The Life and Times of a Dimensionally-Displaced Wizard
Chapter One
It was a quiet night for Harry, save for the soft crackling of the fire, as he sat behind his massive mahogany desk at the Ministry of Magic, playing catch-up with his paperwork.
He sighed as he moved one more sheet of parchment to the 'done' pile before pulling another towards him. It had been ten years since he and Ron had joined the Auror Corps and, in the aftermath of Voldemort's downfall, been rapidly promoted to Captain (in Ron's case) and Head Auror (in Harry's case), and it seemed to Harry that each and every person under his command left their paperwork on his desk for him to finish.
'Case in point,' he thought as he picked up the parchment in front of him: an arrest record from rookie Auror Augustus Entwhistle, following the apprehension of one Julian Asticot, a Dark Wizard on the run from French Authorities for Muggle-baiting, kidnapping, and torture charges–something that should have gone to the Office of International Magical Cooperation's Extradition Bureau.
With a flick of his wrist, the parchment folded itself into an origami owl, which took flight and hovered over his desk. Harry spun his chair around to face the fireplace and reached up to grab the small jar of Floo powder on the mantel. He took a pinch of the glittering black powder and tossed it into the fire, which turned a bright emerald green. The owl did a little loop over his desk and dove headfirst into the flames, disappearing with a small whoosh.
Harry leaned back in his chair and let out a small sigh, letting the warmth of the fire wash over his body. He likely would've fallen asleep right there if it hadn't been for the knock at his door, which came at the exact moment his eyelids began to droop.
Harry sat up and spun his chair around to face the door. "Come in," he called.
The door opened and Ron Weasley entered, wearing his combat gear–a brown leather vest over a beige shirt, with black trousers and matching leather boots, with a red cloak made from Chinese Fireball skin thrown over his shoulders to complete the ensemble, all of which was enchanted for maximum durability, flexibility, and comfort.
"Oi, mate, got any firewhiskey on you?" he asked, striding into the room and flopping ungracefully into the chair across from Harry's desk. "Gonna need a few, the night I've had."
Harry chuckled and waved his hand–a bottle of Ogden's Finest and two glasses floated over from a table in the corner. "One of those nights?" he asked as he filled the glasses and passed one to his best friend.
In response, Ron seized the glass and drained half of it in a single gulp, then released a loud belch accompanied by a three-foot-long jet of flame. "You have no idea," he said, coughing out a cloud of smoke as he spoke. "Three raids today alone, and another disciplinary write-up."
Harry raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his own firewhiskey, breathing out a small cloud of embers. "Another one? Why?"
"'Cause Appletree's a blithering idiot, that's why," grumbled Ron, sinking low in his chair. "The last raid today, he goes and Apparates to the wrong bloody house! Scared some poor old couple half to death, the pillock."
"Well, at least you don't have paperwork up the arse," replied Harry, gesturing to the slightly-smaller-but-still-frighteningly-large pile of parchment sitting in his in-tray. "It'll take the rest of my life to finish all this."
"That's what the firewhiskey's for," retorted Ron. "After a few glasses, you stop caring."
Harry chuckled and clinked his glass against Ron's. "Fair point," he admitted. "So, now that the small talk's out of the way, what brings you here?"
"Ah!" exclaimed Ron as he set his glass down and began searching through his pockets. "Where'd I put…aha!" He withdrew a folded piece of parchment and laid it on the desk. "Just came in–Hermione's already approved it."
Harry's eyes widened. "Is that…?"
"An arrest warrant for one Theodore Nott, wanted for questioning regarding several illegal Time Turners?" finished Ron with a cheeky smirk. "Yes. Yes it is."
"Brilliant," said Harry as he stood and crossed over to his wardrobe. He pulled out a set of combat gear identical to Ron's, with the exception of an emerald-green dragonhide cloak instead of red. "I'll meet you in the Briefing Room."
"Alright," replied Ron, and he drained his glass before getting up and leaving the office.
Harry quickly changed into the combat gear. He'd been wanting to get a chance to go after Nott for months, but he'd never had any solid evidence against him until now. He threw on his cloak and glanced at himself in the wardrobe mirror. Finding his appearance satisfactory, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a gold badge with the words 'Head Auror' engraved on it in loopy script. He pushed some of his magic into it and watched as numbers and letters spun around the edges of the badge, eventually spelling out 'Active Warrant: Full Combat Gear'.
Every Auror was issued a badge: standard Aurors had bronze, Captains had silver, and the Head Auror had gold. Each of these were linked by a Protean Charm to the entire squad, and the badges would vibrate and chime when a message was received. Harry pinned his to his cloak and set off toward the Briefing Room.
The Briefing Room was a large, lecture hall-type room with seven rows of long, connected desks and a large projector screen dominating the front wall. The room was only used for raids involving a large number of Aurors, such as the one Harry was about to lead.
Ron was leaning on one of the long desks when Harry arrived. "Took you long enough," he said jokingly, chuckling when Harry gave him the two-fingered salute in response. "The others should be here soon."
As if on cue, the door opened and a young woman of about twenty-five walked in; she had short black hair and bright blue eyes, with her bangs swept over her right eye, and was wearing the standard Auror uniform. This was one of the newer Aurors, Cassandra Smith, second cousin to Zacharias Smith and a member of Ron's squad.
"Evening, Cassie," said Ron with a wave.
"Hey boss, boss's boss," Cassandra replied. "Who're we going after this time?"
Harry tossed a copy of the warrant over to her. As she read, her eyes slowly widened.
"Theodore Nott?" she asked. "I thought we didn't have anything on him?"
"We do now," said Harry. "We're just waiting on the team to get here so we can start the briefing."
Soon after, the rest of their team had arrived, and were seated at the desks. Harry waved his hand and Theodore Nott's picture appeared on the projector screen.
"Our target tonight is Theodore Nott," he said, and immediately the muttering started. "Up until now, he's been all but untouchable. But not anymore."
He began pacing the front of the room. "One of his associates gave him up in exchange for a lighter sentence. He witnessed Nott in possession of and distributing illegal Time Turners–we have the Pensieve memory and testimony under Veritaserum to prove it. Only thing that matters now is bringing him in."
He stopped and stared at each and every Auror in the room. "I won't lie: Nott's a crafty bastard, and well-versed in Dark magic thanks to his father and the rest of the Death Eaters. Best-case scenario, he gives himself up willingly, though I highly doubt it'll be that easy. He'll most likely try to either run away or fight back."
He turned to Ron. "My team will handle getting us in. Ron, your team is responsible for setting up the Anti-Disapparition and Anti-Portkey wards," he said. "We don't want him getting away. He doesn't know we're after him, and I intend to keep it that way until it's time."
"You got it, mate," said Ron, giving Harry a thumbs-up.
Harry nodded and returned his gaze to the rest of the Aurors. "As for the rest of you: we want to do this quick and clean, but if he fights back, you are hereby cleared to defend yourself by whatever means you have at your disposal–lethal force is authorized."
He fixed the crowd with a stern look. "Now then, any questions?"
Silence greeted him, and he nodded. "Excellent," he said. "Now then, we'll be Portkeying directly to Nott Manor–your emergency Portkeys have already been modified to bring you there and back. My squad, on me, Wardbreakers at the front when we land. Is everyone ready?"
He was met with a chorus of affirmatives. "Perfect. On three, then. One…two…three."
He felt the hook behind his navel, and the world dissolved into multicolored light.
[Break]
His feet slammed against the ground a few moments later, followed by the muffled thuds of his squad members. He knelt to lessen the impact, and slowly crept behind a nearby tree. In front of them, Nott Manor loomed out of the darkness, its lighted windows giving it an almost forbidden feel. It looked more like some dark fortress than a mansion.
Harry brought his left wrist to his mouth; pulling back his sleeve, he revealed a special rune tattooed into his skin. "Ron, come in. Are you ready on your end?" he whispered.
A few moments later, the rune on his wrist lit up, and Ron's slightly muffled voice filled his head. "All clear on this end. Ready to move on your mark."
"Excellent. Stand by–when the wards break, you'll need to get those Anti-Disapparition and Anti-Portkey spells up fast."
"Understood. We're ready."
Harry looked back at his squad. "Everyone ready?" he asked.
His entire squad nodded as one, expressions hardened, and Harry grinned. "Excellent. Wardbreakers–take it down!"
Spellfire lit up the night as the Wardbreakers attacked. The wards became visible as soon as the first spell hit; an enormous dome of silver and gold magic swirled around the property. As the spells flew, the shield became more and more cracked until, with an almighty crash, they broke, sending sparks of gold and silver light arcing through the sky.
Almost immediately after, Harry saw the wards from Ron's team go up. "Forward! Everyone on me!" Harry barked, and he took off towards the manor, his team hot on his heels. The front door was promptly blasted off its hinges as Harry and his squad filled the foyer. Nott's wife, a pale, sickly-looking woman who was just entering the hall, screamed in fright as the dislodged door flew past her.
"Aurors!" roared Harry, hands alight with arcane energy. "We have a warrant, Nott! Get your arse out here and come quietly!"
The only response he received was Mrs. Nott's gasping sobs from where she was being detained by a pair of twin female Aurors. Harry spun around to face the rest of his team.
"Search the whole house. I want this bastard found," he said. "Pair up and search–nobody goes alone, understood?"
He was met with a chorus of 'yes, sir's, and his squad immediately fanned out. Harry grabbed Cassandra's shoulder as she passed by. "You're with me," he said, and she nodded nervously, turning her head to hide the faint dusting of red on her cheeks while gripping her wand tightly.
Harry gave her an encouraging smile, then raised his hand and cast a silent Homenum Revelio. Immediately, he got a hit roughly ten feet below him–a secret basement.
"Ron, I've found Nott. Hidden basement under the foyer," he said into his communication rune. "How soon can you get in here?"
"On my way now," replied the redhead. "My squad's got the whole property on lockdown–he's not going anywhere."
"Good. Cassie and I will meet you in the foyer…and cork it, I know what you're about to say." He hissed the last part so Cassandra wouldn't overhear. "Just get your arse in here."
He heard chuckling as Ron entered through the ruined front door. "I didn't say anything, mate," he said innocently, something Harry saw through immediately. He gave the redhead a glare, and Ron backed off, hands raised in surrender but with a smug smirk on his face.
"Whatever," said Harry, now thoroughly annoyed. "Let's just find a way into that basement."
They searched around the immediate area, leaving nothing to chance. Finally, Harry noticed an old-fashioned gas lamp hanging on the far wall–something that looked incredibly out of place. Curious, he pulled on it, and grinned when a section of the wall slid out of the way, revealing a descending staircase.
Ron and Cassandra stacked up behind him as they made their way down the stairs, which eventually led to a large laboratory filled to the brim with various cauldrons, ingredients, and wicked-looking instruments Harry really didn't want to know the purpose of.
A sickly-looking man with wispy, grey-black hair was bent over a workbench, fiddling with something and muttering to himself. "Come on, come on, almost there…"
"Freeze!" roared Harry, making the man jump and whirl around. "It's three-against-one, Nott. Do yourself a favor and just come quietly."
Nott's pale, sunken face split into a snarl. "Never," he hissed, and his wand fell into his hand with a flick of his wrist. Harry just barely managed to get a Shield Charm up in time to block the Cutting Curse Nott had sent at his neck; Ron and Cassandra returned fire with a Stupefy and Petrificus Totalus, but Nott dove out of the way and brought his wand up once more.
Harry, thinking quickly, raised his hand and Summoned the table behind Nott; it crashed into the man's back and sent him tumbling along with the table's contents. Parchment, quills, and inkwells fell to the ground, along with a small, hourglass-shaped device that glowed with a pulsating golden light–a Time Turner.
Nott, who had been thrown onto his front, scrambled to get to the Time Turner but was shoulder-checked into a wall by Cassandra. He stood slowly, dazed and clutching his left shoulder where it had struck the hard stone, glaring between Harry, Ron, and Cassandra as they advanced, wands pointed directly at his chest.
"Theodore Nott, you are under arrest for illegal creation of Time Turners with intent to distribute," declared Harry. "You have the right to speak in your own defense, but anything you say can and will be used against you at trial." He stooped to pick up the Time Turner. "Ron, you book him while I look for more evidence."
"Right," replied Ron as he pulled some magic-suppressing cuffs from his pocket and grabbed Nott by the arm. "Come on, Nott."
But Nott had no intention of going quietly. As quick as a striking snake, he slammed his free fist into Ron's throat and yanked the other free, plunging it into his robes and drawing a second wand, which he pointed at Harry. "Avada Kedavra!"
Harry whirled around just in time to see the curse fly from Nott's backup wand. Knowing the curse couldn't be blocked by magic, he reared his arm back and hurled the Time Turner–the only thing in his hand at the time–at the incoming jet of green light.
Much to his shock, the Killing Curse struck the Time Turner and was seemingly absorbed by the device, which was forced back at him by the inertia. His Seeker reflexes flared up and he caught the Time Turner before it could hit him in the face, but one look at the ominously-glowing device told him something was very wrong.
That something revealed itself when the Time Turner exploded with the force of a grenade.
A bright flash of light and a deafening report filled the enclosed basement, forcing those present to cover their ears and close their eyes tightly. The basement shook from the force of the magical explosion, sending dust and debris raining on top of them.
"Harry!" shouted Ron, coughing as the dust invaded his lungs. He heard Cassandra calling out as well, and waved her over. "Are you alright?" he asked. "Where's Nott?"
"I'm fine," replied Cassandra as she brushed some rubble off her robes. "Nott's dead. A big piece of stone caught him in the head. He's over there." She jerked her thumb at the prone figure of Theodore Nott, who sported a massive, bloody head injury.
Ron swore under his breath and looked around at the destroyed basement as his squad came thundering down the staircase, wands at the ready. "Everyone, help clear this debris. We need to find Harry."
"Sir, what happened?" asked an Auror with an impressive handlebar mustache.
"Time Turner plus Avada Kedavra equals explosion," explained Ron, waving his wand and moving a large pile of debris. "Harry was holding the thing when it went off and brought the ceiling down on us."
"I'll notify Saint Mungo's," said Cassandra. She waved her wand, and a silvery hawk burst forth and soared up the stairs. The rest of the Aurors began casting Hover Charms, lifting the heavy pieces of stone and discarding them off to the side.
"Harry!" Ron called out as he moved a particularly large pile of debris. "Can you hear me?"
No response. Ron and Cassandra shared a worried look.
"I…I'm sure he's fine," said the redhead uncertainly. "He's Harry Potter. He's pulled through worse."
Cassandra wasn't so sure, and her worry only intensified when the mustached Auror made his way over to them.
"Sir," he said nervously, addressing Ron. "I…we found something, but…"
Ron frowned. "Spit it out, man."
The mustached Auror hesitated, then beckoned for them to follow. They did, clambering over various pieces of debris until they reached the far wall, where a group of six other Aurors were grouped around a particular section, whispering to each other. They quieted down when Ron and Cassandra walked up, and moved aside so they had a clear path.
Cassandra paled and held a hand to her mouth.
Ron stared in disbelief. "No…" he whispered. "No, no, no…"
There on the ground was a single hand, ripped from its body, wrapped in the shredded remains of a green dragonhide sleeve.
[Break]
The first thing that Harry realized as consciousness returned to him was the fact that he was no longer laying on hard stone, but soft grass. The second thing was the slight breeze that flowed over his prone frame, which brought his attention to the fact that his arm bloody hurt.
He gasped as the cool air ran over exposed flesh, igniting the pain receptors in his left arm. Gritting his teeth and dreading what he would find, he slowly turned his head to the side and gradually opened his eyes.
His left arm was gone from the elbow down, his ruined sleeve lying limply on the bloodstained grass.
Harry swore loudly and foully through his teeth as the pain hit, slamming his right fist on the ground repeatedly with each oath. It felt like someone was taking thousands of needles and driving them slowly into his flesh. Gathering up his willpower, he brought his right hand over to the mangled remains of his left arm and cast two charms: one to stop the bleeding, and the other to numb the entire limb until he could get to a hospital. The spells left his hand with a flash of light and wrapped themselves around the bleeding stump, sinking into the mangled skin.
He let out a half-sigh, half-sob as the pain dulled. After a moment of composing himself, he pushed himself into a sitting position with his remaining arm and surveyed his surroundings. Contrary to the hard stone walls of Nott's basement, he found himself in a lush forest, with tall oak trees filling the surrounding landscape.
He slowly rose to his feet, swaying slightly. His limbs didn't seem to want to obey his commands. He took a few shaky steps forward, only to nearly collapse face-first to the ground–he barely managed to keep himself upright by grasping a low-hanging branch. Groaning, Harry racked his brain, trying to figure out what happened.
He was in unfamiliar territory: definitely due to the Time Turner. The magical backlash must have ripped a hole in time itself and dumped him through it.
His missing arm was due to his magic instinctively protecting him from the worst of the explosion, but the sheer force of the blast exhausted most of his core, leaving the arm holding the Time Turner defenseless.
He grit his teeth and cursed. Now he had to deal with being trapped in an unfamiliar point in history, with a debilitating injury to boot–he was no mediwizard, but he knew the charms he'd placed on the stump of his arm were only a temporary fix. He needed medical attention as quickly as possible. On top of that, the two charms he'd cast had drained his magic almost completely, so he was as helpless as a baby deer.
He was jarred from his thoughts when something snarled loudly behind him. Whirling around, he watched warily as a massive, bearlike creature stalked out from the treeline. The behemoth was nearly three times taller than a grown man, and its gaping, drooling maw was filled with teeth as big as Harry's hand. The beast's black hide was covered in a bonelike substance, with plates and spikes interspersed throughout its body. A mask of the same material covered the thing's face, decorated with a red design.
Harry backed up warily from the clearly hostile beast. The thing's blood-red eyes focused on him and it opened its maw, letting loose an air-shattering roar.
Harry swore under his breath. His magic was still exhausted, so that option was out. Plus, he didn't know if magic would work on this thing anyway. He was injured, and the charms he'd cast on his arm would be failing soon. He was, in essence, trapped between a rock and a hard place.
The monster lunged and swiped at him with wickedly sharp claws. Harry stumbled back, nearly tripping over himself as the massive paw missed his face by mere inches. He tried to find a way around the creature, but the thing's immense size seemed to fill the whole forest.
The beast roared and raised its paw once more, ready to smash the tiny human into red paste, when it suddenly stiffened. For an instant, it stood motionless, then fell with an earthshaking boom, revealing a massive log buried into its back. Behind the monster stood a tall blond woman with green eyes, holding what looked like a leather riding crop.
She quickly vaulted over the immense corpse with ease, jumping far higher than any human should be able to, and made her way over to him. "Are you alright?" she asked.
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but the charms on his arm chose that exact moment to wear off. He grit his teeth and groaned, gripping his arm just above the stump, which was now bleeding freely once more, spattering drops of crimson on the grass.
The woman immediately pulled what appeared to be one of those new smartphones some company in America came up with out of her pocket. She tapped a few buttons on the screen and waited momentarily before speaking.
"It's me. I need medevac for a teenage male, roughly five-foot-eight, with an amputated left arm. …Excellent, I'll activate the tracking device." She hit another button to end the call and put the device back in her pocket.
"We need to try to slow the bleeding," she said, returning her attention to the now thoroughly bewildered Harry. "Medevac will be here soon. Can you take off your belt?"
Gritting his teeth, Harry nodded and began fumbling with his belt. Handing it to the blond woman, he waited as patiently as he could while she wrapped it around his bicep and cinched it down. Almost immediately, the blood flow lessened considerably, though the pain was still intense.
"That should buy us a few minutes until the Bullhead gets here," said the woman, once the makeshift tourniquet was secure. She fixed Harry with a stern look, and Harry was abruptly reminded of Professor McGonagall.
"What were you thinking, going into the Emerald Forest by yourself?" she demanded. "Didn't you pay attention during Professor Port's lecture? There's an infestation of Ursa Majors, no first-year students are allowed to enter the forest until they've been thinned out."
Harry couldn't make heads or tails of the woman's words. "What?" he eloquently replied, his words coming out slightly slurred.
The woman narrowed her eyes and pressed on, seemingly ignoring his confusion. "And furthermore, why didn't you call for help once you'd exhausted your Aura?"
Harry's mind was quickly becoming overwhelmed; whether from the stress of the situation or the blood loss, or both, he wasn't sure. Despite his best efforts, his eyes rolled back and he passed out.
When he awoke next, he found himself laying in a surprisingly comfortable bed in what looked like the Hogwarts hospital wing, only more modern. Next to his bed was a nightstand with a small stack of books on it. Harry tried to push himself up, but stopped and fell back against the pillow with a groan as pain shot up the stump of his arm.
The sound of a door opening drew his attention to the end of the infirmary; a pink-haired, tan-skinned nurse poked her head in, and smiled when she saw he was awake.
"Hey there," she said, stepping fully into the room. She was fairly young, probably in her mid-twenties, and a bit on the short side, standing at about five-foot-six. She was carrying a tray with a simple meal of bread and soup on it, and she set it down on his lap, hooking it to the fold-up bedrails so it wouldn't move.
"I figured you'd be hungry when you woke up," she said. "If you want more, just ask."
Harry opened his mouth to thank her (or ask where he was, he wasn't quite sure yet) when his stomach decided to interject its opinion, and loudly.
The nurse giggled. "Sounds like someone's hungry," she teased. "So, stranger, what's your name? You don't look like a student."
Harry looked up and blinked, a piece of soup-soaked bread hanging out of his mouth. "Harry Potter," he said after swallowing. "No, I'm not a student. What made you think that?"
"Well, you just look about the same age as most of Beacon's first-year students," replied the nurse. "About seventeen or so."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'm twenty-seven," he said flatly.
The nurse reached into her pocket and pulled out a small makeup mirror. "See for yourself," she said. Warily, Harry took the mirror, opened it, and nearly dropped it in shock.
His seventeen-year-old face stared back at him.
Harry's mind was reeling. How had this happened? Was it a side effect of the Time Turner exploding? He had so many questions, his head was starting to hurt; he didn't realize the nurse was still talking until she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, making him jump. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" he asked.
"I was saying that Professor Ozpin would like to meet you," the nurse replied. "Would you like me to send him in?"
"Er…I guess so," replied Harry uncertainly. The nurse smiled and disappeared through the door; a few moments later, a silver-haired man with an odd-looking cane walked in. He was wearing mostly black, with matching shoes, slacks, and jacket, with a green turtleneck shirt and glasses. He smiled at Harry as he took a seat next to the bed.
"Harry Potter," he said. "My name is Professor Ozpin."
"…Nice to meet you," replied Harry. He was getting a serious Dumbledore vibe from the man in front of him. "Where am I?"
"You are in the infirmary of Beacon Academy," replied Ozpin, "in the Kingdom of Vale."
Harry gave him a blank look. "…What?"
Ozpin nodded, as though Harry's reaction was expected. "I suspected as much. Now, I have a question for you: how did you manage to do this?" He pulled a tablet of some kind from his jacket and tapped the screen a few times before turning the device around. There on the screen was a video of Harry casting the spells on his mangled arm to stop the bleeding and numb the pain–the light from the two charms was clearly visible.
Harry took all of five seconds to decide what to do, and turned to look Ozpin in the eye.
"That depends, Professor. Do you believe in magic?"
And that's all for this chapter!
So this came out a bit quicker than I expected. I honestly thought I would be trying to write this for another month before posting it, but this chapter basically wrote itself.
Now then, time to answer a few questions I just know will be asked:
1) Yes, this is the official rewrite of Remnants of Magic.
2) Yes, I borrowed a bit from Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, which I do not own. I don't own RWBY, either.
3) Yes, Harry is capable of wandless magic. Perks of being the Master of Death.
4) Yes, Harry lost his arm. Yes, he will get a prosthetic.
5) Yes, the pairing has been decided: Harry x Blake.
6) Yes, Harry will have a weapon. No, it's not a scythe. As awesome and badass as they are, they're just not practical. Harry will use a slightly longer-than-average, straight-edged Shirasaya sword. If you don't know what that is, Google it. If you're like me and too lazy to Google it, then just picture Sasuke's Kusanagi with a more rounded scabbard and hilt, and you've got a good starting point.
7) Yes, I de-aged Harry a bit. I know it's a bit overdone, but it's the only way I could make the idea work.
8) Yes, I've already decided what Harry's Semblance will be, and no, it's probably not what you're thinking. I will say that Harry requires his weapon in order to use his Semblance, much like Adam Taurus.
I think that covers everything, but if you have any other questions/comments, please feel free to leave a review! It fuels my creative engine!
Ironic A/N: Instead of using author notes all the time, I'll do my best to reply to any review that contains a valid question. On that note, "Why does your story suck?" or anything similar does not count as a valid question.