A quick A/N before we get into the chapter. This is NOT SLASH, I repeat NOT SLASH. It is written in the story summary and I am just repeating myself here.

To mangoarcher1802- A summarized version of the timeline theory: Harry was poisoned when he was 25, but while his soul was being transferred to where dead, poisoned people's souls go, he escaped and landed in the year 1935, effectively erasing everything that happened after said year. Because the universe is weird, it changed part of the world's history subtly so that he would have had a family in the new world (a.k.a. he wasn't just a lone soul with no background that randomly came into the year 1935. He would belong properly, as if he was born there.) I hope this was more comprehensible.

To: Hoatay: I got everything I needed from the 'trusted' Wikipedia if you want to take a look.

To: Celestrail: Yeah, I hate that too. Unfortunately, life is not fair and Harry has to deal with it.

To: LunaEtSidera: I love plots with Harry and sci-fi as well!

And sorry for any mistakes, typos etc. *laziness personified* xD

Chapter 7

Harry walked back into the pub, his head still in a whirl from all the information that he acquired. He was feeling a bit dizzy.

"Harry," shouted Tom, as soon as he saw him. "I was looking all over for you."

"I left the note with Tom," said Harry, hoping that Tom had gotten it. He didn't think he could take any more news without collapsing soon.

"No, I got the note. Only, you did not say where you could be found."

"Sorry, got lost a bit" said Harry, tiredly. Harry observed that Tom looked brighter. Less sleep deprived.

"Aberforth came to tell me to call him whenever you got here. We are going to his new restaurant in a few minutes."

Harry nodded again. Aberforth. He really didn't feel like dealing with him right now. He just wanted to curl up and think about how he had no control over his life and whinge, just a bit.

Aberforth came thundering down the stairs at the perfect moment. "Is the boy here, yet?" he asked before noticing that Harry stood there, looking like an old man. "Kid, are you alright?"

Harry nodded again. He hoped that he wouldn't see anymore people that he knew from the future (his past).

"Well. You both know how to floo right? Take and floo and say Three Broomsticks. Then wait there. I will be there soon. Understand?" He looked at Tom and Harry individually, to make sure both of them did.

Harry nodded.

Tom nudged him slightly. "You look like you had your death sentence read to you. Are you alright?"

Harry smiled, though it was hard work to lift his lips to make a curve. It did nothing for lifting his mood, however.

"Yeah. Just panicked when I got lost," he replied. He felt slightly better that Tom had cared enough to ask him that. He was sure that the old Tom never would have asked anyone if they were alright, or even cared. He was already making ripples in the past. Hopefully for the better.

They both headed off to the fireplace and did what Aberforth said.

Harry was looking forward to seeing Hog's Head Inn in this time. Would it be dirty and dark? Would there be shifty-looking people doing illegal trades in there? Harry hoped there would be, seeing how Aberforth looked and behaved. That man still looked and smelled the same as he remembered. He was overtaken by a strange bout of nostalgia, which was suddenly overpowered by wave of depression as he remembered that he couldn't go back. The years of talking with Aberforth, sitting at his countertop, while whinging about his life in general, had never happened. The part where he was drunk, until he collapsed on the countertop and Aberforth had to levitate him upstairs to his living room, also had never happened. And it never would, because he wasn't even Harry Potter anymore. He was Harry Wood.

Unfortunately, due to his musings, he forgot to look where he landed as he spun out of the fireplace. He ungracefully tripped on Tom, who was standing in front of him and landed in a heap with Tom buried under him.

"Get off me!" grunted Tom, poking Harry in his ribs, from under him.

Harry jumped and rolled off quickly until he realized there was a foot blocking his view. Make that two feet. Two very polished, shiny, expensive-looking feet. His gaze lifted upwards to reveal a sneering blond face, that had a distinct likeness to… to….Zabini?

"Lord Zabini!" called a man from beside him. He was suddenly flailing as he got lifted into the air. He was set down standing on the floor, away from the esteemed Lord Zabini and his expensive attire. He could see Tom being lifted too, from the corner of his eye. Tom looked thunderous.

"I beg your pardon, sir. These boys were not supposed to be here," said the man, whom Harry had never seen before.

"Unfortunately, they were," bit out Lord Zabini, looking like he had swallowed slime. He refrained from even glancing at them, as if looking at anyone without an age old vault in Gringotts, would get dust on his robes. "Just get rid of them," he said loftily. "I cannot be expected to use this filthy fireplace now." He pointed his wand at his shoes that Harry had bumped into and muttered a cleaning charm. Then he dusted off some imaginary lint from his lapel.

"I will clean it right up, sir," agreed the man, hastily. "I'll have this cleaned instantly." He waved his wand, clearing the floo of the soot accumulated with Harry and Tom's travels.

Lord Zabini just sneered. "Next time, make sure that my way is not blocked by such hooligans," he added, as he stepped into the fireplace. "If you cannot, don't expect my presence in your... establishment again." He spun out.

He glanced at Tom to see him quivering with anger. Ah, Tom was seeing snobby, wizarding people for the first time. He might be able to work with this first encounter. Maybe, show Tom that pure-blood wizards were nothing but a bunch of stuck-up snobs. Harry had half-expected to see Lord Zabini transform into Lucius Malfoy. The resemblance in behaviour was uncanny. Maybe the Zabinis would marry into the Malfoy family.

The man, who had cleared the floo, looked relieved to see Lord Zabini leave, as would any sane person. He started off towards the counter. So, this was the current owner of Three Broomsticks, before Madam Rosmerta came. Or maybe, a relative of Madam Rosmerta, as Harry remembered that wizarding establishments were usually passed down the line.

"Did you boys want something?" the man asked, suddenly a great deal more polite than he was before.

Tom opened his mouth, probably to deliver something cutting and hurtful over his disgrace of being lifted into the air and deposited somewhere like animals. And being talked about, like animals, too. Harry cut in hurriedly, "No thank you. We are waiting for someone." He did not need a crying barman at this moment, which Tom would surely reduce him to.

Tom gave Harry a glare, worthy of one that Hermione might have given him. Harry, having plenty of practice with Hermione, ignored him.

The man nodded affably and continued with arranging his glasses in order, reminding Harry sharply of Aberforth. Only cleaner. Even the rag, which the man cleaned the glasses with, were cleaner!

Aberforth came spinning in, right then.

As soon as he spotted the boys, he nodded towards the door. "This way," he grunted. This Aberforth seemed to act like the one he remembered. Quiet, gruff, slightly unpleasant and very dusty. This fact comforted Harry.

He made them walk along the street, until they were near where Hog's Head once stood. There rested a small building, which looked the epitome of good architecture, quite unlike its future counterpart. How this had become into a dodgy inn, Harry could only guess. This building looked clean and wonderful and actually like a possible restaurant. Where edible things could be made. Tom carefully evaluated the building with critical eyes. He looked like he was slightly impressed.

As Harry took a step towards that building, Aberforth stopped him. "That's not it." He turned him around.

"This is," he declared, spreading his arms wide to showcase the other building on the opposite side of the street. There was a manic smile on his face, which made Harry draw his eyebrows together in confusion.

The he saw that Aberforth was gesturing at and Harry nearly 'ahhed' out loud.

In front of them stood a dilapidated shack, worthy of the dodgy inn that Hogshead would one day become. To complete the picture, a rickety beam broke and fell from the roof, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

"Ain't it a beauty, boys? Welcome to the Lover's Den."

Harry's eyes widened and his glasses slipped off his nose, in shock.

Well, that was unexpected.

Aberforth ushered them both inside, looking much happier than he was before. And excited. He was still smiling manically, as he envisioned the restaurant that would be filled with happy couples. Harry was beginning to rethink his decisions to trust Aberforth.

Harry looked around. The inside of the shack - or ruin would be a better word- was slightly reminiscent of Hog's Head during Harry's time. The counter that Aberforth was usually seen wiping down the glasses was still the same. The rest of the place was covered in cobwebs and mothballs. And slime?

Tom was watching the shack, disgust showing plainly in his eyes. He glared at Harry, as if to say that this was all Harry's fault. Harry chose to blithely ignore him. He had hoped that Aberforth was similar to the one he knew in the future, but from the look of this, he was concluding that young Aberforth was a bit mad.

"Well," interrupted Aberforth's gruff voice. "This place could use a bit of cleaning up, but then that's why I need helpers, of course. The rooms upstairs are bit more cleaner as I've already moved up there. If you follow me, I can show you to the rooms that you can sleep in." He started off towards the stairs, a spring in his steps. A spring that made Harry question how Aberforth had gone from the gruff, old, man, to this springy, still-old, man.

Tom shoved Harry, and whispered threateningly, in a Dark-Lordish way that would have cowed anyone, except the future defeater of said Dark Lord of course. "This is entirely your fault. Now we are stuck with a nutso whackjob." He sniffed pointedly. "Who smells like a cow!"

"Oh, calm down," replied Harry, trying to calm Tom before he could blow things up. An angry Tom was a dangerous Tom. "We'll be fine. He gave us a job. No one else would do that." After seeing this place, Harry was sure that Aberforth would need more than two underage boys to help. maybe 15 house elves, and two underage boys might get this place clean. If there were 15 willing house elves, and if they actually agreed to step inside this muck. Which was very doubtful. Harry was sure that even house elves had bare minimum standards.

"Do you understand what he is planning here?" asked Tom, incredulously. "He has to be seriously touched in the head to think to actually turn this, into a restaurant, where edible things are made. And that too, for couples!"

"Believe me," said Harry, willing Tom to trust him. "He's quite sane." Harry's eye twitched from that bold-faced lie. He silently agreed with Tom.

As if to emphasise the sentence, somebody whistling 'Hoggy Warty Hogwarts' could be heard from upstairs and a series of various thumps that sounded like a tap-dancing routine.

Harry swallowed slowly. "Well, hopefully," amended Harry. Aberforth was Albus Dumbledore's brother, and that man was not the sanest in the world. The smartest, maybe, but sanest? Definitely not! Harry had first-hand experience with that.

Tom shook his head, giving up on convincing Harry about the idiocies of his plan. "If you wake up in the middle of the night, with a nutjob holding a knife over you, or something, don't come screaming to me. I agreed to this thing because you did."

Harry did not answer, remembering a very different scenario. Instead, he began to climb the rickety stairs, motioning for Tom to follow. Soon, they reached the room that Aberforth was in. He was still singing a song, though now, it was one that Harry had never heard before. And as Harry cautiously opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of Aberforth in a frilly apron, holding a broom and sweeping the room, looking for all the world, like he was a very deranged, bearded, manly, Snow White. Harry blinked for a few seconds and closed the door behind him, before Tom could catch the sight of Aberforth. Tom was right. Aberforth was nuts. But he had already committed to this plan. So , onward he goes.

"I think that is Aberforth's room," he said. "Those are probably ours." He pointed to two smaller rooms on the other side of the corridor. Tom had already moved on and picked the cleaner out of the two which was also, the furthest from Aberforth's.

"This is mine," he declared. "Because you so obviously like that crackpot, you can take the one closer to him." Tom smirked in a way that belied his future career.

Grumbling under his breath about traitorous friends and annoying future Dark Lords, Harry made his way over to the other room. It was just dusty and covered in cobwebs. Harry began methodically cleaning it with an old dishcloth he saw there, falling back into the old pattern of cleaning the house for his Aunt, especially before guests came to visit. Before he knew it, he heard a shriek come from the room beside his. Abandoning his wiping cloth, he ran to Tom's room, just to crash into headfirst onto Tom.

"It's there! It-its loathsome, hairy-..." Tom gasped, seeming unable to finish his sentence. Harry wondered what could have scared Tom Riddle, the boy who played with snakes, so much.

Following Tom's shaky finger, his sight landed on an enormous spider at the edge of a dusty drawer.

Harry, expecting a large wand-waving maniac, or at least a broom wielding, singing Aberforth, saw instead, a spider. A Spider. A small, harmless, spider.

"You screamed because of that?" he couldn't help the incredulousness leaking into his voice. Who knew that the future Dark Lord Voldemort was afraid of spiders?

Tom nodded, his eyes widening in terror, as he looked at the eight legged terror in his room. "It was just standing there, staring at me. I didn't know what else to do!"

Harry resigning himself to being the spider exterminator, held up a his shoe and allowed the spider to climb on it, before tapping the shoe over the window-sill, dropping the spider onto the streets below.

"There," he declared. "It's gone."

Tom nodded in thanks, then seemed to come to, as if noticing Harry was there for the first time. "Thanks," he replied. "Now get out of my room." Before Harry could say another word, the door was shut on his face.

"Of all the ungrateful, little..." His muttering tapered off, when he saw Aberforth slowly making his way over to him.

"Anything the problem, kid? Thought I heard a scream."

Great timing, old man thought Harry, inwardly. Of course, come a good ten minutes after someone screams. That is sure to help.

"It's nothing. Tom just got spooked by something."

"Good, good." He looked at Harry once more, his blue gaze piercing him where he stood. Harry was reminded once more that, no matter how insane Aberforth might be, he still was quite sharp and clever.

"You both settled in?"

Harry nodded.

"Good, good," he repeated. "Both of you can turn in. I will assign you to your tasks tomorrow morning."

Oh, Golly Gee! So much to look forward to. And now, even his mind was dripping with sarcasm. It was probably from talking to Tom too much.

Harry went back to his room. No other sounds came from Tom's room. So, Harry allowed himself to lay back onto the flea-bitten bed, that no amount of dusting would cure, and closed his eyes. At last, he could rest for a while, with nothing to fear. And hopefully forget everything that Ollivander had told him.

A/N: Thanks for all your great review and please continue to do so! It turns on my muse, so quicker chapters!

Hasta la Vista, folks! Until next time. Don't forget to review on your way out!