Time was fluid when you were an infant.
Days bled into nights, which blurred again into days. But for Harry once Elias Mercer each passing moment was a revelation.
The world he had entered was not just magical. It was alive.
The air shimmered faintly with unseen energy. Magic clung to every wall, humming like static, drifting in and out of focus. His parents wielded it like breathing, unconscious and constant. Floating dishes, self stirring pots, toys that danced when touched. Magic responded to thought. Sound curved around enchanted silence. Reality in this place obeyed different rules and Harry was watching everything.
He learned quickly.
He wanted to understand more on why Wands channeled magic with a kind of precision that raw willpower couldn't replicate. Spoken incantations created focused, repeatable results, while unspoken spells were erratic, beautiful in their imperfection. He noticed how certain gestures mattered more than others, how magical resonance fluctuated with mood and proximity.
To an onlooker, he was just a quiet baby in a crib. But inside his mind, a latticework of hypotheses formed, stretching between every spell cast, every charm failed, every moment where magic bent the world to its will.
He wasn't just surviving this new life.
He was studying it.
By six months, Harry could sit up with help and babble like any other baby. But behind those wide green eyes burned the focus of a man reborn.
Godric's Hollow was peaceful a sleepy, old village tucked between the edges of forest and cobbled roads. Ancient runes etched into stone walls radiated protection. Wards of forgotten origin hummed faintly in the background. He could feel them, the pressure of power rooted in history, rippling whenever Lily wheeled him past different homes, the fountain, or the crooked archway at the edge of the square.
This was a place soaked in time and memory.
He didn't know the specifics yet but he would.
One cloudy afternoon, the rhythm changed.
The air thickened not with storm or wind, but presence. Magic shifted. The subtle hum of enchantments tightened like drawn string.
Harry turned toward the door.
The knock came two seconds later.
James, who had been dramatically narrating a tale from Famous Hexes and How to Flub Them, paused mid sentence. "That's odd," he muttered, lowering the book. "We weren't expecting anyone."
From the kitchen, Lily's voice floated, light with amusement. "Maybe it's Bathilda with another fruitcake. She swore this one's edible."
James smirked, then stood. "Only one way to find out."
He reached the door and opened it.
A tall figure stood on the threshold, cloaked in midnight blue robes stitched with silver runes and constellations. A long, snow white beard spilled past his chest. Behind half moon spectacles, blue eyes twinkled but not with mischief or joy.
Albus Dumbledore looked grave.
"Albus," James said, blinking. "You didn't write ahead."
"I feared interception," Dumbledore said gently. "May I come in?"
"Yeah, of course. Come in."
Harry watched him enter.
The atmosphere shifted at once. Dumbledore's magic didn't blaze it pulsed. Like quiet thunder. The walls reacted to it. Spells embedded in the home warbled in acknowledgment.
Lily entered the room, her wand subtly in hand.
"Professor," she said softly. "Is something wrong?"
Dumbledore's gaze dropped to the child in the highchair.
To Harry.
His expression shifted.
The twinkle vanished. His smile faded. He took a slow step forward, then knelt until his face was level with Harry's.
"Hello," he said softly.
Harry held his gaze, calm. Calculating.
Dumbledore's brows furrowed. "Fascinating"
James cleared his throat. "Albus? What's going on?"
"I've never seen a child quite like him," Dumbledore murmured. "His awareness his magical aura it's as though he's absorbing everything around him. He doesn't just feel magic. He sees it."
Harry blinked slowly.
Dumbledore leaned back, lips tightening into a line. "I assume this isn't a social visit," James said, voice firm.
"No," Dumbledore admitted, rising. "There's been another string of attacks. Families in Cornwall, and one near the Isle of Skye. The McCarthys and the Keenes. All gone."
Lily's hand tightened around her wand. "Oh merlin. Not the children"
"Even the children," Dumbledore said quietly.
James cursed under his breath. "Voldemort?"
"Unconfirmed. But likely. His Death Eaters grow bolder. And there's more."
Lily moved to Harry instinctively, picking him up from the highchair. He curled into her chest, watching Dumbledore from beneath his lashes.
"We've intercepted rumors," Dumbledore continued. "He's begun asking questions about a child. A prophecy. One who might have the power to defeat him."
James's jaw clenched. "What does that have to do with us?"
Dumbledore didn't answer right away. He looked at Harry again.
Then, slowly, he said, "Because that child might be yours."
Lily's breath caught. "You think Harry is?"
"I think," Dumbledore said carefully, "that Voldemort believes he might be. And that makes you a target."
"That's insane," James said, pacing. "He's just a baby! There's no way"
"That doesn't matter," Dumbledore interrupted. "Voldemort doesn't act on proof. He acts on fear. Possibility. The prophecy is vague but that's enough."
Lily's eyes shimmered. "But he's not ready. He's six months old."
"I know," Dumbledore said softly. "Which is why we need to protect him."
He glanced toward James. "The Fidelius Charm. It's time."
James nodded tightly. "We've been preparing."
"Good. I've spoken to Sirius. He's agreed to be your Secret Keeper, though we'll need to finalize it soon. And I must say this now."
His voice lowered. Heavy.
"If Voldemort finds you he will try to end your family we must be ready to act. You must not let him take the child. No matter what."
James froze. "Are you saying?"
"I'm saying you must protect him with everything. Even if it means" Dumbledore trailed off.
Lily's grip on Harry tightened.
"No," she said sharply. "Don't. Don't even say it."
Dumbledore bowed his head. "I pray it never comes to that. But you deserve to know the stakes."
Silence fell.
Even the magical dishes had stilled, hovering in place as if sensing the tension.
Finally, James spoke. "We'll protect him. We'll use every charm, every spell whatever it takes. I won't lose my son."
Dumbledore looked at them both.
Then at Harry.
And for just a breath, he looked afraid.
That night, the house was silent.
Lily rocked Harry in the nursery, humming under her breath. James stood by the window, wand drawn, watching the moon rise.
Harry lay in his crib, eyes wide, heart racing.
So it had begun.
The future his former reality's legend had found him early. Dumbledore had seen through his mask. Not fully. Not yet. But enough to fear what might grow behind those green eyes.
He would have to be more careful.
He would have to grow faster.
Because this wasn't about surviving anymore.
This was about control.
He would not be a weapon. Not for prophecy. Not for a war between Light and Dark. Not even for the great Albus Dumbledore.
He had been born into this world with a singular goal to understand it. To unravel its mysteries. To weave its chaotic threads into something predictable.
If Voldemort feared possibility, then he would become certainty.
If Dumbledore sought to guide him, he would walk his own path.
He would rise not as a savior.
Not as a hero.
But as someone willing to go the extra mile to reach greatness.
A scientist, reborn in the world of sorcery.
And he would master both, combine it into something truly special.
Or die trying.