Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Press and Warner Brothers, not me.
A/N: Just to make it clear: Hermione's Time Turner follows the Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban rules (can only go back five hours into the past, and the timeline remains fixed).
The golden Time Turner follows the Harry Potter and the Cursed Child rules (can go back to any point in the past, and the timeline is malleable; only the time travellers themselves remain unchanged).
Chapter 3 – Things Go Wrong
23 November 1994
"What dya mean there are no Potters here?" Harry demanded. "This is Godric's Hollow isn't it?"
"Aye that it be, Sonny Jim. And there ain't been no Potters livin' in these parts since Fleamont and Euphemia picked up sticks and hauled 'em over to the new Potter Manor … must've been back in '75 … or was it '76? Hey Bathilda!" the old geezer waved over a hideous crone from out of the cluster of rubberneckers. "When did Fleamont decide we wasn't good enough to be his neighbours?"
"Ye've gone senile, y' old bag of bones," Bathilda cackled. "It were when their youngin got married to that carrot-top gal from London. Autumn of '78, I remember it well. Round then my arthritis really started coming in …"
"And do you happen to know the address of this manor, ma'am?"
"Aye," she pinched his cheek affectionately. "That lot wanted the whole clan to live together with Charlus and Dorea, so they built that new fancy-pants manor to fit 'em all in up in Caithness … or was it Connemara?"
"Nay, it was Cardiff!" interjected a different retiree who sported a mop of wild snow-white hair. "The Potter's've always had a connection with Wales, all the way back to the 12th century!"
Harry's eyes drifted shut and he slowly counted to 10, trying not to lose his temper.
"Yer both wrong, our Earnest – that's my daughter Judie's second nephew, he's a junior Auror servin' directly under Captain Potter don't you know – has actually been to their digs for high teac, and he says it's by Clarence House. They built it there 'coz the Queen likes to pay them visits regular-like …"
"Thanks for your help, I'll just send them a letter," Harry said, rubbing his aching cheek.
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A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying, Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy.
"I sure hope she's here …"
Harry picked his way gingerly through the dark store. He tried to ignore the dozens of gleaming eyes boring into his soul. An hour later – his heart clenching painfully as he searched – he sagged in relief and joy as he discovered the object of his quest. On a stand in the far corner of the shop perched a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. There's no way he could mistake his beloved companion for any other bird.
"Hedwig!" he hissed. "I'm here to bust you loose!"
"I certainly hope you meant that in a figurative sense," came the voice of the shopkeep in his ear.
Harry flinched in surprise. "Y-yes of course!" he stammered, handing over enough Galleons for the fowl and her supplies. "So girl, you ready for some exercise? I have your first delivery job for you."
Hedwig blinked sleepily from atop his shoulder, slowly sizing up her new master.
Harry entered the post office and bought two envelopes and a stack of quills and paper. He couldn't for the life of him think of what to write, so settled on two identical letters identifying himself and a polite request to meet at the Leaky Cauldron ASAP. One letter was marked out to 'James Potter, Potter Manor', and the other 'Lily Potter, Potter Manor'.
"It'll have to do. Hopefully one of these will get through. Good luck, girl." He attached the two letters to her leg and she was off!
"I noticed you were writing to the Potters, kid," said the chatty post officer behind the counter. "Fan mail?"
Harry was puzzled. "Why would I be writing fanmail?"
The woman blinked. "Don't ask me, never understood it myself. Why does anyone ever put that drivel to parchment?"
"No, I mean why would anyone write fanmail to the Potter family? It's not like they're famous or anything." Harry frowned in confusion. Without Voldemort, there's no Boy-Who-Lived so there shouldn't be anything noteworthy about a slightly-wealthy old House. There were plenty of richer and more powerful families than his.
Now the woman was staring at him as if he had edelweiss sprouting from his skull. Harry's face flushed, he was beginning to suspect that something important was going over his head. He opened his mouth to query, but was interrupted by a confused hooting. Hegwig fluttered in and landed back on his shoulder, the two letters still attached. She fluffed her feathers in annoyance.
"What's wrong, girl?" His snowy owl had always been beyond reliable when it came to her duties. For her to have given up, and so quickly –
"Here's your problem, kid," the postlady commented, jabbing a purple manicured nail. "You addressed it to Potter Manor. Don't you know the Potters have got mail wards slapped up all over the place on their properties and on themselves? Everything's got to go through their authorised postbox. Here," she pressed a business card into his had that read, "Potter family, Gringotts Post Box 4712".
Harry reluctantly scribbled out the address on his letters, rewrote it with the postbox number, and sent Hedwig once more unto the breach. "Why do I get the feeling that they're gonna be lost in a deluge of mail …" he muttered.
"Probably because they are. I hope you're not expecting a quick response, kid, 'coz if so you're better off putting up a full-page ad in The Daily Prophet, more chance of them getting the message. Gum?"
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"Welcome to Gringotts, what is your business today 'honoured customer'?" snarled the teller. Harry could hear the air quotes.
"I want to visit my vault." He placed his key on the counter.
The surly goblin snatched it away and scanned it with some type of magical device that resembled a table-tennis paddle. "This is not an authorised vault key of Gringotts Britain branch. Next!"
"Wait a minute, it is a real key! Please, Mr …" his eyes darted down to the name plate, "Slingblade! I do have an account here – Vault 713, it's my trust vault!" Harry protested.
Teller Slingblade sighed, razor-sharp teeth clicking. "Name?"
"Harry James Potter."
The goblin flicked through a stack of parchment. "There is no account of that name attached to vault number 713," he declared.
Harry staggered back a step. It felt like a punch to his solar plexus. "That can't be right," he said weakly.
"It is fact, Mr Potter. If you continue to protest, I will have no choice but to assume you are attempting to defraud Gringotts," Slingblade snapped.
In his peripheral vision, Harry could see the two burly and heavily-armed goblin security guards becoming restless. He gulped. "Um, in that case, I'd like to open a new account," the boy said hastily. "Until such time as the issue with my trust vault is resolved."
The creature's eyes narrowed. "How much do you intend to deposit?"
Harry emptied his pockets onto the counter. "Er, looks like about 65 Galleons and change …"
Slingblade sighed again, a grotesque parody of utter weariness. "Fill out this form to set up a Junior Saver Account."
"A what?"
"In accordance with the Underage Banking Act of 1899, in order to inculcate habits of thrift amongst the younger generation, Gringotts is obliged by law to provide no-fee accounts of under 200 Galleons to underage witches and wizards."
"What if my balance exceeds 200 Galleons?"
"Then it will be automatically upgraded to a standard account and subject to all the standard fees and interest."
"Here you go," Harry returned the completed form and received his new key. "I also want my two house-elves authorised to make deposits and withdrawals." He gestured to his two partners clinging to his legs like toddlers.
The teller made a note. "Names?"
"I be Dobby!"
"I be Winky!"
"It is done. Now begone from my sight!"
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"Is this the Hall of Records?"
"No that's at the other end of the wing, this is the Hall of Criminal Records. Would you be interested in acquiring a criminal record, sir? We are currently offering a two-for-one special this month only."
"Er, I'll just be leaving," Harry hurried out of the office and down the hallway to the correct desk.
"Can I help you, sir?" winked a young lady adorned in striking form-fitting robes. He swallowed.
"Um, I've been told that citizens can obtain copies of their personal records held by the Ministry here …?"
"That is correct – first copy is free, all subsequent copies have a 30 Galleon charge for every set. The Ministry of Magic is not legally responsible for any inaccuracies or biases contained therein. Name?"
"Harry James Potter."
"Oooo, any relation to those Potters?" the woman brightened, the edge of her low-cut décolletage slipping down a little lower.
"Search me," Harry shrugged tiredly. He filled out the forms in septeplicate as required
"Identification?"
"Is a Gringotts key acceptable?"
"Yep! Swipe it here … and it's confirmed. Here you are, sir. Incidentally, if you do recall having a connection with House Potter, here's my Floo number …" she purred.
Harry accepted the folder of official paperwork and made his escape.
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"WHAT!?" Harry yelled, slamming the copy of the court order onto the small oaken table with a mighty thwpp! He sprang to his feet and began pacing furiously around his rented room at the Leaky Cauldron.
"What is being wrong, Master Harry?" Winky asked in alarm.
"They disinherited me, Winky! Those bastards actually disowned me from the Potter family! Even got the Wizengamot to sign off on it! We're legally unrelated now. The sheer cheek!" His hands clenched white, fingernails drawing blood.
"Why would any wizards be banishing the Great and Noble Harry Potter sir from theyses family?" demanded Dobby.
"On grounds of being a Squib of all things," Harry huffed. He gave up pacing and flounced onto the bed. "When the Other Me's Hogwarts letter didn't arrive at age 11, the writing was on the wall. I got private tutoring for another year, then they cut him … me loose! Gave some separation money and set him up with the Mordred-be-damned Dursley family! Why does the universe hate me so much?" he whined. "Do I really have no other redeeming value besides being a cosmic spittoon?"
Dobby and Winky shared a panicked glance; neither had the faintest idea how to snap the noble wizard out of his funk. In silent agreement, they began frantically expunging all dirt and dust within a 20 metre radius. Cleaning always cheered them up, it was certain to have a sympathetic effect on their master!
And their plan worked like a charm! After a mere three hours of wallowing, Master Harry sat back up (doubtless revivified by the Power of Cleaning). Rubbing his eyes (which were suspiciously moist and red) he announced, "Dobby, Winky! First things first – we need money. I was counting on being able to access my family's gold, but that's off the table now. I remember you guys said something about the Come and Go Room being a place the Hogwarts elves store all the discarded and lost items in the school?"
Two little heads bobbled in enthusiasm.
"Winky, I want you to go back there and ransack the place. Collect every bit of money you can find, along with any jewellery and magical items that are still in good condition. There's no rush, take as much time as you need. Dobby, I need you to go back to the Hogwarts Library and get me the most recent editions of The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Modern Magical History, Great Wizarding Events of the 20th Century and Hogwarts: A History. Also get me the back issues of The Daily Prophet from 1970 until now – I want to know what the heck happened to magical Britain that brought him … er, me to this dire strait!"
With a mighty 'pop' the dynamic duo were off!
This is bad, real bad. I'm at the end of my rope. There's no chance I'm going back to live with the Dursleys, which means I need another home. I have no choice but to bring out my trump card. I'm not looking forward to explaining …
Harry reached into an inner pocket and removed a generic Muggle watch. He attached it to his wrist.
"Hermione? Are you there?"
A familiar face and bushy mop popped into the watch face.
"Hello Harry!" the miniature painting greeted, leaning casually against the hour hand. "What's new?"
"Um, Hermione – I have some things I need to confess …"
She raised a tiny eyebrow. "I don't like that tone. That's the tone you always use when you've really screwed up and come crawling to me to save your bacon …"
"Ahahaha funny you should say that, I'm in a bit of a bind …"
Painting-Hermione took the news better than he expected.
"Harry. James. Potter. What in Morgana's name were you thinking?!"
He winced. Who knew portraits could shriek so loud?
"Don't you remember all the times I warned you not to meddle with the timeline? About how illegal it was? About the cardinal rule to not interfere with the flow of time? But noooo my word isn't good enough, Mr Harry Potter doesn't need to follow the rules, what does it matter that you decided to throw a monkey wrench into the last 60 years of wizarding history, what could possibly go on? Furthermore –" she continued to rant.
Harry silently accepted the ass-chewing like a man, letting his best friend work it all out of her system. Deciding discretion was the better part of valour, Harry's retelling of the tale omitted him pinching her Time Turner. Instead he began with his and Dobby's DoM heist and subsequent temporal kidnappings. He also edited out any mention of obliviating Winky.
"Wait a minute, I was part of your devious scheme as well, wasn't I?" mini-Hermione said slowly.
"Ah, I don't know what you mean, heh heh …" he replied nervously.
"That whole spiel you gave the Real Me about commissioning a pair of matched watches containing each other's portraits – as a way to keep each other company whenever we couldn't spend time together – I thought it was such a sweet birthday present – but it wasn't really a birthday present at all, was it? You just wanted a backup version of me if your time shenanigans succeeded!"
"That's not true!" Harry objected. "I really did think it was a nice birthday gift. I'm sure the painting of me that the real you has on her wrist is being very helpful and supportive right now."
"Oh yes," she sneered, "very touching, except both Real Me and your portrait were most likely wiped from reality thanks to your actions."
"Replaced by a Hermione that was never almost-murdered by a mountain troll, never half-transfigured into a cat, never petrified by a basilisk, never called Mudblood or hexed by Malfoy and his gang of pureblood bigots, never bullied by Ron (probably), never sanctioned by the Ministry," he argued mulishly.
Hermione took a deep breath and opened her noise-maker –
'Pop'! "Master Harry sir, Dobby has brought you whats you be needing!"
Hooray! Saved by the bell!
"Harry …" the painting's voice was the dangerous, silky whisper that sent chills up his spine. "Did Dobby just call you 'Master'?"
Or maybe not …
"Thanks very much Dobby," he blurted, "why don't you go help Winky –"
"Oh my Merlin, Winky too!?"
Danger Will Robinson, danger!
"That's right Missy Hermy Grangy, we is both serving the Great Lord of Wizarding Harry Potter sir! Of course the Great Master was needing to fix Winky's mind first, but all the bad thoughts now be washed clean and she be thinking only the right thingses now," the elf beamed.
"This is going to be a long night …" the saviour of the wizarding world cringed.
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In the middle of the night, a dazzling magical vehicle appeared in a flash of sparkles and puff of smoke outside of Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry staggered off the Knight Bus, repressed memories of motion sickness returning to him in a rush.
Harry's watch remained in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione's tête-à-tête with the two house-elves was ongoing. I'm not running away, I'm not, darn it! he denied to himself. Have to deal with my aunt and uncle. It's a top priority! Can't let anyone send me back to Durzkaban …
He wrapped himself in his Invisibility Cloak and snuck around to the back door. Happily the spare key was still kept under the garden gnome so Harry was able to enter without fuss. He followed the familiar sound of obnoxious wheezing drafts which could only be proceeding from his whale-like uncle. Slipping into their bedroom, he pulled out his wand. I sure hope the Ministry's Trace for underage magic isn't still stuck on me; I am in a whole new timeline now. Pretty sure they don't tag Squibs, so my counterpart would've been free and clear …
"Confundus! Compulsus! Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley, the freaks know where you live! There are freaks all around you pretending to be normal blokes. They're coming for you! The only solution is to sell the house and move as far away as possible," he whispered in an urgent tone. "Doesn't matter if you have to sell at a loss, the most important thing is to escape while you still can. Best make sure nobody around here knows where you're going, just to be safe. Don't want the freaks to follow your trail …"
The two sleepers grumbled and recoiled instinctively. Satisfied, Harry saw himself out.
"Hoot!"
He started as a brown post owl flew down out of the black abyss of night and dropped a letter into his hand.
"What the – oh you've gotta be kidding me!"
Dear Unidentified Underage Magic User,
We have received intelligence that Confounding and Compulsion Charms were used at this location this morning at 12:18am.
As you know, underage witches and wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school, should you actually attend one. (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).
We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.
Please report to the Improper Use of Magic Office, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, as soon as possible to register your name, school, preferred method of punishment, and other details for official records and for updating the Trace Charm.
Enjoy your morning!
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
IUoMO, DMLE, MoM
"Hoot!"
"Yeah thanks, mate," Harry said sourly. He crumpled the letter into a ball and pushed it into his back pocket.
Guess the Trace from my past life is still active. Bugger.
He pulled out his wand to summon the Knight Bus again.
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28 November 1994
"So this is everything huh?" Harry observed the mountain of old jewellery and magical contraptions that filled the centre of the room. "Are you sure there was no gold? I'd've expected kids to drop money all over the place, 'specially in a giant castle."
"Sorry Master Harry," Winky said with great remorse. "I be checking with Whippy the Chief Elf of Hoggywarts. Elves be putting any moneys they finds into the Hoggywarts Sinking Fund."
"Can't argue with that. Okay Winky, here's my backpack – try selling this stuff to the secondhand shops and junk stores, or anyone else who'll buy. Deposit the takings into my vault. Dobby, can you help me with something in the other room?"
Harry ever-so-casually slipped off his watch and left it on the table. The boy and elf barricaded themselves in the water closet.
"Dobby," he whispered, "this is top secret alright? No telling anyone, especially the watch!"
Dobby grabbed his long ears and nodded fervently.
"We've got two big problems at the moment. One, we're very short of money. I don't think those secondhand goods from the Room of Lost Things is going to get us long-term financial freedom, if you catch my drift. Two, it's too risky for us to keep carrying so much illegal stuff. A half-dozen unconscious underage wizards and a big a stash of national assets would sentence us all to Azkaban if anyone ever caught us with it! We need to ditch the deadweight. So I've devised Operation Unload to kill both birds with one stone. You remember all those, um … shadier stores you visited when we were looking for books on time travel? I want you to go and see if you can interest the proprietors in buying Time Turners. Those gadgets are super-rare and super-illegal to privately own – must be worth a pretty penny to the less-than-reputable side of town eh? We'll keep the golden hourglass, and a couple of the month-long timepieces as backup – store them in my vault for the time being – but we don't need the rest."
Despite his words, Harry had doubts whether Time Turners were really all that rare on the black market. It'd been ludicrously easy (all things considered) for a teenager and a house-elf to rob the Unspeakables blind. Surely professional thieves had tried the same trick too?
"Here's the plan: we sell off the Time Turners and as soon as we get the Galleons, we tip off the Aurors to go bust the fences! In one go, we get the money, a bunch of scumbags is taken off the street, and the DMLE will confiscate the Time Turners and return 'em to the DoM for us. It's foolproof! … Tell me, is there a wizarding wharf or dockyards? I presume the Purebloods also use boats to ship goods to and from France?"
"There be the Diagon Alley waterfronts, Grand Wizard Harry Potter sir," Dobby replied.
"Good. I want you to stake out the place. Find out who runs the seediest, most suspicious, most obviously-illegal operation. When Winky gets back she can help me wake up our sleeping beauties so I can get cracking with the Memory Charms. Where did we put the antidote to the Draught of Living Death?"
Are you sure it's a good idea to release a bunch of time machines into the wizarding world's criminal element? Harry's sensible side (whose voice sounded disturbingly similar to a certain brunette bookworm) asked himself.
Nonsense, his Gryffindor side (whose voice sounded disturbingly similar to a certain redhaired chess player) riposted. We need the dosh. And most of those thingamabobs can only take you back a few hours; a month or two max. That's peanuts! How much damage can they do?
Famous last words, faux-Hermione sighed.
Those trinkets will only be loose for a few hours. Collecting 'em up'll keep the DMLE gainfully employed for a while. With no Dark Lords around, those poor Aurors must be bored out of their skulls. They could do with a little excitement for a change, faux-Ron said with the smug satisfaction of one who's felt they've won the argument.
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1 December 1994
"Team, it's time we held a General Meeting to decide what to do next," Harry announced grandly.
The two elves applauded.
"Thank you, thank you, you're too kind. First order of business, let's go over what we've got to work with. We've managed to scrape together just shy of 15,000 Galleons."
"I still can't believe you got that much gold from selling off all that junk," Hermione commented.
"Ahahaha," Harry chuckled nervously. The vast majority had come from Dobby's clandestine sales of Time Turners. Even though they'd netted a handsome profit, he was certain Borgin and the rest of those sharks in Knockturn Alley had ripped Dobby off something fierce. But no sense crying over spilt kneazle-milk. "Anyway, we also have my Firebolt, Invisibility Cloak and some Time Turners. Add in Dobby and Winky's elf-magic and the sky's the limit."
Harry gestured to the pile of books and newspapers stacked up along one of the walls of his room.
"Second order of business, life in These United Magical Kingdoms: Hermione and I have gone through the past 25 years of this timeline's history with a fine-tooth comb. The situation is … a mixed bag. On the upside, the entire Potter clan are alive and in good health, Sirius was never sent to Azkaban, Lupin's not being treated like a leper, and there have been no civil wars or Death Eater murder-sprees." Harry grinned smugly.
"On the downside," Hermione retorted in clipped tones, "with no Dark Lord around to force people to choose between two sides, relations between Muggleborns, Halfbloods and their progressive allies on one hand, and the conservative Pureblood elites and rich Halfbloods on the other, have been gradually deteriorating since Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald in 1945. The massive increase in Muggleborn attendance at Hogwarts year-on-year has only exacerbated the divide. What's worse is that the sides are fighting amongst themselves too. The Dark has a bunch of rich and powerful Pureblood Houses which are happy to limit themselves to playing political games to tighten their control over the government and economy. There's House Black, House Lestrange, House Malfoy, House Zabini, and so on. Then there's the crazy activists: a bunch of impoverished werewolves, vampires, succubi, hags, and wizard criminals who want to murder everyone who's different and help themselves to their goods. They don't seem to mind offing members of the big Pureblood Houses either, if they can get away with it. Imagine all that fighting between Hogwarts houses during the Triwizard Tournament and add in a boatload of Dark Magic, and you've got the gist of it."
The portrait shook her head in disgust. The two elves shuddered in horror. They had their own memories of being subjected to the Dark Arts.
"Then there's the Grey – the Neutrals. They're mostly bureaucrats and Aurors and their backers. The main objective is to keep control of the Ministry in their hands and away from any other faction. They're the people who go on and on about 'the rule of law' and 'civility' in The Daily Prophet editorials. The leader is the Minister of Magic Amelia Bones – Susan's aunt – former Auror, former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a real law-and-order Thatcher type."
"I don't know what a Thatcher is, but Susan's aunt sounds loads better than that idiot Fudge," Harry said.
Hermione ignored his editorialising and continued. "Then we come to the Light. Originally they were unified, until in 1980 the papers published news about a prophecy."
"Darn prophecies all over again," Harry sighed. "Seems I can never escape 'em no matter what timeline I'm in …" He looked over to his bedside table. The blue crystal orb he'd liberated from the DoM glowed and pulsed faintly. "Have we made any headway figuring out how that thing works?"
"Not yet I'm afraid," said Hermione. "Focus, Harry – the prophecy said that a child born to a prominent Light family at the end of the seventh month would be the 'Chosen One' and lead magical Britain to some golden utopian age, or some rot like that. As it happened, two of the oldest, richest and most prominent Light Houses had just birthed boys at the end of July – Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom – both of whom were hailed as the Saviour of the wizarding world by their respective supporters. The schism got bigger and bigger as the Longbottoms had a daughter, and the Potters had another son then twin daughters. All four were also born at the end of the seventh month."
"What an amazing coincidence," Harry said drily.
"Isn't it just? According to Rita Skeeter, after news of the prophecy broke, the two families began allegedly timing their subsequent pregnancies to ensure all their children were born at the end of July. Just one more way for the two Houses to compete with each other, I suppose, on top of the financial competition – the Longbottoms grow and sell all sorts of rare and valuable herbs and magical creatures, and the Potters produce a big range of potions, most famously Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Both Houses have gotten very rich in the last decade, which means they also had more money to throw around to compete for prestige and political influence. Finally there's Dumbledore's faction which tries to stay above the fray and mediate the disputes. So there you have it – the whole of British wizarding society is torn into six major factions who are only getting more belligerent as time passes. It's starting to resemble what I've read about Northern Ireland during the Troubles. It wouldn't surprise me if a civil war breaks out fairly soon ..."
"That's not going to happen!" the wizard declared hotly. "I put in a lot of effort to end the last civil war and I'm sure as heck not going to stand by and let another one blow up on my watch!"
"And how exactly are you going to do that? You're not the Boy-Who-Lived anymore. You don't have any fame or wealth or social clout. You've seen the same newspapers as I have, Harry. Your counterpart hasn't been in a House Potter publicity photo in years. Your name doesn't even appear in the history books. There are loads of fictional children's book series on the shelves of Flourish and Blotts describing the amazing adventures of Neville and Allison Longbottom, and Charlus, Ivy and Rose Potter. But none about Harry Potter. The world's done its best to forget you exist."
Harry grit his teeth but had nothing to say.
"Cheer up, Harry," his best friend grinned. "How many times have you told me how much you hate your fame, how it's your deepest desire to be a normal person? Now your wish has finally been granted – you should be celebrating!"
"Damn your eyes."
"Love you too Harry," she said sweetly.
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It was another boring night in the Bullpen. Nymphadora Tonks was attempting to see how long she could grow her nose. The current record was five feet. Disappointing; that was only half the length she could grow her fingers.
A snowy owl sailed through the owl-entrance and alighted on her shoulder, ending her experimentation (and saving the appetites of her colleagues).
"Hello, aren't you a gorgeous lady?" Tonks stroked the beautiful white features. The bird puffed up with pride. "What do you have for me, madame?" She carefully removed the letter from its talons. Her eyes widened.
"Shack!" she yelled. "Get over here! And bring everyone on the duty desk! We're going to need all hands on this one …"
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"Report!" Chief Auror Pius Thicknesse demanded when he arrived en scène.
The waterfront was swarming with Aurors.
"Sir!" said Shacklebolt. "At 9:23 this evening, Junior Auror Tonks received an anonymous tip that the Scabior Shipping Syndicate would make a 'special' delivery to France tonight. I rounded up every available officer and we compounded the vessel in question."
"Cargo?"
"Human trafficking, sir."
Thicknesse grimaced. There were few things in life that disgusted him more than exploiting human misery like that. These scum could've made a decent living restricting themselves to trafficking magical creatures or Muggles, but no, they just had to get greedy and try their tricks on wizarding citizens – and so they crossed the line. A very big line, in his book.
He strode up the gangplank and into the ship's cargo hold.
"We've got four victims, sir," said Dawlish. "Early Hogwarts age at first glance … I'm afraid they've been obliviated pretty badly. Also signs of being potioned."
The Chief Auror sighed. "Get them to St Mungo's pronto."
"Yes sir!"
"Chief, we found some other items of interest boxed up in the corner," said Tonks. The evidence bags contained a Hand of Glory, a bone mask, and three Time Turners.
The senior Aurors shared a glance. Time Turners were heavily restricted items, and having some circulating through the underworld could shape up to be a nightmare! It wasn't just a matter of unscrupulous parties abusing time to give themselves alibis, or to escape from arrest. They could already foresee the Unspeakables raising hell in the Minister's office every day. The DMLE's efforts to find the leak in the Ministry, crack down on the supply, and recover the devices for the DoM may well strain departmental resources to the breaking point. And the situation could get even more complicated if some or all of the Dark Houses were the masterminds. The Auror force needed to step on this, and fast, before the situation spiralled out of control!
"To the best of my recollection," Thicknesse said slowly, "there are only two stores in Britain that could possibly supply that hand and mask. Borgin and Burkes, and Cobb and Webbs. Am I wrong?"
"Sounds right to me, Chief," said Proudfoot. Shacklebolt and Dawlish nodded in agreement.
"Send a squad to round up the shopkeeps, they have a date with the Interrogation Room. They can have the cells next to Mr Antioch Scabior. I want to know what Houses are behind this!"
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4 December 1994
"None of the suspects are talking, but they'll crack eventually," Thicknesse said to his boss.
Director of the DMLE Rufus Scrimgeour skimmed through the report. "Any idea who the kids are?"
"The obliviations were thorough, the poor mites couldn't even tell us their names, let alone where they came from or what happened to them. Possessions are a set of generic robes and nothing else. No other clues to ID them. Fortunately the Healers at St Mungo's came up with positive family matches for three of them from the blood tests."
Scrimgeour flipped to the relevant page. "The Fudge family, the Prince family, and – merciful Merlin! – the Malfoy family!?"
Thicknesse nodded. "Old Abraxas huffed and puffed but after seeing the results of the blood test took the lad with him. Refused to admit knowing who the kid was though. The Fudges and Princes denied all knowledge and refused to acknowledge their sprats. The Department of Magical Child Services is working on finding foster families for the three unclaimed ones."
"Probably some illegitimate offspring the families were keeping secret. I'm more concerned with what a descendant of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy was doing with two descendants of mediocre Grey Houses and one likely Muggleborn," Scrimgeour grumbled. "They're not exactly a matching set. Was it a crime of opportunity? Or is there a common enemy of the Malfoys, Fudges and Princes?"
Thicknesse shrugged. Pureblood politics was always fraught tangled mess. The less he had to do with that pit of vipers the better. Changing the subject, he said, "Our investigators discovered dozens of Time Turners hidden in a warded cellar under Borgin's, and another half-dozen inside a charmed skull at Cobb's. Looks like we've nailed the distributors."
"Outstanding. I'll inform the Minister."
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"Team, it's time we held another General Meeting, since the last one got completely derailed," Harry announced grandly.
The two elves applauded.
"Thank you, thank you, you're too kind. First order of business, we need to find a permanent home base. Tom's a great guy, but I'm getting sick of living at an inn."
"How about buying a charmed wizard's tent, like the one the Weasleys brought to the Quidditch World Cup," suggested the portrait in his watch. "The interior is big as a house. We could pitch it in a forest where nobody goes and live for free off-the-grid indefinitely."
Harry pondered the idea for a while. In the end he decided to reject it. "Not a bad idea, but staying in a tent for months in the wild would drive me spare, no matter how many charms it had. Especially during wintertime. Even living in the Shrieking Shack would be more comfortable than that … It's much faster and easier to just confound a Muggle into letting us live with them. A warm cosy house beats shivering in a magical tent any day of the week."
"Harry, you can't keep using mind magics to solve all your problems!"
"Of course I can. And if that doesn't work, there's always transfiguration, blasting hexes and untraceable potions. Honestly Hermione, are you a witch or not?"
The portrait huffed and averted her eyes.
"Don't worry, I'll be responsible for finding us a suitable house. Moving on to the second order of business: Hermione?"
"Show us the article, please, Winky," said Hermione.
The elf obligingly shifted today's edition of The Daily Prophet so that everyone could see it more easily.
"The Aurors are tearing apart Borgin and Burkes and Cobb and Webb's. It says they've confiscated dozens and dozens of highly-illegal artefacts. They've also hit several other less-than-reputable shipping companies."
"Best news I've heard all week. So I take it Operation Unload was a success then?"
"Seems so."
"Great. We've managed to ditch four blights on wizarding society, and framed some undesirables as a bonus. Backpats all round!"
"Speaking of blights, why didn't you cut loose Lestrange and V-Voldemort as well?"
"I was thinking –"
"Are you sure that was a good idea? Look at the trouble that's got you into so far …"
"Hilarious. My original plan was to get rid of all six and go live happily ever after with my family …" he grimaced, wiping away a bit of water that had somehow leaked into the corner of his eye. Taking a few deep breaths to centre himself, he continued. "Or failing that, the Weasley family. But since the Potters don't want anything to do with me – and when I visited the Burrow I was escorted off the property at wand-point – I'm all alone again."
"Harry," she said gently, "you're not alone. You have me. You have Dobby. You have Winky. And the Weasleys will come around eventually. Consider it from their point of view – a complete stranger claiming to be Harry Potter arrives off the street wanting to be their friend, of course they'll be suspicious. The Dark faction's running wild, the rate of muggings, kidnappings, arson and murder goes up every year. Give them some time …"
"Fat chance," Harry snorted. "They're neck-deep in the Potter faction. Why would they piss off the future Saviours of the wizarding world by getting matey with the Potter family's shame?"
"Harry –"
"Anyway, the point is that I can't rely on the Potters or Weasleys. Since I'm alone, I figured that I need someone to watch my back. Lestrange and Riddle are the two most powerful wizards in Europe after Dumbledore and Grindelwald."
"So you decided a Dark Lord and an almost-Dark Lady were your best bets for backup?" Scepticism oozed from Hermione's voice.
"They're 11," Harry said. "It took 'em decades … well, it took 'em at least a couple of years to become insane murderers – and that's never going to happen in this timeline if I have anything to say about it. … you know I never thought the day would come when I appreciated how skilful Lockhart must've been with his Memory spellwork. Who knew they were such finicky things? Thanks Dobby."
Harry accepted the goblet of Butterbeer gratefully. He took a long draught.
"A total mind wipe is straightforward, you just need to pour enough power into the spell," he explained. "But with these two, I only erased specific memories – self-knowledge, personal history, personal opinions and so on, whatever makes them themselves – while keeping their general knowledge and skills intact. Don't want them flipping out in panic because they don't know what the sky is, or they discovered they have pointy bones in their mouths."
It had been a tedious process of casting obliviate, then legilimens to make sure he'd erased everything, then obliviate again to clear up the bits and pieces he'd missed, and repeat. It felt like being a Muggle surgeon, and had taken him the best part of a week to finish, but he was satisfied his results were at least worth an 'Acceptable' grade.
Now, with the last item on his to-do list squared away, they could go find a nice Muggle home to lie low in. With the Aurors hot on the trail of the stolen Time Turners, he felt it safer for his team to get out of the magical world for a while, just in case the DMLE actually turned out to be more competent than in his original timeline, and traced the supply of contraband to him.
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5 December 1994
"Here we are," declared Harry. "Home Sweet Home."
The two (invisible) elves made suitably impressed noises. The team was standing in front of a two-storey red brick mansion on the poshest street of Heathgate in London.
"Wait a minute," said Hermione. "This is my house!"
"Be it ever so humble," he grinned.
Harry trotted up the garden path to the front door. He brushed some stray lint off the shoulders of his suit, straightened his tie, and ran a hand through his slightly-less-wild-than-usual hair.
"The name's Granger, Harry Granger: Muggleborn. Has a nice white-collar ring to it, doesn't it? … Don't look at me like that! Hermione, how often have you told me you were a little jealous of Ron having siblings?"
"I didn't mean I wanted two psychotic terrorists and a crazed Time-abuser as brothers and sisters and you know it, Harry James Potter!"
"Think about it this way, it's the best chance Riddle and Lestrange will ever get of having a good life and becoming good people. After all, you grew into such a wonderful person – there's no reason Dan and Emma can't replicate the miracle."
The painting was quiet for a while. "That's one of the nicest things you've ever said to me," she said quietly.
They shared a gentle smile.
"Master Harry, we be finishing checking – there be no witches or wizards in nice house or in neighbourie houses," Winky piped up.
"Ahem, thanks. Let's get this show on the road."
"Harry, what exactly are you going to do to my parents?" The portrait started looking alarmed again.
"Not much, just give 'em a dose of the ol' Potter charm."
"Is that why you transfigured your robes into a three-piece suit?"
"All part of the charm. Have to make a good first impression, after all." He pressed the ornate buzzer.
"Can I help you?"
"Mrs Emma Granger, I presume?" Harry flashed the woman his most charming Potter smile.
She eyed the dapper boy with a touch of distaste.
"Who is it, darling?" Her husband arrived juggling a stack of papers taller than his head.
"It's just the Mormons again," Emma sighed. "I'm afraid we're otherwise occupied at the moment, we just sat down to dinner. I have several copies of your newsletter already, so –"
Her spiel was cut off by the sudden burst of invisible magic.
"Confundus! Good evening Mr and Mrs Granger, my name is Harry Potter. Have you ever considered the many benefits of adopting destitute street urchins?"
"Uhhh …" Dan and Emma's glazed eyes blinked slowly in confusion.
"Wonderful! I'm glad we're all in agreement. It just so happens that there are three adorable moppets in dire straits who'd love you take you up on your generous offer. You shan't regret this big-hearted decision," Harry beamed as he swept the group into the living room.
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"Let me get this straight," Dan said slowly. "You're telling me that the three of you are wizards just like our Hermione?"
Harry's response was to flick his wand. The two Grangers stared open-mouthed as the television set melted before their eyes, transforming into an enormous black dog.
"Woof!"
Emma squealed as the behemoth bounded over and began snuffling into her tummy. With another wave of the wand, the dog dissolved and re-formed into a large teapot which proceeded to sprout legs and dance around the room, singing "Henry the Eighth" in a loud Cockney brogue.
Harry enjoyed the couple's jawdropping disbelief for a minute or two before restoring the TV to its original glory.
"Unbelievable … simply unbelievable …" Dan muttered.
"And … our Hermione can do this too …?" Emma whispered, sagging weakly on the couch.
"Much better than that, I'm sure," Harry conceded.
"But was showing us that alright? My daughter said underage magic was banned and the government monitored it quite rigorously," said Dan.
"That's right, there's a charm called the Trace they put on all magical children when they first arrive at Hogwarts. Anytime it detects magic nearby it sends an alert to the Ministry. Unless the kid's in a high-magic environment, that is. Luckily my two partners here are interfering with my Trace with their own magic for now."
The two Grangers shared a glance, before their eyes naturally drifted to the two hideously ugly bipeds who were propping the unconscious Riddle and Lestrange upright on the spare couch.
"And those … things … are elves you say?"
"Correct. They'll be moving in with us as well. They're handy for all sorts of jobs and absolutely love cooking, cleaning, gardening, childcare, house maintenance, you name it. Dobby! Winky! You two are in charge of all the chores from now on. And make sure you follow any instructions Mr and Mrs Granger give you, okay?"
The small creatures bounced happily and cheered at the top of their lungs.
Dan shook his head. "I can't believe Tolkien lied to me …"
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8 December 1994
"Why do you hate me so much, Harry?" his watch grumbled. "It's not enough to brainwash my parents, move into my house, enslave two house-elves, make my family accomplices to the enslavement of two house-elves, make two insane murderers my siblings, and worst of all you're making me share my room!?"
Harry heaved the chest of drawers into its proper place and sank down onto the carpet in exhaustion.
"What are you complaining about?" he panted. "Not like you're the one who has to lug all the furniture around. Who needs three wardrobes? Why do girls have so many clothes anyway?"
"Not the point. The point is, why do I have to share my room with two other people?" she whined.
"One, it's your parents' decision, not mine. And two, your bedroom is bigger than the entire second floor of Aunt Petunia's house. What on earth do you need so much space for?
"Books Harry, lots and lots of books," she explained with forced patience.
"Your house's already got one library, having two would just be decadent."
"Philistine."
"Look on the bright side, the three of you can do all the girly stuff you couldn't do with Ron and I, like slumber parties and girl-talk and shopping and manicures and … ah … um … whatever else it is birds do," he finished lamely.
"That's something else I've been meaning to ask – wasn't V-Voldemort a, well, a boy? I distinctly remember him being a bloke ..."
"Oh did I forget to mention that?" he asked, getting to his feet and stretching. "When we were planning Operation Riddle Me This, Dobby raided Snape's supplies for the Draught of Living Death and its antidote, Wiggenweld Potion. He discovered a warded cellar filled with borderline-legal concoctions; seems our old Potions Master had a few brewing gigs on the side. Considering how much gold he had stashed away in chests, his clients must've paid him very handsomely."
"What did you find?" Hermione asked, sounded interested in spite of herself.
"Amortentia, Drink of Despair, Wolfsbane, Everlasting Elixir, Invisibility Potion … I can't remember the rest, you should ask Dobby. Anyway, we examined them all to see if any could be used for an extra dose of revenge on Voldemort. 'Dose' of revenge, get it? … In the end, we decided on the Tincture of Tiresias."
"I've never heard of it."
"Neither had I. It's not even mentioned in Moste Potente Potions. Luckily Dobby knew about it – it's a bit like Polyjuice Potion in that it transforms people's bodies. Except the change is permanent and it changes males into females. Dobby told me it's used by the old traditional Pureblood Houses for arranged marriages. Like if you wanted your child to marry the child of House X, but both kids were boys, you'd give the Tincture of Tiresias to one of them and voilà, you've got yourself a newly-minted blushing bride."
"Hmm I see. So if the Potters had decided to forge marital connections with the Malfoy family, you and Draco could –"
"Bleargh! Don't even joke about something like that!" Harry gagged. "Ugh, I feel like I'm gonna throw up …"
Hermione giggled.
Shuddering in disgust, Harry descended the stairs to the living room which was filled with furniture, boxes of clothes and other items the Grangers had determined were essential for their new wards. Picking up a full-length mirror, Harry carried it upstairs to deposit it next to Hermione's dresser.
"So you turned the most feared Dark Lord in a century into a girl," Hermione prompted. "Then what?"
"I planned to adopt him into a family of Muggle ballerinas. But neither Dobby or I had the faintest idea of where to find one. My next plan was to get him to a nunnery."
"A nunnery?"
"Come on, it's pretty funny to imagine Voldemort as an innocent young Muggle nun spending her days in prayer and contemplation in a secluded Catholic convent," the green-eyed wizard chuckled. "It'd be the greatest prank never known."
Hermione snickered in spite of herself. "I had no idea you were such a fan of Hamlet."
"What's a Hamlet?"
She groaned.
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22 December 1994
"Mom! Dad!" Hermione broke through the swarms of students and barrelled into Emma's arms.
"Welcome back, little Puckle!" Dan laughed, ruffling his daughter's bushy mop affectionately. He leaned down to grab her school trunk. "Heavens to Murgatroyd, are you carrying rocks around in this thing?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's books, Dad. It's always been books and it always shall be books. And it's barely over 25% more than I had last year. Are you sure you're not just getting old and infirm?"
"Just as long as you're happy carrying me to the chiropractor once we get home," he winked.
"Hello Crookshanks, have you been keeping an eye on our baby girl?" Emma hoisted the cat-carrier into her arms. The half-kneazle favoured her with a condescending look before returning to his self-grooming.
The family made their way through the crowds of reuniting families and finally escaped from the crush of Platform 9 ¾.
"Puckle, before we get home I need to tell you a few things. There's been some rather large changes that you should know about," Dan commented.
"You finally installed an en-suite bathroom to your tool shed?" his daughter raised her eyebrow archly. "I'm glad your lifelong dream has finally been fulfilled. Now you can live there for real."
"Enough cheek out of you, it's not too late to take you back to the maternity ward and get you switched for a different child," her father mock-scolded.
Hermione was about to reply when she noticed a dark-haired teenager hovering near her mother's Lexus. With a cheery wave, he grabbed her luggage and loaded it into the boot.
"King's Cross Station has valets now?" she asked in confusion.
"Ah actually, young Harry here is staying with us," Emma said.
Hermione blinked slowly. "I beg your pardon?"
"We'll explain on the way," Dan ushered the bewildered girl into the back seat. Harry passed her the cat carrier and sat down beside her.
"You see," Emma explained as she navigated onto the highway, "We've sort of … well, we're adopting them …"
"WHAT?!" Hermione spluttered. "And what do you mean by 'them'? There's more than one?"
"That's right; Harry, Tamsin and Bellatrix are abandoned children, you see," said Emma.
"Uh …" the witch glanced across at Harry, a flash of compassion in her chocolate orbs.
"Yep," he nodded. "Orphans, riff-raff, street rats, urchins, huddled masses yearning to breathe free, whatever phrase you prefer. My two friends and I were selling cookies door-to-door to make ends meet. We knocked on your parents' door and got chatting and, well, the rest is history, as they say …"
"Be that as it may, there's plenty of ways to help the less fortunate, what on earth possessed you to actually become their guardians?"
Dan shrugged. "I admit, it does get a little lonely for us at home with you gone for 10 months of the year."
Hermione opened her mouth … paused, and shut it again.
"Hem hem," Harry cleared his throat to distract from the awkward atmosphere. "As a thankyou to your family for accepting me and my friends, I've prepared a small gift …" He produced three generic watches, identical to the one adorning his wrist.
Hermione eyed it disdainfully. "I appreciate the gesture, but I already have my Chopard, so …"
He smirked. "Try putting it on. I'll bet your Shepherd can't do what this baby can."
The girl slowly attached it to her empty wrist.
"Hello Me," the watch said.
"Eep!" Hermione jumped as a miniature painting of herself darted into the watch's face and waved.
"She can move from watch to watch, and through other magical paintings as well," Harry explained to Dan and Emma, passing them their gifts. "I figured she could pass messages between you and your daughter while she's at school. Much faster than owl post."
"Thankyou Harry, how thoughtful," smiled Emma.
Hermione's head swivelled around like a motion sensor and locked her gaze onto him. "You're a wizard, Harry?"
He nodded.
"So why in Merlin's name were you homeless?"
He frowned in mock-indignation. "Even wizards can be homeless, Hermione. Not all of us were blessed with loving parents."
The girl flushed. "Hm, yes, well … so does that mean the three of you will be attending Hogwarts?"
"Nonsense," said Emma. "They'll be going to Highgate. It's one of the premier schools in the country; and even better, it's walking distance from our home."
"Yes I know, Mum," Hermione sighed wearily.
"Your father and I are both alumni."
"Yes I know …"
"You were registered to attend since you were three months old, but …"
"Yes I know …"
"Margot Finchner sent all six of her children to Highgate, and all six are now on scholarships at Oxford."
"Yes I know – anyway, why aren't you going to Hogwarts, Harry? It's the premier wizarding institution in Britain, and it ranks in the top 10 in the whole world. Don't you want to learn magic?"
"There are various circumstances," Harry prevaricated. He'd rather supervise Riddle and Lestrange in a controlled environment for a while to ensure they had a happy (pro-Muggle) youth and didn't make friends with the wrong sort. "And there's no need to go to a boarding school to learn magic. There are private tutors you can hire to learn what you need to pass the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Oh speaking of owls, I have a pet snowy owl, her name is Hedwig. You'll meet her when we get home. Feel free to have her deliver mail for you if you want."
"She's just the most darling thing," cooed Emma. "I do hope she and Crookshanks get along …"
"He hasn't eaten any of the school owls so far."
"Dobby and Winky are busy building her a birdhouse in the back yard," Dan added. "I'll have them add a baffle to keep the little guy out."
"Who?"
"Dobby and Winky are our new house-elves, Puckle," Dan said.
She blinked. "What's a house-elf?"
"Oh you and I have so much to talk about," chirped Portrait-Hermione.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Harry mumbled to himself.
Next Time on ATTR: Chapter 4 – The Mirror of Her Dreams