The Masks | HP

Глава 1

The enormous, ruby, magical train raced at full speed from Hogsmeade Station towards King’s Cross. This means of transport was very old, and some may think it is inconvenient. However, tradition is tradition, and many students from all grades found it good to spend almost a day with their friends on the road, having a good time after all the exams and fears they brought.

In one of the compartments at the end of the Hogwarts Express there was a company of teens. They, I must say, were quite popular with the other students on their course. These wizards’ and witches’ names were: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and the-one-of-a-kind Harry Potter, or as everybody saw him, The Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry had faced a lot of challenges throughout his fourth academic year at Hogwarts. No doubt, an event like the Triwizard Tournament had left a serious trauma that the young wizard was still yet to process. However, already now, he could understand that the thing that had the most negative impact on him was neither the betrayal of his friends nor the uprising of Lord Volan-de-Mort.

It is a terrible thing, but the young man had already grown used to both of these situations. Nothing about them scared him anymore; he simply did not care. The part of him that was responsible for caring had just died out. And the reason for this was the terrible incident that happened at the end of the international wizards’ game—the death of his ally, Cedric Diggory.

For all his life, the young wizard had felt like he was obligated to save the world and suffer. However, Harry was fed up with this. He could not stand the presence of his so-called friends anymore, who, for sure, would betray him as soon as they didn't like something. He was tired of Volan-de-Mort; the young man didn't understand what type of connection existed between him and the Dark Lord. Without knowing this, the wizard saw no point in continuing to fight. All he had ever wanted was to live in peace. Was that too much to ask?

All the world was against Harry: the school administration, his friends, the international delegations, and The Ministry of Magic. The feeling of being completely on his own had torn the young wizard's soul apart. However, that was in the past. Now he was a piece of ice; he just did not care anymore about any of it.

This pathetic Ministry bug was noising a bunch of rubbish abroad. Nothing of what she wrote was true, but who cared? It was so much easier to believe gossip than to seek the truth. Harry was used to it and even found it entertaining sometimes to laugh at what they were writing about him. But there was one article that made him stop smiling immediately. Now Rita Skeeter announced that she knew exactly what happened on the night of the Triwizard Tournament's third task. This insect proposed the idea that Harry was lying about the incident. She said that there was no Volan-de-Mort, that the Boy-Who-Lived just made it all up in order to cover his tracks after the vicious murder of poor Cedric.

During that year's challenges, Cedric had been the only sun for Harry. They had met for the first time three years ago, at the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. During that game, Cedric showed himself to be a strong opponent who was willing to fight, and yet, he was very friendly and let the Seeker from the opposing team take the Snitch. After the participants of the Triwizard Tournament were announced, the Golden Boy of Hufflepuff was the only one to come to Harry and believe him. It was Cedric who offered the young wizard an alliance. The Hufflepuff student understood that Harry might not survive the Tournament, so he offered his help with the tasks and preparation. What amazed Cedric, however, was that Harry Potter had a character of his own: he laughed at Rita’s articles, shrugged off nasty classmates, and was completely himself. Being friends with Cedric was the first time in Harry's life when he was happy. No matter what was happening around them, they knew they would overcome it together.

They had these joyful moments until the third task of the Triwizard Tournament split them apart. Probably, Cedric was the only person Harry would have willingly died for. The young wizard had not expected that he would lose his only friend so soon. After Cedric's death, Harry was full of rage and grief. He wanted to torture Wormtail until the last one would beg for death.

Harry was desperate for support and felt he had no other choice but to try to win his friends back; he just needed someone to share his feelings with. But even they did not believe him…

Winning the Triwizard Tournament did not bring happiness or joy back to Harry. For the young wizard, the world he lived in had not just crashed into pieces—it had gone dark and blank.

He was still playing pretend with his so-called friends. He looked calm, no matter what others said or did to him. Now he was not just a piece of ice, but the whole iceberg. With the loss of Cedric, Harry had lost a part of himself: his enjoyment, the ability to be satisfied with life, all of it.

There was a fire inside him—pure rage. He would take revenge for Cedric's death, no matter the cost. All people who were to blame would suffer. Everybody believed he was the villain anyway, so why not become one?

On the way to King’s Cross, all the teens in the compartment were laughing and joking. But Harry had the sense that all of this was fake. It was not just his own pretense; he saw sparks of jealousy in Ron's eyes, the arrogance in Hermione's, the lust in Ginny's, and a hint of hate in Neville's. The young wizard did not understand how he hadn't noticed it earlier. This was not life—it was a big theatre play, where everybody had their role.

With this act from his so-called friends, Harry understood one very important thing. He was a pawn on a chessboard in someone else's game. The young wizard knew one thing for sure—he wouldn't let anybody manipulate him or make him do anything he didn't want to do. Cedric would have been furious to know someone was using his friend. Harry was tired of suffering, of being a puppet in someone's hands. From now on, he would be the master of his own fate.

The master of the Masks.

Глава 2

For all the teens, the time spent on the trip passed unnoticed. It seemed they had just started moving from Hogsmeade Station when they appeared at King’s Cross Platform 9¾. The adolescents were happy to go home and spend time with their families, but Harry could not say the same. He had not missed the Dursleys or their house on Privet Drive.

The young man had a bad relationship with his relatives. Since he did not know why they had hated him all his life, he decided he would speak with Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley to clear the situation up. Who knew? Maybe after the talk, they could start with a clean slate and create some kind of friendly atmosphere.

The Hogwarts Express arrived in London, and joyful teens met their parents with excitement, hugging them and trying to tell them everything interesting that had happened in their lives. Not all the parents seemed happy to see their children; some were aristocrats and were not used to showing their emotions in public. It was hard to tell if they were content, but if you looked closely enough, you could see sparks of joy in their eyes.

Harry said goodbye to his friends and went through the magic barrier between platforms 9 and 10 to appear in the Muggle world and meet his uncle in the car outside the railway station. The young wizard planned the conversation with his relatives in his head, deciding how he would behave. He wanted to spend his summer well, with as few arguments as possible.

On the way home, Vernon and Harry did not speak much, exchanging only greetings and basic etiquette, like asking how things were going. Harry tried not to mention anything connected to magic, as he knew his uncle hated it, so he just said it had been a tough year without explaining the challenges he had faced.

When his uncle and nephew arrived at Privet Drive, the young man felt someone staring at him. He looked around and saw Mrs. Figg gazing out of her kitchen window, watching him closely. Harry did not feel comfortable under her peer and made a mental note to behave correctly if he saw the old lady.

Entering the house, Vernon said he would go to his study and mentioned that his wife, Petunia, was in the kitchen cooking dinner. The young wizard understood that his uncle did not want to be disturbed while working, and he headed to the kitchen to meet his aunt and help her prepare the meal.

A beautiful woman with pale hair and blue eyes was in her inner sanctum, working on her latest masterpiece. She noticed her nephew coming into the area, greeted him, and said she needed his help making dessert, a raspberry cheesecake.

Harry was willing to assist, as he enjoyed cooking as well. They split up the work; the young man made the crust while Petunia focused on the cream. Aunt and nephew whipped up the cake in no time, working together like a perfect four-handed duo.

When Dudley, Harry's cousin, came back home, the whole family gathered at the dining table and enjoyed the delicious meal Petunia and Harry had made. After dinner, the young wizard returned to the kitchen to clean up, washing the dishes, wiping down the surfaces, and putting everything in its place, while the rest of the family relaxed in the living room, watching the news on TV.

Later, Harry came into the common area and asked if they could all talk. His relatives looked at him with suspicion in their eyes, but they agreed.

"So, Harry, what did you want to talk about?" the head of the family asked, looking at him with interest.

"Well, I was wondering how you feel about me living under your roof," Harry began. "I just want to know your emotions, and maybe the reasons you were so strict with me in my childhood. I know I wasn't the best child, especially with my magic flaring out of control. But apart from that, I just wanted to be normal and be loved." The young man spoke with curiosity and a hint of pity on his face. Harry showed his emotions as they were, without hiding them, because he wanted this conversation to be as open as possible.

"Look, it might be hard for you to understand or believe us, but we never wanted to act like this," Petunia explained, a sad expression on her face. She had always known the way they treated Harry was never fair. "You were just a small, innocent child who had done nothing bad. But we were threatened by your school headmaster, Mr. Dumbledore. He said that if we did not raise you in solitude and hate, he would harm our son, who was just a one-year-old boy, like you. We were scared to death that something bad could happen to our little Dudley, so we had no other choice but to obey him and bring you up the way he wanted."

"What? Professor Dumbledore? He couldn't. He was always so kind to me. He's the brightest Light Wizard in the whole magic world. I'm sorry, Aunt, but I can't believe it. It's beyond my understanding." Harry spoke in disbelief, trying to keep the ideal picture of the Headmaster in his head from breaking.

"I'm so sorry, dear, but it is the truth. If you want proof, I can show you the letter that was in the basket the night you were left on the porch. I still keep it in the attic. Wait a minute, I'll bring it for you." The woman stood up from the couch and went upstairs to the attic. A few moments later, she was walking down the stairs holding an old letter.

Harry took the letter from his aunt and started reading:

“Dear Ms. Evans,

In this basket lies a one-year-old boy. His name is Harry Potter, and he is the son of your sister, Lily Potter. Unfortunately, your sister and her husband died today under the horrific circumstances of the terror of Lord Volan-de-Mort.

I would like little Harry to live with you until he comes of age. Thanks to your sister's sacrifice, a strong magic shield now covers your house, which can protect your nephew from dark wizards, as you are the only blood relatives he has left.

However, I must insist on a certain upbringing for the child. He must feel lonely and unloved. I do not actually care what you Muggles do to make him feel insignificant, as if he is worth nothing, but you have to do it.

You are obliged to complete my request to the best of your ability. If you fail, your son will be hurt. I will torture him under the Cruciatus Curse, watching him die, and I will not let the fact that he is only one year old stop me.

Thank you for your kindness,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot,

Order of Merlin, First Class”

Harry could not believe what he had just read. He had trusted Dumbledore, and this piece of writing did not match his expectations of the Headmaster. The young man stared at the sheet of paper, trying to comprehend it, his vision blurred.

"Harry, I'm asking you to be aware," Petunia said, worrying for her nephew. A motherly instinct had awakened, and she wanted to protect Harry as much as possible. "Don't believe that your Headmaster is a good person. Understand that he is capable of manipulating and threatening. He is dangerous. Do not mess with him. I want you to be safe."

"Thank you, Aunt Petunia, for your support and your explanation," Harry said with a small smile. "I am truly sorry about all the problems I brought when I appeared on your porch that night. I hope we can let go of old grudges and start with a fresh slate." He was willing to hug his aunt, but he was not sure if it would be appropriate, so he just stayed in the armchair.

"We are also sorry," Vernon said with an apologetic smile. "It was very irresponsible of us not to take care of you properly. From now on, you are a real part of this family, and we will treat you fairly."

"Hey, Harry, I'm sorry too for bullying and mocking you," Dudley said, holding out his hand. A smile spread over his face when his cousin shook it. "I saw how my parents behaved around you, and I just thought what they were doing was the right thing, so I copied them and tried to make your life unbearable. I'm sorry."

The family talked non-stop, making up for thirteen years of silence. Of course, they did not start to love each other all of a sudden, but they began to build a trusting and respectful atmosphere.

When Harry went to his room, it was already past midnight. The young man unpacked all his belongings, which his uncle had not locked away this summer. After putting everything in its place, Harry brushed his teeth and went to bed, but he was not going to sleep—at least, not right now. He needed to analyze the situation with Dumbledore.

Okay, my worldview is falling apart. I did not expect things to turn out this way. Dumbledore was threatening my relatives.

Why would he want me to live in abundance without feeling love? If I think logically, how did I feel when I first came to Hogwarts and met the Headmaster?

Well, I experienced joy and excitement that I was in such a lovely place, especially compared to the house on Privet Drive. Professor Dumbledore was so generous to me, giving me the Invisibility Cloak that belonged to my father and never scolding me for any of my adventures or rule-breaking. I believe he just wanted to appear as a kind-hearted grandfather figure I could trust completely.

However, he turned out not to be the pure and harmless person I thought he was. He behaves like a saint. How can he call himself the brightest Light Wizard when he is so generous with his threats? He stands for equal rights for both wizard-kind and Muggles, but how can he directly address people without magic as "Muggles"? It is not only rude but also shows that he looks down on others and acts like he is better than everyone.

Albus Dumbledore is not a saint, but a sinner. He is a grandmaster, playing his chess game where all other people are pieces on the board. I'm just a pawn in it.

I am done being a piece in this game. From now on, I am playing my own game.

The Game of Masks.

Глава 3

The next morning Harry woke up at the crack of dawn, which had not surprised him as back in Hogwarts he and his roommates could not sleep long because of Ron's snoring.

The young wizard decided to take a walk and make a plan for his future actions, as he understood that he could not live like this anymore.

He came out of the back door of the house, as he did not want to show up in front of Mrs. Figg's. His senses were alerting him that she was not as simple to crack as she seemed, so he decided to avoid her. Harry went to a beautiful woodland park with a lake inside. He had never been there; it was not like he used to have much free time before.

The young man walked directly into the forest, as he wanted to be alone to clear his mind. The woodland astonished him; Harry had never seen such beauty in a secluded and unspoiled place like this earlier in his life. Of course, he had been in the Forbidden Forest a couple of times, but it had never felt that way. In this place, Harry was feeling secure and free from pressure. For the first time in his life, he was feeling like he belonged there, all alone in the early morning forest, where not a soul could reach him. This place was all his, and no one could ever change it.

Harry was walking in the woods for approximately twenty minutes until he reached a breathtaking lake that was hidden among the pine trees. He could not believe that such a majestic view was concealed from everyone but him. The lad took off his shoes and let the cool, refreshing water flow smoothly over his legs. Leaning on his elbows, half-reclining, his mind began to turn, not with panic, but with a cold, clear focus.

Gringotts. That's where it starts. Just... take it all. Everything in the vault. Not for spending, but... for whatever comes next. A war chest. Dumbledore's playing a long game, so I need to be ready for it.

But what good is gold if I'm stupid? I can cast spells, but I don't know anything. Not history, not the laws, not why things are the way they are. I'm walking through a library blindfolded. Books. I need to learn... everything. Knowledge is the one thing they can't take from me.

They all ignore the Muggle world, think it's nothing. But it's a hole in their vision. If I can see through it... science, technology... a computer. It's another angle. Another way to see the board.

...I'm the weakest piece on it. Look at me. Scarecrow in broken glasses and hand-me-downs. Skin and bones. I've been wearing a cage and calling it clothes. I can change that now. New clothes. Real food. Getting stronger. Can't fight a war if you're starving.

None of it matters if I can't practice. The Trace. It's a leash. I need a place they can't see... or a wand they can't trace. But where? Where do you even start looking for something that isn't supposed to exist?

Harry spent almost two hours in the woods, just enjoying the peaceful atmosphere while diving into his thoughts. The time spent in that place was like a flash; he just got there and he already needed to return. The young wizard didn't really want to leave, but the thought that his relatives might be worried, not knowing where he was and whether he was alright, made him go.

When he got home, the family was just starting to wake up, so Harry decided to make their morning pleasant by preparing a delicious breakfast for everyone. The young wizard settled on making banana pancakes. He took out the ingredients and started working on the dish, lost in a kind of trance, until his state was interrupted by his aunt.

"Morning, Harry, what are you cooking? The scent is just so delightful," Petunia said with her lips curled up into a warm smile.

"Morning, Aunt. I am preparing some banana pancakes. Hope everyone will love it!" Harry was not sure about his dish, and this is why he was a little bit worried whether his relatives would like it or not.

Vernon and Dudley came downstairs, and all the family settled near the dining table and started having the meal that Harry had prepared. After that, relatives started to discuss plans for the day.

"So, would you mind if I go to London today and buy some stuff, both magic and normal? I would not be needing help getting to the city, nor with returning home. I will be safe and be home at a reasonable hour. If you would need my help with the garden or home, I would be happy to help tomorrow," the young wizard said calmly, waiting for a response from the Dursleys.

"You can go, for sure. Thank you for asking for permission and not just stating the fact that you are going out. Do you want to, maybe, go there with your friends from school? I think we could call them?" Petunia was worried because her nephew was going to be all alone in such a big city. But she managed to work with her emotions, as she understood that Harry was already old enough to be on his own.

"Thanks, Aunt, but I think I can go there on my own," the young man said. He did not want to go to Diagon Alley with Ron or Hermione, as he did not trust them fully and did not want to spend any extra time with them.

Later, Harry popped into his room to take his wand and the Galleons he had left. The lad decided to get to the Leaky Cauldron by the magic bus called ‘The Knight Bus’. He chose this destination as it was the only way to appear in Diagon Alley available to him.

Right before setting off to the magic alley, Harry remembered that he is famous; however, he did not want to be recognizable. Having this intention, the young man asked his aunt for some skin foundation in order to cover his scar on the forehead. The last alive of the Potter family also asked his cousin for a baseball cap, so it would be even harder for others to understand that it was him.

When the young wizard came out from the backyard to the street to escape the glare of his prying neighbors, he took out his wand and the triple-decker purple bus appeared in front of him. The last time Harry used this magic public transport was very strange; it could even be called a crazy one. He hoped the time had changed the service of the Knight Bus and the staff would be more careful and wiser than just squeezing between two buses riding at full speed.

The young man entered the bus with caution, according to his past experience, but he was amazed by the entire beauty inside. There were no beds with brass frames, nor the flying candles or purple curtains. The whole ambiance was different. It was no longer a shabby, crazy bus, but a transport whose view screamed about comfort and inner richness. There were big sofas with almost enormous soft cushions, so the passengers would almost drown in them. Besides sofas, there were armchairs, if a person didn't want to share their personal space with anybody else. The whole ambiance was made in green and silver colors. Harry thought that these were the colors of Slytherin, and he was supposed to hate it. Frankly, he liked it; it gave him the feeling of a safe zone—not like he could be totally relaxed here, but a bit, which still would suit him for a short trip to Diagon Alley.

What was the most important part of the change was the staff. There was no more Stan Shunpike, with his all-interest in everyone's business and nasty comments. Instead, there was a nice young fella whose appearance was a little bit unnatural: his skin was very pale, almost white; his eyes were pink with a spark of red; he was tall and athletic.

"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Tommy Clark. Welcome to the ‘Knight Wisdom’, the bus for desperate wizards, witches, and magical creatures in need to travel somewhere. We can deliver you wherever you want, whenever you want. May I know your name and your final destination?" said the lad. He was around 6 ft tall and had red eyes; his skin was pale. Harry considered him to be a vampire, but it was rude to ask, so he pushed his curiosity down and just tried to look normal.

"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Harrison Porter. I would like to go to the Leaky Cauldron. How much would it cost?" Harry asked politely, trying not to excite interest about himself from the perspective of the other wizard, but slowly he understood that he failed, no matter how hard he aimed to look like someone else.

"Nice to meet you, Harry Potter. I am sorry—what I meant was Harrison Porter. The ride to the Leaky Cauldron will cost you fifteen Sickles. I know it is pricey, but in our company, as the price grows, the level of comfort does as well," Tommy explained with a soft smile on his attractive face.

"Thank you, Vladislav Dracula. So sorry—I said Vladislav Dracula? I must have got you wrong. You are Tommy, right? Terribly sorry, Tommy, I have a really bad memory. Here are fifteen Sickles, let me just count them." Harry got the money out of his pocket, and when he gave the money to Tommy, they both laughed very hard.

"1:1. But I must say that nobody had ever called me Vladislav Dracula," Tommy chuckled, and both guys' eyes warmed with joy.

Harry had lots of questions he wanted to ask Tommy, but he decided to hold his horses.

"Look, Tommy, I know your little secret. You know mine. Why don't we talk a little and let the road follow its path?" Harry's little suggestion could have been a threat, but the naive, boyish look in his eyes sealed the deal. Understanding he didn't have another way out, Tommy simply nodded.

"Okay, then. Should I cast the ‘Bubble of Silence’, or will you?" The vampire tried to make a careless expression, but he failed, and a flicker of fear showed on his handsome, pale face. He felt the power that the young wizard was radiating and could not control himself properly.

"Sorry, I cannot. I am still a minor and cannot do magic outside of Hogwarts." The last of the Potter family seemed to have not the foggiest idea of the impact he had on his new fellow. He was just a child—a very experienced one—but who had not yet known his own power.

When the Boy-Who-Lived spoke, the vampire drew his wand and, without hesitation, cast one of the charms that required immense magical power. Tommy was powerful by definition; his clan was one of the nearest to the Arch-Vampire. And yet he was scared of a fourteen-year-old boy who had not even threatened him—or, at least, not intentionally.

Harry was amazed by how easy it was for Tommy to cast that kind of spell, but he tried to play it cool and show the vampire the opposite of his feelings. The young wizard did not know why he was behaving like this, but he just got the feeling that he had a need to do it. Maybe he had an oracle ability, or maybe he just wanted to make a good first impression. It would be just another part of his plan, of what he needed to learn about the world and himself.

"Do you mind sharing some information with me, Tommy? Some aspects about you, your life, and this world interest me very much. I know that you might not have any reason to follow my request, but still, please, share your knowledge. I'm desperate for answers." Harry needed the information vitally, and it was strange for him. Usually, the young wizard would have done nothing and been satisfied. Something was different about him. He was different.

It seemed like he had always been living someone else's life, and only now was he being himself. Like he had been in a coma that lasted forever, and only now was he awakening.

"Very well. I will help you on your path, Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter." What the vampire did was not just a pact of friendship, but a sworn oath.

Pure magic oscillated in the space between the wizards. A shimmering, magical flow filled Harry's body. It moved through his veins, inebriating him, filling the gaps in his magic, healing his soul and body.

"What you just did to me, what was it? I feel so strange, so powerful…" Harry could not understand that the magic Tommy shared with him wasn't the reason for the immense power he felt. It was just a stimulator to wake his magic up. This potential, lurking inside him, was something that had been blocked all his life. And now it was working, like an engine for which Tommy had been the fuse.

Healing soul and body, magic and bonds, mind and life. Harry was confused, yet he had never felt so clear. So clean.