--HelloDarkness07
----
2nd September,
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:
A gargoyle.
Harry shakes his head when he sees the sight in front of him; it reminds him of his first foray in summoning demons to harvest their essence in power crystals.
"Cockroach clusters." Harry says the password, and watches it start spinning like a screw, rising up in the air, with stairs forming underneath it. Taking the cue, Harry steps on the stairs and rises with them.
When Professor Filius Flitwick had handed off the schedules for the year during breakfast, he had also handed a letter to Harry, from Dumbledore. In it were the instructions to reach his office, a password, and an invitation to discuss his stay here at Hogwarts.
And so here he was, right after breaking his fast, at 8 AM.
When the gargoyle stops rising, Harry finds himself standing in a small hallway, leading to a single door large enough to accommodate even the giant who brought them to Hogwarts via boats, Hagrid, and with a couple portraits watching him from the walls.
Ignoring the obvious surveillance system, Harry walks towards the door and raises his hand up to knock. But right before he can do that, a voice calls, "Come in, Harry."
It makes Harry smirk in amusement. So the old man does have some vices.
Harry pushes the door open, and sees the occupants already turning their heads towards him. There were six people in the room in total.
There was, of course, Professor Dumbledore sitting behind an ornate table, along with Professor Flitwick sitting on the opposite side of him. Right beside Flitwick was an old, almost ancient, woman Harry does not recognize, while another man stood next to the window, no doubt enjoying the view before he walked in. And lastly, two aurors stood with wands in their hands on opposite sides of the office, watching him attentively.
'Fat good would they do if anyone seriously has enough balls to attack a room which has both Dumbledore and Flitwick in it.' Harry cannot help but think to himself before he is suddenly distracted by a cheerful call of his name.
"Mr Potter!" The man standing by the window calls out, taking a couple rushed steps with both hands extended to be shaken.
Harry offers his own single hand, and nods, greeting by saying, "Minister. A pleasure."
The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, beams, and shakes Harry's hand enthusiastically. He replies, "Oh, the pleasure is all mine, dear boy. I have heard so much about you and that invention of yours. Simply marvelous I tell you."
Before Harry can say anything though, Dumbledore clears his throat, and says, "Ahem, Cornelius. The thing you're speaking of is supposed to be a secret. Not something Filius, Madam Marchbanks, or Aurors John and Kingsley are to know of. No offense meant of course, Madam."
Cornelius Fudge simply waves his hand with a frown, and says, "I'm not going to give away secrets willy nilly, Albus. And even if I do, I am the Minister. I think I have the right to decide who learns what secret."
Harry is amused to see Cornelius literally puff his chest up, glaring at Albus in challenge. The man in question simply sighs, and opens his mouth, no doubt to give some lecture to a grown man.
"Can we get to the topic of why I was called here today, please?" Harry interjects, not interested in listening to a lecture at all.
Fudge smiles wide, and points to the sole woman in the room, Madam Marchbanks. He says, "Right you are, Harry. Right you are. This, here, is Madam Griselda Marchbanks. She leads the Department of Magical Education and is the Governer of the Wizarding Examinations Authority."
The old woman in question turns her head and nods just once, and Harry remembers that Professor Bagshot did mention her once. Apparently she's old enough to have invigilated Dumbledore's OWLs, and she does look it.
"Pleased to meet you, Madam." Harry greets her with proper respect owed.
"Please be seated, Mr Potter." Dumbledore calls, waving his hand to conjure a chair beside Professor Flitwick.
Seeing the amazed eyes all around the room, Harry shares an amused glance with Dumbledore. 'Show off,' he thinks.
"Professor." Harry greets Flitwick, as he takes the seat beside him, getting a nod and a smile in return.
As Harry takes his seat, Dumbledore begins and says, "Right, so now that the introductions are all done. Madam Marchbanks, would you like to inform Harry about it?"
Harry, along with the others, turns to Marchbanks, who blinks at the sudden attention, and says, "Of course, Albus." She clears her throat, "So, this is something unprecedented. Your genius is unquestionable, I might not know what this invention the Minister speaks of is, but I do listen to the Wireless Radio, and let me tell you, the sound quality has never been better."
"Thank you." Harry says, bowing his head just a little.
Madam Marchbanks nods back and says, "We don't want to hinder your education by keeping you in pace with the rabble. But at the same time, we don't want to hinder your chance at making friends your own age, or living a normal childhood. Considering that, and on Albus's request, we, the Department of Magical Education, have devised a new study plan for people who can prove their genius. People like you."
'There are no people like me,' Harry wants to say, but keeps silent.
"Instead of the Year end exams, you and others like you will be given the opportunity to take the exams whenever you're ready. You inform your Head of House that you want to take the year end exams, and you get at least an EE in all your subjects, and you'll be allowed to sit with the next year students."
And the more she talks, the more Harry likes it. He had feared that Dumbledore would force him to dumb himself down, but thankfully that is not the case.
Harry nods, and says, "I can work with that. But I can't help but ask, what's the caveat?"
Madam Marchbanks smiles. She says, "The caveat, Mr Potter, is that you'll have one chance. If you get anything less than an EE in any subject in any year end exam, it's back to the normal academic year for you. You'll also still have to attend all lectures for whatever class you're in, and complete any and all assignments you're given. You'll just have the freedom to ask for the year end exams whenever you wish, and the teachers will arrange for it."
"Isn't it marvellous, Harry?" Minister Fudge exclaims from the side, clapping a few times. "Not even MACUSA has something like this, a.. a.. Faster education program for geniuses."
"Yes, Minister, you've said." Marchbanks drily says.
Harry ignores the Minister and takes a moment to think. He is not worried about the one chance thing. Harry knows that he will be getting Os in all the subjects anyway. And this way, he can spend the first two years getting the exams over with, and trying to live like a (moderately) normal child, before using the remaining time to finish with the books in the Library.
And that was one goal of his. While Doom spent his years in the past, Harry was to read through all the books in the Library of Hogwarts. Doom hadn't ordered it, of course, but Harry did like reading, and who was he to deny his hobby?
In the end, the answer is a no brainer. Harry accepts the offer for the Accelerated Program, and a few signs later, leaves the old man's office.
The Cloak can wait until their next meeting. No way is he going to ask for it in front of so many strangers.
----
19th September, 1991:
"Hi." A small voice whispers, as Harry sits in the Library of Hogwarts a couple weeks later, reading "The Round Table - The True History of King Arthur."
And just like most magical history books he has read so far, it too is full of shit.
Harry looks up from the book, his frown still on his face, and blinks in surprise upon seeing the hesitant face staring at him.
"Ms Granger." Harry greets, just as softly as she spoke.
"You know who I am?" Hermione Granger, the arrogant but helpful girl from the train, blurts out loud, and immediately slams her hand to her mouth, turning to look towards the Librarian.
Harry smiles, amused, and says, "She cannot hear you. I cast a silencing spell around myself when I came here." Mostly because he had a tendency to swear when reading shitty books. "And of course I know you. Our first meeting on the train was not forgettable at all, and I did hear Professor McGonagall shout your name. Now, is there anything I can help you with?"
"How did you do that?" Hermione says, eyes narrowing in doubt. "The silencing spell-"
"A silencing spell, not the." Harry corrects, interrupting her. "I did not use Silencio which silences the person you aim your wand at. I used a different spell of my own creation that mutes all noise coming from within one meter away from me."
As Hermione stares at him, wide eyed, Harry says, "I'm sorry for interrupting you, but I hate ignorance. Limiting yourself to spells you can learn from books is not the way to learn magic. "
"What.. what do you mean?" The girl asks.
To which Harry shrugs, and says, "Magic is magic. It is a force of nature. You think all spells already existed and Wizards only discovered them one by one? No, Spells are merely tools that allow a Wizard or Witch to shape their own magic into effects. I can even have my magic do things without using any spell at all. But you did not come here for a lecture. How can I help you?"
"I-" Hermione begins, but then hesitated. Harry has no trouble waiting a few seconds before she says, "Can I sit with you? I want to study and I've seen you read more than I do. The other students.. they're mean."
Harry knew she did not have a good time at the school. Not that he has been observing her or anything, he has been observing everyone. A few faces did shine a bit brighter to his senses. Hermione because her intellect was nothing to scoff at, even if she's nowhere close to a genius. But with a lot of hard work, she might just become someone.
But that won't happen if she quits magic before ever beginning because she can't control her mouth, or because she was bullied into dropping out.
Harry sighs, but then shrugs. He says, "I don't mind. Children are di- meaning." He hastily corrected the word he originally wanted to say. She might have been a bit rude the first time they met but that doesn't mean he wants to swear in front of a child.
The girl sits down, and opens her books to start with her homework. Harry goes back to his books, reading the shitty historical fictional book to the white noise of the girl in front of him scratching her quill to the parchment.
Two weeks have passed since he got to Hogwarts, this day being a Saturday. The classes have been fine, if a lot boring for someone of his calibre, but he did not let the time go to waste. Every magic class was spent observing how the professors use magic, how Masters use magic.
Even Quirrell, fake stutter and all, could use spells almost masterfully.
As for the non-wanded classes, History, Astronomy, and Potions, here too Harry was bored. Everything they tried to teach them, he already knows. Not that Snape or Binns were that interested in teaching anything, but Professor Sinistra did try.
It was pretty amusing to see Snape fume every time he saw Harry, while knowing he can't do anything about it. Harry knows that Doom has plans for Snape, but that doesn't mean Snape can't be messed with till the time comes. And Doom did say to try and enjoy his life.
And so, he spent most of his Potions classes staring with a large smile at Snape, while brewing perfect potions. All the while Snape's furniture kept subtly rearranging. Desks moving a couple inches to the side, nail poking out of the stone floor, oil spilling from his leak proof cupboard, all to cause bodily harm, and embarrassment to the man.
Harry knows for sure that Snape knows it's him. Every glare sent his way proved that. But.. What is he gonna do? Report to Dumbledore that the child he stole from is messing with him?
But he digresses.
All in all, other than the thirty seven books he has read so far, his life at Hogwarts has been pretty boring.
Boring classes, boring classmates, boring house mates, and boring teachers. Thankfully the fanboying got old in a couple days, so he is left alone for most of the time. But he is sorely lacking in some good entertainment.
And an unentertained Doombot is a dangerous Doombot.
"I'm sorry." A sudden whisper from Hermione brings his attention back to her. At his raised eyebrow, she explains, "For that day, on the train. You were trying to teach me a spell I didn't know about and I called you rude."
Harry blinks, not having expected that. She's a child, a self-assured, know-it-all (she wishes), child. Children don't apologise unless prompted and even then they aren't genuine.
"You're forgiven." He simply says, and gets back to his book.
Shitty it may be, but he has made a promise to himself to finish all 341,644 unique magical books, scripts and pieces of parchment stored in the 7 floors of this Library.
He calculated.
The rest of the hours before dinner pass by in silence, as Hermione works silently on her homework with a few glances thrown in, while Harry finishes a few more books.
He already knows one topic he is going to bring up during his first catch-up call with Doom.
History.
----
"Ms Granger." The witch in front of her lets out a sigh as she puts her hand on Hermione's shoulder. "You are a smart girl, I do not say this lightly when I say you remind me of myself. Students like you come once in a generation."
Hermione may have been a child, but even she could sense the but coming from miles away.
"But.." and there it is. ".. Potter was not offered the Accelerated Program because he is smart. He is a genius. He might even be more talented in Magic than me in a couple years."
"But Professor McGonagall," Hermione protests. "I can cast any spell taught to me, I answer all the questions. I have already memorized and practiced all the spells and potions we will learn this year."
"And have you practiced actually making all those potions, child, or did you memorize the recipes?" The woman gently asks, stumping Hermione. "Will you be able to get at least EE in all your exams, both practical and theoretical if you sit them now? Because Harry is under the same terms."
Hermione wanted to say 'Yes, yes I can.' But even she knows it's not a guarantee.
"I do not intend to discourage you, Ms Granger. You are a smart girl and I have no trouble giving you some advanced material to learn from, and so will the other Professors. But Harry.. he is not the right stick to compare yourself to. I doubt there is a single student in Hogwarts right now who is an intellectual equal to the boy. Think over it, and if you still want to study ahead, I'll give you extra assignments."
And with that, Hermione exited the classroom to go back to her dorm, head bowed a bit low.
Accelerated Program, she had heard rumours from Draco Malfoy of all people, who had taunted her saying she is not the smartest in their year. Harry is.
Hermione was lonely, she did not have any friends. Even the Gryffindors have started avoiding her because she tried to correct her classmates one time too many. No friends in the girls' dorm, and no friends in other houses.
Did Harry count as a friend? She didn't know.
They have only been meeting in the library while barely talking for a couple weeks now. Does that count as friendship?
She did enjoy his companionship, the silence inside his Silencing spell bubble giving her peace to study by herself. And she did spend her birthday with him, even if she did not mention that it is so.
But does it even matter? She doesn't compare to him, she thought with scorn. Not that it's even his fault in the first place.
She knew he was smart, the fact that he invented his own spells was proof of that. The Object tracking spell he taught to Neville, and the Silencing bubble. Who knows what else he invented.
And despite her original disbelief, she did eventually try and learn the object tracking spell, if only because Neville said it worked. And it did. Spectacularly. She had to contend with a straight line constantly pointing towards her pillow for 2 hours straight before the spell disappeared.
But it proved to her that she was wrong.
Before she knows it, instead of the Gryffindor dorms, Hermione finds herself standing outside the library, door open in front of her.
Already knowing that Harry will be in there, since it is just 5 PM now, Hermione stomps towards his table and almost slams herself down on the chair in front of him. She ignores the boy's stare and starts with her homework.
Not five minutes in her Potions essay, however, her quill… breaks.
"Okay." The boy in front of her slams his book shut. "I know I'm going to regret it, but what is wrong with you today?"
"Nothing." Hermione answers, wiping her wet eyes and brings a second quill out of her bag.
Harry sighs, and says, "Well, you're disturbing my reading with your sadness about nothing."
"What do you care?" Hermione snaps at him, breaking the second quill on her essay. "You don't even like that book!"
Harry snorts, and says, "That's because Florian White is a terrible story teller. And I don't, not really. But if you keep up with breaking quills and raging at me without saying why, I'm going to be forced to get up and leave, and if I leave my spell goes with me, which means that with all this noise you're making Madam Pince will throw you out before you even know it."
Hermione stares at him in disbelief. How can someone so rude be a.. a.. genius? She was smart, she is smart. Sure she hasn't been called a genius, but she is smarter than any of her year mates except for Harry. She is smarter than most Ravenclaws even a year above them.
But.. is it really Harry's fault?
Hermione sniffles, more tears spilling out, and says, "I.. I went to Professor McGonagall to get moved to the Accelerated Program like you. She.. refused. She said I'm not smart enough."
Harry stares at her, almost waiting for something else. When she says nothing, he asks, "And?"
"And nothing." Hermione whispers. "Maybe if I knew about magic since my childhood I would be a genius too."
For a few seconds there is silence, before Harry sighs. He leans back, and asks, "Is that what you think? That I'm a genius because I learned magic since childhood?"
Hermione huffs, and answers, "What else can it be? I read all about you, how you were kept away from the public but that you returned to the Wizarding World at 9 and stayed in your parents' old house. Maybe you found their old books or something, or someone taught you."
Harry shakes his head, and says, "You disappoint me, Ms Granger. Crying because you got thrown one bad hand. And then you go and make it my fault somehow."
Hermione stayed silent, her tears flowed freely now. She did not mean to blame Harry, but she doesn't want to take it back either.
Harry stares at her for a few seconds, and then silently hands her a conjured handkerchief. He softly says, "I was four, not nine." Hermione sniffles in the handkerchief and looks up, so he explains, "When I discovered Magic. I was four when I got tired of my uncle pushing me around, of my aunt making me do the chores around her house, of her beating me. I got tired of being hurt in the house I stayed in, and desperation and hunger led me to discover I could do magic."
Hermione stays silent, does not offer empty pity for which Harry is thankful. He might not be the real Harry, but he has all the memories of that one. And the Dursleys still make his blood boil.
But a deal is a deal. They promised to leave him alone, and he promised the same.
"It took two months for me to gain enough control of my magic to threaten them into leaving me alone. Two months of simply.. manipulating my magic as practice. I had no spells to learn, no teachers to teach, and only my own mind's imagination to make magic. And that's all I had till the age of 9, when I discovered the Wizarding World and found out I owned a house here."
Hermione's tears have begun once again, but Harry does not let it bother him. He doesn't even know why he is explaining so much to this girl. Is it because she hurt his pride? By implying that he is smart only because he had better teachers or books to learn from?
No, not that. Harry sees promise in this girl. She is not a genius like him, Richards, or even Susan Storm. But she has the capacity to be smart enough to contend with them. If only she lets her misconceptions go.
"So yes, after that I did read every book I could get my hands on. I learned every spell I found in my parents' books. But let me assure you, I worked hard to gain as much talent as I have right now. Because look around, Ms Granger. There are purebloods and halfbloods all around us with at least one magical parent, who could have learned magic from their parents, or from their parents' books, or family libraries. But they didn't."
"And thanks to their lack of initiative, you are the second smartest person in our year. There is no shame in second place, you know. And soon, you're going to be the smartest in your year anyway. I do have my first year's exam scheduled the weekend before Halloween."
As Harry stands up, wanting to leave the girl to cry by herself, and starts packing up his things, the girl in question wipes her eyes with her sleeves, and stands up too.
"Teach me." She demands. Seeing a raised eyebrow in return, she whispers, "Please. Teach me."
Harry shakes his head, and says, "No, you're not yet ready."
"What?! Why?" Hermione asks, eyes wide and almost angry.
First McGonagall, and now Harry. Both of them think she is not smart enough.
Harry shrugs, and lifting his backpack up he says, "You think of Magic in terms of spells, and rules and wand movements. Magic is not science, with rules and laws you can memorize. Come to me with a spell that is not really a spell, and maybe I'll consider tutoring you. If you don't understand what I mean, then you're not the right student for me anyway."
And then he walks away, leaving Hermione to think over what he said.
----
31st October, 1538:
Zygmunt Budge.. was amazed.
3 months. That's all it took for him to teach all he knew about Potioneering to a boy of 11 years old. And it isn't as if Zygmunt is a good teacher. He even calls himself a terrible teacher.
No, this is mainly because Victor is a fantastic student.
And as he watches Victor bottle his perfectly brewed Elixir of Perfect Health, he can only think over what this boy will achieve in his future life.
And what an Elixir it is. An invention of the boy, which if he was an adult with a Hogwarts diploma to his name would have granted him a Mastery in Potions immediately.
The Elixir of Perfect Health. A potion that temporarily mimics perfect health in the drinker, no matter the illness, or injuries, or missing limbs. One sip of the Elixir, and you will be perfectly healthy for around one hour.
Wounds disappear, missing limbs reappear, illness dies, and if you're drunk, you become sober! Hell, even missing hair will come back and the pimples on your face will disappear.
"For when you want to take yourself to be healed, but can't because you're too busy dying." Victor had said, when asked why this Elixir.
Too bad Zygmunt won't see this potion in action, since Victor is so adamant on taking it back to his own time to register.
It's also not as if Victor is the only one who learned. Zygmunt cannot count the number of things he learned while he was teaching Victor. The fact that pewter cauldrons are what cause the Wiggenweld Potion to give the drinker a temporary itch they cannot get rid of being only one of them.
He knows for sure that he will be testing it thoroughly and then publishing it when he eventually does write a book.
And mainly, Victor taught him how to teach.
He was wrong. Zygmunt is not the greatest Potions Master, he was never destined to be. But now he can say, that teaching Victor has allowed him to start his journey in becoming the greatest.
"Well, this is it." He eventually says, once Victor himself nods in satisfaction at the perfectly brewed Elixir. "You've passed your final test by inventing a potion of your own. I cannot legally declare you one, but I will say that you're the youngest Potions Master ever, Victor."
Victor smiles, pride apparent on his face. He dips his head a bit and says, "Thank you, Master Budge. The journey has been.. fruitful."
Of course it has.
Zygmunt shakes his head, and says, "Can't say I did not enjoy this. You have been an amazing apprentice."
"Naturally." Victor says, keeping the vial down on the table.
Zygmunt chuckles good naturedly, because he has learned about the pride of Victor months ago. Pride, because arrogance means it is unearned. Victor's pride is fully earned, as far as Zygmunt is concerned.
"So what will you do next? Now that you've learned all I can teach you." Zygmunt asks, as he waves his wand to clean up the station.
Victor blinks, and answers, "Practice, for starters. I might be a Master, but I intend to be the best of the best. And there are some things that only experience can teach. But while I do that, however, I intend to start my journey with learning something else."
Zygmunt leans forward, excited. He asks rapidly, "Will you be travelling through time again? To learn from a different master? What subject? Who?"
Before he can ask another question, however, Victor raises his hand and his eyebrow, and says, "Yes, yes, Enchantment, I have a couple names in mind but I haven't decided yet. And then it depends on if they'll take me."
"Aah." Zygmunt says, understanding. Sure, he agreed immediately, but there is no guarantee that the best Enchantment master.. which is probably Merlin, THE Merlin, would accept an 11 year old as his student.
Victor dusts off his hands, and stands up. He offers his hand, which Zygmunt stares at for barely a second before shaking.
He says, "This has been a pleasure, Master Budge. I learned a lot from you, and I assure you that once I achieve greatness, this fact shall be known. I'll be taking my leave now."
Zygmunt blinks, and says, "This is it? You're leaving already?"
"No time to waste, Master Budge. I have a schedule to keep with." Victor says, and just like that, his armour forms around him.
Even as Zygmunt gets goosebumps from that freaky armour, he cannot help but feel just a tad bit sad when Victor walks out of his house and disappears from view by the tap of a rune.
"Goodbye, kid." Zygmunt whispers, staring at the empty space where Victor just used to be. "May you achieve all you intend to."
As he walks back in the house, Zygmunt is surprised to find a chest full of gold coins just sitting on the bed where Victor used to sleep, with a letter on top of it. Zygmunt stares at them wide eyed, guessing them to at least ten thousand.
With shaking hands Zygmunt picks up the letter, and reads it.
"Master Zygmunt. You have imparted upon me the knowledge I needed to achieve Potions Mastery, a gift I do not take lightly. Though I depart without a proper goodbye, I leave you with this gold. May it allow you to finance your studies so you become the great Potions Master I will know in the future.
For let it not be said that Victor Von Doom does not show gratitude to his teachers.
— Victor."
----
A/N: Okay this is it.
Some of my readers pointed out that Doom could have taken sunken or lost treasures for himself since he has the Chronoscope and a Time Machine, and the only excuse for why I had Harry sell his tech to the Wizards is my own lack of imagination.
So this rectifies it.
The in-universe reason?
I'll probably think of something in the next chapter.
Is this slow? Or is it fast? I think it's slow. Harry/Hermione is not the endgame, don't worry. I don't even have a pairing for Harry. I don't think Doom can even have feelings for people not him or not his level. And let's be honest, Hermione is not at his level.
But as I said, I do want her to play a role here. But what I have in mind is still a decade away.
I have a couple ideas in mind for his Time travel journey, but if you have any ideas you want to see brought to life, feel free to let me know!
Thank you!
Tata!