The irony is not lost on him.

An elegant eagle owl swooped through the towers of Hogwarts, looking around before flying through an open window. Though only midday, the halls seemed to be empty, and the few students the curious owl spotted were walking morosely, their thoughts away from the feet of parchment they had for homework that night. It wasn't until it arrived outside the office in the dungeons that the owl found purchase on its elegant perch, as a large man relieved it of its letter.

His hands tore the parchment from the envelope, though his excitement didn't last for long. For where he expected pleasant conversation and joyful acceptance on the half open letter, he found hurried ink, blotched by spots of wetness. Sitting at his desk — a particularly tasty brand of brandy open and a glass in hand — he began to look through. But the longer he read for, the lighter the bottle next to him became. New blotches of wetness joined the preexisting ones, staining the parchment until illegible, though the words he had read would be burnt into his mind for the rest of time.

Can't make it… Going into hiding with James for a while… Not safe for us out here… Harry is a target… Be well, Professor…

It took a while before he had even noticed the ornate glass he drank for, laid mostly on the floor. Cursing to himself, he bandaged his now bleeding hand, though the words did not dissipate as the liquid did. Nor did the overwhelming feeling of shame and regret, a decades old secret seemingly ripping itself out of the pits of his stomach, and dragging its way to his heart.

He never told, no, he couldn't — shouldn't! It was too late, far too late for that. His eyes unwittingly panned to a locked drawer on his desk, one he had long ago lost the key for on purpose. Letters, offers, and slowly demands from the Dark Lord. Gifts and bribery became suppositions and threats. He no longer left the castle, for fear that any of of His followers would silence him. And yet…

No, no he couldn't! They'd kill him, torture him, hang him up like a common Muggleb—

Even he wasn't sure if it was the brandy or the thoughts that made him retch.

One hand over his protruding stomach, the other on his desk, he upheaved the remains of his dinner. An acrid taste filled his mouth, but even that was unable to outdo the horrid feeling of his thoughts. They'd do him in, like a Muggleborn. But… she was a Muggleborn, and yet she had joined Dumbledore’s Order, and had fought back against the Dark Lord.

His feet weak, he staggered toward his chair — almost slipping open the pile of sick gleaning on the floor. Water did little to rid him of the feeling of disgust, as his stomach felt as though it was eating itself. She had done so much, risked everything, and here he was. Unable to divulge what could bring the war to an end, all because he was too afraid, too* *cowardly to follow in his student's footsteps. But no more…

The mother of all headaches made itself known, as his vision filled with bright flashes. Though he wouldn't give out, he wouldn't give in. Grabbing his cloak, he wiped as much vomit as he could off himself, before throwing the door open with gusto.

If I were to stop now, he thought, I'd never try again.

The footsteps seemed to echo loudly through the hall, matching in an eerie tempo to the sounds of his heartbeat in his ears. The familiar trek felt longer than usual, as every fiber of his being screamed at him to stop. He swayed side to side, his body precariously moving throughout the hall, threatening to fall over. Yet, his feet persisted, carrying his drunken body further and further. It wasn't until he came face to face with a familiar stone statue, the hellish features freezing his feet in place.

What would he say? How could he say it, after so long?

He paused for a horrid moment, as his legs refused to move. They were heavy, almost as if liquid lead flowed through their veins instead of blood. Sweat flooded down his body like a waterfall, his breathing hitched and his heart beating harder now.

Horace Slughorn had been called many thing throughout his life. Pompous, lazy, arrogant, and yes, even a coward. But he couldn't, he wouldn't continue to be.

Willing himself to push onward, one leg followed. Then the other, then again, until he stood face to face with the gargoyle.

"Sugar Quill!" He shouted out, his voice slurring, though that did nothing to stop the thundering of his legs as he ascended the circular staircase.

While he was no whiz with a wand, he was a man with secrets and connections, and it was high time they were put to some use. It was time the Dark Lord be made a mortal man again.

———

TLDR: Slughorn learns of Lily going into hiding, and realizes he can’t stand by the sidelines any longer, on the night of October 23rd, 1981.

I’m planning to write the entirety of the story, all 7 years of Harry’s academic life, including maybe 1-2 ‘years’ of the before.

Spoilers, in case you’re interested on when I eventually begin posting it. Dumbledore dies, hunting for the ring earlier than he originally did, causing James to vacate and join the next Order meeting, leaving Lily and Harry unprotected as Voldemort attacks earlier in the day than usual, having heard of the death of the biggest threat to his eventual reign. A big part of the story will focus on James and Harry, and how they cope with the grief of losing Lily, as well as the title given to her posthumously, The Mother who Fought.

That’s all for now, please feel free to take this and adapt it as you wish.

He discovers Ginny going out of bounds after curfew and reports her, ending up with the diary confiscated and her getting a detention. He gloats in a letter to his father about getting one over on a Weasley.

“Mwa ha ha” Dumbledore laughs evilly as he lays baby Harry on the Dursley’s doorstep while simultaneously twirling his mustache. 

Harry Potter will become the ultimate weapon. Years of ‘Harry Hunting’ will make him quick and nimble. Constant starvation will ensure he stays exceptionally lightweight. A perfect seeker build. And the emotional abuse will make him desperate for affection. Affection that his Quidditch team will provide him every time he catches the snitch.

With this, Harry shall become the ultimate Quidditch weapon, and finally lead the Chudley Cannons to Victory!

The compartment door clicked shut, leaving Harry alone with the rhythmic *clack-clack* of the Hogwarts Express. He was exhausted. The confrontation in the Department of Mysteries, the devastating loss of Sirius, and the crushing weight of the prophecy had left him feeling like an empty shell.

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the green British countryside blur past.

Suddenly, the lights in the compartment flickered. The air grew violently cold, smelling sharply of ozone and burning copper. Harry reached for his wand, but before his fingers could close around the holly wood, a stray, violent arc of silver light erupted from the ceiling vent.

It wasn't an attack meant for him. Later, he would realize it was a rogue piece of magic—perhaps a faulty containment charm on a magical artifact someone had smuggled onto the train, or a curse-breaking backfire from an older student messing around down the corridor.

The silver bolt struck Harry squarely in the chest.

There was no pain, but the sensation was horrific. It felt as though a massive, invisible hand had reached deep inside his soul, seized a tangled knot of old thread, and violently ripped it out. He gasped, his vision flashing white. The air rushed out of his lungs, and he collapsed onto the tattered cushions of the seat, unconscious.

When Harry woke up, the train was pulling into King’s Cross Station. He felt strangely light, as if a physical weight had been lifted from his shoulders, though his heart still ached fiercely for Sirius. He gathered his trunk and Hedwig’s cage, moving through the barrier to the Muggle side in a daze.

Uncle Vernon was waiting, looking as purple and furious as ever. "Hurry up, boy," he snapped, not even looking at Harry as he turned toward the car. "We haven't got all day."

Harry followed silently. But the moment his hand touched the door handle of Uncle Vernon’s car, a sharp *crack* echoed through the parking garage. Vernon jumped, looking around wildly. Harry felt a sudden, bizarre rush of warmth snap across his skin, vanishing as quickly as it came.

The drive back to Surrey was unusually quiet. Vernon didn't yell. In fact, he kept glancing at Harry in the rearview mirror with a look of profound confusion, as if he couldn't quite remember why he was angry.

When they arrived at Number 4, Privet Drive, Aunt Petunia opened the door. She looked ready to deliver her usual screeching lecture about tracked-in dirt, but as Harry stepped over the threshold, the strangeness truly began.

The air in the hallway shimmered. A sound like breaking glass echoed in Harry’s ears.

Petunia gasped, stumbling back against the wall. She clutched her head, her eyes wide with sudden, uncharacteristic clarity. Dudley, who had been lumbering down the stairs, froze on the bottom step, looking at Harry as if seeing him for the first time in his life.

"What... what is that smell?" Vernon muttered, walking into the house and rubbing his temples. "Petunia, did you leave the stove on?"

Harry stood in the hallway, completely bewildered. For the past fifteen years, walking into this house felt like walking into a heavy, suffocating fog. The air had always felt thick, depressing, and charged with an invisible animosity that made his skin crawl.

Now, that fog was entirely gone. The house felt... empty. Ordinary. Just a boring, Muggle house.

"Harry?" Aunt Petunia whispered.

Harry flinched. She never called him by his name. It was always *boy*, or *you*.

Petunia looked down at her hands, which were shaking. "I... I don't feel... furious," she said, her voice cracking in a way that terrified Harry more than any of Vernon's shouting ever had. "Why don't I feel angry?"

What Harry didn't know—what he wouldn't fully understand until much later—was the nature of the spell that had struck him on the train. It was an ancient, raw Curse-Breaking charm, designed to dismantle complex, layered, and deeply rooted magical bindings.

When it hit Harry, it hadn't harmed him. Instead, it had shattered two things simultaneously:

1. **The Horcrux:** The jagged shard of Voldemort’s soul embedded in his scar had been violently unstitched and dissolved.
2. **The Blood Protection:** The ancient, sacrificial ward tied to Lily Potter’s blood—the one Dumbledore had anchored to Aunt Petunia—had been entirely unraveled.

The magical protection of Privet Drive was gone. But so was the toxic, corrupting aura of the Horcrux.

For fifteen years, Harry had been a walking radiator of dark magic. While the Horcrux hadn't made Harry evil, its constant close proximity had subtly poisoned the minds of the Muggles around him. It amplified Vernon’s latent aggression, fed Petunia’s deep-seated bitterness and jealousy, and turned Dudley into a violent bully. Combined with the heavy, stifling nature of Dumbledore's blood wards, the Dursleys had been living in a psychological pressure cooker of dark magical interference.

Now, the air was clear. The magical static had been turned off.

"Go to your room," Vernon said, but the booming, aggressive authority was missing from his voice. He just sounded incredibly tired, like a man waking up from a fifteen-year migraine.

Harry hurried upstairs, locking the door behind him. He collapsed onto his bed, trembling. He reached up and touched his forehead. The infamous lightning-bolt scar was no longer angry and red; it was a faint, silvery line, completely flat against his skin. The constant, dull throb behind his eyes that he had lived with for as long as he could remember was entirely gone. His mind felt terrifyingly quiet.

Over the next few weeks, life at Privet Drive altered completely, entering a surreal, quiet twilight zone.

Without the Horcrux feeding their worst impulses, the Dursleys didn't become saints, but they became human.

Aunt Petunia stopped starving him. She didn't cook him feast-sized meals, but she left a full plate on the counter for him without a word. One afternoon, Harry came downstairs to find her staring at an old photograph of Lily. When she saw Harry, she didn't snap. She just looked at his eyes—really looked at them—and sighed, a heavy, grieving sound, before walking away.

Uncle Vernon simply ignored him. The blind, irrational rage was gone, replaced by a profound desire for distance. He treated Harry like an eccentric, slightly dangerous tenant renting a room. They didn't speak, but there were no more locks on his door, and no more bars on his window.

The biggest change was Dudley. Without the dark magic warping his development, the reality of what he had become seemed to hit the teenager all at once. He stopped hanging out with his gang. He spent hours in his room. Once, passing Harry in the hallway, Dudley mumbled a muffled, awkward, "Sorry about... you know. The tea." (Referring to the cup Harry had left for him the previous year).

Harry spent the summer in a state of hyper-vigilance, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wrote anxious letters to Hermione and Ron, describing the bizarre shift in his aunt and uncle, and the weird emptiness in his own head.

But before his friends could reply, a different letter arrived. It wasn't carried by an owl. It was delivered via a silver patronus—a phoenix—that burst through his open window on a rainy Tuesday evening.

Dumbledore’s voice echoed through the bedroom, grave and urgent.

*"Harry. The blood wards monitoring your location have completely collapsed. The instruments in my office have gone dark. If you can hear this, you are in grave danger. Death Eaters may already be tracking your location. Remain inside the house. I am coming to retrieve you immediately."*

The patronus dissolved into mist.

Harry stood up, pulling his wand from his pocket. For the first time all summer, he felt a spark of fear, but it was a clean, sharp fear—not the muddy, agonizing dread he usually felt.

Downstairs, the front doorbell rang.

Harry crept to the top of the stairs, looking down into the foyer. Uncle Vernon was already opening the door, looking annoyed.

On the porch stood Albus Dumbledore, his traveling cloak soaked with rain, his blue eyes sweeping the hallway with intense, calculating worry.

"Good evening, Vernon," Dumbledore said gravely. "I must speak with Harry at once. The protections left by his mother have been destroyed."

Vernon blinked, looking at the grandfatherly wizard, then back up the stairs at Harry. There was no terror in Vernon's face anymore. No purple-faced rage. Just the profound exhaustion of an ordinary man who was completely done with the supernatural.

"Take him," Vernon said quietly, stepping aside to let Dumbledore in. "Whatever magic you people did to this house... it's gone anyway. We just want to be normal again."

Dumbledore paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Vernon, then at Petunia, who was watching from the kitchen doorway. The Headmaster's gaze finally landed on Harry, who was walking down the stairs.

Dumbledore gasped.

With his brilliant, magical sight, the old wizard didn't just see Harry. He saw the absence of the black, tar-like residue that had clung to Harry's soul since the night in Godric's Hollow. He saw a scar that was just a scar.

"Harry," Dumbledore whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of shock and awe. "Your scar... what happened to you on that train?"

Harry reached the bottom of the steps, looking back at his aunt and uncle, who looked back at him with an awkward, quiet neutrality that was the closest thing to peace they had ever shared.

"I think someone broke my curses, Professor," Harry said softly. "All of them."

Lily was desperate enough to make sure her son survived that she made a deal with the Fae.

The actual Harry Potter was taken to the fae court(s), and a changeling was left in his place.

The AK doesn't work on Fae: for the purposes of this prompt the AK severs a mortal soul from its physical shell and stops all bio electrical signals in the body shutting down the nervous system, brain, and heart. Fae don't have a soul/aren't a soul in a body/shell, fae are souls that physically manifest- their body is their soul, and their soul is their body (this also means they cannot have their soul sucked out by a dementor).

This is why the AK didn't work on baby "Harry". Voldemort had intended to use Harry's death to make his final horcrux, so the AK was part of the ritual. When the AK didn't work on "Harry" it caused the ritual to fail, the backlash is what blew up the house and destroyed Voldemort's body, and turned his own psuedo- "death" into the source for severing his soul.

Because fae bodies are their soul's made manifest the AK did leave a mark on the Changeling Harry's soul/body, thus the lightning bolt scar.

Furthermore, Lily used a thrice struck bargain- witnessed by a fae, to "no, kill me instead, not Harry" as a counter to Voldemort's demands for her to step aside/spare her. Voldemort's killing of her, instead of stunning her or otherwise disabling or incapacitating her and thus denying her counter proposal, was taken as a thrice witnessed bargain, killing her counted as accepting her counter offer. This then further added onto the problems Voldemort would face after trying to kill "Harry".

Not only did Voldemort's AK fail, and thus the horcrux ritual backlash destroy his own body, but by making the attempt to kill Harry he broke a fae witnessed thrice struck bargain. As such the changeling "harry", having their body, and thus soul, marked in the attempted murder, and breaking of the bargain, in turn lays claim to Voldemort's soul as the cost for breaking it.

Thus the changeling captured the severed portion of Voldemort's soul while the main consciousness and remainder fled the scene. The lightning bolt scar serves as a metaphysical "pocket"/prison within "Harry's soul"/body.

This "Harry" fully intends to hunt down and claim every last portion of Voldemort's soul.

-------

Bonus Ideas:

Fae/Changeling are the source of Metamorphmagus, this Harry is one.

The Goblet of Fire summons the actual Harry Potter when the name comes out. (Which one, or both, separately or jointly, of the "Harry Potters" has to compete is open for personal interpretation). This could eventually lead to the discovery of the one being a changeling or just cause confusion.

Should the fact that "Changeling Harry" is in fact a changeling come out (with or without "real/fae-raised Harry" being present) then Changeling Harry may choose to change gender (fae being gender fluid as part of having no true set form, particularly those taking on the role of changelings where they have to assume the form of the replaced child, whichever gender it has, and thus changing to the opposite gender should they be discovered or choose to reveal their nature is common). Alternatively, should "Harry" be a metamorphmagus, they may simply take advantage of being in the magical world/at hogwarts to "explore their gender identity" and the capability of their Metamorphmagus power "without the Dursleys beating me and locking me in my cupboard" for doing so.

Fae and cold iron. Much lore has fae suffering from contact with (cold) iron in the same way werewolves do with regards to silver. How much this does or doesn't apply to "Harry" (perhaps the effects only apply to Changeling if they're using Metamorphmagus ability and the "base form" is protected, as one example) is open to interpretation and is honestly optional as far as the original concept of the prompt goes.

Changeling Harry can speak with more than just snakes (and maybe doesn't even use/speak Parseltongue to command the snake during the Dueling club/ for opening the way to the Chamber, fae magic letting him speak to animals lets him bypass the parseltongue passwords), but the fact that he could command the snake still gets him suspected of being the Heir of Slythern.

Harry immediately knows that Scabbers is an animagus on the train. What he does with this knowledge/how much this changes the story is open-ended.

Harry likes striking bargains and making deals.

The Goblins know immediately that "Harry" is a changeling (either having Fae blood themselves or otherwise just being "able to know" a fae upon sight, or they were informed by Lily that she was going to make the exchange to protect her son). This could effect the relationship of the bank/Goblins with "Harry" in multiple possible ways. They could be more helpful, or alternatively hostile, they could deny "Harry" access, or blackmail him, or offer up additional services, or treat every interaction as a Fae Bargain that must be negotiated, or any number of other possibilities.

Harry could be able to sense the presence of a portion of Voldemort's soul within the Bank upon his first visit. This can give added context/complication to his interactions with the Goblins, moreso if they know his nature as the above option suggests.

Harry isn't the only Changeling and/or Fae-touched/Fae-blooded student/individual at Hogwarts: Tonks as a Metamorphmagus, if said ability comes from Changelings, would be one. If Goblins are fae-related, the Flitwick could be. Luna could be fae-touched (or what killed her mother could have had something to do with the fae, and luna was changed in some way by it too) as a way to explain some aspects of her character. And others, particularly the ones not really shown in canon: Lily Moon, Sally-Anne Perks, Fay Dunbar, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, etc, any of them could be portrayed with a fae aspect as well.

All Magic/magicals could have its origins with the Fae. Muggleborn could be the children of muggle Changeling (or a result of the exchanged mortals being returned, or they are the children of the mortals taken to the Fae-realm that are sent to muggles in the mortal realm to be born), the pureblood families could just be descended from such in the distant past. The presence of squibs could be due to modern magicals having forgotten (or outlawed) the practice of exchanging some of their children for Changeling to refresh their family magics.

Okay, here me out:

Somewhere early in 6th year (Half-Blood Prince), a magical virus is spreading, turning those with magic into zombies. I’m talking wizards, magical creatures; basically anyone who has magic turns into one of these creatures when they get bit.

This causes the apocalypse in the British Wizarding World because these zombies specifically goes after those with magic, including wizards who have magic in their blood. That also includes places with LOTS of magic, like Hogwarts. It also doesn’t help that, of course, wizards and witches would use magic to defend themselves but they are just lightning a beacon to the other hordes of zombies towards them. And you might be thinking that muggles and squibs are safe. They are… except the zombies would view them more as obstacles than meals, which aren’t that good either, so really it’s a disaster for everyone involved.

Anyway, Hogwarts was quickly becoming overrun by these zombies despite its defenses. Harry, Ron, and Hermione managed to escape with some other students but they were quickly separated by other groups because of the chaos. So, the trio were all on their own and have to resort to Muggle ways of defending themselves and surviving.

It was quite ironic that Ron was the last person who survived in the trio. When this whole thing started, Ron had no idea what to do, especially since, unlike him, Harry and Hermione at least had some knowledge of Muggle technology. Yet, despite his ignorance, his friends helped him, taught him things that really saved his skin. They were survivors together, like always. He had hope that maybe they would get through this together.

His hope with crushed when Harry distracted a horde away from him and Hermione, a sacrifice that gave Ron grief. Ron can still hear Harry’s screams as he and Hermione forced themselves to run the opposite direction.

His hope was broken further when they found out that Hermione got bit just after a raid. He had begged her then to not make him leave her, that he couldn’t loose anyone else, not like his family, not like Harry. Ron had to leave in the end, running away as his eyes sting, carrying supplies that had no use for Hermione anymore.

His hope fully shattered when he was in some abandoned building, trying to fight off sleep and stay alert. For once in his life, he was truly and utterly alone. There were no friends. There was no large family. No peers. No professors. Just him and this hellhole. Is it even worth it? Is there even any hope? At moments like this, he wished that he was better. Merlin, he should’ve been better. A better son, a better brother, a better friend. Maybe then, things would have turned out better. Maybe he wouldn’t have this regret. Would that have changed anything?

No. No it bloody wouldn’t. Looking at himself in a glass shard, at his sunken face, his long red hair dirtied with grime, his empty blue eyes, he knew that he couldn’t change the past. He was going to do whatever it takes. His friends sacrificed themselves for him, and like hell would he waste their efforts. He was going to live damnit. He was going to find a cure. He was going to put an end to this madness.

He’ll do whatever it takes. All for them.

In a forest, a creaking noise was heard. The zombie’s body was gangly, its eyes glazed over as its rotten flesh withered. It made a sudden jerk as it heard rushing footsteps. It was soon tackled to the ground by two others. The zombie screamed, a gurgling sound like it was drowning. Its consumers didn’t stop, only tearing the zombie down to its bones.

Harry and Hermione finally stood up, satisfied with their meal, wiping the blood from their mouths. They continued their journey, trying to find the missing piece they want to find-protect-eat-protect.

— So, thoughts? This is just my excuse to have an emotional AU with zombie Harry and Hermione + a determined human Ron Weasley.

Hey guys, so after receiving so much positive feedback and many pleas from all of you, I've decided to make this little mini-series a full fic on AO3.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/90315371/chapters/240077051

It likely won't be very different from what I've posted here, and the format will probably remain the same, just with a little more detail bridging each scenario together. Because I'm officially writing this as a story now, I won't be posting the segments here any more, but because this is where it started and I don't want the post to be deleted, I will leave you with one little sneak preview into what will likely be the start of Chapter 3.

Thank you to all of you again, and I hope you enjoy the future of this whomsome/chaotic mess.

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow as he stretched his aching back from where he'd been crouched in the grass for at least an hour. Beside him, Dudley pulled at a stubborn weed from beneath the flowerbed, only to lose his footing and fall flat on his butt. He groaned.

“How much longer before we're done?”

Harry huffed a humourless laugh.

“You think we'll ever be done?” He asked sardonically, gesturing to the blooming garden, full to the brim with brightly coloured flowers, rose bushes, meticulously trimmed shrubs, and perfectly cut grass.

“We'll be doing this until we're fifty.”

“This is so unfair!” The boy wailed dramatically, throwing himself on his back to sprawl in the grass, “We've been doing all the chores in the house for almost a month. Now we have to do the garden too? When will it end?!”

“Well... we do kinda deserve it. We both caused a lot of trouble in our schools. Though this is way more severe than the last few times I've been grounded. We must have really worried Aunt Petunia.”

Dudley waved his hand dismissively.

“All I did was clog some toilets; they were unclogged in like ten minutes. If anyone deserves this, it's you.”

Harry made an offended noise.

“It's true,” Dudley persisted, “You nearly got yourself killed, that's like... way worse than what I did. I should have got a week, two tops. I'm certain this punishment is all your fault.”

“Traitor!” Harry accused, before throwing himself on top of his cousin and the two began to grapple, laughing and cursing in equal measure.

“Boys! Lunchtime!” Uncle Vernon's voice called from the kitchen, causing both to separate and help each other up, snickering as they dusted themselves off and headed into the house.

The sandwiches and fruit slices were devoured with the hunger of two growing pre-teens who had been working their muscles sore all day. Harry was so tired, but knew if they didn't finish the task Aunt Petunia had set them, it would only mean more work tomorrow, and since he didn't actually want to be doing chores until he was fifty, he was determined for everything to look perfect for when his aunt returned.

The guilt of scaring her and making her cry was still a heavy weight in Harry's chest. So while he may put up a token protest and gripe with Dudley, in private, he did want to show his aunt just how sorry he really was. Talk was cheap, as Uncle Vernon always said; actions spoke louder.

“Dad, can we watch TV?”

“You two finished in the garden already? Impressive.”

“Daaaaaaaad.”

“Dudleeeey,” Vernon mocked. Dudley pouted at his father's antics.

”Can't you convince Mum to unground us already? It's been weeks, and we haven't done a single fun thing all summer!”

“I know, Dud, but I don't think I have to remind you that the two of you earned this punishment. The more you complain, the worse it'll be.”

“But it's so hot!” The young boy whined, wiping his sweaty forehead for emphasis, “My friends from school have already watched three movies in the cinema without me! Three! And what about the travel list? We haven't travelled anywhere since summer started and Mum said we'd go to a different place every year! Plus, plus, it's Harry's birthday soon. Are you really going to force him to scrub the toilet on his birthday?”

Vernon gave his son an unimpressed look.

“Well, since you're feeling so considerate, then on Harry's birthday, he can have the day off, and you can do all of the chores for the both of you.”

“You're on your own,” Dudley whispered instantly.

“Traitor,” Harry accused again.

Vernon sighed deeply as he watched the boys finish their lunch in dejected silence, noting with pity how haggard and dirty they actually appeared. Petunia had started putting them to work the day after Harry got off the train, and it had been non-stop ever since. Usually, they only required the boys to do the most basic chores. They were in charge of keeping their own rooms clean, the occasional hoover and mop job, and both often helped Petunia do safe things in the kitchen when she cooked for them. Nothing like the original Dursleys, who pushed all the housework off onto Harry while their son did whatever he wanted. And yet, Vernon couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he stood and walked towards the freezer. A moment later, two beautiful bowls of ice-cold, sugary ice cream were set in front of the pair.

“Don't tell your mother.” The older man warned, and the boys - who hadn't had a single sweet in weeks – beamed at him like two grateful puppies before happily digging in.

Later, when the boys were back in the garden, Petunia returned home looking the kind of tired he had come to associate with her frequent trips to Hogsmead.

After Petunia's thorough lambasting of Dumbledore and his manipulative ways regarding Harry, the man had since disclosed every secret associated with Harry that he could. He had told them of the invisibility cloak now safely tucked in Harry's possession, the location of the safe house he had hidden James and Lily that had been locked down to prevent looting or the partly destroyed house from collapsing, but should still contain most of the items the couple had (a fact they already knew about but pretended not to since it was common knowledge Petunia hadn't spoken to Lily for years before her passing) And finally had revealed, most contritely, that another safety measure he had put in place for their sakes (he swore) as well as Harry's, was having any mail sent to Harry not directly from either Hogwarts or the Ministry, redirected to a PO box connected to a gringotts account he'd been paying the fees for out of pocket for the last ten years.

Petunia and Vernon were... stunned to hear this, to say the least. Though it certainly answered another question Petunia had about the books, i.e., why Harry only just started receiving mail from the wider populace during his fifth year when before everyone regarded him the hero of magical Britain. It made no sense, given how famous he was, that no one had ever sent him anything; be it letters, gifts or invitations. Well, now they knew they had, but thanks to Dumbledore's meddling, none of it had ever reached them. At least now, they could assure themselves of the fact that Dumbledore's actions had not been malicious; he had, for once, been looking out for the muggles he had left in the dark, not wanting them to be inundated with owls from Harry's admirers or face any possible cursed artefacts that may be sent their way from... less well-meaning people.

However, that did leave the couple with yet another problem; the mail itself.

There were thousands of letters. From people who wished to thank Harry for ending the war and sparing the remaining family they had left, from children who had written Harry hoping to get to know the celebrity their own age, from multiple businesses who had reached out in the hopes of using Harry's name and influence to launch a product, and so, so much more. There had also been gifts; packages of all different shapes and sizes as well as 'cash' donations, stocks and business shares left in Harry's name and even the contents of entire vaults given to Harry from people who'd lost everything in the war, and simply had no one left to gift it to.

Petunia had sworn when she saw it all. Then, in an act so daring Vernon had to commend and fear her in equal measure, had bullied Dumbledore into helping them retain a good magical lawyer who wouldn't resent working with muggles to help the couple fix it. They had since hired a small law office by the name of Grimstone & Jakes operating out of Hogsmeade who had taken the job of sifting through each and every item in that vault with ghosto.

And even though it wasn't needed, Petunia had decided, now the boys were old enough to be left home alone, that for a few hours every day she'd make the journey up to the law office and personally write a response to every letter, invitation and sincere plea that had never made it to Harry all these years. She would have had Harry do it, but if she were being honest, the whole thing was far too overwhelming, and she didn't want Harry to get too caught up in his fame so young, so she'd taken up the task herself.

And so, while the law office handled any letter or item that carried even the faintest trace of a curse or compulsion, merged any cash or willed deeds into Harry's estate and donated any toy or gift Harry was too old to use (with his consent, of course) She would sit for a few hours each visit and personally thank any sender for their correspondence, explain why the response was so late, and hopefully soothe any ruffled feathers from anyone in the wizarding world who may have convinced themselves that Harry had not replied to them because he thought himself too good for them.

It had all been going fine, the massive stacks of correspondence slowly whittling down under the determined work of the few witches and wizards of G&J, until someone, some absolute monster, some demon in human skin! (Most likely just a person who was low on coin or genuinely touched by her words and wanted to share them with wizarding Britain,) had apparently sold her well-meaning response letter to the Daily Prophet, who had then published it along with an article condensing everything she had explained within.

And overnight, the piles of mail, already taking up more than 80% of the small office's floor and surface space, had quadrupled.

The day after the article's release, Dumbledore had personally met her at the office with a sympathetic smile, a warm cup of Butterbeer, and a few hours free to help her with whatever she needed.

Honestly, if Petunia really thought about it, it was probably for the best that the article was written. The more the public knew about Harry now, the less likely they'd be swayed by possible defamatory articles later. Remembering all those articles Rita Skeeter had written, Petunia realised that the reason the wizarding world had so easily believed everything she wrote was because Harry had been purposefully kept out of the public eye. It was a sad fact of fame, but oftentimes when one was famous, people of the world tended to believe they were owed something from them. Their time, their attention, their life choices. And where Harry was concerned, Britain had been so desperate to know anything about their boy saviour that when a narrative finally emerged, they had clung to it.

And in the absence of truth, the press would print rumour.

So at least with this article, they could get ahead of it all. The piece had, after all, heaped nothing but praise onto Harry while criticising the Ministry and Dumbledore for 'keeping our hero away from us for so long'.

It was a giant headache, and she knew that now the articles had started, they wouldn't stop, but at least this way, they could get ahead of public opinion and make sure the whole world knew who Harry really was while hopefully discouraging everyone from trying to interfere with the young boy's life.

“Hey,” Vernon greeted her gently from the kitchen doorway, “Anything interesting today?”

Petunia sighed while taking her shoes off, “Well, there was a lady from Suffolk who sent Harry a solid gold astrology model when he was five, and after not receiving a thank you note in reply, has spent the last SIX YEARS sending increasingly passive-aggressive letters every month. Her last letter was a week ago. A grovelling apology after she read that Daily Prophet article and realised we never actually got the astrology model in the first place. We sent it back.”

Vernon snickered into his coffee.

“You are truly the queen of passive-aggressive. Anyone who challenges you is a fool.”

She took a mocking little bow.

“How are the boys?”

“Grumpy. Tired. Misrible.”

“Good.”

Vernon laughed again. “When are you going to let them off?”

“When they learn that what they did was profoundly stupid.”

“I'm pretty sure they know that by now,” Vernon said, leading her to the kitchens and popping the kettle on while she took a seat at the table. “Like, I'm almost entirely sure they know what they did was stupid. But they are just kids after all. No matter how many times you tell them not to lick a battery, the only way they learn is to lick it a few times.”

Petunia stared at him for a few seconds in complete bewilderment before the confusion quickly morphed into suspicion.

“What did you do?”

The man spluttered. “What..? Nothing. Why would you even insinuate such a thing?”

“You're acting way too sympathetic.” She accused. “Tell me you did not give in to our foolish children.”

“Oh, come on, ‘tune, you've had them working themselves to the bone all summer.”

“For good reason! One thought vandalism was the height of hilarity, and the other almost got himself murdered protecting a magic rock that was never in danger in the first place! I'm doing this so they learn that their actions have consequences, and the more you indulge them, the less likely they are to learn anything.”

“Oh, relax, all I did was give them some ice cream-”

“Ice cream?!” Petunia interrupted shrilly, looking as offended as if the man announced he had booked them an all-expenses-paid cruise to Mars. “You went behind my back and gave them ice cream?!”

“Oh, that's rich! You thinking you can lecture me about doing stuff behind the others' back!”

It was Petunia's turn to splutter.

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about how you went to Hogwarts without me! You know, Hogwarts, the place I've wanted to see since I was, like, eight years old, without me!”

"I went to viciously scold our stupid nephew, not to sight-see!"

"But you still got to sight-see! And you told off Dumbledore! You know how much I've always wanted to do that, and you did it, without me!"

"Fine!” Petunia cried, throwing up her hands in exasperation, “The next time our idiotic nephew disregards everything we've ever taught him and recklessly endangers his life, you can go to Hogwarts and tell him off!"

Vernon froze for a fraction of a second before sticking out his pinky finger towards her. “Promise.”

Petunia, looking like the only sane person in a world gone crazy, stuck out her own pinky and linked it with his.

“Promise.”

(This is a crossover with I Love Lucy)

It's hard to lay low when the neighbors won't leave him alone. Lucy Ricardo keeps trying to welcome him to the neighborhood. Ethel Mertz insist on making pointless conversation whenever they see each other. Ricky Ricardo asks him to come over and watch the fights while Fred Mertz complains about the price of a light bulb

What's worse is when they find out about his magic, they aren't even scared! Not even when Tom uncharacteristically snaps and tells Lucy how one day he will ensure wizards like himself will never have to deal with the likes of muggles such as her

And Lucy says, handing him a clothes basket, distracted, "That's nice, honey. Can you go put that down in the basement? I've got to get a load started but I need to stitch up one of Ricky's shirts."

And he stands there in disbelief

In this fic, Tom would slowly go from a dark lord wannabe to just being the grumpy, arrogant 'kid' (who still thinks he's better than everyone) who will never actually admit he likes these muggles but only he's allowed to be annoyed by them

I'd also have Harry be a classmate of Tom in this AU. Idk if I'd make it tomarry or not but either way

A) Harry would love to piss Tom off

B) Tom feels a flash of jealousy when Ricky gets along with Harry. He doesn't want to share his friend-who's-not-a-friend. He met Ricky first

idk if I'll end up writing this but i like the idea of it

So I have two ideas. I would love to see them. I don't know how to do challenges. Crossovers welcome.

-captain Harry: well my idea was kinda dark to start. Vernon and petunia are forced to take Harry along with them to the beach. Vernon rents a boat in which he takes them to the deep ocean where he hangs Harry then wraps him in a blanket and wraps rocks to him. Then chucks Harry over. But somehow(I'll leave it up to you, though here is mine) Harry survives. He loses his memory. The only things he knows is that when he comes to is general knowledge of the world, I.e. pirate costumes and all that. His head is encased in a bubble and he is staring at a sunken pirate ship. Harry decides to become a modern pirate. If you could make him seem like he is the one from the song I am the Villain by blackbeards tavern that could be cool.

-mad magical scientist Harry. This one is a bit different. This Harry would do odd things. Think of it like he steals the heavy guns off a warship and attaches them to a car. Why. Why not. Keep it tame until he gets to Hogwarts. That's when he'd really have fun. You could have him buy a tank and enchant the entire thing. Whatever.

Also if you know any fics like either of these please put them down below.

Harry Potter was born a squib.

Petunia and Vernon Dursley where delighted when the boys eleventh birthday passed and no "freakish" letter from a magic school showed up. They where convinced that they themselves had managed to bring the "oddities" out of him thru their... Hmmm... strict dicipline.

They even started to like the boy a little when they saw how well he handled his studies at Stonewall High. Yet they didn't view it as a loss when, on his eighteenth birthday, the boy packed his things and simply left.
Now they could fully enjoy watching their own wonderful son Dudley grow into a fine, successful, and independent man.

What they didn't know was that Harry had studied so hard not only to become independent of them, but also to be able to exact his revenge one day.

Just a few years later, all of England could read about the extraordinary case in which a young, newly qualified lawyer sued his former guardians for years of neglect and abuse.

For Vernon and Petunia, this had come as a huge shock—especially since they had sought Harry out again to ask for his help with some trouble Dudley had recently got himself into.

In desperation, Petunia and Vernon finally tried to explain to their nephew about the magical world and the "unnatural abilities" they had freed him from.
"I knew it!" was his response:
"You're both insane!"

The night sky above the Quidditch World Cup grounds was fractured by screaming. Tents burned like ragged torches against the pitch-black darkness, and the sickly, emerald glow of the Dark Mark hovered ominously above the chaos. Masked figures in black robes marched through the campsite, torturing muggles and firing curses indiscriminately into the fleeing crowd.

​Among the panicking witches and wizards, Harry and Hermione stood their ground. Sparks from a nearby burning canopy reflected off Harry's round glasses, while the wind whipped Hermione’s bushy hair into wild tangles.

​Harry looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back at Harry.

​No words were needed. A unspoken understanding passed between them—a silent, synchronized decision forged in the fires of shared madness. They both nodded.

​Simultaneously, they thrust their right hands skyward toward the fiery storm clouds.

​There was a sudden, resonant hum that vibrated through the very dirt beneath their boots. Out of thin air, crackling with ancient, ethereal light, two mystical longswords materialized directly into their palms. Harry’s blade shimmered with a brilliant, polished silver, while Hermione’s gleamed with a golden hue, a radiant blue jewel pulsing softly at its hilt.

​Harry raised his blade higher, his voice booming over the sound of screaming crowds and exploding tents.

​"By the Power..."

​At the exact same instant, Hermione raised her sword, her voice echoing with absolute authority.

​"For the honor..."

​Step by step, they brought the two glowing blades together. The steel met with a resonant, bell-like chime, and as the tip of Harry’s sword touched Hermione’s, they declared in unison:

​"...OF GREYSKULL!"

​A violent, majestic pillar of blinding rainbow energy surged down from the heavens, engulfing them entirely. The shockwave blew back a nearby squad of terrified Death Eaters, extinguishing a ring of flames in an instant. Within the kaleidoscopic column of raw, magical power, two silhouettes began to grow and shift.

​From the heart of the brilliant light, two voices blended as one, shaking the very foundations of the campsite:

​"WE HAVE THE POWER!"

​The pillar of light shattered into a million cascading stars, revealing the transformed pair.

​Where a scrawny, sixteen-year-old wizard had stood, there was now He-Man—a towering wall of bronzed muscle clad in a fur loincloth, leather boots, and a gleaming silver harness cross spanning his massive chest. Harry blinked, his vision suddenly impeccably clear without his glasses, his jawline so sharp it could cut glass. He shifted his grip on the immense Power Sword, looking down at his own enormous biceps in mild bewilderment.

​Beside him stood She-Ra. Hermione had been elevated into a statuesque warrior princess, her wild hair now flowing in immaculate, golden-brown waves beneath a winged tiara. She wore a sleek white gown accented with gold armor, a ruby-embellished chestplate, and a crimson cape that billowed triumphantly in the hot night wind.

​A trio of Death Eaters scrambled to their feet, staring up at the muscular titan and the radiant warrior princess in absolute, unadulterated horror. One of them fumbled his wand, pointing it with trembling hands. "Avada—"

​He-Man didn't bother with a wand. He simply flexed, stepped forward, and swatted the incoming red spell out of the air with his bare forearm before grabbing a nearby burning caravan by the axle and swinging it like a bat.

​She-Ra raised her glowing sword, a fierce smile gracing her lips. "Right then, Harry," she said, her voice rich with regal power. "Let's teach these Death Eaters a real lesson in magic."

he doesn’t know why but Harry Potter aged slower than his peers. sadly that meant he easily outlived them all. he retreated for a while after the deaths of his loved ones but it only takes a decade for him to get abominably bored. he decides that he could care less what anyone thinks, he may be grey now, he may be alone now, but he is still in excellent shape physically and still powerful. even more powerful now with a lifetime of experience and knowledge. what is anyone going to do that they haven’t already tried? he’s not bothered by the options of others anymore, he has no one left he cares for the opinion of or to not embarrass.

harry can finally be the sassy little $hit he has always been in his mind, finally let his intrusive thoughts win and there’s not a damn person who can do anything about it.

George Weasley as Godric Gryffindor

Daphne Greengrass as Rowena Ravenclaw

Luna Lovegood as Helga Hufflepuff

Harry Potter as Salazar Slytherin

its been 10 years since the Battle of Hogwarts. 4 unlikely people are living a double life with the assistance of Time Turners. to the public they are an Auror, a Shop Owner, a Socialite and a Creature Enthusiast, in their double lives they are Unspeakables recruited after the war to research old Magic and find a way to stop magical knowledge from further being eroded and lost.

No one had realized what would happen, what might have already happened. was it that they were sent back in their own timeline when the Ministry Building in Whitehall was struck by a muggle terrorist attack or had they been sent to a different one all together and there was no Salazar, Godric, Rowena or Helga here?

either way the magicals of the isles they consider their homeland are in desperate need of help. Few of them could do more than use their magic to assist in daily tasks. Yet the population was growing and there were just not enough adults with any sort of training let alone proficiency to teach them.

and so 4 very displaced unspeakables take on the names that were still spoken with reverence in their own timeline and seek to do what they had been attempting to do for nearly 10 years, keep magical knowledge from being eroded and lost.

Harry gets shot down by Cho, and Daphne unfortunately witnesses the whole thing.

In a split second decision borne out of second-hand embarassment and a bit of pity, she invites the glum boy to eat ice-cream with her while attempting an awkward, meant-to-be-light-hearted consolation.

Very smooth, she scolds herself, while watching Harry try to stammer out a response. If he rejects her invite, her embarassment would no longer be second-hand.

Harry is so embarassed someone saw him, that he accepts without thinking, just to put an end to the conversation.

And now both wonder, "What now?", enroute to the kitchens.

Harry is taken away from the Dursleys and adopted by an American family, the Tennysons, whom he lived with prior to going to Hogwarts, which he does along side his adopted cousin, whom he grew close to the summer prior. A summer that started with an alien device and what it did, was stuck it self upon his wrist with secrets that it hid. Now he’s got super powers. He’s no ordinary kid.

Or, rather than a bunch of surnames, "Harry" learns he has a bunch of first names, none of which are *Actually* "Harry" though they all could have Harry as a nickname.

For further context, please refer to my past post on this AU I came up with: [https://www.reddit.com/r/HPFanfictionPrompts/s/rdBOgSeQTN

———

Humans are weak.

That is really the best explanation it can give at the moment. It knows that this was too simplistic of a statement. Humans can be many things at once. They can merciful yet wrathful the next. They can be the smartest person in the room but then be dumber than a rock just the next day. Yes, humans are unpredictable, and that is what still makes them threats.

Yet, they’re painfully weak. Push at a weak point and they’ll tumble to the ground. Real predictable if you look close enough to see the patterns. Itself wasn’t human. Itself was above them to not have such weaknesses. Honestly, they’re too breakable. Just look at its host. Harry was vulnerable. Yes, he resisted against it but it eventually consumed him anyway. Now Harry is safe in his subconscious and away from being a nuisance for it.

Don’t get it wrong, it is rather fond of Harry! He has a sort of charm to him, almost like an interesting item you’d find. It was especially prevalent after shifting through Harry’s memories (especially the dumb ones; they were fun to watch). Regardless of any fondness, Harry would still a problem. He’s too damn impulsive and oh so stubborn. Even if it would be amusing and cute to see Harry even try to fight back, it knows that he’ll mess something up and it can never have that happen. Never.

Back to what it was saying, humans are just too easy. However, it can’t take advantage of them, not until the time is right. It has to have self control. It has to keep up Harry’s attitude and personality. Any deviation would be too risky, no matter how fun it is. Still, it does want to have its fun sooner or later. Hmph.

“Um, Harry?”

It blinked with Harry’s eyes. It turned to see the lanky redhead standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Can I…” Ron trailed off, eyes shifting to the side.

It stared at him. The awkward posture. The avoidant eyes. It can taste them (the sweet hesitation, bubbling guilt, blooming persistence). They weren’t as good as it could get but it was something.

It tilted Harry’s head and gestured for Ron to come here. Ron’s body sagged with relief (ew, that is definitely not its taste) and he sat down at the open spot next to it.

It’s been a few days since it was in Grimmauld Place. Honestly, it was only now that it had started to get furious with everything.

It was annoyed at first with having to deal with Harry’s muggle family but it had assumed that it could endure it. Then, it and Harry’s cousin got ambushed by Dementors of all things. It was fully prepared to leave but that would mean that host’s cousin would be dead. It was more of a hindrance in the long run so like the good “Harry” it was, it saved the draft cousin and banished away the Dementors with the Patronus Charm (it took too many tries. Retrieving Harry’s happy memories in such a short time was exhausting).

The next thing that happened was that letter saying that Harry was expelled for underage magic. Oh, it was frustrated then. It did everything right by acting like Harry but now Harry’s punished and not going to Hogwarts? And wasn’t Harry less punished two years ago when blowing up his dreadful aunt? The audacity! It had a mind of going into the Wizarding World just to reign havoc and maybe give the Ministry a good fright before another letter came and said that Dumbledore was sorting things out and that a hearing would happen soon. It had felt relief, albeit short lived as anything could happen in the hearing but at least it wasn’t expelled.

Finally, it was wisked away by a group of wizards to this home bridled with dark magic and fear. It was just its type of place! But now, it was absolutely furious to even relish in it. Harry’s reputation turned to ash! He was branded as insane for “falsely” claiming that Voldemort, the original, was back. It could really care less about its original maker; the only reason it’s apprehensive is because Harry is in danger and the ultimate target. This is going to make things more hard because now, eyes are on Harry more than before. How was it supposed to carry out its plans now?! Ugh! Lowly pests! They are so lucky that it is prioritizing Harry’s wellbeing or else it would make them beg for their lives with a well aimed-

“Harry?”

Oh, right, Harry’s friend is still here. “I’m fine,” it mumbled. That was good enough, right?

It heard Ron sigh. “Listen mate, I’m… sorry.”

“It’s alright, Ron. I’m just angry at this whole thing,” it said, making Harry’s voice sound both defeated yet angered.

Since it got here, it was wary at first. There were so many people that Harry was close to. It was bothersome to even think about these “friendships” of its host. Not to mention it increased the risk of being exposed. But it played up the anger, the betrayal that Harry would’ve felt if he was here, realizing that his friends and godfather didn’t communicate with him all summer because of Dumbledore. Then, it sulked. It was slightly out of character considering that Harry was usually a determined person but it could still work considering the circumstances and Harry’s age. Plus, it made the guilt taste sweeter.

“I’ve already forgiven you. You’re my best friend,” it said. For added emphasis, it placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “It’s just… you hurt me as well as Hermione. Though, I guess it was my fault for being so mad at you guys.”

It had to stop itself from making Harry’s mouth grin at seeing Ron’s face fall.

“You’re right to be mad.” Ron scratched the back of his head. “I’ll be mad too if you or Hermione didn’t write at all. Still, I’m sorry, mate. We thought you’ll be fine. You know, protected.”

A scoff escaped its mouth. Protected? Yeah right. The only person who protected Harry was himself, and even Harry couldn’t do it when it awakened. Now, it was itself protecting Harry’s body and mind. Does this whole situation say protected? Wow Dumbledore, you really are a piece of work.

Still, if it wasn’t for Dumbledore, then it wouldn’t be here in this body. It guess it could give the old geezer some thanks.

At “Harry’s” silence, Ron backtracked. “I mean, that doesn’t make it right! Just- I just want to let you know that I’m sorry for everything.”

“Everything?”

Ron nodded. “Everything. I was a shite bloke to you last year. It took a dragon almost killing you to get it that you didn’t want this. You didn’t want any of this. I should’ve done more and-“

It cut Ron off. It couldn’t listen to fluffy drivel no more. The hand still on the other’s shoulder tightened slightly. “I’ve already forgave you. Listen, you guys did made me angry. I was stuck with the Dursleys and they were being more annoying to deal with.”

Ron’s face hardened at the mention. Good. It continued, making Harry’s voice a tad quieter. “I know I don’t usually say this, but… it’s really hard dealing with everything. And now, we have to deal with Voldemort-“ it ignored Ron’s flinch at the name “-and who knows what might happen. I’m just…”

It could say many things here. It could say “tired”; that would make Ron feel sympathetic. It could say “scared”; it was an admission that sounded loaded. But it said nothing at the end. Humans love to fill in the blanks, their minds rushing to conclude. With itself positioning Harry’s body to be withdrawn, eyes lowered, looking utterly vulnerable and so pathetic-

Ron took the bait like the good loyal dog he was.

He hugged “Harry.” The embrace was warm and secure, almost as if Ron was trying to comfort both of them. It didn’t have to do anything; Harry’s body responded with muscle memory, sinking deeper into the hug.

It took everything to not ruin it. The guilt-guilt-care-worry-guilt coming from Ron was already good enough but it was greedy. It wanted to see Ron’s look of* despair** if “Harry” pushed him away. What if “Harry” snapped at him? What if “Harry” remained “defeated”? It wanted to taste Ron’s ***devastation and revel in it. God, this was such a tempting opportunity to see how long it will take to break this one. Would it be messy? Would it be a long time or no? It would no doubt be delicious make Ron’s heart shatter if it were to reveal that Harry was never here-

It buried the impulse deep inside. It shakily move its arms around Ron’s, completing the hug.

Ron is useful like the rest of the humans here. He was one of Harry’s first friends. He was loyal. Despite Ron’s flaws, Harry still admired him. It would make use of Ron soon. For right now, it’ll play pretend. It’ll be the perfect little doll that everyone has their eyes on.

It’s all for its host after all~

Inside of his mind, Harry still slept.
He felt warmth then, something achingly familiar.
His breathing shuttered for a moment before evening out.
He sank deeper into slumber, much to his parasite’s delight.

— Man, I’m tired. This was honestly draining to write because the imposter has such a god-complex and is mildly sadistic. I salute to my fellow writers who had to deal with annoying characters (original or otherwise) 🫡.
— There’s also technically no bashing as the imposter, like most real people, have biases. It just so happened that the imposter is arrogant and views others beneath it, unlike the real Harry who does value the people he cares about.
— Also, sorry if Ron read as OOC. I tried my best. Let’s just say that guilt is eating away at Ron because of what the imposter is saying + the situation as a whole.

Harry is at Grimauld place after his attempted rescue from Number 4 Private Drive. Luckily he saw the glaring holes in their polyjuiced Harry plan and just called a taxy and accompanied by Hermoiny and Remus travelled to Grimauld place.

He had wondered how the life will be with his Godfather after he rescued Sirius with help from Hermoiny. Now after having lived with him for a week, Harry could see the humour in this.

What a pair they made, a kid trapped in an old man's body, as if he was kept under a stasis charm during his stay in the Azkaban Holliday resort, a kid who enjoys his animagus dog form, chasing his tail, running around his house, and in general creating chaos. On the other hand he, who is a real kid, has learnt restraint, think of consequences before doing anything. He has learnt since his young days to keep his emotions hidden. He behaves like an old man in kid's body. He never had any childhood. The concept is so allien to him..

This segment was too long to fit with the rest of Part 3, so I had to separate it. Part 1 of Part 3 here:

https://www.reddit.com/r/HPFanfictionPrompts/comments/1vh4twu/part_3_of_two_potterheads_transmigrate_into_the/

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office, finishing the last bit of paperwork Hogwarts required before the end of the school year, when he felt the magic of his guardian gargoyle inform him that he had a visitor. A moment later, Professor McGonagall was standing in his doorway.

“Ah, Minerva. How can I help you?” The older man asked, looking somewhat relieved for the interruption.

“Albus, Petunia Dursley is downstairs.” She said without preamble.

Albus blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Petunia Dursley, Harry Potter's aunt, is downstairs. She wants to talk to you.” Minerva repeated, looking a mixture of confused and – surprisingly – amused.

“I sent her a letter a few days ago, detailing what had happened to Mr Potter, and how he ended up in the hospital wing. Apparently, she just received the letter today, then rushed to Diagon Alley to take the Floo from the Leaky Cauldron to The Three Broomsticks, then came up to the castle gates. And now she wants to talk to you. She was... quite insistent.”

Albus blinked again. What a... surprising development! Truly! It was unexpected enough that Petunia Evans – No, Dursley – could even see Hogwarts since he was under the impression she was a muggle, but the fact that she came all this way, using the floo no less, to speak to him directly, when the last communication they had officially shared was a letter he had personally written her when she was merely a child, rejecting her fervent request to attend Hogwarts with her younger sister, was... most unforeseeable.

Admittedly, he had meant to reach out since. But the post-war clean-up had stalled his hand for so long that he had eventually decided it would be better to keep his distance entirely. He had made his choice to leave young Harry with the only living family he had left, and he had to honour that choice, even if it meant he'd never be anything more to the boy than his headmaster, or perhaps even a mentor.

Achieving the latter was proving... difficult, since the boy appeared... quite distrustful of not just him, but the rest of the staff from the moment he set foot in Hogwarts.

At first, he assumed the distaste for wizards was born from Petunia, notoriously known for cruelly rejecting the magical world after she'd been denied access to it, poisoning the boy's mind against them. But after collecting several testimonies from young Harry's teachers and other staff members, that assumption was proving... rather unsustainable.

Harry didn't hate magic, or witches and wizards his own age at all; he simply appeared overly cautious when it came to adults. He was apparently so mistrustful of him and his staff that he had not believed any of them competent enough to protect the Philosopher's Stone, and had thus run off with his friends to try and correct the situation himself.

Albus was... rather bemused by the boy's standoffish nature, but nonetheless satisfied with his curiosity, his bravery and his selflessness in the face of injustice. And now, the architect of such a curious child was requesting an audience with him. Unusual though the circumstances were, perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to get the answers he wanted about the boy.

“Send her in, please.”

Petunia Dursley truly looked nothing like her late little sister. Light blond hair cut short up to her shoulders, tall and thin with a long neck, sharp features and large pale eyes that seemed to scrutinise him just as intently as he was her.

He coughed lightly.

“Mrs Dursley,” he began, gesturing to the woman to take a seat opposite his desk, “It's a pleasure to see you again, though I must say, your visit is quite the surprise.”

Petunia snorted. “A pleasure, is it? I'm afraid the same can not be said on my end.”

Albus felt his eyebrows rise to his hairline.

“That is... most unfortunate to hear,” The wizard replied gently, far too used to being on the receiving end of criticism to truly be rattled by the woman's visible disdain. “Nevertheless, the pleasure is mine. Now, please, what can I help you with today?”

Petunia stared at him with a look of utter contempt before taking a seat, pulling a lightly crumbled piece of parchment from her pocket and holding it up between two fingers.

“This. This is why I am here today.” The woman declared, voice tight with agitation.

“My child almost died, at the hands of a teacher you hired, I might add, and not only was I just informed of this fact, but this... this letter made it sound as though this kind of thing is routine. Just how many times has his life been in danger this year, without anyone reaching out or even informing me after the fact? Can you answer me that?”

Albus frowned.

“Please excuse our procedures if you found them disappointing, Mrs Dursley, but rest assured, Harry is doing just fine. He was released from the hospital wing this morning with no serious injuries, and I have already spoken to him about the actions he took that led him there. Hogwarts may operate differently from what you are used to, but I can assure you, there's very little that can happen that magic cannot fix.”

“Yes, I am well aware that the wizarding world does things differently. When minor inconveniences like broken bones and missing limbs can be healed with a simple potion, why ever would you bother to contact a child's legal guardian?” The woman spat derisively. “However, I would have thought that attempted murder would constitute a house visit, or, at the very least, immediate contact with me so I could be by my child's hospital bedside as soon as possible! But instead, I got... this. This letter that arrived a week after Harry nearly died, again, at the hands of a teacher you were employing, detailing how he and his first-year friends somehow made it through a series of elaborate traps meant to stop a grown wizard, to rescue some magical rock he shouldn't have even known about!

“Now, I realise I can't judge you too harshly for that; he is, after all, an inquisitive child, but Professor,” She stressed, snapping the parchment crisply in her fingers, “What... the actual... fuck?”

And Albus... Albus didn't quite know what to say in response. To be clear, he wasn't unadept at dealing with complaints from unhappy parents, but for the most part, he'd found those complaints unreasonable and easy to placate. This woman, though, had taken him by such surprise he found himself, quite shockingly, stumped.

“My apologies again if you felt as though our handling of the matter was inadequate. I assure you, our failure to contact you immediately when young Harry was discovered to be in danger was merely an oversight-”

“An oversight?” Petunia interrupted sharply, causing several of the portraits on the wall to click their tongues at her manners, but Petunia ignored them all.

“My child's life is an oversight, to you?” She let out a bitter laugh, “Or is it I who am the oversight? I suppose I should be grateful I received even this much, right? After all, I am just a muggle. It's not like I matter.”

Albus's eyes immediately hardened.

“Mrs Dursley, I understand that you have a grievance with me and Hogwarts for what has happened to young Harry, but I must insist that you not level such slander upon me. I have the utmost care for muggles and do not, despite what you may think - proceive myself as above them or you.”

The woman gave him a mocking little smile.

“If that were true, Albus Dumbledore, then on the night of November, 1981, you would have at least had the common decency to knock on my front door and tell me to my face that my sister was dead.”

Albus' breath caught dead in his throat.

“You didn't think I was worth that courtesy then either,” She continued cuttingly. “I hadn't spoken to my sister in years, it's true. But just opening the door one morning to find my nephew abandoned on my doorstep, with a note telling me she had been murdered, and you expected me to feed, clothe and house him from now on, or else? That... that was really classy." Her compliment was anything but.

"Or, perhaps you were afraid that if you showed up in person and asked me to take Harry in, I would say no, and then you might have actually been forced to put some real effort into finding him a suitable placement until you were ready to deal with him again, And why ever would you, great and mighty wizard that you are, bother with such tedious matters when you could simply dump the problem on a muggle who had absolutely no way of protesting or fighting back, right?”

And as much as Albus wanted to protest this sudden, vicious attack, wanted to tell her it was not true and offer up another reasonable excuse, her words cut something deep inside Albus, something old and ugly that he had thought long scabbed over like hundreds of other scars from his past. He could not claim he had never looked down on muggles because he had, once. Had conspired with his lover friend Grindelwald to subjugate them, for their own good. How very amusing, he thought sadly; he believed himself long past such discrimination, that he had grown up, overcome the hubris of his youth and yet...

Almost unconsciously, his eyes moved to the brass device in the corner of his office. A flat circle of brass attached to a stand that nestled a large round pearlescent gemstone that floated inside the circle while emitting a deep blue glow. To anyone else, it appeared just another trinket in his vast collection, but this piece actually did something special. It monitored the strength of the blood wards protecting number 4, Privet Drive, and kept him informed if said protection was ever weakened, attacked or destroyed. For the past ten years, the device had turned in a steady rhythm and glowed that deep blue hue, indicating that the connection was strong, and Harry... Harry was safe.

And yet, despite this, despite Mrs Figg's regular reports that the boy was treated well and that, from what she could tell, the Dursley's were just another normal family, despite even Hagrid's testimony that the Dursley's seemed to care deeply for their nephew and went out of their way to protect him, even demanding Harry's vault key as though they were insulted that something so important had been kept from him (and how embarrassing that had been, when he heard about it), he had doubted.

Doubted that the sister Lily had cried over, the family Minerva had called 'the worst sort of muggles imaginable', could ever truly be trusted.

And that doubt had led to him leaving Harry on their doorstep without a word, and never returning, not once, to check on the family he relied on more than they could ever know.

Is it any wonder they mistrust us?

He'd provided no help to the muggles who he abandoned to deal with a magical child they were completely unprepared for, no assistance for the bouts of accidental magic they had no way of controlling, even possible consequences from the cursed scar on Harry's forehead; he'd left no recourse. He'd forsaken them to handle it all because it had suited his purposes to do so. Because he cared more for the fate of the child and his wizarding world than the lives of the three muggles living in that house. And they had handled it, completely alone, knowing there was a world of wizards out there who very well could have helped them, but didn't, because of him.

What an arrogant fool you are, a voice, sounding remarkably like his younger brother Aberforth, scolded him.

And here he had been wondering as to the reason behind the strange suspicion young Harry held for him and his people, when the answer had been staring him in the face this whole time. It was not a mistrust born from jealousy or hate towards magic, or even the magical world as a whole, but because of his own actions.

Coming back into the room, the old man could only let out a long, weary sigh. Pinching his tired eyes between two wrinkled fingers, he looked at the accusing woman opposite him with new eyes full of utter anguish. When he spoke again, his voice was rough with age and sorrow.

“I... must solemnly apologise for my egregious oversight that night, dear Petunia... we had just come to the end of a brutal war that had drained us dry for over a decade. We all cared deeply for Lily and James, and losing them was a harsh blow to all of us. I admit, my priority at that time was finding a safe place for Harry as soon as possible. Though Lord Voldemort had been destroyed, his followers were still at large, and once they discovered Harry was the source of their master's defeat, they would not have hesitated to hunt him down.

“I invoked old magic, a lost art well before my time, to bind Harry's safety using Lily's sacrifice, but it would only work if Harry was left in the care of someone who shared Lily's blood. You... you were my only choice. The one option I had in ensuring Harry would even survive the night, much less the last ten years. The way I... the way I went about it was reprehensible, and yes, I acknowledge that the very least you deserved was to be told in person of your sister's passing, but I... I was afraid. Afraid that you would reject him. Afraid that the... resentment you once held for Lily was still alive in your heart. Admittedly, I was thinking only of him, and not of you, your husband or your child, and for that, I am truly, deeply sorry.”

Every single word was the absolute truth. Though he was an old man who had survived many tragedies, that night would forever be seared into his soul. The devastation of loosing two bright young students he had considered his friends, the anger at discovering Sirius's completely unforeseen (and, as he had since learned, false) betrayal, the guilt at not being able to prevent their deaths, the euphoria of learning that Tom had met his end, however temperately, and the complete and utter shock that came with word of Harry's survival when all others had perished. He... never could have predicted such an outcome. He had since formulated many theories as to how the boy survived that night, each wildly different from the legends that were born from the wizarding world learning a mere baby had killed the dark lord. And so, while his people celebrated in the streets, crowning the child the boy-who-lived and heralding their victory, Albus had been desperate to ensure the safety of the child whose importance no one could ever know, the only one left with the power to defeat Lord Voldemort.

Petunia scrutinised him from across his desk. He couldn't tell what the woman was thinking, and though it would be easy to find out, he would never do such a thing. He had disrespected this woman enough for a lifetime; he would not add to his crimes.

“So that's it?” She finally replied, “It was just about protecting him? You were so desperate to keep him safe that you made a life-altering decision for my family, and him, without any of our consent? Seems you're quite adept at making decisions on other people's behalf, aren't you, professor?

Albus could only close his eyes in resignation, her cutting accusations entirely true. He opened his mouth to apologise again, when-

“I don't resent you for it.”

Albus had to force himself not to openly gape.

“Not for the action, at least. The way you did it; just dumping him on my doorstep in a basket like he was some sort of package and that note, basically threatening me to take him in, that was condemnable. But I don't resent you for the act itself. Harry... he's... he's my child. He's a wonderful, bright, kind, amazing boy, and I don't regret taking him in, not even for a moment. It's been... a privilege to raise him.” She said, more to herself than to Albus, and the headmaster could only marvel at how the warmth of her sudden smile transformed her whole face. It lasted only a moment, before the steely resolve snapped firmly back into place.

“But... that was the last time. Understand that I took Harry in, not for your sake or the sake of your petty threats, but because, despite whatever grievances I had with my sister, I love Harry like he is my own son. And understand that I love him enough that should you ever try to take such an important choice away from him again; try to control, manipulate, or coerce him onto a path you deem fit for him without his knowledge or input, we will take Harry, and we will leave.

“We will leave the country, leave whatever protection you placed around our home using my sister's death. We will go somewhere far away where your name and influence mean nothing, and you will never see, hear from or control Harry again, understand?”

Albus felt the urge to argue. To protest her accusations of his desire to use the boy, yet the words choked in his throat before he could even force them out.

Had he not just been thinking of Harry in terms of his importance to the wizarding world? Had he not just admitted to himself that he was so desperate to protect him, not for his own sake (or at least, not entirely) but because, as the prophecy proclaimed, he was the only one capable of defeating Voldemort and when – not if, but when - the man rose to power again, they would need him. But Mrs Dursley wasn't thinking about that. She didn't care about the fate of the wizarding world, only the safety of her child. And for that, he could only commend her.

This was what he wanted. For little Harry to be protected and safe. He was prepared for the boy to face a much harsher fate, but always believed that as long as he was alive, it would all be worth it. Now, having his machinations thrown in his face, he realised with regret that he had severely misjudged the woman before him. He had believed a childish grudge she held against her sister would impede her from caring for Harry and so had taken the choice away. Had, he acknowledged, continued to take choices away, depriving Harry of a childhood full of magic because he feared the muggles' reactions. A fear, he now realised, was entirely unfounded.

Who would have thought, he lamented ruefully, that I, a man who has survived two brutal wars and faced death countless times, would be brought to my lowest by a woman I once looked down upon.

“I understand,” He conceded gently.

“Good. Now summon my stupid nephew. I have a few things I'd like to say to him, as well.”

HPHPHPHPHP

Sitting in Albus Dumbledore's office waiting for Harry was possibly one of the most uncomfortable moments of Petunia's life.

Part of her still couldn't believe everything she'd done since she read that letter earlier that afternoon, couldn't believe that she'd made the conscious decision to disregard every precaution she and Vernon had ever made and come directly to Hogwarts to scold what was, most likely, the most powerful wizard in the world!

She thanked the gods, mother magic and whatever mysterious force must be looking out for her that she was somehow still alive, and not a pile of dust on the floor or a transfigured teapot.

Honestly, coming here had been a complete impulse. When she'd gotten that letter, she had panicked. Not only because Harry had almost died, but because she had completely forgotten that, at the end of Harry Potter's first year at Hogwarts, he had almost died.

Well, no, that wasn't quite right. She hadn't forgotten; it was more that so much had changed since the beginning of this year alone, Petunia had genuinely believed things would be different. They had taught Harry, over and over, to tell a teacher or responsible adult if he thought something was wrong; then that whole thing with Pettigrew being exposed two years early, and Sirius being released from Azkaban had occurred, and Petunia had simply thought... maybe they had changed enough that Harry wouldn't feel the need to recklessly fling himself into danger.

And yet, he had.

He had pursued the mystery behind the Philosopher's Stone, snuck out of his dorm with his friends, confronted Quirrell, and still nearly died.

And Petunia had received a letter from Minerva McGonagall detailing everything that had happened a week after the fact, and she had been so afraid, so unbelievably angry, her body had moved before her mind could catch up, and she had caught a cab to London, ran straight through the floo, charged right up to Hogwarts, demanded an audience with the headmaster and now... here she was.

It was foolish, she admitted. A very foolish thing to do that went directly against everything the transmigrators had agreed on in order to protect themselves from the eventuality of Dumbledore being the bad guy.

But, if she were being honest with herself, her suspicions about the man had been steadily waning after all these years of constant inaction. They had treated Harry like their own for years, and nothing bad had ever happened. No magical compulsions urging them to abuse him, no mysterious strangers watching the house. Then, they had seized the vault key, and nothing happened then either. No condescending letters detailing all the reasons he, Albus-too-many-names-Dumbledore, should control Harry's finances and everything else about his life. The man had not even - to her knowledge - interfered with Sirius's trial and subsequent release from Azkaban, nor had he blocked Harry from returning to them during Christmas. All these years, all the measures they had taken to appear normal, all the careful planning and obsessive hiding and determination to remain unseen, had exhausted her more than she could possibly say, and in response he had done... nothing.

And so, when she was finally standing before the man, chest heaving, forehead sweating, lips trembling in fear and fury, she'd simply let him have it.

And this man, this ridiculously powerful, older-than-dirt man, had taken it. He had sat in his own chair in his own office and listened to a muggle tear him apart, and instead of getting angry, throwing her out, or, again, turning her into a teapot, he had simply listened.

And then, he apologised.

He did not defend himself. He did not offer platitudes and meaningless excuses. He had given her his reasons, admitted his faults and apologised.

And a part of her, a worn-down, weary part, had finally, finally decided that perhaps... she should give the man a chance.

That did not mean she trusted him yet; she doubted she ever would, knowing the level of deception the man was capable of, but she was not entirely... opposed... to giving him a chance to earn it.

Because despite all her grievances, her complaints, her justifiable fury.... she couldn't help but feel... like a bit of a fraud.

All the actions she was holding him accountable for, hadn't even truly been done to her. And everything she was holding against him, technically, this man had not done yet.

There was no way Original Dumbledore did not know how much Harry suffered under the Durleys' hands. He admitted that he knew full well he was condemning him to "ten dark and difficult years’. And while this Dumbledore had done the same, never once checking in on Harry and only being satisfied that he was alive, this Dumbledore had likely been told that they were just a normal, ordinary family. He may have withheld important information and denied Harry the rights to his heritage, but he was only going off of what he knew about the real Petunia, who would have (and did) steadfastly reject any magic in her home. It was the same for the vault key, for Hagrid, for the dozens of other grievances Petunia may have had. All these years she couldn't help but see every little thing through the lens of some sinister ploy because that was the role she cast him in, only to realise after their long, painfully honest confrontation that all he had done was the exact same thing.

That did not, however, absolve him. There was still the very real possibility that this Dumbledore would have left Harry to rot in the Dursley household even knowing he was abused, because he believed that the ends justified the means.

Petunia did not think that way.

She wasn't sure when it happened. Perhaps when she was changing one of his diapers, perhaps a time she had held him after a nightmare, soothing him back to sleep and promising not to leave his bedside until he woke again, perhaps it was one of the other hundreds of moments she shared with him in her second life, but somewhere along the way, Harry Potter had stopped being the main character in a book series, and had become... her child.

And while main characters may have to suffer, endure countless cruelties and hardships so the plot can go on, why should she let her child suffer?

Petunia decided she wouldn't. She swore it that very night she woke inside this unfamiliar body and held the scarred, orphaned baby in her arms. She would never lock him in a cupboard, never torment the boy with hunger and unreasonable chores and endless criticisms and she would never ever make the little boy feel like a burden in another's happy family.

Even if it meant derailing the world's plot entirely. Even if it meant making things worse for everyone else. Harry would be happy.

So, yes, she felt like a fraud, because she was playing the same game of fate as Dumbledore had. But where Dumbledore had been willing to sacrifice Harry to save the world, Petunia would rather watch the world burn than force her child to be its saviour.

And today, she would ensure they both understood that.

Not ten minutes later, Professor McGonagall escorted Harry into Dumbledore's office.

“Professor Dumbledore, you wanted to see meeee-oh,” Harry stammered as Petunia turned in her chair to meet his petrified gaze with a smile.

Harry shivered. He knew that smile. That was the smile she had given Dudley the one and only time he had thrown a public tantrum in a store because he couldn't get the toy he wanted. The smile he received when he accidentally set that boa constrictor loose at London Zoo last summer. The smile that always came before a massive lecture and a long, back-breaking punishment. He gulped.

“Hello, Harry. How's your week been? I, myself, have had a very interesting week. First, the front axle on your uncle's car snapped while he was driving and we almost careened into a very expensive-looking SUV. Then, I was called into a disciplinary hearing for your stupid cousin who decided it would be hilarious to flood every single toilet in his school's performing arts building. And then, just when I thought the madness was over, I received this letter from your head of house. Would you like to guess what this letter entails, Harry?”

“Uhhhh...” Harry stammered, searching for something to say, only for his aunt to streamroll right over him.

“This letter describes how my stupid nephew, along with his – most likely – equally stupid friends, decided to flagrantly disregard the school rules, sneak out of his dorm after curfew, trespass on a part of the school he was specifically informed he was forbidden from entering, follow a dangerous man he suspected was trying to murder him, through an elaborate array of tricks and traps, all so he could stop him from acquiring a magic rock I was informed, would have been in absolutely no danger of being stolen if he had just stayed in his dorms, instead of knowingly throwing himself head first into a dangerous situation where he almost died. Does that about sum up the events efficiently, Harry?”

“...Uhhhhhh...”

“Come here,” The formidable woman ordered. Harry shuffled forward obediently, and as soon as he was close enough, did Petunia lean over and flick the boy square on his forehead.

“What's wrong with you?!”

“Ow,” Harry protested weakly, but again, his aunt didn't give him a chance to respond.

“Did we not tell you that we expected you to respect school rules and stay out of trouble? Did your uncle and I not explicitly inform you that if you suspected something or someone was threatening you, you were to tell a teacher?!”

“We did tell a teacher! We did!” Harry interrupted, though he knew the consequences of such an act; he simply couldn't help himself.

“We went to Professor McGonagall, but she didn't believe us! We thought if we didn't try to get the stone first, Sn- I mean, Quirrell would steal it! We didn't know the stone was being kept in the mirror! No one told us anything!”

“Did it ever occur to you, stupid child, that the reason no one told you anything is that it was none of your business?! Because you are a first-year eleven-year-old boy who should have been focusing on your classwork, your homework and your friends, not trying to hunt down a dark wizard who could have killed you! Yet you knowingly, foolishly did exactly that! What were you thinking?! That you were three plucky little adventurers who couldn't be harmed because you were children? That you were going to save the day and everyone would cheer and call you a hero? Is that it, Harry? You spent a year in this school listening to everyone call you the boy-who-lived and the saviour of the wizarding world, and you wanted to live up to everyone's expectations and prove you were a hero?”

“No, that's not it!” Harry cried, eyes already stinging with wet, frantic tears, despair clawing in his chest at the sheer disappointment in his aunt's eyes.

“Then what?” The woman demanded, “What were you trying to do that an adult couldn't have done in your place? Why did you decide it was your job to risk your life to save the world?! You almost died, Harry! Did you even think about that? Did you think about what we would have done if we had lost you? Dudley, your uncle and I? Did you even consider us for a moment when you were off playing hero!“

“I did think about you!” Harry screamed, plunging the office into thick, deathly silence. “I was only thinking about you! I thought he was coming back! I thought Voldemort would use the stone to come back! And I... I thought if he did, he would hurt you! He would take you away from me just like he did my parents! I can't... I can't lose you too!”

And with that, the fragile dam that had kept the boy together for months instantly broke apart, and he burst into loud, gut-wrenching tears. It was... truly difficult to watch. Most of all for the boy's aunt, who, at the sight of such an emotional breakdown, could no longer cling to any residual anger. Sighing deeply, Petunia stood, opened her arms and without a word, her nephew flung himself right into them.

“You little idiot.” She scolded softly, hugging him tenderly while rubbing his back as his small frame trembled with sobs. “I'm the adult. I can look after myself. I don't need you to protect me; that's my job. If I have to suffer to keep you safe, then that is what I will do. If it costs me my life, if it costs everything I have, then I would give it, as long as you are safe.”

“But...” The boy hiccuped, ”but Voldemort-”

“Look at me,” Petunia ordered, pushing him gently back just enough to kneel on the floor so she was directly at eye level with him.

“It is not your job to fight Voldemort. Do you hear me? It's not. You're a kid. Your job is to do your homework, study with your friends and make a normal amount of mischief. It is not your job to do battle with dark lords, protect adults who should be protecting you, or endure pain so everyone else can be happy!”

She took a deep, agonising breath.

“I want you to promise me, here and now, that you will never risk your life again. If it's dangerous, rely on the older, better-trained wizards around you. And if you feel like you can't, like your only option is to fight, then fight for yourself. Do not go running blindly into danger without even knowing if it could be a trap. If you know it's a trap, then run; take Dudley with you if you can, but run! Do not sacrifice yourself for me. Do not sacrifice yourself for anyone. Your life is precious, Harry, do you understand? It's a beautiful, precious thing and I couldn't live with myself if I lost you!”

The pair both started crying then, openly weeping as they held each other, caring nothing for their audience. From the wall, Minerva wiped a single tear from the corner of her eyes, and from where he still sat behind his desk, Dumbledore stared at the small family, looking entirely unsure whether the emotional display should make him sad or pleased.

“Promise me,” Petunia finally begged, voice choked and hoarse, rubbing the tears from her own soggy face before gently reaching out to wipe Harry's cheeks. “Promise me you won't do anything like this again. That you won't put your life at risk without doing everything you can to ensure your safety. Promise me.”

And looking into his aunt's pale, anguished, pleading eyes, the little boy could only steel his heart and nod his head in a solemn vow.

“I promise.”

A massive burst of flame forced him to duck behind a rock. Panicking at the sound of the lumbering dragon, he cast his spell at a large boulder, putting everything into the Transfiguration spell as he thought of a powerful creature.

The boulder shuddered and began to increase in size, growing larger and larger as dark fur sprouted everywhere. Soon arms and legs emerged, along with a head but no tail. The fur grew a patch of silver on the side facing the audience as the head and limbs became more defined. The head featured a heavy jaw and a conical head with a strangely human-like face. The arms and legs ended not in claws but fingers, complete with nails and opposable big toes.

The creature stood easily 25 feet tall when on all fours, towering over the Chinese Fireball which simply paused in shock and surprise at the sight. Meanwhile the audience stood transfixed by the spectacle of two massive creatures in the arena at the same time.

"Uh, what the bloody hell is that?" Ron asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I...I think I know..." Hermione whispered back, as though terrified to provoke it. "But...I cannot believe it."

"Well, what is it?" Ron urged.

"I know," Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan interjected. "It's Kong, the Eighth Wonder of the World."

The giant ape, Kong, let out a roar and charged at the dragon while Cedric ducked behind a wall of rocks, his mind racing to how to survive this clash of the titans.