"I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being – forgive me – rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."
- Albus Dumbledore
PROLOGUE:
"Well, you were right to call us in," Bode finally declared, turning back to face the rest of group, removing his glowing spectacles as he did. "There's definitely been a breach. Big one too by the looks of it. Time's been torn here. C'mon Croaker, let's show them what we're dealing with."
Croaker, who had been busy fiddling with some sort of contraption, stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow. He muttered an incantation, pointing his wand at the device, which began to spin and let out a great deal of steam. A great golden light erupted above the party of five.
"Merlin's beard," Fudge whispered, his face bathed in the golden glow, as he squinted up at the source of the light. "What is that?" His voice echoed far more than it had any right to, here in the open grounds of Hogwarts.
"Why, I thought it would be obvious, my dear Minister," answered Croaker, looking back and addressing the group for the first time that morning, a crooked grin split upon his lips. "That, is the breach."
Breach was one word to label the mess unfurling above their heads. Abomination was another, which Albus thought was more apt. A myriad of golden tendrils extended in every direction, all linking back to what could only be described as a crack – a jagged golden line that was about seven feet long and two feet across, suspended about forty feet above the ground. The whole thing pulsated accusingly, like it had a twisted heartbeat. 'Your fault. Your fault.' The rift decreed with every beat. It was as if the breach knew that it was not supposed to exist, and now was casting its judgement down upon Albus, for daring to play a part in its creation.
Albus sighed. Today was shaping up to be another long day.
"So, this is how he did it?" the Minister asked, looking to Bode and Croaker. "This is how Black escaped?" he continued, when neither of the unspeakables made any move to answer him. "He tore open this – this breach, and jumped right through it? And he took Potter and what's-her-name – the Gringer girl –"
"Granger," Minerva cut in, her lips thin and her voice terse. "The girl's name is Hermione Granger."
"Yes, well, her name's not important," Fudge blustered, despite Minerva's increasingly narrowed eyes. Albus stepped forward, subtly putting himself between Minerva and the Minister. He shot her a warning look. The tensions between Hogwarts and Fudge were already high enough – Fudge hadn't yet forgiven Albus for letting Harry and Hermione escape the hospital wing last night. An irate Professor McGonagall lecturing the head of Wizarding Britain about the importance of Hermione Granger was only going to add fuel to that fire, right as she may be. Minerva simmered under his gaze, but thankfully stayed silent, although her lips were now dangerously thin.
Fudge, completely unaware of the sleeping dragon he was poking, blathered on, "What is important is the girl's Time-Turner. That's how he did it, isn't it? He used her Time-Turner to open that – that thing, and then nabbed Potter and the girl and hopped right through it! Nasty business, that's what it is … we should have never left the children alone with a Time-Turner – they were obviously not in their right minds … I daresay they freed that Hippogriff too … Honestly! I'll be a laughingstock when this gets out! Black sprung from right under my nose by two confounded teenagers! And they were using a ministry issued Time-Turner to boot! … and now Black's absconded with the Boy-Who-Lived … they're probably halfway to You-Know-Who already … this is an absolute disaster … why we trusted a thirteen-year-old girl with a Time-Turner, I'll never know."
Albus heard Minevra's sharp intake of breath – presumably to enlighten Fudge on the merits of said thirteen-year-old girl; Minerva had, after all, been the driving force behind Hermione receiving the contraption in the first place – and decided it was time to intervene. "My dear Cornelius, – please forgive me my choice of words here – but the past is in the past."
Quite literally, if Albus' suspicions were correct. With the rift above him, and the loss of the Dursley blood wards late last night, it was becoming all too apparent what had happened…
"If this disaster has taught us anything, it's that we should not attempt to meddle with time. It does not do to dwell on the choices that led us here; not with two of my students missing. We should be figuring out where they are, not arguing over the Time-Turner. If we focus on determining where this breach leads, we may have a better idea of the danger Harry and Hermione are in, and, Merlin willing, a way to retrieve them."
"When. Headmaster," Bode corrected. "Not where, but when. A breach like this … the time turner would have to be destroyed while it was in flux … the destruction of an hour-reversal charm like that … well, they could be anywhere in the past 500 years. And that's if we're lucky." Ah. It was as Albus had feared. Harry was lost to time.
Fudge paled considerably. "Black's loose somewhere in the past?" he asked, a hint of fear in his voice. "There's no telling what sort of havoc he could wreak … this is a danger to the security of the entire wizarding world!"
"To be honest, we're not exactly sure if Black himself went through the breach. Potter and the girl did, that much is certain. They were under the effects of the hour-reversal, so they –"
"And anything they were wearing or had with them when they used the Time-Turner," Croaker interrupted.
"– so they would have been pulled through," Bode continued, with a snide glance at Croaker. "We have no-way of telling what else went through. It might have been Black. It could have been a bird, or nothing at all. It may well have been a ruddy dementor, and we'd never know."
"So Black might still be here," Minerva inferred, looking slightly brighter. "In our time, I mean. That is some small consolation, I suppose – Potter and Granger might not be in the company of a mass murderer after all."
It wasn't actually any consolation at all. Albus would greatly prefer that Harry and Granger had some sort of supervision, even if said supervisor was Sirius Black – not a responsible adult by any definition, and after his stint in Azkaban likely not of entirely sound mind. Still, two thirteen-year-olds being stranded with Sirius was still a step over two thirteen-year-olds being stranded alone, without an adult wizard. Especially if they were stuck in a time before the statute of secrecy. The danger they would be in…
But Minerva wasn't to know any of that – she still thought Sirius a Death Eater. Albus had yet to share his revelation of Sirius' innocence with her. With all the chaos, there simply hadn't been time. He'd have to sit her down later and explain everything; perhaps over some tea and biscuits? And some lemon drops … Yes, that would do fine. Despite twelve years of offering, Albus had yet to convince Minerva to try the sweet, but he would get her to give in eventually … She would believe him, most likely; Minerva had always nursed a soft spot for Sirius and James. Why, when she found out about the illegal animagi, she even be secretly proud!
"We have no way of knowing either way, Professor," said Croaker. "Unless we find Black, it's impossible to say for sure."
"Well, erm, Minister … the thing is, well … you see, it's just that…" Bode stammered.
"We have absolutely no idea where they are," Croaker interrupted flatly. "And if we did, we wouldn't know the first thing about getting them back."
"But can't you just open the breach up and follow them through?" asked Fudge, frowning .
"If only it were that simple Minister," sighed Croaker. "But this breach is like a scar in the fabric of time, not a wound. It's already sealed shut, and there's nothing we could do to open it. No wizard could. And even if we could there's telling if we would be able to come back through."
There was something about the way Croaker said wizard that gave Albus pause. No wizard could open the breach…
But he was distracted from his musings by Fudge's indignant exclamation. "So, you propose we do nothing, Croaker? This is Harry Potter we are talking about! The Boy-Who-Lived! I can't be seen sitting back and doing nothing! It would be an outrage! They'd have my head! Surely there's got to be something we can do?" Fudge's voice dropped to a whisper. "How about Summoning? Could we Summon Potter from wherever he is?"
That was a possibility, Albus supposed. Summoning could work, if they could find the right runes. He'd need to consult Professor Babbling, maybe get in a linguistics expert. It'd all have to be very hush-hush. Summoning was illegal, after all. Yet Albus was weary to go down that route. He remembered whispers and ghost stories that circled around the common room in his youth, before the ministry has stamped out the last of the druid cults in Ireland and he had heard the tales of horror from dear old Nicolas, who had, of course, been alive far longer than any ban on the art. No, Albus had never heard of a Summoning that hadn't gone wrong in some way, though it was entirely possible no-one had bothered to talk about successful Summonings; imaginably, they'd be rather boring to hear about. Still the last thing they needed was to accidentally unleash a demon on Wizarding Britain, especially now with a desperate Pettigrew at large, presumably seeking out Tom. Albus much rather explore his first idea. But Summoning was something to keep in mind, if Albus was ever really running out of options.
"Summoning has been outlawed in Great Britain since the Stonehenge Massacre of 1634," said Croaker in the same flat tone as before. "It hasn't been practised since." He glared at Fudge, daring the Minister to contradict him.
Fudge took up the challenge. "I am the Minister for Magic. I sign off on your reports. I have some idea of what goes on in that department of yours. Can we Summon Potter or not?"
"Well, Potter is a unique magical figure," answered Bode, shiftily glancing at Albus and Minerva. "He's the only known person to ever survive the killing curse. Hypothetically, it would be possible to string some runes together to create a ritual that looks for that. There's nothing we could do for the girl though. She's not linked to any special magic … unless … if it were a carnal ritual, and if the girl and Potter ever … well, ah … intimately embrace, theoretically – strictly theoretically, pluck the both from the middle of the … ah, act," Bode finished uncomfortably, wringing his hands.
"There's nothing we can do for either of them," interrupted Croaker yet again. "Summoning across time isn't as simple as hopping across universes or pulling an imp from the astral plane. Summoning across time… blimey! There's a reason why no-one has ever Summoned Merlin over for tea … to pull someone through the fabric of time itself, why, the ritual would need a blood sacrifice the size of Wales!"
"Well, yes of course, I did say theoretically. See Minister there really is nothing we can do. Harry Potter is gone. The world will just have to accept that and move on."
"If we're lucky," continued Croaker, bending down over his contraption again. "Potter and the girl will have left some sort of message for us somewhere, and we'll discover that they've lived long full, happy lives whenever they ended up." The whirring of the device stopped and the golden gleam of the rift above them disappeared. "There's nothing more we can do here Minister, Headmaster. Bode and I will head back to the department and scour over the time room. There's a very small chance we might be able to determine what century they're in, but I'm not making any promises."
With that the two unspeakables stood up – Croaker hoisting his contraption over his shoulder – and made their way towards the front gate of Hogwarts, leaving a frazzled Minister in their wake.
"Well, that was certainly illuminating," said Albus jovially, his tone hiding the deep unease he felt. "And not quite the outcome anyone was hoping for, I daresay. Look at the time, I'm running late for a meeting. Good day, Minister. Come along, Minerva."
"Wait! Albus!" Fudge called, after Albus had begun to make his way towards the doors to the castle. "Surely there's something that can be done … something Bode and Croaker haven't thought of … Harry Potter can't be just gone … please, you have to have an idea or two."
"Nope," Albus replied, his continued cheery tone disarming Fudge far better than he had expected. He did, of course, have plenty of ideas – each one more desperate than the last – but Fudge wasn't to know any of that. "I'm afraid Mr Potter is lost to us, at least for the time being. There's simply nothing that we can do but take solace that our wayward students have lived, grown and died wherever they landed, which ideally is quite far from Black. Far better to forget about all this time-travel nonsense, if you ask me, and focus on the here and now. When we get the time, - pardon my poor choice of words there, Cornelius – we can follow that charming unspeakable's advice, and comb through the history books to see if they left us any notes."
Ah, that was a brilliant idea, it was far past time that Albus caught up with Bathilda over tea. "Now," he continued, inwardly jumping with glee at Fudge's flabbergasted expression. "I'm afraid my schedule is simply too busy for me to at the moment – I'm sure you appreciate the sentiment, being Minster for Magic – see, I have to focus on preparing the end of year feast. Maybe we could meet some time during the summer break? Of course, if you simply can't wait, I think I spy Rita Skeeter by the front gate. I'm sure she'd love to talk about it. Forgive me Cornelius, I'd love to stay and chat, but I really do have a meeting to get to. Good day! Come along, Minerva."
Minvera, who was staring at Albus as equally gobsmacked as Fudge, closed her mouth, opened it and closed it again. It took her a few seconds to snap herself out of her stupor, before she followed Albus towards the castle, her brisk pace betraying her anger. She was only just able to contain herself until Fudge was out of earshot.
"Albus, what was that?" she hissed as the minister grew smaller behind them. "Two of your students – two of my Gryffindors – are missing, possibly in the company of Sirius Black, and you have the audacity to say we best forget about them? Take solace that they have lived and died? Your schedule is too busy for you to worry about two of your own students? And what, because you're focusing on the house feast? The house feast! … Honestly Albus, I've heard you say some questionable things, but this … this takes the cake… The house feast!"
Her voice was rising with every word she uttered, reaching a shrill level that Albus hadn't been subjected to in years. If she spoke any louder, the minister was sure to hear, even if he was at front gates by now. Albus had known this lecture was coming since he stepped between Minerva and Fudge. It wasn't often that Minerva was this worked up, but when she was, it was always better to let her rant to blow off steam.
"And Black! He's a murderer Albus! He's had it out for Harry the entire year and now there's a good chance he has him. But no, the house feast is more important. Not to mention that his entire blasted situation is because of your negligence. Y let Hermione use the Time-Turner right under your nose! You knew she had it, and you knew they were confounded … You had to sign the same papers, I did to get her the blasted thing. May I remind you what was on them? 'If the minor is ever observed to not be of sound mind the device must be removed from their person immediately' … I never would have believed you could let this happen … and the Minister! The Minister! The nerve of him … He doesn't even pretend to give a damn about Hermione. You heard him and those unspeakables – they were ready to abandon her if there was a chance they could summon Harry back … or that 'intimate embrace' … I mean, really Albus … you and I both know that's never going to happen. If they try and summon Potter back, they'll leave Hermione behind. And her parents! Good Lord Albus, what are we going to tell her parents? They'll be in uproar after this, just you wait. You didn't have to deal with them last year, when Hermione was petrified … I'd rather fight that basilisk, then go through that again… Oh, Albus what are we going to do?" finished Minerva, chest heaving and her eyes teary. If Albus were any braver he'd pull her in for a hug, but as it was he wasn't quite willing to risk it.
To be quite honest, Albus wasn't sure how to answer Minerva. Ashamedly, he hadn't considered Granger's parents nor Harry's guardians. The Grangers were a completely different situation from the Dursleys, who would take the news apathetically at best, and gleefully at worst. Granger's parents… well, Albus could always send a letter first, so he didn't have to be present for the initial meltdown.
Minerva was blaming him for the whole situation too. Rightfully so; the pair of Gryffindors had disappeared from under his nose. Minerva must never know that it had been Albus who planted the idea of using the Time-Turner in Granger's head. If she ever found out… Albus shuddered involuntary. Some things were best not thought about, some secrets best left buried – for the greater good.
Luckily, Albus was saved from having to come up with something to placate Minerva by the timely arrival of Pomona Sprout.
"Professor McGonagall," she called, catching the pair right outside the main doors. "I'm so glad to have caught you."
"Professor Sprout, I do hope this is important. The Headmaster was about to enlighten me with the reason behind…" Minerva trailed off, catching sight of the sullen boy trailing behind Pomona.
Albus was ashamed to realize that he could't recall the child's name. Normally, he made an effort to at least learn the surnames of all the first years by the school year's end, but with his removal from the Hogwarts last year, and the chaos surrounding Black and the dementors, he had gotten quite lax. He wasn't even sure what year the boy was in. He was a Gryffindor – Albus could determine that much from his tie, which explained why Pomona had brought him here. If he made eye contact then he'd be able to skim his name from the top of his mind but the boy staring steadfastly at the ground. The boy was obviously in trouble for something or other, and outside of class, the duty of determining punishment generally fell to the Head of House, in this case Minerva. But beyond that Albus knew nothing. Vague memories of the boy sitting at the Gryffindor Table at meals floated to him – but did he sit with the Creevey boy and the Weasley girl and the other second years or was it the Brown boy and his gaggle of first years?
Minerva however, certainly knew who he was. Her eyes flicked between Pomona and the boy, who was still very interested in his shoes.
"Again?" she asked incredulously. The boy – was his name Ryan Strong? No, that was a Hufflepuff, but Albus was sure the name was similar – shrank under her gaze, rubbing the back of his neck nervously; his fingers catching in his scruffy auburn hair. "This is the third time this month!"
"I can't help it," mumbled the child, – Richard? No, that wasn't quite right – his vowels with an exotic twang and his eyes boring holes into his feet. "He misses me, is all. He didn't mean to scare anyone, honest. If I could just bring him in to the castle sometimes –"
"How many times do I have to tell you," sighed Minerva, "that the only pets allowed at Hogwarts are owls, cats and toads. I need you to work with me on this. We've already made concessions, in light of your situation – no-one else is allowed to keep a pet in the forest."
Actually, this boy was seeming more familiar by the second – he was the foundling. Was it Rodrick? No still not right.
"He's not a pet! He's a –"
Whatever the boy was going to say was lost to Albus, who had taken advantage of Minerva's distraction and slipped into the Castle unnoticed. She'd have his head for that later, there was no doubt, though hopefully Albus But Albus did have an appointment that he was running late for; and considering the self-esteem of young Neville Longbottom, it wouldn't do to keep him waiting any longer then strictly necessary.
Continuing what was becoming a streak of luck, Albus was able to reach his office with no further distractions. Longbottom was already inside and was absently petting Fawkes. For a painful moment there was another young Gryffindor standing in front of him, staring down at the ashes of his phoenix, but the vision was gone as soon as it appeared. He cleared his throat.
"P-professor Dumbledore, sir" stuttered Longbottom, leaping away from Fawkes in his fright. "S-sorry, the door was open, I didn't mean t-to intrude."
"It's quite alright Mr Longbottom," replied Albus, his jovial tone genuine this time. "I'm afraid I was unavoidably detained. Please take a seat, I fear we have lots to discuss."
Longbottom did, and seemed to calm a smidge once he was in a chair. He had stopped trembling at least, which was a start. He allowed himself a moment to look over the boy. Sweat clung to his sandy brown hair and his round face. It was almost impossible to see any trace of Frank and Alice, in the boy. If Albus didn't know any better, he'd assume they weren't related. But the boy had his moments. Moments when the true strength of his character shone through – such as the time he stood up to Harry and compatriots when they went after Quirrel. Longbottom had potential, however hidden it may be. Albus was going to do his best to bring that potential to the surface.
Not that he was writing off Harry, by any means. No, not at all. He was already formulating a plans upon plans to bring Harry back. Nevertheless, the moment he discovered the Dursley blood wards had fallen, Albus had setup this meeting with Neville. If the events of the past twenty-four hours had made anything clear, it was that all plans could go awry, even the best laid, – which admittedly, this one wasn't – and he should always have a backup. So, while Albus didn't believe that he had seen the last of Harry Potter, he was going to train Longbottom as if he had. And if – no, when – Harry returned, there would be no great loss. In order to bring about the final death of Voldemort, it wouldn't do for Albus to put all his eggs in one basket.
"Why did you want to see me, Headmaster?" asked Longbottom timidly, though thankfully without his stutter.
Before Albus could answer they were both distracted by a popping sound, which heralded the sudden appearance of a particularly familiar house-elf.
Albus stared at the elf.
Longbottom stared at the elf.
Albus' eyes twinkled.
The elf stared at Albus.
Bemused, Albus tried to figure out where he had met this elf before. It wasn't one of the Hogwarts elves – it was wearing clothes, for one thing.
"Dobby is sorry for popping in sir, but Dobby is very nervous," explained the elf speaking at a mile a minute. So, this was Lucius Malfoy's old elf – the one Harry freed at the end of last year. "Dobby is needing work and Dobby is hoping Professor Dumbledore is giving Dobby a job."
"Actually," said Albus, a million ideas flying together to form the basis of a plan, "I might have just the job for you. If you wouldn't mind waiting outside – I'm in the middle of a rather important meeting; it won't take to long.
The elf looked at Longbottom, apparently noticing for the first time that Albus wasn't the only wizard in the room, be nodding and apologizing profusely as he made his was towards the door.
This was perfect. If Albus' idea had any merit to it and if he could convince Dobby to follow along, they would be just that one step closer to finding Harry. Oh, and Granger too. Still, even if Harry's return was becoming more and more likely, the boy wasn't back yet, so Longbottom would still need training.
Hang on. Was Albus just imagining things or could he faintly hear Minerva's voice calling his name, growing steadily louder?
"Would you mind closing the door on your way out," he added to Dobby. Better safe than sorry.
"Now, where were we?" Albus asked, turning back to a nonplussed Longbottom after Dobby had shut the door. "Ah yes, you were asking why you were here. Well, Professor Snape tells me you haven't been performing very well in Potions." Longbottom paled, obviously expecting some sort of punishment. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Why, I must confess that I've always been quite rubbish at Divination. I am however, quite adept at Potions, and I've found quite a bit of free time in my schedule next year." A lie, of course. Albus had a busy schedule on a good year, and with Hogwarts hosting the Triwizard Tournament, his free time would be very limited. But it was far too early in the game to let the boy in on how much he was rearranging his life for him. "So, what do you say, Mr Longbottom? With me as your tutor, I'm sure we can have you topping Potions by Easter."
Longbottom fainted.
Oh dear. Albus was really going to have his work cut out for him next year.
[INSERT SPONGEBOB "A FEW HOURS LATER" SIGN HERE]
Several hours later Dobby the free house elf once again sat before a much more mellowed Professor Dumbledore.
"Professor McGoonagee is being very cross with the Headmaster," Dobby noted.
"Professor McGonagall, Dobby," corrected the Headmaster. "And quite so. Her walking in on young Mr Longbottom passed out on the floor, when she is already quite vexed with me, is quite possibly the worst case of bad timing I've ever encountered."
Dobby nodded.
"Is it true?" the elf asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over the office. "What Professor McGoona-McGonagall is saying? Harry Potter really is being missing?"
"I'm afraid it is," Dumbledore replied.
Dobby let out a wail loud enough to wake the sleeping portraits adorning the office walls.
"Harry Potter! Gone!" sobbed the house elf, his face in his hands. "Harry Potter cannot be gone! He is too great! Too good! How can Harry Potter be taken by the nasty Black to where no wizard can follow? Dobby cannot believe it"
"If I do recall," the Professor cut in, "you asked me for employment earlier. It just so happens that I have a new position open that I believe you would enjoy."
Dobby paused his tears, eyes peeking out at the former transfiguration teacher between his fingers.
"Dobby cannot be enjoying anything when Harry Potter is gone!" hissed Dobby.
"Yes, Harry Potter is beyond the reach of wizards," Dumbledore agreed. "Not house elves. How would you like to be the one to find him?"