Chapter Text
He woke up and was immediately confused. This was not his opulently soft mattress in the master bedroom of his heavily warded home. This was… his old cupboard? He hadn’t thought of this place too much in the last few decades. He had seen the Dursleys every now and then. Cursed them a bit when he could get away with it. (It was only a misdemeanor to curse Muggles still, even after the blood war. Some things were hard to change. And hey if it’s not a felony it doesn’t even make the papers.)
He reached out his hand and waved it at the cupboard door, opening it. His magic still came easily. He knew he was powerful. Too powerful, he sometimes felt. He had thought many times about going apeshit on the Ministry and changing things for the better, but never had.
The whole wizarding world was built on the premise that might makes right (the mighty being the Purebloods, of course). But not to fluff his own cock too much. Harry was powerful in many of the same ways Dumbledore and Voldemort and Grindelwald were. He could remake the world in his own image like they all had tried to do. All would love him and despair. Or something.
Usually Hermione would firecall and talk him down from taking any “Dark Lord” steps but he still got owls from dark wizards looking for dark masters with offers of money, knowledge, sex, and anything else he could possibly want. It was occasionally tempting, but also a lot of work. (Much of it boring.)
He took a step outside the cupboard and made for the bathroom. He was slightly taller than the sink but had to stand on his tippy toes before he could see his whole face in the bathroom mirror. He looked like he was eight or nine. Ugh. Waiting around for Hogwarts was certainly not going to work.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could feel magic on him, tracking spells that Dumbledore probably had on him. He took those off and tied them to his cupboard mattress. It wouldn’t be moving too much but it’s not like Dumbledore knew if he was at home or at school. He was basically where he was supposed to be and that would buy him some time.
The Trace he just undid like he had hit his majority. It was easy to do if you knew where to look. It’s not as if prissy Pureblood parents would like invasive magic to be tied to their children.
He was certainly going to do things differently than he had last time. Laughing to himself, he thought that even if he wanted to, trying to do things the same way would not work out for anyone.
First things first, he should get Voldemort’s Horcruxes before he changed things too much and made his inevitable hunt harder on himself. Despite his years of experience after the war, the Horcrux hunt had been some of the hardest days of his life. Mostly because he had been a child and barely had the power or knowledge that he needed to win.
But even what came after was terrible.
Harry had wanted to change things. He felt like he might even be able to, what with defeating Voldemort and winning the Battle of Hogwarts. Things seemed to be improving for a while, Harry had done Auror training and served in the corps for a bit. While Kingsley was Minister, things seemed to be on the right track.
Then Kingsley was assassinated and some mid-level bureaucrat who gave him Umbridge vibes was made Minister and it was back to business as usual with ingrained and systemic bigotry abounding. It wasn’t quite as bad as it had been under Fudge. The truly exceptional Muggleborns and half-bloods could go decently far, but your average Muggleborn was going to die poor unless they came from Muggle money.
Harry shook himself. He shouldn’t get lost in his thoughts right now. He needed his game face on. He reached out to feel his magic again. It was all there but much of it was not yet refined. It was wild still, he had control of it, but would not be able to do major feats like dueling dozens of dark wizards at once or warding huge swaths of country. He probably should not try to take on the government either, quite yet. It was the era of Minister Fudge and rampant corruption. He’d probably be able to get more reform done through bribing the right people with Sirius’ near-endless money than going the ‘dark lord’ route.
He and his friends had tried to make changes though. Bright-eyed and optimistic, they were going to change things! Hermione lasted longer than him and Ron. Ron didn’t even make it through Auror training, not that Harry blamed him. The training was so brutal that Harry almost quit too.
Early wake-up calls, having to learn all the worthless rules about how to deal with the 'right sort' of Pureblood and other such bullshit. And Harry pretty much ignored it most of his career. What were they going to do? Fire Harry Bloody Potter for being mean to some Pureblood arsehole? Ha, as if.
So yeah, maybe Harry leaned into his celebrity and name as much as Snape always said he did, but it was for the greater good. (And punching Pureblood arseholes in the nose and not getting in trouble was always fun for Harry, despite the lecture he’d get from the Head Auror.)
He wasn’t sure what he would do. The sky was the limit. Hermione would always say he was not really one for planning and she wasn’t wrong. He’d always preferred to figure things out as he went along. Not only was it easier, it was more fun that way too. (But he could hear her voice nagging him in the back of his head, “Don’t you dare try to take over the Wizarding World without a Plan, Harry James Potter!”) He would stick a pin in that thought for now, but keep thinking about how he could catalyse change in the boring and stale and dangerously backwards wizarding world.
Pathetically little had changed in his last life. Laws were still skewed towards the rich and powerful and Pureblood. Discrimination abounded and Harry only lasted five years in the Aurors before they had to fire him. (He had not meant to hospitalize Gregory Goyle, but who knew all his inbreeding had given him bird-like bones?)
If working inside the system was useless then he’d work from without it. He smirked, a dark look that, had he not been a glorified toddler, would have possibly intimidated a grown dark wizard or two. (But as it was, anyone observing would think little Harry looked constipated.)
Harry became a bit of a mercenary in his old life. He tried to do “the right thing,” have a relationship, make some kids, but everything got so boring after a while. He was glad he could skip that for now at least. He cracked his knuckles as he moved through the still silent house. He vaguely wondered if Little Harry had school today and what Aunt Petunia would tell the school when he didn’t show up. Maybe he should disappear for a few weeks and make them really sweat.
He walked towards the door of a house he hadn’t seen in decades and shook his head at it. The wards here were so weak. Harry had become a bit of an expert on warding. The library at Grimmauld Place had been very good at teaching that, but these wards, he squinted at them, were pretty bad. Sure they’d keep Voldemort out but no wards for things like fire, Muggle thieves, serial killers, child abuse, or other things. It was wild that Dumbledore had insisted he come back here.
He silently opened the front door and walked to the edge of the wards by the sidewalk. He looked back at the house and shook his head. He’d die of boredom if he stayed here too long. Or well, his family might die because of his boredom and the inevitable pranks he’d play on them.
Hermione said the war against Voldemort ruined his tolerance of boredom and destroyed his ability to sit still. Basically if someone wasn’t trying to kill him or hadn’t tried to kill him in too long, he’d get bored. And when he got bored things tended to happen.
An example Hermione always liked to bring up was in 2022 when Muggle Russia tried to invade Muggle Ukraine. Harry happened to be visiting Odessa and may have been a bit drunk. But what was supposed to be a three-day conquest for the Russians turned into something a bit more…difficult.
He was a decent warder when sober. He was truly insane when drunk. Even the Russian magicals who tried to disassemble the wards had difficulty, and by the time they did, the Ukrainians had rallied. Harry was a hero in magical Ukraine and banned from all of Russia. (They still sent assassins every now and then, as a treat.)
But boredom had always been Harry’s fatal flaw since defeating Voldemort. And now he seemed to be living a nightmare of having to not only be bored but be bored in the same ways he had been before. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to go to Hogwarts, wait a few years for the war then redo everything he’d already done. No fucking way.
With any luck he could destroy four of Voldemort’s Horcruxes before dinner today. Two would be a bit difficult if he didn’t want to get caught, but the other two were right there for the taking. He was excited to see what chaos he could unleash on the world.
He apparated away.
Somewhere in Albania, an incorporeal Dark Lord felt a chill run down his non-existent spine.