Part One: The Journey to France - Setting the Stage
The streets of Lyon were crowded with Muggle commerce and activity, the kind of anonymity that Harry needed. He'd arrived in France three days ago, using the portkey network that connected the major magical cities across Europe. The journey had been disorienting, moving through the international floo network with careful precision, avoiding detection by Ministry officials who might recognize him. Now, sitting in a small café in the Vieux Lyon district, nursing a coffee he didn't particularly want, he was preparing to commit a crime that would have horrified his younger self.
He was going to use the Imperius Curse.
The realization settled on him like a physical weight. Not on an innocent person. Never that. But on a forger, a man named Claude Beaumont who dealt in false documents and fabricated identities for wizards who wanted to disappear. The man was a criminal, one who'd built his fortune on helping dark wizards escape justice. Harry had done his research, had spent weeks investigating Beaumont's background, had confirmed that the forger had helped at least three known Death Eaters create new identities in the past decade alone. The man had blood on his hands, even if it wasn't his wand that had spilled it.
Using dark magic on such a person was justified. At least, that's what Harry told himself as he prepared the spell, running through the incantation in his mind, feeling the familiar dark magic coil around his consciousness like a serpent. The Imperius Curse was one of the three Unforgivable Curses, the darkest magic known to wizarding law. Using it on anyone, for any reason, was a crime that carried a life sentence in Azkaban. But Harry wasn't bound by wizarding law anymore. He was operating outside the system, in the shadows, doing what needed to be done.
The meeting was arranged for that evening, in a warehouse near the docks. Beaumont had no idea who he was meeting, only that someone had money and wanted documents. He'd be expecting a nervous wizard, someone desperate and willing to pay premium prices for quality work. Someone vulnerable. Someone he could potentially exploit or blackmail. Harry had deliberately cultivated that impression through his intermediaries, using carefully chosen words and hesitant communication to paint a picture of desperation.
Harry arrived early and waited in the shadows. The warehouse was old, its wooden walls weathered by decades of salt air and neglect. Inside, it smelled of mold and decay, and the sound of rats scurrying in the walls provided an unsettling soundtrack. Harry positioned himself carefully, choosing a spot where he could see Beaumont arrive but where the forger wouldn't immediately spot him. He'd learned tactics like this from his years of experience, from the war he'd fought, from the countless times he'd had to outwit enemies who were more powerful or more experienced than he was.
When Beaumont finally appeared, flanked by two hired thugs, Harry made his move.
The Imperius Curse hit the forger like a physical blow. His body went rigid, his mind suddenly subject to Harry's will. The sensation of controlling another person's body was deeply unsettling, a violation so profound that Harry felt momentary revulsion. But he pushed the feeling aside. This was necessary. This was justified.
The two thugs tried to react, but Harry's wand was faster. A stunning spell sent one crashing to the ground, his body going limp immediately. The other managed to draw his wand, but Harry's Disarming Charm ripped it from his hand with brutal efficiency. The thug dove for his fallen weapon, but Harry fired another stunning spell, and the man collapsed beside his companion.
It was over in seconds. Three men, incapacitated, unable to resist. Harry stood among them, his wand still raised, his heart pounding in his chest. This was the first time he'd used an Unforgivable Curse. The first time he'd crossed this particular line. The weight of it pressed down on him, but he forced himself to continue.
Harry bound all three men with magical restraints, ropes of pure magical energy that tightened around their bodies and rendered them completely immobile. Then he focused on Beaumont. The forger's mind was still under Harry's control, his consciousness trapped in a prison of his own body. Harry had perhaps five minutes before the curse began to strain his mental connection, before the effort of maintaining control over another person's mind became too much.
"You're going to create documents for me," Harry said quietly, his voice steady despite the trembling in his hands. "A complete identity. Birth certificate, school records, Ministry registration, everything. A man named Hadrian Harrow, born in France, educated in the French magical system, with a history of dark creature hunting across Eastern Europe."
Beaumont's lips moved, his voice hollow and obedient. "Yes."
"The documents will be perfect," Harry continued. "Flawless. If anyone checks them, they'll find nothing but legitimate records. Every signature will be genuine. Every seal will be authentic. Every detail will withstand scrutiny from the most thorough investigator. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"If you try to run, if you try to warn anyone, I'll know. And I'll come back. And next time, I won't be so gentle."
It wasn't an idle threat. Beaumont seemed to understand that. Even under the Imperius Curse, even with his mind enslaved, the forger managed to convey a sense of absolute terror.
Harry released the curse and stepped back. Beaumont collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. The forger's eyes were wide with shock and terror, but Harry's wand remained trained on him. The threat was implicit. Comply, or die.
"You have two hours to create those documents," Harry said. "If you try to run, if you try to warn anyone, I'll know. And I'll come back. And next time, I won't be so gentle."
Beaumont nodded frantically and got to his feet, moving toward his workshop with shaking hands. Harry followed, keeping his wand trained on the forger the entire time. The workshop was a marvel of criminal organization. Documents lay in neat stacks on tables, organized by country and type. Inks and dyes lined the shelves, each one carefully labeled. Magical stamps and seals hung from hooks, ready to be used. This was the operation of a master craftsman, someone who had spent decades perfecting his craft.
Part Two: The Forging of Identity - The Creation of Hadrian Harrow
The documents were ready in ninety minutes. They were perfect. Birth records from a small French village, carefully aged to look authentic. School transcripts from the Beauxbatons Academy, complete with signatures from headmistresses long dead. Ministry registration papers, stamped with official seals that were indistinguishable from the real thing. Even letters of recommendation from various dark creature hunters across Europe, each one written in a different hand, each one praising the skill and professionalism of Hadrian Harrow.
Every detail was authentic. Every signature was genuine. Every seal was perfect. Beaumont had done excellent work, driven by fear and the knowledge that Harry would keep his word about returning if anything went wrong. The forger understood, on some level, that he was creating documents for someone far more dangerous than any of his previous clients. Someone willing to use Unforgivable Curses without hesitation. Someone who would kill him without a second thought if he proved unreliable.
Harry paid him in gold, far more than the asking price. It was a calculated move. Beaumont would keep his silence if he believed Harry was simply a customer, not someone he'd been forced to help. The money would buy his discretion. It would also ensure that the forger wouldn't try to warn other Ministry officials or dark creature hunters about the mysterious wizard who'd used an Unforgivable Curse in his workshop. Money was a powerful motivator, more powerful than fear in many cases.
As Harry left the warehouse with the documents safely tucked into his satchel, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The first step was complete. Hadrian Harrow now existed, at least on paper. The forger had created a complete identity, a history, a background that would withstand casual inspection. But it was only the beginning. A forged identity meant nothing without a reputation to back it up. Without real accomplishments to justify the legend.
Harry made his way to a small hotel in the French Quarter and rented a room under his new name. For the first time, he introduced himself as Hadrian Harrow. The hotel clerk didn't question it. Why would he? The documents were perfect. The identity was seamless. Hadrian Harrow was real in every way that mattered.
That night, Harry stood at the window of his hotel room, looking out at the lights of Lyon, and he thought about what he'd done. He'd used an Unforgivable Curse. He'd violated another person's mind, enslaved their will to his own. He'd crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. The young Harry Potter, the one who had fought Voldemort with the conviction that good would triumph over evil, would have been horrified by this act.
But that young man was gone. He'd died in the Department of Mysteries, or perhaps he'd died the moment Harry realized that he was trapped in the past with no way home. Either way, the person looking out at the lights of Lyon was someone different. Someone harder. Someone willing to do whatever it took to achieve his goals.
Part Three: Building the Legend - The First Hunts
Over the next several weeks, Harry began to build the legend of Hadrian Harrow. He traveled across Eastern Europe, establishing himself in the magical communities of various countries. He made connections with dark creature hunters, shared information about dangerous specimens, and slowly built a reputation as a competent and ruthless professional. He attended gatherings of dark creature hunters in Prague and Budapest, listening to their stories, learning from their experiences, and carefully inserting himself into their conversations.
But more than that, he began to hunt. Real hunts, real kills, real danger.
The first target was a pack of rogue vampires operating in the Carpathian Mountains. They'd been terrorizing a small Romanian village, feeding on the local population with impunity for nearly two years. The local magical authorities had been unable to stop them, and the Ministry had sent investigators who'd found nothing. Harry took the job, offering his services to the Romanian Ministry of Magic at a reasonable rate. He wanted the kills to be official, documented, verifiable. He wanted the Ministry to know that Hadrian Harrow was someone who could accomplish what they couldn't.
It was brutal work. Vampires were fast, strong, and difficult to kill. But Harry had advantages. He knew their weaknesses from his years of study in the Black family library. He understood their psychology from his research. And most importantly, he had no mercy. He hunted them methodically, tracking them through the mountains, eliminating them one by one. By the time he was done, all seven vampires were dead, their remains scattered across the Carpathian peaks.
The kills were documented, verified by the local authorities. Word spread through the magical underground that a new hunter had emerged, someone with skill and ruthlessness in equal measure. Hadrian Harrow began to build a reputation.
The second hunt took him to the frozen steppes of Russia, where a pack of dark werewolves had been preying on travelers. The creatures were ancient, powerful, and had eluded hunters for decades. But Harry tracked them with patience and precision, using his knowledge of their behavior to predict their movements. He set traps, used spells they'd never encountered before, and ultimately defeated them through a combination of strategy and raw magical power.
The third hunt brought him back to the Carpathians, this time hunting a rogue basilisk. The creature was a monster, easily thirty feet long, with scales that could deflect most spells and a stare that could kill with a glance. Harry had to get creative, using mirrors and magical reflections to avoid the basilisk's deadly gaze while he worked to position himself for the kill. It took three days of careful stalking, but he finally managed to drive a basilisk-killing spell directly into the creature's heart.
Each kill added to his legend. Each successful hunt reinforced the image of Hadrian Harrow as a man to be feared and respected. The dark creature hunting community began to speak of him in hushed tones. Here was someone who could do what others couldn't. Someone who could walk into situations that seemed impossible and walk out victorious.
But Harry was careful. He never killed indiscriminately. He never hurt innocents. He only targeted creatures that were genuinely dangerous, that posed a real threat to human life. His hunts were always justified, always necessary. It was a thin line to walk, but it was one Harry was determined to maintain. He would use darkness, yes. He would use dark magic and dark tactics. But he would do so in service of a greater good. He would not become the very thing he was fighting against.
Part Four: The Written Word - Publishing Against the Night
After six months, Hadrian Harrow was a known name in certain circles. Dark creature hunters spoke of him with respect. Magical authorities in various countries had heard rumors of his exploits. He was becoming exactly what Harry needed him to be: a mysterious, powerful figure with a reputation that would eventually serve his purposes in Britain.
But the real work came next. Harry began to compile his experiences into a book. He called it "Against the Night," and he wrote it with meticulous attention to detail. Every hunt was documented. Every kill was verified through official sources. Every technique was explained with clarity and precision. He wrote about the dangers of dark creature hunting, the ways that creatures adapted to threats, the importance of preparation and strategy. He wrote about the emotional toll that hunting took, the nightmares that came after killing something, even something monstrous.
The book was unlike anything that had been published before. It wasn't the flamboyant fiction of Gilderoy Lockhart, full of exaggerated heroics and impossible feats. It was gritty, realistic, and brutally honest about both the dangers of dark creature hunting and the emotional toll it took. It was the kind of book that wizards would recognize as authentic, written by someone who truly understood the subject matter. The prose was clear and direct, without unnecessary flourishes or self-aggrandizement. The techniques described were practical and verifiable. The accounts of hunts were detailed enough to be useful but vague enough to protect Harry's methods.
Harry sent the manuscript to various publishers across Europe, always under the name Hadrian Harrow. The responses were overwhelmingly positive. Publishers competed for the rights to publish "Against the Night." Eventually, Harry sold the rights to a French publisher, with the understanding that the book would be translated and distributed across Europe. He negotiated favorable terms, ensuring that the book would reach a wide audience and that his reputation would grow accordingly.
When it was finally published, the reaction was immediate and significant. Wizards who'd never heard of Hadrian Harrow suddenly knew his name. The book became a bestseller in magical circles across the continent. Critics praised its authenticity and its unflinching portrayal of the realities of dark creature hunting. Established dark creature hunters read it and recognized the truth in its pages. Young wizards read it and dreamed of becoming hunters themselves. The book established Hadrian Harrow as a legitimate figure in the magical world, someone with genuine expertise and real accomplishments.
More importantly, the book established Harry's credibility. He had a history, a reputation, and a body of work that couldn't be dismissed or doubted. When he eventually returned to Britain, people would know who he was. They would respect his expertise and his accomplishments. They would take him seriously.
Part Five: The Cost of Darkness - Wrestling with Morality
Harry allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as he read the glowing reviews. The persona of Hadrian Harrow was now real in every way that mattered. It had a life of its own, independent of Harry's original identity. The forged documents, the hunts, the book, the reputation—all of it combined to create a man who existed in the magical world just as surely as Harry Potter had existed in his own time.
But there was a cost to this success. The dark magic Harry had used to create the false identity still weighed on his conscience. The Imperius Curse was one of the three Unforgivable Curses, the darkest magic known to wizarding law. He'd used it on a criminal, yes, but the act itself was dark. It had required him to embrace a part of himself that he'd never wanted to acknowledge.
Harry stood at the window of his hotel room in Paris, looking out at the city lights. He thought about the man he'd been before the time travel, the young man who'd fought against dark magic with every fiber of his being. That man would have been horrified by what Harry had just done. That man would have seen the use of the Imperius Curse as an unforgivable violation, a crossing of a line that could never be uncrossed.
But that man had also been naive. He'd believed that good intentions and moral purity were enough to win against darkness. He'd learned, through bitter experience, that sometimes you had to compromise your principles to achieve a greater good. Sometimes you had to use dark magic to prevent even greater darkness. The line between hero and villain was thinner than Harry had ever realized.
It was a lesson that would define the rest of his time in the past. Harry would do whatever was necessary to prevent Voldemort's rise. He would use dark magic if needed. He would manipulate people, forge documents, orchestrate deaths from afar. He would become something darker than he'd ever imagined, all in service of preventing a future that was even darker.
The thought didn't comfort him. But it steeled his resolve.
Harry turned away from the window and began to pack. He had work to do. The Harrow Prince persona was established, but there was still much to accomplish. He needed to build his reputation further, needed to ensure that when he eventually returned to Britain, his legend would precede him. He needed to hunt more creatures, publish more books, establish himself as an undeniable force in the magical world.
Part Six: The Transformation - Becoming Something New
But as he packed his belongings, he couldn't help but wonder about the man he was becoming. The young wizard who'd fought against Voldemort with the conviction that good would triumph over evil seemed like a distant memory now. In his place was someone harder, colder, more willing to do whatever it took to achieve his goals.
Was he becoming what he'd fought against? Was he becoming the very thing he'd sworn to destroy?
Harry looked at himself in the mirror. The face staring back at him was familiar, yet somehow different. The eyes were older, colder, more calculating. The lines around his mouth spoke of hardship and difficult choices. This wasn't the face of the Boy Who Lived anymore. This was the face of someone who had seen the worst that the world had to offer and had decided to fight back with every tool at his disposal, regardless of the cost.
He just hoped that when it was all over, there would still be enough of his original self left to recognize in the mirror.
Part Seven: The Philosophy of Necessity - Justifying the Unjustifiable
As Harry settled into his new life as Hadrian Harrow, he began to develop a philosophy to justify the dark magic and manipulation he was engaging in. It was a dangerous philosophy, one that could easily slide into the kind of thinking that had created Voldemort in the first place. But Harry believed he was different. He believed that his intentions were pure, even if his methods were not.
He told himself that he was using dark magic not for power or glory, but for protection. He was manipulating people not for personal gain, but to prevent greater suffering. He was becoming someone darker, not because he wanted to, but because the situation demanded it. The ends justified the means. The future he was trying to prevent was so terrible, so filled with suffering and death, that any action taken to prevent it was justified.
It was a fine line he was walking, and he knew it. One misstep, one moment of moral compromise too far, and he could become the very thing he was fighting against. But he also knew that the alternative—allowing Voldemort to rise unchecked—was unacceptable. The Dark Lord would kill millions. He would enslave the magical world. He would turn it into a nightmare of darkness and tyranny.
So Harry continued forward, building his legend, establishing his reputation, preparing for the day when he would return to Britain as the Harrow Prince. And with each dark act, each moral compromise, each use of forbidden magic, he felt a part of his original self slipping away.
But it was a price he was willing to pay. Because in the end, the future of the entire wizarding world hung in the balance. And Harry Potter would do whatever it took to save it.
Part Eight: The Shadow of the Future - Looking Forward
Harry stood at the window of his hotel room in Paris one last time before leaving for Britain. He thought about the road ahead. The Black lordship was waiting for him. The Prince family's assets were waiting. The Harrow Prince legend was established and growing.
But more than that, he had become someone new. Someone darker, colder, more willing to embrace the grey areas of morality that existed between absolute good and absolute evil. The sands of time had shifted beneath his feet, and Harry Potter had been transformed into something else entirely.
He was no longer the Boy Who Lived, fighting for justice and righteousness. He was now an architect of destiny, willing to do whatever it took to reshape the future. The young man who had believed in the power of love and friendship and sacrifice seemed like a child now, naive and unprepared for the real world.
And as he looked out at the lights of Paris, Harry made a silent vow to himself. Whatever it took. Whatever sacrifices were necessary. Whatever part of himself he had to surrender.
He would save the wizarding world. Even if it meant becoming something he'd never wanted to be. Even if it meant losing himself completely in the process.
The game was about to begin in earnest. And Harry Harrow was ready to play.
Part Nine: The Final Reflection - Acceptance and Resolution
Harry looked at himself in the mirror one final time. The reflection showed a man he barely recognized. This wasn't Harry Potter anymore. The Boy Who Lived had been left behind in the Department of Mysteries, lost to the sands of time. In his place was Hadrian Harrow, dark creature hunter, author, and legend. A man who had crossed lines that could never be uncrossed. A man who had used dark magic without hesitation. A man who had learned that the world was far more grey than it was black and white.
But there was still something of the original Harry Potter left inside. A small voice that whispered doubts and fears. A conscience that recoiled from the darkness he was embracing. That voice would grow quieter as time passed, he knew. Eventually, it might disappear entirely, consumed by the person he was becoming.
But for now, it was still there. And that small voice was the only thing that kept him from becoming just another dark wizard, justifying his actions through philosophy and necessity.
As Harry packed the final items into his trunk, he thought about the future that awaited him. He would return to Britain. He would claim the Black lordship. He would begin the work of building an alternative power structure to counter Voldemort's rise. He would manipulate and scheme and plan, using every tool at his disposal to reshape the future.
And somewhere along the way, he would lose more of himself. More of the idealistic young wizard who had believed that love and friendship were the most powerful forces in the world. More of the boy who had been willing to sacrifice everything for others. More of the person who had once believed that good would always triumph over evil.
But that was the price of his mission. That was the cost of saving the wizarding world.
Harry closed his trunk and picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his hands. It was a physical reminder of the burden he was carrying. The burden of knowledge. The burden of responsibility. The burden of knowing what the future held and being determined to change it, no matter what it cost.
He took one final look around the hotel room, committing it to memory. This was where Hadrian Harrow had been born, in a small hotel room in Paris. This was where the Harrow Prince had begun his journey. And from this moment forward, there would be no turning back.
Harry picked up his trunk and walked toward the door. The future was waiting. And he was ready to meet it.