Diagon Alley hadn't changed much since we'd come here weeks ago. People in robes still went about their days, shops filled with clothes, potions, ingredients for said potions, and many magical items I didn't even pretend to recognize. Seriously, what the hell was that plant with the tentacles writhing in the window? It looked like it wanted to strangle someone, or worse.
The air carried its usual cocktail of scents—burnt sugar from Florean Fortescue's, crushed herbs from the apothecary, ink and parchment from Flourish and Blotts. Streetlamps hung crookedly like drunks after curfew. Somewhere, a small cauldron popped, splattering green foam onto cobblestones. It was, in every conceivable sense, the same alive yet oblivious street it had been before.
I stopped gawking and walked, Rose trailing behind me. Thankfully, she'd already applied cosmetic charms to turn her hair black like mine. The people around us had no idea their beloved Girl Who Lived was walking among them, just another face in the crowd.
Fanaticism in this day and age was somehow still real, and I was very much in the splash zone, even if I wasn't the Boy Who Lived like some alternate version of events like canon or multiple fanon worlds suggested. Being the twin brother of a celebrity meant proximity to madness without the dubious benefit of being mobbed yourself, while not getting the benefits of being worshipped.
I mean, do you know about the brothers and sisters of Jesus? I mean, if you're a devout Christian, you probably do, but most people don't.
"Are you sure you don't want an owl or cat of your own?" Rose asked, glancing toward The Magical Menagerie. The smell hit like a physical thing: feathers, damp straw, a faint edge of ammonia. The shop hummed with a strange presence.
Various animals were on display: cats, rats, snakes, and birds. Some were in cages, others seemed to be moving in the shop window. After a few seconds of observation, my brain supplied the answer. The ones in the display were figurines enchanted to animate, while the ones in the cages were the real deal. Basic marketing combined with magical efficiency.
"Nah, I don't have the motivation to actively look for more work, care, and emotional investment in something," I said, shaking my head. Besides, the Gacha provided familiars too, along with abilities and items, if I was remembering the information it had downloaded into my head correctly.
I mean, if I pulled a familiar from the system, a creature that manifested through my power, I'd naturally care for it. It would be the result of my ability, so it would be my responsibility. Simple cause and effect.
But doing this for some random animal I happened to encounter in a shop? Hell no. Not because I hated animals or anything remotely like that. I simply had too much on my plate right now. Adding a pet to the mix would be like voluntarily signing up for another variable I couldn't control.
"It's seriously creepy how nothing's changed at all," I said, looking around. Same crowd, same shops, same hype around the Quidditch broom shop. It was like the entire Alley had been frozen in time and would remain that way until someone bothered to check on it again.
"It's only been a few weeks. What were you expecting?" Rose asked, looking at me with genuine confusion written across her face.
"I don't know, it's just exactly the same as a location in a video game. The world just stops existing or moving unless you go there, and then it loads the world and NPCs," I said, giving the example that came to mind.
"I don't know how to answer that. The only video games I know about are Street Fighter, Pac-Man, Super Mario, Doom, and D&D," she said, shaking her head with a small shrug. "I don't know exactly how the world inside the game works, nor do I have any desire to know, but if it's working, don't touch it. Same rules as the Wizarding World, I suppose."
I don't think Dungeons & Dragons even counts as a video game, Rose. It's a tabletop. But I held my tongue, not wanting to be the fun police. Nobody liked the fun police.
After messing around Diagon Alley for an hour, we finally encountered the people we were looking for. I spotted a familiar redhead girl with a black-haired boy enjoying their ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. They sat on one of the outdoor benches, looking relaxed and completely unaware of our approach.
"Fancy seeing you here, fair lady," I said, conjuring a few flowers in my palm: dandelions and yellow roses, made entirely out of ice. My magic painted them with the correct colors almost instinctively. Huh. I didn't know I could do that. I mean, with Half-Cold Half-Hot, I could control both elements very finely after a few hours of practice this morning, but this coloring was a pleasant surprise. The temperature control was one thing, but aesthetic manipulation was another level entirely.
"Oh!" Susan looked startled as she snapped her head toward me, her eyes dropping to my hand offering the flowers. Her cheeks turned a little red as she carefully took them from me. "Harry, Rose, you're both here." She smiled warmly, examining the flowers with clear delight. "Oh, and thank you. It's wonderful."
So, my improvised Rizz is working? Nice.
She poked at the petals with one finger, a little puzzled. Despite looking incredibly realistic, the flowers were very hard and cold to her touch.
"What? I don't get any flowers?" Edgar asked, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth with exaggerated offense.
"You don't want them from me," I shook my head, smirking. "You'll get them when you're past the girls-are-icky phase."
"You're icky," Rose said, giving me a light elbow to my ribs before she sat down beside Susan on the bench.
"Anyway, forget what our idiot brothers are saying," Rose said with a light smile tugging at her lips. "I know we can't complain since we're all already here, but didn't we agree to meet here in the evening?"
"Actually, it's cousins... well, never mind. We actually call each other brother and sister, so it doesn't matter," Edgar muttered to himself before shaking his head, dismissing the thought entirely. "I actually wanted to hang out with Susan more since I can't do that once you all go to Hogwarts. And we also have a little scouting to do."
"Scouting?" I asked, my attention suddenly focused on the eleven-year-old boy. That word choice suggested planning, which meant something potentially interesting was happening.
"Yeah, it's a fighting arena. Not government-sanctioned, even if it's not technically illegal. There's bound to be some security measures. Bouncers will definitely not let us inside, even if I managed to snatch some tickets," the boy explained with the casual confidence of someone who'd already thought three steps ahead. I was once again fascinated by the son of Sirius Black. This boy was only eleven years old, yet he was so mature and knowledgeable, far beyond what any kid this age had the right to be.
What the hell did Sirius feed this kid? Was this how Prime Sirius was during his Marauder days? The planning, the calculated risk-taking, the sheer audacity?
"So what's the problem? Does it have wards, or do we have to undergo some test or something?" Rose asked, her mind clearly racing. She was getting strangely excited by the idea, which didn't surprise me in the slightest.
What the hell did she experience in the past on the run? Is she Magical Lara Croft?
"No, nothing like that," Susan shook her head, finally speaking up again. "We were just watching from outside earlier. We just need to look like adults, flash our tickets, and charge in like we own the place. You know, like those pouncy purebloods who act like they're entitled to everything."
"We two are the pouncy purebloods, not that it matters or anything," Edgar snorted, gesturing between himself and Susan before looking at us with amusement. "But yeah, unless we go invisible and sneak inside, we have to look like adults. That's the only real barrier."
"Cross that sneaking plan off the list," I said immediately, shaking my head. "We may enter that way, but there's always a chance we'll be spotted later, which will cause more problems than it solves. Security at these places tends to be paranoid for a reason."
"Well, I have one brilliant plan," Susan spoke up, and we all turned to look at her expectantly. She took a breath. "How about we just... don't go. Forget about it. It sounds dangerous, it's not where we're supposed to be, and it's too much hassle anyway."
"But Susan..." Edgar sniffled, and suddenly big fat tears were rolling out of his eye sockets like someone had turned on a faucet. His lip trembled dramatically.
We all stiffened as people around us began to stare. It was an interesting sight: a kid holding a bowl of ice cream, bawling his eyes out in the middle of a public parlor. The attention was immediate and uncomfortable.
"Okay, okay, we're going. Geez," Susan quickly gave in, caving in record time. She didn't even last half a minute under the social pressure.
"Oh, okay then," Edgar replied instantly, smiling as the tears simply stopped. His shaking ceased suddenly, and he gulped down the remaining ice cream like nothing had happened at all.
Oh, you crazy bastard. Those were absolutely crocodile tears, and we'd all fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. I was unable to contain my laughter at the sheer absurdity of it all. The kid was a natural manipulator, and I had to respect the craft. I mean If I was this young, I would use it without any hesitation too.
"So how are we getting inside?" Rose asked, clearly unbothered by Edgar's theatrics. "Disguise charms, or do we go extreme with Polyjuice Potion?"
"No," Edgar shook his head immediately. "I've read about that. It's rare to find in shops, and even rarer for someone to sell it to us without asking questions we don't want to answer. We're going with the cheaper option: Aging Potion."
How's that cheaper, though? No, wait. I could guess. Polyjuice changed anyone into exact duplicates of a target when consumed, while Aging Potion did exactly what it suggested on the tin. So theoretically, Polyjuice used more magical energy and offered more flexibility in what it could accomplish.
Though it was created by the Golden trio in the early days, Polyjuice sounds more powerful than aging by its functions, as it includes what aging potion, and other potions that are needed for shapeshifting into someone.
"So we can't buy Polyjuice, but we can buy Aging Potion?" I asked, wanting confirmation.
"Of course. Aging Potion isn't as dangerous or complicated as Polyjuice, so it's not as heavily restricted. But we do have to find apothecary vendors who won't ask too many questions," Susan explained, showing off her knowledge of the Wizarding World that I still lacked. It sounded like common knowledge among these three, the kind of thing you picked up growing up magical.
"I know just the guy. This bloke won't care if you buy poison or love potion, as long as you don't drag him into trouble and you spend Galleons in his shop," Edgar said, rubbing his hands together with obvious glee.
"This guy does sound trustworthy." Rose nodded. "Sounds like someone who acts tough on the outside but is a softie on the inside," She said, sounding impressed.
"Nah, this guy hates children, especially those with Galleons. I mean, his pride won't let him outright scam them, but he won't back away from legally selling his entire shop if he gets the chance," Edgar corrected her with a grin.
Oh. I don't know why, but suddenly I felt like I knew this man by heart, though I couldn't bring the words to my tongue. The description was sitting right there on the tip of my tongue, as people say, but the name refused to surface.
......................................................
By walking into the shop, I knew something was off. Hell, the name itself was one big red flag, especially for those who'd watched the Harry Potter movies or read the books in my past life.
The shop sat at the edge of Diagon Alley, just a few blocks away from the murky road that led to Knockturn Alley, the ghetto of magical Britain, as I called it. I would have called it the Gotham City of the Wizarding World, but we had no Batman here—just criminals like Death Eaters, corruption from pure blood or ministry, and the occasional curse.
Anyway, the potion shop looked normal enough despite its location. It wasn't even that dark and gloomy, nor did it have that pungent scent of ingredients that clung to those shops back in the main marketplace of Diagon Alley. It was clean, organized, and even pleasant to my nose, which ironically made me feel more uncomfortable around it. Clean shops in questionable neighborhoods always set off alarm bells.
I craned my head upward and read the signboard floating near the door, finally finding the origin of my discomfort.
The Master Mixing - Prince Apothecary.
Ah, shit. The Half-Blood Prince. Severus Snape. Or I should say Severus Prince, because this man was a genius who clearly understood branding. In this timeline, Lily and James were alive, so there went the redemption arc for Severus. No tragic backstory besides his bully stealing his love interest, to be fair, he did call her mudblood, yet if Lily really valued Snape's friendship or even love, one insult wouldn't have been enough to crash out on him so hard.
So now that she and her dear husband are still alive, no unrequited love driving him to Dumbledore's side, no reason to play double agent. Nor did Dumbledore have any reason to hire a former Death Eater. Hell, even the "former" part was debatable.
Since this Snape didn't have Dumbledore's support or protection in this timeline, he'd probably used his Wizarding World lineage instead: the House of Prince. While Snape was a Muggle surname that carried no weight from his abusive father, Prince was not. So he was using his mother's bloodline to his advantage, turning it into both legitimacy and profit.
Though I couldn't make a proper judgment or analysis without meeting the man first, which made me very uncomfortable. Unknown variables were always the worst kind.
Ah, hell with it. With all these abilities, blessings from gods, and powers I was receiving from the Gacha system, why was I always so hesitant about everything? Ever since I'd gotten into the magical world with the Potters, it felt like my real personality was being shoved back while this meek version of me was replacing it.
That wasn't who I wanted to become. I refused to let fear dictate my actions.
I bit my cheek from the inside, not enough to draw blood, but definitely enough to hurt. My body jolted from the sharp sensation, snapping me back into focus.
"Hey, why are you hanging back? You're not coming?" Rose asked, watching as Susan and Edgar disappeared inside the shop ahead of us.
"Oh, I'm definitely coming," I said with a smirk, walking forward with renewed confidence. "I definitely want to know if I'm going to look chopped up as an adult or not."
"Chopped?" she asked, confusion clear in her voice at the terminology.
"Don't worry about it. You'll know what I mean in a few decades," I said, pushing the door open. I turned to Rose with a mock bow, not saying 'ladies first' aloud, but actions spoke louder than words anyway.
Inside, the apothecary was exactly what I expected, yet somehow not. Everything had a gothic aesthetic but with a gaudy vibe, as if someone had polished darkness until it sparkled. Perhaps it was the cleanest yet most luxurious-looking shop in the entire Alley. The shelves were stacked with rows of vials full of potions, each one shining subtly with different colors. It reminded me of a shop from video games, especially RPGs, where you could buy potions from a merchant with suspiciously convenient stock.
It was so jarring to see this in real life. The uncanny valley of fantasy made manifest.
"Welcome," the man at the counter said in a bored tone, his eyes glued to the newspaper in his hand. The pages displayed moving images of an interview or press conference, if the flashes of cameras were any indication. His voice held the same disinterested quality of someone who had dealt with far too many customers today and would rather be literally anywhere else.
"Did you lose your way home, children?" he asked. Despite how caring the words might have sounded on paper, his voice was full of condescension, just like teachers back in my old school who thought they were being helpful while actually being insufferable.
My adult mind, or at least mindset, was quick to spot these compared to children my age.
"No, we are certainly not lost," Susan said, her voice transforming entirely. Gone was the happily chattering girl from the ice cream parlor. Her voice was now haughty instead, still warm but somehow sharper.
"I'm here to purchase a few potions. It's for studying purposes, intending to use them indoors with supervision," she said with a straight face, not a hint on her features that she was lying. She put her hands on her hips like a typical noblewoman from old movies, radiating confidence that shouldn't belong to an eleven-year-old.
Is this how pureblood girls acted? If so, I wouldn't be able to hold a serious conversation without bursting into laughter at the sheer theatricality of it all.
"How you use your money is up to you," Severus Prince spoke, and I noticed the name tag on his table displayed that name proudly instead of the iconic Snape I was familiar with. A conscious choice, clearly. Rebranding himself entirely, and I think his pure-bloods friends are very much approving of it.
Damn, this world's Pure-bloods faction is going to be stronger than the average Harry Potter world, isn't it?
"But I must warn you, there is no refund once it's purchased. And if you involve your parents in causing a scene later, you and your entire bloodline will be blacklisted. Remember that," he said briskly, his eyes scanning all of us with sharp, calculating precision. I didn't miss how his eyebrows twitched slightly as he looked at Edgar, then me, then Rose. There was far more reaction there than when he'd looked at Susan, that was for sure.
Did he recognize us? If he did, he didn't say anything. Professional discretion or strategic silence, I couldn't tell which.
Then we scattered. Susan and Rose went hand in hand, clearly experienced with potion shopping from their lives before, unlike me, who was still learning the ropes.
"Say, what's that potion?" Edgar asked, looking at a vial on the top shelf. Severus earned at least some of my respect as he didn't ignore the eleven-year-old like most adults would. He answered without even looking at the boy, putting his newspaper down and beginning to write in his counter book with a quill.
Rose and Susan huddled by the Aging Potions shelf, whispering furiously about proper brewing times and dosages, while I pretended to examine a display of bezoars nearby. Meanwhile, Edgar had apparently appointed himself as Prince's Apothecary's most curious customer, and I could already see where this was heading.
"And what's this one do?" Edgar pointed to a vial of pale blue liquid.
Prince barely glanced up from his ledger. "Dreamless Sleep Draught. Ensures a night of uninterrupted rest."
"Brilliant. And this one?"
"Pepper-Up Potion. Cures the common cold."
I could see Prince's quill moving more slowly across the page with each question. Edgar, naturally, noticed absolutely nothing and continued his interrogation.
"What about this green one?"
"Hair-Raising Potion." Prince's voice had gone flat, taking on that special quality of barely restrained irritation. "It causes one's hair to stand on end. Permanently, if brewed incorrectly."
"Wicked. And the purple one over there?"
"Babbling Beverage. The drinker speaks nothing but nonsense for several hours." Prince set down his quill with deliberate, measured precision. "Perhaps you should sample it. The effects would be indistinguishable from your normal conversation."
Edgar grinned, completely missing the insult sailing over his head. "And this orange stuff?"
"Baruffio's Brain Elixir. Temporary cognitive enhancement." Prince's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Tragically, there is no potion in existence that can cure terminal curiosity."
I bit back a laugh, feeling Rose shoot me a warning look from across the shop. Susan was trying very hard not to smile.
"What's in the black bottle?"
"Drink of Despair. It causes unendurable mental anguish and dehydration unto death." Prince's tone suggested he was currently experiencing some mental anguish of his own.
That finally gave Edgar pause. For about three seconds, which was impressive by his standards.
"And the pink one with sparkles?"
"Beautification Potion. Renders the imbiber more aesthetically appealing." Prince's lips thinned into a hard line. "Though in some cases, no amount of potion can overcome nature's cruel sense of humor."
"Is that the one next to the—"
"Love Potion. Illegal to sell to minors. Causes dangerous obsession and is morally reprehensible to use." Prince stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Much like this conversation has become."
Edgar pointed to a small brown vial without missing a beat. "What about—"
"Erumpent Potion. It explodes upon contact with sunlight, human skin, or apparently, my last nerve."
"Does it really—"
"No, Mr. Black, I am being facetious. A talent I've had to cultivate extensively in the last five minutes alone." Prince swept toward Edgar, his robes billowing dramatically behind him in a way that seemed almost practiced. "That particular vial contains a solution that transforms the drinker into a small, fluffy rabbit for six hours. Harmless. Adorable, even. The one beside it causes one's bones to temporarily vanish. The one behind it induces projectile vomiting of garden slugs for approximately two hours."
Edgar's hand, which had been reaching for another bottle, froze mid-air. Finally, some self-preservation instinct kicked in.
"The purple vial there? Aging Potion—adds a decade to your appearance per dose. The green one? Ages you backwards until you're an infant again. The yellow one causes you to grow scales all over your body. The clear one causes spontaneous combustion of one's eyebrows, which is surprisingly permanent." Prince leaned in, his dark eyes boring into Edgar's. "Would you like to continue this educational tour, or shall I simply select something at random and you can discover its effects experimentally? I assure you, the latter would be far more entertaining for me."
While Edgar continued his interrogation, completely ignoring how much he was getting under the older wizard's skin, I drifted toward the back corner of the shop. That's when I heard it.
Seeing how Edgar was busy and Snape didn't look, he was dumb enough to try something funny to a little kid, so I left him and began to look around the shop myself.
"Those eyes..."
I spun around. The voice came from a painting half-hidden behind a shelf of Moonstone ingredients, tucked away like someone wanted it seen but not too easily found.
"Hello?" I stepped closer, curiosity overriding caution.
"I'd recognize those eyes anywhere." The voice was young, feminine, achingly familiar in a way I couldn't immediately place. "Absolutely beautiful."
I felt like I recognized the voice, but this version was softer, more innocent somehow. Less jaded by life and its disappointments.
I found myself standing before a portrait of a young woman in a wedding dress, her face obscured by a delicate veil. But her eyes were visible through the gossamer fabric. Bright, brilliant green. Like looking into a mirror. Like looking at Rose. Like looking at my mother.
Her eyes are really similar to ours.
"You have lovely eyes yourself," I said cheerfully, because what else do you say to a painting complimenting your eyeballs? The polite thing seemed to be returning the awkward compliment.
"Do you think so?" She sounded genuinely pleased, almost giddy at the validation. "I always thought they were my best feature. Well, that and my charm and potions skills. Speaking of which, you simply must try the Wit-Sharpening Potion on the third shelf. Severus brewed it himself, and it's absolute perfection. He's a master of the art, you know. Youngest Potions Master in a century! Well, he will be. Is? Time gets confusing in portraits."
She spoke rapidly, words tumbling over each other with infectious enthusiasm. The familiarity with that voice grew larger and larger, building in my mind until it was almost on the tip of my tongue. The cadence, the energy, the sheer joy in her tone.
"Potions, right." I glanced back at where Edgar was still pestering Prince at the counter. "Isn't it just glorified chemistry, though? What's stopping Muggles from getting the same ingredients and following the recipe?"
The girl laughed, a bright, clear sound that made something in my head click into place. That's how I laughed, at least in this life. Due to reincarnation, I could confidently say that how you laugh depends on which body you inhabit. It wasn't One Piece levels of diversity in laughter, but there was diversity nonetheless, no matter how minor.
"Oh, you silly boy! If that were true, Squibs would all be master potioneers, wouldn't they? No, no—just like you need magic to use a wand, you need magic to brew potions properly. Even if you're not actively casting spells, your magic infuses the ingredients, guides the stirring, and influences the heat. It's intuitive, not intellectual. Well, maybe a little more intellectual than I give it credit for, as you need memorization and precision, but bah! It came naturally to me."
I blinked, processing that explanation. "How does it work exactly—"
"Don't ask, I know, I know!" She waved a hand dismissively, like she'd heard this question a thousand times. "It's one of those things that just is. Like how love works, or why Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans includes flavors no one actually wants. Some things can't be explained, only experienced."
"How did you even know what I was going to ask?"
"Instinct." She said it like it was obvious, like the answer should have been clear from the start.
Like what instinct? Women's intuition? Witches' intuition in this case? Or a ghostly instinct from being trapped in a painting for who knows how long?
That's when the alarm bells started ringing in my head. Loud. Insistent. Impossible to ignore.
The green eyes. The enthusiasm when she saw me. The way she anticipated my questions before I finished asking them. Even her speech pattern, rapid-fire and slightly chaotic, reminded me of how Rose talked when she got excited about something, how she'd chattered my ear off this entire week of staying together at the Potters' home.
This wasn't just any painting. This was a portrait of someone specific. Someone who mattered deeply to the man running this shop.
"Rose," I called out, my voice coming out strangled. "Rose, come here. Now."
My sister looked up from the Aging Potions display, clearly annoyed at the interruption. "Harry, we're trying to—"
"Now."
Something in my tone made her abandon Susan mid-sentence and cross to me immediately. She looked at the painting, studied it for a moment, and then went very still. I could practically see the gears turning in her head.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "That's—"
"I know."
"Mr. Potter. Miss Potter." Severus Prince's voice cut through the shop like a knife, sharp and sudden. So I was right. He did know who we were from the moment we walked through that door. I grasped my wand where my left hand rested, while my right hand's palm spread evenly, ready to rain down fire using my Quirk if this situation went sideways.
He stood rigid behind his counter, Edgar's interrogation apparently forgotten entirely. His posture was tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap. "Step away from that painting."
I turned to face him, and something must have shown on my face because Prince's expression shifted from annoyed to guarded. Careful. Calculating.
"Who is she?" I asked. Polite. Measured. But I wasn't moving, and we both knew it.
"That is none of your concern."
"She looks very familiar and resembles me very easily, Mister Prince." Rose's voice shook slightly, betraying her nervousness despite her attempt to sound confident.
The girl in the painting nodded enthusiastically, apparently oblivious to the tension filling the room. "Now that you mention it, we do!" she said cheerfully. "You look so beautiful, too. I wish I could pinch your cheeks." She squealed in happiness, not reading the room at all, her eyes fixed adoringly on Rose.
"A common enough trait among witches all over Great Britain. All resemblance is purely coincidental." Prince crossed his arms, his eyes going vacant and distant. "She is my late best friend who's no longer with us."
I nearly choked on my own spit. His best friend? Lily Potter was alive and well. But wait, he said his best friend was no longer with him, so did he create this painting of Lily before their big fight? Before their friendship ended?
What the fuck? How did this even work? Was this some kind of magical snapshot of who she used to be?
"Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss," Rose said quickly, buying his words completely. She didn't recognize the veiled woman in the painting. I mean, I probably would have bought it too if I didn't have background knowledge from another life.
The painted girl had gone quiet, watching the exchange with what I imagined was dawning understanding behind her veil. Even she was starting to realize something was wrong.
Severus stared at us for a long moment. Then his shoulders sagged, just slightly—so slightly I almost missed it. A crack in the armor.
"Even if it's none of your business, thank you for the kind words," he said, before his face went sharp and cold again, the mask sliding back into place. "I think Miss Bones is ready to make her purchase, should we?" He gestured pointedly toward the counter, where Susan was indeed waiting with several vials in hand. Rose hurried off and stood beside Susan, who began showing her the potions they'd selected.
Now I could tell Rose the truth, which would reach Lily, and there would be new drama, which I don't want to get involved in.
Yet despite how I dislike my mother because of our fractured relationship, it felt extremely wrong to see my mother's face on the wall of a man, like she was a prize to be shown around, in a wedding dress no less.
So I have to confront him myself for now.
"You knew who we were from the very beginning," I said flatly, not moving from my spot near the painting.
"That I did, but does it matter?" he asked, turning toward me with cold, dead eyes. I didn't flinch away. I was done running, done backing down from uncomfortable truths. "I do not care about your affairs, Potter. And you would do well to extend the same courtesy."
But he wasn't done because it felt like it was rule of the universe itself that Severus Snape must Harry Potter, no matter the version. The man would destroy me or any Harry any chance he would get, except for my eyeballs maybe.
His tone sharpened, a quiet sneer curling the corner of his mouth. "Merlin help me, you truly are your father's son—arrogant, presumptuous, convinced the world owes you an explanation for every shadow you stumble into." That sentence hit harder than I wanted to admit. My breath froze somewhere between my lungs and my pride. My father's son. I'd spent days hating the man for what he did with the Dursleys—years trying to make them hate magic less, to be tolerant, to see me as something other than a freak—only for him to undo it all in minutes. And then he'd had the gall to lecture me on what I should and shouldn't do, as if fourteen years of absence gave him the right. But hearing those words—from this man, who'd built his entire existence around despising my father—turned them radioactive. It wasn't just an insult; it was an accusation.
I chuckled. I just couldn't help myself. The absurdity of it all hit me at once. Okay then, mister Prince, let's see if you can keep this cool and collected after getting caught red-handed.
I turned on Ragebaiter after a week of deactivation, as I suddenly knew what to say. The air around me seemed to tense with it—pressure building in my chest, warmth crawling up my arms like static before a storm, begging for somewhere to go.
"You know, Mister Prince," I said softly, smiling like it was a joke we both understood, "for a man who claims not to care about my family, you spend an awful lot of time talking about them."
"What nonsense you're flapping your gums for?" His eyes twitched.
"You must think I was born yesterday. You really must think I was born yesterday," I said, nodding as my laughter ceased abruptly. "You aren't fooling me, buddy." I stared him dead in the eye. It could be dangerous locking eyes with a wizard who could invade my mind, but I had immunity from the well Immunity perk. I was confident it would block out any Legilimency attempts.
"I know who you are. I know what kind of man you are. What you do behind closed doors," I pressed on, looking at the painting before turning back to him. There wasn't a hint of nervousness on his face, which was almost impressive given the accusation.
"Do I have proof? I don't, not yet," I admitted. "But I can tell exactly who you are."
"I don't know what you're talking about, and my patience is growing thin. Either we do business, or get yourself out of my establishment," he said, glaring at me with barely controlled hostility. Thankfully, we weren't shouting or using outdoor voices, so Rose, Susan, and Edgar didn't look at us or notice the confrontation building.
"Look at her eyes. Her nose, those lips. Look at how her voice perked up at seeing Rose and me. Why is she so similar to our mother? Why does she share our face, even if it's a little different? Almost like it's been beautified from the real thing, viewed from a higher pedestal," I said, laying out the evidence piece by piece.
"Interesting theory, and a big waste of my time," he said, shaking his head with obvious disdain. "Typical Potter dunderheads, thinking the world revolves around you lot, don't you?" He sighed heavily. "I have not an ounce of feeling but immense dislike toward both of your parents, so you can discard any disgusting image you've conjured up. Comparing my best friend Eis to her? I don't wish to insult a mother in front of her children, so I won't speak further on the matter."
Eis. Is that what he was calling her? Or was this just the schoolgirl version of Lily Evans he'd conjured up in his mind, preserved in paint and magic? This was even worse than chatting with AI chatbots like real lovers or friends in my past life. At least those had the excuse of being code.
He couldn't get the girl, so he created a magical AI version of her instead. Trapped her younger, happier self in a painting where she'd stay with him forever, the one who wouldn't leave him for James Potter.
"Brother, you are not fooling anyone who knows you. And it's not just me who knows this and thinks this. Everyone who comes through that door and knows Lily and her history with you knows this," I said, letting the words hang in the air between us.
I turned toward him fully. "They know, brother. They know. We know, collectively." I looked at the painting once more before turning toward the counter, looking at Severus sideways with deliberate intent.
I dialed down just below the point of level, which could instigate the violence. I'm Ragebaiter, not suicidal.
"What was done in darkness will be brought to light. Mark my words, I'm onto you."
Before I dig my grave deeper, or the situation could escalate, I walked away, with one last smug look.
........................................................
After the whole fiasco was done with, I followed Rose, who once again led us to that exact abandoned Floo station she'd brought me to on my first day in the Wizarding World. And for good reason, too, as this place was naturally deserted. It gave us the privacy we desperately needed for what we were about to do.
Dust layered every surface, cobwebs clung to the corners, and the air had that faint, metallic stillness of forgotten places. But that's exactly what made it perfect.
Privacy. Silence. Anonymity.
It was a good alternative to renting a room at the Leaky Cauldron or any other establishment and having the bartender or some other bloke sniffing around, wondering why a pack of teenagers had money for lodging, or even boys and girls getting inside together.
People would have naturally gotten suspicious when a bunch of teenagers bought a room together, not to mention full-grown adults walking out the door afterward was another beast entirely. So this was the safest option available to us.
"Wait, once we drink the potion, what about our clothes? We didn't bring anything for larger sizes," I said, remembering the practical problem that had somehow escaped everyone's planning. I mean, the Aging Potion increased the age of the drinker, so I didn't see how clothes would also get a boost. Even if they did somehow age along with us, clothes didn't get bigger with their age. They just got worn out and threadbare.
"Those aren't Muggle clothes, right?" Edgar asked, looking my way with sudden concern.
"No, they certainly aren't. I bought them for him myself," Rose said with unmistakable pride, while I shuddered at the memory. She'd made me change outfits so many times because she kept disliking the clothes she'd chosen after I put them on. It was like being a dress-up doll for three exhausting hours.
And I'd also wanted new clothes that fit the Wizarding vibe, so I'd let her do it. But that didn't mean I'd enjoyed the process.
"Then it's no problem," Susan said, taking vials out of her bigger-on-the-inside pouch and beginning to set them on a makeshift table near one of the chimneys. "These days, every magical garment is enchanted. Size adjustment charms, temperature comfort, self-cleaning, the works. We're not Muggles, you know."
So regular clothes are retro in the Wizarding World now?
And Ouch. Was that subtle slander toward my fellow Muggles? Hah, who was I kidding? I'd never particularly liked the mundane world or mundane people, especially not from this world in the first place. Magic ruined you for normalcy.
Not to say I'm going to be their overlord or see myself above humanity, I just don't care or have any desire to be a hero of justice.
I just want to learn magic.
"Okay then," I said, picking up one of the vials. I froze as a familiar sensation rushed back through my entire body, like ice water in my veins. I felt the world slow down around me, sounds becoming muffled and distant.
The Gacha was stirring. I didn't know why it was suddenly activating or what the trigger was this time. In fanfiction, it had been word count or some feats or moments that triggered the Gacha pulls, but this was real life now. There had to be some explanation for it, some pattern I wasn't seeing yet. I mean, I wasn't complaining about getting more power, but I wanted to understand how my abilities actually worked, dammit.
*[Sword Birth]*
*|Epic Item|*
*DxD - A Sacred Gear created by God. It allows the user to conjure constructs of demonic swords with varying properties depending on the user's capabilities and skill. Swords that absorb flame or ones that are exceptionally sharp are just a few of the many examples. The user cannot create a sword that does something they themselves cannot do.*
I gasped as knowledge and power slammed into my very being, integrating itself as if it had always been meant to be there with me. Not something some random omnipotent being had shoved inside me like an unwelcome guest, but something that belonged. The information downloaded directly into my consciousness: every function, every limitation, every possibility of the Sacred Gear now residing in my soul.
Sword Birth. I knew this Sacred Gear from the source material. The demonic version of what internet forums would dismissively call discount Shirou Emiya. But now that I actually had this power flowing through me, I realized it had equal potential to Emiya Shirou's legendary abilities, maybe even more, depending on how I developed it.
Now hear me out on this. Shirou had Unlimited Blade Works, and it was exactly what it sounded like: unlimited swords stored in his inner world, his Reality Marble. But he could only gain new swords when he saw or traced existing blades to create copies. Very good copies, nearly perfect reproductions, but copies nonetheless. His arsenal was limited by what he'd observed and analyzed.
But with Sword Birth, I could create any kind of sword I could conceptualize. Of course, it had restrictions embedded in its nature. I could only create swords that performed functions I could already perform myself through other means. So my arsenal of blades would increase throughout my entire life as long as I kept learning new things, mastering new techniques, and understanding new concepts.
Even right now, I could probably create fire or ice swords because I could manipulate fire and ice through Half-Cold Half-Hot. The Quirk gave me the fundamental understanding of those elements needed to forge weapons from them. Now, let's add all the other magical abilities I could perform. Sword of Apparition for teleportation. Sword of Confusion for mental manipulation. Sword of Lumos that blazed with light. The sword of Hex carried curses in its edge. The Sword of Transfiguration could reshape whatever it cut.
Hell, imagine a sword that could heal or even revive someone, like that sword in that anime I watched, Inuyasha, or something.
The possibilities were genuinely endless. Every spell I learned, every ability I gained, every concept I mastered would translate into a new weapon I could forge from willpower alone, as Sacred Gear didn't seem to cost any kind of magical energy like Mana or Power like Demonic or Holy.
"Harry! Earth to Harry! You okay? Stop spacing out, come on," Rose said, clicking her fingers across my face repeatedly until I jolted back to focus.
"Ah, sorry, just got distracted," I said, chuckling because I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this gift from the Gacha. I think I was going to keep finding reasons to laugh because I wanted to cackle like a maniac so badly right now. The power singing in my veins demanded celebration.
"Okay then, people, this is it," Susan said, picking up her vial as we all followed her action in unison. "This is it. We're probably breaking about a dozen rules right now and will probably get us into one hell of trouble.
But—worth it. Here's to one hell of an adventure before Hogwarts." Her voice carried a mix of excitement and trepidation.
"Same. I know this was my idea, but if we get into serious trouble, I don't know any of you," Edgar said shamelessly, grinning widely. Then he quickly added, "Just kidding," though his tone suggested he was only half-joking.
"Coward," Rose said dryly.
"I call it tactical disassociation," he replied.
"I had a similar experience to this a few years ago, and it did not end well," Rose said, picking up her vial as well. Her expression turned briefly haunted before she shook it off. "Let's just hope lightning doesn't strike twice."
And you had to go and jinx it, didn't you, Rose?
"It's been one rollercoaster of emotions ever since I got into the Wizarding World. Right now I just want to see two blokes beat the absolute shite out of each other," I said with a slightly bloodthirsty smirk as I picked up my vial as well. The prospect of witnessing magical combat in person had a certain appeal that I wasn't going to pretend didn't exist.
I remembered Susan's instructions from earlier. Since this was a very good quality potion, one gulp would age us one year for one hour. Each additional gulp would add one more hour to the duration while aging us further. Multiple gulps stacked both the timer and the physical age progression.
"Bottoms up," Susan said, and we drank in synchronized motion.
The potion tasted like liquid autumn—crisp and bittersweet, with an aftertaste of something I couldn't quite place. Time, maybe, if time itself had a flavor. There was something nostalgic about it, like memories of seasons passing compressed into liquid form.
Then the world lurched violently.
My bones stretched, pulled, grew. Not painfully, but with an unsettling wrongness that made my stomach flip and twist. My shoulders broadened dramatically, my chest expanded, and I felt muscle knitting itself across my frame like I'd spent years training instead of mere seconds transforming. The sensation was deeply uncomfortable on an instinctive level, like my body was being rewritten in real-time. My clothes rippled and adjusted automatically, the enchanted fabric flowing like water to accommodate my new proportions without tearing or binding.
When the sensation finally stopped, leaving me slightly dizzy, I looked down at hands that were decidedly no longer the hands of a fourteen-year-old boy. These were a man's hands—larger, more defined, with prominent veins and a few faint scars I didn't remember earning yet. The fingers were longer, more capable-looking. Hands that had seen work and experience.
I glanced up at the others, curious to see how the transformation had affected them.
Edgar had shot up like a weed, now standing a solid few inches taller than both Rose and Susan. He kept looking down at them with an expression of pure, vindicated glee, clearly thrilled beyond measure that his future self had height working in his favor. His features had sharpened considerably, his jaw more defined and angular, though he still retained that mischievous glint in his dark eyes that marked him as Sirius Black's son.
Rose had transformed into a poised young woman, her features more refined but still unmistakably her own. The cosmetic charm on her hair had apparently broken during the transformation, and those lovely red locks flowed freely once again, cascading past her shoulders. She was trying very hard not to laugh at all of our shocked expressions, her lips twitching with barely suppressed amusement at our reactions.
This was definitely not her first experience with age-altering magic, and she was clearly having fun watching the rest of us adjust.
And Susan—
I quickly looked away, heat creeping up my neck and face. Susan had grown into an absolutely stunning young woman, and looking at her directly felt very tingly in a way my teenage brain couldn't quite articulate, but my transformed body certainly understood on a visceral level. Her face had flushed pink, a delicate color spreading across her cheeks, and she seemed to be having the exact same problem looking at me without her gaze skittering away.
Her figure had filled out spectacularly. Everything about her had matured in ways that made it very difficult to maintain eye contact without feeling like a complete creep. It was like Aphrodite herself had personally blessed the young woman with beauty.
This potion is amazing. This idea was so bloody amazing. It feels like heaven to see such a beautiful transformation unfolding right before my eyes. I'll not lie, by beauty alone, Rose was way further ahead, yet she's my sister, so I was completely focused on Susan and happy with my decision to do so, especially when she'd gone from being cute to drop-dead gorgeous in the span of seconds.
Judging by those rosy cheeks, I'm not half bad myself. Thank you, genetics and Aphrodite, you will always be on my golden list.
I flexed my arms experimentally, feeling the coiled strength residing there. I was genuinely ripped. Not a massive bodybuilder with grotesque proportions, but lean and powerful in a way that made me feel like I could punch through a brick wall. Or at least give it a solid attempt without breaking my hand.
As those Chinese webnovel protagonists would say: I have a swimmer build now instead of a bodybuilder.
"Well," Rose said, her voice still tinged with giggles. "This is awkward."
Don't giggle like an old man while looking at my body like I was a fresh maiden, Rose. You're scaring me. I mean, I'd been subtly checking out Susan in the exact same way, but I was a bloody hypocrite, so that was somehow different in my mind.
"I'm tall!" Edgar announced with boyish enthusiasm, standing on his toes to maximize his newfound height advantage. "Look at me! I'm taller than both of you now!"
"We can see that, Edgar," Susan said, her voice slightly higher than normal. She was still very determinedly not looking in my direction, her eyes fixed on literally anything else in the abandoned Floo station.
"Though my voice sounds so rough, like Dad's flying motorbike's rusted engine. Why do I sound like I swallowed a gravel pit? Where did my melodious voice go?" he asked with genuine sadness, clearly mourning his lost youth.
"Welcome to adulthood, kid. Puberty will hit you like a freight train very soon," I said, nodding sagely at him with the wisdom of someone who'd already experienced it once before in another life.
And then, all of a sudden, something clicked in my mind.
It was like someone had suddenly turned off a radio that had been playing static in the background of my consciousness for months. Years, even, if I counted my time before reincarnation. All those intrusive thoughts, those random emotional surges that came from nowhere, the constant mental noise that made me second-guess every feeling and impulse—
Gone.
Just... completely gone.
My mind felt clear. Calm. Peaceful. Like a perfectly still pond instead of a churning, turbulent river constantly threatening to overflow its banks. I could actually distinguish between my own thoughts and my body's hormonal reactions now. I could feel the clear difference between what I was rationally thinking and what my teenage physiology had been screaming at me to feel every waking moment.
Adult software, teenage hardware, hell, it was Child hardware for years. That's what it had been all along. The fundamental mismatch that had been driving me crazy.
I'd been running a twenty-something-year-old consciousness with all its memories and experiences on a fourteen-year-old's hormonal nightmare of a body. No wonder I've been so emotionally unstable these days.
The emotional volatility, the random surges of anger over something I could have peacefully solved, the confusion about my own feelings and motivations—it hadn't been just normal teenager problems. It had been a fundamental mismatch between mind and body, two different operating systems trying to run on incompatible hardware.
But now? Now they were perfectly synced. Harmoniously aligned. A twenty-four-year-old brain operating in a twenty-four-year-old body with all the neurochemistry that implied.
I laughed out loud, couldn't help it. The sound came out deeper than I expected, rumbling from my chest, but it felt absolutely right. Natural.
"What's so funny?" Rose asked, finally risking a proper glance my way with curious concern.
"Nothing important," I said, waving them off dismissively. "Just figured something out about myself."
Finally, I thought with intense relief, the clarity almost intoxicating in its completeness. I can actually hear my own thoughts clearly. The constant voices in my head arguing with each other have finally shut the hell up.
For the first time since waking up in this world as Harry Potter, my mind was genuinely quiet. Peaceful. Unified.
And it was absolutely glorious.
.....................................................
Perks So far.
Active Slots: 4/5
1: Ragebaiter (Active)
Origin: Agatha All Along
You possess an exceptional talent for pushing people's emotional buttons and provoking intense anger. Whether through carefully chosen words or calculated actions, you excel at getting under others' skin, often sparking heated reactions or even outright violence. Your ability to incite fury is virtually unmatched, but beware—provoked individuals rarely hesitate to act on their rage. Ensure you're prepared to handle the consequences, as the wrath of your targets can be swift and utterly unforgiving.
2: Holy Water (Item)
Origin: Good Omens
The very last thing a demon should have, since it tends to melt demon-kind rather effectively. You now possess a bottomless thermos of genuine holy water. Do try to be careful with it. It looks rather ordinary, simple black metal except for the white Cross of Christ etched near the cap.
You have the ability to summon the thermos of holy water and have an inventory-like system that can only store this one thermos and nothing else.
3: Immune (Active)
[Epic Ability]
Complete immunity to all negative status effects. While active, the user cannot be poisoned, cursed, diseased, or subjected to any form of debuffing magic or mundane affliction.
4: Volition (Passive)
Elite Trait
Origin: Disco Elysium
You are unnaturally connected to your own inner morale. The voice that pushes you to move forward, your determination, and your will to keep going. Honing this sense can allow you not to lose your will even against extreme adversity and pull off feats of tremendous willpower with ease. But losing control over your volition can also lead to overconfidence.
5: The Beastmaster (Passive)
Origin: Harry Potter Movie Series
You have a way with nature so great that you can form deep and lasting friendships with animals both magical and mundane. Through this you can pacify violent animals, making them more friendly to you, even those that might normally see humans as nothing more than a snack.
6: Half Hot, Half Cold (Active)
Epic Ability
Origin: My Hero Academia
Allows the user to create and emit both ice and fire from either side of their body, also granting elemental resistance. With training, the two aspects may be combined into Frostflare.
7: [Sword Birth]
|Epic Item|
DxD - A Sacred Gear created by God. It allows the user to conjure constructs of demonic swords with varying properties depending on the user's capabilities and skill. Swords that absorb flame or ones that are exceptionally sharp are just a few of the many examples. The user cannot create a sword that does something they themselves cannot do.