The best way to lead was through respect or fear. Harry Potter knew this better than most. He'd earned the former in great amounts from his last group of warriors, and never needed the latter until later in his life.
Things were different now. He didn't have time to gain his men's trust. Didn't have time to forge emotional bonds with any of them. Didn't have the luxury of having tutored them in their Hogwarts years, hadn't yet led them to victories against Death Eaters.
For all his power and experience, he didn't have the respect of these men. How could he? He was a 14-year-old wonder boy, recently dubbed the True-Boy-Who-Lived, who happened to have defended the helpless crowd from Death Eaters and managed to 'fight off' Grindelwald.
He saw this for what it was: a weak link in his perfect plan. He had presumed, justifiably so, that he would feel its negative effects later in the battlefield.
Because to them, he was a legend. A hero, straight from the story tales. The Chosen One, here to save them from prophesied darkness. They adored him now, looked at him with reverence, expecting miracles...but they didn't respect him.
At least, that's what he had assumed before coming to the Auror Training grounds today.
If a dozen Death Eaters once again attacked the Alley tomorrow, would the Aurors listen to his orders? Or would they expect him to reveal his 'Chosen One' powers and give them a good show to tell their friends and family? At the heat of the battle, would they accept his commands without any questions, or would they look at the Senior Aurors for guidance?
Even before arriving here, Harry had presumed the worst. Had presumed he wouldn't be accepted as one of them, now or ever. Had believed it would take only a single chink in his shining reputation to burst their bubble of mysticism regarding him. Had believed it would take months of working together to form them into the cohesive unit of force he'd always envisioned…
Yet, as one of the last Aurors sauntered off the grounds, giving him a nod of respect, he felt he may have been slightly wrong.
This crowd wasn't mystified by his Chosen One powers. Well, the younger ones were, but not all. Not many at all. No, the older ones had studied him throughout the meeting, taking his measure just as he had theirs. From their final response, Harry felt they liked whatever they saw. Either Rufus had done a bad job of gaining their respect, or they were far more perceptive than he'd given them credit for. He could admit the latter easily, for his opinion of Ministry Aurors had always been dominated more by the likes of Dawlish and Proudfoot than Kingsley and Moody.
For the first time in his life, Harry felt good at being proven wrong.
"Head Auror." The last remaining Auror still on the grounds greeted, breaking him off from his brief bask in satisfaction.
"Ah, yes. Mr. Fringe." Harry shuffled through the file given to him by his dear Minister, bringing up the right page.
His chosen Second-in-Command tilted his head, studying him silently. "You wished me to remain?"
He nodded, suppressing the urge to take a look inside the man's mind. While he was trying to make Legilimency a regular part of his skillset, he already knew it wouldn't work. Not on this one.
Breaking eye-contact, Harry let his gaze flicker through the man's file.
"Passed Hogwarts with seven Newts and an offer of apprenticeship to the Charms Professor that you rejected. Applied in the Auror department but were denied entry due to a lack of offensive skillset in your repertoire. Disappeared from the public eye until your arrest for illegal poaching of magical animals, concentrating mostly on level four and five threats. Created a channel of underground Dueling circuit, and joined Auror department for a second time after the Ministry shut it down, this time successfully. Braved through the Great Wizarding War, praised especially for your subtle spellwork, but only achieved level six two years ago."
He glanced up, carefully observing the shorter man. "From your file, you should've either been put behind bars or become the Second-In-command already."
The man's lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. "I'm afraid Scrimgeour failed in the former, but succeeded in the latter."
Harry hummed, closing the file, but not letting up his gaze. "What did you think of today?"
The dark-skinned man chose his words with care and caution. "I would say it was a success. A much needed improvement over the former Head's meetings."
He could see why so many would be discomforted by Fringe's person; those dark, ever-collected eyes barely betrayed his dislike for Rufus. Most would never recognize the slight contortion on his face, but Harry was never most people.
"Oh?" He prodded, smiling. Fortunately for the man, that was one thing they had in common. "Do tell."
Fringe relaxed slightly. "There is not much to tell. Every meeting began and ended with a sole purpose; to make our Department, and especially its head, look good in the public eyes. Anything else mattered very little."
Harry raised his brows. He'd always assumed Rufus was a cut-throat politician, but hadn't imagined it being this bad. After all, you had to have some amount of competence to be in power for so long.
"What was it like, serving under him?" He asked, now curious to know how he compared to his predecessor.
Fringe was quiet for a precious few seconds, jet black eyes peering deep into his soul—asking the purpose behind this line of questioning—before giving a slow, accepting nod at whatever he saw, "I do not mean to speak ill of the dead, but I'm glad that Rufus Scrimgeour is no longer our head. The Ministry would've been a fissured place with him still in power. He had always seen this department as a means to an end, and many were dissatisfied by the number of times we had to cover our losses with lies. Voldemort's return would've given him the final nail needed. Had he been here right now, we would've been plotting a Ministry takeover, rather than preparing for war against the Dark Lord."
With the end of his minor rant, Fringe went back to total silence.
'Wow.' Harry breathed out slowly.
He was beginning to realize how much of an advantage his current position truly was. If he had to fight the Ministry again whilst plotting against Voldemort? Gods, innocent life or no, he would've left Britain to rot, focusing solely on his goal.
Shaking his head, Harry stood up. "I have a task for you, Mr. Fringe."
"Gus' is fine. Augustus, if that is not to your liking."
"Call me Harry then." He vanished the conjured table and chair with a quick swish of his wand, before offering the file to Augustus. "I assume you've realized that I didn't shuffle the teams in a spur-of-the-moment."
Gus nodded. "I did note the rather common skillset the members of each team shared."
"Indeed." Harry moved out of the Resting Shed, waving at the man to follow. "Instead of making a complete team, I want each team built for one specific purpose."
Gus cocked his head. "May I ask why?"
They crossed the large track built around the edges of the training ground, stepping upon the cobbled path leading down to the exit door.
Glancing at Gus, Harry replied frankly, "I don't want the teams to act as individual entities. I want them to depend on each other, to complete one another's weaknesses. The Auror force should stand as a united whole, fingers of a single hand, if you would, instead of separate limbs.
The shorter man stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes stuck on the path as he pondered the idea, before turning to him with a frown. "I can see it working. But you will need a lot more than six teams for this to be truly efficient."
"That's a work in progress."
Upon reaching the exit, Harry slowed down to a halt, turning fully to his Second-in-Command. "This is your task. I may have assigned members based on their skills, but I do not know them individually."
The man nodded in understanding. "And I do. What exactly would you have me do?"
"Form a schedule. We will share a common training session each morning, and I want to cover everything. Assess each Auror on their weaknesses, where they need to improve, and where they're strong. Which of them believes themselves the next Dark Lord hunter and which of them is a team player. Keep our final objective in mind. I shall trust your judgment in the matter."
"It will be done."
With a nod, Harry dismissed the Auror and clicked the door open, heading straight for the Minister's office.
His work was done for today. Now came the time for some pleasure.
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After, indeed, a very pleasurable visit to the Minister's office—which extended just past early afternoon—Harry made his way to Hogwarts, his worries making an unwanted comeback.
There was simply too much on his mind for peace, and actively practicing Occlumency at all times wasn't a desirable solution.
Memories of the Diagon Debacle—as the Prophet called it—simply refused to leave his mind. There was this desperate yearning within him to retaliate against Voldemort somehow, and it had nothing to do with calming the people of England.
Hell, Amelia had already managed to run damage control over the issue, focusing more on the fact that the Dark Lord hadn't been present when they arrived, leading to many dubbing Riddle with the prestigious title of Cowardly Lord.
Harry had a feeling it was going to stick. Oh, what he wouldn't do to be a fly on the walls of Black Manor right now.
Still, that didn't dissipate the angst bubbling in his chest. The attack on Diagon Alley felt personal. Even knowing the probability of that being low, Harry couldn't help but see it that way. The need for revenge was still very much alive.
A part of him wondered if taking control of the Element was the reason behind it, if it had changed him from within somehow. But deep down he knew that was just an excuse; his hatred for Voldemort was a legend of the old. He didn't need an Elemental-push for that.
Honestly, with the panic-inducing thought of the future slipping away from his grasp—turning more and more unpredictable by the day—he would've probably ended up with some stupid Blaze-of-Glory plan to take down Voldemort…
Thankfully Dumbledore was there to counsel him.
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3 Sept, 1994
Headmaster's office, Hogwarts
"We should strike down the Black Manor." Harry said, his mind a whirlwind as he paced the floor. "Take him unawares. His Horcruxes may not be gone, but I'll feel much better hunting them if he was still a wraith."
"A desirable idea, but ultimately unfeasible."
"Bella could get us in." Harry replied, barely listening. "Sneak us in the night or something, along with a bunch of Aurors. A single Killing Curse is all I'll need."
Dumbledore was quiet for a moment before shaking his head. "I doubt Tom would be so careless as to overlook something so simple. And even should we get in unharmed, trying to kill Voldemort where he would be the strongest is...unwise. I'm sure, even as weakened as I am, I could likely defeat him, especially with you and your Aurors along. But in the Manor? Surrounded by the wards? And the Death Eaters? The best case scenario would be us eliminating his support, and him fleeing. Worst? We both end up dead and the world is doomed."
Then, in an amused tone, he added, "And may I say? I truly doubt your Godmother would ever let you risk your life like that."
Harry huffed, suddenly drained. He conjured himself a seat and plopped down without ceremony. 'Merlin, but it would've been so much better if I was still an unknown, mysterious fourth year, with no connection to anyone. No family, no friends, only Voldemort and the Horcruxes. '
Sure, the death toll in the country would've been much higher, and Amelia would've probably been a cold body six feet deep by now, but at least it wouldn't have been his responsibility to look after the needs of an entire nation.
Harry paused, quickly dismissing the foolish line of thought. Whatever inconvenience it may have presented him, he wouldn't trade Lily and Bella for the world. And that list seemed to only grow larger with time; Fleur, Amelia, Apolline, Gabrielle, Dora...
Ahead, Dumbledore heaved a commiserative sigh. "Harry, I understand your anger. I truly do. But now is really not the time for action. We need peace, to stabilize our people and prepare you for the fight."
The old man stood up and slowly glided over to his pensive, staring down at the shimmering liquid absently. "Voldemort has played his cards extremely well, sowing doubts in the minds of people. Of the two, they were always more afraid of Grindelwald, and the decade of absence has muted their fear for what many may consider to be the lesser Dark Lord. They look at you now to see them both gone, but that could change quickly if Tom demonstrates the cunning and power I know he has in spades. If he starts moving against Gellert, show a more kind, patient hand to the people…"
He looked up slowly, a frown fixed on his brows. "I don't mean to think badly of Britain, but from your own memories, our people haven't exactly been the stable well of support their hero deserves. Right now, he is not looking for confrontation. His attention is focused on conquering the rest of Europe—"
"Where did you gather that?"
Dumbledore paused, raising a brow. "Severus was summoned yesterday. And before you ask, no. There was no feasible way for him to inform us of the attack on Diagon Alley. Not without risking his position greatly."
Harry muttered to himself. 'What use is he as a spy then?'
"My point is...this is the moment we cease the upper hand, not only in England, but over our neighboring countries as well. The greatest magical schools in Europe are about to share our roof for an entire year, and their Ministers would be right there with them. I would be most disappointed if we fail to take advantage of this."
Harry sighed in defeat, finally letting go of the absurd plan. "You're right, of course. Don't mind me, I'm just venting. When I came here, the first thing in my To-do list was to hunt down the Horcruxes and make him mortal before the third task. Then trigger the trap and kill Baby Voldy like the defenseless little baby he would've been. And now... everything's gone off the rockers. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I had a plot but I lost it somewhere along the journey last month. Now I seem more preoccupied with bending my Minister over her table and making her scream my name louder every time." Rubbing his chin, he mused absently. "Probably has something to do with this hormonal body. Damn Sly-Harry."
Dumbledore coughed, hiding a pretty blatant smile in his fist. "Yes, well...I'm sure you're doing your best. Keeping healthy relations with the Minister is an important task after all, we wouldn't want her for an enemy. Besides, you also have Elemental magic to learn—which will be vital in your victory against the Dark Lords, along with the Aurors that you're training...so I would say you're still on the right track."
"...You think so?"
"Why, Harry," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like the brightest of stars. "I know so."
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The days following his meeting with Dumbledore passed like one giant blur of memories for Harry. His schedule was so tight it looked like a restaurant order, filled with heavy main course, light side dishes, and a few, like very few, tasty beverages; in the form of Amelia or Tonks. There was always something to do, always something to tackle; from commanding his Aurors to training in the arts of Elements, from keeping Slytherins in line to researching new spells, and on rare occasions, even attending classes—Runes was one subject he made sure never to miss.
Yet, it never truly troubled him this time.
He had taken his mentor's advice to heart, and it gave him the much needed peace amidst the storm that was his life. Sure, things were slipping out of his grip, the future was changing too fast, too drastically for him to rely on foreknowledge, but so what? He had time. He had support. He had friends and lovers that he could trust. And he had the best mentor the wizarding world could hope to provide bound to him by magic.
He would figure out the rest in time. That was really the only good plan he'd ever made anyway. Just go with the flow and let the Potter luck sort him out. Extensive planning had never been his shtick.
That didn't mean he took his duties for granted. He reserved his morning hours for the Ministry and began training his Aurors with increasing brutality that seemed to leave even the veterans surprised. Perhaps it may give him a bad reputation in the long term, but he didn't really care. These wizards and witches had the chance to learn skills that took him and his friends a brush with death inside a safe environment. They may whisper behind his back, call him cruel, but it would save their lives someday.
He knew it would've saved Ron's. And Ginny's. If they hadn't been taken by surprise, if they hadn't lowered their guard, if they'd been a touch more organized, a touch more creative, a touch more resourceful and a touch more informed...they wouldn't have died.
Well, his Aurors could now become what his last army never could.
An unbeatable team.
'As long as we don't have a Finnigan in our midst…' He would leave no stone unturned to ensure the security of his soldiers.
To his surprise, he received nothing but total participation from them. Perhaps it was due to the memories of the Black Day, perhaps the recent devastation of Diagon Alley, or maybe even some kind words from his Second-in-Command. Whatever the case, not even the youngest, most spoiled looking brat raised an issue when their bodies were left sore and sweating by the end of each session.
With the added strength of his Aurors, Magical Britain was well on its way of recovery. It still wasn't the powerhouse it used to be, but Harry was sure their recovery was the swiftest amongst all the affected countries.
After all, his name attracted soldiers to his cause like moths to flame. Even some famous, independent Duelists decided to leap at the chance of serving under him.
Before the Red Hour, there were around 50 active Aurors under Scrimgeour, forming over 17 teams of 3. Harry had redesigned their entire structure, so now each team consisted of 4 Aurors, and he could deploy 9 of them at a moment's notice. It might not seem much, but compared to the measly dozen Aurors that had remained after the night, the difference was of Heaven and earth, and new recruits arrived in droves each day.
While some were turned away—being either too weak or too unfit to invest any kind of resources—most were made use of in some ways. The cream of the crop he took for himself, the Brainless-But-Skilled fighters were dumped on Longbottom and Kingsley, and the rest were trained as part of Bella's special Law Enforcement squad. While technically he and Longbottom answered to Bella, she didn't want their soldiers wasted on petty frauds in Diagon Alley; shutting down peddlers and thieves.
Plus, she spoiled him too much, letting him get away with things even the Minister would have to answer for. Honestly, if she'd simply demanded his secrets by now, Harry would've probably caved in before too long. He made sure to spend at least one evening a week doing whatever the fuck she wanted.
But while the matters at the Ministry were progressing smoothly, Hogwarts simply wasn't the same. The first week passed splendidly, sure. His theoretical knowledge of Elemental magic progressed almost as rapidly as his practical—giving him a clue on just how stupidly risky his attempt at the Alley had been. He was lucky he got away with only a nosebleed and light headache, instead of ending up braindead in St. Mungo's.
Apart from Elemental magic, he also polished up his conjuration and transfiguration, whilst putting some more research into the Dark Arts—especially the spell that had left his leg ruined beyond his wildest nightmare. He'd never made regular use of Dark arts deeper than Sectumsempra in his Duels before, preferring his well-honed and practiced spells over corruptive and perversive magic. But now, with his Occlumency and Intent control, it merited a further look.
And with full access to the Restricted Section—even the ones Dumbledore hid from the rest of the school—it would be a great insult to his Hermione if he did not take full advantage.
Which was ironic, for the first blemish on his otherwise perfect schedule came from the Duo of the Trio, when they finally cornered him in the fucking Library!
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9 Sept, 1994
Hogwarts Library
They caught him whilst he was perusing the northern shelf for an advanced copy of Basic Runes.
He'd done his best to avoid their attempts for the entire week, but he'd clearly underestimated their persistence. Or overestimated their intelligence.
Then again, wouldn't his own friends have gone to extreme lengths if something happened to him? To find even a morsel of information? No matter the risk?
So perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised when Ron and Hermione Jr. finally managed to trap him mere moments before he was about to enter the restricted section.
"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger." He nodded to them both as if he hadn't spent the last week avoiding the mere shadow of their presence, though giving a mental wince when Occlumency—'cause there was no way he was doing this without its calming assurance—made his tone come off far more curt than he'd wanted.
It surprised them as well, if their sudden hesitation was anything to go by.
Still, were they someone to easily give up after rough words, they'd never have been able to keep up with his brand of insanity.
"Potter." Ron glowered, fingering his wand. "You know why we're here?"
Hermione elbowed him subtly but the damage was done. He'd just given Harry a way to avoid this.
Hiding the triumph from his eyes, Harry eyed the boy's wand with pointed disinterest. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Weasley? Threatening the Head Auror? Azkaban may no longer be standing, but I assure you your time in prison won't be very pretty."
The boy blanched, all the bravado draining down his freckles as turned paler, eyes flickering to Hermione Jr. in silent pleading.
The bushy-haired girl pointedly did not roll her eyes, instead turning to him with her own pleading eyes.
"Please, Harry." She attacked him straight where it hurt. "We only wish to know what happened to our friend. They kept us hidden during the fight, only to announce that Jacob had joined Grindelwald! We just...it's all been just so stressful. You-Know-Who is back, Jacob has left us, you're the Boy-Who-Lived, and no one is saying anything, they just want us to keep our heads down and ignore…"
She chattered on, but Harry found himself slowly tuning her out, his eyes taking her appearance in full without flinching for the first time in this life.
Hermione looked good. And different. In fact, she looked very different. He would still recognise her from a distance, but there was just something missing about her.
Harry blinked, frowning.
Was it his tired eyes playing tricks, or did her hair look much less frizzled than he remembered them to be? And her teeth…she still had those large front teeth at the start of their fourth year, didn't she? Did Draco hit her with a Densaugeo already? Or did she simply never have them here in the first place? And the shape of her face, why was it so…well, pretty?
Now that he thought about it, she did look pretty. Like, really pretty.
Hermione had never been ugly in her life, but she also wasn't known for her looks. At least, not until the Yule Ball. She'd grown up to be a beautiful lady of course, but it would seem she already was one in this world, though not in a way he recognised. It was like someone had taken a picture of Hermione and…perfected her, somehow.
In a way, he liked it. It made disassociating her with his Hermione much more easier. On the other hand…he was suddenly far more interested in her for his own good.
His eyes lowered from her face, scanning her in her entirety. Was it simply his bias for his former lover coming through, or was she just more…womanly right now than she was ever supposed to be?
Harry frowned, shaking a very wrong mental image away as he Occluded his brief rise in excitement. He'd never been attracted to someone so much younger than him before, and it was making him a tad bit confused. 'She's just fifteen!'
But aren't you even younger? At least, a part of you. Your body and your soul.
He paused, having never even pondered upon this issue. Would it be right for him to date someone this young? His body was a 14-year-old's, even though it looked much older. And his mind was a combination of his two selves, so should he consider himself at his oldest? Or the youngest? Or meet somewhere in the middle?
Okay, mission abort, mission abort! That was a dangerous line of thinking that he'd need more time to completely assess. And even if there wasn't anything morally wrong with dating Hermione, it didn't mean he should. That was a can of worms better left closed.
Though it did make him wonder…did he even care about this type of morality anymore? Honestly, if both were happily consenting, who could judge him? Who would dare?
Thankfully, Hermione didn't appear to have noticed his momentary distraction, only just finishing her speech and looking up at him with big, hopeful eyes. Ron, however, was back to his charming, glowering self.
Harry turned to the girl, having no idea what she'd just said. There was only one option to consider here. "Detention."
Now it was Hermione's turn to blanch, her righteous expectancy turning to glorious offense in a split second. "You can't do that!"
Harry raised a brow.
"You...you can't, right?"
He took great amusement from her sudden uncertainty.
No one knew what Harry Potter was anymore. Was he a student with special privileges? Or the Head Auror who merely dressed like a student?
It usually led to more than one interesting theory that Harry took great entertainment from.
"It will be detention if you don't stop this silly chase. I have more things to do than satisfy your curiosity."
The kids looked suddenly depressed.
Sighing, Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose and decided to have some pity. "That said, you two should really make peace with the truth. Jacob wasn't kidnapped, wasn't coerced or forced to join the Dark Lord. He chose it of his own will, knowing he was walking towards the killer of his father. I don't know why he chose to do it, seeing as I barely knew him."
Ron mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'And whose fault is that?' and Harry changed his mind about pity.
"Maybe he wasn't satisfied with the way things were, or maybe he didn't like his family anymore." Then peering closely at the boy, Harry noted detachedly, "Or maybe, he felt his current duo of friends weren't enough and decided to gain new ones. Who knows really?"
The two had gone completely silent, all fight leaving them as if he'd just confirmed something they suspected all along. Harry felt a little bad, but needs must. Had they kept up this stupidity, his own stupid part would've resonated with them and he'd have ended up deciding to regain their friendship or something just as absurd.
'It's better this way.' Harry comforted himself as the duo slunked away after a word of thanks. 'At least they won't be dragged into a war again. They've already done enough.'
War should be fought by trained soldiers, not teenagers who haven't finished enjoying their Hogwarts years.
He decided to forgo the hypocrisy in that statement and put the conversation in the back of his mind.
There were other things that needed his attention.
Like hunting Horcruxes.
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That was where his next blemish in life came. Hunting Horcruxes did not go as planned.
Once things settled down into the mundanity of life, Harry and Dumbledore reserved an evening from their usual duties for the special venture outside Hogwarts. He'd placed his most offensive Auror team—led by Audrey Sydney, the original team leader he'd chosen for Hogwarts—closer to the castle, just in case; the disaster of the last life forcing him to be extra cautious, even knowing how unlikely any such attack was.
Then he Apparated them to the cave, remembering the smell of sea and rushing waves so vividly even now.
Contrary to his fears, their job went near perfectly. The cave had remained unchanged across the realities, and the traps were just as pathetically morbid. Sadly, for all his experience with magic, the basin remained a complete mystery to Harry even now. He'd been sure there was another way to get past the potion, but all his suggestions were calmly reasoned against by his mentor, and there was no other choice but to do it the old-fashioned way.
It was no great pleasure watching Dumbledore become a crying, blubbering mess now than it had been before. He would've thought, after everything the man put him through in his last life, his darkened heart would take at least some form of sick pleasure, but nope.
It was torture for both of them.
He simply didn't consider this Dumbledore to be the same as his predecessor. And even if some things were the same, the old man had already helped him too much to be bitter for long.
He wagered without Dumbledore, he'd have been lost as a kitten.
While he still didn't trust him fully, he wouldn't wish such pain upon him either. Before it had begun, he'd desperately argued for him to be the poison drinker this time, but Dumbledore was having none of it. The old man could be one stubborn fossil when he wanted to be.
The inferi were no challenge this time. In fact, they proved adequate practice material for his Elemental magic training. Dumbledore had kept him focused on Fire due to the events of the Alley, but Harry didn't mind. He'd found rapid success with the Element, understanding the emotion that fueled it to a high degree, and was more than happy to test it on a live subject—or, well, dead this time.
Harry imagined he looked cooler than Dumbledore when he flooded the cave with two massive Sphinxes of red inferno that disintegrated the creatures into ashes. Dumbledore's grunted 'show off' as his faculties returned didn't take away from his achievement.
With that, they'd successfully retrieved the locket and left the cave, quickly Apparating away to the safety of castle walls.
Sadly, that was where good news ended.
Days after the incident, Harry was still pissed off with this R.A.B and made sure to curse his name every time something bad happened.
With the locket being a dud, there were now two Horcruxes whose locations were completely unknown to them.
He didn't let the failure ruin his mood for long though. However, a large credit for it certainly went to his close-knit group of relationships that kept him afloat through the uncertainties of life; the evening meals with Lily and his sisters was like a cool, soothing balm of comfort and love, where he could forget all his plotting, planning, duties, and responsibilities, and simply enjoy a meal with the people he loved. And sometimes, at weekends, Harry would collect Bella and Apolline along to spend some quality time together.
In the third week of Hogwarts, something interesting unfolded. He'd been ignoring Malfoy's letters for a while now, watching in amusement as they grew more and more desperate, and waiting for the perfect moment to strike…
The opportunity fell on his lap on 17th September.
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17 Sept, 1994
Dungeons, Hogwarts
Suppressing the urge to fix his tie for the third time in a row, Draco Malfoy trudged down the corridor leading to the Common room with purposeful steps.
After weeks of agonizing over the issue, his plan had progressed past the initial step: Harry Potter had deigned to give him a moment of his time.
A great feat indeed, when you consider the fact that he never entered the Dungeons for days at a time, attended classes sparingly and on his own schedule, and spent most of the time outside the castle doing Merlin knows what. To have him give you minutes of his time was an honor.
All it had taken was a week of waiting in the Common Room night after night, apologizing to Zabini and asking for his help, peppering Potter with enough letters to drown in, and tearing the little respect he still had remaining for himself into tiny pieces.
Some of the things he'd written in his more desperate moments…Draco cringed even thinking about it. He wondered how Potter had reacted to the offer of learning to dance from him. Probably in disgust. He knew he would've.
He was sure Zabini had been laughing at him silently when he suggested it.
Still, at least his efforts had finally borne some fruits. Now he just had to pray Potter wasn't too annoyed by all the attempts, and would actually hear him out before deciding to use him as target practice.
Draco wondered how much of his dignity would still remain after this day. He could only hope, when he was forced to kneel and bare his throat to Potter, there wouldn't be anyone else to notice.
'At least Daphne isn't in the castle.' That was one good thing about Potter accepting to meet on a Saturday. Most of the castle was out at Hogsmeade.
"Malfoy!" The rough voice of Lucian Bole called out, his heavy figure pausing in his urgent journey to get away from the Common Room. "Where do you think you're going?"
Draco stifled the urge to snap, instead giving what he believed to be a rather polite nod. "Exactly where you believe, Bole. Now if you'll excuse me?"
He tried to swerve past him, but the older boy quickly blocked his path.
"You realize Potter is in the Common room, yeah? The High Prince has ordered us to vacate the place for now. You should've left the castle when you had the chance. Now wait till he's gone like the rest of us."
Draco struggled not to roll his eyes. After everything he'd gone through, politics simply didn't hold as much weight in his life as it once did.
Even if it had, he doubted he'd have been able to wrap his head around the current state of the House. He was still in sheer disbelief over the fact that Picquery had managed to hold onto his position for this long, after blatantly licking Potter's arse everyday for the last three weeks.
No one quite knew exactly what went down between Picquery and Potter, but the High Prince's attempts at presenting himself as some trusted Herald of the Chosen One, whilst running at the first sign of him, were nothing less than absolute disgrace to their House.
The type of disgrace that wouldn't be tolerated in the House of Snakes.
Draco wagered there was something more going around in the background. Something he would've found out long ago, had he not been angsting over his own fate the entire time. Now he was sure even Pansy knew more about the current climate of Slytherin politics than him.
Still, all this didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that Potter was already in the common room.
Draco was late.
Pushing past Bole and ignoring his indignant yells, Draco hastened his pace as much as he dared without making it obvious. No matter how low the holes his life pushed him in were, his Malfoy pride would always stay by his side.
As he left the dorm's corridor, he passed another stream of students, though none stopped to warn him again. By the time he reached the high arched entrance of the Common Room, the entire place had turned more desolate than it ever did on Christmas Eve.
Draco entered the Room cautiously.
His target couldn't have been easier to find if he was tap dancing in the middle of the room. For he sat at the head table like the King of Slytherin, a small, contemptuous smile dancing on his face as he saw a panicked student slip away, all attempts at subtlety gone.
Draco often wondered about that. Trying to figure this new Potter out was an exercise in futility, but the most absurd of his newfound traits was the strange contempt for Slytherins he seemed to have developed. It made him question if the boy even belonged in this house anymore.
The answer to which he would have to ponder at another time, for those contemptuous eyes soon fell upon him.
"Ah, Draco..." The sneer of contempt around his name sent his heart shivering.
'Great.' Just the start he needed. He absently wondered if Potter wasn't a secret Dark Lord in the making.
Forcing his spine to bend, Draco gave a deep bow of utmost respect. "Lord Potter." Anything to soften the Head of the Aurors.
"Hmm." Potter remained unimpressed, waving at the chair beside him. "Sit. I read your latest letter. You've made some interesting promises."
Draco wracked his brain searching for said promise, yet nothing truly impressive came to mind. The last letter had been on a more mundane level—he could only guess Potter meant the loyalty of the Malfoy family. That was the only promise that held any true importance.
As he approached the high table, he quickly scanned the room to see if there was anyone present to see his moment of desperation. He was relieved to find none.
'Did Potter tell Pickery to arrange this?"
Whatever the case, it wasn't enough for the level of risk he was taking by talking to Potter directly. If the news made it back to the Dark Lord, he could only imagine the consequences…
Still, it would be stupid to make demands of Potter.
So as he reached the table, he gave another deep bow, hoping to win him with respect. "May I please request we take this matter to a more private setting? I'm afraid the things I'm about to reveal may reach the wrong ears."
Potter hummed, picking up a glass of crystalline blue liquid Draco hadn't noticed earlier. His striking eyes stared at him over the rim as he took a sip, seeming to peer into his soul.
Draco made the grave mistake of meeting his eyes.
Suddenly a sharp pinching sensation grew behind his eyes, and a memory wrenched itself from his mind before he could so much as move. Realization dawned a moment later, but even as Draco quickly broke eye contact, the memory replayed in his mind with near perfect clarity.
The fact that it was over quickly mattered not even a little.
Humiliation burned in his chest like lethal acid. The memories of that day were already torture enough, but even worse was the feeling of being invaded by another wizard so easily. To have someone enter your mind, do as they pleased, see your biggest failures…it hurt.
Shame dug its claw into the pit of insecurity within his heart, but besides clenching his fist tightly enough to nearly draw blood, Draco dared not utter the nastiness bubbling in his mouth.
This is for my family. He whispered to himself, even as he forced back angry tears. This is for my family.
His will was tested further when mocking laughter cut through the hall, ringing in his ears with a painful sting.
Draco clenched his teeth, not opening his eyes to hide the anger within.
"Oh, you've got nerves, don't you?" Potter asked, a smile in his voice. "To ask of me such a favor, after everything you've done. Did you think I forgot, Malfoy? So soon since we last spoke?" He paused. Then, suddenly growing more intense, he commanded again. "Sit."
Draco fumbled into a seat, keeping the shaking of his hands hidden by holding them together, whilst trying to empty his mind according to his Occlumency lessons.
He was beginning to think coming here had been a mistake. His father obviously didn't see it, but Potter was just as big of a threat as You-Know-Who and Dumbledore. His previous tantrums for revenge now seemed absurdly childish—was there ever even the slightest bit of possibility of him coming close to harm Potter?
'I should've just gone to Professor Potter.' He thought bitterly. Sure, she didn't like him any better, but at least she wouldn't start the meeting by raping his mind.
"So," His tormentor started, and Draco finally dared to open his eyes. "Daddy Malfoy bit off more than he can chew, and decided to send his junior as an offering. Is that about it?"
Stinging retorts formed on his tongue instantly, but he quelled them down swiftly, responding with only a jerked nod. Actively focusing on Occlumency made it all a tad bit easier.
"Hmm…" Potter leaned back, rubbing his chin as his eyes flickered around the room, before finally coming to rest on the arms of the elevated cushioned chair he sat upon.
The brief, silent pause gave Draco a chance to properly collect himself, burying the bitterness and anger deeper in his heart as he reminded himself exactly why he was here. Too much rested on this moment to give into emotions.
"So, this is Slytherin's seat of power, the birthplace of all teenage scheming." Potter mused, draining his glass after one good swirl. "Loath as I am to spend more than five minutes at a time in the Dungeons, I have to admit it's a beautiful place."
Draco searched for something to say, but words couldn't find him right now. At least, words that wouldn't cause offense one way or another.
Something must've shown on his face, for Potter suddenly looked mightily amused. "Go on then, Draco. Your letter spoke most confidently of your ability to make this worth my while. I'll admit I'm curious to see what you could possibly hope to offer me."
Draco closed his eyes briefly. In truth, he had nothing. He had been counting on his acting to hide the desperation of their situation, and rely on the solid reputation of Malfoys to present Potter with the illusion of an enticing offer. But that ship had sunk so far down the ocean now, that even trying to retrieve it would see him drowning from the start.
All he could deal with now was empty promises, and he had a feeling Potter was fully aware of this.
Still, he would be dead and buried before he gave up without even trying.
So nodding with as much dignity as he could muster, he responded, "Certainly, Lord Potter, I wouldn't waste your time for nothing." He switched off his 'Shame' button, gathered as much courage as was available in his heart…and started waffling. "Firstly, I offer to you my family's loyalty."
Potter snorted.
Swallowing, Draco continued. "The Malfoy family is open to officially becoming a vassal of House Potter for the next three generations, with all the political implications it brings."
It sounded good and proper on paper, Draco had to admit, but in truth it was as empty of a promise as a jar of shiny coins kept beside a niffler. It could grant the Lord of House Potter a source of prideful boasts, but that was about it. Since the Wizengamot's dissolution, there was no true power behind such arrangements anymore.
His father would have approved of this move.
Before Potter could realize that, Draco quickly moved on. "Secondly, I offer you the use of my services. As you well know, I'm a…uh, advanced Dueler, and a decent potioneer, and am well acquitted in—"
"Enough." Potter declared gravely, the word containing so much aggravation Draco knew he wasn't asking.
He shut his mouth up.
"I have shown you courtesy enough." There was a tone of finality in his voice that made Draco start panicking. "I consider it my lucky day if I get some free hours. I will not waste it on the likes of you. Your family has dug themselves a hole large enough to swallow a city. Let them pay for it with their lives. If you're smart, you will leave this country and run as far away as possible."
Potter stood up.
Draco felt like he was falling into the abyss. "Please. Please, I-I assure you, if you just give me a chance to—"
"The truth is, Malfoy, you have nothing to give." Potter cut through coldly. "Your vaults were the only valuable thing in your family. Without your money, the Malfoy name holds as much power in Magical Britain as a muggleborn. You do not have a female to marry off and forge new ties. Your library is useless—you have no Family magic, no known practitioner of Elemental magic, so knowledge isn't something you can entice me with either. The highest Dueler in your family is your father, who would get wrecked by half the seventh years here, who would love to serve me of their own volition."
He shook his head, a sparkle of pity glinting in his eyes. "You have no money, no knowledge, no power…you have nothing for me. Why would I save your family, when all it brings is a risk of betrayal and an unnecessary drain on my resources."
Draco's breaths came in quick, shallow gasps, an unnatural breathlessness assaulting his being. Feeling bile hit the back of his throat, his mind scrambled to respond, searching for anything, anything to get out of this mess. "Y-you won't have to worry about betrayal from us, I promise you. If y-you want, I-I can make an Unbreakable Vow..."
Potter sighed, waving him off. "Do you not understand, Draco? I have no need of your loyalty. I don't want it."
"Please," Finally, Draco Malfoy begged, tears pricking his eyes sore. "I beg of you, please. You saw him…you saw…" He choked off.
Potter was solemn in his response, "What I saw was a drunk man putting his burden on his son because he is too cowardly to do it himself. Your sympathy is wasted on him."
The words hit him like an iron hammer, robbing him of all restraint and hesitation as he realized…this was it.
Malfoys were done.
"Potter, please!" There was nothing planned or calculated when he scrambled from his seat and threw himself at his benefactor's feet. There was only impulsive desperation to avoid the inevitable. "Harry! I beg of you. Mother speaks of Aunt Bellatrix fondly, even if they aren't close anymore. I know you probably don't care, but for the sake of a relationship that is tied by blood…let her live, at least. Please, Harry…I would do anything. Anything. Just…keep my parents safe. All our issues in the past…I will pay for it until the end of my life. Don't punish my parents for that."
There was no pride in him anymore. No care for dignity, no heart for revenge. When he slowly picked his face off of Harry Potter's feet and stared up at him, there was only willingness. Willingness to do anything to keep his family safe.
For a second those green eyes flashed with something close to triumph, something so inhumanly calculating glinting at its core that his heart stopped for a brief moment.
Then the Light Lord tilted his head and looked at him with a sliver of kindness and pity, and Draco dismissed it as a trick of shadow, angry at himself for trying to justify his old hatred even now.
"If I am to do this," Lord Potter spoke hesitantly, as if pained he was even considering the idea. "I will need assurances."
Draco nodded rapidly, climbing back to his feet slowly. "Anything."
Slowly, The Head Auror retook his seat, waving at him to follow. "I may have a task for your father. It will be dangerous, of course. Anything involving a Dark Lord always is. But should he…succeed, it might help my cause."
Draco swallowed down the impulsion to argue, simply nodding.
"And I will, of course, need that Unbreakable Vow."
"Of course."
"But until then…Bella." Lord Potter prompted. "Tell me about her."
Draco swallowed, a little thrown off. Normally he would be trying to divine the cause behind the sudden inquiry, but now he simply scrambled to remember all he could about Bellatrix Black, using the little Occlumency he knew to bring up all the relevant memories. "What would you like to know?"
"Everything. You said your mother speaks fondly of her? Tell me of the conversations."
Draco slowly nodded, wondering what exactly his new patron wanted to hear about his estranged Aunt. He had only said that in a moment of desperation, and in some scant hope of forming some familial bond. While his mother did talk about her sister sometimes, it wasn't always in the favorable light.
And the last thing he needed right now was to ruin all of this by accidentally insulting Harry Potter's godmother.
He decided to open with the safest story.
"I don't know if you're aware of this...but there's a reason why so many Lords dislike Aunt Bellatrix."
Potter motioned for him to go on.
And so, he told him.
He told him of the time when Mother was in her last year at Hogwarts, and the Blacks hated their eldest daughter. Of how adamantly they pushed her to marry Lestrange and tie their family to the Dark Lord. And when the then European Dueling Champion, finally fed up with her family, issued her ultimatum; challenging anyone to take up wand against her. Should they win, her hand would be theirs. Should they lose? They would live in shame and never bother her again.
More than a decade since that day, Madam Black still remained unconquered. And not for a lack of trying. Almost all the families in Sacred 28 had tried their wand against her, including his father; and all had failed as miserably as the next. Eventually, the challenges slowed, and then stopped entirely, for there was no one left to defeat. This was, his mother believed, what truly pushed Bellatrix further in the Ministry—her fearsome reputation had her climbing the slope quicker than most, eventually becoming the youngest witch to Head the DMLE.
By the end of the tale, Lord Potter sat quietly with his chin in his palm, and his eyes far away.
Then he nodded slowly, coming back down the earth. Draco couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking, especially when a coy smile slowly spread upon his face.
"The man who gets her will be lucky indeed."
Draco failed to hold back the snort. "I don't think Dumbledore or the Dark Lords are going to challenge Aunt Bella any time soon."
Potter hummed, his knuckles clacking against the High table in rhythmic taps, "Tell me, Draco...was there any other man in her life? Even once?"
Draco swallowed, trying to remember if Mother ever said anything in this regard, but coming up completely blank. "I-I apologize, but I never asked. Though I'm sure mother will know! Why, if you wish me to, I can write a letter right this instan—"
"No." Potter interrupted. "I wish to speak to your mother myself."
Draco nodded, daring to hope. "So does that mean...?"
Potter sighed. "It would depend on your mother. The only reason I was even willing to hear you out was because of her. You were right, I don't think Bella would've been too happy with me if I let her little sister die. Inform your mother, I will arrange a date for us to meet. I shall discuss the details of our...alliance, with her. Until then, consider yourself to be under my protection."
The sheer relief that spread through him at those words was...mind-blowing.
"But of course, if I am to give you protection, I shall need something in return."
"Anything."
Potter paused, before grinning cruelly. "Don't be so quick to agree. I did see your talk with Malfoy Sn. Taking Parkinson in front of you is well within my acceptable form of currency."
The look of horror on his face must've been something, for Potter burst out in genuine laughter for the first time that day.
"Relax. I need you for only one thing right now: to be my eyes and ears in Slytherin. Your case has made me realize that perhaps I was too quick to judge this House. See if there are any others in a similar situation as you. Do not approach them without informing me, simply take notes. You can do that, yes?"
"Of course." For the first time that night, Draco felt a flicker of his old confidence returning to him.
Politics had always been a game he excelled at.
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The rest of the month till the Triwizard tournament passed in the blink of an eye. Harry was pleased as a peach with himself, his foresight to hold the tournament sooner this time proved to come in handy, for he was just about getting bored with Hogwarts real quick. Another month with nothing happening, and he would've made his own entertainment from the bones of basilisk underneath.
As much as he'd once missed the castle, he had to admit there was little in its four safe corners that could fascinate Harry anymore. He felt the most alive when Dueling Dumbledore or practicing live formations with his Aurors—Apparating all around England.
That was another thing that managed to surprise him—his easy acceptance within the group. He had thought seeing him as a normal human who didn't shoot twinkling stars out of his arse would alienate a few—there was nothing worse than meeting your hero in real life and realizing they weren't what you believed them to be.
And yet, after three weeks, the awe he inspired amongst the younger Aurors was still as strong as the first day. Perhaps it was his skills as a Duelist; seeing him wipe the floor with Stella, then taking all three level 6s together might've been an awe-inspiring sight to a rookie. He hadn't won the 3v1 challenge, but he hadn't lost either. It was, perhaps, the toughest challenge he'd faced to date, but his rising skill in Elemental magic meant that his arsenal of magic was slowly but surely increasing.
Whatever the case, Harry was greatly satisfied with his position amidst his Aurors, and always looked forward to the next outdoor excursion.
His friend group still remained limited to a lone Blaise Zabini who nagged at him for the details of his meeting with Draco. After a quick glance into his mind to make sure there were no ulterior motives, Harry coughed up a couple of things, focusing mostly on the ways he'd made the Malfoy scion squirm.
From his amusement, Harry guessed he appreciated the gesture.
He didn't reveal the darker aspects of course. Of how he'd pushed the little ferret to the end of his sanity, to squeeze out every bit of his usefulness as he possibly can. Not accepting his letters for the first three weeks was probably the best decision he'd made.
Honestly, even he was surprised how perfectly everything had fallen into place. Now he had a real chance of getting his own spy inside Riddle's band of troublemakers. He could only hope Malfoy Sn. would survive at least one Death Eater gathering before becoming Lordly-chew.
It would seem there was some Slytherin in him after all.
True to Dumbledore's words, Voldemort's attention remained away from England at all times. There were still Death Eater recruitment bases active in the country, but Harry decided to take Albus' advice and not hunt them down with the zeal of a madman.
Every moment Tom left them alone was a moment he could spend growing stronger.
Unfortunately, the world simply did not wish to make things easy for him. Though this time, it was his own fault really.
Harry had a 'girls' problem.
Since his unwitting tussle with Hermione Granger in Library, his attention had turned more and more towards the female population of Hogwarts. And he had to admit…he liked what he saw. Incredibly so.
Maybe the witches in this world made use of cosmetic magic far more freely, but he couldn't help feeling that the level of beauty and womanly charms in this reality was substantially higher. Hell, the girls in his own class, Daphne, Tracy…Pansy, were all an attractive set of witches, even by his standards. One random night, he realized with a start that the idea of taking Parkinson was seeming less and less like a joke everyday. Especially if she kept roaming in that mini-skirt every evening around the Common Room.
The worst thing was the fact that he knew with certainty, none of them would mind getting to know him up close and personal. And he didn't need legilimency to know that. For Slytherins, their attention came in the form of alliance offers. While he could easily reject the males, his mind couldn't help but rethink if some of the more...enticing offers didn't merit serious consideration after all.
Logically, he knew the attempts at seduction for what they were; a way to get closer to the True-Boy-Who-Lived. Most of them obviously held ulterior motives in their minds, which would be clear once he started returning a modicum of their attention back.
But he had a hard time caring about their motives, especially when his little Harry got involved.
Thankfully Dora was there to quench the edge of his thirst, or he was afraid what he might've ended up doing.
With everything going on in his life, he really didn't need any complications right now. He had a feeling his will wouldn't stay strong for long.
But whatever the future held, Harry felt assured he would be ready to tackle it. For the month end was soon upon them, and it was finally time for the Triwizard tournament.
Harry doubted it would be nearly as tame as the last one had been.
But this time, he was looking forward to it with all his heart.
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AN: Aaand here it is! A big one done!
Sorry about the delay, but like I said, my planned 15k for SOW Ch.28 (on Pat reon, here it'll be Ch.55, 56) became an unplanned 35k chapter. 35,000 words…now that's a lot of fucking words. Could've posted 3 11-12k chapters instead, but you know what they say...the bigger, the better ;)
Also, I read a couple comments telling me not to give any end dates, and I completely understand your frustration! But these dates are more for me to have a timeframe and a bit of pressure so don't get too messed up about it. I mean, you've probably learned to ignore it by now, considering my staggeringly disgusting record, but for any newer readers...yeah, I miss my spoken end dates. A lot.
On that note, the next chapter will be for Mystique Soldier and my new date is Christmas! Or 31st Dec if the pat reon chap extends past 15k mark again, cause I desperately wish to squeeze in another chapter this year.
Well anyway, hope you all enjoyed this one! Tell me what you thought about the Elemental magic. I don't know if my writing quality has dipped due to my recent inactivity, so pls lemme know if it didn't feel up to the par.
My discord: discord .gg/9wpfysDGsz to discuss fics, chill, read the full smutty chaps, and see character images.
My Pat reon: www. Pat reon com/ Robs511 (No spaces and a dot before com) for anyone who wants to read upto the next three chaps of all my fics.
That's about it for now. See ya!
P.S: In case I miss my date again, though I'll try desperately not to... Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!