Harry woke up staring at the canopy of his bed, already bored out of his mind.
Another day of classes. Another day of teaching. Another day of pretending that Hogwarts life was anything but painfully predictable. He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.
He hated days like this.Mostly because there was nothing to look forward to.
And worse, he had to deal with Lilith again. That girl had perfected getting under his skin to an art form. She knew exactly which buttons to push, which nerves to twist, and smile while doing it, just so she could get a reaction out of him. No, not just a reaction, she was doing this to find information about him and his plans. But for what, he had no idea. But thankfully, apart from him wanting to murder her, he had never really divulged anything else.
He sat up, stretching. Something nagged at him.
Quidditch.
Something was off.
Last year, Wood had hounded them like a drill sergeant. At least three practices a week. Weekly strategy meetings. Morning runs. Mid-night rants about broom angles. The man was borderline possessed when the season approached.
And this year?
Nothing.Not a whisper.Not a single practice.
Harry frowned. That couldn't be right. Had something happened? Was Wood sick? Dead? Replaced by a doppelgänger who enjoyed knitting instead of screaming about quaffles?
He pulled on his shirt, still scowling. No way they got lazy after winning one cup. That was not how Wood's brain worked. In fact, Harry was fairly certain Wood would rather die than allow complacency.
He decided he'd ask the twins or Angelina or literally anyone on the team once he saw them. Something was fishy.
And bored.Merlin, he was bored.
After getting fresh and a rather long shower, he made his way downstairs to the common room at around 7:46 AM, expecting to see everyone getting ready for their classes.
Instead, half the Gryffindors were missing and the ones remaining were in a frenzy. Scarves everywhere, faces painted, energy buzzing through the air.
Harry blinked. "Uh... what's going on?"
Dean looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "It's the match, dude. Why are you not dressed?"
Harry stared. "What match?"
"Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff!" Lavender yelled as she made her way out of the portrait hole.
Harry's brain stalled. "Today?"
"Of course today! Everyone's heading down in an hour!"
Harry opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"WOOD!" he yelled, loud enough that several portraits jumped.
Harry stormed into the Great Hall with the speed of someone who had just been told the castle was on fire. He had sprinted down from the common room, still tugging his jumper straight, hair sticking up even worse than usual. Gryffindor table was a blur until his eyes locked on the Quidditch team.
They were all there.Fully dressed. In uniform. Eating breakfast. Calmly.
Every single one of them looked up as if he were the one acting strange.
Alicia blinked. "Harry… why aren't you dressed?"
The question snapped something in him.
"Because no one told me there was a bloody match today!" Harry shouted. A few first-years flinched. "What happened to practice? Did we suddenly decide we're too good for training just because we won last year?"
The team exchanged looks. Guilty, awkward, utterly sheepish looks.
Angelina cleared her throat. "We did practice."
"Yeah," George added weakly. "Loads of practice. The whole year, really."
"Then why," Harry said slowly, voice dangerously close to breaking, "did no one tell me?"
There was silence. Then Wood, of all people, winced like he was about to confess to murder.
"Well… you were busy," he said. "Teaching everyone. Doing your own coursework. Running whatever advanced magic experiments you do in secret. The professors kept mentioning how swamped you were, so we figured… you know… you wouldn't have time."
Harry stared at them.
His brain simply shut down.
A soft, crackling static filled his head for a moment. He could practically feel the short circuit.
"So let me get this straight," he said, blinking slowly. "You all practiced. You all knew the schedule. You all showed up, in uniform, for a match I am literally supposed to play in… and not one of you thought to tell me? Because I was busy?"
They nodded. All of them.
"Busy," Harry repeated hollowly. "Right. Brilliant. Love that. Fantastic reasoning."
Katie Bell raised a timid hand. "We… honestly thought you might sit this one out. You've been juggling so much and, well, you didn't show up to any practices, so—"
"I DIDN'T SHOW UP BECAUSE NO ONE TOLD ME ANY EXISTED!"
A few Slytherins clapped sarcastically at that.
Harry dragged a hand down his face. "Merlin's saggy left—never mind. Fine. Fine. What position am I even playing today? Still Seeker? Or did you lot give that away too while I wasn't informed of anything?"
"Still Seeker," Angelina said quickly. "Of course you are."
"Lovely," Harry muttered. "Brilliant. A match I didn't know about, no practice, and a team that apparently assumed I'd magically appear with perfect timing. Anything else you forgot to mention? Perhaps new rules about the match?"
George raised a finger. "Well, Hufflepuff's been doing brutal full-contact drills all month—"
"Not helping," Fred hissed.
Harry exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Right. I'm going to get dressed before I murder someone. If the match starts without me, tell Madam Hooch to start counting bodies."
He spun on his heel and marched out of the Hall.
Behind him, the entire Gryffindor team collectively sagged in relief, though not one of them dared to comment.
Fred whispered, "Think he's mad?"
Alicia elbowed him. "He's Harry. Of course he's mad."
Angelina groaned. "Just pray he doesn't quit mid-air."
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The stadium roared.
Students packed the stands to the brim, banners flashing Gryffindor red and Hufflepuff yellow in a frenzy of anticipation. This was the match everyone had been waiting for: Harry Potter vs Cedric Diggory, Round Two.
Even the professors were leaning forward. Hooch looked thrilled. McGonagall had a Gryffindor scarf charmed around her shoulders. Sprout wore a sunflower-yellow hat that could probably be seen from space.
Hufflepuff's lineup flew in to thunderous cheers.
Edgar Mitts hovered near the goalposts with steady confidence. Cedric circled smoothly, eyes sharp. Prudence Everstone, Fiona Farrier, and Elara Elmwood looped around with practiced coordination. Their Beaters, Ronan Thatch and Bram Wenders, slammed their bats together with enthusiasm.
Then Gryffindor emerged.
Wood led the way. Fred and George followed with dramatic spirals. The Chasers—Alicia, Katie, and Angelina—earned loud whoops.
Harry flew in last.
Straight face. No smile. No wave.
He wasn't angry at Hufflepuff. They didn't deserve his annoyance. So he made sure to dip his head respectfully toward Cedric, who grinned back warmly.
"Good luck, Harry," Cedric called.
"You too," Harry said evenly. "Nothing personal if this is short."
Cedric blinked. "Short? What do you—"
But Madam Hooch's whistle blew, cutting him off.
The Quaffle was released and the crowd leaned forward collectively.
And Harry… moved.
No warm-up arc. No circling the pitch. No observing wind currents.
He shot straight upward like a launched arrow, eyes locked on something only he could see.
For a heartbeat, no one understood.
Cedric blinked. "Wait, what...?"
The Snitch glinted once, high above the midfield.
Harry vanished in a blur.
Wood didn't even finish shouting "GO!" before—
Harry's hand closed around gold.
The stadium went silent.
Alicia, Katie, and Angelina hadn't even reached halfway across the pitch. Hufflepuff's chasers still hovered in formation, confused.
The Bludgers hadn't been hit once.
Wood's jaw hung open.
Cedric froze mid-turn, staring as if Harry had just broken reality.
Fred whispered, "Did he just...?"
George whispered back, "He bloody did."
Madam Hooch sputtered, voice cracking as she lifted her whistle. "Gryffindor… wins? Yes. Gryffindor wins! Final score: one hundred fifty to zero!"
The stands exploded into chaos.
Some cheered hysterically. Some screamed in outrage. Some demanded a refund.
And Harry slowly descended, Snitch fluttering helplessly in his hand.
Only now, only as his boots hit the ground, did the realization sink in.
He had wanted to make the team regret not calling him to practice and to do that he should have thrown the match and not catch the snitch in mere seconds when the game starts. Instead of showing them that practice was very much needed even by him, he had shown that he didn't need practice at all.
Cedric landed next to him, staring. "Harry. Mate. Did you just end our match in under ten seconds?"
Harry stared at the Snitch. "I… didn't think this through."
Cedric burst out laughing. "What do you mean?"
Harry stared at him, "I was going to prove a point. That no inviting me to practice has it's demerits. And for that I should have thrown the match and not catch the snitch in ten seconds."
Cedric laughed even harder, bracing his hands on his knees. "Harry, my friend, you've got to be the only Seeker alive who thinks winning too hard is a problem."
Harry groaned into both hands. "I completely sabotaged my own message. I was supposed to show the team they need me at practice. Instead I made it look like I don't need practice, don't need warm-ups, don't need sleep, don't need air—"
Cedric patted his back sympathetically. "To be fair, that's exactly what it looked like."
"That doesn't help."
"No," Cedric said with a laugh, "but it's true."
Before Harry could wallow any further, Wood arrived—tearing across the pitch like a man who had just witnessed the death of his career. His face oscillated between horror, awe, and something dangerously close to cardiac arrest.
"POTTER!" Wood shrieked. "HOW DID YOU DO THAT?!"
Harry sighed. "I was angry... don't get me started."
"Brilliant," he muttered under his breath. "Absolutely brilliant. I've outdone myself in stupidity today."
Cedric, still laughing, clapped him once on the shoulder before flying off to join his own stunned teammates. Wood was still mid-rant, but Harry didn't bother responding. He simply turned and began walking away, leaving the echo of Wood's incoherent outrage behind him.
He didn't look at the stands.
He didn't look at the team.
He didn't look at anyone.
He just left, head down, broom dragging lightly behind him as he trudged toward the castle.
Perfect. Instead of teaching them a lesson, he had proved he didn't need practice at all.At this point he might as well hang a banner saying "Harry Potter: Professional Reality Breaker."
Back in the common room, he barely acknowledged the handful of people who tried to speak to him. He marched straight up the stairs, peeled off the Quidditch gear he had worn for a grand total of forty-five seconds, and stepped under a scorching shower.
He wasn't sweaty.
He wasn't tired.
He wasn't even winded.
But he needed the water anyway, mostly to drown out the absurdity of everything that had just happened.
After drying off and throwing on fresh clothes, he made his way toward the kitchens.If he couldn't fix the humiliation, at least he could fix the hunger that accompanied it.
He pushed open the portrait door—
And was immediately jumped.
"HAARRRRYYY!"
Abigail launched herself onto his back like a missile. Harry staggered a step, caught her legs automatically, and sighed… but with a helpless smile tugging at his lips.
She grinned like she had just watched the best show of her life. "You were amazing! Ten seconds! TEN! Merlin's beard, even Merlin can't do anything in ten seconds! You're the best Seeker in the world!"
Harry snorted. "It wasn't even a match. It was more like… a very dramatic warm-up."
"Nope! Best match ever!" she sang happily, kicking her feet as she clung to him.
"Abigail," Harry said tiredly, starting to walk again with her still on his back, "most people are traumatized right now. You are… very much not."
"That's because everyone else is boring," she declared proudly. "Meanwhile, I have a brother who ended a Quidditch game before the Bludgers even knew they were supposed to be violent!"
Harry laughed despite himself. Abigail's enthusiasm was loud, chaotic, and completely unbothered by logic.
And honestly?
It helped.
She rested her chin on his shoulder. "So where are we going?"
"The kitchens," Harry said. "Since the universe decided today should be stupid, I deserve food."
Abigail gasped dramatically. "Then onward! We ride for snacks!"
Harry rolled his eyes fondly as she pointed dramatically toward the corridor like a tiny general ordering him forward.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he reminded himself:
Next match?
He was definitely throwing it.
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A week crawled by, but the castle simply refused to shut up about him.
Harry had hoped the chaos would die down after a day or two.
It did not.
If anything, it grew.
He could hear it everywhere he went.
"The Blink! There he is!"
"Blink, how did you see the Snitch that fast?"
"Oi Blink, teach me that trick!"
He wanted to disappear.
Plummeting Potter had been bad enough, but Blink? Blink sounded like a circus act. A party trick. Something you shouted while juggling.
Even the seventh years were enjoying themselves, shouting things like:
"Careful, Blink, don't sneeze or the match will be over before we show up!"
The first years were the worst. They didn't even call him Harry anymore. Just "Professor Blink" whenever he corrected their wandwork.
It was mortifying.
By the end of the week, he was dragging his feet as he walked back toward Gryffindor Tower. He took a quiet corridor, wanting nothing more than peace.
The emptiness told him immediately what was about to happen.
He didn't bother turning.
"Lilith," he said flatly.
Right on cue, her voice drifted from behind him, dripping with mockery. "Look who finally appeared. Hogwarts' fastest spectacle."
He sighed. "I'm not interested in attention. Maybe you're just annoyed it isn't circling you anymore."
Lilith strolled past him slowly, brushing close enough to make it obvious she did it on purpose. She leaned in near his ear, whispering, "Or maybe I simply enjoy walking around without everyone staring after me for once."
Harry kept his expression blank. Emotionless. "What do you want?"
She stepped around him with a sly smile. "To greet you. I never got the chance after the holidays."
He remained silent.
Her eyes gleamed. "And Nexus… interesting name for your little circle."
Harry finally turned, gaze cool and unreadable. Inside, his thoughts snapped to attention. How did she learn that?
He didn't let the confusion touch his face.
Instead, he smirked. Slow. Sharp.
"Good to know you're paying attention," he said. "You might want to be careful though. Nexus plans to sweep away any competitor. Including the Shadows."
Lilith went still.
The smirk slipped from Harry's face as something colder settled into place. His eyes sharpened, voice dropping into a low, dangerous calm.
"And one more thing," he said. "If your people ever drag my family into this… good. Do it."
Lilith blinked.
Harry stepped past her, leaning in just enough for his next words to land like a blade.
"That would give me a legitimate reason to kill you."
No anger. No heat. Just fact.
He straightened and walked away, completely unhurried.
Lilith didn't move.
For the first time since he'd met her, the girl who always had a smirk ready—who always seemed three steps ahead—stood frozen and speechless. Her confidence cracked, eyes widening with something he'd never seen from her.
Fear.
Harry didn't look back.
He headed down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower, steps steady and casual.
Behind him, her voice rang out, sharp and shaken.
"Potter! How do you know that name?!" Lilith turned around and shouted.
He didn't turn around.
A cold laugh escaped him—quiet, amused, dismissive—and he kept walking, leaving her rooted in place, rattled to her core.
The laugh echoed down the corridor long after he was gone.
Lilith's breath hitched. Once. Twice. Her pulse hammered, her mind racing far faster than she could control.
"Impossible…" she whispered.
He should not have known that name. He should never have known that name. Shadow operations were sealed, buried, whispered only in rooms that never kept echoes. Not even most members knew the upper structure.
And yet Harry Potter — smug, untouchable, infuriatingly unpredictable Harry Potter, had said it like he was commenting on the weather.
Her hands curled into fists.
How?
How?
HOW?
Her mask slipped again, cracks spreading across something she had thought unbreakable. For the first time since she'd stepped into Hogwarts, Lilith felt something she hated more than weakness.
Vulnerability.
"Potter…" she breathed, a tremor in her voice that she refused to acknowledge. "What are you?"
But the corridor remained silent.
No answer. No footsteps. No shadow of him left nearby.
She was alone. Then she moved, she didn't have time, she needed to convene a meeting. As she turned the corner, she disappeared into her own shadow.
Harry, meanwhile, was still walking.
Calm. Collected. Almost relaxed.
But deep inside, a flicker of irritation rippled through him.
Lilith.
Again.
He turned a corner and exhaled slowly through his nose, letting the annoyance drain. He wasn't worried about her. Not really. She was clever, manipulative, skilled at reading people — but she wasn't dangerous. Not in any way that mattered.
And if she wanted to dig into Nexus, then let her. He almost welcomed it. Because sooner or later? She'd dig too far and then she'd realise something very important:
Harry Potter didn't bluff.
He stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Password?" she asked cheerfully.
Harry blinked at her, expression flat. "Please don't call me Blink."
She snorted. "Wouldn't dream of it, dear. Password?"
"Ten seconds" He almost felt embarrassed saying the password.
The portrait swung open and Harry stepped inside and headed straight up the stairs. After reaching his dormitory, he took a pair of change and headed straight to the showers.
Steam curled around him as the hot water ran down his back, and for a few long moments Harry simply stood there, letting it wash away the leftover irritation.
Then his mind flicked sharply into focus.
If Nexus was going to tighten its grip on Britain, then he needed to expand in the opposite direction. Not locally. Not regionally.
Internationally.
His thoughts moved fast.Precise.Cold.
Britain was the smallest pond. Nexus could have it. He'd work above and beyond it.
He leaned one hand against the wall, brow furrowing as the strategy built itself piece by piece.
He needed footholds. Early footholds.
Backrub.A tiny research project in California, run by two students. If this world mirrored his expectations, it would eventually evolve into something far larger, something that would dominate information itself.
Abracadabra.A playful name for an online bookstore in its infancy. If it existed here, it would someday become the backbone of global logistics.
And there was one more. The biggest one. If it existed — if it even began here — then owning it would give him leverage that could shake nations.
But that was the part that mattered most.
Did they exist?Did any of them?
Was this world's future aligned with the one he remembered? Or was it entirely different?
The water shut off with a sharp twist of his wrist.
Harry dried off, dressed quickly, and rubbed his hair until it stood in its usual chaotic mess. He pushed open the bathroom door…
And froze.
Hedwig sat primly on his bed, snowy feathers fluffed, golden eyes fixed on him. A parcel was tied neatly to her leg.
Harry blinked. "Where'd you get that?"
Hedwig hooted and tilted her head. "Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel"
"Nicholas and Perenelle?" Harry repeated. "Why would they send me anything? They don't even know me."
Hedwig ruffled her feathers. "I didn't get it directly from them, I got it from another owl, but that owl told me that this was from the Flamels and they wanted it to get to you."
Harry untied the parcel, brows knitting tighter. "And they thought I wouldn't find out if they used you instead of a normal own? How lame!"
Hedwig puffed her chest smugly.
He opened the package carefully.
Inside was a thick tome. Heavy. Ancient. Bound in dark leather with no title, no markings, no hints of what it was.
Harry opened it.
His breath stalled.
Alchemy. Original spellcraft. Potion theory centuries beyond Hogwarts curriculum. Ward frameworks he didn't even recognise.
Ritual architecture so refined it made the Department of Mysteries look primitive.
This wasn't a book. It was their life's work. He turned page after page, eyes sharp.
Why him? Why now?
The Flamels were cautious. Private. They didn't send relics like this to strangers. So either this world's Flamels knew something…
Or someone.
A quiet dread unfurled in his chest.
If they were preparing him…If they believed he needed this knowledge…
Then only one possibility made sense.
They knew.
They knew about the one that is supposed to be the enemy that Harry is going to face in the future. The one Praesidius had hinted at, but refused to tell him anything about.
But how would they know?
Unless...
Harry froze... Unless it had approached them and they were being forced to work for it?
But that... that means that whoever this was, they had already long started working in this world. Which would make sense of the sentence that Praesidius had said.
"Voldemort was a pawn in this game..."
Which meant that that enemy was the one who had created Voldemort...
This wasn't paranoia. This wasn't overthinking.
Everything lined up disturbingly well.
"But Praesidius had also suggested that I had time... at least till I graduated." Harry thought. "No I can't just sit around, this time that I have, I need to make my power and influence ascend to global stage or else, I won't be able to do anything."
Harry changed quickly, scooped up the book, and headed straight out of his room. Rest was no longer an option. Now that he finally understood the pieces Praesidius had let slip, the five years ahead felt painfully short. Whoever the true enemy was, it had already begun its work in this world. Voldemort had only been a tool. That meant Harry needed to move fast.
He hurried through the common room. Fred and George called out to him, but he shook his head and cut them off.
"Not now. I need to take care of something important."He did not wait for a reply and left at once.
Five minutes of hard jogging later, he reached Dumbledore's office. He knocked. The familiar voice inside invited him in.
The moment he stepped through the door he saw Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Thorne, and Vector gathered around Dumbledore. All of them looked unusually alert. When they noticed Harry, their expressions brightened in a way that made his stomach tighten.
"Good timing," Dumbledore said. "We have news for you."
McGonagall stepped forward. "Your mastery exams have been scheduled."
Harry straightened. "When?"
"Tomorrow," Flitwick replied. "Four days in total. One subject per day."
Harry nodded once. "I am ready."
Dumbledore studied him with that calm, piercing gaze of his. "You came here for something as well. What did you need?"
Harry took a breath. "I need permission to take leave from school. I am going to America on important business."
The room went silent. Shock flickered across every face. Hogwarts had never granted such a request before and certainly not in the middle of a term.
McGonagall spoke first. "What kind of business requires you to leave the country?"
"I cannot say more than this," Harry replied. "But it is necessary."
Dumbledore folded his hands. "When do you plan to leave, and for how long?"
"Immediately after the mastery exams. Two weeks at most."
If any other student had made such a request, the answer would have been a swift refusal. Harry was not any other student, and everyone in the room knew it. He hardly needed classes, and his responsibilities were already unusual.
Dumbledore considered him for a long moment. "And your class? The basics of magic course you teach. Who will take over for you?"
"Ron and Hermione," Harry said. "I trained them throughout the summer. They can handle it."