Author's Notes: Just so you know, book 5 came out at this point and this fic was almost discontinued after just the first chapter, due to a bout of post-OoP depression, and my unwillingness to attempt major amounts of angst. As you can see, I reconsidered, and you can review and tell me whether that was a mistake or not. J
I should mention, for the benefit of anyone who has not read OoP yet, (yes, all two of you!), that this fic is going to contain spoilers for all five HP books.
Chapter 2:
Harry felt as though he had been smacked abruptly, full front, by something large and heavy, or ran headfirst into a brick wall.
He hardly registered that the charm he had so painstakingly set up had gone out as his hands curled into fists and he fought to comprehend what he had just heard. He considered repeating his query, but his mouth had gone dry and he suddenly didn't feel up to the task. He knew the answer would be the same, in any case; what he had seen of their faces in the dim light had been unnervingly familiar. He felt nauseous. Damn Voldemort! Damn him and his bloody time-turners. He leaned heavily into the bars behind him as he struggled with his emotions, trying to calm his ragged breathing. He was glad the light had gone out, he didn't want to have to look at them. I should have expected this. What better way to use his newly acquired power over time than to mess my life up even more? Damn him, he thought hysterically. Typical, really…
His mind went blank, and he was unable think of anything for a moment… But he couldn't afford to panic now. Get a grip on yourself. He straightened up abruptly and tried to compose himself. You don't even know it's them. Odds are they're actually just some Death Eaters in disguise or… it's probably not even them. Don't do anything stupid until you're sure. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, letting it out slowly. It had been a long time since he had felt so thoroughly at a loss. He wasn't thinking straight, he had to deal with this objectively. Right. First things first. Taking another deep breath, his voice sounding remarkably calm, considering the circumstances, he said "Prove it."
Silence answered him. And darkness. Sighing in frustration, he set about repairing the charm, stalling for time. What do I do?
"What?" That was Sirius; he recognized the voice now, although he hadn't heard it in over a year. It sounded much younger than how he remembered it… like in Snape's Pensieve... Pre-Azkaban. Harry didn't look up from the glowing ball that had reformed in his hand. You don't even know it's him. Realizing he had been silent for a while now, and that they had no idea what he was talking about (or pretending they didn't, whichever the case may be), he cursed himself silently, cursed the situation, and cursed Voldemort, them proceeded to elaborate. "Prove you are who you say you are."
He looked up. They were staring at him with a mixture of shock, confusion, and disbelief, although James was leaning more towards bewilderment and Sirius looked downright suspicious. Harry lowered his right hand, the one holding the ball of light, and on pretence of steadying the charm brought his left hand over it, casting his own face in shadow, and focused his attention on Remus. Seeing him look so young made Harry appreciate afresh how much older and more haggard the present-day Remus looked. Harry hadn't been the only one hit hard by Sirius' death…
This is too weird, I can't handle this. Harry thought, as the Sirius in front of him cleared his throat loudly and spoke with unmasked distrust. "And who are you?"
Harry ignored him. He was still staring at Remus, so he addressed him instead. "How old are you? What year are you in?"
Remus looked taken aback. "Sixth year," he said, hesitating a second before adding "Why?" When he didn't receive an answer, he exchanged uncertain looks with his two friends. Very cautiously, as though they thought Harry was deranged, they took a few steps back and proceeded to have a whispered conference.
Harry, meanwhile, was busy doing some very quick thinking. If they were in sixth year, and if they really were who they said they were, which was extremely doubtful, then they would have learned to be Animagi by now. He was pretty sure, although not entirely certain, that he had heard Hermione say that there was no way to fake the Animagus transformation; someone using Polyjuice potion (which didn't seem practical anyway, because you would still need the hair of his seventeen-year-old father and friends) or something similar wouldn't retain an Animagus' ability to transform. Any other type of human transfiguration required the use of a wand and an incantation, plus, while the Animagus transformation was instantaneous, most other transformations required at least half a minute to execute, and required the aid of an able bodied wizard with a wand to undue, or else were irreversible for a set amount of time… Harry frowned and bit his lip. Of course, that wouldn't mean that the whole thing can't be some sort of complicated illusion. He didn't know much about those, except that they were very hard to do and they would be studying the basics later this year; he vaguely recalled Hermione mentioning it in connection with the charm he was now holding, and cursed himself again for not paying more attention to her. How hard would it be to produce a real-time, life-sized, interactive illusion of a werewolf and two Animagi? Harry didn't doubt Voldemort's ingenuity, if anyone could do it, he could…
Then again, what motive would Voldemort have for sticking him in a cell with an illusion of the teenage versions of his dead father, his dead godfather, and his old Defense teacher? Did he think Harry would take them back to headquarters? Surely he didn't think him that stupid? Harry couldn't think of any other reason why he would be put in this situation, aside from wanting to cause him emotional pain, and he somehow thought even Voldemort wasn't that petty. Why fool around with illusions if the Cruciatus will suffice? Harry's frown deepened. Unless he wasn't actually here, but was asleep somewhere and the cell and the three people in front of him were all a hallucination or something… He shook his head as if to clear it. No, it would be almost easier to get the real thing. And he did know for a fact that Voldemort's latest plans involved time-travel. The Order had been in an uproar over the possibility. Dumbledore had said Voldemort had stolen enough from the Department of Mysteries to travel across a century, surely that would also be enough to pull three people through a couple of decades?
Harry glanced up nervously at his three companions. They were still whispering together, now occasionally throwing him dark looks. He was starting to doubt his earlier conviction that they weren't genuine, and it was making him uneasy. Assuming that they were what they seemed to be, though, out of all the things he could do, why would Voldemort choose to bring them here? Voldemort wasn't stupid, he knew that if he changed anything too major he would risk destroying himself in the process. Did he intend to keep them here, or return them to their time? Did the Imperius curse, perhaps, work across time? If he kept his father here, he, Harry, would never be born, Voldemort would never loose his body the first time around, and, presumably, the first Rein of Terror would never end… But then why bother bringing along Sirius and Remus? Did he hope to turn them all to the Dark Side? Or cast some spells on them that wouldn't become active until years later? Judging by his own limited experience with time-travel, and his rather more extensive experience with Lord Voldemort, Harry had to admit, however reluctantly, that the idea presented possibilities. It also made his head pound.
He was getting ahead of himself, anyway. The simplest solution is usually correct: they were Death Eaters and they couldn't even do the Animagus transformation. And this was easy enough to check.