Chapter Text
September, 1991
When Corvin arrives, soaring in on black wings, Harry hands over the sword, the Stone, and the shrunk down Medusa. Corvin will take care of the rest; he’ll give the sword to Gringotts, get the Stone sent off back to Flamel, and lastly, he’ll perform some light surgery on Medusa. With that in order, they split up and hurry away in different directions.
It’s almost three o’clock when Harry has snuck his way back into the castle and down to the Slytherin common room, where he can finally collapse into bed. Four hours of sleep is better than no hours of sleep.
During breakfast, Harry makes sure to wear his ring and locket on full display. He’s not sure if Voldemort can see through Quirrell’s eyes or something like that, but he doesn’t doubt that somehow, he will know. He can’t attack Harry outright, so instead, they both bide their time.
His first Defence Against the Dark Arts class isn’t until three days later. The lesson itself is as terrible as Harry recalls. Quirrell is a…less than stellar teacher. If it weren’t for Harry getting rid of him soon, he’s pretty sure Miss Akane and her people would have him replaced before the end of the term.
“M-M-Mis- Mister G-Gaunt, a wo-word, p-please?” the man stutters out as the class is drawing to an end.
The rest of the class files out of the room, leaving them alone. Harry keeps his hand on his wand, on his desk. “Drop the act, Quirrell. Your stutter is getting annoying.”
The meek look on the man’s face falls away. His features harden into marble.
“Show him to me. I know he’s there with you.”
Quirrell reaches up to his turban. After he has unspooled it from around his head, he turns around. There it is, Voldemort’s disgusting face.
Harry isn’t going to dignify him with words.
“Sectumsempra.”
The eyes in the false face widen in shock. The slash of a blade cuts across Quirrell’s back, across Voldemort’s face, across their shared neck. The man folds. He slumps to the floor as blood sprays. He gasps for air for only a single second, before he goes completely still.
Without his horcruxes, Voldemort is just a man like any other, and he dies as easily as any other.
Harry takes a deep breath. With some effort, he makes his own eyes well up. In only a few moments, he’s crying like a baby, hands shaking and breaths choked and wet. He jumps out of his chair and runs of the door, letting a panicked shriek leave him as he bursts into the hallway. There, he slumps to his hands and knees, sobbing. The students milling about all stop to stare; teachers run like mad.
“Mister Gaunt,” McGonagall says as she falls to her knees with him, while more teachers run to join them. “Mister Gaunt, what’s wrong? Speak to me, what happened?!”
“Q-Quirrell! He- He- Oh, Merlin, oh, God, I’m sorry!”
“Quirrell? What happened with Quirrell? Someone check the classroom, please!”
“Merlin’s beard!”
“Great Scott! Get the boy to Pomfrey, someone contact his parents!”
“Keep the students out! Summon the Ministry!”
Snape appears, wrapping his arm around Harry. “Marvolo, it’s Severus, I’m here. Can you stand?”
Harry sobs harder as he leans into Snape, clinging to the man’s robes. Before he knows it, Snape has hefted him up into his arms and set off running. It’s hard to tell what’s really happening until he’s being set down in a bed in the Hospital Wing and plied with a calming draught by Pomfrey.
Harry falls asleep.
When Harry opens his eyes, Corvin is at his side, holding his hand tightly.
“Dad...?”
“Oh, Merlin, Marvolo!” the man nearly sobs, drawing even closer to his son’s side. “I’m right here, love, you’re alright, you’re safe, everything’s okay.”
As if hearing their voices summons them, a number of people begin to approach to stand around his bed. Among them is Miss Akane, who, after asking careful permission, sits down on the edge of the bed with him.
“I know you must be a bit confused right now, Mister Gaunt, and I do hate to ask, but we really must know what happened in Professor Quirrell’s classroom.”
Harry sucks in a sharp breath. He squeezes Corvin’s hand. “I- It’s...” He quickly rubs at his eyes, as if to dispel any further tears. “He- He asked me to- to stay behind. And he, the turban. He took it off. There was-... There was a face!”
Corvin hushes him softly, leaning in to hug him for several long moments. “It’s alright, love. No one’s mad at you, okay? We just need to know what happened, that’s all. Take your time.”
Harry nods rapidly, hanging onto his dad’s arm. “The face... It said-... It said it was- It was You Know Who,” he whispers. Several of the adults physically flinch at the mention. “A-And he said, he said he’s a Gaunt too, s-so I should- I should be on- on his side. But- But I didn’t want to, I swear! Dad, I swear I didn’t want to!”
Corvin nods, reaching out to caress his boy’s face. “I know, love, I know. It’s okay, you were very brave, and I’m so proud of you. Can you...tell us what happened next?”
“He- He was trying to c-convince me, I think, but I was so scared, dad, an-and all I could think of was- was the spell Uncle Severus taught me.”
“Which one, love?”
“The bad one.”
“Do you mean sectumsempra, love?”
“He- He said to never, ever u-use it unless I was in- in real danger and-... I was so scared, dad, I didn’t know what to do, it just happened, dad, I swear!” Harry informs emphatically, tears coming up again. “A-And there was b-blood and I- I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please- Please don’t put me in Azkaban, I’m so sorry!”
One of the men with a Ministry pin on his lapel steps closer. “You’re not going to Azkaban, Marvolo, I can promise you that. You were scared and trying to defend yourself. Against You Know Who, of all people. What you did was admirable, son. You protected yourself and got out of an awful situation alive. I know grown men and women who weren’t so fortunate. Azkaban is not something you need to worry about. You have my word on that.”
“I’ve arranged for you to have the rest of today and tomorrow off from classes,” Miss Akane offers gently. “And your father’s going to stay with you, too.”
Corvin’s expression hardens immeasurably. He tries to smile, though, and give Harry’s hand a squeeze. “Will you be alright for a minute, love, if I go have a word with all these people? I’ll be right back, I promise, and I’ll be right outside the curtains the whole time.”
Harry swallows, but nods. “You- You won’t leave?”
“No, love, I’ll just be a few steps away, I promise. And in the meantime, I brought someone to keep you company.”
He reaches into one of the deep pockets of his black robes and gently withdraws the miniaturized Medusa, now appearing as nothing more than any other garden snake.
“Medusa! She’s all better? She’s really better?” Harry questions as the small basilisk is placed in his hands.
Smiling, Corvin nods. “She’s all better. Her treatments went well, and she’s healthy as an Abraxan by now.”
“Thanks, dad. I’ll-… I’ll be okay. Just don’t leave, okay?”
“I won’t, love, I promise.”
Corvin pets Harry’s hair for a moment, and leans in to press a kiss to his forehead, before standing up. On his silent direction, Miss Akane and the Ministry folks are shown away. He gives Harry a last smile as he’s drawing the privacy curtains shut around the bed.
Only moments later, the shouting begins.
“You are delusional if you think I’m letting my son stay at this mess of a school! I will be writing not only to the Daily Prophet and to every other news outlet in this bloody country about this, I will also be contacting Beauxbatons to have my son transfer and writing a lengthy complaint to both the Ministry and the I.C.W! You will be lucky if you have any students left to teach by the end of the week! This shithole has been underfunded and understaffed for the last century, the selection of classes is far too narrow, the building itself is a bloody danger to student safety! All of this, I was willing to overlook, to let my son fulfil his dream of coming here! The headmaster is a gods-be-damned war criminal! I was content to allow you to do your business and inspect the school and kick him out on your own time, I’m bloody generous like that, but this?! This is the fucking line in the sand! My son could have died! He could have died in his own damn classroom, at the hands of his own damn teacher! What is wrong with all of you?! What is wrong with this school?! How dare you allow students to stay here for even one minute more?! You let Voldemort walk right into the school! You are lucky he didn’t massacre every single student and teacher in this hellhole on the first bloody day! My son is not staying here, and for you to even think that he would, makes me concerned for not only your health but for the health of the entire bloody I.C.W! Truly, you are insane if you think for one single second I will not be leaving here today with my son! Get out of here before I really lose my temper! Go!”
Medusa peers at Harry with her beady, pure silver eyes. They’re similar to the hand Voldemort gave Pettigrew, after he sacrificed it to return Voldemort to a body. That’s where Harry got the idea. It took several months of research but they found a spell that would deliver much the same effect. Unfortunately, Corvin had to take Medusa’s eyes out first, but of course, with plenty of sedation and pain relief for her. And now, she gets to view the world freely, without anyone needing to fear for their life. He knows it’s unfair to remove an integral part of her being just to make sure she can live a decent life, but it is, unfortunately, the only way around it that they could find. Medusa seems happy enough, though, and that’s all that matters, in the end.
“Your father isss a fearsssome protector,” she whispers, coiled up on Harry’s chest.
Harry smiles. “I know. He’sss a good dad.”
HOGWARTS SHUT DOWN: Dumbledore fired, school closed for restructuring
According to the article in the Prophet, the school will be closed for two weeks while the building itself is inspected, teachers audited, additional teachers brought in, classes adjusted, and so on. All students were sent home on the train the morning after Harry’s run-in with Quirrell. The Educational Office is offering assistance to all families who wish for their children to transfer to a different European school, or who are switching to home-schooling. Harry himself is being moved to Beauxbatons, per his own request. He loves Hogwarts, but he’s not blind to its faults. This is a new life; he’s taking a new path. Hogwarts is being made better, yes, but it’s just not on Harry’s path this time around. Beauxbatons is his next adventure.
He, and the rest of the transfer students, will be travelling to France together on Sunday, and join classes on Monday. They have a few extra days to prepare and collect new uniforms and textbooks; the Educational Office is performing trades, taking their Hogwarts uniforms and books and giving them the Beauxbatons supplies in return, as they decided the families themselves should not have to pay for these supplies twice.
Harry can’t say he loves the powder blue suit-like uniform, but suppose he’ll get used to it. He’s got eight years of wearing it to look forward too, after all (damn you, French people, for insisting on students taking eight years instead of seven!)
For now, Harry has another three days to waste before leaving home again.
“Any eyes on him?” he asks at breakfast.
Remus hums. “My contact in the Property Offices at the bank, he says Dumbledore is looking at a few places. He’s staying at the Leaky Cauldron for now. The deal should be closing today. Just in time, too. Folks at the Cauldron don’t like having him there. Word has it, Tom only lets him stay if he pays triple the usual rates.”
“Good,” Corvin bites, stabbing at his food a bit too viciously.
“How’d you get them to tell you anything?” Sirius questions. “Aren’t they super secretive about customer business?”
“Yes, but I may have hinted that with my connection not only to the Misters Gaunt but also to the Order, I had people lining up to have me as legal representation regarding a number of wrongful death suits and so on,” Remus explains between bites of his sausages and eggs. “And of course, my fees go directly to the bank, with only a minor percentage landing with me as commissions. I just need a current address to add to my papers before we begin filing with the Wizengamot in a week or two.”
Sirius barks out a loud laughter, almost spitting out his beans in his mirth. “Brilliant! Bloody brilliant! You shrewd little bastard, you! Bloody sublime, that is!”
Harry is inclined to agree. Honestly, Remus probably isn’t even outright lying. Harry knows he’d love to bring a case against Dumbledore if he could; Sirius would probably have Dumbledore drawn and quartered for his failures regarding the entire Potter family. The rest of the Order, they all lost people in Dumbledore’s war and most of them are probably disgruntled enough about everything to take it to court, just to give Dumbledore even a fraction of the suffering they’ve gone through themselves.
“And the matter with Griphook?” Harry asks next.
Remus sips his tea before answering. “I’ve been speaking to him. He said there are a handful of artefacts currently in your vault that he would be willing to trade for. He mentioned some helmets, a shield, a pair of swords. Of course, I had to discuss with you, but if you agree, he can have things ready before you leave on Sunday.”
“Alright. Tell him the trade is accepted. We’ll be at the bank on Saturday.”
“I’ll let him know as soon as I get in.”
Good. Everything continues to go according to plan. Only a day or two more, then it’s all over.
Friday morning, Remus hands Harry a slip of parchment. On it, are an address and a set of coordinates.
Remus doesn’t have to say anything more. Harry knows what this is.
He walks right out of the house, apparating before his foot touches the lawn. He lands in Dartmoor National Park. From there, he flies the rest of the way. When he finds the house in question, he watches from a distance first. Best to make sure there won’t be any interruptions.
After an hour of no movements, Harry moves in closer. Hm, the old fool hasn’t even warded the place. Inside the small, quiet cottage, Dumbledore sits in an armchair in a barren living room. The Elder Wand lays on the armrest of the chair. There are several trunks and suitcases stacked against the wall. He hasn’t had time to settle in yet. He’s only been here the one night, after all.
“Mister Gaunt?” the old man says, confused. “How did you get here?”
Harry removes his ring.
“Harry? Is that-… Is it really you?”
He steps closer, coming into the light spilling from the window into the dim room. “Hello, Albus.”
“You… You are Marvolo Gaunt?”
“Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
“No. No, I did not. How did you-… Voldemort. You killed him. How?”
“Horcruxes.”
“No… Truly?”
“Yeah.”
“I suspected, but… How did you find it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. What matters is that I destroyed them. I killed Voldemort. That was never my main objective, however.”
“What? Why? What could be more important than him?”
“You, Albus. My main goal has always been to kill you. For every lie you’ve ever told, for every person you’ve ever used, for every situation you’ve manipulated to your benefit… I am your karma.”
The man’s brows furrow in utter confusion. “What? What do you mean?”
Harry smiles. “Ever wonder why things started falling apart so suddenly? How all your misdeeds came to light? How all your lies were laid bare?”
“You? No. No, it can’t be! You- You couldn’t have…”
“Like I said. I’m your karma, Albus.”
The old wizard stares at him. Harry can see behind his eyes, the gears turning, the pieces falling into place, everything beginning to make sense.
“Any last words?”
Dumbledore sighs. He removes his glasses. He rubs at his eyes. “All I did, I did for the greater good.”
“And that makes you no better than Gellert Grindelwald. Medusssa, attack.”
The basilisk leaps out of his pocket. She launches herself at Dumbledore. The man tries to shield himself with his hands but she simply sinks her teeth into his arm. Dumbledore lets out a pained groan. Medusa releases him and allows herself to fall to the floor. From there, Harry gently picks her up and places her around his shoulders. Dumbledore groans, clutching the small wound.
Harry stands back and watches.
He watches a pitiful man suffer a pitiful death, and Harry relishes in his misery.
He doesn’t move until Dumbledore has gone completely still. He approaches the man, feeling his neck for a pulse. Nothing. Good.
Harry takes the wand. He exits through the backdoor and apparates away.
The mission is complete.
Saturday arrives.
The mixed household lands at Gringotts near midday. Griphook shows them to the usual meeting room. There, he is simply offered a potion. Harry hands over the glamour ring.
He drinks the potion.
When he looks into his two-way mirror, he can actually watch the scar on his forehead knit shut without a trace, and his irises shift colours.
After only a mere minute, his eyes are permanently brown and his scar is gone without a trace. Harry Potter is finally gone for good.
Griphook also makes a currency exchange for them, before they leave; galleons to bezants. Harry- Marvolo is going to France. He needs to have some pocket money.
They sit down for ice cream at Florean’s.
Everything feels...
It’s weird. It feels like he’s been holding his breath for as long as he can remember, and now he can’t recall how to exhale. It’s all over. Everything he set out to do, is done.
So, what comes next?
He could ask Death to take him away. She said he only needed to call for her, and she would come. He could just...go to sleep, finally. Find whatever peace there is in the life that comes after. He could join his parents, he could be with Ginny, see his Sirius again, wait for his children to join them once their time comes. It would be easy. He just needs to call for her.
But... What if he didn’t? He could not do that.
He’s got a father here. He’s got Sirius and Remus here. He’s going to France. He’ll be studying at Beauxbatons. It’ll be like a brand-new world. He’s never been there before, in this life or his previous one. Once he’s done there, he can…travel the world. Do things he never did in his old life.
It doesn’t have to be bad, to be here. All this time, he had his mission to motivate him. Even this whole dhampir thing, he only went through with it because he figured the extra advantages would be beneficial to the mission. He didn’t think much about what would happen after. At least, not until the last few months. Being alive, living, becoming a dhampir, becoming a vampire, that weird form of quasi-immortality, the possibility of living for hundreds of years if he pleases. It never appealed to him; immortality. Especially not now. Not now, when just being alive hardly has any appeal. He thought about it more and more, the closer he got to the end. And now, here he is. When he talked to Death, he thought he would want to die, after it was all done. But now…he’s not sure.
Maybe he can postpone it. He’ll still have the Deathly Hallows in a year. He can think it over in a year. Death said to call for her when he was ready. He’s just…not ready yet, that’s all. Maybe he will be in a week, a month, a year, and that’s okay. He just isn’t ready right now. He knows he won’t live forever, not as a vampire or as anything else; living forever sounds horribly painful, doesn’t it? He’ll go to school, grow up a bit more, maybe become a vampire if he lives to be seventeen just to try it out. Maybe. Maybe he’ll decide to die next week. Who knows?
Marvolo looks around at his family.
All he knows is that right now, he isn’t ready to die yet and that’s okay.
He orders a second serving of ice cream for his whole family.
Today is a pretty good day to be alive.