Harry Potter: Circumstances

Below is the English translation of the latest excerpt.

"Do you seriously think we're going to believe that?" asked Weasley rather aggressively, after the Boy Who Lived had spent quite a bit of time telling them about his recent adventures, smoothing over the rough edges concerning the two Death Eaters. "If this is a joke, Harry, it's the dumbest one ever…"

"Damn it, Bill, do I look like I'm joking right now? Feel the atmosphere of my humor?!" Potter even threw up his hands in exasperation. "I'm a comedian now, yeah? Decided to read out my new stand-up routine to you. I'm performing tomorrow, thought I'd try the jokes out on friends first, for fuck's sake."

"Now, now, 'Arry, calm down," Fleur tried to soothe him. "Maybe it was some kind of illusion or something like that…"

"I destroyed all the Dementors," the young man replied simply, and seeing the surprised faces, which meant they knew about this event, he continued. "I had no choice. During the escape, I found a newspaper saying my parents were alive somehow, and I couldn't cast a Patronus. So I just burned all the attacking Dementors."

"It still doesn't sound believable, Harry," the redhead continued to argue for some reason. "You single-handedly wiped out all the Dementors? You might've defeated Voldemort…"

He trailed off into some incoherent attempt to refute the Boy Who Lived's words. But Harry was now watching him closely. Something about the man's behavior was suspicious. If he were more experienced in mind reading or catching people's moods, it would be easier, but he was only a middling mentalist, and it had been almost twenty years without practice. Plus, a Veela's presence "noises" mental frequencies with her charm. At best, he could sense if someone told him a direct lie or truth. But first, he'd need a straightforward answer.

"Bill, you believed me before when I said the Dark Lord was returning. I've just seriously told you a bunch of things confirming that I am Potter and that I really escaped from Azkaban. So the question is: what the hell?" the boy asked directly. He wasn't in the mood for rhetorical maneuvers.

"'Arry!" Fleur exclaimed. "What are you saying? Stop it… Fine, we believe you. Tell us how we can help?"

"Fleur, wait," the redhead interrupted her. "We're not done clarifying everything yet…"

His behavior was seriously rubbing Potter the wrong way. Something was off.

"Bill, with all due respect, my business is only with Fleur. You're basically irrelevant here," the wizard tried a diplomatic approach first.

"Fleur is my wife, and we should decide such matters together," Bill insisted.

"Alright, I'll just use your fireplace. Fleur, I think your parents won't refuse me a little help?" Potter continued without missing a beat.

"Yes, of course. They'll surely agree—" answered the Veela automatically, not understanding a thing.

"NO… no," Weasley interrupted loudly. "We… we can't be sure he won't harm your parents…"

"What?" The girl was starting to realize something was wrong. "This is 'Arry Potter. He would never harm my parents."

"We're not sure it's him…"

"You knew about their plot, didn't you?" Harry dropped the weighty accusation, placing the glass of that nasty concoction he'd mixed onto the table.

"What? What are you…" Bill began to justify himself, his eyes darting nervously.

"Yes. Or. No?" The wizard exerted magical pressure on the redhead, demanding a direct answer so he could distinguish truth from falsehood.

Terrified, Weasley tensed up, began sweating profusely, and his eyes darted around as he tried to find another way to dodge a direct answer.

At that moment, Harry caught a warning signal from his allies through the Mark. Although it was late, Tom felt the unpleasant pressure of a crude and swiftly erected Anti-Apparition barrier. He wouldn't be able to break it. Now everything was clear about Bill's stalling—he was buying time. Apparently, in that brief moment when Harry lost sight of him, the redhead had sent some kind of SOS signal.

"Ah, here's your answer, Bill," the wizard noted, instantly drawing his wand and knocking the redhead out. "Not a minute of peace, dammit. Don't worry, I just knocked him out. He called for reinforcements the moment he saw me."

"W-why?" The Veela was not rushing to attack him. She knew him too well to think he'd harm her husband for no reason. She even realized, to her own shame, that she trusted Potter more than Bill. And she instantly scolded herself mentally: what a great choice of husband indeed.

"How should I know? I'll find out their grand plan for me right now. I'm sure they'll brag and gloat, thinking they've got me cornered, and then try to kill me," Tom snorted. "Come with me—just watch and listen, I'll put a Disillusionment charm on you."

"What for?" asked a confused Fleur.

"You'll see and hear everything. So I'll have extra leverage when I go to your parents to ask for status," Harry replied. "Don't worry, I won't harm you. I promise," he said, taking Fleur by the shoulders and looking into her eyes reassuringly.

"By the way, I'll just take this pitcher with me, because my dick decided to get hard for Weasley instead of the Veela in a nightgown," Tom thought wryly, cynically tucking the pitcher into his spatial pocket. "And everyone knows mixing alcohol and potions is risky, and that juice couldn't have ruined my whiskey so badly that even I can't drink it."

"O-okay, 'Arry," the Veela collected herself, not even noticing how the piece of tableware disappeared from his hands. "I trust you. Let's go."

"Excellent," Potter answered, exaggerating his cheeriness while casting the charm on the girl. "But just in case, stay away from where the fight will be. I won't harm you, but these idiots…"

"Death Eater, come out with your hands up. Auror Department at work," came a magically amplified voice. "We'll count to ten and start the assault."

"Haha, Aurors, right," Harry thought, turning toward the exit and sending a command to his cronies to stay still for now. "They can't officially engage, so all the familiar faces have shown up."

Tom confirmed his suspicion when he stepped outside and encountered a line of former Order members standing a meter apart, wands trained on him.

There were Black, "Potter," Weasley, Shacklebolt, and even Longbottom.

"You're underestimating me, aren't you?" the Lord asked, eyeing this squad of warlike idiots. "Last time I beat three of you wandlessly in a moment, and now…"

"Shut up, impostor!" yelled an enraged Ron, fuming at the reminder of their shame. "Where's my brother and Fleur? What did you do to them?"

"Oh, let's not pretend and put on a show now," Voldemort scratched his head. "You perfectly well know I'm not an impostor. Bill is knocked out, and Fleur is in France. I'm more interested in something else. Black, how do you sleep at night? I got quite attached to you for a while," Potter asked, waiting for an answer to his nagging question.

"Sorry, kiddo, but my godson's happiness is more important," the dog-man rasped. Harry noted how said "godson" grimaced.

"Oh, I'm too lazy to prove anything anymore…"

"We are too!" Longbottom yelled, interrupting the wizard, and hurled a pale spell at him. It might be decent for a student, but laughable even for Lucius, let alone Tom.

"Merlin, Neville, seriously, you became an Auror? Your spells are weaker than some I saw in the DA lessons. And that's you all fired up with emotion?" Harry easily dissolved the pitiful attempt in midair, tilting his head slightly to the left in that signature Voldemort style, and asked in a mock-concerned tone.

A moment's pause, and a barrage of spells poured at the Boy Who Lived. He didn't even bother moving or defending with his wand. He simply raised his semi-passive shield and began to swirl all those beams of curses around himself, gradually dissolving them back into pure magic. As a side effect, white-ish flames danced around Potter, creating a very impressive visual.

"That's one of Dumbledore's spells!" Shacklebolt cried out in surprise, recognizing the familiar flashes of flame. Usually, it was almost impossible to identify a spell that way, but the man happened to guess correctly this time.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, right?" The boy still mocked them. "Indeed, the Headmaster asked me to prepare. He must have known what kind of animals he was dealing with. Dumbledore personally taught me a lot. In fact, I'm his direct Apprentice. With a capital A," he said. Strictly speaking, that was true of Tom in his time, not Harry, but in essence, he wasn't lying.

"What difference does that make? We have the real Chosen One!" Ron shouted, as expressive as ever. "You're fucked, idiot!"

Judging by the "real Chosen One's" face, he planned to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.

"Wait, I don't get this 'great scam' of yours anymore," the wizard frowned, deciding to squeeze more information out of them while they pondered their next move. "I'm the one who stopped Voldemort that year, and the one who defeated him a few weeks ago. Where's the part that makes me 'not chosen'? What's even going on?"

"The Chosen One is Lily and James's son—my godson," Sirius decided to answer. For some reason, with each phrase from him, Potter was more convinced that Bella was less insane than Black. And no joke. "And here he is. Of course, you did good things, but…"

"And nobody, for fuck's sake, sees a problem with this logic?" Harry tried appealing to their common sense. "Seriously, what the hell?"

Seeing no flicker of understanding in the attackers' eyes, the wizard realized it was time to calmly neutralize them. Talking to idiots was getting tiresome. He said this out loud, provoking another outburst of outrage and spells. They too were distorted and absorbed by his defense.

"Guess it's my turn now," Tom smiled a bit ominously.