In His World

The silence after his words stretched long. Marvolo’s knowing smile faded into something unreadable, his red eyes lingering on Harry with calm intensity. The parchment on the desk glowed faintly where Harry had signed it. Hadrian James Slytherin. The name shimmered in gold ink, sealed by ancient magic—final, official. Harry stared at it like it might bite him. It still didn’t feel real. “You should eat,” he said calmly. “There’s no sense in starving yourself in that room. Come—join me in the dining hall.” Harry blinked. “Now?” “You’ll need to get used to the manor eventually,” Marvolo replied. “It’s not a prison. And you shouldn’t treat your bedroom like a cell.” Harry hesitated, then finally pushed himself to his feet. His legs were steady, but everything inside him still felt like shattered glass. “I don’t think I’m ready for... normal,” he admitted. Marvolo paused at the door, then glanced back at him. “Then don’t treat it as normal,” he said. “Think of it as orientation. Walk the halls. Learn the house. Learn the patterns. Observe. Understand—it will be your home from now on. Make it personal. Don’t just be here.” Harry followed, slower, his thoughts spiraling with each step. He was walking through a manor with Voldemort. No—Marvolo. Same soul, different world. Different rules. And now, Harry had a new name. A new identity. A new role he hadn’t asked for. They walked together in silence. The corridors stretched long and quiet, lit by floating candles in iron sconces. Harry kept glancing at his reflection in the high windows—half-expecting to see someone else. Someone stronger. Or maybe someone who still looked like Harry Potter, not this hollow version pretending to be Hadrian Slytherin. Hadrian. The name still felt too large for him, like robes he hadn’t grown into. Too elegant. Too distant. It didn’t feel like the boy who’d slept in a cupboard or fought in a graveyard. It felt like a name for someone important. Someone clean. Someone who didn’t exist. They entered the dining room. The ceiling was vaulted and arched like a cathedral’s, pale morning light pouring through long vertical windows. The table was long and made of dark wood, polished to a mirror finish. At one end, a plate was already set for him. Toast. Eggs. Fruit. It felt wrong to see something so normal here. Harry sat slowly. Nibs appeared with a pop, set down a cup of tea, and vanished again. Marvolo took his seat across from him, as if this were routine—as if this were just another morning. Harry stared down at the food but didn’t touch it right away. Marvolo didn’t comment. He simply sipped his tea and let the silence stretch. Finally, Harry spoke. “My wand. Where is it?” Marvolo looked up, folding the newspaper shut. “It wasn’t with you when I found you. You had no possessions at all.” Harry’s fingers tightened slightly around his napkin. “Oh.” The absence of it hurt more than he’d expected. His wand had always been a part of him—a link to magic, yes, but also to the life he’d built. The battles he’d fought. The people he loved. How had he not asked sooner? He glanced down at his empty hands, then back at the delicate teacup on the table. So fragile. So ordinary. “I can’t remember not having it,” he murmured. “It was just... always there.” His voice turned quieter, almost ashamed. “I should’ve asked earlier. I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe… maybe because everything’s been so still here. So quiet.” He swallowed. “It’s like my instincts fell asleep.” Marvolo watched him for a long moment. Not judging—just observing. “We’ll retrieve a new one,” he said at last. “From Ollivander’s. You’ll need one eventually.” Harry looked up. “You’ll come with me?” “Of course,” Marvolo said. “You can see the outside world with your own eyes—but only for a short while. We’ll have to be quick.” Harry frowned. “So what happens if I stay outside too long?” “You might begin to fade. It would start small—tiredness, dizziness. But eventually, the world will start forgetting you. People will look through you. Objects won’t react to your touch. Magic will ignore you. You’ll unravel, piece by piece.” The way he said it was clinical. Almost bored. But there was something sharp under the surface, something concerned, maybe—but Harry couldn’t trust it. Not yet. “Right,” he muttered. “So I can go out, but not far. And not for long.” Marvolo leaned back slightly in his chair. “Precisely. We can make the wand trip brief. But you’ll need to choose a day for the ritual soon.” Harry’s stomach twisted. “I need time.” “You don’t have it.” “I just need a few days,” Harry pressed, almost pleading. “To think. To understand everything. To breathe.” He met Marvolo’s gaze, his own eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “I’m not ready to become someone else overnight” Marvolo didn’t answer right away. His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted—like a man bracing for impact. He set his cup down with quiet precision. “No one is,” he said finally. “But Hadrian Slytherin will be ready.” He paused, then added, voice low and measured, “Because if he isn’t—you won’t survive long enough to find yourself.” He leaned back slightly, shoulders tense. Then, slowly, he sighed—not in frustration, but something quieter. Older. Like he was tired of repeating this truth, even if he’d never said it aloud before. “You may have one day,” he said. “Two at most. But no more.” His fingers tapped once, lightly, against the table’s edge. “The longer you remain untethered, the more unstable the magic around you becomes. And the wards protecting this place—they will begin to fail.” He looked directly at Harry now, his tone like a cold thread weaving through the air. “Magic recognizes balance, Harry. You are unbalanced.” Harry stared down at his tea, the surface rippling slightly from his trembling hand. “One day,” he echoed quietly. “One day to grieve the life I lost before I have to become someone I don’t know how to be.” Marvolo didn’t answer immediately. For a moment, there was only the distant ticking of a clock. Then he said, with something close to finality: “You are not becoming someone else. You are adapting.” Harry didn’t respond. He took a bite of toast, though he barely tasted it. He wasn’t the Boy Who Lived anymore. But he still wanted to live. Even if it meant doing so under a name that wasn’t his. Yet.   Later that night, Harry stood before a mirror in the room that was now “his.” He looked at the document again, now magically sealed. Hadrian James Slytherin. He repeated it aloud. It didn’t sound like him. But maybe, just maybe, it could help him survive. And for now—survival was enough.