Harry potter The Boy Who Remembers

2 August 1992, Diagon Alley

He learnt one thing for certain and that was the fact that Dumbledore was fucking terrifying. He didn't want anything to do with the man, really, but that was it.

With determination in his eyes, the last Potter proclaimed, "This is not over. I will become powerful, and I will survive. This is a promise."

Today was the day. Harry had woken up in the morning with a huge smile on his face. Living in Diagon Alley, and being able to do magic without anyone saying anything was simply amazing, but after a month of solitude, he was slightly lonely.

The feeling was surprising; in his previous life, he had no one. He took care of his family, of his brother, but they were family. In a way, he relished the time when he could spend on his own, something that made him feel like shit after his brother passed away. Alas, life was cruel and ironic that way.

And yet, here he was, free of any obligation, free of any supervision, and he was feeling lonely. He hadn't expected to be so attached to his friends like this, especially considering the mental age difference. Even if it was more of a technicality. Honestly, looking back to the previous year, he really shouldn't have acted that way. He was impulsive, cowardly, and vindictive. The way he humiliated Malfoy for insulting his parents was proof of that. He had spent years as an educator in his previous life, and he knew he could have handled it better. Although, he only taught to students in high school, who were a lot more mature – if a little rebellious – than his classmates.

Honestly, the way he rebuffed Longbottom's attempt at friendship was due to his fear. Neville Longbottom was the boy who lived. Danger will follow him to the ends of the earth, and Harry wanted nothing to do with it.

But the petty rivalry they had was not something he would have done in his past life. He would have simply shrugged and let the children deal with their own mess. Their opinion shouldn't have mattered, and yet it did.

Harry had to admit that he was different from the man he used to be. He was mature for a child his age, but he didn't really have the maturity of an adult. This dichotomy was confusing. He had the emotional range of a child and the memories of an adult. And in a way, Harry did not want to stay the same man from his past life.

He remembered how empty the man was. He had no purpose, no ambition, no love, no hate, no anger. He had no friends, no rivals, and it was only the act of teaching that brought a spark of passion into his life. He didn't dream of wealth, and yet he craved love but didn't feel like he would ever get to feel it or have someone feel it towards him, even if he didn't understand what love truly was. Harry still didn't understand it, to be completely honest, and yet he was hopeful that he would ever feel it. Harrison Smith was like a meat puppet that was just going through the motions, waiting for something to fill up the endless hole inside of him, and yet he knew deep down that the chances of that happening were slim to none.

The Potter scion liked to distance himself from the man. He liked to think that they were two different people, even if the two of them tended to overlap. Perhaps it was a desperate attempt to not H to share the man's fate, and if it meant having a shard of immaturity left in him, then it was a price he was willing to pay.

Still, this childish cowardly thinking almost got him killed a few months ago. He had done everything right, and yet it didn't matter. Lord Voldemort had tried to kill him, and it was his magic crest, and cloak of invisibility that saved his life. It had nearly killed him, but the cloak's ability had a lot of possibilities. Phasing through magic was a very overpowered ability, one that he was hoping to one day be able to use when his magic has matured enough. Still, Harry wondered what other secrets the cloak held. There was no mention of this ability in anything he had read about the Deathly Hallows. And his frustratingly silent magical crest was annoying.

Other than saving his life in dire situations, the crest didn't really do anything. He was thankful for it, but it still was a mystery. He had a few guesses, of course, the first of which was the fact that it was the Peverell family crest, not the Potter one. The interaction between the crest and the cloak was enough of a hint. But any knowledge about the family was very scarce for some reason, so he was going around blind on that front.

And yet, Harry doubted that his crest would be able to save him from a basilisk. Yeah, staying passive while a dark lord was possessing a professor was one thing. There wasn't really anything he could do about it. He was inexperienced in terms of magic to fight Quirrell, something that he was reminded of in both his encounters with him. And with anyone in a position of authority would ask how he knew that Quirrell was possessed, there was very little thing he could do, but try to stay out of the way. It didn't work as intended, of course, and Harry didn't know which Fate fuckery happened with Longbottom to get him to kill Quirrell.

But a basilisk actively attacking students in a school was where he drew the line. He wasn't going to gamble on the fact that the students would all be lucky enough to only see the reflection of the king of serpents. Basilisks were the stuff of nightmares. They were beings of alchemy and blood magic that are designed to be the magical equivalent of weapons of mass destruction. Their killing stares were enough to make them very dangerous, but their magically impervious skin was immune to practically any damage, and their venom was so corrosive that it destroyed magic, in the same way Fiendfyre did. A drop was enough to destroy wards or protection enchantments. Breeding a basilisk was an immediate death sentence all over the world, and everyone knew it.

Thankfully, Basilisks were hunted down to extinction centuries ago, when the statute of secrecy was put in place, and any record of their creation was destroyed on a global scale using an extremely powerful secrecy spell. That was how dangerous these things were.

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