Chapter 5
Harry squinted. He inhaled a rush of breath to clear his jumbled thoughts. Hermione groaned and slowly stirred.
"Hermione?" he whispered.
"Harry?"
"George," said George. "Now that we have established who we are," he snarked propping himself up. "How about we establish what happened?"
"I don't know," Harry said. "I was in the room of requirement. You came, your trunks appeared, and here we are."
Hermione vaguely remembered the black of Harry's robes whipping around a corner. She and George hurrying to catch him. A door closed. The wind.
"Good thing these cushions were here," observed George. He patted the stuffed fabric.
"The room works?" Harry half-questioned.
"The feast." Hermione panicked. "Did we miss it?"
"That's what you're worried about?" Harry asked.
"Don't know," George replied to Hermione. "Depends on how long we were knocked out."
"Don't either of you have a watch?" she snapped.
"Hold on," Harry raised his wrist. "Must have forgotten it."
"Oh no, Harry, we can't miss the feast. We're Head Boy and Girl. This is terrible. What will everyone think?" Hermione fretted. "Come on," she urged. She stood, and reached to pull Harry up. "We've got to go."
"What about our trunks? We can't leave them here," Harry said. "We might not be able to get back in."
"We'll take them," Hermione said. "Why are they even here?"
"No clue," Harry said.
Three wands were untucked, three voices said, "Locomotor Trunk." Three trunks levitated and floated through the door. They disappeared around a corner. A muffled grunt. The slap of stone.
Harry, Hermione, and George stared wide-eyed with mouths agape. They raced to the damage that awaited.
#
Albus Dumbledore lifted himself off the ground. He dusted his dark purple robes. He adjusted the matching hat. He turned toward the sound of running feet. Three students skidded to a halt.
#
Harry's stomach dropped. A yelp from Hermione, and a choice profanity from George proved he wasn't imagining the figure. Dumbledore stood in the middle of the hall examining them.
#
Dumbledore watched as the smaller boy aimed a wand straight at him.
"Who are you?" the boy asked harshly.
The other two looked as if their eyes would pop from their sockets. Intense surprise etched deep on their countenances.
"I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The wand held steady. "Try again," the boy demanded vehemently.
Amusement flickered. "I have given you my name. The polite thing would be to introduce yourself."
"Harry," the girl said. The boy turned to his equally confused friend.
"What in the bloody hell is going on here?" spat the other boy.
"Language please." Dumbledore nodded in the taller boy's direction.
"You're not a ghost, are you?" the girl asked anxiously.
"No." Dumbledore chuckled.
"If you are Dumbledore, you should know our names."
Dumbledore hesitated. Did he know these students? He was sure he'd never seen them before. Two of them wore badges; Quidditch Captain, Head Boy, Head Girl, and Prefect were assembled on their robes.
They were Gryffindors, his own house. He knew every student in his former house. Yet, he did not recognize these young adults. Although the boy with jet black hair could be a copy of the current Head Boy, except for the eyes. Emerald green, intelligent. They belonged to the Head Girl.
"I am sorry, but I do not recognize you." His chosen words neglected the similarities with his students.
"How do you expect us to trust you?" The boy remained determined. A shadow passed through his eyes.
"Ask me something else," suggested Dumbledore. He would play along. If the game became tiresome, he could end it even with a wand trained on him. Perhaps these three needed treatment. They were convinced they knew him. Suspicions coiled. Could Voldemort…
#
Harry did not understand how the magical spells protecting Hogwarts allowed an imposter in. Or why said imposter impersonated a dead man.
Harry scrutinized the old man. The ever-persistent twinkle. A death eater would have a hard time replicating that. He wanted, oh how he longed for Dumbledore to be standing there.
Hermione's mind whirled. Dumbledore. Not possible.
"George, this isn't funny," she yelled.
George flinched. He wasn't laughing. Then he got it. "Hermione, I didn't do this. I wouldn't," he said helplessly.
Her mouth opened and closed. The gears in her brain grinded.
Questions with answers only Dumbledore would know flew through Harry's mind. He settled on, "Where did we find the locket?"
The man shrugged.
"You don't know that either," Harry said. The accusation firm. Hermione nudged Harry, a signal for him to let her do the talking.
"Sir," she said cautiously, the twinkle was gone. "What year is it?"
George whipped around. Harry's face scrunched. What kind of question was that?
"Nineteen seventy-seven, my dear."
How? Was it even possible?
A hand tugged on Harry's sleeve, and Hermione's voice was in his head. "Ask something that Dumbledore would know from twenty some years ago."
Dumbledore stiffened as he witnessed the communication between the boy and girl.
"Hermione, I've got nothing." Hermione rolled her eyes. Feeling the response instead of seeing it, he continued, "If we ask anything too personal he'll get more suspicious. And if it isn't personal enough, anyone can know it."
"I know, but we have to figure out if this is real?"
"Maybe I should ask the questions," Dumbledore said.
"No, Professor, we know who we are, and we trust each other, but you…" Harry trailed off. If they had ended up in the past, could he tell Dumbledore he was dead. Should he?"
"Ask about Remus. He's here. His fluffy problem."
The knowledge of Remus Lupin's condition had been a tightly guarded secret while he was a student at Hogwarts. Would this query raise Dumbledore's suspicions? Would he respond truthfully?
"No good," Harry decided.
"Should we trust him? It could explain what happened in the room of requirement."
"It's a big leap."
"But, Harry, look at him. He's younger. Let's talk to him. At least validate the 1977 theory."
"Excuse me, sir," she began. She concealed her wand behind her back. "Who are the Head Boy and Girl?" A flick.
Dumbledore pursed his lips. No harm in answering. "James Potter, and Lily Evans." A revealing spell. Clever girl.
"Who is the Gryffindor prefect boy in their year?" Hermione asked.
"Remus Lupin."
"What nickname do the four friends use?" Vague, but telling.
"The marauders, I believe."
A meaningful glance passed between the three of them. Harry took a chance. "Remus Lupin has a reoccurring condition, what is it?"
Dumbledore tensed. Hermione felt the undercurrents of another revealing spell.
"Please answer honestly," Hermione pleaded. "We know the truth. After you answer, we will answer anything you ask," she bargained.
"He is a werewolf." The option of obliviating their memories covered the feeling of betrayal to Remus.
"Harry, it is Dumbledore."
"I suppose. Are you absolutely sure?"
"Yes." The conviction in his tone won him over.
"We should probably go somewhere more private for the rest of this conversation," Harry suggested.
"The feast?" Hermione asked.
"Not for another two hours," Dumbledore replied.
"Hours?" Hermione muttered. Well, what's a few more hours compared to twenty some years.
"This way," Dumbledore instructed. He had no intention of risking his private domain. Although they were hiding nothing, it disturbed him to have found them wandering so deeply in his school. An empty classroom with a silencing charm would suffice.
Hermione shrank their trunks. She picked them up and distributed them appropriately.
Dumbledore's mind spun with questions and suspicions. It leaped to conclusions which were torn down by other ideas.
First and foremost, "How do you know about Mr. Lupin?"
"He told us," the girl confessed, "or at least he will." She looked him in the eye and said, "Sir, I believe we've come back in time. We're from the future."
"Interesting," Dumbledore said. He could summon Madam Pomfrey. She could contact St. Mungos.
"My parents are James Potter and Lily Evans," Harry said. "You noticed the resemblance to James, and I have my mother's eyes."
"Wow," the other boy said. "I can't believe it. Too weird."
Dumbledore's instincts guided him to believe in their tall tale.
"How did you get here?"
"We're not entirely certain," the girl answered. She told him about the room of requirement, and waking here. "You walk past the door three times while you think of what you want the room to be, and it appears. I didn't think it capable of time travel," she finished. She looked to Harry. What had he wished for?
Harry met her eyes. Guilt reddened his face. "More time. I asked for more time."
Hermione and George felt the longing in his words.
"We have to go back," Hermione announced unexpectedly.
"Why?" asked Harry.
"Harry," she scolded. "You know how dangerous it is to meddle with time. We can't risk it. Think of the damage we've already done."
"But," Harry whined.
"No, Harry. We can't stay. We have to go back." Tears sparkled in her eyes speaking through depths of compassion.
"Fine," he agreed curtly.
"That's it?" George asked bewildered.
"Time cannot be messed with," Hermione stated sternly.
Dumbledore melted into the shadows. The conversation flowed freely. He gained perspective on the dynamics of their friendship. The girl, a voice of reason. Lily and James' son, the leader.
He found their eyes on him again. He motioned toward the corridor. Simple. It seemed too simple. They paced in front of the wall three times. The wall remained unchanged. Their hearts overrode their minds.
"Why isn't it working?" Hermione asked. Frustration growing as she tried again.
"Because it isn't your heart's desire to return," Dumbledore advised. A conundrum. While not wholly convinced of their intentions, he sensed no immediate danger. Minor doubts he had plenty of, but the school's security measures were reinforced with the oldest and strongest magic available. That magic allowed this to happen, possibly even aided it.
"You don't trust us," Harry said. "Would you prefer the use of veritaserum?"
"Is that necessary?" Hermione asked.
"We are prepared to accept what's happened," Harry said. "My name is Harry James Potter, this is Hermione Jean Granger, and George Fabian Weasley." Harry decided their full names would be more appropriate to convince Dumbledore. "We are retaking our seventh year for our N.E.W.T. qualifications."
"Nice to meet you," Dumbledore said. He recognized the connections of the boys' names, but not the girl. "You shall continue your education for now. I'm sure our educational standards are up to scratch."
"But, Professor," Hermione protested, "what about the law? We're not to be seen. You said yourself the consequences of messing with time are dangerous."
Dumbledore angled his head. "It may take time to find a solution. I suppose we could lock you safely away somewhere. However, that course of action presents its own challenges." More people would have to be told, and if the wrong people gathered this intelligence. The lengths Voldemort would go to learn of the future. No. The best course of action was to keep it a secret, and keep them close to him.
"First things first, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley, you will need to change your surnames. Miss Granger, you are Muggle born?" She nodded. "No one will be familiar with your name, you may keep it."
"What if we mess up?" Hermione asked. They had to be careful.
"Nonsense, you understand the consequences of your actions. I need not warn you. I further suggest a change of appearance. As mentioned, Mr. Potter, you look very much like your father. Mr. Weasley, the red hair is unmistakable. Stand here, and I shall attend to it."
#
"What about Finnigan?" Harry asked fingering his tidy light brown hair. His scar showed, but that didn't matter. No one knew what it meant.
"Half and half, I think. Too risky, what if his mum is here?" Hermione countered admiring her hair. Her new shorter locks lay straight, and shiny down her back. Long layers framed her face.
"Thomas," George suggested. His freckles were gone. His long hair remained to cover his ear, but it was now a rich dark brown.
"Perfect, he's Muggle born. No one is going to remember in twenty years anyway."
"So, I'm going to be Harry Thomas, and you George?"
"You took my name, and it's horrible on you."
"Pick something," Hermione said annoyed. Her nerves made her voice harsher than she meant. "Sorry, this is a lot of pressure. What are we going to tell people?"
"Important question, Miss Granger. I have the solution." Dumbledore retired to his office to make the necessary preparations. He created a plausible scenario for the trio. He elucidated, and had them rehearse the details.
"The train is pulling into Hogsmeade. Students will be arriving by carriage shortly. You will need to be sorted again." He waved his wand. Their Gryffindor patches, and assorted badges disappeared. They were left in plain robes.
"Sorted?" George asked watching Dumbledore leave.
"There goes trying to lay low," grumbled Harry.
"It has to be believable. We're stretching it already with this story of transfer students. We have to be sorted, we can't go in and sit at the Gryffindor table," explained Hermione.
Harry remembered his first sorting. How every eye watched him. The murmured rumors flying from their lips.
"No one knows you here, Harry. You aren't the boy-who-lived, the hero, or anything else. You are plain Harry Barnes."
"Barnes?"
"Yes. A Muggle name, a boy in my class. And you'll be George Walker. It's settled," she chirped happily propping her feet on a desk.
"Hey, Barnes?"
"Yeah, Walker?" Harry smirked. He liked his new name, but he liked the fact he was nobody even more.
#
The first years were sorted. Minerva McGonagall moved to remove the stool and hat, but Dumbledore stayed her with his hand. He rose to address the school.
"I have an announcement. This year we are accepting three transfer students into our humble abode. They are waiting to be sorted into their houses. Without further ado," he motioned them in. Their names appeared on the scroll in McGonagall's hand.
In true Hogwarts fashion heads lowered. A faint wind of whispers rushed forth appraising the new students. Glances, comments, smirks, and glares focused on them as they stood before the congregation of students and staff.
"Barnes, Harry," McGonagall called. The stool seemed so much smaller than his first year. He choked on a nervous snicker as he perched on the flimsy seat. Dark fabric obstructed his view of the Great Hall.
"Oh yes, Mr. Potter, this is interesting, isn't it? No worries, your secrets are safe with me, but be careful. I see what you are thinking. To the matter at hand. Already sorted. No doubts. You've proved yourself," the quiet voice whispered in his ear.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.
Cheers erupted from his new, old table. Welcoming smiles and friendly glances fleetingly came his way.
Attention quickly focused back on "Granger, Hermione." The hat barely touched her head before proclaiming, "GRYFFINDOR!" More cheers. Harry clapped along celebrating first this time with his friend as she joined him.
"Walker, George."
"You seem nervous, Mr. Weasley," the hat said. "Surely, you don't think I would put you anywhere else. You have shown courage in more ways than one, GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry and Hermione released the breath they didn't know they were holding.
"Enjoy!" Dumbledore spread his arms indicating the food that appeared on the tables.
"Hello," a feminine voice interrupted shortly after George sat across from them, "my name is Lily Evans. I would like to welcome you to Hogwarts and Gryffindor."
"Thank you," the three chorused. Lily sat beside Hermione.
Emerald green eyes hungrily searched every feature of his mother, etching every detail into memory. The dark red hair falling below her shoulders, her startling green almond shaped eyes. Her beauty radiated from the inside.
"What year are you?"
"Seventh," George answered for the group since Harry and Hermione were struck speechless.
"Hermione, you'll be dorming with me, Mary McDonald, and…" she listed more names that were lost in the sounds of the feast. "You two will be with those four down there." She pointed. A hint of disdain in her voice.
"Is that bad?" George inquired.
"What? Oh no," Lily replied. "Remus is nice. Peter is shy. The other two are troublemakers, and right old toe rags." She smiled sheepishly.
#
"Don't look now, Prongs old boy, but your lady love is talking about you." Sirius waggled his eyebrows and grinned. James searched the table for Lily.
"What? How do you know?" James asked spotting her.
"The wrinkle of distaste on her pretty face."
James scowled. He purposefully bumped Sirius as he stood. "Head Boy duties to perform," he said. He strode to where the new students chatted with Lily.
"Excuse me," he said interrupting them. Four pairs of eyes stared at him expectantly. "I'm James Potter." His stomach lurched gazing into Lily's mesmerizing eyes. "Hi," he said stupidly.
"Well done, Potter," Lily said sarcastically. "I expect you to show these gentlemen," her voice softened, "to the seventh-year dorm."
"Yes, Lily," he replied mechanically.
George looked at Harry. He made a sound like a whip crack along with the accompanying hand movement. The younger boy chuckled earning a censuring frown from Hermione. James and Lily were too wrapped up in each other to notice.
"All of you are seventh years then?"
"Yes," Hermione said politely. She prayed her face hadn't betrayed her emotions like that when she was near Ron.
"Don't worry," Harry assured. "A bit pathetic, isn't it?"
"Sort of," Hermione said, "but they are your parents, so it's sweet."
Harry couldn't stop the beaming smile. Lily turned and basked in the glow of the genuinely happy expression. She smiled in return. James skulked away. She had never looked at him that way.
"Problems?" Remus asked at James' sullen expression.
"The way she smiles." James sighed. He gripped his goblet tight, his knuckles turning white. "At him," he finished menacingly.
Three gazes traveled along the table to witness Lily laughing with Harry Barnes. She only laughed at James.
"Don't see what there is to be jealous and huffy about," Sirius said. "Bit of a runt."
"What year are they?" Remus asked steering the conversation to safer ground.
"Seventh."
"Sharing our room?" Peter squeaked.
"Yes. Lily asked me to show them the way."
"Tricky," Sirius commented. A mischievous smirk blossomed. His blue eyes blazed. A couple of second years down the table swooned.
