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There was a sort of masochism to reading the words of your own teenage mother who had died under horrendous circumstances.
But just like when one was watching a train crash, it was impossible to look away.
It drained Harry to read it, so he couldn't do so much, so he made sure to read at least a few entries every day.
If one took a book as someone's thoughts but in written form, then reading was a one-way conversation. A diary, especially, was a format in which there would have been no reason for someone to lie.
For someone who'd never gotten to talk to his mother, supposedly the brightest witch of her generation, the diary represented a fatal trap to Harry more so that Voldemort's diary could have ever done.
He couldn't stop, justifying it with the fact that it was an important part of the investigation. He hadn't told anyone he had it either, Skeeter or his aunt. He knew that both of them would have tried to stop it had they known which particular time period of Lily's life the diary revolved around.
Therefore, there was no recourse to the flaying of his mind that he committed himself to, even minutes before he was to depart for the New Year's gala in Munich.
He was standing in his clearing, letting the snowflakes fall on his head and the diary in his hands, knowing he could just repair it later. He had his second wand with him, still not having managed to remove the trace on his first and was dressed in a simple black robe. He hadn't felt particularly inspired to conjure up anything more interesting.
I can feel the life growing inside of me, eating away at my life energy. A fetus is just a vampire when you never agreed to have one inside you. It eats and eats and eats. Meanwhile, you puke and puke and puke and are then forced to eat it all back up so that the body has the necessary nutrients.
I feel like a machine put on this world to suffer and to produce more beings that will suffer.
But if whoever did this thinks that I will bring more of their accursed genes into this world, then they are wrong. There will only be me, my son, and nobody else. Here or anywhere.
Ill…
Ill…
I'll find them, and I'll…
Avada Kedavra
I'M NOT A VICTIM!!! I'M NOT WEAK! And I'M NOT HELPLESS!
LEAVE ME ALONE, LEAVE ME ALONE, LEAVE ME…
Harry stopped reading. The rest of the page dissolved into even worse chicken scratch. He could guess the words even if he couldn't read them. "Leave me alone," he muttered as he felt the portkey in his pocket start awakening.
He put the diary of his mother away into a pocket inside his robe and took out the envelope.
He needed to do something, go somewhere, or else he would go insane. A gala would be a welcome distraction.
"Take care, Dobby," he said for no particular reason to the house elf on stand-by in the snow near him. They were both clad in darkness, as he hadn't felt like summoning a faerie light and attaching it to the sky above.
He'd just let his eyes get used to the darkness and had created a small spark so he could read.
"I'll call you if I need an evacuation," Harry said to his silent servant before he felt the Portkey tugging at his navel and ripping him away into the sky.
-/-
A swirl of colours deposited Harry onto the snowy ground on which he barely found purchase with a few interpretative breakdance moves.
When he finally found the purchase, he looked around, and his gaze first fell on an adult cowled figure facing away from him.
Seemingly hearing something, the figure turned around and pulled down its hood.
The face of Quirinus Quirrell, with the usual purple turban, stared curiously at Harry.
Harry's wand instinctually fell into his hand, and he frantically turned around to check his surroundings.
An ominous feeling spread in his mind as he saw that he and his professor were standing in a graveyard. Crosses, wooden and stone jutted out from the ground around them which revealed them to be standing inside an empty clearing in a forest.
A single road led to the entrance of the graveyard, but it led only into the complete darkness thrown by the crowns of the trees.
"Is that the response I elicit these days?" Quirrell joked. "I didn't know I was so frightening." He chuckled.
"Never be too cautious," Harry replied. "What colour was the spell you trained me on during our first session?" he asked to gain time.
Figures suddenly started appearing around them, all of them heavily robed but looking more like they were going to a party. Bright red ball gowns, golden cloaks and green dresses. Some wore masks, Venetian ones, but most didn't.
Quirrell walked up to Harry and clapped him on the shoulder. "The spell was green, Evans, now don't get paranoid on me. Why, you haven't even lived through a war," the professor said as he walked past. Harry turned around to keep the man in his view and saw that he'd been standing with his back to a medium-sized church this entire time.
He inhaled deeply a few times and forced his limbic system to restart.
A bright ball of light suddenly appeared on top of the church's tower, illuminating the entire clearing and revealing it to be truly housing only that one church.
Harry shook his head and went towards the large wooden doors. Appearing in a graveyard with a dark lord. A church in the middle of the forest.
This wasn't Munich. Unless Snape had meant the municipality. As if summoned by his thinking, the more healthy-looking but still sallow-faced man appeared next to him once he'd taken his first step inside of the church, which he noted had been magically expanded, the pews moved to the side.
"Heilig-Kreuz-Kirche," Snape introduced briefly. He was wearing his usual black robes, just like Harry. "The oldest church in the region, conveniently empty for New Year's. How have you been doing?" he went on to task.
"I've been doing absolutely fabulous if you must ask," Harry drawled back. "Should I have brought a mask?" he asked.
Snape shook his head. "It's a part of some of the cultures of the invitees, but definitely not a requirement." He looked around for a brief moment before pointing to a long blonde-haired woman who held herself with the fluidity of a fighter and who was sipping at a flute of champagne while looking at a fresco depicting the crucifixion. "Considering your interests, perhaps that is a person you should consider talking to first. She specialises in a particular form of duelling which only allows transfiguration. She currently holds the highest rank in the discipline," he introduced briefly before turning to welcome someone else.
At a loss of what to do and knowing that all networking events started with just talking to a person who then introduced you to a new person and so on, Harry went up to the middle-aged woman dressed in a black dress and stood next to her.
"Crazy how they nailed that guy to a cross, and then the whole religion used the cross as the symbol," he said in a joking tone as they both looked at the depiction of Jesus slowly dying. "I'm Harry Evans, by the way," he said as he turned to the woman, now blinking owlishly at him.
"Ich spreche kein Englisch," she said eventually, causing Harry to facepalm and switch to German.
"Crazy how they nailed that guy to a cross, and then the whole religion used the cross as the symbol," He repeated again before sighing. "It's not as funny the second time," he said with a sigh.
"Well, at least you tried to be funny, even if it is a work in progress," the woman consoled. "My name is Ravarena; let's not talk about last names. The people here have no history. That's the point."
"Alright, I'm Harry," the boy replied.
"Are you not quite young to be here?" Ravarena then asked, lifting a finger to her chin. She had cute dimples. "What are you 17?"
"13, actually," Harry corrected and received as a response a widening of the eyes from the woman.
"Interesting," she said. "What is your accomplishment that you got invited, if I may ask?"
"Well, I'm one of the first in a few generations that got to skip classes at Hogwarts, and I got to the top 16 of the U17 duelling championship recently."
"At 13?" Ravarena asked again while nodding her head, that is impressive. She seemed to be thinking of something as Harry asked his question.
"I was told you're at the forefront of a specific type of duelling involving transfiguration?" he asked.
Ravarena lit up at the question. "Yes, Transfiguration duels, they have a very rich history and are a way to receive a mastery in Transfiguration without completing the other requirements. It involves transfiguring, from the same amount of material, creatures that fight each other. I beat the reigning champion a few years ago." She snickered. "They belonged to a pure-blood family that had managed to weave enchantment into transfiguration as it occurred, a good accomplishment, but it's all they ever did. In recent decades, they monopolised the championship title by creating a dragon that could breathe actual fire. Well, as it turns out, even a dragon doesn't survive a million scarabs eating it from the inside out if they get in through the throat before it spits its fire."
"That sounds fascinating," Harry remarked. "And is it possible to get mastery only with this?" he asked.
"Yes, winning against an established competitor in the scene is good enough proof that you have mastered transfiguration on a usage, if perhaps not on a theoretical level," she explained. "Naturally, it is not easy to win, so it's not a path for anyone unqualified to squeeze their way in. It's widely considered a more difficult manner of gaining a Mastery, actually." She paused before snapping her fingers and pointing at him as if coming to some sort of revelation.
"I know who you are! You are the boy who knocked out Habsburg. We had fun laughing at the buffoon. He is so stupid," she said, completely switching topics. She laughed again as if to underscore her point. "Getting to the top 16 at your age is impressive," she then admitted. "Why, Grindelwald himself won at the age of 14, if you make it to the top 4 next time, you will be on a good path to success."
"You don't like Habsburg then?" Harry asked.
"Why would anyone?" Ravarena replied with an unladylike snort. "The entire family is moronic. They think they can replicate Grindelwald's rise by relying on influence and bought accomplishments rather than power and charisma. They are failing, of course," she finished disdainfully.
Harry, not wanting to talk about Grindelwald but having the conversation turn to the man at every turn, desperately tried to switch the topic again.
"So, you're a seeker?" he asked, referring to the pendant… of the… deathly hallows… hanging… off… the woman's… neck…
"What is a seeker?" Ravarena asked.
Harry woodenly turned his head to look at the other guests who had by now arrived and were mingling. Quirrell was talking to an older man with a very muggle beard at his neck, the mark of the deathly hallows.
A young woman flashed by, on her neck, the same thing.
And another, and another, and another one.
Harry looked at Snape, who was still standing at the door. The same pendant was hanging around his neck, and it was also on the neck of the guest who'd just arrived. They were chatting with each other. Laughing.
"You son of a bitch," Harry muttered quietly.
-/-
AN: Surprise… It wouldn't be Snape even if he didn't move through life at a speed of 200 mmpd (major mistakes per decade)
Got you with that Quirrell cameo, huh. Next episodefeatures a podcast between Harry and a xxxx xxxx, so read ahead on patreon if you wanna hear their hottest takes earlier…