Harry Potter: Multiverse Maelstorm: Chapter 3: Alliances and Arrogance

Ron’s blunt assessment hung in the air, a sentiment echoed in the expressions of nearly everyone present. A git. An absolute, unmitigated git. The silence that followed was heavy, not with confusion anymore, but with a shared, simmering disgust. Harry felt a strange, chilling disconnect; he had just witnessed the desecration of his own memories, the mockery of his pain, and the arrogant twisting of his identity. It was like watching a stranger wear his face in a badly acted play.

"Well," Jack said, breaking the quiet with a clap of his hands that made several people jump. "That was... an introduction. I see you're all getting a feel for our protagonist." He gestured to the screen, which was already beginning to glow again. "He's just getting started. The journey to Hogwarts is a pivotal moment for any young witch or wizard. A time for new friendships, new discoveries..." He trailed off, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Or, in this case, political maneuvering and contractual obligations. Let's see how our new 'Harry' handles the Hogwarts Express."

The screen brightened, displaying a bustling, steam-filled vision of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express stood proud and waiting.

<Chapter 2 Start>

September 1st! I took the floo to the station ten minutes before eleven and boarded the train I passed several empty compartments, so Ronny was on a mission to be my sidekick, I passed a compartment with a blond and a black-haired girl in it, I thought why not? It is better than spending time with a fanboy. Some fiction made him gay and crushing on me…

The collective groan from the Weasley section of the room was audible. Ron’s ears turned a shade of crimson that clashed violently with his hair.

"Sidekick?!" he sputtered, his voice cracking with indignation. "I wasn't on a 'mission'! I was just a kid looking for a place to sit, hoping maybe I'd meet Harry Potter! I wanted a friend, not... not to be a sidekick!" He looked over at the real Harry, his expression a mixture of hurt and fierce loyalty. "We're best mates, not... not a hero and his bloody fanboy!"

"Of course you are, Ronnie," Molly soothed, though her eyes were shooting daggers at the screen. To hear her son's genuine offer of friendship, one of the most important moments of his young life, twisted into something so demeaning was infuriating.

"He's bringing up that disgusting lie again," Hermione said, her brow furrowed in anger. "Why is he so obsessed with this? It's cruel."

"It's a narrative device," Jack supplied, his tone clinical. "In some of these 'fan fictions', a common trope is to diminish or outright villainize one of the main character's canon friends to make the protagonist seem more independent or to elevate a different character as a 'better' friend. It's a phenomenon known as 'bashing'." He waved a hand, and the screen briefly showed a diagram of a stick figure labeled 'Protagonist' kicking another stick figure labeled 'Canon Best Friend' off a pedestal. "It's lazy writing, used to avoid the challenge of developing complex relationships."

"Lazy and malicious," Arthur Weasley muttered, putting a comforting arm around his son. "Ron, you pay that screen no mind. Your friendship with Harry is worth more than a thousand of these... 'fictions'."

Harry nodded emphatically. "He's right, mate. You're my brother, not my sidekick. This bloke on the screen is a complete tosser." The words, though simple, seemed to restore some of the colour to Ron's face.

I knocked on the door, when one of them let me enter the compartment, I asked: "Do you ladies mind that I travel with you? My name is Harry Potter." Of course! If you are famous you have to use that. The girls looked at each other, the blond pretty one answered: "You may Heir Potter, My name is Heir Primary Greengrass, and this is Heiress secondary Davis." Ok… I am kissing hands here. Not the proper way it seems.

As the names were spoken, two eleven-year-old girls in crisp new Hogwarts robes flickered into existence near the back of the room. One was blonde, with an aristocratic, cool demeanor even at that young age. The other had dark hair and a more openly curious expression. They looked around, bewildered by the strange room and the even stranger assembly of people.

Almost simultaneously, two couples in expensive, traditional wizarding robes appeared beside them. Lord and Lady Greengrass, and Lord and Lady Davis. They were the picture of pureblood nobility: composed, analytical, and radiating an aura of quiet power.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Greengrass demanded, his voice a low baritone that commanded attention. His eyes, a cool grey, swept the room, taking in Dumbledore, the Malfoys, and the Dark Lord with equal, measured composure.

"Welcome, newcomers," Jack said cheerfully. "You've been summoned to observe an alternate reality. Please, take a seat. You're just in time to see your daughters engage in some rather... proactive social networking."

He gestured to the screen, and the new arrivals, though deeply confused, turned their attention to the events unfolding.

"Heir Primary? Heiress Secondary?" Lucius Malfoy drawled, a condescending smirk on his face. "What is this nonsense? One is either the Heir to a House or they are not. This sounds like something a Muggle would invent to feel important."

"It's fanon," Jack explained before anyone could ask. "A fan-created concept. In many stories, a hierarchy of 'Primary' and 'Secondary' Heirs is used to denote the line of succession within Noble Houses. It's not part of your reality, but it's central to the world this imposter thinks he's in."

Lord Greengrass raised a skeptical eyebrow but remained silent, his gaze fixed on his daughter on the screen. The young, real Daphne Greengrass stared at her alternate self, her expression unreadable.

I did some damage control: "Pardon me if I did something wrong, I grew up with muggles and have not a clue about wizarding etiquette. I suppose the Heir Potter stands for something?" Davis said: "You lived with muggles? You are the boy who lived don't you?" I looked offended: "Of course, I am a boy and very much alive thank you. What does that have to do with where I grew up?"

"He's playing them like a fiddle," Sirius growled, his disgust evident. "Using his own tragic past as a gambit. Pretending to be ignorant when the last chapter showed him buying books on etiquette and Noble Houses. He's a born manipulator."

"A Slytherin, through and through," Snape murmured, a note of grudging respect in his voice for the sheer cunning of the act, though it was soured by his utter contempt for the individual. "He identifies their assumptions and uses them to his advantage, feigning ignorance to disarm them and extract information."

James Potter ran a hand through his already messy hair in frustration. "He's making a mockery of everything you went through, Harry. He's weaponizing your pain for social gain."

Harry just nodded numbly. To see his genuine confusion and isolation as a child twisted into this cold, calculated performance was deeply unsettling. He had been desperate for knowledge, for belonging. This imposter was desperate for power.

Davis almost shouted: "Everything! There are books about your life in a castle with friends and house elves." I shrugged: "Well, that was not about me, I lived in a muggle home, had no friends or servants, and had to work hard to get fed. Maybe there is another Harry Potter alive." Greengrass said: "Impossible, you are the last of the line. The last of the Potters."

"What books?" Harry asked, looking around the room. "There are books about me?"

"A whole series of dreadful, fictional adventure stories," McGonagall said with a sniff of disapproval. "They portray you battling Goblins and taming dragons before you could walk. Utter drivel. We tried to put a stop to them, but they were immensely popular."

"So he's using the public's ignorance to his advantage," Remus observed. "By contrasting the ridiculous fiction with his grim reality, he's garnering sympathy and positioning himself as a victim. It's a classic manipulation tactic."

Onscreen, the two girls, Daphne and Tracey, were exchanging looks, their young minds clearly processing the information, seeing not just a tragic backstory but an opportunity. The real Lord Greengrass leaned forward slightly, his expression one of intense concentration. He was watching a political game unfold.

I smiled sadly: "That seems not like a big deal, I got treated like dirt for ten years, nobody came to see me and now I am supposed to be the last Heir of a family? Did they hate my family? Nobody wanted to take me in?" I shook my head and said: "Enough about the soppy stuff, what can you tell me about your customs, I noticed I did something wrong when I kissed your hands."

"Oh, he's good," Sirius admitted through gritted teeth. "He lays out the guilt—'nobody came to see me'—and then immediately dismisses it, making himself seem strong and above pity, which only makes him more compelling." He shot a dark look at Dumbledore. "And he's not wrong, is he? Nobody did come to see him."

Dumbledore winced as if struck. The weight of his decisions pressed down on him again. He had isolated the boy for his protection, but in doing so, he had left him vulnerable to a different kind of monster, and now this imposter was using that very isolation as a stepping stone to power.

Lily squeezed Harry’s hand tightly, tears welling in her eyes. "We wanted to take you in," she whispered to the real Harry, her voice thick with unshed grief. "Sirius did. Remus did. But we were... gone."

Greengrass was shocked, an ignorant Heir from an important House will cause problems but also create opportunities: "Alright Heir Potter, first, you don't kiss the hands, you just brush them with your lips. But if you want us to tutor you it will cost you." I looked her in the eyes and said: "Obviously you both don't need money, so I guess a favor or my influence as the boy who lived." Greengrass nodded: "Socializing with you will raise our standing in school among our peers."

"And there it is," said Lord Davis, speaking for the first time. His voice was quieter than Lord Greengrass's, but no less sharp. "A transaction. Influence for knowledge. A standard political arrangement." He looked at his own daughter, the young Tracey Davis, with an approving glint in his eye. "A sound investment."

The Weasleys looked appalled. "An investment?" Molly scoffed. "Friendship isn't a business deal! You don't make friends to 'raise your standing'!"

"Some of us do, Madam Weasley," Narcissa Malfoy said, her voice cool and clear. "Alliances are the bedrock of our society. One chooses one's... associates... with care. The girl is thinking strategically. I approve."

The real Daphne and Tracey, sitting with their parents, looked at their onscreen selves with a mixture of awe and apprehension. They were being taught to think this way, yes, but to see it executed so ruthlessly at age eleven was another thing entirely.

I asked: "Did you consider the downside? That man that tried to kill me had a herd of followers, I think they are not happy I sent their boss to where ever dead wizards go too. It could make you a target" Davis said: "There are ways around it. Both our houses are high up the hierarchy, so is House Potter, we can let it appear we have an alliance between our families. That way we can socialize without the interference of the Dark faction"

A ripple of cruel laughter went through the Death Eater section. Bellatrix Lestrange cackled, her eyes alight with manic glee. "Targets? Oh, yes, little girl. You would be exquisite targets. We'd make you sing for your Lord before the end."

Voldemort, however, was not laughing. He was listening intently. "An alliance of Houses," he mused, his high, cold voice silencing his followers. "Potter, Greengrass, Davis. The boy is not thinking about friendship. He is thinking about power blocs. He is building a foundation." A flicker of what might have been approval crossed his serpentine features. "He thinks like a Slytherin. He thinks like me."

The comparison sent a chill down Harry’s spine. To be praised by Voldemort was the most damning condemnation of all.

I thought for a minute and asked: "And the people that dropped me with my aunt? They are powerful enough to keep me there." Greengrass answered: "Our families have a lot of influence, yours too by the way. The way I see it, they broke several laws to put you there."

Every eye in the Order of the Phoenix, and several from the Ministry, turned to Dumbledore.

"Broke several laws?" Amelia Bones, the former Head of the DMLE who had also been summoned, asked, her monocle glinting. "Albus, what exactly were the legal arrangements for Potter's placement? Was there a custody hearing? Were the wills of James and Lily Potter followed?"

Dumbledore looked weary. "The wills were sealed, for Harry's protection. The decision to place him with his aunt was mine, ratified by my authority as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot at the time. It was an extreme measure for an extreme time."

"He's already positioning Dumbledore as an adversary," Moody growled. "Painting him as a lawbreaker. The boy is gathering ammunition."

I looked at them: "An alliance between House Potter, House Greengrass, and House Davis? I am all for it, what about your parents? What if they disapprove?" Davis had an evil grin: "Our parents encouraged us to make connections with other Houses, including yours. Forming an alliance between Heirs is a normal step to make, although it mostly happens after our Owls." Somehow I feel like prey they are stalking, herding me in a certain direction.

Lord Greengrass and Lord Davis exchanged a look. It was true. They had, of course, instructed their daughters on the importance of making connections. The Potter boy, the last of his line and a figure of immense political capital, was naturally at the top of the list.

"She played her hand well," Lady Greengrass murmured to her husband, watching her daughter on the screen.

"He recognizes he's being maneuvered," Snape noted. "'Somehow I feel like prey'. He understands the game, even as he walks into it. He simply believes he is the greater predator."

I took my chance, I might as well have some fun: "Alright, let us form an alliance, how do we do that?" Greengrass started to explain: "We set a contract up, in that contract we stipulate the conditions, mutual cooperation, and aid, also, as a fail-safe, an agreement not to enter a marriage contract without our mutual permission. That is necessary to prevent forced contracts. We are prime targets for fortune hunters, this agreement cancels it out." And there is the trap.

The room erupted.

"A contract?!" Arthur Weasley exclaimed, aghast. "A magical contract between eleven-year-olds on the Hogwarts Express?!"

"With a marriage clause?!" Molly shrieked, looking ready to faint. "They're trapping him! That girl, Greengrass, she's trying to trap Harry into a marriage!"

"It's actually a very shrewd piece of legal maneuvering, Molly," Sirius said, surprising everyone. He looked to his younger brother. "Regulus, you remember the Black family betrothal contracts?"

Regulus Black, who had been sitting silently, haunted and pale, nodded curtly. "The clause is defensive, not offensive. It prevents outside parties—like the Ministry, or a rival family, or even their own parents—from forcing a marriage contract upon any of the three signatories without the consent of the other two. It gives them control over their own futures. It's a powerful shield."

"She called it a trap herself!" Molly retorted.

"Because it is," Lord Greengrass said calmly, drawing the room's attention. "It is a trap for their enemies, and a cage for themselves. By linking their fates, they gain collective security at the cost of individual freedom. It is the very definition of a political alliance. My daughter, in this reality, has shown commendable foresight."

I looked puzzled: "Why didn't your parents do this before you board the train?" Greengrass blushed: "We asked our parents to let us choose him ourselves." Well, whatever, I am going to spend seven years with them at school and I'll bet they are prettier than Weasley.

Ginny Weasley, who had been quiet until now, stood up. Her face was white with fury, her eyes burning.

"Prettier than Weasley?" she said, her voice shaking with rage. "He hasn't even met me! He's judging me, dismissing me, based on some story he read! Based on my family name!"

"Ginny, calm down," Harry said, reaching for her arm.

"No!" she snapped, pulling away. "That... that thing in your body is a foul, arrogant, misogynistic pig! I hope he gets sorted into a house with a troll and it eats him for breakfast!" She sat down abruptly, crossing her arms and fuming. The Weasley twins looked ready to start inventing a whole new line of hexes dedicated to the imposter.

I said: "And you chose me? Well, to be honest, I need you more than you need me, so I am honored to be an ally for both of you, can you set the contract up?" Davis looked around: "This compartment shakes too much we have to wait until we are in Hogwarts." I enlarged my trunk and opened my apartment: "In here it is shock free. Let me first lock the door."

The screen showed the inside of the train compartment. The SI-Harry casually tapped his trunk, which enlarged to its full size. He opened the lid to reveal a staircase leading down into what was clearly a luxurious, stable apartment.

"Merlin's beard!" Arthur Weasley gasped, his eyes wide with wonder. "The spatial dimensions! The stabilization charms! That must have cost a fortune!"

"He's locking the door," Tonks noted, her expression darkening. "He's taking two eleven-year-old girls into a private, sealed-off space. That's... not good." A wave of unease went through the parents in the room.

An hour later we formed an alliance, with a list of tasks and duties. Last came with mutual aid and an option to be the first choice in partners. Signed with our blood, yeah, a contract with the devil… pretty ones though, in threefold.

"SIGNED IN BLOOD?!" Molly, Lily, and several others cried out in horror.

"A blood contract is one ofthe most binding forms of magic known," Dumbledore said, his voice grave. "Its terms are absolute. To break it often means the forfeiture of one's magic, or even one's life. For children to enter into such a thing... it is beyond reckless."

"An option to be the 'first choice in partners'," Lily repeated, her voice trembling with fury. "It's a pre-nuptial agreement. He's tied my son's body to these girls before he's even been sorted!"

"He calls them devils," Remus pointed out grimly. "He knows exactly what he's doing. He sees this not as friendship, but as a Faustian bargain for power and protection."

Daphne, yes I may call her that now, said: "I will send this to my account manager and let him set the two other copies to Tracey's and your account manager." The rest of the trip was calm, I forgot to unlock the door, I shared my food and candy from my trunk, I stocked up with all kinds of things. The conversation came up the houses to sort in, I am not eager to enter the snakepit, if I do then I have Dumbledore watching me like a hawk.

"He fears you, Albus," McGonagall said. "He is actively avoiding any situation that would put him under your direct scrutiny."

"And he refers to Slytherin as the 'snakepit'," Snape sneered. "He is as prejudiced as Potter himself, merely more cunning in his approach. He desires the power Slytherin offers but fears the oversight it would bring."

The fact that he had 'forgotten' to unlock the door for the rest of the trip did not go unnoticed, and a fresh wave of angry muttering went through the room.

Tracey said: "We thought to enter Slytherin, but now I am not so sure, there are a lot of sons and daughters from death eaters, I don't think you will be left alone, especially the albino idiot. So Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff? Griffindor is out for me, they are the opposite of Slytherin."

Draco Malfoy stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. "ALBINO IDIOT?!" he shrieked, his face the colour of milk. "I am not an albino! And I am not an idiot! How dare that... that... blood-traitor-in-training speak of me that way!"

"Sit down, Draco," Lucius sighed, looking deeply weary of his son's outbursts.

Meanwhile, the Gryffindors in the room bristled at Tracey's dismissal. "Nothing wrong with being the opposite of Slytherin!" one of the Weasley twins shouted.

Daphne said: "Ravenclaw if possible, they let us study in peace." I shrugged: "Ravenclaw is fine by me." The girls took their job seriously, the rest of the trip was a study session. when the train arrived, Daphne's owl flew away with the contracts.

A small, cheerful-looking wizard with a shock of white hair appeared next to McGonagall. Professor Filius Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw.

"Oh, my!" he squeaked, taking in the scene. "What's all this then?"

"We are viewing an alternate reality, Filius," Dumbledore explained calmly. "It seems your house is about to receive three rather... unusual new students."

Flitwick watched the screen. "They wish to enter Ravenclaw to 'study in peace'? A noble goal! We value studiousness above all!"

"They wish to enter your house to hide from me and the Death Eaters' children, Filius," Snape corrected him bluntly. "Their motivation is not wisdom, but cowardice and political expediency."

Flitwick's cheerful expression faltered. "Oh. Well, that's much less desirable."

Xxxxx The boats were fun, I managed to avoid Ron and Draco until we were in the chamber. Ron was talking about fighting Trolls, I mocked him and said: "You need three grown wizards to fight those mate, I think they set something on your head that reads your deepest thoughts and secrets, if you are a criminal or a daddy's boy, or even plain out stupid, they can refuse you and have to be homeschooled."

Ron's face fell again. "I was just nervous," he mumbled. "Trying to act tough. I didn't actually think we'd be fighting a troll." The memory of the real troll in the girl's bathroom later that year flickered between him, Harry, and Hermione.

"He's deliberately tormenting a child who is already insecure," Molly said, her voice trembling with motherly rage. "He's cruel. A bully."

"And he's lying about the Sorting Hat," Hermione added, looking scandalized. "Spreading misinformation about a priceless historical artifact! The Hat is a master of Legilimency, yes, but it doesn't... broadcast your secrets! It's there to judge your character, not to shame you!"

Sorting was fun. I whispered to Tracey: "Demand Ravenclaw, it will listen if you say the cunning ones sort in other houses."

The final lines sent a new shockwave through the room.

"He's trying to manipulate the Sorting Hat!" McGonagall gasped, her hand flying to her chest in horror. As the one responsible for the ceremony, this was a personal affront.

"Can it even do that?" Harry asked Dumbledore. "Can you... demand a house?"

Before Dumbledore could answer, a shabby, patched, and frayed wizard's hat appeared on the stool that had materialized in the center of the room. Two rips near the brim opened like a mouth, and a thin, reedy voice filled the hall, speaking in rhyme:

"A mind I see, not of this place, Filled with knowledge, lacking grace. He thinks he knows my ancient art, And tries to play a clever part. He knows the paths that could be trod, But does not fear or worship God. He seeks a house to hide and plan, A cuckoo in a wizard's clan. But a Hat's decision is its own, Upon the head, the choice is shown!"

The Sorting Hat fell silent, leaving the audience staring in stunned silence at the sentient piece of headwear. It had just confirmed everything. It knew the imposter was not Harry Potter.

The screen went black, the words <Chapter 2 End> glowing ominously in the dark. The unspoken question hung in the air, thick and heavy: would the Hat listen?