I don't own Harry Potter. 

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 Myself a Fool

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 the perfect companion savors your face in full as you stand in awe in front of 

that luminous, tall mirror...

 You feel so strongly for the image it's hard to breathe...

there can't be anyone better, anyone you can imagine more powerful and beautiful ...

you can hate, and you can hurt, but 'till death do you part,

  you loved the only thing that loved you back 

---

Harry awoke in a tangle of damp sheets, skin soaked with beads of sweat. 

The feeble rays of the sun remained hidden away behind the pair of threadbare curtains he had pulled across the dirty windows. Dim light from the cloudy afternoon filtered in through the fringes, throwing long, sinister shadows across the shabby room he had rented. 

Pulling aside the musty smelling linens, Harry moved off the large, two-person bed and stood, grabbing his wand from the stand. 

He had thought he would be safe in this world, free from the constraints of his old life and able to pursue his own agenda. It should have been a world free of Voldemort's constant looming threat, a world where he could define himself, to achieve his desires without  limits.

His revenge should have been sweet, simple, and above all, successful. Instead he was involved in another tiring game of cat and mouse with his other, twisting and slipping through a new set of people so much like his own. 

Harry glanced at the opened letter he had received the night before, delivered to him by a stern old owl he recognized from the owlrey at Hogwarts. The loopy writing was instantly recognizable on the smooth, creamy white parchment, the baroque crest of Hogwarts emblazoned across the upper left corner.  

--

Mr. Harry Potter,

I must first welcome you to a most humble community. Hogsmeade is a wonderful town to live in, and I am sure you will find yourself quite comfortable with the quaint way of life the citizens here enjoy.  

Pleasantries aside, I write to you on behalf of an organization that seeks new members. In our discussion several days ago you displayed a certain will to resist the darker happenings that are sweeping through England. I recommended you as a strong candidate, and relayed to them your proficiency in magic. 

They are very eager to meet you. 

A word of caution, however; the work this group engages in is very dangerous. It is the actions of old men that bring about wars, but it is unfortunately the young that ultimately pay the price. Normally I would not think of introducing you to this order, but I am not so much of a fool to believe that a simple warning will deter you from taking action. It is much safer and effective for you to partake in this movement with others rather than alone. 

With that said, I must also make mention of your errant cousin. Although I have suppressed any word of suspicion implicating her in last week's attack, I felt it was important for Mrs. Longbottom to know the truth. 

As you must know, she cared for Ms. Potter following the deaths of Lily Potter's muggle relatives. She was very close to James' family and wishes to meet you as soon as possible. 

I must warn you that she is somewhat skeptical of Ms. Potter's allegiance, believing her to be misguided rather than corrupted. Indulge her as you may - though she may not show it in her mostly unsentimental demeanor, her life has been difficult since losing her son, daughter in law, and only grandchild to such terrible ends. 

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

--

Harry had sent off a short note of acknowledgment and interest to Dumbledore the day before, using a neighbor's owl. He had neglected to bring Hedwig along, but he was sure the regal bird would not have survived the passage through the mirror. He had only survived because of the prophecy, his life essential to the completion of his destiny. 

He absently wondered if Hedwig would respond to him in this new world, or if she existed at all. 

Harry recalled Jamie speaking of her, his memory straining as he thought back to a time he wasn't consumed by hate, fear of capture, and the weight of responsibility for his own actions. 

It seemed a different era entirely, one where no amount of exclusion or marginalization could ever dampen him. It was a blissful month or two his life had been defined by time until midnight, when he could don his invisibility cloak and roam into the welcoming darkness of the third floor, turning his back on everyone but himself. 

His mind inevitably spiraled away to images of warm embraces and even warmer kisses, of furious touch and quiet murmurs. He never could get enough of her smooth skin, her luminous black hair running through his fingers like liquid night, and soulful, familiar emerald eyes that never needed explanation or excuse. 

The thought of her taking another was almost crushing, so inherently wrong that it made his jaw clench, fists curl and eyes burn with fury. 

Why Draco Malfoy?

Harry couldn't think of her ever expressing any sort of interest with another student, let alone Malfoy. He supposed she was pragmatic, that she was naturally choosing the crème of the social and economic crop. 

Jamie was ambitious in a way that surpassed even Harry in his first year, when he had dreams of becoming a great wizard, to learn all he could of this frightening power. He had no illusions of friendship then, no false feelings of companionship and fulfillment of the yearning he felt for being part of a community. 

Harry knew this difference between them stemmed from the mere fact Jamie was a female. While he had met Ron and had gone on to lavish in the attention, Jamie had probably never found Ron to be engaging. 

She never had a reason to protest the hat's quiet whisper in her mind, suggesting lightly that she could be something great in the Serpent house. 

Harry wondered idly the kind life she had endured. Where he had made friends, no matter how disappointing they were in that regard, Jamie had been plunged in a group filled with rivalry, strife, and hatred, a practiced policy of stepping on those of impure blood. 

And she seemed to have grown from it, taking it within her and learning all her unwelcome housemates had to offer. Harry knew she had drew herself into her studies as a way of raising her status among her peers. By the time she had met Harry, his other had been able to crush any talk of her half-blood birth with merciless force. 

Pansy Parkinson's long, noble line of pureblooded family members meant nothing in the face of a hostile wand, an eleven and a half inch phoenix feather core that had broken bones, torn flesh, and thought to have plunged four lives into the cold embrace of death. 

Power was the ultimate currency in life, and Jamie Haile Potter had plenty to spare. 

He looked at his own wand, wondering if he stood a chance at defeating her in a duel. He had improved his skills in casting and control in the several months since their last meeting, and had learned some useful magic from his studies. At the very least he felt he could fight her to a stalemate, despite the the air of superiority she exuded. 

And if he were to beat her, what then? He already knew he couldn't kill her. He could no more murder her than murder himself. He had come to triumph. Her death would be a short-lived, unsatisfying one. 

He knew what he wanted most in life was to hold power over her in the same way she had done to him. Harry wanted his hand around her life, fingers pressing hard against her as he could take what he wish. He wanted to see her defiance beaten down, her will expressed and then denied, time after time. She was to be his in every way of the word. 

It was only in this he would succeed, not only in desire but also but over himself.

..............................

Harry appeared neatly on the doorstep of Longbottom Manor, the sharp crack of his arrival echoing out among the vast fields of grain around them. The summer air was sweet and thick, the dim warmth of the sun shining down on his straight, composed figure.

He was determined to make a proper impression. Smoothing out the fine set of robes he had stolen just for the occasion, he stepped back slightly behind the awning and looked at the house. 

It was an aging, ornate structure, with a lavish, faded design that suggested an extravagance of times past. There were several unkempt sheds sitting on the sides of the manor, weeds poking through the holed sides. 

Surrounded by the endless, untarnished land, the residence was very pleasant overall, giving a sense of tranquil isolation that could put even the most twisted mind at ease. Or hide it. 

Stepping back up to the front of the house, Harry looked for any sort of doorbell, magical or otherwise. A small, shining gold fixture on the door seemed to serve the role of a knocker, yet had no visible knocking piece. It was a lifelike leaf spread open, protruding slightly from the surface.  

Harry studied it for a moment before tapping his wand on the leaf three times. The veins of the leaf glowed bright white for a moment before promptly dissipating, resulting in three  deep thumps from deep within the house. 

Several moments passed before the door opened, revealed an austere, older woman of impressive height. Her face was sharp, marred with premature lines and a seemingly perpetual frown. Dark, narrowed blue eyes stared at him with vague interest, mouth set harshly. 

She looked less imposing without her vulture hat, but retained all the authority and poise he remembered her having in the brief glimpses he had seen of her at King's Crossing. In her hand she clutched a longish wand of curious design. 

“You must be Harry.” She said bluntly, not a hint of question in her voice as she stared hard at him, searching for something. As if he passed some sort of test, she stepped back moments later and widened the doorway. “Come in, Mr. Potter.”

Harry obliged, stepping into the welcome, deeply shaded cool of the pristine household. The furnishing were of impressive quality, but simple in form. There was a sense of order in the sparse, equally spaced portraits, the symmetric quality of the rooms, and the excessively clean chairs and tables throughout the manor. The house seemed to mirror the Longbottom matriarch's dominating personality. 

A polite cough shook him from his observations. Harry turned to see Longbottom standing by the staircase, observing him shrewdly with her hands clasped on the elaborate end of the railing. “Albus tells me you're a relative of James', a distant cousin that's been living under our noses for quite some time. Of course, I profess having a healthy bit of doubt at that.”

The sound of pecking at a window made the woman stop. She excused herself and moved to an open, well-lit lounge nearby, drawing back the curtains to reveal a snowy white owl sitting patiently on the sill. 

Harry stared in surprise as what could only be Hedwig flew in as the window opened, settling itself on Longbottom's arm. It hooted in annoyance, waiting impatiently until the note it was carrying was removed. 

Seeing Harry's look, Longbottom scowled slightly. “I tried to get my daughter's owl to find her. The parchment is spelled to keep track of its own location at all times. The damned creature refuses to do it, though. I just know it. I should get rid of it. It flies around London, is all, and never actually lands anywhere.”

Harry saw a glimpse of long, spidery text before she threw it on a nearby table with disgust, shaking the owl off her arm. Hedwig screeched angrily and flew toward Harry, eying him oddly before settling itself on a perch off to the right.

A mousy house elf appeared and quickly retrieved the fallen parchment, placing it in a small pouch around its waist. Longbottom apparently noticed, as she addressed it with a scornful look, unleashing her annoyance at the owl: “Babbidge, bring us some tea! I want it dark and slightly sweet. Do it quickly!”

The small elf bowed, its wrinkled head touching the floor before disappearing. 

Muttering under her breath, Longbottom settling herself in an uncomfortable looking chair. Harry took this as a invitation to sit down as well, noting all the others chairs were smaller and lower to the ground, clearly of lower quality than the first. She had deemed to chose his beverage for him. A slight swell of annoyance shot through Harry as he realized the older woman establishing herself as the dominating force of their little, unsaid conflict. 

Picking something unseen from her characteristic long green dress, Longbottom glared somewhat at the owl before pinning Harry with a stony look. She gathered herself and continued from before, suddenly interested. “I knew all of James' family. All of it. My grandmother was herself a Potter and introduced me to every single one of the lot. Yet, Dumbledore assures me that you are who you claim you are. Fortunately for you, he has never been wrong before.”

Harry began to despise the woman with each passing moment, but allowed her to carry on with her prideful logic. 

“Therefore,” she said after a brief pause, leaning forward, eyes gleaming with something akin to victory, “You must be of a bastard line. Am I correct in this assumption?”

Harry's jaw clenched, growing angry at the insult. He could now see traces of this woman in his other. The predatory game she played with words, her stiff, controlled posture, even the way she showed her teeth when she smiled coldly. Nevertheless, he couldn't allow himself to lose control of his temper. 

“You are.” He finally grounded out with false politeness, vestiges of contained fury hanging from his words. His demeanor lightened up moments later, and he smiled slightly. “Is there a reason you wished to see me beyond the circumstances of my birth? Others had assured me that you were beyond trivial matters such as family ties and purity... After all, we all saw the pitiful path your own foster daughter took in life, and she was the product of an honorable marriage.”

Longbottom flushed pink, expression turning hawkish as she swept back the graying brown hair from her face; clutching the armrests of her chair, she leaned forward and snarled: “How dare you! My daughter is not one of them!”

Behind them, Hedwig screeched, making Longbottom growl further in anger. She drew her wand and threw a hex at the perch, forcing the squawking owl off the perch, making Harry's fingers twitch.    

“I saw her with my own eyes, Ms. Longbottom,” and here he showed his teeth somewhat, mimicking her. “Your daughter is a Death Eater. She's a vicious, lying, manipulative criminal, and nothing more.”

His nonchalant manner seemed to anger her more, making her shake in outrage. Harry noted absently the slight, faint spark emanating from the tip of her wand. 

“You know nothing! I fought dark wizards before you were even born! I know her better than anyone else in this world, and I won't have a low bastard like you to tell me otherwise!”

Harry brushed off the hysteria, maintaining the infuriating civility. “All those years gone to waste! You thought you could make up for poor Neville's death, didn't you? You failed in your duty to your son, but also to something greater - to produce a suitable child to carry on your family and what it stands for. Neville was a pathetic loser, nothing like his father. You were glad to see him go, weren't you? ”

“How dare you even insinuate such a preposterous - ” she started quietly, face purpling, before being interrupted. 

“ And yet you rejoiced when Dumbledore asked for you to take in the Girl-Who Lived. You thought maybe you could make something out of this dying family after all, replace the tarnish of cowardice and ineptness that's been haunting your surname for generations now with something golden. This was your chance to erase all the disgrace your line has brought upon you!” Harry's voice was growing now, and he seemed to loom over the enraged woman. 

“Lies!” Longbottom screeched, and she seemed ready to strangle Harry, anything to silence him. Harry ignored her, and began to grin in triumph. 

“I bet you didn't even shed a tear for poor, stupid Neville. You had money to take from a large trust fund, the ability to live comfortably since everyone started dying around you, and yet another chance at success. But here you are now, deluded and alone. Your third child, last in a long list of failures, is now a Death Eater...”

The older woman's face morphed into that of a crazed animal, and she jumped off her chair with surprising agility. “Expello Viscuten!” she screeched, her elaborately carved wand  producing a swell of dark violet smoke. A skeletal, hand-like plume seemed to reach out of the small cloud, the long, thin fingers stretching out eagerly. 

Harry had fully expected this, but was strangely sat frozen as the sinister hand shot for his chest, almost mesmerized by the slow moving, twinkling dark smoke. The light in the room seemed to fade away, everything blurring as a lull seemed to grip his mind. 

But as the putrid claws of the curse brushed his robes, Harry struggled free, eyes flashing fiercely as he stood suddenly, pushing the chair behind him back and plunging his wand into the menacing magic. With a twist of his wrist, he broke the spell and cleared the oily darkness, a light screeching noise emanating in his ears. The room snapped back to normal. 

Harry stepped through the clearing smoke and appeared before a panting Augusta Longbottom, waving his wand and sending her crashing into the brick wall surrounding the fireplace behind her. He casually kicked her wand into the fire. 

“An entrail expelling charm? I've never seen one so...hands on,” Harry remarked, heart pounding in his ears, only a hint of a terrifying smile on his face as he keeled down in front of his adversary. He grabbed her throat and slammed her into the wall behind her, removing any fight left in the woman. 

As she fell back, defeated, Harry clutched her greying, brown hair and forced her to look at the blazing fire, where her opulent ivory wand was burning away. The instrument of magic gave off a sad flare before being engulfed completely, the flames turning a sharp, baleful green. Her eyes burned at the proximity, face pressed against the rough, soot laden brick.

“What do you want?” she hissed fearfully, eying the crackling fire before her face. “You come to my house and insult my family, my children, and my adopted daughter. Why? Money? Is that what you wish? I took some, but you can have it all. Is that why you're here?”

Heart pounding in his head, he was about to respond before the slight pop of a house elf sounded behind him. He whipped around to see the elf from before, a large kitchen knife in hand. It made an unintelligible sound of fury before running, launching itself at him.

His other hand still crushing Longbottom against the brick wall, he turned slightly, extending his wand out, releasing a torrent of dark power. 

“Avada Kedavra!”  he snarled, the holly wand trembling as it unleashed the devastating curse. The green burst of light roared through the air, catching the house elf in its midsection. It didn't make a sound as it was thrown backwards in midair, dropping the knife and crashing into the cabinet behind him. A waterfall of glass and china fell on its body, impaling the soulless corpse. 

Satisfied, Harry turned to the broken, terrified looking woman before him. It was a far cry from the outspoken, bold lady from before. “Yes, I think I'll take some money. Who has the key to the Potter vault?”

“Jamie took it with her. I don't have it,” she croaked, unable to meet his eyes. Harry didn't need to use legilimency to see through the lie.

Harry wordlessly turned back to the corpse of the elf and summoned it. He grabbed it by its neck and ripped off the pouch, pressing its face in front of its former master. She let off a gasp at the glassy eyes, closing her own turning her head around, unwilling to meet them. 

Wand leveraged in front of her, Harry muttered a short charm, forcing her eyes open. She  screamed at him in helplessness. Grinning, he pressed it against her face one last time before tossed the elf into the fire, the body landing neatly into the burning embers. It caught flame almost immediately, turning the greenish, mottled skin brown. 

He forced her to watch for several seconds before turning her back to face him, releasing the charm on her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. “I'll ask you one more time. Any more, and you'll join him after I simply torture you to submission.” Harry's emerald eyes flashed dangerously, pressing his smoldering wandtip roughly into her throat, burning the skin away. 

“Where is the key?”

..............................

“Oh, it was a pleasure. I'm so very sorry for my elf. I don't know what got into the ungrateful thing. I can't bear to think of what would have happened if you hadn't appeared today!”

Harry smiled genuinely, bowing his head modestly. “I was only doing my duty, madame Longbottom.”

“Nonsense,” the woman scoffed, smiling faintly herself. “There aren't many with that sort of courage. You remind me so much of Frank, my only son. If Jamie should ever return to me, I shall ask you to meet her. Lucius' boy would never do such a thing, the little ferret.”

Harry paused for a few moments, looking at his others' adopted mother, eyebrows furrowing. 

“I...would be delighted,” Harry said brightly, feeling strange. 

..............................

Harry appeared in a swirl of green fire, stepping through neatly for what seemed to be the first time in his life. He brushed himself off and quickly moved away in case of any new arrivals. 

The regulars of the Leaky Cauldron spared him a mere glance before resuming their activities, ending the short moment of curious silence with the typical noise of quiet speech and the clattering of plates and goblets.

In the dim light, Harry saw Tom squinting at him from behind the bar, his cleaning momentarily forgotten. Suppressing the urge to greet him, Harry moved towards the back door, keeping his face away from the bald bartender as he walked between tables of warlocks and dusty wizards nursing their drinks and dreaming of youth.  Pulling the faded wooden door open, he stepped into the cool summer evening without a backwards glance.

Drawing his wand, he crossed the short yard to the worn, dirty brick wall that served as the gate to the popular wizarding district. Harry paused for a moment, straining to remember the combination before tapping the bricks correctly in sequence. The bricks faithfully peeled outwards in a whirlwind of magic just as Harry remembered them doing so in his own world. 

Diagon Alley seemed much the same as it always did. Yet, he was a foreigner in this universe, a stranger that did not exist. Despite it, however, his appearance was familiar to many of the wizards and witches that had gone to Hogwarts with James Potter - he had already received many odd looks and strange stares in the short week he had spent in the busy inn on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. 

Bumping past the quickly moving families and newly released Hogwarts students moving together, Harry walked past the emptying shops and the terrified looking streetside salesmen. The attack on Hogwarts had left everyone tense and wary. Nobody seemed to trust each other, every unknown face a potential enemy. 

Ignoring them all, Harry reached the end of the alley, bounding up the ancient white steps of Gringotts. The two goblin guards leered at him as if trying to gauge his character. Stepping past them, he entered the well-lit, golden interior of the Wizarding Bank, making his way to the relatively empty teller booths. 

Retrieving a small, golden key from his robes, Harry approached the teller. 

The older goblin sat behind the counter, propped up high on a stool, seemingly writing a brief report. He shifted his attention to Harry as he neared, pushing the papers to the side. 

Harry placed the key in front of the goblin and leaned forward, keeping his voice even and professional. 

“In my capacity as a Potter, I'd like to empty my family vault. Please place the total into a new, private account.”

The goblin narrowed his eyes and picked up the key in his gnarly hands, adjusting his large glasses as he inspected it closely. He then looked up at Harry, as if judging the truth of the statement before nodding, hopping off his stool and making his way around the counter.

“Of course sir. Right this way, please,” he intoned dully before setting off. 

Harry followed, smiling slightly. 

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