Younger Harry just stared at his older counterpart in absolute disbelief.
The man stood in the center of the Great Hall with an air of casual indifference, acting as if he hadn't just torn open the very fabric of reality in front of the entire student body.
He guessed that to him, appearing out of thin air was as ordinary as walking through a common door. But truthfully, that wasn't what held Harry's undivided attention. The sheer weight of the man's presence was the same as it had been since the last time he'd seen him, an aura that felt like the sun itself had stepped into the room, impossible to ignore.
But even that paled in comparison to the woman on the older Harry's arm.
She was, quite simply, breathtaking. Her blonde hair fell in waves of spun sunlight, caught in the flickering light of the remaining candles, and her crystal blue eyes. And then there was the glow.
Harry thought it must have been his imagination because he didn't think normal people should give off a heavenly glow around their bodies.
'A goddess,' Harry thought, his mind not able to comprehend the beauty of this woman before him, she was by far the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. 'That must be it.'
His Godslayer counterpart must have brought a goddess back from his world, one of the goddesses he spoke of.
Yet, as he narrowed his eyes, studying the fine lines of her face and the regal, unyielding tilt of her face, a nagging sense of familiarity tugged at his gut.
"Who are you?!"
A shrill, high-pitched voice shattered the silence, pulling Harry back to the grim reality of his fifth year. He turned toward the High Table, already knowing who he would see.
Dolores Umbridge had scrambled to her feet, her pudgy face flushed a violent shade of pink that clashed horribly with her fuzzy cardigan. Her wand was raised, trembling slightly as she pointed it at the intruder, her eyes wide with indignation and fury.
The older Harry slowly turned his head to look at her. His expression shifted into one of flat disgust, the kind of look one gives when they find something particularly unpleasant stuck to the bottom of their shoe.
"What," he asked in a voice like silk, "is this thing doing here?"
A collective intake of breath filled the Hall. Several Gryffindors, including Seamus and Dean, had to cough loudly to cover their snorts of laughter. Harry himself felt a hysterical bubble of mirth rising.
Older Harry looked genuinely confused, he had assumed that publicly executing Voldemort months ago would have sent enough of a ripple through the timeline to prevent a Ministry takeover. Apparently, some bureaucratic toads were simply too stubborn to die out, surviving even the death of a Dark Lord.
"You dare insult me?!" Umbridge shrieked, her voice reaching a frequency that made the crystal goblets on the tables ring.
Before she could do anything reckless, Dumbledore rose smoothly. The Headmaster's face was a mask of strained calm, his blue eyes lacking their usual twinkle. "Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, his jaw visibly tight. "To what do we owe this… unexpected visit?"
The name Potter sent a fresh wave of whispers crashing through the tables like a tide. Harry watched Dumbledore closely, he knew the old man didn't trust the Godslayer.
Dumbledore was a man of long, intricate plans and "Greater Good" sacrifices, and the older Harry had walked into this world and set fire to all of them with a smirk and had left after that. To the Headmaster, who had spent years working on his plan, it had annoyed him far more than Harry knew he'd ever admit.
"Do I need a reason to do what I want?" the older Harry replied lazily. He didn't even look at Dumbledore, instead looking at the entire hall with an amused eye.
Dumbledore's cheek twitched, a rare sign of genuine irritation that made the older Harry's smirk widen.
"Who is this man, Dumbledore?" Umbridge demanded, her eyes darting between the two, her wand-hand still shaking.
"This is—" Dumbledore began, likely searching for a diplomatic half-truth, but the older version interrupted him without a second thought.
"I am Harry Potter," he said, a sharp smirk playing on his lips.
Silence. Then, absolute chaos.
"What?!" Umbridge screeched, her brain seemingly unable to process the statement. The word Potter flew from mouth to mouth like wildfire. Students leaned forward, squinting to compare the messy-haired, scrawny boy at the Gryffindor table with the towering, regal figure in the center of the room.
The resemblance, once pointed out, was undeniable. This man was simply older and carried a weight of power around him that made it seem like he and his counterpart were different.
It was like looking at a lion next to a cub.
The older Harry dismissed the teachers as if they were mere furniture in a room he owned. He turned his full attention back to his younger self. "Anyway," he continued brightly, his voice cutting through the noise, "I just got married. My beautiful wife heard about my little travels and wanted to see the sights for herself, so I brought her along for the tour."
He gestured gracefully toward the woman at his side. She stepped forward, inclining her head with a grace that made the Hogwarts girls feel suddenly very clumsy. "It is a pleasure to meet you all," she said. Her voice was calm and cool, carrying the chill of a winter morning, and yet it had a musical quality that drew every ear in the room toward her.
A sharp gasp cut through the noise of the Great Hall.
"Daphne?!"
Astoria Greengrass had jumped to her feet at the Slytherin table, her face a mask of total shock. Younger Harry's head whiplashed. He looked at the "Goddess," then back at the Slytherin table.
There, sitting frozen in her seat, was the Daphne Greengrass of his world. The "Ice Queen" looked like she had just been struck by a cheering charm and a freezing spell simultaneously. Her mask of usual indifference had completely shattered, leaving her looking jaw dropped.
"…Astoria," the older Daphne said softly, her cold mask softening into something genuinely warm as she looked at her sister.
Astoria didn't hesitate. She scrambled over the bench and rushed forward, throwing her arms around the older woman with a force that would have knocked a lesser person over. "Oh Merlin, look at you!" she breathed, pulling back to look at her sister's face. "You're glowing! Daphne! Daphne, look at her! She's like a queen!"
The younger Daphne slowly stood up, moving as if in a dream, her legs feeling like lead. But Astoria suddenly went rigid mid-hug. She stepped back, her eyes wide as she looked from the older Daphne to the older Harry, then back again. The gears in her head were turning at a frantic pace.
"You married Potter?!" she shrieked, the sound echoing off the enchanted ceiling.
The Hall exploded again, louder than ever. Younger Harry's brain suffered a total system failure. He looked at the younger Daphne, who looked like someone had just informed her that the sun was made of chocolate. It was an impossible, nonsensical concept.
"What," the younger Daphne began faintly, her voice trembling as she clutched the edge of the table, "I cannot marry Potter."
"Oh?" the older Daphne asked, an amused glint in her blue eyes that suggested she found this conversation highly entertaining. "And why is that?"
"He's—he's…" Younger Daphne gestured helplessly toward the Gryffindor table. "He's Potter. He's... he's a Gryffindor!"
"Hey!" younger Harry yelped, though he immediately shrank into his seat as several hundred people turned to look at him, including a very amused-looking Older Harry. Ron leaned in, whispering, "Mate, if that's your future, you've done alright for yourself. She's way out of your league, but clearly, you win eventually."
Ron may hate the snakes, but by Morgana, Greengrass was hot, and even he would take a chance if he could.
The older Daphne let out a soft, melodic laugh. It was a dangerous, enchanting sound that seemed to hum in the air, drawing the gaze of every boy in the vicinity and even some girls, all blushing.
"Don't worry," the older Harry added, seeing the confusion. "We're not from the future or something like that. Just assume that while we are Harry and Daphne, what we do doesn't have anything to do with you. You're free to hate each other as much as you like, or fall in love, or become mortal enemies."
"Enough of this!" Umbridge's voice cut through the wonder like a rusted blade. "You dare enter this school and spread these lies—!"
She never finished the sentence. With a casual flick of the older Harry's wrist, steel ropes burst from the stone floor like striking cobras. Umbridge was yanked backward with a terrified shriek, pinned firmly against the wall behind the High Table. Chains wrapped around her mouth, silencing her mid-scream, leaving her dangling like a grotesque holiday ornament.
Teachers stood instantly, wands leveled. Snape, however, remained curiously still, trying to make himself look as small as possible behind Professor Flitwick. He clearly remembered their last encounter, and the memory of that power was still fresh. McGonagall looked more tired than angry, and Dumbledore merely sighed, a long, weary sound of a man who knew he was outclassed.
"Enough," the older Harry said. His voice didn't rise, but the air in the room suddenly grew heavy, like the atmosphere before a massive thunderstorm. It was the pressure of a King, demanding silence. "I don't want to hear your voice in my presence."
"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said carefully, "if you would please release the Professor."
The older Harry raised an eyebrow, his gaze unyielding. He didn't move a muscle to release her. Dumbledore seemed to weigh the odds of a confrontation and wisely decided to let the matter drop for now. "Why are you here, truly?"
"As I said," older Harry replied, taking his wife's hand and squeezing it. "My lady wished to see this world. But I can see we're interrupting a very… colorful semester." His eyes dropped briefly to the back of the younger Harry's hand, where the faint, angry red lines of Umbridge's blood-quill were visible, just slightly covered by his sleeve. His gaze sharpened into something terrifying, a cold, killing intent that made the air freeze.
The temperature in the Hall plummeted. Older Daphne noticed the look and decided to redirect his rage. She turned back to Astoria, her features softening with a different, more urgent intent.
"Harry," she said quietly to her husband. "Do you have any of the golden potion with you?"
Harry's eyes lit up as he looked at the younger Astoria. He knew exactly what she was asking. This was the "Golden Ichor," a condensed elixir created through his Authority over the Sun, granted by the god Asclepius. Once a day, he could manifest a drop of pure solar energy, the very essence of life and healing, that could heal almost anything short of absolute death.
He had used it to save his own Astoria from the Greengrass blood malediction, and he knew how much that meant to his Daphne.
He reached into his hammerspace and withdrew a crystal vial pulsing with radiant golden light. The Great Hall brightened just from the presence of the ichor, as if a miniature sun had been brought indoors, casting long, dramatic shadows against the walls. He handed it to his wife, who beckoned the younger Astoria closer.
The girl hesitated, as she kept her eye on the vial in her sister's counterpart's hand, but the warmth coming from it was irresistible. It felt like standing in the first warm sun of spring.
Older Daphne uncorked it and let a single drop fall onto Astoria's head. The effect was instantaneous. A pillar of golden light erupted around the girl, who collapsed to her knees as the divine energy scoured the curse from her blood, burning away the cold, dark sickness that had plagued her since birth.
"Astoria!" the younger Daphne cried out, rushing forward from the Slytherin table, her face full of terror. "What did you do to her?!"
The glow settled into a gentle warmth. Astoria took a deep, shuddering breath, the first breath of her life that didn't feel heavy, or labored, or filled with the metallic tang of blood on certain bad days. "I… I feel great," she whispered, standing up with a strength she had never possessed. "No, I feel amazing! It's gone. The heaviness… the cold… It's just gone!"
The younger Daphne froze, realization striking her. She looked at her older self, her eyes filling with tears that she had spent years refusing to shed. "You… you saved her."
"Hey," the older Harry interrupted gently, stepping up to them and resting a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Don't sweat it. It was nothing." He reached out, awkwardly patting the younger Daphne on the head, which only made her cry harder. Astoria didn't care for decorum, she threw herself into a second, even tighter hug with the older Daphne, sobbing with relief.
"It's time to go," the older Harry said after a few moments, checking an invisible watch. He took his wife's hand and, with a casual flick of his fingers, tore open a rift of blinding white light. "Mini me," he called out, glancing back over his shoulder. "Don't let the toad win."
Without waiting for the shouts of Dumbledore or the protests of Others, they stepped through the rift. It snapped shut instantly, leaving behind a Great Hall that was silent and stunned.
Umbridge remained chained to the wall, and the Greengrass sisters were left staring at the spot where they had just vanished.
Harry sighed, his olderself really was good at causing problems for him, he thought as he noticed people starting to turn to him.
———————————————————
If you want to read ahead and access 40 advanced chapters, check the patreon. $4 Dollars
Link:patreon/Phantomking785