Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

On the morning of August 1st, Solomon brings me a package from the Malfoys. A book-shaped package, that when opened up, reveals itself to indeed be a book. The title seems innoccuous enough, but a closer look at the contents and the letter that came with it indicates that it's not quite so innoccuous.

"Dear Harry, we were unaware that it was your birthday yesterday, so please forgive the late present. We hope this book is to your interest. I was not certain what previous experience you might have had with this sort of magic, so I chose something of an intermediate level. Enjoy it, and do let me know if you would like to see something more advanced sometime. Signed, your friends, Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco."

How nice! They sent me a book on the Dark Arts! And what's the first thing anyone does when they get a new toy for their birthday? They've got to try it out, of course!

I flip through the book, looking at descriptions of interesting spells. Hexes, jinxes, and curses. I have no idea why some of these are even considered 'Dark', but who am I to argue? I've actually got a chance to play around with them now!

Hmm, this spell looks interesting, and it doesn't require a target. The Dark Tendrils Curse, it's called. Looks a little complicated, but I think I can handle it.

"Tentacula Tenebrae!" I cast, waving my wand in the denoted movements.

The effect is immediate. Half-substantial black tentacles spring forth out of nowhere, grasping at the air. They seem a little familiar. Oh, no. They remind me of Sedder. This was exactly the sort of spell Sedder used. This was what he used to kill me, to torture my cousins. I can't forget how they grabbed onto me, keeping me from fleeing, sucking the very life out of me...

The dark tendrils suddenly latch onto me, and I drop my wand in surprise. What in the Abyss? It's not supposed to do this! This is my own spell! One of the tentacles coils around my neck, and I struggle in frantic terror trying to break free, or at least to grab my wand again.

My head is spinning. My vision is darkening rapidly. I'm having trouble breathing. My fading thoughts muse that at least my death will cancel the spell.

I wake with a groan. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best spell to try out. Note to self: The Dark Arts are not a toy.

When Solomon delivers the book again this morning, I stuff it away in my bag of holding and just set about to writing a polite thank-you letter to the Malfoys, signing it with, "Your friend, Harry." I think I'll just stick to studying it for now, and be more careful about practicing it in the future.

I've been skimming over the Daily Prophet every morning since my return to this world, just to see if everything is going more or less the way it did last time. The edition from August 3rd is the first one that displays any significant difference.

MALFOY SPEAKS OUT FOR HOUSE-ELVES, reads the headline.

By all the gods and demons, he actually did it? I'm positively stunned. I had half expected him to make promises he didn't intend to keep, and was gratified at him having made them anyway. But here he is, going on publicly about how the house-elves are the wizards' longest, most trusted servants, and that it's demeaning to mistreat them. How they should be honored and respected, even going so far as to propose a new holiday for house-elves.

It's enough to bring tears to my eyes. The rational part of my mind tells me that he's just doing this to gain my favor. The emotional part replies that he's succeeding.

So he also called up the name of Harry Potter on it. Harry Potter supports house-elves. Well, that's not so bad, I suppose. There are certainly worse issues to have one's name attached to. I'm just happy imagining the overwhelming joy of all the poor, abused house-elves in magical Britain.

Once I manage to compose myself, I get out quill and parchment to send a letter to the Malfoys. "I just saw your article in the Daily Prophet regarding house-elves," I write. "A most excellent statement, and I heartily approve. Do feel free to let me know if you ever want any official endorsements from the Boy-Who-Lived or anything. With love, your friend, Harry Potter."

A pretty blanket offer, but I don't care. If some good comes of it, it's perfectly alright. I'm willing to give and take. I'm determined to try to leave this world, at least, a little better than it was when I came here.

On the eighth of August, the Weasleys come to Diagon Alley. I can hardly contain my excitement when I see the cluster of familiar orange heads. This is a meeting I've been eagerly awaiting.

I head along into the bookstore after them, ostensibly to buy something myself and run into them 'by chance'. They're looking over the used book section.

"Alright, Percy's going to need this one and this one..." Molly is saying.

"Oh, hello," I say casually. "Wow, how many of you are going to Hogwarts this year?"

"Us four boys," Percy says absently. "Ginny's too young still. She'll be starting next year."

The twins turn to take a look at me, and their eyes widen when they notice the scar on my forehead. "Merlin's beard!" Fred says.

"It's Harry Potter!" George adds.

"Yeah, I've been getting that a lot lately," I say with a smirk. "Pleased to meet you, although I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

"Harry Potter," Molly repeats, turning to look at me critically. "I suppose you're here to be buying new school books, am I right?"

"Not today," I say. "I'm just browsing a bit. I already bought the required books a while ago."

"I see," Molly says coolly. What's with this attitude? I never saw her like this before. "Well, don't let me stop you, then."

I frown. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't want my children associating with the likes of you," Molly says.

I reel as though I've just been slapped. "What?" I say dumbly.

"You heard me," Molly says firmly.

"I don't understand," I say. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Are you completely unaware that Lucius Malfoy mentioned your name in the Daily Prophet recently?" Molly says. "If he's been associating your name with his without your knowledge or permission, I would suggest taking him to task on the matter. He's been acting as though you're his biggest supporter."

"Oh, that," I say. "If you're refering to the house-elf thing, I do fully support it all the way."

"So you are his collaborator, then," Molly says. "Either that or he's tricked you into believing that he's a good person with his flowery intentions, all for the sake of using your name."

"He didn't trick me," I reply.

"Oh, you're defending him now, are you?" Molly says.

"I don't believe this," I say in exasperation at the Weasleys all glaring at me like I'm some kind of monster.

"I bet he's going to wind up in Slytherin," Ron mutters.

"Now, don't you have something you need to be doing, young man?" Molly says, looking to me pointedly.

I set my jaw and put on a mask to bury my true feelings. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, ma'am," I say. "I was just trying to be friendly..."

"Your problem is that you're too friendly with all of the wrong sorts of people," Molly says, gathering up the handful of used books that she's purchasing for her children and turning to walk away.

Until I saw Molly Weasley's retreating back, I didn't really feel just what I lost when I looked into the basilisk's eyes.

It's going to be difficult being in Gryffindor if the Weasleys are going to be against me. How can I sleep in the same room with someone who doesn't trust me, and hence someone I cannot trust? Not to mention that I might wind up being a target for the twins' pranks. Perhaps I would be better off in one of the other houses after all.

"Mum, maybe you were too harsh on Harry..." Ginny's voice speaks barely audibly.

Maybe it's not too late to salvage my relationship with them. First impressions are important, but they aren't everything. Maybe if I'm in Gryffindor, and I can show them that I'm not a bad person, their opinion of me will change for the better.

I can't believe that Molly Weasley would be so dead-set against me just from an article like that. It's helping house-elves, for Merlin's sake! How could she possibly think that that's a bad thing? Or has Lucius been saying something else about me? Name-dropping Harry Potter in front of the Ministry or something?

I sigh softly and head back toward the Leaky Cauldron without even a second glance at the bookshelves or a backward look toward the Weasleys. What's done is done, and I'll just have to see where things go from here.

The day after that, I receive an owl from Dumbledore requesting to speak with me whenever is convenient for me. I have a sinking feeling of dread about this. What if he's found out? What if he realizes that I told Lucius about the time travel thing? No, Lucius has no reason to tell Dumbledore about that.

I head to the Floo and head over to "Hogwarts, Headmaster's office!" I tumble through, and once on the other side, I stand up and brush myself off. Damned Floo. "You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"

"Ah, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "Come, sit down." Once I'm seated, he goes on. "I am, shall we say, concerned about your relationship with Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore says. "I fear that he may be using you to further his own status."

"Not you, too," I say with a sigh, hoping that that's all he knows about. "I know he's only interested in the advancement and protection of himself and his family. But I'm perfectly willing to go along with that if it furthers my own goals as well."

"Yes, the house-elf situation was quite surprising," Dumbledore says. "I have no idea how you got him to agree to something like that. But do not think that he will remain your friend should circumstances change."

"I'd be pretty shocked if he did," I say dryly. "Don't worry. I won't be taken by surprise by his potential and eventual betrayal. I'm not blindly eating off of his plate or anything."

"Just so long as you're aware of that very real possibility," Dumbledore says.

"Is that all you wanted to call me here for?" I ask. "I'm not stupid, and I'm certainly not evil, if that's what you're afraid of."

"I merely cannot help but be concerned when something like this comes to my attention," Dumbledore says. "You are aware that he was once Voldemort's right hand man, aren't you?"

"So I've heard, yes," I say.

"What do you think he will do when Voldemort returns?" Dumbledore says. "For instance, if he should find out that Voldemort himself is right inside Hogwarts' very walls, blithely teaching classes?"

"I don't know," I say. "That's up to him to decide upon."

"You may think that you've done a bit of good with the house-elf business," Dumbledore goes on. "But how quickly will that be dropped or forgotten should Voldemort come into power again? Ever will the old pureblood families gravitate toward their old ways."

I really don't need to be pointlessly lectured like this, but I'm going to need Dumbledore's support if I want to maintain my guise as Harry Potter. I don't think he'd actually do it, but I could imagine someone trying to spin the idea that I murdered Harry Potter and took his place. No, I need to stay on Dumbledore's good side.

"I'm not about to sell out to the 'dark side' or anything, Headmaster," I say. "I assure you that my intentions are noble and I will watch my back. What more would you ask of me?"

"I might ask that you consult me before doing things such as this in the future," Dumbledore says.

So he wants to try and keep a closer rein upon me, is that it? "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I cannot owl you before everything I say in order to ask your permission in the midst of every conversation I might have."

"I'm not asking that, Lexen--"

I shake my head and put up a hand. "I may be from the future, but I cannot predict how every single conversation will go, Headmaster. That's why I need to be able to trust myself to think on my feet and respond appropriately to a rapidly changing situation as it arises. That's all anyone can ever do."

"Of course, Lexen--" Dumbledore goes on.

"I don't know how this conversation might go, either," I say. "I know your personality and how you'll probably react to things, but I'm still risking alienating you in order to make certain that I've made my point. I don't like to do that, Dumbledore. I need to be able to trust you, and in order to do that, you need to be able to trust me. There can be no true alliance or friendship without trust."

Dumbledore sighs softly. "I'm sorry, Lexen," he says. "I didn't mean to make you feel as though you were being backed into a corner. Of course you can trust me."

"Can I?" I say. "Can I really? You're the one person in this world that I absolutely need to be able to trust completely. But in order to do that, you're going to have to trust me to make my own decisions sometimes. I can't always consult you about everything. I can promise that I will discuss things with you if I have the time and opportunity to do so. But that's simply not always possible."

"I understand what you're saying, Lexen," Dumbledore says. "But for one so young..."

"Don't think of me as a child," I say. "It doesn't matter how old my body is, or how many chronological years I've seen. I've been forced into situations that no child should have to deal with, and I've had to adapt." I look at the floor and sigh heavily, suddenly feeling much smaller than I even am. "And if I can only ever really rely upon myself," I say softly, "what do you think that's going to do to me?"

"Oh, Lexen," Dumbledore says. He comes over to me and squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. I didn't realize until he touched me that I've been trembling and tears stinging at my eyes.

"Fuck," I murmur softly, and bury my face into his chest, tears running down my cheeks. "I know I can only ever really rely on myself as it is. I can only go back alone, after all."

"But you don't always have to be alone when you arrive," Dumbledore says gently. "Would you like a sherbet lemon?"

"Yes, please," I mutter.

Dumbledore hands me some candy, and I suck on it and curl up in my chair again, wiping my eyes. It's not enough to repair everything, however. I know that, no matter what, I'm never going to be able to fully trust this Dumbledore. Not this time.

Who can I trust? I certainly can't really trust Draco. Snape's being kept in the dark this time, even though I trusted him more than Dumbledore last time. Ron and Neville, I'm not entirely certain if they will even be able to be friends this time, and I couldn't even trust them with my secrets last time either. Maybe Hermione. I'll have to see about that one.

I'm starting to seriously consider owling Lockhart.

Midway through August, I inadvertently run into Quirrell again in the Leaky Cauldron. Literally, almost knocking his Dark Lord-concealing turban off his head in the process, completely by accident. Damn it, I'd been kind of wanting to avoid him until school started at least.

"Excuse me," I say, straightening my robes.

"P-Potter!" Quirrel says.

"Sorry," I say. "Didn't see you there." Although how I managed to miss him with the hideous purple thing on his head is anyone's guess.

"I was hoping to sp-speak with you again," Quirrell says.

"If you can do it without stuttering, I'll be happy to listen," I reply dryly. I'd be more polite about it if I thought the stutter was a genuine problem and not an affectation put on to make himself seem harmless. After seeing him suddenly able to speak properly and use competent wandless magic, I'm not fooled. I just wish that this year's Defense class could be taught by that Quirrell rather than the useless one I'd had before.

"Sorry, I'll try," Quirrell says. "You have to understand, I had a rather unsettling experience during my recent sabbatical in Albania, you see, and it's left me a little unnerved, you know?" He switched from stuttering to babbling. Well, I can handle that.

"Of course, I understand," I tell him reassuringly. "Why don't we grab a table and have some lunch, Professor? I'd love to have a chance to talk to you, actually. I'm very much looking forward to your class, after all."

"Really?" Quirrell says, going to sit down at a table and take up my offer of lunch.

"Oh, yes," I say. "It's my favorite subject, but when I ran into you before and heard you all stuttering, I was afraid that you were the sort of person who would jump at their own shadow, faint at the sight of a troll, and drop their wand when trying to cast a simple Expelliarmus."

"I would never," Quirrell assures me. "I'm quite good with trolls, actually."

"I'm sure you'll make for a great teacher," I say. "Just relax and show some of that talent you've got! You certainly don't need to be afraid of eleven year old children."

"Of course not," Quirrell says.

"I'm really excited about the class," I say. "I've already read up quite a bit on combat charms and hexes. And dueling is my favorite sport, too. I was hoping that Dumbledore might let me set up a dueling club, but I forgot to ask him when I last saw him."

"Really," Quirrell says, hardly managing to get in a word edgewise.

"But dueling isn't like real combat, I know," I babble on. "Dueling has rules and all, after all. But it's still exciting. It really gets the blood pumping, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes," Quirrell agrees offhandedly.

"I'm really looking forward to learning some of the more powerful offensive curses," I go on. "Although I've only ever actually read about them, you know, I've never actually seen the demonstrated before. I don't know why so much fun-sounding stuff is considered 'Dark' and all, it seems rather silly to me. Oh, but you're teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Silly name for a class, if you ask me. As if the Dark Arts were the only thing you ever needed to defend against. And I always figured that the best defense is a good offense."

"Potter," Quirrell says pointedly to get my attention.

"Wha?" I ask.

"Your soup is here," Quirrell says.

"Oh, sorry, didn't notice," I say, picking up my spoon and starting to eat.

"Do you always talk this much?" Quirrell asks.

"No," I say. "I'm just excited. Sorry if I was babbling a bit."

"That's quite alright, Potter," Quirrell says.

So, here I am, cheerfully having lunch with the Dark Lord and pretending that I don't know who he really is. And all the while, expressing genuine enthusiasm about the subject matter that I just wish he'd teach properly. I'm not getting my hopes up, though. I'd already settled myself on the thought that all of this year's classes would be worthless, anyway, and that I'd advance by self-study. I've already been through all of the material they're going to cover, anyway.

"I hate to be disappointed," I mutter. If I'm not expecting anything positive to happen, I won't be disappointed.

"Well, I'll have to be certain to arrange a curriculum that won't disappoint you, Potter," Quirrell says thoughtfully.

"If you disappoint me, I'll kill you," I tell him.

Quirrell stares at me, raising an eyebrow.

"If you don't disappoint me, I might not kill you," I say, grinning.

"Eleven year old boys should not joke about killing people," Quirrell says.

"What makes you think I was joking?" I say, my grin broadening.

Quirrell peers into my eyes, and I feel a thrust of Legilimency smack up against my barriers. He frowns a little at that, and I just continue to look him in the eyes, never letting my grin falter for a moment. I'm very grateful for those mental shields, but I wish I were skilled enough to make it less obvious that I'm keeping people out.

"You are a most intriguing young man, Potter," Quirrell says.

"Thank you," I reply.

I finish my lunch, and we bid one another farewell. I head out to take a stroll through Diagon Alley and muse on the encounter. At least I managed to avoid spilling any big secrets that I did not intend to this time. Bad enough that Lucius knows, I don't need the Dark Lord himself realizing that I'm a time traveler, too. Sure, Lucius might still tell him, but I doubt that he knows that the Dark Lord is currently possessing the Hogwarts Defense professor, of all people.

I sigh inwardly. Well, there's no use worrying too much about it right now. What will happen, will happen. The worst thing anyone might do to me is Obliviate me. Anything short of that, I can deal with. It doesn't matter how many times I might die. I'll survive.