Author's Note: If this looks familiar, it's because I originally posted it on my main account, Brambleshadow of WindClan. Then I wanted to keep all my Chris-centric Charmed stories in one place, so I moved it over here with a minor rewrite to clear up some issues.
Full Summary: Chris Halliwell has had enough. The Charmed Ones are dead; his father is never around; his older brother is the Source of All Evil; and most of Chris's younger relatives have either joined him, are dead, or are deeply in hiding. Wanting to get away from it all, he casts the spell to go back in time.
What he didn't expect was for the spell to land him in the middle of London, in front of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix or that by escaping one magical dictator he would find himself right in the middle of yet another war. He also didn't expect that he would be forced to attend Hogwarts as a fifth-year exchange student courtesy of Albus Dumbledore's orders. With the Golden Trio already suspicious of him Chris has to navigate a year at Hogwarts, deal with sadist Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions teachers, do what he can to help keep Harry Potter safe (whether he likes it or not), and try not to reveal the fact he's a Whitelighter-witch while he's surrounded by (most of) Britain's Wizarding community.
Timeline notes: This fic is set for Chris in the unchanged/dark future timeline a year after Piper died on his fourteenth birthday, meaning he is fifteen and it is long before he would ever meet Bianca or come up with the plan to go back into the past (that didn't happen until he was 21). Therefore, he is the same age as Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
To answer previous questions in reviews to the first version of this story: I have zero intentions of sorting Chris into Gryffindor. He is 100% a Slytherin, and I don't see where any of you got the idea that I would be sorting him into Gryffindor.
A few notes on Chris's powers: I don't generally like the way fanon or other writers give Chris more powers than we saw him have in the TV series, or say that he's more powerful than Wyatt simply because Leo was an Elder when Chris was conceived. The reason Wyatt is so powerful is because he is the prophecised Twice-Blessed child: Wyatt is meant to have that much magic and powers, whereas Chris is just a regular Whitelighter-witch. (Also, it is canon that Chris has an inferiority complex with Wyatt—the fact that he is nowhere near as powerful as his older brother was most likely a large contributor to that.) I also heavily disagree with the fanon theory that Chris is the one who was supposed to inherit Excalibur—but since that isn't going to show up in this fic, it's not all that relevant.
So, here's a list of Chris' powers.
Basic Witch Powers: spell casting, potion making, scrying, mediumship (the ability to see and communicate with spirits of the dead), high resistance (the ability to be highly resistant to magical and physical attacks and survive otherwise lethal attacks)
Active Powers: telekinesis (subset: crushing—the ability to create a force around an object, squashing it as a result), telekinetic orbing (hybrid combination of telekinesis and orbing | subsets: remote orbing—The ability to orb other people from one place to another without touching them; teleportation manipulation—The ability to manipulate or stop the teleportation of others)
Whitelighter Powers: Orbing (the ability to teleport with the use of orbs), Sensing (the ability to locate magical and mortal charges), Photokinesis (the ability to create and manipulate light), Omnilingualism (the ability to understand, speak, and read any language that his charges speak, without training in it)
I also headcanon that Chris connects far more strongly to his witch side than he does his Whitelighter side. He mostly uses his Whitelighter half for orbing and his photokinetic powers to provide extra light (for late-night reading or whatever), but that's pretty much it. It's also my headcanon that Chris would gain astral projection at some point in the Changed Future (since it is canonically an advancement of telekinesis), but he has not developed it in the Unchanged Future (and even then, he would prefer to use telekinesis over astral projection). He has not unlocked his ability to heal yet, either.
Toil and Trouble
Chapter One
Fifteen-year-old Christopher Halliwell glanced around to make sure no one had seen him before he quickly caught up with the tour group that was just entering the Halliwell Memorial Museum. Already he had to fight back the tension—and something else—churning in his stomach.
Piper had only been dead for a little more than a year and already Wyatt had turned their former home into a public shrine for the mortals to come and gawk at. He clenched his fists, nails digging into the skin of his palms; said nothing as the last of the group entered the former Halliwell Manor and the door shut behind them.
The guide began the tour, launching into the spiel of how the house had belonged to witches in the Warren line for generations and its last owners had been the famous Charmed Ones: Prue, Piper, Phoebe Halliwell, and later Paige Matthews. Chris tuned out most of it—he'd lived with them, after all—and silently began hatching a plan to get up to the attic unnoticed so he could summon the Book of Shadows.
He just wanted to get out of here, escape, go where his brother and his henchmen could never find him—and he wouldn't have to see anyone else he cared about be tortured and killed. It wasn't as if anyone would notice he was gone anyway (save for maybe Wyatt—but Chris planned to be unreachable and lone gone by then). His father certainly wouldn't.
His feet dragged him along with the rest of the tour; Chris, only half-listening, snapped back to attention when he heard the tour guide say, "And now let us go up to the attic, where the family kept their famous Book of Shadows."
He could just stay up there until this last tour of the night left and the museum closed, recite the spell he wanted from the Book and then he'd be home free…
When the group made it up into the attic, Chris couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment as he saw that the altar held a holographic version of the Book and not the ancient tome itself. He pushed the disappointment aside with a reminder that he could summon it—even though doing so would be sure to tip off Wyatt to his whereabouts. His older brother may have been only seventeen but already he was a force to be reckoned with in the magical community and Darklighters, warlocks, evil witches, and demons were looking to Wyatt as their new leader.
All too soon, the guide announced that the tour was over and it was time for everyone to leave—but they could look at the gift shop on the way out. As everyone else made their way to the door, took a detour to the kitchen and slipped through the door leading down to the basement, carefully closing it behind him.
He didn't feel safe coming out from his hiding place until two hours had passed. A glance at his watch showed it was ten o'clock at night. Even so, he crept carefully across the floor to the stand with the holographic book and passed a hand through it—just to see what it felt like. He suppressed a shudder at the sensation of his hand passing through solid air—as if the Book were a ghost. Chris knew it wasn't, but even so…
His head jerked up, stared at the blank space of the attic wall on the opposite side of the room. Yes, that would be a fairly decent size for a portal…
There has to be some chalk around here somewhere. Leaving the hologram of the Book, Chris scanned nearby shelves and open boxes for a piece of white chalk. After some searching, he found one, stepped up to the wall, and began drawing the largest triquetra he could.
Two minutes later, Chris stepped back to survey his work. With a satisfied nod, he went back to the altar and searched his memory for the spell to retrieve the Book. Once he was sure he remembered it correctly, he recited:
"I call upon the Ancient Power
to help me in this darkest hour.
Let the Book return to this place;
claim refuge in its rightful space."
With a tear in space, the Halliwells' Book of Shadows dropped down onto the altar, replacing the holographic copy. Chris took a second to brush his right hand over the red triquetra on the faded dark green cover; then he opened the book and began leafing through its pages. He stopped on the "To Go Back in Time" spell.
Perfect.
After another glance around to make sure there were no demons or warlocks in sight, Chris scanned the words on the page before reading aloud:
"Hear these words,
Hear the rhyme,
Heed the hope within my mind.
Send me back to where I'll find
What I wish in place and time."
Just let me get out of here, he thought. Then the magic took effect, and the triquetra he'd drawn on the wall was filled with a blue-white portal.
Chris didn't hesitate: he ran across the attic floor and dove through the portal without caring where or when he ended up.
-xxx-
"What's the Order of the—?" Harry began.
"Not here, boy!" snarled Moody. "Wait till we're inside!"
He pulled the piece of parchment out of Harry's hand and set fire to it with his wand tip. As the message curled into flames and floated to the ground, Harry looked around at the houses again. They were standing outside number eleven; he looked to the left and saw number ten; to the right, however, was number thirteen.
"But where's—?"
"Think about what you've just memorized," said Lupin quietly.
Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. Harry gaped at it. The stereo in number eleven thudded on. Apparently the Muggles inside hadn't even felt anything.
"Come on, hurry," growled Moody, prodding Harry in the back.
Harry took a step forward, then stopped. He turned back at a whoosh just in time to see what looked like a teenage boy falling through the air and landing with a heavy thud! on the grassy knoll in the center of Grimmauld Place. The boy lay winded for a second, then struggled up into a sitting positon.
Harry tried to move toward him only to have his path blocked by Moody. Tonks and Lupin were already hurrying down the steps to the teenager, helping him to his feet, and guiding him back to the front steps of number twelve.
"No," Moody growled instantly. "Absolutely not."
"Oh, stuff it, Mad-Eye," Tonks snapped. "He needs help, and we're wasting time leaving Harry standing out here like this. Besides, we can't just leave him. Just get inside."
Moody grumbled wordlessly (then added something like, "Oh yes, we can") and gave Harry another prod in the back. He walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver door knocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.
Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.
"Get in quick, Harry," Lupin whispered. "But don't go far inside and don't touch anything."
Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He could smell damp, dust, and a sweetish rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. He looked over his shoulder and saw the others filing in behind him, Lupin and Tonks setting the unknown boy down in the hallway before going back to carry in Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage. Moody was standing on the top step and releasing the balls of light the Put-Outer had stolen from the street lamps; they flew back to their bulbs and the square beyond glowed momentarily with orange light before Moody limped inside and closed the front door, so that the darkness in the hall had become complete.
"Here—"
He rapped Harry hard over the head with his wand; Harry felt as though something hot was trickling down his back this time and knew that the Disillusionment Charm must have lifted.
"Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light in here," Moody whispered.
The others' hushed voices were giving Harry an odd feeling of foreboding; it was as though they had just entered the house of a dying person. He heard a soft hissing noise and then old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls. Harry heard something scuttling behind the baseboard. Both the chandelier and the candelabra on a rickety table nearby were shaped like serpents.
Footsteps hurried down the hall, and Mrs. Weasley appeared, emerging from a door at the end of the hallway. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried toward them, though Harry noticed that she was rather thinner and paler than the last time he had seen her.
"Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!" she whispered, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. "You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid…"
She turned to the gang of wizards behind him and whispered urgently, "He's just arrived, the meeting's started…"
As the group nodded and headed off, Mrs. Weasley's eyes fell on the teenager they'd brought in. She frowned a little. "Who are you, dear?"
Harry had almost forgotten that the boy was there. Turning, he could see now that the stranger was about fifteen, with dark brown hair and pale green eyes. He was wearing a black shirt and blue jeans, and something about his body language reminded Harry of a trapped animal.
"Chris," he said at last. "Chris Perry." It wasn't an English accent—he sounded American. His eyes flicked from Mrs. Weasley to Harry, lingered for a moment on the lightning-shaped scar. Harry braced himself for the usual comments, but there was no flicker of recognition in those pale-green eyes. Instead they seemed wary, closed off.
Mrs. Weasley seemed to realize that the boy—Chris—wasn't going to give her any more information than that, so she nodded slightly and became all business.
"The meeting's only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, Harry. You can wait with them until the meeting's over, and then we'll have dinner. Chris, you might as well go with him. And keep your voices down in the hall," she added in an urgent whisper.
"Why?" Harry asked.
"I don't want to wake anything up."
"What d'you—?"
"I'll explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting—I'll just show you where you're sleeping."
Pressing a finger to her lips, she led them on tiptoes past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains, behind which Harry supposed there must be another door, and after skirting a large umbrella stand hat looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg, they started up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look showed Harry that the heads belonged to house-elves. All of them had the same rather snout-like nose.
Chris had noticed them, too. "What the hell—?" Harry heard him mutter.
Harry was confused, too: Why were they in a house that looked as though it belonged to Dark wizards?
"Mrs. Weasley, why—?"
"Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, I've really got to dash," Mrs. Weasley whispered distractedly. "There"—they had reached the second landing—"you're the door on the right. Chris, there's a spare room third door down the hall on the left. I'll call you when it's over."
And she hurried off downstairs again.
Harry crossed the dingy landing, hand outstretched for the serpent's head-shaped bedroom doorknob, and stopped at the sound of Chris's voice: "Here, let me."
The bedroom door opened a second later, though Harry hadn't heard Chris utter Alohomora. He looked over his shoulder at the American, who only offered him a thin smile and nothing more.
Shrugging, Harry stepped through the threshold into the bedroom—and was instantly ambushed by a very excited Hermione Granger.
"Let him breathe, Hermione," said a grinning Ron Weasley when Harry had finally managed to pull himself away from her. Most of Hermione's rambling on the dementor attack and how ridiculous it was that the Ministry was even considering expelling him had flown in one of Harry's ears and out the other. She was still beaming at him, but her smile changed to a sharp expression when she noticed Chris.
"Who are you?"
"Chris," he replied.
"Where did you come from?"
"He just showed up in midair," Harry said before Chris could answer. "Landed on the square. Lupin and Tonks brought him in."
"Really?" Hermione studied Chris with intense interest. "You're… how old, fifteen? And you can already Apparate? Or did you use a Portkey?"
Ron eyed the newcomer suspiciously. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"You are a wizard, right?"
Chris bristled, and Harry could see the other boy's mental defenses going up. "I'm not a wizard; I'm a witch," he snapped.
Ron blinked, frowned. "But men can't be witches."
Chris's eyes glinted dangerously. He raised his right hand; Harry didn't see a wand, but with a flick of Chris's wrist, an invisible force caught the three of them and pinned them to the bedroom wall.
Ron swore loudly and clawed at whatever was holding them in place; Hermione and Harry kicked and struggled to no avail.
Chris stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Ron. "Say that again." His low voice sent a chill down Harry's spine.
"He didn't mean it!" Hermione said quickly, before Ron could say anything. "Just let us go, Chris!"
Though Harry still didn't see a wand, the invisible pressure suddenly eased and the three of them abruptly dropped to the floor.
In the few seconds it took for them to catch their breath, Harry looked up.
Chris was already gone.