Chapter Text
BOOK 1- CHAPTER 1
The banging on the cupboard door shattered through Harry's sleep. His eyes snapped open as he jolted upwards in the darkness, hand flying to his throat as he dragged in a harsh breath.
"Get up, get up now!" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice cut through the wood. "I won't have you lazing about on Dudley's special day!"
Harry went very still.
That voice. He hadn't heard that particular pitch of irritation in decades.
He lifted his hands in the cramped darkness, and even before his eyes adjusted, he could feel it. The smooth, unscarred skin. Small hands.
A cold and victorious smile overtook his face.
Thirty years of studying ancient magical theory. Blood sacrifices that would have made Voldemort blanch. And somehow, impossibly, it had actually worked.
Another sharp strike rattled the door. "Boy! I won't tell you again!"
Harry pushed open the cupboard door and unfolded himself from the cramped space, blinking in the harsh morning light of the Dursleys' hallway. His body felt strange, light almost, missing the hard set of muscles he had spent years honing.
The kitchen smelled like grease. Dudley's presents dominated the table, a mountain of wrapped boxes that Harry remembered counting once with the bitter envy of a child who'd never received a single birthday gift. Now he looked at them and felt nothing.
"Well? Don't just stand there gawking!" Petunia snapped, her bony hand gesturing sharply toward the stove. "Finish the breakfast. And if you burn the bacon like last time, you'll go without supper for a week."
Harry moved toward the stove obediently, letting his shoulders hunch in a way that suggested timid compliance. How he longed to just cast a wandless killing curse, silencing the annoying bitch once and for all. But that wouldn’t do, he needed the timeline to play out as it had before or he would lose his main advantage.
He would deal with the Dursleys. Later. When he had time to be creative about it. When he could make them understand exactly what they'd done to a traumatized boy who'd needed love and received only cruelty.
Harry picked up the spatula and began turning the bacon. Behind him, he could hear Dudley thundering down the stairs, Vernon's booming voice praising his "special boy."
Let them have their celebration, Harry had what he wanted.
He was back in the past and this time, he would save Draco Malfoy no matter what he had to sacrifice to do it.
***
Harry lay awake on the rough wooden floor of the lighthouse, arms folded behind his head, watching shadows dance across the ceiling as the wind howled outside. Petunia and Vernon were huddled in the only bedroom, Dudley snoring on the couch.
The past month had been... educational. And frustrating in equal measure.
Harry flexed his fingers in the darkness, feeling the magic humming beneath his skin; a pale shadow of what he'd once commanded. Logically, he'd known his core wouldn't be fully developed until seventeen. He'd prepared himself for limitations. But knowing and experiencing were vastly different things.
The Imperio he'd cast on Dudley had been particularly illuminating. The fat idiot had been winding up the snake at the zoo and Harry's patience had simply... snapped. One whispered command, and Dudley had gone glassy-eyed and silent for all of a minute.
Harry's knees had buckled as soon as the spell had been cast. Black spots had swarmed his vision. His underdeveloped core screaming in protest at being forced to channel such a powerful spell.
His wand would help, he reminded himself. Wandless magic required exponentially more power. Once he had his wand casting would be a little easier.
He just had to be patient.
The clock on the wall struck midnight.
Almost immediately, there was a tremendous BOOM that shook the entire lighthouse.
The door flew off its hinges, crashing to the floor with a splintering crack. Framed in the doorway, backlit by lightning, stood an enormous figure. Wild hair, tangled beard, a coat that could have been made from a bear. In one massive hand, he carried a pink umbrella that looked absurdly delicate.
Harry stared at the man in front of him feeling the guilt setting into his chest
[Flashback]
"Minister! It's good to see ya, it's been too long." Hagrid's voice boomed across the small cabin, his face splitting into that same smile.
Harry had returned it, though it felt like his face might crack. "I've missed you too, Hagrid."
It was true. Hagrid was the last living person Harry still cared about. The last thread connecting him to his humanity.
"And you don't have to call me Minister," Harry had said softly. "I'll always just be Harry to you."
"Ah, but I'm so proud of ya!" Hagrid had beamed. "First Head Auror, now Minister of Magic!"
They talked for over an hour. Reminiscing. Laughing. Harry was stalling, deep down he knew that.
"Hagrid," he'd said finally, his voice steady despite the self-loathing churning in his gut. "I'm genuinely sorry about this."
Hagrid frowned, confused. "Sorry 'bout wha—"
The Stunner hit him square in the chest.
The ritual required a sacrifice. Someone Harry loved. Someone whose death would tear at his soul deeply enough to anchor the magic needed to rip through time itself.
There was only one person left who qualified.
Harry knelt beside Hagrid's unconscious form and pulled out the ritual dagger, its blade etched with ancient runes. His hand trembled as he began the incantation in a dead language.
He'd raised the blade.
And drove it into Hagrid's heart.
He quickly collected the necessary blood and set the cabin alight.
Harry had watched the cabin burn, Hagrid's body consumed by flames.
A single tear ran down his cheek and he wiped it away, this was what he had to do and he took comfort in knowing, if it worked and he made it to the past, Hagrid would be alive and he could begin to make up for what he had done.
[end flashback]
"Sorry 'bout that," Hagrid rumbled, effortlessly lifting the door and propping it back into place.
Hagrid turned and his beetle-black eyes found Harry huddled in his too-large clothes. His whole face transformed with wonder and joy.
"Harry? Harry Potter?"
Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat.
Harry let his expression shift into confusion, a tremor of uncertainty in his voice.
"I... who are you?”
***
Hagrid pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron and Harry was immediately hit with the familiar smell of stale beer and pipe smoke. The pub was packed, witches and wizards crowded around small tables, their voices creating a dull roar of conversation.
"Ah, Hagrid! The usual?" Tom the barkeeper called, already reaching for a glass.
"Not terday, Tom. Got ter help young Harry here get his school supplies." Hagrid's massive hand settled on Harry's shoulder with surprising gentleness.
Tom's hand froze mid-reach. His eyes went wide as saucers as they fixed on the famous lightning bolt scar. "Bless my soul. Harry Potter?"
The pub went silent, every head turning to look at Harry.
Here we go, Harry thought, already exhausted.
They swarmed him. A woman with violet robes seized his hand and shook it vigorously, tears actually streaming down her face. A warlock in a top hat kept bowing so low Harry thought he might topple over. Doris Crockford introduced herself three times, as if he might have forgotten between handshakes.
"So honored, Mr. Potter."
"Can't believe it's really you."
"We never forgot what you did."
Harry smiled and nodded and said all the appropriate things, his face arranged in an expression of polite bewilderment. Inside, he felt nothing but a vague irritation. The attention no longer bothered him, he had been the Minister of Magic, for Merlin's sake. But that didn’t make the fawning celebrity worship any less tedious.
But it was useful. Let them fall in love with the vulnerable orphan boy. It would make everything else so much easier.
"Harry... Pot-ter." A trembling voice cut through the crowd. "S-so very nice to m-meet you."
Harry turned to find Professor Quirrell standing before him, his turban slightly askew, his hands wringing nervously. The stutter was as pronounced as Harry remembered, though now he could see it for the performance it was.
"Professor Quirrell will be one of yer teachers at Hogwarts," Hagrid said proudly, seemingly oblivious to the way Quirrell's eyes lingered just a fraction too long on Harry's scar.
Harry put on his best smile, trying to sound eager. "I'm looking forward to learning from you, Professor."
Finally Hagrid managed to extract him from the crowd, steering him toward the back of the pub with muttered apologies. Harry allowed himself to be guided, playing the part of the overwhelmed child.
Hagrid stopped before the brick wall and pulled out his pink umbrella. He tapped a specific sequence of bricks, and Harry watched them rearrange themselves into an archway.
Harry let himself lean forward as if magnetized by the sight of the magical street beyond.
"Welcome, Harry," Hagrid said, his voice warm with pride. "Ter Diagon Alley."
"This is amazing," Harry breathed, injecting wonder into his voice as he stepped through the archway.
And it had been, once. The first time he'd seen this place, it had felt like coming home to somewhere he'd never been.
Now he looked at the familiar shops and felt only cold recognition.
***
"Are you okay, Hagrid?" Harry asked as they emerged from Gringotts into the bright sunshine of Diagon Alley.
Hagrid looked slightly green, one massive hand pressed to his stomach. "Ugh. I'm fine. Jus'... them damn carts always make me nauseous."
"Maybe you should sit down for a while," Harry suggested, letting genuine concern color his voice.
"Nah, we got a lot ter get," Hagrid said, though he swayed slightly.
"Really, it's okay." Harry looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes. "This place is amazing. I'd love to just walk around for a bit before we start shopping."
"Well..." Hagrid rubbed at his beard. "I suppose a few minutes wouldn't hurt. That bench over there looks nice. You go explore, Harry, but come straight back when yer done, yeah?"
"I promise," Harry said, and watched as Hagrid lumbered toward the bench, already looking more relaxed.
The moment Hagrid sat down, Harry turned and slipped into the nearest side street.
Knockturn Alley was exactly as he remembered it: dark, narrow, reeking of things best left unexamined.
The jewelry shop was wedged between a shop selling shrunken heads and another advertising "Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent - Now In Stock!"
The proprietor looked up from behind his counter; a thin man with oily hair and yellowed teeth. His sneer was immediate when he saw Harry's age and ill-fitting clothes.
"You lost, kid? There's nothing here for you. Run along back to your mummy."
Harry let the carefully constructed mask of childhood innocence slide from his face. He met the man's eyes with a flat, dead stare.
"If you want my galleons you’ll keep your mouth shut. Now get me that," Harry said, pointing at a ring in the display case. He withdrew a heavy pouch from his pocket and dropped it on the counter with a solid clink.
The man's eyes bulged as he peered into the pouch, counting the gleam of Galleons. Far more than the ring was worth.
"You... you want the bloodstone?" His voice had gone hoarse. "Kid, you know these things are dangerous if not handled properly?"
"I'm aware." Harry's tone left no room for argument.
With trembling hands, the man extracted the ring from the case. It was a thick band of tarnished silver, the bloodstone sat in the center and was cunningly cut to resemble a ruby. Unless someone looked very closely no one would know what it truly was.
Harry slipped it onto the ring finger of his left hand. The metal instantly shrinking to fit perfectly.
He felt the familiar, cold pull as the stone began to siphon his magic. It was a dangerous tool—illegal for a reason—capable of draining a wizard’s core to a husk if they lacked the discipline to throttle it.
Harry however wasn’t worried, he was well used to the stones power and how to ensure it never fed too much.
"Pleasure doing business," Harry said, turning toward the door.
When Harry returned to Diagon Alley, Hagrid was still sitting on the bench, looking much better, color having returned to his cheeks.
"Feel better?" Harry asked brightly.
"Much! Right then, let's get yer supplies." Hagrid stood, stretching. "Where should we start?"
"My robes?" Harry suggested. "We should probably get those first since they might take the longest."
Harry had no idea what time Draco would get to Madam Malkins so felt his safest bet was to just keeping buying robes until he showed up.
"Good thinkin'," Hagrid said, guiding him toward the robe shop. "I'll wait outside—bit cramped in there fer someone my size."
"Perfect," Harry murmured.
Everything was going according to plan.
***
The bell above the door jingled as Harry stepped into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The shop smelled of fabric and lavender, bolts of material stacked neatly along the walls in every color imaginable.
"Hogwarts, dear?" Madam Malkin asked, appearing from behind a curtain with a measuring tape draped around her neck.
Harry nodded, and she led him toward the back of the shop where the fitting stools stood.
"I was hoping to get some other robes too," Harry said as she gestured for him to step up onto the stool. "In a variety of colors and styles."
"Of course, dear." Madam Malkin's tape measure began fluttering around him of its own accord, while she made notes on a floating parchment. "Will you be wanting formal robes as well? For special occasions?"
"Yes, please," Harry said
"Excellent. I am thinking something green will bring out your eyes nicely." She moved around him, pinning fabric here and there. "You're quite thin, aren't you? We'll need to take these in significantly."
"Arms out, dear," Madam Malkin instructed, and Harry complied, holding his arms straight while she adjusted the draping of the black Hogwarts robe over his shoulders.
"You'll want at least three sets of school robes," she said thoughtfully. "One to wear, one to wash, one for backup. And I'll throw in a winter cloak, the castle gets dreadfully cold in January."
"That would be great, thank you."
The bell chimed and Harry’s world narrowed. His shoulders went rigid as he took his first look at the boy who had been his ghost for thirty years.
Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sun streaming through the shop windows. Eleven years old, his pale hair slicked back perfectly, grey eyes taking in the shop with the superiority of someone who'd been taught from birth that the world existed for his convenience.
Harry had to consciously stop himself from drinking in every detail like a man dying of thirst.
"Hogwarts as well, dear?" Madam Malkin called, already moving toward Draco with another robe draped over her arm.
"Yes," Draco said, his voice carrying that familiar drawl that Harry had missed dearly.
Madam Malkin led him to the stool beside Harry's, and Harry felt his heart hammering as Draco climbed up, standing just a few feet away.
"Hello," Draco said. "Are you going to Hogwarts too?"
"Yes." Harry kept his tone light and airy, fighting to keep the decades of longing out of his voice. "I just got my letter yesterday. I'm really excited."
He paused, then added carefully, "What house do you think you'll be in? My parents were both Gryffindors, so I'll probably end up there."
Draco's expression immediately shifted to a sneer. "Gryffindor? —"
Harry made a soft clicking sound with his tongue and sent the tiniest stinging hex. Just enough to create a moment of discomfort. A gentle correction.
Draco blinked, the sneer faltering as his brows contracted in momentary confusion.
"I'll be in Slytherin," he said after a beat, recovering smoothly. "It's obviously the best house. Everyone in my family has always been in Slytherin."
Harry noted with quiet satisfaction that Draco hadn't voiced his disdain for Gryffindor and he sent a slight pulse of pleasure washing over Draco.
Draco's posture relaxed fractionally, though he probably didn't even realize why.
"I wouldn't mind being in Slytherin," Harry said with a casual shrug. "As long as it's not Hufflepuff, I'll be happy."
Draco's face lit up, genuine amusement replacing the earlier haughtiness. "Oh Merlin, can you imagine being a Hufflepuff? I'd throw myself off the Astronomy Tower."
Harry laughed, his first genuine laugh in who knew how long. This was Draco at his most unguarded: cruel, yes, but also funny.
"You're all done, dear," Madam Malkin said, removing the robe from Harry's shoulders.
Harry stepped down from the stool and turned to face Draco fully. He extended his hand, keeping his expression open and friendly.
"I'm Harry Potter," he said. "It was lovely talking to you. I hope we can stay in touch."
Draco's mouth fell open slightly. For a long moment, Draco just stared, and Harry could practically see his mind racing. Then his years of etiquette training kicked in.
"Draco Malfoy," he said, taking Harry's hand. His grip was firm, his palm slightly sweaty. "I... I would like that.."
"Excellent," Harry said, releasing Draco's hand. "I'll see you on the train, then?"
Harry paid for his robes and left the shop, the bell jingling cheerfully behind him.
Outside, Hagrid was waiting patiently, examining a display of cauldrons in the neighboring shop window.
"All sorted?" he asked.
"Perfect," Harry said.
And he meant it.
The hardest part was over. He had made contact with Draco, and now he would protect him.
Even if it meant burning down the world to do so.
[chapter end]