John shook his head slowly.
“What Molly did went far beyond simple manipulation.”
His expression darkened as he turned another page in the file.
“The so-called Potions Queen wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance.”
Harry felt a growing sense of dread.
“She brewed a loyalty potion specifically keyed to Ronald Bilius and instructed him to begin dosing you from the very first day of your friendship.”
For a moment, Harry simply stared.
John continued mercilessly.
“When Ronald eventually informed her that you had formed a close friendship with Hermione Jean following the troll incident during your first Halloween at Hogwarts, Molly was furious.”
“Why?” Harry asked quietly.
“Because he waited too long to tell her.”
John snorted.
“The boy didn’t mention it until just before Christmas.”
Harry felt sick.
“Molly immediately ordered him to make sure the two of you never became close in a romantic sense.”
The words landed like a physical blow.
“And not just Hermione,” John added.
“Any girl.”
Silence filled the office.
“The irony is that Ronald nearly failed.”
Harry frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“By the time he attempted to drive a wedge between you and Hermione, genuine affection had already begun forming.”
For the first time since entering the office, John’s tone softened slightly.
“It looked as though you might finally break free of the Weasleys’ influence.”
Harry blinked.
“You were watching?”
John barked a humorless laugh.
“Watching? Harry, entire departments were celebrating.”
The grim reaper leaned back.
“You have no idea how excited everyone was.”
Then his expression soured.
“Unfortunately, Ronald followed his mother’s instructions and administered an exceptionally strong loyalty potion.”
The amusement vanished.
“And you accepted him back.”
Harry lowered his head.
“Again.”
John sighed.
“And our celebration ended.”
He flipped another page.
“Things escalated after your third year.”
Harry looked up.
“Why then?”
“Because other girls began noticing you.”
John raised an eyebrow.
“And more importantly, you began noticing them.”
A faint look of annoyance crossed his face.
“Molly recognized the danger immediately.”
“The danger?”
“Competition.”
Harry grimaced.
“That summer, at the Burrow, she began gathering hair samples.”
His stomach dropped.
“Mine?”
“Yours.”
John pointed at another line.
“And Hermione’s.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
“Molly started administering a love potion keyed to Ronald Bilius through Hermione’s food.”
Harry’s jaw tightened.
“She simultaneously dosed Ronald with a matching potion keyed to Hermione.”
Another pause.
“And she dosed you with one keyed to Ginevra Molly.”
Harry closed his eyes.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear any more.
John ignored his discomfort.
“That wasn’t all.”
Of course it wasn’t.
“She also created repulsion potions.”
Harry slowly reopened his eyes.
“Repulsion potions?”
John nodded.
“One was keyed to you.”
Another page turned.
“The other to Hermione.”
Understanding slowly dawned.
“So if someone…”
“Expressed romantic interest.”
John finished the sentence.
“The attraction would never have a chance to develop properly.”
Harry stared at the desk.
“Ginny distributed them?”
“Among others.”
John nodded.
“She delivered the love potions to you, Ronald, and Hermione.”
His expression became colder.
“And she distributed repulsion potions to several potential rivals.”
“Daphne.”
“Yes.”
Harry swallowed.
“And Cho.”
John nodded again.
“Along with a few others.”
The room seemed suddenly smaller.
“By the beginning of your fourth year,” John continued, “you had been consuming a loyalty potion for nearly three years.”
Another finger rose.
“A love potion keyed to Ginny.”
A second finger.
“And repulsion potions designed to sabotage specific relationships.”
A third.
John stared at him.
“Frankly, it’s remarkable your brain still functioned.”
Harry winced.
“As it was, the combined effects severely impaired your judgment.”
A pause.
“Honestly, it’s surprising Riddle didn’t kill you during the Third Task.”
Harry rubbed his forehead.
The more he learned, the less his memories made sense.
John allowed him a few seconds before continuing.
“Then came the Horcrux Hunt.”
Harry immediately looked up.
“Ron.”
“Exactly.”
John nodded.
“Following direct orders from his mother, reinforced through a rune-based compulsion charm, Ronald brought additional potions with him.”
Harry’s expression darkened.
“The supply wasn’t unlimited.”
John shook his head.
“He carried enough for a little over two months.”
“And when he ran out?”
“He panicked.”
The answer came immediately.
“He abandoned the hunt and returned to the Burrow.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed.
“Not because of food.”
“No.”
John’s voice was flat.
“He needed more potions.”
The realization hit harder than Harry expected.
“When he found Molly, she already had replacements prepared.”
The grim reaper closed the folder briefly.
“Unfortunately for him, by the time he returned to your campsite, you and Hermione had already moved on.”
Harry remembered those weeks.
The unusual clarity.
The feeling that a fog had finally lifted from his mind.
John seemed to notice the realization crossing his face.
“Exactly.”
Harry didn’t answer.
“He eventually used the Deluminator left by Albus to track you down.”
John glanced at the file.
“Shortly before Christmas.”
Harry nodded slowly.
“But he delayed approaching.”
“Why?”
John rolled his eyes.
“Because there was a Christmas feast waiting at Bill and Fleur’s cottage.”
Harry stared.
John merely shrugged.
“The day after Christmas, he located you both and resumed dosing you.”
The office fell silent again.
Then John’s expression became even grimmer.
“And finally…”
Harry felt his chest tighten.
“The last alteration.”
The memory immediately surfaced.
The Entrance Hall.
The battle.
Ron approaching him.
Tears in his eyes.
Hermione.
Dead.
Harry nodded sadly.
John’s hand slammed onto the desk.
“He lied.”
Harry jerked upright.
“What?”
“He lied.”
The words came out as a snarl.
“Hermione Jean Granger was very much alive.”
For a moment Harry forgot how to breathe.
“No…”
“Yes.”
John’s eyes blazed with irritation.
“He correctly assumed Hermione would follow you into the Forest.”
Harry knew she would have.
Without hesitation.
Without question.
“So he prevented it.”
The room suddenly felt cold.
“How?”
John’s expression turned disgusted.
“He stunned her.”
Harry froze.
“Bound her.”
His hands clenched.
“And locked her inside a broom cupboard beneath a Notice-Me-Not Charm.”
Harry’s face went pale.
“When he found you in the Entrance Hall, he told you she was dead.”
The memory now felt distorted.
Wrong.
“Then he cast a compulsion charm.”
Harry stared.
“A what?”
“A compulsion charm.”
John’s voice remained calm.
“He pushed you toward the Forest.”
Toward Voldemort.
Toward death.
“Why?”
The answer came immediately.
“To remove you from the equation.”
Harry’s stomach twisted.
John’s eyes hardened.
“His plan was simple.”
A pause.
“You die.”
Another.
“He comforts Hermione.”
Another.
“And eventually positions himself as the grieving friend who is always there for her.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ironically, John continued, Ronald had unknowingly ruined his mother’s long-term plans.
“By removing you, he sabotaged Molly’s strategy regarding Ginny.”
Harry barely heard him.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Everything he thought he knew felt shattered.
“Worse still,” John continued, “their interference didn’t merely affect your future.”
He tapped the folder.
“They disrupted the plans of the Fates themselves.”
Harry looked up weakly.
“The plans for you.”
Another tap.
“Hermione Jean.”
And another.
“Daphne Anna.”
The grim reaper’s expression darkened.
“And Peter is not pleased.”
Harry blinked.
“I…”
He struggled to gather his thoughts.
“I don’t understand.”
“Peter?”
John waved dismissively.
“Of course Peter.”
Then he frowned.
“You ask that every time.”
Harry stared.
“Every time?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never met you before.”
John’s scowl returned instantly.
“And that right there is exactly why I’m furious.”
He leaned forward.
“At you.”
A finger pointed.
“At Albus.”
Another.
“At Molly.”
Another.
“Ginny.”
Another.
“And Ronald.”
Harry sat frozen.
Slowly, John opened the folder once more.
“The truth is that we’ve already had this conversation.”
Harry frowned.
“What?”
John met his eyes.
“Five times.”
The words echoed through the office.
“This is the sixth.”
Harry’s jaw dropped.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
John’s expression remained completely serious.
“You’ve already experienced five UDEs.”
Harry blinked.
“I’m sorry… what exactly is a UDE?”
“Unauthorized Death Event.”
The answer was immediate.
Harry felt his stomach drop.
“The next one will be permanent.”
John’s voice carried an uncomfortable certainty.
“There’s a reason seven is considered a magical number.”
Harry struggled to process everything.
“Wait.”
He shook his head.
“Are you telling me I’ve already died five times?”
John nodded firmly.
“Exactly.”
Harry stared at him.
“When?”
Without a word, John flipped to another section of the file.
“The first occurred on December twenty-fifth, nineteen eighty-seven.”
Harry frowned.
“I was seven.”
“Correct.”
John glanced down.
“Your cousin tripped you on the stairs.”
Harry blinked.
“Dudley?”
“Yes.”
John continued reading.
“You fell headfirst down the staircase and broke your neck.”
The words were disturbingly matter-of-fact.
“Death was nearly instantaneous.”
Harry swallowed hard.
“We reversed the event by one hour and reinserted you into the timeline.”
Harry wasn’t sure how to respond.
John moved on.
“Your second UDE occurred on June fourth, nineteen ninety-two.”
The giant chessboard.
Harry immediately remembered.
“Ronald forgot he was playing with living people instead of game pieces.”
John’s tone was unimpressed.
“One enchanted chess piece struck you in the head with a mace.”
Harry winced.
“A three-hour backstep corrected that one.”
John turned another page.
“Your third unauthorized death occurred on May twenty-ninth, nineteen ninety-three.”
The Chamber.
“The basilisk.”
John nodded.
“You made eye contact before Fawkes blinded it.”
Harry shuddered.
“Two-hour backstep.”
Another page.
“Your fourth occurred on November sixth, nineteen ninety-three.”
The Quidditch match.
The Dementors.
Harry immediately knew.
“You fell from your broom.”
“Correct.”
John closed the folder.
“One-hour backstep.”
Then he looked directly into Harry’s eyes.
“And we’re still not finished.”