Throughout the day Harry tried with all his might to pretend he was in a play, as per Voldemort’s advice. It didn’t take him very long to realize he’d already been doing something like it when creating his new persona that he’d adopted since coming to Hogwarts. So far, though, he’d been focusing on what he showed others. Now he needed to focus on what he showed himself. Once four o’clock rolled around Harry had to be convinced he was a student who had never been betrayed by Dumbledore.
Classes were simple, thankfully, which allowed Harry plenty of time to compartmentalize his thoughts as best as he could, using some of the techniques he’d read about in his books on the Mind Arts.
They had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs in the morning, and Harry used that time to reconnect with Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot. The class consisted of a tour of greenhouse one, a demonstration by Professor Sprout and some theory, so Harry had plenty of opportunities to exchange some friendly words with Susan and Hannah, and also to introduce himself to Ernie and Justin.
In the afternoon they had double Charms with the Gryffindors and since it was all theory Harry already knew he had time to focus on his own mind. He remembered from his first life that it would be some weeks until they were allowed to use magic in Charms, Transfiguration and Defence. Once again he briefly questioned his decision to go back all the way to his first year, until he realized that if he’d come back later he’d have been stuck in Gryffindor with Ron and Hermione and Harry knew he’d never be able to pull that off again. He imagined returning in his fourth or fifth year when both Ron and Hermione had already been friends with him for years and would’ve expected him to act a certain way. If Harry suddenly called their friendship quits and started acting largely like a Slytherin, questions would be asked by everyone. His friends, his teachers, Sirius, Mr and Mrs Weasley and probably Dumbledore himself who might just decide that Harry was possessed by Voldemort’s soul piece and lost his usefulness and needed to be finished off a little early.
No, when considering all those things, sitting through a few weeks of first-year magical theory was well worth it. Harry now had the opportunity to shape himself and the world around him in ways that suited his more mature self without setting off alarm bells in everyone who had ever known him.
After Charms Harry had time for one cup of tea in the Great Hall before he had to leave for the headmaster’s tower. Blaise and Theo didn’t ask where he was going when he excused himself. Harry privately marvelled at the difference between Gryffindor, where Ron and Hermione would have expected and demanded to be told where he was going, and Slytherin, where Blaise and Theo were definitely curious about Harry’s destination but would never expect to be told unless Harry decided to volunteer that information.
As he walked to the headmaster’s office, Harry repeated the role he was playing in his head. A first-year, smart, enthusiastic, slightly ignorant about the magical world. He never had friends before, and he definitely had never been betrayed by any of them, and he’d never personally met Dumbledore before either, and he had no clue the old man wanted him dead.
Once Harry stood in front of the gargoyle he realized Dumbledore hadn’t told him the password like he’d always done in his previous life. Did that mean Dumbledore didn’t want to give the password to a Slytherin or was Harry reading too much into this? Looking around as though he was confused for few moments, Harry eventually held up his letter and addressed the gargoyle.
“Excuse me? Headmaster Dumbledore sent me a letter inviting me to meet with him. Is this the right place? Can you talk like a portrait? Because the portraits here can talk.”
Harry stood staring at the gargoyle expectantly, but it never said a word. It did slide to the side after a minute or so, revealing the moving staircase.
Harry inhaled a deep breath and stepped onto the staircase. Showtime.
The door to Dumbledore’s office was closed so Harry knocked politely and waited until Dumbledore called out, “Come in!”
Harry pushed the door open a crack and stuck his head in, acting the part of a first-year who still wasn’t sure if he was in the right place.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, wearing puce robes with embroidered golden suns, and offered Harry a benevolent smile.
“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Harry said, making sure to add some awe to his tone as he slowly stepped inside the office. “I have your chocolate frog card. I got it on the train with my very first chocolate frog. Neville told me he had seven of your cards.”
Dumbledore laughed, blue eyes crinkling in humour. “Ah yes, having my own chocolate frog card is one of my proudest achievements. How are you finding Hogwarts, my boy?”
Ah, so Dumbledore was going the grandfatherly route. Harry had wondered if him being a Slytherin would change that. Dumbledore had certainly never acted this way towards Tom Riddle, even when he was eleven.
“I love Hogwarts,” Harry said, and he didn’t need to act during that response at all. “I had no idea I was a wizard until your letter came and then my aunt sat me down and explained things and took me shopping.”
“Ah yes, Professor McGonagall told me your aunt accompanied you to Diagon Alley. Hagrid was most disappointed he wasn’t able to take you to buy your school things.”
Harry frowned in confusion. “The gamekeeper, Sir? I don’t know him.”
“But you would have gotten to know him,” Dumbledore pointed out while looking at him over the rim of his glasses. “Hagrid had important business at Gringotts for me, collecting a package, you see, so he would have taken you with him that day. A good thing, too, since that vault was broken into that very same day.”
“Someone broke into Gringotts?” Harry asked in astonishment, meanwhile mentally rolling his eyes as hard as he ever had. Subtle, Dumbledore wasn’t. He must be desperate to make sure a Slytherin Harry would still stick his nose where it didn’t belong, namely in Dumbledore’s ridiculous Dark Lord trap. And that also confirmed what Harry kind of already knew. That Hagrid had been sent to help him with his shopping only so he would sing Dumbledore’s praises, vilify Slytherin and glorify Gryffindor, and most importantly to the old man, set Harry on the track of the Philosopher’s Stone and his ultimate confrontation with Voldemort, just so Dumbledore could see what would happen. If Harry would turn down any offers Voldemort made him. In other words, if Voldemort’s soul piece merged with his own soul was dormant or if it was pulling the strings. If Harry could be used as a sacrificial lamb down the line or needed to be dispatched permanently right away.
Harry inhaled a deep breath when he realized where his thoughts had taken him. This was not the time to think those thoughts. He had a part to play. “Neville told me about Gringotts,” Harry said with all the imagined wisdom of an eleven-year-old. “He said no one ever broke into Gringotts and that it was the safest place in the world.”
“And Mr Longbottom was right,” Dumbledore replied with an indulgent smile. “Except for one other place.” Narrowing his eyes, Dumbledore leaned a little closer to Harry over his desk. “Right here at Hogwarts.”
Pretending to think, Harry stared at his feet. So far he hadn’t looked Dumbledore in the eye for more than a few seconds at a time. There were so many random and fascinating things to look at in Dumbledore’s office that wasn’t a difficult or unexpected thing to do. “Oh. You mentioned the third floor corridor, Sir. Is that where...” Harry trailed off as though he didn’t want to betray Dumbledore’s secrets even to Dumbledore himself.
“Sshh,” Dumbledore said with a wink while placing his finger against his lip. “The less people who know about it the better.”
“I won’t tell anyone, Headmaster,” Harry said much too loudly. “I promise.”
“I’m very happy to hear that, my boy. There are very bad people looking for this item.”
“They must be very bad if they would break into a bank,” Harry agreed easily.
“That, and much more.” Dumbledore gave Harry a significant look. “Most people believe him dead, but I know for a fact that he is very much alive.”
“Who?” Harry asked, and then inhaled a sharp breath as though he’d just had a horrible realization. “No, not him.”
Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Lord Voldemort is still out there. Diminished, but eagerly looking for a way to return to power.”
“Then it’s a good thing Hogwarts is the safest place in the world,” Harry said with a child’s confidence that the adults around him would keep the world safe. He wasn’t willing to give Dumbledore any ideas by acting like a Gryffindor and proclaiming he would take on Voldemort. He was eleven, after all.
Dumbledore sat back, nodding. “Indeed it is, my boy. Indeed it is.” He opened a drawer to his right and pulled out Harry’s invisibility cloak. “I believe this is what you came for.”
“You found it,” Harry said and offered Dumbledore the biggest smile he was capable off. “My dad’s cloak. Thank you, Sir.” Harry reached for the cloak, but before letting go, Dumbledore raised his eyebrows while his lips twitched.
“Now, Harry, you’re not going to use this to sneak around the school like your father did, are you?”
“My father did that?” Harry wanted to roll his eyes so badly at that very obvious bit of manipulation. How he never noticed these things in his first life was a mystery.
“Oh yes, he most certainly did.” Dumbledore laughed while folding his hands on his desk. “Your father had an adventurous spirit and an impressive detention record.”
“I would never, Sir,” Harry said, looking down at his shoes as if he didn’t want the headmaster to see through his obvious lie.
“I’m sure you won’t, my boy. Now off with you. Dinner starts soon and I’m told the elves made pork pies. You don’t want to miss those, Harry.”
“Thank you, Headmaster,” Harry said, clutching his father’s cloak to his chest as he walked backwards out of the office.
“You are most welcome.” Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes were the last thing Harry saw before the office door closed and he rode the stairs down. He kept his expression happy and carefree because he knew there were portraits everywhere and they all reported back to the old man. As he walked back to the Great Hall he gently placed the cloak in his bag while his mind was going a mile a minute.
Dumbledore and his fucking manipulations. Harry wanted to scream. Or hex someone. Maybe both at the same time. He found it impossible now that he knew the truth about Dumbledore’s real plans for him to not see all the little comments and hints for what they were. Dumbledore’s step-by-step plan to turn Harry into a sacrificial lamb to be offered up for execution when Dumbledore deemed it the right time.
What upset Harry the most was that in his first life he’d let Dumbledore lead him right to his death and he’d loved the man for it. He’d been 17 years old when he walked to his death because Dumbledore told him it was necessary. He’d actively committed suicide by Dark Lord because Dumbledore had groomed him in such a way Harry wouldn’t even think to question anything the old man said.
Inhaling a deep breath to calm himself, Harry reminded himself he hadn’t known better in his first life because Dumbledore hadn’t wanted him to. Harry had been set up to be moulded into a sacrificial lamb since the day Dumbledore dumped him on the Dursleys’ doorstep. It wasn’t his fault.
Besides, he had a second chance now to do it right, and Harry vowed that Dumbledore would never see the real him coming. And come for the old man he would, sooner or later. Dumbledore would pay one way or the other.
Realizing he was still too upset, Harry decided against going back to the Great Hall immediately. He ducked inside a bathroom and entered a stall, locking the door behind him. He inhaled a few more deep breaths while he opened his bag and pulled out his invisibility cloak. He cast a few diagnostic charms to see if Dumbledore had messed with it in some magical way but the charms came back empty. Harry suspected the impressive magic of the cloak itself protected it from tampering. After all, there was a good chance the stories were true and Death had made the Hallows himself.
While he ran his fingers through the soft, shimmering fabric, Harry realized he might as well get job two and three done. Wormtail and the map. It was dinner time, which meant most students would be in the Great Hall. Ron would leave Scabbers in his dorm since, aside from post owls, animals weren’t allowed at the tables during meals. And perhaps the twins had left the map in their dorm as well. If not, Harry could always come back for it some other time.
Mind made up, Harry threw the cloak over himself and left the bathroom to make his way to Gryffindor Tower. He’d walked the route so often it felt like going home in some ways. No matter the kind of betrayal he’d suffered, he had been a Gryffindor for seven years and such a thing was not easily forgotten.
Harry only needed to wait a few minutes beside the painting of the Fat Lady before a few students came out to make their way to dinner. He slipped in right when the last student was through the entrance and he was able to quickly walk across the common room towards the dormitories without bumping into anyone. The first-year dormitory was the same one it had been in his first life, and Harry was relieved to find it empty. He kept the cloak on as he snuck towards Ron’s bed, expecting Pettigrew to be sleeping on Ron’s pillow as he always did in the afternoon.
Except there was no rat.
Harry looked over Ron’s bed quietly, turning the sheets back and lifting the pillow.
Still no rat.
Ron wouldn’t have taken Scabbers with him, would he? Knowing Hermione and her worship of rules, she would raise an enormous stink if Ron broke some by bringing his pet rodent to the dinner table.
Harry swished his wand around and whispered, “Accio Wormtail. Accio Scabbers. Accio Peter Pettigrew.”
Still no rat.
How the hell was Harry expected to find that stupid traitor. It took a moment, but then Harry wanted to smack himself in the head. He knew exactly how to find the rat. He just needed to collect it.
The twins’ third-year-dormitory was unchanged from how Harry remembered it. There were a few prank spells hidden around the room, but nothing an 18-year-old couldn’t counter. The same went for the simple wards on the twins’ trunks. George’s trunk didn’t have the map, and for a few moments Harry thought he’d have to abort this mission altogether, but then he struck gold in Fred’s trunk. He quickly grabbed the map, replaced the wards as best as he could and hurried back to the still empty first-year dorm.
He unfolded the map. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” A tap of his wand later and Harry stared as the map came to life in swirls of black ink. Names appeared, moving through corridors and entering the Great Hall. Harry riffled through the map until he found Gryffindor Tower and studied that entire section until his eyes got so dry he had to blink a few times while looking away from the map.
Still no Pettigrew.
He switched to the Great Hall and looked for Ron’s name at the Gryffindor table. Once found, Harry looked and looked but couldn’t see Pettigrew’s name anywhere near him.
What did this mean? Was Pettigrew even in the castle? If not, why? Where could he have gone?
As soon as he thought that, Harry got a sinking feeling. Voldemort had freed Barty after all, the same as last time when he needed a new body. But then he’d had another Death Eater helping him during that time.
Wormtail.
“Fuck,” Harry muttered and stuffed the map in his bag and hurried out of Gryffindor Tower. Dinner had only just started so Harry could join his fellow Slytherins without raising too many eyebrows. He vowed to question Voldemort the moment he went to bed later that night.
“Pettigrew?” Voldemort said with an inquisitive look after Harry asked him as he sat cross-legged on his bed protected by his closed curtains and a handful of privacy charms if he’d seen the rat. “Yes, of course I’ve seen him. I summoned him after Quirrell and myself freed Barty. I needed my wand back, after all, and Wormtail had it.”
“How the hell did I forget that?” Harry muttered to himself.
“The question is,” Voldemort continued while cocking an eyebrow and tilting his head. “What do you want with Wormtail, Harry?”
“He’s the key to getting Sirius out of Azkaban,” Harry said as he slumped against his pillow in disappointment.
“Hm.” Voldemort frowned. “Wormtail is doing a little spy work for me at the Ministry currently, so if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not see him turned over to the Aurors to see your illustrious godfather free.”
“Fuck,” Harry sighed. He stared at Voldemort for a few long moments, but Voldemort’s expression didn’t change. He remained calm but resolute. “I really wanted to get Sirius out of Azkaban. He’s innocent and deserves better.”
“The dementors have destroyed his mind by now,” Voldemort pointed out, ever the pragmatist. “What good would he be to you?”
“Not much, I know,” Harry snapped, hating that Sirius had suffered as he had. “But that’s not why I want him to get justice.”
“Ah,” Voldemort said with a satisfied little smile. “Are you projecting, Harry? Is this about the injustice you suffered and couldn’t stop, so now you’re determined to save someone else?”
“What? No!” Harry sat up in his bed again and glared at Voldemort. “I want to help Sirius because he’s my godfather and he deserves better, that’s it.”
“As you say,” Voldemort said, obviously not at all convinced by Harry’s explanation. “I have need of Wormtail for the time being, but not forever. In our previous life Black didn’t escape Azkaban for a few more years. Surely he could wait that amount of time once again.”
Yeah, Harry wasn’t about to let Sirius rot in Azkaban for another 3 years just because losing Pettigrew now was an inconvenience to Voldemort. Just as Harry was gearing up to have his first fight with Voldemort, at least in this life, Voldemort added, “And why do you even need Wormtail? Just hire the man a solicitor.”
Harry blinked. “Wait, what?” If it was as simple as hiring a solicitor surely someone in their previous life would have come up with it.
Voldemort sighed as he gave Harry a tired look. “Are you honestly telling me this never occurred to you before? Bella used to gloat to anyone who would listen how her dear cousin had been chucked into Azkaban without a trial. That the Ministry was so corrupt they imprisoned their own people, who fought on their side, without adhering to their own laws.”
“It can’t be that simple,” Harry said, conflicting emotions coursing through him. Elation at having possibly found a solution and anger at no one in his previous life having suggested it.
“It is that simple.” Voldemort held up a finger to emphasize his point. “However, I’ll never claim that it will be easy. There is a difference. But fact is, Black was imprisoned without a trial, which is illegal. A good solicitor will be able to get him a trial, or if Fudge and his cronies try to deny Black his rights to a trial they’ll alert the media to the sheer amount of corruption that is going on all the way up to the Minister’s office. But getting a trial isn’t a guarantee that the man will walk free.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Harry remembered his own trial, how quickly people’s opinion of him had changed from seeing him as a hero to seeing him executed and all on the words of a dead man. “Still, it’s more of a chance then he has now just sitting in a cell, forgotten.”
“That much is certainly true. I recommend Harper, Coldwell and Post. They are not cheap, but their reputation of never giving up on a client is well earned. Just getting their office on the case will ensure Fudge will think thrice before trying to sweep this whole thing under the rug or arrange for your godfather to receive an accidental kiss from a dementor.”
“Thanks. I’ll contact them and discuss Sirius’ options.” Harry’s gratitude was sincere. He’d honestly thought handing Wormtail over was the only chance Sirius would ever have of gaining his freedom. It had certainly seemed that way in his previous life. Harry wondered if this was yet another case of Dumbledore claiming one thing and everyone just taking his word for it. Then again, people like Tonks, Moody and Kingsley were Aurors. Surely they would know enough about the law to know Sirius had legal rights to a trial. Perhaps Dumbledore had fed them some manipulative little story to keep them from suggesting Sirius simply hire a solicitor.
Or, Harry was forced to concede, perhaps Sirius’ mind had been too far gone. Perhaps people had suggested to Sirius that he hire a solicitor but he’d refused to even consider it. Knowing Mrs Weasley, she’d have kept such information from ‘the children’ and therefore, if Sirius himself refused to talk about it, Harry wouldn’t have known.
No matter why he hadn’t known about the possibility before, he did now and he’d make sure to hire Sirius some real legal help.
“Whatever happened with that letter you sent the old man?” Voldemort had produced a cup of tea from somewhere and sipped it. Harry suspected Winky was at work.
“Oh!” Harry leaned on his side and made himself more comfortable in his bed. “He invited me to his office to give me my invisibility cloak back. And there he proceeded to manipulate the crap out of me. Or he would have if I wasn’t an eighteen-year-old reliving his life. He’s also completely convinced you’ll come for the Stone.”
Voldemort chuckled and sipped more tea. “I do believe the old man is going to be thoroughly disappointed this year if he’s waiting for me to arrive at Hogwarts.”
“If you change your identity you could walk right through the gates and Dumbledore wouldn’t even know,” Harry said with a snicker. “Are you going to change your identity? You still haven’t said.”
“And ruin the surprise? Patience is a virtue, Harry.” Voldemort’s thin lips twitched a time or two as though repressing a smile.
“Yeah, but it’s never been my virtue,” Harry grumbled.
“I am aware.” And yeah, that definitely was said with a self-satisfied smile.
Time to change the subject. Voldemort was smug enough as it was already ever since Harry’s sorting. “And I challenged the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team to add me to the roster. Sort of.”
“I’ve never understood the appeal of sports,” Voldemort said with a puzzled frown.
“Mostly, it’s fun,” Harry offered with a shrug.
“I’ve never understood the appeal of that either.”
Harry gaped at him. “You’ve never understood fun? Well, that explains a lot.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had time to, as they say, just have fun. My childhood certainly didn’t allow for such frivolities, during my early years in Slytherin I was too busy cursing my way to the top of the food chain and then I was foolish enough to split my soul and any desire for fun I might have had was destroyed.”
“That is the saddest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” Harry bit his lip. “And also one of the most ridiculous.” He looked up at Voldemort and shook his head. “Fun isn’t something to understand. It’s something you just do. Whatever you enjoy doing is having fun.”
“I do believe I’m the wrong person to hold up to your explanation,” Voldemort said with a pointed look. “By your definition casting the cruciatus curse is hilarious.”
“No.” Harry brought the mirror closer to his face for emphasis. “That is not what I meant.”
“But in our previous life I certainly enjoyed casting it. Therefore, hilarious. Truly, fun times were had,” Voldemort said with a completely straight face. Harry was impressed.
“You are so immature for a hundred-year-old bloke,” Harry said with huge sigh.
“Pardon me? I’m old, but not that old.” Voldemort put down his teacup. Harry noticed his hand trembled a bit and he realized Voldemort was getting too tired and their conversation was about to end, much to his disappointment.
These days, Harry realized not without some irony, both their idea of fun was bickering with each other.
“It’s getting late,” Harry said and stretched out against his mattress. “Full day of classes tomorrow, so I’m turning in.”
“Very well. I could also use some rest.” Voldemort nodded at Harry and was about to close his mirror when Harry managed to sneak in a, “Sweet dreams, Tom!” before quickly snapping his own mirror shut. He grinned against his pillow and decided he might as well get some sleep since it was almost ten.
In the morning he was glad he’d called it a night reasonably early, when at godawful o’clock Marcus Flint dragged him out of bed.