CHAPTER 4:
"At Least you're wearing much more suitable clothes now." Ragnar commented, looking over Harry's appearance. Only a few hours ago, the boy had been wearing an oversized shirt and trousers, along with a sweater that could have been mistaken for a blanket if you didn't look closely. Now, Harry was wearing a white dress shirt, black trousers, and a dark blue coat. He.
"Thankfully, Madame Malkin's had clothes my size. I've had a house elf bring my belongings to the manor." Harry responded. He strided with an innate kind of grace that could be seen in perfectly educated purebloods or aristocrats— thanks to all the years of etiquette lessons he had to repeatedly take.
"Hm… it was that elf from the Malfoys, Dobby, I presume."
"Now how do you know that?"
"Someone had heard Lucius Malfoy cursing of losing an elf, suspected it was from Hogwarts. With you suddenly having an elf when you were living with muggles, I simply connected the dots."
Harry nodded in understanding. As expected, Dobby had come to him after he called out the elf's name. He had given Dobby the address of Potter Manor and instructed the elf to take his things there. From the files he had read, there were still three other elves working at Potter Manor. He had summoned all three, introducing himself as heir Potter —due to him not coming of age yet— and making sure the manor would be spotless once he returned.
Harry still was displeased by his own files though.
"Winly, Clay, and Tulip, are quite happy to have me as their new master." He chuckled. The three house elves, two females and one male had been appointed by his grandfather a few years before James was born. "Grandfather made a good choice with them."
"Is that so? Moving on then…" Ragnar clicked his tongue and presented Harry with an antique pocket watch. Harry could feel subtle yet powerful magic from it. "This is your portkey. It can be used fourteen times— seven times to your destination and seven times back. So think wisely when you decide to take your little trips."
Harry grinned, taking the portkey and swinging it like a pendulum. "Much appreciated Ragnar. How much will this cost?"
"It's free."
"Oh, now don't be such a spoilsport! Name your price, I will surely pay it." He insisted.
Ragnar was silent for a moment, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "You— nevermind. That portkey would cost at least ten-thousand galleons due to its special uses, but as I am repaying you, it will only be a thousand galleons."
"The price of a standard Portkey. Very well, take a thousand galleons from my vault."
"Which one?"
Harry took a few seconds to contemplate. But he couldn't help but grin at the question. Due to his previous life as Damian , his wealth was rather… well he could only say that it was part of his own greed. "Vault 433."
Ragnar grimaced. It had been far too convenient for the man when the vaults available to him were capable of making numerous words. 443 had its own morbid meaning, courtesy of the man who decided the vault would be owned by him. "Why did 343 and 433 have to be available to you?" He asked in exasperation.
Amusement showed in his eyes. The goblin had been frustrated with his precious self, who's to say he could actually deal with the original? Not that Ragnar was aware that Harry Potter was the original Damian, not the other way around. It was amusing to see the goblin considerably ignorant to some things. Death was one of them.
"Goodness… what time is it?" Harry checked, frowning at the clock. It was already half past three in the afternoon. He didn't need to be any more late than he already was. "Well old friend, I must depart now. Can't keep the man waiting."
Ragnar nodded. "Be careful. That man is still very much dangerous, even with him behind bars." He started, tapping his fingers on the desk.
"Do you honestly think he'd hurt me?" Harry asked, raising a brow.
"With your appearance? There is a chance."
"But my magic? He will recognize it immediately. You need not to worry Ragnar…" Harry smiled, a venomous glint in his eyes. "He wouldn't dare cause harm to his only heir."
862 miles away from Gringotts was where Harry had landed. In a cold, freezing mountain. He stood upon cold concrete, staring at a grand and dark castle. No living thing was present in the place… aside from one.
Harry narrowed his eyes at the castle, closing his eyes. Reaching his hand out, he felt heavy and strong wards protecting the castle— or perhaps protecting the outside world from what was inside. He hummed, vivid green eyes flashing dangerously. The tip of his fingers sparked, and the invisible wards showed themselves to him. A rip formed, and Harry slipped in before it could heal.
Memories of his seventh life emerged, as he stepped closer and closer to the castle. The courtyard was covered in snow and the great doors were frosted. Harry could only sigh, halting in his steps right in front of the door. He pressed both hands on to the frozen wood, pushing with all his might at the rusted hinges of the door. He grit his teeth, failing.
He gripped his wand, eyes blazing in fury as his patience thinned. He took in deep breaths, his grip slackening as he shoved his wand back in and took out another wand. His wand that belonged to his seventh life, kept safe in his vault. The ministry didn't need to know he was using magic outside Hogwarts, and it would be more difficult for them to detect him when he was miles away from Britain. A wand that did not belong to Harry Potter, but to Damian.
The trace was implemented into the wand, not the person using magic. It could be tricked. The ministry was inefficient that way, something Harry despised greatly when he was in his second and third year. He was just thankful he found out a way to get rid of the trace in case it was placed on his person.
He pointed the wand towards the doors, murmuring a spell he had mastered in said life.
" Incendium Confractus. "
The bright red spell hit the doors, as the ice began to crack, then shatter. Fire spread through the door, before vanishing into ash. Harry then kicked the doors open, strutting in like he owned the place.
The interior of the castle did not disappoint. There was a grand chandelier in the middle of the room and a rather intimidating staircase. Tinted windows were what was met at the top of the staircase, then leading to two different hallways. Harry hummed, moving up the staircase and taking a left turn. He led himself further to the darkness of the halls. He paused by another darkened door, narrowing his eyes at it.
There was yet another extreme ward upon the door, causing the boy to click his tongue in frustration. He delicately waved his wand over the wood, glaring at the runes carved on to the door. It took nearly thirty minutes for him to perfectly dismantle the protections upon a single door. He suspected only one person to be able to create such complicated runes.
The door leads through a darker, much colder, path up the castle. Harry groaned, clenching his fists as he stomped up the stairs. The temptation to enchant the stairs to move was strong, as he continued upwards, spouting out numerous complaints regarding the issue.
"Why doesn't this damn place have elevators? For Morgana's sake, maybe I should invent those bloody portals before Lysandra Bane… if she even is born into this world… Wait, has she already been born?" He frowned, trying to remember the numerous history lessons he had to study in his eighth life. "She was born on… December 11th, 1991! Yup, she's already been born. It'll only take ten or fifteen years for her to make those portals."
He snapped his fingers, before taking notice of his surroundings. While he had been rambling to himself, Harry had finally arrived at his destination. He sighed in relief, hurrying to a particular cell within the castle. He stood before it, grimacing at the darkness.
"Dear Morgana…"
"Wer ist da?"
Harry stiffened, a mixture of a grin and grimace forming on his expression. He waved his wand again, a bright light forming at the tip of the yew and thunderbird tail feather wand. As the light glows, the man inside the cell hissed in fury. It had been long since he was graced with light, swallowed in darkness for decades.
"Schalt das aus!"
Harry sighed, shaking his head. He walked closed to the cell, torturing the man with more and more light. Silently, he opened the cell and frowned at the gaunt look of the man who suffered for decades. Starved, barely alive. The best he could describe the man in the cell was the dead still breathing. Such a horrific sight. Harry would have mistaken the man for a corpse if he hadn't spoken.
The visage of the once great man was ruined by years of pain and isolation. Harry pitied him, sighing as he pointed the wand to the man. Recognition seemed to flash upon seeing the wand in full light, and the man cursed loudly. Anger seeping through a hoarse voice, glaring daggers at Harry.
"Du siehst schrecklich aus." said Harry, who was frowning at the pitiful sight.
The man grit his teeth at the naturally fluent German that came from the boy's lips.
"Wer ist da?" the man asked once again.
Harry hummed, flicking his wand as the light at the tip of it floated above them. A better look at the man, Harry couldn't help but grimace at the rags he wore. He cursed under his breath, gently helping him up to his feet, and slinging his arm over his shoulders. Harry didn't struggle. The man was as light as a feather, only needed to drag him towards a different room.
I'll have to make sure he's steadily fed with potions. He thought as he checked on the man's weight. He was far to thin, literally skin and bone
The stairs were once again an obstacle, as the man kept groaning and complaining to Harry. "Would you please shut up? I am trying to help you!" He hissed, earning another grunt from the man. Thankfully, Harry had arrived in a lavish room, dusty, but seemed lavish without.
He set the man on the chair, lighting the fire on the fireplace. His eyes observed the room for a moment. The windows were large, there was a lamp by the side and a fancy looking closet. Harry snapped his fingers, listening to the loud crack.
"Winly, get me substantial nourishment potions, clothes the size of a grown adult man, and a… vile of Hygieia potion."
"M-Master?! The Hygiea Potion… " Winly stuttered out.
"Yes. Take one of the 50. Don't worry… I swear on my magic that I can recreate it." Harry swore, tracing a golden line in the air. Winly gasped, bowing her head before vanishing away to follow his orders.
Harry hummed, staring at the sickly man before him. "It's been fifty years… to think you survived in the own prison you created." He mused, arms crossed as he looked down at the man.
"Who… are you?"
Harry smiled, "Here I thought you'd recognize me in an instant."
Winly reappeared with the assorted goods Harry had ordered. The young heir of the Potter house grinned, pointing his wand to the clothes then waving it towards the man. Instantly, the clothes seemed to dress themselves on him and an obvious sigh of relief left his lips. Warmth spread across him, as the cold seemed to slowly leave him.
Harry inspected the vile from Winly. The crystal-like liquid in the vial shined an ethereal glow. So much magic within a single vile.
The Hygieia Potion was a creation he had learned of in his 12th life. A creation by Amalthea Potter nee Prevost, someone who had married into his family. She had created the potion two hundred years ago. The Hygieia Potion was something that could ultimately restore someone to their glory… a longevity potion that restored a person's youth and allowed you to love at least 50 more years.
He had studied the potions properties, the process and ritual to be used to create the potion. He devoted a quarter of his 12th life to studying the Hygieia potion and recreating it for the sake of his own friends. However, the Potters were in possession of 50— now 49 of the potions.
Harry's knowledge was enough for him to recreate the potion, although with severe difficulty if he ever tried to attempt it. He would never leak the information regarding the potion to anyone else if he could help it. Better to monopolize a rare potion made by his ancestor than share it to fools who wouldn't even be worthy of it.
"This is the famous… Hygieia potion. Named after the Greek goddess of health." Harry explained, waving the vile in front of the man. Eyes gone wide, the man recognized the name of the potion— a myth he had assumed. "I will give this to you… if you can tell me who I am."
The man glared darkly at Harry, who wore a provocative smirk. A small tilt of his head and Harry was taunting the man even more.
"You… Harry Potter… I heard of you from… Albus." The man groggily said.
"Don't say his name!" Harry snapped. He despised calling Dumbledore by his first name. He had hated how so many people insisted on naming his second child Albus , thankfully he was smart enough not to name his poor Slytherin of a son after the crazy Gryffindor. "Yes… but you are wrong. Who am I?"
The man pursed his lips. The temptation was there, staring at the potion that could bring him back to his glory.
"The boy-who-lived."
"Wrong. Who am I?"
"Harry Potter."
"Who. Am. I?"
"You are the wizarding worlds—"
"Who am I?!"
The flames turned a bright blue, bursting from the fireplace. Winly squeaked, rushing to hide under a table.
Harry stared at the man in fury, his patience thinning even more. The man refused to say it. They both knew the name to call. Yet such stubbornness was inherited. Harry pointed his wand towards the man's face, forcing him to take a good look at it. Yew, with a thunderbird tail feather core, and 12 and a half inches.
"Who… am I?"
The desperation in his voice did not go unnoticed. The man closed his eyes, his trembling voice uttering a name he had not said in decades.
" Damianos… "
Harry closed his eyes, breath hitching as he heard the name. He had heard Ragnar call him that name, he used it on himself. Yet hearing this man say it caused him to feel an unexplainable warmth. Such a name that had meant so much to him years ago.
"It's nice that you still remember my name, Gellert." Harry chuckled, grinning at the once dark lord who had tears in his eyes. He did not hesitate to hand over the Hygieia potion, which Gellert downed immediately.
He watched as Gellert aged backwards, more than fifty years of his life restored. Gellert who was around a hundred and ten years old looked like he was in his late forties. It was an obvious difference, as his youth was restored. Harry chuckled softly, glad that Gellerts hair was a platinum shade, almost an ethereal white and not the dead kind of white. His mismatched eyes were clear as day, as the man closed his eyes and revealed them once more.
Harry was disgruntled by the subtle lack of magical power, but he could only suspect it was due to the isolation Gellert had gone through for fifty years. He handed the rest of the potions to Gellert, urging him to drink them all up. Although he was a dark lord, Gellert scowled at the atrocious taste of the nutrient potion. Harry had fed him a variety of it, slowly progressing from being skin and bone.
The boy turned towards his poor frightened house elf, apologizing to Winly and sending her away with the orders of preparing a suitable room for Gellert. Winly happily followed his orders, stating that she was honored to be serving such a powerful heir. Harry merely hummed, turning to Gellert who was comfortably adjusted to his chair. One that the man had claimed his favorite decades ago.
The cold wind of the Austrian Alps blew against the glass windows. Frost covering the glass and melting upon the spell Harry had casted around the place. Silence reigned over them as Gellert quietly rested, allowing the potions and spells to set. Harry could faintly hear some grunts and groans from Gellert, slightly concerned, but shook it off and watched the snow fall.
"Damian? Damianos?"
Turning his head, vivid green clashed with blue and black. A look of pain, relief, and a sad kind of joy showed on Gellert's expression. He reached out towards Harry, who slowly accepted his hand.
"I really am surprised you remember. I thought you'd have forgotten by now…" Harry chuckled wryly. Gellert's hand felt frail in his, although his was admittedly smaller due to his body. "It's been fifty years…"
Gellert closed his eyes. It was unusual to see the ruthless dark lord shed tears, Harry had seen this scene before, but it never ceased to surprise him. Gellert looked fragile, vulnerable even.
"How could I ever forget?" He asked, outraged. Harry closed his eyes, unable to handle the pain in Gellert's voice. "How could I ever forget my own son's name?"
Damian… also known as Damianos Grindelwald, Harry's seventh life. Born on October 31st 1916, to the dark lord and an unfortunate muggle born woman who died giving birth to him. His mother, poor Freida Schneider. A muggle born witch with a squib great grandmother— the supposedly last magical member of the Nachtnebel Family of Germany.
"You even used your old wand to help me recognize you. Mein kostbarer Sohn… " Gellert murmured, rubbing his thumb on Harry's knuckles. "You told me… when you were a child that… that you had dreamt of being other people, that you had suddenly woke up as my son."
Harry met Gellert's eyes, a pained look within mismatched hues. "You've lived different lives. You are here now, as the boy-who-lived— that is proof, mein sohn. How many… how many have you lived?"
A moment of hesitation passed, but Harry inevitably answered. Gellert had once been his father, and he still considered the man such. Gellert may have loved his mother— hopelessly loved unfortunate Freida, but Damian was his pride, his joy, his most prized possession and the son the man cherished dearly.
" Dreizehn. This is my second time being Harry Potter… Damian is my seventh. This is my thirteenth." He admitted.
A look of anguish morphed on Gellert's face, as he brought Harry's hand close to his face. The back of Harry's hand pressed against Gellert's forehead. "My child… You have suffered more than I did."
Harry sighed, placing his hand over Gellert's. "I will explain more later. Right now, we need to get you out of here."
"You cannot. Albus—"
"I said don't say his name!" Harry snapped.
Gellert's eyes softened, understanding of Harry's agitation. "Alright. Dumbledore ," he carefully said, "has placed numerous spells, runes, and wards that will not allow me to leave. Surely, the next time he comes to check in, he will take notice of my absence."
"Don't worry about that. I've been awake for a month. I've been planning to smuggle you out of here for that time." Harry explained. "Shame though… I grew up here, and Dumbledore has ruined the memories of it."
Gellert chuckled wryly. It felt like a deep failure to raise Damianin Nurmengard, but his son had taken an immediate liking to the castle. It was a fortress that had protected Damian Grindelwald for his entire life, till the day he died.
"I've prepared a fake body to replace you. The Peverell lineage comes in handy for that." Harry chuckled, a morbid glint in his eyes. "I have altered the wards ever so slightly, and once you're out, I'll return it to what it once was. As a precaution, I'll have Winly apparate you."
"What about you?"
"I'll stay behind for a bit and fix the wards. Maybe even replace our artifacts with fakes."
Gellert nodded solemnly. He was still weak, thus useless to Harry.
"Be careful." Gellert simply received a deadpan.
"Honestly now! Not only am I Harry Potter but I am also Damian Grindelwald. Since when have I been careful?"
"Great Harry Potter sir!"
"Young master!"
Harry landed in the entrance hall of Potter Manor. His blurry vision only saw the silhouettes of two hours elves, waving them off like it was nothing. One of the elves— he immediately assumed it was Dobby due to the use of 'great', leading him to the nearest chair.
"Does the young master want some tea? Food?"
Harry blinked, narrowing his eyes at the other elf. He recognized the elf as Tulip, the other female elf. He nodded weakly, as Dobby attempted to make him as comfortable as possible. In the end, Harry was grimacing at the hard chair he was sitting on and ordered Dobby to take him to his room. The room usually used by the lord of the house was currently Harry's room, the boy falling to the bed immediately.
He heard the door open again, ushering footsteps as he heard something being set down on the bedside table. A groan left his lips, causing the elves to fuss. He was drained of his energy. Adjusting the wards Dumbledore himself created was a great challenge for him, as well as placing an intricately made fake corpse for Dumbledore to see. He had placed a timer within the wards to alert Dumbledore of Grindelwald's 'death' in a month.
" Skol'ko vremeni?" The Russian words left his lips, baffling the elves that were tending to him.
"Y-Young master?"
"What time is it?" Harry repeated, grimacing. He gently held the tea cup Tulip had given him, sighing in content to the chamomile tea prepared for him. The hot liquid going down his throat and calming down his nerves, although just a smidgen.
"Oh! 'Tis a quarter till six in the evening. Shall I prepare dinner?" Tulip immediately questioned.
Harry hummed. "Yes. Make sure to include our guest."
Tulip bowed, popping away as only Harry and Dobby were left in the room. The heir to the Potter house pushed himself to sit, with Dobby's support that is. He thanked the house elf as he grabbed some of the bread Tulip had prepared.
"I assume my belongings have been arranged." He hummed, glancing around the room. It was large, spacious, with an empty bookshelf and a door that would lead to a walk-in closet and bathroom.
Dobby nodded, "Yes Harry Potter, sir! Missy Hedwig also arrived. Clay is taking care of Hedwig."
"That's good. Also, could you get me some water?" He said as he gently caressed the dark emerald gem. He sighed, a bit regretful for neglecting Amarantha.
"Of course!"
Harry nodded, as Dobby popped away. He took off the necklace that Amarantha's gem was hanging off, placing it in his palm. Resurrecting a Basilisk was going to be a difficult endeavor, especially with an ingredient he needed that required another resurrection.
§Would you prefer I put you in hot or cold water?§ He asked. The gem vibrated, shaking in his palm until it paused for a second. §Hot?§ The gem stayed silent. §Cold then.§ The gem vibrated, as if it were happy.
When Dobby had returned with a bowl of water, Harry dismissed the elf and began to adjust the water's temperature. He gently dipped the gem into the cold water, watching as if vibrated in satisfaction. He hummed softly, placing protective charms around the bowl as he walked towards the closet.
There were some clothes that belonged to his grandfather and father and some new ones that Harry had ordered the elves to procure beforehand. He leisurely picked out a white shirt and black trousers.
He hissed a few comforting words towards the gem before slipping out of the room and towards the dining hall. He could smell the scent of numerous kinds of foods, recognizing some dishes. A small smile graced his lips as he saw Gellert already seated and restraining himself from drooling.
"I hope Tulip prepared enough food." Harry chuckled. There was more than enough, but he was quite glad. Neither of their bodies were in good states after all.
"I must say… that little elf of yours is better than that elf… What was its name?"
"Bamey? Well… he was given to us by Nagel, I think."
Gellert chuckled as he sliced the steak that was served. "You have impeccable memory. Is it an advantage or gift due to your reincarnations?"
Harry tilted his head, contemplating his answer. Harry had been rather forgetful in the beginning, but he had become malicious and vengeful. Due to this, his memory had become sharper and more accurate because of his promise of revenge to those who wronged him. It had become extremely useful in the end.
"Not exactly. It's not like your ability to see figments of the future. Rather, my memory became better and better as time passed." Harry explained.
"I see… why is it that you never tried to stop me?" Gellert suddenly asked, causing Harry to halt before his food could enter his mouth.
He had anticipated this. Gellert was now aware that he was originally Harry Potter. He knew of his identity as the wizarding world's golden boy.
"... I have lived… many lives, thus experienced many perspectives. In my fourth life, I woke up as Clarisse Laurent, a French muggle born witch. That life, I experienced the abuse from my own family due to my magic and the discrimination of purebloods towards my… kind of people."
Harry grimaced, unable to find proper words. It took a long minute for him to speak again, looking Gellert in the eye.
"I was born as your son, in a time where it has already become history. I knew of future events, muggle and magic. I agree with you, in a manner. Non-magicals are dangerous. They outnumber us, have weapons that can eradicate an entire country. Their own people slaughter and massacre one another. We wouldn't have survived if we didn't take action immediately."
Gellert frowned, seeing the look of utter defeat and frustration on Harry's face. The grip the boy had on his fork grew tighter and tighter, magic swirling in the air. He could feel it, but watched as Harry struggled and spoke of the future.
"I have lived in the future four times. We've advanced, but the muggles have grown and progressed faster. Your plan… it had the right goal, but the way you wanted to go through with it would be proven difficult."
Gellert leaned back on his seat, "How so?"
A pregnant pause swallowed them, before Harry spoke again.
"They still outnumber and outmatch us. We won't be able to force them into subservience. What we need is some kind of… total isolation until our world has caught up to them."
Harry's voice was caught in his throat. Memories of his eighth and eleventh life spiraled through his mind. The horror he had discovered in those two loves had been atrocious, both solidifying his hatred towards muggles.
"In one life… I discovered something… so utterly horrifying that I pity muggle borns for being… being exposed to muggles. These children are in grave danger, Gellert! Those mundanes will—"
"Damian?"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut.
"I… I can't. I can't speak of it now… maybe in the future… but right now— the memories of that life still haunt me in my dreams."
Gellert softened immediately at the pure utter fear Harry displayed. His son, although now in a different body, with a completely different identity, had barely displayed fear. Damian Grindelwald and Harry Potter were reckless yet brave children. To see him shaking in fear— for of the muggles of all things, showed how dire the situation could become.
"I understand. I shall be patient… I promise, mein sohn. "
Notes:
In this story, Harry did not name his second son "Albus Severus Potter". You'd have to dig up my dead body before I admit to liking that horrid. Who the hell names their child after a manipulative old coot and the bastard who bullied you for 7 years? He might as well have named his son "Basalisk Nagini Potter". Guess the name, Kay? It will be revealed in future chapters of course.
So, Damian's background has been revealed. He's a halfblood, obviously.
As I've said in the previous chapter, Harry's incarnations can exist in the same timeline. However, there is a very important requirement for incarnations to exist in the same timeline. They must not be alive while the other is born.
Example: Damian was born on 1916 and died before Harry was born. (I'm not revealing when he died. Not yet at least.) Thus because Damian is already dead, Hadrian was allowed to be born.