Voldemort's gaze crawled over Harry with raw greed, almost like a tongue. It was as if he wanted to lick the boy's body inch by inch.
"Seven."
"All things in sevens."
"It really is a beautiful number."
Only just now had he finally understood a secret that, in this world, only he could truly grasp.
Eleven years ago, on that night in Godric's Hollow, the rebounding Killing Curse had split off one last scrap of his soul—and it had lodged itself in Harry Potter.
No one could have predicted such a coincidence.
Voldemort felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his chest. His mood was lighter than it had been in years.
That old fool Dumbledore would definitely guard this boy as the prophecy's chosen one.
But what would his face look like if he knew that as long as this boy lived, so would Voldemort?
Voldemort almost wanted to see it. To watch Harry's expression twist when he learned the truth—that the end result of Dumbledore's "education" was to raise him up, just to send him walking calmly to his own death.
"With a choice, no one walks willingly to death," he thought.
"I've already won, Dumbledore."
Down by the lake, Harry was clutching at his scar. Agony pulsed there, beat after savage beat, making his knees buckle and his face turn chalk-white.
Then Theodore stepped neatly between him and the castle, blocking Voldemort's view of the boy.
Voldemort didn't mind. He withdrew his gaze.
His trump card wasn't meant to be played yet.
First came the Philosopher's Stone, and a new body.
At the thought of the Stone, his mind flicked to the three-headed dog under the trapdoor at the end of the third-floor corridor, and he ground his teeth.
That old schemer Dumbledore… planting such a beast there, of all things.
It was one of the rare magical creatures with resistance even to instant-kill curses. At his full strength, a single Killing Curse would still have been enough to bring the dog down.
But in his current state? Even if he burned every scrap of power he had left, he probably wouldn't manage it.
He would have to find another way.
His presence sank back into the shadows of the tower.
Theodore let his own gaze fall, expression thoughtful.
Harry's behaviour just now—the surge of killing intent, that cold anger—had stirred the Voldemort fragment inside him, hadn't it?
And the Voldemort riding Quirrell's body had felt it.
A butterfly's wingbeat, Theodore thought quietly.
In the original storyline, Voldemort didn't discover the truth about Harry until the very end. Now, in their first year, he'd worked it out already.
Theodore's arrival had sent ripples through the world. The plot was changing.
But after a moment, the faint disturbance in his heart smoothed out.
He'd never planned to keep everything exactly the same anyway.
If that was what he wanted, he should have walked into Ravenclaw, buried himself in the tower with a stack of books, and stayed as invisible as possible.
He hadn't chosen that.
So he'd accept the price.
And so what if the plot changed?
With his current strength—and the Flooded Desolation System backing him—if he still had to tiptoe around, terrified of altering events, he might as well find a rock and bash his own head in.
His eyes landed on Draco.
The Gryffindors swarmed around Theodore, cheering and laughing. Draco stood a little apart, shoulders sagging, looking like someone who'd just exhaled a breath he'd been holding for far too long.
Theodore flicked something through the air.
The pendant he'd fished out of the Black Lake landed neatly in Draco's hands.
"Hold onto it properly this time," Theodore said.
"Next time you let someone rip it off your neck, we're not diving in after it for you."
Draco stared, momentarily stunned.
Of all the things he'd expected from Theodore after that "near-death in the storm" episode, this hadn't been on the list—that Theodore had still been thinking about his pendant, and actually gone to retrieve it.
His expression twisted, coloured with a whole tangle of emotions. His face flushed scarlet. After a long, painful pause, he managed to choke out:
"Didn't ask you to meddle."
Harry and Ron both glared at him.
Theodore just waved a hand, lips quirked as he glanced at the System and the neat little Bonds of Life and Death tag next to Draco's name.
"It's fine. Malfoy's just like that."
"Chronically tsundere. All bark, no honesty."
Draco's ears went red. He clenched his fists, puffed himself up, and stormed off.
Theodore called after him, voice deliberately casual.
"Malfoy. With that many Slytherin first-team players injured, they're going to be short-handed."
"You're a decent flyer. Professor Snape will give you a chance."
"Write to your father about it. He'll tell you exactly what to do."
Draco's eyes widened. He pretended to speed up, but every word Theodore said was carefully stored away. Then he disappeared from the lakeside.
At that moment, Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall finally arrived at the Black Lake, breathless and dishevelled after sprinting from the castle.
Madam Hooch let out a shriek.
"I told you—no one flies until I get back!"
"Flying in front of the castle is bad enough, but what made you think you could fly over the Black Lake?!"
"Gryffindor—"
"Madam Hooch," McGonagall cut in, face like thunder, "I see plenty of Slytherin Quidditch players here too. All injured."
"Would you please see that they get to Madam Pomfrey? I'll make sure these first-years receive a… thorough education. Disgraceful behaviour. Absolutely disgraceful."
Trusting McGonagall implicitly, Madam Hooch didn't question it for a second. She nodded briskly and hurried off with the limping Slytherins in tow.
McGonagall turned back, her expression dark as a storm cloud as she fixed Theodore and Harry with a stare.
"Theodore Snow. Harry Potter. Come with me. Now."
Harry's stomach dropped.
That's it. We're done. They're going to expel us.
She won't expel Theodore too, will she? Maybe just me? My grades are terrible, but Theodore's brilliant… surely she wouldn't…
Except she looked furious.
Maybe he could say it was all his idea. He'd take the blame and go live with Hagrid as an assistant gamekeeper. That wouldn't be so bad…
Theodore, meanwhile, was rolling his eyes internally.
Seriously.
McGonagall, you big tsundere cat, your acting's not bad at all. Go on, keep it up.
Back when he'd first read the books as a kid, he'd fallen for this scene completely. Once you knew her, though, it was obvious—Professor McGonagall had layers.
In the original, she didn't just avoid docking points, she bent the rules to put Harry on the Gryffindor team as Seeker.
She'd even bought him a Nimbus Two Thousand out of her own pocket. Hard-core Quidditch fangirl behaviour.
So what was with the grim face now?
If she wanted to smile, she should just smile.
Sure enough, they didn't even make it back to the castle before McGonagall's mouth started twitching. Her "stern line" wobbled like a rattling broom handle.
She suddenly punched the air.
"Brilliant!"
"You've practically crippled Slytherin's Quidditch team for the term—they'll have to use substitutes. Our odds of taking the Cup this year just shot up!"
"Theodore, Harry, you did wonderfully!"
Harry gaped at her, feeling oddly guilty.
"But, Professor… some of them looked really badly hurt…"
McGonagall curled her lip.
"Flint is a menace," she said crisply. "Forgive me speaking of a student this way, but it's true."
"Every time he shakes hands he tries to crush our players' fingers. He never misses a chance for a dirty hit on the field. Over the years we've had more than one player leave with broken bones because of him."
"Well. It's about time he had a taste of it."
Then she cleared her throat and tried to smooth her expression back into something more professorial.
"However, I do have to reprimand the two of you."
Theodore and Harry obediently lowered their heads, braced for the lecture.
What Theodore hadn't expected was the deep regret in McGonagall's voice.
"You really should have coaxed their reserves out as well," she sighed.
"If you'd knocked them out of commission too, that would have been ideal."
"And Flint, splendid work there—but why were you so soft on the rest? Most of them will be fit to play in a month or two."
She exhaled sharply, then gave them a conspiratorial wink.
"Luckily, Madam Pomfrey and I are on rather good terms."
"And as Deputy Headmistress, I do have some small privileges."
"Don't worry. None of them will be setting foot on the pitch this term."
Theodore stared at her.
…What the hell.
Professor McGonagall?
You, with the thick eyebrows and righteous aura—you're secretly this vicious?
White on the outside, black as midnight inside.
McGonagall went on to outline her plan to drag them off to see Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain. She fully intended to bend the rules again and slot them into the team.
"If Gryffindor takes the Cup," she said, eyes shining, "what you did today will have been a huge part of it."
"Unfortunately, I can't reward you publicly. So we'll have to settle for a… quieter kind of reward."
"What would you like? How about a new broom?"
Under the warmth of her unusually indulgent gaze, a thought sparked in Theodore's mind.
Their relationship was already close. With one more push, he might just reach Close Friend with a Golden Immortal-tier figure.
A reward like that from the System was not something he could pass up.
Time to add a bit more fuel to the fire.
"Professor," he said, eyes shining with apparent earnestness, "could you transform again?"
"Your Animagus Transfiguration is truly exquisite—flawless, really. If I could watch it one more time, it would be a huge inspiration for my own work in Transfiguration."
He gazed at her with naked, scholarly longing.
McGonagall froze.
She remembered the last time.
But between Theodore's voracious thirst for knowledge, the talent he'd already shown in Transfiguration, and the sheer joy she felt over today's Quidditch developments, she decided, just this once, to indulge him.
"Very well," she said, a little stiffly. "I'll let you observe this transformation again."
"But you must promise—no funny business."
Theodore nodded with perfect innocence.
"Of course, Professor. I'm in Flying class. What strange things could I possibly have brought along?"
McGonagall thought that over. It was a fair point.
She sighed, resigned, and stepped back.
"In that case, watch closely. This is an Animagus—"
A tabby cat landed lightly where she'd stood a moment before.
And then her pupils shrank.
That familiar scent drifted over again, tugging at every instinct in her borrowed feline body, making it nearly impossible to resist.
She stared at Theodore, shocked and betrayed. Theodore just grinned, all teeth.
"Professor…"
"We're Gryffindors," he said cheerfully. "How could you possibly trust a promise like that?"
Every hair on McGonagall-the-cat's body stood on end. She let out a high, indignant yowl and tried to bolt.
In the next heartbeat, Theodore scooped her neatly up by the scruff of the neck.
McGonagall squeezed her eyes shut in despair.
Theodore Snow…
Unforgivable.
Purrrr. Purrrr. Purrrr—
Damn it, body, stop purring already!
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