April's first morning light filtered through the enchanted window of his trunk's study, the magical space providing a comforting illusion of normality despite being located in an impossible dimension. Outside in the Hufflepuff dormitory, his housemates would be stirring, preparing for classes, unaware that one of their number had spent the night removing a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul from the Boy Who Lived.
Chris reached out, running a finger along the orb's cool silver surface. The soul piece inside recoiled from his touch, sensing perhaps the purity of intention that stood in stark contrast to its own fractured existence. The extraction had gone more smoothly than he'd dared hope, with no apparent ill effects to Harry beyond momentary confusion that the boy had attributed to tiredness.
"You've been freed, Harry," Chris murmured to the empty room. "The prophecy can't control you anymore."
He hadn't checked the Map this morning, but he suspected Harry would wake feeling different, lighter somehow, though the boy wouldn't understand why. The headaches would cease, the strange connection to Voldemort severed permanently. Whether the Parseltongue ability would fade immediately or gradually remained to be seen, but the boy's destiny had irrevocably changed.
With a deep breath, Chris pulled his leather-bound journal closer, opening it to the page marked with a thin silver ribbon. The Soul Execution Ritual instructions filled several pages in his precise handwriting, transcribed carefully from Merlin's original texts. Unlike the Transfer Ritual, which had required delicacy to avoid harming Harry, this ritual demanded raw power and absolute precision. One misstep could result in the ritual's catastrophic failure, or worse, the escape of the soul fragments.
"Four stages," Chris reminded himself, reviewing the annotated diagrams. "Extraction, housing, convergence, purification."
His finger traced the complex rune clusters required for each phase. The first would draw the contained fragment from the silver orb and expose it to the ritual's magic. The second would house it temporarily in a special ward stone, preparing it to serve as the anchor. The third, and most dangerous, would use the resonant connection between soul fragments to draw in the remaining Horcruxes from wherever they were hidden. The final stage would purify and nullify the combined soul pieces, ending Voldemort's existence on all planes.
Merlin's warning glared up at him from the bottom of the page, underlined in red ink: "Unforeseen consequences await those who tamper with soul magic. The balance must be maintained." Chris had pondered this cryptic warning for weeks, unable to determine precisely what "balance" Merlin referred to. Was it simply the magical principle that power extracted must be contained or released safely? Or something deeper, a fundamental law of spiritual existence that even Merlin himself didn't fully comprehend?
He closed the journal with a decisive snap. Whatever the consequences, they couldn't possibly outweigh the horror of allowing Voldemort to return and reign as he had in the original timeline. Countless lives hung in the balance, including those of people Chris had grown to care for deeply in this second chance at life.
From the cabinets lining his study wall, Chris retrieved the components he'd need for the ritual. First, a large ward stone of black obsidian, its surface carved with ancient runes that predated even Hogwarts' founding. This particular stone had come from Ambrosia Manor's ritual stores, transported discreetly via Jilly weeks earlier in anticipation of this moment. It felt unnaturally heavy in his hands, as though the magic it was designed to contain already strained against its physical form.
Next, he selected a roll of parchment containing the detailed diagrams for the triple runic circle required to contain the ritual's energies. Unlike the single circle used for Harry's extraction, this ritual required concentric bands of protection and channeling, each with its own purpose in the complex working.
With materials gathered, Chris moved through the sitting room toward the ritual chamber. The wooden door swung open at his approach, as though the room itself anticipated its purpose. Unlike the comfortable, lived-in feeling of his study, the ritual chamber emanated ancient power. Circular walls of smooth stone rose to a domed ceiling inscribed with protective runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. The chamber's design predated modern magical theory, drawing instead on principles from Merlin's time, when magic was channelled to flow more directly from its primordial sources.
At the center stood a raised stone altar, its surface worn smooth by centuries of magical workings performed by generations of Ambrosia wizards. Chris placed the silver orb at the center of the altar, where it continued its ominous pulsing, the soul fragment inside seemingly aware of what was coming.
"Tomorrow, you'll serve your final purpose," Chris told it, setting the ward stone beside it at a precisely measured distance.
He unrolled the parchment diagrams on the floor, anchoring the corners with small weights. The complexity of the ritual layout was daunting – three concentric circles of varying widths, each containing dozens of runic clusters arranged in precise geometric patterns. The innermost circle would contain the altar and the silver orb, focusing the extraction. The middle circle would house the ward stone during the convergence phase. The outer circle, largest and most complex, would channel the purification energies needed to exterminate Voldemort's soul fragments completely.
Kneeling on the stone floor, Chris began the painstaking process of transcribing the runes. Each mark required perfect execution – a single misdrawn line could destabilize the entire working. He started with chalk outlines, establishing the boundaries of each circle, measuring the distances between them with a brass compass enchanted for magical precision.
Hours passed as Chris worked methodically, his hands steady despite the magnitude of what he prepared. The white chalk markings gradually took shape, transforming the floor into a complex magical diagram that seemed to shift slightly when viewed from the corner of one's eye, as though existing partly in another dimension.
With the chalk framework established, Chris moved to the more permanent inscriptions. From a leather pouch at his belt, he withdrew a mixture of powdered silver, crushed moonstone, and the same dragon's blood used in the Transfer Ritual. The paste glowed faintly as he applied it over the chalk lines, tracing each rune with careful precision, infusing the marks with his intent as he worked.
By the time he completed the final stroke of the outermost circle, the chamber glowed with potential energy, the runes responding to their activation even before the ritual began. Chris stood, his back aching from hours hunched over the floor, and surveyed his work. Everything was in place, the orb containing Harry's soul fragment, the ward stone awaiting its burden, and the triple runic circle ready to channel and control the destructive energies the ritual would unleash.
"Tomorrow night," he whispered to the empty chamber, "it ends."
Chris stood in the center of the ritual chamber, his true form revealed. Without the glamour that maintained his childish appearance, his sixteen-year-old body filled the space differently, taller, more assured, the white hair flowing past his shoulders like a winter waterfall streaked with electric blue. His sapphire eyes reflected the faint glow of the runic circles at his feet, three perfect concentric bands of silver light etched into the stone floor, waiting to channel power beyond what most wizards would dare to handle.
"Everything in place," he murmured, his voice deeper without the glamour's effect, echoing slightly in the circular chamber.
A tingle of apprehension ran through him as he contemplated what he was about to attempt. The Soul Execution Ritual wasn't just complex magic, it was meant to alter reality itself, to sever a being's connection to existence across all planes. No wizard in recorded history had successfully destroyed multiple Horcruxes simultaneously. Even Merlin's journals spoke of the procedure theoretically rather than from experience.
Chris took a deep breath and positioned himself at the northern point of the outermost circle, directly across from the altar. The stone floor felt cool against his bare feet, grounding him as he prepared to channel magic that could easily overwhelm an unprepared mind. He raised his Yggdrasil wand, its wood humming with anticipation against his palm, and began the first incantation.
"Fragmentum animae revelatur, tenebris manifestum," he intoned, his voice gaining strength with each syllable. "Catenis solvo, vinculis libero, ex vase extraho, in lucem evoco."
The innermost circle flared with brilliant silver light, responding to the ancient words. The runes seemed to lift slightly from the floor, hovering just above the stone, rotating slowly clockwise. The silver orb at the center began to vibrate, small cracks appearing in its polished surface as the soul fragment inside reacted to the magic.
"Separatum a vase contentionis, liberatum sed non liberum," Chris continued, making precise movements with his wand that mirrored the rotating runes. "Manifestare coactum, potestate mea subjugatum."
With a sound like glass fracturing under extreme pressure, the silver orb split open. Dark mist poured forth, not like smoke but like liquid darkness given impossible form, writhing with malevolent awareness. It rose above the altar, expanding to fill the innermost circle, pressing against the boundary of silver light that contained it. The temperature in the chamber plummeted, frost forming on the stone walls as the soul fragment's corrupted essence leached warmth from its surroundings.
The first stage was complete – extraction achieved. Chris turned his focus to the second phase without pause, knowing that any hesitation could allow the fragment to find weakness in the containment.
"Receptaculum paratum, carcerem aeternum," he chanted, directing his wand toward the obsidian ward stone. "Lapis niger, custos animarum, potentia antiqua, cape tenebras invocatas."
The middle circle activated, its runes glowing with deep purple light that pulsed in rhythm with Chris's words. The ward stone began to float, rising several inches above the floor, rotating slowly as it oriented itself toward the writhing darkness. Tendrils of purple energy extended from the stone, reaching into the inner circle like grasping fingers.
"Absorbe, contine, amplifica," Chris commanded, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead from the magical exertion. "Praepara connexionem, invita fragmenta dispersa."
The dark mist seemed to resist momentarily before the ward stone's pull became irresistible. The darkness flowed toward the obsidian, compressed and channeled by the purple tendrils until it vanished into the stone's surface. The ward stone glowed a sickly red from within, the soul fragment now housed in its magical matrix, ready to serve as anchor for the others.
The temperature in the chamber normalized as the second phase completed, but the air felt charged with potential, heavier with each passing moment. Chris paused briefly, gathering his strength for the third and most dangerous phase. The convergence would draw in Voldemort's remaining soul fragments across whatever distance separated them, an unprecedented magical working that would strain both the ritual's design and Chris's own magical core.
"Fragmenta dispersa, audite vocatio mea," he began again, his voice resonating with power that seemed to come from beyond himself. "Per resonantiam animae corruptae, per vinculum magicae tenebrosae, convenite hic et nunc."
The outermost circle activated at last, golden light racing along the complex patterns of runes, creating a dome of energy that enclosed the entire ritual space. The ward stone's reddish glow intensified, pulsing like a heartbeat as it called to its kindred fragments. Chris felt the magic extend outward from the chamber, beyond Hogwarts' walls, through space itself, searching across Britain for the pieces of Voldemort's shattered soul.
"Diarium occultum, anulus avitus, monile nobilis, poculum pretiosum, diadema sapientiae," Chris named each Horcrux in turn, directing the seeking magic. "Fragmentum principale in hospite vivente. Omnes convenite, omnes conjungantur, omnes hic concludantur!"
The ward stone began to vibrate violently, its surface cracking slightly as it absorbed magical pressure beyond its design parameters. Small orbs of darkness appeared in the air around it, winking into existence as though tearing through the fabric of space itself. Five distinct manifestations, each representing a Horcrux answering the call of the ritual.
The first looked like liquid ink, swirling with malicious intent, the Diary. The second, oily smoke ringed with green, the Gaunt Ring. The third, a silvery mist that seemed to carry the echo of a heartbeat, the Locket. Fourth came a golden haze that clinked with phantom sound, the Cup. The fifth manifested as a blue-tinged cloud containing the whisper of forgotten wisdom, the Diadem.
Each manifestation circled the ward stone once before being absorbed, the obsidian growing darker and heavier with each addition, sinking closer to the floor despite the magic holding it aloft. The chamber trembled, dust falling from the ceiling as the building magical pressure threatened to exceed the ritual's containment.
Then came the surge that nearly brought Chris to his knees, a massive influx of energy as Voldemort's main soul fragment, the wraith attached to Quirrell, was wrenched across the distance and into the ritual space. Unlike the relatively smooth absorption of the Horcruxes, this fragment fought viciously, manifesting as a screaming vortex of darkness that lashed against the golden dome.
"Subjugate!" Chris shouted, abandoning the formal Latin as he poured every ounce of will into controlling the main fragment. "You will not escape this!"
The ward stone glowed white-hot, nearly blinding in its intensity as it finally pulled in the primary soul piece. The stone now appeared to contain a universe of darkness, far more power than should have been possible to house in an object of its size. The runes of the middle circle strained to contain the overflow, several of them burning out completely from the pressure.
With no time to waste, Chris began the final phase, his voice hoarse but determined.
"Purificatio absoluta, judicium ultimum," he intoned, drawing complex patterns with his wand that mirrored the outermost circle's design. "Malum eradicetur, corruptio sanetur, anima dissolvatur, energia transmutetur."
The golden dome contracted, pressing inward toward the ward stone with inexorable force. The conflicting energies created a hurricane-like effect within the chamber, wind whipping Chris's white hair around his face as he maintained the incantation. For ten long minutes he continued, repeating the purification chant as the golden light penetrated the ward stone, transforming the darkness within from black to gray to a clouded white.
Just as the ritual seemed to be reaching completion, something unexpected happened. A pressure unlike anything Chris had ever experienced descended upon the chamber, a weight that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. He staggered, nearly dropping his wand as the force pressed down upon him, squeezing the air from his lungs.
A voice, beautiful beyond description, melodious yet terrible in its power, spoke words he couldn't quite comprehend, the language itself seeming to exist beyond human understanding. The ward stone, now glowing pure white, suddenly shattered with a deafening crack, releasing not darkness but a sphere of liquid light that hovered in the air before Chris.
The sphere pulsed once, twice, growing brighter with each heartbeat. Chris tried to move, to raise some defense, but found himself frozen in place by the overwhelming pressure. The voice spoke again, closer now, almost comprehensible, and the sphere of light exploded outward.
Liquid energy engulfed Chris, not burning but soaking into him as though his very being were a sponge designed to absorb this power. It penetrated his skin, flowed through his veins, filled his lungs when he gasped in shock. His vision turned white, then gold, then impossibly purple before darkness claimed him. As consciousness fled, he felt himself falling, the stone floor rising to meet him as the ritual's magic finally released its hold.
Weightlessness came first, the sensation of floating in nothing, untethered from physical form. Then awareness expanded beyond the boundaries of self, and Chris opened eyes that weren't quite eyes to perceive a realm that wasn't quite a place. Endless white surrounded him, not the sterile white of hospital walls or the cold white of snow, but a living, breathing whiteness that seemed to contain all possibilities simultaneously. No horizon differentiated up from down, no shadows suggested depth or distance, yet the void felt neither confining nor infinite, it simply was.
A profound peace washed through him, calming the remnant panic from the ritual's unexpected conclusion. Here, in this timeless expanse, concepts like fear and urgency held no meaning. Chris looked down at himself, finding that he appeared as he wished to be seen, his true sixteen-year-old form, white hair flowing around him, though his body seemed slightly translucent, more suggestion than substance.
"Am I dead again?" he asked the void, his voice neither echoing nor falling flat but existing as pure thought given form. "Have I failed so quickly in my second chance?"
A ripple passed through the whiteness, like a stone disturbing a still pond, and a presence manifested before him. Not appearing suddenly, not forming gradually, but shifting from potential to actuality in a way human perception couldn't quite process. The figure shimmered golden, its form constantly shifting, sometimes appearing humanoid, sometimes geometric, occasionally resembling something cosmic and utterly alien, yet always maintaining a core essence that Chris recognized immediately.
"The One Above All," Chris whispered, feeling simultaneously insignificant and completely seen in the presence of the cosmic entity.
"Ah, my favorite reincarnated wizard!" The entity's voice resonated with humor and affection, its tone simultaneously casual and carrying the weight of universal understanding. "No, Chris, you're not dead. Consider this more of a... performance review meeting."
Chris felt a smile form despite himself. Even in the face of cosmic power, The One Above All maintained that curious blend of omnipotence and playfulness that had characterized their first meeting after his death in his previous life.
"Then the ritual worked? Voldemort is destroyed?"
"Completely and utterly!" The golden figure expanded briefly with enthusiasm, sending ripples of color through the white void. "That abomination had violated so many cosmic principles that his destruction has created quite the celebration across several planes of existence. Death, in particular, sends her regards, she's been quite annoyed about those soul fragments slipping through her fingers."
Relief flooded through Chris, a weight lifting that he hadn't fully acknowledged carrying. "Then it's over. The future I remembered won't happen."
"That particular timeline has been thoroughly derailed," The One Above All confirmed, its form settling momentarily into something almost human. "You've accomplished the primary objective of your reincarnation in record time. Most entities I give second chances to take decades to fix what went wrong. Though I will admit, I did forget to tell you to deal with all of that."
Chris smiled wryly at his comment but quickly moved past it. His thoughts returned to his final moments of consciousness during the ritual. "Just before I collapsed, I felt an immense pressure and heard a voice, was that you?"
The golden figure seemed to shake what might have been a head. "Not me, no. That was Mother Magic herself."
"Mother Magic?" Chris repeated, never having heard the term before.
"The sentient force from which all magical energy flows," The One Above All explained, its voice taking on a more reverent tone. "She rarely intervenes directly in mortal affairs, but what you did caught her attention. Voldemort's soul violations were an affront to her very nature."
The entity drifted closer, golden light swirling more rapidly. "You see, Merlin's warning about unforeseen consequences was absolutely correct. Destroying a soul typically incurs severe cosmic penalties, eternal punishment, karmic backlash, that sort of thing."
Chris felt a flutter of alarm. "Then I'm…"
"Getting a reward instead!" The One Above All finished cheerfully. "That's the unforeseen part. By destroying an already split soul, one that had violated the natural order, you did Mother Magic and Death a favor. The magical liquid that engulfed you? Pure magical essence, a gift directly from the source."
Chris looked down at his translucent form, trying to comprehend. "What does it do?"
"It's being absorbed into your body as we speak," the entity explained, gesturing with what momentarily appeared to be a hand. "It enhances and strengthens your soul, removing the upper limit of your magical potential. Think of it as upgrading from a copper cauldron to a diamond one, same contents, vastly improved container."
The One Above All's form expanded again, golden tendrils reaching out to gesture in the void where images formed briefly, Chris casting spells with unusual precision, magical energy flowing through him more efficiently than should be possible.
"Additionally, your magical core has been purified, though it won't fully mature until you're fifteen, with those rituals you're planning. This ensures balanced growth rather than a sudden power surge that would burn you out."
Chris processed this information slowly, understanding dawning. "So I've been given... greater magical potential?"
"Precisely!" The entity spun in apparent delight. "You'll still need to learn spells, practice techniques, all that mortal progression stuff. But your ceiling? Gone. Your efficiency? Dramatically improved. Your connection to magic itself? Direct line to the source."
The golden figure settled again, its tone becoming gentler. "You destroyed something that should never have existed, Chris. The reward is fitting, the potential to create magic as it was meant to be."
The whiteness around them began to pulse gently, suggesting their time was coming to an end. The One Above All's form grew slightly more distant, though no less bright.
"Now go enjoy your blessings. Keep being a positive force, Mother Magic rather likes you now, and trust me, that's a good friend to have." The entity made a gentle waving motion. "Live your life, Christopher Emrys. Be happy this time around."
The void began to fade, the whiteness dissolving into patches of gray and then darkness. Chris felt a pulling sensation, consciousness calling him back to his physical form. The last thing he heard was The One Above All's voice, fading but still warm:
"And do visit Susan's aunt this summer, the timeline could use a few more positive alterations in that direction!"
Then the void disappeared completely, and Chris began to stir back in the world of physical sensation and limited dimensions, his mind reaching for full awareness once more.
Pain arrived first, a dull throb at the base of his skull. Chris groaned, the stone floor cold and unyielding beneath his cheek, his limbs heavy as though he'd been running for hours. He blinked slowly, the ritual chamber coming into focus around him, familiar yet fundamentally altered, like a room viewed through water. The runes that had burned with silver, purple, and gold were now mere shadows etched into stone, their magic expended in the working that had changed everything.
He pushed himself to a sitting position, wincing as his muscles protested the movement. How long had he been unconscious? Minutes? Hours? The ritual chamber offered no clues, its windowless walls and magical illumination unchanged by the passage of time. Chris ran a hand through his hair, then paused, noticing it fell differently against his shoulders. He pulled a strand forward into his field of vision and found it longer than before, cascading nearly halfway down his back, the electric blue streaks more numerous and vibrant against the white.
His gaze moved to the ritual's remnants. The innermost circle where the silver orb had rested was scorched black, the metal container now a dull, lifeless thing split into jagged halves. The middle circle contained only dust and fragments of obsidian where the ward stone had shattered, its magical purpose fulfilled and exceeded. The outermost circle's complex runic patterns remained intact but inert, like the dead language of a long-forgotten civilization.
"It worked," Chris whispered, his voice rough. "It actually worked."
No trace remained of the liquid energy that had engulfed him, confirming The One Above All's words, it had been fully absorbed into his body. Chris touched his face, feeling no difference in his features but sensing something altered beneath the skin, a humming vibrancy that hadn't been there before.
He caught his reflection in a polished silver sconce on the wall – his sapphire eyes now constantly glowed with a subtle inner light, a clean, pure blue that suggested power held in perfect balance. Mother Magic's gift, manifesting physically.
Curiosity overwhelmed his lingering discomfort. Chris reached for his wand, which had rolled several feet away during his collapse. The moment his fingers closed around the Yggdrasil wood, a jolt of connection shot up his arm, far stronger than the familiar warmth he was accustomed to. The wand seemed to sing against his palm, resonating with his altered magical core as though greeting an old friend who had returned transformed.
"Lumos," Chris thought, not bothering with the verbal incantation or even the precise mental focus he normally employed for wordless casting.
Light blazed from the wand tip, brilliantly white and far more intense than he'd intended, momentarily blinding him and illuminating every corner of the ritual chamber. Chris winced, hastily adjusting his intent and magical output, and the light dimmed to a more reasonable glow. The spell had responded almost before the thought had fully formed, as though the magic now anticipated his desires rather than merely responding to them.
"Well, that's different," he murmured, extinguishing the light with a thought.
He tried again, this time with more deliberate control, focusing on producing a small, controlled flame hovering above his palm. The magic responded instantly, bypassing his wand entirely, a perfect ball of blue fire manifested in his hand, its temperature precisely what he'd envisioned. Wandless magic had never come this easily before, even with his considerable talent.
Chris extinguished the flame and stood slowly, testing his balance. Despite the physical exhaustion, his magical energy felt boundless, a deep well with no discernible bottom. The One Above All had spoken truly, his connection to magic itself had fundamentally changed, becoming more direct, more intuitive. He would need time to test the full extent of these changes, to relearn his limits, or perhaps discover there were now very few.
More important than his personal transformation, however, was what the ritual had accomplished. Voldemort's soul had been completely destroyed, not just the fragments hidden in Horcruxes, but the main piece that had possessed Quirrell. The Dark Lord's path to immortality had been severed permanently, his essence erased from all planes of existence.
"No resurrection ritual in the graveyard," Chris said aloud, ticking off future events that would now never occur. "No return of the Death Eaters. No Second Wizarding War. No Battle of Hogwarts."
Thousands of lives saved, countless tragedies averted. Harry freed from both the soul fragment and the prophecy. Britain Wizarding world spared from terror and eventual subjugation. The ripple effects would be enormous, altering not just the wizarding world but potentially the Muggle world as well, given how close Voldemort had come to exposing magic during his reign of terror.
Yet the immediate consequences would be more contained. Quirrell was certainly dead, his body unable to survive the violent extraction of Voldemort's possessing spirit. The Death Eaters who bore the Dark Mark would likely have felt something through their connection, pain, perhaps, or the sudden severing of the magical tether that bound them to their master. Snape, as a marked Death Eater still at Hogwarts, might be in the hospital wing now, suffering after-effects that Madam Pomfrey would struggle to diagnose.
Chris moved to the altar and picked up the split remains of the silver orb, now just ordinary metal with no magical properties. He had expected to feel something more, perhaps triumph or excitement, at having accomplished his primary mission so much sooner than anticipated. Instead, a quiet certainty settled over him, the satisfaction of a task completed thoroughly and well.
"What now?" he asked the empty chamber.
The answer came easily. Now he would live, truly live, in this second chance he'd been granted. Protect those he cared about, build alliances that would reshape magical Britain more gradually but no less significantly, and eventually reveal his true heritage to select few who could be trusted with the knowledge.
Chris glanced around the ritual chamber one final time, taking in the evidence of what he'd accomplished, then turned toward the door. His body demanded rest, a proper sleep to recover from the magical exertion and to allow Mother Magic's gift to fully integrate with his system. Tomorrow would be soon enough to observe the fallout from Voldemort's destruction and to begin adapting to his enhanced abilities.
He closed the ritual chamber door behind him and made his way through his trunk's comfortable sitting room, up the wooden stairs, and finally into his Hufflepuff dormitory bedroom. His four-poster bed had never looked more inviting. Chris fell onto it fully clothed, his glamour charms temporarily forgotten as exhaustion claimed him, carrying him into a dreamless sleep untainted by visions of dark futures or lost pasts.
Morning light streamed through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, dappling the Hufflepuff table with patches of golden warmth. Chris buttered his toast with methodical precision, his movements deliberate as he adjusted to the enhanced awareness flowing through him. Four days had passed since the ritual, four days of careful practice behind his bed curtains, learning to temper his magic's newfound eagerness to respond to his every thought. The glamour that maintained his eleven-year-old appearance now required a fraction of his previous concentration, settling around him like a second skin he could almost forget he wore.
"You're awfully quiet this morning," Susan observed, her red-blonde hair caught in a practical braid that swung forward as she leaned toward him. "Still fighting that cold?"
The "cold" had been his excuse for spending two days in self-imposed isolation, a necessary recovery period while he adapted to Mother Magic's gift. Even now, the heightened sensitivity made the Great Hall an exercise in careful filtering, magic saturated everything at Hogwarts, from the floating candles overhead to the enchanted silverware that resisted tarnishing, and Chris could now sense it all with distracting clarity.
"Much better," he replied with a smile, reaching for his pumpkin juice. "Just thinking about Professor Flitwick's essay on Illumination Charms."
Hannah, seated across from them, looked up from her color-coded revision schedule. "I've already outlined mine in three sections, historical development, practical applications, and magical theory." Her quill tapped against parchment that contained more ink than empty space. "Susan and I could help you with yours this afternoon if you'd like."
Before Chris could respond, a wave of excited whispers swept through the hall, starting at the Ravenclaw table and rippling outward. He turned slightly, tracking the source of the disturbance to a fifth-year prefect who appeared to be sharing news with increasing animation.
"...completely gone, packed up everything..." fragments of conversation reached them as the gossip spread from table to table.
Susan raised an eyebrow. "What's happening?"
A Hufflepuff fourth-year leaned toward their section of the table, eager to share the latest information. "It's Professor Quirrell – he's left Hogwarts! Apparently, he sent an owl to Dumbledore saying there was a family emergency, but Jacob's brother works in the Ministry mail room, and he says there's been no record of Quirrell for days. Just vanished!"
Chris maintained a carefully neutral expression while reaching for another piece of toast. "That's strange. Who'll teach Defense now?"
The fourth-year shrugged. "Dumbledore, probably, until they find a replacement. Though my money's on them just canceling the class, not like we learned anything useful anyway." He turned back to his friends, already speculating about potential replacements for the remaining term.
Hannah looked concerned. "Poor Professor Quirrell. I hope his family is alright."
"I doubt it's actually a family emergency," Susan said skeptically. "Did you notice how he was getting more twitchy lately? My aunt says Defense professors often crack under the pressure, that position hasn't kept anyone longer than a year for decades."
Chris sipped his juice, hiding a smile behind the goblet. Quirrell hadn't left on family business or cracked under pressure, his body had likely been found in his quarters, abandoned by Voldemort's soul during the ritual. The official story would be constructed carefully, the truth concealed from students and most staff. Only Dumbledore might suspect something more had occurred, though even he wouldn't be able to trace the magic back to Chris.
Another ripple of conversation caught his attention, this one focused on the staff table, where Snape's usual seat remained conspicuously empty.
"...third day in the hospital wing," a Hufflepuff sixth-year was saying. "Poisoned himself with his own experimental potion, according to my cousin in Slytherin. They say his magic went haywire and shattered every glass container in his private lab."
Ah, so the Dark Mark connection had affected Snape as Chris predicted. Magical backlash from Voldemort's destruction, likely manifesting differently for each Death Eater depending on their level of connection to their former master. Snape would recover, but the experience would leave traces, perhaps even benefiting the bitter man by cleansing some of Voldemort's lingering influence from his magical signature.
"Potions is canceled until he recovers," the sixth-year continued with obvious delight. "Might be the whole week if we're lucky."
Chris turned his attention back to Susan and Hannah, who had already moved on to discussing their plans for the day's free period. The confirmation of his success settled over him like a comfortable weight, mission accomplished, future altered, Voldemort's threat eliminated permanently. What would have been years of gradual darkness gathering over the wizarding world had been prevented with a single, complex ritual.
The path forward appeared clearer now. Without the looming threat of Voldemort's return, Chris could focus on other aspects of his long-term plans, building alliances, exploring the magical world or creating new magic.
But those were concerns for later months and years. For now, Chris allowed himself to simply be present in this moment, to enjoy breakfast with friends who accepted him as the extraordinary but relatively normal boy he presented himself to be. The weight of imminent catastrophe had lifted, replaced by possibilities that stretched out before him like an unwritten page.
"We should visit the greenhouses during free period," he suggested, interrupting Susan's debate with Hannah about the most efficient revision technique for Transfiguration. "Professor Sprout mentioned the Bouncing Bulbs would be replanted today. Could be useful for our Herbology essay."
Susan's eyes lit up. "Excellent idea! We could sketch the root systems while they're exposed."
"I'll bring my color-coded tags," Hannah added enthusiastically. "We can mark the different growth stages."
Chris smiled, allowing himself to fall into the rhythm of normal student concerns. He had lived two lives and altered the course of magical history, but there was something refreshingly satisfying about simply being a Hufflepuff first-year contemplating Herbology homework with friends.
"Pass the marmalade?" Susan asked, and Chris did, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange.
Simple moments, he thought. These were what he had saved, what made all the complexity worthwhile. And now, with his primary mission accomplished, he could begin truly living this second chance he'd been granted.