[A/N: Usually i do author notes in the end buuut this is special. its double length chapter!!!. Its a gift for all the love and support you guys are pouring over a 4 day long fic..4 DAY. you guys atleast deserve this/
enjoy!!]
The Room of Requirement tempted me, ngl. But then I thought: Quirrelmort is literally living rent-free in this castle. Last thing I need is him sniffing around if I vanish into magical cheat codes.
So instead, I grinded in stealth mode.
Empty classrooms, forgotten corridors, even the musty library corners no one bothered to dust. Lumos for light, muffling charms for silence, and a stack of books pilfered from the Restricted Section via "borrow now, sneak back later."
I was lifting weights in the mornings, dueling shadows in the afternoons, and transcribing runes at night.
By December, my magical reserves felt like an overcharged battery.
But power alone wasn't enough. People mattered.
I started small, Ravenclaws who appreciated someone that actually respected their questions.
Hufflepuffs who liked that I didn't treat them as "the leftovers." And Cedric Diggory? Instant bro.
Quidditch was a universal language.
"Next time we play," Cedric said after one match, "don't hold back."
I grinned. "Mate, uninstalling Slytherin was just a warm-up."
Even a few Slytherins noticed me. Not the loudmouths, but the thinkers, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini.
They weren't friends, not yet, but we traded words like chess moves. Quiet respect.
Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione? They'd become my people, my bois. No bullying, no misunderstandings.
Just late nights in the common room, parchment sprawled everywhere, Ron joking, Hermione scolding, me bridging the gap with sarcastic quips.
"Harry," Hermione huffed one evening, "you treat studying like a duel."
"Because it is," I grinned. "Knowledge vs. brain rot."
Ron laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair.
We weren't just friends anymore. We were orbiting each other like stars in the same constellation.
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Snow blanketed the castle, white and glittering. Hogwarts looked like a painting. Inside, warmth spilled from fireplaces and wreaths adorned the halls.
Presents piled under the Gryffindor tree, and for once, I wasn't empty handed. I'd made sure of that.
Ron got a Chudley Cannons set and enchanted chess pieces that could trash talk back.
Hermione got rare magical theory books, expensive, imported, the kind of thing that made her jaw drop and eyes shine.
Cedric got a broom polish set, charmed for extra aerodynamics.
The twins? A prank kit refilled with magic (probably a mistake, but worth the laugh).
Neville received enchanted herbology gloves.
Even the Slytherins I'd talked to got subtle gifts, not obvious but clever enough to show respect.
And Dumbledore? A pair of socks, of course.
Tom the barman at the Leaky Cauldron got a bottle of Firewhiskey.
McGonagall got a new tartan scarf.
Everyone got something. No one expected it.
The looks on their faces? Worth every galleon.
That morning, one last gift appeared at the foot of my bed. No name. Just soft, shimmering fabric that pooled like liquid moonlight.
The Invisibility Cloak.
The note claimed it was my father's. My fingers lingered on it, heavy with irony.
Lily, James… I'm not your Harry. But I'll honor him anyway.
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The cloak trailed like liquid moonlight as I entered the forgotten chamber.
And there it was. The Mirror.
Tall, ancient, humming with magic older than Hogwarts itself.
I stepped forward and froze.
Not James. Not Lily.
But them.
My parents. My real parents.
Anjali, with her kind smile and patient eyes. Anand, with his proud, crooked grin.
My mum. My dad.
The tears came before I could stop them.
My throat clenched. I should've done better.
In my old life, I'd wasted time. Too much time. Hours lost to scrolling, sleeping, daydreaming instead of doing. Dreams of careers, goals half-pursued, ambitions left rotting.
And then death. Pathetic, stupid death. A ceiling fan dropping on my head while I slept.
I pressed my palm to the glass.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, but only in my mind. I disappointed you. I died like a fool.
I never became what I promised. And now all I can do is carry your faces in a world that doesn't even know you existed.
They smiled back. Loving. Forgiving.
It made it worse.
Would they still smile if they knew the truth of my wasted years?
Would they be proud of me now?
The ache hollowed me out.
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"Strange thing, isn't it?"
The voice cracked the silence. I spun, cloak half slipping from my shoulders.
Dumbledore stood there, calm as ever, his gaze unreadable but kind.
"The Mirror of Erised," he said softly, approaching with measured steps. "It shows us not knowledge or truth, but our heart's deepest desire."
I swallowed hard, forcing my mask into place.
"I suppose you saw… your family," he added gently.
I nodded once. Not a lie. Just not the family he thought.
But Dumbledore didn't leave. He studied me a moment longer, then said quietly, "Come. Let's talk."
Minutes later, we sat in his office.
Fawkes cooed softly on his perch, and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate hovered between us.
Dumbledore sipped. "Tell me, Harry… how are the Dursleys treating you?"
I stared into the cup. Then looked up.
And for once, I didn't hide behind jokes.
"They treated me like shit."
His face flickered, the faintest pain behind the beard.
"They starved me. Locked me in cupboard. Beat me with words if not fists. If I wasn't clever, I might've died like…" I trailed off. "But I'm still here. Because I chose to survive."
Silence. Heavy.
Finally, Dumbledore whispered, "I feared it might be so. And yet I hoped—"
I cut him off. "Don't hope, Professor. Just listen. If you want me to trust you, don't cover the truth with prettywords."
I leaned forward, eyes sharp.
Lets test him.
"There's something else. SiriusBlack didn't betray my parents."
Dumbledore froze. "What makes you say that?"
"I'm sensitive to magic. I feel it. There's a rat, Ron's pet. He reeks of human magic. Animagus magic. Old. Wrong. That's no rat. That's PeterPettigrew. The real traitor. My father and his two friends as Remus is a werewolf, Sirius, Peter. All become Animagus in their school years"
The old man's eyes widened, sharp and calculating now.
"If I'm right, Sirius has been rotting in Azkaban without a trial. You want justice, Professor? Get him one. Free him. Compensate him. Clear his name."
Dumbledore stroked his beard slowly, deeply moved and troubled. "That… would change much."
"It would change everything," I pressed. "And it's the right thing to do."
At length, Dumbledore nodded.
"I will pursue this, Harry. Quietly, but surely. If Sirius Black is innocent, he deserves both freedom and reparation."
Relief washed through me.
"But," Dumbledore continued, voice firm now, "until then, I must ask a promise of you in return. Stay within the protections of family wards, not the Dursleys, perhaps, but the Black wards if Sirius inherits them. They are old and strong."
I leaned back, meeting his gaze. "Good. Because I promised the Dursleys I'd never set foot in their house again. And I don't break promises."
For a moment, something flickered across his face, guilt, perhaps, or respect. Then he gave a faint chuckle, though the sadness never left his eyes.
"Fair enough, Harry. Fair enough."
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Dumbledore POV*
Albus Dumbledore sat alone in his office, the fire burning low. Fawkes dozed, tail feathers glowing faintly, but the Headmaster's mind was restless.
Harry's words echoed.
"I promised the Dursleys I'd never set foot in their houseagain. And I don't break promises."
Albus sighed, pressing his palms together.
He had known the Dursleys were cold. He had not wished to believe they could be cruel.
Perhaps it had been his own selfishness, needing Harry to remain behind Lily's wards, convincing himself the boy would be "looked after," when deep down he had always known Petunia's bitterness ran deep.
That guilt would linger for the rest of his days.
But now… now a new path had opened.
Harry's casual mention of Sirius, of Pettigrew, of blood wards on the Black estate, Albus turned the pieces over like a chessboard in his mind.
Dorea Potter. Born Black. Cousin to Arcturus. Through her, Harry's veins carried ancient Black magic, however diluted.
Enough to bind him to Black wards if Sirius were declared Lord.
It was elegant. It was right. And it freed the boy from Privet Drive forever.
Albus allowed himself a thin smile.
Perhaps fate is kinder than I deserve.
But Sirius… that wound cut deep.
Could it be true? That Sirius Black, once so devoted to James and Lily, was never the traitor? That Peter Pettigrew, small, unnoticed, pitiful Peter, had been the serpent in the grass all along?
Harry's certainty disturbed him. But Albus had learned long ago not to dismiss instincts, especially from a boy like this.
If true, Sirius had rotted in Azkaban for a crime not his own.
And if so, Harry would not forgive the world lightly.
Albus stroked his beard. We must move quickly. Quietly. Amelia Bones will listen. Kingsley Shacklebolt may be trusted.
A trial must be forced into the open.
And if Sirius were freed… the wards at Grimmauld Place would hold Harry as securely as Privet Drive ever had.
Dumbledore leaned back, exhaustion pulling at his bones, but a spark of hope lighting his chest.
Harry Potter, clever, sharp, more mature than any eleven year old had the right to be, had survived cruelty, had stood against a troll, had won his House a Quidditch victory… and tonight,
had spoken with more bluntness than most grown men dared.
Not James. Not Lily. But still their son, and perhaps something more.
"Yes," Dumbledore murmured to the fire. "Fair enough, Harry. Fair enough."
Fawkes trilled softly, as though in agreement.
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The fire in Dumbledore's office had burned low when he finally pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward him.
His quill hovered for a long moment before scratching in deliberate, looping strokes.
[To Madam Bones,
I find myself troubled by an old case. I fear, in the haste of war, due process was abandoned.
I would be most grateful if you might reopen the matter of Sirius Black, not publicly, but quietly.
There may be more truth buried beneath the ashes than we believed.
In confidence,
Albus Dumbledore]
He sealed it with wax, pressing the Hogwarts crest deep into the red pool.
With a glance, Fawkes stirred, cooed softly, and took the letter in his beak. In a burst of golden flame, the phoenix was gone.
A second sheet followed, his quill scratching faster now.
[To Auror Shacklebolt,
Keep your eyes on Peter Pettigrew.
Alive or dead, something about his supposed fate does not sit right with me.
Report only to Madam Bones and myself. No others.
A.D.]
He rolled it swiftly, slipped it into another tube, and gave it to a school owl that would not be suspected.
As the owl vanished into the night, Albus leaned back, weariness deep in his bones.
If Harry was right, if Pettigrew lived hiding as a rat, then the war had been twisted into a farce. James and Lily avenged by the wrong man's imprisonment. Sirius left to rot without trial.
He could already hear the Wizengamot's outrage, the Ministry's excuses, the Prophet's scandalous headlines.
But if truth came to light, justice could finally be done.
And Harry would be free of the Dursleys forever.
Albus almost smiled. The irony of fate, the House of Black, once twisted by bigotry and madness, might yet become Harry's sanctuary.
Fawkes reappeared on his perch in a flash of fire, empty beak, song soft and reassuring.
Dumbledore stroked the phoenix's feathers, whispering, "Fair enough, Harry. I will not fail you again."
For the first time in years, Albus allowed himself to believe the world might still be mended.
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Ron's POV*
Life in the Burrow was loud. Always had been, always would be. With five older brothers, one little sister, and a ghoul in the attic, Ron Weasley often felt like the background character in his own family.
When the Hogwarts letter came, he thought, finally my chance to be noticed.
But then Mum started fussing about Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. Boy Who Lived. Savior of the wizarding world. She said he was starting Hogwarts the same year as Ron.
Ron spent weeks wondering what Harry would look like. He imagined someone larger than life.
A scar blazing bright across his forehead like a lightning tattoo. Maybe rugged, maybe flashy, someone who strode into rooms with that "chosen one" glow.
But when he met him on the train?
He wasn't flashy at all. Taller than Ron expected, lean, messy hair that wasn't for show but just… messy. His eyes were sharp, alive, like they were always three steps ahead.
His scar? So faint Ron almost missed it. Hardly the beacon he expected, just a pale mark, fading into the skin.
And no glasses either; he didn't squint like Percy did over books.
"Blimey," Ron muttered later that night to Seamus. "He doesn't look like a legend. He looks like… he could be anyone. But when you talk to him… Merlin's beard, you know straightaway he's not."
Hermione's POV
Hermione Jean Granger had always been the smartest person in the room, and the loneliest.
Books were her friends, logic her companion. When the Hogwarts letter arrived, she nearly burst from excitement.
Magic was real. Her chance to belong was real.
But along with excitement came nerves. Everyone in the wizarding world already knew Harry Potter.
She'd read Modern Magical History three times before September. She pictured a boy with a fierce scar, battle scarred from destiny, wearing glasses cracked from fighting off evil.
But when she first saw him in class?
Not at all what she imagined. His scar was there, yes, but faint, barely noticeable. His face wasn't shaped by tragedy but by a certain calm sharpness, like someone who knew more than he should. No glasses.
No fragile look of a boy who barely survived.
And when he spoke, it wasn't like the hero she read about. It was like someone who weighed every word.
Half the time he spoke with a dry wit that left Ron snorting and Hermione scowling and yet she always found herself smiling a second later.
In the library, she caught him devouring books far above their year. Not pretending, not stumbling just absorbing. And for the first time, Hermione wondered if she might have found someone who could keep up with her.
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When the egg cracked in Hagrid's hut and Norberta blinked her bright, reptilian eyes, Harry didn't see just a dragon. He saw potential.
"Blimey, isn't she beautiful?" Hagrid crooned.
Ron leaned in. "I mean… she's brilliant, but… Hagrid, you can't keep her."
Hermione looked horrified. "It's against the law! And dragons are—"
Ron panicked. Hermione scolded. Hagrid cooed.
But Harry leaned in, calm, letting the dragon sniff his hand. "She doesn't belong in a smuggler's bag," he said finally. "She belongs here. Controlled. Respected."
Hermione blinked. "But dragons are illegal—"
Harry smirked. "So are a dozen other things Dumbledore's let slide if it benefits the school. We just have to reframe it."
The next day, in front of Dumbledore and McGonagall, Harry laid it out clean:
"Hogwarts could build the first dragon sanctuary on school grounds. A warded reserve near the Forbidden Forest. Students could study dragons safely. You'd turn a problem into a unique advantage an addition of N.E.W.T. COMC."
McGonagall bristled. "Absolutely outrageous—"
Dumbledore stroked his beard, eyes twinkling. "And yet… inspired. With proper containment wards, it might be safer here than anywhere else. And quite… educational."
Harry pressed. "It'd also stop black market smuggling. Better to regulate than ban."
McGonagall glared. Dumbledore smiled. Decision made.
Within weeks, the foundation of the Hogwarts Dragon Sanctuary was laid near the Forbidden Forest, hidden behind ancient wards.
Norberta was the first resident get studied, cared for, admired.
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Ron POV*
Nine months at Hogwarts had flown by, and Ron Weasley still couldn't quite believe the bloke snoring in the bed across from him was the Harry Potter.
Except… he wasn't like the Harry Ron imagined before school. Not flashy nor dramatic. Just… different.
Harry was stronger than the rest of them. Not just Quidditch strong, but properly fit.
Ron had caught him sneaking out for runs at dawn, had seen him doing push ups in the dorm when he thought no one was watching.
The other first years wheezed after climbing the Astronomy Tower. Harry looked like he could keep going another mile.
And the magic..Merlin's beard.
Ron had grown up with older brothers who all had their talents, but Harry… Harry was ahead of everyone.
First year charms came to him like second nature. He flicked a wand with precision the professors nodded at.
When Neville's cauldron threatened to explode, Harry had neutralized it in seconds, faster than Snape.
But it wasn't just power. It was how he used it. Harry listened. He wasn't above them, not lording his skill like Percy or Malfoy.
He cracked jokes, he teased, he played chess with Ron late into the night like any other boy.
Ron grinned at the thought. Best mate I could've asked for. Maybe best bloke I'll ever know.
Still… danger followed him. Trolls. Dragons. Rumors of something hidden in the castle. Ron knew the risk.
But he also knew one thing clear as day:
I'll stick with him. Always.
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Hermione POV*
Hermione Granger prided herself on being rational. Logical. A girl who measured the world by books and rules.
But Harry Potter defied rules.
Nine months of knowing him had been enough to see it: Harry wasn't just ahead in lessons, he was years ahead.
His spells were sharper, his control steadier, his theory broader than anything a first year should touch. When Hermione brought up Arithmancy texts, Harry didn't blink.
When she tried discussing the roots of Latin incantations, he was already halfway to the answer.
Yet… he wasn't arrogant about it.
He listened. Really listened. When she ranted about homework or excitedly shared some obscure fact, he looked at her with those sharp green eyes and paid attention.
And when he joked oh, he joked like a boy his age, snarky and silly, pulling Ron into fits of laughter until even Hermione had to hide a smile behind her book.
It was balance. Strength and wisdom one moment, childish humor the next. Somehow both.
Hermione hugged her knees one night in the girls' dorm, staring out the frosted window. He's dangerous, she admitted to herself.
The troll, the dragon, the way he stared at the Forbidden Forest like it was a puzzle waiting to be solved, it all screamed danger.
But he was also her best friend. The first person who made her feel less like an outcast and more like she belonged.
And she knew, without hesitation:
I'll follow him. No matter what it costs. If the world turns dangerous around Harry Potter, then so be it. I'll stand beside him.
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In six months, they had gone from strangers on a train to something more than friends.
Harry was power and mystery.
Ron was loyalty and heart.
Hermione was reason and fire.
Together, they weren't just surviving Hogwarts. They were changing it.
And deep down, each of them knew: the road ahead would only get darker.
But they had made their choice.
Harry Potter was worth it.
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