Arrival at Hogwarts

Harry sat comfortably in the Hogwarts Express, the gentle hum of the train soothing his mind as he listened to Daphne, Tracey, and Hermione recount their summer vacations. They were sitting close, as usual, leaning in toward him with an ease that spoke of how well they had come to know each other.

"Harry, you wouldn't believe it," Hermione said, her eyes bright as she described her trip to France. "The libraries there are unbelievable. So much history. You would've loved it!"

Tracey, who had spent her summer in the countryside, chuckled. "Oh, come on, Hermione. As if Harry would spend his vacation in a library."

Daphne smirked. "Well, maybe not entirely in a library, but you do seem to have a knack for finding trouble, Harry."

They addressed him by that name—Harry—and although he had heard it a thousand times before, today it sounded… different. He had always known himself as Harry Potter to others, but inside, he still thought of himself as Toji Zenin. The ruthless sorcerer killer, the man who had no cursed energy but mastered everything else to become an unstoppable force. He hadn't cared much about the dichotomy before, but today, hearing the girls speak to him as Harry stirred something deep in his mind.

Am I really Harry Potter?

It was a question he hadn't given much weight to. For so long, his past as Toji Zenin had felt distant, like another life altogether, one filled with brutal punishments, trauma, and survival against impossible odds. But now, in this life, he had everything—power, knowledge, respect… and love. Had he softened? Had becoming Harry Potter made him weak?

He shrugged internally. I'll figure it out later.

But the thought lingered. He wasn't Harry because of blood or legacy—he was Harry by choice, by circumstance. That realization didn't bother him; in fact, it felt liberating. He could be both. He could have the ruthless edge of Toji Zenin and still live this life as Harry Potter.

The conversation continued, lighthearted, until suddenly the train jerked to a halt. The temperature in the cabin dropped, frost forming on the windows. The lights dimmed, flickering.

"Why is it so cold?" Hermione murmured, pulling her robes tighter around her.

The girls were less affected by the chill, their bodies conditioned from their constant training alongside Harry. Still, something felt wrong.

The door to their compartment slid open, and a figure draped in a tattered black cloak glided inside. A Dementor.

Harry felt an immediate shift in the air as if the very essence of the creature drained the warmth and happiness from the world. His vision blurred for a moment, and without warning, memories he hadn't thought of in years came crashing down—memories from both of his lives.

He was back in the Zenin curse pit, barely surviving the torturous punishment for lacking cursed energy. He could feel the searing pain, the harsh lessons, the beatings, all aimed at forcing him to survive or perish. He remembered leaving it all behind, abandoning the Zenin name and carving his own path.

And then, another wave hit him—his past as Harry Potter. The Dursleys, their neglect, and the constant belittlement. The loneliness of living in a cupboard under the stairs. The isolation, even after discovering he was a wizard. He had buried these memories deep, but now they swirled with the pain of his former life as Toji, merging into a single, nightmarish storm.

You've become soft, a voice sneered in his mind, but he pushed back against it. No. He had gained strength. He was strong. He was no longer Toji Zenin, but he wasn't just Harry Potter either. He was something more.

The memories shifted again, and suddenly Harry snapped back to reality, his body moving instinctively. His arm stretched out, shielding the girls from the Dementor's chill. His mind worked swiftly, and in a flash, he cast his Patronus.

But this time, it wasn't just a stag.

The silvery figure that emerged was a sword—sharp, gleaming, and brimming with a strange absorption-like power. The Dementor recoiled, as if sensing that this Patronus wasn't like the others.

The blade cut through the Dementor with a graceful arc, slicing the creature clean in two. A shiver ran through the air as the Dementor dissolved into nothingness, absorbed into the silvery sword before fading into a puff of mist.

Harry exhaled. He felt a rush of clarity, as if the act of manifesting his Patronus in this way had granted him resistance to the Dementor's influence. A weight had lifted off his shoulders. He was no longer affected by these creatures in the same way.

The girls were staring at him, wide-eyed but trusting.

"What… was that?" Daphne asked breathlessly, her hand resting on Harry's arm.

"A Dementor," Harry said quietly, sheathing his wand. "They feed on fear and despair. And Sirius Black is on the loose—he's why they're here. But don't worry, we're safe. I am safe."

Hermione, frowning, shook her head. "But how can you be so sure, Harry?"

He gave her a small, confident smile. "Because I've already made sure of it."

When the train finally reached Hogwarts, the usual buzz of excitement in the Great Hall was tempered by the chilling announcement Dumbledore gave during the start-of-term speech. He confirmed that Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban, and as such, Dementors would be stationed around the castle. But Harry barely listened. He had more important things to think about.

As he sat down with his friends, students around him still buzzing about the Dementors and the escape of Sirius Black, Harry couldn't help but notice the appreciative looks some of the younger professors were giving him—particularly Sprout and Sinistra. They smiled as if they knew something the rest didn't. Sinistra licked her lips almost unconsciously, though, with the feast in front of them, most students assumed it was hunger for the food. But Harry wasn't oblivious. He caught the glint in their eyes.

Interesting.

After the feast, the students began filtering out of the Great Hall, heading to their dormitories, but Harry was intercepted by the professors.

"Harry, if you would follow us for a moment," Professor McGonagall said. Her voice was firm, but her expression was softer than usual.

Harry nodded, glancing at the girls. "I'll catch up with you."

Daphne raised a brow, but nodded. "Don't be too long."

In the staff room, the professors sat with Harry, and he could see the weight of concern etched on their faces. But there was something else, too—curiosity, and a glimmer of respect that hadn't been there before.

"We wanted to ask about your article," Professor McGonagall began, her eyes sharp. "The one about Sirius Black's escape. You left… certain clues that only those with knowledge of Hogwarts and the incident would understand."

Harry's gaze flickered briefly between the professors. They were intelligent; they'd pieced it together.

"Sirius Black didn't kill those Muggles," Harry said calmly, his voice steady and sure. "Peter Pettigrew did."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Professor Flitwick, but no one interrupted.

"The murders Sirius was accused of? It doesn't make sense. For him to have blown up those Muggles and left only a finger of his target behind... that kind of precision magic doesn't exist, not yet. But Peter was an Animagus. He cut off his own finger, transformed, and fled."

Dumbledore nodded slightly, as if considering Harry's words with more gravity than the others. "And you are certain of this?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "Sirius is innocent. I have proof. But we need to be cautious. The Ministry has already made a mess of things, and revealing the truth too soon will only complicate matters."

The professors exchanged glances. McGonagall was the first to speak.

"If what you're saying is true… then we need to be prepared for the fallout."

Harry leaned back, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Don't worry. I already have everything prepared."