Harry Potter Dabbles

As if he wouldn't lie awake at night going over the day, wondering what he had done or said to set them off. Why do they act like they loved him more than anything in the world one day, and then suddenly they remembered how much he annoyed them whenever he opened his mouth? It only seemed like they disliked him because neither reacted this way with their friends or the rest of the family.

He would have to remind himself that they were good people and he just needed to work on himself more.

Regulus always forgave them. He just learned to watch his words. Recognize the signs to vanish from sight whenever one of them was having a bad day. Limit the hours spent around them to avoid accidentally ruining their day.

Before long, Regulus stopped leaving his room. He locked himself in his four walls, losing hours to searching through book pages and trying to find ways to fill the time. He would pick up hobbies like picking strawberries in a field: reading, writing, scrapbooking, knitting, crocheting, jewelry making, bookbinding, painting, drawing, and anything else his family could afford for him to try.

It was better this way.

Regulus knew they loved him, but they had a problem with their anger. It was the kind of anger that consumed and made them want to lash out. It was explosive, but much like fireworks, it was bigger and brilliant than simply gone.

Usually, by the end of the day, they would be back to smiles and thoughtful actions because they weren't in the wrong - Sirius and Mother were never in the wrong - but it would be silly to linger on an argument. In their worst arguments, they would pretend Regulus didn't exist for a couple of days.

They wouldn't talk to him or even look at him until whatever anger was boiling under their skin vanished. Gone like the winds of winter, seemingly gone but back again in a few short months. A constant cold.

Regulus wants to say he was better than that. But he knows that's a lie. He inherited his father's anger. The kind that shut him down, where he would go months without speaking to someone over a simple argument.

He was prideful, to the point that he would be willing to burn himself alive if it meant not allowing the other person to feel they could move on. His mother and brother couldn't hold on to a grudge for so long.

His father didn't visit his grandfather on his deathbed because the old man had called Orion a loser five months before. He hadn't gone to the funeral either, scoffing when Regulus' aunt begged him to.

Instead, Regulus had watched his father reference fights long since buried - apparently ones since before Orion even attended Hogwarts - and had to live with himself for putting his foot down. Had to bite his lip so hard it bled as his aunt sobbed like Orion was the one dying, but it was their own father that was being lowered into the ground.

Regulus hated how he could see it gutted his father to not go. But he would rather live with the poison than admit defeat. It was like looking at a twisted mirror.

Regulus had his father's anger, his grudges, his stupid, ridiculous pride that sank into his veins and poisoned him until he could no longer feel anything.

Maybe that's why he went along with Sirius' and Mother's act like nothing was wrong after a fight. Why didn't he mention the burning storm hiding behind his eyes as they slipped back into place within his life? They thought themselves forgiven.

He knew they weren't worth the effort.

But he let it happen. Again and again until one day, Regulus realized they thought he was like them. That only Orion Black couldn't let things go.

That day, he proved them wrong was the day Sirius went too far. When his brother got angry, it was as if all rational thoughts vanished from his mind, as if nothing else mattered, which meant he could win.

Their relationship was on the rocks ever since Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, but Regulus was too soft to really do anything about it, at least according to Sirius.

It was apparent his brother grew more and more jealous every day of the approval Regulus had from their parents. How his determination to uphold tradition made Sirius' skin crawl. How he turned his nose up at the sight of Muggle-borns just like he had been taught, while Sirius tried his best to befriend the magic stealers.

But what really tore them apart was the way Sirius interacted with James Potter. Despite the years they have survived their tempers and their disagreements, Regulus realized Sirius didn't actually like him.

He loved him, but that was likely due to all the years they had spent together. Froced to love him with enough exposure. Sirius adored James and loved him like he had never realized what family love was supposed to feel like. He would never behave that way with Regulus.

The second he realized it, Regulus' world changed. Maybe he would have stayed. Perhaps he would have gone to become the son his parents so desperately wanted. Maybe he would have been the youngest Death Eater, serving a man he deeply admired. Perhaps he would have been everything Sirius claims James Potter isn't.

Maybe the pain of ever being even liked by his brother would lead to him sobbing uncontrollably in his room. But that's not what Regulus feels.

Instead, he feels a freezing, devastating coldness. He's angry.

Angry like his father, in an unreasonable way that's more self-destructive than sensible.

He rushes to his room, packing all his belongings he could realistically carry in a crazed haze of ice-cold anger (Best not to cast any magic. Less traceable that way). Regulus leaves his wand on his stripped bed, knowing that the Trace would be tracked back to him if he took it, and it's like he's cutting his own heart open, leaving it behind, letting his wound bleed as he closes the door to his dorm, and his wand hoster sits empty.

He slips from the Common room, walking by students in the hallways without a single word. He doesn't stop, even when some of his friends call his name, even when the caregiver demands to know why he has so much on his person.

Regulus doesn't break his stride once, even when he makes it outside and passes Sirius and his group, cursing Snape to dangle by his ankles near the lakeside. It's actually a lucky break.

With everyone focusing on Snape's undergarments and that Evans girl stepping in, no one notices Regulus reach the edge of the wards. No one sees him throw his bag over the wall, or the way he carefully climbs the walls using the muscle memory of climbing to his rooftop as a child to get away from the family tension.

No one sees him walking straight into the Forbidden Forest. The woods stretch on for miles and miles. He keeps walking until the sun has set, and the forest comes to life with growls and soft hoots of owls. He doesn't stop when his feet start to ache from all the walking.

Regulus ignores the centaurs that watch him from the edge of the trees, poised over the string of their bows. He lets his eyes flicker to the fleeing herd of unicorns, but he keeps going. His eyes burn, his steps start to wobble, and it takes significantly more effort than it should to move his legs, but still, Regulus pushes on.

He swears he stepped over a sleeping mountain troll and saw more than three Acromantula following him, but even then, Regulus does not stop.

He's too angry. Too upset.

Too sure that come morning, Sirius will realize that Regulus is long gone and he won't have someone to disrespect anymore. Now his stupid anger will be taken out on his group of friends since his favorite punching bag is gone.

Sirius will then see how fast they turn away from him. How unlike Regulus, no one will be willing to put up with his mood swings.

Eventually, the sun rises, a few of its rays slipping through the branches, but not enough to make a noticeable difference. Regulus has walked so far into the forest that its dimmest light setting is when the sun is directly overhead. He stops walking at the base of a giant tree that has been carved out.

It likely used to be the home of a traveling giant because it towers over his head as tall as the Gryffindor Tower, and it has stairs carved inside, leading to the top of the tree where ledges are place as if they were hanging rooms.

Regulus ends up tumbling to the ground inside the tree because his body can no longer push further.

He is sweaty, dirty, hungry, his feet are likely bleeding, and he is exhausted. But a flash of Sirius's smug grin goes through his mind, and he finds the will to get up and set up camp.

He doubts he will be here long.

Sirius would come racing in here with a group of searchers, attempting to bring him home, and when he tried to act like nothing happened, Regulus wouldn't let him. He would force him to look bad in front of everyone, and Sirius would be so desperate to look good in front of everyone.

Regulus will likely get detention for this stunt. A lecture to end all lectures from his mother and a grounding that may affect his chances of joining the Death Eaters from his father.

But it would be worth it.

He just had to wait for Sirius to come and get him. Regulus wouldn't go back unless it was at his brother's groveling. His anger, his damn stupid pride, would never allow it.

He just has to wait.

Regulus knew Sirius would come for him even if he didn't like him. He had to. He wouldn't let his fourteen-year-old brother be at the mercy of the Forbidden Forest.

Yes, Regulus nods to himself. He wouldn't. Nobody would. I just have to be patient, and I won't be the one running back to them this time. That Regulus Black is no more.

What fourteen-year-old Regulus didn't know was that he would be learning about family tracking magic in later years for his Charms classes. In another life, he would know sometime in the fifth or sixth year that his family tapestry would only track the beliefs of family members.

It was created in a time when spells weren't researched as deeply, relying on the fact that people didn't usually think of themselves as dead, so the images reflected this.

But the second thought, that Regulus Black is no more, the tapestry acted accordingly. The old Regulus was dead to him, and now where his face once stood in the tapestry was a gleaming skull with the numbers 1975 resting under it.

His mother lets out a scream when she sees it. His father breaks open a bottle and doesn't stop drinking until it leads him to an early grave four years later.

And Sirius? He merely stops talking about the brother he once had. Sometimes, when he is drinking, he'll mention how soft Regulus was, too much of a coward to be anything but what his parents wanted. But those are sporadic moments.

Regulus stays in the forest, setting up shelter in the hollow of a tree, finds a source of drinking water, learns to hunt for food, and waits for someone to come see him.

Sixteen years later, while he's slowly tracking some Acromantulas that he plans on feasting on with his trusted bow- he had struck a deal with the centaurs, brewing them the few potions he knew in exchange for some hunting lessons- he encounters two children being led by a shaking black dog.

It takes him a moment to recognize the uniforms they are wearing- a Slytherin and a Gryffindor- and even longer for him to find words. It's been so long since he last saw another human that he has almost forgotten what it was like to look down instead of up at the centaurs.

"Hello," He croaks as the two children stare wide-eyed at him. They looked scared stiff, the blond one on the verge of tears, and the one with green eyes looking just as green in the face.

Many centuries ago, the Potters visited the human side of their world because they thought it was funny—they liked pranks—and simply never left.

This is why Ron says, "I know I'm not supposed to call you cute," as he knows they exist at a distance. Fae is a lot like Veela; some even use Fae hair to make wands because Fae magic is powerful.

Only one other Fae family besides the Potters has attended Hogwarts for generations: the Slytherins. The founder, Salazar Slytherin, came over after a whirlwind love affair with Godric Gryffindor. Still, when their romantic feelings ended, he chose to stay because he liked the little humans with magic.

Because of him, Fae is more accepted and respected than other magical creatures. Over time, his Fae blood got lost as his descendants married humans, and eventually, the human blood took over.

Potters, on the other hand, never married humans. They often vanished after Hogwarts in the Otherworld and came back with either a spouse or their children wanting to attend Hogwarts right up until James' time.

James was the first Potter to choose a human wife, so Harry is a half-blood in more ways than one.

There have been Muggle-Born Fae, but most of them were like Harry, half-breeds who sometimes knew their Fae parents and sometimes didn't. Those kinds of fae are much rarer, and the last known fae before James and Harry was a strange kid named Tom Riddle who didn't seem to understand humans.

It was discovered he was a Fae after he graduated, which explained his brilliance, but Riddle vanished before anyone could scramble to marry him into the family.

Having a Fae bless your household usually meant the next generation would be advanced magic, some even unlocking lost bloodlines like the Blacks and their metamorphmagus. While the Potters hadn't married humans, other Fae families did, and humans wanted that powerful magic.

Rumor had it that Riddle found his Fae mother in the Otherworld and was living there now.

Harry, now living under the name James, wasn't sure which unnerved the Hogwarts staff the most. The idea was that a student could be taken in seconds or that someone had tricked the wards of one of the most secured locations in the world. True, the Hogwarts Express isn't quite as old as Hogwarts itself, but it was established for a fair amount of time that its wards should be one of the hardest to fool.

It was slightly amusing to see them fumble around. Harry had already experienced the lack of common sense in the wizarding world, mainly because common sense was grilled into muggles who had far more limitations by the world around them. However, seeing at this level away from the storm was oddly entertaining.

Of course, they had already taken him to the side and questioned him. The Aurors had gotten special permission to force children to sit in a chair charmed to glow if they lied.

Harry was happy that the Headmaster and the Potion Master weren't present when he took his seat. Even if his Occlumency was getting better every day, he still thinks he wouldn't have been able to dodge the notice of some of the strongest Legilimens of this era.

He was sure one of the Aurors was a Legilimen, but he didn't sense any form of invasion checking to see if he was honest. The chair made them think it wasn't essential to dive further than the genetic answers of a confused muggle-raised child.

Harry was happy the charm didn't pick up lies by omission as he flew through the interview.

"Can you tell us your name?"

"James Evans."

"How old are you?"

"As of this current year, I turned eleven."

"Do you know who Harry Potter is?"

"Yes, I do."

"Did you see Harry Potter on the train or on the train Platform?"

"No. I didn't see anyone claiming to be Harry Potter in either location."

"What time did you arrive at the Platform nine and three quarters?"

"I'm not sure of the exact time, but it had to be after ten twenty. I took the muggle bus, which brought me to the train station around that time."

"Did you come alone?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I am an orphan." Harry watched the woman write something down on her paper. He couldn't make out the exact sentence she noted, but he could read the word "orphanage" at the beginning of it. He wondered if the Aurors knew that muggles no longer had orphanages—they hadn't for a long time.

But he didn't bring it up because their assumptions would help him more. Let them think his guardian was an overworked, underpaid matron. If they ever needed to speak to that person, there would be a lovely delay in response before they could catch on.

It would give him time to make a plan of escape.

The Aurors asked him more questions, but Harry could tell they didn't consider him a severe link to Harry Potter's disappearance. They had mentally slotted him as an ignorant but innocent Muggle-born.

Not long after, he was let go and told to go to the breakfast table and wait for his head of house to pass around class schedules. Harry was more than happy to bounce into his seat, digging into his meal and ignoring most of the school gossiping about the missing Harry Potter.

They were told not to discuss the case, but no one seemed to follow the rule, as whispers and mutters echoed over the regular noise of breakfast. His doormats and the first-year Ravenclaw girls were still being interviewed, so Harry was the only Raveclaw firstie eating breakfast.

The older Raveclaw students seemed to already have their own groups, so besides a quick glance, they left him be. He was grateful. Chewing on some toast, Harry noted that the Slytherin table was primarily empty while the Gryffindor table was mainly full.

It made him wonder if the Aurors were convinced that a Slytherin had planned or been involved in Harry Potter's disappearance. If so, they likely planned on holding the green-wearing teenagers because of prejudice.

Before sitting down, the red and gold students were likely already considered a non-option. Sometimes, it baffled him how seriously the adults in the wizarding world took the placement of a kid's school bed when it came to personality.

He was grateful he was moving past that, despite his knee reaction to think the worst of Slytherins. Sometimes, Harry had to remind himself that Andromeda was also a Slytherin, and that was proof that sleeping in certain dormitories didn't make someone evil.

"Here you are, Mr. Evans," Professor Flitwick said, placing a parchment on the table beside his plate. Please make sure to keep a close eye on your class schedule. If you need help finding any of the classrooms, don't be afraid to ask Perfect or myself."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied, dipping his head so his red hair fell into his eyes. His mother was the best charm student Flitwick had, and despite having more emasculate fractures, Harry didn't want the man looking at his face too long, lest he spot Lily Potter in his gaze.

Ron's spell was a blessing but not a miracle worker. He couldn't have anyone notice that he looked like a male Lily Potter with James Potter's eyes.

Thankfully, most would trust a spell meant to review a disguise and, when his features didn't change, wouldn't think too much about it. He wanted to establish a shy personality that would morph into a longer one early on.

Harry figured the more removed he was from the school's main problems, the more typical his second chance would be. Now, that didn't mean he would dumb down. He was after Ravenclaw and would certainly not hide his flying skills, but he figured he could pick the correct times to shine.

The doors to the dining hall opened as he glanced at his new schedule. In stumbled the first Slytherin, a seven-year student girl named Merula Snyde. Harry didn't remember her so well, but he knew she was the top student, and he had graduated later this year with the top marks to prove it.

She looked murderous and frazzled as she stomped to the Slytherin table. If she had just finished her interview, it meant the Aurors were going to finally start letting Slytherins go, and the case was nowhere near solved.

He giggled into his cup, wondering how long it had taken them to find a clue to where he had gone. Headmaster Dumbledore wasn't at the staff table—most of the staff were trying to help law enforcement track him down—but Harry just knew the man was losing his mind about misplacing the Boy Who Lived.

Apparently, someone giving him their name was the magical equivalent of giving him control over their person. It was a binding that only his people- the Fae- could do. If he commanded it, the person who give away their name, must do anything he desired. He could have them become his servant, command them to walk off a cliff or break into song, or even kill others in his name.

These people were called the Unname because Harry was given their names. Even if it wasn't their full name, as most didn't introduce themselves with their middle names, for example, if their identity was attached to the part Harry had heard, he had some control over them.

If Harry practices enough, he could influence their thoughts and emotions. Apparently, there was a Potter who enjoyed taking away the sensation of fear from people so they would never be afraid again - which sounds nice on the surface.

A lot of those Unname ended up dead because they lost the feeling of fear. They were not afraid to insult people they shouldn't, they were not scared of taking risks they shouldn't, and most of them had not been afraid of death itself, so none of them were careful.

Belle had pointed out that people did stupid things without fear, and his ancestor wasn't nice.

Pearl had jumped in, explaining that Fae and human ideas of kindness were slightly different because Fae tended to have a more mischievous mindset and never thought things through. This didn't mean they were evil or trying to be cruel.

It just meant they saw the world differently. Of course, there were some Fae who were cruel and evil, the kind that liked stealing humans and keeping them as toys. The ones all those myths the muggles kept alive of the creatures spoke of.

But Nick empathized that it was the same with humans. Not all of the human race were murderers, but there were some rotten apples hidden in societies.

All that because names had power. The kind Harry had never known he could control. It made sense now why his aunt tried so hard to never introduce Harry.

She was trying to protect the other humans, but she failed, as she wanted to appear normal, and you don't usually avoid a name in conversations. He owed a lot of muggles, as all of them were free with their identities in his presence.

For once, since finding out he was a wizard, Harry was excited to go back to the Durselys. He wanted to check and see if he had made them Unnamed, and if he had, then there would be some big changes at Number 4 Private Drive.

"Mr. Potter." Professor Feline called, opening the door. "It is time for your sorting. Come along, child, we need you to sit at the stole as quickly as possible."

Harry straightened up, feeling his hair lift in excitement. This was it. He was going to become a full-fledged wizard! He stepped around the woman, thanking her softly, only to freeze as every pair of eyes in the large dining hall zeroed in on him.

Their stars pin him in place, making it impossible for Harry to move. He becomes painfully conscious of his flying hair, how the clothes hang on his frame and the position of his arms.

Reaching to flatten his hair, he feels his face burn in mortification as whispers and mutters break across the room. He wishes he could sink into the ground and never be seen again

Four long tables were covered with children of various ages, all wearing the same robes as Harry's, but his were pure black, while everyone else had different coloring lines in their outfits.

"Go on, Mr. Potter," Professor Feline urges, pressing her hand to the top of Harry's back when Harry just stands there. He allows himself to be led to the front, feeling the children's eyes on him like a cold mist on his skin. Aunt Petunia made him wake early those winter mornings and shovel the driveway without gloves and a too-large jacket.

He passes by the blue table where one of the teenagers presses himself far away from Harry. He crosses himself three times, holding a rosary in front of him like a shield.

A girl in yellow was doing something similar further down the tables- closer to the stole that the professor was leading him to- but she held up bread and a clad of metal staring him down as if daring him to try her.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what all that was about, so he ducked his head and avoided her eyes. He did notice that Pearl was sitting at the green table while Nick, Belle, and Herb (the chubby boy from the train who lost his toad) were all at the red table.

He offers them waves, beaming when they wave back. When Harry gets to steal, and a hat is placed on his head, Harry realizes something important.

He had been so focused on explaining his family during the train ride that he had forgotten to ask about the houses. When Pearl and Nick talked about the school, they skipped over that part and went straight into some kind of sports game.

He had been so busy trying to learn everything he could about his own kind. He had no idea which house best fit him.

But I do. A voice whispered in his mind, causing Harry to jump. I know the perfect place for a curious Fae like you. Since you have no preferences, I'll place you in the ideal place.

"RAVENCLAW!" The hat thunders over Harry's head. He practically leaps out of his skin when it does, but it's removed from his head just as suddenly.

The blue table erupts in screams and shouts as they start chanting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!". Harry feels a beaming smile forming on his face as he scurries to the table, his black robes shifting to the blue lining.

Of course, that got his uncle in a twist, but with one hand wave, the man was inflated like a balloon. Harry wasn't the best at wandless magic around, but he never forgot the feeling of what he did to Marge and practiced until he could do it endlessly.

While his aunt was screaming, and Dudley, who, based on how young he appeared, never even knew magic was real, was crying, Harry walked off to collect his things. He took everything out of the cupboard and simply left.

He walked right through the front door, leaving it open behind him. Ignoring the woman peeking over the fence, Harry made it all the way down the street before he thought about what to do.

He had already fought a war. Had done more than his share for the Magic world. Had died for them. And now magic demanded he do it all over again?

Being forced to do this felt a lot like his name coming out of the Goblet of Fire.

When Harry was fourteen, he thought he could do nothing against a magical contract. He knew better now. He had other choices. If he had given up his name- as most magic depends on them- he would been able to escape the Triwizard tournament.

Harry Potter would never walk through Hogwarts halls, not in this timeline.

There was a spell that Ron had been working on, helped by Hermonie's muggle education and Harry's willingness to be his test subject.

Ron claimed it would sink into the genes and pull on the traits of his past ancestors. He originally created it to try and get back magical bloodlines like metamorphmagus and Parselmouths because, in his words, "they can be recessive traits!" and Harry had found that well his friend hadn't been able to get lost magical abilities he was able to tug on the genes in charge of his appearance.

This is how he can make sure no one would force him to be the Chosen One ever again.

He needed to find a wand, and he knew just the vendor who could sell him one—a wandmaker who may not be on Garrick Ollivander's level of mastery but one all the same.

A certain werewolf, Harry, had illegally helped escape the werewolf collection unit right after the war. It would be helpful if he had all the money he knew was waiting for him in the Potter and Black vaults, but if Harry wanted to hide, he needed not to have any form of connection to himself.

That includes not touching the gold his family left him. Thankfully, he knows not just a werewolf wandmake but the location of some sunken treasure that he could easily collect before the discovery can be made.

He also knows how much money some venom from Acromantula values on the market and the gold he'll get from a specific monster locked away in a secret chamber. He won't be one of the wealthiest men in magical Europe, but he will be more than comfortable.

Now, while he would like to change his name altogether, the magic that had written him into the Book of Admittance wouldn't allow it. He has to go by a name that he has since birth.

He discovered a loophole while helping Hogwarts rebuild and never told anyone about it. Now, he can use it for his own.

___________________________________________________________

On September 1st, 1991, the new batch of students arrived at King's Cross, excited to start their journey. A few are glancing around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous Harry Potter, who will be starting school too.

All their eyes pass over a young red-haired, hazel-eyed boy who strides into the train station wearing muggle clothing. He is pushing his cart of supplies, dodging families and students with soft steps. Despite the speed at which he rushes towards the train, there isn't an ounce of fear on his face or nervousness in his movements. He passes a family of redheads, more orange than his ruby locks, but despite the quick glance, he doesn't stop.

He merely finds a seat in the far back of the train, sets up his things in a way that implies he's saving the seats to discourage anyone from asking to sit with him, and settles in for a nap. By the time the train is ready to leave, and halfway to the school, the boy has not spoken a single word to anyone.

Eventually, his rest is disrupted by Hermione and Neville, who are looking for the latter's missing toad.

"I'm Hermione Granger, by the way." She says to the half-asleep redhead, "And this is Neville Longbottom. Who might you be?"

The boy offers her a small smile. "My name is James Evans. Nice to meet you."

After all, Harry Potter was his name, just like James was his middle name, and Evans was his second last name. He had claims to it since his mother was a magical Evans, and the Book of Admittance could accept that.

James Evans and Harry Potter had acceptance letters written by the Quill of Acceptance, and both owls were sent out. When one answered, the other was marked with the same results, so Hogwarts had an extra boy they never knew was not supposed to be there.

When the sorting started, there was an uproar, and despite being called up, Harry Potter never stepped out of the crowd. It was an even bigger show when they realized he wasn't there. While everyone wondered when the Boy Who Lived had gone, no one noticed an assumed muggle-born sitting comfortably at the Ravenclaw table chewing on his dinner.

Ravencalws tend to get overlooked, but James knows they are the perfect hiding place for all his knowledge of the rest of his class. His muggle upbringing couldn't be traced by anyone in the magical world (Most didn't understand that muggles did, in fact, keep records of many things). He could make anything up, and no one would be the wiser.

Harry remains anonymous in his role of reuniting the Riddles. When Tom is taken out of Wools into a stable home that has a somewhat distant but loving father, kind grandmother, and proud grandfather, he slowly starts to go from being afraid of dying to being scared of letting them down.

He still has some mental issues, but he's no longer dangerous. His father is coming around and, with Harry's help, has repaired his image with the town. They set it up that the Gaunts were illegally stealing from a Riddle water well on the far end of their property, where Riddle Sr. would be the only one to drink out of after riding his horses.

The well was supposedly contaminated because the Gaunts kept using a bucket made of silver, and that caused "madness". This is years later, but Tom eventually finds out Harry saved his father's image.

Tom sees Harry as this hero-like figure, and when he comes to Hogwarts, he finds that Harry is a popular Gryffindor. Because Harry remained at Wools Orphanage, seeing as the Potters had obliviated the potter squib he took over, he changed his name to Harry Evans and pretended to be a muggle-born.

He is one of the most talented muggle-borns to ever step into Hogwarts, and he makes the Potters sweat because he looks so familiar. They just can't tell where. (The Squib had been seven. He looks different now at eleven when he came back).

As a third-year, he's even Quidditch Captain of the Gryffindor team, and literally half the school is in love with him.

Tom Riddle, who has changed enough to be a hat stall, eventually goes to Ravenclaw because his desire for knowledge for knowledge's sake is significantly larger than his ambition in this timeline. He also discovers that in the Wizarding world, gender norms and views on sexuality are so much different than the muggle ones.

He found out that his having a crush on the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain is not an odd thing. Just a different preference and a few of the boys in Ravenclaw have the same opinion as him.

It takes him until the end of his first year to admit it, though.

Meanwhile, Harry decides to try the theory of "nature vs nurture" and live a normal life while Riddle Sr. deals with Tom. He figures that he will take him out if Tom is still a dark lord after having a different childhood.

He also swore off dating, much to the pain of many young mages. Harry had broken so many hearts that Albus Dumbledore side-eyed him, thinking of him as evil, but Harry finds that before he was the headmaster and hero of the war, Dumbledore didn't have much power over him.

If anything, he reminded him of Snape's potion class.

He just isn't prepared for Tom being....a regular teenager. One that is annoyingly open about his crush on him and, over the years, attempts to woo Harry.

Basically, a time travel Au that leads to Tom and Harry's entire relationship is like this:

Of course, after Hogwarts, Harry can't help himself, so he joins the war and, surprisingly, is the one to take down Gellert Grindelwald after taking his education seriously. He becomes the new professor at Hogwarts to become Headmaster.

He took Dumbldore's future since Dumbldore sacrificed his past.

Tom, meanwhile, is busy preparing to take over the Earlship from his father and chooses to focus his obsession with old magic and historical artifacts to become a magical archaeologist.

He did it for his parents, godfather, werewolf uncle, grandfatherly headmaster, and mischievous brother-in-law. They were the ones who made him proud to wear his red tie and cheer for lions.

But he also met people who made him proud of the other three colors. He thought about the clever potion master whose bravery made him reconsider the evil of Slytherin. He thought about the woman who ran away from her family to be with the man she loved and now raised her godson due to losing both her husband and daughter. He thought of the mother who lied to protect him and her son.

He thought of the whimsical, loving girl who smiled even when harassed by bullies who did not bother to get to know her before passing judgment. He thought of a cheerful and kind boy who merely wanted to represent his school and life cut for being in the wrong place and time.

He thought of the different colored ties that decorated the floor after the fallen fifty bodies were gathered in the grand hall.

Sometimes, while taking breaks from Auror training, he would ponder what life would have been like to not be a Gryffindor. Would that have changed anything? Or would it all have been the same since he was Harry Potter and a prophecy had hung over his head long before his birth would decide that for him?

It was useless to focus on the What-ifs. He knew this. He spent his whole life wondering- what if my parents were alive?- and that was long before he knew of magic. There was nothing to gain from pondering them for too long.

Nothing at all.

He had a life to live—one that so many died to ensure he would experience. He would not let their sacrifice be in vain. Harry spent years trying to find peace with himself, to smile at family gatherings, to stop and watch the leaves fall off the trees, to feel the sun rest on his skin, and to simply breathe.

He learned to compliment his reflections and started to believe them for the first time in his life. He learned to stop and listen—truly listen—when asking someone about their day. He learned to lower his walls, to speak about his hardships so that the youth who gawked at him in the streets learned it was okay to ask for help.

Even heroes needed moments of weakness.

He married the woman who knew when his eyes turned dark with unknown horrors but still held his face in her warm palms to ground him. They built a home together where they used to hide from killers, twisting the rooms until only warmth reminded them.

She brought three wonderful buddles of joy for him, and sometimes, when he would sit outside, listening to the rain mixed with his children's laughter, Harry knew that if his story ended now, it would be a happy one.

The hero had done his duty, and now he rested. He had a really long life, but he was young in age, and sometimes Harry swore it was unfair. Yet other times, he felt content with the simple, quiet life. He was alive, but he would welcome death, as he did the day he marched into the forest toward Riddle with no regrets.

This is why, the day he woke to find a floating black dog made of smoke above his head, he only had a moment to reach out and gently kiss Ginny's face one last time before the Grim took its claim.

It was gentle and peaceful in the end, even as the dog gently bit down on his neck and carried his soul. He felt no pain, just relief—like gentle rain on his skin on a spring morning and the sense of complete and utter freedom. The Grim pulled his bodiless soul until they were back at the King Cross, where Harry reformed. This time, there was no crying baby, twinkling eyes, fear, or confusion.

Just a man walking alongside a dog, hand resting on the canine head as it leads him to a train. He knows he is to board, and with one finally pat on the Grim's head, he does so.

Harry finds a comfortable sit in first cart, sliding into the plush cushions with a sign. He stares out the window, watching the mist roll by as the train departs. The Grim is happily watching him go, black tail wagging, and Harry can't help but wave at it as the rattling of the tracks gains volume the faster the speed picks up.

For a moment, there is nothing to view. A part of Harry always assumed that the mist would clear once he left King Cross', breaking way into a beautiful foreign landscape like the once fantasies of a boy stuck in a cupboard used to dream about.

He chuckles at his assumptions, for what man can claim to understand death? He leans back into his seat, closing his eyes. There is a moment when he wonders how Ginny and his children will handle his death. It saddens him to know that they will suffer for his loss, but it was Harry's time.

James would start Hogwarts in only three months. He prays his eldest enjoys his time there, even with his father's death so fresh. Harry knows Hermione and Ron will ensure that Ginny gets help to take their son to the train and will be there for his tears just as they had been when Harry was James' age

His death was natural, he went in his sleep, and he was content with it. He hopes they will live on just as he had when he lost those he loved.

Harry's eyes snap open at the sound of a knock on the door of his compartment. Through the small window, he can barely make out the head of a small boy, nervously peaking up at him as though he was standing on his tiptoes to see. It reminds him of Albus whenever his son wanted Harry to read him a bedtime story but was too shy to ask, and it causes a smile to twitch onto his face.

"Come in," He calls, watching the child scramble to open the door. He nearly reels back at the sight of someone so young on this death train before he remembers that death knows no age limit.

The boy could be no older than nine- just like his Albus- and is dressed in a muggle hospital gown. His cheeks are hollow, his skin is unhealthy and pale, and the specific way he carries himself indicates weakness. Seeing as Harry is still wearing his pajamas, he can guess the boy passed in the hospital, likely due to illness.

"Hi, mister. Do you know where we are?" the child asks, his voice rising in an American accent. Harry isn't sure about the region, but he suspects it is somewhere south.

Harry smiles, patting the seat next to him. Without hesitation, the boy climbs up and sits down with a burst of energy that surprises him. "Yes. We're on a train heading to the Beyond."

"We aren't in a train." The boy giggles, putting the window that Harry is leaning on. "We're on a boat! What's the Beyond?"

Briefly, Harry wonders if everyone sees something different when coming to their deaths, but he doesn't correct the young boy. "You're right. Sorry, I was being silly. The Beyond is a surprise for everyone. We know when we get there."

"Is my momma there?" the boy asks with wide, sparkling eyes. I want to tell her I don't feel sick anymore!"

Harry's smile falters for a second. He is unsure if he should explain that they had died to someone so young, but something on his face must have given him away. The boy's dim, and he looks back to the window, watching the mist that Harry sees before he seems to shrink in on himself.

"Oh, I passed away. Momma is going to cry." He hunches his shoulders, and Harry suddenly wants to comfort him. Without much thought, he places a arm around the child's shoulders, bringing him into a hug that has the young child melting into him.

They stay like that for a moment; the only sound is the soft sniffs of the child who mourns his short life and the man who feels he lived long enough. Eventually, the child falls asleep, using Harry's lap as a pillow, small tears covering his face.

He wonders for the child's name as they travel, and a voice whispers into his head.

Hadrian Evans.

Strangely, he felt like he had known that his entire life.

Time moves on, and Harry loses count of it, watching hills of endless mist roll by. Hadrian stays by his side the entire time, sleeping peacefully and clutching his sleeve.

A second knock is made at his door a while later, which could have been minutes or hours. Harry turns to find a man wearing a train uniform waving at him. He's pushing the snack trolly, but rather than sweets and treats, there are various bottles.

"Good day," the man says, in Hadrian's accent. "It's time to choose. Can you wake up the kiddo?"

Harry wants to tell him no since Hadrian seems content with slumber, but something tells him not to question the stranger. He gently shakes Hadrian's shoulder, whispering, "Hadrian, love, time to get up."

The boy's face scrunches up before tiny blue eyes blink open. He makes a confused face at Harry, rubbing at his face, and the wizard's heart melts. He feels oddly parental towards the boy, in the same sense of love he would for his own children.

Harry thinks he would adopt him without a second thought if they had been alive.

The trolly man smiles wider, gesturing to his bottles as the boy finally notices him. Hadrian instantly clings to Harry's arm, seeking comfort from the wizard. "No need for that kiddo. Nothing to be afraid of. I'm just here to help you lads choose."

"Choose what?" Harry asks watching the man push in the trolly, the bottles clinking against each other. He notices that they resemble potions with various shapes and colors, but there are no labels. He isn't what any of them do.

"That's the fun part. You will know once you pick. You can just grab the three ones that seem best to you. Don't think too much-trust your gut." Trolly man chirps and something about his hand motions seems familiar in a way that scratches Harry's brain. Has he met him before?

Harry hesitates, but Hadrian reaches out for the long plum bottle that shimmers when he pulls it towards him. The bottle is almost as big as the boy's torso.

Hadrian giggles as it continues to shimmer and glow, likely never seen magic before. For some reason, Harry knows in his bones that Hadrian was born a muggle.

Then, the boy grabs a small blue bottle that is see-through enough to see the gold liquid inside. Finally, he picks up an empty bottle with a giggle.

The trolly man nods. "Good health. Good Wealth and Second Chance. Wonderful choices, Mr. Evans. Mr. Potter, if you please?"

Harry looks at all the bottles, ranking his eyes over the tall ones, the small ones, the shining ones, the glowing ones, and the ugly ones. Nothing really calls out to him because he hears his wife's lectures about not touching potions, and he does not know the effect of echoing in his mind.

Not only that, but none of them speak to him. None of them makes him want to reach out and grasp. That's not right. Deep in his soul, he knows he should want to grab three of the bottles, but he can't find out why.

He stares at the bottles, repeatedly focusing his eyes on them, trying to decide. The compartment falls silent as he tries to choose before Trolly Man sighs, pushing the cart away. "Again, you make my job so hard, Potter."

"Do I know you?" Harry asks, confused, as the trolly rolls out into the hall, vanishing into ash, all its bottles gone.

"Yes." The man rubs his hand down his face as if greatly inconvenienced. Harry waits for an explanation, but no one comes, and Hadrian plays with his bottles.

"From where?" He asks at last, unable to help himself.

One dark eye- utterly devoid of any features, just darkness. Harry reels back at the inhuman-looking gaze, clutching to Hadrian protectively- peaks at him through fingers. "You escaped me before, and my dog led you here."

Oh.

"Death." He breathes.

"Yes. It seems you escaped me again." Death sighs. "And to think you made it all the reincarnation bottles."

"The what?"

"Reincarnation Bottles. The ones you pick before Life crafts you a new body, and Fate uses the potions in them to create your luck of the draw. You, however, are not going to reincarnate. You would have been going back, but your body has expired, and unlike the killing curse, there was too much damage to fix for Life to put you back in. Guess you will spend all eternity here."

Death glances down at Hadrian with a gentle smile. "Kiddo here is going to stop at the next port."

"Why can't he come with me?" Hadrian pouts "Why does he have to stay?"

"He didn't get a bottle, kiddo."

"He can have one of mine!" Hadrian hands Harry the empty bottle. It's the size of his thumb and has a round golden bottle top. A rush of warmth runs through his body the moment he touches it. Death tilts his head considering before he snaps his figures.

At once, Harry watches as Hadrian goes from a small, sickly child to a healthy, angelic one with sunny curls that fall over his ears and wide blue eyes that gleam. There is a moment where Hadrian stares in wonder at himself before Harry starts to shrink and ends up at eye level with the surprised child.

Death grins. "If it's freely given, then the Second Chance can be transferred. Harry Potter, you will go back, but not as the Boy Who Lived. You will return as Hadrian Evans, an identity and a healthy body bestowed by a kind soul. Don't waste it."

Harry opens his mouth to demand a better explanation, but between one blink and the next, he vanishes into a bright light. He clutches his eyes closed, feeling his body, his soul, and his memories shift in a whirlpool of emotions.

He is Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Slayer of Voldemort, Father of Three, Husband of a Professional Quidditch Player, born and raised in England.

He is Hadrian Evans, a wizard of two Squibs. He was born and raised in America due to his American mother. He was sick all his life up until he was ten years old, when surgery saved his life. He moved to England after his father realized his son had developed magic.

Per tradition, despite not being allowed to carry his magical family name due to his Father's disownment for his lack of magic, Hadrian was to be sent to Hogwarts and permitted access to the family vaults. He was the last heir to the family bloodline, and his father's scorn family portraits would rather a Squib-mutt keep their line of work alive than let the family magic die out.

He is eleven years old and stands before the open door of a compartment Hogwarts Express in 1991, nervous and unsure of his place.

Both memories, personalities, and souls mix until Harry Potter takes over and realizes Death has allowed him to take over a version of Hadrian Evans's life in a similar timeline.

How does he know?

"Are you just going to stand there, or will you come in?" A young boy with red hair demands. Across from a boy with baggy clothes, untidy hair, and deep, deep green eyes staring back at him.

It's himself or a version of himself.

Harry gulps, licking his lips and gathering his thoughts. He smiles hesitantly. "Are you sure it's okay for me to sit here?"

"Of course. There's space enough," Other Harry Potter tells him with a shy smile, and he is suddenly hit with the reminder that he was once reserved and cripplingly socially awkward due to his treatment by the Dursleys. It's one thing to live through it, but to see the effects of abuse on a child is another thing.

"Thank you." He says, pushing in his trunk, memories of his parents helping him pack with childlike excitement flashing behind his eyes. Strange to think of the Evans as strangers and loving parents of eleven years all at once.

Despite the contradiction, he knows that should he ask if they will open their home to Harry due to suspected abuse, the Evans would have Harry's room painted and decorated long before he arrived at their house.

Both adults know what living with a family that hates you is like.

"My name's Hadrian Evans," He tells the boys, accepting the name in a second. He had lived as Harry Potter and had been comfortable with its end. But now he had a new beginning, and that was rather exciting.

"Ron Weasley. Cool accent. You from the States?"

Hadrian grins with a sudden rush for life that he has not felt in a long time. "Yeah, I am."

Ron's eyes widen as a soft blush develops over the top of his cheekbones, and Harry coughs into his fist, looking flustered. Confused, Hadrian tilts his head as Ron stutters about which Hogwarts House they like to get into, attempting to change the topic.