Petunia's eyes narrowed. "The next time I see that red-headed, little miss perfect, double-dealing bitch—."
"—Feel free to make her feel as guilty as possible, but remember to keep my situation secret."
Petunia blinked. "Yes. Yes of course. Well then, er… Harry." She stood up. "Dudley's spare bedroom? You're getting a bit big for the cupboard." She had the grace to look sheepish.
Harry smiled, amazed things were going as well as they were. He hadn't even needed to use compulsion charms.
Vernon was busy counting the notes in the two piles.
"That sounds like an excellent idea."
Quiet. It was quiet. And warm. Quiet and warm. And comfy. Quiet, warm, and comfy. John Potter's eyes shot open. He sat bolt upright, and looked around. He was home. The familiar red and gold of his bedroom in Potter manor felt odd. Like seeing an old friend after a lifetime. He breathed, acutely aware of the lack of pain shooting through his body. He couldn't feel the cruciatus. But, of course. It hadn't happened yet. None of it had happened — The stone, the chamber, Pettigrew's breakout, the tournament, Voldemort's resurrection… his death — None of it.
He'd been given a second chance. Death and Fate had chosen him. His eyes gleamed.
Ever since the headmaster had sat him down four years ago, a week from now, and told him he wasn't really the boy-who-lived, he'd felt like a fraud. Every time someone had used that damn title, a little bit of him had cringed in terror, terror that someone, anyone, would find out, and he'd be branded a liar — a cheat — the very opposite of what a hero of the Light should be. How much he wished for a chance to prove himself to be the hero the world thought he was.
Now, he'd been given that chance. Now, he actually was the chosen of Fate. He'd have to careful of course. He couldn't let anyone know he was from the future. That would risk changing things too much, and future knowledge was one of his only real weapons. Always have a plan. That's what Hermione always said.
Wow. Hermione. She was still a child at the moment, wasn't she? And Ginny. His thoughts strayed to a few hours ago, a lifetime ago, in a time that hadn't happened, and to the beautiful girl who'd kissed him and begged him to stay safe in the maze of the fourth, and final task.
Ginny would have to go through the whole chamber of secrets thing again. He cringed. That… really sucked. But it was part of who she was. His Ginny had gone through the chamber of secrets, and come out the other side stronger and better for it.
Then there was his brother… he'd felt guilty when he'd helped send him to Azkaban, but Dumbledore had made clear the danger he posed, the reason he'd been sent away. Even if a part of him found it hard to connect the scared, needy, weak, scrawny Slytherin, with the danger to the world the leader of the Light painted him as.
But there wasn't anything he could do about that. Events needed to match the previous timeline as closely as possible. If that meant his potential dark lord brother needed to go to Azkaban then so be it.
On the other hand, there were plenty of little things he could do that wouldn't change things too much, but that would be very helpful. Looking back, he'd been standoffish and arrogant, mostly because of his insecurity over the whole not-really-the-boy-who-lived thing. This time, he'd make the effort to reach out beyond his tiny circle of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.
He swept his legs over the side of the bed and hopped off. He looked at himself in the full-length mirror, dressed in red and gold pyjamas. Merlin, he was short now. He grinned. Voldemort didn't know what was going to hit him. His stomach rumbled.
Ah. But first, breakfast!
John arrived in the dinning room and was brought up short by the massive stack of presents on the table.
Oh, that's right. It was his birthday.
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Tippy!"
A house elf popped into being beside him.
"Young Master is up very early this morning," the elf said, waggling his ears.
"Yeah, I just thought it would be a good idea getting up earlier in the morning. Is there any breakfast? Maybe something healthy and nutritious, and high in protein?"
"Of course, Young Master." Tippy popped away.
A few minutes later, breakfast appeared — A plate of egg-white omelette, with carrot and broccoli, a small lean stake, a small mountain of chopped, sautéed sweet potatoes, a bowl of yoghurt with mixed fruit, sliced almonds, and raisins, and a glass of whole milk.
Now, this was more like it. He dug in.
Half way through demolishing the mountain of magic and muscle fuel, his father arrived.
"Morning, Son. You're that desperate for presents mm?" His father's eyes radiated mirthful knowing.
"Not really, Dad. Just thought getting up earlier in general would be a good thing." He speared a chunk of steak.
"Hah, thinking of taking after your mother then? I see you've also started eating different too. Where's your usual sugar staves cereal?"
"I figured high protein and veggies would be better from now on, I'm a growing boy, right?" He grinned.
"That's right, Son." Glad to see you taking your body seriously, now.
John smirked. "On that note, could you help me with that? I know you and Uncle Sirius work out."
His father smiled. "You want to be shown the ropes? Sure."
They chatted back and forth for a while, before his mother walked in wearing a dressing gown. She swept over to him, and enveloped him in a warm hug.
"Happy birthday, Darling."
He knew he'd normally have been embarrassed by such displays of affection at this age, but he didn't care. Being tortured and murdered certainly changes your outlook on life. He returned her hug. "Thanks, Mum."
She looked surprised. "Not shoving your Mum away? I like this new young gentleman." She glanced at the present pile. "And you haven't even touched your presents. Should I get the healer?"
.
.
.
🍀Visit my site at tiendup for more advanced content...🍀
🍀Read the complete novel in PDF, available at my Store!🍀
https://sunflowersfic.tiendup.com/