Chris sat at his desk in the Hufflepuff dormitory, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the worn wood as March's final evening settled over Hogwarts. The Marauder's Map lay folded before him. Tonight would be different from his previous excursions, stealing objects was one thing, but magically extracting a soul fragment from another student's body was quite another. His first real ritual, performed without guidance, with consequences he couldn't fully predict.
He glanced at the calendar on his wall, the date circled in red ink. March 31st, specifically chosen for its magical significance, the last day of the month when the boundary between the physical and spiritual realms thinned slightly, making soul magic more predictable. The waning moon would further stabilize the ritual energies, reducing the risk of unexpected magical fluctuations. Everything had been calculated, planned, researched, yet his stomach still twisted with apprehension.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Chris whispered, touching his wand to the center of the parchment.
His eyes immediately sought Gryffindor Tower, scanning the common room and dormitories before moving systematically through the castle's halls and classrooms.
"There you are," he murmured, finger hovering above a dot labelled 'Harry Potter' moving along a corridor on the seventh floor.
The boy was alone, heading back from what appeared to be the library, where the dots labelled 'Ronald Weasley' and 'Hermione Granger' remained stationary among the stacks. Perfect timing, Harry separated from his ever-present friends, walking a predictable path back to Gryffindor Tower through relatively isolated corridors. An opportunity almost too convenient to be coincidence, as though the castle itself were conspiring to facilitate Chris's plans.
His eyes tracked to the Headmaster's office, where Dumbledore's dot moved back and forth in a pattern that suggested deep conversation, likely with one of the portraits. The distance between Dumbledore and Harry's current position was significant, enough that even if something triggered the castle's ancient detection wards, the Headmaster would require precious minutes to reach them.
Chris swept his gaze across other potential complications. McGonagall was in her office, Snape in the dungeons, Quirrell pacing anxiously in his quarters. Filch and Mrs. Norris patrolled the second floor, far from his planned interception point. The prefects' patterns indicated standard rounds, none approaching the seventh-floor corridor for at least another twenty minutes.
His heart quickened as he realised the magnitude of what he was about to attempt. The Horcrux Transfer Ritual wasn't merely about removing a dark object, it was about fundamentally altering Harry Potter's destiny. In the original timeline, that soul fragment had remained embedded in Harry's scar for years, influencing his connection to Voldemort, eventually leading to his walk into the Forbidden Forest to face death willingly.
"Not this time," Chris whispered to the parchment. "You're getting a better story, Harry."
His hands were steady now as he touched the silver chain around his neck, feeling the reassuring weight of his shrunken apartment trunk resting against his chest. Inside waited the ritual chamber, prepared over the past week with meticulous care, the circle inscribed with ancient runes, the ward stones positioned at precise intervals, the artifact container with its containment spells ready to receive Voldemort's soul fragment.
Chris stood, tucking the active map into his inner pocket where he could access it easily to track potential interference. From the desk drawer, he retrieved the Invisibility Cloak. His wand slid from its holster into his palm with practiced ease, the Yggdrasil wood warm against his skin.
A quick mental inventory confirmed everything was ready: trunk containing ritual materials, cloak for concealment, map for tracking, wand for magic and defense. Condensed magical knowledge occupied his mind, millennia of experience if he counted Merlin's journals, focused now on this single, crucial task.
Yet despite his preparation, Chris felt a flutter of anxiety in his chest, an uncomfortable heat that he recognised as a blend of anticipation and doubt. Unlike his previous actions, acquiring the map, switching invisibility cloaks, retrieving the Philosopher's Stone, this ritual would directly affect another person, altering Harry Potter's magical essence without his knowledge or consent.
"Necessary," he reminded himself quietly. "Without this, he remains tethered to Voldemort."
One last glance around his room confirmed nothing had been left behind. His bed was arranged to look occupied, a simple illusion charm creating the impression of gentle breathing beneath the covers should any prefect check the dormitories. His housemates were accustomed to his early retirement and late rising, unlikely to notice his absence.
Chris draped the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, feeling its magic settle around him like a protective embrace. The nervous energy that had plagued him all evening crystallised into focused determination as he slipped out of his room, through the Hufflepuff common room, and into the castle.
"Mischief managed," he whispered, tapping the map once more before departing into the torch-lit corridors of Hogwarts, his footsteps silent, his form invisible, his purpose clear.
Tonight would mark the first significant magical alteration to Harry Potter's destiny, the removal of the soul fragment that had defined his connection to the Dark Lord for seven years in another timeline. If successful, it would be one more step toward unwriting the tragedy Chris had decided to prevent.
The seventh-floor corridor stretched before Chris like a stone canyon. The Marauder's Map glowed faintly in his hands, illuminated by the barest whisper of wandlight as he tracked the tiny dot labeled "Harry Potter" making its way through the corridor that would lead him back to Gryffindor Tower.
Chris had chosen this position with careful deliberation. The corridor featured no portraits that might witness the ambush, and this particular stretch contained no ghosts' regular patrol routes according to his observations. The suit of armor provided both concealment and a fixed reference point for his spell's aim. Most importantly, this section of corridor funneled students returning from the library toward a single path to Gryffindor Tower, creating an unavoidable chokepoint.
Harry's dot moved steadily closer, the Map showing his progress up the main staircase and along the sixth-floor corridor. No other students traveled nearby, the late hour having driven most back to their common rooms. Even the prefects were occupied elsewhere, their patrol patterns predictably avoiding this section for another eighteen minutes according to Chris's calculations.
"Almost here," Chris whispered, folding the Map and tucking it into an inner pocket.
Footsteps echoed from the adjoining corridor, light and slightly hurried, accompanied by the soft rustling of parchment. Chris stilled his breathing, centering himself as he had practiced during countless meditations. The torch nearest his position flickered, its flame bending as if sensing the concentration of magic gathering in the hidden boy's wand.
Harry Potter rounded the corner, looking somehow smaller than his importance in wizarding history would suggest. His school bag hung heavily from one shoulder, bulging with books from his evening's research. His untidy black hair stuck up in all directions, and his round glasses reflected the torchlight as he passed, occasionally pushing them up his nose with an absent-minded gesture. Under his opposite arm, he carried a stack of additional books too numerous to fit in his already-stuffed bag.
Chris raised his wand, its tip peeking from beneath the cloak's edge, and took careful aim. 'Stupefy,' he thought, channeling his magic with perfect focus.
A jet of red light shot silently from his wand, striking Harry squarely on the chest. The boy's body went instantly rigid, then crumpled to the ground, his books tumbling from his grasp in a cascade of parchment and leather. His glasses slipped down his nose as he collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor, limbs splayed at awkward angles, his school bag slipping from his shoulder to spill its contents across the flagstones.
Chris emerged from behind the suit of armor, maintaining the cloak's protection as he approached Harry's unconscious form. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over him as he knelt beside the boy, remembering the similar position he'd found himself in weeks ago when switching invisibility cloaks. Then, as now, Harry lay helpless before him, unaware of how his life was being redirected.
"Twice now, Harry," Chris murmured, checking the corridor in both directions. "Let's hope this is the last time I need to stun you."
He worked quickly, opening Harry's book bag fully and withdrawing the invisibility cloak replica he had given Harry during their previous encounter. Chris draped it over Harry's prone form, concealing him from any potential passersby.
With a practiced motion, Chris cast a silent Levitation Charm. "Wingardium Leviosa," he thought, directing his magic with precise control. Harry's invisible body rose several inches above the floor, floating with the gentle buoyancy of a balloon on a string.
Chris gathered the scattered books with another quick spell, stacking them neatly beside Harry's bag against the wall. A student returning from the library who had apparently dropped their things and disappeared, curious, perhaps, but not immediately alarming to anyone who might pass by. The items would remain safe enough until he returned Harry to this spot after the ritual.
Guiding Harry's floating form with his wand, Chris moved carefully toward an abandoned classroom three doors down. He had scouted this room during the previous week, confirming it remained unused and largely forgotten, its location optimal for both privacy and proximity to Harry's regular route. The dust on the floor had been undisturbed for years except for Chris's own footprints.
The door creaked slightly as Chris pushed it open, the sound unnervingly loud in the silent corridor. He paused, listening intently, but no responding footsteps or voices suggested anyone had heard. With a sigh of relief, he guided Harry's floating form through the doorway, closing and locking the door behind them with a quick "Colloportus."
The classroom stood empty except for rows of desks pushed against the walls and a teacher's desk at the front, its surface thick with undisturbed dust. Perfect for his purposes, an open space in the center for his trunk, multiple exits in case of emergency, and thick stone walls to contain any magical discharge.
Chris lowered Harry to the floor in the center of the room, keeping him wrapped in the replica cloak. The boy's chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of magically induced unconsciousness, his features peaceful beneath his askew glasses. For a moment, Chris simply observed him, the prophesied child, the unwitting Horcrux, the boy who had faced Voldemort as a baby and lived.
"Let's free you from at least one burden," Chris whispered, reaching for the silver chain that held his miniaturized trunk.
The trunk expanded to its full size, growing from pocket-sized trinket to proper luggage in the span of a heartbeat. "Ambrosia Sanctum," Chris murmured, the lock clicking open in response to its passphrase. The lid lifted silently on well-oiled hinges, revealing the polished wooden staircase descending into warm golden light. Chris guided Harry's floating form down the steps, the unconscious boy's trainers occasionally bumping against the walls as they entered the impossible space contained within ordinary-looking luggage.
They emerged into a comfortable sitting room, warm wood paneling and subdued lighting creating an atmosphere of scholarly comfort. Three doors led from this central space, bedroom to the left, potions laboratory straight ahead, and most importantly, the ritual chamber to the right. The last door stood ajar, spilling a soft, silver-blue light into the sitting room.
Chris guided Harry's floating form through the ritual chamber doorway, the space beyond circular and austere compared to the comfortable sitting room. No furniture interrupted the smooth stone floor except a small altar positioned at the northern point. The walls gleamed with inlaid metals forming protective runes in silver, gold, and copper, designs from Merlin's own journals rather than more modern magical traditions.
In the center of the chamber lay a ritual circle already inscribed in silver, its circumference roughly eight feet in diameter. Carefully calculated runes marked specific points along and within the circle, each one positioned according to ancient arithmantic principles. The circle itself was not drawn with simple metal but composed of a rare mixture of silver dust, powdered moonstone, and the blood of a dragon, creating the faintly luminescent path that enclosed the ritual space.
Chris lowered Harry gently to the center of the circle, removing the replica invisibility cloak and setting it aside. He positioned the boy with careful precision, aligning his body along the circle's north-south axis, head pointing toward the altar, the infamous lightning scar exposed to the chamber's soft light.
"Perfect," Chris whispered, stepping back to survey the arrangement.
Merlin's journal had been explicit about the precise positioning required for soul fragment extraction. Unlike crude exorcisms that often damaged the host, this ritual required delicate balance. Too aggressive, and Harry's own soul might be affected, too gentle, and the horcrux would remain embedded. The boy's unconscious form lay precisely where the ritual's energy would focus, the silver pathways designed to draw the soul fragment away from his body and into the prepared container.
Chris moved to the altar, retrieving three objects he had prepared. First, the artifact container, a silver orb approximately the size of a snitch, its surface etched with containment runes that spiraled from pole to pole in patterns that would trap the soul fragment within. The orb rested on a small stand of rowan wood, a natural conductor for purification magic.
Beside it sat a polished ward stone of obsidian, its black surface absorbing light rather than reflecting it. Chris had charged the stone for three consecutive nights under the waning moon, infusing it with protective magic designed to prevent the soul fragment from seeking another host during transfer. He positioned it carefully at the circle's edge, aligning it with precisely inscribed markers.
The third item appeared mundane by comparison, a small crystal vial containing what looked like ordinary water but was in fact tears freely given by the unicorns Chris had rescued months earlier. The powerful purification properties would help seal Harry's scar after the extraction, preventing magical scarring beyond the physical mark already present.
Chris returned to the edge of the circle, consulting the small leather-bound copy of the ritual instructions he'd transcribed for reference. The Latin phrases were complex, the pronunciation crucial for proper magical resonance. He had practiced for weeks, first silently, then with gradually increasing magical intent, until the words felt natural despite their ancient origins.
Kneeling beside Harry, Chris studied the boy's scar more closely than he'd ever been able to before. The lightning bolt shape stood out angry and red against Harry's pale forehead, but it was the magical signature that truly concerned him. To magically sensitive eyes like Chris's, the scar pulsed with sickly energy, tendrils of corrupted magic burrowing deep into Harry's magical core like roots of a parasitic plant.
"Eleven years," Chris murmured, tracing the air above the scar without touching it. "Eleven years this thing has fed on your magic, influenced your development."
Satisfied that everything was in place, Chris rose and positioned himself at the head of the circle, directly behind Harry's unconscious form. He closed his eyes briefly, centering himself through breathing techniques learned across two lifetimes. When his eyes opened again, they gleamed with focused power, his magical aura beginning to manifest as a faint shimmer in the air around him.
He raised his wand, its Dragon wrapped wood humming with energy, and began to channel magic into the circle. The silver lines responded immediately, their soft glow intensifying to a brilliant white-blue that cast sharp shadows across the chamber. The runes activated sequentially, each one flaring to life as power reached it, creating a cascading effect that traveled around the circumference before spiraling inward toward Harry's prone form.
The ward stone at the circle's edge began to pulse with absorbed energy, its obsidian surface appearing to ripple like dark water. The silver orb on the altar vibrated slightly, its containment runes glowing in anticipation of their purpose.
"Begin," Chris whispered, then raised his voice to the precise pitch required as he started the first incantation, each syllable charged with magical intent as he prepared to separate Harry Potter from the soul fragment that had defined his life for over a decade.
"Animae fragmentum revela, tenebris infectum manifesta," his voice echoed in the circular chamber. "Separatum a puero innocenti, nexum disrumpere incipio. Magia antiqua invocata, viam praepara extractioni."
With each phrase, the runes brightened further, their light pulsing in rhythm with Chris's words. The silver pathways of the circle began to rotate slowly clockwise, the embedded magic responding to the ancient language that commanded it. Harry's body remained still, but the scar on his forehead grew more prominent, its edges darkening as the ritual began to affect the hidden corruption within.
Chris maintained perfect focus despite the mounting magical pressure in the chamber. His wand movements became more complex, weaving patterns that corresponded to specific sections of the incantation. The ward stone at the circle's edge hummed with a low tone that vibrated through the floor and up through Chris's body.
The artifact container on the altar began to glow more intensely, its containment runes activating in preparation to receive their dark prisoner. The silver orb rose several inches above its rowan stand, suspended by the ritual's growing magical field, rotating slowly in place as though orienting itself toward the soul fragment it would soon contain.
"Fragmentum animae obscurum, te voco et impero," Chris continued, moving into the second phase of the incantation. "Per potestatem stellarum et lunae decrescentis, per vim sanguinis Merlini quae in venis meis fluit. Relinque puerum, veni ad vas paratum, captivus eris in aeternum."
As the second set of phrases filled the chamber, the magical intensity reached a critical threshold. The air above Harry's scar shimmered, distorting like heat waves rising from summer pavement. Chris narrowed his eyes, directing all his will toward that singular point, drawing upon his magical core with careful precision. Too much power might harm Harry; too little would fail to dislodge the fragment.
"Exorior! Extrahendum! Exsilium!" Chris commanded, his voice rising with controlled power as he completed the ritual with three commanding words of emergence, extraction, and banishment.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Harry's back arched suddenly, his body rigid as though electrified, though no sound escaped his magically unconscious form. The scar split open, not with blood but with a thick, black substance that seemed more smoke than liquid, yet possessed qualities of both. It oozed upward against gravity, forming a writhing column of darkness that pulsed with malevolent awareness.
Chris held his position, wand unwavering as he maintained the extraction field. The darkness continued to pour from Harry's scar in an impossible quantity, far more than the small wound could possibly contain. This was magic in its most primordial form, soul stuff made manifest, the fragment of Voldemort's shattered being that had lodged itself in Harry Potter on that fateful Halloween night.
The extraction continued for nearly five minutes, the black essence forming a roiling cloud above Harry's body, constrained by the ritual circle's boundaries. Occasionally, tendrils of darkness lashed outward as though seeking escape, only to recoil upon contacting the silver pathways of the circle. The ward stone glowed with increasing intensity, its protective field preventing the soul fragment from seeking another host.
Finally, the flow from Harry's scar slowed and stopped. The disconnection was complete, the horcrux fully extracted and suspended in the ritual space. Chris shifted his focus to the artifact container, directing his wand toward the silver orb that still hovered above the altar.
"Contineatur," he pronounced clearly.
The orb responded instantly, emitting a pulse of white light that reached across the chamber like a searching hand. Upon contacting the suspended darkness, the light formed a funnel, drawing the soul fragment inexorably toward the container. The darkness seemed to resist briefly, contorting into shapes that almost resembled a face screaming in silent rage, before being pulled into the orb's interior.
The silver container trembled violently as it absorbed the horcrux, its runes flaring bright red before settling into a steady, pulsing glow that indicated successful containment. It lowered itself gently back onto its rowan stand, the wood grounding the excess magical energy and stabilizing the newly imprisoned soul fragment.
Chris stood motionless for several moments, his breathing gradually returning to normal as he observed the sealed container. He had expected more resistance, a more powerful fragment of Voldemort's soul. Instead, the horcrux had seemed almost... malnourished, weakened by years of partial containment by Lily Potter's protective magic.
"Unintended consequence of your mother's sacrifice," Chris murmured to the unconscious Harry. "Her love kept killing it, bit by bit."
He carefully approached Harry, whose form now lay peacefully within the still-glowing circle. The lightning scar remained, but appeared significantly reduced, less angry, the edges softening from jagged to merely uneven. A residue of the black substance lingered on Harry's forehead, adhering to the skin like tar.
Chris retrieved the crystal vial from the altar, uncorking it with reverent care. The substance within shimmered with pure white light, its magic so potent that even a single drop represented a priceless purifying agent. He tilted the vial, allowing three precise drops to fall onto Harry's scar.
The effect was beautiful to behold. Where the tears contacted the dark residue, light bloomed, consuming the darkness in tiny bursts of radiance. The scar tissue itself seemed to drink in the essence, the angry red fading to a healthier pink, then settling into a faint silver-white line, still visible, but no longer broadcasting malevolent energy.
"Tergeo," Chris whispered, using a gentle cleaning charm to remove the last traces of the ritual from Harry's skin.
The circle's light dimmed gradually as Chris closed the ritual with a series of reversed wand movements, carefully dissipating the gathered magical energy rather than releasing it in a potentially detectable burst. The chamber returned to its normal state, only the glow of the containment orb indicating that anything extraordinary had occurred.
With the ritual complete, Chris guided Harry's floating form up the trunk's staircase and back into the abandoned classroom. He checked the Marauder's Map once more, confirming the corridor remained empty, before transporting Harry back to the exact location where he had stunned him. The books and bag remained undisturbed against the wall, exactly as Chris had arranged them.
He positioned Harry carefully against the wall, arranging him in a natural-looking posture, as though he had simply slid down to rest. Chris covered himself with the Invisibility Cloak, backing several feet away before pointing his wand at the unconscious boy.
"Rennervate," he whispered, the spell gentle enough to bring Harry back to consciousness without the jarring awakening that might trigger suspicion.
From beneath the cloak, Chris watched as Harry's eyelids fluttered. The boy blinked several times, a confused expression crossing his face as he raised a hand to his forehead, fingers brushing the lightning scar with a gesture so habitual he likely didn't realize he was doing it. Harry frowned slightly, adjusting his glasses as he glanced around the empty corridor.
"Strange," Harry murmured to himself, gathering his scattered books and returning them to his bag. "Must've dozed off..."
He stood, then continued toward Gryffindor Tower, unaware that his destiny had just been fundamentally altered.
Chris remained motionless until Harry disappeared around the corner, then exhaled slowly, relieved that the most delicate part of his plan had been successfully executed.
The Hufflepuff common room greeted Chris with its familiar warmth. He slipped through the circular entrance under the Invisibility Cloak, his footsteps silent against the flagstones despite the absence of observers. The tension that had built in his shoulders during the ritual began to ease, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that came not from physical exertion but from sustained magical focus. Yet beneath the fatigue hummed a current of satisfaction, the night's work had altered a pivotal thread in the fabric of fate.
His bedroom door opened and closed silently under careful wandwork, the space beyond dark except for moonlight filtering through the circular window above his desk. Chris removed the Invisibility Cloak, folding it with practiced hands before retrieving the silver chain around his neck. The miniaturized trunk swung gently against his palm as he enlarged it to its proper dimensions.
"Ambrosia Sanctum," he whispered, the words falling into the quiet room like stones into still water.
The trunk opened, wooden steps descending into golden warmth. Chris's legs moved automatically, carrying him down into his private sanctuary, past the comfortable sitting room and directly into the study adjacent to the ritual chamber. Unlike the austere, functional space where he'd performed the extraction, the study welcomed him with well-worn leather chairs, bookshelves lined with volumes both ancient and modern, and a desk positioned beneath a magical window currently displaying a starry night sky.
Chris placed the silver orb containing Voldemort's soul fragment on the desk's polished surface. The container pulsed with a dull reddish glow, the light bleeding through between the containment runes etched into its silver surface. Inside, barely visible through the metal, the fragment writhed like smoke trapped in glass, occasionally pressing against its confines as though testing for weakness.
"One down," Chris murmured, studying the orb with clinical detachment. The fragment showed no signs of breaking its containment, the specially designed vessel channeling the soul piece's attempts to escape back into increasingly confined patterns. Eventually, it would reach a state of suspended animation, neither growing stronger nor weaker, perfectly preserved until the Soul Execution Ritual could be performed.
He retrieved the Marauder's Map from his pocket, spreading it across the desk beside the glowing orb. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he intoned, watching as Hogwarts materialized in intricate detail across the parchment.
His eyes immediately sought and found the dot labeled "Harry Potter" in Gryffindor Tower, now safely ensconced in the first-year boys' dormitory. The dot moved normally, showing Harry sitting on what would be his bed, with Ron Weasley's dot nearby. No indication of distress, no professors summoned to investigate unexpected magic or a student's sudden illness. The extraction had gone undetected by Hogwarts' considerable magical protections.
The boy on the map appeared unchanged, just another student preparing for bed after a long day of classes and study. Yet magically, spiritually, Harry Potter had been fundamentally transformed this night. No longer a living horcrux, no longer tethered to Voldemort by an unwanted magical connection, no longer destined to walk willingly to his death in the Forbidden Forest years hence.
"You're free, Harry," Chris whispered to the parchment. "You just don't know it."
Would there be noticeable differences in Harry moving forward? Chris considered the possibilities. The nightmares and occasional pain from the scar would cease. The Parseltongue ability, borrowed from Voldemort through the soul connection, would likely fade over time. Most significantly, Harry's mind would no longer be vulnerable to Voldemort's thoughts and emotions, a connection that had proven both useful and dangerous in the original timeline.
Chris traced his finger absent-mindedly along the edge of the containment orb, feeling the subtle vibration of the magic within. This fragment represented the first tangible piece of the Soul Execution Ritual, the cornerstone upon which the complete destruction of Voldemort would be built. According to the ancient text, this primary vessel would serve as the ritual's anchor, drawing all remaining horcruxes into itself through magical resonance before the final obliteration.
The diary hidden with Lucius Malfoy, the cup in the Lestrange vault, the locket in the Black family home, the diadem hidden within Hogwarts itself, and the ring in the Gaunt shack, all soul shards would be drawn into this orb when the ritual was performed, along with the primary soul piece currently inhabiting Quirrell. One ritual to end Voldemort completely, erasing him not just from life but from the possibility of return.
Yet Chris felt no rush to perform the Soul Execution Ritual immediately. The warning in Merlin's journal about "unforeseen consequences" deserved respect. More importantly, he needed to ensure the extraction from Harry had no unexpected side effects before proceeding to the next and final alteration of the timeline.
"Patience," he reminded himself, the word almost causing a smile as he realised how much he sounded like Jilly.
He opened the hidden compartment in his desk with a touch of his wand, the wood sliding back to reveal a space lined with protective enchantments. Chris placed the soul container carefully within this hidden vault, adding an additional protective charm before sealing the compartment.
"Mischief managed," he said, tapping the map and watching Hogwarts fade back into blank parchment.
As he prepared to climb the stairs back to his bedroom, Chris felt the weight of the night's accomplishment settle around him like a cloak heavier than the one he'd just stored away. He had irrevocably altered Harry Potter's destiny. The prophesied connection between Harry and Voldemort had been severed. The boy was no longer doomed to die to destroy the final horcrux.
What kind of wizard would Harry become without Voldemort's fragment influencing his magic and mind? Would he still develop the extraordinary courage and compassion that had defined him in the original timeline? Or would this intervention create a different Harry entirely?
These questions followed Chris up the stairs and into his bedroom, where he finally allowed himself to collapse onto his four-poster bed, not bothering to change out of his robes. Sleep pulled at him with insistent hands, his magical core depleted from the ritual's demands. Tomorrow would bring classes, interactions with friends who couldn't possibly understand what he'd accomplished tonight, and the continued performance of being merely another first-year Hufflepuff.