.oOo.
Harry
CW: mentions depression and past suicidal thoughts (Harry)
.oOo.
"You have to see someone about this," Mycroft said.
Harry startled—he hadn't even heard the man come home. "I was reading?" he offered. Mycroft didn't need to know how long ago he'd set down his book to stare at the ceiling instead.
"You're sick. Would you like me to deduce my way to that conclusion aloud, or will you accept the point I'm trying to make?"
Harry didn't feel sick, just tired. He had also never known Mycroft to be wrong. "I'll find a way to pay my share of the bills. I promise, just give me another week. " He looked over at the grandfather clock that was supposed to chime on the hour. Somehow, he'd forgotten to wind it that morning. "Sorry," Harry said, ducking his head.
"You've been letting Sherry read whatever he likes."
It would have been easier to stomach as an accusation. Pronounced as a fact, Mycroft's words stung. "I'm not sick," he said. It was true, or at least, it was true that he'd been far, far sicker.
Mycroft sat down beside Harry and put an arm around him. It was a bit like the man had read about hugging in a book but had never racked up any experience. Harry sagged into his side, feeling a bit pathetic.
"Harry, surely you have mind-experts on your side of things. People you can talk to about feeling…rather down."
There was the Janus-Thickey ward, but Harry wasn't going to step foot in there if he could help it. "They study the mind in the Department of Mysteries. I had another meeting planned with Unspeakable Longbottom anyway." Harry scrubbed at his face, then polished his glasses on his shirt. "Probably something about budget cuts, it's always budget cuts. At least his people got the Dementors settled again."
Mycroft stayed quiet so long that Harry was thinking about falling asleep, or maybe resting his head on the man's shoulder.
"I trust you," Mycroft finally said.
Harry swallowed. He felt himself brimming with the same shame that had held him tethered to the top of a motorway bridge, never Gryffindor enough to jump. "I'll live up to that," he whispered back.
The kiss Mycroft pressed to his head felt like it was sealing a promise.
.oOo.
"Ah, Harry, so good to see you," Unspeakable Longbottom said, pumping Harry's hand up and down as the man rescued him from the room of spinning doors.
Harry still hadn't quite figured out why they used their own last names if they were trying for secrecy. Algernon kept his cowl on, making their interactions even more strange. The black void under his hood was projecting the sensation of a polite smile.
"How do you do," Harry said, smiling back. "I'm hoping we can discuss a personal matter once we're done talking about official things."
"Of course, of course. First: tea, cakes, then business. Have a biscuit."
If Harry were a lesser man, he'd have refused. Jaffa cakes weren't biscuits. Once he'd crammed one in his mouth, Harry had an easier time not making stupid comments.
Despite his misgivings, he'd come to know Algernon Longbottom as a fair, genuine man. He was old-fashioned, but his flaw lay in his forgetfulness. Harry wondered, sometimes, if he'd had a run-in with Lockhart. They talked about budget cuts and the pros and cons of actually publishing department research over two pots of tea and an entire plate of cakes.
"Right," Longbottom suddenly decided, clapping his hands. "Shall I see you out?" The black void where his face was licked its non-existent lips.
"Er." Harry brushed crumbs off his robes and tried to smile back. "You said you could help me with my other thing?"
There was a spark of hope that this would be it, that Harry would now be able to go home and tell Mycroft he'd tried.
"Right, yes, of course, the thing." Longbottom's cowl seemed to be grinning as he got to his feet. "I've a meeting now, but I can show you the way. Where were we going again?"
If there hadn't been a dictaquill taking notes before, Harry would have been worried about the state of the department. Instead he said, "Take me to whomever studies the mind, please."
He should have been expecting the familiar tank displaying several brains swimming casually against a current.
"Adapted Muggle technology," a different cowled Unspeakable said, tapping the glass. The two brains that had been trying to escape fell back in again. "It filters the water and provides a steady flow of nutrients."
Harry tried to sidle away. One of the brains was staring at him from its single dark violet eye. It was almost hypnotic, reminding him of Binns' lectures at the top of the astronomy tower. The brain seemed to be coming towards him.
"Crafty little blighters," the Unspeakable said, tapping the glass until it went sullenly back to swimming the current. "Gotta be careful with these, it's amazing how far they can get with their tentacles. I call them Squishy Sucktopods, but we'll probably pick something more official-sounding in time."
Harry pulled himself away from the sight. The black cowl smiled at him. "You must be Harry, call me Unspeakable Longbottom."
He felt like someone had walked over his grave, like a sharp tingling in the nape of his neck. Turning, Harry saw that the Unspeakable he'd thought was Algernon Longbottom had already left. This Longbottom's voice was more feminine, and this new Unspeakable was taller. "Right," Harry said. He shook himself, like Padfoot did when meeting him in Hogsmeade. He felt an itch and an urge to scratch himself with his hind leg. "I was looking for an expert on the mind."
"Brilliant! You're in the right place." 'Unspeakable Longbottom' rapped against the aquarium again, knocking a Sucktopod back into the water, and used her wand to seal the tank shut. "Come along, come along," she said, "this is a group discussion for certain."
It wasn't much of a choice when he was being pushed into the next room by deceptively strong hands. Harry was feeling a bit unsteady on his feet, though, so he let her shuffle him along.
"This is Unspeakable Longbottom," she introduced a colleague who was slimmer in the shoulders, and wearing the same black cowl.
"I'm not sure I understand," Harry said. The black was so black that it was almost purple, and it seemed to be pulsating slightly.
"A pleasure to meet you," said the newest Lady Longbottom, offering a slightly wrinkled hand. "You must be Harry."
"...Right." Harry rubbed the back of his head—it was hurting a bit. He wanted to go home. He would read another history book to Sherry and get to bed early. Sherry'd smile at him, showing all his sharp little teeth.
"Nothing to worry about," the younger, taller cowl said, projecting a smile as she cast a series of spells at Harry that made the woman's own ears steam.
Perhaps they had Pepper-ups. Harry didn't think he was feeling well enough to apparate. He could do the destination and maybe half the deliberation, but his determination was soupy.
"I see," said the third Longbottom. Together with her colleague she pored over a parchment that they had magicked up.
"Was that a diagnostic spell?" Harry asked. "What did you do to me?"
The older Unspeakable's cowl was empty blackness, yet it seemed to be mirroring Eurus' best 'Are you really that stupid' look. She raised her wand, sending a pheasant Patronus ambling off into the next room. Harry swallowed and tried to wait quietly, his gaze fixed beside him on the hummingbird on a pincushion. It was dead, but also actively moulting. He blinked, but it didn't stop shedding feathers.
He glanced up as another Unspeakable walked in. Harry ducked his head, hoping not to be introduced to yet another 'Unspeakable Longbottom.' He wasn't sure what to think about an entire department running around using an existing man's name. Also, he rather wanted to sit down. He was looking around for a chair when the newest Unspeakable thrust his hand into reach.
"Prewett," the man said. "Ernest Prewett. You must be Harry."
He couldn't help but feel a little relieved. "You're not a Longbottom." Harry said, shaking on it.
The man's cowl very effectively communicated an 'Are you really this stupid,' even whilst purple and pulsing hypnotically. "A quarter of Slytherin was called Black when I was at Hogwarts, and you're accusing the Longbottoms of having a large family?"
Harry turned and stared at the woman who was holding a very familiar wand in very familiar hands. Her Patronus had been a bear when he'd met her. "Augusta? And Alice?" It looked like there were four of them. He blinked slowly.
They looked back at him without an ounce of recognition in their cloaks. Harry's mind was moving in bursts like a bucking horse. For a second it struck him:
These were entirely different people from the ones he'd learned to know and love. Augusta was so fundamentally different that her Patronus was a pheasant. Now that he knew, it was obvious that he should have recognized her voice.
Someone had conjured a chair for him, Harry noted. It was a replica of the blue velvet rocking chair in the Longbottoms' parlour. He could still hear the three Unspeakables talking, but they sounded like they were far away. His mouth was dry. As he rocked back and forth, the floor spun a bit.
Maybe it was one of those Department of Mysteries things.
Harry watched the hummingbird go through another moult. The pin feathers looked very uncomfortable as they were pushed out. He was glad that the poor thing was already dead.
The Longbottoms were arguing. He'd thought…hadn't they'd moved to France?
Frank was probably there, watching Neville, who would be growing up with parents. Sherry would go to school with him, Ron, and Hermione.
Somehow Harry hadn't realised before that he would never be seeing them again. The new them weren't ever going to be the same people.
"Harry?"
He looked up into the vortex where Ernest's face should be. "Yeah?"
"We have ascertained the common denominator of your abnormalities. Would you like us to administer the treatment process?"
He could picture himself stuck under a bell jar, banging his fists against the sides. Harry rubbed at the back of his neck again. It was wet and sticky. And red. Harry blinked at his hand. "Is this supposed to happen?"
Harry wanted to go home, but if he went home Mycroft would ask him if he'd gotten help, and he wouldn't even have to answer. The man could just deduce Harry's failures. "What's the treatment?"
"Oh," Ernest said, grabbing Harry's hand, his skin like ice. "Alice!" He shot a blue spell at Harry's chest.
The rocking chair vanished. So did the expansion spell on his pocket, and the tailoring spell holding his robes to size. While the man was shoved aside by Augusta, Harry pocketed the wand he'd drawn on reflex and collected his things into a pile on the floor beside him. His fingers felt very clumsy. "I'm okay," he answered Augusta's worried look. "It's fine."
Alice's smile was thin and her cowl was like an abyss. She helped him into a real chair on spinny wheels. "Hold this, Harry. You're going to be alright, this isn't the first time."
The Tupperware bowl she gave him was filled with cold water. Harry raised it to his lips.
Albus would be proud of him, wouldn't he?
But Augusta grasped his hands before he could drink.
"Why are there so many A-names," Harry asked. Ernest was the only sane one. Which made sense, because he wasn't a Longbottom.
"Hush now," Alice said. She poked him in the chest with her wand. "This will tingle a bit, but don't worry. Just remain calm."
"I'm very calm," Harry promised. Albus would have loved how he was just sitting there, accepting his fate like a good little lamb. "Baaa."
"Almost done," Alice told him.
Harry watched a grey, lumpy brain squeeze itself out the cuff of his shirt. It plopped down into the bowl like it was pouting. "That tickles," Harry said. The skin on his arm felt like muggle dentistry.
Alice closed the lid of the Tupperware. "Be back in a minute," she said.
Harry blinked, smiling. He wanted to shower. It would be lovely, back home with Sherry and Mycroft. But he couldn't go home yet, not without a cure or enough money to pay off the debt to Mrs. Holmes.
Over by the time-turners, Augusta and Ernest were arguing. It was dizzying to watch the whirling gold, so Harry closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.
"Phoenix ash," Ernest was saying. "Obviously."
"The symbolism, Prewett, what are they teaching at Hogwarts these days. It must be the eggshell, counteracted by Cypress ash."
"How are you going to fix me?" Harry asked, not bothering to open his eyes.
"Well, we were going to go with the process of elimination," Ernest said. He sounded like he was sorry, so Harry smiled reassuringly.
"I think we'd do better with a ritual," Alice said. "This is obviously a neurochemical imbalance. We'll begin when the Sucktopod's effects wear off."
"Boy," said Augusta's voice, "We can use the Oneiro potion if you can cast a Patronus. It will send you into a dreamlike state."
That sounded nice. "I'd like a nap," Harry admitted. "Expecto Patronum," he said.
Harry opened his eyes. "Expecto Patronum," he said, firmly, scraping together every happy feeling he could find. It was hard—he hadn't been feeling much lately.
Prongs barely took shape for a second, turning into white mist.
"What's wrong with me?" Harry whispered. There were tears blurring his sight, even though he wasn't feeling sad, just empty.
"I'll prepare the ritual chamber," Alice said.
"I'm fetching my cauldron," Augusta added.
"I'm sure I have some phoenix ash in here somewhere," Ernest said, starting to take things out of his pockets.
Harry watched. A tuning fork, a jar of dirt, a small golden ring. A dust bunny that promptly hopped away. A suspiciously finger-sized bone, a vial of golden sand, a blue oversized wasp, then a bag of sherbet lemons. Harry was half-expecting a live owl next, or some dog treats.
"Aha!" he announced, holding up a matchbox. "Phoenix ash. Augusta!" He hurried towards the cupboard she was rummaging in. Harry sighed and rested his eyes again. At least things had stopped spinning so much.
Something pricked the back of his neck. Harry slapped it, suddenly feeling very awake.
Not again.
"Ernest!"
The way his own voice sounded made Harry giggle. The Longbottom women were running.
"Your bottoms are pretty average, though," Harry told them. He laughed at his own joke since nobody else was doing it for him.
Ernest was holding Harry's hand. Mycroft was much better at hand-holding. Harry wanted a refund.
"Why is your hand vibrantly blue?" Alice asked. She looked very serious.
"You should smile more, like this," Harry told her, grinning.
"No, no, no," Ernest said. "That was the last one."
"Your Billywigs? I told you to keep them contained, boy," Augusta said. Harry reached out and pinched her cheek, which made her frown even harder.
It made her look very silly. Harry giggled again.
"This could be a good thing," Ernest said. He looked like he was very far away. Harry was glad the man was still holding his hand.
"It's normal that you're floating," Alice said, grabbing Harry's other hand. "Don't worry. This happens all the time."
Harry was going to be talking to Albert…Alfredo…Augustus? To Longbottom about an increase in spending on workplace safety. "I feel fine," he said. He didn't even feel that floaty.
It wasn't like with Aunt Marge, it was more like a gentle levitation spell. He felt peaceful, but he was also feeling very very sleepy.
"I think I'll take a nap," Harry said, closing his eyes.
He noticed Alice and Ernest were pulling him gently through the air, but nothing much after that.
.oOo.
"We had to stun your muggle," said a voice.
Harry woke up with a jolt. "Where is he?" He found his glasses on his desk, but he wasn't sure when he'd sat down on his chair.
"Where were you yesterday? Actually, never mind that, you shouldn't be falling asleep at work," Amelia continued. "I'm giving you the rest of the week off. Go see your Healer about this and report back by Monday."
Harry knew he hadn't fallen asleep at work. He remembered planning to see the Unspeakables after lunch. The back of his neck was itchy like a mosquito bite.
Amelia was already turning to go. "Wait! Where's Mycroft? You did mean Mycroft?"
Rubbing at his face only smudged his glasses. Harry spelled them clean and stumbled to his feet.
"You look like shit warmed over. Your muggle is fine, Alastor put him in an empty holding cell. You can fetch him on your way out. Hang on." She moved out of the office, but he could hear her asking Goldstein to guide him.
"Awful crick in the neck, isn't it," the woman said softly, matching Harry's pace. "Next time, you should transfigure a bed, or just go home like a reasonable person."
"Huh," Harry said. He cast a breath-freshening spell, wincing when he overpowered it. "Gross."
"Harry Charlus Black," Moody's voice said.
Harry blinked up at the Auror, feeling entirely unprepared. He swallowed, but his mouth was as dry as it was minty.
"Your muggle's in here. Lucky I recognized him, boy, or you'd have a Statute charge on your record. You may be working with the Aurors, but you're not above the rules."
"I just want to go home," Harry said. Even to himself, it sounded weak, so he cleared his throat and met Alastor's eyes. "Mycroft has all his paperwork filled out. His sister's a witch."
"Hmph." Moody stepped aside, tapping the door with his wand. "I'm not done with you," he said.
Mycroft was lying on a small bed, looking almost like he was asleep. It was unnerving to see the man so still—so intimately. Harry almost reached out to brush the hair out of the British Government's face.
"Ennervate," Harry said. Mycroft blinked awake as if he hadn't just been violently jolted into consciousness. "Come on, we're going home."
They walked past Moody arm in arm, Mycroft's grey three-piece contrasting with Harry's navy robes. Thank Merlin, the Auror's office had its own floo.
"You didn't come home for two nights," Mycroft said once they were safely in the flat. He looked more worried than angry. "I thought you'd died."
"I feel fine," Harry said. Mycroft's hair looked much fuller than it would thirty years down the line. He reached out and stroked it, delighting in the feeling. "May I?" Harry asked, moving to cup Mycroft's cheek.
"What? Oh, very well, but are you alright? Harry?"
His stubble felt lovely under Harry's fingers. Harry moved closer, and when Mycroft didn't protest he rubbed their cheeks together. "I feel happy," he whispered, wonder bubbling within him. "It was just greys and nothings for so long, and now—"
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
"Saved by the bell," Mycroft muttered. Harry let him go answer the door, choosing to throw himself across the couch and hug a pillow to his chest. Maybe Benjamin would bring back Sherry. Harry couldn't wait to bury his nose in the boy's soft curls.
The thunks followed Mycroft back in. Harry tilted his head over the armrest to see Moody standing in his living room. "Hullo," he said, smiling. "You look good with the nose."
In 1995, fresh out of Crouch's locker, the man had looked like shite, and he'd never properly recovered from it. "Black," Moody greeted, nodding. He took his seat on the other armchair, the one that gave him the best view of the room. His eye was spinning freely in its socket.
"Did you know Barty's son is living under his father's Imperius?" Harry asked. He'd been meaning to tell the man, but he'd never found the words or the time. "I wanted to tell you, but you intimi—iminitate—scare me."
"I see," Moody said. "Milk and sugar, ta," he told Mycroft, accepting a cuppa. "Thank you for telling me, Auror Black."
Sometimes, Harry wondered if his dad would be proud of him for reaching that title. He should've just been a trainee, but Amelia had let him graduate early to make up for the missing ranks in the force. He grinned up at the ceiling, letting Mycroft and Moody talk to each other over his head.
"—was going to see the Unspeakables?" Moody barked.
Harry's neck was still a bit sore, but his heart had never felt so light before. "They fixed me," he said. "I don't remember what happened but I know that I was brokener before. Isn't it wonderful?" The truth felt delicious, prickling on his tongue like a sherbet lemon.
"Quite, dear," Mycroft said, turning back to Moody. "Is there anything I can do? Can I press charges? For them to reduce an intelligent man of full faculties to this, it's—"
The doorbell rang. Mycroft excused himself, so Moody turned his full attention on Harry again. "What's your Hogwarts House?"
"Gryffindor," Harry said. He vaguely remembered standing on a bridge, the feeling of walking away followed him around like cowardice and shame. "The hat wanted me in Slytherin, though."
Moody was a good man. Harry liked him too much to try and lie.
"Your full name?"
"Harry Charlus Black."
"Hmph. And what about your parents?"
"They're dead," Harry answered easily. He propped himself up on an elbow. "Why?"
"Why is it that every time I try to confront you, I forget about it until I reread the notes in my journal?" Moody hissed.
"Oh, it's because I'm the Ministry of Magic," Harry said, grinning at the image. "The big bad Auror Moody keeps a diary?"
Mycroft returned then, leading Sherry by the hand.
The boy took one look at Moody and squeaked. Harry felt a bit sorry for him, it wasn't like Moody could help his face.
"C'mere, kiddo," Harry said, sitting up and reaching out. He felt a bit smug about the way Sherry clung to him for comfort. His boy hugged him like a little monkey with his head tucked into the crook of Harry's neck. "It's okay," he crooned, shifting until they were both comfortable. "Auror Moody is a force for good. We can trust him to do the right thing."
Sitting with his own cuppa and a lost expression on his face, Mycroft looked like he was in want of a bit of baking. Usually Harry didn't flaunt it, but he decided on a little wandless accio on the chocolate biccies from the kitchen shelf.
Two biscuits in, Mycroft didn't look much happier, while Moody's face was just too scarred to interpret.
"I'll talk to the Unspeakables," Moody said, casting a detection spell before finally drinking from his tea. "Algernon wouldn'ta let him go if this were permanent, so I suspect the effects will wear thin soon enough. Until then, why not tell me about being a government, eh?"
"It's something Magic does," Harry said, grabbing another handful of biscuits to munch on. He felt like he could eat a horse. A little one, made of biscuits. "She appoints us, and then we serve her, or maybe we serve her and if she approves she appoints us. It comes with some extra magics, but basically it's being the ultimate civil servant."
"Yer the one who's been pushing the reform laws," Moody said, sitting up as straight as his bentness would let him.
"Duh." Harry wiped his hands on his jeans, ignoring Mycroft's grimace, and went back to rubbing Sherry's back.
"I see," said Moody.
"Is this safe?" Myrcoft asked.
"You shouldn'ta been letting people that you don't know into the flat, Mister Holmes," Moody said, heaving himself to his foot and peg-leg. "Other than that, you're prolly good for now."
Harry watched the man limp around the flat, thunk-step-thunk-step.
"Is that really Harry Potter, then?" Moody asked, examining the place Sherry usually sat by the window overlooking the street.
"He's Henry Sherrinford Potter," Mycroft said, after waiting for Harry's nod. "Potter-Holmes on the muggle side, so that I can better protect him as my own."
"Sensible," Moody said. "And what goals are you following? What purpose have you committed yourself to?"
Harry shrugged. He wanted a nap, with Sherry tucked against him. "We're making it a better world, aren't we? Less dark-and-light, less crime-and-punishment, I was going to look at brushing up the Daily Prophet next. Long-term we're looking into upholding the Statue once muggles start putting up CCTV. Mycroft and I are playing to win, see?" Harry giggled, remembering Sherlock's favourite phrase. "The game is afoot."
"I meant your plans with Harry Potter. Or, Sherry as it is now. Bunch of name-twisters, you are."
"He's just a boy?" Harry said, kissing his head to stop his trembling. "I plan for him to grow up having a happy childhood. Maybe a sibling or two so that Arcturus doesn't murder me."
Mycroft made a noise like a mouse that had only been partially transfigured into a snuffbox.
Moody coughed like a dying steam engine. "You're saying you've been given unknown, powerful magical gifts to wield over whomever you please, and you're using them to thwart Albus Dumbledore and better a nation?"
"And raise a family," Harry said. "Family is important."
Moody made a steam-engine sound again. It sounded almost like the man was laughing. "Can I go home today and write all that down in my journal, or will I forget all about this by tomorrow?
Harry shrugged. Mycroft looked a bit alarmed, and Sherry felt a bit stiff. Harry rubbed the boy's back and smiled at Mycroft, trying to convey that everything was going to be okay. "I suppose it depends on your intentions. Magic's always had a bit of a soft spot for me. I don't even remember what I did all of yesterday, though, so who knows what's coming tomorrow?"
"Hmph," Moody said. He stalked back to the table and helped himself to a handful of biscuits. "I'll see myself out," he said, reaching out to shake Mycroft's hand, then Harry's. "I'll be seeing you at work on Monday."
"Technically, aren't you meant to be retired?" Harry called after the man's back. In his arms, Sherry was squirming to better watch Moody leave.
"Bah, Amelia can't stop me with some cocked up technicalities. We've a world to knock into shape, boy. Bright and early on Monday."
Mycroft came and sat next to Harry on the couch, their arms just touching. Harry let Sherry wriggle off his lap once the front door slammed shut.
"What on earth was that?" Mycroft said lowly.
Harry shrugged, then leaned over to rub their faces together again. "Dunno," he said. He could feel his insides bubbling like fresh cider and the chattering voices in the back of his mind humming like happy honeybees. "But. I think this was a good thing."
.oOo.
Author's Note: Bit of a mad chapter, but that's alright. Next one's much more down to earth and already up on ao3 if you want to take a look (just google 'averagefish ao3' to find me).