To Live is the Rarest Thing

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Harry didn’t actually break into Hogwarts on the first. No, he waited until September second, since the students didn’t arrive until the evening of the first and then spent most of the time in the great hall before all leaving for their dormitories. Having an individual roam the castle would still stand out in the wards during that time.

But on the second of September, in the afternoon, when all the students were attending classes, walking down hallways, heading to the library, the great hall or the grounds for some fresh air, that would be the perfect time to enter the castle.

To calm his nerves, Harry decided to do some cooking first thing in the morning before heading off to Hogwarts. Cooking always calmed him. And between the two of them, Tom might be the Michelin rated chef (Tom had owned and operated a two-star restaurant in Madrid, Spain in life number 7, before they were on speaking terms), but Harry had ran their small family restaurant they’d owned one of the times they’d lived in Jamaica, and people far and wide came there especially for Harry’s goat curry. And that was what Harry was making that morning. He’d discovered a nice little Caribbean speciality shop in London and he’d stocked up on goat meat and scotch bonnet peppers and curry powder and fresh veggies to add. He got all the ingredients going in a large pot on the stove until he whole cottage smelled warm and spicy and Harry had to swallow against a large lump of nostalgia that lodged itself in his throat.

Tom loved his goat curry and it hurt Harry he wasn’t there to share it with him.

Patience. He had three horcruxes already and would get a fourth later that day. He would get Tom back in one piece and then they’d laugh about it all while enjoying Harry’s curry and Tom’s excellent panna cotta for dessert before snuggling together under the covers of their bed.

Ah, and there was that annoying lump of nostalgia again. Harry cleared his throat and focussed on his curry. He cooked some rice and put it away in the cooling cabinet and he charmed the pan of curry to slow cook for the rest of the day so the meat would become fall-apart tender and Harry would have an amazing dinner waiting for him the moment he came home.

The rest of the morning Harry spent in his small potions lab, putting the finishing touches on his eye correction potion. It was now ready to apply, a few drops every day for a month and his eyes would be perfect. Not that they were that bad. In his first life his eyesight had been much worse for some reason.

He had a simple grilled ham and cheese sandwich for lunch and afterwards he took a leisurely stroll towards Riddle Manor and back, which took him about 45 minutes, to help settle his nerves and get rid of some of his excess energy.

And then it was finally time to go. Harry pulled on his robes, disillusioned himself and apparated to Hogsmeade. He’d considered how to get into Hogwarts. He could change into his Animagus form and simply fly to the castle and land on the astronomy tower, but his form was fairly big and not native to Britain so it would stand out too much. No, Harry realized his best bet was probably just to stick to the tunnel that lead to Hogwarts from the basement of Honeydukes. And so Harry entered the sweet shop on the tails of some unsuspecting customers and slipped into the cellar unnoticed. His disillusionment charm was so strong these days he was practically invisible. Perhaps someone like Moody with his magical eye might make out the faintest of shimmers but that was about it. Harry wasn’t worried someone in Hogwarts would spot him.

The trek to the castle was long, cramped and boring. There was no wave of nostalgia. Harry had attended Hogwarts quite a number of times already in different lives. Not to mention Ilvermorny, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Uagadou, Mahoutokoro, and Castelobruxo. The only wizarding school Harry and Tom hadn’t yet attended was Koldovstoretz in Russia, since the one time Harry had been a Russian wizard his parents had sent him to Durmstrang where he’d met Tom, who’d been Polish that time.