The Crimson CometAspenCrowSummary:
A crimson comet appears in the summer sky, and Harry Potter begins to change.
It starts small - confidence where there was once uncertainty, charm where there was awkwardness. People notice. They listen when he speaks, follow where he leads, and Harry discovers he likes the power to protect what's important.
But power has a way of growing, and hunger has a way of spreading. As sixth year unfolds and the wizarding world darkens, Harry finds himself walking a thin line.
Memories reveal dark secrets. Tom Riddle's past holds answers that feel too much like warnings. And somewhere in the shadows, Draco Malfoy is planning something.
Harry has to choose between embracing what he could become and holding onto his humanity.
---
Harry x Multi, Starts during H.B.P. and goes through D.H.
Chapter 1Chapter Text
Harry Potter pressed his face against the cold window of his bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive, watching the red streak that had appeared in the summer sky three nights ago. The comet was visible even in the early evening light, a crimson gash across the pale sky that made his scar tingle with an odd warmth. Not painful like when Voldemort was near, but almost pleasant.
The Dursleys had banned all mention of it at breakfast that morning. "Unnatural rubbish," Uncle Vernon had declared, glaring at Harry as if the comet's appearance was somehow his fault. But Harry couldn't stop looking at it. There was something about the way it pulsed with deep red light that drew his attention for hours at a time.
And the dreams. Strange dreams where he felt confident, respected, where people actually listened when he spoke instead of dismissing him or whispering behind his back.
"Get away from that window, boy!" Uncle Vernon's voice boomed from downstairs. "Don't want the neighbors seeing you gawping at that thing!"
Harry stayed where he was. After everything he'd been through, Vernon's shouting seemed more annoying than threatening. He'd faced Voldemort. He'd watched Cedric die. He'd fought in the Department of Mysteries. Vernon Dursley yelling about windows hardly registered anymore.
"Don't make me come up there!"
"Then don't," Harry muttered, not moving from the window.
The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs suggested Vernon had decided to make good on his threat, but before he could reach Harry's room, a sharp crack echoed from the street below.
Harry looked down to see a familiar figure in midnight-blue robes striding up the front path, long silver beard catching the streetlight.
"Professor Dumbledore," Harry breathed, his spirits lifting.
Uncle Vernon's roar of outrage shook the house as the doorbell rang. Harry could hear Aunt Petunia's sharp whispers, Dudley's confused grunting, and then Vernon's stomping toward the front door.
"What do you want?" Vernon's voice carried clearly through the walls.
"Good evening, Vernon. I trust you received my letter?"
Harry frowned. What letter?
"We told you already," Vernon snarled. "The boy's not going back to that place. Nearly got us all killed last time, didn't he?"
"I'm afraid that decision isn't yours to make," Dumbledore replied pleasantly. "Harry's education continues as planned."
"We won't have it! The boy's nothing but trouble-"
"The boy," Dumbledore's voice carried a steel edge beneath the politeness, "has done more to protect this world than you could possibly imagine. I suggest you show him the respect he has earned."
Harry felt a warm glow at the defense. It was nice to have someone acknowledge what he'd been through, what he'd done.
After a moment's silence, Vernon grudgingly said, "Fine. Take him. But don't expect us to welcome him back."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Dumbledore replied dryly.
Harry grabbed his trunk, already packed and waiting. He'd learned years ago to stay ready for quick escapes from Privet Drive.
"Ready, Harry?" Dumbledore asked as Harry hurried downstairs.
"More than ready, Professor."
The Dursleys clustered in the hallway like pale, hostile sentinels. Aunt Petunia's lips had disappeared entirely, pressed together in disapproval. Dudley cowered behind his parents, still terrified of magic after his encounter with Dementors.
"Well then," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I believe we have business elsewhere. Good evening."
Vernon slammed the door hard enough to rattle the windows.
"Charming as ever," Harry said.
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, his blue eyes twinkling. "Though I hope you don't mind, Harry, but we have a small errand to run before I deliver you to the Burrow."
Harry felt a familiar stab of irritation. Of course there was an errand. There was always something with Dumbledore, always some plan Harry wasn't fully trusted to understand.
"What kind of errand?" he asked, working to keep his voice level.
"Nothing too demanding. We need to visit an old colleague of mine. Horace Slughorn. You may have heard the name?"
Harry shook his head, studying Dumbledore's face. There was something calculating in those blue eyes that made his nerves prickle.
"Well, no matter. You'll meet him soon enough." Dumbledore offered his arm. "Shall we?"
As they Disapparated, Harry caught a glimpse of the comet through the swirling darkness. For just a moment, it seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat.
They appeared on a quiet village street lined with neat houses and summer gardens. Everything looked perfectly normal except for one house near the end, where the front door hung crooked and dark stains marked the doorframe.
"Budleigh Babberton," Dumbledore announced. "Charming village."
Harry stared at the damaged house. "Professor, shouldn't we call someone? It looks like there's been an attack."
"All in good time, Harry." Dumbledore was already walking toward the house, apparently unconcerned.
Inside was complete chaos. Furniture lay in splinters, a chandelier had crashed to the floor, and dark stains that Harry didn't want to think too hard about splattered the walls.
"Horace?" Dumbledore called in a sing-song voice. "It's no use hiding. I can smell the dragon dung fertilizer. You always were heavy-handed with it."
Silence.
Dumbledore sighed and looked around the destroyed room. Finally, he approached an overstuffed armchair that looked oddly untouched amid the chaos. He poked it sharply with his wand.
The chair squeaked and began transforming, colors swirling until it became a large, walrus-like man with a silver mustache, who glared at Dumbledore with wounded dignity.
"There was no need to poke so hard, Albus!"
"My apologies, Horace." Dumbledore smiled. "Though your interior decorating has become rather dramatic."
Slughorn huffed and waved his wand. The room began reassembling itself - furniture flying back together, the chandelier floating up to the ceiling, stains vanishing from the walls.
"One must take precautions," Slughorn said stiffly. "My pursuers have been persistent."
Harry found himself studying the older wizard as the room reformed. Slughorn had the look of someone used to luxury, expensive tastes poorly concealed beneath current shabbiness. When his eyes landed on Harry, they lit up with something like hunger.
"Harry Potter," Slughorn breathed, his entire manner changing. "My word. You look just like James. Except the eyes - you have your mother's eyes."
The mention of his parents sent warmth through Harry's chest. "Did you know them well?"
"Oh yes! Lily was one of my most gifted students. Such talent for Potions - she could brew a Draught of Living Death that rivaled my own by sixth year."
Harry leaned forward, genuinely interested. "What was she like? Everyone talks about her sacrifice, but no one tells me who she actually was."
"Brilliant mind," Slughorn said, his eyes lighting up. "Always asking insightful questions, seeing connections others missed. She theorized that emotional resonance could enhance potion-making, and she was absolutely right."
Finally, real details about his mother. Not just platitudes about her bravery, but who she'd actually been. Harry felt the words coming more easily than usual.
"I'd love to hear more sometime. Hogwarts could probably use a teacher who really understood her methods."
"Well," Slughorn said slowly, straightening slightly, "I have been considering returning to teaching..."
"Excellent!" Dumbledore interjected smoothly. "Then it's settled. Horace, surely you're tired of this constant running?"
Slughorn's expression flickered between temptation and fear. "The Death Eaters-"
"Will find Hogwarts much more challenging than a series of hideouts," Dumbledore pointed out. "And you'd have exceptional students to work with again."
Harry caught Slughorn's eye. "The students need teachers who actually care about helping them reach their potential. From what I've heard about you, you'd be perfect for that."
Something in his tone seemed to reach the older man. Slughorn's chest puffed out with old pride.
"You know, you're quite right, my boy. Very well - on one condition!"
"And what would that be?" Dumbledore asked.
"I want Professor Merrythought's old office. If I'm coming back, I deserve proper accommodations."
"That can be arranged," Dumbledore said, looking satisfied.
"Wonderful! I suppose I should start planning my curriculum then."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said, though Harry noticed the headmaster watching him with unusual intensity. "We should be off. Molly will be expecting us."
Outside, the comet hung in the darkening sky. Harry found himself staring at it, feeling oddly energized by how well the conversation had gone. He'd handled that better than he usually managed with adults.
"Remarkable sight," Slughorn commented, following Harry's gaze. "The Ministry's quite puzzled. It doesn't appear in any astronomical charts."
"It's beautiful though," Harry said, then paused. When had he started describing things as beautiful?
"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured, still watching Harry carefully. "Until next week then, Horace."
"Yes, yes. And young Potter - thank you. You've reminded me why I became a teacher. I look forward to having you in my class."
As Slughorn headed back inside, Dumbledore offered Harry his arm again.
The Apparition felt smoother this time, less disorienting. When they appeared outside the Burrow, Harry felt genuine happiness at the sight of the crooked house with its warm, spilling light.
"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "might I have a word?"
Harry turned, noting something serious in the headmaster's tone. "Of course."
"You handled Professor Slughorn very well. Very persuasively."
Harry felt pleased by the praise. "He seemed like he wanted to be convinced. Just needed someone to remind him why teaching mattered."
"Quite so," Dumbledore said, studying Harry intently. "I'm curious - where did that approach come from? The appeal to his better nature, the connection to your mother?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. It just felt right. Like I knew what he needed to hear."
"And how did that feel? Knowing what he needed to hear?"
"Good," Harry admitted. "Really good, actually."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Power is a curious thing, Harry. Even the power to persuade can be intoxicating."
"I wasn't trying to manipulate him," Harry said quickly, though something in his stomach twisted.
"Of course not. But I wonder - have you noticed any other changes recently? In yourself?"
Harry thought of the dreams, how conversations seemed easier lately, the way he'd been feeling while watching the comet. "Maybe small things."
"Small changes often become large ones," Dumbledore said gently. "I only ask that you remember - who we become is always a choice. Every decision shapes us."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Dumbledore's eyes were kind but searching. "I hope so. Because I suspect you'll face some difficult choices this year."
Before Harry could ask what he meant, the front door burst open.
"Harry dear!" Mrs. Weasley cried, sweeping him into one of her bone-crushing hugs.
This time, Harry found himself settling into the embrace more completely, savoring the warmth and affection. When had he become so hungry for this kind of connection?
"We've missed you terribly," Mrs. Weasley said, holding him at arm's length to look him over. "You look well. More grown up."
"I've missed you too," Harry replied, meaning it more than usual.
"I'm afraid I must be going," Dumbledore said with a warm smile. "Business to attend to." With a soft pop, he was gone.
"Come in, come in!" Mrs. Weasley ushered Harry inside. As she moved ahead of him, Harry couldn't help noticing how her robes clung to her full figure. The thought brought heat to his cheeks.
"Ron! Ginny! Hermione!" she called. "Harry's here!"
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Ginny appeared first, and Harry felt something shift in his chest. The summer had been kind to her, she moved with new confidence, and her auburn hair caught the evening light. Her petite body had grown a bit curvier over the summer and the freckles that dotted her face made her look like a dream come true.
"Hi, Harry," she said, stepping close to hug him. The embrace lasted longer than it needed to, and they both seemed aware of it.
"Ginny," he managed, surprised by how her name sounded on his lips.
She pulled back with a small smile. "You look good."
"So do you," Harry replied, meaning it completely.
Hermione appeared next, throwing her arms around him enthusiastically. "Harry! You look different. More confident somehow."
"Do I?"
"Definitely," Ginny said quietly, still watching him.
"Course he does," Ron said, grinning as he reached them. "Probably all that brooding at the Dursleys. Good to see you, mate."
As they moved toward the kitchen, Ginny fell into step beside him.
"I'm glad you're here," she said softly.
"Me too," Harry replied.
Through the kitchen window, the red comet pulsed against the darkening sky.
Dinner was comfortable and warm, with Harry naturally drawing the conversation along, making everyone laugh with stories about the Dursleys' attempts to appear normal to the neighbors. He found himself watching how the others responded - Mrs. Weasley's delighted chuckles, Ginny's bright smile, the way even Mr. Weasley seemed to hang on his words more than usual.
"You're quite the storyteller tonight, Harry," Mr. Weasley observed with a chuckle.
"Good company brings it out in me," Harry replied, glancing at Ginny, who flushed prettily.
As the evening wound down and they headed upstairs, Harry felt oddly restless. The warmth of the evening lingered - Ginny's smiles, the easy conversation, the way everyone had responded to him.
Ron fell asleep quickly, snoring softly within minutes. Harry lay back, staring at the ceiling, feeling more awake than tired. When sleep finally came, it brought strange dreams.
He stood in Hogwarts, but not as he knew it. The corridors seemed grander somehow, the stone walls warmer. Tapestries hung in rich colors, and the very air seemed to hum with possibility.
Students moved through the halls, but they looked at him differently. With respect, admiration, something approaching awe. When he spoke, they listened intently. When he smiled, they lit up as if he'd given them a gift.
Ginny was there, watching him with bright eyes full of something deeper than friendship. Hermione stood nearby, her usual know-it-all expression replaced by genuine curiosity about what he might say next. Even students from other houses seemed drawn to him.
The feeling was intoxicating - being seen, truly seen, as someone worth listening to. Someone important.
The dream shifted. He was older now, standing in the Great Hall, but he wasn't just another student anymore. He was addressing the school, and every face was turned toward him with rapt attention. They hung on his every word, and when he finished speaking, the applause was thunderous.
"Harry?" The voice was soft, concerned. "Harry, wake up."
His eyes snapped open to find Ginny sitting on the edge of his bed, her hand gently shaking his shoulder. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting her red hair in silver highlights.
"You were talking in your sleep," she said quietly. "You seemed... excited about something."
Harry sat up, still disoriented from the dream. "What was I saying?"
"Just mumbling mostly. But you were smiling." She studied his face in the dim light. "Good dream?"
"Yeah," Harry said, his voice coming out rougher than expected. "strange though."
"Want to talk about it?"
Harry shook his head. How could he explain the feeling of being admired, respected, genuinely important to people? It would sound arrogant.
"Just strange dreams," he said instead.
Ginny nodded, but didn't move to leave. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Harry became acutely aware of her closeness - the warmth radiating from her, the faint scent of her hair.
"Harry?" she said softly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you're here. It feels... right. Having you here with us."
"It feels right to me too," he admitted.
She smiled, and in the moonlight, she looked almost ethereal. For a moment, Harry thought she might lean closer, but then Ron snorted loudly in his sleep and the moment passed.
"I should let you rest," she whispered, standing.
"Ginny?"
She paused at the door. "Yeah?"
"Thanks. For checking on me."
"Always," she said simply, and slipped back out into the hall.
Harry lay back down, but sleep was a long time coming. Above the Burrow, the red comet continued its slow arc across the sky, and Harry found himself thinking about dreams and the way Ginny's eyes had looked in the moonlight.
When he finally drifted off, his dreams were filled with crimson light and the intoxicating feeling of being exactly where he was meant to be.