Summary:
Previously. . . Ron has an encounter with Luna that leads to him questioning his inherited magic. Luna observes Hadrian's insanity and bad coping mechanism.
There had been a change in Hogwarts. Some few had noticed it. The very thing that has evidently yet quietly changed was none other than Gryffindor's golden boy: Harry Potter. Teachers had noticed his subtle change. The way he spoke, the way he acted, even his style of spell casting was different. More refined, more skilled; more cocky— Snape had spat as he listened to Minerva praise her student over and over again.
Harry Potter had changed. Whether it was a concern or not was something the teachers had gone to question. The boy had become more civil, less brash and naive. Snape had noticed it especially—considering how the son of James Potter no longer seemed to be the son of James Potter. It reminded Snape of another person, someone that barely had any similarities to James Potter.
The civil persona Harry Potter had decided to use was odd. Snape had witnessed him willingly work with Draco Malfoy, and somehow the two had made an utterly perfect potion together. He had seen Potter with Lincoln Sonnet, a student that had kept his head down for the past four years. Everything about Potter had changed and barely anyone took notice of it. Simply changing class electives had been a concern for Minerva but hearing Bathsheba Babbling praise the boy's affinity to the runic arts, the woman had calmed.
Regardless, Snape kept a close eye on Potter. . . No matter how venomous and cruel those vivid green eyes looked at him. No matter how much it reminded him of the day Lily severed their ties and walked away from their friendship.
Harry Potter had been a foolish boy, but now. . . He was an enigma Snape feared to understand.
Then there was Alastor Moody—or Barty Crouch Jr. pretending to be Moody.. The man was absolutely unnerved by the boy-who-lived. He expected for Harry Potter to be an eccentric Gryffindor that ran towards Danger without a care. Yet, he was different. Barty felt the abyss like darkness from the boy.
It had made him shudder.
When he had commenced using the Imperius curse on his students. All of them had failed. They followed his commands and did not resist—except for one.
Barty had looked Potter in the eye and stared into vivid green eyes that pierced through his soul. It was disturbing how those eyes seemed so haunted and lifeless up close. Barty had seen Potter smile, as if he were the sun—just like his father—yet as he looked closely...
" Imperio !"
Potter hadn't budged. He merely tilted his head when Barty ordered him to move again, his hands still in his pockets and stood in a lazy manner. It was a terrifying feat as he watched Potter smile at him. The damn thing would have given Barty nightmares had he not gotten used to seeing people smile in such a creepy and intimidating manner. But that wasn't the point. It really wasn't.
The point was that Potter fought a full-blown Imperius and had the energy to mildly mock Barty with his knowing smirk. Potter just stood there, chuckling as he raised his hands in a mocking surrender. Barty hated the way the boy smirked—it reminded him of someone that wasn't either James or Lily. It made him recoil as a ghost of a man was seen through Potter.
"Ah, goodness! Professor, are you going easy on me?" Potter had asked him in an innocent tone that made Barty's blood run cold. It seemed so unnatural, to him at least.
Barry hadn't gone easy on the boy. In reality, he had been harsher with Potter. He had taken to using the Imperius seriously, unlike the rest where he had lazily casted the spell. The boy hadn't simply resisted, he was practically immune! As if he had gone through it so many times that it no longer worked on him.
Harry Potter was supposed to be simple. A Gryffindor that worshiped Dumbledore and had mediocre, if not—above average skill. Yet, Barty saw how the boy had moved. He was far too skilled and experienced to be a fourteen-year-old chosen one.
Potter grinned and said the most damning words he heard, "Lucky me…"
Lucky my ass.
The cold air of an October night graced the grounds of Hogwarts as teachers and students alike hurried to tidy up their school. Any remnants of a Weasley prank, every single dust and grime had been cleaned to perfection. Filch was even more grumpy, snapping at students with muddy shoes, dragging their feet, and even those who simply dropped their things.
The teachers were no better. McGonagall had snapped at anyone who slouched—she was absolutely ecstatic when she saw Harry's perfect posture compared to his usual slouch, although Ron was not spared from her wrath. Flitwick was charming everything to a shiny surface. Sprout was tidying up the greenhouses and was frequently seen scolding the devil snare.
"Bloody hell, they've gone mad." Ron groaned as he tidied his appearance. His hair was a mess, not as bad as Harry's, but it was still messy.
Seamus was dusting off any speck of ash on his clothes, suspicious of himself from their last charms class. Dean, on the other hand, was flattening any wrinkles on his robes and smiled to himself in the mirror. Poor Neville was fidgeting with his tie, and smiled happily as he stared at it. Poor boy immediately deflated as he noticed that his shirt was inside out and groaned in exasperation.
"Harry! When the bloody hell are you going to be done?! I bet Malfoy takes as long as you." Ron yelled, listening to his roommates snicker. Harry had been in the bathroom for half an hour, which was longer than his usual time.
"Be patient with your atrocious tie." Harry replied, running a hand through his hair as he stepped out of the bathroom.
The four boys froze as they took one look at Harry. His hair was tamer than usual, robes perfectly ironed and worn—as if they were made of the finest cloth—and they had immediately taken notice of the lack of his glasses. Those emerald eyes shone even more, clear yet seemed glassy. Crystal-like, Ron would have thought as Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, again .
Harry didn't seem to notice, or perhaps didn't care, their staring and went to his bedside to grab his glasses. They were brand new, shiny black rims and clear lenses. He'd decided to wear contacts or had done something to fix his eyes, but he had been far too sidetracked and busy with everything else that he had forgotten. I'll have it fixed in the summer. He thought, grimacing at the glasses, Should have done it before the world cup.
"What?" Harry snapped, raising a brow to them. Quickly did the boys look away, except for Ron, who was shamelessly staring with his tie completely undone.
The dark haired boy chuckled, walking towards Ron and smirking smugly. He swiftly fixed Ron's tie, grinning like a madman. "Staring is rude." He said as he tightened Ron's tie.
Ron choked a bit, flustered as he took a step back. His face was as bright as his hair, stuttering out his words. Harry had seemed different—far too suave and calm. He silently cursed out his friend once he ran a hand through his dark hair again , an action Ron had noticed but barely acknowledged. He didn't know whether to regret acknowledging it or not, but he continued to stare.
Harry simply hummed and picked up a folded letter by his bedside. One of Nikolai's letters over the summer.
Hello Hadrian!
Mother wants to ask again if you are okay? The Quidditch cup really did make her paranoid. But, I agree with her. How are you? I visited Viktor recently and his mother has scolded him for flying too recklessly around the lake.
Homework has been a pain! Do you know what the purpose of Lithe River water is? Apparently it's a clue for some topics we'll be learning in our fourth year.
Anyways, I hope to see you again soon.
From, Nikolai Markov
Harry had replied to the boy without another second. It had taken him a few minutes before he sent Hedwig a day later to bring Nikolai his reply. He admits that his fascination with Nikolai was not particularly healthy or appropriate. Luna herself had expressed her worries to him, although he was quite thankful she didn't really know why he was interested in Nikolai. It seemed like her capabilities as a seer were limited to this timeline.
Nikolai, or Kolya if you allow it.
I am well and staying with a friend for the rest of the summer. Your mother is right to worry. Although it is the British Ministry's fault for having lax security. Also, please tell Krum that I send my regards and not to overwork himself.
To be honest, I've been quite frustrated with homework as well. Unfortunately for the students of Hogwarts, it seems the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has been cursed which has caused us to change teachers every year. I can barely focus with the constant change of curriculum.
Please stay safe and healthy. I am excited for our next meeting and I hope it'll last longer than our last.
(Also, Lithe River Water is mainly used for memory potions! You can trace the name to Greek myth.)
From, H. J. P.
Harry sighed and pocketed Nikolai's letter.
Nonchalant and uncaring, Harry hummed and exited the dormitory. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would arrive in an hour and he'd prefer to deal with certain matters during that time. He greeted Hermione as he passed, chuckling as he saw her do a double take. He didn't look much different but his presence alone has changed. Better to seem confident rather than a slouching fool in front of Durmstrang students.
He ran a hand through his hair, passing by numerous students and finally arriving at the familiar dungeon corridor. Slytherins often were seen here, but what kind of Slytherin was what people should know. Harry was well aware of who was often seen lingering here, and he immediately found the one he was looking for. He would be lying if he said he wasn't grimacing.
Lincoln Sonnet was quietly fixing his ruined robes, sporting a red handprint on his face. His belongings were cluttered on the floor, ink bottles spilled and quills snapped. But the boy was quiet, not complaining as he fixed himself—not even noticing Harry. The thin thread of his patience would have snapped had he not practiced controlling his emotions through magic and psychological methods after years of fury.
" Reparo ." Harry murmured as he swished his wand towards the broken quills. He pitied the boy, really he did. But what drove Harry to care —which was a bit of an overstatement actually— was of the near uncanny resemblance he had to an old friend.
Lincoln snapped his eyes towards Harry, looking frightened and humiliated. Harry merely sighed and shook his head. He began to silently fix Lincoln's things whilst the boy fumbled with himself to stop Harry from helping him. It was awful. Harry practically ignored him, fixing the quills and spelling the ink to return to the bottle being fixed.
But Harry was already in a bad mood. He grabbed Lincoln's face, his hand gently gripping his chin and inspecting the bruise, "Goodness gracious this won't do." He said with a frown. "Let's get you fixed Sonnet. Can't have Beauxbatons and Durmstrang seeing this atrocity."
It seemed harsh, but Linoln was a Slytherin. The snakes didn't respond well to gentle pity, they preferred for others to be harsh, cruel, but truthful. Regulus had taught him well and would often berate Harry if he tried to hide something from the boy with merciful lies. He would have to admit that he also sympathized with the Slytherins when it came to this. Harry did just that and fixed Lincoln's face with a quick healing spell.
"There—" Harry grinned and patted his face, "all better."
Lincoln was blushing furiously, pushing Harry away and shaking his head. It was embarrassing, but he was more flustered with the fact that Harry had shamelessly grabbed his face. It was bold and a bit rude, but Lincoln felt a shiver go up his body and shook his head violently.
"Pot—Hadrian!" Lincoln exclaimed.
Harry rolled his eyes and simply waved him off. But Lincoln wanted to protest, "You didn't have to do that." He murmured.
"Nevertheless. . . I wanted to do it, that's what matters." Harry argued back, grabbing Lincoln's now fixed bag and shoved it into the boy's arms. He grinned, "Now tell me, was it Snakes, Badgers, Eagles, or Lions?"
Lincoln flinched. "None of your business."
That severely irked Harry. He counted backwards in his head, trying to calm himself. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…
No matter how many lives had passed, patience was something Harry had to regularly practice—with how impatient and angry he was. Lincoln's defiance was an irksome inconvenience. The boy would have done better had he just come clean and told Harry. He wanted to grab the boy, force Lincoln to tell him who had assaulted him. But he was selfish. He didn't really care for Lincoln himself. He was concerned for the face he wore and who once had it. It was instinct, moving his hand towards Lincoln and ready to grab the boy by his collar.
I wouldn't do that if I were you.
He froze, hearing Regulus' all too familiar voice speak. His tone was stern, chiding as it echoed through his mind.
He's not Evan.
The voice reminded him and Harry immediately deflated. His vibrant eyes dulled, slowly moving to pat Lincoln's head instead. The action surprised the Slytherin, who flinched away from his touch. It reminded him far too much of Regulus.
Me or you? Which one is more suitable for a Slytherin who moves away from touch? The voice questioned, Regulus' amused tone leaking into it.
Both. I'm at my best when I'm with you. Harry responded to the voice without hesitation. He smoothed a gentle and caring smile on his face. The motion was familiar, exactly the same way Regulus taught him how to fake a smile.
"Sonnet—Lincoln." Harry started, "Regardless of the fact you are a Slytherin, you don't deserve this." He gestured to the absent bruise on his face. "So tell me. . . And I'll make sure this never happens again."
Who hurt you? Harry could vividly remember asking Regulus that question when he saw the purple bruises on his arms. The burning fury he felt that day had affected his magic, to the point that everytime he Regulus was in his line of sight, his magic would wrap around the boy and hug him protectively. Tell me. I'll make sure they never hurt you again.
"Lincoln?" Harry murmured as the boy trembled. This was normal. This was fine— he's not Evan . He reminded himself again as he smiled at the worried boy.
"Tell me."
Lincoln gulped, looking away from him. Harry pursed his lips, trying his best not to hit the boy. He wasn't patient, he was barely stopping himself from blowing up. Please don't punch him , Regulus' voice pleaded with a tired tone.
"Lion." Lincoln whispered, "Fifth year."
Harry's eyes flashed, before he took in a deep calming breath. He smiled, patting Lincoln's head. "That wasn't too bad was it? Now come on. We don't want the professors scolding us for being late."
He dragged Lincoln away, silently plotting on what to do with the fool's that had harmed the boy. Lincoln Sonnet may not have actually meant anything to him, but the boy had Evan's face. That was enough to piss him off. His selfishness was obscure, an aspect was treating someone as if they were a replacement. Lincoln Sonnet wore Evan Rosier's face. The relation between the two was unknown but Harry would figure it out eventually. It didn't matter, not really.
After all, anyone Harry was interested in eventually became his.
"Mr. Potter! Where have you— oh. " McGonagall faltered as she saw Harry drag Lincoln towards them. The Slytherin looked embarrassed and slightly miserable as Harry hummed a happy tune. He waved at the elderly witch with a beaming smile and moved towards the group of students clad in green.
The older Slytherins scowled at him, but curiously tilted their heads when they saw one of their snakes being dragged by him. Harry slowly pushed Lincoln into the group, still smiling yet more than half of the snakes knew it was too good to be true. It was obviously fake. "Here's Lincoln Sonnet. I found him in a bit of a mess caused by one of our lions."
That immediately made them snarl at Harry, yet the boy only stayed calm. His voice lowered, making sure that only the Slytherins heard him. Eyes filled with malice and promise, they saw reason to listen, "I'll deal with it." said Harry, as he brought a finger over his lips and grinned. He patted Lincoln on the shoulder, quietly whispering in his ear, "Don't worry. I'll deal with it," he repeated.
Harry walked back to the Gryffindors, smiling as if nothing was wrong. All of Hogwarts had witnessed him handing a snake back to the Slytherins. Rumors had already circulated of how Harry Potter, Gryffindor golden boy, had been making friends with Slytherins. It started off with Draco Malfoy, which everyone scoffed at, then to Lincoln Sonnet, a Slytherin not that well-known. Regardless, seeing it in action seemed unnerving, especially with Harry's ever-present smile.
He glanced towards the Ravenclaws, seeing Luna and immediately waving to her. The girl giggled, waving back as they ignored the odd looks they were getting. Everyone had taken notice of the coincidental similarity between the three people— they were blonde. Which was an absurd theory that Hermione had scoffed at.
"You really are friends with that boy. Sonnet, right?" Hermione asked as she glanced over to the Slytherins.
Harry nodded, "He has runes with us. Sometimes comes to ask for my notes or advice on how to draw out a rune."
"Hmph! And here I thought your tutoring sessions were privy to us. How treacherous." Hermione teasingly smirked at him. He simply rolled his eyes, but amusement glinted in those emerald hues that made Hermione grin.
"Don't be jealous 'mione dearest." Harry smirked, leaning towards her before moving away. "You'll always be my favorite."
Hermione turned a bright red, huffing again and crossing her arms over her chest. Harry chuckled in amusement before he met eyes with Ron. The boy's dull blue eyes had a fire that others couldn't describe, but Harry knew it was jealousy. Do I have to tone it down or not? It's nice teasing them though. He grinned before patting Ron in the back and slinging his arm over his shoulder.
"You also don't have to be upset. You'll always be my favorites." Harry lied. Luna was his favorite and a dead man was his other favorite. But he was willing to entertain the idea that he favored them more than others.
As expected, Ron blinked in surprise before his face turned into a faint red. The boy turned away, seemingly embarrassed to face the mildly flirtatious actions of his best friend. It was absolute amusement to Harry who simply laughed and stood beside his two friends. His eyes scanned through the sky then to the water. A soft hum left him, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers and his red scarf wrapped around his neck.
The cold October night was merciless and Harry would pity the poor students of Beauxbatons who wore quite thin cloth. Speaking of Beauxbatons, Harry turned to the sky and saw the large carriage that carried both the headmistress and students that would represent the French academy.
The students of Hogwarts awed, cheered, and stared. It made Harry wonder what kind of transportation his school would have used had Beauxbatons or Durmstrang hosted the tournament. He grimaced at the thought of arriving in the Hogwarts express, it seemed so bland compared to the extravagance of the other two schools.
As the carriage landed, Harry hummed at the winged horses that Madame Maxime had bred herself—the abraxan, he had known. Attending Beauxbatons as Clarisse had helped him understand the dynamics and hierarchy of the academy. Unfortunately, more than a quarter of the school were bigoted purebloods that considered themselves royalty, no matter how awful their magical aptitude were. It shouldn't have bothered him much, but seeing the students draped in pale blue silks that were their uniforms made him clench his fist.
"You filthy little mudblood! Who's magic have you stolen? Someone with dirty blood isn't worthy of such power." He grit his teeth as he remembered the ridiculous claim that was made by Maurice Lemaire, an idiotic pureblood that had believed that muggleborns were thieves that stole from other wixens. Clarisse had nearly slammed the boy's head into a wall when she heard him refer to her as mudblood and dirty blood . That was her blood, Lily Evans' blood, Hermione Granger's blood!
His eyes skimmed through the groups of students and immediately paused as he saw two girls. Fleur Delacour and Gabrielle Delacour. Veela , he remembered. She'll get hurt if she drowns… I guess playing a hero won't be too bad if I get their support. He thought with a smirk.
Harry glanced towards where Maxime and Dumbledore were conversing. He couldn't help how his lips twitched. Maxime had been a wonderful headmistress. She didn't tolerate racism in her academy, having fallen victim to it herself. She punished anyone who was remotely racist with detention or lectured them herself. Clarisse had admired the woman, idolized her, and even spoke of her during her speeches. Olympe Maxime was a great example of success and hard work for none purebloods.
It irked him how she admired Dumbledore. Pissed him off even.
Minutes later, the black lake rippled. Harry could feel electricity coursing through his veins as he stood straighter. It was time, his old and most favored school would arrive in the grandiose known as the institution's ship. The skeletal and haunted theme of it rose from the reflective surface of the lake, an image that mimicked that of a horror movie that Harry had once watched. He had ridden that boat for three lives and was greatly familiar with it.
They all stared at the grand ship as Karkaroff exited with a group of his students. Harry couldn't help the hungry grin spreading across his face. Durmstrang was perfect for him, shame he couldn't attend the institution in his current life.
"Blimey! Is that Viktor Krum?" Ron excitedly stated as he nudged Harry. Hermione, who was in between them, angrily stomped on his foot.
Harry let out a gentle laugh, "Don't get too excited. He's the enemy ." He sarcastically smirked. Among the groups of students, Harry could see a small few who were not of age. That included none other than Nikolai Markov.
Harry's fingers twitched at the sight of the boy. His ash brown hair was tousled in a graceful manner. Then there were his eyes. Those uniquely purple hues that he once owned, Harry couldn't help but sigh in content to it. Nikolai was right there, chatting with a dark-haired boy he assumed was Asen Oblansk. It didn't take long for Nikolai to notice his stare and the boy happily waved at him, Harry felt like he was greeted by the sun and had to look away for a moment before he was blinded.
"Harry, isn't that the boy you met during the world cup?" Hermione pointed towards Nikolai who had been smiling at them.
Ron squinted and gasped, "That's the guy you've been writing letters to!"
Students of all three schools retreated to the warmth of the castle, settling in the great hall. Durmstrang went to Slytherin and Beauxbatons went to Ravenclaw. Harry understood this seating arrangement, considering how the Slytherins were allegedly just pureblood and half-blood while the Ravenclaws weren't as overbearing and eccentric as Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Although he felt bitter as he watched Nikolai sit beside Oblansk and Krum.
His focus was on a few people. It didn't matter that Bagman and Crouch had arrived. Although he did glance at Moody and immediately noticed the grim look on his face.
The atmosphere seemed to be cheerful and friendly, but there was rivalry. Unfortunately for both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, Hogwarts has always been a place of rivalry and challenge, via the four houses. The issue was that Hogwarts would have an internal struggle with which house the champion would be from. Of course, Harry knew he'd be an unfortunate one but that didn't change.
His gaze went back to the Slytherin table and took notice of Draco narrowing his eyes at Nikolai. He merely hummed.
Purple hues met his green and Harry's breath hitched. He had looked into a reflection before and saw those very same eyes. All he wanted to do was grab Nikolai, hold him tight and smile at him. He'd stare at Nikolai's amethyst-like optics and drown in it, before he ran a finger over the boy's eyes. It would have made him smile, how perfect they were.
I want to gouge out his eyes. Harry thought as he smiled at Nikolai again. Seeing how Nikolai laughed happily with his schoolmates reminded him of a warped memory of Orpheus. Would purple suit me? He wondered as he took off his glasses and ran a hand down his face.
Stop thinking about it , Regulus' voice scolded him. If Regulus' ghost had been with him, his arms would have either been wrapped around Harry or using his head as an armrest. It didn't matter, not really. Regulus sounded disappointed in him. How could he not?
He promised to never be Orpheus again after all, yet… the sight of Nikolai made him shudder. Looking into a mirror, he would have seen purple and not green but now, he didn't need to look at his reflection.
All he needed to do was look at Nikolai Markov.
Nikolai turned to him with the most blinding grin he had seen. It made Harry laugh.
"We're far too different. How could we have been brothers?"
The concept was absurd. How Nikolai Markov, a boy that seemed to be the personification of the sun, could have been the brother of Orpheus Black, a man who went insane and descended into the abyss.
Notes:
The entire chapter is basically just Harry either being creepy or flirty. With a dash of his insanity and the corruption of the Orpheus part of his mind and soul.
Harry is insane, partially, completely, it doesn't matter. He's insane. He's the master of death, of course he's not going to be in his right mind. Harry will literally mutilate you for a resemblance you have to someone he obsessed over in his past life, or he will do so for your resemblance to his past self.
Nikolai's appearance looks nearly nothing like Orpheus, who was more 'Black' than 'Markov' in terms of appearance. However, both share the trait of purple eyes they inherited from their grandfather.
Harry loathes Orpheus, but he also loves a part of his own appearance. The uniqueness of his eyes were always something he loved (Harry's killing curse-green eyes and Orpheus poisonous looking purple eyes.)
Yeah, I kinda accidentally wrote for him to have this weird fascination of eyes.
Anyways, Harry is insane.
He is after so much suffering.