Potter Manor, as it turned out, was absolutely amazing as far as Harry was concerned. As he was the only remaining heir to the manor, he considered his opinion to be the leading voice in magical-home review, and two years later, stood firm with his initial appraisal. In the early days, one of his favourite pastimes had been to explore the lawns and surrounding forest, eventually finding paths which had not been used in years, but did not take long for Harry to re-establish as he traversed them daily. Much like an organized zoo, the grounds seemed to have areas in which certain animals preferred to stay, almost like paddocks. Mentioning this to the elves, they had confirmed that this was exactly as much; in order to ensure the safety of each magical creature, the area available to each one was somewhat limited, ensuring that no creatures posing threats to each other would be able to cross paths. This magic did not apply to non-magical creatures, as Harry learned first-hand the day he watched a Nundu burst out from a patch of brambles to surprise a large rabbit, which had just poised itself to dart away when, upon landing nimbly, the Nundu had simply breathed in the rabbit's direction, causing it to fall dead in its tracks. Harry had barely even gotten his wand out before the giant cat had picked the rabbit up and begun scampering happily away, looking more like one of Mrs. Figg's housecats than the fierce leopard-like creature which could wipe out whole villages with a single, deadly breath.
Sitting on his back porch now on a dewy morning, Harry sipped his pumpkin juice and smiled at the memory. He had been terrified, having recognized the Nundu from a book. It was only months later when he was finally able to manage the nerve to re-enter the area in which the Nundu resided, having taken precautions with a well-placed Bubble-Head Charm. His senses had tingled in a heightened survival mode as he wandered the understory, constantly listening and watching for any signs of the creature. He had wasted minutes with this endeavour before finally reminding himself that he was a wizard, turning his efforts to sensing magic rather than sight and sound. Within a few minutes, he recognized that he was growing more and more calm as he continued focusing on the magic in the air. By the time he reached the Nundu, lounging on a fat tree branch, Harry's fear had disappeared. When it finally opened an eye to look at Harry, its only response was to stretch impressively, then fall silently to the ground in front of him, letting out a benign meow. Harry had known at once that, while clearly capable of lethality, the Nundu would not randomly attempt to kill Harry any more than a friendly house cat would decide to use its sharp teeth to rip its owner's neck apart.
After that, while still exercising caution, Harry felt much less trepidation when exploring the grounds. He could no longer deny that he had some kind of a connection to magical creatures, which did not seem to be commonplace in the wizarding community. This new confidence ironically resulted in the most terrifying experience of his two years at Potter Manor, when he had been going for a run through the grounds, to be stopped dead in his tracks when a possum on the path ahead had flown high into the air, only to disappear entirely when it was halfway back to the ground. Nearly stumbling onto his backside, Harry had to force himself to reach out with his magic before reacting. Eventually, where he had previously seen nothing, a shape began to ripple into existence—like a mirage, or heat waves. Crunching and slurping sounds followed suit, with the visible manifestation giving Harry just enough of an outline of its shape to leave him reasonably sure that he was witnessing the actions of a Thestral. Harry knew that he should not be able to see the creature at all, as it was something that only appeared to those who had witnessed death. Harry had no memory of actually seeing the moment at which either of his parents had died, although he did recall his mother's lifeless body before Voldemort turned his wand on Harry. Was that enough to see the Thestrals in this strange, in-between form? Harry wondered if it was something else.
Since he had been at Potter Manor, Harry had eventually repeated his experience with the two wands—holding each in a hand and finding himself catapulted to another time and place, each of them ringing with familiarity and yet clearly taking place in the future. His research led him to understand that in these instances, he was Seeing, an uncommon but very real magical ability that he clearly possessed. From what he could tell, he had quite a bit of talent at what was a very rare gift, which explained how he was able to predict as a child the races so well, and why there were not hundreds of other wizards at every sporting event winning unlimited amounts of money. Very few people could See, and those who could usually kept it a secret for obvious reasons. Four times, Harry had purposefully Seen during these past two years. So jarring was each vision, that Harry let weeks go by in between each one before he could work up the nerve to try it again. As with the first vision of the graveyard, three of the four visions he had experienced had shown him death, leading Harry to hypothesize that it was these visions of death which allowed him to see the spectre of Thestrals.
Regardless, the animals were very friendly with Harry, despite their alarming visage. This would become a trend throughout the grounds. Magical creatures which were purported to pose a clear and present danger to humanity were downright friendly to Harry, quickly building a trust between wizard and creature that would eventually lead to Harry looking into their eyes (or in the Thestrals' case where he was pretty sure there should be eyes) to establish a kind of communication. Some of them were able to provide Harry with a name they had come to prefer to be called by speakers, while others worked with Harry to establish their first such designation. Others found the idea undesirable (the Nundu wanted nothing to do with such a practice, yet enjoyed Harry calling him "Big Guy," which Harry avoided sharing with the cat was definitely now his official name).
Harry put down his glass of pumpkin juice, looking at his two wands on the little table. He picked up what he now understood to not be just an elder-wood wand, but the Elder Wand, one of three objects that made up the fabled Deathly Hallows, along with the Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility. According to "The Tale of the Three Brothers," it was the first Hallow created, supposedly made by Death himself. While Harry understood that the tale had no doubt taken on fictitious qualities over the years, there was no question that this was an unusually powerful wand, having all of the markings of indeed being the Death Stick. This had led Harry down a deep rabbit hole of research into the history of the ownership of the wand. It was spotty, and often contradictory, with Harry piecing together different aspects of different authors' ideas until he felt like he had the most reasonable road map of the wand's passage. From everything he could tell, a dark wizard named Grindewald had owned the wand during the early part of this century, using it to spearhead a movement he sold as "For the Greater Good," which was a thin mask for supporting wizarding superiority over other beings, Muggles deemed in need of being ruled over in order to save them. It had gotten both a strong following and a fierce opposition, leading of course to war. That was where things got strange.
Historical records from all perspectives showed that it was Albus Dumbledore who defeated Grindewald, thus ending the threat and restoring the security of the Statute of Secrecy. By those accounts, the Elder Wand would have then transferred ownership to Dumbledore. From what Harry had learned further about Dumbledore, he was already a powerful wizard before this duel with Grindewald, and seemed a perfect fit for wielder of the Elder Wand. And yet, it had been collecting dust in the back of Ollivander's shop until Harry had taken clear possession of it. How? He could find no hint of what might have occurred to cause Dumbledore to lose possession of the wand. There were spotted references to Dumbledore's accomplishments in wizarding society over the past fifty years, but for the most part he had led a secluded life as teacher and eventually headmaster at Hogwarts. So what could have happened? With a sigh, Harry placed the wand back onto the table, having momentarily considered initiating a vision with the two wands, but dismissing the idea just as quickly. He had not allowed himself to have another vision since the fourth and last he had Seen, over a year and a half ago.
A cry from inside the house startled Harry out of his reflections. At first alarmed, he felt quickly that the noise from Zeely was an excited one rather than one of concern. This was verified moments later, when she called out, "Master Harry! You is getting… a very important letter, sir!"
Harry smiled, knowing full well what the letter was, and appreciating Zeely's eagerness to try to keep it a surprise. "I'm coming!" he yelled over his shoulder, abandoning his train of thought and stuffing both wands into a pocket before moving to find Zeely. Predictably, she was in the kitchen, standing on a stool and fussing over the stove when Harry walked in.
"Oh, Master, there is post on the table," Zeely said with a shrug, prodding the pan of bacon in front of her. The aura of excitement emanating from her was palpable, despite her attempt at casual subterfuge. Harry exerted a good deal of self-restraint to keep himself from smiling.
"Oh. Thanks, Zeely. I'll look at it later."
Zeely dropped her spatula into the pan of bacon, grabbing to retrieve it. "Uh… Master… Master does not wish to read his letters now?" she asked with trembling arms and voice.
A part of Harry wanted to continue the ruse, but a better part of him wanted to appease Zeely, feeling bad about leading her on. "Yeah, all right. Let's see," he said, heading towards the little table upon which owl post was kept. He grabbed the stack and returned to the kitchen, sitting again at the table. "Erm… advertisements—even with all the protections on the manor—erm, oh!"
Both Zeely and Toory turned to look at him expectantly. Harry held up an envelope, grinning. "It's from Hagrid! Maybe it's an early birthday card."
The excited smiles fell from the elves' faces, and Harry had to work hard to suppress his own from cracking through. He knew he should not tease them, but he could not help himself.
"Ah, but really I should wait, shouldn't I? I can save all these for my birthday, just in case any of them is a card from someone." He tossed the pile of letters onto the table, but they never made it, levitating a few inches off of the surface. Looking up, Harry could see that Zeely was on to him, one hand on her hip and the other stretching out towards the table, her face confirming her understanding that Harry was being cheeky with them. Now, all of the letters but one fell to the table, the remaining letter spinning to face Harry, where he saw shining emerald ink addressed simply to:
Mr. H. Potter
Whereabouts Unknown
Harry took the letter, which had begun to gently slap him in the face, now himself smiling with excitement. During the past two years, Harry had learned on his own the bulk of the seven-year curriculum at Hogwarts, and yet he was still looking forward to it. He felt a little silly for his feelings, but decided to let himself enjoy them, tapping the envelope open with his wand, as he was terrible at opening them by hand and almost always ripped whatever was inside. He pulled two pieces of parchment out, quickly skimming the one he knew was his supply list, all of which he already had. There were no new additions to the list this year, which he felt a little pang of disappointment in. He was hoping for some variety from what he had already learned, but reasoned with himself that he had all year to find new things to learn. The second piece of parchment was a letter.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
In the end, the letter was… unremarkable, but Harry tried to not let his spirits dwindle, still looking forward to going. Besides, what had he expected, a Howler crying out in excitement for him to attend school? He handed the letter over to Zeely, watching the two elves pour over it, but not really paying attention, thinking that yeah, a Howler would have been all right.
"Master is having most of these, but is needing new robes." Zeely said, filling a plate for Harry and placing it on the table, both elves sitting with him as they always did for breakfast. "Zeely will take Master's measurements and get his robes for him straightaway."
"Erm… thanks, Zeely, but I was thinking I would go to Diagon Alley myself this time."
Both elves just looked at him, clearly not expecting that. Harry could not blame them. It had been a very long time since Harry had ventured into the magical world. It seemed, as he neared his first year at Hogwarts, society was beginning to expect sightings of him. All it took was one overly excited fan at a Quidditch game this past winter to turn him off of casual public appearances. But this was different. He wanted to shop for his first year like the other kids would be doing… granted, without actually needing much of anything… and without any family to accompany him. Still, maybe he would meet some kids in his own year, getting to know them even before school starts. Frowning, he opened the letter from Hagrid. After a few seconds of reading, his frown turned around.
"Hagrid's invited me to Diagon Alley for my birthday," he told Zeely and Toory. "So that's perfect. I can just get my new robes then."
"Oh good," Zeely said with obvious relief.
"A wise plan, Master Harry," Toory agreed.
They ate amidst pleasant conversation, Harry letting the idea of being almost a month away from starting school really sink in. He was glad to be going to Diagon Alley next week, considering how secluded he had been lately. It was probably a good idea to interact with others before jumping into a school with hundreds of kids. Watching Toory sneak a green pea off of Zeely's plate, Harry did feel a pang of sadness for having to leave the house-elves for so long. They had definitely started to feel like his family, and he knew they were dreading his leaving home for so long. He had promised to pop home from time-to-time. He had learned that Hogwarts enjoyed its own compliment of house-elves, but that elves from wizarding families were not permitted, as a rule, to enter the castle. "But it's not impossible!" Zeely always liked to say whenever Harry mentioned this restriction.
Their feelings did have an impact on Harry, and he considered not attending Hogwarts for that and other reasons. He had already learned the core of what he was expected to learn during his time there, after all. It took a good deal of soul-searching to reach the decision that he would attend school, and not reveal the extent of his ability. There were many factors supporting this avenue of action, one of them simply being that he had to imagine that his parents, who had died to protect him, would have wanted him to enjoy being a kid as much as possible. He felt no need to show off, and from everything he had read both from his official Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks as well as all of the books he had researched and read on his own, keeping extraordinary abilities a secret until absolutely necessary was a top strategy in winning duels and protecting oneself. While Harry realized that this type of thinking seemed downright paranoid for a kid simply going off to a well-established, safe school, Harry, unfortunately knew better.
Finishing his pumpkin juice, he checked the time on his pocket watch, which he had just felt go warm in his pocket. "One hour," he said to the kitchen-at-large. Neither elf inquired as to what he meant. They knew, and their nervous, unhappy demeanor returned. "Remember what I said. You may observe, but you are ordered to not interfere. The only time you may step in is under one of the scenarios I have described." He watched Zeely touch the pocket of her patched apron, knowing she kept there the list Harry had given the elves of what could go wrong with what he was planning to do today—what he had been planning ever since his last vision. Nodding at their reluctant but obedient acceptance—something he could feel through their magical connection, Harry rose and walked to the back of the kitchen, to a narrow patch of wall in between a butter churn and the entrance to the pantry. He placed one hand on a particular brick, and tapped another with his wand. The bricks rolled backwards and up into the ceiling, revealing a stone staircase, leading down. Harry walked down the steps, leading to a metal door, against which Harry placed his palm, the stone of the Lord Ring glowing a blue for a moment before the sound of thick, sliding locks cut through the cool air. The metal door popped open towards him a fraction of an inch, and he pulled it open the rest of the way and walked through, catching a glimpse of the brick wall upstairs resealing itself as Harry pulled the metal door shut as well, the locks grinding back into place.
"Master's workshop," the elves had kept calling it, and the name had stuck. Hidden away, the secret space in the manor had been revealed by them to Harry casually when he had mentioned wishing he had more space for practicing spells and potions which tended to make a mess. Zeely and Toory had suggested that the cellar would likely provide him what he needed. When he had questioned that, they had each been unable to describe or explain in detail, but had managed to explain the steps Harry would need to take to access the area. Once he did, he eventually discovered that the space was a magical addition to the manor meant to serve as something of a room of requirement—changing to match the needs of the homeowner. In this case, Harry needed a workshop in which to practice magic and brew advanced potions. When he had walked down into the workshop for the first time, it had visibly altered, walls moving and materials appearing to match his needs for that day. That trend had repeated each time Harry had entered, the workshop responding to his needs for the moment, each time.
Now, it was a small space with stocked shelves along the walls and three medium-sized cauldrons raised to eye-level on tall wooden tripods, arranged in a triangle around an open space on the floor, which was covered in a thick layer of fine sand. Harry stood, surveying the scene. Three separate fires under each cauldron glowed red, blue, and yellow, the contents of each cauldron bubbling with a variety of sparks, the color of which Harry noted to be in line with expected parameters for this point in the process. He checked his watch again. Fifty-four minutes. Everything seemed to be progressing right on schedule. He removed his slippers and allowed himself two deep breaths before walking into the center of the triangle, his bare feet sinking into the layer of sand. Harry simply did not forget things, good or bad, so the vision from eighteen months ago was as fresh in his mind as it had been the moment he had seen it.
It was long after Hogwarts—to the point where the school was nothing more than a footnote in Harry's memory of life. He had been on the run for years, always wanting to press his opposition to Voldemort's hold on the wizarding world, but never able to gain the advantage, relegated to reacting instead of acting. His good friend Ron was missing, presumed dead. It seemed to just be Harry, and a woman named Hermione, who seemed to hold onto any hope that they could turn the tide of events in the wizarding world. Resigned to the fact that Harry was the last hope to defeat Voldemort's rule, he and Hermione had created a ritual that would result in Harry's superiority against Voldemort. Coined the Ritual of the Rising Phoenix, it involved dark magic, forbidden magic, and dangerous magic, but so desperate were the times that even Hermione had decided that the risk was worth it. In Harry's vision, everything involved with the creation and implementation of the ritual was crystal clear to him, except for the result. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get farther in time than the moment the ritual took hold, and he was certain that his visions never would extend beyond that point in time, even if he had no idea why.
Despite that, his trust in the ritual was solid. He knew it was something that should be done—needed to be done. Harry walked across the sand to a little table outside the circumference of the triangle. He propped his watch up against a book so he could monitor the time, then took his wands out of his pockets, surveying them. He only needed one wand to perform the magic needed to complete the ritual, and did not want to have both on him, in case something went wrong. After some internal debate, he placed the holly wand next to his watch, holding the Elder wand in his hand, thinking he might as well have all the power he can get behind the spells. Harry placed himself back in the center of the triangle, letting his feet dig into the cool sand. Glancing up at the watch, he observed that the second hand seemed to be going faster than it ought to be. It took him a moment to recall the footnote he had read which stated that this was a possibility, and he doubled his concentration, not wanting to make any mistakes with the timing.
Zeely and Toory appeared out of thin air, staying well clear of the boundaries of the ritual. Harry could see them out of the corner of his eye, seemingly moving in fast motion, but he did not dare take his focus off of the watch as he monitored the time. Luckily, the time dilation seemed to have hit a constant rather than accelerating, and he was able to make some mental adjustments to compensate. When 90 seconds remained, which Harry knew would pass to him like exactly twelve seconds, he whirled his wand in an arc around him, the floor and ceiling cracking and smoldering with the heat of the sphere he has just conjured. Moving his wand in more intricate motions and muttering incantations, Harry reached above him to the string that dangled overhead, which was connected to each tripod upon which the cauldrons sat. When there were 22 seconds left, Harry pointed his wand at the sand below him and shouted out a spell while simultaneously pulling firmly on the string.
"Tutela Loganis!"
The three cauldrons emptied onto the floor, the flow of each of their bubbling liquids cascading into the middle of the sand where Harry stood, mixing with it and each other to create a blindingly-white paste with equally bright-white steam blasting into the air above it. Harry took a deep breath in order to scream from the agony of what felt like his feet being burned away to his ankles, only to have his lungs and throat completely fail as the superheated steam obliterated them. Shock and terror flooded Harry's mind, but even as he involuntarily crumpled to the ground, each inch of rest of his body succumbing to the terrible sensation of being melted apart, one last rational part of his mind had enough control to reflect that perhaps he had done something wrong with the ritual.
Diagon Alley was like a dream. The sights, the sounds, the smells. The first thing Harry did after Apparating in was to find a quiet corner and just watch. He needed to calibrate to this new reality, and the first step was to allow himself the time to enjoy it. He was in pre-war London. The shops were still open, families were together, kids were getting excited about Hogwarts, and society was stable. Across the alley, a little boy no older than five was running excitedly after some birds, his mother shaking her head at his antics, but letting him run out of arm's reach, because it was safe to do so, as it should be. That sight put Harry right in the head. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was going to make sure everything stayed like this. Checking his pocket watch, Harry saw that he had a while before he was scheduled to meet Hagrid, and decided to get in some shopping so Hagrid would not have to find something to do while Harry perused shops a little too tiny for Hagrid's comfort. His first stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which was really the only shop he needed to patronize today, not that he would let that stop him. He also needed to visit Gringotts, but would save that for later, when Hagrid was here.
Walking at a leisurely pace, Harry allowed himself to window-shop, just enjoying the variety of items on display, wondering how it was that the shop-owners decided which goods to advertise in such a way, and if any of them compelled Harry to enter the store more than the usual item. His inquiry was answered when he passed Quality Quidditch Supplies. The majority off the window display did not capture his attention. Most of it was being used to show off the new Nimbus 2000, which was definitely doing its job of capturing the attention of others; a smattering of people of all ages were pausing to look at and discuss the new broom. Harry, however, was looking at one of the Quidditch accessories displayed around the broom. There were the usual Snitches, pads, gloves, etc., but what had caught his eye was a small sign reading, "Smart Fit Quidditch Goggles," next to an unassuming pair of gold wire-rimmed glasses, not unlike those that Harry used to wear.
Excusing himself around the onlookers, Harry entered the shop, where again a good deal of the customers were gathered around the Nimbus 2000 display. A shop worker was bouncing on the balls of his feet, standing in front of the display and answering all of the questions kids kept throwing at him. Harry decided to find someone else to ask his own question, turning around to find another clerk looking bored, standing behind the counter. Before Harry had a chance to ask anything, the skinny young man pointed towards the Nimbus-admirers.
"'As the only one we got," he said in tired tones, not even looking at Harry until Harry continued to stand there for a few seconds. Harry could not keep a straight face at the clerk's double and triple-take at Harry's scar. He turned his head to try and hide his smile.
"I'm not interested in the Nimbus 2000. I was hoping to take a closer look at the goggles, actually," he explained.
The clerk seemed to take a moment to recognize that Harry had said something, and then play it back in his head, still gaping back and forth from Harry's face to his scar. "Whup—erm, you wanna 'ave a look at them goggles?" he asked, pointing again towards the window, having clearly recognized Harry.
"Yes, please," Harry said graciously.
"Righ' away!" the clerk promised, nearly falling down as he made his way around the counter, startling a mother so badly that she screamed. This drew the attention of the other clerk, who did his own double-take once he noticed Harry, and accosted the younger clerk on his way back to Harry with the goggles, switching places with him.
"Hello. It's Harry Potter, isn't it?" the man said surprisingly professionally as he walked around the counter. Harry spared the first clerk, who was now disappointedly reluctantly reciting stock answers about the Nimbus 2000, a glance of sympathy before turning to the older man, whose nametag read, "Gene."
"That is me," Harry confirmed. He looked down at the goggles, which the man had placed on the counter between them. "May I?"
Gene waved his hand in supplication, and Harry gingerly picked up the quidditch goggles, examining them carefully both visibly and through what he could sense with magic. "So, these look like normal spectacles. What are their features?"
Gene clearly knew his items, and his salesmanship, regaling Harry with the magical qualities of the goggles, the properties of which made Harry think of a cross between Omnioculars and Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye… Mad-Eye…
"I don't remember ever seeing these," Harry could not stop himself from saying aloud.
"I…we just got them in last night," Gene responded after a moment of what seemed to be confusion at Harry's statement. "So you wouldn't have seen them here before."
That was not what Harry meant, but he was not about to explain as much to Gene. Lost in thought, Harry looked aimlessly around the shop, his face stony. Gene attempting to take the goggles back from Harry's unyielding fingers snapped him back to the moment, although he still did not relent the goggles away.
"I'll take these, and I'm going to put in a rather larger order, as well," Harry said, which prompted Gene to stop his efforts, the salesman's smile returning.
"What else can I help you find, Mr. Potter?"
Several minutes and many thousands of Galleons later, Harry left the shop. He carried no packages, the bulk of his purchases scheduled to be delivered, and the goggles, which Harry now considered simply glasses, perched comfortably on his nose. He caught his reflection in a shop window and paused, having not yet taken the time to see how they looked on him. A week later, and there was still that momentary spike of confusion at his reflection. He mentally side-stepped that and appraised his new look, deciding that he liked it. The gold was better than his old black frames, and they would go well with his Gryffindor tie…
Harry scanned the street, finding the little fountain outside Fortescue's and making his way to the bench at the far end, where he sat and stared into the water. He recognized what was happening. It had happened several times since he had performed the ritual, and he had been working to take the phenomenon in stride, if not master it, but he was not all the way there yet. He would be lost in thought for several moments as the visions flowed into his mind.
Harry had known that the Ritual of the Rising Phoenix had been crafted by him and Hermione in the future as a method for strengthening one's physical body beyond the limits of the magic they had already used to try to keep each other alive. After much debate, Harry had reluctantly agreed to allow Hermione to perform the ritual first, essentially as a guinea pig in case there were unforeseen consequences. This plan dissolved, however, when they received word that Voldemort's forces had caught scent of their trail and were closing in. Knowing that the survival of potentially millions rested on Harry staying alive, he had begun the ritual. What had happened was much clearer to Harry now than it had been in his original vision. In the future, when he had stepped onto the sand, performing the magic and releasing the cauldrons, the initial effect had been the same as a week ago—his bones shattering with the force of magic, and his flesh being burned away, causing incredible pain, and that was where the vision ended.
Last week, however, Harry had then awoken in a cool, soft pile of ash, regaining consciousness slowly and finding to great relief that his body had been restored. He had felt hands helping him rise, and had worked to pry his eyes open, expecting at first to see Hermione, only to find two house-elves beside themselves with worry and fussing over him. It had taken him several moments to understand that he was experience the present rather than still watching the vision form the future.
It had taken Harry a solid hour to understand what had occurred, allowing himself to be cleaned, dressed, fed, and cared for by the elves while he worked to manage what was happening in his mind. He, the ten-year-old Harry, had performed the ritual and risen from the ashes in his workshop, now in an intensely-enhanced but still ten-year-old body. He, the adult Harry, had performed the ritual in the future, and had for some reason never come out the other side.
He had remained silent and nearly comatose for a full day as he tried to work it out in his mind. After sleeping for eleven hours, he had emerged from his bedroom, feeling much more focused. The ritual, while apparently successful this time around, had taken its toll on Harry. Going through all the variables in his mind between the two rituals, Harry could find only two which held any weight for having made a difference between them. His age now versus his age when performing the ritual in the future could have somehow changed the outcome, but Harry's leading hypothesis was the wand. He had no memory of seeing the Elder Wand in his future vision, and the older Harry had definitely used the holly wand to perform the ritual. This was enough to convince Harry that the Elder Wand would be his primary wand, from now on.
After eating a day's worth of food in one sitting, finally feeling fully recovered, Harry had explored his new body. He was not so visibly-muscular now to come across as unnatural to anyone looking at him, but the ritual had definitely altered his appearance. He was at least three inches taller than he had been, and quite a bit heavier. The subtle external differences belied the increase in power and resilience he had gained, which was far more pronounced. His strength was such that he could lift things now with one arm that he could never have done with his whole body before. All of his senses seemed to have been enhanced—including magic, which had taken him longer than anything else to get used to. It was difficult for him to become injured, which he had learned after experimenting with jumping from increasing heights until his ankle had been somewhat tweaked after he landed onto the lawn from a fourth-story balcony. Luckily it healed far more quickly than normal, and he would have continued to new heights if it had not been for Zeely crying unconsolably at the danger he was putting himself in.
While he was simply more powerful with essentially everything, the most jarring change was to his visions. Whereas before, holding the two wands had acted as a catalyst for any in-depth Seeing, Harry could now initiate it on his own, if he concentrated hard enough. Some things also just came to him in subtle ways, reminding him of his initial instincts about the horse races. Some truths about the future were just there, things he knew were to be. Occasionally, something would spark a vision, which is what was happening now, the general sense of Diagon Alley's future being overpowered with specific visions of the events of this day. Still staring, Harry let the visions flow, even as he continued working to remain more in control of his faculties as they did so. It bothered him to feel out of control in any way. He forced himself to stand and walk towards the fountain as the visions manifested.
He had already understood that today was to be an important day, but now he was realizing why, exactly. He put forth the effort to refocus his eyes, looking around at the buildings. Madam Malkin's… Gringotts… The Leaky Cauldron. Breathing deeply, Harry worked to categorize all that which he had been Seeing, while also reaching his hand out, his fingertips brushing the spray of cool water, helping him remain grounded in the moment of now while also Seeing it through magic.
"Okay," he said aloud, nodding at himself for what he felt was a successful step towards managing these types of moments. He checked his pocket watch. "Right then. The Leaky Cauldron."
In the future which Harry had Seen, he had been a scrawny, plain-looking eleven-year-old, yet had still garnered attention from the witches and wizards in The Leaky Cauldron, thanks to his scar. It was strange but unavoidable that his visions were of a future that no longer existed as it had, thanks to the visions themselves causing Harry to change events. As he walked in now, this time from the opposite end of the pub from what he had Seen, but seemingly at the exact same moment as another lifetime, Harry recognized that his presence stood out even more. Tall, fit, and perhaps a little dashing with his new glasses and somehow perfectly-disheveled hair, Harry could feel the aura he seemed to project from the moment he walked in. Eyes were drawn to him, and those eyes usually found his scar rather quickly. He made a note to research a way to make himself less noticeable.
"Good Lord, is this — can this be —? Bless my soul. Harry Potter…" Tom, the Barkeep, did not disappoint in playing his role in spotting Harry, which led to the greetings of admiration from the patrons currently present in the pub, each of them only slightly different, which Harry attributed to the absence of Hagrid in this… timeline. Speaking of which, Harry realized after some hurried conversations with those around him, now was just about the time that Hagrid had noticed… and there he was, stepping forward, much paler and younger than Harry had realized at the time. Professor Quirrell stood now in front of Harry, seemingly unsure of what to say or do.
"Hello," Harry said pleasantly.
"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "C-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."
Harry looked at Quirrell's hand for only a fraction of a second longer than was reasonable, eventually shaking it and knowing that in a week's time, it would be impossible to do without causing the man tremendous pain. For it was today that Quirrell was supposed to steal the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts, only to be thwarted by Hagrid. After that failure, Voldemort would fully-possess Quirrell, untrussing of his ability to carry out his plans any other way. For now, though… Harry looked into Quirrell's eyes, searching. Was it possible to save him? Maybe.
"Nice to meet you as well, Mr…" Harry prompted.
"Oh! Professor Quirinus Quirrell!"
"Professor? Do you teach at Hogwarts, sir?" Harry asked, releasing Quirrell's hand, which had been shaking Harry's with vigor.
"Yes. D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts. Not that you n-need it, eh P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously, and Harry joined in the laughter, trying to not let it sound fake. He worked to control the visions of Quirrell that were flying at him, forcing them onto a mental television screen in his head, pushed to a corner of his mind as if he were standing in a kitchen and the memories were playing in the living room. He could watch them, but his main focus could remain on chopping onions. It was an incredibly helpful construct. Observing what the future likely held for Quirrell, Harry wondered whether he would be able to save the man before his unfortunate fate. Doubling the intensity of his gaze, Harry looked into Quirrell's eyes, careful to push with Legilimency not forcefully enough to elicit notice, while also keeping a strong wall of Occlumency up in his mind, just in case Voldemort decided to channel through his connection with Quirrell. What Harry saw was a wizard eager to make an impact on society, essentially just wanting to find something at which he would be recognized as being good. With Professor Dumbledore's encouragement, he had decided to give teaching a try. This would be his first year at Hogwarts. With a sickening feeling, Harry broke the eye contact. What he had seen… Quirrell was so eager to amount to something—anything—that he was willing to take any risk, subvert any restraints, in order to achieve notoriety. He was everything negative about Slytherin House without possessing any of the positive, often-overlooked qualities of the group.
"Ha! So I've been told. Well, I guess I'll see you on September 1, then, Professor," Harry said with a cordial smile, glad to get away from Quirrell. He then allowed other people to follow the same pattern of introducing themselves and proclaiming their appreciation for the thing he had unknowingly done as a baby. Harry found it all rather ridiculous, but allowed the ten minutes to go by that he knew should before prying himself away from their attention and making his way back into Diagon Alley, resigning fate to serve Quirrell the justice which he seemed to deserve.
The moment he once again entered Diagon Alley, Harry saw Hagrid striding towards Gringotts. He wondered briefly if he should accompany him in order to keep the timeline of events in place, but realizing that he would not, this time, be travelling to his own vault, Harry put his trust in Hagrid to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone from its vault on his own. This was something Harry had been thinking about a lot since last week when the visions had begun to come into play. The sequence of events which led to many of the important understandings Harry now held were surely dependent on other actions occurring first. Harry knew, for example, that the Triwizard Cup was destined to be turned into a Portkey during his fourth year at Hogwarts, this being a vision which had established itself as a truth at an early stage. However, Harry realized that any number of actions on his part could negate this truth, thus rendering his knowledge of the future meaningless. It was a razor-sharp edge he would have to walk in the coming years to either be proactive in preventing things he knew were going to happen, or have plans in place to react to them once they happened. Preventing things might change events so much that his foresight would be moot. Allowing them might lead to loss of life. Harry had to keep reminding himself that even having the conundrum was a blessing, as everyone else could only react to what the universe had dealt them, while Harry at least had the option to formulate a strategy.
Speaking of which, Harry noted as he strolled along some time later, it was about time for him to get some new robes. He slid into Madam Malkin's, being accosted almost at once by the squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she said rather absently. "Got the lot here—another young man being fitted just now, in fact."
In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Harry took his place on another stool while Madam Malkin began taking his measurements.
"Hello," said the boy. "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?"
"Yes, actually," Harry responded after only a slight hesitation at the jarring punch of memories from this moment and beyond. "And I'm going to smuggle mine in, as well. It's ridiculous that we can't have our own broom."
"Exactly!" said the boy, whom Harry knew to be Draco Malfoy. "I mean, what do they expect that we'll do with them, fly home? Stage an arial first-year coup?"
Harry sincerely laughed at the question. That was funny. "Good one. So, what House do you reckon you'll get?"
"Slytherin," Malfoy said without hesitation or thought. "All my family have been—what about you?"
"That's a good question," Harry said, thinking about it for the first time now. "I guess I'm one of those kids who is just going to have to let the Sorting Hat figure it out."
"Imagine being Sorted into Hufflepuff, though. I think I'd leave. Wouldn't you?"
Once again, Harry laughed. "Erm… actually… maybe."
This earned a laugh from Draco. "Well, here's hoping we get in the same House," he said, presenting his outstretched hand to Harry, who looked at it for only the briefest of moments before grasping it.
"Hopefully friends, at the very least," Harry said, deciding to bide his time with Malfoy, thinking that if he played things right, he would be able to expand the boy's perspective earlier than what had previously occurred.
"I say, look at that man!" Malfoy blurted on cue. Harry played his part and turned towards the window, seeing Hagrid.
"That's the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, and a good man," Harry said at once. "I met him a while ago. Once you get to know him, I bet you'll like him too. He's incredibly strong."
"I'll bet he is," Malfoy said, eyeing Hagrid warily.
"Knows a lot about Hogwarts, too," Harry went on as Madam Malkin continued taking measurements and fussing about his robes. "And he actually went to school with You-Know-Who."
Harry had anticipated the effect this would have on the others, despite the fact that he had not yet lived this version of the moment. Madam Malkin dropped her container of pins and fell onto her backside, the witch adjusting Draco's robes stood up so quickly that she knocked her head into Draco's elbow, the both of them howling in pain from the strike, and Draco stared wide-eyed at Harry, looking back and forth between him and Hagrid outside the window.
"No need for that!" Madam Malkin yelled as she pulled herself off of the floor, waving her wand to collect everything that had spilled out of her kit and gesturing for her assistant to follow her into the back room.
Draco continued to gape at Harry and Hagrid. "He went to school with him? But…"
"Well, he didn't just pop into existence, did he?" Harry said. "He was a kid, just like the rest of us. When he came to Hogwarts, his name was Tom Riddle. A half-blood, in fact, despite his stance on Pureblood superiority. A little pathetic, if you ask me," Harry explained, wondering just how much wider Malfoy's eyes could possibly get.
Perhaps in response to Harry's statement, Draco seemed to examine Harry more closely than he had previously been doing, his head tilting suspiciously. "My name is Draco Malfoy, by the way," he said.
Harry smiled. "I'm Harry Potter," he said with a smile.
Draco's eyes flew to Harry's forehead. "That's right… Father said you'd likely be coming to Hogwarts this year, if you really were still alive."
"Ha! Yeah, still alive. Although, I think I might wish I were dead if I have to walk into Hogwarts in these," Harry said, pulling at the ill-fitting material which Madam Malkin had abandoned. Draco laughed, holding up his own, ridiculously long sleeves. On cue, Madam Malkin returned with her assistant, the two of them making short work of Harry and Draco's robes.
"That's the both of you done, my dears," she said dismissively, and Harry did not try to linger.
"Well, it was nice to meet you, Draco. See you at Hogwarts," he said.
"Yeah, see you, Potter," Draco replied.
Harry happily greeted Hagrid, the two of them heading first to Fortescue's for two giant cones before popping in to say hi to Beatrice at Flubbins and Stoker, Ltd.
"Jesus—look at you!" Beatrice exclaimed upon seeing Harry, who laughed.
"What? What's wrong with me?" he asked.
"Nothing!" Beatrice responded, taking a second to compose herself. "Erm—sorry. You just seem so different from the last time we've seen each other. So much… older." She seemed to be confused about what she was feeling, and Harry felt bad for her, recognizing that she perhaps had a sense about his magical maturity and its incongruent nature.
"Well, it has been a while," Harry covered. "How is everything?" he asked, steering the conversation away from himself. For a while, they talked about business, until Harry made a point to check his pocket watch. "Well, I should probably be going," he said, rising and making his way to the door."
"All right, Harry. But if you need anything—anything at all, feel free to contact me."
"I will," Harry agreed, and exited the building. Once back in Diagon Alley, he knew that his remaining responsibilities for this day would be to see to it that Hagrid had secured the Philosopher's Stone.
"So, erm… what have you been up to?" Harry asked as he and Hagrid walked.
"Oh. Well, Professor Dumbledore assigned me a special task, outside from meeting with you," Hagrid said importantly, patting his breast pocket. That was all the confirmation Harry needed.
"Oh, well that's good," Harry said. "I can't wait to meet him." It was true, Harry having several things he wanted to discuss with the headmaster.
"But you've already met him!" Hagrid exclaimed. "He was there, after all, the night we left you with your aunt an' uncle."
"Well… I don't remember that," Harry lied. "So, I'm still looking forward to it."
The rest of Harry's summer was a blur. Resigned to keep his expertise with magic a secret, Harry had spent the bulk of the time working to mask his abilities, rather than reinforce them, as a rational person might have done. By the time September 1 rolled around, Harry was certain that he could easily pass as an average first-year student. This was put to the test early on, as Harry attempted to access Platform 9 and ¾, pushing his trolley towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. He made his way to King's Cross he always had, granted with the emotional well-wishes of Zeely and Toory, eventually joined as he had before by the Weasley family. Harry had needed to physically restrain himself upon seeing Ron, so overjoyed he was at seeing his friend alive, spotted visions of their years together bouncing freely through Harry's mind.
"First time at Hogwarts?" Mrs. Weasley asked him, as he stood motionless near the barrier to the Hogwarts Express.
"Erm, yes," Harry lied.
"Well, all you have to do is walk at the barrier between platforms nine and ten," Mrs. Weasley explained. "Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it," she went on.
Not actually needing such advice, but appreciating it nonetheless, Harry aimed his trolley at the barrier and plowed his way through, unimpressed with the results and continuing on to the train, loading his trunk quite by himself and finding the familiar compartment. Before long, he was joined by Ron Weasley, as the door of Harry's compartment opened, and the redheaded boy came in.
"Anyone sitting there?" he asked. "Everywhere else is full."
Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then quickly looked out the window, pretending he hadn't looked.
A few moments of silence went by, until Ron finally could not contain his curiosity.
"Are you Harry Potter?" he blurted out.
Harry waited before responding, the visions of this moment filling him with a sense of nostalgia. "Yes. Are you Ron Weasley?" he responded.
Ron looked appropriately befuddled. "Well, yeah, but how d'you know that?" he asked.
Harry shrugged dramatically. "I dunno," he said, knowing it was mostly, but not entirely, a lie. "I think maybe I heard your mum say your name out the window," he added, gesturing.
"Oh. Yeah. Well, she likes to see us off," Ron said sheepishly.
"That's brilliant," Harry said sincerely. "She seems nice."
"Yeah, she is," Ron said. They spent the next several minutes chatting, until the train began moving, Ron waving at his mother and sister as they departed.
"That's great," Harry narrated, unable to help himself.
Ron hesitated, opening his mouth, but then waiting to speak. "Yeah. I guess it is," he landed on, looking confusedly out of the window.
"So… what do you know about Hogwarts?" Harry asked, knowing full well everything Ron knew, but wanting to keep the conversation light. Ron went on to tell Harry what his older brothers had told him about the school, about half of which Harry understood to be a fabrication, but nodded at nonetheless.
"And it'll eat anyone who falls in!" Ron exclaimed, explaining the traits of the giant squid who lived in the Black Lake. Harry knew this to be an utter fabrication, having befriended the incredibly gentle creature during his seventh year.
"Oh, wow," he said insincerely. "That's crazy!"
"I know!" Ron went on, oblivious. "And Charlie says there are dragons guarding the exits at night, breathing fire at any students who try to break curfew, but Fred and George say that's a load of rubbish—they're my older, twin brothers, third-years this year."
Harry nodded. "Well, two opinions are probably better than one," he said.
"Yeah… yeah, you're probably right," Ron agreed, seemingly having not considered that until now. "Well, anyway, I don't actually feel like I can trust any of my brothers' advice about anything. How do you reckon Hogwarts is going to be this year?"
Harry allowed a smile to cross his face. "I think it's going to be brilliant," he said sincerely, and Ron smiled in earnest acceptance.