Return of House Mudd

A Shattered Illusion

Ignotus regarded Harry with quiet understanding. The faint glow of the all-white version of King's Cross Station illuminated them, lending an almost ethereal quality to their conversation.

"Why?" Harry began, his voice trembling with raw emotion. "Why should I leave everything I know? My friends, Ginny... I have a life here. A life where I'm not alone. Why would I trade that for a world I know nothing about, where I have no allies or friends?"

Ignotus studied him for a long moment, his expression tinged with both sorrow and sympathy. "That is a fair question, Harry. And I would not ask you to make such a decision lightly. But sometimes, what we believe to be our reality is a carefully constructed illusion. The magic of others, woven so skillfully, can blind us to truths we might otherwise see."

Harry frowned, his defenses rising. "What are you talking about?"

With a flick of his wrist, the air between them began to shimmer. The ripple of magic was subtle at first, but it grew stronger, coalescing into images that hung suspended like moving portraits. "Let me show you," Ignotus said softly, his tone filled with an apologetic note. "Not to hurt you, but so you may choose with clarity."

The first image formed with a sharp clarity that made Harry's heart jolt. It was a scene from his first year at Hogwarts, though one he had never witnessed. A much younger Hermione stood nervously before Dumbledore in his grand office, her bushy hair frizzed and her hands clutching the edge of her robes.

"Headmaster," she said timidly, her voice laced with worry. "Are you sure it's safe? I—I don't think I should be in the bathroom alone if there's a troll loose. What if something happens?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "Do not worry, Miss Granger. Young Harry will ensure you are safe. He will kill the troll, as I expect. He is brave and resourceful, and he will always be your friend, so long as he lives."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "But… what if something goes wrong?"

A faint smile played across Dumbledore's lips. "Have faith, Miss Granger. And remember, when he eventually dies, his vaults and his legacy will most likely be yours to inherit. You will become the custodian of his books, his knowledge, and his place in our world."

Hermione's eyes widened. "All of it?"

"All of it," Dumbledore confirmed with a solemn nod. "He is an investment in a brighter future—for you and for the wizarding world."

The scene faded as Harry stumbled backward, his hands trembling. His heart felt like it had been pierced. "That… that can't be real. He wouldn't…"

But Ignotus's expression was grave. "I am sorry, Harry. There is more."

The image shifted to the Burrow, where Ron and Ginny sat by the hearth, their faces lit by the flickering fire.

"Harry's vault must be stacked," Ron said, a grin spreading across his face. "Just think of all the galleons, Gin. Once you're married to him, that's our future sorted."

Ginny laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "It's not like he's got anyone else, does he? The poor boy's desperate for love. I just need to wait until the right moment to seal the deal."

Ron smirked, his expression greedy. "And when he's gone, well, the lot will come to the family, won't it? We'll have the Potter fortune and everything that comes with it."

The scene dissolved, leaving Harry frozen in place, his jaw clenched. "No… they wouldn't… They're my friends, my family…" His voice broke, and he shook his head violently as if to banish the memory.

But the memories continued to play, relentless and unyielding. In the Weasley kitchen, Molly stood at the counter, humming softly to herself as she stirred a cauldron. Bottles labeled Love Potion and Loyalty Draught stood neatly beside her, their contents gleaming faintly in the light.

One by one, she poured doses into small vials, muttering names with each one. "For Ron," she said, setting aside one vial. "For Ginny. For Hermione. For Arthur." Her tone turned reverent as she picked up the final vial. "And for Dumbledore. Bless his heart, always knowing what's best for Harry."

The realization hit Harry like a physical blow. The warm meals, the motherly concern, the unwavering loyalty—it had all been tainted, manipulated by potions and spells he had never suspected.

The visions came faster now, each one twisting the knife deeper.

Hermione pocketed rare books from Grimmauld Place, her eyes gleaming with ambition as she whispered to herself, "This will be mine someday."

Dumbledore watched Harry in the Mirror of Erised, his voice a quiet murmur. "So predictable. So useful. One day, he will do exactly as I need him to."

Snape and Dumbledore exchanged words in a dimly lit corridor. "He must die at the right moment, Severus," Dumbledore said coldly. "Not a moment sooner. He is our only hope for victory—and his death will cement it."

When the final memory faded, Harry sank to his knees. His chest heaved with ragged breaths as he stared at the ground, his mind reeling.

Ignotus stepped forward, his presence steady and grounding. He knelt beside Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry, Harry. I do not show you these things to break you, but to free you from the illusions that have bound you."

Harry's voice was barely audible. "Why? Why are you showing me this?"

"To give you the truth," Ignotus said, his tone filled with quiet resolve. "The life you imagine is not the life you truly have. Those you believed to be your friends and family—they have not treated you as an equal. They have used you, manipulated you, bound you to their will. You deserve to know the truth before making your choice."

Harry's hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms. "I thought… I thought they cared about me."

Ignotus's expression softened. "Perhaps, in their way, they did. But their care was twisted by their desires, their needs, and their ambitions. You have suffered more than anyone should, Harry. You have sacrificed beyond reason. And yet, they took even more from you."

Harry raised his head, his emerald eyes meeting Ignotus's glowing gaze. "What do I do now?"

Ignotus's voice was calm and steady. "You decide. You can return to that world, knowing the truth and choosing how to move forward. Or, you can journey to a world where your path is unwritten, where you may find purpose beyond the expectations of others. A world that may test you, but also a world where you might find true freedom and meaning."

Harry's mind raced. The betrayal, the lies, the manipulation—they threatened to suffocate him. But the idea of leaving everything behind, of stepping into the unknown, was terrifying in its own way.

"For the first time in your life," Ignotus said gently, "the choice is entirely yours. No one else's. Not Dumbledore's. Not Voldemort's. Yours."

Harry sat in silence, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. As he looked into Ignotus's eyes, he saw no manipulation, no hidden agenda—only understanding and the promise of freedom. Slowly, he realized that whatever choice he made, it would be his alone.

And for Harry Potter, that was a power he had never known.

But he still felt unsure.

"How would I even survive in this other world?" Harry asked, his gaze wavering. "I'm just seventeen. All I know is magic and a bit of household chores, thanks to the Dursleys. I wouldn't stand a chance in a place I don't understand."

A faint smile played on Ignotus's lips, kind yet knowing, as if he had anticipated the question. "That is a valid concern, Harry. But the Hallows have always been more than simple tools. Their power is not confined to their physical forms, and their legacy will not abandon you should you choose to step into this new life."

Harry tilted his head, confusion mingling with the apprehension in his expression. "What do you mean?"

Ignotus gestured gently, and the white expanse around them shimmered faintly, as though responding to his magic. "The Hallows, though they may not physically accompany you to this new world, will ensure you have the means to thrive. Their essence will remain with you, manifesting in ways that align with your destiny."

"The Wand," Ignotus began, his voice calm yet resolute, "will not cross with you in its physical form. But its power, its legacy, will reside within you. You will no longer be bound to a wand to channel your magic. Instead, the Wand's strength will become your own, granting you the ability to perform wandless magic with ease. This will not only free you from reliance on any physical focus but also amplify your magical capabilities. In this way, the Wand's legacy will live on through your own hands."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, his mind racing at the implications. Wandless magic had always been the domain of the most skilled and experienced witches and wizards—an unattainable level of mastery for most. Yet now, it seemed that mastery would become second nature to him.

"The Stone," Ignotus continued, his glowing emerald gaze holding Harry's own, "will not bring the departed to your side in this new world. Instead, it will gift you with something far greater: the collective knowledge and memories of your ancestors."

Harry's breath hitched. "My ancestors?"

Ignotus nodded solemnly. "Yes. From my own father, King Tristifer IV, known as the Hammer of Justice, to your own father, James Potter, you will inherit their wisdom, their skills, and their stories. Their experiences will flow through you, guiding your decisions and enabling you to understand the world you step into. This knowledge will not overwhelm you but will instead become a part of you, as natural as your own thoughts."

The weight of those words settled on Harry's shoulders. He could feel the enormity of the gift, a lifetime of wisdom spanning centuries, passed down to him in a moment.

"And the Cloak," Ignotus said with a faint smile, "will remain hidden, though it will still safeguard you. In this new world, its essence will take the form of a hidden account with the Iron Bank of Braavos. It will contain all the wealth, artifacts, and heirlooms held in the Potter, Black, and Peverell vaults at Gringotts. This account will remain undetectable until the day you choose to claim it, ensuring that it is never exploited by others. It will be your safeguard, a foundation upon which you can build your future."

Harry's mouth fell open. "You mean… everything? The gold, the items in the vaults… all of it will still be mine?"

Ignotus inclined his head. "Indeed. The Cloak's essence will ensure that the wealth of your families—Potter, Black, and Peverell—remains untouched and ready for you when you need it. While the physical artifacts themselves will not accompany you, their presence in this other world will ensure you lack for nothing."

For a moment, Harry was silent, his thoughts swirling with the possibilities. He was overwhelmed, but beneath the uncertainty lay a growing sense of wonder and hope. The gifts Ignotus described were not mere trinkets—they were tools, carefully crafted to ensure he could survive and thrive in a world far removed from the one he had known.

Ignotus stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding. "Harry, you are stronger than you realize. And you are not as alone as you think. The Hallows will not abandon you, for their essence is bound to your very being. Whatever choice you make, you will have the tools to forge your own path, free from the expectations of others."

Harry swallowed hard, his gaze locked on Ignotus. "But why me? Why give me all of this? I didn't ask for any of it."

A faint smile tugged at Ignotus's lips. "You are the heir, Harry. The last of a line that began with my brothers and me. Magic itself has willed it so. But more than that, you are someone who has suffered greatly and yet stood strong. You have earned the right to choose your future—not as the Boy Who Lived, but as Harry Potter or rather Hosteen Mudd."

"In this new world," he began, "you cannot carry the name Harry Potter, though your legacy will remain intact within you. Names have power, and in a place so far removed from this one, your name must be a reflection of the history you are stepping into, not the one you leave behind."

Harry's brow furrowed, the weight of the name settling into his chest. "Hosteen Mudd?" he repeated, testing the words aloud. "Why that name?"

Ignotus's expression turned thoughtful as he clasped his hands behind his back. "Our house was great once. And although the Mudd name fell into shadow, its legacy endures through you; your name must reflect that legacy."

"Hosteen Mudd…" he murmured again, the name feeling strange but not unwelcome on his tongue. "What does 'Hosteen' mean?"

Ignotus's smile deepened. "It means 'guest' in the Old Tongue. (I don't know if there is a dictionary for the old tongue, and frankly I'm too lazy to search for it, so from here on out, Hosteen will mean guest.)  A fitting name for one who will walk as a guest among the rivers and hills of Westeros, a land where your bloodline once thrived and will rise again."

Harry's heart thudded in his chest as he absorbed the words. A guest in a foreign world, with a legacy he had never known yet would inherit fully. The path before him was daunting, but there was a strange comfort in knowing he would not be entirely alone. The memories of his ancestors, the gifts of the Hallows, and the name Hosteen Mudd would accompany him.

Ignotus placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, his emerald eyes glowing with determination. "You have faced unimaginable trials, Harry. You have proven your strength and your will. If you choose this path, you will do so not as a pawn of others, but as a man free to determine his own destiny."

Harry swallowed hard, his resolve beginning to solidify. For the first time, he felt like the weight of his life was in his own hands. He looked up at Ignotus, meeting his ancestor's gaze. "If I choose this, how do I begin?"

Ignotus's smile was both warm and proud. "You need only take the step, Hosteen Mudd. The world of Westeros awaits."