He With The Jewel Eyes // A Grey Harry Potter - Time Travel AU

The Revival of James Potter

Needless to say, three days after they had arrived at the Potter mansion, Rose was forced into private tutoring. James and Lily were extremely disappointed in the girl.

Even if James had told the girl to have fun before they arrived at Hogwarts, he hadn't meant that her grades weren't important.

Especially after the talk he and Lily had had, he had started paying more attention to the girl's academic life and coupled with the mails from the Hogwarts professors answering their questions about Rose in their class, his eyes had been opened, slightly at the very least.

Also, Harry had checked James for spells and potions, because the man's reaction had been downright strange to Rose's different results.

He had looked so confused, and his magic had started swirling around dangerously, so Harry had had to sneak a Calming Drought in his drink to prevent a disaster.

In the end, the results were unsurprising but still horrifying: James was under several compulsions and potions that caused him to act like a daughter-con idiot without any proper decision-making skills.

And the magical signature of the spells was, of course, Dumbledore.

Unfortunately, long-term compulsion spells required continuous magic to work, meaning that if he dispelled the spells, Dumbledore would immediacy be notified.

It sucked, but for now, there was nothing he could do.

Suddenly, his eyes shone, an idea appearing in his head.

Or was there?

{}

It was after midnight that Harry snuck into his parents' bedroom, several spells preventing him from being discovered spelled on him. He reached his father with a few steps, and stood for a while, watching the man.

In his sleep, his father looked a lot more peaceful than when he was awake. He wasn't frowning like he always did when he saw Harry, his face was completely relaxed.

Harry decided that he liked him better this way.

With newfound determination to turn him sane, he focused on his magic, calling for it, and it swirled out gently like it did all the time while he meditated.

He directed it out of his body and smiled as he saw the avada-green mist flow out, swaying slightly.

With a thought, it headed straight towards his father's body and entered it.

Now came the tricky part: James's magical core and brain were covered by the small magical strings left by Dumbledore's spells, and to detach them, he needed to be extremely careful.

One wrong move and James could be turned into a Squib or have brain damage.

It took him two long hours to completely detach the strings, and he slumped down in relief to the ground, sweat running down his temples while he huffed heavily in exhaustion.

Not counting his last life, this was the first time he was attempting to do this, and James had at least a dozen spells on him, all placed years ago, and having already merged with his body deeply.

Now, before the strings dispersed, he needed to reattach them to someone else.

Or in this case, something.

Without further ado, Harry took out a Flushing Drought and fed it to his father, making sure not to wake him up as he did so. The man tossed and turned a few times, but did not awake.

The Flushing Drought was a potion that completely got rid of every single potion the drinker was under, just like the flushing of a toilet.

He then quickly began the delicate job of taking hold of the strings by covering them with his own magic and bending them to attach them to an old notebook he had found.

If his hold on the strings was too weak, they would escape back to Dumbledore. If it was too strong, the strings would break under the pressure, and once again, dissolve and go back to Dumbledore.

Either way, it best didn't happen.

And so Harry concentrated.

It was nearing sunrise when he finished, sighing and straightening himself. His under eyes were dark from sleeplessness and lack of magic or any type of energy, and he felt sluggish from the amount of concentration he had done continuously for hours.

He stood up, wobbling slightly, and grabbed the notebook with the spells he had transferred, sneaking out of the bedroom as fast as he could.

Lily woke up as soon as the soon rose, and that was at most half an hour away.

He would rather not get caught if she coincidentally woke up early this day.

{}

Several hours later, screaming started in the kitchen, waking Harry up. He opened his eyes, groggily rubbing them with his fists, and got up, groaning.

It seemed his interference had worked.

Getting dressed with a flick of his wrist that was unnecessary but habitual, he headed to his bathroom, quickly freshening himself up, and walked down the stairs at a pace slow enough to be calm, but fast enough to convey his interest in what was going on.

In the kitchen, he found his mother, a look of disbelief on her face, and his father, disoriented and confused.

"What are you talking about? I don't think like that!" he cried out, hands catching his head, eyes filled with horror.

Lily clasped her arms in front of him, angrily replying:

"You do! Or else why would you ignore Harry all these years, acting like a sick puppy addicted to Rose, never refusing her wishes? You were a bloody sycophant, a servant for your daughter! How dare you tell me that you don't know what I'm talking about!"

From the furious glint in her eyes, Harry knew it was time to step up.

"Mother, maybe something happened. Why don't you perform a medical history check on father, it could reveal a clue."

After all, the medical history spell didn't reveal non-spells or non-potions affecting the person, and what Harry had done was a technique using one's own magic to manipulate others' magic, so, it was not classified as a 'spell' or a 'potion'.

Lily turned around, eyes wide. She hadn't even sensed her son come in, and from the last war, her reflexes were still in par with experienced Aurors.

Maybe she was too consumed by her anger to notice him?

She thought the suggestion over and nodded. She knew how to perform diagnostic spells, and a medical history test could easily be done with Blood Magic.

It was illegal for anyone but certified medics, but right now, she could care less about that.

Several minutes later, the three were standing in front of a parchment filled with the medical history of one James Fleamont Potter, and it was a lot longer than it should have been.

As James gaped at the compulsions and potions he was under for years, Lily slammed her first onto the kitchen table, tears running down her eyes.

Her eyes were trained on the repeated name next to the spells, revealing the person who had cast them.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

That old bastard was going to pay.