Summary: What was supposed to be a straightforward mission to retrieve a Death Eater - who has escaped to the past via a Time Portal - turns complicated when a malfunctioning temporarily traps Harry in 1926 with no access to his magic. With no other choice, Harry lies low while slowly gathering data on his target, maintaining a certain distance between him and the magical society and avoiding changing the past. It would have worked too if it wasn't for one Newt Scamander. Keywords: Slash. HP/NS. Time Travel. Crossdressing. Fluff. Action. Romance. Age Difference.
Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction based on the Harry Potter franchise.
A/N: I am taking a lot of liberties with canon events, most particularly the timeline.
Spoiler Warnings: There are spoilers for the Harry Potter books and movies as well as the new Fantastic Beasts movie.
A/N: Changed date from May to October to fit better with the movie.
Prologue
London, UK
Ministry of Magic
05 May 2021
"No," says Harry. "Just no."
If there is one thing Harry has learnt from the 30 years he has spent as a wizard, is that messing with time is and will always be a bad idea. Time, like Luck, is a fickle mistress. It is unpredictable, unstoppable and most importantly uncontrollable. Time moves in one direction; forward and anyone stupid enough to think otherwise will eventually pay the price.
Don't get Harry wrong; he too finds the idea of being able to go back in time and right past wrongs a very attractive concept.
In theory, that is and only in theory.
And no matter how attractive the concept is on paper, he knows enough from past experiences to be conscious of the fact that by doing so, the consequences could be catastrophic. Why? You may ask. That is because it is nearly impossible to predict with accuracy what repercussions your actions may have on the rest of the timeline - no matter what some Seers will try to tell you. It is all too common that by trying to change the past, one would create a situation 100 times worst than the wrong one had been trying to correct in the first place; like the man who got permission to use a Time Turner to prevent his brother's Potion's accident. His unscheduled appearance in a place he had no business being in had startled his sibling so much that instead of accidentally putting in the ingredient that would cause a minor explosion and killing only the brewer, he put in another ingredient creating a much bigger explosion that killed not only the brother and the time traveler, but also nearly everyone in the vicinity. And if you think that is just an exception to the rule, you would be wrong. There is a reason why Time Turner usage has been carefully restricted by the Ministry.
Thus, that is why the moment the words "Time Portal" came out of the Head Unspeakable's mouth, Harry immediately interrupts with an emphatic refusal. They had just survived a bloody war, Harry is not about to damn everyone for the sake of scientific curiosity.
The Head Unspeakable - whose name is David, if Harry recalls correctly - frowns at him in a disapproving manner.
"I did not come here to ask for permission Chief Potter," he says and adjusts himself minutely on Harry's leather clad sofa before continuing, "This project has already received the Minister's approval. Nothing you would say could stop its progress."
Harry's eyes narrows at the arrogance and smugness in the other man's voice.
"Messing with time is just asking for trouble. Haven't you all learnt your lesson with the Time Turners?" he hisses, his fists clenched. He hates dealing with people who thinks they are right about everything just because a figure of authority supports their decision. Ministers can make mistakes too; Fudge was and still is the perfect example - thankfully. "You do know that, don't you? Humans are a long way from being able to control the consequences of meddling in the timeline. If you had any sense left in you, you would stop this project before it's too late."
"You Aurors are all so dramatic," David laughs, dismissing Harry's words with a flick of his hand, "You can't let fear stand in the way of progress, Chief Potter. Things will happen, whether you are on board or not."
Seeing that Harry still looks unconvinced, he continues, this time in a more conciliatory tone.
"I assure you, Chief Potter, that nothing bad will come out of it. We have planned for the finished product to be used only in a state of emergency and will never be made accessible to the general public. I am aware of the dangers of messing up the timeline, but I do believe that the potential risks will be worth this peace of mind. Besides, only those vetted by myself personally will have access to the Time Portal. And I am a very good judge of character. The reason why Time Turners caused such a ruckus was because the whole ordeal had not been properly managed. I won't make that mistake."
"And the Minister-"
"Is extremely happy about the advancements we have made in this field," David cuts him off, "He is our greatest champion. And don't try to talk him out of it; I'm sure you know how pig-headed he can get."
And isn't that the truth. Minister Sampson may be young for a Minister - nearly 40 and still with a full head of black hair - but he can be extremely determined when it concerns things he is passionate about.
Harry sighs, suddenly feeling 100 years older. It is already bad enough that this is happening during his stint as Head Auror, but he can't even do anything to mitigate the situation. It had been a long time he had felt so powerless.
Why can't anyone see the downside of this decision?
"This will end badly," Harry warns quietly, even though he knows anything he says at this point will be ignored. "You will regret it. I don't know when and I don't know why, but you will come to regret your decision. Time isn't something we mortals could ever hope to conquer."
"I am here to inform you that the Department of Mysteries will be commandeering a few of your Aurors for security purposes," David says, as if Harry hadn't spoken. He has probably given up on trying to carol Harry to his side. "I do hope you don't have a backlog of cases to go through because for the next few months, you will be understaffed."
Suddenly, Harry thinks of the million things waiting for him to get to and hates David just a little bit more.
"Well, I think we are done here," David smirks at him, stands up and leaves without another word.
"Moron," Harry mumbles to himself when David was finally gone, having made sure to slam the door behind him. Harry sighs again, passing a hand through his shoulder-length hair. "I really hope this doesn't blow up on our faces."
Unfortunately, Harry's life had never been so simple.
Chapter 1 The Beginning
London, UK
Ministry of Magic
13th November 2021
A few month later
The meeting room - usually meticulously kept clean by a true army of House Elves - is a mess. Overturned tables, scattered ink pots and broken vases were just the beginning. If Harry had stumbled on to this scene without any context, he would have thought that a small battle had just taken place. For a room that only contained three people, this was an incredible feat.
Bloody hell, what happened here?
"It's not my fault!" Unspeakable David was yelling just as Harry pushes open the door. Harry watches in fascination as a petite young witch - her eyes burning with hatred and fear - conjured up some kind of fireball and threw it at the man in question. Even as he ducks out of the way, he cries "It's not my fault!" Dazedly, Harry watches the fireball hit the wall behind David and create a burn pattern on the luxurious tapestry that House Elves will have to mend.
"You could have chosen better interns!" Minister Lampson yells back, just as furious as the fireball throwing witch, his usually placid expression all but a thing of the past. He is standing a few feet away from David, his clothing mismatched and his hair a mess. Taking in to consideration how early this emergency meeting was called, he had probably been yanked out of bed like Harry had been. "Now look what happened! I never should have put you in charge of such an important project."
Suddenly, all sleepiness evaporated from Harry's spirit as a sense of dread and foreboding made his stomach clench.
No, it couldn't be…
"What's going on?" Harry asks almost breathlessly, grabbing the only unoccupied person by the arm. He glances at the man's youthful features and quickly associates them with a name. Samuel Jones, 25, Half-Blood, one of the Department of Mysteries newest recruits. He had met this man once before, at a luncheon a few month ago, organized by the Minister himself, to celebrate the progress made on the Time Portal project. "Unspeakable Samuel, isn't it? What's going on?"
"It's the Time Portal project, sir," Samuel explains quickly when he recognizes Harry. He suddenly stands taller as he speaks, his back ramrod straight; a natural reaction to Harry's presence. No one can achieve what Harry achieved without commanding some sort of respect. "One of our interns forgot to put up the security measures around the Lab when he went home. There was a breach of security."
"Not any breach!" Minister Lampson interrupts, having overheard their conversation. He pushes David away unceremoniously, causing the man to stumble a little backwards and comes stalking over, his eyes big and his breathing uneven. Frankly, he looks like a heroine addict suffering intense withdraw. Harry is admittedly a little intimidated.
He doesn't show it of course. It would be reputation-damaging if he had.
Behind him, David takes one look at Harry's serious expression and makes a small eeping sound like a startled animal and retreats within himself, looking as if he had just lost all fight.
"A confirmed Death Eater managed to sneak in and activate the Time Portal," Lampson finishes once he is close enough to Harry so he doesn't have to yell to be heard. "One of the last ones we have never managed to capture."
"Do we know which year he went back to?" Harry asks, resisting the urge to say "I told you so." Although, to be fair, the reality is a lot worst then the scenarios he had came up with.
"1926," Lampson spits out, "Sometime around October. Considering the Portal is still in development, targeting a specific day to go back to is currently impossible."
"1926," Harry repeats the year to himself, trying to find a connection between the figure and history. He doesn't have to look far considering how significant that date is to European Wizarding History. "Grindelwald,"
1926 was just before when the Darkest Wizard of all Times reached the height of his powers.
Harry shivers a little at the thought.
"Who went back?" he asks Lampson, but to his surprise, it is David who answers.
"Flint."
Harry blinks.
"Marcus Flint," he repeats incredulously, "Are you sure? Flint doesn't seem like the kind of person who could carry out such an elaborate plan."
"The Portal takes a record of the magical signature of all people who uses it," David explains, "We compared the one we got to Flint's, it was a match."
"You know how it is with magical signature," Lampson interrupts, "Impossible to fake and all that."
"Indeed," Harry agrees, thinking of DNA technology and fingerprints. "Alright, we know the when and we know the who. Is there a where we need to worry about as well?"
At that question, the small witch who had thrown the fireball earlier steps forward, and quickly introduces herself in a small yet powerful voice.
"Chief Potter, my name is Millicent Christie," she holds out a hand which Harry takes, "I'm one of the main researchers on this project. I can answer your question better then my colleague here."
She glares at David before continuing.
"Contrary to Time Turners, the Time Portal does allow its user to choose the place as well as the time. Although, choosing a place is a little more complicated then thinking of it as you activate the device. Due to restrictions posed by the Laws of Magic, the user can only go somewhere he has already been to or anyone related to him by blood has already been to."
"As soon as we found out who it was that went back," Samuel comes over, handing over a stack of parchemin to Harry, "We did some research on Flint's ancestry. Not much is known unfortunately, but we can say with relative confidence that the Flint bloodline has never crossed to the other side of the ocean."
"We did extensive research on Grindelwald as well," Samuel carries on when no one makes a move to speak, "We looked at past Ministry records, recorded victim testimonies and confessions from known Grindelwald followers. We luckily found quite a lot. We even went to Hogwarts to speak with Albus Dumbledore's portrait. Once we told him what we were up to, he had been all to eager to help."
"We managed to construct a timeline of Grindalwald's activities in 1926," David says and uses a handkerchief to dab at his sweaty forehead, "From the information the MACUSA has sent us, Grindelwald was in New York at that time, searching for an Obscurus."
"He failed of course," Samuel says, "Why he failed is a mystery unfortunately. The records from that time were mostly destroyed when MACUSA's archive was ravaged by a magical fire back in 1946."
"I am sad to say that Flint may possess a lot more information regarding this topic then we do," Lampson sighs, "The Flint family has always been ardent Grindelwald supporters. I won't be surprised if Grindelwald left them something when he got captured. The only thing we can do now is to go after Flint and hope that Lady Luck is on our side."
Harry nods.
"I think that solution is viable," Harry says, "Do you have a person in mind?"
Lampson suddenly looks nervous and Harry knows that he probably will not like the answer.
"We do," the Minister replies, "We want you to go."
"Me," Harry repeats blankly, "Minister, I don't want to be disrespectful but I really can't afford to go right now. Not only do I have a huge backlog of cases to go through, I don't have anyone to take my position if I am to absent myself for an extended amount of time."
"That you won't have to worry," David smiles a little, "We will give you what you need to return to this time once your mission is complete. You won't miss a day of work. Besides, there are complications that makes choosing anyone else difficult."
Harry's eyes narrowed.
"What complications?" he asks.
"The Portal requires a lot of magical energy to activate," David explains, "If it does not have an external power source, it will siphon the user's magic reserve. If the user's magic reserve is not vast enough to support the trip, they may die in the process. From our calculations, you are one of the only ones in this country with a magic reserve big enough to get to the other side safely."
Harry really doesn't want to know how they came by that information.
"What about Flint?" Harry asks instead. Flint may be strong physically, but he had never been gifted in magic. Surely, he didn't have a massive magical reserve.
"He used our last Energy Crystal to power the machine," David answers a little sheepishly. Harry resists the urge to throttle him. Who leaves the key next to the device it is designed to unlock? It's like leaving the key in the ignition of a car. It's just begging for thieves to come and take it. "Anyone after him will not have this luxury."
Of course not. That would be too easy.
"Luckily the crystal wasn't at full power when it was used so Flint should be weakened once he reaches the other side. This will give you some time to find him and catch up with him."
Harry remains silent, staring at the trio in front of him with an expressionless mask. So this was the true objective of today's meeting. Harry should have known it was more complicated then simply keeping him up to date on the newest developments. He feels a stab of anger at that. Even now, people were still making decisions behind his back. It's the Prophecy-debacle all over again.
"We don't want to pressure you but we really do not have an alternative in this situation," Lampson says, his tone soft and pleading. He sounds more then a little apologetic as he speaks. He steps forward and clasps Harry on the shoulder, his hand trembling slightly as he does so. He doesn't say he is sorry, but his body language is enough to calm Harry down. "If Flint is allowed to remain free, the consequences will be dire."
"Please Chief Potter," Christie, who has remained silent for some time, speaks up, "You are our only hope."
Samuel echoes her sentiment and looks at Harry with soulful brown eyes.
Harry sighs, knowing that refusing had never been an option to begin with. He wonders how Ron and Hermione will react to this new development. He wonders if he'll be allowed to even tell them what was going on before he is whisked away by a magical portal. Probably not. Not that telling them would be a good idea in the first place. If he doesn't come back, the Ministry would surely find a way to explain away his disappearance without having to use the words Magic Time Portal.
He snorts internally at the thought.
Magical time portal. A 5 years old Harry would have been over the moon for a change to experience something this life changing.
A 40 - nearly 41 - years old Harry however is too cynical to see the joy and wonder of time travel.
"Alright," he finally agrees, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "When do I leave?"
The trio visibly relaxes at that.
"As soon as possible of course," David says respectfully, and it is then Harry realizes how different different David's attitude is now versus a few month ago in Harry's office. It's like Harry is dealing with an entire new man. "Do you need to make any preparations?"
Harry shakes his head.
He has his wand and a pendant with appearance-altering capabilities he had gotten from the Black Vault - he keeps him on hand for infiltration missions. He also has his money pouch on him. He should be fine. Besides, he wasn't exactly going there blindfolded. The information package he had gotten on Grindelwald's actions was pretty useful. Although it was shorter then Harry would have liked, it contains enough clues for Harry to already have a preliminary battle plan in mind.
"Alright," David turns to Lampson, "Shall we bring him upstairs?"
"Let's go," Lampson agrees and leads the group out of the meeting room and towards the elevator.
As he walks, Harry tries to not feel as if he hasn't been told everything there was to know.
London, UK
October 26th 1926
For a portal that had cost the Ministry millions of Galleons to make - and Harry knows that because Lampson had shown him the expense reports a few months ago when the latter had came to tell him that the Auror department's budget would be cut so that more resources could be allocated to the Time Portal project - the landing mechanisms were definitely not well-thought out. Before allowing himself to be pushed through the activated portal, Harry had, in the deep recess of his mind, feared that the trip would be painful.
He had been right to worry...to an extent. The trip in itself was fine; it is the landing that was painful.
Harry lands in a deserted alley somewhere in London, his butt hitting the ground so hard he knows it is definitely going to leave a bruise. Luckily, a bruise in that area would be covered up by his clothing or else he would probably be attracting some unwanted attention from nosy passerbys.
"Oww, bloody hell," he curses loudly, the words a little muddled by the pain. Even though he knows he is physically fine except for his butt, it still takes him a few minutes to recompose himself and make any attempt to pushing himself up. And once he is standing - albeit a little shakily, Harry realizes that the pants he was wearing is thankfully unsoiled; the ground he had landed on almost miraculously clean of filth. Thank Merlin for small mercies.
He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and looks around. A cursory once over of his immediate surrounding told him that he is alone and thus safe to use any magic. The only other occupants of the alley is a trio of black cats, huddled together at the other end, their sharp gaze focused on Harry.
Harry smiles of them before taking out his wand.
"Tempus." he whispers softly and waits for the spell to take effect.
Nothing happens.
Harry blinks, confused. Had he said the words wrong?
"Tempus," he repeats once more but the wand remains stubbornly inactive. Harry taps the wand gently against his arm as Olivander had shown him all those years ago and doesn't see the familiar sparks it was supposed to produce.
That is definitely not good news.
Harry takes a deep fortifying breath and tries another spell.
"Lumos," he says.
The result remains the same.
Never one to give up easily, he tries for another 5 minutes. And when all his efforts turns out fruitless, he finally accepts the truth.
Somehow, he had lost access to his magic.
He closes his eyes and forces the ball of panic slowly making its way up his throat.
Calm down Potter. Remember your training.
One of the first things they thought you at Auror Academy was to never panic in an emergency situation. Panicking was counterproductive; it served no other goal then to disorient you and cloud your thoughts.
Alright. First, before I go further, I need to make sure my magic is still there.
Harry sits on the ground and starts to meditate - something Hermione had taught him to do. It was, she had explained, one of the best ways a wizard can use to gain access to their inner core.
It takes him a few minutes to find what he was looking for. And once he did, he lets out a small sigh of relief.
His magic is still there; weak and pathetic as it is, but still there; a small ball of light deep within himself, currently too weak to do anything other then floating there.
He suddenly remembers the Unspeakable's explanation about the portal siphoning the user's magic to run. Although he has no proof, Harry guessed that somewhere, the portal must have malfunctioned and siphoned too much, causing Harry to fall in to a state of magical exhaustion.
Harry can't help but grimace at the thought.
This new development is more then just a simple inconvenience. Without his magic, Harry is no match for Flint if they ever meet - no matter how good he was at fighting muggle style. All Flint had to do was get lucky with a stunning spell and Harry would be a sitting duck. That is something he does not want to see happen. Thus, for the time being, it is in Harry's benefit to keep a low profile and wait for his reserves to replenish themselves. Considering how Harry had never been in this sort of situation before, he has no idea how long it is going to take for his magic to come back.
Harry takes a deep breath and starts to plan.
Before he does anything else, he decides that his first priority is to change his appearance. He is in London after all and at a time when Henry Potter, Charlus' father, was still alive. If Harry could trust the portraits he has seen of the man, he knows that he had more then a passing resemblance with the older wizard. That means if any of Henry's acquaintances accidentally saw him, it may cause a ruckus or even begin rumors of the existence of a bastard child in the Potter line. If that happens, it would be the definition of bringing about events that might change the past.
Harry ruffles through his pockets for a few seconds before his hands close themselves around a familiar object.
He takes it out and puts it on, the pendant swinging a little with the movement of his body before resting still against his chest.
Closing his eyes, Harry starts to form a vision of the person he wants to become.
Luckily for Harry, the usage of the pendant is something he had plenty of occasions in the past to familiarize himself with. The pendant itself is magical so requires no external magic to activate. According to the introduction packet that Harry had found alongside the item, as long as the pendant can sense magic within you, you can use it. Thank Merlin for that little particularity because otherwise, Harry wouldn't have been able to disguise himself so effectively in his current state.
The pendant is in the form of a flower and looks like any other pendant you would find in any jewelry store. That doesn't matter considering how its value is not in the materials it is made from, but rather in what it can do. The pendant can give the user the ability to change his or her appearance at will. And after months of experimentation, Harry had came to the conclusion that the pendant's most useful feature is to allow the user to change sexes. Harry doesn't even have enough fingers or toes to count the number of times crossdressing has saved his butt. Not only do women get underestimated all the time, none of his targets seem to be able to wrap their mind around the possibility that Harry would no longer be in male form. Even if Harry's feamle impersonation is passable at best, no one seems to take a second glance.
In addition, once the pendant's power is activated, nothing short of destroying it can dispel its effects. Harry doesn't know how the Black family had found such an incredibly useful tool but he is eternally grateful that they did.
As soon as the vision forms in Harry's head, he feels his features stretch, his body contract before everything settles down once more.
He gets up from his seated position, moves his new limps around experimentally and once satisfied he isn't going to fall on his face, he dusts off his pants to recover a semblance of respectability. Unfortauntely, there is only so much he can do as his clothing did not change with his features.
He will have to find some appropriate outfit for this era.
Although women were starting to wear pants in public more often, ill fitting pants was still going to garner him some weird looks, especially considering his age. A young girl wearing saggy pants might be excused for youthful rebellion, but a woman well in to her thirties wearing saggy pants will be judged heavily. Normally, Harry didn't really care what others thought of his fashion choices, but if his goal was to fly under the radar, he really can't afford not to pay attention. He curses himself for not thinking of that earlier
Nevermind that now. Next, I need…
Harry looks up at the sky and does his best to estimate the current time. Probably early morning he guesses judging by the position of the sun and the lack of people in the street a few feet away. This means that he still has the entire day to find himself accommodations for tonight. He should also search for a pound shop to sell the few pieces of gold he had brought with him so that he has enough money to buy a ticket to New York.
According to history, Grindelwald is in New York around this time looking for an Obscurus. Harry doesn't have all the information he needs regarding who this Obscurus is but he he does have enough clues to point him in the right direction. Although he does not plan to confront Grindelwald - if he runs in to him by some luck - or Flint for that matter, but he should probably be nearby so that he can do the capturing as soon as his magic returns to him.
Harry sighs a little, hating feeling so powerless.
On the bright side, if Harry is lucky, Flint will also remain in a state of weakness for some time, giving Harry an opportunity to gather some intel.
With his plans made, Harry takes one last involuntary glance at the cats - who hadn't moved an inch since Harry had looked at them last, their weary gazes still firmly planted on the wizard - before exiting the alley.
No time to waste, he has a lot to do.
London, UK
26th October 1926
The stores that populates the streets of 1926's London are a lot different then the ones he was used to seeing, Harry notices. For one thing, there is a distinct lack of any electronics stores - while in 2021, you can't throw a rock in downtown London without hitting one of two stores selling consumer electronics - and an overabundance of women's clothing stores. In fact, just from the 2 minutes walk from the alley to the nearby intersection, Harry has already passed 2 hat shops, 2 dress shops and a he-doesn't-know-what shop which was probably the result of the owner wanting to do something edgy and cool but only managed to alienate all potential customers as no one knew or understood what he was selling. Such a store would have probably gained fame as a novelty store in the 21st century, but conservative 1920s Britain obviously had no need for it.
Harry grimaces a little in sympathy at the foreclosure sign hung on the door handle of the small shopfront - such were the pains and tribulations of being a man ahead of his time, he thinks grimly - and makes his way across the street to a small boutique that was strangely open when all other stores were still closed.
The moment Harry enters the brightly lit receiving area - filled with racks upon racks of clothing - the owner of the boutique - a diminutive old woman with the bluest eyes Harry has ever seen on a human being - greets him warmly, her smile expectant and almost too bright for the wizard to look at directly.
"Welcome, welcome," she rushes forward to grasp Harry's hands in her own, acting as if Harry is a close relative or friend rather then a stranger she has never seen before, "My name is Matilda. Welcome to my store. How may I help you today?"
Harry shifts uneasily in the face of her enthusiasm.
"I'm actually here to ask for directions," he admits a little guiltily and offers her a sheepish smile, hoping that she won't be too disappointed. And when she doesn't immediately shoo him out of the store, he continues quickly, "I have some knickknacks I want to sell for some pocket money, but do not know the area well enough to find someone who will accept them."
Her eyes surprisingly lights up at his words.
"Oh, you should be talking to Frank then," she replies easily and leads Harry deeper in to the store. "He's my husband you see and he has made quite a name for himself for buying things other people do not want and reselling them for a profit."
The kettle she had on started to whistle at that moment so she hurries to the small kitchenette in the corner and busies herself with the tea bags and tea cups while Harry waits on one side, awkwardly watching her work.
"I do apologize," she laughs, noticing Harry's expression, "I can't function without my morning tea. Please, do sit down and I'll pour you a cup as well."
"There's really no need," Harry protests but accepts the tea nonetheless when it is offered to him. "Thank you."
"It was my pleasure," Matilda replies and takes the seat opposite Harry. She takes a careful sip. "And what is it that you wanted to sell? My husband will accept almost anything…as long as it has some value."
"I don't think that will be a problem," Harry assures her, "I have some gold coins I want to sell; Spanish Gold if I'm not mistaken."
The old woman's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Gold?" she repeats in the tone of someone who has never had an opportunity to see gold in person before. That is probably the case considering how valuable gold is, even in 1926's post-war economy.
"Yes," Harry confirms and plunges his hands in to his pockets and takes out the coins he had brought along. And under the older woman's intrigued gaze, he drops them on to the nearby counter and let her examine them at will.
Without further ado, Matilda quickly takes out a kit Harry has seen jewelers use to determine the worth of precious stones and opens it with a practice hand. She then takes her time to examine the coins, making sure they were as real as Harry claims them to be. Harry of course isn't worried. He knows they are real so he lets the old woman do what she has to do. As he watches however, he couldn't help but wonder just how many people bought precious stones over to sell to her husband if she had had enough practice with the kit to use it with such practiced ease.
He probably shouldn't be asking too many questions though so Harry does what he does often and forces down his natural curiosity - or nosiness according to some people.
"By Gods, this is real," Matilda gasps after a while, her eyes wide with excitement and her tea totally forgotten, "If I may ask dear, just how did you come across so much gold?"
The question - and particularly the glint of suspicion in Matilda's eyes - takes Harry aback.
Although he has never been to a pound shop before - he never had any reason to visit one - Harry has been told by some reliable sources that pound shop owners took in items without asking any questions concerning their origins. He had expected Matilda to do the same.
Despite being surprised, Harry doesn't take long to find an appropriate lie. Talking out of a sticky situation was his specialty after all.
"I wish I could tell you," Harry says, mind whirling. He needs to deal with this correctly lest Matilda pegs him for jewel thief. "But I can't. It's a legacy from my husband you understand. He died during the war and has left me this in his will. I personally do not have any need for gold, but I do need money to buy a ticket to New York where the rest of his family resides."
Yeah, that sounds good. People are always suckers for a good sob story after all. He mentally apologizes to all those who has lost their life during the war for using said-war as an excuse to get out of a sticky situation. Hermione, if she ever knew, would probably not approve. Harry despite the urgency of the situation isn't all that happy about it either, even if the old lady's expression softens as a result.
"I understand dear," she pats Harry's arm in a maternal way, all suspicion gone, "You are not the first. Stay here and drink your tea. I will get my husband to give you a good price for this. You don't have to worry about being taken advantage of."
"Thank you," Harry sighs in relief and offers her weak smile that was partly feigned. "You've been so helpful Matilda. I wish I could repay the favor."
"Nonesense," Matilda swats Harry's comment away with a hand, "We women need to stick together."
And with those words, she leaves Harry alone with his tea.
A few minutes later, the sound of footsteps alerts Harry of Matilda's return. And judging by the male voice in addition to hers, her husband is with her as well.
"A beautiful young lady, you say," the man was saying as he enters the room and catches sight of Harry. He stops in his tracks, looks Harry from head to toe before frowning slightly.
He turns back to his wife and complains, "Hey, where is the young part?"
"Oh you," Matilda sighs and hits her husband gently on the arm to admonish him for the comment. "Please ignore him. He's an old lecher who has never really learnt his lesson."
"It's fine," Harry assures her as the old man rubs his injured arm. "I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Harriet."
"This is my husband Frank," Matilda says, pushing the man forward a little, "Frank. Harriet here has some gold to sell. Give her a good price will you? She needs the money for her trip overseas."
"Yeah, yeah," Frank mumbles before picking up the coins from the counter. As he examines them, he asks absent-mindedly. "Where are you heading to?"
"New York," Harry answers and nearly drops his cup when Frank turns to him in alarm.
"New York!" he repeats incredulously, "Why are you heading there? Don't you know what is happening right now?"
"Frank," Matilda rushes over and places herself in front of her husband as if her presence could deter him from speaking further, "Stop it with this supernatural nonsense. New York is perfectly safe as London is."
"Just because you refuse to see the truth-"
"Oh shut up," the old woman says, glaring at the man, "Harriet doesn't want to hear your stupid conspiracy stories."
And in a gentler tone of voice, she turns to Harry and continues, "Please don't pay any mind to Frank's words dear. He and his brother are both the same, a little bit out there, if you know what I mean. Believing in ghosts and magic; why, if this ever gets out, we will be the laugh of the entire block."
"Actually," Harry interjects, his curiosity lit, "I don't mind hearing about it."
What was going on in New York that had Frank so rattled?
Frank looks delighted by his support while Matilda looks more exasperated then anything else.
"Please don't encourage him," she pleads, shaking her head, "He'll be insufferable afterwards."
"I like the supernatural," Harry assures her and turns his attention to Frank, "Frank, please tell me what you know."
"Well," Frank's chest puffs up a little at her words. He takes a seat next to Harry, all interest in the gold gone. "Before I start, I have to warn you that it may get a little scary so don't hesitate to hold on to me if you ever feel the need."
"Frank," Matilda hisses and Frank laughs.
"Alright, alright," he allows before taking a deep breath as if to fortify himself for the challenges ahead.
Harry waits patiently for him to start.
"My story is simple," Frank finally says, "My brother Allan is currently living in New York with his wife and three kids. They don't visit often because of the cost involved, but they do send a lot of letters to keep me up to date with their life. Usually, these letters covers mundane topics such as birthdays and anniversaries, but a few weeks ago, Allan writes me regarding strange events occurring around the city."
He pauses for dramatic effect and Harry obligingly gives a small gasp.
"Strange events? What kind of strange events?"
"Buildings crumbling for no apparent reason; cars toppling over as if being pushed by an invisible force and roads being dug up in the middle of the day. My brother thinks its the work of a malificient spirit out for revenge. I think so too."
Behind them, Matilda snorts in to her tea.
"Spirits," Harry repeats, "As in ghosts?"
"Ghosts," Frank confirms, his excitement obvious from a mile away, "Allan says that he overheard a witness describing the destructive force as a dark wind with shiny white eyes. That sounds like a ghost to me."
"Shining white eyes," Harry repeats dubiously. Truthfully, that does not sound like anything he had ever come across. Could this have anything to do with the Obscurus? He doubts it, but the timing is too suspect. "And afterwards?"
Frank shrugs.
"It dove underground, never to be seen again," he says and smiles.
"You see what I mean?" Matilda huffs, throwing in her two cents, "No substance, only conjunctions. That force could have been anything; a gas leak, a strong wind; anything! Don't listen to him Harriet dear, or you'll turn in to a conspiracy nut like my husband."
"It's not a conspiracy," Frank argues, and stands up, his arms crossed defencively over his chest. "You know what? Nevermind. It's a waste to talk to non believers anyhow."
Obviously in a bad mood, he heads over to the counter where he had left the gold and picks up the coins. He takes a few seconds to look them over before turning to Harry. "I can give you 40 pounds for this. Is that ok?"
"Of course," Harry agrees quickly, not wanting to worsen Frank's mood. He accepts the bills and watches as the old man carefully pockets the gold. "Thank you for the tea and the tale. Unfortunately, that does not change my plans."
"Your loss then," Frank replies boredly, "If that's all, I'll be leaving now. Have a nice trip."
Without a second glance back, Frank marches up the stair towards his rooms.
Harry laughs a little uneasily at the tension left behind by his abrupt departure.
Matilda sighs.
"I love my husband," she begins, "I really do but this supernatural obsession of his can sometimes drive me mad."
"Everyone has their own beliefs," Harry says and to change the topic, adds. "I need a few outfits for my trip. Do you think you can help me?"
"Oh!" the old woman's expression lightens, her beef with her husband temporarily forgotten, "Of course. Please do follow me. We have some of the best choices in London, if I do say so myself. First, I think we need to pick out something comfortable for you to wear on the ship. After all, it is a 4 days journey to New York."
"4 days!" Harry repeats incredulously. He hadn't known it would take that long. What was one supposed to do on a ship for four days!? "That long?"
International Portkeys only takes a second to transport a person from one continent to another.
Too bad they won't be invented for some time.
"Long?" the owner says and laughs, "What on Earth give you that idea? It used to take weeks to make the trip. Luckily, the new turbine steam engine on the Queen Mary has managed to reduce the time to 4 days."
"A few weeks on sea sounds horrible," Harry says and shudders. He doesn't really get seasick but a week on water was pushing it.
"It does," Matilda agrees and pulls out a few dresses from the rack, "Come here Harriet and take a look at these. If I remember correctly, it can get a little windy on board so you might want a coat to go with the outfit. October is no time to catch a cold."
"Yes Madame Matilda," Harry says dutifully and resigns himself to being dressed up like a doll for the next half an hour.
On Board the Fort Elizabeth
26th October 1926
The ship burdened with the task of transporting 2000 Londoners to New York was called - according to the white lettering on the side of the vessel - the Fort Elizabeth, named after the Queen herself. While it is a beautiful work of art in terms of design, compared to other steam ships of the era, namely the Queen Mary or the Titanic for that matter, Fort Elizabeth can only be called a small ship, just another one in a sea of ships that would be forgotten the moment they are pulled from service.
Harry doesn't really mind it one way or another. After all, he isn't travelling for fun. These four days were a necessairy evil to get him to where he wants to go - namely, New York. As long as the ship doesn't sink, Harry is perfectly happy with it, no matter how crowded it can get.
The Fort Elizabeth had two decks; an upper deck serving as an observation deck and a lower covered one serving as a dining room for the guests. There were also cabins for passengers to sleep and bathrooms for them to relieve themselves. Everything was kept sparkling clean thanks to the 6-men cleaning crew prowling the ship day and night. Harry had bumped in to one of them on his second day on board and the almost manic passion the man had displayed for cleaning scared even a war veteran like him. The wizard was, unexpectedly, reminded of Dobby and the other house elves serving the many Wizarding families around Britain.
But that is a story for another day.
The important thing was, the four-day trip passed without incident and before Harry knew it, the Fort Elizabeth was approaching its final destination.
Twenty minutes until disembarkation time, Harry follows his fellow passengers up to the observation deck to have a clear view of the ship as it slowly approaches New York harbor. It is Harry's first time in New York after all and he can't help the small twinge of excitement at the thought.
Unfortunately, not everyone shares his sentiment or his good mood.
"Finally," Harry hears a man moan to his wife somewhere next to him,"4 days is way too long to be cooped up like this."
"If only you could find a job closer to home so we could avoid this commute," the woman replies rather coldly, a hint of resentment in her voice.
"Lydia," the man protests softly, "Don't be like that."
Harry moves away from the couple before the conversation can turn in to the beginning of a fight.
The deck is luckily big enough for the space to be possible so Harry finds another more secluded spot and begins to people watch, in hopes of something interesting that would distract him for a few minutes.
A few feet away, there is a young girl with the most outrageous hat talking animatedly to one of the crew members - a diminutive man in his late fifties -, the latter only nodding along, a look of befuddlement on his face. Judging by her excitement filled gestures, it must be her first time in New York. Judging by his confused expression, he must have no idea what she is going on about.
Harry snorts and turns his attention to their neighbor, a middle-aged couple with a small dog who barked incessantly, much to the annoyance of anyone around him.
Harry looks away again.
He is just about to give up finding something interesting in this sea of mundane people when his gaze falls upon a bench in the center of the deck and a brown haired young man sitting on it. The moment he takes in the man's blue coat, black bow-tie and battered up suitcase, a sense of familiarity hits him like a sucker punch, rendering him momentarily speechless. Unfortunately, no matter how he tried, Harry can't for the life of him remember where he had seen that person before.
Did I make a mistake? He wonders to himself when no name comes to mind. Possible. Maybe I've seen him around London and just remembered his face for some reason.
That seems like the most plausible explanation even though Harry wasn't usually in the habit of remembering random people he crossed on the street.
Harry knows that he should look away - lest the man catches him staring and thinks that Harry is interested in him in that way - but he can't. There is just something different about this man; something that sets him apart from the rest of his fellow travelers.
Harry wants to figure out what.
He is given an inkling of the answer a few minutes later when he sees the buckle of the man's suitcase pops back on its own...almost as if by magic.
Harry blinks. No, it couldn't be. A wizard? Here?
The man, unperturbed by the buckle, doesn't even look around to see if someone has seen this little display. Instead, he takes up his suitcase and places on his knees, leans over it and - Harry's eyebrows almost rises to his hairline at that - starts to talk to it softly, like a mother would to console a crying child.
What the actual hell?
A wizard. That man is a wizard, no doubt for it. Not a very good one in Harry's opinion if he can't even charm his suitcase shut correctly. Although Harry isn't sure what has caused the buckle to move on its own, he could guess it was the result of two incompatible charms being forced together. He had seen an example of that back in his Hogwarts days when Neville had accidentally spelled his bed alive.
He looks young; maybe in his twenties? If he's British, he must have gone to Hogwarts. Probably a new graduate though. Explains why he's so indiscreet with his magic.
It must be Harry's Auror training talking because the wizard suddenly have the urge to go over to the young man and scold him as a parent would. Everyone - including the muggle hating Malfoy - knows that having personal belongings that don't move - or apparently have sentience - is the basic requirement for any witch or wizard who wants to travel among muggles. After all, preserving the secrecy of the Wizarding world is a duty that each magical being - human or humanoid - needs to fulfill to the best of their abilities. Harry, being an Auror captain, has seen the horrors an accidental reveal can bring. As much as he hates to admit it sometimes, Grindelwald had a point with his keeping-magic-a-secret ideology. Muggles are definitely not evolved enough to be able to accept it just yet.
With that said, people like this unknown wizard sitting a few feet away brings danger not only to himself - imagine if a muggle had seen the buckle pop up without any external force applied to it, that would have caused a lot of questions the man surely won't be able to answer - but to every witch and wizard in existence. One of the reasons the wizarding society has managed to hide for all those centuries is because Muggles can be willfully ignorant. If they start paying attention however, maintaining a veil of secrecy won't be as easy.
Harry may or may not have strong opinions concerning the subject.
But, Harry thinks, he can't do anything right now. He's on a critical mission right now and can't afford any distractions. Let the authorities deal with this man. Harry will just have to grit his teeth and keep away.
Except fate obviously does not want him to keep away for he sees the man once more as he waits in line to go through customs.
Harry tries to ignore him but it is difficult when he sees a small paw attempt to claw out of the suitcase.
Harry nearly chokes on thin air.
A smuggler? Not only is this man disregarding basic safety rules applied to all wizards traveling in muggle populated areas, he also happens to be a smuggler? Just what is Harry's life coming to? Can he really ignore this when there could be a helpless creature inside that suitcase just begging to be freed? The answer should be no and just the fact he is hesitating would make Hermione explode with anger if she ever finds out.
Harry hates the concept of the greater good because of the terrible things people have done in its name. However, in this case, Harry's hands are tied. He's not in his time and like the man who wants to save his brother from his potion accident, Harry has no idea what interfering with a smuggling operation could do to the rest of the timeline. If he accidently caused World War III because he stuck his nose in something he had no business in, that would be catastrophic.
Ignore it Potter, he tells himself and glares at the man, hoping that New York's version of the magical police would catch him before he could cause irreperable damage. Ignore it.
"Next!"
Harry is brought out of his thoughts when the custom officer finished dealing with the last person before the brown haired wizard and gestures him to come forward. Harry should have politely looked away - like the other people in line with him - but he is curious as to how the man is going to explain to the officer why he had a living creature in his bag. Unless, of course, he has a magical compartment he can seal away from prying eyes. But if that was the case, why wouldn't he have kept it sealed until it was safe for him to unseal it? Wouldn't that be the logical choice? And besides, if his suitcase was big enough to harbor a magical creature - Harry assumes it was magical because the man was a wizard - then it must have been extended magically. His victims shouldn't be suffering from a lack of space, requiring him to undo the muggle protections.
Harry shakes his head, not knowing if the man's ineptitude is funny or exasperating. Really, he thinks grimly, kids these days. Idiots, all of them.
He sighs.
Blue-eyes, as Harry had begun to call him in his own head because the man's eyes were indeed a startling shade of blue, passes the inspection - after suffering from a number of dully warranted suspicious looks from the custom officer - and leaves, suitcase in hand.
Harry watches him go and wonders if there is any way he can tip off the authorities without exposing himself.
He shakes his head after a while, deciding he shouldn't put any more energy in to this as he already had. He has an Obscurus to find after all, not to mention he also needs to investigate what was causing the massive property destruction around the city.
With so many things to do, he really hopes he won't have to run in to blue-eyes again. After all, if he doesn't see the blatant rule breaking, he won't have any urge to act.
However, as mentioned before, Harry's life is seldomly so easy.
TBC
Extra Scene
Before the departure
London, UK
26th October 1926
"I do wish you wouldn't go," says Theseus Scamader, newspaper in hand and smiling his most charming smile; the one he usually reserves for special occasions. "Stay here Newt. Where it is safe."
"I have to go," Newt protests, his words muffled slightly by his tea cup. "You know why I have to go. But I am touched that you are worried about me."
Theseus laughs a little at that.
"I am worried," he admits unabashedly. Newt was his baby brother after all, and he doesn't want anything to happen to him. He would never forgive himself if that ever happens. "about you, but I am mostly worried about everyone else."
Newt blinks in confusion.
"What do you mean?"
Theseus' expression turns sheepish as he answers.
"You are a good person Newt, but you tend to get a little...distracted when magical creatures are involved. And when you get...distracted, you don't exactly make the best decisions."
Newt's eyes narrows at his brother.
"What do you mean?" he asks again, putting down his cup.
"You don't really think of anyone but yourself and your creatures." Theseus finally admits. "Not that its a bad thing," he adds hastily, "Magical creatures do need a protector and you are the perfect person to do the job, but the witches and wizards in this world are not so understanding."
"You mean I tend to piss people off," Newt deadpans and Theseus winces. He never like it when his brother talks so lowly about himself, no matter how true the sentiment was.
"You can get a little awkward, yes," he admits.
"I get along with creatures better then humans," Newt says and gets up from his seat, his tea forgotten. He casts a quick tempus spell and frowns at the late hour. "I have to go now. I have a ship to board later today."
"Newt," Theseus whines and Newt smiles ruefully at him.
"Not offended," he assures him, "But I really need to go. See you when I get back."
"Be careful in New York!" Theseus yells after him, "Strange things are going on over there and no one knows why. Don't get caught up in all that mayhem. You still have a book to write."
"I'll be fine!" Newt promises him, "I'll behave! Nothing will happen."
"I hope you are right," Theseus mumbles to himself and goes back to his newspaper.
Newt was an adult, he can take care of himself.