Chapter II: Hollow
Darkness.
Was this death?
Nothing but darkness and distant whispering.
Harry could feel the searing rage rise within him like a bubbling potion. He had been tricked. He felt fifteen years old again. At least then, it was Voldemort. He could not believe it. He had been trapped by the dumb brute that was Rodolphus Lestrange.
He thought of Teddy. He would never be there for him. He had broken the one promise he swore never to break. Teddy was now parentless and without a Godfather. The guilt rose in him like bile. His entire being felt hollow.
He had let Teddy down.
Harry heard it before he saw it.
The whispering grew in crescendo as if it were a distant army charging towards him. Whispering became humming, humming became screams. Screams surrounded him; screams of mirth, screams of anger and screams of anguish. He heard dozens of curses being screamed. He heard walls crashing down, doors being burst through and windows smashing.
He was at Hogwarts.
As his vision cleared, his breath caught in his throat. It wasn't possible... There was no way... But there was the evidence, right before his eyes.
He was reliving the Battle of Hogwarts.
But, and he couldn't explain why, it felt...different. He felt detached from it, almost as though it were a Pensieve memory. A piercing laugh caught his attention, a laugh he thought he would never hear again.
Duelling furiously, mere metres away from him, were Tonks and Bellatrix. But it was impossible. They were dead. Beside Tonks was Remus, who himself was trading spells with Antonin Dolohov, a man Harry knew to be the most dangerous, loyal Death Eater under Voldemort.
Was this some kind of sick joke?
"Looks like the cub will lose both parents!" shrieked Bellatrix, as she deflected a red curse. She replied with a Cruciatus Curse, which Tonks had to duck out of the way of.
"Shut up, Lestrange," hissed Dolohov, who himself was melting the shards of ice Remus had sent at him, "and finish the damn job."
Harry drew his own wand, and a strange thought struck him. Was the veil somehow offering him the chance to save Remus and Tonks? He thought of Teddy, and how happy he would be with both his parents returned to him.
But as the thought crossed his mind, his vision began to cloud. He rubbed his eyes, trying to bring back his vision. He could feel his glasses, so why could he see nothing?
Then there was a blast so loud his ears began to ring. His vision returned. He was still at Hogwarts, still at the Battle of Hogwarts. He looked around frantically. Was it too late to save Tonks and Remus? The blast, he realised, was a corridor being destroyed. He saw himself, at seventeen, flying through the air, gripping on to his temporary wand for dear life. Hermione had already landed, cushioned by the body of a Death Eater.
Fred was falling head-first towards a bed of jagged, broken bricks. Harry had just enough time to cast a Cushioning Charm, a charm that would save his life. He could save the entire Weasley family immense grief. He could save Ginny from crying at night, once a month, for she had been closer to the twins than anyone. As the words began to form on his lips, he was suddenly swept off his feet as though he too was sent flying by the blast.
Was this his life flashing before his eyes?
He was flying through a thick mist at such a high speed that the skin on his face was pulled back, unable to keep up. His mouth was open, but he could not breathe. His eyes began to strain – they felt as though they would pop out of their sockets. Then it stopped.
The air was dry and thin – he was high up.
"Draco, do it, or stand aside so one of us-"
Harry blinked as he took in the scene before him. Dumbledore was standing against the ramparts, very white in the face, but calm. Draco had his wand trained on Dumbledore, perhaps even paler than the headmaster. Death Eaters Harry knew all too well surrounded him. Greyback was slumped in the corner of the room. And suddenly, Harry understood. He was being given the chance to save Dumbledore. All he had to do was disarm Severus as he came into the room.
"Severus..."
But if Dumbledore remained alive, what then? After all, he only had weeks to live. What could he achieve in those weeks? Dumbledore had chosen his death day very carefully – it was his death and his intricate plan that had given Harry the chance to beat Voldemort.
As quickly as it had stopped, the ferocious wind picked up again. He thought he could predict where the wind would take him next and, when he landed in the veil room, his fears were confirmed.
Sirius and Bellatrix were duelling, unaware that Dumbledore's arrival had halted all other fights. Sirius had blocked one of Bellatrix's curses and was laughing at her.
"Come on, you can do better than that!"
A thought struck Harry. If he, Harry, had not died walking through the veil, perhaps Sirius hadn't either. Or... was this death? After all, he was being forced to relive memories he would rather leave behind.
As Sirius fell through the veil, Harry was propelled away from him, away from the amphitheatre. The wind was less vicious. He could see things rushing past him; objects, people, places. The tri-wizard cup, two hands around it, went by in a glimmer of gold. He thought he heard a voice whisper, "Kill the spare." He saw a small creature, a rat, darting past him, and the wind howled. He caught a glimpse of Riddle, of Hagrid, of himself standing in front of the Mirror of Erised. The words above it imprinted in his mind's eye:
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi
I show not your face but your heart's desire.
He saw Dudley, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, the strange men with funny clothes who used to approach him. It all went past faster and faster until everything went black. This is it, thought Harry, I'm dying.
He thought of Ron and Hermione. He would never see them again. He would never see their child. He thought of Neville, Luna, Ginny, Andromeda, all the people he loved more than he could ever say. He would never have a chance to say goodbye. His heart constricted painfully as he thought about Teddy. Sweet, lovable Teddy. He would never see him go to Hogwarts, graduate, get married and have children of his own. Harry would never see the boy he swore to protect with his life grow up without the threat of Voldemort. His only solace was in the fact he died protecting his godson.
Darkness once more.
Had it all been a dream? Why was he still conscious?
The wind picked up again, and this time, Harry knew where it would take him. He braced himself before he was propelled backwards. There was only one other moment Harry had wanted and, somewhere deep within him, still wanted to change. It was the one moment that had changed his life forever. Perhaps this was a construction, perhaps it wasn't, but Harry knew he did not have the strength to resist the final temptation the veil would throw at him. This, Harry realised, was the memory it was all building up to.
The wind died down.
He was at Godric's Hollow.
He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible she, at least, had nothing to fear. He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in. She had no wand upon her either. How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments.
From beyond the closed door came an anguished shriek like nothing he had ever heard. She had finally realised how futile her attempts of keeping him out were.
"Harry? HARRY?"
With the barest flick of his wand, he opened the door and cast aside the chairs and boxes hastily piled against it. The girl's face was streaked with tears and she was frantically searching the room, unaffected by his arrival. How dare she ignore him?
"Lily Potter," he said quietly. She had hidden the boy, thinking it would hoodwink him. Foolish girl. Had she not learnt by now that he was not to be tricked?
The girl turned to face him, her bottom lip quivering, her eyes narrowed. "Leave my house," she said, "now."
She possessed some daring, this girl, to speak to him so. "Where is the boy?"
"He's not here," she said.
"Do not play games with me, girl. Where have you hidden him?"
"He is somewhere you cannot hurt him," she said through gritted teeth.
He could feel his patience wearing thin. Bravery he could tolerate, but stubbornness was a waste of energy. He commanded one of the discarded chairs to make its way to the girl. "Sit," he said.
"No! Leave my house."
"Where are your manners, girl? You have been a most ungracious hostess. If your guest asks you to take a seat, you do so. Now sit." He flicked his wand downwards and she sat immediately. He watched her fruitlessly struggle to get up. She twisted and turned and thrashed and flailed before, finally, her shoulders sagged and silent tears ran down her cheeks. If only she would allow her intellect to rule, she would find herself in a better position than she had ever known.
She stared up at him and said, "I will not betray my son."
He dearly wished he could kill her and be done with it, but there was a chance the secret of the Potter child would die with her, and risks were for the rash. He could see that force would not work here; he would have to use the most successful of weapons, words.
"You need not betray him. You are brave, Lily Evans-"
"Potter," she spat.
"-but bravery must be tempered with caution. Why do you fight for Dumbledore, Lily?"
"I fight for my son's future."
"Forgive me, but you are doing a rather poor job of it." She closed her eyes but the tears continued to trickle down the channels formed in her pale cheeks. "You have stood behind Dumbledore to protect your son but, ultimately, you chose the wrong side. Albus Dumbledore is a selfish old man who cares only for himself – you are merely a tool in his elaborate schemes. It is because of Dumbledore that your husband is dead."
The girl's eyes snapped open and shone with fury, or was it pain? Such emotion, such wasted energy.
"You're the one who killed him, you filthy snake!"
"Ah, but think, Lily, what caused me to kill him? He, on Dumbledore's orders, attempted to steal an object of great value to me. On Dumbledore's orders, he killed Bunnage, Ferlong and Bulstrode, all of whom were important revolutionaries. He almost, as you recall, killed his only cousin-"
"Malfoy deserves to die for what he's done!"
"Lucius was the reason why, until the Prophecy was uttered, you were safe. How he begged me to spare James..."
"Liar!"
"We are not blood-thirsty murderers, Lily. Family is important to us, and we protect our own. James was killed because he had attempted to kill me on Dumbledore's orders. Dumbledore killed James. But think: why do you oppose us? What have we ever done to harm you?"
"You're murderers. You killed Benjy, Marlene and her family, Michael and his family, Doreen, Nicholas..."
"What do these people all have in common? As I have told you, we protect our own. I freely admit that if one of our number is killed, we will retaliate, but we do not attack unprovoked."
"And what about the countless cold-blooded Muggle killings? Did they do something to your family?"
He moved closer to the girl. Her tears had dried and she seemed to have worked her way into a quiet rage. "There is no evidence that any of my Death Eaters have so much as touched a Muggle – you are falling for the propaganda supplied by Dumbledore. Tell me Lily, would I not have killed you had I been looking to promote blood supremacy?"
Lily laughed derisively. "What are your goals, then, world peace?"
He summoned a chintz armchair as he had seen Dumbledore do on countless occasions. He glanced at her for a reaction and saw the surprise before she hid it. He took a seat slowly and leaned back, his arms draped on the armrests.
"My dear girl, I have never attempted to hide our goals. We call ourselves the Death Eaters for a reason."
"Oh, is that why you set Inferi on the village of Hogsmeade last week?"
She struggled against his Suppression Charm one last time, but all she achieved was the reddening of her face. When would she learn? When would she believe? The death of her husband was an obstacle. It was an unfortunate but necessary loss of another ancient family – after all, he could not risk another Potter child defeating him.
He stared into her green eyes, which grew and grew until they filled his vision. He found the memories of her parents with absurd ease and, with the barest flick of his wand, projected them into the air just in front of the cot. He added Potter and McKinnon to her parents.
"Imagine, Lily," he whispered, "your husband, parents and dearest friend brought back from the cold, dark abyss that is death. Imagine protecting young Harry from the greatest killer of all. These are our goals, to defeat death himself."
Lily stared at the imitation of her parents, aghast. "Impossible..."
"It is very possible, but Dumbledore is too close-minded to see the truth. He thinks only of his own reputation; after all, who will revere the defeater of Grindelwald if there lives a wizard who has defeated death?
"Join me, Lily. Join me, and I will offer you and your son protection more complete than you have ever known. Work with my team of experts and we shall find a cure to death together. Forgive me for the death of James – I was blinded by vengeance. We will correct the mistake and bring him back. Think, you will have money, status and a job helping others as you have always wanted. Unlike St Mungo's, I will not expect you to spend more time at work than home. Give me your hand, Lily. Join me."
He stood up and extended his left hand. She would surely see sense, and then he would use her to trap Dumbledore. Her allegiance would crush Dumbledore's failing resistance. He locked her with his gaze once more and searched for the boy's location. Nothing. As he had expected, Dumbledore had occluded the information, perhaps without her permission. He commanded her current thoughts to show themselves and was mildly disappointed by what he saw. She was too stubborn to see his way of thinking and, for her husband, was planning to spit on his hand.
He withdrew it just as the spit left her mouth.
"So you have chosen to anger me."
"It was Severus, wasn't it?" she hissed.
"Where is your son?"
"Did Severus tell you to spare me?"
"I will not repeat myself."
"Tell me!"
Swiftly, he stood up. "Crucio!"
Her hoarse screams filled the room. The Cruciatus Curse had its benefits – slowly, it would weaken Dumbledore's occlusions enough for him to tear through. She had squandered his generosity and, as a result, Lily Potter would be dead before the night was through.
Harry stared up at his first home. This was another mission, he told himself, a mission where the stakes were personal. Emotions are the difference between a good Auror and a bad Auror, Head Auror Robards had once told him. The good Auror gets on with the job at hand.
Godric's Hollow was not as Harry had remembered from his trip with Hermione. The gate was not rusty, there was no graphitised sign, the cottage did not seem derelict and, most importantly of all, the top right-hand corner of it was in perfect condition. But he had little time – Voldemort had already torn down the wards.
He resolved to save his parents, in case this was not a dream. He stepped forward, fully expecting the spectral wind to pick up and take him to his death, but it did not come. A wild thought entered his mind: was he in the past?
Harry glanced up at the cottage once more. There was no sign of activity. Was he too late? Would he find himself, little more than one year old, marked and alone? The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
Assess and evaluate.
Other than the distant laughing of local Muggle children and his shoes crunching against the gravel, no sound could be heard. The air was dry and crisp, quite ordinary for an October evening. Harry, wand raised, approached the front door, oak, and examined possible exits and hiding places in case things got rough. After all, he had never consciously faced Voldemort before the Dark Lord had been ripped from his body – thirteen years in hiding may have changed the way he operated.
Suddenly, he heard a new sound – it was distant, tinny and consistent. Silently, Harry cast a Thermosensory Charm. Nothing. There was nobody behind the door. Careful not to make any noise, Harry pushed open the front door.
The entrance hall was small, warm and welcoming. There was a red rug to the left where six pair of shoes were lined up; two pairs each for his mother, father and himself. The remainder of the floor was made up of dark, weather-beaten wooden panels. Harry cast a Silencing Charm at his shoes.
Why do birds suddenly appear
The sound he had vaguely heard was a young, female's voice singing. Was it his mother? It was coming not from the flight of curved stairs to his left, but from the open door to his right. He vaguely recognised the tune, but could not pin it down.
Every time you are near?
Harry held his wand up at the ready – he was well aware that this could be a trap of some sort. Silently, he edged towards the arched doorway. Along the walls were three photos of a witch and two wizards he did not recognise. Were they his grandparents? The only thing they had in common was that they shared the frame with either his mother or his father. None of the pictures moved.
Harry stopped just out of range of anyone beyond the doorway. He cast another Thermosensory Charm. Nothing.
Just like me, they long to be
Refusing to relax, Harry slipped into the room, feet first. You enter a hostile situation feet first, Robards had once said, we can replace your legs; we can't re-grow your head. Deciding he wasn't being attacked, Harry allowed the rest of his body to follow.
Close to you.
Harry's breath caught in his throat. Lying spread-eagled in the centre of the circular living room, eyes forever frozen with resolve, was his father. He was too late. If his father was dead, then so was his mother. He would find himself in the cot, possibly crying. He felt that crushing emotion he was now accustomed to: defeat. His eyes wandered to the source of the music; an old, rusting radio.
Then a woman began to scream.
Harry turned towards the noise. It sounded as though it was coming from upstairs. His heart pounded so hard in his chest it almost drowned out the screaming. Was she alive? Could it be? But how? Harry had relived the memory of his mother dying enough times; Voldemort did not torture her, he had killed her. The screams he was hearing were those of a person suffering under the Cruciatus, it was the type of scream he had been trained to recognise.
Snapping into action, Harry sprinted out of the room and bounded up the stairs two at a time. He would not be late – not this time.
The door opposite the landing was wide open. Beyond, he found the tall, thin form of Voldemort, his back turned, and his mother, sat in a chair, nothing but anguish across her young face. Harry raised his wand and aimed very carefully at Voldemort, who had not felt him coming. Despite her pain, his mother stared straight at him, her radiant green eyes wide as Galleons. This was it. He would rip Voldemort from his body as he did all those years ago. But this time, he knew what he was doing.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A brilliant jet of green light erupted from Harry's wand and soared straight through the point Voldemort had been a second before and smashed through the far window, causing shards of glass to cover the cot.
Then Voldemort turned around and Harry's breath caught in his throat. The Dark Lord appeared...human. There were no red eyes, slits for a nose or scaly, waxy skin. Instead, he looked like a middle-aged Tom Riddle. He had shoulder-length, jet-black hair, pale skin and gaunt features that hinted at long faded good looks. But the biggest surprise was his eyes; they were cold, dark, malicious, yet captivating. They were inviting, intuitive and dangerous.
Harry's suspicions were wrong – this was not the past, it was a delusion.
The falling glass stopped quite suddenly and he snapped out of his trance, quite certain of what Voldemort was attempting. Every single shard, including the one that had dug into the side of Lily's face, raced towards him, but Harry was ready, spurred on by the thought that he could not be harmed. After all, this was a dream. He moved his wand in an anti-clockwise semi-circle and watched as the glass melted against his newly constructed sheet of blue flame.
Harry dove to his right and watched Voldemort's Killing Curse rush past him, the speed and power of it causing the hairs on his arm to stand on end. He needed a way to reach Lily and get her out.
"Potter?"
Voldemort considered him for the first time during the duel and Harry caught something he had only seen on the Dark Lord's face once before – disbelief. But on the face of this...construct...it did not look out of place. Then it hit him; Voldemort thought he was James. He had to use Voldemort's surprise against him – the Dark Lord would be slightly sloppier than usual.
"Surprised?" said Harry.
"The Killing Curse cannot be undone. This is impossible."
"You have messed with ancient magic and are now reaping what you have sown."
Voldemort snarled and summoned an ashen spear of fire. Recognising it as the Spear of Mars, Harry sent a jet of water at it before freezing it, encasing the Spear in doing so. Without drawing breath, Harry jabbed his wand at the ground at Voldemort's feet before throwing Bludgeoning Hex at him. As he had expected, Voldemort absorbed the spell.
Harry kept sending curse after curse at the Dark Lord, who absorbed them all with absurd ease. It seemed he was waiting for Harry to tire, confirmed by the faint smile playing at his lips. "I had granted you a swift death; I will not be so generous this time."
At that exact moment, Harry activated the cage Voldemort had unwittingly been empowering. The cage's bars glowed with bright light. It was the cage he had used to capture Antonin Dolohov. The cage had defeated Dolohov, but he expected Voldemort to escape it in seconds...luckily, seconds was all he would need.
By the time Harry reached Lily, Voldemort had escaped. The last thing Harry saw before he Apparated Lily out to the one place he knew would be safe was the final Killing Curse to be cast that night.
"Face it, Albus, Black has betrayed us!"
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his chin resting on a bridge formed by his fingers. His old friend, Alastor Moody, was pacing up and down the office furiously.
"We must not crumble to unsubstantiated rumours, Alastor. I am inclined to belief that Sirius would give his own life rather than betray the location of James and Lily."
"Rumours?" spat Alastor. "We're talking evidence here! You must move the Potters."
"To move the Potters would be to assure Voldemort victory. Sirius has never been one to linger in one location overly long; I am sure we shall find him in due course. Patience, Alastor."
"He's followed his dear family, I know it. Why else would he just disappear off the face of the earth? And right after he was reported to be acting strangely, too. I have three Aurors hunting him down as we speak and none have got wind of him. Seems like an awfully convenient disappearance, eh?"
"While the thought of James bestowing his secret with me would have made this old man sleep easier, I could not have hoped for a better man to keep the Potters safe. We must not allow Voldemort to divide us, for this is his strength."
"There are spies all around us, Albus." Alastor's magical eye scanned the room, as it usually did when the Auror was riled. "The Order is no longer safe."
"We shall see. Now, I must check up on Frank and Alice. Go to Godric's Hollow – if Sirius is not there within the hour, we will know where his loyalties lie."
Alastor reluctantly nodded and hobbled out of the office, muttering under his breath as he did so.
"Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore flicked his gaze towards the wall of portraits and almost instantly pin-pointed the owner of the voice. In Dippet's empty frame was a tall, thin, imperious man whose likeness to James was uncanny. His usually groomed hair was dishevelled and he looked as though he had run a marathon.
"News, Charlus?"
"The...worst."
Dumbledore's blood ran cold. "Is there any hope of saving them?"
"James...dead. Lily is being...tortured. Harry is gone."
Gone? Surely not...
"Fawkes!"
His beloved phoenix swooped down and they both disappeared in a flash of red flame.
Almost as soon as Harry's feet landed on the top floor of the Shrieking Shack, his arm became the victim of a pincer-like grip. Lily was staring at him with a wild look in her eye. Most of her face was veiled by her now unruly red hair; her face was soaked with sweat and blood from the cut above her cheek.
"Where is Harry?" she snarled.
Harry hungrily took in everything he could about her. He understood why people were so surprised by his eyes – they were exactly the same as hers, the same almond-shape and the same hue of green. But he was being selfish. She had just lost her husband and son, she was distressed. Harry pulled himself together.
"I'm afraid I don't know."
"Voldemort...he must have...no, I refuse to believe it! WHERE IS HE?"
Harry reluctantly cast a Calming Charm at his mother. She would surely hurt herself if she carried on as she was, especially if she decided to Apparate back into Godric's Hollow. He waited for the effects of the spell to kick in. The spell was unadvisable because of its parasitic nature – it burned energy at a far faster rate than usual and could be addictive. However, without a Calming Draught at hand, Harry had no other choice.
Harry thought back on what had happened. His father, James, dead, his mother alive, Voldemort no longer looking like a snake-like monster. What was going on? Where was he? His thoughts were interrupted by Lily.
"I just want to find my son," she sighed. She slipped down the wooden pole she was leaning on and put her head in her hands.
Harry tore his eyes from his mother and made sure the area was secure. As he had predicted, the Shack seemed empty enough. Broken furniture cluttered the floor, dried blood stained the walls and torn fur carpeted the floor. The wind outside howled and, with nothing but broken windows to protect it, the Shack felt its full force. It was far from perfect, but it would do for now. Harry tightened the grip on his wand as a rat scuttled into a gaping hole in the floorboards. He went over to the window and scanned the village. The street was deserted, an extraordinary sight on a Saturday night. But then again, from what he could piece together, Voldemort was at the height of his power.
Harry returned to his mother and crouched beside her. He was astonished at how young she was; it had never occurred to him before, but she was at least three years younger than him, barely out of Hogwarts by the looks of it. How had she, a Muggle-born, managed to find herself at the heart of the war in such a short space of time?
"There are some things I have to tell you, Mu- Lily."
Her hands slid down her face, and he noticed how red and swollen her eyes were. She looked at him searchingly, as if for the first time. "Who are you?"
Harry sighed; he could not lie to her. "I'm Harry, Harry Potter." The colour drained from her face. She looked around frantically and Harry understood perfectly. "I'm not a Death Eater, this isn't a trap. I was forced through the veil at the Department of Mysteries and, somehow, I'm here...wherever this is."
"Stay away from me, Death Eater!" Harry could feel her straining against the Calming Charm. He had to placate her instantly or the results would be catastrophic.
"Would a Wizard's Oath convince you?"
"An Oath?"
"I, Harry Potter, swear by my magic that I will tell you, Lily Potter, nothing but the truth for a total of one hour." Something warm bubbled inside of him after uttering the last syllable, a feeling that only stopped when his mother spoke.
"What's your real name?"
"Harry Potter."
His mother fixed her eyes on him disbelievingly. "W-Who are your parents?"
"James and Lily Potter."
"This can't be... Y-You're older than I am..."
"I've been sent to the past, I think; or rather, I'm from the future. I don't know what's going on myself, to be honest. It's all so different..."
Lily clutched her forehead and said, "Long-term time travel is not possible..."
"That's what we were taught."
Suddenly, her eyes lit up and she tightened her fists in excitement. "This must mean you survived! W-where were you found?" Harry shot her a sympathetic look. "Please...Harry...I have to know where he is..."
"I changed the timeline," said Harry quietly.
"What?"
"You were meant to die tonight." Lily's face was marred with horror and confusion. "Where I'm from, Wormtail betrayed your location. Voldemort came to Godric's Hollow and killed dad first. Then he went upstairs and found you and me. He told you to stand aside, he only needed to kill me, but you refused. You begged him to spare me until, finally, he killed you. He turned his wand on me, but your sacrifice protected me – the AK, Killing Curse that is, backfired." Lily simply stared. "I wasn't meant to be here tonight – I wasn't meant to step in. I don't know how I managed to get here..."
Lily's eyes glistened with tears and her hand went to her mouth. "So he's dead?" she choked.
Harry didn't need to ask again – he knew she was talking about his father this time. He nodded solemnly.
"Oh, James..."
For what he suspected was an hour, Harry comforted her as best he could – he had never been good with crying women. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed gently. He whispered comforting words to her and listened patiently as she went through the three stages of grief Andromeda had taught him: denial, anger and acceptance. She had demanded to return to Godric's Hollow, certain she would find his father there, alive; she had ranted against Wormtail using expletives even he hadn't encountered and, finally, she stared into the distance, refusing to utter a word...
Until, "You're really Harry?"
Harry, who had been thinking about what he would do next, started at the sudden address. "Yes."
"It must have been a miracle." Her voice was hollow and distant; she was beyond grief. Her eyes were downcast, her skin deathly pale.
"Sorry?"
Her eyes flicked up and met his. "Don't you see? Somehow, your magic reacted to Voldemort's attack and aged you by two decades at least. How else did you get through the Fidelius?"
Harry shot his mother a pitying look. There was such conviction behind her words that he could not bring himself to contradict her. If it made her feel better, she could believe he was an angel sent from heaven for all he cared. As long as it kept her away from that dark feeling of isolation he knew all too well, he'd be happy. He stood up, intending to do another sweep of the Shack.
It happened before he could react.
Dumbledore, slightly younger than Harry remembered him, emerged from a plume of red flame and disarmed him. He had that same look of cold fury Harry had seen only twice before. He moved Lily as far away from Harry as physically possibly and bore down on him.
Harry stood his ground but avoided Dumbledore's searching gaze. After all, there was little proof this was the real Albus Dumbledore.
"Who are you?" said Dumbledore, with ferocious force behind his words.
From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Lily try and pass through what he was sure was an invisible barrier. "My name is Harry Potter," said Harry quietly.
"You must have misheard," said Dumbledore, "what is your real name?" Harry could almost sense the power radiating from the headmaster; it was a feeling he had not encountered in any other wizard after the death of Voldemort.
"Harry Potter. But why take my word for it? See for yourself." Harry finally looked up and met Dumbledore's electric-blue eyes. Looking into those eyes made him feel sixteen again; it was a feeling he wasn't entirely comfortable with.
"How extraordinary... Nebuchadnezzar's Archway..."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief – Dumbledore knew that the veil existed! Surely he would be able to pull Ministry strings and send Harry back. After all, whenever his baby self was found, it would be much happier than Harry had been with the Dursleys, even with the crushing blow of losing his father. It was so tempting to take his mother back with him, but he knew that the repercussions of doing so were dire. Yes, he would ask Dumbledore to escort him to the Department of Mysteries and they'll forget all about Halloween – it would be like a bad dream. And Lestrange...he would wish he hadn't survived the battle of Hogwarts.
"I would appreciate it if you did me a favour, Professor," said Harry, making quite sure his mother could not hear. "I need you to a pull a few strings so I can go back."
Dumbledore lowered his half-moon glasses and tilted his head slightly. "Go back? The Lost Archway is exactly that; it has never been recovered."
