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A Man Once Scorned (A Monster Now Made)

Summary:

Harry Potter dies after The Battle of Hogwarts and finds out he's the Master of Death, as well as that most of his life was a lie.

He travels back in time to his seventh birthday to cause as much chaos and do as much good as he can muster.

(This is a SoulSeeker/Tomarry fic, if you don't like that please just ignore)

Notes:

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its contents.

I do not support J.K. Rowling (f*ck that TERF b*tch).

Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoy! :)

Chapter 1: A Date with Death

Chapter Text

It was finally over, the agony and the bloodshed of war had finally ended as the sun rose over the rubble of a once proud castle. Bodies lined the jagged stones of the Great Hall almost sixty in total, but Harry refused to stay to mourn with the survivors. Wrapping his cloak around himself, he ran past the apparition point in Hogsmeade, returning to the only place he could think of, Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The townhouse looked as desolate as it had the last time he had been there, the interior crumbling, broken and singed. His legs protested as he climbed the stairs, reaching a familiar landing, hand shaking as he turned the knob of Sirius's unlocked door.

"Lumos," Harry whispered, voice hoarse, so quietly, as if fearing to wake the man who was now long gone.

The scent of stale tobacco and cologne hung heavy in the air, it felt like he had opened a time capsule, something meant just for him in his time of need. By the door stood a coat rack, possibly taken from elsewhere in the house, and on it a single, black leather jacket, it was well-worn, but the material was soft and unmarred by its age. His godfather's walls were donned with dozens of posters, mostly Quidditch, scantily clad women, Queen, and David Bowie. There were other things that littered the room, pictures of the Marauders from their school days, charcoal drawings of Remus and James, eyeliner, a few tubes of lipstick, and diagrams of a charmed radio. That was when it caught his eye, the radio on his bedside table, taking it in hand, casting every spell he could possibly think of to turn the damned thing on, combing over the instructions again and again in a feeble attempt to drown out the silence.

Harry froze, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, 'The Marauders' Map', "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

A sob racked his chest, the lesson with McGonagall felt like centuries ago… When a witch or wizard dies, all the magic they put out into the world will cease to exist, some say it returns to the earth, but it never matters the kind of enchantment, it will all fade away. When Sirius died he took his radio, but when Remus followed he took the legacy of the Marauders with him, the map now useless on his lap, a tattered piece of parchment. He hadn't really known either of them, but now standing in bedroom of a dead man, he knew Sirius better than he ever had a chance to in life.

Turning away from the bed, rubbing his eyes, a creak caught beneath Harry's foot. Two loose floorboards pulled up to reveal a stash of Ogden's Firewhiskey, various packs of muggle cigarettes, and a letter… addressed to Harry in Dumbledore's handwriting. So he drank, kneeling in front of the missive, half a bottle later and two cigarettes lit like incense, he opened the envelope.

Harry,

I apologize for not being there to help you finish all of the things I had started. However, it was all for the greater good, my boy, for the betterment of our world and for the future of magical and non-magical people everywhere. And for your own sake, I give you this information.

James and Lily Potter are buried at St Jerome's Church in Godric’s Hollow

Go to them and mourn, find peace in the knowledge that all of the loose ends they left behind shall be tied up soon enough.

Rest well, dear boy,

Albus Dumbledore

Vision blurred, paper crumpling beneath a trembling grip, Harry had forced Hermione to go alone, the war wasn't over yet, he couldn't face them until everything was finished. He folded his cloak, wrapping it around the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone, placing it gently in the cavity below him. Replacing the boards, he kicked a rug over the hiding place; making a silent vow that no one would ever use the Hallows again, not even himself. Harry pulled on Sirius's jacket, grabbing the open pack of Lucky Strikes and his half drunken bottle, before making his way to Godric's Hollow; before making his way home.

When he had arrived, it was as if they had been buried not a week prior, fresh flowers still in the vases by their grave, like people still visited them, "Hi, Mum… Dad… I'm finally here."

Harry took a another sip, before lighting a cigarette, "I'm not sure what to do now that its all over. I've done everything that I was ever meant for, I hunted the horcruxes, I killed Voldemort, but now… there's nothing left," the tears started again, he took a drag, coughing. "I don't know how to go on with my life knowing that everything that you fought for, every memory of you is gone, now that Remus is…"

His head spinning with smoke, whiskey coursing through him, he could do little more than drown in his sorrow. Hours had passed before he lifted his head, the sun plunging down over the horizon, their tombstone read, 'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death,' it began to rain. Harry couldn't imagine going back to Hogwarts to finish his education or going to the Ministry to be an Auror. Did he have any dreams at all, after everything that had happened?

He had always wanted to see-, "Harry Potter, drop your wand, put your hands on your head, and turn around slowly," why was Kingsley here?

"Kings? What's going on?" He was slurring, uneasy on his feet and he turned to face the man.

Kingsley's face was cold, eyes distant, "Mr.Potter, you are under arrest by the British Ministry of Magic for crimes against the wizarding world," Harry was bound quickly by two Aurors he had never met before.

"Kings, what's happening? Why am I tied up?" He tried to struggle, but a searing pain ripped through him, as if the binds themselves were made of barbed wire, digging into his core. "I don't understand, I killed him like I was supposed to, I just wanted to be alone."

He was silenced and knocked out, as they apparated away, Kingsley stayed for a moment, looking down at the shattered bottle and cigarette butts littering the grass in distaste. They would never know why Harry Potter had lied to them all, but he would be punished soon enough.

The chains were heavy around his ankles and wrist, cobbled floor cold beneath his now bare feet, his eyes were covered. The smell was familiar, air filled with a sweet, musky aroma; the smell of death, Harry began to sweat. The voices were just as eerie as he remembered, it was was the death chamber, where Bellatrix had pushed Sirius through The Veil… this was his punishment; his end.

"Silence," Kingsley shouted. Harry had been so caught in the voices beyond, he hadn't been able to hear those of the living. "I, Acting Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, was given a letter upon returning from The Battle of Hogwarts, one letter written by a late Albus Dumbledore. I will read it aloud for the chamber before we proceed."

To Whom it May Concern,

I, in my time on this mortal plane have made many errors, one of the most grievous being my oversight in the case of Harry Potter. I truly believed that the boy was harmless, that was until I was made aware that Lord Voldemort had committed acts more disgusting than anything I had imagined, making horcruxes. To fracture ones soul; one must kill without feeling an ounce of remorse, using the death in a dark ritual to tie a sliver of said soul to an object, and in turn creating a bastardized immortality from it. Voldemort had made five of them by the time of Halloween 1981, destabilizing his soul, when murdering James and Lily Potter, then casting upon the child, his soul fractured on its own. That shard attached itself to Harry Potter, and due to his soul being so young, so malleable, it fused with him, leaving him a living breathing horcrux.

This gave him the ability of Parseltongue, his powerful magic, and his ability to fool even myself. I attempted to help him, giving him distance from our world with his muggle relatives, taking him under my wing, but it was not enough; his soul was molded from the start. Just as those horcruxes had to be destroyed, Harry must be as well, to ensure Voldemort may never rise again, and for the future of all magical and non-magical beings everywhere.

I do not wish him to suffer, the hand he was dealt was cruel enough, let him say his last words and send him through The Veil.

For the greater good… and to Harry, rest well, dear boy, find peace,

Albus Dumbledore

"Remove the binds," Kingsley said after a long pause. "Mr. Potter, you will be sent through The Veil after you have given your final testament… Proceed."

Taking a breath, attempting to sober himself, he finds Hermione and Ron in the pews, "He lied, when I died on the battlefield the horcrux went with me, but you already knew that didn't you?" They flinched, "Of course you did, from the moment we left to hunt them, you knew this was the ending result. You disgust me, all of you, I was born for the cause; I lived for the cause."

"Maybe Severus was right," a smile spread to his tear stained cheeks, "I was nothing more than pig raised for slaughter; a pawn for your war. If I knew better, I would say the prophecy was all fake in the first place; a distraction that killed everyone that has ever cared for me…"

The Minister stood again, "That's enough, send him thr-."

"See you soon, Sirius," Harry laughed as he ran freely through The Veil accepting whatever lie on the other side.

Harry breathed in, as if he had been held under water, but the scent was stronger here; air perfumed with the aroma of death. Beyond The Veil was a seemingly infinite void, there was no beginning or end; no top or bottom, only infinity. The silence was almost deafening, piercing in a way, until he heard a beautiful,droning melody somewhere far off in the distance. He ran, sprinting as fast as he could to the only tangible thing left in existence. Eventually, the abyss began to shift, shadows swirling in on themselves to reveal, for what seemed like the first time in an eternity, an array of colors. There he stood, in the kitchen doorway of a homey flat, and at the hearth, a woman in dark robes, leaning over a cauldron.

"Er- Hello?" Harry called out, unsure of the strange situation he had found himself in.

She whipped around, long, pale hair slipping from its pin as her eyes widened, "Oh darling, what happened? You weren't meant to find your way here for another seventy years or so."

"I'm sorry, who are you?" He stepped backwards, "And what do you mean 'not meant to find your way here for another seventy years'?"

"Crap, I always forget the introduction bit," she took a breath, as if to calm herself. "My name is Amaya, but most mortals know me as Death. Do not be alarmed, my child, you have nothing to fear… after all, you are my master, you did what no human ever could, and will never do again. As for your second question, you were supposed to live an average lifetime before taking your first steps into the beyond. My wife, Zora, or Life if you prefer, was meant to be watching over you."

Harry paused, "Master of Death, like the myth from 'Beedle the Bard'? I thought that something would happen with The Hallows while I was you know, alive!"

"I was planning on it, but these things take time," she chuckled, pulling a kettle off of the stove top. "You never practiced any wixen traditions in life, so I would have to pull you down here while you slept during the Autumnal Equinox. How about this, we have a nice cup of tea while we wait for my better half to return and we will tell you everything, alright?"

Time doesn't move forward, so Harry takes in Death.. She's tall and thin, but not frail, with sharp features from her jawline to her cheekbones. If you glanced over her, you would think her hair was white, but it was silver, glistening over her shoulders, sitting at waist length. Her deep blue eyes caught his own on occasion, her expression serious, although attempting to be reassuring. They wait, the quiet and warm tea loosening the tension lingering in Harry's joints, until a sharp bell chimes and a voice echoes through the halls, "Maia, dear, you'll never believe what just happened! We must prepare for Hadrian at once… damn that old coot."

"Zoey, darling, the child has already arrived," Death sent him a wink, "We're in the kitchen, love!"

Life entered the kitchen, wearing a white gown, "Oh goodness, you're even more adorable in person." She holds his face for a moment, "I know this must be difficult for you, young one, but we must start from the beginning if you are to understand it all. I will tell it all in the form of a story, Maia feel free to interject if need be, but you, Harry, must listen until the end, then I will answer all you ask, yes?"

"Okay," was all he could muster at the moment.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but she was more that he could have possibly imagined. She was strong, wide shoulders and defined muscles, still tall, but shorter than Death by at least half a foot. Her amber eyes were wide, her smile kind with a small gap between her front teeth. Her skin was deep and rich, her hair a full, natural halo around her head. A lump formed in his throat as he remembered Hermione, who never figured out how to work with her own hair or find anything to complement her skin. She was beautiful, a beautiful li- It was over, he would never see her again, he should pay attention.

She waited for him to collect himself and smiled, "Once upon a time, there was a goddess who grew very bored, her name was Amaya, Lady of Death. She went down to Earth, creating a deep river that cut the land in two, leaving a note; declaring that whomever was to cross the water without cutting down a tree or touching the surface, would win a reward. Years passed, and not a single soul had even attempted such a feat, that was until three brothers used magic to create a bridge to the other side. As a reward for their skill, she crafted a gift for each of the men, for the oldest a wand that could win any battle, for the second a stone that could allow him to see those who had passed into her domain, and for the youngest, a cloak to shield himself from all beings, even herself."

"Wait, wait! Let me tell the next part," Amaya jumped up. "After presenting the gifts, the goddess left behind a grimoire, full of rituals as a memento of their success. However, in the back of the book there were instructions for one to become The Master of Death. First, you must be a descendant of the Peverell Family. Second, you must master all three Hallows. Third, you must witness death three times. Fourth, you must kill three times. Fifth, you must die three times. And lastly, you must accept Death with open arms, no fear in your heart."

Zora hits her shoulder, "This means that you, Hadrian, are the only person that could ever become Amaya's Master. You are of Ignotus' line, they married into the Potter's quite early on. You witnessed the death of young Cedric Digory, the death of Sirius Black, and the death of Albus Dumbledore. You killed Quirinus Quirrell at eleven, you killed a Death Eater at the Battle of Hogwarts, and then you defeated Tom Riddle. In the end, you walked into The Veil of your own will."

"I guess that makes sense," Harry tried not to think of their wide, soulless eyes. "Hold on, why do you keep calling me Hadrian? My name is Harry."

Amaya, who had just gotten settled, shot up again, "It's common in old families to give their children a name, usually a significant or strong name, and when in close company, like extended family, to use a nommer, or a derivative of a given name. Your birth name was Hadrian James Potter, your nommer was Harry, but I'm not surprised you weren't told of the tradition. You were blood-adopted soon after your birth by your godfather though, making you Hadrian James Potter-Black! You were a twice named heir within a month of your birth."

"Maia, you promised we would do this slowly," Zora chided. "Listen, dear boy, there more are things that we must tell you, before you get too comfortable."

Harry blinked at her, "I was adopted by… What can be more serious than being the Master of Death?"

"Well, there was one other," she struggles to find the words. "A descendant of Cadmus, he never could have taken on your role, but Amaya and I had a bet going long ago about which of you would master The Hallows… Tom Marvolo Riddle. His soul was so promising, so full of hope and life, but when he was sent down there, everything changed. He became so fearful, so terrified, yet so strong. You have to understand, we have watched the souls of the living and the dead for a very long time, but none have taken as sharp of a turn as Tom."

Death cleared her throat, "There are options for your journey, you could go on to rest with your family, or you could go back."

"Back, like to the death chamber?" Harry shudders at the thought.

"No, darling," Zora holds his face again, "You can go back to wherever you wish; ancient history, recent past, or even to the future. We will not allow you to live another life in pain, being manipulated by wicked men. You are not a pig for slaughter, you are a child of Life and Death, for you have conquered both."

"I can really do whatever I want?" They nod, Harry gets a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I could go back rule the world, destroy it, bend it to my will?"

"You could," Amaya laughed, "But you won't your soul is too kind for senseless violence, but you could live as yourself, with free will, you could save all that you loved and forge a new path. "

Harry started shaking again, "What about him, Voldemort? What if he were to come to power again, causing another war? I don't think I ca-"

"That will not happen," Life stated clearly. "If you allow us a favor from you, for if you return… In the grimoire, Maia mentioned, there will be a ritual that will be able to bind his soul together, and to you for good, forbidding him to do you any harm. I just want to give him a chance to choose again, and with the knowledge you now have, you might be able to convince him to try to control his impulses."

"If it goes wrong," he looks down, "Will I be able to come back here to decide again? Or will I have to wait until I'm called?"

Zoey's eyes brightened, "All you have to do is walk through The Veil if you realize that you want to leave it behind. Your body will be unable to die; by muggle or wixen means. However, you will be able to fall ill or be injured, so keep you head about you."

"I'll go back," Harry cracked a genuine smile for the first time in what felt like a millennia. "I want to go back to midnight on my seven birthday, I'll find the horcruxes, I'll bind the Dark Lord, and I'll live well."

Death laughed, swinging an arm around his shoulders, "We will check in on you from time to time, so don't worry about not seeing these two old ladies again. We can't wait to see what world you make for yourself."

See you soon

Chapter 2: Happy Birthday, Harry!

Notes:

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its contents.

I do not support J.K. Rowling (f*ck that TERF b*tch).

Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoy! :)

Chapter Text

The cupboard was more horrible than he remembered, its paper thin walls covered in dust and cobwebs. Small broken toys lined across a thin shelf over his cot, he almost couldn't believe he had grown up this way; alone, waiting, wanting. However, despite his surroundings, he couldn't help but grin, it was all real and he was truly free to do what he wanted. He was sore again, bruises and burn tender on his skin as he stretched, pushing the door open. Creeping his way into the kitchen, he filled his aching stomach, two slices of bread seemed to do the trick. A small pop in the living room caused him to jump, running in to find a clean set of clothes, a pair of boots, a small pouch of sickles, and a simple note lying on the coffee table.

For the Knight Bus, any stick should do for now.

Make us proud,

Zoey and Maia

Harry rushed to change, before pausing, he wouldn't charge into this without propriety. His last life was destroyed by his insistence to be the brave, light soldier; a stupid, self-sacrificing idiot. Not this time, he will prove to everyone, and himself, that he can be quiet, and cunning, even if it takes a hundred years. Buckling his boots, he looked over himself in the entryway mirror, he was scrawny, definitely malnourished, but he looked different. He still had his father's naturally warm, tan skin and jawline under layers of stubborn baby fat, but his nose was button shaped, like his mother's. His cheekbones were set slightly higher, his eyes rounder, brighter, and his hair framed his face in dark, messy waves… like Sirius. Whatever blood-adoption was, it had done far more than made Harry a twice named heir, it really had made him is godfather's son.

Taking a moment to ensure he looked presentable, hiding his scar, he walked to a familiar playground, keeping to the shadows, the sun was already rising. He picked up a broken twig from the brush and held it high in the air, focusing, just moments later, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt in front of him.

"What's a little lad like you calling the bus alone for?" Stan stood blocking the entrance.

Harry looked down, "I was following a cat and I got lost, my guardian said to always call the Knight Bus and head to The Leaky if I lose my way. I have money to get me there, here!"

"Good advice, alright then," he sighed, "Hop aboard, what's your name kid?"

Harry smiled, "My name is James! May I have a hot chocolate?"

The ride went as smoothly as any trip on the Knight Bus can go, street lights and trash bins jumping out of the way as it barreled through Surrey. He sipped his cocoa sped through London, approaching his stop.

"Thank you, Mr. Stan!" He called behind him as he entered the pub.

Customers had already begun to take chairs at the bar, despite it being no later than five in the morning. Slipping past them, he tapped the stick on the bricks revealing Diagon Alley, not a single brick out of place, but Harry felt a weight on his chest. This is how it will stay, the shops may change, but war will never mar these streets ever again. Still struggling to breathe, he marches up the steps of Gringotts, nodding respectfully to the guards as he enters their domain.

"Good morning, Griphook, my name is Hadrian Potter," the name sounds foreign in his mouth, "I wish to meet with the goblin who is overseeing my accounts."

The goblin leans over his desk, grinning cruelly, "And does Mr. Potter has his key?"

"Unfortunately, the key to my vault has been placed into the hands of an untrustworthy wizard," his hands shook as the memory of Dumbledore. "Is there another way to prove my identity and regain access?"

"If you follow me, we can provide a blood-inheritance test for a small fee," he climbed down from his tall chair.

Harry fought not to scoff, as they entered a private office, "Of course, and how much would that small fee be?"

"30 galleons for the complete test and a fee of 15 sickles for every account we audit for you," the goblin's beady eyes were shining in the torchlight.

"15 galleons and 5 sickles," The given cost wasn't outrageous, but haggling seemed more fun.

"20 galleons and 10 sickles," Griphook replied laughing, "Do we have a deal?"

With a nod, Harry sat down, "Perfect, how shall we go about doing such a thing?"

"Take the blade in front of you and prick your finger," the goblin was grinning again. "Then, let three drops fall onto the parchment; no more, no less. The results should reveal themselves immediately."

The blade pierced his finger easily, holding his hand over the parchment, the blood fell; Harry pulled his hand away. Almost instantly, words began to drag themselves out from the droplets, but it slowed, as if struggling to find certain secrets from within it. After mumbling over the parchment in Gobbledegook, a large pile appeared on the desk—keys, old tomes, a piece of parchment, a wand, a cloak, and a sword—with a snap of his claws if disappeared.

Griphook looked at him, puzzled, "Mr. Potter, it is clear that you are who you say, howev-"

"Mr. Potter-Black," a new voice called from the doorway, Griphook scrambled to his feet, so Harry followed. "I am King Ragnok, Head of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, it seems we have much to discuss, but first feel free to look over the results of your inheritance test, I assure you it is quite interesting."

Overview

  • Name: Hadrian James Potter-Black

  • Date of Birth: July 31st, 1980

  • Age: ___

  • Mother: Lily Jane Potter née Evans (deceased)

  • Father: James Fleamont Potter (deceased)

  • Blood-Adoptive Father: Sirius Orion Black III

Charms and Compulsions:

  • Blood Protection: Active

    • Performed by Lily Potter and Remus Lupin

    • August 1st, 1980

  • Blood-Adoption: Active

    • Performed by James Potter and Sirius Black

    • Godfather Bond: Sirius Black

    • August 1st, 1980

  • Glamour Charm: Failed

    • Performed by Albus Dumbledore

    • DNA: James Potter

    • October 31st, 1981

Titles and Vaults

  • Lord-Apparent Peverell

    • Vault 000-A - M.o.D. Vault

      • 3 Artifacts

        • 1 First-Edition Print of 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'

        • 1 Wand

        • 1 Cloak of Invisibility

    • Vault 000-B - Peverell Vault

      • 1 Grimoire

      • (See attached parchment for full audit)

  • Lord-Apparent Gryffindor

    • Vault 141 - Gryffindor Vault

      • 1 Grimoire

      • 1 Sword

      • (See attached parchment for full audit)

  • Lord-Apparent Potter

    • Vault 687 - Potter Vault

      • 1 Grimoire

      • 1 Artifact

        • (Unknown)

      • (See attached parchment for full audit)

  • Heir-Apparent Black

    • Vault 711

      • 1 Grimoire

      • (See attached parchment for full audit)

His mind swam, not able to fully process the information presented to him. Dumbledore had planned his life since the night his parents were murdered, but placing a glamour on a baby was a new level of sick. Amaya and Zora seemed to have left out a few important details during their meeting; he could almost hear them laughing from the other side, a small cough pulled him from his thoughts.

"I, first, would like to apologize on behalf of Gringotts Wizarding Bank," King Ragnok spoke again. "Several artifacts and tomes removed from your accounts without prior approval, but in a similar vain, approximately twenty-thousand galleons were withdrawn from the Potter vault as well. We pride ourselves on our security, and as you have already seen all items that were removed have been returned to their rightful places. We are, unfortunately, unable to retrieve the money that was stolen as it was converted to British pounds by a third party, and paid to a Petunia Dursley on November 1st, 1981."

He nearly groaned, he should have known she was bribed to keep him, even if it was in a cupboard, "There is no need for apologies, based on the audits provided, a few thousand galleons is knuts in the grand scheme of things. Let's just call it water under the bridge, Your Highness."

"Splendid! I also have a few questions concerning your results here," the king sat, gesturing him to do the same, "Our tests have a one-hundred percent accuracy, and not once in the last five-hundred years of providing it, we have never seen censored pieces on information on our own parchment. You need not answer, Mr. Potter, but I am a known lover of mysteries."

"It's a bit of a long story," Harry chuckled, "In short, I died in possession of a set of magical artifacts know as 'The Deathly Hallows', and due to a slew of extended criteria—which I also fit into—I became the Master of Death, and I chose to come back."

The King spoke again, "What purpose could you possibly have to return?"

"Your Majesty," he leaned back slightly, "I plan on fixing several lifetimes of mistake… My last life ended after a long war, our world was so damaged, creatures and wixen alike suffered the consequences of a second war against Lord Voldemort. I will not let it happen, I plan to prevent that war from ever occurring. I will make way for a new era, where we will all live in peace and equity."

Ragnok looked doubtful, "And what will you ask of the Goblins when the time comes?"

"I will only ever ask two favors of you, they will be a heavy burden to endure, but your sacrifice will secure equality for your people among witches and wizards everywhere," Harry met his eyes. "Your people will never have to wage war to gain little to nothing in return, you will be free to do as you like, always."

"Griphook, take care of Mr. Potter," he stood again, a fire in his eyes, "I hope to do great thing together this time around."

With that, he left, leaving Griphook to iron out the remaining issues in his accounts, with another snap of his claws, three rings appeared between them, "Mr. Potter, the next step in our process in called 'The Test of the Rings'. You will try on each of the ones before you, if the magic of the house accepts you, you will be able to claim your lordships. It is uncommon that a child be able to claim his or her namesake before the age of majority, but seeing as you are a special case, both you being final surviving member of your houses and your background, I believe you may be able to claim them all today."

With a nod, Harry picked up the first ring, it was solid gold with a thick band, with a proud griffin engraved on its face. The magic seeping from it was almost hot, smelling of cedarwood, amber, and bergamot; like the Gryffindor common room. The second was similar to the first, in shape and material, but a blood red ruby embedded itself at its center. Its magic was warm as well, but it felt like a blanket, it smelled of tea and old books. Suddenly, both rings merged into one, small rubies now decorated the edges of the ring and the griffin's eyes, taking their place on his right thumb.

"Congratulations, Lord Potter," Griphook grinned. "Each possible ring placement holds its own meaning, the right thumb symbolizes independence… Now for your heirship ring."

The band was thinner than the two previous, a small black star diopside surrounded by a winding silver braid, matching its setting. It felt like the ocean, cold and uncaring, smelling of sea salt and sage. Placing it onto his right index, Malfoy always wore his heir ring there, it symbolized power and status; it wouldn't accept anywhere else.

"The rings and their magic have accepted you," the goblin continued, "They can be used to make purchases without needing to carry around gold, seeing as they are directly tied to your vaults."

After finalizing tedious paperwork, he and Griphook descended to Vault 000. Harry had paid a small fortune to merge both the Gryffindor and Potter vaults with the Peverell vault, but it would be worth it, if only to keep his belongings out of Albus's grasp. When they arrived, he struggled to his feet, nausea from the trip down setting in. He assessed the room slowly, he knew he would need his wand, cloak, and map to retrieve the horcruxes, as well as Amaya's grimoire for the ritual. He would have to get the goblet last, asking Ragnok for so much so soon definitely had to be a faux pas, but he could come back if he had forgotten anything.

The sun was unexpectedly bright overhead, wixen in their short, summer robes rushed to and froe about the alley. There was so much to be done, he would do clothing first, as he would need to return later in the day to pick the order. Twilfitt and Tattings was much different from Madame Malkin's, instead of robes, trousers, and blouses lining the shops on racks, the walls were lined in diverse fabrics, furs, and leathers in wide range of colors, manikins donned in popular styles and display counters for boots and accessories lined the floors. Two workers stood patiently at the entry-counter, so Harry took a breath and approached.

"Hello, I was wondering if you had availability for a fitting today?" It would be a lot easier to be taken seriously if he were older, or a least a bit taller.

The middle-aged gentleman simply scoffed and walked away, but the young woman smiled kindly, "Welcome, young man, my name is Caliah, you may follow me," she led him to a tailors room off of the main floor, a small pedestal at the center. "Alright, what is your names and what are we looking for today?"

"My name is Hadrian, I'm in need of a whole new wardrobe," Harry attempted to channel a kinder version of Lucius, professional, "I'd prefer black as the base, red and green for a pop of color—gold accents for the red, silver for the green. I don't want styles that are in currently in fashion, the pieces have to be classic, timeless. I'll need robes for both seasons, along with shoes and accessories."

Caliah's eyes widened, "My apologies if this sounds rude, but will you be able to pay for all this? Your order seems a bit out over budget for most young heirs' allowances."

"It's fine, my guardian lets me oversee my own accounts," one white lie couldn't hurt him, no one would assume a child would wander around alone, "She's elsewhere in the alley, she told me to meet her at The Three Sheets when I'm finished for the day."

They chatted quietly through the rest of the fitting, discussing fabric types and color shades, but the appointment was over soon enough. Leading Harry back to the front, the woman handed him forms to arrange his pick up time and to finalize his payment. He turned his thumb ring over, pressing the griffin to the parchment before returning it to her.

"Oh my, Mr. Potter!" She stumbled over herself, "It's been a pleasure to meet you, if you'd have said something sooner…"

"Please, it's no issue," he attempted to look bashful, "I don't really enjoy the fame, or crowds, or getting my picture taken. If you could please not mention that I'm here today, Miss Caliah?"

She stilled at this, remembering that he's, supposedly, only a little boy, "Of course, Mr. Potter, we value the discretion of all of our clientele. Your order will be ready by noon, have a pleasant day."

Harry quickly made his way to the ever bustling, Harpy's Bazaar, dodging customers as he ducked into Mr. Lorou's Chests and Trunks. The owner grunted in greeting as a bell signaled his arrival—he was never one for small talk in his first life—quickly selecting a black leather trunk with gold detailing, he made his way to the back. The engraving process was quick, his initials etched into the siding, but the warding process took longer, leaving him to idle for what felt like hours by the door. It was worth it, even if the man charged an arm and a leg for the service, he gave his thanks running to the apothecary.

He sat in the waiting area of the, very luckily, empty clinic, filling out even more paperwork, before receiving all his mandatory wizarding vaccinations, which, surprisingly, hurt more than having all the bones removed in his arm. On his way out, Harry remembered that he was resurrecting a Dark Lord, he stocked up on every potion and salve he could think of. Getting several concerned looks from the Madame, he reassured her that his guardian's medicine cabinet was running low and she was quiet clumsy in her old age; another lie.

Flourish and Blotts, was an entirely different affair, it was just crowded enough that older women cooed as he looked through books that very clearly too advanced for boy of his age. Harry told them that his guardian had gave him a list of titles to collect for her personal library, she was tired and resting at a café nearby; he was developing a habit.

Returning to Tattings, the middle-aged man from before looked at him in awe as he placed the order in his trunk. Caliah chuckling softly bid him goodbye before casting a intense, smug look at him. Harry assumed they worked for commission, which meaning that the gentleman had scoffed at what could be their largest order for the month. Smiling he rushed out of The Leaky, nearly skipping along, gripping Death's Wand tightly, Hadrian Potter apparating back to Privet Drive.

Within a moment of his return, a hoarse voice boomed from beyond the doorway, "Boy, you will come inside this instant! How dare you leave this house in the middle of the night, after all we've done for you over the last-"

"Oh, do shut up, Vernon," Harry sneered at the man as he strode calmly into the living room. "Aunt Petunia, I believe it's time we talk, yes?"

"And what do you think we will be talking about, boy?" She was as shrill as ever, "You leave in the middle of the night coming back dressed like one of those freaks…"

Sitting down across from her, now frightened form, "I think we need to discuss the money that was removed from my accounts, you now from where."

"V-Vernon," she stuttered, "I think you should take Dudley out for the day, go to the zoo. I need to have a talk about it with our nephew."

Hadrian watches as a very confused Dudley is practically pushed out the door and corralled into the Dursley's shiny new Mazda. They sit in silence for a long time, one too angry; the other too afraid to breech the topic ahead. How many luxuries had been purchased in this home while he had starved, sequestered in a cupboard for his entire childhood?

"Now, Petunia," his voice shaking slightly, "Do you know what happened today? I was woken up at midnight by an owl knocking on your front door—I was surprised by it, of course—with a letter from a bank claiming to be looking for me to settle fees on my account. They requested my presence at once, whisking me away to an enchanted world full of magic, where I found out that someone had taken money, which I have quite a lot of as it turns out, and paid out to you."

His aunt grimaced, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I have the receipts," Harry spoke with a confidence he hadn't felt in a long time. "I could sue you for the amount of money stolen, and with damages for the… unpleasant treatment I've suffered under your care. Or you could do me a few favors, and you'll never have to see me again."

"As long as you leave," she nearly sighed in relief.

"Beautiful," Hadrian stood again, "I'll be sleeping in the living room until we're finished. Oh, and Auntie, book a vacation to Albania for next week, okay? We start tomorrow!"

Chapter 3: Vacations are Good for the Soul

Notes:

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its contents.

I do not support J.K. Rowling (f*ck that TERF b*tch).

Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoy! :)

Chapter Text

Harry and Petunia left before dawn, their rented car darting quickly through the ever busy streets of London. He could have simply apparated to each location, but seeing the way her hands shook when she looked at him through the rear-view was too perfect a scenario to pass up. The two of them had made an agreement, she would drive to each address without question, parking in the car until he returned. The street lights were still on by the time they had reached Harry's first task; 12 Grimmauld Place, he tries not to gag. Sirius was still alive, he would save him later… he had too much to do.

The illusion hiding the townhouse fell away as he called out, "Kreacher!"

"Who is calling Kreacher? Master Arcturus not be having guests at this hour," the elf looked strangely healthy in comparison to his past life.

"I am Sirius's heir, Hadrian," he stood firm, a hand out expectantly, "I am here to retrieve what Regulus left to you."

"Kreacher does not know what you are speaking of," his eyes told another story, his body trembling.

Harry didn't have time for this, "The locket, I'm here to destroy it… let me finish what you could not."

Two quiet pops and several minutes later, he tucked the locket beneath his shirt. He was shocked that the elf hadn't needed more convincing. The weight of his failure must have clung to him more after his last master died. Having to live with the knowledge that he would be trapped forever in a house with only a portrait of a once beloved mistress is probably what drove him to insanity in the first place, even if he was batty from the start. Harry smiled, maybe he would change some things for the better.

The drive to their next destination wasn't be as simple as the first, they looped aimlessly for over an hour before Harry realized that Malfoy Manor had Muggle Repellent Wards surrounding their property. Face-palming, he grabbed his wand and invisibility cloak, walking over the property line. It was different than he remembered, still the same overindulgence of luxury, but it wasn't shadowed; peacocks roamed the grounds, bright flowers decorated the walkways. Quickly casting a silence charm on himself, he roamed the manor for a while before stopping dead in his tracks.

The locket warmed as he passed a door, "Alohamora."

Lucius's study was as he assumed it would be; dark, solid wood furniture and a large fireplace on the far wall. His desk was, hilariously enough, entirely lock-less and unwarded, aside from one drawer. Most people would have over looked it, as it was thin,pressed against the underside of the surface, but a quiet hissing from the small, metal serpent it was locked with gave it away immediately.

~Open~ Harry hissed.

The snake disappeared, drawer opening to reveal not only the diary, but Voldemort's wand as well. He had always assume the eldest Malfoy was more slippery than he appeared to be, but this proves it—countless raids for dark artifacts and they were just out of reach, not that it mattered now anyway. Leaving the drawer open, he left a note…

Now you see me; now you don't

By the time they had reached Little Hangleton it was almost noon, clouds hanging heavy overhead. Indulging a little, he and Petunia stop for lunch at diner just outside the village, they ate in an uncomfortable silence. Catching her, on occasion, staring at him with some perturbed look crossing her face, then she would look away. They had, or Harry had, ordered dessert by time she chose to speak.

"You were different," she struggled to find the words. "Just a few days ago, you were obedient and scared, but now it's like you became a whole new person overnight."

He looked her over, coldly, "Because I am different, the boy you knew is long gone."

"What are you then?" Petunia pries.

"I was a soldier," he might as well tell the truth. "In another life, you raised me, if you can even call it that. I went to Hogwarts, learned magic, then he returned—the wizard that killed my parents. I killed him, I died, then I came back."

Her eyes widened, "Why would you do that?"

"I have debts to settle, bridges to burn, and simply because I can," he smiled. "You have nothing to worry about though, once you've finished what I've asked I'll make you forget you had to care for me at all."

She nodded stiffly, they returned to the car, "Thank you."

He was letting them off easy considering all the Dursley's had done. They had never shown Harry kindness, never given him comfort—let alone love—but it would be too easy to hurt them. He wanted to play the long game, at least with Dumbledore, and that requires patience. One act of mercy to offset his many upcoming sins, would put his mind at ease.

Harry levitated a rabbit onto the ring, eyes bulging as it mummified before his eyes. He could hardly believe something so simple would have gone on to kill Dumbledore in his previous life. With the curse gone, he slid the ring onto his pointer finger, all The Hallows in his possession once again.

"I suggest you sleep while I'm here," he said, pulling his cloak back over him. "After this we'll need to drive home and I'd prefer if you didn't crash."

Without waiting for a response, Harry slipped into Hogsmeade on autopilot, ducking and weaving through the evening crowd. Easily finding the passage into the castle from Honeydukes, he made his way inside keeping a close eye on the map. Most of the professors were in their classrooms or personal quarters, most likely finishing lesson plans for the coming school year. Dumbledore, however, was pacing, back and forth; mindlessly. Snickering to himself, he exited the tunnel—he had taken all of his belongings back, he had almost forgotten.

The climb to the seventh floor was as exhausting as ever, but everything was as it should be towering piles of broken furniture and old books littered the room. It wasn't burned yet, Crabbe not burned to a crisp by his own Fiendfyre. The diadem still lied under heavy piles of rope and chains, enchantingly beautiful, tucking it under his arm he snuck back into the village, preparing for the long drive home.

Hadrian sat, anxious across from the goblin king, "Your Highness, I understand this is a difficult request, but without this artifact I can't guarantee the success of any of my plans."

"If this ever gets out, Gringotts will be ruined," Ragnok snapped, "You won't even tell me what you need the damned thing for."

"Alright, I'll tell you, but you have to promise you to let me into the vault," he stood pacing, this could go very poorly.

The creature waved his hand, "Get on with it then."

"In my first life, I found out that Voldemort had made several horcruxes and when I came back I made a promise to Lady Life that I would attempt to heal his soul. I've spent the last twenty-four hours retrieving these vessels—the last of which being Helga Hufflepuff's Cup. I believe he gave it to her before she married out of the Black family if that helps, seeing as I'm the heir-apparent due to Sirius's absence, I should be able to retrieve it," he sighed, giving some plausible deniability to cushion the blow.

"And you are certain this item fell into her possession before then?" The king had found his out.

"Absolutely," Harry smiled wide, "I will return from my trip in two weeks to discuss next steps"

The following Friday, the Dursley's flew out to Albania, much to Dudley's loud disapproval. His mother, however, would hear nothing of it, simply telling him that 'Harry would not bother them' and to 'try and enjoy the vacation, as school would start again the following month.' Over the following days, the boy would talk loudly about how much fun he was having, going to beaches and fancy restaurants. Harry, on the other hand, grew more and more frustrated; it had been over a week and he hadn't found any sign of Voldemort. He had tried every tracking charm he could think of, and still nothing, so he resorted to something distasteful.Harry lingered outside of several bars, scoping out the clientele, until he spotted a man trailing him through the dark alleyways near the edge of town.

He turned around once he knew they were alone, "Hello, are you looking for the forest as well?"

"Yes, I am," the man grinned, like a predator that had captured its prey, "I think we both got turned around, didn't we?"

"We can go together! My family is leaving in a few days, but I haven't finish my scrapbook page for the trip," he summoned up as much innocence that he could muster.

He walked along beside the man, who got more excited the further they went into the woods. Before anything could happen, he pulled out his wand, whispering, "Petrificus Totalus, you sick bastard."

Now frozen on the ground, Hadrian centered the man on the ritual circle he had drawn prior. He retrieved Amaya's grimoire from his very heavy bag, propping it up on a nearby stump. The instructions were relatively simple; ensure all artifacts are physically in contact with the vessel, feed the subject the caster's blood—willingly given, and recite the proper incantation. It felt wrong mounting the diadem on the head of a monstrous muggle, securing the locket around his throat, placing the ring on his smallest finger. Opening the diary, placed it flat on its chest, crossing its arms over top.

That was when Harry smelled it, it was like tar tearing is way through his lungs; the wraith was here, attracted by the magic. Harry cut his palm, bleeding heavily in the golden chalice, the body seized at thick black smoke seeped into its skin, still bound. Pouring the viscous liquid down its throat, he began chanting, it went on for ages—the body's heart beating like a hummingbird, caged in its chest. Suddenly, he was thrown backwards as a blinding light tore its way out of the stiff form.

As he readjusted, his eyes went wide at the small shaking body laying beside him. Based on the size and appearance—now similar to his own—it had to be a seven year old Tom Riddle. Propping himself up in the dirt, he called out, "Er- Hi."

Eyes flashing red at the sight of his scar, he lunged, quick, at Harry, "What did you do to me, brat?"

"I just followed the instructions that the book said," clawing at the hands on his neck, he caught a glimpse of a familiar black robe, "Amaya, help me out… please?"

She laughed, hauling the boy into her arms, "I forgot how cute and violent you were at this size!"

"Maia, give him here, you know he's scared of you," Zora smacked her shoulder lightly, taking him. "Child, you will stop this foolishness at once. I am Life, you may call me Zora, and this is my wife Amaya, or Death. I had so much hope for you, young one, but you squandered the gifts you were given. Hadrian has provided you with a new path forward, if you will, and he will tell you his story in his own time. Listen well, if you do not comply with basic morality we will be forced to intervene in a way you will not enjoy, we have blessed you with a second chance. The ritual that was performed today has bound your soul—you will never create another horcrux again—but you are, in essence, immortal."

Tom scoffed, "'In essence' means nothing compared to the immortality I made."

"You are an idiot! You went insane, killed hundreds of an already dwindling population of wixen, and in your madness you opened an entirely new branch of magic by accidentally making a living horcrux while attempting to kill me!" His throat protested at the volume used, but it was completely justified.

"Tom, you were always an extraordinary wizard," Death interrupts. "That horcrux is what gives you what I like to call 'along-for-the-ride immortality', meaning that as long as Hadrian wills your existence, you will live, but in a similar vain, if he wills it, you will die. We want to see what you will do with this chance, but you have to make the choice. Will you be able to control your urges or will we need to guide you onward now?"

"I don't want a keeper, I am not an animal," he glared at Amaya.

"Then stop acting like one, you right twa-," a sharp look from Zoey made him stop short, "I don't want to 'keep' you either. Zora asked me to give you another chance, so I did, whether or not you want to join me in my long term quest of tormenting Albus is your choice."

A wicked look crossed Tom's face, "What are your plans for Dumbledore?"

"You two can discuss more once you have returned home, can I trust that you get along well enough to scheme against that man? After all 'the enemy of my enemy…" Maia trailed off, bidding them goodbye, the goddesses disappeared.

Much to the Dursley's chagrin, Vernon mostly for his wallet, Tom joined them for the remainder of their trip. They discussed Harry's past life; his battles and his betrayals. On one hand, Tom was sick at the thought that he had been defeated time and time again by a school boy, driven insane by his own pursuit of power. On the other, he was vaguely impressed by all that Hadrian had accomplished, of course not without help, but that's what followers are for. Whenever Tom would mention such things, Harry would get increasingly uneasy, but it didn't matter. His former-enemy was destined for great things, and Tom would be there to mold him every step of the way.

The fly back was too simple, with a few confundus charms and the help of invisibility cloak, the boys were back in London in no time. Running to The Leaky in excitement, well, Harry running while tugging along Tom—who was disturbed by the physical contact—into Diagon Alley. He could hardly believe his eyes, in just seven years after his supposed death, wizarding society had returned to normal, as if his war had never happened at all. Keeping close, they entered Gringotts.

"Good afternoon, Griphook," Hadrian was chipper, "We are a bit early for our meeting, but there is still much to be done today."

Grunting, they were guided to a nearby conference room where greeted by King Ragnok, "I see all has gone according to plan, Lord Potter?"

"It has, but now I must ask for my final favor," Harry sighed. "I need a new, full-solid, legal identity for my confidant, here."

It took hours; researching old families, mapping a timeline, and ensuring everything was air-tight. By the time they had left, Tom was now Thomas Ambrose Gaunt, Lord Voldemort's half-blood heir. Crafting an entirely false maternal family was difficult, but not impossible, seeing as there were still many magical communities throughout Europe that choose to remain isolated from greater society to maintain their personal cultures and traditions. All of his extended family were marked as unknown on part of his new mother, Catalina Aldonza, being disowned when she moved to the United Kingdom during the war. Once the details were finalized, he claimed his Gaunt and Slytherin lordships, merging the vaults with the assistance of Harry.

Tom took his time looking through the shops, talking Harry through anything they would need for their next steps. The amount of books was more than suspicious, let alone the topics, spanning from Occlumency and Legilimency, to Ancient Runes and Alchemy; all subjects that Harry had avoided on his last walk through of the alley, but Tom didn't care what others thought, the whispers didn't bother him. When they went to Tattings for his wardrobe, he approached the gentleman, whose name was apparent Jean, and gave strict instructions on fabrics and color shades. Luckily, the wizard was more experienced with large quantities, so they were out as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

Sitting in the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive one last time, Harry pointed his wand, "Obliviate… Harry James Potter was surrendered to Ms. Burke's Home for Wayward Boys on November 17th, 1981 at four-thirty in the morning. You do not care what happened to him, you will never attempt to find him, you will never think about him again."

Putting them to sleep, Harry turned to Tom, "I hope you're ready to do some insane memory manipulation when we arrive."

"And how am I meant to do that?" Thomas rolled his eyes, "This body is much to young for controllable wandless magic, no matter how skilled I truly am. Unless you found my wand by some miraculous coincidence while you were hunting my horcruxes, you'll have to figure it out with that damned Death Stick."

"What if I told you that Lucius Malfoy is more clever than either gave him credit for?" Hadrian chuckled, dangling Voldemort's wand in front of him.

Tom almost fell over attempting to snatch it from him, but Seeker instincts die hard. Harry grabbed hold of the boy, apparating them to their new home.

Chapter 4: Ms. Burke's Home for Wayward Boys

Notes:

~insert text~ will be used to signify parseltongue

And as always:

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its contents.

I do not support J.K. Rowling (f*ck that TERF b*tch).

Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoy! :)

Chapter Text

Within the first two months, the boys had fallen into a routine; wake up, clean their room, breakfast, free time, lunch, lessons, dinner, quiet time, bed. Both agreed that choosing this house as their home base was the correct choice of action, even if Tom loathed his weekly meetings with the matron. Ms. Burke was a squib with a doctorate in child psychology, as well as a potions mastery from her time in greater Europe, and required at least one session each week with every boy staying in her care long term. Luckily, for Hadrian and Thomas, there were only two others, and seeing as they were younger it was likely that they would be adopted before the end of the following year. Harry had asked Tom to be more honest in these appointments, so he knocked on Ms. Burke's door, holding his breath.

"Come in, Thomas," the matron called from within.

He pushed in and sat before her, "Good evening, Ma'am."

"How have you been this week?" Her smile was warm.

"It was fine," avoiding her eyes. "I'm fine."

"I understand you and Hadrian had a bit of a tiff yesterday, why don't talk to me about what happened? I promise I'm not angry with you, my boy," their meetings always went this way, Tom too headstrong to admit to anything, and Ms. Burke prompting him calmly into revealing what troubled him.

"Harry wasn't listening, as always," Tom slouched, crossing his arms. "He hardly ever cleans correctly, or minds his manners at the table, or puts our books away. It makes me angry, and I don't know what to do when I'm angry!"

That part was true, ever since the ritual, it was as if Thomas was clawing to escape his own skin. In the past, his first reaction to anything that displeased him was to lash out in a violent rage, but now he was unable to harm others, he had no outlet, and the tension was only getting worse. He had tried everything to make the urge go away, and this time he had resorted to something more severe; he had bashed his hand in his drawer to calm himself down after Harry had left out his book in the living room, leading to one of the younger boys tearing several pages out. It was an easy fix, but he wasn't able to think clearly enough to cast the spell correctly, causing the book to catch fire instead. Things like this kept happening, as if it wasn't embarrassing enough to be stuck as a seven year old, he needed a way out of this rut before he self-destructed completely.

"Thomas, do you know why Hadrian has such a problem tidying? Or why he forgets to put things away?" Ms. Burke asked, still calm, even after his outburst, he shakes his head. "You two boys are different from the other children, you know this, but you also struggle with your own battles. Ask him, once you've both calmed down. Do you know why you respond the way you do?"

"No, I don't," he couldn't exactly say that he spent almost seventy years torturing his followers with very addictive dark magic, followed by a stint as a cold, unfeeling wraith.

"In my many years of knowing you, dear boy," the memory charms would hold until the day she died, "The science surrounding diagnosing psychological disorders has changed quiet a lot, but I believe I have figured you out. On one hand, you have always had a difficulty regulating yourself, be that sadness or anger, as well as issues communicating and relating to others, and on the other, you have rituals, or processes you like to follow. When you are unable to complete these compulsions you lash out, attempting to do damage yourself or your surrounding. You fixate on your studies, absorbing everything you can whether it be about math or magic, and in the process, you forget to sleep or eat without being reminded constantly."

The silence following shook him to his core, after all this time, every piece of himself that drove him to push through barriers, every piece that compelled him to overcome the hand that was laid before him… was a symptom of something deeper. He didn't mean to sound as wounded as he did, but these meetings always left him feeling like his outer layers were stripped away, "Is something wrong with me? Am I broken?"

"Goodness, no!" Ms. Burke stood, rounding the desk to sit beside him, holding his hands, "Tommy, every brain is different and no one is wrong for how they are made. You are autistic, which simply means that your brain is wired differently from a non-autistic person. This is where your regulation issues come from, as well as your social struggles. You also have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, meaning that you have intense urges and thoughts about doing things you don't want to do, but feeling like you need to do them anyway. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you; you are not broken."

Tom shot up, pacing, "There has to be something that can get rid of if, right?

"As I stated before, autism is simply the way you brain is wired, there's no changing that," she paused. "However, you can manage the symptoms of OCD with proper medication and therapy. I would like to try therapy and coping skills first, but if you do not show adequate improvement within the next six months, I have adapted several psychiatric medications into potions that have been approved by the Potions Masters Association that we can try later. You must promise me that you will try, Thomas, this will not be easy without your full cooperation."

"Yes, Ma'am," the appointment ended soon after leaving him alone with his thoughts as he return to his room.

The boys stared at each other for a moment before Harry spoke, "I'm assume you got a diagnosis too, based on your face?"

They sat discussing Tom's session for over an hour, breaking down details from this timeline's past as well as Harry's, assessing and reassessing what this would mean for their plans. For their current plans, nothing changed, but Tom was unsure of what this would mean for his own future. What would this mean for his ministry career? What would happen if this would get out? Who would have confidence in a man who couldn't regulate his own emotions appropriately?

"You do know we are still seven, right?" Harry flicked his forehead, snapping him out of the spiral he was stuck in, "You are still the same person you were going into that meeting; cunning, cut-throat, and cocky to the bone. It's just that this time you won't have to torture the people around you because you're overstimulated by the hems of your robes. Or try to kill babies because of an obsession over an unfinished, unverified prophecy."

"Shut up, Potter," Tom sneered, "Or I'll find a way out of this little peace treaty you forced me into and do some real damage."

"You won't, admit it, you like being seven again," he had never pressed this far before about their current situation. "Think about it, we finally have time to work through this shit, your not stuck in the middle of two wars and I'm not at the Dursley's being raised for slaughter. Let's just enjoy this, settle down for now, then when our letters come in a few years, we get started."

Tom arched his brow, "And what are we supposed to do in this grace period? Play tag?"

Harry laughed at the idea of the Dark Lord playing tag, "No, you prick, we rest!"

"Rest?"

"Yeah, we'll take up meditation, Occlumency; I can teach you anger management and you can teach me about old wizarding traditions. We can do whatever we want really," he put his hand on Tom's shoulder. "Trust me, just let go a little, we have all the time in the world."

"You never told me what you got diagnosed with?"

"She said I've got ADD-H, but I'm pretty sure the label changes to ADHD in a few years," jumping onto his bed, he stares up at the ceiling, "Burke's also pretty sure I have PTSD, but I doubt it, I've been through a lot, but it wasn't that bad."

Tom let his comment go, Harry will realize the true impact of his past later, he's sure of it.

Time began to flow quickly around them—between muggle homeschooling, magical preparation courses, therapy sessions, and their personal lessons—all blurring together as one year after another passed them by. Harry picked up football the local boys as a way to channel his excess energy, while Tom took up piano to fill his now quieting mind. Both were on a strict potions regiment to ensure they stayed on track, taking extra time to assist Ms. Burke in brewing the potions either of them would need if she became indisposed.

Working together, Tom began to get a handle on his anger, taking deep breaths and learning to walk away was a challenge. Harry, now able to focus without having to fight for his life to get him to pay attention, began to excel in his studies, having more appreciation for Ancient Runes—making Tom smug after his hours of complaining about the subject. They compared notes often, Tom's critiques now helping more than annoying.

The pair began to joke with each other, it felt normal, like they had known each other all of their lives. They watched the Marauders' Map together, laughing when students would hit a trip-step. Days were spent planning elaborate pranks on Dumbledore, while nights were spent reading or quietly discussing theory. Tom talked about his grandiose plan to climb the ministry ladder, dismantling the system from the inside and guiding the world towards a new age. Harry talked about joining a Quidditch team and touring across the world, eventually coming home to settle down and live a quiet life, away from the press.

Until one day, Tom stopped him, "I hope you know that we're not friends. Lord Voldemort doesn't do friends."

"Of course not," Harry didn't understand why such an obvious statement had hurt so badly. "Why do you still refer to yourself as Voldemort?"

"Because I am Lord Voldemort," he was confidant. "That is who I am, that is who I always will be. My methods may have changed, but my vision is still the same."

"So you still believe that pure-bloods are better than us? That muggleborns deserve to be tortured for the entertainment of your psychopathic fan-base?"

"No I mea-"

"Oh, save it, you sadist," Hadrian was in his face in an instant, fists balled at his side. ~I gave you life. I fixed your damned soul after everything you did, after all of the people you tortured and killed. I should call Amaya back just to see you squirm, waiting for me to see if your even worth killing. After everything I've done to help you, the least you can do is mind your fucking mouth!~

The air was thick with magic; hair whipped around his face, eyes glowing killing curse green, their belongings suspended in the air.

"Harry, I believe that's enough," a kind voice called from beyond their locked door.

Everything came crashing down.

"Hadrian," Ms. Burke pulled him from his thoughts, "You both seemed to be getting along so well, what happened?"

He started shaking again, "He's a massive prick that's what."

"I will not have that foul language in my house, breathe and try again."

"He was going on about his father," he had to find someway to get this out without ruining everything. "He kept saying that even though his dad lost the plot, he had good ideas about reform… then I lost it."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, "I will have another discussion with Thomas at a later time. You've gone through so much, dear, but you cannot lose your temper. You're a strong boy, Harry, but when your emotions become as strong as your power, I do worry."

"Yes, Ma'am."

They didn't talk for almost three months after that, outside of their lessons it was complete silence. Neither of them bold enough to breech the awkward place they had gotten themselves into, too stubborn to fix the fragile bond they had formed. Every now and then, Harry would catch Tom starting at him, always looking away as if he hadn't just been caught. Harry returned from football practice, to find a note on his nightstand.

Hadrian,

I'm sorry, I don't think I want to be Lord Voldemort anymore.

Happy Birthday,

Thomas

There were dried tears on the parchment, and for the first time since his death, he had no idea what to do. Imagining the other boy showing any emotion other than rage or was difficult, but the idea of seeing him crying was disturbing. Part of him wanted to find Tom now, talk it through and get it over with, while the other held fast that the boy deserved to wait just a bit longer. Settling into his bed, Harry pulled out a recent assignment and got to work, occasionally watching the clock over their door. Nearly an hour later, Tom returned from his piano lesson, looking worse for wear.

"Hi," ever the Gryffindor, Harry broke the ice. "What happened that made you change your mind?"

"I spent most of my time thinking everything over… tried to continue like normal, you know, lessons, and magic, and stuff," Thomas was never this unsure of himself, he pulled a cloth out of his pocket. "Then my wand broke, the core rejected the wood and it shattered in my hands."

"It just broke? They can do that?"

Tom sighed, "It can happen, it's just not common; when a wand chooses a wizard it's because that person holds some sort of talent or goal that it agrees with. When a core rejects the wood—or the other way around—it's usually caused by a significant change in himself, a trauma or in my case healing."

Hadrian didn't know what to say.

"Yew is the wood of life and death, it's known for its preference for dueling or in my case violence," the boy continued. "By the time I had gotten my wand, I had already killed animals and hurt the other children in the orphanage. My wand accepted those urges with no criticism, unlike those around me, so I leaned into them more. I fully believed that they deserved it, and that I was worthy to bring their suffering."

He paused again trying to find the words, "The more I talked to Ms. Burke the more I came to understand that I was wrong. After all of the therapy and medication, I realized I don't think I need the violence anymore… that I don't need to be Lord Voldemort anymore."

"Now I know you're pulling my leg," Harry's rage started simmering again. "You never 'needed to be him' in the first place!"

"Yes, I did!" Tom was pulling at his hair, a tick he had developed over the past few months, "We grew up in very different times, Harry. I was completely alone, first at the orphanage, then at Hogwarts, stuck between two devastating wars. Think about it, before your time, blood purity was still the rage in wider society, so an orphan in second hand robes with no social standing what-so-ever made me a target. When I found out I was the heir of Slytherin, I finally had some leverage, but I never could be one of them. I became more than they were, a monster, yes, but I was someone they could respect."

"So if you can't be Voldemort, who will you be then?"

The corners of his lips twitch upward, "I think it's time I stop trying to be Voldemort and try being Thomas."

"And does Thomas do friends?" Harry teased.

"Not a chance, letting people get to close is idiotic at best," he scoffed. "But he doesn't do followers either, maybe allies?"

Holding out his hand, Hadrian grinned, "That's good enough for me; not enemies, not friend's, just allies with a common goal."

"Allies it is then, and happy tenth… again," Tom shook his hand.

An unfamiliar calm settled over them as they ironed out the final details for the coming year, which was quickly approaching. Harry had to go back several times to reevaluate Ms. Burke's fabricated memories to ensure they were just right. Anxiety was eating at the both of them when winter set in, they rarely left each other's side, often whispering to themselves about proper behavior to exhibit in front of adults and their peers. Christmas passed without issue, but the boys grew restless, checking and rechecking their belongings, testing each other on their shared history, doing exercises to ensure true trust between them.

"Happy birthday, Thomas."

"Happy New Year, Hadrian."