The Time-Travellers' Union

by Ember Nickel

The Triwizard Cup was a Portkey, Cedric is nowhere in sight, and worst of all, Harry is thirty-some years out of his own time. Fortunately, the Union is there to help.

Author's note: this was written for the HPTimeTravel fest on Livejournal. My prompt, from chiichaan, was:

'The Time-traveller's Guide To Not Fuck Up Completely' was a brochure that were handed out to all time-travellers (whether they were intending to be one or not) during their first trip longer than the capabilities of your regular ministry-issue one. Typed in big letters on the thing is the easiest way to get in contact with the workers of 'The Time-traveller's Union', an office with no connection to any magical governing body and is said to have existed as long as magic with - no one really having a clue where it came from or just how it came to be.
It also has an address on it, a place one couldn't find if one hadn't received the brochure themselves.

The workers are all time-travellers themselves (some well-known ones from both the HP-verse or other 'verses or even RL would be awesome) and most have more than their fair share of interesting experiences.
Anyway, Harry Potter received that very same bunch of paper as well when he first stumbled into another time, and when he decides that it would be a good idea to go get some advice in his time-travelling from people who've done it before - or should that be after? - him.

I would love some humour with this one :) Oh, and you can change the name of the orginisation and the brochure if you want to.

The prompt also requested a slash pairing for Harry, although this is primarily a gen fic.

Thanks to nnozomi for betaing! If you don't recognize any or all the characters here, fear not-Harry doesn't either, and you can make some new friends along with him. :)

---

They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.

"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.

(Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire)

From behind them, a tall man was making his way forward, hurriedly, a cloak pulled tightly over his face. Panting, he reached deep into his robes with one hand, but nervously looked ahead, past Harry and Cedric, to the gravestones beyond them.

Someone was coming forward from the other direction as well, shorter but equally masked. He was holding something in his arms—a baby?

The man behind them swore.

"Er," said Cedric.

"Cedric!" rasped the man from behind, before adding, more nervously, "Harry?"

And then Harry's scar seared like it never had. The pain was impossible; he half-wanted to slip into one of the silent graves and forget it all. He was on the ground, writhing—someone called out "Petrificus Totalus!" and Cedric went still—the man behind them swore even more colorfully—and then something hit him from behind.

It didn't hurt, exactly; even if it had, it would have been nothing next to the unending pain in his head. But still, it felt just a little odd to be plunked like that.

"Pick it up!" the tall man yelled. Harry opened his mouth, confused, and the short man took another step closer. "Grab it!"

Half-consciously, he reached for what seemed to be a thin gold bracelet. "Bit..." he began.

But before he could spit out "poncy, innit," the pain went away.

So did the tall man, the short man, Cedric, and the baby-esque thing.

Harry blinked.

Through what seemed to be a sudden burst of sunlight, a young woman was speedwalking towards him. "Hullo," she nodded. "You must be, er, Harry then?"

"What do you want?" He fumbled for his wand, but it had fallen when the pain in his scar began. Dodging backwards, he bent to the ground and started pawing through the grass behind the nearest grave. Had it disappeared with everything else? Where was Cedric? Where was everything?

"Take that as a yes, then," she shrugged.

"What have you done?"

"I was going to ask...er...that is...well, never mind."

"Never mind? What's going on?"

"I'm not sure. A...coworker was supposed to be in charge, but plans must have changed. Well, any road, take this." She handed him a piece of paper. "Any questions, just ask for Agent Rhodon."

"Agent?" he blinked, but she had Apparated away.

Was it part of the task? It had to be, somehow. Shaking his head, Harry glanced down at the paper.

The Time-Traveller's Guide To Not Destroying The Universe.

"Time...travel," he mouthed to himself.

He'd been back in time once before, inasmuch as "before" meant anything when dealing with time. He felt quite certain that Hermione had never once mentioned a "guide." Perhaps she had not needed one. But this seemed very elaborate even for the task. And why choose him and not Cedric?

Harry blinked, and then remembered that he was in a graveyard. That could prove useful, and not in the creating-an-army-of-Inferi sense. Tucking the paper under his arm, he got up, remembering where he was just in case he wanted to go back and look for his wand, a hope which was proving dim.

The nearest graves had faded away, which gave him pause—had he been flung well into the future? Quickening his pace, he made for what seemed to be the newest graves. One marked the resting place of an Ian Howell, 1948-2024.

2024. Harry swore. Was he just supposed to find out that he had won, come back, and report the news? Or that Cedric had won, perhaps. That wouldn't be so bad, really...

He glanced down at the paper again. A message was forming, the way it did on the Marauder's Map, but looking more professional, almost as if typed out by a typewriter.

For help in resolving paradoxes, passing yourself off as a local, or other concerns, please visit your local office of The Time-Travellers' Union.

Then, as if handwritten, Seeking coordinates...

The original style returned. Your nearest entrance is at Lyon Road and Minus First Street, Edinburgh.

Harry raised his eyebrows. He wasn't sure where he was or how to get from there to Edinburgh. And he suspected that Minus First Street was almost as easy to find as Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

He flipped the paper over, and the handwriting continued. For immediate access to a union representative, call... what seemed to be an ordinary phone number. Extension i.

This seemed, while not entirely promising, at least feasible. Harry glanced around, and noticed a church outside the graveyard. Had his wand been at hand entrance would have been easy—why had he not brought Sirius' knife?

But when he got there, somewhat to his surprise, the door gave way and it wasn't long before he found an old telephone. Dubiously, he began to dial the given number—then, shrugging, added on 4 GHI.

One ring. Two. Three. Finally, a voice. "The Time-Travellers' Union. How may we be of service?"

"Uh...I...I don't know what's going on."

"Are you in any immediate physical danger?"

"No, er, I don't think so? But I don't know where I am or which way Edinburgh is."

"Have you recently—in subjective terms, of course—travelled through time?"

"Er, I, I think so."

"You think so?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I don't really know what subjective terms are. Look, is there an Agent Rhodon here? She said she could help me."

"Rhodon? Oh dear. That might be her code name."

"Code name?"

"Our workers are sometimes affiliated with many governing bodies. Let me see—if you have a few minutes, and if you don't we have some more for you, let's just go over some preliminary questions. Is this your first encounter with time travel?"

"No. My second."

"Can you describe the previous experience?"

"It was a year ago—I mean—in 1994, I used a Time-Turner and went back three hours."

"A Time-Turner. Do you identify as a "wizard"?"

"Identify? I'm Harry Potter!" he stammered. Sure, it was nice to be just a normal person for a change, but really!

"Ah, very good. Mr. Potter. Hold on while I put a witch on, she'll be able to deal with you."

"You're a Muggle?"

But there was no answer. Maybe the Statute of Secrecy had been repealed in 2024 or whenever he was? Instead came some instrumental music while he was on hold. Eight measures of Bach; eight measures of Schoenberg; eight measures of a singer Harry did not recognize (and whom nobody would know until the twenty-third century), and so on.

"Hello there Mr. Potter," a chirpy voice finally said. "Have you ever Apparated before?"

"No, sorry."

"Not to worry. Our computers have tracked your location, we're going to send someone along to get you to headquarters."

"Okay?"

Within moments, a short witch with long hair had walked into the church. "Wotcher, Harry, good to see you again."

"Again?" Harry hung up the phone.

"Oh blimey," she blushed, "that is to say, we've met. You're quite famous, you know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'd caught on."

"If you'll just grab my hand, we'll be there in a moment."

Apparition felt like he'd been dragged through a very tight tube, which—after the shock of the Portkey and the bracelet—was very unpleasant. Once he arrived, however, he found himself in a tall, windowless room with dark wooden walls and very comfortable-looking chairs. A table in the center was loaded with cookies, apples, and some wrapped-up candies he didn't recognize.

"The name's Ellie, Ellie Branstone," smiled the witch.

"Hullo," he said. "Look, er, when can I go back to my own time? I'm supposed to be in 1995, it's the Triwizard Tournament."

"Well, I suspect either—er—Agent Rhodon or Agent Figulus, he's the one who brought you the Temportkey, would want to vouch for you before you go. Make sure you're okay."

"Where are they? Can't they just come back to now?"

"Well, they could, of course. But that would violate Useful Suggestion Seven."

"Useful Suggestion Seven?"

"Haven't you got a brochure?"

"Er, yeah," said Harry, glancing down at a crease he was quite sure hadn't been there moments before. Unfolding it, he noticed even more words spilling out.

Union Rules (Theoretical Precepts)
And Policies (Generally Useful Suggestions)

"Just how many of these are there?"

"Er, two Theoretical Precepts and ten Generally Useful Suggestions at last count." Branstone pulled out a piece of paper of her own. "I think it might be up to eleven, now?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Great. Do I need to learn them?"

"It wouldn't hurt. But I can't stick around much longer, I've got an appointment in 1893 to make. Maybe you can stick around headquarters for a while, talk to some other people? I'm sure they'd be honored to make your acquaintance."

"Can't you make your appointment in 1893...after you talk to me?"

"Useful Suggestion Number Seven, sport. Sorry. I'll see you soon, yes?"

"Will you?"

"Probably," shrugged Branstone, "it's always a matter of probability, you know." With that, she Apparated away.

"Brilliant," said Harry, then raised his voice. "Er. Hullo? Hullo? Anyone?"

"Hello?" said a man slowly approaching the table. He looked perhaps to be in his early twenties, but Harry supposed that counted for little. "Have you come to provide more of the delicious—shuss!–cookies? Ease."

"Er. No. I'm new here."

"That is a pitytyty. Those cookies made me feel very welcome, vairvairvair."

"Er. Where exactly are you from? Or when, that is."

He tilted his head to one side. "I am from a very distant star system. Um."

"Star system? Like..." Harry trailed off. "Like when?"

"I am not from this planet. Plan it. Is plan not a pleasant word to say?"

"You're not from this planet?" Harry blinked, realizing that the man's faltering English was by that measure quite good indeed.

"No."

"Oh. Well. You, er, fit in quite well. Better than some of the wizards I've seen trying to mix with Muggles."

"I am able to take on many guises. Guys."

"Guys?" Was it a space alien? For all he knew space aliens didn't come as men and women, it had to be a disguise. Yet for some reason this alien's human body looked, well, nice. I have to be losing my mind. First the tournament, then the graveyard, then the church, now I'm talking to a space alien?

"Your syllables are very confusing—yews!—Sorry."

"You speak English well. For a space alien."

"Let me demorph."

"What?"

"Don't be afraid."

Once again, Harry remembered that he didn't have his wand, and took a step back as the man's body began to shine a bright—blue? His mouth shriveled up. "Are you all right?"

˂Yes. Let me finish.˃ It no longer had a mouth to speak with, but the voice sang out inside Harry's mind. By that point, the alien had sprouted an extra pair of eyes rising from the top of his own head. He continued growing, adding an extra pair of legs to look much like a centaur, and had grown a long tail out the back, ending in a bright, curved blade. ˂Hello, there.˃

"Er. Hi. You—you're talking to me. Inside your head?"

˂Yes. ˃

Harry rolled his eyes. "This is going to be a really long day."

˂Time travel can alter the lengths of days, yes.˃

"I don't even know what I'm doing! I don't know how I got here, I don't know how long it takes to come back—"

˂Were you not given information? It is very useful. One of the best services the Union provides. Almost as welcome as your human cookies.˃

Harry glanced down at the brochure in his pocket. "Oh yeah. Branstone or whoever said maybe I should ask some people, to explain these to me?"

˂May I take this?˃ said the space alien.

"Er. Can you read English? I mean you speak it okay, but—"

˂Yes—˃ It nodded its head, a surprisingly human gesture from an inhuman body. ˂I was equipped with a translator chip that allows me to understand alien languages.˃

"Alien?"

˂To me, you on Earth are the aliens. Though I sometimes wish you were not.˃

"I dunno, I think it'd be useful to be born somewhere where you get chips or whatever." He closed his eyes and thought back to the Bulgarian Minister. "Save loads on translators, anyway."

˂They are expensive in their own way. But come with me, I will show you something.˃

Harry shrugged but followed after the alien—the tail looked threatening, but so threatening that if he wanted to cause Harry trouble, he could probably have done so well in advance. Besides, any bloke who was that passionate about cookies couldn't be that much of a threat, space alien or no space alien.

The alien led Harry to a room where a few people were sitting at desks. Harry took a step back—one wall was entirely covered with dials and gauges. It seemed like the inside of an airplane, if not a spaceship. "Is this entire building a time machine?"

˂In a sense. These computers are used for archival purposes. You...are a wizard?˃

Harry nodded. He wasn't sure what kind of people passed through headquarters, but it was once again refreshing not to be recognized.

The alien nodded. ˂There is a sort of technology you have. Have you seen Pensieves?˃

"Yeah," said Harry. "Do—do you have them?"

˂Not by that name. But our computers can also save memories...and help me call my own back to mind.˃ He touched a few more buttons, but seemed silent, as if he was communicating with the computer through his mind. ˂You see, I was once away from my own people for many years. On Earth. When I returned to my fellows, I confessed much to my superior...that I had created the Abomination, a beast I fight now.˃ He stiffened, and Harry wondered if this was not some threat like Voldemort—someone whose name people didn't say. ˂That I had advanced your human technology, itself grounds for shame. That I had run away to—forgive me—a backward planet, to marry a human and impregnate her. But I did not talk about the time machine we had used to reach Earth.˃

"Why not?"

˂I did not trust my own superior with that power. I...I have learned things about weapons, and warriors who use them. You wizards are wise to speak of Unforgiveable Curses...once, I had only respect for my people. Now, I don't always know who to trust. Look at your brochure.˃

Numbly, Harry paged it open. Useful Suggestion Number One: it read. The Union is a private club. Be careful who you entrust with the means of time travel.

Harry shook his head. "I don't understand. Why me? What am I doing forward in time?"

˂I don't know that.˃

"But you came to Earth. And then you left again, and didn't tell anyone about the time machine...how did you wind up here?"

˂The Union has many doors. Once you find your way in, there will always be a way open for you.˃

"But I've gone back in time before, no one said anything about a Union."

˂Perhaps your usage was normal for your wizardkind. Mine was—not, for my people. Or yours.˃

"So could you go back to Earth, through here?"

˂Could, perhaps. But I cannot—I have a war to fight, still. It is useful just as a respite. And for the cookies.˃

"Your human wife, she used the time machine with you? Do you ever see her here?"

˂No, ˃ said the alien somberly. ˂She—her memories were erased, when I returned here. Of her journeys, of time travel...of me.˃

Harry blinked. To be left to raise a child, without any knowledge of his heritage—he thought suddenly of Neville and his parents. "I'm so sorry."

The alien seemed to smile with his eyes. ˂She was the one who found the Union, the first time. A little hide-away, far from most people's eyes, but...we lived in a place called California. A few people there are more open to time being...more complex than they understand.˃

Harry shrugged. "Never been to the States."

˂There are several people from the US here. You should ask them about the other suggestions.˃

"I will," Harry nodded, and thought that time of his own family. "I—I hope you get to meet your child someday. Maybe they'll be a time-traveller too, come and find you."

The alien seemed to smile again. ˂I hope so too.˃ And he walked away.

Harry stared down at the paper for a moment. "Er," he finally called. "Anyone in here want to explain these Useful Policies to me? And are they actually useful?"

"See, here's the thing," a boy who seemed to be about his age called back (in another American accent, although one that sounded distinctly human), "they areuseful. Except, no one gets in here until after their first trip. So it's not really useful when you need it."

"I haven't been in any trouble, yet. I'm just confused. When am I going home? Do you know an Agent Rhodon?"

"Rho—" he began. "Er, not by that name."

"Why is everyone so secretive?" Harry blinked. "Or is that a dumb question?"

"Yeah."

"Do—do you travel a lot, then? You look pretty young."

"So do you," he grinned.

"This is my first time. Well, second. But I didn't even want this, someone just sort of sent me here."

"Huh. Maybe they know you in the future."

He nodded. "This is my future. I think."

"Huh. All right. Well. Do you want to talk Suggestions?"

"Sure."

"Wait, maybe this thing will play my memories? Let me get Doc."

"Doc?"

"Just hold on. He was schmoozing last time I saw him...trying to fix the car."

"The car?"

"Just...hold on," the boy sighed.

"Isn't like I have anywhere else to go," Harry muttered.

He tried reading the dials on the walls. As soon as he focused on one it said something vaguely clear: Synchronization or View Only. When he wasn't focused on anything in particular, however, the dials looked blurry, and once or twice he glimpsed what seemed like Chinese characters or very strange patterns, maybe alien symbols. But if he tried to investigate them, they would revert to plain English. A few weren't plain; a panel labeled Special Calibration had buttons for Epagomenal Variance and Xūsuì Adjustment. Still, Harry had to wonder how many different sorts of people passed through Union headquarters.

I just talked to a space alien, I just went over thirty years into my future, the Cup was a Portkey, where's Cedric? What about the tournament?

Shaking his head, Harry blinked to see the other boy, accompanied by a much older man. "Hullo there!" said the latter. "Doc Brown. It's a pleasure!"

"Harry Potter. Um. Nice to meet you?"

"Of course, of course."

"I don't know how to use this," said the other boy, waving his hand at the panels. "Can you show him my dad?"

"From the new—from when we first time-travelled? Or from earlier in his life?"

"Earlier, but like, earlier earlier."

"As an infant?"

"No, like...from before, what—what I grew up with. Before he became that."

"Aha. The first timeline."

"Yeah," said the boy. "That."

Doc glanced at the board, almost salivating at all the buttons and dials available to him. Then, quickly, he rounded on Harry and the other boy. "No."

"No what?" said Harry.

"No, I can't show you your dad. I could maybe find things from when you went, but...not the original timeline."

"Why not? And don't start on it never happening, it did happen because I remember him being hopeless, so it must've somewhere..."

"Welcome to the Union," said Doc with a grin to Harry. "Overlapping timelines this and patching up paradoxes that. They offered me a full-time job here but I'm too old to do this for business rather than pleasure."

"Paradoxes?" said Harry. "Hermione, my friend, said that there was only one way for history to go right."

"Your friend no doubt knows plenty about her own ways of going forward in time—"

"Well, and back."

"Back too, eh? Well, the point is, it's a thorny business."

"I gather. I take it that's one of these suggestions?"

"Oh no, Marty here was going to say something about his dad. Surely you don't need the computer to talk to Harry, here?"

"I guess," said the newly-identified Marty, who was still clearly uneasy. "Right. So. My dad."

"What about him?" Harry remembered that night with the Time-Turner, being convinced he had seen James Potter. "Is he...is he all right? Wait. No. You're not from California, are you?"

"Yeah," Marty squinted.

"Is your mum named...Lauren?"

"Lorraine," said Marty, "do you know her?"

"I don't think so. But your dad, did he grow up here? On Earth?"

"...yeah."

"Oh," Harry sighed. "Never mind, then."

Blinking, Marty went on. "But yeah. My dad. I—all through my childhood, he was sort of useless. Things were falling apart in my house, Mom drank too much, my sister couldn't find a boyfriend, my brother neither, everything was just—"

"Sorry," Harry cut in. "Your brother couldn't find a boyfriend either?"

"Oh. No. I mean, he wasn't looking."

"Right."

"Not that—there are gay time travellers too, you know. I mean, there are interspecies romances around here. No one cares if people prefer men."

"Oh," said Harry. Of course, the alien. And if this affirmation of diversity happened to please him a little more than he let on, well, there was so much to take in it hardly mattered. "Right. Okay. So, your dad?"

"Well, I went back in time by mistake. Thirty years, and when I got there I found my dad. And he...was sort of the same, useless. Except, he looked younger, like...me. My age. So it's weird. To think—not just knowing that he'd be my dad, right, because I knew how messed up things were going to be in the future. But that...these were my parents, as kids. This was my genes, like, if I'm their kid, how messed up do I look? Part of the reason I hung out with Doc so much, I think, was that—I wanted to be more than them, more than all of that."

"Uh-huh. So you went back in time, what happened?"

"Well," Marty blushed, "everything changed. I mean I was just trying to get back to my own time and make sure history didn't break down. That my mom would actually fall in love with my dad, instead of me—hey, what can I say, I'm cute! It was hard, but I did it, and because I'd gone back, everything improved. We were all better, more successful. It's weird, of course, sometimes I forget how it used to be but mostly it's been good."

"So what's the suggestion?"

"Oh. Er. You heard about suggestion number...what is it now?"

"Just the first, being careful who I trust and all." Harry glanced down at his brochure and read. Useful Suggestion Number Two: Of course, do not disrespect non-members simply because of their lack of experience. People usually are far more than what you see of them.

"If it hadn't been for time travel, I wouldn't have known what my father could become," Marty went on, "what he is now. And now, because of time travel, Doc and I are really the only ones who remember how he used to be. I guess—thinking about myself, it's nice to know there are a lot of different things I could grow into."

"Do you go back a lot, then? See your parents growing up?"

"Nah, I don't travel all that much, Doc does most of it. But I like meeting people here."

"Oh."

"There are other people who do a lot more, though, you should ask around and see who all is here."

"Okay. Maybe someone not from California?"

"Aha!" said Doc, who had been busily applying a screwdriver to a bolt on the panel—he dropped it, and it bounced off a thankfully inert red button. "I know just the man you should meet. Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you meet many New Zealanders out your way?"

"Er...no...do they have a Quidditch team?"

"Eh?"

"Don't answer," said Marty, "don't want to get him started."

"Come on, McFly!" said Brown. "Well, no matter. This way, and we'll see if Mazer's in."

Doc led Harry around a corner at the side of the room, and then under a low-hanging ceiling. They emerged into what he took to be a small library; two bookshelves stood side-by-side, with another computer on the adjacent wall next to several devices Harry didn't recognize. A small table held even more snacks, and there another older man was seated, his nose in a book.

"Er," said Harry, "do you think we ought to disturb him?"

"I'm sure he'd love to pass some advice along," said Doc merrily. "Hello there! Mazer!"

Slowly, without speaking, the old man put his book down and stood up, then even more slowly paced across the room to where they were standing.

"Hullo," stammered Harry. "I—I'm Harry Potter."

No response.

"I don't mean to bother you, really, I'm sure Mr. Brown and I can just—"

Mazer raised one hand, then picked the book up again, before walking over to the shelf and putting it on before reaching for several more books.

"Let's go," said Harry, quite sure Mazer did not appreciate his company.

"In time, in time, all things in time!" said Doc. Sure enough, Mazer finished his rummaging around on the bookshelves without actually grabbing any books, and then much more quickly rejoined them.

"Harry Potter," he repeated.

"Er. Yes," said Harry, nervously noticing Doc leave behind him.

Mazer walked back over to the table and sat down. Harry remained standing.

"Do. Can. You explain one of the rules to me? Please?"

"You have a brochure. You know how to read."

Harry bent down and glanced at Useful Suggestion Number Three: There are many means of time travel. One being's magic is another being's science."Yeah," he found himself saying. "There are Time-Turners and that bracelet—some kind of Portkey thing?"

No response.

"Do...do you know what this is?" He reached into his robes and pulled out the bracelet.

"A bracelet."

"Have you ever time-travelled just by touching something?"

"No."

"Have you ever time-travelled?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"By travelling in space."

Harry at first wanted to ask "how does that work?" but another question crossed his mind first. "Are you—are you from Earth? Wait. No. Doc said you were from New Zealand."

Mazer nodded.

"Okay." He thought of the alien and Marty. "Do you have any children?" He glanced at Mazer's old face again. "Or grandchildren?"

"Yes." Mazer tilted his head to the side with the first hint of emotion, although Harry could not have named which. "Both."

"I...I suppose they didn't join you?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"Useful Suggestion Number One: Time travel is not for everyone. It has been my experience that the people most desperate to meddle with time—to right what has gone wrong, to learn from those who got it right, to stay alive long enough to teach—are those who face war."

"You were in a war?"

"I was. That war—or that battle—is over. There are other battles yet to come." He walked back towards the bookshelf. "You know how to read. If...you ever want to learn more, there is much here to teach you."

"I do want to learn!" said Harry. "Everyone keeps telling me, I need to learn the rules—"

"The rules will do you no good, if you and your people are not alive," Mazer said curtly, picking out the book he had been reading before and tucking it under his arm. "But perhaps, if you ever need to strategize, you can learn from the records of those who came before you. Or speak to those who have fought other battles."

"Would you—would you mind teaching me?"

"Not today. I have spent too long here already, eating, speaking with people again. Too much of this and I would grow too lonely to go on. But perhaps I shall find time to teach you—practice would be good."

"Practice? For what?"

"I am meant to be a teacher. This is why I am being pulled into my own future—the hope that someday, there will be someone chosen to end the war."

"What war?"

"One fought far from planet Earth."

"Do you know the...what are they called. Abominations?"

Mazer blinked. "No. I suppose you could say the buggers were abominations."

"You're fighting buggers?" Harry blurted. "Just a bit intolerant of you, innit?"

"Er. Formics. Bugs. From space."

"...Oh."

"IF Common," Mazer sighed. "Been a good long while since I lost anything in translation!"

Harry wondered how long it had been since Mazer had had anyone to converse with, but let the thought slide. "What's that you're reading?"

Mazer grinned. "Book that gave me a few strategic ideas. All about the downfall of Voldemort."

"Are—are you a wizard?"

"No. Just very well-read."

"There shouldn't be that much, really. I...it was just luck, I don't know what happened, he tried to kill me and couldn't."

"Don't sell yourself short," said Mazer, "there's more to life than luck. Perhaps we'll meet again, yes? I'll give you some ideas. Nothing I learned from this book, of course—my lot don't bother with time paradoxes if we can help it."

"But there's nothing to learn. I was just in the right place at the right time."

Mazer opened his mouth, but closed it again. "Perhaps. Still, better not let you read all of this quite yet. Until we meet again, then?"

"You sound confident."

He shrugged, and wandered out of the library.

Harry was at first tempted to follow him, but noted that the snacks were still there. He was not sure what time it was, or whether that question made any sense, but he was certainly hungry enough for the biscuits that were stacked before him. He told himself he'd get up and look around after the second...and the third...and the sixth...

It had been a long day.

As he was reaching for his seventh or so, another older man came in. "Hullo there!" he said in what could only be a properly English accent. "Cup of tea?"

"Er. No thanks. Have you got any butterbeer?"

"Come again?"

"Ugh. Never mind. Who's in charge of the food around here, anyway? I could use a drink."

"Everyone who wishes to bring food may do so, dear boy! I recently enjoyed a brilliant fruit sample from...goodness, I'm not quite sure where."

"Oh," Harry sighed. "Well, if that's all you have, tea is okay, I guess. Where do I get it?"

"Ah, do not rush yourself! Do be seated and enjoy our most edifying library! I will have tea brought along, presently."

"There's really no rush."

"Nonsense! Help yourself." He spread his arms wide and Harry, feeling it would be impolite to do otherwise, made his way over to the shelf. Most of the titles were illegible, and he grabbed the first English-language book he could find, which turned out to be the journal of a man writing about some sort of Muggle airship.

He didn't get too far before the Englishman returned with two warm cups of tea. Harry's at least tasted surprisingly good. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome!" He took another sip. "You know, come to think of it, I suppose I do most of the cooking here. It's very pleasant to meet all the people coming through, but I've had quite enough of travelling myself, so this is a nice way of keeping in touch. Who are you, by the way?"

"Er, Harry Potter."

"Hullo then, Master Potter! A pleasure, I'm sure. I'm Ebenezer Scrooge, myself."

Harry blinked. Scrooge didn't seem to recognize him, suggesting he was another Muggle, but a name that strange...Then again, what kind of name is McFly? "Nice to meet you. When are you here from? Most recently, anyway."

"Eighteen twenty-seven," he smiled. Well, that explained something. "Nearly summer."

"That's...nice," said Harry vaguely. "I suppose it's nearly summer where I come from, too. Nineteen ninety-five."

"Goodness! One meets all sorts, of course."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Look, about...this building. I was supposed to come from Edinburgh but...this isn't just the Scotland branch, is it? I mean, where are we, exactly?"

Scrooge blinked, and looked around the room as if a window would present itself. "We're in the Union."

"I'd gathered. Er, how did you get in?"

"Through a door."

"And I take it that's how you're going to get out?"

"But of course."

"And where will you be, when you come out?"

"London."

"...Right."

"There are people who make many distant journeys," said Scrooge, "and some who do not even see how far away they wander from where they had begun!" He shook his head. "I am not so strange, just fortunate."

Unsure quite what to make of that, Harry instead reached for his brochure to see if another suggestion had presented itself. Sure enough, he could read Useful Suggestion Number Four: Minimality of impact is usually desirable. Sometimes, just looking is enough.

"So, er, do you want to explain this?"

"Explain what?"

"Er, sometimes looking is enough. At the past, or the future?"

"The past and the future, and that flickering instant called the present!"

"Doesn't...everyone look at the present?"

"Ah, but only in one place at once! Perhaps travelling through space is just as powerful as travelling through time."

"Did Mazer tell you that?"

"Ah, Mazer. For a man who flies so far from Earth, it is a shame to see him chained by his loyalties."

"It sounds like he's doing...whatever it is he's doing, for a reason."

"We have our reasons for everything we do. Yet that does not mean that we can see what comes from those actions..." Scrooge blinked. "You are Harry Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry, nervously reaching for another biscuit.

"I should not be so quick to judge you. You can—you can yet make many wise decisions. After all, you are but a child, today."

Harry nodded.

"Are you leaving, soon? You should not spend your youth cooped up in here, outside of your own time. Go to a ball, go to a feast!"

Harry blushed. "I want to get back as soon as I can, but they're not letting me go yet. There should be an end-of-term feast soon. And I went to a ball, but it was rubbish." He felt sorry for Parvati— hopefully she'd at least enjoyed getting to open the ball in front of the whole school and the guests. "Do you think I'm supposed to see any more of the future, before I leave? Or the past?"

"Perhaps not today. But do you live at Hogwarts School?"

"Yes. How—no offense, but how do so many of you know about us? Statute of Secrecy dead?"

Scrooge laughed softly. "Sometimes we are the only ones—" he spread an arm around the room—"who understand each other."

"I guess," said Harry, realizing the alien probably hadn't disclosed his origins to too many humans.

"There are several witches and wizards who frequently pass through the Union. I have made their acquaintance, and...asked around. Now, Hogwarts. Are there ghosts residing there?"

"Yeah, several."

"Perhaps you need no more of looking at the past, or the future, for now. But as long as you enjoy your schooldays, you ought to speak to those who were alive in another time. It can be your way of seeing the past without disturbing its peace."

"That sounds like a good idea. I talked to Myrtle—Moaning Myrtle—you don't know her—she's a ghost—helped me defeat Voldemort when he was trying to attack the school two years ago."

"Very good! And I am sure she appreciated the company, too. Perhaps it eroded some of her burdens."

"Good," said Harry. "I guess I'll try talking to Nick—oh, you don't know him either."

Scrooge nodded and reached for his teacup, then set it down. "All out! I do suppose it's back to the kitchen for me."

Harry stood up. "I'll come, I'd like to see more of this place."

"Very good!"

They walked out through the computer room and down the hall towards where Harry had first come in. "Over here," Scrooge nodded at one door, "is the clothing room. Lots of people stumble through time or space and look all out of place, so it helps to have some clothing that suits you. I suppose you wizards have an advantage, with the same robes all the time."

"I guess," said Harry, distracted by the reminder that there were other rooms in the building. "Is there, er, a bathroom or anything?"

"Oh right this way, come along." They passed through the entrance room and Scrooge pointed off to the side. "In you go. Mind yourself, now, there's more than humans that come through here."

Indeed, there were several stalls and a urinal, but also a few stalls that were clearly not built to human proportions and a few devices that he had no idea how to use. Cautiously, Harry took care of his business in a normal-looking stall and then washed up—the soap looked rather stale, but perhaps that couldn't be helped.

"Thanks," he said, reemerging.

"Not to worry. Now, the kitchen is right this way."

That it was, and filled with even more unrecognizable objects than the bathroom. If it took a brigade of unpaid house-elves to feed the students at Hogwarts, all of whom were of the same species and age, Harry couldn't begin to imagine what it took for the Union.

Still, he told himself, it's just snacks, and if the alien is anything to go by cookies have a universal appeal.

Scrooge at least ignored all the distractions, and made his way to the back of the room where a small stove was set up. He put some tea on and smiled. "While that's boiling, I ought to introduce you to a special friend of mine. Oh, whoever passes through here is a friend, but it's just all that nicer to have someone from a bitcloser to my own time—begging your pardon."

"It's fine," said Harry, "I'd like to meet more people. Try and make sense of these suggestions."

"Come along, then," said Scrooge, leading him out of the kitchen. "Hullo. Hullo? Annie?"

"Oh, really, Ebenezer," a woman's voice snapped from down the hallway, "code names! It's Elizabeth to you."

"Begging your pardon, Elizabeth, my dear," said Scrooge. "Slipped my mind."

Harry followed him to the entrance room, where a woman was bent over a notebook, smiling up at Scrooge as he walked in. "Elizabeth," he said pointedly, "this is Harry Potter. Potter, this is Elizabeth—er—"

"Morison," said the woman, glaring through her eyeglasses. She reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall—this was clearly not a woman to cross.

"Quite right. Er. You appreciate the need for some secrecy, with people coming and going we don't want to give too much away, it's always a bother running into other copies of yourself."

"Hmph!" said Morison. "I wouldn't mind meeting a younger myself, we could go back to Oxford together and show the doubters what's what!"

"Well, the young folk are a bit busier than us, I suppose. Never mind."

"Er, sorry," Harry interrupted, "do—do you hear a noise?"

"That'll be the tea," said Scrooge. "Pardon me!" He scurried out as the whine grew ever shriller.

"I hope it doesn't overflow," Morison sighed. "He can get excitable, our Scrooge."

Harry nodded. "Did you know him before you started time-travelling?"

"Oh no, he's older even than me by quite a ways. A bit surprised to hear that I'd become a principal at Oxford, poor gentleman!"

Harry blinked. "Congratulations?"

"Not a recent honor by any stretch, but I thank you—it just took some time for him to get used to the idea."

The kettle stopped. "Hope that means he's gotten to it?" Harry said.

"He should be fine. Probably."

"Do you want me to go check up on him?"

"Suppose it couldn't hurt."

Harry made his way to the kitchen, again squinting at the weirder devices. "Everything all right in there?"

"Just fine, just fine!" said Scrooge, "Everything's going well here. Why don't you ask dear Charlotte to give you some advice?"

"Charlotte?"

"Er—Annie—whatever she's calling herself now. Don't worry, once she warms up to you I'm sure she'll explain everything."

Harry was not completely confident in this, but wandered back anyway. "Everything's fine, he's just pouring tea."

"Oh very good. It's never too late to change, you know, but I've often wondered what he did those first several decades of his life—it's all an acquired taste for him."

"Rushing about in time?"

"No, being a decent person."

"But he seems so friendly!"

"Well, perhaps he's just being modest about his earlier years. I didn't know him then."

"I suppose," said Harry, reaching for his brochure. Useful Suggestion Number Five: Not only are some people not time-travellers themselves, they might not even believe you. Fortunately, the Union will always be here. Or there."Can you...that is...can you tell me more about this?"

"Can I?" Her eyes lit up. "Oh, I'd be glad to! You see, er...Frances, have you met her yet? A friend and I were visiting a farmhouse in Versailles one day. There we came across several people dressed...strangely, quite out of fashion. When we realized we had both seen them we knew something was odd, so we began to research the history of the farmhouse. It turned out that we'd found our way into an old memory of the Queen's—Marie Antoinette—and fortunately got out again. So, we wrote up our findings, but couldn't get anyone to believe us. We were too scared even to publish under our own names."

"Right," said Harry, privately concluding that the last point explained a lot.

"But," Morison crowed, "Frances and I found our way here. So we must have gone through time, mustn't we? Otherwise you can't get in, you see."

"I guess so. Who built the Union anyway, I mean, the first time around?"

"Oh, no one built it! Or at least, perhaps it was people from the future building it in bits and pieces...it all comes together, but there's really no great beginning or end. Now, the doors to the outside...those got built. Old King Herla helped set up the British chapter, I know."

"What about France?"

"Oh, it was...goodness, his name escapes me. It must have been...Louis-Sébastien? No, that was his editor...oh goodness. I can't remember."

"That's all right," said Harry quickly.

"Nonsense! Gil will know. Come on, let's see if he's around. I do hope he is, he never drops by anymore. Gil? Hello? Gil? He'll be in the library if he's anywhere."

And so Harry followed Morison back through the computer room and into the library. Mazer was gone, but a younger man sat reading another book.

"Gil, there you are! What luck to run into you!"

"Hullo there, Annie, how's everything—" Another American accent.

"Oh for goodness' sakes, there's a reason for secrecy at the Union!" she snapped.

"Sorry. Who's this?"

"Harry Potter, but do tell us, who founded the Union headquarters in France? Louis-Sébastien's friend, the name escapes me."

Gil blinked. "You know I don't travel much these days."

"The nerve of him!" Morison said to Harry. "People don't know how good they have it these days, carriages can just cart them off to the past whenever they wish, they could show anyone whereas I—"

"You know I don't travel anymore, A—Elizabeth, there," said Gil, as Morison smiled.

"Yes, so what are you doing here?"

"Mostly here for the library. There are some old books you can't even find at the antiques place."

"Now, young man, you are not to smuggle anything out of here to profit! I'll bring you back some archives from Oxford if you need them but—"

"Of course I'm not going to smuggle anything out of here."

"Can't be too careful," Morison sniffed. "Well, Potter, a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. Do please come back, perhaps I'll even tell you my real name."

Harry blinked. "All right. I'll see. I haven't even figured out how to get out of here."

"You want me to show you out?" volunteered Gil. "I should be leaving myself, don't need to spend this much time here."

"No rush, I think I'm supposed to wait for some other people to take me back anyway. I don't know how to get back where I belong."

"Oh, you'll be all right."

Harry looked to see that Morison—Annie?—had already left. "I don't mean to pry, but are you French, or...?"

"Long story," smiled Gil. "I'm actually from California."

"Oh, that figures."

Gil blushed. "Disproportionate mix coming through, really. It seems like A—Elizabeth, Branstone, and Agent Rhodon are the only women about the place sometimes. But there's so many more people coming through, you realize. It's just a random mix of who you'll run into, any given day."

"I guess so. But I'm in no rush to get out of here, so if you want to tell me a long story, it's not like I have anywhere else to go." He unfolded the brochure again. Useful Suggestion Number Six: Do not expect consistency. Many methods of time travel may produce very different results. And even the same method may produce very different reactions for different people.

Gil gave a wistful smile. "I suppose the library isn't the only reason I come back here."

"...well?"

"There's—another time-traveller. You see, for me...the way I go about it, time travel is accomplished by vehicles."

"Like, spaceships?"

"Oh no, I've heard about those—dilation, right? The ones that take you forward."

"I'm not sure."

"No, no, these take you back. That's what the suggestion says, for some people it's spaceships and for you it's Temportkeys mostly. For me it was a carriage, I went back, and when I got out I was eighty years in the past. But when the night was over I was back to the time I came from. "

"Okay. And there was another traveller?"

"Adriana. She was from the twenties, and so the carriages took her even further back-to what she thought was the Golden Age."

"And then returned when the night was over?"

"No. That's the suggestion: different reactions. I...I travelled, but I knew in the end I had a life where I came from, I didn't need to go back. She was too nostalgic not to stay there."

"You can just move to another time? That's legal? Let me guess, that's Suggestion Number Seven—no, that was the one Branstone was going on about."

"Legal. At least, we've never gotten around to outlawing it."

"Huh." It would be tempting to see his parents...or stay in the future, make sure Voldemort was really gone...yet the thought of leaving Hogwarts, leaving Ron and Hermione and everyone he cared about there, was impossible.

"So, Adriana is a permanent traveller now. But once in a while, she needs help fitting in and asks for Union help—and once in a while," shrugged Gil, "I stop by."

"Are you...you two..."

"No. We considered it. But it wouldn't have worked, in her time or mine or...her new one, I suppose. Still, nice to check in on."

"And the library."

"Yes, I'm a writer, so having this around helps to research. Of course, it takes a lot of work—some of my stories keep getting rejected for being too unrealistic."

"Suggestion Number Five," they said in unison, and burst out laughing.

"I've spent too long here if I can rattle these off just like that," Harry decided. "Is Branstone back yet?"

"Should be, yeah. But maybe you're just destined to come back here."

"I think I'd like that. Some day. Once I figure out whether I've won this tournament."

"What tournament?"

"Oh, long story."

"Tell me about it, maybe it'll sell."

"Teenager enters in some magical tournament—" by this time any pretense of remembering the Statute of Secrecy had gone out the non-existent windows—"tries to find out who put his name in, tries to get a date but that's all...awkward..." The feeling he'd had when he'd seen Cedric and Cho dancing was still too strange to put into words. "Fends off idiot journalists and has to make sure evil crackpot isn't coming back."

Gil blinked. "Seems realistic enough."

"Brilliant, just send me a letter with the royalties. Oy! Branstone!"

For the witch had finally Apparated into the headquarters. "Wotcher, Harry!"

"How was 1893?"

"Windy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Great. Now, I've learned the first six useful suggestions, maybe you can explain what's so important about number seven." Without waiting for a response, he opened up his brochure. "Useful Suggestion Number Seven: Travelling too frequently can backfire. Pace yourself."

"Correct," said Branstone. "Between that last encounter and my previous visit to 1893, two weeks had passed in 1893. Therefore, I chose to return as close as possible to having two subjective weeks pass for me."

"But what difference does it make?"

"None crippling—if it was impossible we wouldn't bother suggesting you didn't do it!"

"Why do you suggest we don't do it, then?"

"There we go. Partly it's a matter of...social interaction. If I ask my contacts there how they are, how their families are, knowing it's been two weeks, they'll expect the same for me and it's a bit disorienting to say "well you know it's only been five minutes on my end.""

"Social interaction?" Harry gaped. "You're a time traveller, you have to be doing all sorts of secret work, and that's your best answer?"

"Well, everyone...everyone's mortal. There are people who venture all over the place just telling themselves they'll go back to where they came from and no one will know they've been gone. But—for us witches and wizards, anyway, the ways we have to do it—it takes a toll. Your body is aging, you're making new memories, and you don't fit in quite as well to the place you came from. It's easier on everyone—we're not talking about Time-Turners anymore, these are the Temportkeys—to arrive however long after you left so that it's as if you never travelled."

"The Temportkeys, you keep going on about them. That's, like, the bracelet that brought me here?"

"Right, yeah."

"Couldn't you have chosen something...less goofy-looking?"

"Afraid not, sport. We have a very limited supply—they haven't been invented yet."

"Haven't been...what, are you just borrowing them from the future?"

"Now you're catching on!"

"So when will they be invented?"

"I haven't heard. But my money says Agent Rhodon's the one that'll figure out how to do it, she really is brilliant."

"Where is she now? Or when?"

"I think she's providing backup on the mission to 1995—things didn't go as planned. Poor dear, she wanted to sit it out, too."

"What's going on? Back in my time?"

"Can't tell you that. Don't know for sure if our plan is working, either."

"You'll have to tell me something, isn't Rhodon or the...who's the other one, someone's going to take me back eventually, so you'll have to tell me something."

Branstone sighed. "It's a secret mission. Only a few people in 1995 will know."

"All right, but," Harry grinned, sensing an opportunity to best Branstone at her own game, "Useful Suggestion Number Seven, I'll have been missing for hours, I'll have to tell them something."

"Agent Figulus will have it all covered, I'm sure."

"And if things still don't go as planned?"

Branstone began to pace. "We'll get you back to your time. One way or another."

"But how long do I have to wait here for?"

"Calm down. You haven't even finished reading all the suggestions, have you?"

Harry rolled his eyes and reached for the brochure, but before he could open it up, he heard a faint voice calling from the kitchen. "Er...hello...is anyone here?"

Branstone glowered. "For the love of...Eckels!"

"Hello?"

"What are you...Come with me, Potter, you can make a new acquaintance." Branstone began walking down to the kitchen, each footstep laden with extra frustration. Harry followed a few steps behind, nervous.

If there was any doubt about the identity of the short, nervous-looking man with dark hair who stood expectantly over the stove, it was erased with Branstone's exasperated "Eckels." This, clearly, was not a man who had earned the luxury of a code name.

"Yes."

"What is this institution?"

"The. Er. The Time Travellers' Union, ma'am."

"And are you a time traveller?" Given Useful Suggestion Number One Harry thought this had to be a rather easy question to answer, but Eckels hesitated, shifting his weight between his feet until Branstone answered for him. "No. You are not. We will probably be going to great lengths to prevent your lot from ever messing with time."

"Thank you," he muttered.

"Oh, don't thank me, thank Agent Rhodon or whichever sorry person gets hauled into 2055 to clean up your mess. I personally plan on retiring well before then."

"Sorry," stammered Eckels.

"Now. Before I evict you, perhaps you'd like to explain to Harry Potter here the importance of Useful Suggestion Number Eight."

"No."

"Eckels," she smiled, "you really do not want to be on the Union's bad side."

"It's all right," said Harry hastily. Eckels' shrinking-back desperation almost reminded him of Wormtail. You have sent Voldemort a servant who is in your debt...It wasn't like he had much reason to care about the Union, and yet he didn't want to alienate the seemingly hopeless man.

"Which is eight again?" Eckels rummaged in his pockets. "I don't have one of those brochures?"

"That would be because you're not a time traveller anymore," Branstone hissed.

"Er, okay. Is it the one about those stupid butterflies?" Without waiting for a reply, he rounded on Harry. "Don't time travel at all if you can help it. And if you can't, don't do anything other people don't tell you to do. Don't kill stupid butterflies because they lead to bigger changes. Blah blah blah."

Harry blinked; this did not quite make sense. "What about the people who are telling other people what to do, though?"

"Oh, typical. Little kid wants to be the big boss. Why do I even bother?"

"A question I find myself asking far too often when you're involved, Eckels," said Branstone. "I suppose you really have been out of it, by the way, you've misremembered Suggestion Eight."

"I have?" Eckels said, with what passed for excitement coming from him. "Er, that makes sense really, suppose all that about butterflies should be rule number one. Or zero."

"What about number eight?" said Harry, before Branstone could interject, and took out his brochure once again.

Useful Suggestion Number Eight: Perhaps in every time and in every place, money corrupts. Do not obsess about acquiring goods that, after all, only have value in specific times and places.

"Can I see that?" asked Eckels.

"Sure," said Harry, handing it over as Branstone sighed. "What? He's not going anywhere."

Eckels squinted. "Number one's all about not giving time travel to idiots like me, isn't it? Is this the same?"

"You explain," said Branstone.

"All right," Eckels sighed. "Where I come from, what I used to remember—it's all a bit blurry. There was an election, I remember that much."

"And you went back in time to change it?" asked Harry.

"Oh no! No no no. It was just...for fun. We'd go back and kill a dinosaur."

"Why would you want to kill anything? Suggestion...four, was Scrooge? Not to do too much?"

"Who's Scrooge?"

"Never mind."

"Well, all right—it was just a hobby. People who had money to spend, like me, would blow it going back to the past. The people in charge, they cared about—not safety, even, just making sure they didn't break the rules themselves. They wanted to profit. I...I would have paid...anything. Anything to make sure it was all right, I...I don't know whether it all never happened or whether I've blocked it out..."

"There was trouble," said Branstone. "More so than usual. Now it's a good three decades before the trouble even starts, or finishes, as it were. I can only assume Rhodon or whoever's working here then will make sure it doesn't happen."

"But—whatever happens, can't you go back and fix it? I mean, you're time travellers."

Branstone shook her head sadly. "If only we could. Think of Grindelwald and his evil! If we could stop him, find an easy way to make sure he never gained power without raising questions about who we are, what we're doing, and making sure there were no paradoxes, of course we'd do it. The shorter the trip, the easier it is to make sure there are no thorny issues."

"But you said people are going back to 1995, to my time. That's thirty years."

Branstone bit her lip. "That mission took a lot of planning and I'm not even sure we get it right. Again, we needed all of Rhodon's expertise with the Temportkeys. If we succeed here, the reward will be...well worth the expense."

"And if you fail?"

Branstone did not answer.

"I'm sorry."

"Well," she said, forcing a smile but not meeting Harry's face, "we would have survived, I'm sure. You being the boy who lived and all that. Wouldn't have been as bad as Eckels here." Eckels did not even give an indignant reaction. "Still, let's hope they come through."

"This has something to do with whoever put my name into the goblet. They were trying to kill me, weren't they?"

Branstone looked from Harry to Eckels, then back, presumably deciding the latter was little risk to blab. "I believe so."

"What goblet?" said Eckels. "A poisonous goblet?"

"Eckels, just leave."

"Can I get some coffee before—"

"No."

Glumly, Eckels trudged off.

Harry picked up the brochure and reread Suggestion Number Eight again. "...do not obsess about acquiring goods..."

"Or as we put it sometimes, when your treasure is, there your heart will be also," said Branstone with a thin smile.

"Aha, are we quoting the Bible?" came a voice from the kitchen door.

"Or just random tombstones?" At first Harry thought it was the same person speaking, but he looked up to notice a pair of identical twins. They seemed about his age, even if he could not help but be reminded of Fred and George.

"Does it matter?" said the first.

"Do we have to be, er, discreet around company?"

"This is—"

"It's Harry Potter, isn't it? We've heard of you."

Harry blinked. "Yeah."

"How old are you?"

"Er...I'm fourteen."

"Cool," one of the twins smiled, as Branstone slipped out towards the door, presumably to make sure Eckels didn't stick around. "I'm Dennys Murry. This is Sandy."

"We're fifteen," said Sandy.

"It's nice to see people our age," Dennys added.

"But he was born so long after us."

"Still!"

"But he's—you know—"

"He isn't anything yet," said Dennys. "You're famous, here," he smiled at Harry, "even among the rest of us. Wizards talk."

Harry blushed. "D'you know Marty?"

"Sort of, yeah."

"He's not exactly our age either," said Sandy.

"I'll take what we can get. Unless you'd rather stay home and try and keep up with the family?"

Sandy rolled his eyes. "Okay."

"So, when are you here from? What...what do you eat, that different times don't have?"

"Huh," said Harry. "I honestly haven't seen much of the future, and it's been mostly biscuits in here. I...you know about Chocolate Frogs?"

"Nuh-uh," said Sandy.

"Well, they're—they're just, er, chocolates, in the shape of frogs. I guess they probably don't have any here. What about you?"

"I like spaghetti."

"You can cook spaghetti," Dennys interrupted, "we're in a kitchen, I'm sure they'd let you use it."

"You do it!"

"You brought it up. Sorry," he said to Harry, "this is dumb. Do you want to come back and visit us? You can show us your sports, R—Rhodon keeps trying to explain Quidditch."

"Quidditch is easy to understand, it's like basketball."

"It'd be nice to see, though," said Sandy.

"I'd like to get out of here, honestly, but I think I'm supposed to wait around. Do you want to explain the last couple Useful Suggestions to me?"

The twins glanced at each other. "We'd like to," said Dennys.

"We would?" said Sandy.

"But maybe you wouldn't want to listen, I mean, really." Sandy nodded in agreement.

"Well, I don't have anywhere else to go, do I?"

"Look," said Sandy. "Do you know...about Noah? And the ark?"

"Yeah," Harry blinked. "I mean, I've heard of—forty days and forty nights, innit? Two by two?"

"Forty days and—" Dennys echoed, then broke off.

"Did we ever—" began Sandy.

"Does it matter—"

"Well, at least he knows what we're talking about—" Harry, by that time a little confused, had opened up his brochure. Useful Suggestion Number Nine: Plan ahead, but realize that the official version of history may not be accurate. When in doubt, trust your experience.

"The official version might not be accurate—well, that makes sense, I guess." The twins still looked tense, and he tried to lighten the mood. "But what, are you telling me you met Noah and it was actually two days and forty by forty?"

They gave a nervous laugh. "Forty by forty!" Sandy blurted, grinning.

"Fourteen by fourteen, maybe, remember Meg looked that up—" Dennys blurted.

"But that's not—"

"What if we did?" Dennys said, focusing on Harry. "What if we told you we actually did go back in time and talk to Noah? Forgetting all that about how many animals and how many days."

Harry blinked. "I mean—everyone here has some kind of story to tell, some way that—to explain the suggestions. I guess—I was just joking about the numbers, but I assume you have to know something you want to tell me, about history not being how we remember it always."

Dennys sighed. "Look. We're just kids. Hardly any of the full-time agents take us seriously."

"Agent Maddox does—" says Sandy.

"He's different. But you have to understand, we've gone farther back in time than anyof the grownups."

"Except maybe Eckels."

"I'm not sure Eckels really counts," Harry grinned, as Dennys said much the same thing.

"See?" Sandy said. "He's one of us. He'll be fine."

"Okay," Dennys glared. "But you have to understand, we know what we're talking about."

"Of course," said Harry. "I, I barely know any of this."

"Okay. So, we went back in time, and met Noah."

Harry blinked. "And this isn't about the animals."

"Not exactly."

"Oh...okay. Noah. Ark?"

"Yep."

"Well," said Sandy, "we weren't, you know, in on all of that."

"I mean, we helped build it."

"But we weren't on it."

"Oh...kay?"

"All right, trivia then, what were the names of Noah's children?"

"Er...I suppose...he had some...for...after...wards?" Harry slowly reasoned. While he was familiar with the broad concepts at work, the details escaped him.

"Right," said Dennys. "Don't worry, it's not a problem if you don't know off the top of your head."

Sandy turned to his twin. "See, it's fine. If he doesn't—know all the details—of the common version, he won't be too surprised."

"I'm right here," Harry interrupted.

"Okay," Sandy breathed. "The point is, Noah had some daughters. One of whom—didn't—she was gone before the ark sailed. But—she was there, she was part of his family. She's not in the Bible, but..." he shrugged. "That's not the entire story."

"O...kay?"

"That—yeah. Basically that's it."

"Don't believe the official—okay."

"You're okay?" said Dennys.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm still—it's been kind of a crazy day for me."

"But you're okay."

"Sure. I guess. I just want to go home."

Dennys smiled, nodding at the brochure. "One more left?"

"Maybe two. It's not clear."

"How isn't it clear?" asked Sandy.

"I heard there are either ten or eleven, it changes?"

"Yeah, things change. Only one way to find out though, right?" Dennys smiled, and Harry opened the brochure one more time.

Useful Suggestion Number Ten: By the same token, different places and times will have different norms. Make changes when they're for the best, but don't expect complete understanding of the time you come from, to say nothing of you yourself.

"It's true," said Sandy. "People in Noah's time? Were short."

"I don't think that's what it's about," said Dennys.

"Of course it is what it's about! Different times—they were really short. And we couldn't have changed them even if we wanted to, so it wasn't worth our time to bother."

"Okay, yeah. But also, like—whoever passed down the stories, wouldn't have—they forget about Yalith, Noah's daughter, eventually. Maybe just because she was a woman."

"Or maybe people just don't remember because there was a flood."

"Whichever! The point is—we didn't need to nag people about including her, they had bigger things to worry about."

"Like, a flood."

"There—there was a flood?" Harry interrupted.

"We weren't around for that," said Dennys.

"But—for the best. You could have tried to warn people, bring them back to a safer time?"

"We didn't know about the Union," said Sandy. "We weren't even sure we'd get back."

"So how did you find out?"

"Well—afterwards—we didn't know who to talk about it with, really," said Sandy. "I mean, our brother and sister have...always been a little strange. We're more of the normal ones in our family. We needed to talk to people who—who understood about time travel, but who could also talk to us about sports and things. Just hang out."

"And then a few weeks later, Agent Maddox found us after school. Didn't say much, just gave us directions to the Union, and...here we are," said Dennys. "We've been here a couple times, now."

"You keep mentioning Agents," said Harry. "Is Branstone an agent? Who all are they?"

"Nah, she's just one one of your...witches," Sandy shrugged. "I don't get it but apparently there are some witches who have special jobs—in your government—that are secret, that even the rest of you don't know much about?"

"Oh," said Harry, remembering the Quidditch World Cup. "Yeah. Department of Secrets or something, I don't know."

"She's one of them. So she does time travel and comes here, but mostly she's working for your government."

"The Agents are the ones with code names," said Dennys. "Rhodon, Figulus, Maddox—none of them are their real names. They travel so much, that there's a risk of them running into their past or future selves or having other people run into them—they need to be secret."

"What about Morison?"

"Who?" asked Dennys.

"Elizabeth? Sometimes called Annie?"

"Dunno," said Sandy, "haven't met everyone here."

"Fair enough," said Harry, shrugging. Perhaps Morison just liked her anonymity.

"But yeah," said Dennys, "Maddox isn't a wizard, he's just really good with time travel. See, I think we doknow him, maybe he's your son from the future?"

"Maybe he's your son from the future," said Sandy, "same DNA."

"Ew. Um. Rhodon's a witch, Figulus's a wizard...well..."

Sandy laughed. "Useful Suggestion Number Ten?"

"You know it!"

"He—he's gone back a ways, like you?" Harry asked, trying to keep up.

"It doesn't even need to be that far, for him—he's—"

"Should we bring this up?" said Sandy.

"Why not, Harry wants to learn about the Suggestions, doesn't he?" said Dennys.

"Well, okay, but—"

"But nothing. Figulus's got a husband."

Harry blinked. "A...husband. Right, Marty mentioned."

"It was weird, getting used to that, at first," said Sandy. "But you don't really think about it too much, in his time it's more normal. It's just, when he goes back pretty far and people see his wedding ring they draw the wrong conclusions. And he just lets them, usually, it's easier that way. Doesn't try to change people that much."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I..."

It had been a long year of trying to survive. Survive a threat that, apparently, had important implications for the history of the wizarding world, not just him. In the meantime, there was his best friend to fall out and reconcile with, and half of the school turned against him. Yet, throughout it all, Cedric had been brilliant—the rightful champion paying Harry back in kind for his clue, refusing to take a victory he'd earned at the end, and then being lost in the scuffle. He had no idea which decade Cedric had wound up in, much less whether he was alive, and the fear flared up inside him, threatened to overwhelm him...

"I—I'd like to talk to this Figulus—see how he manages it—" he stammered, panting heavily.

Dennys gave a weak smile. "He's on the mission."

"Figures," said Harry, leaning his head against what he hoped was an innocuous kitchen counter.

"Oy!" came a voice from outside, "no one look in the hall, I'm going to the clothing room now!"

Sandy grinned. "Hi, Alba."

"Shut up, Murry," said a very frustrated teenager. There were advantages, Harry reflected, in dealing with twins.

A few minutes later, she had made her way into the kitchen. She unceremoniously threw open a refrigerator door and took out a pitcher, before blinking at the strange appliances. "Where do you even keep the cups?"

"Try here," said Sandy. "Wait, no, this isn't it."

"Over here?" said Dennys, reaching for another cupboard. "Wait, no."

"Move it," she said, approaching Harry who jerked wildly and stepped aside as she reached for a cupboard above him, removing a glass and pouring herself some orange juice.

"This is Harry Potter," said Sandy.

"I'm Alba DeTamble, and I'm getting out of here as soon as I can," said Alba, taking a big gulp and refilling her orange juice. "I should never have let Dad bring me here, now I can wind up here whenever,ugh."

"But don't you like having other people to talk to about time travel?" asked Dennys.

"I never asked for any of this. I don't want it, I don't...I'm going to get it under control as soon as I can."

"You have to admit, it's a good place to land," said Sandy. "We can help, we like the company."

"Speak for yourself, you keep your clothes on."

Harry blinked.

"I'm a Chrono-Displaced Person," Alba sighed. "Unlike these lucky twits with their unicorns—"

"We hadn't brought those up—" Dennys interrupted.

"You're a wizard, aren't you?" said Alba witheringly.

"Yeah?" Harry replied.

"See, he knows about unicorns."

"Not our kind," said Dennys.

"Whatever! The point is, most people can control their travelling. They do it on purpose. For me it's a disease, I jump and I can't say when I'll go or where I'll go or when I'll go back. And I can't keep my clothes on. So I need this stupid Union."

"And you landed here," said Sandy patiently.

"I'm going to find a way to control it," said Alba. "Rhodon's helping me research. We're going to end this."

"And you'll miss it," said Sandy, "I bet you."

"I don't place bets with time travellers."

"Speaking of this Rhodon," said Harry, "when's she getting back? I want to go home, and I've read all the Useful Suggestions."

"Oh, you got the propaganda?" said Alba.

"It seems useful!" said Harry, a bit indignant. For all that he desperately wanted to get back to Hogwarts and make sure Cedric was okay, the Union had grown on him.

"Forget that," said Alba. "Here, I'll tell you all I need to know—"

"Bit late now, innit?"

"Family always finds a way."

Harry thought of the alien, hoping to meet his lost son. Of Marty, trying to protect his parents and succeeding in a way he didn't know he had dreamed of. Of Mazer, going to war to defend his grandchildren's future. Of Sandy and Dennys and their sister and brother.

And he remembered the time he had thought he saw James Potter. Prongs rode again last night.

"I believe you," he said. "Tell me your story."

"Tell us who Maddox is," said Dennys.

Alba rolled her eyes. "You two—I can't believe you haven't figured it out, honestly. Harry, yes. Although there's not much to it."

"Come on, you sounded confident in something," said Harry.

"I am," she blushed. "All right. Well, I think of this as a disease—it's genetic, I got it from my father. He died too young, there were complications with the travelling. And—to a certain level—I resent him for that. I wouldn't want to have kids myself right now, knowing all the risks involved. But—he's never really gone. I've been to his past, he's been there for me even when I didn't believe it. It just—I can't stay mad at him." She smiled. "I've tried."

"Your dad uses the Union too, though, right?" said Sandy. "Don't you see him here?"

"Yeah. Well. He uses it, he needs the clothes and everything. Needed..." She broke off. "He's dead. He's been dead for years. And yet I still see him."

"That's good, isn't it?" Harry cut in.

"For other people it's bad. If I could totally control where I was going they'd say I wasn't grieving right, that I hadn't adjusted to him being gone. But—I don't even want this, so until we can completely control it I might as well try and stay with my family." She gave a wry smile. "One time traveller is too many. Two is almost enough."

"That's nice," said Sandy. "But who's Maddox?"

She shook her head. "None of your business. Yet. I—oh, great." Her face turned pale.

"Great what?"

"It was nice to meet you, Harry. Sorry, I—" Before she could finish, she had vanished out of the room.

"Was—did she just Apparate?" said Harry. "Does everybody leave like that?"

"No," said Sandy. "What's Apparate?"

"Never mind."

"She really can't control it," said Dennys, "she just comes and goes like that."

"Huh. Guess that wouldn't be fun, yeah."

"Hello?" called a voice from outside, "Harry? Are you here?"

"Yeah, he's here," said Dennys, "and ready to go."

"Go somewhere else," called Sandy, "he hasn't gotten to explain Quidditch yet."

Agent Rhodon walked in and smiled. "Don't worry, I'll try again once I'm finished dropping him off."

"I can go back now?" said Harry.

"Yep!" she grinned. "All set."

"Did—I heard—you had some kind of mission." She looked as if her teeth were about to chatter. "I didn't hear too much, just—that it was important. Is everything okay?"

"I think so," she breathed. "It—there were complications. Figulus was in trouble for a while."

"So you doubled back to save him?" said Dennys.

"No, he—he got out of it himself. I haven't asked, but he's a little winded. He went back to be with his family and relax for a while."

"Can I meet him?" said Harry. "He sounds like...you know...a nice guy. Someone to look up to."

Rhodon smiled. "Not today. We have to get you back to Hogwarts."

"Okay," Harry nodded. "What—how's everything? Is Cedric okay, Fleur and Krum?"

"They're all fine. Cedric—we took him back to Hogwarts right away, they're waiting for you. It's been a few hours now."

"Did Krum—what was he after? He tried to hurt Fleur?"

"Yeah, it—Dumbledore or someone will have it sorted. I don't think he's at fault here, Krum, but—I was busy keeping everything else under control."

"Right," Harry blinked, then remembered the rumors that a few of the older students had been spreading about the headmaster—hearsay, but comforting hearsay during a few months when he was trying to sort everything out. "Agent Figulus isn't Dumbledore's code name, is it?"

"Who's Dumbledore?" said Sandy, while Rhodon burst into laughter.

"He's not a time traveller," she said, once she'd stopped laughing. "And even if he was, his code name would be something like...let's see, Agent White, I suppose."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I'll explain later," she said. "Do you still have that bracelet?"

"Somewhere," said Harry, rummaging in his robes.

"Good. I don't really know how to make new Temportkeys but I think I should be able to modify this—" He must have looked nervous, because she went on, "We'll get you home! Don't worry. Here, I'll show you my workbench."

"Bench?"

"Well, that's what I call it anyway. Come on."

Waving to the Murrys, they left the kitchen and proceeded back to the computer room. A small door along the back wall led to a dim hallway with a short ceiling. In a low voice, Rhodon explained, "These are mostly for full-time staff. Here's my office."

It was a room lit by a Muggle lava lamp—there were still no windows. Though there was a thin desk with piling-up paperwork, Rhodon directed her attentions to another table. She stood over the bracelet, periodically dumping sand on it and holding her wand carefully above.

"If you don't mind me asking," said Harry, "I was just talking to Alba and it sounds like time travel runs in the family, sometimes." Rhodon nodded vaguely. "Sorry, am I distracting you?"

"No, it's fine. I'll let you know if I need to concentrate."

"Okay. It's just—was your father a time-traveller? Er, is..."

Rhodon gave another hearty laugh. "My dad—he's an Auror. He's brave and kind and good and I love him to bits. But—give him a time-turner and part of me thinks he'd just try and see the future to bet on Quidditch." She grinned. "My mum is worse. She thinks she understands everything—and then goes on about how she'd run the place to avoid paradoxes. She doesn't really get how complicated it is, and I've given up trying to bring work home."

"Paradoxes?"

"Well...let's see. You read through all the Useful Suggestions, didn't you?"

"Yep!"

"Did you bother with the Theoretical Precepts?"

"Er. No. Are they more important?"

"Yeah, but you don't have to read them, it's just explaining the way things are." She reached for a potion vial, dripping a few drops onto the bracelet, which fizzed brown but then lay still. "There are a couple...ways of understanding time travel, for people like Mum who just need everything spelled out. But neither of them are quite right."

"Oh?"

"The first way is that every time you go back in time to make a change, you're not actually changing the past you remember, because otherwise you wouldn't remember it. Instead you're making a whole new universe while the old one carries on without you."

"What'd be the use of changing anything, then? If you're just abandoning one world, it doesn't make much of a difference there if you save a new one."

"Exactly!" said Rhodon. "So that can't be right. Now, the other theory is that there's only one universe—which makes sense—but you can't change anything, you're only going back to make sure things go the way they went all along."

"Isn't that how Time-Turners work, though? We have to keep out of sight so we don't think we've gone mad?"

"Ugh, you sound like Mum. I mean, yes, that is how Time-Turners work, but—there are a lot more ways of playing with time. The Temportkeys are far more powerful, and I think we're only scratching the surface."

"So the two big rules..."

"Are that those are both wrong. There's one world. But we can change it."

"But it's not always enough. Branstone told me about Grindelwald..."

"Yeah. It's not always enough. But we try. We do our best."

"How do you know that you're making the right decision? That changing something now doesn't make it worse, down the line?"

Rhodon paused, still holding her wand over the bracelet—a beam of light shot out of the tip every few seconds. Finally, she said, "We don't."

"You don't?"

"We have to believe. You talked to the twins, you heard about—about Noah?"

"And the ark. And his kids. Sort of. And unicorns?"

"Yep," said Rhodon. "Sometimes—you do the best with what you have, and in the end, you just believe. That the universe is more beautiful and more mysterious than you know. And that there are powers on your side in the end. That you have friends everywhere."

Harry smiled. "And everywhen."

"Exactly," Rhodon nodded. "You know...I think I was wrong."

"What?"

"A few minutes ago. Agent Figulus...isn't blood family, really, but he's close enough. Only pureblood nutters are too concerned about that stuff, anyway. He's my godfather and I always looked up to him growing up. I guess that might be the reason I joined."

"Oh. He seems great."

"He really is. He's, you know, married to another wizard—Quidditch ref, actually, he and my dad get into the dumbest arguments." Rhodon sighed. "They—Figulus and his husband—were both in a lot of danger tonight. Back in your time. If things had gone wrong, either of them could eventually have—have been in a lot of trouble."

"That's why you didn't want to go?"

"Yeah. I was just—too scared that something would happen, or I'd blow it. But—it all worked out. Somehow." She looked down at the bracelet. "I think it's ready."

"I just put it on?"

"Yep. You'll go back near Hogwarts, just walk up to the school. They're waiting for you."

He nodded. "Do—do we ever meet? In my future?"

"I can't tell you that. Things can still change."

"Okay. Well—how will I get back here, if I want? I heard there's always a way in..."

"You'll find it," said Rhodon. "Give it time. Until then—take care. Oh, and Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Just to warn you, there's been a little—well—it's all hush-hush, but just so you know, Hogwarts is going to need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher again. So look out."

He rolled his eyes and reached for the bracelet. "Typical."

"Hullo?" called Branstone. "Rose? Is Harry there with—"

And then he was gone, the castle suddenly appearing before him, and the bracelet lifeless in one hand. He tucked it inside his robes, just to make sure the brochure was still there. It was, all ten suggestions (and two precepts) spelled out in their technical glory.

Smiling faintly, Harry climbed up towards the school. It was by then very dark, and suddenly he remembered he didn't have his wand.

But when he reached the front steps, Cedric was standing there, a spare wand in tow. "Harry!" he called. "You're all right!"

"Yeah," he breathed. "Somehow, are you—what happened?"

"I didn't even see much. I was Stunned for a while but there were a bunch of—I didn't see much, really. Er. You dropped this." He held out the wand, which Harry took with a nervous laugh. "The tournament's all settled, there'll be another feast for us and we'll split the Galleons. Oh, and Moody's gone, Dumbledore was furious about something."

"So nothing's changed, then," Harry smiled.

"Change for the better, five hundred Galleons in the bank!"

"Yeah. I—I'm really—you know. Glad you're alright, I was nervous..."

"Me too," admitted Cedric, opening one arm out in welcome. Harry sank into a hug—just that, yet all the same the power of the future seemed to spill out in front of him like the grains of so many hourglasses.

"Let's go inside, yeah? Your friends are waiting, and you're gonna have to tell us where you disappeared to."

"Sure," said Harry, entering Hogwarts once again. "But no rush, okay? We have all the time in the world."