Chapter Text
Summer 1943
Arimaeus Nott leaned casually against his younger brother's dresser admiring how his new robes highlighted his slim figure while his dark eyes gleamed above sharp cheekbones.
His brother curled in the corner, suppressing moans of pain.
‘Do shut up, Theodorus. If you didn’t want to be cursed you shouldn’t have shown me up to father.’
The boy’s Third Year results had arrived that morning and the little shit had cheated his way into top marks while Arimaeus achieved only one Outstanding on his Fifth Year OWL exams, four Exceeds Expectations and four Acceptables that he expected he would pay for in blood later.
Theodorus had been invited to remain after breakfast to discuss his prospects while Arimaeus was dismissed with a sneer.
‘Perhaps the Nott Heirship should rest with the most accomplished of my children. You will attend me after dinner.’’
Remembering his fathers parting words sent a shiver of fear and rage through him and he fired off another curse at his brother, expression twisting cruelly at his cries.
The mirror reflected his sinister expression and he immediately forced his features into the pureblood mask of arrogant indifference and adjusted his waist-length black hair. It wouldn’t do to develop bad habits or, Merlin forbid, wrinkles.
He was more ruthless and cunning than his sibling and his good looks were a weapon that smoothed the way where other means failed. He could not allow himself to show weakness. He would not survive it.
The Notts were an ancient family and would never abide the scandal of merely disinheriting an unsatisfactory Heir. After all, his father had once had three older brothers, each more disappointing than the last until, through a series of unfortunate fatal accidents, the Heirship had fallen to its rightful place.
A family like his demanded perfection and those who did not live up to expectations were culled like the waste of pure blood that they were.
His brother thought him cruel, petty and vain but the pain he endured now was nothing to what awaited Arimaeus in father’s office. Clenching his fists he fought off tremors from remembered agony of the Cruciatus curse. It seemed he had been disappointing father a lot recently, but at least he was unlikely to make any permanent decisions before his brother took his OWLs. After all, with any luck the little swot would have exam anxiety or something equally undignified.
In seven weeks he would be back at Hogwarts for his Sixth Year and he would move forward with his plan. Perhaps he was not the most intelligent wizard of his generation but he could spot a rising star and for three years he had been working his way to the forefront of Tom Riddle’s inner circle, his Knights of Walpurgis.
His father didn’t know it yet but Riddle had a vision for Wizarding Britain, a vision to put the mudbloods in their place and restore the glory of Pureblood society. He was powerful, vicious and so beautiful it made Arimaeus want to worship at his feet.
Riddle would revolutionise their world and in return for the Nott power and influence he offered protection and advancement. For those, Arimaeus would give him everything he had.
Summer 2001 - Harry Potter
Harry Potter rubbed tired eyes and ran a hand through his already messy black hair before dropping his head onto his desk with a groan. Maybe if he stayed this way long enough the never-ending pile of paperwork might disappear, go on fire, explode or something equally satisfying.
At 21 years old he had everything he ever thought he wanted. He was an Auror with an Order of Merlin First Class, a beautiful, Quidditch player fiance that he lived with in his central London townhouse, amazing friends and financial security. He’d even managed to go back to Hogwarts and live out his fantasy of a year of school where no one tried to kill him. He now had six NEWTs. It turned out he was pretty decent at studying without the distracting life or death situations.
He had absolutely nothing to complain about. Everything was exactly how it was supposed to be. So why wasn’t he happy?
How could he be so ungrateful? People literally died to give him this life, he should be loving every second. What was wrong with him?
Harry shoved his paperwork aside and headed for the exit. He needed a change of scenery.
Feet on autopilot he tried to concentrate on his many blessings.
He was finally a fully qualified Auror, two years of intense training and he was expected to be Head Auror in the next five years once Robards retired. Alright, so maybe he was still having to fight dark wizards and they occasionally tried to kill him, but at least it wasn’t personal. They were trying to kill an Auror, not specifically Harry Potter. And it wasn’t all dangerous, some of it was drunks, nuisance offences and paperwork. In all honesty there was more paperwork than protecting people and more drunks than dark wizards.
Ignoring that, he had an Order of Merlin, First Class. It was in a drawer, in a bureau, in the smallest bedroom on the top floor of his house. Hidden under a mouldy curtain infested with Doxies. Ginny had kept trying to put it on display in the parlour but every time he looked at it he wanted to vomit. He’d let so many people die. He’d killed someone and they’d given him a medal.
Maybe focus on Ginny instead. She was beautiful, vivacious and driven. She’d taken professional Quidditch by storm three years ago and showed no signs of slowing down. Their schedules were both hectic but he was so incredibly proud of her. He’d see her tomorrow at a Sponsors dinner and last week they’d been at the International Quidditch Association ball. Official events were almost the only time he saw her and yes, maybe he hated them, but he had to support her.
Without Ginny Weasley he’d just be some lonely man rattling around in a decrepit, evil house full of sad memories and dark artefacts. The Weasley family had taken him in and let him feel what it was to have a family who loved each other. He’d always wanted that and he owed them all the support he could give. If he married Gin he’d truly be one of the family forever and she was objectively perfect for him. Journalists had spent literal years gushing about the romance of it all.
It would be nice to occasionally go on a date that didn’t involve formal wear and photographers though.
So maybe he shouldn’t think too hard about Gin right now, they were just going through a rough patch.
Grimmauld Place?
Nope.
Next.
His friends are genuinely amazing people. He loved them so much. Hermione was living her dream of social reform, on her way to being the youngest department head in the Ministry of Magic. Ron had lasted about five minutes in Auror training before he’d started working with his brother George in the joke shop and every time he talked about it Harry could feel his passion. They were happy, successful and so in love with each other that it almost hurt to be around. Harry was so deeply jealous that he found himself inventing excuses to cancel visits then berating himself as a terrible friend.
There was something wrong with him but every time he hesitantly spoke up to the people he loved and skirted the edges of his unhappiness he found himself dismissed. It was probably a phase; he was just overwhelmed; had a bad week at work; overthinking things. After all, how could The Boy Who Had Everything possibly be unhappy.
He wandered aimlessly out of the Ministry building and over to Diagon Alley while wallowing in his misery.
He reached the same conclusion he always did. He hated his life, and he hated himself for hating it.
‘Oh Merlin! It’s you!’
His reverie was broken by a grown woman rushing up, squealing and clutching his robes. She seemed vaguely familiar but he wasn’t prepared to deal with one of his “fans” right now.
‘I love you so much. I go to all Ginevra’s games just in case you’re there. I’ve written to you so many times. We have a destiny together.’
Smiling politely he tried to keep walking while disentangling her grip on him.
‘Please, I just need one moment. Hold this.’
Bewildered, he automatically reached for the dark wooden box she thrust into his chest.
The second his hand gripped the edge his whole body started to warm. His heart sped up and he tried to drop it but he was fixed in place. The woman held the other side and when his eyes met hers he saw only madness.
‘I love you.’
A deranged smile lit her face as the warmth became heat and turned into searing pain.
Desperately he tried to pull away, tried to reach for his wand, anything, but he couldn’t move.
‘Now we’ll be together forever.’
Heat turned to fire and their robes burst into flames.
Harry screamed as he was consumed in a pillar of fire.
Summer 1943 - Theodorus Nott
Theodorus Nott hated his family. His father was a sadist, his mother hadn’t stayed a single night in the Manor in four years and his brother was a vicious, vain arsehole slowly crumbling under the pressure of their father expectations and extreme discipline.
Sometimes he fantasised about running away but he was a realist, escape was impossible. His black hair, dark eyes and fine Pureblood features clearly marked his heritage and although his brother was far prettier they were easily identifiable as siblings. The only pronounced difference being their builds. Arimaeus took after their mother with a tall almost willowy frame while Theodorus was filling out into the broader shoulders and thicker limbs of their father.
He was fourteen years old and the closest thing he had to pleasant family memories were when he was left alone in the Manor in peace.
Arimaeus was two years older and he’d disappear to Hogwarts for nine months of the year leaving Theodorus alone in the Manor, ignored by his father and in the care of nervous tutors and house elves. His brother would appear at holidays to boast about his new lessons and connections then swan off again.
It had been quiet and lonely but then he’d started Hogwarts. At first he’d been nervous, shy but cautiously happy. His brother mostly ignored him but he’d made a few friends among the other pureblood spares in Slytherin House and enjoyed his classes. Between his childhood tutors and his natural love of learning everything had been good. That all changed when his First Year report came by owl and his results were better than Arimaeus.
Father ordered his brother into his study and Theodorus had desperately tried to block out the cries of pain that followed.
From that day family dinners included stories from father of his older brothers, their failures as Heirs and their inevitable grisly ends. His eyes stopped skimming over Theodorus instead using his achievements as a blatant threat and revelling in setting his sons against each other. Life in Nott Manor became a trial of fear, pain and tension.
At first his brother had been devastated and scared but his fear quickly turned to anger and Theodorus had found himself on the losing end of a campaign of sabotage. At home his brother took out his frustration in the form of nasty curses and tricks designed to show him up to father. At school the curses continued and he found his friends drifting away, the threat of incurring the ire of a Pureblood Heir too much risk politically and personally.
Second Year had started badly and gotten progressively worse as Arimaeus joined Tom Riddle’s society of Pureblooded Heirs and influential arseholes. He watched with fear as his brother fell deeply for the charismatic Fourth Year swallowing his politics and promises without reservation while blatantly expressing his personal interest in the good-looking boy, fighting for favour in his inner circle. The sabotage became more calculated and vicious as Riddle rewarded his loyal lapdog. After all if father killed Arimaeus and the Heirship passed to Theodorus then Riddle’s efforts to secure the power and prestige of the Nott family would have been wasted.
As Theodorus writhed in pain from some kind of slow acting petrification curse he knew something this dark could only have come from Riddle. The more father threatened Arimaeus the more desperately he punished Theodorus and clung to his new Lord for strength.
His biggest worry was that one day Arimaeus would become desperate enough to just kill him. Father needed an Heir so without Theodorus as the spare his brother’s position would be secure.
Eventually his brother reversed the curse and fussed with his appearance.
‘I don’t enjoy hurting you brother. If you would only keep your head down and stop drawing father’s attention we could go back to cheerfully ignoring each other.’
‘That would be easier to believe if you weren’t smiling.’
‘Do you have any idea what father has planned for me because of your ‘exceptional performance’ this year?’ Arimaeus snarled at him, all pretence at civility dropped. ‘So forgive me for taking satisfaction in passing some of that pain to its rightful place. All you have to do is sit back, relax and not try so bloody hard. When father dies and the Lordship passes to me you can shout your genius from the rooftops for all I care, but until then, save us both some pain and embrace mediocrity.’
Theodorus didn’t answer. He understood that his brother was genuinely scared for his life but that didn’t change the fact that he was viscous arsehole and he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing meekly.
Apparently silence was an acceptable response and Arimaeus headed for the door.
‘Before I go, have you seen mothers ironwood box? It doesn’t seem to be in her room and I thought dear Tom might enjoy studying it. I doubt Abraxus or Orion will show him anything near as powerful.’
That would be the box radiating dark magic that their mother had brought with her from her family home when she married their father. The box they’d been warned as children to never touch that he was fairly sure was protected by lethal wards. His brother would almost definitely get hurt if he went anywhere near that cursed item.
‘Father had it moved to the attic above the East Wing.’
The house elf who’d moved the box had died. Father had raged for a week at the inconvenience.
He almost called out a warning but stopped. It wasn’t like he’d listen anyway.
Harry Potter
Harry collapsed onto a washed out bench in his weird glowy afterlife version of Kings Cross Station. His hands were shaking and his throat felt raw. Burning to death was way worse than The Killing Curse.
Unlike the last time he’d been here there was no Dumbledore to greet him, the platform was deserted which was honestly a relief. He’d had quite enough of ghostly interventions, cryptic clues and impossible missions.
Staring at his feet he tried to catch his breath and block out the phantom flames flickering in his peripheral vision.
It could have been minutes or days when his shoulders began to shake and the silence was broken by his own hysterical laughter.
How many times had he been saved by the power of love and now it had killed him. Taken out by a deranged fan at 21 years old. He could almost appreciate the irony.
Time passed and he laughed, sobbed and ranted. He let loose every bottled up emotion and pain for it to be swallowed up by the empty station until all that was left was quiet and he lay down on the strangely soft concrete and closed his eyes.
He’d always felt a nagging sense of guilt whenever he’d taken time for himself, like he was supposed to be doing something and he was being selfish. There was none of that here, no sense of time or responsibilities. No other people’s opinions or feelings to consider. Everyone he’d left behind would move on with their lives and it was no longer his job to fix things.
He was dead and he was finally free.
When he opened his eyes the train was there. He closed his eyes again. There was no hurry and he wasn’t done basking in the emptiness.
He didn’t know what came next but as he finally boarded the train, he thought it might be ok if he was a little selfish, sometimes.
Theodorus Nott - Summer 1943
Theodorus looked up from the second draft of his potions essay at the shaking house elf that had appeared next to his desk wringing her hands. He sighed, the Nott family house elves were understandably nervous creatures.
‘Did you need something?’
‘Pippy is needing help but the Master is out and Young Master Arimaeus he is in the attic and Pippy is telling him he should not touch but he is not listening and he is touching the box and he is screaming and now he is not moving.’
He caught enough of the high speed babble to understand that his idiot brother really had tried to take the cursed box and was probably injured.
‘Can you apparate him to his bed?’
The elf nodded violently.
‘Good. Do that. I will floo Healer Merrick to attend immediately.’
Pippy disappeared with a soft ‘pop’ and he headed to the fireplace to call the Healer, ignoring the persistent thought that it would solve a lot of his problems if his brother was out of the way.
Harry Potter
His head hurt.
The doors had closed behind him on the train, he’d closed his eyes against a bright light that had come out of nowhere and now his head felt like it was going to explode. Did they have pain potions in the afterlife, or paracetamol, he’d cheerfully make do with Muggle painkillers right now, anything to take the edge off.
The sound of a door closing finally convinced him to open his eyes and the painful light resolved itself into a very familiar looking place. He was in a private room in St Mungos Hospital complete with a Healer in fuschia robes taking a chocolate from a box sitting among a frankly obscene number of flowers.
He must have made a noise because the Healer spun round guiltily, almost dropping a half eaten chocolate caramel and stuttering.
‘Oh, I’m not, I mean I wasn’t. I mean…’ The man paused and collected himself while Harry blinked at him slowly. ‘You are awake. Let me quickly run a diagnostic and I will notify your Primary Healer.’
‘How about I trade you that box of chocolates for a pain potion and a glass of water?’ His voice sounded strange. How long had he been here? Also how was he here? He was almost sure he’d been dead.
The Healer made a face like he wasn’t sure if that had been a joke or a reprimand then poured him a small cup of water. ‘Please drink slowly, in small sips. I will see about a potion after your scan.’
There was some wand waving that Harry ignored in favour of drinking. He stared at the flowers across the room and wondered if his glasses were here somewhere. His aching brain paused while his eyes tried to focus on his nose. He could see the individual flowers in precise detail across the room. His nose was clear of glasses. He could see across the room without glasses.
He’d had plenty of practice dealing with pain so he shoved it aside and tried to focus. His vision was perfect. St Mungos robes had always been lime green, not fuschia. He looked at the hand clasping his water, the skin was too pale and smooth, the fingers were longer and thinner, hell the whole arm was thinner. Where the hell were his scars?
A lock of black hair fell in his face, it was at least two feet longer than Harry kept his hair. He couldn’t catch his breath, the Healer was speaking to him but he sounded very far away and Harry’s brain had had enough. The room faded and he gratefully fell into nothingness.
The next time he woke there was an older Healer in the room with him.
‘Ah excellent timing. It is good to see you awake. I believe you will want this.’ He handed Harry a potion and he downed the disgusting liquid without comment then sighed as the pressure gathered in his forehead faded.
The Healer ran through all the usual procedures and Harry was somewhat on autopilot as he lifted arms and legs, followed fingers with his eyes and sat still for scans.
‘Now, would you be so kind as to tell me what you remember of the incident that caused your hospitalisation. I’m afraid your brother had limited information when he asked me to attend and your treatment so far has been generalised.’ The Healer conjured a chair and sat next to his bed with an air of professional interest.
Unfortunately for Harry his brain had once again stuttered to a halt.
‘My brother?’
‘Yes, young Theodorus was quite concerned for your wellbeing when he called. Your father has obviously also been notified and I am sure he will attend you shortly.’
‘My father? How long have I been here?’ Harry’s voice was all wrong but he chose to ignore that, he had bigger things to freak out about right now.
‘You have been here for just over two weeks, in a magical coma brought on by an unidentified dark curse which appears to have targeted your brain. Quite frankly the fact that you are conscious and talking is something of a miracle. Our initial scans showed little sign of brain activity.’
‘Can I have a mirror?’ He wasn’t sure he actually wanted to see himself.
The Healer chuckled and conjured him a plain, silver hand mirror. ‘Now your hair might not be as well styled as usual Heir Nott, but I dare say you look much the same. There is no visible scarring.’
A pale, good-looking teen reflected back at him. Long black hair framed his face and a weak growth of stubble highlighted a square jawline. The only thing Harry recognised were his bright green eyes which apparently no longer required glasses.
Initially the Healer watched him with an indulgent expression but after a moment his gaze sharpened.
‘Your eyes? They're green.’
Taking the mirror, the Healer performed some complicated wand waving while Harry’s mind whirled.
‘Heir Nott, your entire family, yourself included, have dark eyes. Is this some cosmetic experiment I am not aware of?’
Harry closed his eyes and held up a hand to request a moment to collect himself.
This was not his body. The Healer had called him Heir Nott. Harry knew all the remaining Nott family, there was only one, this was not him. That implied there was more going on here than a simple body jump.
What the hell was his life when he could think of being in a new body as “simple”?
Harry’s own body was probably ashes blowing down Diagon Alley. He couldn’t think about that right now if he wanted be productive.
He needed information and revealing himself as Harry Potter was too risky, and also sounded mental.
Amnesia. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he really didn’t remember this body’s life and there had been something about the curse attacking his brain. It made sense but it was such a cliche he almost couldn’t stand it.
‘Could you tell me my name, sir?’ He didn’t have to fake the confused, scared tone.
‘Your name?’ More wand waving. ‘You don’t know who you are?’
‘No sir, I don’t think so.’
‘You are Arimaeus Nott, eldest son and Heir of Cantankerus Nott.’ The man paused for a reaction but Harry shook his head. ‘I am Healer Merrick, I am Primary Healer to the Nott Family. We have met at minimum once a year for your entire life. Do you remember me?’
At the negative response he frowned slightly. ‘Do you recognise where we are?’
‘St Mungo’s Hospital?’ Harry was pretty sure there was a type of amnesia where you only forgot personal facts, at least he hoped so because he wasn’t about to wander around pretending not to recognise things.
‘Yes, indeed. Do you know Hogwarts?
He nodded, then stopped because it hurt his head. ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. It’s in a castle somewhere in Scotland.’
‘And can you tell me the names of your dorm mates?’
Harry tried to look like he was thinking then gave a tiny shake of his head.
‘I must consult with my colleagues but I think it’s fair to say we’ve discovered what the curse targeted. Try not to worry young man, this is one of the premier medical centres in the world, Grindelwald himself covets our knowledge and skill. You are in the best hands.’
The man rushed out of the room and left Harry to have a quiet meltdown. Grindelwald, present tense. As in Grindelwald who’d been rotting away in prison, irrelevant and forgotten since his defeat by Dumbledore in the forties. It was either a really odd reference or it really wasn’t just a body jump.
Well fuck.