A Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts Story
By Sif Shadowheart
Disclaimer: Both the Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts franchises are part of/belong to the JK Rowling Wizarding Universe. This is fanfiction without profit or infringement attached.
WARNING This Series Contains the Following: SLASH, A/U, Non-Canon events/themes/pairings, Time-Travel, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Canon and Period-Appropriate Prejudice, A/B/O Dynamics, Mpreg, Threesom M/M/M, Soulmates, Bonding, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
characterized by or resulting from careful and thorough consideration;
- a deliberate decision.
characterized by awareness of the consequences;
- a deliberate act of protest.
slow, unhurried, and steady as though allowing time for decision on each individual action involved;
- the jeweler worked at a deliberate pace.
June 20, 1998; Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, London
When Harry was an old wizard, with a weathered face that even into his second century his omega physiology refused to grow whiskers on, and skin dotted with age spots and turned crepe-thin with the march of time, he would often look back on the two months after the Battle of Hogwarts with a sort of fond resignation.
He couldn’t regret them – not with all the joy those months of struggle and grief and, towards the end, rage had led to.
Harry was damaged and disillusioned in the first days after the Battle, to say the least.
His grandfatherly mentor had – as Snape had put it – raised him like a pig to slaughter. Created the perfect poster-boy for the Light and child soldier to follow his every order, dance to his called tune. Harry being markless, born without the mark of a soulmate on his skin and never having one appear in all the years that the Headmaster knew him must have been a boon. No soulmate to give Harry something to live for.
That in the end Snape had, as always, also followed Dumbledore’s orders despite his anger and indignation for “Lily’s son” wasn’t a surprise.
For all he loved to play the bitter dungeon bat, Snape was Dumbledore’s man through and through.
He understood, especially once the kids who’d gone on to school and then stayed after it became clear the Death Eaters and Voldemort were in charge, that part of what kept Snape going was trying to protect his charges and the future of their world – but that too was one of Dumbledore’s commands.
Severus Snape, for all his foul temper and sharp tongue, had been just another chess piece on Dumbledore’s board but one that had known that better than any – and still he’d obeyed.
Harry might respect him more if there had been any sign of fractiousness on Snape’s part but from all he could tell, the man had been happiest – or at least most content – when he had orders to follow.
If it weren’t for the inventions of a young Severus Snape, Harry would question if the man had ever had an original thought in his life, so lashed to the will of other, stronger wizards as he was.
No, in the end, when it was all supposed to be over, Harry discovered that it might very well never be over.
Something about the world he’d been born into was deeply flawed.
He’d known that almost since the moment he’d stepped into Diagon Alley at eleven years old.
Magical society in Britain was quick to try and rebuild, trials for war crimes running at a steady clip, a minister selected from the non-Voldemort-regime staff (Kingsley Shacklebolt, interestingly enough) and within a matter of weeks if it weren’t for the lingering grief in the eyes and faces of those walking about, Harry would have thought that nothing at all had changed from almost a year spent under the heel of a psychopathic tyrant.
The “good” people of Britain who’d kept their heads down and gone along with the regime were quick to jump on the bandwagon and pardons allowed for fear and trying to protect themselves or their families, if, that was, there was no evidence to be found contrarywise.
When it was announced that Mafalda Hopkirk, who’d been one of the main witches on Umbridge’s loathsome Muggleborn Registration Committee, was being charged with precisely nothing at all despite the harm and terror she’d helped visit upon countless innocents, Harry felt something like cold disgust settle deep into his gut.
After all, she was a highly-valued ministry worker, Harry, we need her help to rebuild, Mr. Potter, that she was also a pureblood from an old family went unstated and ignored much like many of his protests to the members of the Order who rotated through his house at Grimmauld Place to “check” on how he was doing when he wasn’t needed at the Ministry or to give testimony before the Wizengamot for one trial or another.
No, nothing much had changed at all.
Honestly, looking back on those days when he realized that the war would never actually be over it would simply shift battlefields from actual battle to wars of words in the Ministry and Wizengamot halls, when his last few remaining blinders were well and truly stripped from him regarding the world he’d been unceremoniously dumped into at eleven, if it weren’t for what else happened in those early weeks before the event that changed everything he might’ve thrown in the towel in disgust and vanished off to live in the muggle world or a deserted island somewhere.
He was pretty sure that his inheritance from Sirius at least came with one though even with weeks to start slogging through his inheritance from various people – not only his family as it turned out – he’d yet to confirm.
But, as it happened, there was a singular spark of happiness and joy Harry had found in those weeks and his name was Teddy Lupin.
Andromeda was weak and grieving from a year of bitter losses, first her husband then her daughter and son-in-law on the same night, leaving her infant grandson an orphan with only an old-before-her-time grandmother and a shattered godfather to care for him.
While the strain of it was often too much for Andromeda, for Harry it was exactly what he needed to keep his head above the ever-rising waters of grief and stress and pressure now that he was once more the darling of Wizarding Great Britain.
He eagerly took on watching Teddy to lift as much of the burden of his care from Andromeda as he could in those days, albeit with quite a bit of half-hearted instruction from Andromeda at first before she felt truly comfortable leaving her grandson totally in his care.
But he fell head over heels in love with the little one the moment a red-eyed Andromeda placed him gently in his arms and Teddy blessed him with a gummy giggle and a change of his sandy-brown hair and amber-tinged brown eyes (definitely taking after Remus there) into Harry’s rather infamous combination of dark brown hair and emerald eyes.
“He likes you.” Andromeda had told him with a nearly lifeless sigh in her voice. “Ny-Nymphadora was the same when she was a baby.”
And that was that, both godson and godfather falling in deep and abiding love with each other.
Teddy was young, not passed the eat-sleep-coo-poop stage yet, but that didn’t stop Harry from spending any free moment he could with his godson, determined to be everything to Teddy that he’d wished for years Sirius had been able to be for him.
Even, as it happened, spending not necessarily free time with him as even with trying to keep each other up to speed on their schedules – healers were far more pressed for time lately than almost-martyrs and Andromeda was needed at St. Mungo’s, though if she was using the demands on her time to bury herself in work rather than her grief he found it hard to blame her – there, every now and again, came a conflict.
As was the case on that June day when Harry, innocently enough, had agreed to watch his godson when Andromeda was called in on an emergency case to the wizarding hospital despite having an appointment himself at the Ministry.
Well, it was with old Croaker down in the Department of Mysteries at least, and in the past the grumpy old swot had had a smile and a tweak to the chin for Teddy so hopefully he wouldn’t mind a napping addition to their meeting.
It was just going over old ground – for the hundredth time – on the Prophecy and Tom’s idiocy in his horcrux creation.
What could go wrong?
Harry should have, by then, known better than to tempt fate.
Sitting up, Harry looked all around him, already cursing himself up one-side and down the other even as his free hand – the one not occupied with pressing itself to his forehead and trying to keep his skull from splitting right open and oozing his brain, as lacking in sense as it was at times, all over the cold tiles he was currently reclined upon – reached up and started automatically soothing a fussy Teddy in his baby sling strapped to his chest.
He knew better than to believe claims of “we’ve handled it, Harry” or “it’s inert, really, Mr. Potter” or at least he should.
The Head Unspeakable had sworn that all of the fancy doodads and gizmos in his office were just that: inert.
A bit of fanciful nonsense that used to be impressive magical artefacts of one make or another.
Still, given his luck, he found himself amazingly and distinctly not surprised to have reached out to steady himself during his meeting with Croaker in his office thanks to a random – but not entirely unexpected given that it was the Department of Mysteries and in Harry’s recent experience there were random experiments leading to random explosions going on there more often than not – quaking of the building surrounding him…only for the supposedly inert magical artefact, a type of opaque orb, to decide to wake the fuck up because he touched it.
He didn’t know what it’d done to him – not yet – but he knew better than to think it hadn’t done something.
Especially if – now that his splitting head was dulling down to a dull roar – the burning tingle located on his left pectoral, over his heart for Merlin’s sake, and on his right outside thigh were any sign.
Vision clearing as he very much did not think about what that burning signified as Teddy settled down to snuffling back into his disrupted nap – which was a good sign all told that whatever-the-fuck-happened affected Harry and not Teddy beyond a bit of inconvenience of having his caretaker suddenly on the floor instead of standing – he blinked as the other person in the office of the Head Unspeakable came into focus.
“You’re not Head Unspeakable Croaker.” Was all he could think to say at the sight of a younger witch – which wasn’t saying much as he was pretty sure Croaker had been born somewhen around the Jurassic period – than the person he’d been speaking with just a few moments, as far as he was concerned, before.
“I should say not.” The witch – who had silver-streaked black hair and the quicksilver eyes Harry recognized from his late godfather and Draco Malfoy as belonging to House Black – drawled with the crisp aristocratic tones that she likewise shared with her – family? Maybe? “As Unspeakable Croaker has only been with the Department for less than a decade.”
“Oh.” Harry suddenly felt a wash of weakness crash over him, extremely glad that he’d not gathered his bearings to the point of standing as the reality of what her words meant made themselves known with an unflinching and unyielding merciless clarity. Harry had been many things in his life but despite what some people had said he’d never truly been stupid or slow. Trusting and naïve, maybe. But not an idiot. “Oh that’s…not good.”
“No.” The Black witch who had likely preceded Croaker – or perhaps even Croaker’s own predecessor – as Head Unspeakable agreed, a bit of sharp humor twitching at the corner of her mouth as she took all of, well, all of it and him, in. “No, I daresay it’s not.”
June 20, 1913; Office of the Head Unspeakable, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic for Great Britain, London.
Isla Hitchens neé Black, Head Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic for Wizarding Great Britain, watched with likely more amusement than appropriate for a witch of her age, breeding, and position as the young wizard sat stunned and gobsmacked on the cold tiles of her office floor.
Given the literal stack of paperwork that would have to go into handling his sudden appearance – especially since she could see a certain artefact laying innocently at his side and understood all of the ramifications thereof which he likely hasn’t even come close to approaching yet in his mental tumult – she however felt a bit of inappropriate humor over his fluster was in order nonetheless.
Holding in a sigh and already mentally composing – and directing a self-inking quill to take care of the practicalities – a note to her husband not to expect her for either lunch or dinner while she sorted out yet another DoM emergency, Isla rose and ushered the young wizard, and time-traveler, into one of her office chairs then picked up the infernal, and once again inert, magical artefact and placed it on the empty stand that had appeared on one of her shelves at the same time as her new guest.
Well, guests given the baby strapped to the young wizard’s chest and she would daresay that that is a circumstance that hadn’t been covered in the time-traveler sections of the DoM’s tome of operational procedures and their accompanying paperwork regarding the artefact that had dumped both young ones out onto her office floor.
One time-traveler, yes.
One plus an infant, not so much.
Isla was going to have to do all the paperwork to cover this situation and the wizard hadn’t even been presented with his options let alone chosen how he was going to proceed going forward which, depending on which avenue he chose of those available under the DoM’s SOP for time-travelers using his method of appearance, could increase her paperwork load to make him a legal citizen of Wizarding Great Britain substantially.
Wandlessly summoning a Calming Draught, she handed it and a glass of water to wash it down, over to the young wizard who despite being visibly shaken and checking on the infant strapped to his chest hadn’t reacted much at all to the sudden change of circumstances.
As was the narrowed-eyed glance he gave the vial, all rich suspicion and wariness, examining the color of the potion and sniffing it carefully before grimacing and knocking it back having ascertained its contents with a quickness that implied either skill in brewing or familiarity with Calming Draughts in particular or both.
The water was swift to follow the Draught and wash away the bitterness she knew lingered after it, then that wary gaze – quite the richest shade of vibrant emerald green she’d ever seen on anyone, especially someone with such strong Potter features, though she thought she saw a hint of Black here-and-there, who tended towards brown or hazel eyes – focused on her where she sat patiently and was already starting, little did he know it, on the mountain of paperwork his appearance had created for her.
“I know Unspeakables are a breed apart.” Harry spoke calmly – part natural inclination and part the Draught – as he studied the witch on the other side of the wide Head Unspeakable’s desk. “But you seem rather at ease with a strange wizard-and-baby appearing in your office out of thin air.”
Like it was a commonplace occurrence or somesuch.
Though given that it was the office of the Head Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries, maybe it was at that.
“What do you know about the artefact that whisked you away into my presence, young man?” Isla answered an implied question with an actual one of her own – more to know where to start than anything else.
Harry, more than familiar with that particular method of information gathering, held in both a snort and a roll of his eyes as he swayed in place to help lull Teddy deeper back into his interrupted naptime.
“Not a thing.” He answered with a hint of intentionally-irritating cheer in his voice, the sort of cheek that would’ve had Snape wishing to wring his neck though sadly not effective in the least against his current audience from the deadpan look it got him from those iconic silver eyes.
“Very well, then.” Isla nodded thoughtfully even as she focused once more on directing her auto-quills into filling out the basics of the situation on the myriad sheets of parchment required. Particulars could be filled in later. No need to waste time when she was more than capable of multi-tasking and with a babe involved soonest done was best for all concerned though there likewise was no need, thankfully, to lack thoroughness or care in preference for speed. “That particular magical artefact is a queer one and ancient with it from a set of more than a dozen called in the modern era Nimue’s Tears. They read as inert and magicless, completely harmless in fact, unless a very specific set of circumstances are met. Would it be too much to assume that whilst you were, in fact, markless before entering this office in your time that that state has altered since your appearance upon my office floor?”
Harry swallowed, mouth suddenly dry at the waiting – but knowing – expression on the face of the Unspeakable before him.
“No.” Harry admitted shakily as things started to come together in his mind. “No, it wouldn’t.”
She nodded crisply.
It was as she’d expected.
“That is the function of the Tears, you see.” She informed him, voice brisk but not without feeling for his unique situation. “They activate when they come in contact with a markless personage and take them through time to an era where they will become marked due to an appropriate soulmate being present and available for bonding. Part farseeing, part temporal manipulation, they’re quite powerful and unfortunately…”
“It’s permanent, isn’t it?” Harry asked, having gotten that idea from the moment she said bonding. “There’s no way to take me – and Teddy – back.”
“No.” She told him, voice and face turning gentle in sympathy for the clear grief that crashed over him at that. It had been a simple matter of observing his clothing, strange child-sling, and watch to ascertain that he was clearly from a future time and not the past. Though she would need to confirm her observations for her forms and paperwork nonetheless. Damn SOP. “No, there’s not. Wherever – whenever, rather – you came from, by bringing you here and becoming marked, that place doesn’t exist for you. Not anymore.”
Blowing out a steadying breath some time later, Harry focused back on the Head Unspeakable – who he still didn’t know that name of but then he hadn’t introduced himself either – and gathered his scrambled brains, kicking himself from panic-this-isn’t-happening mode into fuck-this-is-happening-let’s-handle-it mode.
Were he on his own, he might revel a bit in the panic and cursing the fates or shaking his fist at the world but he wasn’t on his own.
Much like the bygone weeks since the Battle, there was Teddy to pull him beyond himself and his druthers.
He had a situation to handle, much as he’d prefer otherwise, and handle it he would.
If he had a breakdown and cry later when Teddy and he were both safe and he could let down his guard that was nobody’s business but his own.
“I suppose the appropriate questions at this point would be: what’s the date and who are you?” He asked, proper mindset and nerves marshaled and prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect the precious bundle sleeping innocently and trusting against his heart.
There he was.
Something about him, about how he’d been reacting, besides that the Tear had chosen him, had told her that he wasn’t a wizard to dismiss.
It was the bit about the Tears she’d kept to herself.
They rarely activated for just anyone.
No, in the handful of properly-documented cases on file with the DoM and their partnered agencies worldwide, they’d recognized that when the Tears acted it was always for a wizard or witch of some level of power or consequence.
Someone who had agency in the world, who would act and change things, even if it was towards a purpose those documenting their life could never quite get the measure of, if the Tears acted on the behalf of someone to bring them to their soulmate – or mates – they in turn made a mark on the world.
There was a bit of academic argument regarding whether those marks were good or ill in the end depending on what camp or political party or staunch traditions those in the know possessed, their personal biases at play, but that the world was always changed when the Tears acted wasn’t in question.
“It is the twentieth of June, Nineteen-Thirteen, young wizard.” Isla answered, no sign of all she’d been thinking in regards to time-travel via Nimue’s Tears showing on her face at all. “My name is Isla Hitchens, Head Unspeakable, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Harry blinked in surprise then shook it off.
He could freak out later over being almost a century in the past.
It was what happened now that was important, nothing else, given what he’d been told.
Though at least he was so far back that both Hermione’s warnings about wizards playing with time and Ms. Hitchens’ words about his future being gone made sense.
Even if he didn’t mean to do anything, he understood how ripples spread across a pond.
Small, near the point of origin.
But they grew larger and larger the farther away they got.
Just by being in the past rather than what once-was-his-present his future didn’t exist.
He might not exist anymore, or his friends, or anyone he’d ever met if he managed to find a way to time-travel so far forward.
Harry held in a dark bark of laughter rather reminiscent of his lost godfather.
More people to grieve, as if he hadn’t lost enough already.
Thanks-to-whomever-gave-a-damn that he’d had Teddy with him.
If he’d had to grieve for his little wolf as well…well.
That might have succeeded where Tom and Albus and all their plots and plans and minions had failed in breaking him irrevocably.
“Good to meet you.” Harry finally returned her greeting. “I’m Harry Potter and this is Teddy Lupin. And we’re nowhere near home.”
“Yes, I’d rather gathered that.” A flick of her wand sent a booklet from a warded drawer flying out and resting on the desk in front of him, complete with a little attached pre-inked quill. “Time-travel, as I’m sure you’ve gathered,” she arched an expectant brow, smiling when he nodded in turn. “Isn’t unheard of for the Department and as such there is a standard procedure written into our bylaws and code of law to deal with instances both short-and-long-term as well as permanent displacement. I’ve given you the appropriate primer on both those procedures and bylaws as well as your options under the Permanent Displacement code of the Time-Traveler’s Bylaw of the Department of Mysteries as ratified by the Lords’ Moot and the International Confederation of Wizards under the Official Secrets Act of the ICW circa 1632 CE. You – and your charge – fall under the Soulmate Acquisition Clause of the Nimue’s Tears exception to appropriate rectification measures.”
Harry’s head was spinning both from her gunfire-rapid explanation and what he was reading in the booklet that went a bit more in-depth to what laws and treaties and such he fell under thanks to a quirky magical artefact that – for reasons no one and nothing thus far had explained – by sucking him through space and time gave him more latitude he was starting to think than most time-travelers who got, for lack of a better term, stuck in the wrong time period were given.
“Somehow I have a feeling that I’m better off not knowing what the Ministry considers appropriate rectification measures.” He noted drily. His head might be spinning but his hostess wasn’t the only person in the room able to multi-task.
“You have good instincts then.” Isla snorted. Since his options otherwise would be obliviation, execution, or taking a chance on being chucked unceremoniously through a temporal portal with the hope that it spat him out on the other end in the right place and time, she’d say that his instincts were dead-on. Or that he’d dealt with the ministry enough at his young age to know how they liked to handle problems like those presented by a time-traveler with a massive load of foreknowledge unless he’d spent his entire life locked in a dark room and never allowed near anyone or anything else. “They’re not a pleasant group of options to choose from to say the least. Not like those you get to select from thanks to the Tear.”
“I’m starting to get that idea, yeah.” Harry agreed easily enough since he’d finished skimming the laws – basic secrecy bullshit and legal jargon that amounted to not letting anyone know outside of the DoM, legally appointed representatives under the Secrets Act (which he thought meant goblins based on the surrounding phrases but he wasn’t sure), and his future soulmate(s) of his time-travelers status. Which was going to make his life interesting to say the least given that he seriously looked like a Potter.
Though given the givens: DoM, an actual operating procedure regarding time-travel, etc. he had a feeling that that might not be an issue once everything was sorted.
He wasn’t thrilled that the booklet in front of him waiting for him to take up the attached enchanted quill was soaked in a truth potion during manufacture (recipe a DoM patented secret apparently) and there was a form of passive Legilimency on the quill itself to help “guide your hand and jog your memory” to supply a complete history and background on him – and Teddy – but he could understand the need for it.
Coming up with a complete new identity for someone with accompanying documentation and gossip leaked into the public likely wasn’t easy.
If there was something in his own past – or that of his family – that could be used it probably helped significantly with making up a plausible, well, life for Harry or other time-travelers…though how often they bothered the DoM to the point that there was an entire procedure and forms and so on for it was a question that he knew would likely bother him for years without ever getting an answer for it from Unspeakable Hitchens.
Speaking of, she continued to narrate the highlights of his situation even as he read over the details of it for himself.
“Your options are as follows:” she covered the basics of each, the details being available – as well as the accompanying restrictions and immediate consequences of each – in his booklet. “You can choose to be Obliviated of all future knowledge, including your own identity, and reeducated by the DoM. You can choose to limit your impact on historical – to you – events as much as possible by undergoing a gaes and tongue-tying curse that in combination will prevent you from acting on your knowledge of future events. Your third and fourth options are similar and differ only in scope. You can choose to act organically, behaving as you normally would, but with taking no overt action to change or affect events beyond your presence. Or, and lastly, you can operate with your current knowledge of future events to alter them in whichever way you deem best suited, however with that choice,” she warned. “Will come a Magical Oath requiring you to not act contrary to the common good of the Wizarding World.”
Which was a caveat someone in the past had added to prevent a rising Dark Lord from conquering the world as a whole with their knowledge.
Granted, it had a weakness, and the knowing – and bitter – look in those emerald eyes told her that her own time-traveler had spotted it.
The Magical Oath was all fine and dandy – and worked quite well actually from notes from her predecessors on the subject – but if a subject of it truly believed that even the most vile of actions were in the best interest of the common good of the Wizarding World, they could subvert the spirit of the Oath whilst still obeying the Law of it.
A sticky ethical issue to be sure, like many others regarding time travel, and one that the DoM only allowed certain travelers to force them into facing based on the method of their traveling.
However, if she knew anything about reading magical auras at all, and given her position and birth family she should hope so, she honestly believed that this traveler was far too gentle and good-hearted (albeit, underneath the pain, grief, and bitterness that was threatening to suck him under) to ever be truly evil.
Letting him think over his options, she prompted him towards the blank forms in the booklet to fill out while he was pondering things.
“Your booklet is the Master copy of the forms in the accompanying file.” She tapped a bright yellow folder on her desk that contained forms she’d already been working on filling out on her end. “Both will remain here in this office and be warded and enchanted as “eyes only” for the Head Unspeakable. No other beyond the representatives required to create your new identity – identities,” she corrected herself with another glance at the babe. “Will ever be privy to information regarding your true origins. If you agree to it, medical scans of both yourself and your charge will be added to your file and a representative from Gringotts will be sent for to perform an inheritance test to see if there is a defunct family line that might be assigned to you.”
One of the few immediate benefits of having a permanently displaced time traveler on their hands, Isla thought, was the possibility of reviving a defunct family line.
Harry nodded, softly agreeing with that idea, even while filling out the basic background on himself and Teddy – and the booklet had been right. It was easier to manage with the enchantments on the quill and forms. Even if he could’ve done better without ever seeing his entire list of titles ever bestowed on him for one reason or another printed out in stark black ink and forcing him to think of how he’d come about them.
Much like his nicknames.
That even only the Head Unspeakables were going to be aware that two of the names he’d been called – and convinced were his names at one point or another – were Freak and Boy was more than he would’ve ever wanted.
For her part, Isla let him be while he scratched away at the forms, reading what was copied over from his Master sheets into his file as they waited for the representative from Gringotts as well as the Healer from elsewhere in the DoM to answer her summons and complete the rest of the set-up steps before getting into the actual trenches of creating a whole new persona from the ground up.
Though, knuts to galleons said that he was sure to choose the last option granted him.
Somehow, something about him said that this Harry Potter wasn’t one to sit back and allow the world to pass him by, no matter how gentle a soul he was at heart.
Those were often the most fearsome of opponents to her mind and in her experience.
Good men of gentle souls who were moved to war.
With what it took to push them there, wise witches and wizards got out of the way when they took up their wands with rage or wrath or vengeance stirring in their hearts, all the more dangerous in battle for their gentleness at rest.
And Harry Potter, she thought, was very much one of that ilk.
If nothing else, a smile curved discretely over her lips, it should be quite something to watch and keep a record of what changes such a wizard thought appropriate to make for a better future.