Harry mutters a curse under his breath as yet another rock is added to the collection of pebbles digging into his heel. He leans against one of the bigger boulders and nudges his boots off for what feels like the millionth time since he started his trek. He narrows his eyes at the ragged stones tumbling into his palm from his overturned boots — rolling them as he snapped his gaze to the path where he thoroughly blasted away the gravel from the jagged, steep hill — trying to understand the bloody irritating impossibility of it all. His trousers are even over his boots for fuck's sake.
His eyes widen in realization, "I'm going to smash these into his face," snarling out with gritted teeth, "going to hex his balls off and — and of all the sodding magic in the world, it's this he chooses to keep people away!"
He casts a numbing spell on his feet, blisters already forming and stinging, and marches along with a determined fervor. Once reaching the top, he lets out a delighted whoop at the lack of sharp, pointy rocks.
Misty fog and a field of indigo flowers with tall thin stems fill his view — a cool gust blows through causing them to undulate like purple-stained waves. Musing over whether this is nature's beauty or a disgusting trick to trick him distracts Harry for a moment before he peers past them towards the derelict stone cottage a few yards away.
He pushes his scarf over his nose and snugs his wool hat past his ears to counter the increasing chill and circles the cottage from a distance, spotting a window in a side wall with some light shining through.
Not wanting to risk passing through the field — it can't just be pretty, right — he bounces a few of the bigger rocks that were nestled in his foot and winds back to chuck it at the window with a shout, "Hey prat! You better have some tea and a foot rub waiting for me!" accompanied by the shatter of glass and a muffled squawk.
The door slams open as Remus Lupin pops out in, what looks like sleepwear — Harry grins in smug satisfaction for disrupting his slumber and for causing what looks like a nice sized red welt forming on his cheek.
Wand at the ready, Remus catches Harry standing on one foot with a boot in his hand, "Who the hell might you be? Why are you here?"
Harry raises his arms in a soothing gesture, "Hard to miss, you're practically welcoming strays to stroll into your front lawn," Remus scoffs, "Right… um was in the area and just wanted to check out what could be waiting up here, especially after all that fuss in repelling magic — someone this isolated must have rare company so, hullo" Harry placates trying to pull on whatever charm he has. He wants Remus to calm down before he proceeds to ruin everything he believes in.
"The isolation is to deter visitors, not welcome them." The other wizard counters dryly.
"Well, now I know." Harry mumbles and hurries to add, "I just was very interested in getting up here and I'm known for my stubbornness if nothing else. What treasures could be awaiting me, you know?" exaggerating a mystic tone.
An incredulous scarred face and a raised eyebrow answers that, and Harry harrumphs waving a boot at the field between them, "Could you call off your freaky, dancing flowers? I think my feet are bleeding — yeah, definitely bleeding and I've spent far too long standing in the cold in what I'm now realizing was an ill-conceived venture," shivering for good measure with wide pleading eyes. Remus was always a kind person he can't have changed much.
Remus furrows his brows, "The wind makes them do that…" speaking slowly as if explaining to a child, he eyes Harry over and grimaces at the small red spots on his exposed sock, "People usually give up on the path, but, I suppose I can patch you up before you leave," murmuring pointedly and waves him over with a wary expression.
Adjusting his glasses, Harry shrugs and walks over with an exaggerated limp. "Sorry about the window and the face," he lies easily, "the hike up put me in a sour mood."
Remus snorts rubbing at his cheek, "Learned that spell from some old mates. Used to drive me mad when I had to stop between classes to clean out my shoes" he sighs a bit wistfully. He stands by the door as Harry waddles through, still not relaxed enough to turn his back to him.
Harry crashes down on the first chair he sees and hooks another with an ankle closer to rest his legs on them. He looks around with a hum enjoying how much warmer it is inside. Books line a fair amount of the walls, a small kitchen holds just enough dishes for one, and a fire's crackling in the corner. The furniture he does have looks sturdy with some holes or scratches but varying patterned sheets cover most of them giving it an eclectic look. The bed is covered in warm fluffy blankets and a fair number of pillows. He pinches the table cloth beside him, he supposes Remus can afford some small comforts with magic to help. He notes the lack of photos.
"Cozy little hut you've got here," Harry mutters glancing over at the other wizard who's fiddling with some bandages by his kitchenette, laying them over a bowl of some liquid. Remus ignores the comment and casually asks, "Do you not have your wand on you?" giving a not-so-subtle look at Harry's coat full of pockets.
Harry pats his side and takes it out slowly and places it on the table as a gesture of goodwill, "Nah, I'm just pants at healing spells. Never could manage how delicate it is, I'm more of a brute force sort of wizard" he shares. Remus rolls his eyes and flicks a Reparo towards the shattered window as he walks by. He sits down on the floor beside him and banishes Harry's socks. Harry ignores the scratches that mar his feet, "Foot rub?" He implores lightly.
This close he can see the difference the coming years will do to him. Remus's hair isn't as grayed and lifeless, instead, its a golden brown and thicker with a slight wave that frames his much warmer skin. Still young enough to bounce back from the transformation. He caught him between the lunar cycles so he's not as pale and — and he looks good not spending as long on his own as the one he knew. His eyes still have some fight in them, they're hazel and lacking the resignation he's familiar with, the circles around them not as dark. He pushes aside the feelings bubbling up, blinking away the burning he can feel in his eyes. He focuses instead on wiggling his scratched-up toes towards Moony and raising his eyebrows expectantly.
Remus gently, but firmly, pushes his foot back to the chair with a flat look. He starts muttering a healing spell that also wears off the numbing on them and Harry hisses in a breath — merlin's balls that stings. Remus continues to heal his foot up, ignoring Harry's pain, cleaning along with it. He pokes at the pink healed flesh with his wand gaining a flinch, "Might be tender for a day or two," he pulls at the bandages beside him, Harry notices they've been soaked in some Murtlap Essence, "these should soothe it for now. I don't have any potions on me to speed up the process." he informs as he wraps them up tightly.
Harry sighs fingering the bandages, "Thanks, Remus, you put mediwizards to shame." Remus jumps to his feet at that startling a squeak out of Harry. Wand pointed at his face, Remus clenches his jaw and says, "I didn't tell you my name"
Bollocks.
Harry kind of hoped Remus would've recognized him by now or at least question it. He knows only his eyes are showing but — come on — everyone says they're a perfect replica to his mums. "We've, uh, met before," Harry starts, "You probably didn't recognize my handsome face under all this" gesturing towards his scarf and hat.
"I'm sure, " Remus sneers with a disbelieving, mocking tone the expression not fitting him right. This younger Remus seems jumpier and quicker to doubt, "Go on then. Let's see it."
Harry quickly pulls them off. Hearing Remus chokes out a gasp as he takes him in. His hair has to look crazy but he thinks it'll add to the resemblance. The werewolf's face contorts between anguish and confusion, eyes scanning all over, hands shaking slightly, then he remembers what Harry said and his grip tightens again, "We've never met. I-I don't know why you look like them but — but I would've remembered. I've never seen you before."
Harry had mulled over the words to explain to Remus for a while now but he ends up blurting out, "Time travel can explain that," gesturing a palm by his legs as he rushes to continue, "you've met little old me about this high? It's me, Harry Potter. It-It's nice to see you again, Moony," not hiding the fondness in his voice, a small tremulous smile forms on his face.
A shaky breath passes his lips, he's been relying on false bravado since he got to this time, "I could really use your help."
Darkness envelops around him. He doesn't think there's anything else. He doesn't necessarily feel much. He… he just is. He wonders if there's more to the Blackness. Change is what you want? whispers the Void.
No, no he denies. This seems nice. He feels the relief of a deep breath but — but without the air. Just nothing. So dull. It's been so long since he's felt dull.
A quick, staccato rattle echoes throughout. Almost like sand cascading down leaves of a tree. And what of the others? A smile is evident in the voice echoing around him. He didn't know the Shadow could be amused.
Others? Longing fills him. Almost crushing him in the realization. Nothing else comes to him but the feeling, but then the Nothing soothes him with impressions. Brief glimpses and flashes of mirth-filled eyes, voices angelic in how calm and reassuring they are, the warmth of long embraces, and the faintest scent of vanilla and spices wafting from the clinking of bottles.
Of course. Of course, he knows them. The happiness vibrates through him, but then the glimpses warp reeling forward to — fighting with streaks of lights and explosions from wands, the scent of blood sharp and familiar, those charming looks morphing to faces that anguish with mourning. He remembers the struggle afterward, the constant need to feel again to recapture those nicer more pleasant feelings. He never could.
He doesn't want to remember grief. No, no please go back. Back to the nothing he doesn't want this. Anything but this. He begs, writhing, reaching towards the Darkness trying to grasp at anything to make it stop.
The flashes of loving smiles and rich laughter come back. But he thinks it cruel. It's worse. He knows he won't have that. He's drowning in how much he wants it. The dark shifts and curls around tighter. Rescuing him from submerging. And if you could have it back? Would you want it? It rustles around him and he feels a hint of cool gentleness envelop him.
Yes. Yes, he smothers himself by embracing back. The yearning rushing out of him. The Emptiness accepts it all without a change, giving him what he needs.
Anything for you.
A loud groan escapes from Harry as he rubs his head against the cool surface beneath him. Awareness flitting back with the force of a sledgehammer. Bloody hell, is his head pounding. I'm never drinking again. He doesn't even remember the last time he did but why else would he wake up like this. He shifts some more and yelps when something sharp and gritty scratches at his cheek. Why is his pillow hurting him, he whines at the betrayal. He hears some disapproving tutting at a distance and the sounds of hurried stomps thunder into his skull.
He quickly opens his eyes to search for the herd of judgmental trolls that somehow ended up in his room. Except all he sees is a bright yellow light and the groaning starts again. He moves away from the light, doing his best to ignore the pain, and peels open an eye slowly.
He blinks. Then blinks again, but the crowd of legs attached to well-dressed people walking past him down an open street blanketed doesn't disappear. As his sight adjusts, he sees the light that blinded him wasn't the sun but emitting from a shop window. Okay, so this isn't my room. He looks around some more, locking eyes with a few people who grimace away in disgust. Ouch. He assumes he looks as awful as he feels if not even one look is sympathizing. Or recognizing, he must be in muggle London.
Steadying his palms on the floor, he pushes himself off the ground which he now sees to be litter-filled. He swats at the bottle cap that adhered to his face, sits and leans his back against the wall further into the alley to hide and starts assessing.
What the hell?
His shirt is tattered, singed in crosses across his chest and arms. Harry's brows crease together, It's like someone whipped him with fire. Oh, shit. He remembers the wizard he was supposed to apprehend had got the jump on him with a long whip of fire sported on the guy's wand. He doesn't remember much else. He pokes at the exposed skin beneath his shirt and, strangely enough, the skins unscathed with not a single burn.
Harry wonders if he apparated away as soon as it reached him and screwed up the distance in his rush.
Some pats on his person net him his pouch which he always keeps light with a few galleons, a coat and a quill with parchment. His lips tighten in panic as he notices his wand missing. Damn, fire-wielding wanker.
Letting out a gust of breath, Harry stands up. Wavering slightly, his head throbs in complaint reminding him that it's still splitting apart. He recognizes the street he's on and know's the leaky cauldron isn't far off. It's late so he'll have to trust that his partner dealt with the guy and got his wand. He could floo back home, firecall his boss and others to prove he's alive, and sleep the headache away if he can.
Wrapping his coat around him he heads off. Ignoring the wide-eyed stares he's getting from his appearance. He can feel the grime on his face when his face scrunches.
The Leaky seems not so busy today, Tom's not even manning the counter. Sighing in relief at no one catching him like this he walks straight towards the floo. Hand reaching for the bag of soot on the mantle, Harry pauses when the Daily Prophet stacked on the side catches his eye.
5th Anniversary of the Dark Lords Defeat! Minister Acquits Herself With A Declaration to Party! Reads the headline. Picture of Minister Millicent Bagnold smugly waving midst the ICW. Harry stares at it for a long moment trying to make sense of it. Has to be an older copy. Has to be.
"Ridiculous isn't it?" comments a seated wizard nearby, "I still remember that night. Not a care in the world for what the muggles might see as we celebrated. The dark lord is dead!" he finishes with a wistful sing-song.
"Huh?" Harry eloquently replies.
"You look like you got enough of the festivities" the man chuckles, "Five long years and still barely believe it myself. The war is good and over." Shaking his head and going back to his meal.
Harry ignores the man. Has to be off his rocker. Has to be.
"Yer holding up my floo! Get outta line if you ain't got a place to go" hollers Tom from the direction of the bar. Harry looks over his shoulder and notices a line of one person. Rolling his eyes, he faces Tom to reply. "Hardly a li-" his voice petering off as he sees Tom. Tom who isn't hunchbacked or bald. Tom with a head full of hair, actual hair that's black and large furry mutton chops that frame the much younger face and that's giving him an impatient look.
Has to be a distant relative. Has to b — but he recognized his voice. And he vaguely recognizes those mutton chops. He stumbles back, letting an older witch pass by him who barely grants him a look as she floos out.
Leaning against the wall Harry tries to gather the breath that was knocked out of him. His vision falters and narrows as darkness slowly encroaches and he remembers. He remembers that blackness and that voice that promised him — no, no this wasn't what I wanted.
He hears a faint rattling before a heavy pat on his shoulder shocks him out of it and he inhales, large and shuddering.
More sympathetic eyes then earlier come into view. "You do got a place to go, don't ya?" Tom mutters.
"I-I'm not sure," Harry gasps out.
Tom hums, "We don't got rooms for those that don't got the coin — but you look like you need a warm drink to gather your wits. Come on, come on sit down" gently maneuvering Harry to a nearby seat.
Harry tries to gather his wits. When that fails, he just stares as Tom wanders back with some warm butterbeer. "First ones on the house" and gives him a pitying look before he heads back.
The taste grounds him which is nice. Recalling the many times he's shared such a drink with friends. Merlin, his friends. His vision blurs and he grabs the daily prophet for something to look at.
The article doesn't tell him much he doesn't know but he reads it through to put off the impending panic. He flips the page, sipping his drink as he goes, and catches the small mention of Sirius Black's betrayal of the Potters.
That breaks through the fog clouding his mind, he taps a finger on the counter as he thinks of Sirius. He's still in Azkaban, and that fills Harry with a volatile mix of emotions that he pushes aside. He's getting better at that. Some guilt from his death still lingers, he never did fully let that go. Sirius had maybe two years of partial freedom before dying because of his mistake.
Helping him gain proper freedom was possible now. More years to distance himself from his time in Azkaban. Even if Sirius was destined to — to live until the same time, Harry reckons that leaving a fuller life behind is better than not. His mind whirrs through everyone else he could give more time too. It's overwhelming to consider the possibilities that await him.
Harry finds comfort in it. He isn't sure if the rules of messing with time apply to him. The circumstances that got him here isn't something he can research. He wants to believe that even if he mucks things up beyond recognition he'd still be here. No awful things happening, no fading into nonexistence or going mad. Just time moving forward with him. A chill crawls along his spine and he takes it as reassurance.
Harry steels himself as he stands up, walks towards Tom and pays for a room with the small amount of money he's got on him. Insisting on paying for the butterbeer too to cover his shame at breaking down.
With wits partially gathered, Harry falls onto his bed face first and his last thought before sleep takes him is how thankful he is at the chance to make things right. A cloak flutters over him hiding his body from view, a ring slides over his finger and a wand settles by his hand under the pillow. Harry is already snoring before they even register.
Remus has paced the length of his quaint little cottage for the past hour. Muttering under his breath of Horcruxes and Wormtail. Rubbing his bottom lip with a thumb as he tries to process Harry's whole spiel. Whenever doubt starts forming in his expression, he stops turns to Harry to question him but snaps his mouth shut when he sees Lily's eyes and James' face staring back at him and goes back to pacing.
Harry is amused by it. He's also dying to ask him something since he'd first seen him and he figures he'd do Moony a kindness and disrupt whatever rabbit hole he's spiraling down in.
"Where'd you get that shirt?" Harry questions with a slight teasing lilt.
Remus stalls the restructuring of everything he ever believed in, to make a face at Harry.
Harry makes it back at him. Then, wiggles his eyebrows, "I was quidditch captain, you know. Best seeker during my time in Hogwarts got my talent for flying from my dad they'd say."
Remus sputters and flushes, "He got me this shirt that self-entitled tosser. Your fa— James got everyone this shirt when he made captain. Even Lily, who proceeded to hex him for it." He looks down at his shirt reading Save a Broom, Ride a Quidditch Captain.
"I wear it to bed because it's comfortable" he sniffs haughtily.
Harry laughs at that. Eventually joined by Remus who starts acting out his dad's whining at how much he thought Lily would've liked it and how she couldn't handle a joke. Which she obviously heard since she had a sixth sense when it came to James and chased him out of the common room.
Remus lowers on the seat by Harry as the laughs die out. He plops an elbow on the table and rests his cheek on his hand and just stares. Harry stares back then flicks a tongue out when he starts getting fidgety.
Remus gives a low chuckle, "You laugh just like him. Maybe a bit higher pitched." he muses then eyes the area just a smidge above his head, "you're much shorter, though." Harry restrains from making the rude gesture he wants to respond with but Remus catches the aborted motion and smiles at it.
Remus draws a large breath through his nose, "I believe you. Even as much as I want to believe he's dead. I believe you." he turns his face away, "I had doubts about Sirius, but — but everyone was so sure and I don't think anyone would've heard me. There's not many who I can turn to for trust anymore" he finishes quietly.
Harry hurts at that. He can't imagine how lonely it must be to lose everyone, well, now he can but that's why he's here. He forces a cheerful smile, "I'm glad. I'm on the same boat as you so it's nice to not be dismissed" reaching over to pat at Remus' knee. The tension he didn't know he was holding slips from his shoulders as he slumps back into his seat.
The werewolf notices and his eyes go soft, "What about Dumbledore? He's always been a bit barmy but I think that means he'd believe the word of someone 20 years from the future."
Harry hums, trying to delicately form the right words, "I don't trust him," Remus widens his eyes at that — okay more delicate — "I mean, I trusted a version of him that I grew up with. I don't know if I can trust him now that I'm older and know things he never told me. He's not as perfect as I had always believed and if he only ever bothered to be more open with his plans — which heavily involved me — it would've made things so much easier."
Remus still looks wide-eyed. There must be something bitter in his tone.
"Listen, I'm sure he can help I mean the old coot's trying to fix his mistakes from his infatuation with Grindelwald and some guilt from how he handled Tom — Voldy that is." Harry ignores the strangled sound coming from Remus," I just rather he stay out of this or at least from knowing I'm here. He's already messed with so much of my life even if he had good reasons."
Remus rubs a palm over his face and sighs heavily. "Let's not unpack that. Just you and me. Got it." he laments miserably. Harry feels a little guilty at all these truths he's throwing at him.
He nudges Remus with his foot. Then, kicks him in the shin when he doesn't react. At Remus' grunt, he quietly says, "You and me and Sirius when we get him out and kid me when we rescue him. One big happy family." Unable to stop his smile at the thought.
Remus, too, smiles at the picture he paints. Not even hiding the hope it fills him with.
Cross-posting to check out the community here :) This is my first fanfic so I'm trying out Time Travel to see what I can do with that. Thanks for reading!
Harry: Okay just remember to be gentle about this.
Remus: "What do you mean Sirius is innocent?"
Harry: "Wormtail framed him by taking advantage of his grief to trigger Sirius into a depressive meltdown that when the Aurors found him he confessed out of the guilt that was gnawing at his soul in a misguided hope for absolution."
Remus:
Harry: Nailed it.