Harry Potter was no stranger to pain. His second year in school, he'd had all the bones in his arm removed, and then regrown over the course of a terrible night. His third year, he had fallen from his broom from fifty feet in the air. And his fourth year, Voldemort had subjected him to the Cruciatus Curse, experiencing a pain so profound that he still, a year later, thought he could feel it every once in a while, reverberating through his bones.

But when he came to, lying on his face on a hard surface, glasses digging into his cheek, he had the impression he had just experienced being torn in pieces, bit by excruciating bit, then flung into a fire. He did not feel pain now, no, he thought, as he decided to put off opening his eyes for another moment or two, but he knew he just had — he knew it.

He jolted. He knew of two people who had been tortured into insanity. Was this it? Was he, Harry Potter, insane? Had one of the Death Eaters battling at the Ministry — Bellatrix, perhaps? — held him under the Cruciatus so long he was no longer in his right mind?

This startling thought made his eyes pop open.

"Harry?" a small voice croaked.

"Harry! Get back!"

But Harry ignored Sirius's warning, stepping in time with him to volley curse after curse at Bellatrix Lestrange, who merely laughed and dueled them both. The scent of magic — scalding — filled the room. The others were battling their hardest… Ginny, even, dueling Lucius Malfoy with Shacklebolt at her side…

"Finish her!" he shouted at Sirius.

Bellatrix faked a pout. Harry spun to the side, narrowly missing the jet of red light. "Wittle baby Potter doesn't want to—"

Without warning, without hint it was coming, thunder clapped. The veil behind him snapped and a thousand voices shouted at once. Harry cried out, slamming his hands over his ears. Wind buffeted him, driving him toward the veil from whence the shouts came.

"No! Harry! HARRY!" screamed Ginny, leaping for him, grabbing his hand.

But Ginny Weasley was much too small to stop whatever was happening. Instead, he pulled her with him, to his own horror. Her shriek deafened him as the veil caught them up in a whirlwind—

"Ginny," he rasped out. There was light, but not enough to see more than her shadowy figure stretched near him. With no small amount of surprise, he realized her hand was still in his. It was ice cold. Harry dropped it and sat up; he expected pain, and winced, but other than a sense of dizziness, there was nothing.

His wand, which had been trapped underneath him, rolled away. He scrabbled for it, barely catching it with the tip of his finger, and twitched it toward him.

Next to him, Ginny, too, was shifting. "Lumos," she muttered.

Her wand tip sparked.

Harry, who had not known what to expect, had no idea what was behind the veil and where they were taken, was shocked to find that—

"We're still here?" Ginny said loudly.

"Shh," Harry warned her, getting to his feet. It was the same room, the same veil was behind them; the stairs were in exactly the same place. But there were no Death Eaters, no members of the Order of the Phoenix; no Neville, Luna, Ron, or Hermione. All was quiet. Stunned, all Harry could do for several minutes was to sweep his eyes back and forth, as though everyone else had decided at once to play a prank and hide, ready to pop out at a moments notice.

But no one shouted "SURPRISE!"

"Get it together," he mumbled, clutching at his head.

"What did you say? Where is everyone?"

"I — nothing — I don't know," he said.

A sound like a sigh went through the room. The back of Harry's neck twitched. There were voices, again, from the veil; not the terrible ones, but a few, swirling around him in the impossible wind. He thought he might recognize them, but they were too far away. The veil itself stretched upward to the shadowy ceiling, fluttering, tossing back and forth. It swept aside for a bare instant—

"SIRIUS!" Harry shouted. The name ripped from him.

"What—"

"He's behind the veil," Harry snapped, impatient, already running around the curved base. "Or – here – just beneath it!" There was a crack in the plinth; it was a jagged scar and it was smoking lightly. But through the haze, Harry saw the figure of a large black dog. It was Sirius, it had to be. Harry knew it was. How long had he known Padfoot, now? Some of the fear that had formed into a tight knot in his belly dissipated. If Sirius was here – he would know what was going on.

Harry crouched next to the still dog. "Sirius," he said. "Sirius, wake up."

Ginny had followed him, silent as a shadow. When she finally broke the silence, there was his own fear in her tone: "Is he alive?"

"He has to be. He—"

Before the veil had begun performing so strangely, dragging him backward to it, had he seen Bellatrix growl a curse? Had it been a trick of light, or a trick of his own thoughts, that when Sirius had turned to him, distracted, Bellatrix had finally managed to land the Killing Curse upon her own cousin? A great lump formed in his throat. Head still whirling, dizzy from whatever had happened when the veil had sucked them up and spat them out, Harry wished he could not feel her eyes on him. There would be pity there.

"He's alive," he said, firmly. "He's just knocked out."

It was half a lie, Harry did not in fact know that, he just hoped with every particle of his being. But he had not done more than suck in a breath when the dog beside whom he was kneeling stirred, let out a small yelp, and twitched his legs.

"Padfoot," he said, with relief. Behind him, Ginny was silent again.

A glance at her told him she felt no better than he did: she was pale and faintly green and swaying on her feet.

"Come help me roll him over," he said.

Together, they rolled him over to his back. His paws twitched, and a long, continuous whine was coming out of him. Long, canine teeth snapped. "He looks like he's dreaming?" Over Sirius's Animagus form, his eyes met Ginny's. "He's asleep?"

"Or… can you wake him up?"

"Oh… right…" He drew his wand again. It was hot in his hand, as though the phoenix feather within it had caught fire and burned within. With the hand not holding his wand, he crossed his fingers, sent his hopes to the heavens, and said: "Ennervate."

Sirius yelped, clambered to his feet. As he did, his features transformed seamlessly from dog to man. And there he was, wild-eyed, long-haired, and eyes bouncing from Harry to Ginny.

"What happened?" All three of them said at once.

"I don't know," said Harry, spreading his hands.

"You two were gone through the veil, just like that, and then—"

But Sirius did not finish his sentence.

"We were here for quite a bit of time before we saw you," said Ginny, sounding troubled. "So whatever happened… it happened to us before you… I think we were asleep awhile."

"He might have been here," Harry pointed out. "He was behind the veil… it could've been hiding him."

Her brows winged upward and she pulled a face. "Maybe," she said, as though it were hardly possible at all.

"It—"

But Sirius interrupted what Harry was going to say, pitching forward without warning. Harry caught him, staggering backward and would have fallen. But there was Ginny, catching him around the middle, and keeping him upright. Of the three of them, whatever had happened had struck Sirius the worst. Close up, he was pale and eyes were shadowed. They were open, but blank, and his breath came out in small pants; he might have been a dog again, he sounded just like one.

"I don't think he's… well," said Harry.

"You look nearly as bad," Ginny pointed out.

They both staggered with Sirius to the bottom of the stairs, setting him up on a seat, and sagged backward. Harry was wheezing; he might have just run from Hagrid's hut all the way to Gryffindor Tower. Now that he'd had a few moments, however, he tried to cudgel his thoughts into order. A wind had come up, catching him and Ginny and Sirius in it. When it had died, they'd found themselves ill on the floor… and everyone else was gone. What could possibly have done that? Had they all Apparated away? It did not make sense for them to have done so.

Harry patted the front of his robes. There was a bulge in one of his pockets: his Cloak was still there. It had not been magically enlarged and used to cover the others. And if they'd been stunned… the rest of the Order would not have left them to awaken alone. And the Death Eaters would not have allowed them to awaken at all. A sharp pain sliced through his head at that last thought.

Beside him, Sirius stirred, mumbling a little, and opened his eyes.

"Harry," said Ginny, "I think we've got to go."

"You're right," he said. "I s'ppose we aren't going to find any answers here, not in this empty room, at least." But his Invisibility Cloak had given him an idea. Largely forgotten during the battle that had started in the Hall of Prophecy though it was, Harry pulled it out and shook it over all three of them, ignoring Ginny's squawk and Sirius's feeble noise of protest.

"We don't want the Death Eaters to have a go at us, do we?" he asked. "Just… stay under this, will you?"

It was nothing like being under here with Ron and Hermione. Small as Ginny was, Sirius made up for that in height. The three of them had to walk hunched over, taking the tall stairs of the amphitheater as a crab might, scuttling upward slowly and painfully. Harry's instincts were clamoring at him. They had to get out of that room. What if that wind came up again? He ended up half-carrying Sirius up the stairs, pulling Ginny along with him.

Harry halted as soon as they came to the room with the doors. Something had stilled it; it no longer spun. It was even labeled neatly. The three of them shuffled closer to the door clearly marked: BACK TO CORRIDOR.

"Think it's a trick?" Ginny asked, suspicious.

"I…"

"We're under the Cloak," Sirius said wearily. The air under the Cloak grew slightly more stagnant. "Let's just hunch over a bit more… Harry, I can see your trainers. That way, we can see for ourselves if it's a trap. Keep your wands out."

"I've got mine," Harry and Ginny said together.

"Well, then," said Sirius. "Keep them out."

There was no trap on the other side of the door, nor had it been a trick. The frozen air of the Ministry underground surrounded them.

"Looks like it's… safe," said Ginny.

But Harry's instincts kept telling him it wasn't safe, and he forced them to stop just outside the door. How had they gone from being chased by Death Eaters such as Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy to… nothing? How did twenty other people just disappear, leaving only the three of them? The questions joined with the fear in his belly. It tasted of acid; it was all Harry could do to keep it down.

The other two remained quiet. Perhaps they, too, were struggling with their thoughts. For some inexplicable reason, this made Harry tighten his control and begin to pull himself together, one breath at a time.

"We should…" he said vaguely.

There was no more hesitation after that. They'd somehow made a pattern of it, Ginny walking faster than either of the two of them, and keeping in the lead so that the Cloak would cover all three of them. It was an awkward rhythm, but the further down the corridor they traveled and up the stairs they went, the better he got at it and the fewer times he trod on the back of Ginny's foot.

"Sorry," he mumbled, when it happened again.

She just sighed. "We're almost to the Atrium."

The Ministry was empty thus far; the route from the Department of Mysteries was obviously not very well-traveled. But the Atrium had a few people within it, some dressed in plum-colored robes, and others wearing sober black and standing as though on guard. They had not been there when they had arrived. The knot in his gut tightened again.

"Death Eaters?" he whispered.

"Not that I recognize," said Sirius. "Come, let's go around this way…"

They skirted around the scattered groups of two or three people. They kept far enough away that he caught only bits and pieces of their conversations. It reminded him uncomfortably of the voices he had heard whispering from behind the veil, and he strained his ears to try to hear what these people were saying. Had they heard the ruckus the Death Eaters had made? Were they discussing the battle that had just taken place within their own place of work?

They were not.

"Ar, and old Nobby says, 'They had me coming and going, I was never going to last long,'" said one gnarled old wizard. "And right he was, he was some Mudblood, weren't he?" Then, turning, the wizard spat. Droplets of spittle landed an inch from the Cloak. "No Mudblood will be elected again."

A wave of dizziness passed through him. "Who is Nobby?" he whispered, as they shuffled away.

"No clue," said Ginny.

"Could be anyone, or they could be discussing the old Minister for Magic," said Sirius. "He was Minister just before I left for Hogwarts… then, with all the troubles rising, he couldn't last. They say he was poisoned by Abraxan Malfoy, but that was never proven."

By the end of this speech, he was winded. The three of them did not speak again until the reached the very end of the Atrium, in the corner, where instead of another bank of phone booths was a merry-go-round, the type found in parks and playgrounds.

"Ugh," said Sirius, "I thought they got rid of this entrance a long time ago. Well, up we get. Hopefully, no one will see my leg push us off."

"We could've gone to the phone booths," Harry suggested. The last time he'd been on one of these, Dudley had come sprinting over with his friends; they'd pushed him so hard he'd been flung off. Aunt Petunia, ostensibly reading a magazine but in actuality listening to two women discussing a dramatic divorce, had ignored him until it was clear Harry's arm had been broken. "We still can go to the phone booths."

"We won't all fit," said Sirius.

"But—"

"I really thought they'd put an entrance to the Ministry of Magic at King's Cross Station, but… I suppose I was wrong…"

With a great deal of reluctance, Harry clambered onto the merry-go-round, gripping the iron bar tightly. It was not just the bad, Dursley-related memories; he did not like knowing that his back was about to be turned to the Atrium. Would that be the moment the Death Eaters chose to rejoin the battle?

It made him snappy with Ginny when she nearly tumbled into his lap. "Watch it," he said.

"Watch yourself," she returned tartly.

Sirius heaved a sigh. Under the Cloak together as they all were, Harry could suddenly smell a hint of drink and old tobacco on his breath. Making a face, Harry pulled back as far as he could. The smell of Ginny's hair, something vaguely flowery, was far preferable. But when Sirius muttered he was about to kick them off, and to watch in case anyone saw, the bar-like smell overwhelmed everything else.

After a few kicks, Sirius tucked his foot under. Harry and Ginny were jolted forward onto him, and so Harry missed the transition from being in the cavernous and posh Ministry to being in a small, overgrown little park sandwiched between two office buildings. One swing rocked back and forth, though there were no children in sight.

Harry tossed aside his caution and tugged the Cloak off of himself, sucking in deep breaths of exhaust-tinged air. "Why on earth," he asked, "would they get rid of such a charming exit?"

It was meant to be sarcastic. Ginny chuckled, but Sirius only said: "Bunch of grown-up people in robes and cloaks showing up to a park where Muggle children were meant to play began to unnerve the Muggles."

"I can't imagine why," said Ginny.

It was Harry's turn to chuckle.

They each unfolded from the merry-go-round. Harry walked off a few steps, peering up at the sky. There was a rosy glow in the east, though all was dark. How long had they been at the Ministry? "It's almost dawn?" he said. It came out like a question.

The three of them exchanged a glance. His gaze held Sirius's the longest, though his godfather seemed as baffled and unnerved as he did. And, thought Harry, he looks ghastly. His face was even more pale than it had been at the Ministry, and his face was screwed up in a grimace. "You look ghastly," he said, abrupt. "Do you need Madame Pomfrey?" Then, remembering they were in London and not Hogwarts, he muttered: "Or… you know, a healer. How far off are we from St. Mungo's?"

"All I need is an apothecary," said Sirius, his grimace not lightening one bit. "I can't go to Mungo's, remember? Diagon Alley will have to do."

Harry swore under his breath. "You're right," he said.

"In fact…" Sirius's image blurred, and Padfoot appeared again, head lowered and tail dragging on the ground.

"Well," said Ginny, "I hope he knows the way from here to Diagon Alley, because I surely don't…"

Harry stuffed his Cloak back into his pocket; the three of them, with the dog leading and the other two trailing behind, not quite in step with one another, headed off into the gloom that surrounded the park. By mutual, unspoken accord, they hugged the walls of the office buildings, keeping out of the light from the streetlamps. There were few people about. Most of them had their heads down, walking briskly. But as they passed one bar, a crowd of boisterous men tumbled out, all with long hair parted down the middle and big round sunglasses despite the glasses.

Harry stared, blinking, at one of them who were wearing an honest-to-Merlin leisure suit done in a garish orange. "Are they at a costume party, do you think?" Harry asked, uncertain.

"Dunno," said Ginny, shrugging, "I've never known much about Muggle fashion, looks all the same to me."

Harry looked at the man, then at Padfoot's back, then back at Ginny. Then, shrugging, he left off it. The Muggles were probably at a stag party; he'd heard they did all sorts of wild things. So what if a couple of them were dressed like members of a couple of old bands? There were stranger things. The rest of the time he kept quiet, looking over his shoulder frequently, keeping his hand on his wand at all times. But no Bellatrix leapt from the shadows, ready to finish the duel that had ended so abruptly and weirdly. Lucius Malfoy did not stride into view, cane clicking against the sidewalk, cold grey eyes finding them among the sparse, pre-dawn London crowd.

In a weird sense, despite the Muggles about them, Harry felt like he and Sirius and Ginny might be the only three people in the world…

The feeling persisted as morning broke truly over them, lightening the streets and washing the walls of the office buildings with a dingy sort of gold. There were more and more Muggles on the street; they streamed out of buildings, out of cars, and even seemed to spring up from the ground, though Harry knew they were arising from the Underground. There were no witches or wizards, no half-giants, no werewolves having a jaunt far from the full moon — at least, not that he recognized. Harry tugged at his robes, feeling oddly exposed, feeling like he could have dressed in leisure suit or bell bottoms and been less conspicuous in downtown London.

"We're nearly there," said Sirius, having dipped into an alley a few feet away from the Leaky Cauldron, and returned a man.. "Merlin… I thought that diner closed ages ago…"

"Thank Merlin," said Ginny, sounding weary, "my feet are hurting."

This early, the Leaky Cauldron was not open. Harry thought he saw movement behind the bar, but the door was locked when he jiggled it.

"I didn't know they closed this place," Harry muttered.

"Old Tom used to do so a while ago, during the first war," Sirius said in a low voice. "Said it deterred the Death Eaters from doing their illegal potions trades… they like to do that at night. He must be one of the smart ones, the ones who believe you… believe Dumbledore." He cast a wary glance around him. Harry watched his grey eyes flick from point to point. "Hurry… you two've still got the Trace on you, so—"

"The Trace? What's—"

"Later," Sirius said sharply. "I'll get us in, you can't use your wands. Then I'll change. Hurry. While we're still alone."

Harry was about to suggest they get under the Cloak again, but Sirius's anxiety had affected him and he remained silent as Sirius tapped the bricks in the proper order so they shifted, revealing the entrance to Diagon Alley. In the next instant, Padfoot was pacing in front of them, head down, tail trailing on the ground: he was the very picture of canine exhaustion. Here, on the crooked street, morning was not quite as vibrant as it had been on the Muggle street. Everything here was done in grey and black. With the buildings tall around them and no color on the storefronts — even Fortescue's ice cream shop was drab — Diagon Alley seemed to exist in a perpetual twilight.

His knees slammed into Sirius, who had stopped and was now whining in front of a shop near Quality Quidditch Supplies. It was tiny, as crooked as the alley, and rose four stories in the air, and a proud wooden sign above the door revealed it to be McKinnon's Celtic Customs. Sirius stood there, weaving on his feet, whining, until worry was once more snarling up his insides.

"Padfoot," he said, a little desperately, "you need the apothecary."

Several seconds longer, the dog made them wait. But then, after giving himself a shake, he took the lead once more.

The apothecary was open. The bell tinkled as they went through. The witch behind the counter, whose witch's hat was decorated with cauldrons with wands crossed beneath them, sniffed when she saw Padfoot, but otherwise went back to reading the magazine levitated in front of her. It was glossy, entitled The Magical Review, and had a pair of brothers waving from the cover. Harry frowned at it, thinking something was off—

Padfoot barked, startling him.

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

His godfather led them down one of the aisles that fanned out from the door. There were all manner of barrels, large and small, carrying anything anyone might need for any potion, ranging from large unicorn's horns spiraling outward to tiny eyes of newt. Harry skirted around the former, avoiding its deadly point, and nearly walked into Ginny.

"Augury quills," she muttered, jerking her chin at a pile of very familiar looking quills. "They're supposed to be sold with caution, not just dumped in a bin where anyone can buy them…" When he eyed her, she said, coolly: "It's what Umbridge's blood quill is made from. The Ministry started regulating their use ages ago…"

Padfoot came back and gripped Harry's robes with his teeth, pulling him forward.

"That witch is reading a magazine from the 70s," said Harry, "maybe she hasn't got the memo that the Ministry's changed stuff…"

Ginny chuckled.

Harry was pulled along to the back of the store where, instead of selling potions ingredients, they sold actual potions. They were lined up on shelves and represented every color of the rainbow. Light sparked off the crystal phials, making Harry blink, and remember the headache that had besieged him not even three hours before. Wincing, he was grateful when Padfoot jabbed his nose at one in particular. The other phials tinkled together as he grabbed it off the shelf, sounding like little bells.

"Baruffio's Brain Elixir and Limb Relaxer," he read, lifting a dubious brow at the dog.

"Harry, shh," hissed Ginny. It would have been in his ear, but she was so short Harry felt it against his shoulder instead. "That witch is watching us. Pretend to be normal."

Harry assumed this meant pretending that he was not taking orders from a dog. Nodding, he turned back down the aisle, this time not stopping until he'd reached the counter. "Just one of these, please," he said.

She ducked her head. "Two galleons," she said.

Harry handed it to her, accepted a little satin bag, slipped the potion into it and headed out the door. The space between his shoulder blades itched. It was wrong. All of this was wrong. All of his instincts were screaming at him that this was true. They had been since he'd woken up with everyone but Ginny and Sirius gone, but had redoubled. Thus it did not surprise him when Sirius-as-Padfoot barked for his attention, then led them on a chase up the crooked alley, zig-zagging, only stopping at a deep alcove just past Gringott's. Somewhere, Padfoot had grabbed up a copy of a sodden Daily Prophet. Once hidden in the alcove, he spat it out and resumed his human form.

"Give me that potion, please," he said, voice tight. His face was white as a sheet. Wordless, Harry handed it over. Sirius popped off the cork and tipped the contents into his mouth.

Beside him, Ginny stooped down for the Prophet.

Sirius, who had looked unwell since they had awoken, began to look healthier in small increments. His head lost its tilt, the grimace dissolved, and the milky, waxen look began to flood with color.

"I think I've an idea what's happened to us," said Sirius.

Just then, Ginny clutched his upper arm, fingers digging into his bicep. "Oh, God, look—"

She shoved the paper in front of his nose. A big, splashy headline announced three deaths, but it was the date at the top, printed in tiny letters, that grabbed Harry's attention.

"If it's the date, I'm guessing it's somewhere in the 1970s?" Sirius suggested.

Harry lowered the paper, gaping from one to the other. "What," he said, "do you mean?"

"McKinnon's Celtic Customs was destroyed by the Death Eaters in 1979," said Sirius. "Two days before Christmas. Every McKinnon was there, helping with the Christmas rush… it couldn't have been rebuilt… there were no McKinnons left to do so…"

"But how—"

"I don't know how, Ginny." Sirius jerked his head. "I don't know the how — I'm no Unspeakable. I've little idea what they get up to down there… but—"

"But it explains everything," said Harry. His gaze was trapped on that small, innocuous looking date on the upper right hand corner of the wet page: August 15, 1977. His heart skipped one beat and then two. Harry was no stranger to time travel; he had done it in his third year. He'd done it, in fact, to save the life of the man standing before him. He knew it was possible. The Muggles were wearing leisure suits because they were in fashion. They weren't costumes at all. And everyone they had known disappeared because they were in the future. It painted a horrible picture for him.

Ginny let out a low moan.

"I can't believe it," she said, shaking her head swiftly to and fro. "We can't be in the past. We can't. It can't be real."

But when Harry met Sirius's grey eyes, there was no doubt to be read there. Somehow, the veil had sucked them backward in time to 1977.

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Author's Note: Hi, again! I think this chapter is a little bit more revelatory about what is happening. But our poor travelers have got a lot more to go through before they figure out what is happening.