In His World

Harry felt exhausted, even though he was sure he had slept more than he ever had that year while hunting Horcruxes. Voldemort had left after his final words, and he was alone in a room that wasn’t his—hell, in a world that, if Voldemort’s claim was true, wasn’t his at all. And he believed it was true—because no way would his Voldemort ever suggest something like that. The Voldemort Harry knew was too dedicated to kill him, not offer him a strange “marriage” deal. He dropped his head onto the pillow, thoughts swirling. What about his friends? Were they safe? Had they won? Were they even still alive? So many questions, so much unknown. His mind refused to rest. Memories came crashing in—relentless and raw. He remembered the faces of his friends: Ron, Hermione… Would they remember him? He wondered if they had made it, if they were safe, if they were even searching for him now. A sharp pain settled in his chest—not just the ache of loss, but the terrifying loneliness of being utterly and completely alone. Here, in this strange place, he was a ghost. The boy who should have been remembered, loved, fought for—was forgotten. Tears he didn’t know he was holding back finally spilled over, hot and bitter. He cried for the life ripped away from him, for the family he would never hold again, for the friends he might never see. The boy who survived was now a boy who had lost everything. How could he bear it? How could he live in this world after everything that happened to him in his own? After he had to leave his friends alone to deal with that monster—even though the Horcruxes were destroyed—was there even a point? And yet, beneath the grief, a flicker of something stubborn refused to die—the spark that had kept him alive through all the darkness before. He was Harry Potter. He had survived. And somehow, against all odds, he would find a way to survive again. Suddenly, with a sharp clap, a small figure appeared—a house elf. He bowed low and said, “Master’s servant at your service. I am Nibs.” Without waiting for a response, the elf disappeared briefly and then returned, placing a tray of food on the table near the bed. “Master commanded me to bring this to his fiancé!” Harry barely had time to respond before Nibs vanished again, but the food appeared on the table near the bed. Fiancé? Harry’s mind went back to Voldemort’s offer. He hesitated. He wasn’t the impulsive kid rushing into danger anymore—the war had changed him. Was it funny? At just seventeen, claiming the war had changed him. Yet it had. He was no longer the boy who blindly believed in everything—good and bad, light and dark—especially after the betrayal of the director himself. He stopped the thought. No, he didn’t want to think about it now. It wouldn’t change anything. Everything he had to do, he already did. He needed to stop sulking. He was Harry Potter—the boy who survived. And he was going to survive again. But first, he was going to see everything with his own eyes. Harry looked around the room. It was a normal manor room, certainly larger and grander than any he’d seen before. Basic furniture, tasteful but cold. Nothing inviting. The food caught his attention again. He was hungry. He got up from the bed and realized his body was definitely healed—he didn’t feel any pain anymore. The meal tasted surprisingly good, especially after months of meager rations while living in a tent. After finishing, Harry decided to leave the room. He hoped the door wasn’t locked—he didn’t have his wand, and he needed to talk to Voldemort.  His hand touched the door handle—and to his surprise, it opened. The hallway beyond was long and dark. There were no moving portraits like in Hogwarts, no familiar faces watching. This was nothing like Malfoy Manor. And it wasn’t the Gaunt house either. Cautiously, Harry stepped forward, beginning to explore the manor—the home of this world’s Voldemort. No, Marvolo. The idea of calling him anything else felt... wrong. But maybe it was necessary. This man wasn’t the snake-faced killer from his nightmares, he was someone different, whom he had yet to get know.