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Around the Throne the Thunder Rolls

Summary:

Discovering the existence of Time Turners during Sirius’ rescue in "The Prisoner of Azkaban", Harry resolves to end the threat of Voldemort and the Death Eaters forever, prevent the war, settle some scores, make sure his parents never died, and live happily ever after. What could possibly go wrong …?
And who the heck’s this Charlie Potter bloke?

Harry/Hermione/Bellatrix/fem!Riddle
No bashing. Wrong Boy Who Lived.

Notes:

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Press and Warner Brothers, not me.

A/N: I always wondered why Harry was so blasé about discovering the existence of time travel in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and subsequent books. ATTR is how I imagined he should’ve reacted to this shocking revelation.

I’ve tried to avoid any character bashing where possible, but Harry is an unreliable narrator so his own biases and misconceptions may still filter through.

Chapter 1: Why So Sirius?

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 – Why So Sirius?

 

6 June 1994

“I’m sorry Harry. I do believe you, but I am one only man, a fellow mortal such as yourself. I have no power to make other men see the truth, nor to overrule the Minister of Magic …”

Harry stared up into the aged and wrinkly face of his mentor who returned his grim gaze. It felt like the entire world was disintegrating all around the young wizard, and it was only by the barest automatic reflex that his body didn’t simply collapse boneless into the bed. He had grown used to the idea that Dumbledore could pluck the solution to any problem imaginable out of the air. And now his final hope had shattered. A cynical voice began to whisper in the back of his mind, for the first time questioning where that assumption had even come from in the first place, whether the Headmaster had ever actually solved any of his problems for him in the past. He hasn’t lifted a finger to prevent me going back to live with the Dursleys every year. He didn’t save Norberta or free Dobby. He didn’t keep Sirius out of Azkaban or get Pettigrew captured. He didn’t stop Voldemort from killing unicorns or stealing the Philosopher’s Stone, or possessing Ginny, or unleashing a basilisk, that was all me, he only came in afterwards to tidy up all the mess! He didn’t prevent my parents from being murdered. And now he can’t save my godfather from the Dementor’s Kiss! Can I really rely on this person? Has Hermione’s hero-worship brainwashed me …?

Harry’s rebellious thoughts continued to tumble around chaotically in the washing-machine of his brain, while only keeping half an ear on the continuing discussion between said Headmaster and his best friend.

“Now, pay attention,” said Dumbledore, snapping the boy’s attention back to him. “Sirius is locked in Professor Flitwick’s office on the seventh floor. Thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. But remember this, both of you: you must not be seen. Miss Granger, you know the law, you know what is at stake: you. Must. Not. Be. Seen.” Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on. Had Dumbledore finally gone senile? “I am going to lock you in. It is,” the ancient wizard glanced at his pocket-watch, “five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck.”

“Good luck?” Harry wondered as the doors of the Infirmary shut and the lock clicked, leaving he and Hermione (and an unconscious Ron) alone. “Three turns? What’s he talking about? What are we supposed to do?”

Hermione ignored his babbling, dragging him close and pulling a long gold chain from under her robes. “Ready?” she asked, slinging the chain around both their necks. Her delicate fingers fumbled with some strange contraption.

“What are we doing – ?” Harry’s question died as the world dissolved around them. His stomach lurched and the dizziness of vertigo overwhelmed him, feeling the sensation of falling backwards at tremendous speeds while a kaleidoscope of psychedelic colours swirled about the two wizards. Suddenly everything snapped back into focus again, and they felt the softness of the ward’s beds underneath them again. He looked wildly around him, but the Infirmary appeared completely normal … except for the golden light of the afternoon sun shining through the windows and the mysterious disappearance of their redheaded schoolfriend.

“What the – ?”

“Come on, Harry! In here!” Hermione seized his arm and dragged him bodily out of the room and into one of the innumerable broom closets that adorned the Hogwarts hallways, the golden chain cutting painfully into his neck.

Heh, my first time in a broom closet with a girl, a part of his mind idly commented. Ouch! Damn buckets! I don’t get what all the hype is about … the Twins and McClaggen must’ve been having me on … ‘loads of fun’ indeed!

“We’ve gone back in time. Three hours back,” Hermione explained in hushed tones as she recovered her chain. Harry found his own leg and gave it a very hard pinch. It hurt a lot, which seemed to rule out the possibility that he was having a very bizarre dream. “Listen! Someone’s coming! I think, I think it might be us!” Hermione’s ear pressed against the door.

“Are you telling me,” Harry said slowly, “that we’re here in this cupboard and we’re out there too?”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s us. It doesn’t sound like more than three people … and we’re walking slowly because we’re under the Invisibility Cloak … we’ve gone down the front steps …”

But Harry couldn’t care less about the alleged movements of his alleged past self. Ignoring the anxiety radiating from her body, he demanded a few answers from his cagey companion. Under his silent insistence, Hermione reluctantly produced the magical device for his inspection. It was shaped like a little black metal pendant surrounding an hourglass filled with what looked like glowing golden sand.

“It’s called a Time Turner,” she conceded as Harry reverently turned the tool over and over in his trembling hands to examine it from all sides, “I got it from Professor McGonagall on our first day back. I’ve been using it all year to get to all my lessons. Professor McGonagall made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone. She had to write all sorts of letters to the Ministry of Magic so I could have one. She had to tell them that I was a model student, and that I’d never, ever use it for anything except my studies. I’ve been turning it back so I could do hours over again, that’s how I’ve been doing several lessons at once, see?”

The boy’s mind was awhirl, thoughts spinning wildly in all directions. A time machine … sweet merciful Merlin, the Ministry of Magic has actually invented a freaking time machine! Why have I never heard about this before!? This has gotta be the greatest invention of all time, pun intended! Except maybe the Philosopher’s Stone … But this is far more practical. The things I could do with this … it’s a complete cheat item, a game-breaker …

Hermione was still jabbering on, unmindful of her friend’s distraction. “But Harry, I don’t understand what Dumbledore wants us to do. Why did he tell us to go back three hours? How’s that going to help Sirius?”

Harry stared at her shadowy face. He simply couldn’t believe it. A Morgana-loving time machine, the most incredible discovery since cavemen realised smacking rocks together produced fire, and what does the Ministry do with this phenomenal monument to human ingenuity? Loans it out to thirteen-year-old witches so that they could increase their school workloads to unhealthy levels!? And McGonagall was the instigator? Was every authority-figure in the magical world either certifiably insane or such gibbering idiots that they’d make Dudley seem like Einstein by comparison? I mean, I love Hermione to death, but giving her access to super-powers just to let her over-indulge in her studying obsession … really!?

Her fingernails clenched urgently around his forearms, and Harry was forced to break free of his musings on the bizarre state of wizarding mentality and focus on the matter at hand. He became aware that he hadn’t answered her question. There was no more time to stall.

“There must be something that happened around now he wants us to change,” he theorised uncertainly. “What happened? We were walking down to Hagrid’s three hours ago …”

“This is three hours ago, and we are walking down to Hagrid’s,” said Hermione. “We just heard ourselves leaving …”

Harry scowled in thought, screwing up his whole brain in concentration. Mustn’t get distracted … must find a way to save Sirius … but how? What was it the Professor said as he was leaving? “Dumbledore said we could save more than one innocent life … Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!”

“How will that help Sirius?”

“Dumbledore said — he just told us where the window is, the window of Flitwick’s office! Where they’ve got Sirius locked up! We’ve got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can escape on Buckbeak — they can escape together!”

Hermione’s eyes gleamed in excitement. The course of action agreed, the pair made their stealth-filled way out of the castle and towards Hagrid’s hut. Along the way, Harry couldn’t help but feel hot guilt clenching in the pit of his stomach. Less than half an hour ago he had been mentally condemning the old man for being useless at solving Harry’s problems, while he’d simultaneously been giving Harry hints for saving Sirius and Buckbeak from their executioners! I suppose Dumbledore has helped us out in some ways, he conceded grudgingly to himself. I should cut him some slack, the man’s probably extremely busy looking out for everyone in the school … But the seed of doubt deep inside continued to niggle at him. Even so, I still can’t figure out why he doesn’t just fix things directly himself. The Professor’s certainly clever enough to have come up with a way to spirit away Sirius and Buckbeak while giving a plausible excuse to the Minister. Why is it always me that has to jump through hoops? But the gentle quiet of the gloaming provided him with no answers.

The sunset began to fade behind the rolling hills of the Scottish highlands while the duo crept through the trees until they saw Buckbeak, who was tethered to the fence around Hagrid’s pumpkin patch.

“Now?” Harry tensed, readying his muscles for action.

“No!” Hermione hissed. “If we steal him now, those Committee people will think Hagrid set him free! We’ve got to wait until they’ve seen he’s tied outside!”

“That’s going to give us about a sixty second window,” mused Harry, a bit dubiously. Although he was the one who’d suggested this plan, he was having second thoughts. This was starting to seem impossible.

“That’s Hagrid breaking the milk jug,” Hermione whispered, as the sound of crashing echoed from inside the cabin. “I’m going to find Scabbers in a moment—” Sure enough, a few minutes later, they heard Past-Hermione’s shriek of surprise.

Harry’s doubts about the feasibility of this operation continued to grow as they waited. His eyes couldn’t help drifting down to the dim glint of gold around his friend’s neck, the only part of the gold chain visible. Now that they had access to a bona fide time machine, the number of options available to them had suddenly skyrocketed at an exponential rate. Perhaps they should ditch this scheme and come up with a better one. Perhaps this was the time to think more creatively ...

“Hermione?” Harry decided to sound her out on some of the ideas percolating through his skull. “What if we … we just run in there and grab Pettigrew —”

“No!” the witch immediately objected in a terrified whisper. “Don’t you understand? We’d be breaking one of the most important wizarding laws! Nobody’s supposed to change time, nobody! You heard Dumbledore, if we’re seen —”

“We’d only be seen by ourselves and Hagrid!” Harry riposted, annoyed that she wouldn’t even consider the idea. Why was Hermione suddenly getting cold feet about breaking the law now? He couldn’t even count the number of laws the trio had broken since they’d first met on the Hogwarts Express. Sure, it’s one thing to break wizarding laws willy-nilly with no regard to the consequences, but that’s not the case here. We’re doing this for very good reasons – we’re trying to save innocent lives, for Mordred’s sake!

“Harry, what do you think you’d do if you saw yourself bursting into Hagrid’s house?” asked Hermione in a patient tone that she usually reserved for explaining the bleeding obvious to rambunctious lower-year Gryffindors.

“I’d — I’d think I’d gone mad, or I’d think there was some Dark Magic going on —” he replied grudgingly.

“Exactly! You wouldn’t understand, you might even attack yourself! Don’t you see? Professor McGonagall told me what awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time! Loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake!” Her sharp little fingers jabbed deeply into his chest. Harry flinched away from the assault.

“Okay! Fine! I get it, alright! It was just an idea …” Harry backpedalled hastily. It was clear that Hermione was going to be of absolutely no help whatsoever in this matter. Once again it seemed it was down to Harry alone to fix everything. Why me? he sighed internally. Why does Hermione have to become pigheaded about this issue of all things? Why does nobody else ever get what I’m trying to do?

But his brief self-pity-party was interrupted as Hermione nudged him and pointed toward the castle. In the distance, Dumbledore, Fudge, the old Committee member, and MacNair the Executioner were exiting the main doors of Hogwarts castle and proceeding down the path towards Hagrid’s cottage. Harry resigned himself to sticking with the original plan. He’d have to bide his time and wait for another opportunity.

 

I
IIIIIII
I

 

Sirius Black continued to stare down at his godson. The chilled wind snapped around them. “How can I ever thank —”

“GO!” Harry and Hermione shouted together.

“Fine, fine,” the fugitive assented, rolling his eyes at the teens’ dramatics. Climbing onto the Hippogriff’s back, he seized the reins and prepared for flight. “We’ll see each other again. You are — truly your father’s son, Harry … Hiiyah!” With a stirring cry, Sirius’ heels dug into Buckbeak’s sides, and the creature unfurled its enormous wings and launched them into the air!

Harry and Hermione watched from the top of the battlements as the Hippogriff and its rider became smaller and smaller in the distance, then a cloud drifted across the moon, and the two tiny dots were gone, swallowed up in the infinite black abyss of the night sky.

Harry’s heart overflowed with tingling elation! And not simply from the joy of knowing his last living magical relative and an abused animal had found their deserved freedom. They had done it! He and Hermione, a pair of underaged wizards, had managed to manipulate Time Itself to change the world for the better! Two innocent lives had been saved, exactly as Dumbledore had hinted at. It was as good a proof-of-concept as could be wished for by anyone! By extension, if two innocent lives could be saved by means of a Time Turner, then theoretically, tens of thousands of innocent lives could also be saved! Including the rest of his lost family members! Heck, the entire wizarding world could be re-made! As long as he came up with a suitable plan … I can see this is going to need a lot of careful thought …

“Harry!” Hermione tugged at his sleeve, interrupting his giddy thoughts. “We’ve got exactly ten minutes to get back down to the hospital wing without anybody seeing us before Dumbledore locks the door!”

“Okay,” Harry wrenched his gaze from the sky. “Let’s go.”

They slipped through the doorway behind them and down a tightly spiralling stone staircase. As they reached the bottom of it, they heard voices. They flattened themselves against the wall and listened. It sounded like the Minister of Magic and Snape were discussing the Black case as they trotted along the corridor at the foot of the staircase.

“… only hope Dumbledore’s not going to make difficulties. The Kiss will be performed immediately?”

“As soon as MacNair returns with the Dementors. This whole Black affair has been highly embarrassing. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to informing The Daily Prophet that we’ve got him at last …”

Harry clenched his teeth. He caught a glimpse of Snape’s smirk as he and Fudge passed their hiding place. He couldn’t believe the conversation he was hearing! That vile and greasy bastard was actually gloating – GLOATING!!! – at the thought of Sirius being given the Dementor’s Kiss! Harry’d had his issues with the berk over the past three years, and there was certainly no love lost between them, but even so, the boy was shocked to his very core that the Potions Professor was so openly gleeful about the cold-blooded murder of Harry’s godfather and last remaining family-member! He’d never have believed it if he hadn’t seen and heard it first-hand.

A deep and cold fury swelled up from the innermost depths of Harry’s soul, overflowing through his entire being. At that moment he vowed to do whatever was necessary to destroy Snape. Just you wait, Severus Bloody Snape, he glowered, you’ve just made Harry Potter’s List of Enemies! Before very long, I’ll be the Master of Time, and no potion in the world and no Headmaster in the world will be able to save you from the wrath of Potter! He suddenly realised his entire body was trembling in rage.

Their footsteps died away. Hermione, oblivious to his rampaging moods, seized Harry’s hand and dragged him in the opposite direction. Down one staircase, then another, along a new corridor … The red mist gradually dissipated from Harry’s mind as they ran through the depths of Hogwarts. Eventually he was able to return to the most pressing of issues — how to get his hands on the Time Turner without Hermione or anyone else figuring out that he had it. Flipping through numerous scenarios in his head, Harry rejected them one after the other.

One thing’s for certain, I have to get hold of it tonight. There’s no way to know when Hermione has to return it to McGonagall, and there’s no guarantee she’ll let Hermione use it again next year. The poor girl’s been practically falling apart from stress the past few months, I can’t believe our Head of House would condone it for four more years! And who knows what sort of rules the Ministry has for loaning out the Time Turner to people? Maybe they only let you borrow one for one year per person. Come to think of it, is there only one Time Turner in existence, or a whole bunch? If there’s only the one, then it’s even more critical I get hold of it now. Argh, I’d love to interrogate Hermione for more details, but she’s too clever. If I show any interest in the subject it’ll definitely tip her off that I’m the culprit. That means I can’t do any research in the Hogwarts Library either, Madame Pince’s record-keeping abilities are legendary, and I wouldn’t put it past McGonagall to check to see if any students have shown an unusual interest in time travel …

Harry pondered if he should wait until they fell asleep later in the night and then filch it. But abandoned the idea after a bit more thought. Hermione would likely check the device when she changed into her sleepwear, and if it were missing in the morning, the only suspects would be himself, the unconscious Ron and Madame Pomfrey, and Harry somehow doubted the latter two would be under much suspicion. He could wait a few days for the dust to settle and then find an opportunity to swipe it … No, Hermione was a fastidious person in the normal day-to-day, and she’d be especially careful about not losing sight of a priceless piece of state property entrusted to her care. No, this top secret escapade of theirs to snatch Sirius and Buckbeak away from the arms of the law was hands-down the best opportunity for Hermione to ‘accidentally lose’ the Time Turner. In all the chaos, who could blame the girl for not noticing it was gone? He just needed the right opportunity …

Then they heard a cackling ahead.

“Peeves!” Harry muttered joyfully. This was his chance! He grabbed Hermione’s shoulder. “In here!” He pulled a nearby door open with his right hand and shoved the girl’s back with his left, propelling her into the dark deserted classroom. As Hermione squawked and stumbled forward, he whipped out his wand with lightning speed, aimed and whispered, “Stupefy!” A brief flash of red light, and Hermione collapsed unconscious onto the stone floor.

Harry quickly closed the door behind him just in time. From the sound of it, Peeves seemed to be bouncing along the corridor in boisterous good spirits, laughing his head off. He could barely make out the words but it was clear that here was another excited about the imminent demise of the Notorious B.L.A.C.K. Harry ground his teeth. That was another one who’d just made his List. He waited until Peeves’ gloating voice had faded into the distance, then returned his attention to his insensate friend.

Stupefying his best mate in the back in order to rob her wasn’t exactly Harry’s finest moment, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He consoled himself that her temporary discomfort was all for the greater good. Pulling the chain free of the witch’s clothes, a moment of exertion tore the hourglass device free. He quickly tucked the broken chain back under Hemione’s shirt. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice the difference for some time.

Harry then realised that he’d forgotten a very important element – what to do with the booty? There would undoubtedly be a search of Hogwarts, and there was no way it could be found on his person. He’d have to find a hiding place, and fast! He hurriedly scanned the classroom. Inside the cupboards or desks were possibilities, perhaps behind the bookcase or in the corner underneath a pile of books … none of these options were satisfactory. The risk of being discovered was too high, even for a day or two. And what then? He probably shouldn’t take the Time Turner home in his trunk or in his pocket, that was just asking for trouble. So what did that leave him with …?

I need to hurry, he thought frantically, we’ve got to meet up with Dumbledore in a few minutes. If only I had someone who could hold onto this for me; an accomplice who was totally trustworthy but have no desire to use it themselves. That rules out Ron or Neville … unless …

Harry’s famous luck and/or talent for improvisation once again reared its welcome head – the green-eyed wizard was struck by a sudden brainwave. “Dobby?” He called uncertainly. If this doesn’t work, I’m royally screwed …

To his immense relief, the sound of a magic ‘pop’! and a cry of “Great and wonderful Master Harry is needing Dobby?!” came to his ears. Harry swept the startled house elf into a warm hug, causing the creature to burst into joyous tears at the unexpected honour.

“Look Dobby, I don’t have much time to explain so don’t say a word – could you please do me a huge, enormous favour?” he said quickly. The little elf nodded with great energy, grabbing his long ears and twisting the ends into knots in excitement. “Brilliant! I need you to take this and hide it somewhere no-one will ever be able to find it. And tell no-one where you’ve hidden it, not even me!” He thrust the hourglass into Dobby’s hands. “It’s called a Time Turner and everyone will soon be looking for it, so I’m counting on you to make sure that nobody knows that either you or I had anything to do with its disappearance. Do you understand? It’s very important!”

“Dobby is understanding!” the elf declared. “Dobby has had to hide many secret nasty items for bad old master, and has never told!”

“That’s great! In a couple of weeks I’ll be back at home and I’ll call you. We can decide what to do from there. How does that sound?”

Dobby gave an enthusiastic girls scout salute (where on earth did he learn that?) and vanished.

Harry repositioned Hermione to be sprawled out face-first on the floor and then, with a silent apology to the girl, half-lay on top of her as if he’d fallen too. With his wand out he whispered, “Renervate!” She stirred and regained consciousness.

“Oof!” Hermione grunted. “Gedoff me, Harry!”

“Sorry.” Harry sheepishly scrambled upright and helped her to her feet, his wand disappearing into his pocket.

Hermione checked her watch, absentmindedly dusting off her robes with her free hand. “Three minutes, Harry!” she hissed in alarm.

The duo fled down the hallways at maximum speed until they reached the end of the corridor with the hospital wing entrance, just as Dumbledore exited.

“I am going to lock you in, it is five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck.” The doors shut, the lock clicked. The Professor looked up, and beamed as his two students ran up to him. “Well?” he whispered.

“We did it!” said Harry breathlessly. “Sirius has gone, on Buckbeak …”

“Well done! I think —” He listened intently at the door. “Yes, I think you’ve gone too. Get inside, I’ll lock you in.”

Harry and Hermione slipped back inside the dormitory. It was empty except for Ron, who was still lying motionless in the end bed. The lock clicked behind them once more, Harry and Hermione crept back to their own beds, none too soon as Madam Pomfrey burst out of her office and strode over to them.

“Did I hear the Headmaster leaving? Am I allowed to look after my patients now?” she grumbled, passing out pieces of chocolate. The children accepted them meekly.

Harry could hardly swallow, careful to avoid eye contact with Hermione. He maintained a neutral expression but inside was dancing in jubilation! In one night he’d successfully freed Sirius and Buckbeak from the executioner’s blade, snubbed Snape, frustrated Minister Fudge, obtained a house elf ally, and best of all – acquired the key to getting his loving parents back! Now he had to hold the line, long enough to escape back to Privet Drive where he could formulate his next brilliant plan. He just had to endure whatever chaos was about to erupt with nerves of steel …

Show time, Harry thought, as a distant roar of fury echoed through the castle from somewhere above them …

 

I
IIIIIII
I

 

3 July 1994

Harry carefully shut the back door behind him and slipped out onto the street. In the middle of the night, with only the stars and several sputtering streetlamps for light, Privet Drive had a pensive, calm atmosphere that never failed to soothe Harry’s nerves. Every since he was eight, whenever he couldn’t sleep, he would take to wandering the neighbourhood, enjoying the peace and quiet that only night could bring. But tonight he was out for a far more important purpose, his destination a bridge about a kilometre away from Number 4. The boy slid down the embankment and hid in the shadows under the overpass. The old stream had long since dried up so there was plenty of space to settle down.

“Dobby?” he called, after making certain there were no living souls anywhere in the vicinity. With a ‘pop’! his partner-in-crime appeared, producing the purloined Time Turner with a flourish and a grin. “Well done! Are you sure nobody suspects us?”

“Dobby is sure, Wonderful Wizard Harry Potter sir! Old Professor Whiskers be calling on all elves to search Hoggywarts, but Dobby was clever and no-one found out!”

Harry nodded in satisfaction, accepting the magical hourglass. The final three weeks of the term had certainly been exciting. The disappearance of a condemned Hippogriff and the country’s most-wanted felon from Hogwarts had kicked off a firestorm. Harry and Hermione had ended up in a shouting match with the Minister of Magic, Snape demonstrated his maturity by throwing the mother of all tantrums, and Dumbledore was relegated to the thankless task of peacemaker. Then before the melée had a chance to blow over, Hermione discovered that her chain had broken and the Time Turner was missing, immediately kicking off another firestorm. Dumbledore had mobilised the entire teaching staff, as well as Filch, Hagrid, the school ghosts, elves and portraits to search the school grounds from top to bottom. The investigation had even included students’ trunks and other personal belongings, making Harry extra-glad that he hadn’t gone with his original thought and hidden the thing in his robe pockets. A simple Summoning Charm from a Professor (which they were dishing out like candy) would’ve immediately brought it to light.

Poor Hermione was slapped with a disciplinary order from the Ministry for negligent handling of national assets. Harry wasn’t sure what that involved, but from the way the witch reacted you’d think she’d been forbidden from ever reading a book again. He’d felt so guilty about causing her predicament that he’d spent many hours helping the frantic witch to search all along the route they’d taken on that night-which-shall-not-be-named, to no avail. In the face of her distress, he could only clench his teeth and remind himself that her suffering was for the sake of a better world for everyone.

“Hopefully this fiasco will teach those numpties at the Ministry not to hand out powerful magical tools to teenagers like they were trick-or-treats,” Harry sighed. “But somehow I doubt it. I mean, these are the same people who invented time travel, then passed a bunch of laws banning anyone from using it to do anything helpful! What’s the point!? ‘Nobody’s supposed to change time, nobody!’” he imitated sarcastically. “Doesn’t Hermione doubling her course load count as changing time, Dobby? For all we know, a couple of extra O.W.L.s on her record could be the sole difference between her becoming Minister of Magic or not! I guess Uncle Vernon was right about government bureaucrats after all …”

The house elf nodded fervently, though the boy could tell he had absolutely no idea what Harry was talking about.

“I have to do something nice for Hermione, though, she didn’t deserve any of that ... I’ll start by changing the timeline so that she doesn’t have to live in a world where she gets petrified by basilisks or almost murdered by mountain trolls!”

“The Great Harry Potter is truly the most magnificent wizard in all of history!” Dobby cheered.

“Does that mean you’d like to help me end magical Britain’s Dark Lord problem and ensure a happy life for everyone?”

“Dobby does! Please let Dobby help the Great Harry Potter’s magical crusade! Please!”

“Alright!” the wizard declared, “That makes us partners! Put ‘er there, Partner.”

The two shared a manly handshake, signifying their firm agreement to abuse the laws of time and space for the greater good.

“Now that that’s settled, it’s time for us to polish our grand plan. I’ve spent the last month pondering, and here’s what I came up with.” The human and elf found comfortable seats in the soft earth as they began to plot. “Okay, my first thought was to go back to Godric’s Hollow that Halloween night when I became the Boy-Who-Lived and warn my parents to flee before Voldemort arrives. That way they’d both survive and I’d never become an orphan and never have to live with the Dursleys. But then I remembered that they were hidden under a Fidelius Charm, so I’d never be able to find them. And even if I did, why would they believe some random thirteen-year-old claiming to be their son from the future? They’d probably think it was some trick of the Death Eaters and attack me or something. And even if by some miracle I could convince them, then Voldemort would never be vanquished by my mother’s sacrifice, and would still be running around the wizarding world killing people. He might well murder my parents later at some other time, and I’d have no way to predict when that might happen. And then there’s all the other people Voldemort and his minions have killed, raped, tortured, maimed, enslaved, and so on. What about them? Could I really be happy saving only my own family and doing nothing for the suffering of everyone else?”

Harry shook his head decisively. The thought of grabbing his parents and fleeing the country for Australia or Tahiti and leaving everyone else in Britain to the tender mercies of the worst Dark Lord in centuries made his stomach squicky. There’s no way he could abandon the Weasleys or the Grangers or the Longbottoms or Sirius or Lupin or Dumbledore, not when he had the ability to remove their troubles too. The very idea was deeply discomforting. He nervously twirled the Time Turner between his fingers like a coin.

“So I decided that plan wasn’t ambitious enough. Heh, did you know that the Sorting Hat said I could be great in Slytherin? But I didn’t want to listen. Maybe it’ll be happy I’m finally embracing my ambitious side.” Harry and Dobby shared an awkward chuckle. The elf doubtless had few good experiences with the residents of that House, whether past or present. Harry decided to push on past the uncomfortable moment. “Er, anyway, that brings us to Plan B. When I was little, my aunt and uncle used to watch this TV show called ‘The Twilight Zone’, and in one episode this guy goes back in time in order to kill Hitler … um, he was a terrible man, kinda like a Muggle Dark Lord. The idea was, if you removed this evil guy from history, then all the people he killed are no longer killed, and everyone could live happily ever after and so on. It’s a pretty good idea. So I thought we could do the same thing. But then I remembered what Hermione told me about how lots of wizards who went back in time accidentally killed their past selves, or their parents or grandparents etc, snuffing them out of existence. We don’t want that to happen, right?”

“Right, Grand Wizard Harry Potter!” Dobby agreed earnestly.

“So just to be on the safe side, we won’t be killing anyone at all. Nobody dies, that’s our motto! So we’ll limit ourselves to a bit of child-abduction instead. Why kill Voldemort when we can kidnap him when he’s young and unable to fight back?” Harry smirked. “For most people, that would be impossible since the man keeps his background so secret, but yours truly happens to know that his real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle and that he received an award for special services while he was a student at Hogwarts in 1943! That means we have an exact time and location to nab him. And voilà! No more Tom Riddle in the timeline which means no more Voldemort, no more British civil war, no more Death Eaters, no more murdered parents, no more Dursleys! Everyone gets to lie happily ever after.”

Dobby applauded politely.

“I take it that means you agree?” Harry grinned. “Good. Since our goal has been decided unanimously, let’s begin the testing of this little tool.” He held out the hourglass. “Best to take it for a few trial runs to make sure we understand how it works before going all the way back to the 1940’s for real ... I wasn’t sure if using this device would trigger the Ministry’s sensors and tag me for underage use of magic, that’s why I chose this out-of-the-way place instead of doing it in my room at home.”

Harry pulled out an old, faded silver chain about a metre and a half in length that he’d purloined from the bottom of Aunt Petunia’s jewellery case. He’d never seen her wear it, and it was so unfashionable he doubted she’d ever know it had disappeared. But for his purposes it was ideal. It was the work of a few minutes to attach the Time Turner to its new chain.

“I sure hope the chain doesn’t have to be gold, or magical in some way, or else we’re gonna be in a whole load of strife.”

Harry stood up and leaned out from under the bridge to catch a glimpse of the face of the clocktower in the distance. Its presence nearby was the second reason this spot was ideal for experimentation.

“Okay, it’s currently 1:17am on the 3rd of July, 1994. Let’s try going backwards for one day, shall we?” He slung the chain around his and Dobby’s necks. “Now, Hermione and Dumbledore said something about turns being equivalent to hours, so 24 turns to begin with. 1 … 2 … 3 …”

 

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“Merlin’s beard, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Harry cursed, pacing backwards and forwards, hands clenching in agitation.

Fortunately, the test was successful. Apparently a muggle silver chain was perfectly acceptable for the hourglass to transport a human and elf back in time together. They had also determined that the device could move people in time, but not in space. The time travellers would always appear at the same location in the past that they had just left. It was also determined that it could only transport people one way, into the past. It could not return users to their original time.

Less fortunately, the Time Turner turned out to have a very strict built-in limitation that Harry had not been aware of.

“Five hours! Five freaking hours!” he grizzled. “No matter how many times you turn the blasted thing, it only lets you go back a measly five hours! How in the nine circles of Hel is anyone supposed to do anything with only five hours to mess around with!” He fell to his knees. “So close …” he whispered in desperation. “I was so close to getting them all back … Mum … Dad … I’m sorry …” Tears dripped onto the soft earth below.

Dobby wrung his hands, frantically trying to think of anything that could possibly cheer up his dejected partner.

After rolling around in the dirt for another half-hour or so, Harry slowly took to his feet. “I’m going home,” he muttered in a broken voice. “Need to sleep. I’ll see you round, Dobby.”

He strode away, not even bothering to clean his dirty clothes. Leaving a mournful solitary elf in his wake.

 

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13 July 1994

“Dobby!”

‘Pop’!

“Is the Imperial Wizard Harry Potter feeling better now?” Dobby asked cautiously.

“I am, thanks,” he nodded, sitting cross-legged on his bed. “I’m done wallowing and being a moody git. Sorry you had to see that.” He squirmed in embarrassment. “Ahem, anyway, I’ve been doing some more thinking and realised I jumped off half-cocked without doing any proper research beforehand. That was a mistake. So I’m going to make like Hermione and do my due diligence before we do the next test run. First of all, I made a mistake in assuming that there’s only one type of Time Turner in the world, the five-hour type. Think about it, Dobby: suppose you’re an inventor of magical doodads and doohickeys, and one day you stumble upon the greatest achievement in history, a time machine. But then you realise it can only take you back for a piddly five hours. Would you really stop there? If the Ministry inventors are anything like Hermione – or any of the Ravenclaws – they’ll keep making more and more prototypes until they crack it. Now I’ve had time to reflect, it seems silly to think that the government would loan its most advanced Time Turners to Hogwarts students. In fact, it’s a lot more likely that they only lend out the most low-tech, junky versions and keep all the really good ones locked up somewhere in the Ministry.”

Dobby nodded. It did seem like something the big wizards would do. “Does that mean we is being returning this Time clock to its owners?”

“Uhm, no, I don’t think so,” Harry hemmed and hawed, refusing to make eye contact. “It could still be useful, at least until we get our hands on a better one. Hem hem! Anyway, the mission now is to find out everything we can about, one: the nature of time travel; two, the details of time travel devices, Time Turners or otherwise; three: where in the Ministry they are kept and how to find our way in and nab some; and, four: Memory Charms.”

Dobby blinked. “Memory Charmses?”

Harry nodded firmly. “That’s right. You remember that fop Lockhart from two years ago? You know, the idiot who vanished all the bones in my arm after … well, you know ...”

Neither of them said the words. It happened, of course, after Dobby had charmed a bludger to attack Harry during a Quidditch match, and subsequently shattered his arm. Dobby rushed across the room and began to bash his head against the wall.

“Bad Dobby! Is very bad Dobby who hurt the Kind and Wonderful Harry Potter!”

“No, Dobby, stop! It’s fine, it’s all in the past!” Harry wheedled and soothed, chasing after the distraught creature. Even with all his efforts, it still took a good 10 minutes to drag the elf away from the wall and finally calm him down. After much encouragement, the conversation was finally able to get back on track.

“What I was trying to say,” said Harry, sitting back down on the bed and strong-arming Dobby to sit beside him, “was that Lockhart was a master of Memory Charms, that’s how he got all his fame and fortune. Darn near wiped Ron’s and my minds to a blank slate.” He shuddered at the near-miss. “It strikes me that that’s exactly the kind of skill I need to deal with our budding Dark Lord. You reckon Tom Riddle is gonna take kindly to being yanked out of his timeline and being forced to be a good little wizard from now on?” Harry snorted. “Yeah right, he’ll most likely kick up a heck of a scrap! And I don’t much fancy removing a wannabe Dark Lord from the past only to set him loose on the present. So the only options are to either kill him, or use Memory Charms to wipe his mind clean. With a properly empty mind, we can adopt him to some nice Muggle family to raise him right, with good, honest family values. White picket fences, pet poodles and everything.” He couldn’t help chuckling at the mental image of Voldemort living a life of domestic non-magical bliss.

“There is magics to take aways all the bad thoughts in bad wizardies’ minds?” Dobby breathed in wonder.

“Yep. Magic is a wonderful and terrible thing, isn’t it? … Unfortunately, my aunt and uncle are hosting a dinner party on the weekend so I have to spend the next few days cleaning the grout in both bathrooms and the garage; that means I can’t get away to go book-shopping. Did the Malfoys ever send you out to shop for them?”

“Oh yes, Mighty Mage Harry Potter! Dobby be doing lots of shoppings for bad old masters. Most wizardie families with elves make elves do their shoppings for them. Excepts for important or special things.”

“Brilliant! Here’s the key to my Gringotts account. You can spend up to, um, say 1000 Galleons. It’s pricey, but it’s worth it if I can get my family back! I want you to scour all the bookshops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade: Flourish and Blotts, Obscurus Books, WhizzHard Books, Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, etc. Also check the junk shops and the post office; you never know, you might get lucky. Heck, you can even check the dodgier shops in Knockturn Alley. Places like Borgin and Burkes, Cobb and Webb’s and the Coffin House probably have books the Ministry doesn’t want people to know about. Ah, don’t mention my name, willya? Last thing I need is to get a reputation for buying up shady literature about time travel and memory modification.”

“Dobby promises to keeps it a secret!”

“Thanks I appreciate it.” Another thought struck Harry. “Elves have free rein at Hogwarts, don’t they? Before hitting the shops, could you sift through the school library first, especially the Restricted Section? Bring me those first. That way, we won’t have to buy any books that the school already has copies of.”

“Dobby understands … er, Dobby doesn’t know how longs it will take to search entire Hoggywarts Library and all the bookstores …”

“That’s fine,” Harry replied in an encouraging tone. “You can take as long as you need, there’s no deadline. We have all the time in the world … hehehehe. In fact, why don’t you borrow this.” Harry passed the Time Turner to the creature. “If you start to feel stressed, you can always give yourself a few extra hours here and there.”

 

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24 August 1994

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny sprinted through the narrow hallway that zigzagged (with a randomness that could rival Hogwarts castle itself) through the heart of the Burrow. As they journeyed through the mysterious second floor, a door popped open to reveal a pale face sporting horn-rimmed glasses, causing the group to break abruptly, the moment causing them to tumble into an undignified heap.

"Hi Percy," greeted Harry, prising himself free from the human tangle.

"Oh hello Harry. I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know I've got a report to finish for the office – and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs.”

"We're not thundering, we’re walking, " snapped Ron. "Sorry if we've disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic going on in the highly-secured facilities of Prefect Percy’s bedroom."

Ministry of Magic? Harry’s ears perked up. After spending the better part of the last month and a half reading up on every scrap of information about the bureaucratic workings and the physical layout of the Ministry that was available (which was depressingly scarce), he was chagrined to realise that he’d overlooked the most obvious approach – to exploit his relationship with the Weasley family. Arthur was a Director-level official after all, the highest-ranking public servant Harry had ever met (besides Minister Fudge), and now it seemed like Percy was following in his paternal footsteps. There was no way Harry could allow this avenue of information to lay fallow!

"What are you working on?" asked Harry with interest. He mentally crossed his fingers. Please be related to the Department of Mysteries, please be related to the Department of Mysteries …  After much tedious research, he and Dobby had determined that the enigmatic DoM was in fact both the source of time travel and the sole storage location of time devices. And yes, to Harry’s eternal relief, there were indeed numerous types of Time Turners that had been produced, although the specific properties were a closely-guarded secret.

"A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," said Percy smugly. "We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin; leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost 3 percent a year …"

Harry’s heart sank. He tuned out the ensuing sibling arguments and pondered whether or not there was some other way to get some benefit out of this.

“You might sneer, Ron," Percy began heatedly, "but –”

“Excuse me for interrupting,” Harry interjected, wanting to get a word in edgewise before the dispute escalated to its usual Weasley level (i.e., nuclear), “but I was wondering if Percy could take me on a tour of the Ministry some time? When you’re free, of course.”

Silence. Harry found himself the focus of four bright blue and two deep brown Weasley eyes, surrounded by three shocks of bright red Weasley hair and oceans of freckles. The intensity of the staring (and the red hair) was disconcerting. Hermione had wisely already made herself scarce.

“You … you want Percy to take you around the Ministry …?” choked Ginny in disbelief.

“Of course,” Harry nodded pleasantly. “Mr Weasley too, if that’s possible. I think the work sounds fascinating, and I for one think that only Percy and Mr Weasley could show an outsider like me the real meat and potatoes of how the Ministry of Magic really works. I have to admit that it seems like a confusing puzzle to me …” He shrugged helplessly.

“Ahem, quite right, Harry,” Percy shook himself out of his stupor and puffed up grandly. “The Ministry is truly incomprehensible for those unfamiliar with its workings, but rest assured everything that is done is done for a very good reason, no matter how bizarre or foolish it may seem to the ignorant public. Perhaps after the Quidditch World Cup we can owl each other to set a date when we’re all free?”

“I’d like that. See you round, Percy,” the green-eyed wizard gave a cheery wave as he was dragged off to Ron’s bedroom.

 

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1 September 1994

“It’s creepy, mate, is what it is,” Ron shook his head. Harry raised an eyebrow. “How buddy-buddy you’ve been with Perfect Prefect Percy. It’s unnatural, I tell you …”

The carriage swayed, gently rocking its inhabitants back and forth as the Hogwarts Express wended its way through the Scottish countryside towards Hogwarts castle.

"Oh honestly Ron,” Hermione huffed, blowing wisps of her chocolate-coloured curls out of her face. “We just saw the finals of the Quidditch World Cup, your hero Victor Krum caught the snitch, there’s some mysterious event coming up at Hogwarts this year, and – oh yes, that’s right! – not one week ago there was a public anti-Muggle riot where somebody fired off the Dark Mark!! I think there are far more important things for us to worry about than Harry exchanging letters with one of your brothers!”

Their redheaded friend shook his head vehemently. “If it were any other brother, that’d be fine and dandy. But this is Percy we’re talking about. Percy! The boy’s so uptight his broomstick has a broomstick up its backside!”

Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to perusing the most recently-released revised edition of Hogwarts: A History.

Harry was glad to see that his best friend’s personality had finally bounced back to normal after the fallout from the end of last term. He much preferred Snarky Hermione to Distraught Hermione or Gloomy Hermione. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect that someone had obliviated the entire traumatic incident from her mind. Perhaps there was something in those family vacations to France her family kept taking her on ...? Maybe he should try an overseas vacation to unwind at some point? Mordred knew, he was stressed a lot of the time. After I’ve saved the world, he promised himself, I’ll take Mum and Dad along with me. I’ll get Hermione to write up a list of all the best places to visit; that girl sure loves her lists ...

“As it happens,” Harry said absently, “Percy and I happen to see eye-to-eye on a few matters. And for your information, I’ll being going on that tour of the Ministry with him and your dad on the day of the Hogsmeade visit. They already got Dumbledore’s okay.”

“Ugh!” Ron’s grunt revealed his opinion of that idea. “I wouldn’t even mind so much,” the gangly redhead continued, unable to read the atmosphere as usual, “except that it’s having a really bad influence. All Percy’s worst traits are starting to rub off on you!”

“Such as?” Harry asked, turning another page and not bothering to make eye contact.

“Such as all the reading! Every spare minute at the Burrow you were flicking through some book or other. You’ve even spent the entire train ride with your nose in that textbook, for Merlin’s sake! That’s never happened before! It’s like … it’s like there are two Hermiones with me all the time now!”

“Are you saying there’s something wrong with that?” Hermione’s silky purr raised the hairs on both boys’ arms.

Ron finally sensed the danger and confronted it like a man – he backpedalled as fast as possible and changed the subject to the latest (unimpressive) exploits of the Cannons this season.

Harry sank back into his book and continued to read, ignoring their ongoing banter. The cover said The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, but the contents were of far more interest to the young wizard than their fourth-year textbook. Dobby’s energetic expeditions to find useful literature for his partner had yielded disappointing results. Interestingly enough, the results from the Hogwarts Library and the collective wizarding bookstore industry were about equal: each source had provided approximately half a dozen books that were of any practical value for Harry’s quest To Right All Wrongs. All of Hogwarts’ contributions had been found in the Restricted Section, while half the remainder had been bought (after copious house-elf-nagging) from (of all places) Borgin and Burkes. Who knew they had a secret bookshelf available to ‘select’ customers for perusal?

The dozen tomes were now packed safely in his school trunk along with his other most prized possessions – the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father, the family album Hagrid had gifted him, the Firebolt broomstick he had gotten from Sirius, the Marauders Map he had received from Fred and George last year – except for the one he was reading and the one laying on the seat beside him. Wrapped in covers that declared it to be Intermediate Transfiguration, the latter was in fact entitled A Wrinkle In Time, a particularly handy study of the various time travel mechanisms that had been invented in different countries, including helpful tips to aid the reader in bypassing some of the more restrictive laws.

The text he was currently reading was called Splinter of the Mind’s Eye, a fascinating guide to the most useful mind magics. In addition to Memory Charms, there were detailed instructions on how to cast Confundus (to make people believe what you wish them to, typically used by Ministry-appointed obliviators on Muggles, in order to maintain the Statute of Secrecy), Compulsus (compulsion charms seemed to be milder versions of the Imperius Curse), and Legilimens (a mind-reading spell). Harry vaguely remembered Snape going on about the Confundus Charm during the teenagers’ confrontation with Fudge a few months back. It was good to finally put a face to the name.

The two books were not only practical, but also shared an amusing defence charm: to any Muggle reader, or undiscerning wizard, the texts appeared to be super-generic Muggle fiction novels, but the correct password revealed their true contents.

He’d only asked Dobby for books on mind magic as a side-project for his true goals. He hadn’t intended to do much with the information until they had, in fact, captured themselves a Dark Lord in need of obliviation – but after delving into the subject, he knew he couldn’t afford to ignore it. The knowledge that wizards could use spells to extract the deepest secrets of his mind, or control his thoughts and actions, scared the bejeezus out of him! It was bad enough having a magical scar that hurt all the time and occasionally sent him disturbing visions, but this was the rotten cherry on top of the whole dung sundae!

The only counter to these mind magics seemed to be a practice called Occlumency. After a lot of meditation and magical mental gymnastics, an adept would be able to create a shield to block others’ mind spells, or show them selected memories, or even deceive them with fake memories. Naturally, Harry had put everything else on hold and desperately focused on Occlumency training every day. Unfortunately the results were slow-going. At the current rate of growth, it would be a long time before he’d be comfortable with his mental defences. With a soft sigh, the boy closed the book and began his daily meditation exercises.

With any luck, this year would be nice, quiet and tranquil. A year that wouldn’t interrupt his important mind studies and his even more important time travel schemes. One peaceful year, that’s all he needed.

 

 

Next Time on ATTR:    Chapter 2 – I’ve Got a Little List

Chapter 2: I've Got a Little List

Notes:

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Press and Warner Brothers, not me.

A/N: Does anyone else think Harry, Ron and Hermione should’ve been a little (i.e., a lot) freaked out by the existence of Memory Charms after Lockhart tried to wipe Harry and Ron’s minds? I’d have had nightmares about it for years! And yet it took until Book 5 before Occlumency was ever brought up, and even then Dumbledore had to twist Harry’s arm to get him to train up even a bare modicum of mental protection …

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 – I’ve Got a Little List

 

31 October 1994

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t believe it! One year, was it so much to ask for one measly year of being left alone? Maybe Ron was right and he really was Fate’s chew-toy. The boy could only stew in silence, barely aware of Madame Maxime leading the Beauxbatons Champion Dela-something-or-other out of the room through one exit while that Karkaroff jerk swept the Durmstrang Champion Victor Krum (of all people!) out through the exit on the opposite side.

Oh the irony, Harry thought bitterly. It just had to be a Morgana-be-damned Confundus Charm cast on the Goblet of Fire, of all things. Well at least I know the relevant arithmantic components of the spell that’s just royally screwed me over … I s’pose that counts for something …

"Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed," said Dumbledore, affable as ever. As if this weren’t the third or fourth murder attempt (so far) on Harry’s person during his short scholastic career. Harry’s opinion of the ancient wizard – which had raised to new heights after masterminding their successful rescue of Sirius and Buckbeak – sank to the floor, now that it was clear his ‘brilliant’ solution to Harry’s most recent bout of mortal peril was to shrug his shoulders and shove Harry into the lion’s open mouth. Fantastic.

"I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you,” the useless old man continued to patronise him. “It would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise."

Harry shot an irritated glance at Cedric Diggory, the actual Hogwarts Triwizard Champion, who nodded, and they left together. The two boys ambled through the deserted Great Hall, the few flickering candles warping their shadows into giant grotesque abominations on the walls. The darn Jack-o-Lanterns were all leering at him, seemingly mocking Harry’s latest dilemma.

"So …" The Hufflepuff was sporting the kind of plastic smile Harry’d seen plastered over Aunt Petunia’s face every time she had to host one of Uncle Vernon’s ‘handsier’ business clients for dinner. He idly wondered why the older boy was even bothering to be cordial to his unexpected rival. "We're playing against each other again!"

"I s'pose.”

"So...tell me... How did you get your name in?"

"I didn't," said Harry flatly. "I was telling the truth."

"Ah ... okay …"

“And weren’t you paying attention back there? Moody said it was a bloody Confundus some-bloody-body cast on the bloody Goblet. And you know what the worst thing is?” Harry consulted his watch in disgust. “It’s just past 9pm, which means the earliest I can check is 4 in the afternoon. Hah! The Great Hall was crowded all afternoon – who’d be stupid enough to cast a Confundus in broad daylight in the middle of a crowd of witnesses? Nobody, that’s who! So there’s really no point in bothering. Maybe I’ll send Dobby just in case. But I’ll tell you what – whoever it is who’s responsible, I may not be able to catch them red-handed, but one of these days I will find them. And when I do, they’re going to wish they’d been magically forced to compete in a death tournament …”

He trailed off. Harry stiffened, abruptly realising that he’d been thinking aloud, and right in front of a fellow student to boot!

"Yes, right ... see you then." Cedric gave a bewildered wave and dashed down the stone steps, away from Harry as fast as his legs would carry him.

Uh oh. I sure hope he didn’t put two and two together and realise I’m the one with the Time Turner. Thank Mordred Cedric’s a Hufflepuff, not a Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Or worse, Hermione Granger. Fingers crossed that he just thinks I’m a raving nutter.

“Dobby!” he called. The elf dutifully appeared. Harry gave a quick glance around the Great Hall to make sure they were alone, then passed the Time Turner over. “Do me a favour would you? Use this to go back as far as you can and watch the Goblet of Fire like a hawk. If you see anyone casting any spells at the Goblet, especially the Confundus, at any time before my name came out of it, you let me know. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try. We could get lucky.”

“Dobby understands!” the elf chirped.

“And once you get back to this moment in time, I want you to watch Cedric Diggory real close for the next week or two. If he talks to anyone, or writes anything, about time travel or Time Turners, tell me immediately. I may have to do some obliviations in the worst case scenario.”

Dobby nodded, and began turning the hourglass. With a puff of magic, he was gone.

Having done all he could reasonably do in this situation, Harry decided to bite the bullet. He ascended the staircase and entered the Gryffindor common room.

“HURRAY!!!!”

The sudden cheering had him recoiling in shock. Multiple hands grabbed him and dragged him into the midst of the crowd of merrymakers. Someone started singing ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’, which was quickly taken up by everyone else. It seemed like everyone in the house wanted to shake his hand or down Butterbeer slammers with him. Eventually the chanting, toasting, screaming, applauding, back-slapping and whistling had finally settled enough for Harry to be able to hear the ringing in his ears.

"You'll be able to pay back Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Harry!" somebody shrieked in his left ear.

“How the heck did you pull it off?” someone yelled in his right ear, slinging a Gryffindor banner around his shoulders like a cape.

After a few attempts to explain that he hadn’t entered and wasn’t feeling particularly festive right now, Harry finally gave up and decided to enjoy the moment with everyone. Maybe getting blitzed out of his brain with Butterbeer alongside his friends and housemates would help him forget about his awful evening.

What the heck, none of this will’ve happened once I change the timeline. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts, Harry rationalised. He allowed himself to be dragged forward to join Katie Bell in doing Firewhiskey body-shots off Angelina’s taut abs.

 

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13 November 1994

The past fortnight saw increasing chaos and confusion spread throughout Hogwarts. The existence of two Hogwarts Triwizard Champions divided the student body into three factions. Gryffindor House staunchly supported Harry, its members frequently inquiring in loud voices as to why there was any dispute at all over which champion was clearly the superior pick for Hogwarts. Ravenclaw House remained in its default state: completely indifferent to the school’s affairs. Hufflepuff and Slytherin Houses united (for the first time in two centuries) in order to shun and decry Harry. The Snakes and Badgers teamed up and sought every opportunity possible to mock the Boy-Who-Lived and (whenever there were no professors present) to fling hexes in his direction. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students and teachers opted to boycott all four Hogwarts Houses, deeming the entire school to be cheaters who’d somehow fraudulently engineered a double chance at victory at their schools’ expense. Not that the two foreign schools would deign to join forces with each other! There was still that legacy of hundreds of years of rivalry and animosity between the Latin and Germanic-Slavic magical communities. The venerable seat of learning was transfiguring into a madhouse.

Harry did his best to stay out of the fray. He stuck together with groups of fellow Gryffindors, for safety in numbers. With other bodies all around him, there was much less chance of being hit with a curse. He stayed in the Lions’ common room as much as possible, busily practised his Occlumency and other mind magics, did his schoolwork and, whenever he had spare time, continued to memorise all the information he had available to him about the design of the DoM in preparation for the upcoming Ministry tour.

His temper finally snapped when the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs began distributing badges that proclaimed ‘POTTER STINKS’. According to the rumour mill, Draco Malfoy was the instigator, and Harry couldn’t say he was surprised to hear that.

Speak of the devil. As Harry was wolfing down his treacle tart that evening, the blonde irritation himself sauntered over to the Gryffindor table and loudly proclaimed, "Like them, Potter? They’re pretty popular, I’m all sold out and it’s only been one day!"

Harry didn’t deign to turn from his meal and acknowledge his existence, but he could hear the howls of laughter from other students who were also flaunting their new badges. He gripped the edge of the table tightly to prevent himself lashing out and making the situation worse.

"Oh very funny," Hermione snapped from beside him, "really droll, Malfoy. If you’re seven years old and learning-impaired."

Whatever Malfoy’s ‘witty rejoinder’ may have been was lost to history, as the Snakes’ attention suddenly shifted to Ron Weasley. Silently he had arisen from the table and approached the green-garbed group. Reaching out, he plucked the badge from the blonde’s fingers and attached it to his own robe before sitting down again and resuming his meal. A hush fell on the scene. Harry ground his teeth.

"Well, it’s good to see at least one Gryffindor has sense,” Malfoy found his voice back. “Looks like even a filthy blood traitor can’t abide Potter’s blatant cheating. Want one too, Granger? I can let you have this one. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up."

Harry finished the last of his tart, wiped his mouth and stood up. Ignoring the Slytherins he strolled over to the other end of the table where the Gryffindor Prefects congregated. The group had been quietly observing the altercation from a distance.

“Hello,” the boy began. “I think the Snakes and the Badgers have had the run of the place for too long, don’t you think?”

“What’ve you got in mind?” asked Alicia.

Harry produced a length of parchment with a list of names. “I’ve had a friend of mine write up a list of all the worst offenders. Hexes, curses, jinxes, sabotage, slander, you name it, they’ve done it. Ranked from bad to less bad.”

The list was a compromise with Dobby. The little fellow had been apoplectic at the Great Harry Potter’s treatment by the majority of students, forcing Harry to find him busy-work to prevent his friend from meting out his own version of ‘elf-justice’. Remembering Dobby’s over-enthusiastic attempts to ‘help’ him during his second year, the wizard shuddered at the thought of what the elf might do to students in the name of ‘discipline’! ‘Reasonable and proportionate use of force’ was not a phrase in this house-elf’s vocabulary. Since the plan to find the culprit who’d entered Harry’s name into the Goblet was a bust, and since Cedric had shown no signs of cottoning on to Harry’s time travelling shenanigans thus far, Harry decided to instruct Dobby to spy on the entirety of Slytherin and Hufflepuff Houses instead. Compiling and ranking a list of his tormentors should keep the creature busy enough to stay out of trouble. Unsurprisingly, Draco Malfoy was right at the top.

The Prefects reviewed the list of names.

“I think you can add anyone wearing one of those badges to the list too,” Harry added helpfully.

A seventh-year boy with a mop of curly hair whose name Harry couldn’t remember stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It is our duty as Hogwarts Prefects to ensure that proper behaviour is maintained at all times,” he said slowly.

“And if some students choose not to follow those norms,” Angelina supplemented, “then it only stands to reason that the Prefects have an obligation to teach them the error of their ways.

There were mutterings of general agreement amongst all present. The curly-haired boy stood and announced in a loud stentorian voice that Gryffindor would be holding a special House meeting after dinner. A ripple of excitement fizzled through the Lions.

“Oh before I forget.” Harry took back the parchment and scribbled one more name onto the bottom of the list: Ron Weasley. “There you go.” He returned the document.

Alicia’s eyes widened. Then she nodded. “The Pride doesn’t tolerate traitors.”

From the next day onwards, teams of hard-faced Lions patrolled the school, pouncing mercilessly on anyone who made the list. The Badgers and Snakes soon fought back, forming their own ‘hit squads’ to jinx random Gryffindors. As the week progressed, the corridor battles continued to escalate, and children feared to walk the hallways alone. The Infirmary was filled each day with numerous cases of students transfigured into a variety of animals or plants, stuck together, expunged of hair, lost the ability to speak English, could only see in infra-red, grew extra limbs, or had their skin turned into a kaleidoscope of brilliant and dizzying colours. Ron had been transfigured into a giant canary six times already. Draco had been turned into a ferret eight times.

“Oh Harry what have you done?” Hermione lamented as they surveyed the carnage.

“It was already going on,” he shrugged. “I just brought it out into the open.”

“And what about Ron?” the girl demanded.

“Serves him right for being such a berk.”

“Don’t you get it?” she groaned. “The reason he’s been so … tense around you ever since Halloween – he’s jealous! From his point of view, you already have wealth and fame, and now you’re hogging the glory of being a Triwizard Champion to boot! That’s why he keeps insisting that you cheated to get in and is hurt you didn’t help him get chosen by the Goblet too …”

“Frankly my dear,” Harry replied, “I don’t give a damn.”

 

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21 November 1994

The big day had finally arrived! It was a grey and blustery Saturday morning, but most students didn’t care about the weather, today represented an escape from the cold war of the castle to enjoy the delights of Hogsmeade! An exodus of children bundled in scarves and mittens swarmed out of the main gates and down into the village below.

Harry on the other hand, double-checked to make sure he had his Invisibility Cloak, backpack and Time Turner firmly tucked away in his pockets, crept past his sleeping dormmates, then made his way swiftly up to the Headmaster’s Office where he met Arthur and Percy Weasley. A brief Floo journey brought the trio to the Grand Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

“Wow!” Harry eyes sparkled as he admired the large vaulted room dominated by the giant golden statue adorning an enormous fountain and pool. Streams of water poured forth from the wands of the witch and wizard, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat and the house-elf's ears.

“Impressive isn’t it?” Percy beamed. “The statue represents the harmony of all wizards and magical creatures, under the wings of the Ministry of course. If you’ll direct your eyes to the archways to our left, you’ll notice an inscription dedicated by Damocles Rowle, the second Minister of Magic …”

Harry made the appropriate enthralled noises as the younger Weasley continued to discuss in exacting detail the architectural features of note. Arthur looked on, smiling indulgently at his third son’s enthusiasm. It was clear that Percy had studied hard in anticipation of Harry Potter’s first tour of the Ministry.

“So Harry,” Arthur finally got a word in edgewise as they waited in line at the Security Desk, “what’s happening at Hogwarts? It feels like a warzone over there. All the students were walking around in groups with wands raised the whole time. And I don’t remember there being so many holes gouged out of the walls and floors when I was there as a lad.”

Harry chuckled nervously. “Well it is the Triwizard Tournament at the moment. People are pretty excited about it. Youthful high spirits and all that …”

“I understand,” the Weasley patriarch nodded sagely. “I used to be quite the wild child myself when I was a teenager. A real firecracker; my nickname was ‘Whirlwind Weasley’ – my parents and teachers were at their wits’ end more than once, haha.”

Harry and Percy shared a disbelieving look. They reached the Desk and handed over their wands to the watchwizard for weighing and recording, which saved the boys from the burden of devising a diplomatic reply.

“Isn’t the First Task coming up soon?” Arthur continued as they cleared security and entered the Ministry proper.

“Yes sir, in three days.”

“Do you feel prepared?”

“Absolutely,” lied Harry. He hadn’t the slightest intention of sticking around long enough to compete in whatever grand death-battle the Ministry sadists had cooked up, and so hadn’t bothered to do any Triwizard-related research. Bread and circuses were all well and good, so long as they were kept far from him! If the bloodthirsty crowd thought that the Boy-Who-Lived would happily shed his blood for their entertainment, they had another thing coming. “Um, before we get started, do you mind if I go to the bathroom?”

Percy looked rather put out by this utterly unforeseen complication, but Arthur genially directed to the restrooms. Harry barricaded himself in one of the cubicles and called for his partner.

“Dobby!”

‘Pop’!

“Yes, Dobby is here,” he whispered.

Harry pulled out the Time Turner and slung the chain around both their necks. “Ready old friend? Let’s go! 1 … 2 … 3 … 4 … 5.”

The world shimmered and spun away, hurling the pair backwards five hours. Once the swirling colours resolved back into focus, Harry carefully checked to make sure the toilets were empty.

Tempus! 3:43am, we’re right on time,” Harry hissed.

He wrapped himself and Dobby in the Invisibility Cloak, and together they crept out into the hallway. Step by step, eyes and ears peeled for the slightest sign of other people, the duo made their way to the row of lifts. The wizard pressed the closest ‘Down’ button and a minute later one of the lifts arrived.

“Now it’s up to you, Dobby. Remember, DoM should be level 9, and if you run into any trouble, pop back to my side immediately.”

The house-elf nodded and entered the car. The golden grilles shuddered and closed, and the lift gradually descended out of sight. There was no choice but to send the little guy first. Harry was a fourth-year student, and had no skills to detect wards or traps. Only Dobby’s elf magic had a chance of locating and deactivating whatever unpleasantness the Unspeakables had set up to protect their treasures. Harry crossed his fingers that they hadn’t thought to put up elf-specific protections.

This should work out fine, Harry tried to reassure himself. When I arrived in a few hours from now, there didn’t seem to be any emergency alerts or fenced-off crime scenes or Aurors investigating a break-in …

After what felt like an eternity, a soft ‘pop’ announced his friend’s return. “Exalted Harry Potter sir, Dobby has checked the doors and corridorses and has removed the nasty magics! It is safe for good wizard to enter now!”

Harry felt his tense body slump in relief. He didn’t want to imagine how difficult this little heist would’ve been without his trusty partner as backup. Summoning another lift, the pair descended to floor 9. An inorganic female voice announced, “Level 9. Department of Mysteries,” as the car rattled and shuddered to a halt. Passing through a plain black door, they proceeded into the heart of the DoM at last.

“What is this place?” They entered a large room whose wall formed a circle. There were a dozen identical, unnumbered black doors interspersed along the wall at equal intervals. Blue candles shrouded the place in an eerie light. It looked more like a place for satanic ritual sacrifice rather than a government-funded research institute. 

“This way!” Dobby proclaimed, seeming to have no difficulty with his sense of direction. He led the way to one of the featureless doors. Their footsteps clicked loudly on the black marble floor. The boy gasped in wonder at the room beyond. Unlike the rest of the floor, this place was filled with brilliant sparkling light and drowning in an ocean of ticking, clicking and whirring noises. The gigantic hall was filled with clocks, hourglasses and other mechanisms too bizarre to understand with the naked eye. Every bookshelf, desk and spare patch of floor was piled up with timepieces. Some small enough to mistake for a pinhead, others large enough to reach the ceiling

“We’ve hit the motherlode,” Harry breathed. Extracting his backpack, he handed it to Dobby. “Grab every device small enough that I can hold in one of my hands,” he instructed. While his partner proceeded to ransack the place, Harry wandered about aimlessly, seeing if anything special caught his eye. He eventually drifted to the far side of room, towards a large crystal jar that appeared to sprout from the depths of the floor. Inside the jar, floating in mid-air, hung a small hourglass device, seemingly made entirely of gold and crystal. “And Bingo was his name-o,” he muttered. “This has gotta be it. Dobby! Do you think you can snatch it?”

Dobby approached and gave the container the ol’ gimlet eye. “Maybe,” he replied dubiously. “It be taking Dobby some time though …”

“That’s fine, finish collecting the rest of the loot first, then come back to this baby. While you’re doing that, I’m going to explore over there.” He gestured towards a small door behind the crystal jar. “Uh, it is safe to go through there, right …?”

“Yes, Master Harry Potter sir.”

The next room was at least twenty times the size of the Time Room. More blue candles adorned the walls, but their flickering light was enhanced by the dim glow of shelf after shelf of luminous blue crystal globes. Harry debated exploring amongst the shadowy aisles between the rows of shelves. But spying a chest of drawers, he opted to see if there was any information on what these balls represented, and if they could be useful to him. The chest turned out to be a filing cabinet, bolted firmly against a wall. A faded sign nearby announced, ‘The Hall of Prophecies’. Well well well, doesn’t that sound intriguing …

Perusing the files, Harry quickly realised that it was a catalogue, sorted by name. Hmmm, I wonder if there’s anything about the Boy-Who-Lived and all that rot in here, he wondered with mild curiosity. To his surprise, the name ‘Potter, Harry James’ was in fact listed, with a single entry. Well now I have to go check it out, don’t I? Let’s see, Row 97, shelf 5 ... His footsteps echoed loudly in the dark cavernous space of the Hall of Prophecies. After a while, he located the correct shelf and the correct blue, dusty orb. Underneath was a label:

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.
Dark Lord and (?)Harry James Potter

Harry stared at it. It’s got my name on it – so that means it’s kinda my property, right? Right. ... Ah, what the heck, I’m already pillaging the DoM for its time machines, what’s one more bit of larceny on top of that? Hesitating then no longer, the wizard reached out and lifted the globe free of its resting place and slipped it into one of the pockets in his robe. I’ll examine it later. There was no further reason to remain in this creepy giant room, so Harry returned to the Time Room to supervise Dobby’s progress.

 

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“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Harry asked in concern. “That looks pretty heavy.”

“Dobby is fine,” the house elf grunted. He carried the large backpack, easily triple his body size, stuffed to the gills with Time Turners of various shapes and sizes.

“Uh huh,” Harry murmured, but his partner seemed determined to lug all the booty back to Hogwarts on his own, so who was he to object? The boy threw the powder into one of the many fireplaces in the Atrium and whispered, “Honeydukes!” The fire flared green in response.

“Dobby will be hiding the loots and awaiting the Grand Wizard Harry’s return!” With that, he dived into the Floo. Honeydukes was the closest unsecured fireplace to Hogwarts that they knew of. While there were fireplaces in the Headmaster’s office and the hospital wing, both required approval from both ends of the Floo connection before people could transfer across. Going to the sweets shop in Hogsmeade allowed Dobby to pop the short distance to Hogwarts with his load, or (if that were too strenuous) he could carry it through the secret passageway into the castle.

Sneaking back into the men’s toilets under his Invisibility Cloak, Harry made sure to ensconce himself in a different stall than the one he’d used previously, and settled down to wait. It’d be another two hours before he was ready to ‘emerge’ and re-join Arthur and Percy. Shifting his rear around on the uncomfortable seat, Harry pulled out his Splinter of the Mind’s Eye and began his mind magic drills again.

 

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Mordred’s tail, that was tedious, Harry sighed to himself as he finally bid his farewells to the two Weasleys at the front gates of Hogwarts. The sun was dipping over the horizon as he trotted over the path up to the castle. I can’t believe we spent the entire day there. I must’ve visited every single office and met every single employee of the DIMC thrice! At least Percy enjoyed himself ... I could’ve done without all the photography sessions though …  

Entering the Great Hall, the subtle scent of sulphur tingled in his nostrils. “Hmm. The Hall’s looking a bit more singed than it usually does …” he mused. “Maybe Hermione’s right, perhaps this situation really has gotten out of control … But if that’s the case, why in Merlin’s name aren’t the teachers doing anything to clamp down on it?”

Either way it was difficult to dredge up too much emotion. Ever since Halloween, Harry had found himself drifting away from his fellow students, becoming more and more indifferent to the inhabitants of the castle. All his attention was focused on the stash he and Dobby had ‘liberated’.

Turning around a corner, the tired wizard came face to face with Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones and Zacharias and Sally Smith. The two sides froze. Harry’s gaze drifted down the POTTER STINKS badges the quintet were sporting. He raised an eyebrow. Abbot flinched and Bones looked away, but the others held firm, staring him down defiantly, wands clasped in white-knuckled grip. Harry ever-so-slowly let his own right hand slide down towards the wand in his pocket …

“Harry! There ya are!”

The Mexican standoff was abruptly broken by the appearance of the groundskeeper.

“Bin lookin’ all over for ya,” Hagrid continued cheerily, a wide grin on his face, oblivious to the tension humming in the air. He leaned his enormous face down towards the teenager and whispered, "Harry, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear that special cloak of yers."

“Hagrid, what’s going on?”

“Not here, ya’ll find out.” The half-giant gave a giant conspiratorial wink, then looked around. “Where’d all yer little friends go?” he blinked.

The corridor was deserted. The Badger sett had seized the opportunity to flee.

 

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22 November 1994

A bleary-eyed Harry stumbled into the Great Hall at the crack of noon. As if in a trance, the black-haired zombie drifted over the Lions table and mechanically shovelled bangers and mash into his gullet.

“Afternoon Harry. Long night?” Hermione asked in amusement, spreading margarine delicately over her toast.

His glazed green eyes gradually focused on his bushy-haired friend. “It’s dragons, Hermione,” he hissed, once his vocal chords had warmed up enough to do more than croak. “Bloody dragons!”

The girl’s eyes widened. “The First Task?” she whispered.

He nodded wearily, biting into an apple. “Hagrid took me into the Forbidden Forest last night to take a gander. Crunch! There are four of the brutes hidden in there. Crunch! Charlie Weasley and his mates are supervising. Crunch!

“Dragons …” she muttered, materialising an enormous textbook from who-knows-where and leafing through the pages with great intensity. The Gryffindors had seen this sort of behaviour at mealtimes so often nobody batted an eye.

“Guess I’ll leave the two of you to get better acquainted; wouldn’t want to be a third wheel,” Harry said drily, returning to his dorm to retrieve his Invisibility Cloak. Hidden from sight, he walked up to the seventh floor – sneaking past half a dozen pitched battles raging in the hallways – and found the painting of dancing trolls. “Dobby!”

‘Pop’!

“Greetings, Wonderful Wizard Harry Potter sir!”

“Hello,” he replied wearily. “So where’s this great hideout of yours?”

“Elves be calling it the Come and Go Room. Good wizard must walk three times in front of wall thinking about what he wantses. Thinks about ‘Dobby’s Secret Hideaway’.”

Harry gave it a try, and sure enough, the blank wall mysteriously resolved into a large doorway.

“Neat!”

Dobby’s Secret Hideaway was a large furnished flat with a merry fire burning in the fireplace. A king size four-poster bed was in one corner, a kitchenette was in another, and an open door leading to a bathroom was in the third. The final corner was dominated by a large table filled with the stolen Time Turners. Harry examined their booty. The elf had organised the devices into neat rows. Each group was helpfully labelled with the length of time displacement it was capable of, ranked from least to greatest.

“Hmmm. One hour. Three hours. Five hours. One day. One week. … Garbage!” he muttered. Then a thought occurred. “Dobby, how did you figure out how far back these Time Turners could go?”

“Dobby knows the Great Harry Potter’s desire for proper testing of shiny doodads. So Dobby has been testing them!”

“What!? You mean by trying them all out yourself one by one!?” Harry demanded. He rubbed his temples in disbelief. “There have to be dozens of timepieces here. How long would that take?”

“Dobby has been busy for seven and a half months!” the little creature beamed happily.

Harry sagged down onto the floor. “Seven months? Seven months’ worth of going back in time and then waiting until today just to do it all over again with another Turner?” he said weakly. “Seven months since I saw you yesterday morning? … Hermione can never, ever, ever find out about this ….” He fingered his S.P.E.W. badge unconsciously. I don’t even want to know how many Dobbys have been running around this castle …

Seeing the elf’s glowing and expectant face, the boy sighed and gave him a wide grin. “Well done, Dobby! I am very proud of you. Thanks for all your efforts, I couldn’t have done it without you!”

His partner preened at the praise, fat tears of joy trickling from his bulging eyes. Which just made Harry feel even more guilty.

“This be the shiny gadgety that be the best!” Dobby presented the winner with a flourish. Unsurprisingly, it was the golden hourglass that had been locked away in the crystal jar.

Harry accepted it carefully. “So what’s this one’s limit?”

From what he could glean from Dobby’s excitable semi-coherent explanation, it seemed that this was the exact Turner he’d been after all along – no limitations on how far it would take you to the past; multiple settings for increments of years, months, weeks, days and hours; and best of all, after a set period of time in the past, it would automatically return you to your starting point. It was perfect!

“Finally! Finally!” Harry laughed. A powerful surge of manic energy swelled up inside him. Seizing Dobby’s hands, the two danced around in circles cheering and whooping with joy. Eventually they collapsed in an exhausted pile on the carpet.

“Tonight is Go Time,” Harry panted. “I just found out what I have to face in the First Task in two days, and there’s not a chance in Hel I’m going to battle a gigantic fire-breathing serpent to amuse a bunch of idiots. With my luck, there’s no doubt I’ll end up having to go mano a mano with that Hungarian Horntail.” He shuddered in horror.

“Dobby understands. Dobby will have the potions ready.”

“How long of a window do we have once we get to the past? What’s the maximum amount of time we can stay there?”

“Five minutes.”

Harry sat bolt upright, ignoring his aching muscles. “Are you kidding me? We only get five minutes!?” He flopped back down onto the floor. “Of course. I am really am Fate’s chew-toy after all.” He lay there cogitating for a while, chewing his bottom lip. “So be it. We’ll have to modify the plan – we don’t have the time (literally) to lurk around Hogwarts under the Cloak waiting for our chance to strike. Which means we’ve got to hit the bastards in a place we know for sure they’re going to be. That really only leaves their dorms. Dobby, we’ll grab ‘em in the middle of the night when they’re fast asleep!”

Dobby shuffled around awkwardly. “Before we grabs the nasty wizards, Dobby has favour to ask,” he mumbled, eyes lowered.

“Of course! We’re partners aren’t we? I’d never have gotten this far without you! What do you need?” Harry was pleased he could finally give something back to his little friend.

“Is about Winky … Winky not be doing so good …”

“Winky?” Harry frowned. “That name sounds familiar.”

“Winky is losing her family, so has been living in Hoggywarts with the rest of the elves, but … Winky be sad. Be drinking lots of Butterbeer. Misses her old master …”

“Oh that’s right – didn’t that Crouch jerk fire her at the World Cup? But what is it you want me to do about it?”

“Can you use magics to take away Winky’s bad thoughtsies?”

“Say what? You want me to Memory Charm your friend?” he asked incredulously. Dobby nodded firmly. The wizard hemmed and hawed for a while, but in the end couldn’t resist the elf’s giant puppy-dog eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But only if she agrees.” Hey figured there was no way any sentient being would be willing to have their own mind wiped clean, which got him off the hook nicely.

Once Dobby had dragged in the miserable, shabby and Butterbeer-soused specimen, he proceeded to force-feed her coffee powder and cinnamon until she was coherent. Presented with the option of a blank slate or continuing to wallow in unending family-less, service-less, honourless misery, Winky readily agreed that ignorance would be bliss, forcing Harry into a corner again.

“I s’pose I do need to have a practise-run on a living thing before we do it for real …” he said grudgingly. “Last chance to change your mind, Winky ...”

The female elf straightened her spine and met his gaze with determination, in a fairly convincing impression of not being incredibly hungover. “Winky is ready.”

“Merlin, I’m really living up to the principles of S.P.E.W. aren’t I?” he shook his head. “Making one elf spend months of his life testing time machines, and memory charming another … forgive me, Hermione. Here goes nothing, Obliviate!

 

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Harry crept into the Library. He carefully avoided the reading table occupied by his bushy-headed friend, which was stacked high with tomes on magical creatures.

Harry was torn. He appreciated all Hermione’s efforts to help him escape yet another mortal threat, but one part of him wanted to tell her that her frenetic research was pointless since the Triwizard Tournament wouldn’t even exist after tonight, while another part wanted to let her be just in case the plan was a fiasco and he really did have to fight a dragon after all.

The wizard made himself scarce in a corner table. Out of his pocket came Potter’s List of Enemies; the most recent version contained 11 names. The top 11 people who’d most wronged him or his family and friends:

Voldemort.
Lucius Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy.
Severus Snape.
Peter Pettigrew.
Cornelius Fudge.
Vernon Dursley.
Petunia Dursley.
Dudley Dursley.
Piers Polkiss.
Peeves.

Harry immediately eliminated the Muggles. There didn’t seem much point bothering with revenge, after he changed history they’d probably never even know each other. He crossed out Peeves. The poltergeist was already dead, and he had no idea how to make a spirit suffer. There was no rush anyway – the school ghosts had been clanking around for centuries, there was plenty of time to come up with something later on. He crossed out Draco. Once he shanghaied Lucius, the bigoted ferret would hopefully disappear automatically. That left five names.

Harry considered a bit more before adding a final person: Bellatrix Lestrange. According to the Hogwarts rumour mill, this crazed Death Eater was responsible for doing horrific things to Neville’s parents. Not wanting to make a similar mistake as he did with Sirius, Harry pored through history books and back issues of The Daily Prophet for whatever information he could glean. The results were chilling: Lestrange was the de facto second-in-command of the Inner Circle of Death Eaters, who’d gleefully murdered, maimed and tortured her way through magical and Muggle Britain for decades. She’d probably killed more people than Harry met in his entire life! Several books proclaimed her as the most dangerous witch in Europe. And her final victims – Frank and Alice Longbottom. The paper didn’t detail what Lestrange had done to them, but did state they’d been admitted to long-term hospitalisation in the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo's, which sounded very bad. That settled it! There was no way he could allow this mad dog to cause mayhem throughout history! She belonged on his little list without a doubt.

“And they’ll none of them be missed,” he said. “Now to work out the right year …”

Harry decided to strike while they were firsties at Hogwarts. He was only a 14-year-old wizard with mediocre magical skills, tangling with the most dangerous wizards of the 20th century – he wanted every advantage he could get. The less magical knowledge and physical strength his opponents had the better. Along with the element of surprise, and house elf support, he hoped it’d be enough.

Voldemort’s information was straightforward: in his second year, Harry had learned that Tom Riddle killed Moaning Myrtle with the basilisk, framed Hagrid and got the award for special services in 1943. He was a fifth-year Slytherin Prefect at the time. That meant he was a firstie in 1939. For the other five targets, Harry consulted The Pure-Blood Directory of Cantankerus Nott and the Hogwarts Year Books to find the relevant birth dates and graduation dates.

Tom Marvolo Riddle. Slytherin. First year 1939.
Bellatrix Lestrange. Slytherin. First year 1962.
Lucius Malfoy. Slytherin. First year 1965.
Cornelius Fudge. Slytherin. First year 1961.
Severus Snape. Slytherin. First year 1971.
Peter Pettigrew. Gryffindor. First year 1971.

 

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The Slytherin common room was abuzz with excitement. The First Task of the Triwizard Championship was nearly here, and the betting pools had reached fever pitch. The odds on Potter being flambéed by a dragon was running hot at 2:1, while the more prosaic being-flayed-alive-by-its-claws-or-tail trailed behind at 4:1. Draco Malfoy was doing gangbuster sales with his new line of POTTER STINKS scarves, banners and T-shirts. In a corner, seventh years with a flair for healing magic were soothing the injuries of their less fortunate housemates who’d caught the receiving end of Gryffindor hexes during the day.

Nobody noticed as the second Hogwarts Champion and two house-elves shuffled invisibly through the doorway behind a cluster of giggling second-year girls. The team sneaked around the edges of the room and up the stairs into the first-year boys’ dormitory. They pressed themselves into an unused corner and waited.

Harry used the waiting time to mentally double-check that he had all his cherished belongings on his person: wand, Firebolt, photo album, Invisibility Cloak, Marauder’s Map, Gringott’s key, mind magic books, bag of Time Turners, potions. He didn’t want to risk these items vanishing from existence once the timeline changed. It was a pity he couldn’t bring Hedwig along, but he promised himself he’d go buy her again as soon as possible.

When he was satisfied all the firsties had bunked down and fallen asleep, Harry removed the Cloak and drew his wand. “Silencio! Colloportus!” The door was silenced and locked to prevent unwanted interference. “Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!” A burst of red Stunning Spells struck the six boys, rendering them unconscious for the next few hours.

“Okay team, let’s review the plan,” Harry whispered. “Winky turns the Time Turner. Do you have the parchment with the number of turns?”

“Here, Master Harry!” she produced the document with great pride.

“Good. Whatever you do, don’t lose it!” It had taken Harry hours to calculate the correct number of years, months, weeks, days and hours to input into the hourglass in order to get them to midnight of November 22 for the respective years.

“When we arrive, we have five minutes to act before the Time Turner yanks us back to this moment now. I’ll charge in wands blazing and stun everyone in the dorm, while Dobby and Winky check the nameplates. Once we’ve found the right one, we double-check the appearance to be extra-sure we’ve got the right person. Dobby’s in charge of detecting and dismantling any wards or traps around the bed. I doubt any firsties are capable of putting them up, but these are Slytherins so you never know. Then we grab the kid and Winky puts the chain around the four of us so we get transported back to 1994. Rinse and repeat. After we’ve got the four boys, we head over to the first-year girl’s dorm and do the same for Bellatrix. If it’s anything like in Gryffindor I can’t go up the stairs, so I’ll use my Firebolt.” Harry tapped his trusty broom. “Then we drag the five of them to the Come and Go Room and dose them up with the Draught of Living Death that Dobby ‘borrowed’ from Snape’s storage closet. Then we head to the Gryffindor first-year boys’ room and go get Pettigrew. Any questions? No? Good – hands out.”

The three conspirators reached out and overlaid their hands. “Go team!” Harry whispered.

Operation Riddle Me This was a go!

 

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23 November 1994

“Great and Wonderful Master Harry Potter sir, what are we being doing with nasty baby wizards now?” asked Winky, handing him his cup of hot chocolate.

Harry sighed. “You don’t have to give me titles Winky, just call me Harry. And I’m not your master.”

The little elf looked bewildered.

Harry rubbed his temples. It was bad enough that he’d had to erase Winky’s memories to ease her misery. Now Dobby had not only taken advantage of the situation and somehow managed to convince her that Harry was her master, but was busily brainwashing her into the same kind of hero-worship he lavished on the Boy-Who-Lived at every opportunity. Harry didn’t know how much more obsequious adulation he could handle.

“That aside, it’s a good question.” The two looked down at the unconscious bodies of the six 11-year-olds they’d abducted from their original times, lined up in neat rows on the carpet. “We need to find them foster homes. But that can wait – the Draught of Living Death will keep them in suspended animation for months before it wears off. I want to go find my parents first! Do you think you can find something to carry them and the rest of our stuff in?”

“Winky can be doing that!” ‘Pop!’

He finished his cup and set it on the bedside table. Climbing out of bed, Harry yawned and stretched luxuriously. Dobby’s Secret Hideaway was one of the most comfortable places he’d ever stayed in. He wondered how it would compare with his bedroom at the Potter home. The very thought made his body tremble with excitement. Only a few hours now and he’d be reunited with his long-lost mother and father! The anticipation was killing him!

Dobby and Winky returned as he finished his shower. “Master Harry, we be bringing the biggest expanding trunk we can finds. It be shrinkable as well!”

Harry peeked into the trunk and marvelled at the cavernous space inside. “It’s like the Tardis.” He shook his head in amazement at the wonders of magic. “Okay, load up our guests and all our stuff. It’s time to get this show on the road.”

They finished the task before Harry finished dressing himself. With a snap of Dobby’s fingers, the large trunk shrank to the size of a matchbox. Harry tucked it into his front pocket. “Where did you find this thing anyway?”

“Come and Go Room also be storage place for everythings little wizards lose or throw away in Hoggywarts,” Dobby explained. “There be many trunkses in the Room of Lost Things.”

Under cover of the Invisibility Cloak, the trio slunk through the halls to the statue of the one-eyed witch, through the hidden passage to Honeydukes, and out into Hogsmeade.

“Doesn’t Master Harry Potter have school today?” worried Winky.

“Oh yeah, Monday already,” Harry realised. “I doubt I’m a Triwizard Champion anymore, so I probably don’t have a class exemption – whatever, I’ll take the detention. The most important thing is finding my parents!”

Harry couldn’t help humming a jaunty tune and skipping a bit as they walked along the cobblestone road.

Blue skies smiling at me, nothing but blue skies do I see!
Bluebirds singing a song, nothing but bluebirds all day long!
Blue days all of them gone, nothing but blue skies from now on!

He’d done it! In spite of all odds, he’d ensured there was no Lord Voldemort, no Death Eaters, no British civil war, no dark wizards trying to kill him or the rest of the Potters, no carnage and destruction, no more being Fate’s chew-toy! Take that Hermione! Take that Dumbledore! Take that Ministry! The future was nothing but bright! From now on nothing could possibly go wrong for Harry James Potter!

 

Next Time on ATTR: Chapter 3 – Things Go Wrong

Chapter 3: Things Go Wrong

Notes:

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Press and Warner Brothers, not me.

A/N: Just to make it clear: Hermione’s Time Turner follows the "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" rules (can only go back five hours into the past, and the timeline remains fixed).
The golden Time Turner follows the "Harry Potter and the Cursed Child" rules (can go back to any point in the past, and the timeline is malleable; only the time travellers themselves remain unchanged).

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 – Things Go Wrong

 

23 November 1994

“What dya mean there are no Potters here?” Harry demanded. “This is Godric’s Hollow isn’t it?”

“Aye that it be, Sonny Jim. And there ain’t been no Potters livin’ in these parts since Fleamont and Euphemia picked up sticks and hauled ‘em over to the new Potter Manor … must’ve been back in ’75 … or was it ’76? Hey Bathilda!” the old geezer waved over a hideous crone from out of the cluster of rubberneckers. “When did Fleamont decide we wasn’t good enough to be his neighbours?”

“Ye’ve gone senile, y’ old bag of bones,” Bathilda cackled. “It were when their youngin got married to that carrot-top gal from London. Autumn of ’78, I remember it well. Round then my arthritis really started coming in …”

“And do you happen to know the address of this manor, ma’am?”

“Aye,” she pinched his cheek affectionately. “That lot wanted the whole clan to live together with Charlus and Dorea, so they built that new fancy-pants manor to fit ‘em all in up in Caithness … or was it Connemara?”

“Nay, it was Cardiff!” interjected a different retiree who sported a mop of wild snow-white hair. “The Potter’s’ve always had a connection with Wales, all the way back to the 12th century!”

Harry’s eyes drifted shut and he slowly counted to 10, trying not to lose his temper.

“Yer both wrong, our Earnest – that’s my daughter Judie’s second nephew, he’s a junior Auror servin’ directly under Captain Potter don’t you know – has actually been to their digs for high teac, and he says it’s by Clarence House. They built it there ‘coz the Queen likes to pay them visits regular-like …”

“Thanks for your help, I’ll just send them a letter,” Harry said, rubbing his aching cheek.

 

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A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying, Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy.

“I sure hope she’s here …"

Harry picked his way gingerly through the dark store. He tried to ignore the dozens of gleaming eyes boring into his soul. An hour later – his heart clenching painfully as he searched – he sagged in relief and joy as he discovered the object of his quest. On a stand in the far corner of the shop perched a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. There’s no way he could mistake his beloved companion for any other bird.

“Hedwig!” he hissed. “I’m here to bust you loose!”

“I certainly hope you meant that in a figurative sense,” came the voice of the shopkeep in his ear.

Harry flinched in surprise. “Y-yes of course!” he stammered, handing over enough Galleons for the fowl and her supplies. “So girl, you ready for some exercise? I have your first delivery job for you.”

Hedwig blinked sleepily from atop his shoulder, slowly sizing up her new master.

Harry entered the post office and bought two envelopes and a stack of quills and paper. He couldn’t for the life of him think of what to write, so settled on two identical letters identifying himself and a polite request to meet at the Leaky Cauldron ASAP. One letter was marked out to ‘James Potter, Potter Manor’, and the other ‘Lily Potter, Potter Manor’.

“It’ll have to do. Hopefully one of these will get through. Good luck, girl.” He attached the two letters to her leg and she was off!

“I noticed you were writing to the Potters, kid,” said the chatty post officer behind the counter. “Fan mail?”

Harry was puzzled. “Why would I be writing fanmail?”

The woman blinked. “Don’t ask me, never understood it myself. Why does anyone ever put that drivel to parchment?”

“No, I mean why would anyone write fanmail to the Potter family? It’s not like they’re famous or anything.” Harry frowned in confusion. Without Voldemort, there’s no Boy-Who-Lived so there shouldn’t be anything noteworthy about a slightly-wealthy old House. There were plenty of richer and more powerful families than his.

Now the woman was staring at him as if he had edelweiss sprouting from his skull. Harry’s face flushed, he was beginning to suspect that something important was going over his head. He opened his mouth to query, but was interrupted by a confused hooting. Hegwig fluttered in and landed back on his shoulder, the two letters still attached. She fluffed her feathers in annoyance.

“What’s wrong, girl?” His snowy owl had always been beyond reliable when it came to her duties. For her to have given up, and so quickly –

“Here’s your problem, kid,” the postlady commented, jabbing a purple manicured nail. “You addressed it to Potter Manor. Don’t you know the Potters have got mail wards slapped up all over the place on their properties and on themselves? Everything’s got to go through their authorised postbox. Here,” she pressed a business card into his had that read, “Potter family, Gringotts Post Box 4712”.

Harry reluctantly scribbled out the address on his letters, rewrote it with the postbox number, and sent Hedwig once more unto the breach. “Why do I get the feeling that they’re gonna be lost in a deluge of mail …” he muttered.

“Probably because they are. I hope you’re not expecting a quick response, kid, ‘coz if so you’re better off putting up a full-page ad in The Daily Prophet, more chance of them getting the message. Gum?”

 

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“Welcome to Gringotts, what is your business today ‘honoured customer’?” snarled the teller. Harry could hear the air quotes.

“I want to visit my vault.” He placed his key on the counter.

The surly goblin snatched it away and scanned it with some type of magical device that resembled a table-tennis paddle. “This is not an authorised vault key of Gringotts Britain branch. Next!”

“Wait a minute, it is a real key! Please, Mr …” his eyes darted down to the name plate, “Slingblade! I do have an account here – Vault 713, it’s my trust vault!” Harry protested.

Teller Slingblade sighed, razor-sharp teeth clicking. “Name?”

“Harry James Potter.”

The goblin flicked through a stack of parchment. “There is no account of that name attached to vault number 713,” he declared.

Harry staggered back a step. It felt like a punch to his solar plexus. “That can’t be right,” he said weakly.

“It is fact, Mr Potter. If you continue to protest, I will have no choice but to assume you are attempting to defraud Gringotts,” Slingblade snapped.

In his peripheral vision, Harry could see the two burly and heavily-armed goblin security guards becoming restless. He gulped. “Um, in that case, I’d like to open a new account,” the boy said hastily. “Until such time as the issue with my trust vault is resolved.”

The creature’s eyes narrowed. “How much do you intend to deposit?”

Harry emptied his pockets onto the counter. “Er, looks like about 65 Galleons and change …”

Slingblade sighed again, a grotesque parody of utter weariness. “Fill out this form to set up a Junior Saver Account.”

“A what?”

“In accordance with the Underage Banking Act of 1899, in order to inculcate habits of thrift amongst the younger generation, Gringotts is obliged by law to provide no-fee accounts of under 200 Galleons to underage witches and wizards.”

“What if my balance exceeds 200 Galleons?”

“Then it will be automatically upgraded to a standard account and subject to all the standard fees and interest.”

“Here you go,” Harry returned the completed form and received his new key. “I also want my two house-elves authorised to make deposits and withdrawals.” He gestured to his two partners clinging to his legs like toddlers.

The teller made a note. “Names?”

“I be Dobby!”

“I be Winky!”

“It is done. Now begone from my sight!”

 

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“Is this the Hall of Records?”

“No that’s at the other end of the wing, this is the Hall of Criminal Records. Would you be interested in acquiring a criminal record, sir? We are currently offering a two-for-one special this month only.”

“Er, I’ll just be leaving,” Harry hurried out of the office and down the hallway to the correct desk.

“Can I help you, sir?” winked a young lady adorned in striking form-fitting robes. He swallowed.

“Um, I’ve been told that citizens can obtain copies of their personal records held by the Ministry here …?”

“That is correct – first copy is free, all subsequent copies have a 30 Galleon charge for every set. The Ministry of Magic is not legally responsible for any inaccuracies or biases contained therein. Name?”

“Harry James Potter.”

“Oooo, any relation to those Potters?” the woman brightened, the edge of her low-cut décolletage slipping down a little lower.

“Search me,” Harry shrugged tiredly. He filled out the forms in septeplicate as required.

“Identification?”

“Is a Gringotts key acceptable?”

“Yep! Swipe it here … and it’s confirmed. Here you are, sir. Incidentally, if you do recall having a connection with House Potter, here’s my Floo number …” she purred.

Harry accepted the folder of official paperwork and made his escape.

 

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“WHAT!!!!???” Harry yelled, slamming the copy of the court order onto the small oaken table with a mighty thwpp! He sprang to his feet and began pacing furiously around his rented room at the Leaky Cauldron.

“What is being wrong, Master Harry?” Winky asked in alarm.

“They disinherited me, Winky! Those bastards actually disowned me from the Potter family! Even got the Wizengamot to sign off on it! We’re legally unrelated now. The sheer cheek!” His hands clenched white, fingernails drawing blood.

“Why would any wizards be banishing the Great and Noble Harry Potter sir from theyses family?” demanded Dobby.

“On grounds of being a Squib of all things,” Harry huffed. He gave up pacing and flounced onto the bed. “When the Other Me’s Hogwarts letter didn’t arrive at age 11, the writing was on the wall. I got private tutoring for another year, then they cut him … me loose! Gave some separation money and set him up with the Mordred-be-damned Dursley family! Why does the universe hate me so much?” he whined. “Do I really have no other redeeming value besides being a cosmic spittoon?”

Dobby and Winky shared a panicked glance; neither had the faintest idea how to snap the noble wizard out of his funk. In silent agreement, they began frantically expunging all dirt and dust within a 20 metre radius. Cleaning always cheered them up, it was certain to have a sympathetic effect on their master!

And their plan worked like a charm! After a mere three hours of wallowing, Master Harry sat back up (doubtless revivified by the Power of Cleaning). Rubbing his eyes (which were suspiciously moist and red) he announced, “Dobby, Winky! First things first – we need money. I was counting on being able to access my family’s gold, but that’s off the table now. I remember you guys said something about the Come and Go Room being a place the Hogwarts elves store all the discarded and lost items in the school?”

Two little heads bobbled in enthusiasm.

“Winky, I want you to go back there and ransack the place. Collect every bit of money you can find, along with any jewellery and magical items that are still in good condition. There’s no rush, take as much time as you need. Dobby, I need you to go back to the Hogwarts Library and get me the most recent editions of The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Modern Magical History, Great Wizarding Events of the 20th Century and Hogwarts: A History. Also get me the back issues of The Daily Prophet from 1970 until now – I want to know what the heck happened to magical Britain that brought him … er, me to this dire strait!”

With a mighty ‘pop’ the dynamic duo were off!

This is bad, real bad. I’m at the end of my rope. There’s no chance I’m going back to live with the Dursleys, which means I need another home. I have no choice but to bring out my trump card. I’m not looking forward to explaining …

Harry reached into an inner pocket and removed a generic Muggle watch. He attached it to his wrist.

“Hermione? Are you there?”

A familiar face and bushy mop popped into the watch face.

“Hello Harry!” the miniature painting greeted, leaning casually against the hour hand. “What’s new?”

“Um, Hermione – I have some things I need to confess …”

She raised a tiny eyebrow. “I don’t like that tone. That’s the tone you always use when you’ve really screwed up and come crawling to me to save your bacon …”

“Ahahaha funny you should say that, I’m in a bit of a bind …”

Painting-Hermione took the news better than he expected.

“Harry. James. Potter. What in Morgana’s name were you thinking?!”

He winced. Who knew portraits could shriek so loud?

“Don’t you remember all the times I warned you not to meddle with the timeline? About how illegal it was? About the cardinal rule to not interfere with the flow of time? But noooo my word isn’t good enough, Mr Harry Potter doesn’t need to follow the rules, what does it matter that you decided to throw a monkey wrench into the last 60 years of wizarding history, what could possibly go on? Furthermore –” she continued to rant.

Harry silently accepted the ass-chewing like a man, letting his best friend work it all out of her system. Deciding discretion was the better part of valour, Harry’s retelling of the tale omitted him pinching her Time Turner. Instead he began with his and Dobby’s DoM heist and subsequent temporal kidnappings. He also edited out any mention of obliviating Winky.

“Wait a minute, I was part of your devious scheme as well, wasn’t I?” mini-Hermione said slowly.

“Ah, I don’t know what you mean, heh heh …” he replied nervously.

“That whole spiel you gave the Real Me about commissioning a pair of matched watches containing each other’s portraits – as a way to keep each other company whenever we couldn’t spend time together – I thought it was such a sweet birthday present – but it wasn’t really a birthday present at all, was it? You just wanted a backup version of me if your time shenanigans succeeded!”

“That’s not true!” Harry objected. “I really did think it was a nice birthday gift. I’m sure the painting of me that the real you has on her wrist is being very helpful and supportive right now.”

“Oh yes,” she sneered, “very touching, except both Real Me and your portrait were most likely wiped from reality thanks to your actions.”

“Replaced by a Hermione that was never almost-murdered by a mountain troll, never half-transfigured into a cat, never petrified by a basilisk, never called Mudblood or hexed by Malfoy and his gang of pureblood bigots, never bullied by Ron (probably), never sanctioned by the Ministry,” he argued mulishly.

Hermione took a deep breath and opened her noise-maker –

‘Pop’! “Master Harry sir, Dobby has brought you whats you be needing!”

Hooray! Saved by the bell!

“Harry …” the painting’s voice was the dangerous, silky whisper that sent chills up his spine. “Did Dobby just call you ‘Master’?”

Or maybe not …

“Thanks very much Dobby,” he blurted, “why don’t you go help Winky –”

“Oh my Merlin, Winky too!?

Danger Will Robinson, danger!

“That’s right Missy Hermy Grangy, we is both serving the Great Lord of Wizarding Harry Potter sir! Of course the Great Master was needing to fix Winky’s mind first, but all the bad thoughts now be washed clean and she be thinking only the right thingses now,” the elf beamed.

“This is going to be a long night …” the saviour of the wizarding world cringed.

 

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In the middle of the night, a dazzling magical vehicle appeared in a flash of sparkles and puff of smoke outside of Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry staggered off the Knight Bus, repressed memories of motion sickness returning to him in a rush.

Harry’s watch remained in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione’s tête-à-tête with the two house-elves was ongoing. I’m not running away, I’m not, darn it! he denied to himself. Have to deal with my aunt and uncle. It’s a top priority! Can’t let anyone send me back to Durzkaban …

He wrapped himself in his Invisibility Cloak and snuck around to the back door. Happily the spare key was still kept under the garden gnome so Harry was able to enter without fuss. He followed the familiar sound of obnoxious wheezing drafts which could only be proceeding from his whale-like uncle. Slipping into their bedroom, he pulled out his wand. I sure hope the Ministry’s Trace for underage magic isn’t still stuck on me; I am in a whole new timeline now. Pretty sure they don’t tag Squibs, so my counterpart would’ve been free and clear …

Confundus! Compulsus! Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley, the freaks know where you live! There are freaks all around you pretending to be normal blokes. They’re coming for you! The only solution is to sell the house and move as far away as possible,” he whispered in an urgent tone. “Doesn’t matter if you have to sell at a loss, the most important thing is to escape while you still can. Best make sure nobody around here knows where you’re going, just to be safe. Don’t want the freaks to follow your trail …”

The two sleepers grumbled and recoiled instinctively. Satisfied, Harry saw himself out.

“Hoot!”

He started as a brown post owl flew down out of the black abyss of night and dropped a letter into his hand.

“What the – oh you’ve gotta be kidding me!”

 

Dear Unidentified Underage Magic User,

We have received intelligence that Confounding and Compulsion Charms were used at this location this morning at 12:18am.

As you know, underage witches and wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school, should you actually attend one. (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Please report to the Improper Use of Magic Office, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, as soon as possible to register your name, school, preferred method of punishment and other details for official records and for updating the Trace Charm.

Enjoy your morning!

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

IUoMO, DMLE, MoM

 

“Hoot!”

“Yeah thanks, mate,” Harry said sourly. He crumpled the letter into a ball and pushed it into his back pocket.

Guess the Trace from my past life is still active. Bugger.

He pulled out his wand to summon the Knight Bus again.

 

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28 November 1994

“So this is everything huh?” Harry observed the mountain of old jewellery and magical contraptions that filled the centre of the room. “Are you sure there was no gold? I’d’ve expected kids to drop money all over the place, ‘specially in a giant castle.”

“Sorry Master Harry,” Winky said with great remorse. “I be checking with Whippy the Chief Elf of Hoggywarts. Elves be putting any moneys they finds into the Hoggywarts Sinking Fund.”

“Can’t argue with that. Okay Winky, here’s my backpack – try selling this stuff to the secondhand shops and junk stores, or anyone else who’ll buy. Deposit the takings into my vault. Dobby, can you help me with something in the other room?”

Harry ever-so-casually slipped off his watch and left it on the table. The boy and elf barricaded themselves in the water closet.

“Dobby,” he whispered, “this is top secret alright? No telling anyone, especially the watch!”

Dobby grabbed his long ears and nodded fervently.

“We’ve got two big problems at the moment. One, we’re very short of money. I don’t think those secondhand goods from the Room of Lost Things is going to get us long-term financial freedom, if you catch my drift. Two, it’s too risky for us to keep carrying so much illegal stuff. A half-dozen unconscious underage wizards and a big a stash of national assets would sentence us all to Azkaban if anyone ever caught us with it! We need to ditch the deadweight. So I’ve devised Operation Unload to kill both birds with one stone. You remember all those, um … shadier stores you visited when we were looking for books on time travel? I want you to go and see if you can interest the proprietors in buying Time Turners. Those gadgets are super-rare and super-illegal to privately own – must be worth a pretty penny to the less-than-reputable side of town eh? We’ll keep the golden hourglass, and a couple of the month-long timepieces as backup – store them in my vault for the time being – but we don’t need the rest.”

Despite his words, Harry had doubts whether Time Turners were really all that rare on the black market. It’d been ludicrously easy (all things considered) for a teenager and a house-elf to rob the Unspeakables blind. Surely professional thieves had tried the same trick too?

“Here’s the plan: we sell off the Time Turners and as soon as we get the Galleons, we tip off the Aurors to go bust the fences! In one go, we get the money, a bunch of scumbags is taken off the street, and the DMLE will confiscate the Time Turners and return ‘em to the DoM for us. It’s foolproof! … Tell me, is there a wizarding wharf or dockyards? I presume the Purebloods also use boats to ship goods to and from France?”

“There be the Diagon Alley waterfronts, Grand Wizard Harry Potter sir,” Dobby replied.

“Good. I want you to stake out the place. Find out who runs the seediest, most suspicious, most obviously-illegal operation. When Winky gets back she can help me wake up our sleeping beauties so I can get cracking with the Memory Charms. Where did we put the antidote to the Draught of Living Death?”

Are you sure it’s a good idea to release a bunch of time machines into the wizarding world’s criminal element? Harry’s sensible side (whose voice sounded disturbingly similar to a certain brunette bookworm) asked himself.

Nonsense, his Gryffindor side (whose voice sounded disturbingly similar to a certain redhaired chess player) riposted. We need the dosh. And most of those thingamabobs can only take you back a few hours; a month or two max. That’s peanuts! How much damage can they do?

Famous last words, faux-Hermione sighed.

Those trinkets will only be loose for a few hours. Collecting ‘em up’ll keep the DMLE gainfully employed for a while. With no Dark Lords around, those poor Aurors must be bored out of their skulls. They could do with a little excitement for a change, faux-Ron said with the smug satisfaction of one who’s felt they’ve won the argument.

 

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1 December 1994

“Team, it’s time we held a General Meeting to decide what to do next,” Harry announced grandly.

The two elves applauded.

“Thank you, thank you, you’re too kind. First order of business, let’s go over what we’ve got to work with. We’ve managed to scrape together just shy of 15,000 Galleons.”

“I still can’t believe you got that much gold from selling off all that junk,” Hermione commented.

“Ahahaha,” Harry chuckled nervously. The vast majority had come from Dobby’s clandestine sales of Time Turners. Even though they’d netted a handsome profit, he was certain Borgin and the rest of those sharks in Knockturn Alley had ripped Dobby off something fierce. But no sense crying over spilt kneazle-milk. “Anyway, we also have my Firebolt, Invisibility Cloak and some Time Turners. Add in Dobby and Winky’s elf-magic and the sky’s the limit.”

Harry gestured to the pile of books and newspapers stacked up along one of the walls of his room.

“Second order of business, life in These United Magical Kingdoms: Hermione and I have gone through the past 25 years of this timeline’s history with a fine-tooth comb. The situation is … a mixed bag. On the upside, the entire Potter clan are alive and in good health, Sirius was never sent to Azkaban, Lupin’s not being treated like a leper, and there have been no civil wars or Death Eater murder-sprees.” Harry grinned smugly.

“On the downside,” Hermione retorted in clipped tones, “with no Dark Lord around to force people to choose between two sides, relations between Muggleborns, Halfbloods and their progressive allies on one hand, and the conservative Pureblood elites and rich Halfbloods on the other, have been gradually deteriorating since Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald in 1945. The massive increase in Muggleborn attendance at Hogwarts year-on-year has only exacerbated the divide. What’s worse is that the sides are fighting amongst themselves too. The Dark has a bunch of rich and powerful Pureblood Houses which are happy to limit themselves to playing political games to tighten their control over the government and economy. There’s House Black, House Lestrange, House Malfoy, House Zabini, and so on. Then there’s the crazy activists: a bunch of impoverished werewolves, vampires, succubi, hags, and wizard criminals who want to murder everyone who’s different and help themselves to their goods. They don’t seem to mind offing members of the big Pureblood Houses either, if they can get away with it. Imagine all that fighting between Hogwarts houses during the Triwizard Tournament and add in a boatload of Dark Magic, and you’ve got the gist of it.”

The portrait shook her head in disgust. The two elves shuddered in horror. They had their own memories of being subjected to the Dark Arts.

“Then there’s the Grey – the Neutrals. They’re mostly bureaucrats and Aurors and their backers. The main objective is to keep control of the Ministry in their hands and away from any other faction. They’re the people who go on and on about ‘the rule of law’ and ‘civility’ in The Daily Prophet editorials. The leader is the Minister of Magic Amelia Bones – Susan’s aunt – former Auror, former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a real law-and-order Thatcher type.”

“I don’t know what a Thatcher is, but Susan’s aunt sounds loads better than that idiot Fudge,” Harry said.

Hermione ignored his editorialising and continued. “Then we come to the Light. Originally they were unified, until in 1980 the papers published news about a prophecy.”

“Darn prophecies all over again,” Harry sighed. “Seems I can never escape ‘em no matter what timeline I’m in …” He looked over to his bedside table. The blue crystal orb he’d liberated from the DoM glowed and pulsed faintly. “Have we made any headway figuring out how that thing works?”

“Not yet I’m afraid,” said Hermione. “Focus, Harry – the prophecy said that a child born to a prominent Light family at the end of the seventh month would be the ‘Chosen One’ and lead magical Britain to some golden utopian age, or some rot like that. As it happened, two of the oldest, richest and most prominent Light Houses had just birthed boys at the end of July – Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom – both of whom were hailed as the Saviour of the wizarding world by their respective supporters. The schism got bigger and bigger as the Longbottoms had a daughter, and the Potters had another son then twin daughters. All four were also born at the end of the seventh month.”

“What an amazing coincidence,” Harry said drily.

“Isn’t it just? According to Rita Skeeter, after news of the prophecy broke, the two families began allegedly timing their subsequent pregnancies to ensure all their children were born at the end of July. Just one more way for the two Houses to compete with each other, I suppose, on top of the financial competition – the Longbottoms grow and sell all sorts of rare and valuable herbs and magical creatures, and the Potters produce a big range of potions, most famously Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Both Houses have gotten very rich in the last decade, which means they also had more money to throw around to compete for prestige and political influence. Finally there’s Dumbledore’s faction which tries to stay above the fray and mediate the disputes. So there you have it – the whole of British wizarding society is torn into six major factions who are only getting more belligerent as time passes. It’s starting to resemble what I’ve read about Northern Ireland during the Troubles. It wouldn’t surprise me if a civil war breaks out fairly soon ...”

“That’s not going to happen!” the wizard declared hotly. “I put in a lot of effort to end the last civil war and I’m sure as heck not going to stand by and let another one blow up on my watch!”  

“And how exactly are you going to do that? You’re not the Boy-Who-Lived anymore. You don’t have any fame or wealth or social clout. You’ve seen the same newspapers as I have, Harry. Your counterpart hasn’t been in a House Potter publicity photo in years. Your name doesn’t even appear in the history books. There are loads of fictional children’s book series on the shelves of Flourish and Blotts describing the amazing adventures of Neville and Allison Longbottom, and Charlus, Ivy and Rose Potter. But none about Harry Potter. The world’s done its best to forget you exist.”

Harry grit his teeth but had nothing to say.

“Cheer up, Harry,” his best friend grinned. “How many times have you told me how much you hate your fame, how it’s your deepest desire to be a normal person? Now your wish has finally been granted – you should be celebrating!”

“Damn your eyes.”

“Love you too Harry,” she said sweetly.

 

I
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It was another boring night in the Bullpen. Nymphadora Tonks was attempting to see how long she could grow her nose. The current record was five feet. Disappointing; that was only half the length she could grow her fingers.

A snowy owl sailed through the owl-entrance and alighted on her shoulder, ending her experimentation (and saving the appetites of her colleagues).

“Hello, aren’t you a gorgeous lady?” Tonks stroked the beautiful white features. The bird puffed up with pride. “What do you have for me, madame?” She carefully removed the letter from its talons. Her eyes widened.

“Shack!” she yelled. “Get over here! And bring everyone on the duty desk! We’re going to need all hands on this one …”

 

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“Report!” Chief Auror Pius Thicknesse demanded when he arrived en scène.

The waterfront was swarming with Aurors.

“Sir!” said Shacklebolt. “At 9:23 this evening, Junior Auror Tonks received an anonymous tip that the Scabior Shipping Syndicate would make a ‘special’ delivery to France tonight. I rounded up every available officer and we compounded the vessel in question.”

“Cargo?”

“Human trafficking, sir.”

Thicknesse grimaced. There were few things in life that disgusted him more than exploiting human misery like that. These scum could’ve made a decent living restricting themselves to trafficking magical creatures or Muggles, but no, they just had to get greedy and try their tricks on wizarding citizens – and so they crossed the line. A very big line, in his book.

He strode up the gangplank and into the ship’s cargo hold.

“We’ve got four victims, sir,” said Dawlish. “Early Hogwarts age at first glance … I’m afraid they’ve been obliviated pretty badly. Also signs of being potioned.”

The Chief Auror sighed. “Get them to St Mungo’s pronto.”

“Yes sir!”

“Chief, we found some other items of interest boxed up in the corner,” said Tonks. The evidence bags contained a Hand of Glory, a bone mask, and three Time Turners.

The senior Aurors shared a glance. Time Turners were heavily restricted items, and having some circulating through the underworld could shape up to be a nightmare! It wasn’t just a matter of unscrupulous parties abusing time to give themselves alibis, or to escape from arrest. They could already foresee the Unspeakables raising hell in the Minister’s office every day. The DMLE’s efforts to find the leak in the Ministry, crack down on the supply, and recover the devices for the DoM may well strain departmental resources to the breaking point. And the situation could get even more complicated if some or all of the Dark Houses were the masterminds. The Auror force needed to step on this, and fast, before the situation spiralled out of control!

“To the best of my recollection,” Thicknesse said slowly, “there are only two stores in Britain that could possibly supply that hand and mask. Borgin and Burkes, and Cobb and Webbs. Am I wrong?”

“Sounds right to me, Chief,” said Proudfoot. Shacklebolt and Dawlish nodded in agreement.

“Send a squad to round up the shopkeeps, they have a date with the Interrogation Room. They can have the cells next to Mr Antioch Scabior. I want to know what Houses are behind this!”

 

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4 December 1994

“None of the suspects are talking, but they’ll crack eventually,” Thicknesse said to his boss.

Director of the DMLE Rufus Scrimgeour skimmed through the report. “Any idea who the kids are?”

“The obliviations were thorough, the poor mites couldn’t even tell us their names, let alone where they came from or what happened to them. Possessions are a set of generic robes and nothing else. No other clues to ID them. Fortunately the Healers at St Mungo’s came up with positive family matches for three of them from the blood tests.”

Scrimgeour flipped to the relevant page. “The Fudge family, the Prince family, and – merciful Merlin! – the Malfoy family!?”

Thicknesse nodded. “Old Abraxas huffed and puffed but after seeing the results of the blood test took the lad with him. Refused to admit knowing who the kid was though. The Fudges and Princes denied all knowledge and refused to acknowledge their sprats. The Department of Magical Child Services is working on finding foster families for the three unclaimed ones.”

“Probably some illegitimate offspring the families were keeping secret. I’m more concerned with what a descendant of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy was doing with two descendants of mediocre Grey Houses and one likely Muggleborn,” Scrimgeour grumbled. “They’re not exactly a matching set. Was it a crime of opportunity? Or is there a common enemy of the Malfoys, Fudges and Princes?”

Thicknesse shrugged. Pureblood politics was always fraught tangled mess. The less he had to do with that pit of vipers the better. Changing the subject, he said, “Our investigators discovered dozens of Time Turners hidden in a warded cellar under Borgin’s, and another half-dozen inside a charmed skull at Cobb’s. Looks like we’ve nailed the distributors.”

“Outstanding. I’ll inform the Minister.”

 

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“Team, it’s time we held another General Meeting, since the last one got completely derailed,” Harry announced grandly.

The two elves applauded.

“Thank you, thank you, you’re too kind. First order of business, we need to find a permanent home base. Tom’s a great guy, but I’m getting sick of living at an inn.”

“How about buying a charmed wizard’s tent, like the one the Weasleys brought to the Quidditch World Cup,” suggested the portrait in his watch. “The interior is big as a house. We could pitch it in a forest where nobody goes and live for free off-the-grid indefinitely.”

Harry pondered the idea for a while. In the end he decided to reject it. “Not a bad idea, but staying in a tent for months in the wild would drive me spare, no matter how many charms it had. Especially during wintertime. Even living in the Shrieking Shack would be more comfortable than that … It’s much faster and easier to just confound a Muggle into letting us live with them. A warm cosy house beats shivering in a magical tent any day of the week.”

“Harry, you can’t keep using mind magics to solve all your problems!”

“Of course I can. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always transfiguration, blasting hexes and untraceable potions. Honestly Hermione, are you a witch or not?”

The portrait huffed and averted her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be responsible for finding us a suitable house. Moving on to the second order of business: Hermione?”

“Show us the article, please, Winky,” said Hermione.

The elf obligingly shifted today’s edition of The Daily Prophet so that everyone could see it more easily.

“The Aurors are tearing apart Borgin and Burkes and Cobb and Webb’s. It says they’ve confiscated dozens and dozens of highly-illegal artefacts. They’ve also hit several other less-than-reputable shipping companies.”

“Best news I’ve heard all week. So I take it Operation Unload was a success then?”

“Seems so.”

“Great. We’ve managed to ditch four blights on wizarding society, and framed some undesirables as a bonus. Backpats all round!”

“Speaking of blights, why didn’t you cut loose Lestrange and V-Voldemort as well?”

“I was thinking –”

“Are you sure that was a good idea? Look at the trouble that’s got you into so far …”

“Hilarious. My original plan was to get rid of all six and go live happily ever after with my family …” he grimaced, wiping away a bit of water that had somehow leaked into the corner of his eye. Taking a few deep breaths to centre himself, he continued. “Or failing that, the Weasley family. But since the Potters don’t want anything to do with me – and when I visited the Burrow I was escorted off the property at wand-point – I’m all alone again.”

“Harry,” she said gently, “you’re not alone. You have me. You have Dobby. You have Winky. And the Weasleys will come around eventually. Consider it from their point of view – a complete stranger claiming to be Harry Potter arrives off the street wanting to be their friend, of course they’ll be suspicious. The Dark faction’s running wild, the rate of muggings, kidnappings, arson and murder goes up every year. Give them some time …”

“Fat chance,” Harry snorted. “They’re neck-deep in the Potter faction. Why would they piss off the future Saviours of the wizarding world by getting matey with the Potter family’s shame?”

“Harry –”

“Anyway, the point is that I can’t rely on the Potters or Weasleys. Since I’m alone, I figured that I need someone to watch my back. Lestrange and Riddle are the two most powerful wizards in Europe after Dumbledore and Grindelwald.”

“So you decided a Dark Lord and an almost-Dark Lady were your best bets for backup?” Scepticism oozed from Hermione’s voice.

“They’re 11,” Harry said. “It took ‘em decades … well, it took ‘em at least a couple of years to become insane murderers – and that’s never going to happen in this timeline if I have anything to say about it. … you know I never thought the day would come when I appreciated how skilful Lockhart must’ve been with his Memory spellwork. Who knew they were such finicky things? Thanks Dobby.”

Harry accepted the goblet of Butterbeer gratefully. He took a long draught.

“A total mind wipe is straightforward, you just need to pour enough power into the spell,” he explained. “But with these two, I only erased specific memories – self-knowledge, personal history, personal opinions and so on, whatever makes them themselves – while keeping their general knowledge and skills intact. Don’t want them flipping out in panic because they don’t know what the sky is, or they discovered they have pointy bones in their mouths.”

It had been a tedious process of casting obliviate, then legilimens to make sure he’d erased everything, then obliviate again to clear up the bits and pieces he’d missed, and repeat. It felt like being a Muggle surgeon, and had taken him the best part of a week to finish, but he was satisfied his results were at least worth an ‘Acceptable’ grade.

Now, with the last item on his to-do list squared away, they could go find a nice Muggle home to lie low in. With the Aurors hot on the trail of the stolen Time Turners, he felt it safer for his team to get out of the magical world for a while, just in case the DMLE actually turned out to be more competent than in his original timeline, and traced the supply of contraband to him.

 

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5 December 1994

“Here we are,” declared Harry. “Home Sweet Home.”

The two (invisible) elves made suitably impressed noises. The team was standing in front of a two-storey red brick mansion on the poshest street of Heathgate in London.

“Wait a minute,” said Hermione. “This is my house!”

“Be it ever so humble,” he grinned.

Harry trotted up the garden path to the front door. He brushed some stray lint off the shoulders of his suit, straightened his tie, and ran a hand through his slightly-less-wild-than-usual hair.

“The name’s Granger, Harry Granger: Muggleborn. Has a nice white-collar ring to it, doesn’t it? … Don’t look at me like that! Hermione, how often have you told me you were a little jealous of Ron having siblings?”

“I didn’t mean I wanted two psychotic terrorists and a crazed Time-abuser as brothers and sisters and you know it, Harry James Potter!”

“Think about it this way, it’s the best chance Riddle and Lestrange will ever get of having a good life and becoming good people. After all, you grew into such a wonderful person – there’s no reason Dan and Emma can’t replicate the miracle.”

The painting was quiet for a while. “That’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me,” she said softly.

They shared a gentle smile.

“Master Harry, we be finishing checking – there be no witches or wizards in nice house or in neighbourie houses,” Winky piped up.

“Ahem, thanks. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Harry, what exactly are you going to do to my parents?” The portrait started looking alarmed again.

“Not much, just give ‘em a dose of the ol’ Potter charm.”

“Is that why you transfigured your robes into a three-piece suit?”

“All part of the charm. Have to make a good first impression, after all.” He pressed the ornate buzzer.

“Can I help you?”

“Mrs Emma Granger, I presume?” Harry flashed the woman his most charming Potter smile.

She eyed the dapper boy with a touch of distaste.

“Who is it, darling?” Her husband arrived juggling a stack of papers taller than his head.

“It’s just the Mormons again,” Emma sighed. “I’m afraid we’re otherwise occupied at the moment, we just sat down to dinner. I have several copies of your newsletter already, so –”

Her spiel was cut off by the sudden burst of invisible magic.

Confundus! Good evening Mr and Mrs Granger, my name is Harry Potter. Have you ever considered the many benefits of adopting destitute street urchins?”

“Uhhh …” Dan and Emma’s glazed eyes blinked slowly in confusion.

“Wonderful! I’m glad we’re all in agreement. It just so happens that there are three adorable moppets in dire straits who’d love you take you up on your generous offer. You shan’t regret this big-hearted decision,” Harry beamed as he swept the group into the living room.

 

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“Let me get this straight,” Dan said slowly. “You’re telling me that the three of you are wizards just like our Hermione?”

Harry’s response was to flick his wand. The two Grangers stared open-mouthed as the television set melted before their eyes, transforming into an enormous black dog.

“Woof!”

Emma squealed as the behemoth bounded over and began snuffling into her tummy. With another wave of the wand, the dog dissolved and re-formed into a large teapot which proceeded to sprout legs and dance around the room, singing “Henry the Eighth” in a loud Cockney brogue.

Harry enjoyed the couple’s jawdropping disbelief for a minute or two before restoring the TV to its original glory.

“Unbelievable … simply unbelievable …” Dan muttered.

“And … our Hermione can do this too …?” Emma whispered, sagging weakly on the couch.

“Much better than that, I’m sure,” Harry conceded.

“But was showing us that alright? My daughter said underage magic was banned and the government monitored it quite rigorously,” said Dan.

“That’s right, there’s a charm called the Trace they put on all magical children when they first arrive at Hogwarts. Anytime it detects magic nearby it sends an alert to the Ministry. Unless the kid’s in a high-magic environment, that is. Luckily my two partners here are interfering with my Trace with their own magic for now.”

The two Grangers shared a glance, before their eyes naturally drifted to the two hideously ugly bipeds who were propping the unconscious Riddle and Lestrange upright on the spare couch.

“And those … things … are elves you say?”

“Correct. They’ll be moving in with us as well. They’re handy for all sorts of jobs and absolutely love cooking, cleaning, gardening, childcare, house maintenance, you name it. Dobby! Winky! You two are in charge of all the chores from now on. And make sure you follow any instructions Mr and Mrs Granger give you, okay?”

The small creatures bounced happily and cheered at the top of their lungs.

Dan shook his head. “I can’t believe Tolkien lied to me …”

 

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8 December 1994

“Why do you hate me so much, Harry?” his watch grumbled. “It’s not enough to brainwash my parents, move into my house, enslave two house-elves, make my family accomplices to the enslavement of two house-elves, make two insane murderers my siblings, and worst of all you’re making me share my room!?”

Harry heaved the chest of drawers into its proper place and sank down onto the carpet in exhaustion.

“What are you complaining about?” he panted. “Not like you’re the one who has to lug all the furniture around. Who needs three wardrobes? Why do girls have so many clothes anyway?”

“Not the point. The point is, why do I have to share my room with two other people?” she whined.

“One, it’s your parents’ decision, not mine. And two, your bedroom is bigger than the entire second floor of Aunt Petunia’s house. What on earth do you need so much space for?

“Books Harry, lots and lots of books,” she explained with forced patience.

“Your house’s already got one library, having two would just be decadent.”

“Philistine.”

“Look on the bright side, the three of you can do all the girly stuff you couldn’t do with Ron and I, like slumber parties and girl-talk and shopping and manicures and … ah … um … whatever else it is birds do,” he finished lamely.

“That’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask – wasn’t V-Voldemort a, well, a boy? I distinctly remember him being a bloke ...”

“Oh did I forget to mention that?” he asked, getting to his feet and stretching. “When we were planning Operation Riddle Me This, Dobby raided Snape’s supplies for the Draught of Living Death and its antidote, Wiggenweld Potion. He discovered a warded cellar filled with borderline-legal concoctions; seems our old Potions Master had a few brewing gigs on the side. Considering how much gold he had stashed away in chests, his clients must’ve paid him very handsomely. In retrospect, we really should’ve grabbed that gold and taken it with us.”

“What did you find?” Hermione asked, sounding interested in spite of herself.

“Amortentia, Drink of Despair, Wolfsbane, Everlasting Elixir, Invisibility Potion … I can’t remember the rest, you should ask Dobby. Anyway, we examined them all to see if any could be used for an extra dose of revenge on Voldemort. ‘Dose’ of revenge, get it? … In the end, we decided on the Tincture of Tiresias.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Neither had I. It’s not even mentioned in Moste Potente Potions. Luckily Dobby knew about it – it’s a bit like Polyjuice Potion in that it transforms people’s bodies. Except the change is permanent and it changes males into females. Dobby told me it’s used by the old traditional Pureblood Houses for arranged marriages. Like if you wanted your child to marry the child of House X, but both kids were boys, you’d give the Tincture of Tiresias to one of them and voilà, you’ve got yourself a newly-minted blushing bride.”

“Hmm I see. So if the Potters had decided to forge marital connections with the Malfoy family, you and Draco could –”

“Bleargh! Don’t even joke about something like that!” Harry gagged. “Ugh, I feel like I’m gonna throw up …”

Hermione giggled.

Shuddering in disgust, Harry descended the stairs to the living room which was filled with furniture, boxes of clothes and other items the Grangers had determined were essential for their new wards. Picking up a full-length mirror, Harry carried it upstairs to deposit it next to Hermione’s dresser.

“So you turned the most feared Dark Lord in a century into a girl,” Hermione prompted. “Then what?”

“I planned to adopt him into a family of Muggle ballerinas. But neither Dobby or I had the faintest idea of where to find one. My next plan was to get him to a nunnery.”

“A nunnery?”

“Come on, it’s pretty funny to imagine Voldemort as an innocent young Muggle nun spending her days in prayer and contemplation in a secluded Catholic convent,” the green-eyed wizard chuckled. “It’d be the greatest prank never known.”

Hermione snickered in spite of herself. “I had no idea you were such a fan of Hamlet.”

“What’s a Hamlet?”

She groaned.

 

I
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22 December 1994

“Mom! Dad!” Hermione broke through the swarms of students and barrelled into Emma’s arms.

“Welcome back, little Puckle!” Dan laughed, ruffling his daughter’s bushy mop affectionately. He leaned down to grab her school trunk. “Heavens to Murgatroyd, are you carrying rocks around in this thing?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s books, Dad. It’s always been books and it always shall be books. And it’s barely over 25% more than I had last year. Are you sure you’re not just getting old and infirm?”

“Just as long as you’re happy carrying me to the chiropractor once we get home,” he winked.

“Hello Crookshanks, have you been keeping an eye on our baby girl?” Emma hoisted the cat-carrier into her arms. The half-Kneazle favoured her with a condescending look before returning to his self-grooming.

The family made their way through the crowds of reuniting families and finally escaped from the crush of Platform 9 ¾.

“Puckle, before we get home I need to tell you a few things. There’s been some rather large changes that you should know about,” Dan commented.

“You finally installed an en-suite bathroom to your tool shed?” his daughter raised her eyebrow archly. “I’m glad your lifelong dream has finally been fulfilled. Now you can live in there for real.”

“Enough cheek out of you, it’s not too late to take you back to the maternity ward and get you switched for a different child,” her father mock-scolded.

Hermione was about to reply when she noticed a dark-haired teenager hovering near her mother’s Lexus. With a cheery wave, he grabbed her luggage and loaded it into the boot.

“King's Cross Station has valets now?” she asked in confusion.

“Ah actually, young Harry here is staying with us,” Emma said.

Hermione blinked slowly. “I beg your pardon?”

“We’ll explain on the way,” Dan ushered the bewildered girl into the back seat. Harry passed her the cat carrier and sat down beside her.

“You see,” Emma explained as she navigated onto the highway, “We’ve sort of … well, we’re adopting them …”

“WHAT?!” Hermione spluttered. “And what do you mean by ‘them’? There’s more than one?”

“That’s right; Harry, Tamsin and Bellatrix are abandoned children, you see,” said Emma.

“Uh …” the witch glanced across at Harry, a flash of compassion in her chocolate orbs.

“Yep,” he nodded. “Orphans, riff-raff, street rats, urchins, huddled masses yearning to breathe free, whatever phrase you prefer. My two friends and I were selling cookies door-to-door to make ends meet. We knocked on your parents’ door and got chatting and, well, the rest is history, as they say …”

“Be that as it may, there’s plenty of ways to help the less fortunate, what on earth possessed you to actually become their guardians?”

Dan shrugged. “I admit, it does get a little lonely for us at home with you gone for 10 months of the year.”

Hermione opened her mouth … paused, and shut it again.

“Hem hem,” Harry cleared his throat to distract from the awkward atmosphere. “As a thankyou to your family for accepting me and my friends, I’ve prepared a small gift …” He produced three generic watches, identical to the one adorning his wrist.

Hermione eyed it disdainfully. “I appreciate the gesture, but I already have my Chopard, so …”

He smirked. “Try putting it on. I’ll bet your Shepherd can’t do what this baby can.”

The girl slowly attached it to her empty wrist.

“Hello Me,” the watch said.

“Eep!” Hermione jumped as a miniature painting of herself darted into the watch’s face and waved.

“She can move from watch to watch, and through other magical paintings as well,” Harry explained to Dan and Emma, passing them their gifts. “I figured she could pass messages between you and your daughter while she’s at school. Much faster than owl post.”

“Thankyou Harry, how thoughtful,” smiled Emma.

Hermione’s head swivelled around like a motion sensor and locked her gaze onto him. “You’re a wizard, Harry?”

He nodded.

“So why in Merlin’s name were you homeless?”

He frowned in mock-indignation. “Even wizards can be homeless, Hermione. Not all of us were blessed with loving parents.”

The girl flushed. “Hm, yes, well … so does that mean the three of you will be attending Hogwarts?”

“Nonsense,” said Emma. “They’ll be going to Highgate. It’s one of the premier schools in the country; and even better, it’s walking distance from our home.”

“Yes I know, Mum,” Hermione sighed wearily.

“Your father and I are both alumni.”

“Yes I know …”

“You were registered to attend since you were three months old, but …”

“Yes I know …”

“Margot Finchner sent all six of her children to Highgate, and all six are now on scholarships at Oxford.”

“Yes I know – anyway, why aren’t you going to Hogwarts, Harry? It’s the premier wizarding institution in Britain, and it ranks in the top 10 in the whole world. Don’t you want to learn magic?”

“There are various circumstances,” Harry prevaricated. He’d rather supervise Riddle and Lestrange in a controlled environment for a while to ensure they had a happy (pro-Muggle) youth and didn’t make friends with the wrong sort. “And there’s no need to go to a boarding school to learn magic. There are private tutors you can hire to learn what you need to pass the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Oh speaking of owls, I have a pet snowy owl, her name is Hedwig. You’ll meet her when we get home. Feel free to have her deliver mail for you if you want.”

“She’s just the most darling thing,” cooed Emma. “I do hope she and Crookshanks get along …”

“He hasn’t eaten any of the school owls so far.”

“Dobby and Winky are busy building her a birdhouse in the back yard,” Dan added. “I’ll have them add a baffle to keep the little guy out.”

“Who?”

“Dobby and Winky are our new house-elves, Puckle,” Dan said.

She blinked. “What’s a house-elf?”

“Oh you and I have so much to talk about,” chirped Portrait-Hermione.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Harry mumbled to himself.

 

Next Time on ATTR: Chapter 4 – The Mirror of Her Dreams

Chapter 4: The Mirror of Her Dreams

Notes:

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Press and Warner Brothers, not me.

A/N: If I don’t see you no more in this world, I’ll see you in the next one, don’t be late!

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – The Mirror of Her Dreams

 

In the beginning there was light. Her first memory was of a bright shaft of light illuminating her hand.

The place in which she lived was filled with light. It poured over her in all directions, from the windows, the glass doors, the skylights, the electric lamps, the halogen globes in the garden.

She hated the darkness. Inside the darkness the nightmares would come. They were vague, all the more terrifying for being incoherent fragments of images. A horrible dark building that was cold and draughty and worst of all, filled with lots of horrid little people who’d pinch and bite her and steal her food and clothes. Big people who were cold and distant. They didn’t protect her from the little people, so she protected herself. She’d punch and kick and steal their things right back. One night she dreamed she could inflict pain on them with a mere thought. She used that power to make them fear her. Another night she dreamed she could make the little people do things directly. She could think a thought, and then they would do it – furiously, unwillingly, but they couldn’t defy her, they were only weaklings …

She dreamed of a giant castle filled with wonders. But that place was also filled with tormentors. Little people covered in green who hated her because she was different from them. Just like in the bleak house. So she treated the greenies the same way; if they were too strong she’d flatter and obey them. If they were weak, she’d make them feel pain, just like in the cave. The worst dreams were of the cave. She’d drag some little people in, the ones who’d hurt her the most, drag them in and laugh and laugh in delight as they writhed and suffered at her feet –

On those nights she’d wake in terror, cold sweat running down her face and back. Fleeing from sleep, she’d wander the corridors and empty rooms to try and distract herself, to calm her pounding heart. Each time she’d feel something behind her stomach tugging, drawing her body like from an invisible tether towards his room. It was always his room. Almost without her control, her body would sneak into his bedroom, slide under the covers and snuggle into his warmth. His arms would instinctively cradle her close to him, hands stroking her hair until she stopped shivering.

When morning came he’d tell her to go back to her room, that her bed was for her to sleep in and his bed was for him to sleep in, but she’d complain about the nightmares, break out the puppy-dog eyes, and start tearing up until he caved. He never forced her to leave, and he never locked his door.

She was jealous of Bellatrix, who slept like a baby every night. But she comforted herself with the thought that Bellatrix also had to sleep alone.

The days of December progressed. Dan and Emma enlisted everyone to set up decorations in honour of the season. She helped the others to fill the house with shiny things. Tinsel across the doorframes, a tree covered in glistening baubles, statues of white beings with wings like Hedwig’s, and many glowing idols of the Granger family’s personal deity: a fat man with a long white beard, adorned in red robes. Everything was shiny, as shiny and Dan and Emma’s eyes and teeth. Light bounced off the shiny things in all directions, and she imagined it dancing happily from place to place.

One morning, the adults walked the three of them down the road to a local school. Then they were suddenly surrounded by a cavalcade of children their own age for five days a week. She felt the onslaught of boisterous noise and energy was overwhelming and yet … and yet there was something deeply familiar about the process of listening to teachers, running around in the yard, sitting at her desk, looking at the strange black shapes on the pages of her books and realising that she could somehow comprehend their meanings, writing words that she had never learned. Her hand automatically flew along the paper without a thought, and her ideas appeared in ordered shapes before her like magic.

She spent a lot of time shepherding Bellatrix through the bewildering tangle of school life. As much as she was out of her depth, Bella was in a far worse state. The girl could read and write as well as she, but had no idea how to deal with the swirl of people and events that enveloped her. The knowledge they were imparted was bizarre and alien, and the conversations of the other children unintelligible. Whenever not confined to her desk during lessons, she was by her side or slouching behind her, hand firmly clasped in her own. Sometimes Bella simply clung to her waist, buried her face in her neck, and stubbornly refused to let go, even when classes resumed. Fortunately Dan and Emma had informed the school of their situation, and the teachers were sympathetic. They were allowed to flee class and have alone time whenever the pressure become too much. She made it her mission to protect Bella from all the strangeness, until she could stand tall on her own. The feelings that swelled within her when she made this promise to herself felt like another kind of magic.

The Saturday after their first complete week of school, Harry rewarded them for their perseverance. He led them to a secluded alley and then waggled a wooden stick until a fantastical bus appeared with a flash! The bus tore through the streets at an incredible speed, bouncing and shuddering the entire way, Bellatrix screaming and cackling with manic glee. She ignored the girl’s shrieks of joy and clung to Harry, burying herself in his stomach until they reached their destination.

Harry led them through wondrous streets full of weird shops and people dressed in outlandish clothes. And yet there was something deeply familiar about this place too. To her joy, it resonated even more deeply with Bellatrix. The girl blossomed before her very eyes, dragging her to this store and then that, peppering the affable proprietors with question after question, brilliant violet eyes ablaze.

He finally intervened after two hours, and guided them to an ice-cream shop. Over sundaes he explained that the three of them had magic within them, a magic different to what she’d felt before. That they were special. That they could never tell anyone at school about it.

When the adults weren’t looking, he extracted his wooden stick and the empty bowls transformed into soft yellow chicks. She could only stare in wonder as they peep-peep-peeped! and pecked at the flakes of chocolate that had fallen onto the table. She almost cried when they reverted back to crockery. When he said she would be able to do the same with lots of practice, motivation sprang up like an internal fire, and she hurried the others along as fast as she could to Ollivander’s.

Harry escorted the two girls inside the creepy dark shop where a sinister old man gave them stick after stick to wave around. Bellatrix hit paydirt first. A comet of crimson stars shot out and incinerated the antique tapestry hanging on the wall.

“12 ¾ inches, walnut, dragon heartstring core,” noted Ollivander, dousing the fire. “Unyielding.”

Bella couldn’t stop giggling, cradling her new wand like she cradled and cooed over Hedwig.

Her own quest took far longer. Wand after wand felt like deadwood in her sweaty hands. The shopkeep was forced to unlock the cellar and withdraw the more rare and non-commercial models he usually stored out of the way. Finally she grasped something that ignited something swirling and writhing inside her body. Invisible flames licked under her skin, and an explosion of sparkling gold shards twirled through the shop.

Harry and Bella applauded. She made a theatrical bow.

“13 ½ inches, yew, phoenix feather core. Vigorous.”

And Harry nodded at the man’s words, as if he wasn’t surprised at all.

The rest of the weekend was taken up exploring the magical neighbourhoods and practising simple spells with their new wands in out-of-the-way places. Harry promised to find them magic teachers after the New Year. In the meantime, he made them promise never to use magic without him present.

One day an interloper invaded their happy paradise. Harry told them about Dan and Emma’s daughter, who was also a magic user. The girl learned magic in a big castle far the north, and was coming back for a week and a half to visit her parents. He hoped that the four of them could be best friends. Hermione was tall with a big bushy mane of brown hair that cascaded wildly in all directions. But the way the witch stared at her made her squirm and want to run away.

The next morning, she woke up and found herself tied up so tight she couldn’t move. A gag fastened in her mouth prevented speech. Looking across the bed she noticed Bella was in the same pickle. A few minutes of struggle proved that escape was impossible. There wands lay out of reach on the bookstand on the other side of the room.

Hermione entered her bedroom and a floating Harry levitated in after her. With a swish of her wand, he landed, none too gently, on the floor with a grunt that the gag couldn’t quite suppress. His wand floated over to the bookstand to join the others. Looking down at her three bound victims, the witch twirled her wand in a circle as she pondered out loud.

“Now what exactly am I going to do with you three home invaders? I would interrogate you as to what in Merlin’s name you thought you were doing squatting in my house, but a) the Other Me in the watch spent all night filling me in on the situation, and b) I can’t afford to remove your gags lest you summon your house-elves to your aid. So you’ll just have to sit there trussed up like turkeys and listen.”

She noticed Harry’s gaze on her wand. He raised an eyebrow.

“I take it you’re wondering about the Trace? Your elves obligingly used their magic to block it before they left to go run errands with Dad. Which leaves us with several hours of just the four of us and my untrackable wand.”

The girl sat primly upon a cushioned pouffe and crossed her legs.

“Tut tut Harry, the watch told me that we were best friends in our past timeline. Friends don’t let friends brainwash said friend’s parents. Confundus Charms on Muggles to obtain personal benefit? Dear, dear, I do believe there’s a mandatory stint in Azkaban for that sort of behaviour.”

“Uh, I think you may be taking this too far, Real Me,” said Portrait-Hermione hesitantly.

Silencio!” Hermione silenced the painting without breaking eye contact with Harry.

She writhed against her bindings with all her might. Her instincts had been proven right, this girl was Trouble with a capital T! She had to find a way to rescue Harry and get away from this crazy witch!

Hermione noticed her struggle. “Don’t bother, you’ll only exhaust yourself,” she sneered. “There’s no way out of this for you except for what I decide.”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” said a voice from the half-open door.

Hermione whirled around, wand raised. But it was a fraction too slow. “Expelliarmus!” The red light appeared out of nowhere and slammed into the girl, hurling her backwards onto her bed. “Accio wand!” The wand that spun through the air halted and whizzed into the new arrival’s hand.

“Honestly Hermione,” said Harry, removing his Invisibility Cloak, “why you thought you could get the drop on someone who has control of Time is beyond me. And did you really think Dobby and Winky would have nothing to say when they got home and found you messing with three of their friends?” He shuddered. “You’ve never seen what an enraged house-elf can do.”

With a quick “Finite!” he cancelled the Incarcerus spell that had imprisoned his other self.

“Gringotts vault?” he asked, getting to his feet and stretching out the kinks in his back.

“Gringotts vault,” Harry agreed. “Best get going. I think three turns should be enough.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Harry saluted. He grabbed his wand from the bookstand and the Cloak from the floor and sauntered out.

“So now what?” asked Hermione coldly, sitting upright. With a slight twist of the head, she flicked a bundle of errant locks out of her eyes.

“Do you really hate us being here that much?” Harry demanded. “Yes, I used a bit of spellwork to convince your parents to take us in. But that’s the only thing I did; everything else since then has been entirely their own idea. Did you know they always wanted to have more children after you but Emma had some sort of complication that made it impossible? I never knew that until they told me the other day. If you could see how Dan and Emma dote on Tom and Bella, would you really want to deprive them of that? For better or worse, they’ve filled a gap in your parents’ lives, and it’s made everyone much happier than before.”

He noticed Hermione’s gaze flick to her wand clasped in his other hand.

“Don’t bother. You may be a prodigy Hermione, but you’ve never fought in a real battle before; it’s nothing like the refined art of duelling. I could teach you if you want – after all, you are my best friend. It’s only natural to help each other out.”

Hermione sighed, and all the tension seemed to drain out of her body. She slumped. “I guess you’re right.” She flicked her hair away again, and in the same movement her left hand shot out and grasped the ballerina statuette on her bedside table. She hurled the knick-knack at Harry’s face, simultaneously launching herself sideways away from the point of his wand.

The porcelain dancer spun through the air in a perfect pirouette and impacted directly on the scar on Harry’s forehead. He yelped in pain as fragments shattered off his skull. Falling backwards, he dropped Hermione’s wand in order to brace himself against the wall. The witch dived forward and seized her wand, rolling backwards and springing to her feet. “Incarcerus!

Harry dodged and instinctively snapped off a chain of spells spread over a wide area that forced Hermione to drop to the floor to avoid.

She was back on her feet an instant later with her own spell chain.

Protego!” Harry’s shield deflected her assault, and her responsive shield blocked his follow-up Expelliarmus.

The two paused, glaring at each other, panting from the exertion.

“Never been a battle before?” Hermione sneered. “You condescending flobberworm, what in Mordred’s name would you know!? I’ve been forced to fight battle after battle every single day I reside in Hogwarts!”

The both dropped into classic duelling stances, bodies turned to the side, one foot behind the other, wands at the neutral ready-point.

Then the half-closed door swung wide open and Emma strolled in. The woman took one glance at the scene – her daughter and Harry in wand-to-wand combat formation while she and Bella sat bound and gagged on their beds – and sighed deeply. “Dear me, Puckle – don’t play so rough with your new friends! I know this the first time you’ve had any, but even so, a girl as smart as you should know this isn’t the way to get people to like you,” her mother scolded. “Dan and the elves will be back from B&Q in an hour. I’m going to get lunch started; make sure you’re all cleaned up and at the table at 12:30 sharp.” Emma rolled her eyes and left.

Harry and Hermione continued to watch each other warily, neither making the first move.

“Alright, fine, I get it – so you don’t want to be friends again,” he snorted bitterly. “So be it. How about tenants then? We need a roof over our heads in the Muggle world. So let’s talk deal. What is it you want?”

“I don’t want anything except for you lot to be gone!”

“Don’t be absurd, of course you want something – everyone wants something! You’re not the Buddha, so ask yourself, Hermione Jane Granger, what is it you want most in the whole world …?”

The girl chewed her lip.

The silence dragged on.

“We can sign a binding magical contract,” he wheedled. “They exist in the wizarding world. Our magic itself will enforce it, so there’s no way for us to cheat each other …”

Hermione frowned, her mind clicking away.

“Or we could just keep slinging spells at each other for another hour and stay stalemated until Dobby and Winky get home. At which point you’ll be left to the ‘tender mercies’ of a couple of house-elves who don’t know the meaning of the word ‘restraint’.”

The girl’s lips sharpened.

Hermione finally clicked her tongue in irritation. “Tell me about time travel.”

A smile cracked his face. “You can use a Turner to give yourself extra study time. You can even take extra classes. In fact, you did use it for just that purpose …”

The duo dickered over the terms for an hour, then held a truce while everyone tramped down to the dining room to enjoy lunch with Dan and Emma, then returned for more dickering for the rest of the afternoon and evening until Emma ordered lights out.

The next day found her, Harry, Bella and Hermione at the offices of Tinker and Tonks – Magical Solicitors. After some more haggling, one of the partners Ted Tonks wrote out a formal magical contract detailing their bargain. The 10 terms were as follows:

  1. Harry must free Dobby and Winky and never enslave another house-elf.
  2. Harry must undo all magic cast on Dan and Emma.
  3. All parties to the contract must never use any magic on each other (and Dan and Emma) without that person’s consent, unless it is to deal with an emergency.
  4. Harry must give Hermione a Time Turner.
  5. All parties to the contract must never use time travel to intentionally cause harm to each other (and Dan and Emma).
  6. All parties to the contract must not intentionally cause harm to each other (and Dan and Emma) by any means.
  7. Harry must pay Hermione rent in Galleons in exchange for living at her house, paid on a monthly basis into her Gringotts account. Rates to be determined by negotiation, based on market rates.
  8. The adoption process will go forward, and the three newcomers will take the Granger surname. All parties to the contract must not impede this or try to have it reversed.
  9. Hermione must not act to try to evict the three newcomers from the house without their consent.
  10. The newcomers must not intentionally cause damage to the property, but must help maintain it; in exchange, Hermione must assist her and Bella with their Muggle and magical studies when not at boarding school.

Harry, Hermione, Bella and herself signed, and Ted witnessed it. When they returned home, Harry took the first step by explaining to Dobby and Winky that he couldn’t be their master and why. This bombshell led to much weeping and gnashing of teeth. She couldn’t help giggling when the two small elves proceeded to give the astonished Hermione the scolding of a lifetime for interfering with their personal affairs and sabotaging their relationship with their beloved master.

Harry then began his second round of negotiations, this time to settle employment terms with the elves. He offered to pay them 10 Galleons a week, the weekends free, and a fortnight-long paid vacation once a year. The elves proved to be powerful and cunning negotiators who drove a hard bargain. After three gruelling hours they finally beat him down to 5 Sickles a month, one free weekend a year, and no leave. Unable to withstand the onslaught, Harry caved and they shook hands to strike the bargain.

Things settled down after that.

She was anxious about sharing a bedroom with such an unstable and hostile individual, but Hermione pretended she and Bellatrix didn’t exist whenever possible. Except occasionally, when she’d sense an intensive stare upon herself or Bella when no-one was looking. Well, she could tolerate that much! Her mama didn’t raise no quitter … she assumed. All in all, the arrangement was fine and dandy with her. Though she did find it bewildering that the bushy-haired witch would treat everyone so coldly – the three newcomers, visitors and guests, extended family members, neighbours – except for Dan, Emma, Crookshanks and Hedwig, to whom Hermione was extremely warm and affectionate. What a mystery.

But not a mystery she was interested in solving. Fortunately she didn’t have to. She and Bella gave the chestnut-eyed girl a wide berth for the next two days, and then the five of them (including the pets) had the house to themselves as Dan, Emma and Hermione flew out to southern Italy for a post-Christmas holiday they’d scheduled months in advance. When they returned, Hermione was off the next day to her fancy magical boarding school in Scotland. Good riddance.

She couldn’t help the shudder of relief as the atmosphere of the house gradually returned to its status quo ante of relaxed camaraderie. She was also free to start sleeping in Harry’s bed again.

She didn’t bother to wait until she had a nightmare anymore. She’d creep down the hall and slip under his sheets whenever the fancy took her, and it took her more and more frequently. He’d scold her mildly but she could tell he didn’t really mean it, and he still never locked his door. Nor did he return her things that she left behind.

She couldn’t remember when she began leaving her possessions in his room. It was a hassle to go and fetch them all the time, she told herself. Much more efficient to keep them close at hand when she woke in the morning. And so part of his wardrobe filled with her clothes, several of his draws filled with her trinkets, and part of his bookshelf filled with her textbooks and novels.

Harry explained to her that he sent an underpowered Finite at the parents, which would weaken the Confundus he’d originally placed on them, causing it to unravel bit by bit until it broke naturally. He explained that it was more gentle on their minds that way. But there was no telling what they would do once they were no longer compelled to take the three orphans in.

So she watched them carefully for negative signals. But as the weeks went by, and she and Bella returned to school as usual, life continued on as normal. She and Harry had to conclude that the Grangers had decided to stay the course, regardless of what they may think now. He laughed and told her it was a common human experience to look back on your past decisions and wonder why the heck you chose what you did. He added that Hermione had to have inherited her stubbornness from somewhere.

The new year brought exciting changes. First, Harry gave her and Bella watches just like the ones he, Emma, Dan and Hermione had. Inside the face was a painting of Hermione, but unlike the other paintings and photos she’d seen, this one could talk, and move from watch to watch. At first she was nervous to have Hermione on her wrist at all times. For the first few weeks she could barely bring herself to look at it. But as more weeks passed, she realised that this Hermione was gentle and sweet, and was always willing to pass messages and give advice about how to do magic better. It also listened whenever she had problems or just wanted to vent.

Second, they met their magic tutors that Harry had found for them. Twice a week after school, and all weekend, she, Bella and Harry would take the mystical bus to a strange, non-Euclidean house whose geometry was all wrong, but why it was all wrong she couldn’t articulate. This place, called the Rookery for some unfathomable reason (it more resembled something a bird would vomit up rather than somewhere it would live), was the home of her Arithmancy and Ancient Runes tutor, Mr Xenophilius Lovegood. The kindly man with a shock of long white hair and long white robes looked precisely like what she imagined a real, powerful wizard should look like, just like the pictures in the Lord of the Rings books that Dan read to them at bedtime every night. Mr Lovegood kindly agreed that the rest of their classes could also take place on his property, on condition that his daughter be able to attend for free whenever she wasn’t in school.

Their Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration tutor was a former Auror named Madame Porpentina Scamander-Goldstein, who convinced Harry to hire on her husband, Mr Newton Scamander as their Magical Creatures tutor, and her sister Madame Queenie Kowalski-Goldstein as their Mind Magic and Charms tutor. The entire family agreed that part-time teaching of eager students in the middle of England’s green and pleasant land was far more enjoyable than the mind-numbing boredom of ‘peaceful retirement’. The teachers were rounded out by Mr Horace Slughorn who tutored them in Potions (after being impressed with their first attempts during a test run) and Mr Tilden Toots who tutored them in Herbology.

She and Bella agreed that their favourite class was Defence, especially combat training. Nothing could compare to the fiery glee that sprung up inside her when in pitched battle. To pit her strength and her wits and her magical strength and magical knowledge against a far more powerful opponent. Every successful hit (though rare) was a flare of joy. To her delight, as time went on she was able to land a hit more and more frequently; was able to force Madame Scamander-Goldstein – with her shock of iron-grey hair and sharp brown eyes that seemed to pierce right through her heart – to dodge more quickly, to cast more powerful spells faster.

Harry would sport a complicated look every time she or Bella were praised by their tutors. ‘Geniuses’ they’d say, or ‘prodigies’, or ‘they suck up every bit of knowledge at a rapid pace’ or ‘where on earth did you find these gems?’. But even so, he made sure to smile and stroke their hair while telling them how proud he was.

Every few months, Hermione would return home. She didn’t trust the girl, she never forgot the icy stare in those merciless orbs on that day. She dreaded to think about what might have happened if Harry hadn’t outsmarted her. But Hermione stuck to the terms of the contract, and didn’t cause trouble. Her fear of the girl gradually faded into a sort of benign tolerance. Like one would tolerate an unsightly birthmark.

Harry never give up his efforts to win the witch over. He often tried to engage her in conversation, which was usually rebuffed or ignored. When she was at Hogwarts, he’d send messages via the watch and letters via Hedwig. These were also usually ignored. Dan and Emma would roll their eyes, and encourage him not to give up.

For reasons inexplicable to her, Bellatrix started to get on board this bandwagon as well. She’d no idea why any sane person would take a shine to Hermione, but the proof was before her eyes. Whenever Hermione was present, Bella was always hovering around and seeking her attention. Amazingly enough, the witch herself seemed to grow more relaxed around the boisterous Bellatrix the more she made herself a nuisance. Hermione started to take the time to sit and chat, come along to her tutoring sessions, and take her on trips through Muggle London. Nobody else knew where they went or what they did, and the duo weren’t talking.

One day she found Harry poring over The Daily Prophet’s real estate section.

“I’m looking for some potential properties,” he explained. “Dan and Emma have been very good to us, but we can’t stay here forever. Hermione and I have a handshake agreement that the three of us will move out once you and Bellatrix obtain your N.E.W.T.s at the latest. Better to prepare earlier rather than later.”

She felt her heart clench painfully at the thought she and Harry would go live in different homes in the future. Ruthlessly suppressing the urge to panic, she began to plan. The best way to prevent a potential separation would be to obtain a home big enough and ideal enough to keep all three of them (and Hedwig) happy forever. It also needed a place for Dan and Emma to stay when they visited.

Harry’s distrust of the magical and Muggle governments must have rubbed off on her, since her top criteria was freedom from such pesky things as regulations, taxes, Aurors, bobbies, or any other type of official oversight. But that was easier said than done. Both governments had been around for centuries and were well-practised in preventing what was, in effect, a form of secession. Undeterred, she bent her prodigious mind to the problem. The solution to which arrived in a rather unexpected manner.

“Eureka!” she exclaimed, bouncing up and down on her bed.

“Hm?” Bella looked up from her work. Hedwig uttered a displeased prek to protest that her grooming had been interrupted.

“The answer to where we can live – Azkaban!”

“You want us to go live in Azkaban? Did you transfigure your brains into instant noodles?”

“No no no, not the place, the concept! According to Historia Britannica Magica, back in the 1400s, a foreign sorcerer called Ekrizdis settled on an uninhabited island in the North Sea. He used magic to enlarge the land mass and built a giant fortress on top, wherein he performed insane experiments on passing Muggle sailors. He made the whole island unplottable to wizards and invisible to Muggles. Apparently the Ministry had no idea it even existed until after he died and the concealment wards eventually dissipated. When they came to investigate they discovered the stronghold swarming with Dementors and since didn’t know how to destroy the demons they turned it into a magical prison. And so Azkaban came into being.”

“Ugh!” Bellatrix shivered, cuddling Hedwig closer to deflect the bad vibes. “What a ghastly story! Are you saying you want to do something similar? ‘Cause if so, you can go tramping around the Arctic by your lonesome!”

“Not quite. A distant island is too much trouble. But we can find our own bit of land and layer it with our own set of wards to hide it from both the Ministry and the Muggles. Especially this gem,” she waved a different tome in the air. “The Fidelius Charm – the ne plus ultra for making your property disappear, and even removing all knowledge of the place itself from everyone’s minds to boot. Perfect for keeping unwanted people and governments out of our hair.”

She tapped her lip pensively.

“But buying up land and hiring experts to establish high-level wards sounds expensive. I’ll have to ask Madame Scamander-Goldstein.”

Her tutor confirmed her fears – to vanish from the Ministry’s radar entirely would require hiring experienced ward-masters to construct world-class defences. The costs could range from tens of thousands of Galleons to hundreds of thousands of Galleons, depending on the number of wards installed and the size of the area to be shielded.

But where to get these funds? She knew Harry had a vault full of gold, but that was being used to pay rent to Hermione, to cover their magical tutors’ fees, and to take her and Bella on trips through the wizarding world. She doubted those costs were cheap. Dan and Emma were wealthy but they were already providing food, shelter, clothing and schooling. No, she needed a separate source of Galleons. But where oh where could a budding young Muggleborn sorceress get ahold of tens of thousands of Galleons?

“Why don’t we rob the Bank of England,” suggested Bella. “They must have tons of gold hidden away. We swipe it and bring it to the goblins to convert to Galleons.”

“Where specifically does the Bank keeps its gold?” she asked.

“Ah, in a vault somewhere …?” Bella offered tentatively.

“Brilliant deduction, Watson. And do you know how heavy a ton of gold is? How are we supposed to move it? Gold is resistant to most magics, including Featherlight Charms. Do you want Dobby and Winky to kill themselves trying to elf ‘pop’ it all to our house?”

“Alright, alright, so that’s a bust. Then how about we rig the National Lottery,” suggested Bella.

“You have any idea how to do that?” she asked, not bothering to hide the scepticism this time.

“Uuuh, sneak into the TV studio and Confound the ball-spinning girl into only picking our numbers …?”

She didn’t deign to dignify that plan with a response. “Too risky. We want to stay under the radar. We need something less high-profile.”

“Let’s charge tickets to view the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks,” suggested Luna Lovegood, tickling the Niffler on her tummy. The creature chittered in pleasure. “Oooh, that cloud looks just like one. It’s a sign!”

The three teens lay sprawled in a meadow near the Rookery, enjoying the afternoon sun. She rolled onto her back and stared at the cloud in question. She was no artist but to her eyes the only thing the cloud resembled was Harry’s head – if it had been beaten with bludgers for several days.

“Excellent plan, with only three minor drawbacks,” she drawled. “One, we don’t have any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks; two, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are invisible, unsmellable and untouchable; and three, there’s no such thing as Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.”

“Oh Tom, spoken like a true philistine. I never would’ve thought you’d lower yourself to the delusions of the ignorant masses. Honestly, I’m shocked at your closed-mindedness; haven’t you learned anything from Bella?” Luna sighed in mock-disappointment

“Not if I can help it.”

“Oi! I’ll show you, you unbearable know-it-all!” Bella squawked in protest and dived on top of her. The two rolled around in the grass for a while (Luna providing colour commentary) until the bigger girl finally pinned her down. “Hah! What’re you gonna do now, oh omniscient and omnipotent one?”

She bit Bella’s nose.

“Ouch! Oh that does it –”

The bucolic serenity was shattered by high-pitched shrieking.

“What happened to you two?” asked Newt Scamander a while later, eyeing their wild hair and numerous scratches and bite marks.

“They had the misfortune to fall into a nest of wrackspurts,” Luna reported with suitable gravity. “Isn’t that right, Sir Longnose Maplethorn IV?” The Niffler on her shoulder keened in agreement.

“I … see …”

“We were trying to think of ways to make pocket money from magical creatures,” said Bellatrix, fluttering her eyelashes in the most adorable way possible. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there’s a good way to make gold would you, sir?”

“Hmm, you could always get a few Galleons removing gnomes and pixies from people’s gardens …”

She shook her head. “No good. We need something that’ll earn thousands of Galleons.”

The elderly man spat out his tea. “What in Merlin’s name do you need so much money for!?”

“Um, feminine products and such …” she scrambled for an excuse.

“Yeah!” Bella ran with it. “Lots of lots of feminine products. And contraceptive elixirs. And depilatory potions. And underwear. Fancy underwear. Girls need lots and lots of fancy underwear –”

“Enough! I get it, I get it!” Newt rubbed his eyes tiredly, muttering under his breath about how glad he was he’d never had any daughters. “I’m sorry to tell you ladies, but the only way to earn the kind of gold you’re after is through the bounty system.”

“What’s that?”

Their tutor explained that Gringotts, potions masters and magical creature rendering plants all had standing offers to buy creature parts from the general public. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures set minimum purchase prices. As a general rule, the greater the rarity, the higher the price. Centaurs, Veela, Merpeople, giants, succubi and unicorns were listed as protected species and killing them was murder under the law. Werewolves, boggarts, Dementors, lethifolds and vampires were worthless as raw materials. But dangerous creatures with a Ministry rating of XXXXX (highly lethal) could be legally killed on sight by any wizard, and the carcass belonged to the slayer.

She made a thoughtful noise. “What sort of XXXXX creatures would be the most profitable?”

“Dragons and nundu,” Scamander said immediately. “But they’re almost impossible to find outside of reserves these days, and hunting inside a designated reserve will get you packed off to Azkaban faster’n you can say ‘mimbulus mimbletonia’. If I were you, I’d stick to gnomes, pixies and doxies.”

Harry’s response to their enquiries the next day was far more useful.

“Hmmm, I do know a place overflowing with nasty beasties that have no place being so near a bunch of innocent children … how much can you get for Acromantulae?”

She excitedly owled several companies for estimates. Only Longbottom’s Rock Bottom Prices responded.

Harry’s eyebrow lifted at the quote. “100 Galleons a pint for the venom, 50 Galleons for the silk glands, 250 Galleons for the entire carcass. 300 Galleons if the carcass is less than two days old … that settles it. Who’s up for a visit to the Forbidden Forest?”

So for the next five months, they adopted a new custom. Every Friday night, they would pack up a magical tent, expandable trunk, food and drinks, and farewell Dan and Emma to go ‘camping’ until Sunday night. Luckily the Grangers never realised that Dan’s diesel chainsaw went missing at exactly the same times. Upon arrival at the Forbidden Forest, Harry would lead her and Bellatrix to wage war on the Acromantula colony. She and Bella became proficient at stunners, shields and fire spells. The elves were a huge help. The same magic Harry had seen Dobby use to smack Lucius Malfoy around in another lifetime was equally effective at hurling rocks at giant spiders at tremendous speed. On Mondays, Harry and the elves would lug the remains to the Longbottoms’ rendering plant and collect their bounty, which was deposited 50-50 in her and Bella’s new Gringotts vaults.

“Our friendly neighbourhood spiderman sure was one tough webslinger,” Harry commented as they strolled down Diagon Alley one fine day. “I’d say he was harder to take down than the twenty who attacked us en masse last month.”

Bellatrix cheered in response. That bloody raid was one of her fondest memories.

“Enjoy arachnid hell, Aragog. Serves you right for trying to eat Ron and I,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Beautiful day today, isn’t it?”

She and Bella had each claimed one of his hands and refused to relinquish them. They were showing off their brand-new fashionable robes while Harry opted to go Muggle, preferring jeans, a T-shirt, Man United cap and Ray Bans. The shrunken trunk containing the last earthly remains of the Acromantula patriarch was tucked into his back pocket.

The team stopped at the checkpoint and presented their wands for inspection. While one Auror cast Priori Incantatem, another peppered them with detection spells. Cleared, they stepped through to the other side of the street.

“The elves have searched the entire forest, there’s nothing but unicorns and Centaurs left,” Bella complained. “What are we going to do with our weekends now?”

“Study?” offered Harry.

“Find another XXXXX monster and harvest it for parts. Something bigger, I think.”

“How did I end up with such bloodthirsty companions?” Harry mock-lamented.

“Wait a minute!” Bella shouted. “Where’s my package? I had it tucked under my arm just a moment ago!”

“Mundungus Fletcher!” bellowed a stern voice.

The shabby man who’d just walked past the group stiffened. A burly Auror approached wearing his distinctive brown robes.

“Ehehe wotcher, Auror Proudfoot. How’s your beat this fine morn?”

“’Tis a fine morn indeed – and you know what would make it even finer? If you were to turn out your pockets for me. Right this instant.”

“Of course, of course, I’m an upstanding citizen I am, always ready to assist an officer of the law. Now let’s see –” Fletcher abruptly whirled around and tore down Diagon Alley at remarkable speeds.

The Auror cursed and gave chase, wand slashing through the air as a cluster of brightly-coloured spells launched at the fleeing suspect.

Harry swept her and Bella into his arms and dived out of the way of the scuffle. “Ooof!” he grunted as his body cushioned their fall.

Fletcher was swift on his feet, nimbly dodging and weaving away from the hail of hexes. He soon found himself blocked by the checkpoint, its guards already forming up, wands out.

Skidding to a halt, the man reached under his shirt and fiddled with something that glinted gold. There was a whirr and a puff of magic, and he was gone!

“Morgana’s mange!” Proudfoot cursed. “Not another one!”

Harry pulled the girls to their feet and helped dust them off.

“I can’t believe it. Robbed! Moi!” Bella’s chest heaved, breathing hitched. The girl seemed a whisker away from bursting into tears.

Harry snickered. “Joke’s on him. What dya think his reaction will be when he opens it up and finds a bundle of Acromantula eggs?”

She giggled. “With any luck, they’ll hatch and get to enjoy him as their first meal.”

Bella’s teary eyes faded away … to be replaced by a vicious smirk. She started to chuckle in a low register.

“How did I end up with such bloodthirsty companions, Hermione?” Harry repeated. Looking down, he noticed the portrait in his watch was staring daggers at him. “What?” he demanded defensively.

“That criminal had a Time Turner, I’m almost certain of it. And my gut is telling me this is somehow your fault.”

“You don’t have a gut, you’re a magical painting. Besides –”

Puff!

The conversation died as a hideous crone carrying a sack full of mysterious items suddenly materialised in front of them. The Hag’s eyes darted around until she spotted the Aurors milling about in Fletcher’s wake. She uttered a squawk of frustration and took off like a shot in the opposite direction. Some officers raced after her.

“Hmm. Maybe the situation is getting out of hand … perhaps I should go back in time and stop myself from enacting Operation Unload …” he mused. Then seemed to realise he’d said that out loud. Hermione was glaring at him. “Er, I mean, it’s time for us to finish the operation and unload Aragog’s corpse at Longbottom’s. Come on, team, let’s earn some Galleons!”

Longbottom’s Rock Bottom Prices were happy to pay top dollar for Aragog. Their contacts Myra Curio and Sage Bragnam were crestfallen that this was the final shipment and that the eggs had been stolen. Now they couldn’t develop their own spider farm.

To celebrate the successful and profitable eradication of the Acromantula threat, she invited Harry for some one-on-one time at Hyde Park, her treat. They found a lovely streetside café and settled down for a traditional Devonshire tea.

“Okay Tom, what’s bothering you?” he asked, buttering his scone.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” she shot back. Not good, that sounded too defensive.

“Come on Tom, we’ve known each other for almost three years now. I think I can tell if something’s eating you. I’ve been waiting for the past two months to see if you’d ever come clean about it.”

She started. Was she that transparent? What a hateful thought! On the other hand, this was as good an opening as she’d ever be likely to get. Fortune favours the bold.

She took a deep, steading breath and began. “You know how we’ve been studying Occlumency with Madame Kowalski-Goldstein? Well, she’s been working with me to help me look into my core to find my spirit-animal and start to visualise it.”

“Aiming to become an animagus?”

“Absolutely. And so are you, so you can stop pretending you’re above it all!”

He smirked and took a sip of his tea.

She wondered how she could possibly articulate something she’d only been vaguely aware of for the longest time. But as her Occlumency improved, it was becoming so clear she couldn’t keep ignoring it or denying it.

Come on you can do this, she said to herself. It’s not like we’re strangers. He’s right, we’ve known each other for almost three years. You know what he’s like. There’s nothing to worry about.

Thoughts that were once elusive, dancing on the edge of her consciousness, gradually became a swelling tide, pushing stronger against her will, trying to burst free. She’d held it back, terrified of spilling the secrets nestled deep within her heart.

She stretched out and clasped his hand. That’s it, it felt right to touch. Harry was kind. He never withheld warmth and comfort from her. Her heart hammered loudly in her chest.

He was there with her right from the very beginning. The only thing in this world she was connected to. The link felt frighteningly fragile and insubstantial, but it was there, she was sure of it. She was almost sure he could feel it too. Whenever a powerful emotion swept through her, she saw a flash of it in his eyes … but maybe, maybe it was just empathy or sympathy. Just another facet of his kindness. She could never quite convince herself one way or the other. But there was one thing she was certain of: when she looked at him, something stirred deep within her. His magic moved in sync with her own deepest rhythm.

“We’re connected!” she blurted. Then suddenly blushed scarlet when she realised she’d said it out loud.

“Tom?” he blinked in surprise.

Shame and embarrassment overwhelmed her senses, but it was too late he was staring at her there was no helping it now why wouldn’t he stop looking at her she should run she should run she should run as far and as fast as she could the words she should never have spoken were loose there was no taking them back she was driven into a corner run away run away!

In spite of her panic, she grit her teeth, dug her heels into the soft ground and refused to flee before her roiling emotions. There was no option but to charge forward.

She thumped her chest. “I mean we’re connected here! There’s a link between the two of us … inside … I mean … well, isn’t there?!”

Harry raised an eyebrow. But he didn’t laugh or fob her off with platitudes like she expected. Instead he carefully placed his teacup onto the table and met her gaze. The piercing green eyes stared at her intently for an eternal, agonising minute, before he nodded. To her shock, he didn’t mock her silly fantasies – he actually agreed with her! “You’re right, Tom. We are connected. In a lot of ways. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice but …” he sighed. “I suppose it was a fool’s hope.”

She blinked. She had no idea what he meant by that.

“I’ve no clue how it all works here, in this world … heh, not like I understood it in the last one either,” he mumbled. His hand reached up to rub the lightning-bolt scar across his forehead.

Her free hand instinctively reached out as well, sliding her delicate fingers underneath his to directly touch the scarred flesh for the first time. Her eyes widened at the contact; she could feel something roiling within her, and it seemed it was in him too. Her fingers tingled like they were full of static.

“It’s true,” she whispered. “You are the other half of my soul …”

“Yep,” he sighed again. “Probably more literally than when most people say that. Magic isssss a beautiful and terrible thing …

The last phrase was a serpentine hiss. It sent a shiver down her spine and raised all the fine hairs on her neck and arms. Not because she was afraid, but because the sound thrilled her to her core. And because she could understand every word.

What issss going on?” she asked, her tongue dancing in ways she’d never imagined possible.

Don’t know. Why don’t we go asssssk ssssome expertsssss?

Rising from the table, he tossed down some notes and tugged on her hand, raising her to her (unsteady) feet. Harry escorted her to the London Zoo, where they spent the remainder of the day deep in discussion with the inhabitants of the Reptile House.

 

I
IIIIIII
I

 

5 August 1997

Charlus Sirius Potter seized the Quaffle and dived, neatly dodging the interception by his two younger sisters Ivy and Rose. He accelerated across the pitch, but had to pull up abruptly to avoid the bludger that shot across his bow.

“Now, Remus!” shouted James.

The werewolf batted his own bludger at enormous speed towards Charlie, who was forced into a series of tight loops to avoid it.

While he was distracted, Ivy, Rose and Dean Thomas charged towards him in triangle formation. He was out of time.

“Sirius!” Charlie yelled, hurling the Quaffle to the dog-animagus.

His godfather snatched the ball out of the air and whirled towards the goal, the Diggory brothers Cedric and Walter moving up to cover the man’s flanks. Their father Amos smacked his own bludger at James and Remus to prevent them from regrouping.

“*Alright you lot, time to come in now!*” bellowed Dorea from the ground. Her Sonorus Charm could still pack a wallop even from hundreds of metres away. No Howler could compare.

Remus swung his broom around to a halt. “What’s going on? There’s still another hour or two of daylight left.”

“*Professor McGonagall has arrived and needs to speak with the children. Now hurry and get washed up, you don’t want to greet our guest sweating like Manticores!*”

James sighed. “Guess the match is over. Come on kids, you heard your great-aunt. Get cracking.”

“I suppose it is time for Cedric, Walter and I to head home. Don’t want to be late for supper,” added Amos.

“I should probably get going too,” Dean sighed.

The Potter children and Sirius grizzled and groaned loudly but (reluctantly) bid farewell to the Diggories and Dean and drifted inside and to their bathrooms. Once in a respectable state, the inhabitants of Potter Manor made their way to the living room, where they found the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts sipping tea with Euphemia, Dorea, Lily, Fleamont and Charlus.

“What can we do for you, Minnie?” Sirius asked.

“You can wash your mouth out with soapy suds for me if you ever utter the name ‘Minnie’ again, you mangy mutt,” she said acerbically. Turning to the younger Potters, she gestured the girls over. “I happened to be passing along the roadway outside your house and came across these lost items.” She extracted two envelopes from her purse. “I do believe they belong to the twins.”

Frowning, Ivy and Rose cautiously reached out and accepted the envelopes with their names on them. Out dropped small golden badges into their slender hands.

“Ahhhh! Prefect badges!” Rose shrieked. “We’re prefects!”

Ivy didn’t bother with words, but whooped with joy.

The edges of McGonagall’s lips curled upwards.

“As if there were ever any doubt,” Euphemia chuckled.

Lily laughed. Seizing a hand of each of her daughters she led three redheaded sirens around and around in a chaotic circular dance while the others clapped and cheered. Euphemia and Dorea joined them.

"I don't believe it! I don't believe it!” Lily squealed. “How wonderful! My two special girls are prefects as well! That's everyone in the family!"

“Oi! What are Sirius and I, house-elves?" James mock-pouted. The females did not bother to acknowledge his presence. “Well Padfoot, I can see where we stand in the grand scheme of things.”

“Right put us in our place it has,” Sirius nodded gravely.

“Everyone knows the smallest dog barks loudest,” Charlie smirked.

“Such cheek,” Sirius growled, grabbing the boy in a headlock. “I’ll show you how the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black deals with insolence!”

“Unhand my son, you knave!” demanded James, grabbing both of them in headlocks. “This is why nobody lets Black family members into their homes!”

“Such pitiful fisticuffs, it seems a professional will need to show you how it’s done,” Remus lamented, and dived in.

The groups continued to dance, or scuffle, or observe, as was their want, until eventually everyone tired and wended their way into the dining room for an impromptu house-party. The house-elves busily prepared dish after dish, and James even broke out his 200-year-old bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey.

“While I’m here, I’d like to give you girls your first assignment as prefects,” McGonagall announced during a break in the conversation.

“Eh, already?” blinked Ivy.

“You don’t need to do anything until September 1. You see, three new students will be transferring into Hogwarts. Heretofore they have lived in the Muggle world and been home-schooled in witchcraft and wizardry. But in preparation for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s they have opted to attend Hogwarts for the whole year, so much the better to spend their time really soaking up magical knowledge full-time in an all-wizarding environment. Two are girls who will be beginning fifth-year with you, and the other is a boy who will be beginning his seventh-year. Hogwarts would be most appreciative if Ivy, Rose and Charlie could look after them.”

“By ‘look after’, you mean …?” asked Charlie suspiciously.

“I mean, meet them at the Platform, show them the ropes of the Express, and help them fit into to Hogwarts. Perhaps guide them around the castle, introduce them to their fellow fifth, sixth and seventh years? Having some familiar faces their own ages to escort them would do wonders in getting them comfortable with their surroundings.”

“Familiar? We’ve never even met!”

You may not be familiar with them, but they are almost certainly familiar with you. In fact, I doubt there is a magical teen alive in Britain who isn’t intimately familiar with the Potter children’s exploits.”

“You’re making me blush,” Ivy said drily.

“But the same is true of the Longbottom kids,” pointed out Rose.

“Unfortunately, Neville and Allison are currently touring the ruins of Central America with their parents to improve their curse-breaking skills, and will not be returning to Britain until a week into the term.” McGonagall’s slight scowl revealed her own opinions on that desecration of the Hogwarts school year.

Charlie saw the beaming pride on his mother’s face. “I guess we could give it a try,” he said grudgingly.

“I am most pleased to hear that. Their names are Harry, Bellatrix and Tamsin Granger.”

Granger!?” Charlie spluttered his Butterbeer everywhere.

McGonagall scowled at his manners. “They are indeed Miss Granger’s siblings.”

“Hang on, if they’re Hermione’s brother and sisters why haven’t they been at Hogwarts all this time?” Rose wondered.

“That is a matter known only to themselves, their parents, and anyone they wish to take into their confidence,” McGonagall said with finality.

“Even so, since they’re Hermione’s family why doesn’t she take them around and show them the ropes?” Ivy persisted.

McGonagall grimaced. “Miss Granger is not a prefect and so it is not her responsibility to oversee new students. In addition, while an outstanding student and a credit to Gryffindor and all of Hogwarts, she is not the most … how should I put this? … sociable person in Hogwarts.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” muttered Charlie.

“In any case, I would feel far more comfortable if you three made the introductions.”

“Minerva,” interjected Lily with a sly smile, “Your request wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with wanting to encourage these transferees to join Gryffindor would it?”

“I’ll have you know that in my role as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, I have always comported myself with the strictest adherence to the principles of fairness and impartiality when it comes to matters of school houses,” McGonagall said primly. She took another sip of her Firewhiskey. “That being said, it is true that Professor Flitwick’s endless crowing about Ravenclaw’s dominance in the last set of O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. rankings has become tiresome of late. Even though I’ve passed on the mantle of Head of Gryffindor to you Lily, once a Lion always a Lion. One can take the person out of the Pride, but not the Pride out of the person. While Harry’s marks are approximately an E average, decent but not impressive, both Tamsin and Bellatrix are quite brilliant, even more so than their older sister. True prodigies, in fact. Even though they are only 14 they are advanced enough to take their O.W.L.s a year early, and I’ve no doubt that with the tried-and-true framework of the Hogwarts curriculum, and additional teaching support from the faculty, they are well positioned to break Ministry records ...”

Just what I need, sighed Charlie to himself. More eggheads. This year’s going to be just brilliant with another two Hermiones running loose. I wonder if they’ve got a better sense of humour than that block of ice … Better stock up with an extra load of pranking supplies from Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes

 

Next Time on ATTR: Chapter 5 – Where in the World is Harry Potter?

Chapter 5: Where in the World is Harry Potter?

Notes:

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Press and Warner Brothers, not me.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 – Where in the World is Harry Potter?

 

1 September 1997

“Potter.”

“Miss Granger, so lovely to see you. You’re looking well.” Charlie gave a slight bow in greeting to the bushy-haired girl. “Do anything interesting for your holidays?”

“None of your concern,” she replied coldly and swished past him to board the Hogwarts Express.

The Potter boy was unfazed by the response, having grown used to the girl’s frosty temperament over the years. What else can you expect from the Ice Queen of Hogwarts? he mused. Whatever his personal irritation at the girl’s aloof demeanour and holier-than-thou attitude, he still needed to play the role of dashing, polite and (most important of all) handsome prince of Hogwarts while the press and public were still gathered around.

The Platform was crowded as usual, with students and parents contending for space with the hordes of fans and paparazzi, all hoping for a glimpse, a photo, an autograph, and/or a handshake from the three potential ‘Chosen Ones’ who would save Britain. It wouldn’t do to act anything less than heroic, even when confronted with rude people like Granger. He waved to his adoring public, flashing them his Most Charming Smile for which he’d been awarded first place by Witch Weekly Magazine 10 times and by Teen Witch Weekly Magazine 17 times. Outbidding that prat Neville Longbottom with the editors and the National Witches' League was gruelling and pricey, but the victory was oh-so-sweet in the end. And since said Longbottom was still swanning around the New World, there was nobody to steal House Potter’s thunder on this very fine day.

His mother, father and sisters arrived on the scene, setting off a cavalcade of screams and flashing bulbs. The five of them posed for the cameras and shook hands for the next 20 minutes, standard stuff. The crowd only began to disperse when the whistle blew. Charlie, Ivy and Rose made their final goodbyes to James and Lily.

“Is it like this every day for you?” asked Harry who’d been watching in bemused fascination. Bellatrix and Tamsin hid behind him, gripping his new Hogwarts robes. The girls disliked strangers, crowds and unfamiliar places at the best of times. They despised all three together. And yet they still clung to him instead of listening to his urging to follow Hermione onto the train.

“Pretty much,” Charlie nodded. “You gotta embrace the tidal wave. The only other options are to go into seclusion – like Dumbledore does at Hogwarts – or tell the vultures to back off. Which never works. You’d end up having to sneak around and run away from them all the time; and they’re more persistent than doxies. Look at what happened to Princess Diana last night.”

“Oh you heard about the accident did you? I didn’t realise you followed Muggle news.”

“The Royal Family may be Squibs but they’re still the only Royal Family that magical Britain’s got. Plenty of witches and wizards follow what the Crown’s up to. I hear that a bunch of Purebloods are agitating to go over to France and give those quote ‘uppity Muggles’ endquote a darn good hiding to show the wizarding world’s displeasure.”

“Wouldn’t that violate the Statute of Secrecy?” asked Harry as the group boarded the Express.

“They’ll pretend to be Muggle muggers or gangs, I expect. That’s what they usually do. Princess Di’s death is just an excuse for them to get their kicks thrashing some random people who can’t fight back. And if there’s one thing the general magical public dislikes more than Muggles, it’s French Muggles …”

“Disgusting savages,” hissed Bellatrix.

“They should be stoned,” agreed Tamsin.

“Pretty sure they are half the time. And of course it’s awful, that’s why they’re part of the Dark alliance,” Charlie retorted sagely. “Come on, the Weasleys are holding a car for us.”

The three Potter children herded the three Grangers to a compartment with a red Gryffindor scarf wrapped around the handle. Charlie rapped a complex pattern on the door with his knuckles. There was a brief shudder of magic, and the door slid open.

“Sorry about all the security,” Rose said, as the occupants closed and barricaded the door with a panoply of spells. “The mouth-breathers who worship Longbottom and the Dark Wizard wannabes who idolise Lestrange love to try and cause us havoc when they can.”

“Okay chaps, this is my girlfriend Ginny Weasley, my best mate Ron Weasley and our friends Dean Thomas and Walter Diggory, and you’ve already met my sisters Ivy and Rose,” Charlie introduced everyone. “The Weasleys, Diggories and Thomases are some of the right sort of families, stick with them and you’ll get by just fine. Everyone, this is Harry, Tamsin and Bellatrix Granger.”

To his amusement, Tamsin parked herself in Harry’s lap. As the train shuddered around a bend, he unconsciously wrapped her arm around her waist, pulling her tighter against himself. Bellatrix wedged herself in the space between his body and the window and slipped an arm through his.

“’Sup. Charlie here vouches for you, which means you get a Get-Out-of-Pranking-For-Free Pass. Unless you annoy us, of course,” grinned Ron. “Hahaha, just kidding! I hope we can all be good friends.”

“That’s not what you said the last time you saw me,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m looking forward to it. I hear you guys are pretty legendary around Hogwarts.”

“Darn right,” Ron puffed up with pride. “We pretty much have the run of the place.”

“If you run into any trouble at Hogwarts, feel free to let me know,” said Ginny, snuggling up to Charlie’s shoulder. The girl radiated warmth and vitality. She seemed far more outgoing and self-confident than the Ginny Weasley Harry knew, who could only squeak, stutter and put her elbow in the butter. Of course, it could be the age difference; three years was a long time for a teenager.

“Unbelievable,” Harry growled to himself, “Three years spent trying to befriend the Weasley family again and all I had to do was become a transfer student to Hogwarts …”

Ignoring Harry’s soft muttering, the veterans were sizing up the newbies. The two girls were the same age and looked vaguely similar; both featured pale skin and thick curly black hair. Possibly fraternal twins. Tamsin was shorter with more delicate features and a sharp little chin, with endless black abysses for eyes, and had her hair cut at the shoulders. Bellatrix had a stronger jawline and high aristocratic cheekbones, had eyes of brilliant violet, and let her hair grow down to her waist in elite Pureblood fashion. If Charlie didn’t know better, he’d imagine she was a scion of one of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses. Harry on the other hand looked nothing alike. He had the same chestnut-coloured eyes and hair that Hermione did, and his hair was the same tangled rats’ nest, but aside from that the boy resembled Charlie himself more than anyone in the Granger clan.

“So, either of you birds looking for a boyfriend?” Ron waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Bellatrix and Tamsin glared at him, before very deliberately producing books and beginning to read.

“Smooth, Ron, real smooth,” giggled Ginny.

“Ooooh, I know that chilling glare real well,” chuckled Dean. “Those two are definitely related to the Ice Queen.”

“Ah, sorry about those two, they can be shy when they’re around strangers.” Harry scratched his head with his free hand.

“Don’t worry about it, mate, I get it – it’s not every day you get to meet celebrities,” grinned Ron. “It can be pretty overwhelming, I’m sure. We’ve had lots of practice dealing with starstruck chicks.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yep. So you’re the Know-It-All’s brother and sisters eh?” The redhead gave them another appraising look.

Harry shrugged. “Not really. We’re adopted. We only got the surname and started living with her about three years back.”

“So where are your real parents?” The youngest Weasley boy tossed an Everlasting Gobstopper into his mouth.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a very good question,” he said coldly.

The carriage fell into an awkward silence. Charlie interjected before the situation deteriorated.

“Well, er, Hermione is … um … very smart,” he said lamely, scrabbling for a topic to save the dying conversation. “I don’t think she’s ever gotten anything but O’s on a test the entire time she’s been a Hogwarts student.”

Harry nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me. Everyone in the Granger clan is brilliant,” he said proudly. “’Cept me of course – I’m the black sheep,” he spread his hands in a self-deprecating gesture.

“I know what you mean,” said Charlie knowingly. “Give me a broom or an obstacle course or a competition or some practical exam and I’ll crush it! Ask me to write three feet of parchment on the 7 uses of dragon’s blood and I’m pants. My twin sisters are the scholars of the family. Take after my Mum.”

Harry glanced at the pair. “You sure seem to take after you mother in a lot of ways. Scholarly, redheaded, similar facial features … should I be worried about the famous Evans temper?”

“Only if you’re a prat,” said Ivy.

“Yeah, we hear that sort of thing a lot,” Rose grumbled. “Especially from our Professors. Do you know what it’s like being forever compared with your parents?”

“Hmm, maybe a bit …” said Harry.

“Hah! You know nothing! Try having your mother as your Potions Professor and your Head of House, your father as your Defence Professor, and two of their dearest friends as joint Care of Magical Creatures Professors?” Rose snorted.

“That sounds tough.”

“Darn straight,” Ivy growled. “People think we can get away with anything – but that’s only true if we’re alone; whenever we get spotted by any witnesses or any other professors, we get an even harsher penalty from our parents! It’s so unfair …”

“I … see …”

“Okay, I think we should leave the boys to their boy-talk. Come on, we’ll introduce you to some fifth-year girls you’ll be taking O.W.L.s with,” announced Rose.

“And I’ll introduce you to some sixthies,” Ginny offered.

Tamsin and Bellatrix’s eyes shifted to Harry. He gave the minutest nod.

“Sure,” said Bellatrix.

The girls swarmed out of the car like a horde of very attractive locusts.

 

I
IIIIIII
I

 

“This is so humiliating,” whined Harry. He and the girls towered over the ickle firsties standing eagerly in line for their Sorting. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the Great Hall boring into him.

As in his memories of the previous timeline, the students were called forward one by one in alphabetical order to receive the cephalic guidance.

“Nobody likes a Grizzling Gertrude or a Grumbling Germaine, Harry,” Bellatrix chided piously.

“Just focus on the plan,” Harry massaged his temples.

“I still don’t see why we have to go there,” Tom folded her arms peevishly. “I still think Slytherin would be more fulfilling.”

“Sure, if you want to be branded a Dark Witch for the rest of your life no matter what you do, and be forced to spend years of your life trapped in a house full of Pureblood bigots who despise you for things you can’t change. On other hand, my way means we all get to stay in the same house, get individual rooms, get to hang out with Luna, and your housemates are all obsessed with self-study – which means nobody will care what we do, which means we can do as we please.”

Tom frowned. “I’ve been thinking. That professor up there at the teacher’s table … the one with black hair and glasses … he looks amazingly similar to you.”

“I-Is that so …?”

“In fact,” added Bellatrix, instantly jumping onto the bandwagon, “if it weren’t for the fact that you’re wearing coloured contact lenses and dyed your hair, you’d look almost identical. Like a miniature professor …”

“I do recall that every time we go to a magical location, he always wears a cap and sunglasses.”

“One might almost suspect he’s disguising himself …”

“Isn’t it funny how he never talks about his past …”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Harry said hastily, “Go with the plan and I’ll let you interrogate me later. And I’ll even throw in a secret tour of the Shrieking Shack as a bonus …”

 

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“GRANGER, Bellatrix! … hmm? What? … really? … but if I might suggest … that stubbornness would suit you well in … you wouldn’t dare … ugh, fine … on your own head be it, RAVENCLAW!”

“GRANGER, Harry! … well well well, that’s not something you see everyday … not another one! … this really isn’t necess– … whatever, I don’t have time for this, RAVENCLAW!”

“Septima,” Lily whispered to Professor Vector. “Does the Sorting Hat sound a bit … surly to you?”

“GRANGER, Tamsin! … aargh! … but … oh for the love of Godric, RAVENCLAW!”

“And that’s three for three! Sorry Minerva,” cackled Flitwick. “Looks like the rankings will be locked in for Ravenclaw for the foreseeable future, hehehehehe. That’s 30 Galleons you owe me.”

“By the petrified brain of Mesgegra,” cursed McGonagall. “Foiled again!”

 

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“Welcome to another year of education and enjoyment as both student and professor alike join hands together to explore the fascinating wonders of Magic and Friendship. And one may well ponder whether these two things are in fact linked on a fundamental level,” smiled Headmaster Dumbledore as he looked out onto a sea of fresh young faces. “Be that as it may, now that we have eaten and drunk our fill, I have three important announcements to make. Number one: the Forbidden Forest remains, as always, forbidden. Number two: it is my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup has been cancelled this year."

A rumble of discontent swirling through the Great Hall.

“You’re joking!” howled Ron in absolute fury.

Harry froze.

“What’s wrong?” Bella asked curiously.

“Déjà vu …” he muttered, gazing at who had to be the members of the four Quidditch teams writhing about in conniptions of speechless apoplexy at their respective house tables.

Dumbledore was unperturbed by the outcry. The serene smile never leaving his face, he continued, “This is due to announcement number three: it is my immense pleasure to inform you that in two months’ time, Hogwarts will be hosting a sensational event that I am sure you will all thoroughly enjoy. The world’s inaugural Grand International Thaumaturgical Tournament will be taking place at this very castle!”

This time the Hall exploded into cacophony.

“You’re joking!” howled Ron in absolute delight.

Harry’s brow furrowed.

"After many long and gruelling years of steadfast effort, the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Games and Sports in conjunction with the Department of International Magical Cooperation have finally reached an agreement with 6 of the most prestigious wizarding schools in the world, to launch what will be the very first of many international competitions! The Grand International Thaumaturgical Tournament will take place septennially on a rotating basis. The next G.I.T.T. will be held at Beauxbatons in the year 2004. That’s right – every 7 years, the 7 greatest magical schools will send 14 champions to compete in 7 thrilling Tasks!”

The excitement in the air was now boiling over! Many students could barely contain their excitement and were on their feet, bouncing and swaying to unheard music. Even Tom and Bella were swept away by the mood, their lithe bodies buzzing and vibrating at his sides.

“The other 6 schools will be sending delegations of short-listed candidates that will arrive at Hogwarts exactly one month hence. Each school shall provide two champions each, a senior and a junior. The senior must be a witch or wizard of age. The junior may be of any age, provided they are deemed the most worthy to represent their alma mater. This pair will be called the Sacred Band, and will work as a team to overcome the obstacles placed before them during the 7 Tasks. The winning Band will obtain the prestigious, newly-crafted G.I.T.T. Cup, eternal glory for their school, and 2000 Galleons each as personal prize money."

The doors of Hall swung open, and four prefects – one representing each house – strode in carrying a large, gleaming silver cup. Reverently, the G.I.T.T. Cup was placed on a special podium on the teachers’ table.

“And now to introduce our impartial judge, who will select the most suitable students from all schools to join the Sacred Bands. I present to you – the Goblet of Fire!”

The candles in the Great Hall flickered and dimmed. Everyone’s eyes were again drawn to the doors, wherefrom another four prefects entered. They carried a large but nondescript cup; and yet it was mesmerising, for out of that cup swirled and spat blue-white flames. The student body was transfixed by the dancing fire. Reverently, the Goblet of Fire was placed on its own special podium near the Cup.

"Any student who wishes to submit their candidacy as one of the champions must write their name and school upon a piece of parchment and drop it into the Goblet. In two months, on the night of Halloween, the Goblet will announce the names of the successful contenders. Remember, the criteria is worthiness – that does not automatically equate to greater magical power nor magical knowledge. I eagerly await the selection of the Hogwarts Sacred Band!”

 

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Harry flounced into his newly-allocated room and locked the door.

“Dobby, Winky!”

‘Pop’!

His confederates appeared.

“Listen up, we’re facing a crisis. All your other tasks are on hold for now. From now until the selection of champions out of the Goblet of Fire on Halloween, you have one job, and one job only: I want you to work in shifts, and watch that Goblet like two little hawks. If anyone, and I mean anyone, casts magic on it or tries to carve runes in it, or whatever, you put a stop to it immediately, and then come and tell me. No matter what time of day or night, or whatever it is I’m doing. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Master Harrys sir!” they chorused.

“I already got entered into the Triwizard against my will,” Harry said grimly. “I’m not going to get tangled up with some G.I.T.T.!”

 

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31 October 1997

The Great Hall was crammed full with thousands of candles and hundreds of spectators.

“There’s no way our Charlie would lose out to the Longbottoms,” Sirius declared, ruffling the lad’s fiery red mane affectionately.

“Ow, gedoff!” the boy squirmed away.

The whole clan had rallied in support of their champion candidate. His parents James and Lily, his grandparents Fleamont and Euphemia, his Great-Aunt Dorea and his namesake, Great-Uncle Charlus. His sisters Ivy and Rose were standing by his side, as were Cedric and Walter Diggory, Dean Thomas, the Weasley family and Lee Jordan. The other Marauders were also present: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Amos Diggory.

Looking out over the assembled crowds, Charlie could see that the other factions had done the same.

"The Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," proclaimed Dumbledore grandly. His words triggered a vigorous round of camera flashes from the international press.

“The old goat’s really milking this isn’t he?” smirked Sirius.

“Shhh!” hissed Lily, jabbing his side.

"When the contestants' names are called, I would ask them to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through to the Chamber of Champions.” The Headmaster gracefully gestured towards the nondescript door behind the staff table. “There our heroes will receive their instructions for the First Task."

With a great sweeping wave of his wand most of the candles were extinguished, plunging the Hall into semi-darkness. The Goblet shone brightly, the blue-white fire was painful to look at. Everyone burned their retinas anyway, staring intensively at the dancing flames, waiting in breathless anticipation ... Filch and Trelawney checked their watches.

"Any second now," James murmured, his hand on Charlie’s shoulder clenching unconsciously. The young wizard squirmed in discomfort.

The flames inside the Goblet shifted into crimson sparks. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, two charred pieces of parchment were ejected from it; the whole room gasped.

Dumbledore caught the fluttering parchments and held them at arm's length so he could read by the light of the flames, which had returned to blue-white.

"The champions for Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, representing West Europe and the Mediterranean," he intoned in a strong, clear voice, "are Jeanne Aurélie DuMont, 17 years old, and Gabrielle Apolline DelaCour, 11 years old.”

A storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. A tall, curvaceous redhead stood gracefully from the Ravenclaw table, reached down to clasp the hand of a girl half her size and escorted her to the front. The latter preened under all the attention. She shook her sheet of glossy silver hair and blew kisses to her adoring public. The press photographers filled the Hall with camera flashes.

“That little girl is part-Veela unless I’m very much mistaken,” Remus observed, nostrils twitching delicately.

“So young,” Lily shook her head in dismay. “What were the organisers thinking letting such small children compete?”

“More like what was the Goblet thinking?” James said.

“Maybe the thing’s on the fritz,” opined Sirius.

“According to the Hogwarts rumour mill, that shrimp is some sort of prodigy,” explained Ivy.

“Yeah, they say she’s a genius at fire magic and transfigurations,” added Rose. “Her whole House over in France are all Hit Wizards and Curse Breakers, apparently. Talented family.”

“Well, we have no shortage of talent in our own family, right sport?” James grinned.

“Darn straight!” Charlie grinned back fiercely, fists clenched.

"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Rose nodded toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party.

“That’s one way of putting it,” said Ivy drily. Half a dozen of the students who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms. “Such great sportsmanship on display.”

The clapping and cheering died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the Goblet, which turned red once more. A second set of parchments shot out, propelled by the flames.

"The champions for the Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning, representing Central and North Europe," announced Dumbledore, "are Alexandr Grigorovitch Rasputin, 17 and Viktorya Krum, 15."

The Durmstrang students were far more charitable than their Beauxbatons counterparts. Dozens of students cheered and stamped their feet up and down, letting loose a thunderous rumble to match their roars. A tall, muscular slab of a boy rose from the Slytherin table and slouched towards Dumbledore, followed by a slight wisp of a girl. Her long blonde curls shimmered in the flickering candlelight. The pair turned right, walked along the staff table and disappeared through the door. It was a far more sedate affair than the previous champions’.

Remus’ eyes widened. “No way, what are the chances of two part-Veela being chosen as competitors in the same contest?”

“Who cares about that guff, the important thing is she’s the sister of The Victor Krum!” Ron interjected, quivering with excitement. "Bravo, Viktor!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Knew you had it in you! Let’s beat Italy again next year!"

“Victor didn’t actually have anything to do with her selection, you nibblet!” Ginny snarked.

“How do you know?” her brother shot back. “Obviously his world-class Quidditch-awesomeness and general manliness influenced his sister so much she became a champion!”

Ginny rolled her eyes and proceeded to ignore him for the rest of the evening.

The Headmaster continued to announce the champions of the other schools as they were selected by the Goblet’s magic.

"The champions for the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, representing the Americas, are Anthony Goldstein, 17 and Rolf Scamander, 15."

“The champions for the Koldovstoretz Gymnasium, representing Eastern Europe and Central Asia, are Victorya Ivanovna Serebryakova, 17 and Tatyana Vasileyevna Degtyaryova, 13.”

“The champions for the Mahoutokoro School of Magic, representing East Asia, South Asia and the Indo-Pacific Oceans, are Su Li and Padma Patil, both 17.”

“The champions for the Uagadou School of Magic, representing Africa, are Adedamola Akingbade, 17 and Samuel Muriisa, 15.”

“And finally, what you’ve all been waiting for – the champions of the host institution, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, representing Britain, Ireland, Australia and New Zealand, are …”

Silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts Sacred Band, finally here ...

The Goblet of Fire turned red once more, sparks showered out of it. The tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its apex Dumbledore seized the final set of parchments. The Potter-Black-Lupin-Weasley-Diggory-Thomas clan tensed and held their collective breath.

"The Hogwarts champions," the Professor bellowed, "are Neville Frank Longbottom and Draco Arcturus Lestrange, both 17!”

"NOOO! " shouted Ron, Charlie, James and Sirius in unison, but their screams were overwhelmed by the uproar from half the membership of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables and the entirety of the Slytherin table. Every single supporter of the Longbottom faction and the elite Dark faction leaped to their feet, screaming and stamping and hollering, as Neville and Draco shared high-fives and hugs with their parents, friends and minions. The journalists and photographers from The Daily Prophet were going crazy. The grand matriarch Augusta Longbottom even performed a miracle in honour of the momentous occasion – her wizened face managed to smile for 2.3 seconds!

“This can’t be happening,” whispered James in disbelief, fingers tearing at his wild black hair. “I must be dreaming … yes, I must’ve had a nip of Spores of Shroom Solution instead of Pepper-up Potion at breakfast by accident … that’s the only explanation ...”

Charlie sagged bonelessly down into his chair. The spark of life had vanished from his hazel orbs, leaving only dark pools of despair. The would-be champion could only stare blankly as Neville and Draco made their way through the thick crowd of adoring fans, shaking hands as they went towards the chamber. His sisters and mother patted his shoulders awkwardly. Ron, Cedric, Walter, Dean and Sirius were gaping in bewilderment, unable to process this shocking twist.

The spectators roared and cheered even louder when Neville suddenly hugged the surprised Headmaster. Smiling benevolently, the old man patted the boy’s head and gently guided him and a sneering Draco through the door.

“Showboating for the crowd? How despicable – this whole malarkey was a put-up job between Longbottom, Lestrange, Dumbledore and the Minister from beginning to end, you mark my words,” growled Fleamont.

“Oh stop carrying on so, it’s not the end of the world!” scolded Dorea. “So Charlie’s had a little bit of a disappointment – time for you all to man up and support young Neville and Draco in the spirit of good sportsmanship and international friendship.”

Her statement was met by incredulous stares. Even Charlus senior was eyeing his wife like she’d grown several new heads.

The applause for Longbottom and Lestrange went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again. James found himself grinding his teeth in frustration at the level of public support on display. His gaze met that of his father and uncle. Silently the three men agreed to call an emergency meeting of their political allies as soon as possible to devise countermeasures – the last thing they could tolerate was a surge of international prestige for their rival factions, that could have long-term negative consequences.

"Excellent!" the ancient wizard called happily as the tumult died down. "We now have our champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from our visiting schools, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your school’s Sacred Band on, you will contribute in a very real –”

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the Goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it were five more slips of parchment.

In a daze the Headmaster reached out and plucked them from the air. He held them out and stared at the names written upon them. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then he cleared his throat and read out, “Charlus Sirius Potter, 16. Allison Longbottom, 16. Ivy Jane Potter, 15. Rose Dorea Potter, 15. Harry James Potter, 17.”

A hush filled the Great Hall. A thousand eyes locked on to three Potter children and one Longbottom heiress, who were frozen in shock.

Professor McGonagall whispered into Professor Dumbledore’s ear. He began to frown.

Lily slowly swivelled toward the four Marauders, wand in hand. The tip crackled and sparked menacingly. Her magic swelled up, causing her long red mane to frizz out due to the static. “Boys, if this is some kind of childish Marauder prank, I swear to Merlin –”

“It wasn’t us!” Remus blurted. “Sure we wanted Charlie to compete, but we’d never drag the twins into anything without your okay first!” Sirius, James and Amos bobbled their heads in fervent agreement.

“And we certainly wouldn’t have given the Longbottoms a double chance at the Cup,” added Amos.

That argument seemed to clinch it as Lily nodded and retracted her claws. The men sighed in relief as the magical charge in the air faded away.

At the Ravenclaw table, Harry sat rigid as a maypole, a polite smile frozen on his face. How!? How could this have happened to me twice!? Once may be an accident, but fool me two times, shame on me … Is Time trying to return to the original set of events … or does Someone up there think this is funny? In a corner of his mind, he idly thanked Merlin that the Claws were primarily children of Neutrals, and so most were content to either sit and half-heartedly applaud, or half-heartedly feign shock and dismay at the surprise champions. He didn’t think he could prod his body into jumping to his feet and cheering or jeering with his fellow schoolmates.

Bella and Tom had no such compunction, the two had long ago joined a gaggle of lower-year Ravens to gleefully swirl through the energetic crowd.

Harry leaned over and patted the back of the weeping Beauxbatons girl sprawled out on the table beside him, murmuring meaningless comforting noises – looking for all the world like a concerned friend – while his mind spun furiously.

Looking up, his eyes locked with Hermione’s chocolate-brown orbs across the Hall at the Gryffindor table. She raised an eyebrow. Aren’t you going to go up there?

He scowled. Not even wild Gryphons could drag me.

A slight twitch and curl of her lip. I could always let them know their missing champion’s in this very room with them …

His face darkened. Try it and I will make it the mission of the rest of my life to make sure you suffer …

“Harry?” asked his watch.

“Not a word, Hermione,” he growled. “Not. One. Word.”

At the teacher’s table, Dumbledore finally straightened up, nodding to McGonagall. “Will the Potter children and Miss Longbottom come up here, if you please!”

"Go on, kids," said James, giving Charlie a gentle push. “Your mother and I will be with you in a few minutes.”

There was no applause as the three redheads and one brunette stumbled towards the chamber. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, filled the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at the four interlopers. The photographers were snapping away like mad.

"Through the door, children," urged Dumbledore. He and McGonagall weren’t smiling.

 

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6 November 1997

“What a disaster,” sighed James, slamming down The Daily Prophet in disgust. “The whole thing’s turned into a bloody circus. Nothing but lurid headlines as far as the eye can read.”

McGonagall’s desk was covered with editions of the major international magical newspapers. He flopped down into the visitor’s chair in exhaustion.

“At least we’ll have enough fish-and-chips wrappers to last us a decade …” the joke was weak but it was the best he could come up with off-the-cuff after several sleepless nights.

His old Head of House snorted. “The I.C.W. is threatening to suspend Britain’s membership if the culprits aren’t found and convicted. It is certainly not what one had in mind when planning for greater international cooperation.”

As the host institutions, Hogwarts and the Ministry were copping major flak from both the domestic and international press. The remainder of the outrage was directed squarely at House Potter, gleefully exacerbated by rival factions. James and the rest of the clan had spent the last few days desperately undertaking damage control. The only bright side was that Allison’s selection as a Champion meant that House Longbottom hadn’t escaped unscathed. But if the public trends were allowed to continue unabated, there was a risk that both the Longbottom faction and the Potter faction could lose control of the Light bloc in the Wizengamot and Ministry, possibly allowing it to be swallowed up by Dumbledore or the Greys.

“It seems the prevailing theory is House Potter and House Longbottom conspired with the Hogwarts staff and Minister Bones to rig the selection process to ensure that no matter what happened, the Potter and Longbottom children would be chosen as champions,” the Deputy Headmistress added sourly, tossing her copy of Die Mitteleuropäische Zauberzeitung onto the pile. “How are the children handling it?”

“About as well as can be expected. Once the shock wore off, Charlie’s been walking on sunshine. Been training with Sirius, Remus and Amos non-stop. The twins are cautiously optimistic. They hadn’t seriously considered entering, but now they’re Champions their social status amongst the Hogwarts witches has risen quite a bit. They’re doing all they can to push back against Neville and Draco’s influence. Lil’s taking them for an interview for Teen Witch Weekly tomorrow.”

“Any updates on the search for You-Know-Who?”

James winced. “You remember we sent him to live with Lils’ Muggle relatives about five years’ back … best for him to grow up among his own kind and all ... A few days ago she and Mum went to Surrey to pay her sister a visit, see if Harry could shed any light on the situation … They scarpered, Minerva! Apparently the whole ruddy bunch of them just up and moved house one day without a word to anyone; none of the Muggles in the neighbourhood had a clue where they went. And their new address isn’t listed in the Muggle directories. Lils tells me that you can pay the government to keep your information private.”

“They relocated?” McGonagall sat up a little straighter. “The timing’s a wee bit suspicious, given what’s happened with the Goblet.”

“Eh? Oh no, it wasn’t recent. They left Little Whinging a good three years ago.”

“Ah,” his old professor deflated. “But still, to disappear with nary a word? ‘Tis dashed odd.”

James shifted uncomfortably. “Lils and her sister don’t exactly see eye to eye. The last few family reunions have been … tense. I guess we sort of lost touch over time … five years really went by in a flash … Since they came up with Buckleys, I pulled a few strings and got Scrimgeour to put Moody onto the case. Man’s a living bloodhound. Don’t tell Sirius I said that.”

“Isn’t he retired?”

“He still does the occasional side job for the DMLE if it interests him enough. And with all Hel breaking loose on the international stage, he’s plenty interested. Plus, Lily promised to bake him one of her special-recipe pixies-in-the-hole if he’s able to rustle up anything substantive.” The door opened and the immaculate Potions Professor glided into the room, not a hair out of place as usual. “Ah, speak of the devil …”

“You keep calling me a devil behind my back and one day you may find my trident inserted into places angels fear to tread,” his wife mock-threatened. “Now get yourself presentable, we need to get to our meeting with Bones.”

He ran a hand through his tangled black locks. “How do I look?”

“Like you just lost a fight with a grain thresher,” she smirked.

“Hah,” he sniffed proudly. “Whatever state I’m in, the Potter charm conquers all – I can still pull any bird I want.”

“Sure can, if you’ve lost interest in living,” Lily muttered under her breath.

“Come again?”

“Not with that attitude you won’t,” she winked saucily.

They bid farewell to a scarlet-faced McGonagall and Floo’ed to the Minister of Magic’s office.

“Come through and sit down, I don’t have all day.” Amelia Bones waved the couple in with brisk impatience. “You two are the last to arrive. … Now that we’re all here, let’s get down to business. I don’t need to remind everyone that the past week’s firestorm has given the Ministry a real black eye, and I for one have no liking for being sucker-punched. I hope you lot have some answers for me, because I have to join Dumbledore in front of an I.C.W. inquiry committee this afternoon and I’m running out of excuses to stonewall their investigators.”

“There are a couple of points of interest,” said Rufus Scrimgeour the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Don’t beat about the bush Rufus, what’ve you got?”

“To begin with, the sabotage of the selection process.” He nodded to James Potter.

“Professor Dumbledore and I went over the Goblet with a fine-toothed comb. No doubt about it: an overpowered Confundus Charm tricked the artefact into thinking there were 10 schools competing instead of 7,” the former Chief Auror supplied. “Two of my children were entered as the only competitors for one school, and the other two for the second school, and the Longbottom siblings for the third, guaranteeing all 6 names came out of the Goblet. The culprit clearly didn’t expect Neville to get chosen for real for Hogwarts. We tracked the magical signature, but only got as far as a nearby classroom.”

“The spellwork must have been cast shortly after the Goblet arrived in Hogwarts. Most likely before it was even set up on display in the Great Hall. The magical trail has long since gone cold, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore said gravely. “However, the fact that it was tampered with before the official announcement of the G.I.T.T. does narrow down our list of suspects somewhat.”

“And why wasn’t the priceless magical artefact under guard to prevent tampering?” the Minister demanded.

Scrimgeour ran a hand through his white leonine mane. “We didn’t think it necessary – it’s Hogwarts not a public venue, what could a bunch of children do?”

The Headmaster nodded slowly.

Amelia rubbed her temples. “And the missing Potter brat? Any idea about his involvement in this farce, if any?”

“Minister, with all due respect, the boy is a Squib,” Scrimgeour began. “And one that was banished from the magical world years ago. There’s no way he could have had anything –”

“Even so,” she interrupted, “I’m not willing to overlook a single possible lead. Moody?”

“The lad was fostered out to Professor Lily Potter’s Squib sister – one Petunia Dursley – in February 1993,” Alastor began, his hideous scarred visage twisting into what could be an expression of enthusiasm, or regret, or indifference. “Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging in Surrey. In December 1994, Petunia along with her Muggle husband and Squib son, without warning packed their bags and moved, real stealthy-like. Tracing the husband’s job history I discovered he’d transferred to a branch office of his company located in Bath. I eventually tracked ‘em down to 16 Watercress Circuit, Nempnett Thrubwell.”

“You found Harry?” Lily demanded.

“Afraid not, lass. The three of ‘em weren’t very talkative but once I put the screws on ‘em a bit they folded like a Muggle suit. Fessed up that they’d shipped the boy off to the nearest orphanage a month after he arrived. Had the paperwork and everything. I used a bit of Legilimency to double-check, there’s no doubt.”

“Petunia did what!?” the redhead roared, springing to her feet. “How could she do that to her own flesh and blood?”

“The woman stated that she’d only taken in the wee laddie under duress, and couldn’t wait to be rid of him.”

“There was no duress! None whatsoever!” James said heatedly. Husband and wife clung together for mutual support. But the bad news kept on coming.

“According to Mr and Mrs Dursley there was an unspoken understanding that if they refused yer proposal they’d be transfigured into all manner of quote ‘freakish tentacle-monsters’ endquote and left to scrabble around in the sewers for the rest of their lives. So they had no choice but to nod their heads, and as soon as your back was turned, they could, eh, remove the contagion …”

“Lies!” snapped James.

“I can’t believe you threw my baby into a Muggle orphanage,” Lily whispered into James’ chest. “I’ve read horror stories about those places … How could you, Tuney? Harry was just like you and Dudley …”

“Not from their perspective – anyone from the wizarding world is ‘tainted’ and ‘unnatural’ no matter whether they can wave a wand or not,” Alastor grunted.

“Oh,” Scrimgeour sneered disdainfully. “They’re those kind of Muggles.”

“Aye. Some of the most bigoted magic-haters I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Wouldn’t trust ‘em to take good care of a flobberworm. In my opinion, the lad was well rid of ‘em.” Moody ignored Lily and James’ stricken looks and consulted his notes.

“So he’s at some orphanage?” Sirius asked. “Then let’s go fetch him now.”

“Not possible, the Surrey Diocesan Children’s Home was shut down by the state in August 1996 and the children distributed to other facilities all over England.”

The Minister raised a greying eyebrow. “Dare I ask why, Alastor?”

“Lack of funding from the Muggle government in part. But for the most part: embezzlement, child abuse, child exploitation, contributing to the delinquency of minors, fencing stolen property, drug dealing, fraudulent tax returns, even a bit of human trafficking ... well, ye get the gist.”

Sirius growled with menace and leaped out of his seat. He launched his lithe body towards the fireplace.

Immobulus! Please Sirius, I know you are as distressed as the rest of us with this unfortunate news – if not far more so – but running wild will not avail us anything; let us hear the rest of the story first,” Dumbledore gently told the now-frozen Auror.

Moody’s tone was grim. “To make a long story short, there’s a record of one Harry James Potter being registered for admittance back in ’93, but that’s it. After that it’s like he vanished off the face of the earth.”

Lily collapsed bonelessly against her husband.

Amelia groaned. “So he could be anywhere. There’s no guarantee he’s even still in the country …”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Scrimgeour smirked. “I’ve been doing some digging of my own, and have reason to believe that the Squib resides in magical Britain.”

Moody’s electric blue eye whizzed around and locked on to the director. “And ye ken that how exactly?”

“Weasley!”

Percy Weasley bustled forward in great excitement. “Yes, Director. On 23 November 1994, Harry Potter applied for a copy of his personal files from the Hall of Records. On the same day he opened a new account at Gringotts. From 23 November to 5 December, he rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“That’s been his sole official contact with the wizarding world in the past five years so far as we can tell,” Scrimgeour said. “It’s not a lot to go on, but if someone were planning to flee the country or disappear into the Muggle world, why would they bother setting up a vault?”

“Interesting,” mused Amelia. “Why would a Squib want to open a Gringotts account or stick around in the magical world? There’s virtually no chance of obtaining employment or education. Did you get anything else out of the goblins?”

The Director shook his head. “They’re required by Treaty to inform us of the opening and closing of vaults, but that’s it. It’s the usual, Chief. ‘Gringotts cannot possibly provide sensitive information about its clients blah blah blah confidentiality agreements blah blah blah’. They won’t hand over anything useful without a warrant from the Wizengamot.”

“Good luck with that,” the Minister sighed. “As if those corrupt windbags would ever allow a precedent for the Aurors to go digging into people’s Gringotts records. So is that all we have?”

Remus raised his hand. The werewolf was a rather ghastly shade of white. “There is one more thing. Lily asked me to go through their backlog of mail, just in case there was anything of interest … well, the elves found these.” He placed two letters, yellowed with age, onto the Minister’s desk.

The group pored over the missives, trying to decipher the chicken-scratch scrawl. Unlike the florid gushings in most of the Potters’ fanmail, the two letters merely stated that Harry Potter would like to book a meeting with his parents at their convenience. To the eyes of the adults, the query seemed to echo across a vast distance, tiny and forlorn.

“So the bairn escaped the orphanage when it shut down and went to London to make contact with his parents. Waited at the Leaky Cauldron for a couple of weeks but getting no reply, gave it up as a bad job and buggered off to parts unknown,” Moody surmised. “Probably doesn’t even know his name came out that Goblet.”

“What have we done, James?” groaned Lily.

He could do naught but stroke his wife’s hair.

 

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Percy Weasley hummed as he returned to his office, pleased that he’d been able to make such an important contribution to a high-level Ministry meeting. He didn’t notice a small water beetle clinging to his collar. As he passed a window, it leaped off and flew away into the sky.

 

Chapter 6: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 – Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

 

6 November 1997

“There you are!” warbled a merry voice.

Hermione Granger glanced up from her Arithmancy notes in irritation – and recoiled. A toothy grin and thick mop of ebony curls hovered half an inch from her face.

“Argh! How did you get in here?” she growled. “And get out of my personal space!” Her hand pressed against the other girl’s face and pushed her back as far as her arm could reach.

Bellatrix was unfazed. She leaned forward into the pressure and bit Hermione’s fingers playfully, smirking at the older girl’s indignant yelp.

“Wasn’t hard, Luna and I just tagged along with a group of Lionesses and waltzed right in, they didn’t even notice we were there.”

The cheeky brat looked entirely too pleased with herself. Luna was staring with great concentration at an empty section of wall, turning her Butterbeer-cork necklace over and over in her fingers like Rosary beads. Hermione shot a glare at the fifth-year Gryffindor girls who had the grace to look sheepish.

“Never mind that, Herms – Tom, Luna and I finally cornered Harry and we’re going to make him spill his guts! Come on!”

That set of a low rumbling of concerned murmurs throughout the Lions’ common room.

“Oh Merlin,” a third-year boy muttered in the background, “the Ice Queen’s gonna go torture some poor bastard ...”

“I’m sure I don’t care,” Hermione told Bellatrix coldly.

“Yes you do,” she sing-songed. “You liiiiiiike him; you like him a lot more than you pretend! After all, he’s the only boy who can put with you, Your Moodiness. So you should take this chance to spend more time with him. Tom and I’ll help!”

“The nargles have volunteered their services as well,” said Luna absently, drawing a complex shape in the air with her forefinger.

Hermione ground her teeth. She so did not need to be having this conversation in public. “Enough! I have eight feet of parchment to write for Arithmancy, so –”

“Don’t be all scowllelly,” Bellatrix pouted, seizing the seventh-year’s arm and pulling her out of her chair. “It won’t be as amusing without you. You have the best glares out of any of us – nobody can make Harry squirm like you do! It’ll be ever so much fun!”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Ugh, fine if it’ll get you off my back! But you have to promise to never call me ‘Herms’ again.”

“Whatever you say, Hermy,” Bella chirped.

The high-spirited fifth-year dragged the grumbling girl out the door (Luna carrying the bags), whilst the rest of the Gryffindor common room looked on in shock and disbelief at the unbelievable sight. Two ickle Ravenclaw girls had just sassed and manhandled the infamous Ice Queen in the middle of her own lair, without vicious reprisal! This hallowed moment would be passed down from generation to generation of Lions, and would live on forever in Hogwarts lore …

Meanwhile, Bella and Luna were guiding Hermione to the seventh floor.

“Come and Go Room?”

“Yep, best place to avoid being overheard. The watch tells me that you like using it during exam prep time.”

“Much more peaceful than the common room. You’d think those dunderheads would actually prepare in advance rather than flying into a panic at the last minute every single exam period! It’s tiring just being around them in that state.”

The mystical door led into a gloomy medieval dungeon. Chains and hooks hung from the walls and thin shafts of light shone through the bars on the windows.

“Ah good, everyone’s arrived,” said Tom impatiently. “Sit down, sit down, so we can get started.”

“Was it really necessary to tie me up?” Harry complained.

“Yes,” Tom said flatly. “You’ve been stonewalling or avoiding us for two months straight. Time to pay the piper and tell us what you promised.”

“The next time Luna says, ‘Close your eyes, I have a surprise for you,’ I’m gonna turn tail and run,” he grumbled.

“I can’t believe it took you so many years to figure that out,” snickered Bella.

“And I haven’t been avoiding you lot! I just wanted you to focus on adjusting to classes and Hogwarts life without me getting in the way. Most of your time is spent in classes and extra tutoring sessions from the Professors anyway, not like we have a lot of time to chew the fat.”

“Pull the other one Harry, it has bells on,” giggled Bella. 

“I’m surprised the watch didn’t tell you everything already,” the wizard said mulishly.

“Not my story to tell. It’s better if you tell them about yourself Harry,” rejointed Portrait-Hermione.

“Fine, fine, I did promise you at the Sorting.” Harry explained to the three younger girls his counterpart’s history in this timeline. Hermione had already learned most of these details from the painting, so contented herself with perusing her Arithmancy textbook.

“I can’t believe your family and friends just threw you away like Crookshanks’ kitty litter,” Tom shook her black ringlets in disgust. “Though this prophecy business bothers me …”

“Hold the phone,” objected Bella, “if you’re a Squib, then how exactly do you have … y’know, magic?”

Harry shrugged helplessly. “Somehow I ended up with some of Tom’s.”

Hermione choked, almost dropping her book. “What!? That … what … how is that even possible?”

“I’ve haven’t the foggiest.” And on that point, the wizard was being completely honest. He still found it unfathomable as to how Voldemort could have passed on some of his powers to him. According to everything he knew about magic, it should be as feasible as transfiguring the Sun.

Guess Professor Dumbledore underestimated what happened that Halloween night. He told me in second year that Voldemort’s Parseltongue ability transferred over to me when he was vanquished, but the fact I still have magic at all in this timeline tells me I must’ve gotten quite a bit more than snake-language … How ironic. It was thanks to that monster I was able to enter the wizarding world at all. If he hadn’t attacked me as a baby, I’d’ve ended up as a Squib and probably still been exiled to the Dursleys. Guess that’s the one and only thing I should be thankful to him about ...

“Um … thanks,” he said to Tom, struggling to articulate his complex feelings.

“You’re saying the only reason you have magic is because of me?” the girl said slowly.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, bracing himself for her rage.

But her response surprised him. A brilliant red blush infused her pale face; she refused to make eye contact.

Wait, what? What’s up with that reaction? Did I miss something?

Hermione was still shaking her head in bafflement. “There’s no way … have to research this …”

“Finally!” cheered Luna. “Definitive proof of the existence of the Rotfang-Heliotrope Pact! Harry, would you agree to sit for an exclusive interview with The Quibbler? This is important public information.”

Tom seemed lost in her own world. She stared off into the distance, sporting an incredibly smug expression on her pretty face.

“Hem hem, since we’re all here,” Harry hastily changed the subject to avoid having to do yet another interview as an ‘anonymous expert’ for Mr Lovegood’s rag, “we may as well discuss the Hippogriff in the room: somehow – in spite of Dobby and Winky’s surveillance – I’m a G.I.T.T. Champion, even though I didn’t enter my name into the Goblet and there’s no possible way anyone besides you lot could know Harry Potter was at Hogwarts ... Seems all a person needs to do to force someone to compete in this death-tournament is write down their name and throw it in. What an ingenious and foolproof system! Ministry stupidity aside, the million Galleon question now is: who dragged me into this mess, and for what reason?”

“Assassination,” said Bellatrix instantly.

“Assassination,” said Hermione.

“Assassination,” said Tom, shaking off her wool-gathering but unable to remove the smirk.

“I’m going to have to go with assassination too,” said Portrait-Hermione. “The culprit ensured that every single Potter and Longbottom child was magically bound to compete in a tourney that greatly resembles the old Triwizard Tournament, a competition that got cancelled because of the high death toll. It’s the perfect way to get rid of the whole basket in one go.”

“Agreed,” agreed Real Hermione. “If the goal were honour and glory, there’s no reason for any of the factions to allow their rival competitor to become a champion too … unless House Potter and House Longbottom made a deal for both their candidates to be selected. But if that were the case, there’s no reason to include Harry, who’s not considered an asset or a threat. The only thing that fits all the facts is that someone wanted to thwart the supposed prophecy badly enough to want a clear sweep of every potential candidate, even a supposed Squib. Even if a Squib can’t or won’t compete, the media frenzy would likely flush him out from wherever he was hiding. That implies a mastermind who’s meticulous and doesn’t like leaving any potential loose ends.”

“In other words, the worst kind of enemy,” sighed Tom.

“So who wouldn’t want the prophecy fulfilled? Sounds like everyone in Britain would be keen on ushering in a new golden age,” said Harry.

“If they’re enemies of the Potters or Longbottoms they may prefer a silver age Britain to a golden age with their foes at the helm,” stated Hermione with a touch of condescension. “There’s also the possibility of someone outside the country. A foreign government that feels threatened by Britain perhaps, or an organisation that competes with the British in some area.”  

Things were so much simpler when Voldemort was the cause of everything, whispered a rebellious voice in the back of Harry’s head.

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8 November 1997

“Consider this an apology for fobbing you off for so long,” Harry said, guiding Tom into a certain room on the second floor. “It’s just … it’s just I really don’t like talking about my ‘family’. It’s a bit of a sore spot …”

“I guess I can understand. If I try to imagine Dan and Emma casting me out onto the streets for some stupid reason, it really steams my hams.” She looked around. “Harry, why are we in the disused girls’ bathroom? Do you have some fetishes I should know about?”

She giggled at his spluttering denials.

“Oooooh,” gasped a spooky voice. “How scandalous!”

The two teens jumped, whirling to see Moaning Myrtle emerge from an overflowing toilet bowl.

“It’s been decades since a couple snuck into my bathroom to snog,” the ghost winked conspiratorially. “But don’t worry, Myrtle won’t tell a soul … as long as you let me watch.”

Tom opened her mouth furiously, but Harry beat her to the punch.

“Alright you caught us, Myrtle. We snuck into this filthy latrine to spend the rest of the day in a torrid makeout session like a couple of crazed hormonal monkeys. Hogwarts faces a severe shortfall of underage unwed parents this year, which we aim to rectify,” Harry deadpanned. He didn’t notice Tom turning bright scarlet. “So what’ll it take for you to … hang on, wait a minute!” Harry looked at the ghost, down at the crimson-faced girl twiddling her thumbs beside him, back at the ghost, down at the girl, back at the ghost, down at the girl, back at the ghost. “How the heck did you end up dead this time?” he blurted out unconsciously.

Myrtle’s face lit up with macabre glee. “Oooooh it was awful! That beastly Olive Hornby and her harpies were making fun of me from the moment I arrived at Hogwarts. So I decided to learn to become an animagus to spite them – that’d teach them to call me a talentless Squib that Pollux Redmaine would never look twice at!”

“Animagus? How old were you at the time?”

“13.”

Harry winced. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“I wanted to turn into a Hippogriff so I could peck their eyes out … but instead my spirit-animal was a newt. Still, Olive was deathly afraid of lizards for some braindead reason, so it was almost as good. I managed to complete the transformation most of the way –”

“Most of the way?” interjected Tom, who was still the colour of a tomato.

“I got the body right, but was never able to change my head or left arm,” Myrtle sniffed dismissively. “It was still good enough for frightening. So I waited until Hornby went to the bathroom alone. While she was admiring her stupid bitchy face in the mirror, I transformed and crawled up onto her shoulder and hissed. Worked like a charm! Ol’ Olive turned whiter than the porcelain of the toilet bowls and screamed louder than a Banshee!”

She cackled, doubling over in mirth for a good 5 minutes.

“Er, but how did that end up with you becoming a ghost?” Harry finally queried.

“Hmm? Oh, that. Hornby was so terrified she grabbed me and threw me like an old sock. I fell right into the privy bowl, and she pulled the chain. And so I got flushed into the Black Lake.”

Harry could only shake his head. The Universe really has it in for the poor girl. Not like I’m any different, I s’pose … At least this proves that if an animagus dies in their beast form, their ghost still stays human.

The ghost continued to expound at length on the endless misery of being confined to a room full of toilets and a set of drainage pipes in a horrible school filled with malicious children who all avoided her like the Black Death. As he listened to her endless elegy of loneliness, an idea began to percolate in his brain.

“I’ll make a deal with you Myrtle. The two of us may be using this bathroom on occasion. You tell no-one what goes on in here and I’ll find you a companion. A permanent one. Captive audience, so to speak.”

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“Wick-ked!” Tom’s eyes sparkled as she explored the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry couldn’t help grinning at her childish exuberance. She raced from one end to another, examining the giant statue, the empty pool, the empty ritual chamber, the empty library, the empty living quarters, a beaming smile brightening her face.

“Where do all these tunnels lead?”

“All over the castle. Some even go out to the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake,” he answered. “I haven’t mapped them all out yet though.”

“Is this what you’ve been doing in your spare time the past few months? When you were avoiding us?”

Harry winced. “In part. I’ve also been spending time watching the Potter siblings and Professors Potter, Potter and Lupin.”

“Know thy enemy?”

“Not really. I just want to see what kind of people they are … to try and figure out … y’know, why they did what they did …”

“Any luck?”

Harry shrugged helplessly. “Speaking of enemies, there is one in here I need to talk to you about.” He explained about Slytherin’s Monster and how to summon it. “How about it, Tom? Feel like battling a giant murderous serpent? There’s no way we can leave it be under a school full of innocent children. There may be no Parseltongues around except us for now, but who knows when another one could stumble upon this place by accident? They could use that Basilisk to terrible effect.” He shuddered at the memories.

The witch gripped his forearms with surprising strength. Her eyes were feverish. “Basilisk … that’s a XXXXX-class monster, right?”

“Er, I think so, yes?”

“Can you leave this to Bella and I? I promise we won’t disappoint!”

“Uh, I guess so, if you’re really that keen …”

“Yay! We’ll make you proud, Harry!”

“It’s okay to tell Bella about the Chamber but please keep it quiet from Real-Hermione and Luna.”

Tom blinked in confusion. That was unexpected. Harry was typically the first to defend Hermione and try and include her in their doings.

“I’ve never taken them down here before, and I’ve no idea how they’d react. We’ve already introduced them to the Come and Go Room, that’s more than enough.”

“So it’s a secret hideaway just for us?” Tom’s face burst into a radiant smile once again.

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11 November 1997

In the end it only took Tom and Bella three days of brainstorming (and pumping Harry for every scrap of information he held about the Chamber and Basilisk) to come up with a feasible plan. Tuesday evening was designated the day of reckoning. After dinner, the two girls made their excuses to Luna and slipped out of the Great Hall. Entering Myrtle’s bathroom, they were surprised to find Harry already present, along with a burly man in a tartan-coloured wizard robe who was busily inscribing runes on the floor and walls.

“What’s going on?” Tom asked, peering at the strange symbols. Ancient Runes were of particular interest to her, and she couldn’t recognise any of these.

“Runic array,” the man said, not looking at them.

“I smuggled this fine gentlewizard into the castle tonight to do a little job for me. Invisibility Cloaks are really the gift that keeps on giving aren’t they? But never mind about us, you have your own business to attend to. I’ll tell you about all this later,” Harry promised. He leaned forward and whispered. “So tonight’s the night? Okay, good luck. Remember, if you’re not back in two hours I’m using the Turner to go back in time for two hours and going down to rescue you. Now let’s synchronise watches.”

“Synchronised!” announced Portrait-Hermione. “Although they’re not really, are they? You’re just relying on me, aren’t you?”

Harry moved to chat with the unnamed wizard to distract him, but it was unnecessary as the man remained focused on his task. He didn’t look up once as Tom opened the tunnel and she and Bella dived down the chute.

Their task was soon completed, and the two wizards moved on to the next step. They huddled under the Cloak and made their way through the hallways.

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Harry whispered.

“Detector’s never failed me yet.” The man was wielding a device that looked like a cross between a wand and a fly-swatter. It gave off a seemingly-random series of whirring and chirping noises accompanied by flashes of different-coloured light. The cacophony somehow made sense to its user. “We’re here.” They’d arrived in the corridor outside the Hogwarts Library. “Give me time to set up.”

Harry watched as a mysterious box covered in runes was installed on the floor in the middle of the passage. Growing bored, he decided to see if the taciturn contractor could be drawn into some small-talk while they waited.

“So … been doing this sort of thing for a while?”

“21 years.”

“I see. Any hobbies outside of work?”

“I collect spores, moulds and fungus.”

“Oh … goodie ...”

“We’re done.”

“Thank Merlin.”

A few moments later, Harry crept through the empty Library until he located his target. “Oh no, it’s Peeves!” he yelled in alarm, and turned and ran as fast as he could.

The poltergeist was startled for a moment, but quickly made chase, throwing books and inkwells at the fleeing boy, cackling like mad. Harry raced out of the door and down the corridor. Peeves shot after him until he hit what seemed to be an invisible wall blocking him.

“What’s this? Students using wicked spirit-runes to trap Peevsie!?” he screeched, at a pitch that would strip paint from walls. “What did Peevsie ever do to you!?” A bright white light shone from the box and a wailing and screaming poltergeist was dragged into it. With a puff of magic, Peeves was gone.

“Did it work?”

“Yes. The spirit should’ve been transported to the bathroom.”

They hurried back, anxious to avoid encountering anyone that may have been summoned by the ghost’s loud shrieks. To Harry’s satisfaction, Peeves was indeed there, ranting and raging. But everytime the spirit tried to flee, he bounced back into the room. As they closed the door behind them, the entrance to the Chamber reopened, and two energetic students emerged. Extremely filthy, but otherwise unhurt.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Harry shouted over Peeves’ caterwauling. He handed the wizard a bag of Galleons. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Oooh, what’s going on this time? So much excitement this week, is it my birthday?” moaned Myrtle as she ascended from a toilet bowl.

“I’m keeping my side of the bargain, Myrtle. Here’s your new companion,” Harry gestured at the rampaging poltergeist. “Peeves’ll keep you company from now on. Mostly because he can never leave this room, or the pipelines attached to your toilets, ever again. So he can only go where you can go from now on. And don’t worry about all the screaming. We’ve made sure no noises can be heard outside this bathroom, so it doesn’t matter how many tantrums he throws. Peeves’ll settle down eventually.”

“Harry,” Myrtle wiped a spectral tear from her transparent cheek. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Anytime,” he replied roughly, shuffling his feet at the awkward moment. A bit of moisture collected in the corner of his eye. “We’ll leave the two of you to get acquainted.” He hustled the other three living beings out.

“Come play with me, Peevsie. For ever and ever and ever …”

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Harry escorted the contractor to the Honeydukes exit and bid the satisfied man farewell. Then he rejoined Tom and Bella, who’d made themselves cosy in his bed.

All in all, a 100% successful night. I can now cross Peeves off the List.

“So what happened down in the Chamber?” he asked. “How dya off long, dark and snakey?”

Bella brandished a hand-held mirror. The glass was shattered and smoking.

“With that?” he eyed it dubiously.

“Yep, this was our only tool.” Tom radiated pure smug self-satisfaction. “You ever read the story of Perseus?”

“Ummm …”

“We went down to the Chamber and used an Engorgement Charm on the mirror,” broke out Bella, far too excitable to wait for Tom to build up steam. “Made it ten feet tall. And then Tom spoke to the beast in hisses and made it come out.”

“I called upon Slytherin in Parseltongue like you told me, and the mouth of the big statue opened,” Tom gave up trying for suspense and got down to brass tacks. “I may also have taunted the Basilisk a bit; said that we had a bunch of roosters and weasels that we were planning to sic on it, and laughed about how it’d soon be pushing up daisies. Worked like a charm.”

“The Basilisk charged out of the hole, coming right at us,” Bella added. “We hid behind the mirror and wham!”

“It saw its own reflection and petrified itself?” Harry asked in amazement.

“Yep, just like Medusa,” Tom smirked. “I got the idea from when you told me about that friend of yours who got petrified from seeing its eyes in a mirror.”

Harry sighed. “Where were you two when I was younger?” he lamented.

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13 November 1997

“This better be worth it,” groused Sage Bragnam climbing down into Harry’s expandable trunk to join the rest of the crew.

With the last person inside, Bella fastened the lid to shrink the trunk down to the size of a matchbox and pocketed it. She and Tom made their way into the Shrieking Shack and down through the secret passage into Hogwarts.

A few minutes later, Bella placed the trunk onto the ground and tapped it with her wand, restoring it to its ordinary size. She opened the lid and reached down to help the adults climb out.

“Ugh, what a way to travel,” grumbled Myra.

Mathilda Grimblehawk, Sage Bragnam and Myra Curio clambered out alongside three other rendering specialists from Longbottom’s Rock Bottom Prices creature plant.

“What a cheery place,” observed Mathilda, looking around at the dank gloominess of the Chamber of Secrets.

“It has to be done here, we’re trying to keep all this a secret,” Tom reminded them. “How long do you estimate it would take to dismantle this baby?” She swept her arm back to draw attention to the enormous Basilisk laying on the Chamber’s black stone floor.

The 6 workers stared in absolute shock.

“One 60-foot petrified Basilisk, as promised,” reported the young witch. “Shall we sign a contract now?”

Tom and an incredibly dazed Myra negotiated for a while and eventually agreed that the two girls would get 40% of the gross sales revenue. The contract also included a clause that the students’ identities would remain company secrets.

The rest of the crew was still frozen, drool dripping from their open mouths.

“I thought her talk of a giant Basilisk was schoolyard exaggeration,” muttered someone, “but this … this is a Merlin-be-damned monster!”

“Better get cracking, I’ve no idea how long the petrification magic will hold,” Bellatrix smirked.

That lit a bluebell flame under their backsides! The teams hurriedly assembled their equipment and began the arduous task of reducing the horrifying beast to usable materials.

“So how long do you think it will take for you lot to finish?” asked Tom.

“I’d guess at least two days,” Myra replied weakly.

“Did you bring your magical tents and food like I told you? Good. Then we’ll return down here in the evening in two days to let you lot out.”

The two 14-year-olds trotted away, the giant serpentine gates grinding closed behind them.

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14 November 1997

“Out of our way, Mudblood!”

Harry was shoved unceremoniously into a nearby wall as the Slytherin contingent swept past him and into the Great Hall. The group descended onto the Snakes’ table where Draco Lestrange and his retinue were holding court. The boy’s blonde hair and pale eyes were similar to Harry’s memories of the previous timeline, but the jawline, ears and aquiline nose were different enough that it gave Harry Uncanny Valley heebie-jeebies.

Lestrange was making some doltish point in a loud voice, flawless hands gesticulating for emphasis, while the students around him hung on his every utterance. The wizard’s voice was of a lower register than Harry remembered it being before, giving his speech more weight and majesty, and sounding much less weaselly.

“You know what really grinds my gears?” Harry muttered to his watch, dusting himself off. “It’s bad enough that Draco – Draco of all people! – is not only a champion representing Hogwarts, but take a gander at two of those bootlicker fourthies waiting on him hand and foot – Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape or I’ll eat my hat!”

“Yes I noticed that too. I checked with Real Me at the beginning of term – Lucius goes by the name ‘Armande Malfoy’ and Snape by the name of ‘Ebenezer Thrushtruckle’ these days,” replied Portrait-Hermione.

“Ebenezer Thrushtruckle? Hehehehehehe,” Harry chuckled.

His mirth faded when he saw ‘Armande’ casually curse a Hufflepuff in the back who’d made the unwise decision to approach the Slytherin table to ask for use of a spare salt-shaker. The unfortunate firstie screamed as his hands transformed into scissor-blades.

A teacher strolled by and with a flick of the wand, the Hufflepuff was levitated and carried away to the hospital wing. No points were deducted or penalties issued to the perpetrator. Harry recognised the man as Professor Regulus Black, apparently Sirius’ younger brother. The man was Head of Slytherin House and their Astronomy teacher for some reason, instead of Professor Sinistra.

“Nauseating isn’t it? They may not remember their past lives but it seems all three are still raging blood-purists in this world as well. The power of traditional Slytherin chauvinism lives on.”

“And here I thought that a mere twisting of the cosmic stream of Time and forcible transformation of the Universe would’ve been enough to remove that noxious ferret, his odious father and the greasy-haired git from my life … how naïve I was,” Harry lamented.

“Will no-one rid me of these turbulent Slytherins?” his watch quoted.

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15 November 1997

“A toast – to our wonderful friends and supporters!” Rudolphus Lestrange, patriarch of his House, raised high a glass of fine Astibarian blue wine.

“And to our son, Draco – may he bring glory to our House, and to everyone of the Dark, as our Hogwarts Champion for the Grand International Thaumaturgical Tournament!” added his graceful wife, Narcissa Lestrange-Black, raising her own.

The crowd cheered boisterously as they drank toast after toast. The man of honour for the evening was the recipient of many firm handshakes and back-slaps from the wizards, and cheek-kisses and sultry looks from the witches. Draco offered a charming smile to all his well-wishers, as he slowly worked the room. The Grand Ballroom was stuffed to the gills with the Who’s-who of the Dark alliance. Numerous politicians, bureaucrats, celebrities, and wealthy businessmen laughed and mingled. Everyone wanted to give their personal best-wishes to the bright young hope of the great Pureblood Houses, and bring themselves to his attention. Anticipation was sky-high that the G.I.T.T. could push their faction to new heights of power and international prestige.

It was a clear, cold Saturday evening. The stars and moon burned with cold clarity from the enormous windows of Lestrange Manor. But for the celebrants, their hearts were warmed with the red-hot pride of future success.

After more than an hour of socialising, Draco was tapped on the shoulder by his father. Rudolphus made eye contact with an elderly man dressed to the nines in a robe bursting with silk and gems, and both shared a small nod. A small number of people politely excused themselves from the assemblage of wizarding elites, and made their way into a secure side-room.

Rudolphus steered his son Draco, wife Narcissa, and younger brother Rastaban into the room and firmly locked the heavy doors. “Here we are Abraxas, now what is so very important to drag us away from Draco’s special night?”

Abraxas Malfoy, the redoubtable head of his House, was flanked by his son Brutus, grandson Septimus, and adopted son Armande. The old man nodded to Brutus, who produced a heavy lead chest and set it on the table. Abraxas produced a tiny gold key and unlocked the container. The set of 6 Time Turners glittered under the light of the chandelier.

“Behold, the treasures I have obtained through many years of spilling sweat and gold like rivers.”

Narcissa gasped. Rudolphus’ brows raised.

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The revellers continued to revel even in the absence of their hosts. Until an unexpected interloper brought rather a dampener onto an otherwise merry evening. The man stepped out of the hall into the Grand Ballroom and surveyed the scene. His nostrils twitched with the scent of vitality, and his vicious yellow eyes swept back and forth over the grandées of the magical world.

The noise of the party began to die down, to be replace by screams of terror as the intruder was recognised. Fenrir Greyback, the most notorious and violent of werewolves, the alpha of all alphas in Britain and Ireland, beamed his widest grin, which revealed every one of his razor-sharp fangs. From each of the entrances and exits other smirking werewolves appeared, sealing off the room.

“Evening to you all. So nice of you to hold your little shindig during the waning gibbous.”

Greyback’s muscles rippled and swelled. His clothes tore apart as his limbs elongated and his fangs extended out of his mouth. The transformation was replicated by his followers. Since it was a mere day after the full moon, the werewolves could induce the transformation with little difficulty.  

“Can anyone spare us a fine red to toast the event? I don’t know about you, but I’m just aching for something to sink my teeth into.”

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“You’re sure about this?” Rastaban enquired, holding a Time Turner to the light for a better view.

“Absolutely,” Abraxas rasped with utter certainty. “When Armande was first brought into my home I had the elves inspect every inch of his body. The elongated earlobes and birthmark on his lower left back – combined with the blood test results at St Mungo’s that confirm his status as a Malfoy – are definitive proof that Armande is in fact my eldest son Lucius, who disappeared from his bed at Hogwarts in 1965.” His sharp eagle-eyed gaze swept over his shocked family members. All three of his offspring were speechless. “And Brutus’ elder brother and Septimus’ uncle.”

“So your son was a victim of time dilation magic,” stated Narcissa.

“He was discovered on a ship alongside a Time Turner, which in turn led the Aurors to confiscate many more hidden in Knockturn Alley,” Abraxas croaked. “The conclusion is inescapable.”

“So who kidnapped him and sent him 30 years into the future?” asked Draco, eyes sparkling with fascination.

“I have spent the last three years searching for that very answer, my young godson. And I feel I’m close, very close, to my foe. This tournament for which you are Champion, is the perfect chance to confirm my suspicions.”

Draco pursed his lips in confusion. “What do you want me to do?”

“We shall use the very tools that stole my son away from me to unmask the vile fiends! Armande has been your aide from the day he enrolled in Hogwarts – now the two of you will take a Time Turner each. During the competition …”

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“Don’t mind us, ladies and gentlewizards,” Greyback sneered. “We just came to express our heartfelt appreciation for the Wizengamot’s latest Werewolf Restriction Act. Especially the parts requiring werewolves to be forcibly sterilised and kept locked away in Magical Beast Reserves at all times ... I understand you lot all had a hand in drafting and passing it. Bravo, it sounds like a lot of hard work and sacrifice. And if there’s one thing we werewolves can understand, it’s hard work and sacrifice.”

Fast and fluid as quicksilver, he reached out and plucked an elderly wizard from the crowd. Claws clamped tightly around his throat, the man could only wheeze as the beast lifted him off the ground with one arm.

“If it isn’t my old friend Cecil Lee, what a small world,” he growled. “How are things these days in the Werewolf Capture Unit?”

“Let him go!” bellowed Vinda Rosier.

Greyback smirked. “As you wish.” With blinding speed, the werewolf hurled the caterwauling Lee into the crowd, bowling over august members of the wizarding elite like tenpins. At the same time, he sprang high into the air – avoiding the cavalcade of spells that landed where he’d been standing – and descended into the midst of a cluster of Wizengamot members.

The werewolves took that as the signal to launch themselves into the assembled grandées, tearing through them like tissue paper. The scene quickly devolved into chaos and confusion. Guests tripped and fell all over each other in their panic to escape, hexes were hurled wildly in every direction, mostly hitting their fellow Purebloods rather than their nimble attackers. While wizards typically had an advantage against werewolves due to greater magical power and spell versatility, this only applied to fights at a distance – in close-quarters hand-to-hand combat, werewolves were unrivalled.

Lestrange Manor, like all strongholds of the great Pureblood Houses, had extensive wards which blocked all Apparition and Portkeys aside from those of its family members. To their horror, the panicking sheep realised they were trapped in close confinement with these savage beasts, with only the fireplace and the first-floor doors as exits. Some fired blasting hexes at the windows and leaped out through the holes, desperately casting Cushioning Charms at the ground as they fell for three stories.

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“What in the nine circles of Hel is all the commotion out there?” demanded Rudolphus irritably.

Rastaban strode to the door but before he could open it, it exploded inwards, throwing him backwards into an undignified heap on the floor. A blood-spattered werewolf leaped into the room. With a vicious kick, he slammed Rastaban into a wall – and promptly ate the Killing Curse Rudolphus snapped off. As his body collapsed, three more beasts charged into the fray.

Narcissa screamed and grabbed Draco and Armande in each arm. With a ‘crack!’ she side-along apparated the three away.

Abraxas joined Rudolphus in conjuring silver daggers and banishing them at their foes. Brutus and Septimus grabbed the limp Rastaban and dragged him behind a conjured wall for safety. This act was as noble as it was foolish, as it left the two vulnerable to a hail of spears. The surviving beasts, realising that they couldn’t approach their prey, opted instead to tear down the decorative spears adorning the walls and hurl them. The two patriarchs successfully shielded themselves, but the younger Malfoys weren’t fast enough, and rapidly became pincushions.

Abraxas released a terrifying howl of grief and rage as his son and grandson crumpled, and unloaded Killing Curse after Killing Curse. The air crackled with magic and the scent of ozone burned everyone’s nostrils. Each missed curse blew holes in the walls and floor. Several more werewolf carcasses dropped to the floor.

Fenrir himself arrived. Whipping out his own wand, he summoned the insensate Rastaban into his arms and charged forward, using the wizard as a human shield. Rudolphus’ younger brother absorbed several silver blades before intercepting one of Abraxas’ Avada Kedavras.

“Rasta!” shrieked Rudolphus. His wand whirled and a burst of bone-breaker and organ-boiler curses spewed out. But by that point it was too late, Greyback was upon them. With his right hand he used Rastaban’s corpse as a bludgeon to knock Abraxas off his feet, while his jaws clamped down over Rudolphus’ wand hand. Half a dozen werewolves fell upon the prone wizards and the fight drew to a close.

“H-how …?” gasped Rudolphus, as the life oozed from him.

“How did we get through the wards?” Greyback grinned, licking the blood from his lips. “We didn’t. We transported ourselves here from the basement of Lestrange Manor three hours from now. Well, I assume it was part of the basement, it’s hard to tell with a pile of ashes.”

He stepped over the cooling body of Abraxas to seize the chest full of Time Turners.

“Funny thing happened to me this evening. I received a message to bring the pack to Lestrange Manor at midnight … from myself! It said there would be a bunch of Time Turners buried in front of the angel statue at the Mausoleum just outside the ward-line. And wouldn’t you know it, so there were! So we went to the remains of your cellars and sent ourselves back to right now.” He opened his shabby robe at the chest to reveal the hourglass around his neck. “Which reminds me …”

He pulled out his wand and conjured a Patronus, and gave it the message to himself. The silvery, skeletal wolf bowed and trotted off into the distance.

The screams of victims and howls of predators filled the Lestrange houses and grounds for another hour before estate finally fell quiet.

“Strip this place of everything of value,” Fenrir commanded. “Our war-chest could use some more padding. Move! We’re leaving before midnight!”

He hurried to the edge of the vast estate to the Lestrange Mausoleum, to leave the captured Time Turners for his past self to find.

At 11:30pm, the pack carried off their loot while a dozen of Fenrir’s strongest magic users remained behind for the pièce de résistance.

“Ready, aim, Fiendfyre!”

The cursed fire spurted forth from their wands and gleefully gorged itself on the giant mansion. The building held up for a time, before it finally succumbed. The structure shuddered and then collapsed in on itself, to be consumed by the dark flames. The magical wards lasted a while longer, but eventually they too groaned and shrieked and then shattered, an invisible blastwave of magic exploding in all directions.

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17 November 1997

The werewolves’ destruction of Lestrange Manor and its inhabitants sent shockwaves through elite Pureblood society. The Lestrange, Malfoy and Rosier Houses had been all but annihilated – Narcissa Lestrange, Draco Lestrange, Armande Malfoy and Evan Rosier were the sole survivors. In addition, a large number of members of other prominent Pureblood families and Dark-aligned Ministry bureaucrats had also been killed or maimed that night.

The different factions were scrambling to secure their interests amidst the fallout, so frantic meetings were held across the country. One such meeting occurred the Monday afternoon following the attack, in the Hogwarts Headmaster’s office. Members of the three Light factions gathered to coordinate a joint response.

“I will not sugarcoat it – the situation is most unstable,” Albus Dumbledore said grimly, tenting his wizened hands before him. “The Wizengamot has called for an emergency plenum on Wednesday morning.”

“All of the pro-Magical Creature legislation that we’ve fought tooth and nail to get enacted over the past two decades is in danger of being scrapped in toto,” snarled Frank Longbottom in disgust. The burly Auror paced back and forth, agitation radiating off him.

“I’ve even heard talk of a Bill being raised for the complete extermination of all werewolves in Britain,” Alice Longbottom added. The slight blonde laid a hand on her husband’s arm and his manic energy slowly subsided under her gentle touch. “One Dolores Umbridge is leading the charge; the woman’s whipped up quite a lot of hysteria on the subject. I suppose I can understand her point of view – she suffered some quite horrific scarring from the attack. Since werewolf scratches are cursed, they may last for the rest of her life, and leave her with some ‘wolfish’ characteristics.”

“Umbridge? Never heard of her. Who’s that?” asked James Potter.

“One of the innumerable low-level functionaries in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Amos Diggory explained. “And in my experience she’s always been pretty wolfish.”

“Looks like she’s no longer just another brick in the wall,” observed Lily. “She’s now got a grand crusade to hitch her wagon to.”

“And it’s working too – people are panicking,” said Arthur Weasley. “Though I don’t know how much more the DMLE can do. The Aurors already have checkpoints in place in all magical settlements, and undertake random inspections of individuals for Dark Artefacts or use of Dark Arts by their wands. And that was in place before this tragedy occurred. Any further violence and I’m worried that the Wizengamot may simply declare martial law.”

“We must gather our allies to head that notion off at the pass should it ever arise,” Dumbledore said firmly. “In the immediate term, my greatest worry is the behaviour of the elite Dark faction.”

“My sources tell me that young whippersnapper Arcturus Black has joined hands with Bones and her Neutrals,” Griselda Marchbanks piped up. “His niece little Narcissa is the new Lestrange Regent and so that House is fully behind him. Evan Rosier is out for revenge, and Arcturus will have House Rosier eating out of his hand or I’ll eat my hat.”

“If that’s the case, then the rest of the Dark Houses will likely fall into line too,” sighed the Headmaster.

“Never thought I’d see the day when the Black and the Grey formed a united front,” wheezed Tiberius Ogden. “They’re usually at each other’s throats over control of the Ministry. If it’s true they’ve buried the hatchet, there’s a danger that they can squeeze out the Light’s influence entirely under the guise of ‘protecting the public’ and ‘upholding law and order’.”

Silence fell as the group pondered that sobering thought.

“There is one additional matter,” Algernon Croaker – Frank’s uncle – interjected. The Unspeakable rarely spoke, but when he did, it was well worth listening to. “What I am about to tell you is classified; it will never be made public, and none of you will speak of it outside this room. Understood?” The group nodded. Everyone here was familiar with keeping state secrets close to the chest. “Investigation by the Department of Mysteries at the site of the former Lestrange Manor has revealed evidence of time distortions.”

“You mean …” said James.

“That’s right. It is highly likely the assault was facilitated by some of the Time Turners circulating on the black market.”

Frank and Sirius cursed a blue streak, and even Dumbledore allowed a troubled frown to mar his forehead.

“Greyback with a time machine,” hissed Alice. “What a chilling thought.”

“I was under the impression that issue had been resolved,” James said weakly.

“Many timepieces have been recovered by the DMLE, yes. And yet every now and then another Time Turner crops up,” the Unspeakable rumbled.

“Any countermeasures being developed by the Ministry?” asked Lily.

“Yes,” said Croaker. “The DoM has been expending the lion’s share of its time and resources for three years into developing a ward that can detect the presence of Time Turners and a second ward that can directly block time travel magic. Once they are operational, these wards will be installed throughout the Ministry of Magic, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and Godric’s Hollow.”

“I am in negotiations with the Minister’s office for priority installation for Hogwarts,” supplied the Headmaster.

“I expect the Minister to also open them up for purchase by private individuals to protect their homes.”

“All things considered, Professor Lupin, I believe it would be for the best if you left Britain for the time being,” said Dumbledore. “I will arrange for you to be sent on furlough effective immediately. I have every confidence that Professor Hagrid will be able to manage the Care of Magical Creatures classes by himself until this situation has settled down.”

Remus grimaced and nodded. “I believe it’s long past time for me to take holiday leave. I haven’t laid around on the beaches of Black Island for years, seems like a good chance to work on my tan.”

“And I’m coming with you. I have plenty of leave saved up,” declared Sirius. “What, don’t look at me like that, Moony! I’m the only one who can key you into the wards. And I don’t like the idea of you being there all by your lonesome. At the very least, I can provide another wand in case someone gets the bright idea to follow you there and cause trouble.”

“I don’t know if the Minister will like you taking off,” James cautioned. “I heard she cancelled all Auror leave and recalled everyone to active duty until the crisis passes.”

“Then Bones can learn to live with disappointment,” Sirius shot back. “Marauders come first, always!”

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The incident was a topic of intense discussion amongst the Hogwarts student body as well.

“That Greyback’s bad news, mate,” explained Ron as he shovelled hearty portions of Yorkshire pudding into his gob. “It’s not the first time he’s tried something like this you know. My brother Bill told me that back in the ‘80s he led his pack to attack Hogwarts twice; ‘The Bloody Halloween’ they called it.”

“Of course it was on Halloween,” Harry grumbled.

“This guy Cecil Lee joined up with a bunch of students and professors to fight ‘em off. That was the same Lee who died at the Lestranges’. Guess Greyback finally got his revenge.”

“I heard that nine Slytherins won’t ever be coming back to Hogwarts,” interjected Bellatrix, always keen on gossip. “And there are at least a dozen other students who think their parents will transfer them to overseas schools.”

“Yikes, that’ll look bad for Hogwarts, considering we’re the G.I.T.T. host and have all the international attention on us right now,” said Dean.

“What about Draco, do you think he’s coming back?” wondered Ginny. “He’s still a G.I.T.T. Champion.”

“He’d have to wouldn’t he?” said Harry. “Doesn’t the Goblet form a magically binding contract? Won’t he lose his magic if he refuses to compete?”

Tom’s delicate features twisted into a complicated expression.

Ron stiffened. “Oi, what did you say? What’s all this about losing your magic?”

Harry explained the mechanics of the Goblet.

“Mordred’s horns! They never told us anything about that!”

“’Course not,” Harry groused. “That might’ve discouraged people from entering their names …”

Ron and Harry found common cause decrying the G.I.T.T. organisers for deploying such a dangerous artefact and then not warning the contenders. It almost felt like old times in the old timeline.

“Bella,” Tom said slowly, “why don’t you take Ron and Ginny to bring some lunch to Charlie? There’s still an hour left before classes for you to sling curses at him ... I mean, to help him train.”

Bellatrix’s stormy violet eyes lit up with glee. Their section of the Gryffindor table was swiftly vacated.

“Honestly,” muttered Tom, “if it weren’t for the fact that girl hates meeting new people I’d say she’s more Gryffindor than the actual Gryffindors.”

She steered Harry back to his dorm.

“I’ve had an idea,” the witch announced, plonking herself down on Harry’s bed. “Our current problem can be summarised as follows: first, your name came out of the Goblet. As far as we know, it means you’re under a magical contract to compete. Second, if you don’t compete in the 7 Tasks there’s a risk the Goblet will strip you of your magic. And since your magic is somehow also my magic, there’s a risk I could lose my magic too. Third, you want to keep your identity secret from your family. Can’t say I blame you after all the shite they put you through. All together that equals: you challenge the Tasks in such a way that nobody knows either Harry Potter or Harry Granger is competing.”

Harry frowned. “This is giving me a headache. How in Merlin’s name are we supposed to do that?”

“Simple,” her sharp little finger jabbed his sternum. “You’re going to compete in Draco’s place.”

“Huh?” he replied eloquently.

“The Hogwarts Sacred Band comprises Neville Longbottom and Draco Lestrange. Longbottom’s too well guarded to interfere with; the boy’s always surrounded by his friends, family and pet professors. But Lestrange has just lost his entire family to Greyback, and all his supporters have likely jumped ship to House Black or House Yaxley or someone else. He’s all alone now. And that means we can get to him without too much trouble.”

“Huh?”

“Honestly Harry,” snorted Hermione’s painting, “she’s obviously talking about Polyjuice Potion. Which you should’ve twigged onto because we’ve already used it once, when we were trying to find out the location of the Chamber of Secrets, remember?”

Harry blinked. Very slowly. “Do you mean to suggest … that before each Task we knock out Draco, lock him away in a broom closet, use Polyjuice to turn me into him, and have me team up with Neville for the duration?”

“Very good,” Tom said sweetly. “We’ll make a schemer out of you yet.”

“Won’t that mean Draco will lose his magic?”

“Are you saying that would bother you?”

“Hmm, guess not. Better him than me.”

“It would also be a good test to see whether there really is a magically binding contract at all,” Portrait-Hermione mused. She noticed the two of them staring at her. “What? Human experimentation is acceptable if it’s Draco. He’s part of the reason the Real Me’s had such a hellish time at Hogwarts.”

Harry frowned. “Um, Hermione, is there something I should know?”

The watch sighed. “Not my story to tell. Just … just be there for her … me, will you Harry?”

“Always.”

The topic caused a pall descend upon the group. In silent agreement the witch and wizard picked up the copy of the G.I.T.T. Rules that sat on his bedside table and began to skim through the slim volume’s contents together one more time. The morose silence was only broken by the sudden appearance of two excitable house-elves.

“Dobby and Winky being finishing our search of the nasty Forest, Master-who-is-not-Master Harry Potter sir,” exclaimed Winky breathlessly.

Harry sat up straight. “Find anything unusual?”

Dobby produced a dirty scrap of parchment and began reading in an officious voice. “In nasty Forest there is being 134 unicorns, 45 bicorns, 421 Centaurs, 98 invisible horsies, one giant, one half-giant, 7 dragons, 5 Cerberi, 62 wolves, 309 deerses, 47 Hippogriffs, 19 aswangs, 666 fairies, 887 pixies, 1,231 gnomses, 411 batses –”

“That’s enough, thanks,” Harry groaned and flopped backwards onto his bed. “Dragons. Of course it had to be bloody dragons.”

“Guess we don’t need to wonder about the First Task anymore do we?” said the watch. “Great ideas never die …”

Tom worried her lip. “7 schools, 7 Sacred Bands competing, 7 dragons … makes sense.”

“Trust me, it’s dragons. Why does the Cosmos hate me so much? Come on, let’s go.”

Harry led Tom through the corridors and up and down stairwells deep into the heart of Hogwarts castle.

“This isn’t the way to the Library.”

“I know.”

“We’re not going to the Library?”

“Nope.”

“So you’re not going to research dragons?” Tom raised a sculpted eyebrow.

“Merlin, no. Why do hours of tedious reading when there are others to do it for us?” Harry said, opening the door to a nondescript classroom.

“I knew it!” squawked Hermione indignantly. “You bloody leech!”

Charlie, Ivy and Rose Potter lay in an exhausted heap in a pool of their own comingled sweat. Around them, James and Amos were offering encouragement, towels and water-bottles. Bella, Luna, Ron, Ginny, Walter and Dean milled about offering colour commentary. Most of the classroom resembled an obstacle course. Rocks, tables and twisted clumps of metal were spread all over the floor. A strong scent of smoke and sulfur hung in the air.

“Mr Granger, Miss Granger,” James nodded in acknowledgement.

“Hello Professor Potter,” Harry and Tom chorused.

“We got to fire Incendio at the Potters as much as we wanted!” chirped Bellatrix, twirling her wand through her fingers.

“Glad to hear it,” Harry said, absently patting the budding pyromaniac’s obsidian locks. “Professor Potter, we came to warn you. We discovered what the First Task involves – it’s dragons!”

James and Amos shared a look. Charlie scratched his head. The twins averted their eyes.

Tom’s eyes sharpened. “You already knew.”

“Ah, so how did you two figure it out?” asked Amos. The man was the only one of the pair of Marauders who had the decency to look a bit abashed.

“Exploring the Forbidden Forest,” Harry replied.

“I should really punish you for going out of bounds, but you did bring us important information to help out my children, so … 20 points apiece to Ravenclaw,” said James. He helped Charlie to his feet. “Since you came, can I presume you’re willing to help us prepare?”

“Absolutely!” Tom’s wide, innocent eyes were entirely guileless. “Whatever it takes.”

The former Chief Auror beamed. “Brilliant! The Marauders have been putting our heads together and have come up with a few ideas. When you’re fighting a dragon, style and panache are just as important as effectiveness …”

Tom tuned out the group discussions in favour of her own internal debate. Making eye contact with Bella and Luna, she wordlessly ordered the two to follow her. Nobody noticed as they slipped away to Luna’s dorm in Ravenclaw Tower.

The three sixth-year Ravenclaws who were trying to break into Luna’s trunk didn’t notice the trio either. At least, not until they sensed Bellatrix’s thick, intimidating aura crackling through the air of the confined space.

Bella’s eyes flashed dangerously. The girls quailed. “Scram,” she ordered. The girls fled.

“Now that that unpleasantness has been taken care of,” declared Tom as she fastened the door shut, “I need your help. There are currently 7 dragons being kept in the Forbidden Forest for the G.I.T.T.’s First Task. There’s got to be some way to nab those oversized potions ingredients. Now that everywizard and his mother are running around like headless cockatrices terrified that they’ll be overrun by packs of werewolves, it’s the perfect time to act without getting noticed!”

The girl paced back and forth, almost trembling in excitement. While Harry thought of dragons and saw certain death, Tom thought of them and saw Galleon signs. Her vault already had a healthy balance from sales of Basilisk and Acromantulae, but it is a truth universally acknowledged that a witch in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a bigger fortune.

“At least it’s supposed to be a secret that there are dragons in the forest … that helps with arranging a solid alibi ...” she muttered to herself.

“Thought of how to disappear 7 giant scaly beasts from under the noses of the G.I.T.T. organisers yet?” drawled Bella. She was busy practising her quick-draw while Tom cogitated.

“Why don’t you promise the dragons to guide them far away from here, to a land by the sea where they can frolic in the autumn mist?” Luna said dreamily. “I’m sure somewhere in my trunk I’ve got a pied pipe to lead them with, and strings and sealing-wax, cabbages and kings, that we can bribe them with.”

“Excellent plan, with only two minor drawbacks. One, I can speak to snakes. Dragons aren’t snakes and I’ve no idea if Parseltongue will work on them. And two, you’re mixing up three different fairy tales.”

“Can we not get into another debate about fairy tales?” whined Bella. “I don’t want to be stuck here until dinner time.”

“Dinner – Eureka!” Tom leaped high and danced an Irish jig. Bella and Luna giggled and joined in the fairy circle.

“Bella you’re a genius!”

“I am aren’t I,” the girl replied immodestly as she twirled the smaller girls around.

“Winky!”

‘Pop’! “Yes, Missy Tams?”

“Those dragons in the forest need to eat. And I presume they’re with a bunch of dragon tamers to keep them under control, who also need to eat. Amirite?”

“Yes, Missy Tams. There be many wizards living in tents who be around nasty dragons all the time.”

“And since I haven’t seen any dragon tamers in the Great Hall at meal times, I assume the Hogwarts elves bring them food to their tents?”

“Yes, Missy Tams.”

“What’s their dinner menu schedule?”

“I be’s checking with Greedee the head chef elf.” ‘Pop’! ‘Pop’! “Monday’s being bangers and mash, Tuesday’s being beef wellington, Wednesday’s being fish and chips, Thursday’s being tikka masala, Friday’s being oxtail soup, Saturday’s being steak and kidney pie, and Sunday’s being Cornish pastry.”

“Friday it is then. Winky, I’m going to the Come and Go Room to brew up several cauldrons of Draught of Living Death. On Friday evening, I want you to find a way to spike their soup. Luckily the Draught is tasteless. Make sure none of the other elves know it was you.”

“I be understandings, Missy Tams.”

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21 November 1997

It was a peaceful Friday night in the Forbidden Forest. The stars were twinkling, the birds were carolling, the aswangs were screaming, the wolves were howling, the cursed brook bubbled merrily.

The large cluster of tents, on the other hand, was uncharacteristically silent. 35 dragon tamers and 6 supervisors lay sprawled out unconscious in various poses around the clearing.

“Winky, tuck these guys into bed and then return the crockery and cutlery to the Hogwarts Kitchens for washing,” instructed Tom, vanishing the remains of the soup in the large pot by the fire.

“Yes, Missy Tams.”

Immobulus! Mobilicorpus!” Over by the cattle pen, Bellatrix froze and levitated the fattest cow in front of the nearest dragon pen.

“Dobby, batch number 1!” Tom said.

‘Pop’! Dobby set down a cauldron filled with a sickly-green liquid.

Pulling a funnel and measuring cup out of her pocket, she proceeded to pour the Draught down the immobilised beast’s gullet. When the cauldron was empty and the cow in a coma, she levitated it over the fence and before the nesting mother Chinese Fireball. The bright red dragon sniffed at the offering before its five-foot tongue darted out to take a suspicious lick. Satisfied at the taste of unroast beef, its jaws clamped down on the hapless mammal. The fiery lady threw back her head and swallowed it in one bite. Tom waited. 10 minutes later, the Fireball’s eyes drifted shut and her head collapsed onto the ground.

“Okay Bella, the test run was a success!” she announced.

The two witches repeated the process with the other dragons. One and half hours later they had 7 empty cauldrons and 7 comatose dragons.

“Looks like the cavalry’s arrived just in time,” said Bella, thrusting her chin towards a familiar blonde skipping into the clearing. From her hands led a rope that seemed to float midair. A low snorting and rustling sound could be heard, but the forest behind the girl was empty.  

“A witch is never late, nor is she early. She arrives precisely when she means to,” intoned Luna gravely, leading what Tom and Bella assumed were a herd of Thestrals forward.

Dobby removed the cauldrons and replaced them with an assortment of ropes, chains, hooks and manacles that the team had ‘borrowed’ from one of Filch’s dungeons. Why the sallow man was in possession of these items in the first place was something they preferred not to think about. After many difficulties, the three witches and two elves managed to rig up the Welsh Green to the Threstrals’ harnesses.

“It’s all up to you now, Seabiscotti,” Luna told the dominant stallion. “Mush!”

The invisible horselike creatures grunted and dragged the limp reptile through the forest.

Tom led the parade towards a large rocky outcrop deep in the forest. Locating the small carving of a serpent, she hissed, “*Open!*” The bedrock split to reveal a large cave. “Lumos!” A miniature sun lit their path as the dragon was hauled through a long tunnel into the Chamber of Secrets.

“Whew,” Bellatrix wiped her forehead once they’d detached the ropes. “Only 6 more to go.”

By the time the remaining dragons had been deposited into the Chamber, the light of false dawn was already brightening the east.

Tom shut the passageway and collapsed against the outcrop. “Morgana, I’m tired.”

“Not as tired as the Thestrals, poor dears,” said Luna, giving Seabiscotti a sympathetic pet. “I’m going to take them to Black Lake for a drink. I think someponies have earned some healthy helpings of fresh carrion this morning.”

The resultant neighs sounded both exhausted and enthusiastic somehow. The two weary teens watched as their friend herded the herd off into the distance.

“We still need to … clear our tracks.” Bellatrix gestured towards the large trail torn through the forest by the dragon’s huge bodies.

“Let me … rest ... for a while,” Tom panted. Casting the Featherlight Charm over and over again on a bunch of magically-resistant sky-serpents had really taken the wind out of them.

“’Fraid we don’t … have time. It’ll be dawn soon … won’t be long before someone discovers … all the sleeping beauties.”

“Perhaps we can be of assistance,” interjected a newcomer.

The two girls sprang up and pointed their wands … at themselves.

“Huh?” Bellatrix rubbed her eyes.

“Fret not, Less-Pretty-Bella,” consoled the other Bellatrix. “My awesome self will take care of wiping clean all your footprints.”

“And we’ll get to work on repairing the damage to the trees and bushes,” announced a different Bellatrix, as a new pair emerged from the bushes.

“Explain,” demanded Tom of the four new witches, wand still raised.

“When you get back to your dorm, sleep for a couple of hours, then send Dobby or Winky to Harry’s vault. They have access,” replied one of the new Toms. “Tell them to fetch you a couple of his Time Turners. Ordinary ones, not the ‘special’ one. Then take a Pepper-up Potion, go back to before dawn and come down here to help us out. It won’t violate the magical contract we all signed with Hermione.”

“I certainly wasn’t keen on reliving this morning three more times,” said Tom, as yet another pair joined the group. “But it’s the best way to sort this mess out in a hurry. Today’s Saturday, you can sleep for the rest of the weekend if you want.”

“Let’s get cracking,” grinned Bellatrix number 3. “Tom and I will go collect the dragon eggs.”

Tom slapped her forehead. “Merlin! I knew we were forgetting something!”

“Don’t stress, not everyone can be as awesome as me.”

Notes:

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Press and Warner Brothers, not me.

Chapter 7: The G.I.T.T.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 – The Grand International Thaumaturgical Tournament

21 November 1997

“Ugh. Firewhiskey, Tom. Quickly.”

“Sure thing Rita, what’s your chaser?”

“More Firewhiskey.”

“You’re the boss,” Tom said cheerfully, picking up a bottle of Ogden’s finest and pouring out a small glass for the reporter.

“Leave the bottle,” she commanded, throwing back the glass in one gulp.

“Rough day?” asked Mafalda Hopkirk, sitting down beside her at the bar.

Rita Skeeter, ace muckraker for The Daily Prophet, waited until Tom had walked away to serve a group of souses at the other end of the bar, before answering. The Leaky Cauldron was filled with patrons who generated a low rumble of voices and laughter. Perfect background noise to interfere with eavesdropping. Out of sight she waved her wand to cast a Muffliato spell around the two women. One couldn’t be too careful when you were as notorious as she. Plenty of the great and the good of magical Britain had her in their crosshairs.

“Been searching for a brat all over the Muggle side for the past fortnight. And what do I have to show for it? Bupkes! The kid’s a bloody ghost. And not the useful kind.” She poured herself another glass.

And much, much worse than a cold case: in the time she’d been away, she’d been scooped. Thrice! Stupid werewolves chose the worst possible moment to go rampaging. And then there was the potential extinction of three ancient Pureblood Houses. And then all the dragons shipped in from overseas for the thrilling First Task of the G.I.T.T. had to mysteriously vanish. Such delicious, juicy, super-public scandals, and Rita Skeeter herself was reduced to follow-up stories. Unacceptable!

“Missing child?” asked Mafalda. “Not really your style, is it m’dear?” She nursed a small tumbler of sherry.

“Nah, one of the Pureblood Houses’ outcasts. Turns out they threw him away a mite too early, now they’re having second thoughts. Seems their sprog’s a bit more valuable to them than they originally thought, if only ‘cause others want him as their own chesspiece.”

“You have my condolences,” sympathised Mafalda. The two middle-aged witches clinked their glasses together in solidarity.

Plenty of Houses had expelled offspring that they’d found less than desirable for whatever reason over the centuries and millennia. It was standard practice in Pureblood circles. Once the outcasts disappeared into the Muggle world, it was Mordred’s own work to track them down if they didn’t wish to be found.

“I have it on good authority that Bones is keen on finding the brat. If I can get to him before she does …” Rita left the rest of the sentence unfinished. Being able to embarrass both an old Pureblood House and the Minister of Magic in one go would be a wonderful coup.

“If you think that’s tedious and irritating, try tracking down underage magic-users,” Mafalda grizzled. “There’s always one or two here and there that fell off the grid, but there’s this one case that’s been driving me barmy for the past three years.”

“Mm-hm.” Rita had foregone the glass in favour of swigging directly from the bottle. The animagus only listened half-heartedly as the bureaucrat waxed at great length about the troubles she faced. Then sat up straight, shaking the boozy haze from her mind. “Wait a tic, did you say that this person’s both unregistered, underage and under your tracing spells?”

“Yep. Curious isn’t it? The only way a child can get the Trace is to go to Hogwarts and be registered. But if they went to Hogwarts and got the charm applied, why doesn’t the Ministry have their records on file?”

“What was the last instance it was recorded?”

“Outside of Hogsmeade, a few weeks back.”

“And the first?”

“Some middle-of-nowhere place in Muggle Surrey.”

Synapses began to spark in the back of Rita’s brain. “And that was three years ago? Any idea what the spells were?”

“Ummmm,” Mafalda’s eyes glazed as she struggled to recall the information. “Confundus Charms I think …”

“Mafalda, I’d very much like to see all the records the IUoMO has on this mystery person.”

“You know I can’t release classified Ministry records to the press …”

“I can make it worth your while,” Rita wheedled. “I happen to know of a certain Muggle bar where a certain Auror likes to go for drinks … you may have heard of him: tall, dark, handsome and single … may have been exiled from a prominent Dark House … may be a dog animagus … I might also know his preferences when it comes to the fairer sex …”

“Well …” Hopkirk hesitated, but Rita caught the flash of lust in the spinster’s glazed eyes.

“And don’t worry about your job. I know how to protect my sources. It’ll be our little secret, just the two of us ...”

I
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I

23 November 1997

Bella placed the matchbox-sized trunk onto the ground and tapped it with her wand, unshrinking it to its ordinary size. She opened the lid and reached down to help the adults climb out.

“Ugh, what a way to travel. Again,” grumbled Myra.

Mathilda Grimblehawk, Sage Bragnam and Myra Curio clambered out and organised their teams. Each led a crew of 6 rendering specialists this time.

“And we’re back in this cheery place,” observed Mathilda, looking around at the dank gloominess of the Chamber of Secrets.

“Still a secret,” Tom reminded them. “How long do you estimate it would take to dismantle these babies?” She swept her arm back to draw attention to the dragons sprawled around the Chamber’s black stone floor.

The 21 workers of Longbottom’s Rock Bottom Prices creature plant stared in absolute shock.

“7 live dragons and 23 fertile dragon eggs,” reported the young witch. “Shall we sign a contract with the same rates as for the Basilisk? 40% of the gross sales revenue for us, and your complete secrecy as to our identities?”

The crew was still frozen, drool dripping from their open mouths.

“I thought I was shocked by a 60-foot Basilisk,” muttered someone, “but this …”

“Better get cracking, I’ve no idea how long the potions will keep them comatose for,” Bellatrix smirked.

That lit a bluebell flame under their backsides! The teams hurriedly assembled their equipment and began the arduous task of reducing the frightening beasts to usable materials.

“So how long do you think it will take for you lot to finish?” asked Tom, as she and Myra signed the new contract.

“I’d guess at least 4 or 5 days,” Myra replied. The woman still seemed to be in half a daze.

“I hope you brought your magical tents and food like last time? Good. Then we’ll return down here in the evening every two days to see how you’re progressing.”

“You know … I’ve heard on the grapevine that the Ministry was going to transport several dragons from the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary to Hogwarts this year …”

“Oh is that so?” Tom asked with disinterest.

“Yes … apparently they’re going to be used as part of that grand international competition Hogwarts is hosting …”

“Sounds like the government’s pulling out all the stops.”

“It does doesn’t it? It’s very surprising that you’d provide us with dragons, which are thought to be extinct in Britain, at the exact same time …”

“What an amazing coincidence,” Bella deadpanned.

“Sure is …”

“Is that coincidence going to be a problem?” Tom’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Not at all!” the woman backpedalled. “We’ve already made a binding agreement to keep all this quiet and none of us have any interest in losing our magic! … it’s just that … well … supposing that a certain Ministry spent a lot of time and money to borrow certain hypothetical dragons from another country, and said hypothetical dragons went mysteriously missing, and then a hypothetical company suddenly started selling large amounts of dragon-derived materials on the market … well, certain questions would be asked and suspicions raised …”

She trailed off. Tom and Bella shared a glance.

“Then I’d hypothetically suggest that the hypothetical company either sell the hypothetical materials through their overseas contacts to avoid said suspicions. Or sell the hypothetical materials directly to the Goblins, or the Veela Enclave, or the Vampire Covens, or the Gnomes of Zurich. The magical ministries have little oversight over those groups and their business dealings,” said Tom dismissively. “Now if we’re done indulging in pointless flights of fancy, Bellatrix and I need to go finish our homework. We still have nine feet of parchment on the exceptions to Gamp’s Law to give Professor Potter on Monday.”

The two 14-year-olds trotted away, the giant serpentine gates grinding closed behind them.

I
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I

25 November 1997

“Report!” demanded Chief Auror Pius Thicknesse as he arrived en scène.

“Chief, as you know Junior Auror Tonks and I have been investigating the circulation of illegal Time Turners. We have reason to believe that Mundungus Fletcher is involved in their distribution, but we’ve never been able to catch him with the evidence as of yet,” reported Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. “We followed a lead that indicated he had a safehouse hidden in these woods where he stored the contraband and … we found the house …”

Thicknesse scowled. That bald thief had been a bane of the DMLE for decades. “So does it contain any fenced items?”

“Uh, we’re not sure …” Shacklebolt scratched his head.

“What do you mean you’re not – oh my Merlin …” the Chief Auror whispered.

Before him stood a ramshackle house, or what was left of it, since the structure could barely be seen. The shack and most of the fields and forest surrounding it were thickly entwined with spider-thread as big as ship cables. Enormous dark shadows could just be made out scuttling to and fro amongst the tangle of white.

“The horror, the horror ...” Thicknesse couldn’t help recoiling a few steps. The rest of the Auror squad were also keeping a healthy distance. Shaking his head to snap out of it, he demanded, “Where’s Robards? Isn’t he supposed to be our resident expert on magical beasties?”

“Afraid he and Proudfoot are still at Hogwarts, trying to get a bead on those missing dragons.”

“Any results so far on that?”

Shacklebolt grimaced. “Apparently the trail leads into the middle of the forest and then just … stops. They’ve had the professors help turn the entire school grounds upside down and not so much as a scale to be found.”

“Bill Weasley let slip over drinks last night that a large number of dragon parts have recently been sold to Gringotts branches across Europe,” offered Tonks.

“Of course the goblins’d be neck deep in it. Greedy little imps,” Thicknesse growled. He had little liking for the disgusting creatures. “Keep watching them, see if you can set up a sting with a fake buyer.”

“Yes Chief! Uh, what about …”

“Send for the DRCMC,” he ordered grudgingly. This situation was clearly beyond the capability of his Aurors, they needed to call in specialist help. Even if he had to deal with that woman.

A short time later Gethsemane Prickle, the Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Apparated in, to be joined by a gaggle of her Ministry flunkies. The stern, no-nonsense woman afforded the Aurors but the briefest of nods before setting her minions to swarm all around the edge of the site.

After an hour of investigation, she approached Thicknesse and Shacklebolt. “Who’s residence?” she asked in her usual sharp, clipped tone.

“We believe it belongs to one Mundungus Fletcher, ma’am,” stated Shacklebolt. “Small-time hustler, typically involved in petty larceny and fencing of stolen goods. I’ve never known him to be involved in anything like … well, this.” He gestured helplessly.

“Fool tried to start his own Acromantula farm, apparently by himself,” she explained. Her pale eyes flashed in cold disapproval. “You can see the results. Where’s this Fletcher now?”

Thicknesse’s gaze turned to Shacklebolt who turned to Tonks, who’d been hovering a polite distance away.

“None of my contacts have seen him for several months,” she said. “For all we know he could be inside one of them.” The metamorphmagus’ left ear pointed to the gargantuan web.

“And they’re welcome to him,” Thicknesse muttered under his breath.

Prickle groaned and rubbed her temples. “At least we now know where Hagrid’s missing Acromantula colony went.”

“How do you reach that conclusion?” asked the Chief Auror.

“Since Acromantulae are native to South America and not South Scotland, I’d say it’s a fair assumption – you’re the Aurors, you do the Arithmancy,” the Director snapped. “Professor Hagrid’s been writing to my department every other week for the past year whining about his Merlin-be-damned missing spiders!” She beckoned one of her lickspittles. “Send a message to Hogwarts and get him here pronto – he’s so keen on these monsters, he can take responsibility for them.”

The Ministry officials did as they were bidden, and were soon the object of fulsome and loud blubbery thanks from the delighted half-giant. Prickle eventually grew tired of all the hugging, and ‘suggested’ Hagrid get cracking on relocating the colony.

Auror and Creature specialist alike watched in amazement as the Professor, singing merrily in an impressive baritone, skipped through the nest, the giant sinister webs tearing and snapping like cellophane as he passed through. One by one, he’d seize an Acromantula and stuff the struggling beast into his super-sized mokeskin pouch.

Another round of effusive thanks and then Hagrid Apparated to the Hogwarts gates. Humming to himself, he trotted up the path, into the castle, and up to the Teacher’s Conference Hall on the fifth floor with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.

Alas, the participants of the current meeting – which involved professors, members of the G.I.T.T. organising committee and the Minister of Magic herself – were in a far less sanguine mood than Hagrid. And they were less than amused at the half-giant’s attempts to ‘quietly’ slip into the Hall and take his seat.

“Ahem, as I was saying,” Amelia Bones reiterated, once the ear-splitting screeching and groaning of chair and floorboards fell silent, “we have no choice but to proceed on the assumption that the dragons will not be found prior to the First Task.”

Aurors Robards and Proudfoot hung their heads in shame.

“My administration and the Hogwarts faculty are already a domestic and international laughingstock, what with the unauthorised champions being chosen, the sabotage of an ancient magical artefact, the destruction of Lestrange Manor, the theft of 7 extremely rare and valuable magical creatures – creatures might I remind you all, that were on loan from a foreign government! I’ve had Minister Krum screaming at me over the Floo for three days straight,” she bit out. “And now the bloody Goblet of Fire has vanished – this fiasco is Not Acceptable!”

“Minister Bones, Hogwarts cannot be held responsible for what happened to the Lestranges –” Dumbledore began.

“Shut up,” she said calmly. “The highest priority right now is to salvage what dignity we have left and ensure that the First Task is worthy of the name. Come on people, the G.I.T.T. was supposed to outshine the old Triwizard Tournaments in every conceivable way, and yet every Triwizard in history had no problem providing dangerous creatures for the contestants to battle, unlike now! What suggestions do we have?”

“How about a round-robin Quidditch tourney,” said James Potter immediately.

“Seconded!” grinned Ludo Bagman.

“Stargazing knowledge quiz,” sneered Regulus Black.

“Potion brewing contest,” chirped Lily Potter.

“Duelling competition, sudden-death eliminations,” riposted Filius Flitwick.

“Seconded!” said Barty Crouch Sr.

“Caber toss and maide-leisg,” said Minerva McGonagall.

“Deep-diving competition in the Black Lake,” proposed Barty Crouch Jr.

“See which of the little cretins can endure me whipping them for the longest,” suggested Filch.

The Minister sighed to herself. The suggestions weren’t bad – most of them – but there was nothing inspired. Nothing outrageous. Nothing that would capture the international imagination. Her eyes drifted across the room and settled on the beaming Hagrid. His childish happiness was in stark contrast to the general mood. For some reason, it really curdled her butter at this moment.

“What are you so darn chipper about, Professor Hagrid?” she demanded irritably.

Hagrid blinked in surprise at the unexpected attention, but gamely explained his recovery of the missing Acromantula colony. The news occasioned more than one sigh of relief from the Hogwarts faculty. Though no-one had any love for giant man-eating arachnids, Hagrid’s endless moping about the disappearance of Aragog and his kin had driven them all up the wall.

“Acromantulae eh?” mused Bones. A smile slowly spread over her weathered face.

I
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I

1 December 1997

“So what are you planning to do with it?” asked Harry, eyeing the Goblet of Fire suspiciously. It may sit there, unlit and inert, but Harry wasn’t fooled by its innocent appearance, nosireebob!

“I’ll have Dobby store it in my bedroom at home until after the First Task, just in case the elves come looking for it in here,” replied Tom. “Then I’ll go over every single enchantment and rune with a fine tooth comb. I want to know whether it can bind people magically without their consent, and whether it can strip people of their magic. And if so, how. Hmmm I think I’ll see if Mr Lovegood can help me out over the Christmas holidays.”

“Let me know what you come up with.” The mere thought of all that research gave Harry a headache. “Any idea what the new Task is?”

“Unfortunately no. Everything’s being organised away from Hogwarts at some unknown location, very hush-hush; not even Dobby and Winky have been able to unearth anything … Cheer up, whatever it is, it can’t be worse than dragons, right?”

“Don’t tempt Fate.”

The two tensed when the door of the Come and Go Room burst open, but relaxed when their frizzy-black-haired confederate entered, levitating an unconscious body behind her.

“Any trouble?” enquired Tom.

“Naw, got within a foot of him under the Cloak,” smirked Bella, dropping Draco Lestrange unceremoniously onto the ground. “His little followers didn’t notice a thing. Probably ‘cause there weren’t any.” She plucked a long, blonde strand of hair and dropped it into the bubbling cauldron. The potion hissed and fizzled.

“Looks good,” Tom observed, bottling the completed brew into dozens of small phials. “Should last a full hour, but there’s no way to tell without taking it. If you start to feel yourself reverting, no matter how recently you drank, swallow another dose immediately.”

“Gotcha.” Harry slipped the phials into his secure pocket.

“Go get ‘em, Tiger!” cheered Bella.

“Um … one last thing …” Tom chewed her lip bashfully, eyes downcast … then suddenly threw her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth firmly against his!

Harry froze as he felt her soft lips move across his own. A crackle of electricity ran up his spine and he shivered in excitement. His scar blazed with white-hot fire. Harry’s arms instinctively reached out to embrace her, but she tore free and sprang backwards away from his grasp.

“For luck,” she panted, rubbing her lips, face and ears scarlet.

Bellatrix stared at the two in surprise. “Took her long enough,” she said under her breath. A complicated expression flitted across her aristocratic features. “Oh what the heck!” She launched herself at Harry and planted her own enthusiastic smacker upon his lips.    

“For more luck,” she giggled, her own cheeks dusted with red.

Harry swallowed several times, a poleaxed expression on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but the girls shoved him out of the Come and Go Room and slammed the door.

“Birds,” he muttered. “Barmy, the lot of ‘em.”

The wizard raced down the corridor and stairwell at a fast clip to burn off the sudden and unexpected surge of adrenalin running through his body. “Bottoms up.” In an empty alcove he paused to drink one of the phials, and felt the familiar transformation brought about by Polyjuice Potion morph his body. Draco’s body was taller and lankier than his own, with longer limbs and fewer muscles … softer, it felt softer and squidgier. He jogged the rest of the way, occasionally jumping or skipping to adjust to his new centre of gravity. His goal was the Champion’s Tent by the Quidditch pitch.

“Nice of you to show up, Lestrange!” snapped Neville.

The Longbottom scion dragged him past the Auror guards into the tent and thrust a sock into his hand. Harry felt the familiar tug of a Portkey behind his navel, and stumbled to the ground as they hit their destination. As usual.

He shot an evil glare at the giggling Neville, who didn’t bother helping him regain his feet.

“Wonderful, another tent, totally worth the trip,” he grumbled, dusting his robes off. Their location looked identical from their starting point, except for the presence of the other Sacred Bands waiting in their designated sections. “Any idea where we are?”

The Longbottom heir threw him a look of open contempt. “What, Daddy Dearest forgot to tell you about the Task before Greyback munched him? Sucks to be you then,” he mocked, before strolling away to join his sister.

Harry stared at his wake. The boy’s behaviour was understandable in a way – he thought he was talking to Draco, for Merlin’s sake – but Harry was honestly shocked by how rude and arrogant this version of Neville was. He had no frame of reference for how to deal with the guy: over the past three months he’d had no chance to approach his former friend.

The layers of friends and hangers-on were an effective barrier to keep him from speaking with the wizard, let alone getting a chance to chat one-on-one. His classes were mostly with the Hufflepuffs, and during mealtimes he was either at the Ravenclaw table or was shanghaied by Ron, Ginny, Walter or Dean to sit with Charlie and the twins at the Gryffindor table. It wasn’t lost on Harry that the Potters and Longbottoms always sat on opposite ends of the table, and never the twain did meet. Bella had informed him that he, she and Tom were considered part of Charlie’s entourage by the general student body, though why that would be he couldn’t fathom. So there had been no opportunity to feel out the Longbottom faction.

Nothing that can be done about it for now.

Harry made his way to the opposite side of the tent to where the Ilvermorny and Mahoutokoro champions were chatting. The four students fell silent as he approached.

“Ah, sorry for interrupting,” he scratched his head in embarrassment. “I just want to ask something: your names are Anthony Goldstein and Rolf Scamander, right?” he asked the two Americans. They nodded warily. “Any relation to Newton Scamander, Proserpina Scamander-Goldstein and Queenie Kowalski-Goldstein?” They shared a surprised glance.

“Um, yes, they’re our grandparents,” Anthony answered, a flicker of suspicion lurking in his blue eyes.

“Good, here you go. A friend of mine asked me to pass these along to you,” Harry passed them invitations to Christmas at the Granger household.

“A friend?” Rolf held his parchment with two fingers and fired a series of detection spells from his wand as if he were afraid it’d burst in a hail of bubotuber pus at any moment.

“Yep, your grandparents used to tutor him and his friends before they went to Hogwarts,” Harry said vaguely. He hoped they wouldn’t ask him why the scion of the Dark knew a bunch of Muggleborn nobodies.

“Uh thanks,” said Anthony, staring hard at Harry.

“No problem. Contact details are enclosed. Good luck with the Task.” Harry waved and turned away.

“Wait!” said Anthony. Harry paused. “You know, you seem a lot nicer than you usually appear, Mr Lestrange.”

“Oh yes, well, in public one has to act a certain way … it’s required of Slytherins you see …” Harry hedged.

To his surprise, the others accepted his lame excuse without batting an eye, and he was somehow dragged into their conversation for the next few minutes.  

“You know, there’s something I was wondering …” he started, not quite sure how to broach this subject. In his past timeline he’d paid little attention to any of his fellow students whose surnames weren’t Granger, Weasley or Malfoy, but even so he was fairly certain that Anthony Goldstein, the Patil twins and Su Li had attended Hogwarts in his year. “Um, weren’t you guys supposed to be students at Hogwarts, not Ilvermorny and Mahoutokoro?” he blurted. Dang it, that was smooth, Potter!

“How on earth did you know about that?” Padma Patil blinked in amazement.

“Wow, the Lestrange family’s intelligence network is as impressive as I’ve heard,” added Su Li.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but my parents were all set to have me enrol in Hogwarts, but all the disappearances put them off,” explained Anthony. “They decided to send me to school across the pond, to an institution that didn’t have a reputation.”

Padma and Su nodded in agreement.

“Reputation? Disappearances?” Harry felt bewildered. Why hadn’t he heard any rumours along those lines in all the years he’d spent at Hogwarts?

“You mean you don’t know?” Su demanded incredulously. “You must know!”

“Huh?”

“The disappearing students,” Padma explained with great patience. Seeing his blank expression she added, “You know: every few years, a Hogwarts student will just up and vanish without a trace! Poof! Right from their beds while everyone is asleep! And no matter how much people search, they’re never seen again …”

“At first people called it the Slytherin Curse,” Su said. “’Cause it was only Slytherins who’d be taken. But then it started happening to Gryffindors too. And then in the rest of the Houses …”

“I heard the Headmasters upgraded the castle ward schemes three times in 30 years, to strengthen its defences and block outsiders, and none of it could stop the phenomenon,” Anthony added.

“Makes you wonder what really happened to the poor things,” said Padma wistfully.

“My cousin told me that they’re whisked away by the Fae to Annwfn,” said Rolf.

“I’ve heard some say it’s caused by the spirits of Muggles that Salazar Slytherin murdered with his secret monster, who are out for revenge,” said Padma.

“My godsister Cho thinks Hogwarts is a giant top-secret testing facility and all the students are lab-rats for the Department of Mysteries,” said Su. “The ones who disappear are failed experiments that the Unspeakables remove and throw through the Veil of Death.”

“I’ve heard they’re abducted by aliens and taken away to other star systems on giant round spaceships,” said Anthony.

The others stared at him in disbelief.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” sniffed Rolf. “If it were Heliotropes or Leprechauns or chupacabra or dodos, that’d at least be plausible, but aliens? Come on …”

I
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I

“Ladies and gentlewizards, I now declare the First Task of the Grand International Thaumaturgical Tournament – has begun!” Ludo Bagman’s enhanced voice boomed through the stadium. The crowds cheered and screamed.

Harry looked around. He finally recognised where they all were: the same place he’d watched the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys, an event that felt like it’d taken place centuries ago.

Instead of the Sacred Bands challenging the Task one after the other, the organisers had obviously decided that it’d be far more entertaining to the masses to have them all compete simultaneously. Harry could see the other teams spread out at even intervals along the edge of the stadium floor, waiting to charge forward. He shared a nod with the Mahoutokoro team and a thumbs-up with the Ilvermorny team, to Neville’s consternation.

“The winning pair will be the first to grab the golden egg at the very peak of the obstacle course. They will receive 10 points automatically. Our esteemed judges will also allocate points at their discretion to those Sacred Bands who show particular ingenuity and cunning with both their magic and their teamwork, so there’s no room for individual showboating. After all, there’s no ‘i’ in Sacred Band! All participants are once more encouraged to showcase the highest principles of sportsmanship and fair play in front of the world.”

Yeah right, Harry rolled his eyes. The inclusion of all the Potter and Longbottom children had scrambled the planned team structure. Now Hogwarts was the sole school with two Bands, and each team consisted of three members: Neville, Allison and Draco; and Charlie, Ivy and Rose. Was it unfair to the other competing schools? Absolutely. Was there anything those schools could do about it? Nope. That’s what happens when you entrust your international competition to an unreliable piece of magical junk.

Headmaster Dumbledore stood up from his place at the judges’ desk. With a great swish of his wand, the illusion spells covering the stadium disappeared. The grounds, which had appeared as a great empty space a moment before, shimmered and revealed what resembled an enormous jungle-gym … covered in enormous cobwebs. Dozens of enormous Acromantulae hissed and chittered in rage at all the unexpected, unwelcome attention from the humans. The crowd gasped in horror.

“Acromantulae! YEAH! WOOOOO!” came a solitary scream of delight.

Harry couldn’t help himself. He doubled over and laughed and laughed until he feared he’d bust a gut. There was no doubt that was Bellatrix screaming in joy at the top of her lungs. The teen witch’s delight at carving her way through the disgusting spider monsters was unparalleled. Of course she’d be euphoric at this turn of events. There was also no doubt that Tom was out there beside her, scheming for a way to get these Acromantulae to Myra Curio.

“What the Hel is wrong with you, Lestrange?” demanded Allison Longbottom. The girl put her little fists on her hips.

“All the inbreeding in his family must’ve finally taken effect,” sneered Neville.

Harry couldn’t reply, he was still gasping for air in great, heaving sobs. His two teammates took several steps away from him.

“Contestants,” screamed Bagman, “You may begin NOW!”

The Longbottom siblings didn’t bother to wait for the third member of their trio, and shot forward in tandem. The other 7 Sacred Bands also dashed towards the spider nest as fast as their legs could carry them. In the corner of his eye, Harry saw the little DelaCour girl unleash a holocaust of flame to incinerate her team’s way through the sticky threads. The beasts shrieked in pain and the familiar scent of burnt spider assaulted his nostrils. That kid’s got the right idea at least.

Harry casually strolled after the Beauxbatons pair, in no particular hurry, along the scorched pathway the Veela had burned through the course. The Goblet forced him to compete in the Tasks, but didn’t require him to try very hard. And he had no reason to improve Draco’s social standing by putting on a good show, or – Merlin forbid! – actually winning this stupid event. He felt surprisingly calm – it wasn’t Harry Potter everyone was staring at this time, it was Draco Lestrange. So it didn’t matter one whit if he screwed up or made a fool of himself today. And Acromantulae were one of the few magical species (alongside Basilisks and Dementors) that he was quite familiar with, after having spent half a year cleansing the Forbidden Forest of the nasty blighters.

“Hmmm, where am I?” He looked around. During his wool-gathering he’d somehow made his way to the highest level of the obstacle course. Spread out below him, numerous students were engaged in violent combat with giant spiders. Spellfire flashed and crackled as far as the eye could see.

“Hssss!” The largest Acromantula he’d ever seen (besides Aragog) charged at him.

Confringo!” The Blasting Curse hit its bulls-eye, transforming the monster’s head into a fine spidery mist.

“Chk chk chk chk!” Chattered another one, diving at him from the other direction.

Diffindo!” The Severing Charm struck the middle of its thorax, bisecting the unfortunate creature. Harry jumped to the side on reflex to avoid the spray of purple blood.

“Come at me, you eight-legged vermin! The doors of arachnid hell are opened wide for you!” Harry bellowed, wand outstretched, doing his best imitation of Bella in a blood-frenzy. “Huh? Where’d they all go?”

Besides the two cooling corpses beside him, the rest of the colony seemed far more interested in eating his fellow teenagers at the lower levels. Shrugging, he sat down on the nearest lump to wait for the Longbottoms and Potters to catch up.

“Ouch, this is one uncomfortable rock. Feels like metal,” he grumbled, standing up and brushing the cobweb remains from his seat. “What on earth?” He lifted up the large golden egg. “Oh no. You’ve got to be kidding me –”

“AND LESTRANGE HAS OBTAINED THE GOLDEN EGG!” Bagman shrieked at the top of his lungs. “HOGWARTS WINS!!!” The hordes of spectators screamed and laughed and cried in absolute frenzy. Harry idly wondered if a soccer riot was about to break out.

I
IIIIIII
I

The party in the Slytherin common room had been going on for three hours and was still raging wildly. The golden egg was set up like an idol atop a shrine in the centre of the room. Harry surreptitiously emptied another phial of Polyjuice into his goblet of Butterbeer and rejoined the chugging competition.

Every single student in the House of Snakes made it a point to shake his hand and congratulate him personally. Most emphasised that they’d always believed in his victory, and plenty made ‘offhand’ comments about their families’ staunch and long-standing connections with House Lestrange.

“Draco!” Harry turned, and recoiled reflexively. Pansy Parkinson fought her way through the well-wishers and hurled herself into his arms. “I knew you could do it! I’m going to demand my father re-instate our betrothal contract!” Harry stiffened at the awful realisation that Pug-faced Parkinson of all people had a surprisingly soft, curvaceous female form – one that was pressed hard against him. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his tongue as the girl mashed her lips against his and snogged him thoroughly as the bystanders cheered.

“How dare you!”

Parkinson’s lips and tongue were suddenly torn from his. Harry rubbed his eyes and saw that a short blonde had dragged the girl away. He vaguely recognised her as a fifth-year that shared some classes with Tom and Bella.

“Get out of here, Greengrass!” sneered Pansy. “He’s mine!”

“In a Hippogriff’s eye! Astoria has greater claim to him than you,” sneered a taller blonde who arrived to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the first. The two girls bore a striking similarity, sisters most likely.

“Is that so? Last I heard your House cancelled the betrothal with Draco,” mocked Pansy. “In favour of … Zabini wasn’t it?”

“And that’s different from your family how?” Astoria shot back.

“It’s different because Draco has no interest in being with an undeveloped shrimp such as yourself,” Pansy sniffed.

A wicked smirk graced Astoria’s face. “Let’s find out shall we?” And launched herself at Harry. For the second time in as many minutes, the boy was vigorously snogging an attractive Slytherin.

Harry’s forehead exploded in pain. The world spun and dissolved into stars. Behind the waves of agony, he could feel a terrible rage seething and churning.

“Are you okay?” a bystander demanded. “Is your forehead bleeding?”

“Yeah, I’m okay … too much to drink … need to sleep … going to dorm …” he managed to gasp out. Somehow the wizard managed to ditch all the helpful students who wanted to accompany him, and staggered into the seventh-year boys’ dormroom. Two boys were already asleep in bed. He dragged himself to the adjoining bathroom.

“I know you’re there,” he hissed, rubbing his scar to reduce the throbbing.

Bella and Tom threw off the Invisibility Cloak. Both girls glared at him with cold, empty, accusing eyes.

“I had to play the part!” Harry protested. “I was acting!”

Tom merely sniffed in scorn and pointed to the showers. Bella wordlessly levitated the unconscious Draco slung over her shoulder into a stall. Extracting a bottle of Butterbeer from her robe pocket, she poured half the contents down his throat, and the other half all over his head and chest.

The trio huddled under the Cloak and made their silent journey back to Ravenclaw Tower.

I
IIIIIII
I

7 December 1997

Harry walked with Dean to Hagrid’s hut for their Care of Magical Creatures class. It was their sole class where Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were paired. To the boys’ surprise, they found their Professor blubbering into the shoulder of Potions Professor Lily Potter. The redhead patted his neck (the farthest she could reach) comfortingly as she made soothing noises that were overwhelmed by his mighty sobs. The gathered teens looked at each other awkwardly, wondering if they should say something or sneak away.

“Oh hello,” Lily finally noticed their presence. “Professor Hagrid needs some … personal time today. So I’ll be looking after you for this session.”

“Are ya sure, Lily?” the big man sniffled. He dragged a filthy rag from his pocket (which looked it used to be one of Dumbledore’s garish robes) and blew his nose deeply. The girls turned green and didn’t try to hide their revulsion.

“Positive,” Lily said firmly, looking a touch green herself. “Now go rest.”

“A’right,” Hagrid nodded, sagging against the hut. The building shuddered and creaked under the weight. “Guess I’ll go see how Grawp’s doin’.” Eventually he composed himself enough to stand upright and trudge off into the forest.

“Professor, what’s wrong with Professor Hagrid?” asked Hermione in concern.

“Oh he’s just a tad upset about his pet spiders,” Lily sighed. “You know how his Acromantula colony in the forest migrated south a while back? Recently it was rediscovered, and he was able to relocate it back to Hogwarts grounds. The G.I.T.T. organising committee decided they’d be perfect for the First Task – I presume you all saw what happened?” The class nodded. “Half of the spiders died in that battle royale. And now we’ve just discovered that the survivors have mysteriously vanished as well. Professor Hagrid took it a bit hard. He was in the middle of constructing a nest, where he could keep a closer eye on them.”

She gestured towards a half-built wooden monstrosity wedged between the hut and the pumpkin patch. The students’ eyes widened in horror as it dawned on them just how close they’d come to being forced to take classes right next to a slavering horde of man-eating giant arachnids.

“While we’re on the subject of the G.I.T.T.” Lavender Brown interjected breathlessly, “Is it true that there’s going to be a formal ball soon?”

The corner of Lily’s mouth quirked upwards. “It’s supposed to be a secret until the official announcement next week. But I suppose including dress robes in your school supply lists this year was a dead giveaway wasn’t it? You didn’t hear this from me, but yes, on the 25th of December Hogwarts will be hosting a grand Yule Ball to celebrate the Sacred Bands. It will be open for all Hogwarts students of fourth year and older.”

That set off a round of mumblings. The girls beamed in excitement, while the boys’ eyes widened in even greater horror.

“Now that the important things have been squared away, it’s time to get on with the trivial matters – such as your lesson,” Lily smiled, vanishing the half-giant drool on her shoulder. “What has Professor Hagrid been working on with you?”

“Blast-ended Skrewts, Professor,” Hermione replied promptly. She pointed to a stack of crates stacked neatly beside the hut.

Lily frowned. “I’ve never heard of them.” Levitating one of the crates over to the grass in front of her, she cautiously opened the lid. “Egad!” She backed away in disgust upon catching sight of the eldritch abominations contained therein. “What in the name of Pheidippides’ sandals are those things?”

“I believe it is a magical hybrid species, cross-bred between a Firecrab and a Manticore most likely,” stated Hermione, looking equally nauseated.

Maybe I should swipe a couple for Bella and Luna, thought Harry. That might get me out of the doghouse faster.

The putrid scent of rotting fish and crustaceans drove the class backwards. Several Ravenclaws cast Bubble-head Charms on themselves.

On second thoughts, Dan and Emma may kill me if the house ends up smelling of teenage mutant lobstrosity.

“Alright class you have a free study session,” Lily announced to general cheers. “Can someone volunteer to help me with these … Skrewts?” Harry raised his hand. “Thankyou Mr Granger.”

The rest of the students ambled back to the castle. Hermione shot Harry a suspicious look, but didn’t linger either.

“Mr Granger, I need you to keep what happens this afternoon a secret,” said Lily. Her face was dead serious. He nodded. “Good. This is a difficult situation. The only reason I agreed to allow you to help me was because you’re part of Charlie’s entourage.”

What? When did I swear fealty to the mini-Lockhart wannabe? Why does everyone keep assuming that?

“These Skrewts are almost certainly a blatant violation of Ministry bans on the cross-breeding of dangerous magical species,” the crimson-haired teacher continued. “If the DRCMC gets wind of it, Professor Hagrid would be in a lot of trouble. Possibly even serve a stint in Azkaban. So it’s extremely important that nobody realises this. I hope none of the students put two and two together.”

“I haven’t heard anyone discussing things like that on the grapevine,” Harry said uncertainly. When it came to schoolyard gossip, Bellatrix was a much better source. He ignored it for the most part.

“That’s a relief. Now we need to get rid of the evidence as soon as possible. I feel bad for Professor Hagrid, losing two monster species in one week, but it’s for his own good. Better than being in Azkaban.”

“I agree,” said Harry. “And I think I know how to dispose of them.” He removed his tiny expandable trunk from his pocket and placed it on the grass. “Never leave home without it,” he grinned at her look, tapping the lid with his wand. When it returned to its correct size, he started floating the crates down into its depths.

“Where do you propose we take them? The Forbidden Forest seems the obvious choice,” Lily said.

“I have a better place,” he replied. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t demand answers. The two of them finished loading up their illegal cargo and Harry reshrank the trunk. “Come on.” Harry led his mother through the school gates and past the Hogwarts ward-line. “Can you Apparate us to Diagon Alley?” He gave her his best approximation of Bella’s puppy-dog eyes.

“You better be on the level,” she grumbled, pulling her hood over her head for disguise, and taking his hand.

‘Crack’!

Harry led her by the hand past the Auror checkpoints to their destination. Lily’s lower lip (all that was visible of her face) held a conflicted moue as they entered Longbottom’s Rock Bottom Prices.

“Hi Mathilda.”

“Hello Harry, what’ve you got for us this time?” Mathilda smiled, guiding the pair through the side doors and into the rendering facilities. “Who’s your friend? You’re always surrounded by pretty ladies, such a little player aren’t you … wait a minute … holy smokes, you’re Lily Potter!” she exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.

“Can you keep your voice down?” Lily hissed. “I’m trying to be incognito here. And I’ll never live it down if people find out I visited this shop of all places!”

“Standard secrecy contract,” Harry reminded her.

“Fine, fine, spoil all my fun,” the woman reluctantly calmed herself. “So what beastie have you brought me? … Eeeeew, what in Mordred’s name are these revolting things? They look like deformed shell-less lobsters with scorpion tails attached … did that one just shoot sparks out of its tuchis!? Where the heck did you find them?”

“Uh, we found them infesting Dumbledore’s hidden closet,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Oh yeah, he hadn’t touched that closet in years. It’s where he keeps all his fashionable clothing.”

“Hmm, I guess that makes sense. Merlin knows the old coot must not’ve cracked it open for my entire lifetime,” mused Mathilda. “Must be caked in a metric ton of dust.”

“It sure was,” Harry agreed grandly.

“Makes you wonder what else may come out of the closet.”

“Huh? Anyway, you reckon there’s anything salvageable here?”

The worker cast a number of detection charms.

“A bit here and there. I suppose I could give you a Galleon apiece,” she said dubiously. “And that’s only because you’re a good business partner.”

“That’ll have to do,” Harry sighed. He signed the contract and pressed the bag of gold into Lily’s hand.

“Did you really have to choose a Longbottom company?” the Professor complained as they walked down the Alley.

“Do the Potters own any companies that would be useful for this?” Harry challenged.

“Touché.”

A feeling of dissociation washed across Harry. It was so strange to be strolling through Diagon side-by-side with his mother, sharing friendly banter. This was hands-down the most time he’d ever spent one-on-one with the woman, and the most conversation they’d ever had outside of basic classroom discussion. And it was even stranger that he felt so comfortable in her presence. Almost automatically the pair fell into a comfortable rapport. The barrier of academic professionalism that she’d always wielded like a shield to keep him at a distance like the rest of her students, had mysteriously disappeared. Now the unfamiliar feeling of intimacy was disturbing and disorienting.

Part of him wanted to hug her with all his might and never, ever let go. She was part of the reason he’d abused Time in the first place, and there was a deep longing within him for them to join as a proper family.

Another part of him wanted to rant and scream at her, demand why she abandoned him to the Dursley’s tender mercies. Was he really so deficient that they couldn’t bear to have him around, even if he didn’t have any magic? What kind of mother threw away her own offspring like a defective drill bit off the assembly-line at Grunnings? How could she bear to even look into the eyes of her three other children, knowing what she’d done?

Another part of him was simply annoyed that Lily Potter didn’t recognise her own eldest son, even when he’d been in her class for three months. Even when he was standing right in front of her. Sure he’d dyed his hair brown and was wearing brown contact-lenses, but his features hadn’t changed, his voice and mannerisms hadn’t changed. They couldn’t be that different from his counterpart’s, right?

Unable to resolve the conflicting emotions that warred within him, Harry fell silent for the rest of the trip back to Hogwarts.

I
IIIIIII
I

10 December 1997

“Hey Hermione, you free for a bit?” Harry asked hesitantly.

She looked up from her textbook.

“What do you want?”

“Just a brief chat. It’s almost time for dinner so I know you won’t be sticking around the Library for much longer.”

“Fine.” She arose and returned her tomes.

The pair found an empty classroom.

“So what’s up? You figured out who’s trying to kill you yet?”

“I wish. The suspect list is way too long at the moment.”

The witch made a gesture to encourage him to get to the point.

Harry hesitated for a bit before he spoke. “Hermione, I admit, I don’t know what to make of you. I mean, I didn’t know what to make of the other you either, not for the longest time … I told myself I understood what you’d be going through … I’ve gleaned bits and pieces about your school life over the years from our letters and your discussions with your parents –”

“Plus your gossipy watch-portrait.”

“Plus my gossipy watch-portrait, yes. Give her a break, magical paintings have little to do except gossip ... It’s a completely different thing to see you here in Hogwarts with my own eyes. I’m honestly surprised. Even though we’re in different houses, I’ve made it a point to watch you for the past few months, you see … not in a creepy-stalker sort of way!” he protested. “In a protective-friend sort of way!” The scowl on her face was not encouraging. He took a few large strides backwards just to be safe. “What I mean is, your social life here is very … uh … different to what I expected …”

“I don’t like where this conversation is going, Harry,” she growled.

“I always knew you’re not the most outgoing person …”

“Don’t go there …”

“But I never expected you to turn into the unapproachable Ice Queen of Hogwarts!”

“I’m warning you …”

“Even without the mountain troll snafu to grease the wheels, I’d hoped you’d find a way to bond with some of your fellow students …”

“Last chance to back away …”

“I guess I was wrong,” he sighed. “You’ve never had a single friend the entire time you’ve attended Hogwarts, have you?”

With a snarl of rage, the girl brandished her wand – only to discover her hand was empty.

“I had Dobby confiscate both of our wands,” he smirked. “Better for our health, considering what short fuses both of us have. We’re still bound by that magical contract.”

“What do you want from me, you vexatious schistosome?” the witch demanded. “I already agreed to let you stay at my house and get adopted into my family. What more could there possibly be? Do you just get your kicks out of enraging me!?”

“I’m not trying to enrage you, I’m trying to ask you to the Yule Ball!” he blurted.

She glared at him. Harry sweated.

“Oh I see,” she said coldly. “Poor ickle Granger has no friends, so the Great and Wonderful Wizard Harry finds it in his heart to ask her on a pity-date. Such magnanimity!”

“That’s not the reason I’m asking you,” Harry said wearily. He rubbed his forehead. “I’m asking because you’re my friend and I want to spend time with you having fun.”

“Don’t patronise me, Harry. You’ve got two little fangirls who hang on your every word who’d love to attend the Ball with you. Go with one of them. Heck, go with both, I couldn’t care less!”

“It’s probably healthier for the three of us to keep our distance for a while ... But that’s not the point. The point is, I want to go with you,” the wizard said stubbornly. “Tom and Bella will understand.” I hope.

Another silence hung in the air. The girl and boy stared at each other.

“The Hermione you were friends with disappeared the moment you decided to screw with Time,” she said finally. “You and I are landlord and tenant. Nothing more.”

She turned and trudged out of the room.

In the end, the Grangers and Lovegoods all returned home for Christmas break. No-one spoke a word the entire train trip.

Notes:

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Press and Warner Brothers, not me.

Chapter 8: The Second Task

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 – The Second Task

 

25 December 1997

“And I win again!” crowed Dean.

“How on earth are you so good at gobstones?” Charlie grumbled. He and his friend sprawled across the thick, Gryffindor-red carpet of James and Lily’s private quarters at Hogwarts. A merry fire roared in the fireplace and glowing pixies danced around the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. The house-elves were busily removing the scraps of wrapping paper that littered the room. Ron and Walter were immersed in a game of wizarding chess.

What was unusual was the presence of Neville Longbottom and his toady Seamus Finnigan, who were playing Exploding Snap at the table. The fact that Neville, Seamus, and Alice Longbottom (who was bustling around in the kitchen with his mother) were spending Christmas with the Potters was a worrying sign. That meant that things were very serious at the Wizengamot today.

In the wake of the shocking werewolf attack on Lestrange Manor back on the 15th of November, the august members of the Wizengamot had sprung into action: they scheduled an emergency plenum for the 19th. Which of course meant it would be another month or two before the meeting was actually held, to allow enough time for backroom deals to be agreed, gold to change hands, draft Bills to be prepared, overseas members to be recalled, and members hidden behind their wards like the paranoiacs they were to be coaxed to scuttle to the Ministry of Magic.

As a result, the Wizengamot sat for its emergency session a mere 40 days after the instigating event – a new record. Many observers were shocked by the assembly’s unexpected efficiency. The like hadn’t been seen since 1750, when Minister of Magic Albert Boot managed to successfully call an emergency meeting a brisk 56 days after Urg the Unclean and Vargot the Vicious kicked of the Great Goblin Rebellion.

The delays meant that the assembly took place on Christmas Day. On the upside, that meant the debates were short and the voting expedited, so the members could finish up and get back to their families (and presents) as soon as possible. On the downside …

“It’s worse than we feared,” announced Frank Longbottom to his wife. The sitting room was suddenly swarming with numerous witches and wizards garbed in their plum-coloured robes of office, who poured in through the door. The teenage boys were crowded out of their chairs and floorspace to cluster in an unused corner.

James located a bottle of Firewhiskey from his liquor cabinet and began passing out glasses.

“The Saving Wizarding Britain Act 1997 mandates the extermination of every werewolf, vampire, giant, dragon, Sphinx, Basilisk, Hag, Banshee, and Harpy on British soil, effective immediately. Oh, and Acromantulae too for good measure – some of the old geezers must’ve been watching the First Task. The Act’s not limited to the DMLE and DRCMC either: every British citizen has the right to kill these beings on sight, and the Ministry will provide a monetary bounty for every kill upon proof of execution,” continued Frank.

“Oh sweet Morgana, no,” groaned Lily.

“I’m afraid so. And there’s more – all Goblins, Veela, and Succubi who are not members of diplomatic delegations, students or staff of Hogwarts or visiting foreign schools, or employees of Gringotts are exiled from Britain. They must be gone from British territory within six months. Any of them found after that are subject to the same kill-on-sight mandate,” said Arthur Weasley.

“At least we managed to carve out those exemptions. We don’t want to humiliate Britain by expelling some ambassadors or G.I.T.T. champions because they’re the wrong race,” added Tiberius Ogden.

“Centaurs and Merpeople are also banned from leaving their designated reserves,” Arthur concluded.

“It’s every Pureblood bigot’s wet dream,” Alice said sourly.

“I know Greyback’s rampage was awful, but isn’t this reaction over the top?” demanded Lily.

“Behold the power of paranoia,” commented Professor Filius Flitwick, who’d just arrived.

“You’re not wrong, Filius,” Frank said, nursing his glass of booze. “The Dark are whipping up fears of another Goblin Rebellion; you know the last one started when the werewolves joined forces with Urg and Varlot to lay siege to Godric’s Hollow.”

“And Minister Bones allowed this?” asked an appalled Professor McGonagall, entering the room.

“She didn’t have any choice, she couldn’t stop the tidal wave. Rita Skeeter’s been in fine fettle – she picked her timing perfectly. As soon as the First Task was over, The Daily Prophet published that special edition about the event,” James said, tossing a copy of the offending paper onto the table.

The banner headline read, International Champion, Hogwarts Prefect, Shining Hope of Britain, and Tortured Soul. Underneath the headline was a giant photo of Draco Lestrange’s bewildered face. In his hand he held the golden egg while the crowds behind him cheered.

“Page after page of melodramatic sob story about ‘Hogwarts’ Greatest Champion’: his tender love for his family and his tragic loss at the hands of bloodthirsty werewolves,” James summarised in disgust. “Umbridge read it out in full in the chamber – reduced many members to tears.”

“Since when did Umbridge have the right to speak in the Wizengamot?” asked Alice, sitting down on her husband’s lap.

“Haven’t you heard? Arcturus and the Dark faction pushed for that odious woman to be promoted to Deputy Director of the DRCMC. They did some deal with the Grey behind Bones’ back; the Minister’s on real thin ice at the moment, she couldn’t prevent the promotion. Mark my words, she’s eyeing Prickle’s chair,” said Amos.

The Minister, Directors and Deputy Directors of the Ministry all had honorary seats in the Wizengamot, complete with full powers to speak and vote. Giving Umbridge a voice in the inner workings of government was not a good omen.

Headmaster Dumbledore arose and turned the group’s attention to Gethsamene Prickle, who had remained taciturn so far.

“Director Prickle, in your opinion, what will be the effect of this Law on the magical creature populations?”

The formidable woman slung back her Firewhiskey and belched a mighty flame.

“Fenrir Greyback has spent the last 30 years terrorising the werewolf packs of Britain and Ireland into submission; most of their alphas owe their fealty to him. Greyback’s survived a kill-on-sight order from the Ministry for over two decades, this new Act won’t intimidate him. Which means he and his packs aren’t going anywhere. The ones this law will most affect are the few unaffiliated packs, and the ‘tame’ lycanthropes. Individuals like your Professor Lupin who live amongst the human population, have regular jobs, lock themselves away during the full moon, and are productive members of society. These groups will be forced to either pledge allegiance to Greyback for protection against the wizarding community, or flee to other countries. I predict that within a few months, every remaining werewolf will be under his control. The Wizengamot has just handed the Atlantic Isles to Greyback, lock, stock and wand.”

Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks nodded grimly in agreement with her assessment. The rest of the witches and wizards muttered uncomfortably.

“There are very few vampires in Britain; I expect they won’t bother to fight the trend. They have kindred in other countries, and national borders mean little to them. They’ll likely relocate elsewhere in Europe. The problem there is that they’ll complain to their sires and monarchs about their mistreatment. I expect relations between the Ministry and the European Covens will become quite frosty for some time. Vampires have long memories and don’t forget slights easily.”

Prickle paused for a minute to let her words sink in.

“The unaffiliated Goblins, Veela and Succubi will flee back to their ancestral Enclaves in Europe. Again, you can expect relations between Britain and said Enclaves to remain frosty for a long time to come. Gringotts will likely be a state of cold war with the Ministry for the foreseeable future, but Dirk can tell you more about that than I. All Acromantulae we know of are dead or have mysteriously vanished; nobody will complain if those vicious predators are made extinct. There are no dragons, Sphinxes or Basilisks in Britain in the first place. Hags, Banshees and Harpies have no constituency and no political allies and so no-one will care if they live or die, or where they go as long as it’s far from British shores. Centaurs and Merpeople only want to be left alone, so the Act will suit them fine and dandy. The giants have long chafed at being confined to their official colony. I expect they’ll relocate to Scandinavia, where their treatment is much better than here. Durmstrang has a long-standing agreement with the giant communities: the giants provide labour for construction projects, which are extremely difficult for humans in the icy wilds of far north Sweden, in exchange for food, shelter and hunting grounds.”

“Alas, I fear magical Britain will be greatly diminished for centuries by this Law,” sighed Dumbledore.

Dirk Cresswell stood and began his presentation about the complex relations with Gringotts.

As he spoke, Lily scooted the teenagers out. “Okay boys, you’re up to speed. There’s nothing you can do about it right now. Time to go get ready for the Yule Ball.”

“But that’s three hours away!” Charlie protested.

“So you’ll have plenty of time to shine yourselves up. The girls have been preparing since morning,” Lily replied.

“Everyone knows girls are mental,” Neville declared with great authority, to general agreement.

His Potions Professor raised a brow. “I’m sure your mother, grandmother, Miss Longbottom, and Miss Abbott will be ecstatic to know about your views of them.”

Neville paled.

“We’ll just be going now!” Ron said hastily making a run for Gryffindor Tower, the others hot at his heels.

Three hours later, a chastened yet much shinier Charlie, Neville, Ron, Seamus, Dean and Walter put the finishing touches to their dress robes and emerged from the Gryffindor dorms to find their dates.

“Over here!” Charlus’ sisters waved them over to the entrance, where they had congregated with Cedric and …

“Viktor Krum!” Ron shrieked. He pounced on the bemused Quidditch star and began to pepper him with rapid-fire questions while pumping his hand vigorously.

“How on earth did you manage to snag Krum as your date?” Charlie asked Rose.

“I got Dad to ask a favour of Minister Krum. They used to be competitors in the international Quidditch leagues for years, remember. Until they retired and became g-men.”

“You actually pay attention to Dad’s tedious war-stories?” Charlie asked with considerable incredulity. “I always tune him out by the time he gets to the British national championships.”

“Your loss,” Rose smirked. “Besides, coming to Hogwarts is good for Viktor too. It’s his first chance in ages to spend time with his sister.”

“Oh yeah, the Durmstrang Champion,” said Dean. “Is it true she’s Veela?”

“Yep,” Rose replied. “The Federal Union of Magyarország-Bŭlgariya-România has the highest percentage of Veela in its population out of all magical countries, and their Quidditch cheerleading teams are entirely made up of Veela athletes. Viktor told me it’s common practice in the F.U.M.B.R. for Quidditch stars to marry their cheerleaders, and his parents were no exception.”

“Guess that explains the magnetic attraction,” Charlie chuckled, nodding towards the exuberant Ron’s attempts to get Viktor to autograph his pecs.

“Afraid Veela traits only pass from mother to daughter; we’re once again stuck with pure Weasley idiocy,” interjected Ivy. “Can we get a move on? If we wait any longer I’m worried for the virtue of our esteemed Bulgarian visitor.” She slipped her arm into Cedric’s and dragged him out of the common room.

Rose grinned and rescued a rather shell-shocked Viktor from Ron’s fever-grip.

Ronald Bilius Weasley,” thundered a very hacked-off Lavender Brown, hands on hips. “If you’d rather have had Krum as your date to the Ball you should’ve told me weeks ago!”

I
IIIIIII
I

The doors opened and the Ballroom was filled with the flashes of camera bulbs and the cheers of the onlookers as the G.I.T.T. Champions entered with their dates.

James Potter, former international Quidditch star, former Chief Auror, current Wizengamot member and current Hogwarts Transfiguration Professor could only beam in pride as he watched his children’s stately parade before the world media. As the host institution, it was only natural for Hogwarts to ensure its own students led the procession. Charlie and Ginny waved regally, perfectly calm in the midst of the media maelstrom. Neville and Hannah Abbott beamed and hammed it up for the crowd as was their wont. Ivy and Cedric smiled at their fans with the usual cool detachment. Allison and Seamus blew kisses. Rose and Viktor grinned and laughed at the energy of the room. Streamers and confetti swirled around them. It was enough to bring a tear to a father’s eye.

The only downside was that Draco Lestrange, as the one who’d singlehandedly won the First Task, had pride of place and was first in line. Watching the Pureblood-purist ponce posture and preen was enough to make James feel putrid. The boy had even been tacky enough to escort two dates at once! Pansy Parkinson hung on his left arm, and Astoria Greengrass on his right. How gauche. He had expected Narcissa to have trained the lad better. But then again, they were of the Dark. Who knew how those sickos’ minds worked?

The Professor tuned out the rest of the Sacred Bands and slipped through the crowd to find his old friend. “Dmityar! So good to see you again!”

Dmityar Krum, former international Quidditch star, former wizarding labour union leader, and current Minister of Magic for the Federal Union of Magyarország-Bŭlgariya-România grinned wolfishly and gripped his hand in his standard bone-crushing grip. “And you, my friend. What a wonderful Yule event; I must thank your daughter for her idea, having Viktor and Viktorya both together with us tonight gladdens my and Bogomila’s hearts no end.”

“Splendid! Our families must really spend more time together – it’s almost criminal how we’ve lost touch over the years. If you have enough free time, Lily and I would love to host you all at Potter Manor for the Christmas holiday period.”

“Alack, Bogomila and I are booked solid. We are scheduled to stay with her extended family at the Veela Enclave for the next three weeks.”

“Three weeks with the Allure assaulting you from all sides? You have my sympathies.”

“A man can only do his best, my friend. And speaking of doing one’s best, do you know if your Auror colleagues have managed to locate our absconded dragons yet?”

James winced. “I’m afraid there’s been no sign of them,” he admitted grudgingly.

“That is a pity. The Romanian Governor is most agitated. She has been extremely vocal on the subject in my office every other day. Frankly, Howlers are preferable to the pitch of that woman’s voice. It has become especially difficult since she noticed that there has been a large increase in the amount of dragon-derived potions and hides and other materials circulating on the market recently.”

“Is that a fact …?”

“Indeed. Many parties in the Grand Wizarding Council are demanding that the F.U.M.B.R. enact economic sanctions against Great Britain until they are repatriated, or equivalent compensation provided. The weight of public opinion is behind this push, and I fear I am powerless to prevent it. And that unfortunate Act your Wizengamot passed earlier today will only exacerbate the tensions.”

“I see,” he muttered, glancing around to try and see if his wife was nearby to save him from this topic. The Potter luck was on his side tonight – he spotted Lily Potter and Bogomila Krum a short distance away. He hurriedly waved for them to join him.

Lily giggled at the look on his face, but obligingly steered the blonde Veela towards their husbands.

“My dear you are as radiant as ever.” Minister Krum kissed Lily’s hand gallantly. James, not to be outdone, did the same for Bogomila.

“Zhames you look vonderful,” she trilled. “Teaching must zuit you. Zuch a lucky voman Lily is.”

“I was going to say the exact same thing about Dmityar’s luck,” the wizard shot her his patented Potter Lady-killing Rougish-grin.

“Pardon me,” a smooth baritone voice interrupted what was shaping up to be a long bout of mutual admiration.

“Minister DelaCour,” Dmityar shook the tall dapper gentlewizard’s hand firmly.

“Achille, please, we are all friends here at this wonderful international cooperative event. Professors Potter and Potter, we have not yet had the pleasure. Achille and Apolline DelaCour, at your service. And of course, there is no need for introductions for my wife’s illustrious companion.”

Achille DelaCour, former Hit Wizard, former Chairman of the Assemblée Nationale, and current Minister of Magic of the République Magique Française, introduced his wife and her dance-partner, one Albus Dumbledore, former Hogwarts Transfiguration Professor, current Headmaster of Hogwarts, current Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and current Supreme Mugwump of the I.C.W.

“Madame Apolline is most spirited on the dance floor, Minister DelaCour,” Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. “I haven’t felt so spry in decades.”

“It is Fortune who decided we should encounter each other at this juncture – I understand you were discussing the most recent legislation of the British Wizengamot, yes?” Achille enquired.

“Well –” James hemmed and hawed.

“Excellent. I must take this opportunity to express my Ministry’s deep objection to today’s enactment of the so-called Saving Wizarding Britain Act 1997. Magical France considers the Law a gross violation of the principles of liberty, egality and fraternity, an appalling gesture of bigotry against Europe’s non-human magical citizenry, and a slap in the face to the conventions of the I.C.W. If the Wizengamot does not repeal it post-haste, I’m afraid my Ministry will be forced to take concrete steps to demonstrate its displeasure.”

The three British wizards grimaced.

“The F.U.M.B.R. is in complete agreement with France on this matter,” Krum added his two Knuts.

“I do believe the two of you may be over-reacting …” began Dumbledore.

“Over-reacting?” demanded DelaCour. “Both Minister Krum and I have Veela wives, to say nothing of our Veela daughters competing in the G.I.T.T.! The Act makes us seriously consider whether our family members’ safety can be guaranteed while they remain on British soil.”

“In addition, both our countries have many magical citizens of non-human ancestry who will be protesting most loudly to us as soon as the Act is published in our newspapers,” said Krum.

“We all know that the effect of the Law will be a mass exodus from Britain. Where do you think will be the destination?” noted DelaCour. “Our Ministries are now forced to prepare for the care of unknown numbers of refugees in the near future.”

“Minister, it may be best if you raise these issues with Minister Bones when she arrives,” Dumbledore stonewalled.

“I’m afraid your Minister will be able to do little, for two reasons,” sniffed DelaCour. “The first is that she is in too precarious a state: only several votes shy of being dismissed, I believe. And the second … do you not think it strange that she is not present at the Ball tonight, nor is any representative of her DMLE ...?”

Dumbledore, James and Lily scanned the crowds. There were indeed no Aurors or DMLE officials in sight.

“I received word from my agents a mere half-hour ago,” Achille said heavily. “The news of their expulsion from Britain has reached the giant colony. In response, the giants have mobilised. One Gurg is leading his clan south towards Fort William. The other Gurg is heading east towards Hogsmeade. At their current speed they are likely to arrive within two days. I believe the DMLE is marshalling its forces to take action as we speak.”

“You’re sure!?” Lily demanded.

“Oui. I suggest keeping the news secret, at least for tonight. No sense ruining the Yule Ball festivities.”

I
IIIIIII
I

26 December 1997

The Granger family’s Boxing Day celebration was a roaring success. The Lovegood, Scamander and Goldstein clans had accepted the Grangers’ invitation, and the mansion and yard overflowed with chattering denizens of the wizarding world enjoying a pleasant, albeit chilly, winter day in the Muggle world. Nothing a few warming charms couldn’t fix. Bellatrix spotted the two Ilvermorny Champions Anthony Goldstein and Rolf Scamander chewing the rag with Luna and Harry. He and Hermione were clearly still avoiding each other, as the witch was at the opposite end of the house to him; at the moment, she was engaged in a spirited debate with Horace Slughorn and Tilden Toots.

Dobby and Winky had confirmed that the Trace charms on Harry and Hermione had disappeared at some point during the last month, but the ones on Tom and Bella (who were still underage) were still active. They kindly cast their blocking magic on the two 14-year-olds to keep the Ministry’s crooked beak out of the Grangers’ shindig.

Bella wasn’t keen on being around strangers, so she searched out Madame Kowalski-Goldstein and parked herself by the old lady’s side, and refused to budge – until Tom caught her eye from across the room and gave her the sign. Bella nodded, made her excuses to her former tutor, and corralled a bemused Xenophilius Lovegood upstairs and into her bedroom.

“Ta da!” With a flourish, Bella dragged the belle of the ball out of her underwear drawer – a certain unlit ancient magical artefact.

“The Goblet of Fire!” gasped Xenophilius.

“Sure is!”

“Where did you get this?”

“Nicked it,” said Bella proudly.

He sighed in exasperation. “What happens to little girls who pinch things they aren’t owning?”

“’Grand Old Aunt Morgana comes, takes their noseys and their thumbs’,” Bella chanted grudgingly.

“Correct.”

“But – but – but this horrid thing forced Harry to compete in a deadly contest! And – and – he may be a two-timing prat who kisses slags, but if he doesn’t finish the challenges, it’s gonna rip out his magic, and maybe Tom’s too!”

“Well we don’t want that,” he conceded. “Luna and I have grown quite fond of having Tamsin and Harry around. Let us have a goose at this artefact ... or was the expression, to have a gander …”

Xenophilius produced two long rolls of parchment from inside his robe and lay them flat upon the floor. The wizard then fired a complicated detection spell at the Goblet. The room lit up with an image of numerous glowing runes in a complex sequence, hanging in mid-air as if from a Muggle projector.

“Hmmm, intriguing,” the Lovegood patriarch murmured to himself. With another swish of his wand, the rune sequence was replicated on one of the parchments. He cancelled his original spell and shot off a different detection charm. This time, the room lit up with sequences of hovering numbers. These were added to the second parchment. He pocketed his wand and the room returned to normal.

“Starting without me?” pouted Tom, closing the door behind her. “Where’s Luna?”

“Making cow eyes at that Rolf bloke,” sniffed Bella. “I didn’t want to disturb the little lovebirds.”

“Let’s take a closer look.” The wizard was too absorbed to pay attention to their banter. He moved the parchments to Hermione’s reading desk and the three clumped together to pore over the data. “Whoever enchanted this device was crazier than a Blibbering Humdinger high on snozberries,” he concluded. He tapped one section with a long, gnarled finger. “What do you see here, my students?”

Bella frowned. The passage seemed incomprehensible to her.

“Um … the chain of Ansuz-Jera-Berkana-Thurisaz-Othila … a string wound around something …?” ventured Tom hesitantly.

“Close. This part connects the Goblet’s enchantments to the surrounding ward scheme. In effect, it interacts with the nearest ward in order to extract certain information, which it then processes through this runic sequence here.” He tapped a different section.

“Huh?” That didn’t sound useful at all, in Bella’s opinion.

Tom gave a gasp, and shot out of the room like a bolt out of the blue.

Xenophilius made a gesture. Bella shrugged. She had no idea.

A minute later, Tom raced back into the room holding aloft the Marauder’s Map she’d liberated from Harry’s trunk. “I solemnly swear I’m up to no good!”

Lovegood’s white eyebrows rose high above his head as the seemingly blank sheet of parchment filled with diagrams and names. “Extraordinary …”

“You said the Goblet collected information … like the names of the contenders!” Tom said in triumph. “Just like Harry’s Map, the artefact must link up with the Hogwarts wards to identify the individuals whose names are cast into the flames. That’s how the Goblet’s able to figure out who’s who, and which people to bind! How else would a glorified cup know who the heck Neville Longbottom or Draco Lestrange are? And that’s also why it doesn’t matter whether you enter your own name or somebody else’s, nor your underlying intent – unlike any other magical contract, for the Goblet the only thing that counts are the names themselves!”

Xenophilius’ eyes shone as he continued to examine the Map, eyebrows dancing merrily atop his skull. “So the famed Hogwarts wards are able to ascertain the True Name of everyone within their boundaries … and some ingenious souls have discovered a way to piggyback onto them … I think it’s time for a special edition of The Quibbler!”

“Hmmm, doesn’t this also imply that the Goblet can only magically bind people who are inside Hogwarts at the time of the selection?” pondered Tom.

“Explains why the other schools don’t choose their own champions at home and only send the Sacred Bands to Britain,” said Bella. “The short-listed candidates had to be physically inside Hogwarts for them to be considered by the Goblet.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but you three should really get downstairs, something big’s happening.” Hermione’s portrait poked her head into Bella’s watch-face.

“Can’t it wait?” Bella grizzled. They were just getting to the good part.

“No. Newt Scamander set up his Wizarding Wireless set and you won’t believe the news … anyway, just come down, it’s easier if you hear it for yourselves.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” scowled Tom. They hurried to the living room to join the inhabitants who were enraptured by the solemn voice of the wireless news announcer.

“The Wizengamot passed a Law expelling the giants from the UK,” Harry summarised for them in hushed tones. “They got pissed, so they’re rampaging through the Muggle and magical worlds.”

Bellatrix felt faint. Giants were a nightmare to deal with. The buggers were insanely strong, more magically-resistant than dragons, smarter than Acromantulae, had no obvious weaknesses like Basilisks, and were enormous to boot!

At that moment, an owl flew through the open window and dropped a bright-red letter onto the floor.

“Howler!” Hermione yelled out in alarm.

Before anywizard could react, the Howler floated into the air and opened itself. The assemblage braced themselves, but were in for a surprise: although loud, there was no ranting or screaming of the sort that these missives usually entailed. Instead a stentorian voice proclaimed:

“*The Ilvermorny Sacred Band – Anthony Goldstein and Rolf Scamander – are required to present themselves at Hogwarts immediately. In light of the state of emergency declared by the Ministry of Magic, the G.I.T.T. organising committee and the G.I.T.T. judges have decided that all Champions are to assist the Aurors in repelling the giant menace from the town of Hogsmeade. Participation is mandatory, and is considered the Second Task of the G.I.T.T. Points will be awarded commensurate with each Band’s efforts to subjugate the perfidious Gurg Golgomath and his murderous clan!*

Anthony and Rolf raced for the door.

Harry slipped away from the bedlam and made for his bedroom. He secured his Invisibility Cloak, Polyjuice phials, wand, and broomstick. Turning to go, he found his path blocked by three pale witches at his door.

“I guess I’m off,” he said awkwardly. He scratched his head. He hadn’t had a proper conversation outside of daily necessities with Hermione, Tom or Bella since their tiffs nearly a month ago, and had no idea how to mend bridges. “Um, if I die, use a Time Turner to come save me.”

That didn’t seem to help. The three girls looked stricken; Bella seemed a hair away from bursting into tears. Harry squirmed helplessly.

Deciding he was out of his depth and could deal with the situation later, he opted for retreat. “Dobby! Take me to the closest park.”

‘Pop’!

“Thanks, Dobby! Are there any Muggles nearby?”

“No, Magnificent Master Harry, this park is being empty.”

Harry nodded in thanks to the small creature, and summoned the Knight Bus to bring him to Hogsmeade.

“Oh Harry …” his watch whispered as they surveyed the devastation. Harry grunted in agreement. Half of the magical village had been razed to the ground. Smoking piles of rubble lay as far as the eye could see. In the distance, a clump of wizarding tents near the gates of Hogwarts was the destination to which dozens of refugee groups poured. A tiny Rubeus Hagrid could be seen guarding their retreat, wielding what looked like half a telegraph pole as his weapon.

The boy swigged a dose of Polyjuice, and then Draco Lestrange leaped into the fray. Hopping onto his Firebolt, he lifted up 50 feet into the air for an eagle-eye view.

I sure hope nobody notices that there are two Dracos running around in the Second Task. As long as I stay away from where most of the Aurors and Champions are congregated, I think I can avoid detection.

The epicentre of the battle was a short distance from the Shrieking Shack. Even the blind would have trouble missing the location of a clan of enraged giants. And these giants were unleashing terrible roars of bloodlust, surrounded by bright flashes of light and terrific booms. The ground trembled every time a giant stomped or fell down, or somebody set off a Blasting Curse.

Harry could see Aurors and Hit Wizards racing from house to house, conjuring barriers wherever they went to shield themselves from the boulders and pieces of houses that the giants hurled at them. From behind cover, they would take turns unleashing combined barrages of offensive magic that bounced off the titans’ resistant hide. Sacred Bands were scattered amongst them adding their firepower. It was like watching a swarm of fire-ants trying to take down a herd of elephants.

‘Poof’! A blast of magical phoenix fire and Headmaster Dumbledore appeared amidst the carnage, flanked by Flitwick, McGonagall, Black, Sprout and his parents.

Thank Merlin, Harry sighed in relief. With Dumbledore and the Professors here, the situation will be resolved before long. I just have to do enough to count as participation in the Second Task … hold the phone, what’s that …?

On the other side of Hogsmeade, three smaller giants were sneaking towards Hogwarts, aiming to enter the castle grounds from the rear. ‘Sneaking’ being a relative term of course. However, all the defenders were engaged and there was nobody free to bar the monsters’ approach.

“And Bingo was his name-o.”

Draco Lestrange Mark II flew over to intercept. He had spent the Knight Bus ride discussing with Portrait-Hermione how to take down a giant. Their conclusion was, unsurprisingly, that there was very little he could do. His skills were those of an average seventhie student of Hogwarts … aside from one trump card that would have to make do. Harry remembered a passage from Splinter of the Mind’s Eye, that Mind Magics can have a strong influence on the weak-minded, which applied to monster as well as man.

He landed on the roof of a three-storey house in the giants’ direct path, so that he could be roughly at their eye-level. He focused on the foremost brute, who seemed to be the leader of the trio. It showcased black, broken teeth and fingernails and a necklace of bones hung from its thick neck.

Hopefully this thing is weak-minded enough …

Staring into its yellow eyes, he gathered up every ounce of magic he possessed. “Confundus! Destroy your two companions! They are your foes!”

Beasts like trolls and giants were too stupid and primal to understand complex commands. But it was possible to brute-force the simplest instructions into their thick, sloping skulls. It was all a matter of magical power.

Harry and the giant stared into each others’ eyes for a long moment, as the wizard strained every magical and meat-based muscle. Though simple, a giant’s mind was also one-track and therefore focused enough to withstand most outside influence. But the giant was also in the height of battle-frenzy. Instead of changing its desires, Harry aimed to redirect the frenzy away from the castle and towards its subordinates.

Just when he reached the end of his rope and his body about to collapse, the giant howled and half-turned away from Harry, slamming a haymaker into the side of the second giant’s head. As that giant staggered, the leader spun to the opposite side and swung its enormous club into the third giant’s gut. The group devolved into a vicious battle royale that flattened this section of the town, but finally ended with the trio battered, bloody, bruised and insensate upon the snow-covered ground.

Harry sank in a panting heap against the shingles.

“Very impressive, child!”

He jerked around in surprise. He was sure he’d been alone.

In the air above him, the sky began to shimmer. A Disillusionment spell dissolved, to reveal a middle-aged witch with white fluffy hair and brightly-coloured horned spectacles atop a broomstick. She grabbed the camera hanging around her neck and began snapping pictures of him and the unconscious giants.

His eyes widened. He recognised the sharp face from the farcical Weighing of the Wands ceremony in his previous timeline. “Rita Skeeter?”

“Oh you’ve heard of me – always so gratifying to meet a fan of my work. Yes, I am indeed Rita Skeeter, the greatest journalist in Britain. Pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Harry James Potter.”

He started in astonishment. “How in Merlin’s name did you –” and hurriedly slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Too late dearie, you just outed yourself,” Rita giggled.

She landed her broom gingerly on the rooftop beside the boy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been searching for you, child. How about a little exclusive interview?”

Harry thought quickly. Now that the notorious gossip-monger knew who he was, he’d lost all control of the situation. And he’d already exhausted most of his magical reserves. It would take some time before he was up to spellcasting again. The only feasible option was to play along for now and see if he could minimise the damage. Or better yet, stall for time until he found an opportunity to nail her with an Obliviation.

“Okay Rita you’re on,” he said. Her sharklike grin grew wider. “But not here on the battlefield. Let’s go to Diagon Alley. I know a place where we can be alone.”

“Ohhhh my stars and garters,” Rita clutched her pearl necklace with one hand and fanned herself with the other. “Such a smooth talker. I bet that’s what you say to charm all the ladies, Harry.”

He rolled his eyes at her theatrics. Sure, I’m a real Don Juan – if I wanted to be flayed alive by two of the cleverest and most powerful witches on the continent.

“But is it alright to leave? Aren’t you forced to complete the Task to the end? What about your little friends? Aren’t you going to rejoin them? Don’t you want to hear your score?”

“The Goblet requires me to compete in the Tasks, nothing more. I’ve already taken down three giants – that’s plenty enough effort! – and I don’t care about scoring,” he replied, ignoring the rest of her rapid burst of questions.

“If you’re sure, dearie.” Her arm pulled him against her chest in an intimate embrace.

‘Crack’!

“This isn’t what I had in mind when you said we could be alone together,” the reporter complained several minutes later, as the pair sat in front of Ted Tonks at the offices of the law partnership of Tinker and Tonks.

“I thought signing a contract was the first step to any business relationship,” he blinked, his wide eyes guileless. It was a pretty good imitation of Bella’s expression, if he did say so himself. Ted’s face twisted as the man desperately held back his laughter.

“Hah! Better stories than you have tried to tie me down with secrecy contracts,” Rita sneered.

“Tie you down? Not at all,” Harry improvised frantically. “It’s to help both of us out.”

“How so?” Scepticism dripped from her voice.

“Are you familiar with Muggle tabloids?”

The disgust on her face answered that question. Luckily for Harry, Aunt Petunia had been addicted to gossip rags, and there were always plenty around at Privet Drive. Reading old editions had made up a significant part of his non-school reading when growing up.

“Muggle journalists have realised that it’s no good to simply dump everything you know on the public in one go. They find it’s much more lucrative to spoon-feed juicy information to their readers over a long time,” Harry explained. And boy how he’d had to listen to his aunt rant about that topic often enough. “They know the best thing is to cultivate a long-term source who can provide them with what they need on an ongoing basis.”

“Teach your grandmother to suck eggs,” Rita shot back. “Are you telling me you can do more for me than embarrass the Potters and Bones?”

“Oh yes,” Harry grinned. “Much much more! I’ve been around, Rita. I’ve seen the dark underbelly of society. I know a lot about things that are going on all over Magical Britain, not just with the Potters. And I’m very good at finding out a whole lot of other things people want to keep secret. All that information could be yours.”

The reporter still looked unconvinced.

“How about a free sample then? You studied at Hogwarts didn’t you? Surely you’ve heard of the fabled Chamber of Secrets of Salazar Slytherin. How would you like to be the first reporter to ever visit there in a thousand years? The first to expose its mysteries to the wider world?”

“Pull the other one Harry, it’s got Nifflers attached.”

“Try me.” Harry held her gaze firmly. A flicker of doubt flashed through her eyes.

“If I may interject,” said Ted smoothly. “We could include penalty clauses in the contract that would cause … unpleasant circumstances to a party who misleads the other party. For example, by falsely promising story leads ...”

“It’s up to you Rita,” Harry said, feigning nonchalance. Drops of sweat rolled down his back. “You can screw me over and get, what? A single scoop. Or you can play ball with me and get access to stories none of your competitors could even dream of for years to come.”

Rita chewed on that for a while.

Finally she said, “Alright kid, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time. But if you’re leading me up the fairy pathway, I’ll make you wish you never returned to the magical world!”

“Fair enough. Mr Tonks, the contract if you please …”

In the end, they agreed that Harry would provide a certain amount of information about himself and topics of interest to Rita’s readers. In exchange, Rita would keep his location and activities secret, unless both parties consented, and avoid any lurid suggestions about him in print. Absolutely no Quik Quotes quills. The contract was binding for one year.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Harry said. “Mr Tonks, I did promise Rita a private room for an interview …”

“Say no more. You can use our debriefing room, it’s unoccupied today.”

Once the room was locked and secured, Harry asked, “Out of curiosity, how did you find me?”

“Funny story. A lot of people have been searching high and low for you ever since your name popped out of the Goblet of Fire.”

“And yet none of them ever succeeded like you,” Harry pointed out.

The witch’s lips curled smugly. “I spoke to a source in the DMLE who has been tracking a mysterious underage magic user for the past few years. The first spell was recorded at the exact same location as your former Muggle guardians’ residence … a Confundus Charm. Shortly thereafter, they suddenly decided to flee to an undisclosed location before anyone from the Ministry or House Potter could come asking questions about what happened to the kid they left there. Suggestive, very suggestive. The last spell was recorded several weeks ago … and then nothing. You may not know that the Ministry Trace dissipates naturally at some point during a wizard’s 17th year of age. Indicating that this mysterious person is now 17. Put two and two together and it’s not hard to conclude that ickle Harry Potter has been a bad bad boy.”

She sat down and began preparing her quills and notepads.

“But that would imply that he’s not a Squib like everyone’s claiming, and the Potters lied about it for reasons unknown. And if he’s got magic, that means he’s magically bound to compete in the G.I.T.T. like the rest of the Potter and Longbottom sprogs. But since there’s been no word about Harry Potter competing, then either: he became a Squib for real, the Ministry is lying about the Goblet’s powers, or he is competing on the sly. All I needed to do was become invisible and watch the champions very closely. Imagine my surprise when I noticed two Draco Lestranges fighting giants. I had a chat with the first one, realised he’s a complete cretin, and moved on to you. Paydirt.”

Harry clapped. “Brava. That is impressive.” He innards tugged in admiration for her sleuthing abilities, no matter how much he loathed the blood-sucking leech.

Rita took a theatrical bow.

“If only you used your powers for good …”

“What was that?”

“I said I’m amazed you’d be bothered reporting about a single abandoned Squib, instead of a massive giant assault on Hogsmeade! I’d’ve thought you’d be chasing the much bigger story ...”

“Oh but I am, dearie, make no mistake about that,” she smirked. Her hand unconsciously lifted to stroke a gold chain that peeked out from her décolletage. Harry’s eyes widened.

“You’ve got an illegal Time Turner!”

Rita flinched.

“Now who’s the one who outed herself?” Harry grinned. “So there’s another Rita out there writing up the battle of Hogsmeade as we speak …”

“How do you know about Time Turners?” the witch demanded, a hint of shrillness now seeping into her tone.

“I told you, I’m very good at finding out secret things.” Harry replied, backing away, wand clenched in his hand. He didn’t like the hard look in her face. “Don’t worry Rita, I won’t leak your secret – there’s no way I’d backstab a trusted business partner …”

She continued to stare daggers at him, body tensed.

“Think you can take on a G.I.T.T. Champion one-on-one in a fair fight?” Harry challenged. He took a wide stance, tilting his body diagonally in a classic duelling position. It was a bluff of course, he could barely cast a Lumos right now, but he was ready to summon Dobby and Winky to his aid at any moment.

The reporter closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. “How did you know?” she asked again with forced patience.

“I’ll make a deal with you – you tell me how you got it, and I’ll tell you how they ended up circulating on the black market.”

“I blackmailed a local con artist named Mundungus Fletcher into handing one over,” she admitted. “Not that that matters anymore, the fool’s spider-chow. Now spill!”

Harry explained how a certain someone filched the devices from the DoM’s Time Room and on-sold them to Borgin and Burkes and Cobb and Webbs, who in turn had Scabior’s Shipping Supplies try to smuggle some out of the country.

“Who exactly was that ‘someone’?” Rita demanded, quill scribbling frantically.

“A greedy Unspeakable named Augustus Rookwood.” Harry had come across the name in his research on the Death Eaters. The man was the only Unspeakable ever convicted for being a follower of Voldemort, and sent to Azkaban for life. Harry had no idea what the creep was up to in this timeline, but he figured it couldn’t be good. He felt no guilt throwing him under the Knight Bus. “Ably assisted by another Ministry employee named Walden MacNair.” Take that you sadistic animal-killer!

Rita frowned. “And you know all this how?”

“Who do you think tipped off the DMLE to make the busts?”

She opened her mouth to challenge him, but the wizard cut her off. “And that’s all I’m prepared to say on the subject … hm … it won’t be long now.” Harry could feel the Polyjuice about to wear off. Within moments his body reverted back to its normal state. Rita readied her camera.

“Your hair’s brown.”

“Muggle dye.”

“Dear me, that won’t do at all. Hold still, I’ll put a Glamour spell on you.” She waved her wand and his hair returned to its original midnight-black colour. “And wear these.” A pair of old-fashioned spectacles was shoved into his hands.

“Why?”

“These are the same brand of glasses your father is famous for wearing. With them on … ah yes, the resemblance is uncanny! Nobody would ever doubt you’re James Potter’s son! Now why don’t you stand in front of the window … no, no, you need to pose more heroically! Perhaps stare out across the horizon with a majestic gaze …”

I
IIIIIII
I

“… and after she finishing interviewing me, she Apparated us back to Hogsmeade and I smuggled her down into the Chamber of Secrets. Bloody witch poked around in there for hours, snapping pictures galore. When she was finally done, I came home. And that’s everything,” Harry finished.

He gave an almighty yawn. It had been a long day and he was exhausted.

“What if Skeeter decides to screw you over after all?” Bella asked bluntly.

“Then the contract will do all sorts of nasty things to her.”

“I don’t know, a person as cunning as she seems to be must have all sorts of ways to find loopholes,” worried Hermione. “She’s got her own Time Turner too.” Tom and Bella nodded in agreement.

“If she betrays me, I’ll use the gold Time Turner to go back to today and obliviate her until she’s the one lying in the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo's.”

Tom giggled. “We’ll make a Dark Lord out of you yet, Harry.”

“It’s really worrisome when it’s you telling me that, Tom,” he muttered. “And one more thing – why are the three of you in bed with me?”

“You saying there isn’t enough room?” challenged Bella. Her arms tightened around him. “A King-size too small for our great and powerful giant-slayer?”  

“It’s not a matter of space –”

“Shut up and go to sleep, Harry,” murmured Hermione snuggling closer.

I
IIIIIII
I

“Woof!”

The large black Grim yelped in protest when the proud eagle-owl dropped its burden unceremoniously atop its head.

“Stupid bird, that gave me a paper-cut!” growled Sirius, morphing back into his human form. He shook his fist at what was now a mere speck in the wild blue yonder.

“What does the letter say?” asked Remus. The werewolf was stretched out on a deckchair nearby. The past month and a half of sun, surf and outdoor barbeques had done wonders for the Professor’s tan and physique.

“Judging from all the florid calligraphy I’d guess it’s from my dear former family,” said Sirius. The Auror rubbed his forehead at a spot now sporting a slight wound that bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain scar on a certain green-eyed wizard. “Welp, the day we were expecting has finally arrived, Moony. My dear grandpa Arcturus has ordered me and my ‘degenerate cronies’ to vacate Black Island forthwith.”

“I’m amazed House Black didn’t bar you from the island the moment you ran out on them all those years ago.”

His friend shrugged. “Probably didn’t occur to them. Not like any of those ghouls ever used this place. Far too much sunlight, garlic and good feelings all round,” he chuckled. “Wonder what’s changed now?”

“How long do we have until the wards eject us?” Remus asked.

“About –” but Sirius didn’t get to finish his sentence before what felt like an invisible freight train slammed into the duo.

The Marauders shrieked as their bodies were jettisoned far out into the ocean, as if shot from a trebuchet.

“Must’ve … broken the … world belly-flop record …” spluttered Sirius in agony, clutching his stomach.

“Incoming,” gasped Remus, pointing to the skies.

The pair were forced to shield their heads as their possessions began dropping into the sea around them like Muggle artillery shells. The extra-large grill/smoker caused a particularly impressive splash-blast.

“Look Moony, our wands!” Sirius grabbed the floating sticks and tossed Remus his cypress and unicorn-hair ten-incher. Several Summoning Charms gathered their scattered belongings and eventually they were able to stuff them in a sodden heap into their trunks. Thank Merlin the trunks were buoyant.

“We’ve lost our communication mirrors,” the werewolf groaned in dismay. “Probably on the seabed by now. What do we do?”

“I vote we swim to Nassau,” his friend suggested. “We can write Prongs from there. It’s about 30 kilometres; less than the English Channel. Casinos, booze, amusement parks, Muggle babes in bikinis, and all the Tylenol you can drink.”

“You do know you’re not supposed to chug –”

“Point Me Nassau!” Sirius cast. The wand spun in his hand and pointed south-west. He cradled their two trunks to his chest and changed into Padfoot. Nobody knew where the clothes and possessions of an animagus went whenever they turned into their animal self. For some reason, whatever inanimate objects the wizard was wearing or touching at the time of transformation would disappear into the ether, only to reappear on them when they regained their human form. It was a great advantage in situations like this one.

With an encouraging bark, Padfoot paddled ahead towards the south-west, leading Remus through the wine-dark sea.

 

Notes:

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Press and Warner Brothers, not me.