Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any mythology and Gods I may mention . No Copyright Infringement intended.
Warnings: Language, AU, Non-Cannon, Slash, mentions of Slash, violence, same sex relationship, mpreg, mentions of mpreg,
Notes: Hi! This is my first Harry Potter fan fic. I know this plot is very overused but this idea has been swimming in my mind for a while and I wanted to try it out. I'm sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes. This is AU and non-cannon, therefore many things are different. Please review, favorite, and follow! If you have a problem with any of my warnings, please keep your derogatory comments to yourself. Love, dreams
Beta'd and edited by: HarryTwilightMaxRidefan
When Harry Potter retired for bed, he was a twenty-nine-year old wizard, the Savior of Wizarding Britain, and Lord Potter-Black to boot. The war ended when Harry was twenty-two but Voldemort's reign left a scarred mark on Wizarding Britain. The celebrations lasted for the next two years as Death Eaters were rounded up and sentenced.
Most thought Harry would enter the Auror fields and basically promote the new Ministry of Magic but to their surprise he went back to finish his final year and got his NEWTs.
Although he took the image of a private person, Harry had taken the Wizarding World by a storm with politics. He passed laws that gave magical creatures better rights, less restrictions. He had already changed many things and he had only been a Lord for ten years or so.
He hadn't married Ginny, much to Molly's dismay. There wasn't a spark anymore and Ginny, although heartbroken at first, understood since she had been whisked off by Michael Corner. Despite the many offers from both men and women, Harry remained single and alone. He didn't mind, in fact he preferred it, though it didn't stop Hermione and Molly from setting him up on people they thought good for him.
He indulged in their blind dates, accepting it in stride whenever one in particular was published in the Daily Prophet or Witch's Weekly. They never stayed longer than six weeks, either they got too demanding of the fame or they shied away from all the attention, all the eyes that were always on the pair whenever they went out.
A storm raged outside as Harry slept, blissfully unaware of a life changing moment. The winds roared with ire, the trees swayed side to side, dangerously tipping, and signs flew in the air as rain beat down on the earth, as if wanting to make it bruise.
Somewhere, a deity stared down at the earth before smiling blindingly. Tendrils rolled around Harry's sleeping form, curling around him like a cocoon would do to a caterpillar. Clocks were turning wildly, screaming, as bright light shone out of Harry Potter's body in his cocoon.
At 2 A.M., within the blink of an eye, Harry Potter disappeared from his world.
Harry jolted upwards, a curse in his throat and his wand in his hand. He blinked, expecting to see the dark red drapery of his room in Potter Manor and not…well…compartment seats that looks suspiciously like the ones belonging to the Hogwarts Express. Chatter rose deafeningly in his ears as did laughter, hooting from owls, and hisses from disgruntled cats.
He turned his head, peering out the window, to see Platform 9 & ¾ overflowing with children, parents, pets, and luggage. Harry was perplexed. He clearly remembered falling asleep in his bed but surely he'd know if he had, somehow, teleported himself onto the Hogwarts Express, especially since he had graduated and didn't need to be there at all. At first, there was a fleeting thought of Death Eaters but was batted away since majority were either squibs, in Azkaban, or had been Kissed depending on the severity of their crimes.
"Okay, Potter, first you need to figure out what's going on," Harry murmured to himself. "Get off the train and—"
"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you." A very perky voice piped in.
Harry, whether he'd admit it or not, yelped from surprise. He whirled his head to see a man around twenty sitting across from him, calm and exuding an aura of power and respect. Harry gripped his wand tighter, stiffened his shoulders, preparing for an attack. The man saw his reaction and grinned despite the pulsing tension in the train compartment.
"There's no need for that, Harry." The man said dismissively. "You're probably wondering what's going on?" He waited for Harry to nod before plowing onward. "My name is Apollo, the God of Music, Poetry, Truth, the Sun, Healing, and the God of Prophecy, of course. I already know you, Harry Potter."
It would've been mind-boggling for another person to know that they were in the presence of an immortal god but Harry always took things in stride after fifth year. Surprise, he'd learned, would be deadly on the battlefield.
Harry lowered his wand, albeit hesitantly, since he knew he had no power at all to defeat a deity, especially one – according to many legends – that could curse him so that he would burn if he ever went out in the sunlight (and also creating the first vampire, if unknowingly).
"Lord Apollo," Harry began. "Why am I here?"
"You see, many of my family members have seen your life and how it played out," Apollo explained, "and none of us are happy with the outcomes. Astraea the Star Maiden and Goddess of Justice, is most displeased. We've decided to give you a second chance at life."
Apollo motioned towards the window, at the gaggle of schoolchildren departing for another year.
"You're in an Alternate Universe, as some of you would call it." Apollo stared deeply into Harry's eyes. "You are no longer Harry Potter nor the Boy-Who-Lived or the Savior."
"Why?" Harry asked since he was still griping his brain on comprehending the fact that he was pulled out of his own, familiar world and placed into a completely different one, one unknown to him.
"Hecate wanted to give her favorite magical child another chance," Apollo said. "I, for one, didn't like how your life turned out to be. A child is supposed to be cherished, loved, protected — not raised like a bloody pig for slaughter." Apollo's eyes flashed, the compartment trembled, and Harry stared. The god shook his head, laughing slightly. "Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. You're a transfer student from a small village that was recently ransacked and destroyed—"
He was interrupted by Harry's, "Death Eaters?"
Apollo blinked. "Not quite. Anyway, you're going to be a third year at Hogwarts. However, there are many differences in this world than the one I brought you from." Apollo reclined back in the seat. "For one, there is no Boy-Who-Lived or Prophecy proclaiming the end of the Dark Lord. However, Dumbledore and his Order are known as…renegades."
"What?" Harry yelped. "Is Voldemort ruling here or something? I mean, I know Dumbledore was a manipulative bastard but—"
Apollo covered Harry's mouth and said dryly, "Can I continue speaking without interruption?" At Harry's meek nod, Apollo continued, "Voldemort does rule Magical Britain but he is not the monster you know him as. He's simply an older Tom Riddle, more charismatic, more powerful, and a lot of political pull. Death Eaters is a political party that many join once of age, though you don't get ostracized if you choose not to become one.
"Voldemort won in his war and made many large changes in the Wizarding World much like you did with yours. He doesn't kill Muggles or Muggleborns but he keeps a tight watch on those particular students, making sure their families aren't hostile with them. Now, back to you — your name is Hadrian Roux. If anyone asks, you aren't a Muggleborn or a half-blood anymore but a pureblood of French descent if you want to go into all the statistics. It'll make life much easier for you and, don't worry; Athena and the others took care of all your files, paperwork, and transcripts.
"This is your chance to relive your childhood." Apollo finished.
"But…but…why?" Harry questioned. "Why put me in a world with Death Eaters, with Voldemort? Why?"
Apollo blinked calmly. "Because, Harry, this is the world where you'd be the happiest, truly."
Harry breathed in and out, calming himself and his flaring magic down. "Alright," he said, "Am I an orphan? Do I have any relatives?"
Apollo grinned. "Yes, you're an orphan and since Eris wanted to make life difficult, as always," a true mischievous smirk appeared on his face.
"You are the younger, and only, relative to one Tom Riddle, a.k.a Lord Voldemort. I won't tell you what you are to him, though."
Harry wanted to cry, scream, give a tantrum worthy of Dudley Dursley, but he sighed. "Does he know?"
"Nope," Apollo said. "I'm leaving that entirely up to you. Your two trunks are filled with everything else you'll need, your Gringotts Vault is number 342 and manager is, of course, Griphook. There are files in one of the trunk compartments filled with information on your background, family, etc. How you excel in this new world is entirely up to you."
Harry processed all of this behind his occlumency shields, his mind a mess.
"Oh, by the way," Apollo grinned impishly once more. "I've decided to give you my Blessing."
Harry gave him a blank stare. "Which means?"
There was a glint in the God's eyes. "Which means one, you can't be dishonest but you can tell if someone is lying or not. Two, you are a prodigy in the healing arts and in music and three, you are a True Seer."
Harry scrambled upright. "Wait, what? Apollo…"
However, Apollo had disappeared with the whisper, "Good luck, little one."
Harry fell backwards in his seat. "Well, fuck."
He rubbed his face, mind whirling with the new knowledge. So, he was Voldemort's only relative, his new name is Hadrian Roux, he's in another universe where the Dark Lord rules and Death Eaters roam, and the Light are, mostly, renegades. Then again, he was used to deity's fucking up his life in many ways. At least Apollo was nice about it.
Harry looked at his reflection in the window, seeing that he still had his glistening emeralds, which were more pronounced since he got rid of his glasses on his eighteenth birthday, and his hair was still its inky, raven black though it fell mid back with slight curls and waves, not an unmanageable mess like how it was in his other third year.
He had the aristocratic features most purebloods had, that beauty only they could truly possess, and his large eyes made him take on the innocent look. Harry — or, rather, Hadrian now — stood on his seat (since becoming thirteen again brought on the wonders of puberty and his all-time shortness from the Dursleys' loving care) and struggled as he brought the two suitcases down to his seat for inspection.
Hadrian panted as he started to open one of them. He cursed at his body's weakness and lack of strength. The first trunk contained his third year course books, which brought a bought of nostalgia, along with the new textbooks of Arithmancy. There were newer subjects taught at Hogwarts: Necromancy, Healing, Blood Magic, Spell Creation (A Division of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes) and many other courses.
Harry blinked as he found out he was signed up for Healing, Arithmancy, and Divination (lucky him, hopefully there was no Trelawney to deal with). Four electives than the three he had in the other world. The rest of the items included quills, parchment, ink bottles, and normal school appliances.
There was also a large file. Hadrian grasped it, opening it up for inspection. Just like Apollo told him, there was information and notes scribbled on his "past" in this world, where he lived, his grades at NightingaleAcademy. He was, apparently, quite the intelligent student.
The second trunk contained five compartments.
He opened one, seeing that it held a key and many letters with the Gringotts seal and bank notes. He decided to sift through them later before closing it and opening the next compartment. Hadrian noted that it held his old photo album, his shrunken Firebolt, and, oddly enough, his invisibility cloak, Marauders' Map, and the resurrection stone.
Hadrian closed the compartment before spelling it so that only he could open it, along with placing many nasty curses that would've been illegal in his own world, just in case. The third compartment held shirts, the fourth was pants, and the fifth was his undergarments. Hadrian managed to put both of his trunks (after placing charms and protections on it to make sure no sticky fingers managed to touch it) when the compartment door opened.
"It's a first year," the familiar drawl of one Draco Malfoy spoke. Hadrian looked up from where he was still standing on the seats, although he was mentally hitting himself upside the head over not simply levitating said trunks to their place. "Hello, there." the pureblood heir greeted.
The third-year Slytherins glided into the compartment, many familiar faces but many Hadrian didn't know. "I'm Draco Malfoy."
Hadrian blinked. The last he heard of Draco, he was in France with his wife Astoria Greengrass and their son, whose name he didn't really remember. His Draco was war worn and mature, this Draco, however, was much younger and…well…innocent.
The Slytherins didn't mind his silence as a blonde girl with stunning features said, "Daphne Greengrass."
"Theodore Knott but, please, call me Theo."
Damn, Hadrian thought. It's like the entire Death-Eater-In-Trainee Brigade. A silence fell in the compartment as Hadrian was stared at by many eyes, all waiting on his to introduce himself. Hadrian cleared his throat and said, "Hadrian Roux." His voice came out soft, timid, shy…which was befuddling since he was just shouting at a deity only a short while ago.
Hadrian sat back down as the others shuffled to their seats. Tracey and Daphne engaged themselves into a conversation, drawing in the other females of their year until Hadrian said, "By the way, I'm not a first year."
"You aren't?" Belladonna said, looking very much like a smaller and younger Bellatrix.
"You're very small for your age, then," Rigel piped.
"Yes, I suppose so." Hadrian sighed before he said, "I'm a third year."
There was silence and then Pansy Parkinson shrieked, "A third-year?!"
Draco winced. "Pansy, please, you're going to make me go deaf." The Malfoy Heir rolled his eyes at the withering glare said girl gave to him with a scowl.
"What House are you in?" Daphne asked cordially. "I've not seen you before."
"I'm a transfer student," Hadrian explained. He searched his memory shortly for the name of the village he'd "lived" in, according to the files. "I lived in Calypso's Hills and I went to Nightingale Academy."
"I heard about that in the Prophet," Theodore said, looking at Hadrian with perfectly concealed concern. "My condolences for your loss, Hadrian."
The others were quick to say the same thing to Hadrian, who smiled softly. He hadn't expected this. No, not at all. He expected this Draco to act like the Draco he knew as a child.
"Thank you," he said before falling silent and staring at the passing scenery.
He would see many faces, faces that had died, faces that he had personally killed during the war. Hadrian closed his eyes, leaning against the window, wondering how he would handle all of this, wondering why of all things he was chosen. The compartment door opened but Hadrian ignored it until Alexandra said, "Lovegood? What do you want?"
Hadrian looked towards the door, seeing Luna Lovegood in her radish earrings, Butterbeer cork necklace, and dreamy look on her face that made a wave of affection rush inside of him. Even in another universe, Luna Lovegood would always be the same.
Luna smiled as she said, "The Little Sun has come home."
Rigel Black looked up from his book, giving the second year an odd look. Daphne, Tracey, Alexandra, and Belladonna gave her assessing looks while Draco blinked. Blaise was indifferent as was Theodore. Crabbe and Goyle grunted.
Luna drifted into the compartment, ignoring the avid stares, as she walked up to Hadrian and leaned in Hadrian's personal bubble. To be honest, Hadrian was rather proud of himself on not drawing his wand and blasting her through the roof as she got way too close.
Luna, however, didn't mind a bit as she said, "Hello, little sun."
Hadrian wasn't sure on what to say, if he should say anything, therefore he remained silent as Luna gazed at him with her intelligent orbs and dazed expression. Before anything else could happen, a voice over the intercom said, "Please put on your school robes, we will be at Hogwarts shortly. Leave your belongings on the train; a House Elf will collect them."
Hadrian stepped off the train and was about to walk towards the gaggle of first years when someone said, "Mr. Roux."
Hadrian looked up, blinking as he tried to feign indifference at seeing one Severus Snape.
"Yes?" Hadrian said.
"Follow me." Professor Snape said in a curt tone. Hadrian followed the dour man through the throng of students, who parted for him like the sea, and into a carriage. "You will be sorted after the first years. I am Deputy Headmaster Snape though I am not a Professor at Hogwarts. I understand you have recently undergone a tragedy so I expect you to come to either me, your Head of House, or any Professor in the vicinity for help if you find yourself struggling with either the course work or your…" Snape plundered for an appropriate word before settling on, "grief."
"Yes, Headmaster," Hadrian responded quietly. So, raids by the Renegades were frequent in this world, huh?
Snape gave Hadrian a shrewd look. "I know that you will have some trouble so please know that my door is open to you at any time."
Bet you had a wonderful time spitting that out, Hadrian thought to himself, bemused. But to Snape he said, "Yes, Headmaster."
Snape gave a short nod and the rest of the ride to Hogwarts was filled with silence. When the carriage pulled to a stop, with another "follow me" from this dimensions Deputy Head., Hadrian exited the carriage and followed the swift man to the steps. Hadrian was led into the Great Hall where, surprisingly, the first years were already gathered as were the other students.
Instead of Professor McGonagall holding the sorting hat and calling the names out it was—
Hadrian paused in step.
Sorrow and remorse flooded inside of him, drowned his heart, drowned him as he inwardly flailed. This was one death he had never gotten over, much like Cedric Diggory's. Sirius Black stood tall, proud, healthy, and alive with the Sorting Hat in his hands and a stool already positioned in front of the Head Table and in perfect view of the other tables. Hadrian gulped, closing his eyes as images flashed of an Azkaban bedraggled man fell through a dark veil of death, never to speak again. He saw another person scream, "No!" and struggle in the arms of werewolf as he desperately tried to—
A hand jerked at him. Hadrian's eyes flew open but his vision was obscured by black robes. Panic crawled inside of Hadrian and he fought against the restraints. He clawed, he kicked, and he struggled before someone coldly spoke, "Stupefy,"
Hadrian's vision went black and his body numb.