May 3rd

He sat there calmly, magic singing beneath his skin as he regained control over it, not needed and yet not fully hidden, feeling his friend shift slightly in his seat.

Harry saw it in their eyes; they had moved too quickly, given their hand away too early in the game, and he was eager to see it through to the end. Uncle Charlus had cautioned him, knowing the lengths the Unspeakables would go to, but Harry was quite done playing their game.

The Minister's assistant kept glancing at him, eyes dropping to his papers whenever he noticed Harry's green gaze. It had been well over an hour since he had come to the Ministry, the Auror captain – and Harry had been pleasantly surprised to realize it was Nigel Wolpert– insisting he hear Harry's side of the story, and the case had been pushed to the upper levels almost immediately.

"Try not to blow things over too badly," Neville muttered. "Nigel's already sticking his neck out."

"I wouldn't do that to him," Harry replied, mouth twisting in distaste as he thought on his experiences with the Auror corps. That little Nigel, the boy who had flown ten feet backward each time he attempted to disarm someone in their DA meetings, was now an Auror Captain was slightly surprising, but Harry remembered the boy had been one of the first to believe him about Voldemort and eager to do his part in the war.

The door opened as Nigel popped his head out, gesturing for Harry and Neville to join him.

Showtime, he thought, straightening his robes and checking to see his wand remained in the holster.

Kingsley's office was large, spacious, with the Minister's desk angled at the back next to the view of the Atrium. There was a small seating area closer to the front, but they were directed to the seats in front of the desk, the shadowed figure of an Unspeakable stood at the Minister's shoulder as the Director of the DMLE leaned against the wall, dark eyes scrutinizing them. He was older than Kingsley, Harry guessed – not knowing Hinds well enough to tell whether his brown hair was balding due to stress or age – and one of the Aurors who had helped retake the Ministry.

"Lord Potter-Black, Lord Longbottom," Kingsley greeted, slight surprise flashing through his eyes at the sight of Neville.

"Minister," Neville answered, shaking Shacklebolt's hand firmly. "I hope things are well?"

He gestured for them to sit as Director Hinds ordered Nigel out, face grim as he answered Neville's question. "Not the best, at the moment," he admitted. "I had expected you would be at Hogwarts dealing with the aftermath of the fire, Lord Longbottom."

"I was," Neville said truthfully, "however I made it to Potter Hall in time to see the aftereffects of the attack as I was checking on the well-being of my students. Maia is my goddaughter, so imagine my surprise at learning her home had been attacked."

"It was an unfortunate situation, but not one I would consider an attack," Kingsley denied.

"And what, Minister," Harry drawled, "Would you consider a dozen Unspeakables attempting to break through the wards of an ancestral home?"

"We were merely there to ascertain the safety of your family, Lord Potter-Black," the Unspeakable chimed in, voice neutral and masked beneath the cowl. "Fiendfyre burns are a rather dangerous thing to deal with and must be handled carefully."

Harry's eyes flashed in angry disdain, feeling Neville's sharp warning glance.

"As it stands," Director Hinds cut in, his voice deep and booming. "We have a dead Auror, four fatally wounded Unspeakables, and three more who might not see active duty for the next month."

"My condolences on the loss of your Auror, Director, but you all seem to be operating under the impression that I care much for the injuries your Unspeakables are suffering," Harry said bluntly, eyes dark and angry as he stared at the lone grey cloak in the room.

"A dangerous sentiment to have, Lord Potter-Black," the Unspeakable spat.

"One I am well within my rights to hold," Harry retorted. He leaned forward the slightest bit, green eyes pinned on Kingsley's as he said lowly, "An Unspeakable stepping out of their bounds and attacking the home of a Wizengamot Lord is not going to sit well with the rest of that body, Minister. That you attacked my home hours after we had spoken of honouring the lives lost in the Battle for Hogwarts speaks poorly on your administration. I expect you'll hear numerous complaints along those lines."

He had him for now, but Harry also knew this wasn't the end of it. Whether Kingsley was fully involved or a piece to be moved and hampered by legislation regarding the Unspeakables he did not care to know, only reassuring himself that this would be the last they had him in such a situation.

"There will of course be an investigation into the proceedings, Lord Potter-Black," Director Hinds interjected.

"Indeed," Shack answered, baritone voice even as he gazed steadily at Harry. "I'm certain the Wizengamot could do with the reassurance that this was an anomaly."

Harry smiled coolly; mind racing as he thought on the small window he had. "I'll be glad to hear what you uncover, Minister."


Neville cornered him in the evening, eyes scrutinizing Harry as he ignored the fact that the House had been stripped of everything personal.

Well, almost everything, he thought, having yet to deal with the portraits.

"Aegon is an elemental," he stated bluntly, and had Harry not been expecting this conversation, he would have choked on his drink.

He tilted his head, watching as Neville swore and poured himself a drink, downing it in one go.

"Rhaenys?" he asked, groaning lightly at his nod. "Maia?"

"Not sure yet, perhaps some minor abilities," Harry answered.

"From you or from Elia?" Neville asked, raising his hand to wave him off. "Don't answer that, I don't want to know."

"How did you know?" Harry asked curiously.

"I thought I was going mad, that time I saw him throw a group of students across the hall. It was less magic and more wind," Neville told him, eyes unfocused as his mind replayed some memory. "I spent most of last night convincing Mr Jiggs that he was suffering from hallucination caused by smoke inhalation and magical exhaustion, and that he had not seen Aegon stop the fire from burning them with his bare hands."

Harry swore lightly, having overlooked the students that had been present. He had been more worried over finding Aegon and Elia that he'd not given a thought to the students he had saved beyond pride in his son.

"Where are they? Elia and the children," Neville clarified, eyes glancing around the room. "And the bloody dragons, for that matter. Should have given it away when I saw them."

"Her family's home," Harry replied. "Safe from the Unspeakables."

"Somewhere the Unspeakables can't find them?" Neville asked, snorting as he shook his head. "You'd have to leave the fucking universe for that."

Something in his face must have given him away, because Neville downed his drink before pouring himself another. "I don't want to fucking know, Harry. Merlin save me, but why can you not do things the normal way?"

"Normal is overrated," Harry smiled, seeing Neville mutter about idiotic friends as he clenched his fist.

"I leave tonight," Harry told him. "Soon as I gather these portraits."

"You can't leave tonight," Neville said. "You think the Ministry doesn't have Unspeakables crawling all over this place? They aren't poking at your wards, sure, but they've definitely got eyes on you."

"And I care because?" Harry asked, brows furrowed as he glowered at Neville. "My family is gone, Neville, and I'd like to get to them as soon as I can, hang what the bloody Ministry wants."

"What about the family you're leaving behind?"

Harry pursed his lips in annoyance, knowing the Ministry would come down hard on them should he disappear right now and hating when Neville made absolute sense.

"Bugger off, Longbottom," Harry muttered. "Come on, then. You can help me write this damned proxy form."

"I'm not signing it," Neville said immediately.

"I don't need you to sign it. Just hang on to it and hand it over to Draco at the first public opportunity once I've left. It'll be sealed and you can deny knowing anything."

"I hope you know what you're doing, Harry," Neville said quietly. "Wherever you are going, it won't be safe for you to return. I hope you haven't traded one danger for another."

Harry's mouth twisted in a grimace, hoping the same thing.


May 11th

Harry sat ramrod straight, ignoring the hushed whispers of his fellows as he idly drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. The Prophet had thoroughly enjoyed themselves this past week, bouncing between rumour-mongering on the cause of the Hogwarts fire, scathing editorials on the free reign the Unspeakables seemed to enjoy and several pointed reminders of what had been lost in their – admittedly touching –piece for the anniversary.

Man-Who-Conquered Defends Himself Against Unprovoked Ministry Attack

He'd had a good laugh at the title and the accompanying photos, the front cover blazoned with two images of Harry – the conquering hero and the family man. Even if they despised him, the Wizengamot could not ignore such a brazen attack, nor did they look like they were willing to.

He hated the thought of twiddling his fingers and doing nothing, but they had all advised him not to skip out on the first meeting the Wizengamot would hold, and so Harry swallowed his pride and rage and spent most of the past days in the Peverell ritual room, carefully scrawling the runes into the floor as he tried to recall the exact sequence he had used.

He had finished last night, freezing at the sight of the slightly unfamiliar sequence before he had relaxed. They had left in such a rush, and Harry had nearly forgotten that they were on different time streams. It would take a few hours to make the adjustments so he would land at the same time they did, and Harry was cautiously hopeful that he would find himself in the same place as them. He didn't want to think of what would happen should he find himself in another time, should he not see his family again. That way lies madness, he thought darkly.

The portraits had insisted on helping, even as Harry prepared their frames for travel. He had packaged the oldest ones first, glad to hear little of Pontus's complaints as he shoved him in the trunk, and all that was left were the portraits of his closest family members, and the furious Cassiopeia Black, the woman insisting she would not be left behind while Harry used the ritual she had helped him prepare.

It was a lost battle with her, and Harry enjoyed Aunt Cassie's company too much to leave her portrait behind.

"Oy ye, oy ye. Calling to session this meeting of the Council of Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot of Magical Britain, on this day, the seventh of May in the year two thousand sixteen. Are all members present?" Golding had retired, and Eustace Dunnings had taken over the post. The man was a staunch Ministry supporter, and near universally hated across all factions whenever the Ministry overstepped their bounds.

"All members are present, Chief Warlock," called Humphrey Warshing, his brown hair gelled to sit neatly on his head. Percy had left the Scribe's office, sitting instead in a departmental capacity as the Deputy Head of International Magical Cooperation, and Harry noted that the man had not once looked his way.

"Very well," Chief Dunnings said. "Minister, if you would?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt took to the floor, the plum robes sitting well on his shoulders as he glanced around the room. His eyes locked with Harry's for a moment before he continued his appraisal of the rest of the room. Many a Minister had found themselves doing battle with the Wizengamot, and Harry did not envy him the position of explaining the particulars of the Hogwarts fire to this room of people with family members in that very castle.

"Earlier this week," he began, switching into the mode of practiced Auror and orator, ready to present his case to the sitting nobles. "The Ministry received a distress call from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We responded promptly, several Auror squadrons making haste to the castle. They found fiendfyre ravaging the grounds, the Quidditch pitch destroyed and the forest burning. A team of Unspeakables was sent to assist them, and with their aid and those of the Professors of Hogwarts, we were able to contain the fire and it's damage."

"Who started this fire?" Lord Snyde asked curiously.

"A sixth-year. As they are currently underage, we are unable to name them until their trial, Lord Snyde, however the Ministry is currently building its case."

"Do we know why the student started the fire? And who taught them how to use fiendfyre?" Lady Fawley cut in.

"A duel gone wrong," Kingsley answered. "Tensions were running high from what we understand. As to the person who taught them, we are unable to answer at the moment, yet it is something we are considering."

"What does Potter-Black have to do with this?" Nott drawled, dark blue eyes pinned on Kingsley. He had caught the Minister off-guard, Harry saw, but everyone's eyes were focused on him, and Harry leaned back in his seat, interested in the answer.

"There is no connection between the fire and Lord Potter-Black," Kingsley answered.

"How convenient, then. The very day a fire breaks out at Hogwarts, there's an attack on the Potter ancestral home by the Ministry. If even the Man-Who-Conquered isn't safe, Minister, then we must assume there was some connection."

I owe Draco several bottles of whiskey for this, he thought. Nott looked so very disdainful of both the Minister and Harry himself, even as he backed Kingsley into a corner, and Harry knew it was less to do with helping Harry than it was whatever matter of self-interest Draco had pitched to him beyond giving the Unspeakables more power.

"We are currently investigating the matter," Kingsley said delicately. "The DMLE is working to uncover just why the DoM was present at the Potter-Black home and ensure there was no overstep in their power."

"No overstep," Draco sneered. "Showing up in the dark with wands drawn goes beyond a mere overstep."

"Again, Lord Malfoy," he responded tightly. "We are looking into the matter and will have an answer by the next session."

Three days, he thought. Not long, but Harry was well-prepared and able to leave tomorrow if he wished. No doubt the Unspeakables would be leery of him leaving Britain, but a walk around Diagon could remedy those worries for the time being.

Tomorrow, he decided. He had said his goodbyes already, and Harry was eager to reunite with his family.


May 12th

His mother walked him through the fidelius, highlighting everything he would need to make sure the spell held.

"Are you sure that's who you want to use as your secret keeper?" she asked once more, face drawn in surprise as she stared at him.

"Nobody would think to ask," Harry said firmly. "They always underestimate how loyal elves are, and Kreacher has more than proven his loyalty."

"Kreacher is a loyal elf," Kreacher muttered, glowering slightly at his mother's portrait.

"Of course, Kreacher," she smiled in apology, though the old elf didn't take it.

Winky would be going with him to Westeros, along with a male elf named Tweak, firmly declaring that they would help "Dobby's friend Master Harry Potter."

"Ready Kreacher?" Harry asked, waiting until he heard his agreement.

There was a flash of light, his magic building as Harry poured his energy into the spell, wand twisting as he muttered the words. Slowly, very slowly, his surroundings began to blur and disappear, and Harry focused on Kreacher lest he give in to the instinctual panic.

You've not been afraid of the dark in years, Potter, he reminded himself firmly, continuing to chant as he pointed his wand at Kreacher. There was a drop of sweat on his brow, feeling the strain of placing a fidelius on a house as large and with as extensive a ward system as…he couldn't recall the name.

"Kreacher," he said, voice showing his slight exhaustion.

"Potter Hall is located in the hills of Gloucestershire," Kreacher intoned, and Harry felt relief at being able to see his home once more.

"Kreacher, I order you not to give that secret to anyone not a Potter," Harry said firmly, knowing the elf would obey. Kreacher's dark eyes shined slightly, a hint of pride and loss visible as he once more said goodbye to one he was fond of. Harry was no Regulus Black, but they had made their peace years ago, and he would not deny the elf the opportunity to remain with his beloved Master Regulus in death as he had in life.

"Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black," he replied, bowing deeply before he popped off to Malfoy Manor. Aunt Narcissa had agreed to his help, unwilling to let Kreacher remain on his own once more with the portrait of Walburga Black.

He heard Tweak and Winky pop into the room, the two elves helping him place the last of the portraits in the trunks before they headed to the ritual room.

"Whatever happens, don't be seen. I'd like us all to make it through this," Harry told them, seeing their eager nods.

He took a deep breath, wand raised as he began to activate the runes.


Unknown Location and Time

He was lying uncomfortably on hard floor, the stone digging into his cheek as he felt the binds on his hand.

What in Merlin's name have I gotten myself into? He thought, cursing the rather unfortunate luck that seemed to follow him at the most inopportune moments.

There were people speaking, voices muffled by the walls as he heard the scuffing of boots on the ground. Opening his eyes, Harry groaned as he found himself staring at a brick wall, the red stone darkened to brown in some parts.

I hope that's age and not blood.

The door behind him cracked open, chatters making their way inside, and Harry felt momentary relief at the sounds of their voices. It wasn't the exact same, but there was a hint of Elia's accent in their words, a touch of familiarity letting him believe he had at least made it to Dorne.

Thank Merlin for small mercies, he thought, relieved that he had landed in the same region. He closed his eyes, the last image he had of them coming to mind. Those ten days had felt like a lifetime, and Harry was eager for their reunion.

"Wake him," a cold voice ordered. Rough hands grabbed him, and Harry resisted the urge to throw them across the room as they shoved him against the wall, his magic near completely exhausted from the fidelius and the journey.

They sat him up, hazel eyes widening upon realizing he was awake, but the bucket of cold water had already splashed him, leaving Harry shivering slightly as he felt it slide down his back. The two men wore leather, chainmail crossing their bodies as they gripped the swords at their sides. Both had their helms on, and Harry could see the barest hint of hair – one blond, the other a sandy colour.

"You live," the man behind them said, and the two guards stepped back quickly, posted on either side of him. The speaker was tall and broad, older than Harry by a good decade – maybe more – with blond hair and cold sky blue eyes.

"Fortunately," Harry muttered, flexing his hands and hiding his wince at the tightness of the bindings.

"Who sent you?" the man asked, eyes not leaving Harry's face. "Blackhaven? The Usurper himself? Has the Spider found a willing spy?"

Spy? Why would I…oh, he thought. "None of them," he snapped, green eyes flashing. "I'm not exactly from around here."

The man nodded at one of the guards and he stepped forward, mailed fist swinging to smack Harry on the back of his neck, the sharp sting not angering him as much as the tight hold the guard had on his neck, fingers twisting into his curls.

"No," the man agreed casually, as if he were used to having people manhandled in his presence. "You don't have the sound of Dorne in you, though perhaps your mother was of this land. A Stormlander."

"No," Harry replied, biting his tongue to keep his words quiet.

"No?" the man drawled. "You mean to convince me that you are not an enemy of Dorne. Sylas, show our guest why it is not good to lie about one's allegiances."

He didn't know which of the guards it was, but Harry felt his mouth fill with blood as he bit his cheek, his lip splitting open and certain he had knocked a tooth loose.

There was a short knock on the door before it opened, a young man, probably of an age with Egg, walking in to stand next to the older man.

"Lord Anders," he greeted, dark eyes drifting curiously to the bleeding Harry. "My uncle is an hour's ride away."

The man, Lord Anders, pursed his lips slightly as he nodded at the boy. "No doubt Prince Oberyn wishes to see the newest attempt to infiltrate Dorne for himself. The Prince does so love his poisons," he told Harry, mouth twisting into an cruel look.

Elia's nephew, he thought, green eyes staring at the younger boy he was certain was Prince Quentyn. He was a year older than Aegon, born in the year between Rhaenys and Aegon's births – the year things began to go downhill. He was still in the final awkward stages of childhood; not tall, yet growing such that his limbs had not quite adjusted to the stocky build he was sure to have, a square jaw lined with stubble, his face pulled into a frown as he stared at Harry with brown eyes.

"I'll be sure to stay awake for that," Harry said, seeing the flash of disdain in the older man's eyes as he spat a gob of blood at his feet. One of the guards whacked him on the back of his head once more, and Harry had to remind himself that he couldn't go around killing his wife's people.

Lord Anders left, Prince Quentyn hesitating at the door before he turned back to Harry. "Leave us," he told them. "He's bound and without a weapon," Quentyn added, seeing the hesitant looks.

The guards looked uneasy, glancing down at Harry, before they left at the look from their prince.

"Didn't think they would listen to you," Harry said casually, leaning against the stone. He hissed lightly as he felt the sting from the cut, his tooth moving as he prodded it with his tongue. "You're, what, fifteen now?"

"Four and ten," Quentyn corrected. He tilted his head curiously at Harry. "You recognized me."

He smiled sardonically. "You are a Prince of Dorne," he told the boy, seeing him flush lightly at his words. Harry softened at the sight, seeing something of his sons in him and decided to indulge the boy. "There aren't many boys who would call Prince Oberyn uncle."

Quentyn's countenance darkened at his words, eyes flashing in sadness as he retorted, "Only two of the three that were meant to, though if the gods are good we three shall have the chance to do so together."

Oh good, he thought. They haven't given them up for dead.

"Wait a minute," Harry said, catching onto his earlier words. "Did you say you were four and ten?"

Quentyn nodded, wary at Harry's sudden question as Harry himself fought his panic. Aegon would be thirteen in this world, he thought, not the fourteen he actually is. Bloody, buggering hell Potter. Where have you sent them?