2 Chapter 2: [Out of Time: Harry’s Unfamiliar Dawn.]
[Harry's POV]
I'm seated in my room, a sense of loss enveloping me. My memories are a jigsaw with missing pieces, leaving me bewildered about my arrival and next steps. A sudden hunger pang interrupts my thoughts, and a glance at the clock tells me it's breakfast time.
"Whisk," I call out.
With a faint pop, Whisk appears before me. "Yes, Master Hadrian, how may I assist you? he inquires.
"Call me Harry, and please, get me some breakfast and the Daily Prophet," I reply with a mix of authority and weariness.
"Of course, Master Harry," he obliges.
I mulled over the idea of scouring the Daily Prophet for any trace of my disappearance. It's not just curiosity; it's a need to piece together the fragmented puzzle of my memories before I dare to step forward in a world that feels so alien now.
I can hardly wait as Whisk sets down the breakfast. The smell is tantalizing, promising a delightful start to the day. I decide to indulge in the meal before delving into the Daily Prophet's tales.
I watched in amazement as Whisk prepared a breakfast that would make any professional chef envious. As I finished the last bite, a sense of satisfaction washed over me.
"Whisk, this is simply too much," I said, my voice filled with gratitude.
Whisk's eyes twinkled with pride as he bowed gracefully. "Thank you, Master Harry. Your enjoyment is my greatest reward," he replied, his voice laced with humble satisfaction.
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After breakfast, I grab my Daily Prophet, eagerly searching for any news about my disappearance. But to my disappointment, there's nothing—just trivial crimes and idle gossip. Then, as my eyes catch today's date in the paper, a wave of emotions overwhelms me, sending me into a tailspin. It feels like my world has been upended all over again."
'31, July 1971'
"'31 July 1971'—the numbers seem to dance before my eyes, a cruel trick of fate. I'm caught in a temporal snare, flung into existence nearly a decade before my time. The confusion is paralyzing, a thick fog in my mind. I'm a phantom, out of place and time, my pleas for understanding destined to fall on disbelieving ears. Who could grasp this twisted reality? My identity, once a bastion of self, now a foreign concept—my name, an echo of someone I no longer recognize."
After calming myself, I thought, 'I can't do anything right now. There are my parents and many others I can save. They will all start school this year. Meeting them will be possible, though speaking to them will surely feel strange. Well, let's see. I also need to go to Gringotts to claim my heirship—— or Lordship, and I need clothes as well.' In my thoughts, there was a mix of resignation and determination, a strange blend of helplessness and resolve that weighed on my heart.
I hesitated, torn between desire and reason. 'Should I seek them out now? But the very thought of stepping into Potter Manor feels like a distant dream. I'd need to reach out with words before anything else, yet the futility weighs on me. They don't know me, and my claim to the Peverell name would be met with disbelief, perhaps even mockery. No, I'll hold back. My mother's Family is firmly rooted in the Muggle world, a world apart from all this. It's safer there. For now, I'll content myself with watching from afar, a silent guardian.'
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"After lunch, I couldn't resist the urge to explore the manor. My eyes had only grazed the bedroom and the tapestry room so far. But now, standing here, I knew this mansion held secrets waiting to be unveiled.
"Whisk," I summoned.
The house-elf materialized before me, a respectful bow accompanying his arrival. "What can I do for you, Master Harry?" Whisk inquired.
"Whisk, I want to see the manor, but I'd prefer to start from the outside. Lead the way," I said.
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Whisk and I apparated outside the manor, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the breathtaking sight of the manor—so castle-like in its grandeur.
"WOW," I exclaimed, unable to contain my amazement.
"Whisk, is the manor near the beach?" I asked, my voice trembling with disbelief as the serene beach stretched before me.
"No, Master, Peverell Manor is not near the beach but on an island," Whisk replied, his words slicing through my reverie. I stood there, stunned, as the reality of the manor's enchanting isolation on a beautiful island dawned on me.
Hidden from the world by ancient wards and powerful enchantments, Peverell Manor stands as a bastion of magic and mystery. Its towers, reaching towards the heavens, are a testament to the legacy of the Peverell family, known for their deep connection to the arcane arts. The manor itself is shrouded in secrecy, its location known only to a select few who are attuned to the magical world.
As one approaches the island, the air seems to hum with energy, a clear sign of the protective spells at work. The waters surrounding the manor are calm, almost unnaturally so, reflecting the manor's grandeur with crystal clarity. The gardens, lush and meticulously tended, are a riot of color and life, inviting yet somehow foreboding, as if warning intruders of the potent magic that lies within.
The Deathly Hallows symbol, etched into the ground before the grand entrance, serves as a reminder of the manor's storied past and the power that the Peverell lineage holds. It is here, within these walls, that magic is not just a part of life—it is life, pulsing through the very stones of the manor, an ever-present force that binds the past to the present, the living to the legends of old.
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[A/N: Donate Stone Please]
