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  This chapter was edited by Gdiusx. Check his works on HP and ASOIAF, I highly recommend them.

  Harry looked around calmly at his surroundings. It not only looked like the Godswood of Winterfell, but it smelled like it as well. The refreshing scent of pine and moss was well imprinted in his memory. Harry could see Ghost waiting for him under the Heart Tree. A serene feeling of peace and calmness enveloped his very being. He did not know how, but he was sure that no harm could ever come to him here.

  He quickly walked to the direwolf and hugged him tightly. Ghost was as rge as always, easily the size of a horse, and Harry had to reach up to fully envelop his neck. A fluffy white tail started wagging happily, and he received a few licks on the face for his affection. After giving the massive wolf some much-deserved scratches behind the ears, he let go and looked around carefully.

  There was, of course, the Heart Tree with its bone-white bark and blood-red leaves with a carven face that looked as if it was about to weep. Chestnut, ash, hawthorn, elm, ironwood, oak, sentinel, soldier pine, and younger weirwoods filled the surrounding grove as usual. In front of the heart tree sat the familiar bck pool of cold water.

  He slowly walked over to the pool with some trepidation and looked into the still water. From the cold pool, a boy, no, a young man of about seventeen, was gaping at him like a fish. Steely grey eyes stared back at him beneath curly dark hair.

  He subconsciously ran his hand through his face, and the young man in the reflection did the same, making Harry grimace at the implications. He moved around and blew a raspberry, and the reflection of Jon Snow in the water did the same. He found himself grimacing, which was instantly mirrored in the pool.

  “Fuck,” a curse tore out from his mouth as he stared into the still water. Why did he look like Jon? What had happened? Was this a dream?

  No answers came as he stared down at Jon Snow’s reflection.

  Looking at his steely eyes, his mind slowly wandered to his younger sister. They were Jon’s family, but Harry remembered everything that made them one. In fact, he subconsciously considered the Starks to be his own family. It was an odd, foreign thing to have a family for Harry, but he did not… dislike it.

  A startling realisation began to sink in; he was not Jon Snow nor Harry Potter, but both at the same time.

  Oh, how he missed Arya; he missed all of them.Tears began to pool in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away and once again gaped at the still water in surprise.In the pool, the reflection had changed. A young Arya was practising with a bow. He remembered this to be one of the times when they sneaked into the Godswood together, where he would set up targets for her to use.

  If only he could see the rest of the Starks…The image in the pool rippled and changed into one family dinner, where they dined together in a small hall. Gods, he missed even Catelyn, who did her very best not to look at him at all and pretend he was not there. She was a far better mother and aunt than Petunia could ever dream of being.

  Wait… could the pool show memories?!

  He gaped for a moment and tried to remember the scene where he fought against Rattleshirt.

  The water rippled again, and he saw himself facing the person who looked like the Lord of Bones but was not due to Melisandre’s sorcery.

  This… this could be very useful! He would never forget about his family now! He concentrated and tried to remember James and Lily Potter… but all the pool showed was a younger Harry Potter staring forlornly at the Mirror of the Erised. Then it shuffled towards Harry staring at the few pictures gifted by Hagrid.‘So it can only show things I can remember,’ he summarised with a heavy sigh.But it was more than enough. Harry switched back to Jon’s duel with Rattleshirt and watched on. A few mistakes he made slowly became apparent. But none of them were truly fatal as much as the fact that Mance Rayder was taller and stronger than the Lord of Bones, and the unexpected difference added to the longer reach was what had ultimately pushed the duel in Mance’s favour.‘Bloody hell, won’t this be mighty useful?!’

  Harry walked towards the Heart Tree next and id his hand on it. He noticed that his memories cleared up completely, and he could recall memories with greater ease than before. The ability to review his memories in his sleep would make studying and practising so much easier and free some of his time while awake! He grinned widely at the thought.

  Harry slowly took his time to alternate between the tree and the pool to bring out the events of the previous day. One thing he noticed was how slippery Fudge was, but still wanted to get Harry in his good graces while trying not to put too much pressure on Malfoy.

  All in all, it looked like the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ was far more important than he thought.

  Harry had never cared for that title before, but now he would reluctantly acknowledge that it could possibly bring certain benefits. The only question was, how far could he use it before it would backfire on him? While the thought of the fame from the murder of his parents brought a bitter taste in his mouth, he would not shy away from using it if it was necessary.

  He continued rewatching and spotted some things he had missed in the heat of the moment… Harry had foolishly dropped his wand when he entered the Chamber. Yet, it probably was for the best anyway since if he tried to fight the Basilisk with a wand, he would be dead twice over. He then had the pleasure of watching in great detail the demise of Riddle once again. In fact, the look of surprise and panic on his face when he stabbed the fang into the diary warmed his heart.

  Lockhart had already knocked himself out when the ceiling began to colpse on him, and Harry watched with a heavy heart how Ron simply did not go in the right direction, almost as if retreat were anathema to him, and followed him instead. His friend would have gotten away rather unscathed if not for that fateful rock that had struck him.Oh, how he wished he could change things. But he could only watch the consequences of their own actions…His vision started swimming again, and he angrily wiped the tears from his face. Deep down, he knew that if Ron had survived, there was no guarantee that either of them would have walked away from Riddle and his monstrous pet snake. But, if he… if he had been faster, if he had done more. If he had pushed Ron out of the way or maybe been more cautious of Lockhart…He gritted his teeth and shook his head furiously, and willed the scene to switch.

  He dispassionately reviewed the rest of the evening again. However, no matter how he tried, he could not view the scenes where he was unconscious.

  This time, he focused on the Weasleys. Arthur looked solemnly at his son’s body, yet Harry could feel a wrathful determination emanating from the man. Percy looked just as determined, despite his feelings of grief and self-bme. Ginny was given a sleeping drought and slept in another bed while Molly was beside herself with anguish and guilt. Fred and George were staring bnkly at the body of their younger brother, but he could tell that they were filled with grief and regret.

  While he had often been rough with Robb in the yard or even outside of it, the twin’s pranks had sometimes skirted the border of cruelty and were generally quite annoying. He knew that the twins never really took Ron seriously, and the regret was clear on their faces. Mayhaps they should have spent more time with their brother instead of using him as a guinea pig for their experiments…

  Harry abruptly stiffened.

  ‘I can tell their emotions in the memories? Even when I didn’t pay them much attention during the memory itself?!’

  This would be extremely useful.

  After he was somewhat satisfied, Harry finally walked away from the pool… His mind went to his st conversation with Dumbledore.

  Last night,

  It was nearing midnight, and Harry resolutely stared at the Headmaster from his seat.

  “The Dursleys might be my kin, but they are not my family, professor,” Harry concluded tiredly.

  Dobby was standing behind Harry’s chair, looking like he wished he were anywhere else.

  Dumbledore suddenly looked twice his old age and sighed heavily.

  “Harry, do you know why I left you to live with your aunt?”

  “No, sir.”

  “It was not a decision I took lightly, but there were no better alternatives.” The headmaster forlornly admitted and rubbed his brow.

  “Didn’t you say I had other family? What about the Carrows?” Harry desperately asked.

  “During the war, there was complete chaos. Nobody truly knew if their closest retives and friends were not secretly followers of Voldemort or Imperiused-”

  “Imperiused?”

  “The Imperius is a terrible, terrible, unforgivable curse that takes a person’s free will away and puts them under the control of the caster. One can kill their parents without batting an eye if ordered,” Harry shivered at Dumbledore’s expnation. “Of course, there are ways one can resist it. A strong will is nearly impossible to be bent even by magic, and a stubborn mind can put up a good resistance.”

  He couldn’t help but baulk. His mind being under the thrall of someone else…

  “How… how can there be magic so vile?!”

  “You would do well to remember, Harry, that nobody has truly explored the limits of witchcraft and wizardry. Here, in Hogwarts, you study the rules and limits of magic, but if you look back into the past, there are accounts of what was considered impossible being achieved. And while magic can be terrible, it can also be great,” Dumbledore finished wistfully, twinkling eyes full of unknown emotion.

  Suddenly, the gnarly wand appeared in his hand, and he jabbed it forward. A familiar bird, made from pure, silvery light, emerged from the tip, and Harry was filled with amazement, hope, joy, and warmth.

  From the nearby perch, Fawkes trilled happily, amplifying all those feelings, and he realised why the silvery bird felt so familiar. It looked exactly like the phoenix!

  It probably took him half a minute to find his wits to speak out, “What is this, professor?”

  “This is pure emotions made manifest as a guardian, Harry,” the headmaster’s eyes twinkled. “A powerful spell that helps ward away some of the foulest of creatures.”

  He felt a raw desire and hope gnaw at his chest.

  “Could you show me how to cast it, sir?”

  “With pleasure,” Dumbledore chuckled merrily. “The incantation is ‘Expecto Patronum’, and the wand movement is a counterclockwise motion.” He slowly and clearly demonstrated as he spun the wand in his hand. “However, the most important part is a strong positive emotion. The spell takes quite a lot of effort to master, as you’ll find out should you decide to attempt it.”

  This, this was the type of amazing magic that he had imagined when Hagrid told him about Hogwarts. He silently resolved himself to master the spell, no matter what. But wait-

  “You did not use an incantation or a wand motion, though, professor?”

  “Ah, well spotted!” The twinkle in his eyes grew brighter. “There are many components to casting a spell, but with sufficient practice and self-discipline, it is possible to do away with the incantation and the wand motions. To do so, the cost or burden on other aspects of your casting will be higher, so they must be impeccable, and then some more for it to work.”

  Dumbledore’s words changed everything. If he could do magic like that, wouldn’t it mean that he would be able to cast magic far faster? If Harry faced a foe with abilities like Dumbledore, did that not mean he would be completely outcssed and easily defeated?

  “Does that mean that I can learn how to do the same, sir?” He queried carefully.

  “Indeed, Harry. You will find that there’s very little a wizard cannot accomplish if they’re willing to put the work into it,” the headmaster confirmed with a soft smile.

  This conversation has been so enlightening, but first…

  “Err, professor,” he coughed. “You said something about the Carrows…”

  “Ah yes, apologies, Harry. My mind tends to wander in my old age,” he coughed apologetically, and his face turned pensive, “As I was saying, the Carrows were one of Voldemort’s most ardent followers. An old, pureblood family with a heavy inclination towards the more violent and darker aspects of magic. When two of Voldemort’s lieutenants evaded Azkaban, I couldn’t exactly hand you over to them now, could I? According to wizarding w, should a child be orphaned, he is to go to the guardian, usually a godparent, selected by his parents, or if there is none, to his closest retives.”

  “Don’t I have a godparent, sir?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

  “You indeed have one,” Dumbledore confirmed with a heavy frown. “Sirius Bck was your godfather, but he is the other reason for you to be pced with the Dursleys.”

  “What?! Why?” A portrait on the wall mumbled something about disrespect and corporal punishment at that moment, and Harry realized that he was standing and had shouted at Dumbledore. “Sorry, headmaster.”

  He coughed to try to cover his embarrassment, but Harry was sure that the tip of his ears had reddened.

  “I remember what it was like when I was bold and young, Harry, there is no need for an apology,” the old wizard stroked his beard and sighed. “I should perhaps have phrased this better, so allow me to expin further. Sirius Bck comes from an old, wealthy, and powerful family with a fierce adherence to traditions and even fiercer hate towards muggles, squibs, blood traitors, and muggle-borns. The Bcks were all considered dangerous to cross and a bit mad to boot. Sirius Bck was, well…I suppose you could say he was the white sheep of the Bck Family.”

  “We’re a respectable wizarding family, Albus!” The portrait from earlier indignantly protested.

  The gnarly wand appeared in the headmaster’s hand once again, and with a wave, all the portraits that were watching and listening fell asleep.

  “As I was saying before I was interrupted, the members of House Bck were staunchly traditional, and it was expected of them to end up in Slytherin, and maybe rarely, in Ravencw. Sirius Bck broke those expectations and was sorted into Gryffindor, much to his family’s chagrin,” a tired sigh tore out of the headmaster. “He was the same year as your father, and they were best of friends, along with two other students, you see.”

  The headmaster paused and sadly stroked his beard in contemption.

  “What happened to him?” Harry urged.

  “Your parents went into hiding when Voldemort started looking for them-”

  “Why would he look for them, sir?” Harry couldn’t help but interrupt. “And what does this have to do with Sirius Bck?”

  “Ah, the impatience of youth,” Dumbledore fondly chuckled. “Patience, I’m getting there. You’ll find that as you grow up, things are rarely simple and straightforward. So, your parents were some of the most talented students to walk out of Hogwarts, and both had a strong sense of justice, so they directly opposed Voldemort. But the Dark Lord tried to recruit them, despite the fact that your mother was a muggle-born. Yet, his wroth was fierce when they declined, and when Voldemort realised James and Lily Potter had something he desired, he began hunting them down.”

  “But what would Voldemort want with my parents?”

  The headmaster sagged and looked like a tired old man.

  “Something they would never give, Harry,” was the grave response. Harry was just about to ask, but- “You’re not ready for that knowledge just yet, my boy.”

  “And when would I be ready?” He challenged. “Don’t I deserve to know why my parents were killed?”

  “Oh, you do, but the world is hardly fair, and things are rarely simple,” Dumbledore chuckled sadly. “It’s dangerous knowledge to have, and what kind of educator would I be if I risk your life over it? I promise that I shall tell you once you impress me enough and prove yourself capable.”

  Harry felt fury bubble up within him but swallowed it down. Dumbledore was right, the world was not fair, and both Jon Snow and Harry Potter had plenty of experience of not getting the things they wanted. No, the main reason for his anger was that the headmaster’s words reminded him of Eddard Stark’s promise to tell Jon of his mother. Yet the Lord of Winterfell had gone and got himself killed instead… Dumbledore was old and powerful, and Harry could see how the old man wanted to motivate him before revealing anything.

  It hurt to admit, but Harry Potter was… weak. A fierce desire churned inside of him, and Harry inwardly vowed that this would quickly change if he had anything to say about it.

  But they had sidetracked from the matter at hand once again… and he realised that the headmaster was watching him like a hawk.

  “I understand, sir,” Harry acknowledged. “I apologize for my interruption.”

  Dumbledore nodded, cleared his throat, and continued.

  “Your mother, as you know, was a brilliant witch and found old magic, capable of fwlessly hiding them at the cost of trust. I won’t bore you with the details, but feel free to check the library for the Fidelius Charm. I personally added a book about it after your mother brought her findings to me. In essence, the magic could not be broken, but the protection hinged solely on a trusted person on the outside. Sirius Bck was that person. Not only did he betray your family, but he killed twelve muggles and another one of your father’s friends. He was caught and now resides in the dreadful halls of Azkaban prison, where he would be tormented for the rest of his life.”

  The burning anger that was brewing inside Harry quickly fizzled out. While he wished the traitor was dead, being caught and tortured in prison was… an acceptable outcome.

  “But wasn’t there anyone else you could have left me with? Why the Dursleys?!”

  “Sirius Bck also staunchly opposed Voldemort, and I thought he could be trusted, and so did your parents, Harry,” Dumbledore reminded. “Nobody is infallible, let alone me. To err is human, and some mistakes are far more costly than others. While some of Voldemort’s followers were caught, plenty managed to get away by the virtue of their political clout and cims of being under the Imperius curse. It was a hectic time, and I couldn’t bring myself to trust anyone in the magical world. They might look trustworthy, but if your location was known, what was to stop a follower of Voldemort from putting some of them under Imperius? Any mistake could see you killed! Your muggle retives, no matter how distasteful, would never work with Lord Voldemort or his ilk.”

  “They hate me, though,” he muttered.

  “Yet the fact remains that they still took you in, Harry. It’s not only that, though. As I expined to you st year when your mother died to save you, her love for you and her sacrifice created protection for you against Voldemort. A protection that required the blood of the caster to work, and that’s where your aunt Petunia comes in. Your mere touch was enough to turn Voldemort to ash. It does not truly protect you from other forms of harm, I believe, otherwise, your fight with the Basilisk would have gone much differently.” Dumbledore sighed tiredly and slumped in his chair once more, looking like a tired old man. “You might hate me for it, but I’d rather you be alive and unhappy than risk your death.”

  It had been too much for Harry, and he had left the headmaster’s office with conflicting emotions. While he could understand Dumbledore to a degree, the old man was right, Harry couldn’t help but feel slight resentment.

  It must have been midnight by the end of their talk, and his stomach was once again grumbling with hunger, despite all the food that Harry had eaten.

  He realised that in his indignation, he had forgotten to ask questions about his grandparents, Fleamont Potter and his wife, amongst other things.

  “Scratch that, I forgot to ask the simplest question of where my parents were buried and if their house was still around.” Harry sighed in exasperation as Ghost licked his face for attention. He turned to his direwolf to see him looking towards the exit path.

  ‘I should wake up, I have no idea how much time has passed.’

  Harry looked around and only now noticed that Winterfell was nowhere to be seen. Behind the iron gate, there was no training yard or the Great Keep but a very dense fog, which could not be seen through, no matter his efforts. The pathway to the entrance was lit by torches, though.

  For a few short moments, Harry contempted his options before deciding to take the exit, hoping that it would lead him outside. He walked to the edge while Ghost was quietly peddling right next to him as if the direwolf was glued to his side. He continued to pat Ghost as they walked. He would dearly miss having the Direwolf’s presence in the real world, but at least he will always be with him now.

  As soon as he reached the gate to the fog-ridden area, Ghost nudged him with his nose, then turned around to return to the Heart Tree. Harry smiled before pushing the iron gate open and stepped into the fog.

  He opened his eyes and was greeted with the familiar ceiling of the Gryffindor’s dorms.

  Sunday, 30th of May 1993

  Harry opened his eyes, and a groan escaped his lips. His body felt incredibly sore and stiff, and it took him a few moments to manage to sit up. He slowly stretched his arms and back till he heard several loud and satisfying pops. His stomach grumbled with hunger again, but Harry ignored it for now. Food could wait for a bit, and it was not like he was not used to staying hungry. He stood from his bed and looked out the window to see the sun crowning the clear blue sky.

  ‘Did I oversleep?’

  A look at his watch confirmed his suspicions. It was eleven and a quarter, and he had missed breakfast. Harry ran his hand through his curly hair before pcing his watch back on the bedside.

  Harry looked at the bed opposite his own. Empty. Completely empty of all of Ron’s belongings. Even his trunk was gone. It was like he never existed. Harry couldn’t even find Scabbers in his usual spot on the bed. He couldn’t bear it and quickly headed into the dorm’s bathroom, noticing none of the boys from his year were around, and washed his face as if to hide the tears that were threatening to spill before he gaped into the mirror in mild shock.

  He looked…different. Scratch that; he looked like Jon! Harry started to freak out and wished heavily to turn back to normal…only for exactly that to happen as his eyes returned from steely grey to brilliant green, and his curly hair became short and messy again. The rest of his features remained retively the same, though.

  ‘Wow! I wish to turn to Jon.’

  He watched in amazement as his eyes again turned grey and his hair became curly. His facial features remained a mix of both Harry and Jon. Harry concentrated heavily on the image of Jon he remembered from the pool and watched as his facial structure slowly morphed to become longer and had a graceful look to it. Harry concentrated again, and he returned completely to how he looked.

  ‘This is absolutely wicked. I can have my own secret identity!’

  He tried to turn into other faces…but it seemed that he could only look like Harry, Jon, or an odd mixture of the two. Harry inspected the rest of his body to see if there were any other changes. He might have been imagining things, but he looked slightly taller than before.

  He really couldn’t tell, everything felt so different without gsses. He made a mental note to ask Madam Pomfrey ter today.Harry continued checking his body and noticed a few other differences. For one, the scar on his forehead had become faint and thin, but it looked like it was here to stay.

  “Curses always leave a mark, no matter what,” he repeated Dumbledore’s words aloud.All of his other scars, however, were completely gone, with the exception of the one the Basilisk had gifted him. Even that burn mark he got on his upper arm when he burned himself cooking bacon. He tried to change his body to match sixteen-year-old Jon’s, but regardless of what he tried, there was no change at all. It seemed Harry could only change his face, but not his body.

  He was still too scrawny for his liking, though. Before, he never knew, but now that he had memories of being strong and brimming with power, he not only looked weak but felt weak. Something to be worked on.

  ***

  Harry sat by his desk next to his bed, deep in thought. He had his school trunk open with all his belongings spread neatly on the floor and the bed. His school bag was the same, with all its books and writing utensils emptied. He had a neat pile of clothes that included the two sweaters that Mrs Weasley knitted for him in the st two Christmases, his two remaining school robes — as he had burned yesterday’s after a long and thorough shower — along with the rest of his school uniform, as well as the most pleasant looking clothes of the hand-me-downs he got from Dudley. He left his school supplies, like his telescope and cauldron, in the trunk for now. Another pile was on the ground that included the rest of his muggle clothing he got from his retives and all of Lockhart’s works that he had to buy the st summer. Those were to be fed to the fire at the first opportunity. Finally, his most prized possessions were his invisibility cloak, folded into a small packet that he could easily stow in his pocket and the photo album that Hagrid gifted him. Both of them were pced on the desk. He never noticed how easy it was to fold and hide the invisibility cloak on his person, though; he would keep it on himself at all times from now on.

  He emptied his money pouch on the desk and counted all the money. Harry had exactly ninety-nine Galleons, five Sickles, and twenty-two Knuts. In the nearly two years since he had entered the wizarding world, his only expenses had been school supplies, which rounded up was about fifty Galleons, most of it on books, and the only thing he bought for himself were the candies he bought on the train ride in his first year. Harry wasn’t sure whether to be impressed at his past self’s self-control or be sad about his frugal nature. But it was good to save money and have it when you need it, instead of needing it and not having it.

  ‘Before, I would never have understood the value of money. I was never allowed any as Harry. But Jon was raised as a noble; even as a bastard, he had an allowance and had some knowledge of sums and bancing ledgers. Not to mention the finances of the Watch he had to manage, as well as striking a deal with the Iron Bank of Braavos.’

  Speaking of banks, Harry turned to his bed and grabbed an empty parchment along with a quill, an inkwell, and a pot. He carefully penned a letter to Gringotts.

  “It’s Potter!”

  The call immediately silenced the room as everyone looked at him with pity and awe in equal measure. Harry calmly descended the final steps and walked past them as they parted to make way for him.

  “Potter!” A few voices called out, but he paid no heed.

  “Condolences for your loss, Potter!”

  “Did you truly sy the monster of Slytherin with a sword?”

  “Thank you for saving us from the dark wizard!”

  Harry couldn’t help but feel like he was a clown in the circus. He schooled his face into an icy, emotionless mask and ignored all of them. While most of them did not whisper, gre, or point fingers at him, they would simply avoid and not speak to him instead. It had hurt that his own House believed him the Heir of Slytherin with no proof based on mere rumours, and he did not think he could forgive just yet.

  Just as he walked out of the portrait, he almost smashed into another body. Seeing the bushy hair, he quickly dragged the confused Hermione back into the hallway before she could utter a word of protest.

  “Sorry about that, I just…can’t stand the common room right now,” he expined darkly. She looked confused for a moment before her eyes shone in realization.“Oh, Harry! You’re alive. You are really alive. You found the entrance to the Chamber and killed the Basilisk, right? Right?! Madam Pomfrey woke us up earlier, and she expined what happened. The whole school is talking about it! Oh, Harry, Ron! R-Ron is…” By now, Hermione was in tears and crashed into him, pulling him into a tight hug, Harry could feel some tears of his own pooling in his eyes as well. He embraced her in turn but couldn’t help but feel awkward. He didn’t truly care much, but Hermione was a bit taller than him.

  They finally separated, and he grimly nodded in confirmation, fearing that his voice would betray him. His eyes did not stop tearing up, and soon his cheeks were wet and his vision blurry. He fiercely gritted his teeth and wiped his face with his sleeve. Crying… there was no point.

  “Ron is gone now,” Harry eked out quietly to Hermione as tears began to fall freely from her brown eyes.

  .

  .

  .

  They walked in silence as Harry led the way to the Owlery. The tears were gone, repced by solemn silence. Thankfully, it was a short enough walk that they didn’t meet any students. They crossed the bridge leading to the Clock Tower and then descended the stairs to the field. Finally, Hermione couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Was it true about Professor Lockhart, Harry?”

  Harry froze, one foot still in the air as he slowly turned towards his remaining best friend, pced his foot down, and gazed at Hermione with a raised eyebrow, not deigning to ask what she meant.

  Hermione shuffled uncomfortably and looked at the ground.“Is it true what they say? That he is a fraud and that he caused Ron’s death?! But that can’t be true, right? He is a professor and —”

  “Hermione!”

  She froze at his cold tone. A few moments ter, Hermione hesitantly raised her head and looked at her friend, who looked almost as tall as her now and had the most bitter expression she had seen on his face.

  “Even now, Hermione? We suspected Lockhart was a fraud from the very start; bloody hell, the man did not teach us anything apart from the fact that he’s a useless ponce with a love of lic. Being a professor does not make someone magically good or bad. The teachers are people like the rest of us; some are good but strict, some are petty and cruel, and some are lying, incompetent, greedy pieces of dragon dung. Lockhart struggled with the simplest of spells and could not do magic to save his own hide if he had to. Did you know that he confessed to Ron and me that his only magical talent y in deceit and obliviation? That all the feats described in his books were real enough but stolen by wiping the memory of those who did them?!"

  Harry was heaving now and could feel anger slowly creep back within him. He shook his head to chase it away and looked at his stunned friend. Hermione looked as if her entire worldview had shattered.

  He started walking again, and a few seconds ter, she rushed after him.

  “But Harry, that doesn’t mean that all the teachers are bad. Professor McGonagall—”

  “Decided that four eleven-year-olds were excellent candidates to venture into the Forbidden Forest at midnight to investigate whatever dark creature would kill something as sacred as a Unicorn,” Harry interrupted without stopping, “Don’t forget how she completely disregarded our concerns about the Philosopher’s Stone. Hells, don’t get me started on Snape.”

  They were halfway across the grounds to the Owlery now. Harry could see the Quidditch Pitch in the distance. A shame the cup was cancelled. Ron would have loved to watch him finally win it for Gryffindor.

  ‘Next year,’ he silently promised himself.

  Hermione was stumped and frowned. Usually, she was the one speaking reason, yet Harry was not… wrong. She conceded that McGonagall perhaps hadn’t been the most impressive Deputy in the past two years, but…

  “What about Dumbledore?”

  Harry grinned slightly as he noticed her slip. “What about him?”

  “He has always seen to our best interest and always put the students first above all else.”

  They had arrived at the base of the Owlery, and only the stairs remained.“Might I remind you of that obstacle course we had to go through st year? Have you never wondered how three first years managed to clear it when it was supposed to hold back an evil dark wizard strong enough to break into a Gringotts vault and escape unscathed? Better yet,” Harry stopped at the door to the Owlery and turned to Hermione, “Why did Dumbledore take a bloody broom to London when he could have taken the Floo or some other form of magical transportation? I’m sure there are plenty of ways to travel around, yet he decided to use perhaps the slowest one of them all.”

  Harry opened the door and immediately pinpointed Hedwig’s beautiful white plume among the multitudes of brown and grey. She perked up as well and glided over to Harry’s outstretched arm as he cooed and stroked his loyal owl.

  Meanwhile, Hermione fell into deep thought.

  Now that she looked back on the previous year, some of the headmaster’s decisions didn’t make sense. But then again, most wizards and witches didn’t make sense sometimes. She finally grimaced, unsure what to think anymore, and looked at Harry, who had finished admiring his owl and feeding her an owl treat.

  Harry couldn’t help but feel a faint connection to Hedwig, and the snowy owl acted even more amiable than usual.

  “So girl,” Hermione perked up at his words, but he was looking at his snowy owl, “Ready for a long flight to London?”

  Hedwig hooted enthusiastically while Hermione blushed in embarrassment.

  Harry tied the envelope to the owl’s offered cw with some string he prepared, “For Gringotts, girl. Safe travels.”

  He led her outside, where she promptly took off southward.

  Harry and Hermione watched Hedwig fly into the distance before they headed down to the fields.

  “Dumbledore does care about the school and its students,” Harry said suddenly, “But he is still only one man, a great man yet still a man. He is not exactly young and spry either… The Headmaster himself confessed to me that he is prone to making mistakes. And when great men make mistakes, they tend to be great as well.”

  “But, if we cannot count on the Headmaster or the Deputy, whom do we rely on?”

  “We can only rely on ourselves,” he said with a sad sigh. “You were petrified, but Ron and me… we saw Hagrid taken away to prison by the Minister of Magic himself!”

  “Why?”

  He threw a sad smile at Hermione’s indignant face.

  “Because ‘We must be seen doing something’!” Harry quoted, trying to imitate Fudge’s self-important voice, and his friend’s eyes became as wide as saucers.

  “But what about a trial?! Surely, they cannot send someone to Azkaban-”

  “Apparently, they can,” he sourly interrupted. “They can send someone to prison with no proof just to be seen doing something. Dumbledore was there, and his protests were easily ignored, and he was dismissed from his post of Headmaster by the board of governors.”

  “But, but…”

  For the first time, Harry saw Hermione speechless, and he sighed.

  “Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the Minister all have their own worries and problems to wrangle with to pay attention to a few students. If I learned anything in the past two years at Hogwarts, it’s that if I want something done, I must do it myself. And maybe with your aid. You have been a far greater help than any of the teachers…”

  Hermione’s cheeks reddened at his admission.

  .

  .

  .

  “So, what exactly are we doing here, Harry?”

  Harry remained silent in thought as they exited the stairs to the dungeons. To the right is the way to the Slytherin Dorms, and if his guess was correct, then his destination should be under the Great Hall. In other words, to the left.

  “I’m starving, and I missed breakfast. It’s Sunday, so breakfast ends at ten, and there is no lunch. I’m not waiting till five for dinner. Professor Dumbledore told me about the kitchens st night, where I can go there and grab food.”

  At the mention of food, Hermione’s stomach growled, and she grimaced at Harry’s chuckle, “Oh shut it, you! I haven’t eaten in three weeks. What’s your excuse?”

  “Fought and killed a giant snake and got bitten by it,” he nonchantly answered with a shrug.

  Hermione stopped dead, mouth agape.

  “It's a miracle that you are alive. I only briefly saw its eyes in the mirror,” for a short moment, she resumed walking, but then she froze again. “Wait, you got bitten?!”

  “Yep,” he rolled his sleeve, showing his scar, and her eyes turned as wide as saucers again.

  “How are you alive?” Hermione asked in horror. “Not that I’m compining! It’s great that you survived, I couldn’t have lost you too…”

  Harry gave her a wan smile as he released his sleeve.

  “Fawkes, the Headmaster’s Phoenix, helped. Truth be told, you are right. It is a miracle I am alive, and it was far more Fawkes and luck than anything else. He pecked out the Basilisk’s deadly eyes, he brought me the Sorting Hat, and he healed the venom. Without him, I wouldn’t be here now,” he admitted with a frown. The words tasted like ash in his mouth. “Next time, I won’t rely on luck.”

  “Wait, next time?”

  “I appreciate your optimism, Hermione,” he chuckled sadly. “But Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest pce in the Wizarding World, yet, I’ve had more than half a dozen brushes with death in only two years. Knowing my luck, there will definitely be a next time, but I will no longer be unprepared.”

  Hermione opened her mouth to object but realised that Harry was not wrong… again. Hogwarts was a pretty dangerous school, all things considered. And her friend was indeed a trouble magnet. She just shook her head and continued trailing after Harry speechlessly.

  Neither of them had been on this side of the dungeons before. An older Slytherin student passed by and gave them a distracted nod as he held a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and looked at an open book in the other.

  It took Harry some time, but he found the massive portrait with a fruit bowl. He stood there, completely stumped. How the bloody hell was he supposed to make the pear ugh? Tell a joke?

  “Well, Harry? What are we waiting for?”

  Harry did not want to appear incompetent, so before he went with his initial reaction of telling a me joke, he carefully poked around the painting, but to no avail. Hermione looked ready to explode in indignation as he was vandalizing the school property. Just as he was about to give up, his hand brushed over the pear… which vibrated a little. Wait! He brushed his finger across the surface as if he were tickling a person, and the pear actually giggled. The portrait opened like a door to reveal a gigantic kitchen the size of the great hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls and a great brick firepce at the other end. There were also four long wooden tables that stood there with a fifth perpendicur to them, all of them positioned exactly beneath the four House tables above and the Staff table in the Great Hall.

  All of this, Harry noticed in seconds before he was assaulted by dozens of house elves who greeted them enthusiastically and ushered him and Hermione in before they seated them on one of the tables and asked what they would like to eat just as they poured them some juice and a pte of sandwiches was pced on the table in front of them.

  Harry was about to reply with what undoubtedly would be a very long order-,

  “Harry! What is this?!”

  He groaned.

  “I am hungry, Hermione, I doubt I know much more than you do, why don’t you ask them yourself?”

  As her eyes glinted, and she began to speak with one of the House Elves, Harry’s stomach reminded him why he was here in the first pce, and he began listing his order.

  Editor’s Note: I’m going to call in an unreliable narrator here about the events of the first year. The obstacles to the philosopher’s stone didn’t really matter, as Voldemort would never be able to pass the mirror. They were not too deadly on purpose, lest a student gets themselves killed attempting them (outside of the troll, really). If Harry never went to ‘save’ the stone, Dumbledore would be back and would find Quirrelmort stuck in front of the mirror. Him taking a broom was also in an attempt to bait Voldemort out of hiding. Now, about the Forbidden Forest detention, I honestly have no expnation. McGonagall had a lobotomy for one night, maybe?

  Author's Note: I agree with my editor. Old McGee had a curious case of spontaneous insanity. Or JKR wanted to force the plot with the forest, but that can't be possible now, could it? :)