Chapter Text
Going back in time had seemed like a great decision at exactly no point, and yet there Harry was, sitting in front of his great-grandfather Henry Potter in one of the most comfortable armchairs he’d ever been glared at while perched upon. Which made up the vast majority of plush, fancy armchairs he’d been in, really, because Harry Potter got glared at so much he felt it was a compulsion upon the universe. Even Death had glared at him during their spirited discussion about Harry coming back to life.
Although the glaring had stopped around the time he got to the “I was prophesied to die” part of the story, and had fully transformed into a sympathetic gaze when he got to the actually dying part of it all.
“...decided it would just be best to go to you and tell you the truth because I figured if I was named after you, you were probably a pretty decent guy.”
Henry sat back in his own armchair. It was fancier than the one Harry was in.
“And also I figured I could prove I was telling the truth by doing the family ritual.”
“That would only indicate we were related.” Henry pointed out, although honestly, he believed Harry’s story already. If only because the power rolling off him was enough to be suffocating, and yet felt warm and familiar. It reminded Henry of when he used to pretend to be asleep as a child, and his mother would pick him up and carry him to his room.
“Oh, I meant the generational one.”
Henry gave him an amused look.
“...unless that hasn’t been invented yet. Right.” Harry sighed deeply. “Okay, well fuck. That was sort of my whole plan.”
“Language.”
“Sorry.” He did not look very sorry.
Definitely a Potter.
Well. Henry shrugged. “Well, I’ll key you into the wards. If they accept you without complication, that’ll be enough of a familial test for me.”
“What?” Harry startled, standing up and glancing around like Henry was going to let in a horde of murderous wizards now that his guard was down. “Just like that?”
“If I am being frank, young man, you look like the spitting image of Mahee. If you are not a Potter I’ll eat my hat. Although I’m envious her traits were strong enough to survive that many generations. Or amused if my tastes were passed down strongly enough to have her looks married into the blood more than once.”
“Mahee?”
“My late wife.” He explained. “Now, what we must focus on is how we are explaining you to the public. You are older than Fleamont and frankly, if I announce you as my son it would be expected you take over the heirship. And many would question why I and Mahee hid our firstborn.”
“I do not want the heirship. I will renounce – well.” If Harry wanted to get Riddle’s attention, having a lordship lined up for him would be a very good way to do that. He chewed on his lip. “I could sign a contract saying I will not fight Fleamont for it, but could we maybe pretend we’re both competing for it equally until I graduate Hogwarts?”
Henry considered him. “I feel greatly for you. For what you have sacrificed to come back. But I will not allow my son’s future to be hurt in this way. He is my heir and it will be known by all, without question.”
Harry supposed he already had a lot going for him just because Henry had decided against throwing him out and calling him insane. Asking him to dull his only son’s shine as well was a bit too much. “I understand. If we decide to go down the secret first son route, we’ll come up with a reason why I will not be given the lordship.” He’d figure something else out. What if he just announced himself as the Master of Death upon arriving at school, like it was a normal casual thing everyone knew? And then have Dumbledore and Grindelwald trying to dig around in his brain. Okay, bad idea. He’d figure out a plan C.
“You were born sickly. We were told you would not survive, and you had to be isolated for the majority of life for you to recover. We chose as a family to keep you hidden for safety reasons, and to make Fleamont our heir due to not being able to raise you for the role.” Henry said definitively.
Harry wondered if all the wizards who held Wizengamont seats were as swift as making and deciding upon plans. All the ones who’d he met certainly seemed like efficient people. Maybe that was part of being raised for the role. “Works for me.”
Henry stared at him. “I suppose the cadence of your speech will lend credence to the idea you were not raised properly.”
“Ouch.” But he didn’t take it to heart, because Henry had not said it unkindly. Harry put a hand over his chest. “You wound me. My own family.”
Henry, finally, let a smile pull at his lips. “You are a terror.” But then his voice lost the light tone. “Tell me no more of the future, especially of my descendents. I already mourn for James and Lily, and do not want further pain that I should not have to endure inflicted upon me.”
At that, Harry looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry.”
“I am as well. Perhaps, this time, they will not meet such a fate.”
“Or exist at all.” Harry said, quietly. Like this thought had not yet occurred to Henry.
But it had. “Someone else will, then. And they deserve a chance at a good life just as much. It is too early to start wallowing in regrets, young man. I will not accept it.” Henry stood with such a presence that Harry found himself scrambling to his feet as well, feeling off-balance.
“Sorry. You’re right. Too late to change it now, anyway. I made the decision, I will stick with it.” Harry nodded to himself.
“Good man.” Henry patted his back. “Now, we will have to find something else to call you, because neither I nor Mahee would have named you Harry. I have no interest in being called Sr. nor my child being called Jr. It is abhorrent.”
“I like my name.”
“I like my name as well. And I am already well-established here, so we cannot change mine.”
Harry had to admit he had a point. “Alright. Can we pick a similar one? Like Har…old?”
Henry raised his eyebrows. “You wish to be called Harold?”
“No. Not really. I panicked.”
“We have time to think on it.” He clapped Harry’s shoulder. “We must get you ready to meet Monty. Summer vacation starts in two weeks.”
–დ–
Fleamont came home from Hogwarts and saw a boy he’d never met before sitting in his manor’s receiving room’s couch, dressed in fine Potter regalia, looking like he’d been plucked from one of the few portraits of Monty’s mother and given a sex changing potion. Although she didn’t have the same bright green eyes.
It should have unnerved him greatly, but the older boy made him feel… Monty wasn’t sure. Something close to how he felt when his father was letting him get away with staying up too late because they were playing a card game together. “Hello.” Monty greeted, uncharacteristically shy, holding onto his father’s arm like a young child.
He remembered himself a moment later, letting go of his father and standing tall. “I am Fleamont Potter, heir to the Potter Lordship. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
The older boy grinned, and his smile was dazzling.
Fleamont blinked. “Are you a cousin of mine?”
The boy laughed, and the gentle shaking of his body made the gems dripping from his glasses chain chime beautifully. “I am a relative, yes.”
“Of my mother’s?”
The boy nodded. “My name is Hadrian.”
Fleamont gave a slow nod. “It is nice to meet you, Hadrian.” He said again, this time without that practiced air to it and coming from a more genuine place.
“It is really good to meet you too, Monty. If I can call you Monty.”
“You can!” Fleamont assured, and he broke away from his father entirely to offer his hand for Hadrian to shake.
Hadrian did, smiling at him.
Monty spun to face his father. “Is he staying for the whole summer? He is, right?”
Henry couldn’t help a fond laugh. “He will be staying with us for the foreseeable future, and joining you at Hogwarts.”
Monty lit up. He had been keenly aware of the fact he wasn’t meant to be an only child. His parents had planned more than one, and somehow that’d infected him before he was born, and he’d always been quite lonely in the large manor. Having someone that could be like an older brother dropped into his home, joining him at school – it was a dream come true! He beamed at Hadrian.
“Fleamont,” His father’s voice was soft, but the use of his full first name alerted Monty to the fact he needed to pay attention, and his spine straightened. “Hadrian comes to us under incredible circumstances. After much deliberation, I have decided you shall know the full truth, despite how dangerous it is. What do we say about trust?”
“The more trust you are given, the more responsibility you have to earn it.” Monty said, the words recited in a way that spoke to being engraved in his mind rather than rote memorization.
“Hadrian trusted me with his story, and now we are both trusting you. Will you keep this trust?”
Fleamont Potter looked between his father and the boy who looked just like his mother. He felt like he was about to step into something much larger than himself. Instinctively, he moved closer to his father. Henry accepted him with an arm over his shoulders, a reassuring hug. His father would not do anything to Monty that he did not fully believe that Monty was ready for. So, after considering the seriousness of the promise he was to make, little Monty swallowed and then held his head high. “I will keep and protect Hadrian’s story.” He said, the vow non-magical but Henry knew it was just as binding as one made with a wand.
Henry gave Hadrian a nod, thus passing Monty’s rapt attention to the boy.
“I’m from the future. A cruel future. I came back to – save the world again, I guess, but better this time.”
And so the story unfolded. As the three talked, Hadrian making up the majority of the conversation, they slowly moved to the four-seasons room and let the warmth of the sunrays comfort them from the coldness of the bleak times Hadrian had escaped from. House-elves came with tea drenched in honey, and Monty clung to the sweetness as he did his best not to ask about the names which Hadrian choked on with sorrow when they were spoken.
By the time Hadrian’s past – their disappearing future – was laid bare, and the falsified story of how Hadrian would be introduced to the world was explained, Fleamont felt fiercely protective of the man who was to be his older brother.
With a different cover story, that may have not fit. But Monty imagined seeing a sibling always sleeping, a father always fretting about their impending death, pictured an exhausted Hadrian trying his best to smile at Monty despite the exhaustion clinging to him – just like Hadrian had giving Monty reassuring looks while he clearly fought off the grief still nestled into his bones – and Fleamont thought that yes, he would be protective over such a sibling regardless of which direction the age gap went.
They had somehow managed to relocate to the gardens when it was all said and done. The sun dipped low in the sky, scattering its warm tones across the clouds.
Hadrian was watching the sunset thoughtfully, appreciatively. “The sunset was different in my time.”
“Was it?” Monty followed his gaze. “How so?”
“More vibrant, but more hazy.”
“How interesting.” Henry commented. He was watching too, now.
Solkey was as well, as the house-elf that had attached herself quite firmly to Hadrian. She absent-mindedly tugged on one of her large ears, and then reached up to cast a heating charm on Hadrian’s tea before popping away again.
The three sat in silence as the sun sank lower, mugs were finished off, and then they all slunk back inside with murmured goodnights and a promise between Fleamont and Hadrian to talk more in the morning.
Henry went to the portrait of Mahee in his bedroom and told her how it all had gone. It was a non-magical one, and so she gave no response. But Henry imagined she would be delighted to know that Fleamont was gaining a brother, and that they got along well so far.
Henry intended to keep the still image of her well-informed.
–დ–
Hadrian and Fleamont settled into brotherhood so quickly it made Henry snort to think he’d been worried that the summer wouldn’t give enough time to have them pass as familiar with each other.
Monty had taken to two things very deeply: being enamored with absolutely everything that Hadrian did, and making fun of his clothing choices every single day.
In turn, Hadrian had taken to two things very deeply: teaching Monty everything the boy asked him to, and blaming everything Monty teased him for on Death.
Death decided she did not mind this. She had, in fact, made a small fuss about Hadrian looking the part when he’d told her of his maybe-plan to use the title of her master in order to ensnare Tom Riddle’s attention. Although honestly, Henry had been the main motivation; he’d talked so happily about Mahee’s love for fashion and presentation, and how much Hadrian looked just like her, that Hadrian had started to gain an interest in his appearance that turned out to be deeply enjoyable.
Harry Potter might not have been very fashion-conscious, but Hadrian was not him anymore. He was another man in another time. He was, allegedly, a Pureblood now. Raised by a family with wealth and influence, even if he’d been hidden away and coddled.
There were many habits he was being trained out of or into, and at least being aware of fashion meant he was allowed to make his own choices rather than have outfits picked out for him every day.
Henry had also subjected him to shock therapy, as far as getting money spent on him went, dropping such an egregious amount on Hadrian’s room and wardrobe once Fleamont had accepted him as part of the family that it’d numbed Hadrian to the standard excesses of a Lordship household. Having Monty giggle at him for tensing up over the quality of everyday things helped that along, as well.
Monty and Hadrian spent more time together once Henry returned to his usual work hours. The sprawling manor was full of echos without the busy man’s presence filling it, and together the two boys made sure it was laughter bouncing off the walls rather than somber footsteps or, worse, only the clinks and clunks of house-elves cleaning and tending to the estate.
The pair fell into the habit of, at least once a day when Henry worked, seeking out Solkey and pulling her away from her domestic tasks to rope her into a game outside. When the weather called for splashing and running around under the sun, she was a wicked shot with stream spells and handily won all games of water tag. When the weather was cloudy or rainy, she was terrible at hiding as well as seeking and would admonish the boys for not going easy on an aging elf like herself after every round.
But, she would always join in when they next came to her with grins and pleads.
The days passed in a blur. Hadrian rarely got a moment to himself, which he relished not only because it soothed the gaping hole of his own childhood but also because it left him no time to be alone with his thoughts. With his mountains of grief.
Nightmares came, of course. Sometimes bad enough he couldn’t get to sleep afterwards, and would wander into the library and pass time – while wishing he had a TV and a computer, which were a much safer topic to miss than people – until the rest of the house stirred awake and he could pretend he’d just been up for a little while and let Henry’s discussion of his expected time home that had and Monty’s questions about whatever spell he’d been practicing with Hadrian the day before distract him. Sometimes, Death could lull him back into sleep, although she never protected him from the dreams even though he suspected she may be able to. Maybe because he did not ask. Maybe because it would not do his mind well to be controlled in such a manner.
Rarely, although still sometimes, Hadrian would manage to get back to sleep on his own.
He hoped it would be better by the time summer drew to a close, but it was not. Luckily, after all of his time on the run, Hadrian could cast a silencing charm powerful enough to hide a room stuffed full of mandrakes while on 70 hours of no sleep and without a wand, so no one discovered his issues at night.
Henry got Hadrian set up at Gringotts as his son, and they did the blood test just to have the official records for anyone who went poking when the Lordship for the Peverell was listed under his inheritances.
Hadrian and Henry looked at it and each other in surprise.
Henry quickly re-took his blood test, but no mention of Peverell came up.
They both silently agreed to decline the Lordship for the time being, instead going home and informing Monty before dragging him to Gringotts the next day and making him take the blood test. No Peverell for him, either.
With that confirmed, and much confusion with why it would not have gone to either Henry or Fleamont, Hadrian accepted the Lordship and gained access to Peverell’s vaults and the Wizengamot seat.
“Well.” Hadrian said, looking at the ring on his finger. “I was planning on claiming to be 16, so I would be in the same year as Riddle, but it will be difficult to explain how I have a Lordship if I am not yet 17.”
Fleamont shrugged. “You can just keep the ring at home and not tell anyone. It doesn’t get announced. People won’t know until you claim your seat publicly.”
Hadrian looked to Henry, who gave a confirming nod. “Although if you are looking for ways to ensnare Riddle’s attention, and he gravitates to those with power, the Lordship of the Peverell family will be a great lure.”
Hadrian had to weigh having two years with Riddle while sharing classes, and perhaps a dorm, against having one year without sharing anything but with having a Lordship. Two years meant declaring Master of Death, because he hadn’t come up with a better way to get attention, and having to deal with an Evil Wizard probably coming after him. Again. But Hadrian’s main goal was to stop Riddle from becoming a snakey mass murdering cult leader, not to avoid attention.
He winced. “I will claim it’s an heirship ring.”
“What will you do when it does not change when you “become of age”?” Monty asked.
Good question. “Panic, run away to another timeline again, and maybe just kill Riddle as a baby.”
Henry frowned at him in a way Hadrian had learned was actually a secret smile of amusement. He hoped. He was pretty sure. “This type of planning does not suit a son of the Potter household.”
“Ouch.” Hurt on two fronts. Hadrian collapsed into one of the chairs of the office they were in, glaring down at his ring. “Maybe the heirship ring is in the vault and I can wear it. I mean, I’m not currently the heir but I was at one point so it shouldn’t reject me, right?”
It was, and he couldn’t, because it did. Hadrian Potter was not the heir to the Peverell line, he was the lord of it, and thus the heir ring refused to stay on his finger. It slid off, and when held in place, it wiggled violently until he let it flee for fear his finger may break.
Hadrian tried to glamor the Lordship ring to look like the heir one, even when warned not to by Henry, and the ring hated the magic with such a passion that it flew off Hadrian and slammed into his head repeatedly until he dispelled the glamor.
Henry, who had wisely taken many steps back after Hadrian announced his plan, said, “It would not do for Lordship rings to allow themselves to be enchanted to look like another house, now would it?”
Hadrian grumbled something under his breath.
“Would you like to repeat that, Hadrian?”
“Nope! But thank you for asking.” Hadrian put the ring back on and pet it apologetically. “I suppose I have a year to figure something out.” It settled under his attention, giving his finger a brief squeeze before returning to its mindless state. Like the damn thing was asleep.
He grabbed some journals from the vault, chose two heirlooms he thought were particularly fetching, and then retreated back to the Potter estate.
The journals made good reading supply for nights Hadrian couldn’t return to sleep, learning more about his ancestors. Also discovering there was a very simple reason for the mystery of him being the only one who earned the title of Peverell family; further back in the line a dispute had fractured the family in regard to who deserved to inherit the Lordship, and a series of qualifiers were placed from opposing sides that made it, in the end, almost impossible for anyone to get. The only thing they had not been able to loophole was the rules the three brothers who’d been gifted the Deathly Hallows made; anyone who brought all three back together would have rights to the family, if they were of Peverell blood.
The journals were less interesting after that was solved.
Hadrian had asked Death if letting either Henry or Fleamont hold the Deathly Hallows would qualify them to the spoils of the Peverell line, but she did not believe so.
There can only be one Vanquisher at a time, and the Deathly Hallows must be earned.
“I did not do much to earn the cloak.” Hadrian said.
This entity of eternal knowledge firmly disagrees.
“Yes, well, your mind is a mystery to mortals such as myself.”
The Vanquisher is not–
“To mortals! Such! As! Myself!” Hadrian waved away the deep, rumbling voice in his head and huffed out a breath. “If I don’t age I’m going to be so mad at you.”
If the honorable Vanquisher would like to age, he will.
“Great.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Fuck.” The yawn made his eyes water, and he pressed the heels of his palms into them to stop the tears from building in earnest. ”Fuck.
Death hummed to him, a soothing melody he’d grown very familiar with, and that was one of the nights where Hadrian was able to get back to sleep.
As the summer came to a close, Monty was bouncing off the walls with excitement to return to Hogwarts. He’d not been able to bring any of his friends to the manor, as they had all decided to do a dramatic reveal of Hadrian’s existence at Hogwarts itself, and they were all quite suspicious in a very friendly way about what grand secret was being hidden away at the Potter estate that meant they were denied entry all summer.
Monty, of course, had refused to say a word. He’d never once made up an excuse for why they couldn’t come, either, not bothering with any lies. Simply saying the Potter manor was not accepting visitors for the time being. Let the rumors spread far and wide, happily giving silent approval for his friends to gossip about it with everyone who let their ears be caught.
It was a great setup. Monty had made Hadrian let him help pick the first day outfit, ignoring Hadrian’s protests about their vastly different tastes in clothing and the fact that Hadrian had been to Hogwarts before so this was not a huge deal to him, and it wouldn’t even be his first day in Hogwarts in this timeline because he was going a day early for a private sorting and to give him extra time to settle in.
Dippet had been very understanding of Hadrian’s circumstances, and happy to help him prepare to join in with the rest of the students. He’d even excused Hadrian from the initial welcome feast, after being explained that Hadrian was still recovering from his condition and all that attention as a transfer from the whole school at once could be quite damaging.
Monty did not care for any of these arguments. He not only rejected the first five outfits Hadrian picked, but told him that he should go for something more risque to get the attention of the Riddle Gang and the Cultmaster himself.
“If you’re planning on fixing him with the power of love, him thinking you’re hot will only be useful.” Monty said, picking up a slightly sheer shirt and presenting it to Hadrian.
Hadrian looked at his pseudo-brother, looking back on memories of thinking the man in the diary’s memories had been devastatingly handsome, and realizing that despite really not having jumped back with that intent it was, in fact, a possibility. And that meant that, unfortunately, Fleamont was right.
Hadrian picked up the shirt. “I wasn’t really planning on dating him, you know.”
“Yeah, sure, but you know.” Monty shrugged. “Even if he doesn’t fall in love with you, which I think will probably happen because everyone says waves of people fell for Ma at first sight, other people wanting you will make Riddle want you, based on everything you’ve said. So it’s still a good idea to show up looking your best.”
“Not worried I’ll be debauching the Potter name?”
Monty gave a wistful sigh. “I am deeply upset to inform you that I have been told way too many times that Dad was very… rambunctious in his youth.”
“Oh. Ew.” Hadrian wrinkled his nose.
“Indeed.”
“That’s like, double ew. Because he’s my great grandfather as well as legally my father.”
“I imagine so!” Monty seemed delighted that the idea was even grosser to Hadrian than it was to Monty. Misery shared was misery halved indeed. “But the point is, if you go around dressing like a scarlet than my reputation will become the dignified member of the Potter family, which will only be a boon for my future. Right now I am considered boring, outside of my name.”
“Your name?”
At that, Monty blushed deeply. “Sometimes people make fun of my name.”
“Oh.” Hadrian blinked. “Do you hex them?”
He hazarded a small smile. “I’ve gotten quite adept at dueling, from all of it.”
“That explains your abilities over this summer.” Hadrian pulled off the shirt he was wearing to shrug on the sheer one, glaring at the ruffles on the sleeves. “I did not buy this one.”
“Don’t like ruffles? They’re very fashionable right now.”
“Then I’ll be a trendsetter.” Hadrian tugged it off without even buttoning it to look at himself in the shirt properly, throwing it onto the growing pile of rejects. “Time for us to launch into the future, Monty.”
“Not until you change it.” He countered, rifling through Hadrian’s closet once more.
“Sure, sure. So picky.” Hadrian joined at his side. “Green and gold.” He opened his jewelry drawer, poking through. “Pick colors that go well with green and gold.”
Monty glanced over. “Slytherin green and Gryffindor gold?” His eyes sparkled.
“I’m hedging my bets.” Hadrian said, defensively.
“And you look bad in silver.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I just look better in gold.”
“You look great in gold. And bad in silver. And you know you’re going to Slytherin.”
“I’m pretty sure--”
“Potters are not simply “pretty sure” of things,”
“Bullshit,”
“They kno– I’m telling Dad you said that.” Monty jumped away from Hadrian’s grabbing hand, scrambling out of the closet, and taking off down the hallway.
“Wait! Stop! I’ll let you pick out my – shit.” Hadrian gave a deep sigh. Monty was long gone.
Hadrian got a lecture over dinner about upholding the Potter dignity, and how not only was it disappointing to learn he could not control his ruder impulses but it would put his cover story at risk if he went around swearing at everything despite having not been raised around such language at all. The lecture was much more painful when Hadrian spent all of it plagued by imaginings of the types of things that Henry must have gotten up to in his teenhood to not only gain a reputation for being a rambunctious flirt, but enough of one that people mentioned it to his son many years later, and knew he could not point out this blatant display of hypocrisy. Instead, Hadrian nodded when it was appropriate and said, “I understand.” quite a few times and managed to find a time, right before dessert, to gently kick Monty in the shin in retribution.
He went to sleep that night, packed and ready to head off to Hogwarts and hopefully save the world again while probably in peril from another Evil Wizard. At least this one had a normal face, rather than a snake one. Would make the view while getting threatened nicer.