Chapter I: A cold, cold welcome.
Harry was suffocating. He was sentient, and lost in time. He felt his consciousness being pushed and pulled about in a kaleidoscope of colours, with no seeming direction or purpose. After an indeterminate amount of time, however, he was released from this state, and came upon the realisation that he was hovering above Dumbledore's Pensieve. The latter looked up momentarily and frowned, before returning to his paperwork.
It worked! Harry thought to himself triumphantly.
Moreover, he noticed that he was able to move merely by thinking and without any obstruction from natural barriers such as walls or doors. Quickly, he made his way out of Dumbledore's office through the window, and began to hover towards Hogsmeade, where he would follow the railroad tracks all the way back to London, as had been decided.
Harry enjoyed this journey immensely. It was very much like flying his Firebolt, but without any semblance of weight or air resistance. In fact, his trip seemed to last for only several minutes, leading Harry to wonder whether or not time was still being compressed at random points. However, he did not feel any interruption in his pace as he flew towards Privet Drive, in a desperate quest to unite with his body and his mind.
Indeed, it was not long before he lowered his altitude as he spotted London, and subsequently directed himself towards Surrey, where he knew that another Harry Potter awaited. And every mile he flew closer to himself, Harry could feel the exhilaration of his possibilities draw nearer.
To Harry's surprise, when he cast his view upon Number 4 Privet Drive, he saw not a house, but simply an overwhelming glow emanating from within. Deciding to investigate this, he darted towards the house slowly, until he realised that he was no longer in control of his own motion, and that his substance, for lack of a better word, was being inexplicably drawn to the bright light. No matter how hard Harry fought against this force, he would not cease his worrying approach towards it.
It was not until Harry noticed that the glow appeared to take the shape of his sleeping silhouette that he made up his mind to allow nature to take its course, and unify his mind and body. He was barely aware of passing through the roof of Number 4, and of the intense radiance that flared out just as his leading edge was moulded into his prone form.
Without a discernable sound or motion, the metaphysical particle that Harry had inhabited became one with his eleven-year-old physiology. The sleeping Boy-Who-Lived, however, did not stir, nor cease to dream, and just kept resting until the morning light.
***
At seven AM precisely, Harry awoke with a start. He was trying to remember his dream. It had been about a flying motorcycle, but then had switched rather abruptly to one about a future ... man? With memories of wars and a magical school? Hogwarts! The man had gone to Hogwarts, then. But if only Harry could remember who the man had been, he was sure he'd stumble across whatever was eluding him in his mind.
Had it been his father? No, that couldn't have been it.
"Wait a minute!" Harry nearly screamed. "That wasn't my father! That was me. But, how? Memories, wars. Memories, wars."
And so it went for the better part of an hour, until Harry recalled something about Diagon Alley in his dreams, which in turn led him to remember that he had promised to meet Hermione and Ron. With that revelation in place, he finally figured out that he had been the future self, and all the memories came flooding back.
Less than a full minute later, Harry was dressed and ready to head to London, eager to meet his companions. He was still shaking his head about the massive amount of time it had taken him to recollect all of his memories, and bring them to the forefront of his mind as he applied Glamour Charms to himself. If Hermione was to be believed, none of them had had the Trace applied to them yet, thus rendering the Ministry completely ignorant of any magic they may have cast. He only hoped that the others had thought to alter their appearance, as this had not been discussed beforehand; regardless, Harry figured, this should not be the cause of excessive worry on his part.
So, the Boy-Who-Lived walked out of Privet Drive, with a copious number of spells on him, whose overall effect was to lend him a passable resemblance to that of a young Hugh Laurie. He was clad in Dudley's old jumper, and a pair of baggy jeans, along with his ancient second-hand trainers (also inherited from Dudley). He made his way carefully across the street, tucking his wand under his belt as he went, and signalling for the Knight Bus.
Harry gave a loud gasp when he set eyes upon the conductor. Although the young man introduced himself as Stan Shunpike, he was tall, well-spoken and thoroughly-groomed, a far cry from the lad who had shown nothing but sloppy treatment of his customers in another lifetime.
The trip to Diagon Alley, for which Harry paid his last remaining Sickles from his previous trip to the Alley with Hagrid, was uneventful, but fraught with insecurities as to what awaited on the other side of the barrier between Muggles and Wizardkind. What if Stan Shunpike was not the only changed factor? What if Harry had landed in an alternate universe where he was not even famous and not to be given a shot at avoiding all-out war? What if so many things had changed that he would be rendered inept and confused as a result of his supposed foreknowledge? Or what if, by some cruel twist of fate, he had actually died in his trip back to the past, and condemned to a world in which he was forced to see those he loved perish once again, as he had over the past year? Or perhaps he was simply barred from changing the future by the laws of causality, and the same reaction would meet any given action in every instance.
Harry wished he had had more time to think over all of these things. But the previous night had left him no choice – everything had occurred at breakneck pace, rendering the trio unable to contemplate any alternatives to the plan Dumbledore had set forth. He resolved to ask Hermione about his concerns.
"I'm no good at pondering these things any damn way," Harry murmured.
"Ah, don't worry, Sir. I myself endeavour to think that all things sort themselves out with enough time. Your stop is next, by the way," Stan informed him.
"Thank you," replied Harry, as he made to get up and amble to the door of the bus.
His progress was impeded by Stan, who made to grab his shoulder, thought the better of it, and simply moved in front of him and asked, "Are you sure you're feeling alright, Sir? I could take you to St. Mungo's if you wish - "
"What? No! Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said distractedly.
He was somewhat disturbed by Stan's newfound sensitivity as to his passengers' wellbeing, especially since he vividly remembered the conductor's indifference towards an extremely sick passenger in Harry's third year.
"Alright, if you say so," Stan replied uncertainly. Then he shouted, "Next stop, Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley, everyone!"
Harry rushed off the Knight Bus, glad to be rid of his first enigma in this new past.
Upon exiting, he surveyed his surroundings, and made a beeline for the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside, he skulked over to the back door, in the hope of avoiding any more questions as to his health. Miraculously, he went by unnoticed and nonchalantly waited for the witches in front of him to vacate the area around the dustbins, before he made his way out to the little courtyard.
Before Harry had even had a chance to look around properly, he was accosted by two figures, whose poise and posture he immediately recognised as belonging Ron and Hermione. The brunette witch (still a brunette witch in disguise) cried out with joy at seeing him alive and well, while the owner of a short, stocky, dark frame (presumably Ron) was bouncing up and down in relief.
"You're late!" he barked. "We've been waiting on you for ages."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't wake until seven, and needed a full hour to find my memories," Harry said, genuinely worried as to why he had taken so long to remember his condition, while his friends had apparently not encountered such difficulties. "I'm glad you guys figured out the Glamour Charms! How did you make it here?"
"Ron got here first, and I came no later than ten minutes after he did," Hermione informed. "But we're glad that we all made it in one piece, with our minds intact, and having thought to apply disguises!"
"Yeah," said Ron awkwardly, "how about we go someplace where we won't be overheard by anyone who cares to listen?"
Harry actually snorted. "Yeah, like anyone would believe us even if we told them who we were and where we were from!" he joked.
"Harry," Hermione began sternly, before Harry cut her off.
"I know, I know, I shouldn't joke around, else I might violate some major laws that would destroy everything. I know."
"Enough of this," Ron said with frustration. "Let's be off someplace."
Harry, Ron and Hermione wandered aimlessly for a short while, enjoying the Diagon Alley that they had once known – bustling, happy and safe. But all three knew that there was an important conversation to be had about their future plans, and so decided to stop at The Wand and Mettle, a small pub off one of the major arteries of the Alley. Taking a booth in a far corner, and paying for three Butterbeers (this time with the last of Hermione's wizard coins), they hunched over to plot their next moves.
"I've been thinking one of the first stops," said Harry, "will be Gringotts. I have to make nice-nice with the Goblins, and take obscene amounts of money out of my vault. For some reason, everyone neglected to tell me that my actual account was only an atrium to the Potter family vault!"
"All the things we found out in our year of independence," reminisced Ron. "So many things could've been better planned. Like..."
"Nevermind about what we could've done!" Hermione said hotly. "Let's try to focus on this year, and take it a few months at a time, OK?"
"I agree," shot Harry, casting an annoyed look at Ron. "We didn't go through all this just to regret what could've happened in another timeline."
"OK. Fair enough," said Ron, in an attempt to placate the other two.
It was highly unusual to see Hermione overreacting in such a way to the merest of Ron's implications about prior failures. But it was testament to how united the three were, that despite their exhaustion and psychological strain, they managed to put Ron's gaffe behind them with so little brouhaha. However, they did manage to drift off on a tangent depicting the obvious difficulties of retrieving Harry's money whilst under heavy disguise. Consequently, Harry changed his approach.
"Now," Harry started again, "my very first point of business is about the esteemed Professor Quirrel. What to do?"
"Well," replied Hermione, "there's not much we can do about Voldemort in the back of his head. Dumbledore had always said that Quirrel was a dead man as soon as he fused with Voldemort."
"Yeah, but how do we know that one of them isn't casting Legilimency on us, and seeing all our rather, um, delicate memories?" asked Ron concernedly.
The situation was not grave, however, judging by Hermione's self-satisfied smile that shone briefly, before she launched into explanation:
"Ah. That would be a problem, except for the fact that our physical memories, or the ones that can be found in our head, are only the collective experiences that we have already had in this timeline, and the ones we have had since last night, and nothing from the old future!"
"How do you mean?" asked Ron.
"What she means," Harry explained, trying to fully cotton on, "is that the only things that can be found in our heads are what we've already done in this timeline before we fused with ourselves, and whatever it is that we're experiencing right now."
"Correct," smiled Hermione. "but there's more. I ask you: where do we store our old memories, and why is it that we can retrieve them from there?"
Harry and Ron both looked completely dumbfounded.
"Uh," began Harry intelligently, "I suppose that we can just recall them randomly because they're combined with our magic."
Hermione looked impressed. Ron was looking at him as though he had never quite seen his best friend before.
"That's as far as I got Harry!" she told him with an air of mild frustration. "But from that, I can infer that our signatures are naturally imbedded in our minds, in a place inaccessible via Legilimency. Isn't it fascinating?"
"OK, hang on a sec," blurted out Ron. "Hermione answered my question a while ago. Now, as bloody mesmerizing as this may be, don't we have more pressing issues?"
Harry was slightly relieved that he had averted one of Hermione's theoretical discussions, even though he knew that they may one day need to understand all of the factors the conversation implied, or suggested. Hermione just looked as though Christmas had been cancelled, and the Hogwarts Library looted.
"Righto," said Ron, oblivious to the tension in their situation. "So we've solved Quirrel. We'll just figure out a way to intercept him closer to the end of the year."
"Unless we observe drastic changes in character," countered Hermione.
"Yes," agreed Harry. "How are we going to pass the time? I mean, schoolwork is going to be very easy, but we're going to have to be seen studying. What do we occupy ourselves with?"
"How about defensive hexes and the like? We can always prepare ourselves for the future, and for a new version of the DA," said Hermione.
"I think that a little bit of spying wouldn't hurt," said Ron. "We could also form a better idea of the new timeline, and the small changes we see in people around us, to come up with a better strategy."
It was astounding to Harry that Ron could occasionally come up with such deep commentary on serious issues; even more so when Ron added-
"...and let's face it. Quidditch is going to be so much better this time around!"
***
Around an hour later, the trio stepped out of The Wand and Mettle, complete with an approximate strategy and a very large shopping list of school supplies and other Dark Detectors, and things that they had learned to live with during their year of isolation and being chased halfway across the continent by Voldemort.
As promised, their first stop was Gringotts. To Harry's relief, they were greeted by a goblin other than Griphook (Harry thought his name was Ragnok, but could not be sure) who did not ask questions about unknown countenance and obviously false identities.
But, instead of simply taking large amounts of gold out of his vault, and risk losing it to circumstance or thievery, and attract even more attention, Harry simply asked to have a wizarding credit card, called a Gold Reserve Card, made in his name, so that he could make purchases without fumbling through a small fortune in each and every shop.
Harry told the Goblins that he was in fact a representative of Mr. Potter, who wished to do business with Gringotts at several points in the future, and would thus need a reliable way of getting his hands on his gold, and quickly. The goblins looked impressed about the Boy-Who-Lived and his willingness to do business with a race that was generally looked down upon by Wizards. Of course, another important reason Harry wanted a Gold Reserve Card was to never have to go down to his vault in disguise, and risk being uncovered as an impostor by the keepers of his finances.
It took up less than a half hour to put all of his affairs in order, and to make all the fiscal pleasantries that Goblins favoured. The transaction relieved Harry enormously, as he had managed to accomplish one of his most nagging priorities with regard to the new timeline. It was also a good sign that the goblins seemed to trust the Hugh-Laurie-lookalike, and made promises of more interaction in future, hopefully with Mr. Potter in person!
By the time the friends had left Gringotts, Harry was sporting a genuine grin, having knowingly made a positive impact on the keepers of his gold.
With a little luck, he thought, they might be more helpful towards wizards this time. Provided I put Ludo Bagman in a deep, dark hole.
The trio proceeded to raid every major shop in Diagon Alley; Hermione and Ron bought bits and bobs which they would eventually have come to enjoy in this timeline (in Ron's case, this was translated into plenty of sweets). Harry bought himself a brand new trunk, much like the one that impostor-Moody had owned, but with only four compartments, one of which was the size of a small basement.
After all of their "innocent" shopping had been done, Harry squeezed into an empty restroom and proceeded to place a dozen charms on his clothing, in order to look somewhat more professional; some of the books he was interested in purchasing contained advanced magic that would attract the attention of any vendor. Hence, a casual chap in baggy jeans, who looked no more than twenty-five, could not be seen buying them.
It was with no small amount of relief that Harry sighed after he realised for a second time that Hermione had indeed been right in implying that the Trace had not yet been placed upon them, seeing as they had not yet attended Hogwarts, and thus could cast no magic in this timeline.
Upon walking out of the restroom, he met up with Ron and Hermione, who were sporting the same outfit they had before, and did not sport the aura of caring for the items they were about to purchase.
"Just one thing Harry," Hermione said. "Shrink your trunk now and expand it when you get home – I don't wanna carry these sensitive books along with a trunk and who knows how many other things!"
"Good idea," commended Ron. "You know the charm right?"
Hermione merely looked at him, askance.
She appeared to take offence at the fact that Ron was questioning her magical ability after years and years of relying on her for homework and practicality. With nary a huff, they entered the store and began browsing casually.
It took the three of them a total of two hours to pick up all of the tomes that they felt they needed for a full semester. A lot of the books were about fighting the Dark Arts, and many more on advanced defensive magic. They had also bought a couple of volumes on the topic of theoretical time travel (which were high priority, considering their condition), which they hoped would warn them of any problems of causality that they might encounter, or tell them whether they had landed in an alternate universe, comprised of small, mutually-exclusive differences from the original timeline.
Upon completing this, Ron informed Harry and Hermione that he was extremely hungry.
"Yes, we'll go eat in a little bit," said Harry, thinking hard. "But the last thing we have to do is buy a Pensieve. There are some thing's I'd like to store in one."
"Oooh," said Hermione. "That would be helpful."
They went to a specialised shop very near The Wand and Mettle, called Mystical Artifacts of Magick. Apparently, it was one of the first shops to do business in Diagon Alley, after Ollivander's. Harry wondered how he had never even heard about it in the first timeline. The trio decided that Harry should go inside alone.
As he entered, Harry was greeted by a jovial young man, with hawkish eyes that bore a striking resemblance to Madam Hooch.
"Hi," said Harry uncertainly. "I'm looking to buy a Pensieve. I was wondering if you might have anything interesting."
"Oh," said the shopkeeper, quite obviously recognising Harry as a unique customer. "I'll have to get the owner for a transaction like that. Just a minute, please."
He turned around, and ascended the stairs quickly, as though excited by the news that somebody wanted to buy a Pensieve. It was a full minute before Harry heard noises from above, and knew the owner was about to appear.
Harry was not prepared, however, for the identity of the owner, who was none other than Albus Dumbledore.
"Good afternoon," said the Headmaster pleasantly. "I heard that you would like to inquire as to the price of a Pensieve. I must warn you, however, that they are not cheap."
"I quite understand," said Harry nervously, counting his blessings since he had thought to give himself a look that implied a professional demeanour, and spoke nothing of his true physical features, lest he be recognised by the sheer power of observation he knew Dumbledore to possess.
"Well, we do not currently have one in stock, but you can leave a small fee with us now, and we shall have it in by December. I'm terribly sorry for the wait, but Pensieves are hard to come by," said Dumbledore.
"Yes, yes. How much might this fee be?" Harry inquired.
"Ten galleons," replied Dumbledore. "The whole Pensieve is 985 galleons; but I suppose we could haggle a little bit here and there!"
Harry had a very hard time believing that Dumbledore would try to rip him off, yet could not understand the man's apparent glee at the impending barter over a rare magical object. So he merely paid his deposit, and left the shop without a backwards glance, quickly vacating the area with Ron and Hermione confusedly in tow.
***
"Wait a sec," interrupted Ron for what seemed like the umpteenth time, fork suspended halfway between plate and mouth, looking utterly flabbergasted.
"Yes Ron, we decided we have no idea whether or not Dumbledore owned such a shop in the original timeline," said Hermione impatiently.
"Shhhh. Hermione, it's not that I don't trust you, but a couple of privacy charm doesn't mean you can shout around about the original timeline," Harry whispered nervously.
"Yeah Hermione," began Ron, eager to turn the tide of the conversation into an offence on Hermione's occasional outburst of impatience. "How would you feel if all this went to hell 'cause of your short temper!"
"Oh ha ha ha."
Harry sighed, only vaguely listening to Ron and Hermione's playful banter. They had all observed the subtlest of divergences from the previous universe; however, they did not know whether this was due to an excessive tendency to be over-analytic due to an ingrained fear of change, or due to real, observable phenomena. Whilst Hermione had preached a message of versatility when Harry had confided in them at the start of the meal, and Ron had looked supremely unconcerned, Harry was worried. Was his foreknowledge already useless? Were these differences mere indicators of a potential for differentiation on a large scale? And how –
"Harry, are you listening?"
"Wha', yea', I mean ... what?" he asked intelligently.
"We should get a move-on, else we'll be missed at home," Hermione said. "Ron's parents are going to be expecting him from the Lovegoods' very soon, and mine will pick me up at the mall in fifteen minutes! And we still have to remove the Glamour Charms from ourselves."
"Oh bugger." Harry replied. He had neglected to inform the Dursleys' of his absence that day.
This is going to be fun he thought.
***
An hour later, Harry strode purposefully across the manicured lawn of Number 4, Privet Drive and knocked politely on the door. Darkness had already set in, and the Dursleys had always stressed that he be home before nightfall.
Almost instantaneously, Uncle Vernon threw open the door, and flung Harry inside the house rather bodily.
"Where have you been, boy?" he hissed.
"Um, I was, uh, out. With friends," replied Harry evenly.
Big mistake, he thought to himself. Harry had never had any friends at this point in the timeline.
"Hmph. Fine. Go upstairs, and don't let me catch you down here again tonight," Uncle Vernon muttered, as though afraid of pressing the subject.
Just as Harry was climbing up the stairs, he could have sworn that he heard Aunt Petunia's voice intone something about how the neighbours would surely remark upon Harry's extended absence.
Some things never change, he thought with a smirk.
***
Harry worked furiously for a few hours, unshrinking his trunk, and fitting all of his belongings inside of it, ready to fly away at a moment's notice. He created a system where he used one full room in his trunk as a mini library, another for his clothing and such, one for his Dark detectors, and a last, miscellaneous space.
Harry lay awake for many hours that night, if only to savour his contentment at the way things had turned out.
Sure, there's a small change here and there, he thought, but I'm alive and well, as are my friends, and we're getting ready for a new life.
He still could not believe that a mere twenty four hours ago, he had been in another reality, where Death Eaters had been hot on his tracks, perhaps even knowing that he was on the other side of the impenetrable gargoyle that had guarded Dumbledore's office so faithfully for so long.
Harry gave the (other) deceased Dumbledore in the other world a quiet word of thanks for the new lease on life, which he knew would be almost as difficult as the first one, since he was already acutely aware of the consequences of failure. But if Dumbledore had taught Harry anything at all, it was that facing challenges with an unabashed willingness to fight for an outcome made all the difference in the world. And maybe, just maybe, he would be able to exert a similar influence on another at some point.
With that pleasant thought, he turned over, in an attempt to go to sleep. He found that there was one more depth he needed to plumb before bed, however – namely that of Ginny. The name itself brought forth inescapable fear at the possibility of losing her again; he remember the first time all too well, when she was reported missing a month after Dumbledore's funeral, and not found for several weeks, until some Muggle backpackers called forth the police to a macabre scene. Ginny had been dead for a few days by then, but it had been a long struggle, full of pain and misery inflicted by her cruel captors. Harry's blood ran cold at the mental image, even though he had not heard about it until much later, and had never had a chance to pay his respects nor console her family, due to his commitments running about the country trying to save the world.
He wondered if they would become involved eventually this time around. Perhaps love is the ultimate force, as Dumbledore had often implied, that can withstand any barrier, alternate universe or no; and after all, Dumbledore was right more often than not, a cheerful Harry thought. At this, he drifted off to sleep, less burdened than he had been in many years.
A/N:
Hello again! Sorry about the amount of time between updates, but I promise more coming soon!
Yes, the story is evolving very well, and yes, it does have a definite direction to it.
I thank all who read, and all who review and include the story on their update lists and such. It is an amazing feeling to see the sheer number of times a chapter is read, and it definitely spurs me on to update more frequently! If you would like to Beta, or be a part of the team I am assembling for writing the story, do not hesitate to contact me. Your help would be appreciated, as with your input and advice. Thanks again!