted the rolled up paper. And the change of subject. When he unfurled it, he found a very detailed schematic – not sketch, schematic – of what could only be one of those weird tentacle spaceships that Colin and Justin had told him about. “What the h-?”

“Ahem.”

“-Heck,” Harry amended quickly. “… I have no idea what this means. I mean I know what it means, you just told me what it means, I just don’t know what drawing this specifically and leaving it behind means.”

Nicolas sat back, peering at him knowingly. “I think you do.”

Harry made a face. “There’s no way the biggest and baddest of all visions was about some board game.”

“Prophecy manifests through the observer’s frame of reference, and you’re a child that’s been short-changed on playtime your whole life. It’s farther from impossible than you think.”

“No,” Harry said stubbornly. “That can’t be it. If it’s my frame of reference that matters, then I say that’s not it.”

“Oh I agree,” but he’d just-! “And I’ll try to look into any ‘Ed’ connected to this game of your muggleborn acquaintances. Hopefully he won’t take offense. I’m surprised, however, I’d have thought you’d appreciate the possibility that you might have overestimated the scope. You’ve certainly done your best to minimise the scope of all the other visions. Quite effectively too.”

“Only because it made the most sense.” Harry huffed. “And I still got petrified and almost killed. Fat lot of good the Walk did there.” Actually, that was a really good point! “Wait, why didn’t I get any useful visions about all this? Getting petrified and killing a basilisk in ghost-possessed statue form is a pretty huge thing to miss!”

“A diviner can never divine his own future.” Nicolas told him.

Harry sputtered in outrage. “That’s the stupidest rule of Magic I’ve ever heard, and I know Gamp’s Fifth law!”

“Gamp’s law is there by design.” What? “But this is no rule at all, Harry. It’s the observer effect. Once you know the results of your choices, you change your choices. Some change in behaviour and attitude is inevitable. Knowing the consequences of your choices leads to further refined choices, or bad choices based on events even further out. And so on and so on in an infinite feedback loop. An infinity of changed futures means no future to see."

“That-“ That doesn’t make any sense, Harry wanted to say, but he disagreed with his own knee-jerk reaction the moment he thought about it. But still! “I can only see everyone else’s futures but not mine? That doesn’t sound fair.”

“Isn’t it? It’s not some law imposed by a cruel higher power, Harry. It’s informed decision-making. Free will, Harry. Do you regret having it?”

“Oh.” Harry felt like he had just experienced a revelation. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, most people don’t think about it either, but they still act by their own will anyway, even if just to choose to think and do what others tell them. You are well ahead of most in this regard. You should feel proud.”

"Should I?" Harry wondered, because he seemed to be going all in on this pushing boundaries business, even if it meant arguing for the sake of arguing because he needed something to stop him from exploding from all the praise. "I thought pride was a sin." He joked. It was a joke, right?

“Unearned pride is hubris. Earned pride is the ideal state of man, it means you’re accomplishing your best self. Granted, people usually don’t go about it so literally, but that just goes to show that I am a very good judge of character.”

If he ever took on the job of an educator, Nicolas Flamel would drive every other teacher out of business. “Hold on,” Harry frowned. “You’re wrong. I did see my own future.”

Nicolas raised an amused eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“I did! I saw my duel with Draco Malfoy.”

“You didn’t see your future, you saw Draco Malfoy’s.” Nicolas spoke with the sort of confidence that Harry barely dreamed of possessing. “The fact you saw that vision speaks to the lack of control you had over that outcome compared to all other forces and actors at the time. And you saw for yourself how little even that amounted to in the end, once you observed the ultimate driving force behind that future.”

“Oh,” Harry frowned. “I thought it was like a fixed point in time.” Had Hermione’s dad’s science fiction marathons lied to him? But then fixed points couldn’t be changed at all-

“There is no such thing,” Nicolas declared with all the confidence of six hundred years, which meant Mister Granger’s hobby had lied to him, how could he do such a thing? “There is only the past and the present. Even they have gaps that have yet to be filled, and everything else is up to us to create. Notice how the duel with young Malfoy is the only future you managed to outright prevent? That’s the full extent of your leeway. You’ve already considered that you might not have acted by your own will there. Consider also that it might not even have been you in that vision at all. Occam’s Razor would suggest it was, but your frame of reference would certainly allow otherwise. Polyjuice Potion is just one of several ways to impersonate someone, and you yourself just achieved a second.”

The life-altering revelations just didn’t want to stop.

Harry decided to just roll with it. They were just more things to add to the list of why his life was great and he should feel great.

Then he promptly experienced what Nicolas had meant way back, when he said that the best ideas come out of nowhere after you’ve already thought yourself out. “You can’t divine the future of other diviners either, can you?”

The pride and vindication in Nicolas’ eyes made Harry’s breath catch. “Very good, little one.”

There was even more to dig under that epiphany, somehow Harry was sure of it. But he found that he couldn’t think any thoughts at all when Nicolas was looking at him like that. It wasn’t fair, Harry didn’t want to make a fool of himself, why was Nicolas trying to make him cry? “So,” Harry quavered, then forcefully cleared his throat so he wouldn’t choke up. “What now?”

“Now I ask you if there’s anything else you want to ask me before I hand you over to your friends. I’m afraid Mister Longbottom is still petrified, but Mister Weasley and Miss Granger are anxious to welcome you back among the hale. I’ve also prevailed upon Albus to make a perfunctory appearance, hard though it might have been. You’d almost think he regrets that Malfoy Sr. has finally stopped being a nuisance.’”

Headmaster Dumbledore didn’t want to see him? “What did I do this time?” Harry demanded, feeling more annoyed than ashamed for once. “Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

“I believe that watching you stab yourself with the razor-sharp fang of the darkest of dark creatures, which was incidentally dripping with the most corrosive substance on Earth, has poor Albus rethinking all his life’s choices. Watching a twelve year-old child commit suicide is bad. Being the one who drove that child to suicide is worse.”

“I’m not suicidal!” Harry balked, aghast.

Nicolas didn’t say anything.

“I’m not!” Harry insisted. He wasn’t suicidal. He wasn’t!

Nicolas still didn’t say anything.

“I’m not suicidal,” Harry said more calmly. Talking calmly made you easier to believe, right? “I may not remember all the details but I’d definitely remember that!”

“And yet it would have been suicide if Albus was any slower on the uptake. You know it. You knew it then. You know it now.” Nicolas beheld him with eyes so intense that Harry belatedly wondered how distraught he had to be right now. “I don’t believe for a second you didn’t know what you were doing. The risk of death was far higher than the odds of surviving long enough for the horcrux to unravel, if it even did. But you chose to leap regardless. You were ready to die, Harry.”

Harry dropped his head, but then straightened again. He knew what he was doing. He remembered enough of what he felt to know that much. He wasn’t the one in the wrong here. But then why couldn’t he meet Nicolas’ eyes? He crossed his arms and averted his face. “It was worth it.”

“I disagree.”

His head snapped back in surprise.

“Harry. There was no immediate danger. Your mother’s magic had the parasite so tightly locked that none of our spells could even see it through the golden glow. The White Hart is aware now also, cross-contamination was well and truly halted. But it didn’t occur to even your best self that you could wait.”

“Wait for what?” Harry insisted stubbornly. “Wait for Voldemort to get resurrected? Because that’s what’s going to happen!”

“Wait for better conditions perhaps?” It was a question, but Nicolas’ voice was unusually flat. “Petrification, basilisk venom, a sharp knife, all of those could have been replicated later. Perhaps when we had some forewarning that you will need an immediate dose of phoenix tears or you’ll die in my arms.”

Harry gripped the blanket in his tight fists. He knew he’d shock them, but it was over and done with, and everything was fine. Why would they still be upset? “I knew you’d want to stop me,” he admitted. “That’s why I couldn’t give either of you the chance. I knew it would work.” It had to work. “And I was right.”

“Oh Harry…”

Harry swallowed and blinked rapidly, desperate to stem the tears. He thought Nicolas might be angry, he could have dealt with it if he’d gotten angry, but he wasn’t. He didn’t even sound disappointed, he was… he sounded…

Heartbroken.

“Perhaps it’s better to rip the band-aid off all at once,” Nicolas murmured. When his voice came again, it was wrought in iron. “If, after all this and whatever else happens, you still decide in favour of coming under my guardianship, you will not continue at Hogwarts.”

Harry Potter’s head snapped up and he stared at Nicolas Flamel in open-mouthed betrayal. “What!? What do you mean? How can you say that!?”

“Your dead mother wove her fortune and spirit into yours to keep you safe. Your dead father has been acting across timelines to slay your enemies and give you a home to live in. I can never compete with that, nor would I want to.” The matter-of-fact words cut at Harry’s… everything. He hadn’t considered any of that when he decided he was ready to throw everything away. Hadn’t considered- “But I still have my best to do by you. And my best does not include letting you spend more time in a place where you suffer routine attempts on your life.”

“But…” It only happened once, was what Harry was about to say before he remembered it was actually three times, and those were just the ones he knew of. Somehow, he doubted Nicolas would consider it a good argument. “That’s…” That’s not fair, Harry wanted to say, but Harry couldn’t get that past his tongue either. “It’s… It’s Hogwarts…” It felt like that should be enough to win any argument, so why did the words feel so empty all of a sudden?

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“Well, apparently Hogwarts is going to get so much worse that you were ready to commit suicide at age twelve to spare yourself the pain.”

It wasn’t a joke, and it didn’t feel like one, but it was one. The most absurd cosmic joke in the universe, that was his life. Harry didn’t feel like laughing.

“I’m not making you choose,” Nicolas said quietly. “You can accept. You can refuse. You can choose your Godfather instead. I will teach you all I can regardless. I will do all I can to let you maintain your friendships regardless. You will not be going back to your aunt and uncle regardless. But just as I settle for no half-measures as a teacher, I will not give half-measures as a parent.”

Harry just kept staring at Nicolas with the same soul-tearing betrayal. There was a feathery tightness inside his chest. His heart seemed to try to burst out and his blood pounded in his head. He had no words for the feelings Nicolas had just ignited in him. It felt like the whole world had collapsed from under him.

“I know Hogwarts feels like your only real home.” Nicolas made to reach out, but Harry drew back so he clasped hands together instead. “But home is not a place where people try to routinely murder you. And tell me honestly – does this home come with a family? Truly?”

“Yes it does!” Harry bit out, even though he knew it for a lie the moment he said it. The House you got sorted in was supposed to be your second family, but none of them acted like it. He’d paid in literal blood and sweat for all his friendships, and everyone other than those five people still assumed the worst of him when the going got tough. Even McGonagall never did the right thing despite using him for her own gratification in Quidditch. She even let Snape bully him and so many others and called it staying ‘neutral.’ She was the Deputy Headmistress, she was the Gryffindor Head of House, she wasn’t supposed to be neutral, she should be being fair.

The closest thing to a family were Ron and Hermione, but the three of them were barely anything like the Weasleys. There was a tight bond of trust between them, loyalty forged on the battlefield even, but friendship and family were different things. He would do anything for them, but he was an orphan. If he weren’t, if his parents still lived, would he feel so strongly?

No. No he wouldn’t. Already he didn’t feel for them nearly as strongly as whatever he was feeling for Nicolas right now.

Nicolas watched him. Waited for him to gather his words. Words that actually meant something.

Harry never thought he’d resent him for it. Never thought that someone’s patience could feel so oppressive, he never thought he’d receive respect and only want to throw it back in someone’s face. He never thought he’d be so angry at him. That he’d finally have a grownup give him everything he ever wanted and only feel angry for it.

This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair, none of this was fair.

“That is all I had to say,” Nicolas finally spoke when Harry proved unable. He waited a moment longer to see if Harry would say anything. When he didn’t, he nodded somberly, stood and waved down with his hand. Suddenly, Harry could hear all sorts of noises coming from beyond the dividers. “I’ll be there for you when you’re ready to talk again, if you wish. I’m glad you live and were able to make a full recovery. I hope you won’t be so quick to throw your life away from now on.”

Nicolas pulled the drapes apart and left for the infirmary exit, where Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore were not so subtly blocking the door against a veritable crowd of gawkers from all four houses.

No, this isn’t over, wait, don’t go, come back! But Harry still felt too angry and betrayed to get any words out as his friends did everything short of tackle-hug him a few seconds later.

“-. .-“

Harry barely listened to his friends speaking over each other. He wasn’t losing out on anything. They’d get frustrated and bicker and stop in embarrassment, then start from the top all over again. He instead looked at his two friends intensely, memorising their voices and faces. It was still months before he had to make a decision, but it already felt like he’d never have the chance to do this again.

When they fell silent, Ron and Hermione fidgeted in place and looked at him strangely. Relieved and happy enough to cry – which they still were, sniffles and everything – but weird all the same. The fact that Harry was more upset now than on Valentine’s day was apparently suspicious.

Harry greeted them, reassured them, dismissed their worries about his sorry state. Revealed nothing about what he and Nicolas had just talked about. Admitted nothing. Hinted nothing. Especially not how he wished Nicolas had dropped his bomb and immediately left like he did before, instead of sitting and waiting for Harry to try and completely fail to find his own piece to say. At least then Harry could stay properly angry at him, instead of spending however long it took to meet again facing the fact that he had not even one counter-argument.

He couldn’t leave his bed fast enough.

“What happened while I was out?” He asked as soon as his head stopped floating and his feet didn’t feel like they’d fold under his weight. He wanted an update, he told himself, it wasn’t just to distract himself.

“Ginny’s alright,” Ron said hoarsely. “You saved her, mate. First Fred and George and now her! I was there when you – I saw it, it was the most amazing thing I ever… You were like the Erlking! You came up riding the White Hart of legend, and then your Patronus just… it was just…” Ron broke into tears. “You owe me ten galleons!”

Harry suddenly felt stupid for thinking his friends would ever have trouble distracting him from his woes. Also. “What?”

Ron sniffled, took out his wand and warbled– “Expecto Patronum!”

A great white stallion charged out of Ron’s wand, luminescent as the moon and toweringly massive. It proceeded to canter all over the infirmary, leaving lingering trails of stardust all through the air, drapes and petrified students.

Harry watched, awestruck. That was three years ahead of time! “Wow, Ron! That’s an easy O on the DADA owl!”

“You owe me ten galleons.” Ron sobbed, voice hoarse with half-swallowed feelings.

“Sixteen galleons,” Hermione quavered too, hastily wiping her own tears. “One for succeeding, five for the mist, ten for making it corporeal.”

“Sixteen galleons then.” Harry could hug them both. No, not could have. Would have. He hugged them both.

They all but squeezed the life out of him in their huddle.

When they finally broke apart, Harry already felt a hundred times better. He resolutely did not think about what it meant for his future hug prospects that he might not be returning to Hogwarts next year. “What about the other victims?”

“The mandrakes haven’t matured yet,” Hermione wiped her face with her handkerchief and joined him with Ron to stand at Neville’s bedside. He was on his side, still stuck in that half-kneeling position with a hand reaching low. “He was looking through my mirror from under the stall door when the basilisk gaze caught him. Ginny never even knew he was there.”

Harry was able to check on Colin and Justin too, before Madam Pomfrey finally materialised and shooed them off after one last diagnostic spell. Harry caught his reflection in a mirror on the way out. There was no trace of a scar on his forehead anymore, but his hair was red even now. Scowling, he wished it would finally just turn- oh, it was black again. Finally! Maybe now Snape would stop looking at him so strangely.

Actually, no, never mind. Who cared about Snape? Certainly not him!

The headmaster was just outside the door.

“Mister Potter,” Dumbledore said calmly, hands clasped behind his back. “The harrowing events of the past week are a matter of utmost secrecy. So, naturally, the whole school knows.”

Of course it did, why would it be anyway else? Harry scowled. “For the record, I never wanted and still don’t want an immortal legend.”

“I am afraid you failed in that regard.”

“Well that’s just perfect.”

“It was obviously the ghosts,” Hermione muttered behind him. “Nothing else makes much sense.”

“Nah, it was the portraits for sure,” Ron disagreed, not even trying to keep his voice low despite the crowd of gawkers that had only grown bigger over yonder. “Gryffindor’s portrait’s been looking like he ate a huge canary cake all by himself.”

Was nothing ever going to go his way? “Do we at least know how Ginny got the diary?”

“I will tell you what has been deduced. We believe the diary was slipped into Ginny Weasley’s cauldron after the brawl between the Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley in Diagon Alley. Naturally, this has been vehemently denied by the former, and alas, there is no proof available to push the matter, at least without any further developments.” Dumbledore’s sight lingered on Ron briefly there, and why – oh, the ‘anonymous’ tip! “The consciousness in the diary proved most resistant to interrogation as well, unfortunately, and such would have been useless in any case. Any incriminating account from that corner was rendered null and void with the pardon at the end of the war. I will mention that Lucius Malfoy looked rather aghast when I explained exactly what the item was, and doubly so when I invited him to witness its destruction. He even tried to argue for its handover to the Department of Mysteries.”

Which would have been a complete disaster, though Harry wasn’t sure why he felt that way about something he was only now learning about. He was pretty sure he’d never heard about the Department of Mysteries before. Was it his dreams again? “Well, I’m glad it’s gone.”

“Quite.” Dumbledore’s tone made Harry tense. The headmaster was watching him every bit as intensely as Nicolas had, near the end there. Harry didn’t feel like his mind was being ransacked, but- “I have decided to try your suggestion.”

“Huh?” Harry was completely thrown? “My what?”

“You suggestion during our dinner with Nicolas.”

What was he- oh. Oh. “… Are you sure? It’s probably dangerous, isn’t it?”

“I believe I can mitigate the risks well enough.” Dumbledore nodded then. “The evening feast will be starting soon. I trust you will make it?”

“Sure?” Harry was practically ravenous already, why would the headmaster need to ask? “There’s not still people on the ‘Harry Potter’s the Heir of Slytherin train’ are there?” He still wasn't clear on how that happened in the first place.

“Oh, I dare say you don’t have to worry about that.”

That didn’t make him feel much better at all!

Dumbledore was watching him. Lingering there for some reason or- “Sometimes, disagreements can seem insurmountable.” No. “But they never are. And if I may be so bold, you will find no better advocate than him.”

Dammit.

“Have a good day, Harry. Mister Weasley, Miss Granger.”

Dammit.

“Same to you, sir,” Ron said when Harry failed to speak.

The crowd of students parted like waves before a barge as Dumbledore turned around and left, and Harry braced himself for his friends to-

“Like Wild Hunt’s ghosts before the Erlking didst the gawkers split,” Ron muttered as if he hadn’t even been there for Dumbledore’s blatant… whatever that was and since when did Ron-? “Behold the hero rendered bare, to the hunger most ravenous of thirsting plebeians.”

What the hell?

“As now they are, and making practised smiles as in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as 'twere the mort o' the deer.” Hermione too!? “O, that is entertainment my bosom likes not, nor my brows!”

Ron gaped at Hermione, outraged. “You so totally stole that!”

“It’s Shakespeare, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, turning her nose. “Honestly, don’t you read?”

“So you admit it!”

Hermione scowled at him. “You’re hardly in a position to throw stones.”

“You wish!” Ron scoffed. “Unlike you, I don’t need to steal lines from other people.”

“You mean you just made that up?”

“Duh! You mean you didn’t?”

Hermione gaped and flushed red. “You’re impossib-AH!” Then she shrieked upon turning away only to kiss Ron’s Patronus right on the lips.

Ronald Billius Weasley cackled gloatingly. It actually spooked the first wave of well-wishers some. It took quite some time for Ron to notice Harry’s stare. “Fred and George have been going Thespian on everyone in sight since you disappeared,” Ron admitted. “Seems to piss the bigger morons right off.” He turned his scowl upon the encroaching mass. “Doesn’t seem to work as well for me though.”

They were promptly overrun soon after.

Shockingly, Harry and his friends weren’t trampled to death by the mob. In fact, the mob was actually smaller than it seemed at first glance. Also, it was entirely made of the immediate friends of the petrified victims and their immediate friends. The upside of which was that Harry didn’t know any of them personally, so he didn’t need to put time and effort into playing nice. Well, no more than politeness demanded. On the other hand, this also meant that these students – almost all of them upper years – cared just as little about what he wanted to say. The result of which was a total deluge of talking over each other demanding answers to their questions. Harry seriously considered keeping his mouth shut and pushing through them to escape, but…

Does this home come with a family? Truly?

Harry planted his feet and began answering questions from pure spite. Yes he was alive. Yes he’d been petrified. Yes he had unpetrified himself. Yes he knew how to explain it. No he wasn’t going to explain it, as if he’d ever mention the metamorphmagus thing, he wasn’t crazy no matter what everyone else thought! What do you mean he was being an arse for keeping it to himself? It wasn’t something that would work on someone else! Even he didn’t understand it, what do you mean am I the heir of Slytherin after all, how the hell are you still on about that!?

“The truth is scarier to them, Harry Potter,” came the absently cheery words as Harry grit his teeth at the busybodies that were now shying back from the sight of him. He didn’t know how his sparking wand had appeared in his hand. All he knew was that it felt very, very right somehow. But now there was a tiny girl in front of him. Ravenclaw. Long platinum pale hair fluttering in the air with every bounce. An eerily familiar first-year girl with an almost vacant look on her face as she skipped forward and gave him a newspaper. The Quibbler. February 20 Special Edition.

HARRY POTTER – INOCENT CHILD OR WALKING DEAD?

By Xenophilius Lovegood

For twelve years Harry Potter has been believed to be a simple child of age with our own children just starting Hogwarts. None of us have ever questioned that the many epics written about his early life have not even a grain of truth to them. Yet word out of Hogwarts has cast doubt on the fictional nature of the Harry Potter biographies. No doubt the vast majority of them are still complete nonsense, but one fact is now undeniable: Harry Potter has been dead this whole time! The Harry Potter we know of was just a homunculus double meant to distract from the preparations for our hero’s true triumphant return! In spirit!

“Daddy’s completely wrong of course,” said Luna Lovegood as she tucked her hair behind her radish earring. “You were obviously taken in by the Wild Hunt and have been receiving secret training to fight the evil spirits in charge of the minister’s secret army of heliopaths. A very good plan of course, otherwise they’ll be subverted by the forces of darkness when they return. Which they will of course, they’ve tried to kill you too many times to stop now.”

What was she - how was any of that- what did she mean it was obvious, completely loony is what – wait, what forces of darkness was she talking about?

“I’m glad you don’t take your body with you for it though. What happened to King Herla was the last straw for Merlin, did you know? If the little fairy king hadn’t deprived the Britons of their greatest king and besmirched the reputation of the dwarves by pretending to be one, house elves might not exist as we know them today.”

King who?

But Luna Lovegood was already skipping away. Barefoot. Just like she had when…

She was there, Harry remembered. She went on the yearly walk just like I did! And she was loopy as all get out. Is that going to happen to me?

“King Herla sounds vaguely familiar,” Hermione grudgingly confessed as she bravely interposed herself between the others and Harry as they made their escape. Harry did the polite thing and waved goodbye even as they made tracks as fast as they could without breaking into a run outright.

“He’s the Elrking,” Ron revealed as he interposed himself between the others and Hermione. “It’s in the Tales of Beedle and the Bard.”

“Well I haven’t read them yet,” Hermione declared ever so primly. “I’ve had slightly more important things to research than children’s fairy tales.”

“And now you just look silly,” Ron smirked at Hermione’s affronted look. “What? It happens so rarely, let me enjoy the moment!”

“Hmph!”

Ron spent their walk arguing with Hermione for a while. Hermione explained how King Herla must be from somewhere else because she could only have come across the name in the muggle world. Ron avoided conceding the argument by somehow derailing the whole talk into brainstorming a strategy for becoming a straight-O student. Somehow, bribery got involved. And self-hypnotism. When Hermione shot both down, Ron challenged her to come up with a better method to avoid studying his brain to death. When Hermione failed to convince him that that didn't mean what he thinks it means, she put up the merits of not ending up maimed, crucioed or possessed as motivational factors. Ron groused that he'd already thought about that, thank you very much. In fact, he'd already owled his brother Charlie about a summer job at the dragon reserve in Romania. Hermione praised him and encouraged him to refine his plans by the time their career counselling meetings with McGonagall came up.

“You think she’ll have a problem with it?” Ron asked. “I get to make money and play with man-eating baby dragons that like to bite and spit fire at the people shovelling their mom’s manure.”

Hermione scrunched her nose. “How you could possibly consider those to be positives is beyond me.”

Ron nodded sagely. “It’s good to know your limits.” And there they go again.

Career counselling meetings. It had completely slipped his mind that those were a thing.

Harry looked at his two friends, doing his best to sear their voices and faces in his mind. It was still months before he had to make a decision, but it already felt like he'd never have the chance to do this again. In a betrayal of everything he'd ever wanted, Harry Potter wished Nicolas Flamel had given an ultimatum instead.

Being forced to choose would have been less painful than this.

He needed a distraction.

And he got one.

When it finally came, though, it was nothing Harry had expected. Which made sense, and at the same time didn’t. The past few days should have left him more prone to off-putting deja vu than before, not less. Then again, it was supremely unlikely that the distraction in question would repeat itself. Ever.

“This is not the entry hall,” Hermione called out, coming to a stop. “Where are we? The hospital wing is literally right across the hallways from the Great Hall. How did we get lost?”

“Blimey, we’re on the seventh floor!” Ron realised. “Look at the portraits. What the hell, we didn’t even climb any stairs! I knew Hogwarts changes on you, but not this much!”

Well. Harry knew a lure when he saw one, and this one was as blatant as they got.

Sure enough, Godric Gryffindor was waiting for them when they reached his portrait. Harry took his time to study the Founder for once. The man was big, tall, broad and muscled like three men in one. His tunic was made of a rich, burgundy material lined with gold at the seams, but did little to conceal the man’s bulky frame. Red hair, red beard that fell like a lion’s mane all the way to his chest. Great crimson cloak around his shoulders. And at his side was his sword in its sheath, handle held in his grip.

Gryffindor beckoned and set off through the portraits.

What else could they do but follow?

The founder led them all the way to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and promptly turned and walked out of the scene into the real world. Harry could only stop and stare.

“Where’d he go?” Ron asked, peering all over the tapestry. Could he not see him?

“He just vanished,” Hermione echoed, because neither of them could apparently see Gryffindor right there out with them.

Gryffindor watched them mildly, then turned to Harry with a warm, meaningful smile. Walked soundlessly across the hallway and paced in front of the wall three times.

A door melted into view. The grinding of the stone attracted his friends’ attention. Gryffindor sent Harry one last glance and walked through the wall.

The three exchanged glances, and agreed wordlessly that Harry should go first.

After the Chamber of Secrets, Harry had expected something grand. But the room was nothing like that. It wasn’t exactly tiny, you could probably fit their whole dorm inside, but it was pretty unremarkable, with round walls and simple masonry. There was hardly any room to care about any of that though, when the first and last thing you cared about was the thing in the middle.

A big round stone with Gryffindor’s Sword sticking out of it.

“Bit on the nose, isn’t it?” Ron breathed faintly.

Harry stared at the sword. The silver gleamed in the semi-darkness and the red rubies were large as eggs. He hesitated.

Then walked over and grabbed the hilt.

Gryffindor faded into view in front of him, so full of color that you could almost swear he was alive again. He reached out for the hilt as well. When his hand laid over Harry’s, it felt as real as flesh.

“You did well, Little Warrior,” the man murmured. Well, what passed for a murmur on such a loud and larger-than-life man. “But your skill is atrocious. A stain on the honour of my house. ‘Tis most egregious!” The grin came clearly through that bristling mane of red. “You do mean to correct this failing, I hope?”

Harry, thankfully, was only almost stunned to the point of speechlessness. “Uh… sure?”

Gryffindor’s smile turned warmer. “You don’t need to agree if you don’t want to, child.”

“I do!” Harry blurted. He was panicking, why was he panicking? “I really do, I think. I mean, after what happened and, well…” Harry felt frustration overcome him. “Ugh, this is all Slytherin’s fault. His bloody pet knocked me stupid and now I can’t even string two words together.”

A shadow passed over Gryffindor’s face. “Don’t be too hard on him. He had good reason to build the chamber and put a monster in.”

Harry looked back at in disbelief. “What reason could possibly be good enough?”

“The Norman invasion.”

“Oh.” That was a big deal in Britain’s history, wasn’t it? “Sorry.”

“It is not your failing that you’ve been educated falsely,” Godric sighed. “But enough of such somber topics! This is a good day! I trust I don’t need to say what you’re supposed to do?”

Harry grinned, planted his feet and pulled the sword from the stone. The blade cut the air with a ringing song that Harry remembered crystal clear even though he didn’t remember anything else of that memory.

“Good. Now watch closely because I’m not usually one for showmanship either.” The man turned translucent and flowed over and through him, taking something of Harry and extending it, overlaying it until he and Gryffindor both overshadowed the sword.

"Just a moment," the Founder's thoughts were almost too loud in Harry's mind, "I can do a fair few things on my own, but Wizardry is still the province of the living. Here we go."

The Sword of Gryffindor shimmered, made a soft – SWISH – and transformed into a fountain pen.

Thankfully, Harry’s seeker reflexes were their own entity these days. The pen was made of silver with the rubies small and sparkling in a line along the barrel. Was this really happening?

“The quill is not mightier than the sword, but it’s still useful, wouldn’t you say?”

The pen felt natural and real in his grasp. Harry then felt a mental prompt from… the possessed sword?

“You can call me Godric, Little Warrior.”

… Then I’m honoured.

Harry thought it would hurt to use the same words, but even angry at Nicolas as he was, paying forward only made Harry happy.

Taking a deep breath to banish those feelings, he turned the pen between his fingers and it became a quill. Turning it again changed it back into a pen. With a bit of focus, he found he could make it change just by wanting it hard enough.

At the far end of the room, a wooden post appeared.

“Observe and learn, now, the Daring Guard of the Archer.”

Harry grabbed the hilt in a reverse grip, let the sword move his arms and threw it like a spear.

Godric drove so deep into the wood that the tip burst out the other side.

“Now reach in your pocket.”

He could still hear him? Harry reached in his pocket and pulled out the Pen of Gryffindor. Startled, he looked up to find that the sword had vanished. It had vanished and returned to him on its own. "Wicked!" With a nudge of his mind, the pen became the sword once again. This was the third, no, fourth bestest thing ever!

“I’ll go off haunting when we’re not doing anything, or if you just need privacy.” Voice didn’t come through in mental communication, you just knew what the thought was the moment it happened. But Harry still fancied he could hear the deep rumble of the man as he spoke. “But I’ll be there for you whenever you need me.”

I’ll be there for you when you’re ready to talk again.

Harry clenched his hand around the hilt and bit his lip. If he didn’t, he might cry. Or whoop up and down the chamber until he collapsed from exhaustion. Probably both. Was there anything that wouldn’t remind him of Nicolas?

“Bloody brilliant.”

“I can’t believe the Sword in the Stone lacked so much gravitas!”

Oh right, his friends were still there.

Harry turned to them, sword in hand, but found he had no idea what to say. He turned Godric back into a pen and put it in his pocket. He still didn’t know what to say. What to think.

Ron didn’t know either. Hermione didn’t know either.

The space between them inflated like an invisible balloon and spat out a tiny spelljammer crewed by hamsters.

…

What.

Harry’s mind promptly experienced the equivalent of double vision as his soul-deep wave of disbelief found itself in good company. “…Starting our partnership strong, aren’t we? I thought we’d get at least a decade together before you knocked me stupid again.”

Harry Potter and company watched in dumbstruck silence as the little flying ship flew slowly closer until it hovered in front of Harry. They continued to stare as the hamster crew squeaked and chittered at each other until the one with the top hat cheeped loud once, climbed up to the crow’s nest, pulled a megaphone out of nowhere and- “Delivery from Unspecified Benefactor of Obsolete Origin! Are you Harry Potter!?”

Harry gaped, speechless. The hamster sounded like your stereotypical butler, but… but… but he was a hamster! “Who the hell are you!?”

“I am Captain Boo of the Nutcracker!” ‘Captain Boo tipped his hat. “Miniature Giant Space Hamster, at your service!”

“Miniature what?” What the bloody hell? “Holy shit, am I seeing this?” He looked at Ron and Hermione desperately. “Am I seeing this? Are you seeing this?”

“If by ‘this’ you mean a tiny flying ship crewed by talking hamsters, certainly not, Harry,” replied Hermione with all the confidence of the clinically insane. “After all, that would be impossible.”

Ron had only slightly less to say. “Don’t look at me, this isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever seen, Scotland’s national animal is a unicorn you know!” Oh God, Ron had already cracked!

“Hellooo the Giant!” Squeaked… the miniature giant space hamster. “Are you Harry Potter or not?”

“… Yes?”

“Excellent! Now, your package had to be resized for the trip, which means it will unshrink the moment we leave, so please handle carefully! We do not guarantee returns!”

A little disk of light appeared next to the ship. The… sailor hamsters loaded it up with a little square item. Then the disk flew over to a stop in front of Harry’s face.

Harry almost didn’t take it, but what would that get him? What would they do if he refused? What could they do? The Basilisk didn’t think a tiny human child could do anything either, and look where that got it! What if the hamsters got upset?

How was he seriously thinking those words right now?

“I’m proud of you for not disregarding the interpersonal element of strategy,” Godric dryly said in his head.

Harry slowly reached up and, with all the confidence of someone deciding this was a dream and therefore nothing out of the ordinary, plucked the little… whatever it was and rolled it onto his palm. It looked like a gift box wrapped in polka dots.

The space in front of him inflated like an invisible balloon and ate up the tiny spelljammer crewed by hamsters.

Harry stared stupidly. Then he turned his eyes away from the empty space in front of him and looked at his friends just as stupidly. “Those were clearly toys under an animation charm.”

Hermione practically squeaked. "Definitely."

"No doubt about it," Ron nodded furiously. "Nothing but toys, it's Merlin's honest truth."

The tiny box wrapped in polka dots became a book-sized box wrapped in polka dots. There was a thread wrapped around it. And a note.

Harry took a deep breath, took out the note and read.

> Little Homebody! Heard you might be in the market for a training venue! I’ve got this tiny little pocket dimension just gathering dust on my shelf ever since its intended recipient imprisoned his ultimate nemesis in a volcano instead, it’s unconscionable! Mountain’s not even active anymore, has a big old lake on top and everything, can you imagine the cheek!? I’ve idiot-proofed it so you don’t get trapped inside by mistake, but just in case you still manage somehow – I know your type! – I tossed in three extra doors that you can drop practically anywhere. This way there’s always a way for someone to come save your sorry hide when you next try to sacrifice yourself on the altar of youth’s stupidity. Try it out, it’s got dinosaurs!

Harry calmly thought absolutely nothing as he quietly read the note. And then not so quietly read the note again aloud so that Ron and Hermione could equally calmly think absolutely nothing or they’d all go absolutely bonkers together.

When reality went on being reality despite all evidence to the contrary, Hermione slowly looked up from the paper she had taken out of Harry’s hands at some point. “Harry, where do you find these people?”

Harry tried and failed to find a good answer all the way to the Great Hall.

Then he had his entire thought train derailed for the third time in the same day when the very loud Great Hall fell absolutely silent the moment he was through the doors.

Harry Potter stopped in his tracks and looked up from his navel-gazing to find that everyone in the Great Hall was staring at him.

Shite.

Then Fred and George jumped to their feet and began to clap.

It was like a ripple. Gryffindor House stood up to clap. Then Ravenclaw. Then Hufflepuff. Even the Slytherins joined in, clapping politely even though they refrained from rising to their feet. Far ahead at the staff table, Albus Dumbledore stood and began to applaud, prompting all the other teachers and staff to rise and join in. Professor McGonnagall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, all the other teachers too. Hagrid’s claps sounded like thunder above all of them, and next to him even Snape had gotten up to slowly clap with the most disgruntled look on his pale face. The sounds and the cheers that rose from all directions made the walls ring and Harry’s entire body shake in place.

He should have flinched, but he was too wrung out to be startled. He would have shied away, but his absurd day had cured him of that too. He felt himself blushing, but the impulse to look down and hide never came. Hogwarts was the closest thing to a reflection of the entire magical world, and all of it was cheering for him now. It felt…

It felt…

Beyond even the farthest table, right by the staff entrance, Nicolas Flamel leaned against the wall. Watching. Smiling earnestly. Hopefully.

What was this feeling?

"Victory, Little Warrior," Godric murmured. "Bask in it. It's yours."

Go bask in your accomplishment, little one.

Harry Potter stood amidst a standing ovation like none Hogwarts had seen since its first founding.

Then he walked forward to bask in his accomplishment.