Kapitel 343: Chapter 343: An Interesting Life
If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.
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5 May 1997, Hogwarts (Earth 2)
Harry watched as the sun set before his eyes. He was at the exact place where he and Sirius hung out the morning after Voldemort died. He liked to sit there and remember that for as much as life could suck sometimes, it could have easily been worse. If Harry hadn't trusted a boy he had just met, then Voldemort could have been out there, alive, threatening people, killing innocents, and going after Harry again and again, until one of them was dead.
It was funny how even almost two years afterwards, no one believed that the man who perished on top of Azkaban was actually Lord Voldemort, other than the Order of the Phoenix and a few people who were well-connected to Death Eaters, that is. But with most of the high-ranking death eaters dying in the Azkaban massacre, the remaining Death Eaters didn't have anyone to bail them out.
Funnily enough, Harrold's disappearance was relatively unnoticed in the entire thing. The only ones who seemed to care were Hogwarts' staff and Dumbledore. They kept investigating the boy's disappearance for months and Sirius even told him that he had Order members hunting down any leads that could help them find him. Harry didn't know why they cared more about his counterpart than Voldemort and his Death Eaters dying, but he stopped really listening to the Order after the Azkaban massacre.
Still, there was something freeing about Voldemort finally being dead. It was hard to put it into words, but it felt like a weight had come off his shoulders. Ever since his first year, when he realized that the man who had made him an orphan was still alive and would still hunt him down, he knew deep down that he would be in danger until either of them died. It was something that he knew in his bones and when he woke up and saw Voldemort's corpse on top of Azkaban, it was at this moment that he knew he was free, that no one would hunt him down.
It was strange to be grateful to another version of himself. He wished he knew properly from the beginning so that they could compare their lives. For example, Harry wanted to know why the other boy didn't have a scar on his forehead, or how he was so good at magic. He might be a bit envious about that. The boy had killed a Dark Lord, a man that fought Dumbledore to a standstill, at his age. That sort of power was just inconceivable. Not that people accepted the fact that Voldemort was back in the first place. But Harry didn't care. After all, nothing could ever compare to the feeling of freedom he felt whenever he thought about his enemy's demise.
Even though everyone agreed that the body didn't belong to Lord Voldemort, Fudge was still removed from office. It was very simple, even if Voldemort hadn't come back, Cedric Diggory had died and they should have investigated Harry's claim, if only to be thorough. The death of Hogwarts' champion was attributed to the fake Voldemort and Fudge, in his paranoia, had allowed the boy's murderer to go unchecked and cause the death of dozens of upstanding citizens.
Apparently, the Death Eaters who died were considered victims of the Voldemort copycat, and they were under the Imperius Curse and were ordered to attack Azkaban. They broke free of the man's control and tried to rebel. They fought valiantly and were able to kill him, but they all perished. The man was also responsible for banishing the Dementors using some supposed dark magic. That was the story, anyway. Harry still burst into laughter whenever he thought about it. The sheer incredulity he felt at the thought of any of those cowards, who kneeled before Voldemort, kissing his robes, actively defying him, was just so outlandish.
Either way, there was a lot of political tension since many of the traditionalist families were ended, or significantly culled in the aftermath of the attack. He still felt bad when he remembered seeing Draco Malfoy breaking down when he got a letter from his mother telling him about his father's fate. The ponce stopped bothering him afterwards, thankfully. Harry never considered how killing Death Eaters would impact their families.
Anyway, Amelia Bones ended up being voted in as minister, and she quickly rounded up whatever remnants of Death Eaters, the ones that were too low ranked to participate in Azkaban's raid yet still held on to the rhetoric and tried attacking people. It seemed like a golden age in Britain was upon them, with a competent minister. Dumbledore's death, however, shocked the world. It was a few months after the Azkaban massacre, and it came out of nowhere.
The cause of death was attributed to a very old and dark Egyptian curse, one that couldn't be countered. It seemed like Dumbledore was able to resist it, but eventually succumbed to it. Harry did remember seeing the man's hand turned to barely more than bones with blackened skin on it. He had asked the headmaster about it, only for him to touch this ugly ring with a weird black stone and say something about him foolishly letting his guard down, changing the subject right after.
To be honest, the headmaster kept avoiding Harry until around a month before his death, when he saw him around once a week, asking if his scar hurt and if he had dreams of Voldemort. Harry had confusingly told him that Voldemort was dead, but the man remained resolute in his convictions and told Harry to always keep his guard up.
Anyway, the man's funeral was an international affair. Everyone from all over Europe came to see the man off, having made more than a few acquaintances over time. People spoke of him, of his bravery against Voldemort and power against Grindelwald. No one spoke of the sad regretful old man that Harry could see beneath the eccentric grandfather façade. No one really cared about the headmaster's death, not him as a person, but as the second coming of Merlin. Still, why the man left him a golden snitch of all things in his will, Harry had no idea. He still played with it sometimes whenever he was bored. The headmaster had also asked him to pick up a prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, but when he went there, he was told that the prophecy orb had mysteriously disappeared. He didn't really give it any thought after that. He never really liked divination all that much.
The only good thing was that Snape disappeared after the funeral, and Professor Slughorn returned to teaching out of respect. The man was a bit too interested in Harry's fame, but he was a good teacher and that was more than enough for him.
A few weeks after, Sirius surprised the world by revealing Peter Pettigrew's survival and after months of expensive court proceedings, he was a free man, and he immediately adopted Harry. The decision was met with some resistance from both the ministry and the Order who wished to follow Dumbledore's wish of leaving him in Privet Drive, but Sirius was an adult, and he was Harry's godfather. That was the start of a split within the Order. Most had given up after months of inactivity and became convinced that Voldemort was either dead or had given up. There was no reason to up-end their lives if there wasn't going to be a threat, after all. A few decided to follow Moody and kept running useless missions, hoping to find a trace they could follow. In two years, they found nothing.
It was also when Harry started distancing himself from the order. There was no reason to stay with his hateful relatives if there was nothing to protect himself from. And Harry did remember Harrold saying that he reduced its duration for a year, so it wouldn't have been working anyway.
That decision alone was the reason for many of the fights he had with Ron and Hermione, who wanted him to follow Dumbledore's orders, even when the man was dead, and that also ended up with a lot of visits beneath the shade of the tree by the Black Lake. He tended to come here whenever he got frustrated because as he imagined the future that could have been, he couldn't help but feel grateful for what he had. Which brought him to the subject of his current ire, Ron Weasley.
It had to do with Quidditch of all things. Harry had been the captain of the team since Angelina retired, but he decided to step down from the team entirely for his last year to focus on becoming an Auror. Bones' new requirements were pretty strict, and he would need to dedicate a lot of time to get the scores he needed. Ron hadn't liked that, but what drove him absolutely mental was the fact that he recommended Ginny as captain over him.
The redhead had his sights on becoming a professional Quidditch player, but honestly, while Ron was good for a school game, he wasn't exactly professional material. Ginny was good, scarily good, and it would bring more attention to her when the scouts came during the school matches. It was just more practical, but Ron saw it as a betrayal. Hermione didn't want to get between them and just avoided the matter entirely.
It was just so stupid. Ron could apply himself a bit and get a proper career. Quidditch was a short-term career, and it only paid off if you joined the bigger teams, something that was unlikely to happen.
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts, "Something on your mind, Potter?"
Harry instinctively raised his wand before relaxing at the familiar voice. "Nothing much, Greengrass. Ron's just being a prat."
"So, business as usual, then," Daphne snorted.
He hadn't paid much attention to Daphne Greengrass before. One of his biggest regrets was how closed off he'd been during his years at Hogwarts, especially toward the Slytherins. Malfoy was a bit of a prat when they were younger—though he'd mellowed after his father's death—but the others? They were just regular witches and wizards, albeit from wealthier families.
The only notable thing he remembered about the girl standing before him was the gossip about Malfoy asking her out and getting rejected. There were rumours of her brawling with Parkinson afterwards, but he wasn't sure how true they were. Still, Harry could see why Draco had been interested—Daphne was striking, with her smooth skin, wavy blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes.
Feeling awkward around pretty girls, as usual, Harry stammered, "So, uh, what brings you here?"
"Not much. I come here to think. Looks like we both had the same idea."
"Care to share what's on your mind?" Harry asked, trying to shift the focus away from his awkwardness.
"Only if you go first," she replied with a teasing smile.
Harry sighed. "Nothing too dramatic. Ron's trying to go pro in Quidditch, and I gave up my spot as captain to focus on Auror training. I recommended Ginny for the job instead of him."
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so you're discouraging him from the Quidditch dream. Makes sense. Even if he gets picked, he'd probably end up with a short career on a low-ranking team, while Ginny's got real potential. That's… actually quite cunning of you. I'm impressed."
Harry smirked. "Hey, don't sound so surprised. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, you know. I can be cunning when I need to be."
That seemed to catch her off guard. "Seriously? You?"
"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Back then, I didn't know much about the houses, except that no one seemed to like Slytherin and Malfoy was in it. So I asked the Hat to put me anywhere but there."
Now that he thought about it, he hadn't really told anyone about that before. It wasn't a secret, but it wasn't something he went out of his way to share either. It felt strange, how easily he could talk to Daphne, someone he barely knew.
"Your turn," he said, turning the conversation back to her.
Daphne hesitated for a moment before speaking. "My parents want me to join the family business. We're in trading, and my father expects me to take over one of the branches in France. But… I want to be a healer. I can't do both—they're both too demanding."
"That's rough," Harry said sympathetically. "How badly do you want to be a healer?"
She met his gaze with determination. "More than anything."
"Then go for it," Harry said firmly. "If you follow your parents' path, you'll always wonder what could've been. What you could've become. The family business will still be there if you ever want to come back to it. But being a healer… that's something you'll regret not chasing."
Daphne gave him a soft smile. "Thanks, Potter. I needed to hear that. You're not half-bad, you know."
Harry grinned. "Neither are you, Greengrass."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Daphne broke it with a question. "I have to ask… was the Dark Lord really back, like you said?"
Harry felt a lump form in his throat. "Yeah," he answered quietly. "He was."
"And he's… dead now? For good?"
Harry nodded. "He was the body they found chained up after the Azkaban Massacre. No impostors. He's dead. And he's not coming back."
Daphne looked thoughtful for a moment. "What really happened? In the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, I mean."
Harry exhaled slowly. "You know, after I told Dumbledore that night, I never really talked about it. Not properly. Only Ron and Hermione know the full story."
Daphne's smile turned playful. "Are you going to tell me, then?"
"Maybe… over dinner," Harry said, surprising even himself. "There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, after all."
For a split second, Daphne looked taken aback, but then she smiled widely. "Are you asking me out, Potter?"
"Why yes, I am, Miss Greengrass."
"A story and dinner," she mused, her tone light. "That sounds like a good deal. I'll see you on Sunday, Potter."
With that, she stood up and walked away, leaving Harry sitting there with a dumbfounded grin. He murmured to himself, "I can't believe I just did that."
As he sat there, the crisp breeze tugging at his hair, Harry felt a strange sense of relief. The weight he usually carried—of past burdens, of responsibilities, of losses—felt a little lighter. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't just "the Chosen One" or "the Boy Who Lived." He was just… Harry, a boy who had just asked out a pretty girl. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
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AN: I put in this scene because I saw it recommended in your comments and I thought it would be hilarious
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Saul Croaker had been the head of the Department of Mysteries for nearly a decade, and it often felt like he was trying to herd a flock of magical chickens—except these chickens had the potential to accidentally unravel reality and cause untold chaos. That was the price of gathering the most inquisitive witches and wizards in Britain and keeping them from rocking the proverbial boat too much. Surprisingly, it worked. Ever since the department's founding, there had been fewer Dark Lord uprisings, and even when one did crop up, it didn't come with a horde of researchers dabbling in forbidden magic.
The Azkaban Massacre, however, had been one of the department's most infamous unsolved mysteries. Nearly half the department had transferred to the Time Room in the aftermath, obsessively working to create something that could bypass the space-time anomaly that had occurred there. Croaker had his doubts. To him, it seemed like a lost cause, but it kept them busy—and most importantly, kept them from accidentally destroying the world.
It had been over two years since the massacre, and they were no closer to answers. Until today.
One of the Unspeakables assigned to the Time Room entered Croaker's office, his face pale but excited. "Sir, we've found something."
Croaker suppressed a groan. "What is it this time?"
"We found a way to bypass the anomaly—by observing a mirror plane we anchored with time sand. It's still hazy, and there's some residual interference from the anomaly, but… we can finally project what happened during the Azkaban Massacre."
Croaker raised an eyebrow, doing his best to mask his surprise. He never expected they'd get anywhere, not with this mess—much like the hopeless mystery of the Veil Room. But curiosity gnawed at him. "You've watched it?"
The Unspeakable shook his head. "Not yet. We're waiting for your go-ahead."
Croaker stood, heart beating a little faster. "Right. Let's see this."
An hour later, half the department gathered in the ritual chamber, a room made entirely of time sand. The sand was consumed within seconds, swirling in the air like mist, before coalescing into a hazy projection of Azkaban. Croaker watched, feeling the tension thicken in the room as the image sharpened.
There he was—Lord Voldemort, striding through the prison with his followers, freeing Bellatrix Lestrange. Then it happened. A figure appeared, stepping into the scene with a casual, terrifying grace.
Death itself.
Croaker's stomach twisted as he watched the figure methodically slaughter every person in its path with a detached efficiency that made his skin crawl. The carnage was too smooth, too effortless until only Voldemort remained.
What came next defied everything Croaker thought he knew. Voldemort cast a Killing Curse—only for the spell to stop mid-air, as though frozen in time and it was somehow absorbed which also knocked Voldemort unconscious. And then, with almost disturbing ease, the figure chained the Dark Lord on the roof of Azkaban like a puppet. What followed was a ritual so foreign, so eldritch, that Croaker's mind struggled to grasp its intricacies. A spear of energy materialized, piercing through Voldemort, and snuffing out his life in a single, final blow.
The moment the projection ended, every Unspeakable in the room was violently thrown back, the magic radiating from the scene too much for even the most seasoned of them to bear.
Croaker staggered to his feet, his mind spinning. He had never seen magic like that—something beyond comprehension, beyond reality itself. And then the realization hit him like a sledgehammer: the figure's face.
It was Harry Potter's face.
One of his subordinates, pale and trembling but at least not vomiting, approached him shakily. "What… what do we do now, sir?"
Croaker's voice felt heavy in his throat as he responded, "We have no choice. We make it our mission to ensure that this… creature is never awakened again. Harry Potter must be protected at all costs. We must ensure he lives a long and peaceful life."
The Unspeakables nodded, though their expressions were filled with dread. They understood the gravity of the situation. But Croaker wasn't fooled. He knew his team. In a few weeks, they'd be back to creating abominations, poking at the very edges of existence, forgetting the lesson they'd just witnessed.
He sighed inwardly. Really, being the head of the Department of Mysteries was a curse in itself. No wonder the last director had gone mad.
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AN: So, this is it. The end of the arc. I've enjoyed writing it immensely, to be honest, and it ended up being a bit longer than I expected. I hope you liked this ending and I'm really looking forward to getting back to the main storyline now. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.
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