Harry and Tom went to see the older kids off to the King's Cross Station. It was surprisingly emotional – the teenagers got them small gifts, thanked them for what they did for them over the summer and gave them a big ol' group hug. Harry actually let a tear fall at that.
It felt like what they did mattered. It felt like a family.
They still had a lot on their hands; Harry with Beanie and two other younger children who'd arrived in Custodarium in August, Tom with his work for the Department of Mysteries, his private projects around the island and also the kids, but they found time to start their magical children check-ups.
The system had taken a while to smooth around the edges. One issue was the efficiency of travel: they couldn't Apparate knowing only the coordinates, so the most convenient means of transportation was by Portkey, but they couldn't have one made beforehand as the position of the child often changed by miles in the meantime. They could make themselves one, but that was tricky – Portkey-making was restricted and the maker had to be sure it wouldn't land in the middle of a busy street or on someone's head.
Tom discussed the issue discreetly with the Minister and negotiated an acceptable solution. A special map of daytime Portkey-friendly spots would be commissioned for them with 99 % of the British population living within a two-mile radius of at least one of the spots. They'd be granted a permission to create Portkeys to these spots for themselves, Custodarium-related use only.
It also didn't seem right to dump the children already in their care on the house-elves on an almost daily basis, so they started exploring the option of hiring more wizarding staff. First to cross the mind were the Knight of Walpurgis, so Harry owled those who seemed eligible.
Willow Miller, a Hufflepuff Knight and a close friend of Claire Jenkins, joined them in late September. She was a warm and pragmatic lass, good with kids since she'd always taken care of her two younger siblings. She'd travelled around a bit after graduation and recently returned to Britain, about to start looking for a job, so their offer came at the best possible time.
Their next addition was Linda Abbot, a witch in her fifties and a great-aunt to Hannah Abbot from Harry's original Hogwarts year. Her husband died early from a heart disease, and she was an empty-nester, so she came to work for them on Fleamont's recommendation. She used to make living as a tutor and agreed to be in charge of elementary education for the children aged 6-11.
Once the practicalities had been sorted, they had to figure out how to go about the check-up itself. Psychology wasn't as systematic or wide-spread then as it would be in the 1990s, but Harry and Tom arguably had unprecedented methods at their disposition, so they could get a bit more creative than any Muggle psychologists anyway.
They stocked up on Polyjuice potion, and Tom approached each magical child in the body of their peer when he found (or Harry created) an opportunity to have a private talk, chatting them up about how things were at home, watching for any red flags, sometimes through Legilimency. If he picked up on anything, they would return and investigate further.
By December, they'd found four young children living in unsuitable conditions – one in a Muggle orphanage, one in the streets of the post-war London, one from a family with an abusive father, and one from an orthodoxly religious Liverpool family who treated him as if he'd been possessed by the devil.
The first two mentioned, Natalie and Jack, had been taken to Custodarium right away, there was no reason to delay. It was the other two who'd proved to be a real challenge for their abilities and their relationship as a couple.
Tom was for the brutally pragmatical approach of simply Obliviating everyone and taking the child in. Harry thought that was too harsh, and that if there was any chance for a child to live with its family, it should be explored.
They ended up compromising: plans A would be according to Harry, plans B according to Tom.
Jane Cobbs, the neglected six-year-old girl with an alcoholic father, just wished for the man to leave her and her mummy alone. They were a poor rural family from a village near Southhampton. One day, not long before Christmas, Harry and Tom (dressed in formal Muggle clothes for effect) knocked on the door when Jane's father wasn't home.
First, they basically did what a Hogwarts professor would once Jane turned eleven – showed Mrs. Cobbs some magic, told her that her daughter was a witch and there was a community waiting for her.
What a Hogwarts professor wouldn't have told her, though, was that they'd been keeping an eye on her child and had seen her struggle. They offered to take both Jane and her mother to Staffa, help her make a living within the wizarding community and Jane to grow up happily among her kind, leaving her abusive husband behind.
Plan B had been reporting the abuse to the Ministry and having the father sent to Azkaban for violence against a magical child, fortunately once Mrs. Cobbs believed their offer was genuine, she decided to take it.
Matthew Johnson's case didn't go as smoothly. Tom had visited him repeatedly and befriended him, then one day brought his "big brother" Harry to show him some "really cool stuff". Harry told him about magic, showed him some spells and Apparated them to Diagon Alley.
Matthew was obviously confused and overwhelmed by the contrast his family's stance and this whole new world where magic was okay. His parents had been even less receptive – too set in their beliefs. Even though Harry had shown them the most benign magic he knew, the Patronus charm, they freaked out, threw religious symbols at them and screamed for "the devil to begone", acting like the, and more importantly, their own son, had been some sort of test of their faith.
In the end, they'd been forced to Obliviate the Johnsons, place a Fidelius upon the information that they ever had a son, and take the shaken eight-year-old to Custodarium. He was better off there, but the memory of his family throwing him away would probably leave a mark on him – they didn't dare to erase it lest they confused the boy completely.
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The first field of study Tom picked up once he had the liberty to was the human brain – he had an immediate need for it given Custodarium's activities, and conveniently had considerable skills in the mind arts; Obliviation, Legilimency and Occlumency. In fact, he was convinced the Fidelius charm was a wide-range mind spell, the proof of which was his first significant breakthrough to earn him recognition among his fellow Unspeakables.
He'd built himself a rather impressive workshop in one of the caves, with a secret tunnel leading to if from their quarters and a smaller one from the pond, so Voldemort could spend some time with him while he worked – the Horned Serpent was good company, and getting a bit lonely since both Harry and Tom had been busy as of late, barely even having time for each other.
As a part of his project, he'd built himself a Pensieve – several, in fact, because he'd been researching possible optimisations of the creations process: using cheaper and less rare alternative materials, adjusting the enchantments,… Some worked better, some worse, some not at all, but that was part of the job.
Surrounded by Pensieves, he felt progressively more petty for never finding the courage to watch any of Harry's memories. Of course he'd been curious, but…
Tom categorically refused to be a petty person, so he finally asked Harry for a memory collection for his twenty-third birthday. "Only the crucial moments," he said, so he wasn't quite expecting the two hundred and twenty vials, marked and chronologically organised in a multiple-compartment layered box.
He watched them in the afternoons after work, a few at a time. Most had been hard to watch; not just the ones that involved his alternative self, not just the sad ones – sometimes even the happy ones, because they reminded him of what Harry, his sweet, loving Harry, had to give up to come to him.
Now Tom just had to find out how.
͛
Over the years, many children and young adults benefited from the services of Custodarium, many tragic fates had been overturned; not without hardships, but for every time one of their children made Harry sad, there was a hundred times they'd made him happy and proud.
Staffa gradually blossomed into a large wizarding oasis – some of the Custodarium children decided to build their own homes there, the Muggle-borns who'd been moved there with one or both of their parents (like Jane Cobbs had) also continued living in their provided houses, and a number of outsiders moved in because of the community and the businesses opportunities that had been popping up.
Harry used what little he remembered about the future to invest in new "perspective" businesses: Nimbus, Ogden's Liquors, Bertie Bott's, Confectionary, Nintendo, Microsoft, Ford or Toyota, securing funds for Custodarium even after their basilisk hide funds ran out. Since both him and Tom never got to travel because of their circumstances, he made sure to take the kids on at least one abroad trip a year.
Tom continued his career with the Unspeakables, making time and consequently also space the focal points of his studies. At just 36 years old, he rose to the Head of the Department of Mysteries position and started pursuing his political career more intensively ever since.
He had successfully bent the space around Staffa to essentially make it exist in a "fold" of the three-dimensional space – a Muggle ship could pass right through its location without noticing a thing. Since Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and most of the other wizarding settlements around the world had only been protected by the mind arts, he'd been pushing for his Space-Folding Charm to be cast on those, too, arguing the rapidly developing Muggle computers that processed visual data might not be fooled by the standard illusions.
Rubeus Hagrid successfully graduated Hogwarts in 1947, got his Care of Magical Creatures mastery apprenticing under Newt Scamander and went on to teach the subject at Hogwarts. Clarence married Claire that same year and together they started a private rune-commissioning company with the office in the ground level of their home on Staffa. Sarah became a novelist and an occasional Daily Prophet contributor.
Malfoy and Nott were, well, still Malfoy and Nott, but the Lestrange name went an entirely different direction than the one Harry had remembered. Fulcran eventually freed himself from the influence of his blood-supremacist father and came to work as a potioneer for Fleamont at Sleekeazy's. The rest of the Knights aimed for various positions at the Ministry from Aurors (Dalamar Avery) to dull office jobs (Aaron Morgenstern).
James was born in 1960, to Harry's relief – despite all the timeline disruption, he still had a chance of being born. He hadn't cut ties with the Potters, though – he felt like at this point, it couldn't hurt if they had tea together once in a while.
With James's generation came one of the greatest dilemmas of Harry's career as a caretaker/social worker: Severus Snape. He knew the boy had been unhappy, but he couldn't tell if he'd been unhappy enough to require Custodarium's services. The Snape family was far from ideal, but they weren't dirt-poor or truly abusive like the families of most children Harry and Tom would take in…
In the end, he decided against intervention, but he made sure Severus would be offered a summer job at Sleekeazy's and a mastery under Fleamont or Fulcran – Dumbledore was happy to pass that message.
As far as Harry knew, most events related to the Marauders' school years came to pass unchanged – Sirius even stayed with the Potters again, not at Custodarium, once Walburga disowned him.
When Fleamont and Euphemia died of Dragon Pox just days apart in 1979, it was the single greatest heartbreak for Harry since the Battle of Hogwarts, now a faded memory in comparison the faces of his grandparents he'd spent most of his new life with.
On 31 July 1980, James and Lily had a son. Like the first time around, they named him Harry, except this time it was after "Uncle Harry" – James held him in high regard, plus the boy "had his wild hair" (and nose, and mouth, and eyes,… the only thing he didn't have were the scars).
Harry's little sister was born two years later; little Sophie Potter. Harry was moved to tears when he first held her, because he never got to have a baby sister all those years ago.
Not burdened by guilt or overall death-eaterness, Severus eventually got over Lily and married Apolina Lestrange, Fulcran's youngest daughter whom he met through his job at Sleekeazy's laboratory.
Harry had tried to resist, but the frequency of his visits with Dumbledore and Hagrid rose dramatically in 1991. At last, he'd seen them one May afternoon – a huddle of first-years with Madan Hooch in the lead, each carrying a broomstick.
He immediately recognised the shock of curly hair, like the fourty-eight years since he'd last saw it had been barely a day. The brown mane almost blocked the ginger head behind it from view.
Hermione and Ron. His chest tightened, his eyes burned – bugger, it had been so long, too bloody long! And Neville was there, too. Seamus, Dean, Parvati, or was it Padma? Harry couldn't tell anymore. He was even happy to see Draco there – he once instructed his younger self to prank the hell out of any Malfoy he'd met.
Young Harry noticed him and waved enthusiastically. Old Harry waved back and prayed the group wouldn't come his way, because he wasn't sure he could hold himself together. Fortunately, they'd been headed to the Training Grounds.
When he Flood back home, he sought Tom for comfort, as he'd always done. His lover's hair had greyed, but his eyes were still as brown and young and determined as the day they graduated, his smile still as charming, at least to Harry.
He found him in the study, writing something down using a Muggle ball pen.
"Hi," he said, trying to sound normal.
Tom took one look at Harry and stopped writing. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said, earning a raised doubtful eyebrow from Tom, "Nothing, really… um, I saw Ron and Hermione today."
Tom sighed softly, stood up from the desk and manouvered Harry to the sofa, pulling him close so his head rested on Tom's shoulder.
"How was it?" he asked calmly.
"Nice, nostalgic," Harry began neutrally, then let go of the pretense and winced, "Weird, because everyone was there, and I was there, but also wasn't."
Tom stroked his hair comfortingly. "I told you it would be hard on you."
Harry laughed miserably. "Yeah, you were right… as always."
He expected more of the familiar playful smugness, but Tom's voice remained placid and serious.
"Harry, I have to tell you something, and it won't be easy either."
Harry pulled back a few inches and looked up at Tom with sudden apprehension, waiting for him to continue.
"How much do you know about the grandfather paradox?"
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"Enter."
Harry stepped into the office cautiously. It was spacious, airy, elegant; just like he would expect from the most sought after spot at the Ministry.
"Good morning, Minister. You've asked to see me?" I was odd to call him "Minister", it had always been "Uncle", but he didn't want any preferential treatment. His other uncle was sitting at the armchair by the Minister's side, his usual good-natured smile missing from his face. They nodded to each other in greetings.
"Yes, please have a seat."
Harry did as he was told.
"Look at you, you're almost an Auror now – you've been training for a month now, correct?" the Minister asked.
"Yes." What's this about?
"You're willing to risk your life for the citizens of the Wizarding Britain?"
"Yes," Harry answered more firmly.
The Minister nodded somberly. "What if I told you there was a task only you could do that would save thousands of lives; possibly the whole world?"
Harry's eyes were wide like saucers.
"I'd do it, of course," he said resolutely.
"Even if it meant you couldn't see your family again?"
His rapidly beating heart suddenly stopped – or was it the time that stretched impossibly at that moment?
"Is it… a suicide mission?" he asked with a tight voice.
"No," thank Merlin, "but it is one where you have to give up everything."
"I- I don't understand-"
The Minister handed him an old photo… of himself?
"This is Harry here, when he was eighteen."
What does that have to do with anything?
"Wow, we really do look alike."
Uncle Harry looked uncomfortable – Harry could easily tell, he liked to scratch the back of his neck when he was nervous, too.
Then Uncle Harry said, "That's because I am, er… you."
Wait. What?!
"To be precise, Harry here is an older version you. When he was eighteen, he travelled through time from a terrible future where many of your friends and family had died, suffered horribly or hadn't been born at all. He managed to change it, but my research indicates that to maintain the spacetime stability, you must-"
"Go back in time," Harry breathed out, understanding dawning on him. The idea was equal parts terrifying and exciting.
"Yes," Minister Riddle – Uncle Tom – confirmed. "But there is one more catch."
Okay, way more terrifying than exciting.
"You must go carrying Harry's original memories."
"What… do you mean?"
"Quite frankly, we'll have to overwrite all the memories you currently possess. We will make a back-up and you will be able to regain them eventually, but not until this Friday," Uncle Tom's somber eyes studied Uncle Harry's face for a moment before adding, "To you, fifty-five from now."
Harry's stomach churned when he understood the implication. He would forget everything, everyone, his whole life! Wasn't that practically dying? But then, if he didn't do it…
"…I must go to save… everyone?"
Uncle Harry closed his eyes, looking his age for the first time since Harry had known him. "I… never had a sister – mom and dad died before they could have her. Remus and Sirius died, too, Fred Weasley, Dumbledore-"
"I'll do it! Whatever it takes," Harry cut in, not needing to hear any more. He was a Gryffindor, he wouldn't cow away from something this important.
The two older wizards exchanged a grave look, having a wordless discussion or perhaps just waiting to see if he'd change his mind.
He didn't, so Minister Riddle eventually said, "Very well. You have two days to say goodbye to your friends and family, we'll make it look like you'd been sent on an international undercover mission, highly classified. It will be easier on them than if you simply disappear. Uncle Harry and I will take care of the preparations – come to Custodarium on Thursday at 9 a.m., I'll make the copy of your memories there before we head to Hogwarts for the rest of the plan."
Harry's heart was trying to jump out of his chest, but he nodded his acknowledgement.
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"Here we are," Harry said, leading them into a cozy room with an armchair and a cup of hot tea sitting on the table. Tom set two large glass jars on it, one full of swirling silver substance.
"Good. Now, please, Professor, hold out your wand."
Dumbledore did. His eyes had twinkled like never before when Harry and Tom came to explain the situation to him.
"Harry, please disarm him with an Expelliarmus."
The teenager looked rather taken aback, but he obeyed.
"Now give the wand back to him. That's all, sir, thank you."
"Anything for an old friend," he nodded to Harry, "Or a young friend," he gave the younger Harry a reassuring smile and left the room.
"Hold this," Harry passed his younger self the Cloak of Invisibility and the Resurrection Stone.
"I forfeit the ownership of the Cloak," he said, holding his wand.
"I forfeit the ownership of the Stone," Tom repeated, then flicked his wand to the left, charming the window open. "Now throw the Stone out."
Bewildered, younger Harry did.
Tom nodded to himself, mentally checking the steps off the list. "I believe we're all set. Whenever you're ready, please sit down and drink this. It's a Dreamless Sleep potion."
Younger Harry took the vial in one trembling hand. He flicked a nervous look to the jar on the table. "Okay," he exhaled deeply, obviously bracing himself.
"Um, bye, Uncle Tom… Uncle Harry," he said shakily.
Older Harry smiled reassuringly, like he did so many times for one of his children. "Bye. And don't worry, it will be alright – I should know."
The teenager nodded, took another deep breath and downed the potion. Within moments, he was sleeping soundly.
Unfaltering as usual, Tom trained his wand at the uncoscious figure.
"Obliviate."
It was almost anticlimatic how such a fateful spell showed no visible effect, but Harry still somehow felt it happening.
Tom then proceeded to unlid the large jar – its entire contents were actually just one impossibly long thread of Harry's childhood memories, up until the day he time-travelled, including the delicately isolated essence of his latent knowledge of Parseltongue. Tom started to etch the fine thread of memory onto that clean slate with a charm he'd created back in his Unspeakable days.
Meanwhile, older Harry lifted younger Harry's right hand. He was feeling sick to his stomach, but he knew Tom couldn't do this part for him. He gripped his wand tightly to steady his hand and cast the Scalpel Curse, a modified version of the Scalpel Charm specifically designed to make the tissue scar once it was healed.
Letter by letter, he started carving the familiar sentence onto the pristine skin. An eternity later, a bright red "I must not tell lies." glistened upon with blood. Harry quickly healed it with an Episkey and washed the blood away, letting out a heavy breath he'd been holding.
"I'm almost done up here as well," Tom informed him. "Only one thing left."
He pointed his wand to the sleeping teenager's forehead and cast the Scalpel Curse himself, drawing the shape of a lightning bolt he'd religiously kissed countless times in the past. He healed the skin just as fast as he's broken it.
Harry just stood there, watching himself sleep. It was bizarre.
"You were so cute as a teen," Tom admired as he stepped back, the smile audible in his voice.
"It's… weird. Like we're taking his life from him," Harry exhaled shakily, "Doesn't feel right, you know?"
Tom didn't waver a bit, "But he has a good life ahead of him, doesn't he?"
Harry's gaze turned to his lifelong partner, all the marvellous memories they'd made together over the years emerging and flooding his mind at once. His eyes burned, but his lips stretched into a fond smile.
"The best."
~ The End ~