Harry couldn't help the snicker that escaped him as his eyes drifted back to the staff table. He barely managed to muffle his laugh behind his goblet of pumpkin juice, pretending to take a long drink, as he spotted him, Albus Dumbledore, seated with that ever-serene twinkle in his eye, a facade of calm that almost fooled everyone. But Harry could see the faint, barely visible tremble in his fingers as he gripped his wand… with his non-dominant hand.
It had worked.
Harry's eyes glinted with dark satisfaction, a cold, triumphant gleam, as he subtly leaned back in his seat, observing the old man. If one looked closely, truly discerningly, they'd see the subtle, insidious black veins webbing across the old man's other hand, a stark contrast against his age-spotted skin, slowly creeping up his forearm.
He'd done it. Dumbledore had taken the bait, hunted down the Horcrux, and in doing so, doomed himself. A slow, wasting death now ticked within the old wizard's body like a meticulously crafted time bomb, its countdown begun.
He chuckled inwardly, a silent, mirthless sound. That was one problem set and slowly unraveling, a major piece removed from the board without him having to lift a finger beyond a simple drawing.
He'd wanted to dismantle Dumbledore completely, to ruin his carefully constructed legacy, tear down everything he had built and stood for, expose his manipulations to the world, but sadly lacking a surefire way to do that without unwanted consequences or drawing too much attention to himself, he'd have to settle for watching the man decay in silence, his power waning. It was a quieter, more insidious victory, but a victory nonetheless.
A vicious end for the man that had spent his life manipulating people, someone who had taught that he would no doubt lead the wizarding world into a golden age or some bullshit like that.
Albus Dumbledore would die not the death he want, and he was sur ethe man was already looking for something to cure him, and he might succed but harry doubted it, as different as this world was to the canon timeline it was still alot similar, so he didnt doubt that this man would die a slow death.
Still, Harry had no intention of letting him die peacefully or leaving any loose ends. He was going to get the ring and the Elder Wand. Once Dumbledore was truly incapacitated, he'd try to find a way to destroy his legacy, too. No way in hell was he leaving those legendary artifacts behind for someone else to stumble across, for another dark wizard or manipulative old man to wield. In a world like this, he didn't want to imagine the power those things actually have in a world where gods actually walked and existed, they were too dangerous, and if the legends were anywhere true, too powerful to be left to chance.
He turned back to his breakfast, cutting into a piece of toast, but paused when he felt a familiar, intense pair of eyes drilling into the side of his head. He didn't need to turn to know who it was; Hermione's unwavering gaze was unmistakable.
'Still staring,' he mused. She'd been doing that for days now. ' Ever since he'd promised the big explanation. He had to admit, he was impressed. She hadn't demanded it outright yet, hadn't cornered him with a barrage of questions, even though everyone knew that was her style, her usual modus operandi when information was withheld. Her self-control was admirable.
Any normal year, she would have badgered him until he snapped at her, but he got the feeling that she was trying to avoid that. No surprise really, she still felt bad about the summer, and even saying everything was fine still made her hesitate. She probably didn't want to lose him as a friend.
He knew that if someone had withheld information from past Harry, he too would have demanded answers, really, it was one of the attitudes Jacob hated in Harry, now they were one and the same. He sighed.
He leaned closer and whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, without moving his lips too much. "Get everyone together after dinner. Empty Classroom. And include Neville and Luna. Tell them it's important."
Her spine straightened immediately, a jolt of anticipation. She nodded with laser focus before returning to her meal, though he could see her practically vibrating with suppressed excitement. Harry smirked. That's going to be an interesting conversation indeed.
He turned his attention back to the staff table, his gaze sweeping over the various professors. His eyes flicked past Dumbledore and settled on Snape, the greasy-haired Potions Master. Immediately, his good mood dimmed, a cold knot forming in his stomach.
His lip curled in a silent sneer.
Snape.
If there was one thing he could say he genuinely hated in this life, and the last, it was that man. And now, with Jacob's memories, with the full, unvarnished truth of Snape's twisted obsession and his cruel actions, the hatred had only festered, intensified into a burning contempt.
Whatever admiration he might've had for James Potter had waned with the truth of his arrogance and bullying, but his love for his mother, Lily, had grown tenfold, deepening with every new detail he learned about her strength and kindness. And knowing what he now knew about her, Snape's so-called "love" only made Harry's skin crawl, a possessive, selfish fixation that excused a lifetime of abuse.
How anyone could say "Poor Snape," how anyone could romanticize his supposed sacrifices after everything he had done, the petty cruelties he inflicted, the children he tormented... He'd never understand it. It was a narrative built on lies and half-truths, a testament to Dumbledore's masterful manipulation.
No, he didn't just want Snape gone. He didn't just want him to face justice.
He wanted him to suffer. To truly understand the pain he had inflicted, the lives he had ruined.
And he was going to figure out the best way to make that happen, a way that was both agonizing and poetic. He would take his time, savoring the planning.
Harry's gaze flicked next to the toad. Dolores Umbridge. She had been going full tyrant mode these past few days, her saccharine smile a mask for pure venom. She'd already ousted Professor Trelawney from teaching, just like in canon, a cruel, unnecessary act designed to assert her authority. And for a moment, he'd thought no one would intervene, since Dumbledore was clearly preoccupied and largely absent from school affairs.
But, surprisingly, McGonagall had stepped in, just like Dumbledore had in the original timeline, but with her own unique, formidable flair.
When Umbridge tried to throw Trelawney out of the castle entirely, Minerva had calmly and efficiently told her that she had no such power, and that unless Dumbledore himself ruled otherwise, Sybill would remain housed at Hogwarts, under the protection of the school. Umbridge had fumed, her face turning a mottled purple, but there was nothing she could do against McGonagall's unyielding logic and authority.
Then she'd tried to take over Harry's detentions, believing it her right to punish him further. After all, he was still "technically" being punished for his vanishing act, and she saw it as an opportunity.
But when she approached McGonagall about it, the Transfiguration professor had coldly told her that she'd be keeping Harry's detentions personally, so Umbridge could "rest" from all her hard work, her voice laced with a thinly veiled sarcasm that was almost a physical blow.
Harry had no doubt that on a normal day, the professor wouldn't have minded, but Umbridge had seemed to anger her that day, pushing her too far, and given everyone knew she wanted to punish Harry, it seemed like the professor's way of winning over her in something to piss her off. Who knew Minerva McGonagall could be such a petty, glorious person?
It had been glorious.
Still... just because he wasn't suffering under her twisted blood-quill didn't mean others weren't. He'd seen it, first-hand. A first-year boy sobbing silently in the common room, clutching a bleeding hand, the words carved into his skin.
A third-year girl with tears running down her cheeks as she tried to hide her pain, her hand trembling as she wrote. That had nearly made him snap, his Campione rage bubbling to the surface. He'd almost stormed into her office and ended her, right then and there, a swift, brutal end to her tyranny.
He had forgotten that it wasn't just him she had tortured in the movie and books, and that she targeted halfbloods and muggleborns too.
He wasn't a hero. He knew that and had accepted it. He wasn't here to save every innocent.
But even back when he was just Jacob, a mundane human in a mundane world... there were lines. And that line, the deliberate torture of children, had been crossed. Repeatedly.
She would be dealt with. Soon. And it wouldn't be pretty. For her, there won't be any plans or anything like that, it was simple, he'd get rid of her and be done with her.
His gaze slid across the hall again, landing on the Slytherin table.
And there she was.
Daphne Greengrass. The Ice Queen, as she was known by some, though Harry was rapidly discovering that title was a misnomer. Well, maybe to him, he did hear that she once froze a fifth years private, back in her second year.
So far, they'd spoken a few more times, small interactions in corridors, conversations loaded with snark and sarcasm, a subtle dance of wits, but something always lingered just beneath the surface. A tension. A curiosity. An undeniable attraction.
She was sharp, beautiful, with eyes like frost, those beautiful crystal blue eyes, and when she laughed... Merlin. That laugh could thaw glaciers, a genuine, uninhibited sound that belied her cool exterior. He knew he was interested in her, and he knew she was interested in him too, and he wanted to see where this would go. Hopefully somewhere good, somewhere interesting.
But then there was Tonks.
He sighed, a long, weary sound.
That... was going to be a problem. A delightful, yet complicated, problem.
Two girls. Both are captivating in their own right. One, young and witty with eyes like frost and fire, a hidden warmth beneath a cool exterior. The other, wild and unpredictable, fiercely loyal, and completely unlike anyone he'd ever met, a vibrant explosion of chaos and charm.
And neither of them knew about the other, not yet.
"Great," he muttered under his breath, stabbing at a piece of sausage with more force than necessary. He could feel a headache already forming. He sighed, deciding to think about that later. He really was interested in both and wanted both, but this wasn't an anime world.
He froze, this was part anime...he shook the thoughts out of his head
He'd figure it out eventually. But right now?
He had bigger things to worry about.
Like a gathering… where everything might change, where he would finally lay bare the truth of his existence to his closest friends.
He was thinking about how to blurt it out when owls started entering the great hall, dropping newspapers.
He didn't bother to reach for one, well, that was until he started hearing gasps and shocks and cries of fear, and decided to take a look.
OH.
Oh, Oh, Oh.
Seems Lord-No-Nose was busy.
OUTBREAK IN AZKABAN.
The title was clear as day, emblazoned in bold, black letters across the front page of The Daily Prophet. It seemed he broke his followers out earlier than expected. Harry didn't expect this, a sudden shift in Voldemort's timeline, but he guessed the bastard decided to have his people with him when the 'Plan' to get the prophecy was underway. Voldemort probably had his suspicions that it was a trap, but couldn't let the chance slip, not with the lure of the prophecy and the Resurrection Stone. This meant Voldemort was moving his pieces, accelerating his plans.
He didn't even bother reading the rest of the paper, just turned back to his food, a faint, satisfied smile on his face. The end for Dumbledore, Snape, Umbridge, and Voldemort was coming up soon. All his enemies would soon be gone, their influence eradicated, their power dismantled.
He cut into his meal and sipped his drink, a sense of profound anticipation settling over him.
Soon. Very soon.
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