Harry drummed his fingers along a muggle department store's wall. Luna was holed up in a dressing booth, buying something that didn't shout 'I stole this from my man's closet'. He didn't necessarily mind being 'her man' in that context, but he'd still prefer if she wore something that properly fit her. Something that that fit her very, very well, if he was being honest.
Dumbledore had wound up being the one to retrieve 'Comby', no doubt an excuse to see the basilisk himself. There hadn't been time to butcher up the snake yet, but Harry's stash of coin was more than enough (even with Gringotts' outrageous currency changing fees) to pick up at least half a wardrobe for his girlfriend. Harry had left his robes and cloak behind today, leaving him with a suitable, if out of fashion, muggle outfit.
"What do you think?" Luna said as she stepped out of the booth. "Too tight?"
Harry wasn't sure such a descriptor was possible. She wore a black, sleeveless turtleneck that came down to just above her navel, and a skirt with too many colours to keep track of. A pair of neon-blue leggings clung tight to her legs, and Harry had to stop himself from taking them in for too long.
"Very seventies, very sexy." He gave a nod of approval, then tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Almost done?"
"If I must be," Luna said with a dramatic sigh. "Let's check out. But then I'll need shoes."
Harry nearly protested, but was cut off as a paper airplane struck the side of his head. He caught it before it fell, then glanced around to try and find where it came from but found no one. It took him half a second to realize it was magic. He unfolded it.
Dear Nephew,
A situation has arisen. I would greatly enjoy hearing from you as soon as possible.
Sincerely,
Uncle Albus
Harry folded the note up and stuck it in his pocket. "The shoes will have to wait. Dumbledore needs us."
"Oh?" Luna narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't suppose you'd mind letting me see the note for myself?"
"If I wanted to get out of shopping with my girlfriend, I just wouldn't have come." Harry stuck out his chin. "I'm not a child."
Luna cocked an eyebrow at him. "I seem to remember a tantrum just the other day, when a certain powerful wizard wouldn't play with you."
Harry knew when he was beaten. "Can we just pay and get out of here?"
A quick lightening of his purse and a moment to find a hiding place later, they apparated away into Dumbledore's office.
"Nice try, old man," Harry said as soon as they arrived. "It'll take more than a few extra wardings to— Oh, hello."
Standing beside the headmaster was someone Harry didn't recognize.
She was beautiful, whoever she was, with long black hair that was pulled in front of her chest in a braid that nearly brushed her waist. She wore an emerald dress and had a scowl that told him he wasn't going to be taking her home any time soon. Wait, he wasn't supposed to be thinking about taking other women home any more.
"Harry," Dumbledore said. "I'd like you to meet… Morgana Le Fay."
He wished he'd been wearing his robes and cloak. What the hell was another legend doing in his life?
"Well that's a shock." Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at her without backing down. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"Merlin's been meddling again." Her voice had a hint of magic to it. There was no charming effect like a veela's, so he didn't quite know what it was supposed to be doing. "You shouldn't be here."
"No, we shouldn't, do you know how to send us back home?"
"Perhaps." Her nostrils flared, and Harry got the impression she was trying to save face. "Why has Merlin sent you here? How did he send you here?"
Harry pondered that question for a moment as he buffed his occlumency shields. He did a quick few scans of his mind for any sort of invaders, but it seemed Morgana hadn't attacked him just yet.
"If I knew, I would've sent us back al—"
"Don't act above your station, mortal." The woman sneered at him. "If you were capable of even a quarter of what that daft old man was capable of..."
To hell with his cloak and robes. Harry tackled the woman. She didn't have the chance to gasp before they were apparated away to an old field, magically hidden away on the Isle of Mann, the same one he'd taken Luna to. Back in his own time he'd stumbled upon the place during some ministry job; it had once served as the training grounds for wizards in the thirteenth century, and the government had paid well to rediscover it. He slugged her once in the jaw before being tossed away with a bolt of magic that left his stomach crumpled.
After a rolling stop, he sprung up, wand drawn, and fired a burning hex towards Morgana. It crashed against the shield she erected, then dispersed in the wake of lightning he summoned.
Back in his own timeline, Harry had grown far too tired of people's derisions regarding his lack of a spell arsenal. He'd supplemented his school level spells, which admittedly he'd honed to a mastery, with various primal magics that found their roots in the elements. Most had their bases in simple spells like aguamenti, but the workings he could do now put cantrips like those to shame. It'd cost him more than a few galleons, more than a lot of galleons if he was being honest, to convince the various old warlocks and wise wiccans to teach him their secrets, but what was more badass than slashing your wand through the air and sending gusts of fire towards a foe?
Morgana didn't seem phased by his attacks though. A wave of her staff — Where had she drawn that from? — sent his lightning shooting off into the earth and fired back a blob of purple energy that formed itself into a decorative dragon before launching itself at him.
Harry allowed the illusion to coast through him, and instead fired off another bolt of lightning to distract her from the third one forming above her head. Her own dragon had been a distraction too though, and he had to throw up a shield to stop the magenta… What even was that spell? Oh well, didn't matter, it broke against his shield all the same.
The true bolt of lightning he'd prepared singed the witch's robes and burned her arm, but did nothing to stop her from launching another spell at him.
The two continued to duel for what felt like hours, but what was probably only the span of a few minutes. Curses and charms and hexes destroyed the countryside, and before long they were battling in a half-molten, half-desecrated crater that reeked of magic in every flavour. Magical exhaustion was starting to take hold of Harry, one of his legs was numb and bleeding, and his recently repaired ribs ached like a mother fucker; but for the first time in a long time he felt truly alive.
Morgana wavered, and Harry saw his opportunity.
"Confringo!"
The witch made a futile effort to lift her staff, but the spell caught her square in the chest and launched her against a crumbling wall of dirt and stone. Harry apparated atop her and wrapped his hands around her throat.
"How's that for a quarter? Hmmm?" The woman couldn't respond, and instead stared up at him with wide and furious eyes. "I wanted to bash that old Merlin's head in for sport, but didn't get the chance to, what do you think, hmm? Am I capable of a quarter of his power?"
Harry eased up on her throat as the adrenaline began to drain out of him. Morgana coughed then spoke, "Who are you?"
"A very bored man."
He stood and stomped away. Disgust started to creep into him. What the hell was he even doing out here?
Morgana scooted away from him, rubbing at her throat. He glared at her as soon as she reached for her staff, so her arm dropped back to her side. They sat in silence. Eventually Harry sighed, moved back towards her, and held out a hand to help her up.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get back to my uncle's."
After a moment more of scowling she took his hand and pulled herself up. He didn't allow her to let it go before apparating them both back to the headmaster's office.
Dumbledore and Luna were sipping on cups of tea, probably far too sweet for any sane person's tastes, and didn't look the least bit surprised at the dueling duo's sudden appearance. Harry dropped Morgana's hand and took a seat besides Luna, wrapping an arm around her and trying to ignore the pain starting to blossom in his once-numb leg.
"Back so soon?" Luna asked. "We expected you to take a bit longer to thrash her."
"Miss Marigold did," Dumbledore corrected. "I'm surprised to see you back at all, if I'm being quite honest."
"She knows her place now." Harry gave a strong sniff to try and pull back the blood starting to form in his nostril. "Far beneath me, and neck and neck with you, Uncle."
Still Morgana said nothing. She was far worse the wear than him. Her dress was torn and burned in several places, in better circumstances Harry might've struggled against lecherous gazes. The braid that had sat against her chest was frayed and had long since given up on staying in place. A nasty bruise was forming across her jaw, and Harry took an ignoble amount of pride in realizing that it was from his initial, very muggle punch.
"What about me?" Luna asked with a cocked brow. "Where do I stand in these power rankings?"
"Amidst the four of us?" Harry turned up his own brow at her. "Let's just say its a good thing you're my girlfriend."
His teasing must've been lost in the smile she gave at him calling her his girlfriend again. She leaned into his one-armed embrace and gave a dreamy sigh.
"If you can send us back to our own time, get on with it," Harry said. "If not, then fuck off back to whatever aviary you crawled out of, harpy."
"Do it yourself." The witch seemed petulant now. "Since you think so highly of yourself."
"I won't now," Harry shot back. "Just to spite you."
He, of course, had no such method of time travel, but it felt good to be a bit childish now and again. As much as he cared about duty and destiny, it felt good to spit in those two bitch's faces now and then.
Morgana leveled him with a glare that might've intimidated him if she weren't half-naked. "All I wanted was to investigate the nature of your appearance here you savage."
"Then you shouldn't have insulted me within moments of meeting me," Harry said. "You of all people should understand humility, Morgana."
Dumbledore gave a fake cough. "Perhaps we should turn this discussion to more fruitful matters. Is there anything we can do for you, Miss Le Fay?"
Morgana turned her ire upon the older man. "I wanted to know what the meaning of all this was before this brute attacked me."
"I met your insults with violence," Harry said. "I thought I was being respectful to you and your ancient times' traditions."
Dumbledore's attempts at placation were failing. Harry didn't particularly care about politeness when there was nothing to gain of it, so why not insult her?
"If you think petty comments about my age will stir my ire again, you're wrong." She turned her gaze upon him once more and Harry couldn't help but think she was lying. "All I want is for things to be in order."
"Ah, yes, Morgana Le Fay, epitome of balance and order," Harry said with a grand flourish. "Sure you didn't just come to try and steal more of Merlin's magic?"
Morgana stepped towards him, and the only thing that stopped him from rising to meet her was a flick to the side of his head from Luna. It sent stars scattering across his vision. Was he concussed?
"Would you quit being nasty already?" Luna asked. "Honestly, Harry, you're being rather rude."
"I am rude." He shook his head to try and dismiss the constellations forming in his mind, but it only served to accentuate them further. "I thought you said it was fine."
"I said I wouldn't try to change you, I didn't make any promises as to whether or not I'd point out when you're being rude for no reason."
Harry came to the decision, not at all influenced by his concussed mind, that now was as good a time as any to drift away from the conversation. Luna, Dumbledore, and Morgana continued on in a heated conversation that slipped past him like a stream. A few quips about who was stronger, threats over the balance of the multiverse, and philosophical quandaries all flew over his head as he tried his best to slip beneath the surface of his chair.
"Harry?"
"Hm?"
He came back to reality. Morgana was gone, leaving just his girlfriend and former headmaster staring at him with worried expressions.
"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked. "You look a bit pale…"
Harry waved him off. "I'm fine. Just a bit of blood loss. What happened?"
"Miss Morgana said she was going to look into this herself since we wouldn't help," Luna said. "Since you kept it a secret, I figured I shouldn't spill the beans either."
"And I'm as confused as Morgana when it comes to how you came here." Dumbledore beamed at him. "So I wasn't much use, I'm afraid."
"Whatever Morgana wants with the magic, I'll have no part of it," Harry said. "Let's not forget just how she found herself a place in history."
In truth his Arthurian history — Or was it mythology? — Wasn't much to brag about, but he was fairly certain that Morgana was bad, Merlin was good, and Arthur pulled a sword out of a lake or a stone or, given his own experiences, perhaps even a hat. Either which way, the witch was rather rude, so he didn't mind making such a petty enemy. In fact, what he really hoped for, was that Voldemort would be a better match than her against the Boy Who Lived.
What if he wasn't though?
What if this whole journey back to the past wound up being nothing more than a retreading of lands he'd already conquered? The basilisk fight had been a bit of a thrill, and Morgana had certainly given him a run for his money, but was that all there was this timeline? Maybe he really should've jumped in and taken up the offer to go back to before Hogwarts was founded. Perhaps he still had time to.
"Harry?"
He was stirred out of his musings once more. "Huh?"
"I said let's get you to Madam Pomfrey." Luna stood and tugged on his arm. Harry was fairly certain she hadn't said that, but he hadn't paid enough attention to call her out on it. "You seem to be… Well, let's put it this way, Harry brain no work good."
He snorted at her patronizing tone, but decided not to argue against her. He probably was concussed. Before leaving he turned to Dumbledore. "If anymore legendary figures pop in, be sure to let me know. Maybe we can start a fight club."
Crack.
#
The next few days went by rather slowly for Harry's tastes, doubly so considering he hadn't found an excuse to sneak out and purchase a bottle of fire whiskey until now. Luna kept him well leashed as she slowly drained his coffers for clothing, shoes, and other necessities like food and water. They were still a far cry away from the poor house, but he also hadn't managed to convince her that he wasn't quite as liquidly fiscal as he once was. In theory his cloak could probably be considered the most valuable bit of clothing this side of the channel, but he wasn't about to pawn it any time soon.
They were still spending their time in the Three Broomsticks, and they were becoming familiar faces to the tavern's patrons. Harry waved off the barkeep as he took a solitary seat in one of the booths. It was finally time for him to be free. Luna had gone off to see if she could surreptitiously meet up with her parents, she was especially excited to meet her mother, which meant he was free to get as shit faced as he pleased.
There were a few nervous looking seventh years scattered about the place, practically newborns, feeling awkward about their first purchase of the liquid ambrosia that had dominated much of his own adulthood. It didn't take long for an unrequested glass to be placed in front of him, and he nodded to the waitress who flashed a smile before dashing off.
It went down quick and hot. He could nearly trace the substance as it made its way down his esophagus and into his stomach, where it quickly met, became acquainted, and eventually settled down with said stomach's contents. Almost immediately he felt the liquor take hold of him.
That was the nice thing about getting drunk, it was all uphill from here, his brain seemed to whisper. He'd just get drunker and drunker, and by the time it came time to sober up, well, that would be some other Harry's problem, and the Harry he was now wouldn't even remember it.
More glasses came, and the irony wasn't lost on him that he'd just been begrudging Luna for spending his funds on frivolous things. Now here he was, probably two-thirds of a bottle deep, and only just beginning. He bobbed his head up and down to the sound of music, strumming his fingers along the counter top in a rhythm that no one would excuse.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Apparating."
Harry meant to turn his head, but it probably came off as more of a swinging motion, and the way his skull bobbled afterwards did little to improve his grace. James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin were standing before him.
"Well, well, well," he mirrored. "If it ain't the fucking Marauders. The ones worth a shit anyways."
Harry snorted at his own derision towards Peter Pettigrew. The boy truly hadn't done anything worth his ire yet, but that didn't make it any easier. Why should he bother caring about some child's feelings when said child would grow up to betray his parents?
"What's your problem, man?" James asked. "Why do you—"
Harry cast a silent, silencing charm with a flick of his wrist. He wasn't in the mood to argue with the teenage version of his father. The boy's brows shot up even as his mouth continued to move, though it was Harry left surprised when Remus managed to dispel the working.
"Five points to Gryffindor," Harry muttered. "You managed to undo a bit of sloppy spellwork."
"Are these boys bothering you, sir?" a waiter asked. "I can have them removed if you wish."
The man's tone left little room to argue, but Harry was always good at finding his way around in a tight spot. "It's fine, Mike, leave 'em be."
Harry was too deep in the cups to care at the moment. Said cup was filled with a floating bottle at the waiter's behest, and Harry did his best to ignore the teens taking seats around him as he drained it. Remus was beside him, James and Sirius were across. He reached into his pocket to withdraw a galleon, then flicked it across the pub towards Madame Rosmerta who caught it with practiced ease. "A full bottle of the stuff that'll get me on my ass quicker than a bludger, if ya please, madam."
Rosmerta might not've approved of his binging ways, but she certainly wasn't one to turn down a coin. She levitated over a bottle of something dark and thick. Harry watched with anticipation as he tipped the bottle over and its contents drooled into his pewter mug.
The first swig nearly took his chair legs out from under him. Harry had to fight hard to get the liquid down his throat, as though even his body thought this was a bad idea, but eventually it slid into his gullet and joined its fellows.
He was well and truly in the pits now.
"So you're Dumbledore's nephew, right?" Harry looked up at the pair of Sirius's who spoke. "Is that how you got into Hogwarts?"
"Would the… The two of you give it a rest?" Harry said. "I already told the lots of you, if you were capab… cap… If any of you could manage to do it, I'd tell ya, but ya can't." He took another swig, and once more felt it plop into his stomach. "But you can't, so I don't, so you won't."
Something about that felt clever so he giggled.
"Come on." Sirius pushed forward a bag of coins. Harry stared at it, too drunk to hide his hunger. "We'll make it worth your while."
"I've already told you!" He made a good show of protesting. "You ain't capable. Can any of you apparate from here to… to... " What on earth, literally, was opposite of Britain? "To Fiji? If not, or at least until you can, don't bother trying to un-work the workings of my workings… Or something."
God, what had Rosmerta given him? He was way too drunk for just two sips of it, even with the earlier fingers of fire whiskey taken into account. He took a third.
"So it is a matter of a magical strength, then?" Remus asked. "Once they have more magical power they'll be able to do it?"
Harry wrapped an arm around his former DADA teacher. "Remus, quit worrying about these two pups. You're the only one with a brain in this bunch, and if anyone." He leaned in close to the teen to whisper. "And I mean anyone hassles you over being a werewolf, you just tell me and I'll sort them out, alright?"
He released the rapidly paling teen and laughed. His mug was looking a bit low, so Harry topped it off again with the putrid substance that had gotten him drunk so quickly. He swirled it around and watched the viscous fluid do its best to keep up before taking another long sip.
"As for you two." He slammed his mug down, and was pleasantly pleased with the way the liquid swung up over the mug's lip without actually spilling. "If you wanna get your shit together, you wanna know what you gotta do?
"Quit being so damned immature." He leaned forward as both boys leaned back. "Quit trying to act like grown men in one breath, and prank-happy children in the next. Pick a lane and stick to it."
Harry fell back into his chair, belched, and was surprised to see a plume of smoke come out when he did. What the fuck was he drinking?
"Who are you?" James asked. Hadn't Harry silenced him already? "Really?"
"I'm Harry fucking…" Harry drifted off for a moment. He was supposed to be keeping it a secret, he reminded himself. "Fucking Dumbledore. The most powerful wizard in the world. The man prophesied to slay Voldemort, the man who made Morgana his bitch, and the man who is… is… Way too drunk for this."
Despite his lame finish, Harry couldn't bring himself to be ashamed. Who were these wet-behind-the-ears kids to judge him?
"Is there anything more to it?" Remus asked. "Your apparitions, I mean."
"Nah you just fuckin' do it." Harry threw back another sip. "Don't get me wrong, it ain't a walk in the park. You know what apparating really is, Professor Lupin?"
"Er—"
"It's a tear in the fabric of reality." Harry sloshed his drink at nothing in particular. "Its like a vacuum. You crack open the world, and the void that it forms sucks you through to wherever you need to go. SO, what do wards do?
"They put up walls between realities." He leaned in close to Remus. "They're like concrete walls that stop you from going where you need to go. Hogwarts wards? They're like three layers of steel, concrete, and a bunch of bouncers that'd pop your skull like a balloon. So how do you get around them? You rip open the steel, you rip open the concrete, and you pop those goons' skulls 'fore they can pop yours. Then you just have to hold that vacuum open long enough for you to 'step' through it, so that the wards can't reform in the meantime. It's just that simple."
There probably wasn't a lick of that which was simple. Who cares. If the boys couldn't handle it, they couldn't handle it. Harry smiled as the sudden thought of what he was doing struck him. He was teaching his dead dad how to break the laws of magic, instead of the other way around like it should've been if he hadn't been fucking cursed or prophesied or whatever else the world wanted to call it.
"And you can do all that?" James asked.
"Course." Harry fixed his father with a stare. "I wasn't boasting earlier, you know? I really did smack Morgana around. I really did slay a basilisk. I really did kill Voldemort once… no, twice, before. I'm the best god damn wizard any of you will ever meet, and I'd be lucky if any one of the lot of you could match wands with me someday."
There was a thought. People had raved throughout his childhood about how incredible his parents were, his mother's charms and his father's transfigurations. He'd seen for himself his godfather's skills in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. Lupin was the man who taught him his most favored spell for goodness sake. Maybe someday these rapscallions would be worthy of challenging him, could give him the thrill he hunted for day and night in order to feel alive.
Or maybe once Voldemort was dead, and he didn't have anything else to do, they'd slip back into mediocrity like his original compatriots had. Harry slammed back the rest of the pewter mug.
"Who is Voldemort?" Sirius asked. "Is he the Dark Lord?"
"He's the half-blood wizard who's got your family and the rest of their cohorts up in arms with notions of grandeur." Harry dumped the remainder of the bottle into his mug. His stomach was beginning to turn over with nausea, but quitting wasn't in his nature. "Tom Marvolo Riddle. Born in London, raised by muggles, and arrogant enough for three wizards of his admittedly incredible skills. I plan to duel him and get the thrill of a lifetime."
"Is he behind the muggle and muggle-born attacks?" James asked.
"Unless there's some other psychopath on the loose. One that isn't already under his wing."
"How can we help?"
Harry snorted. "Get to be bad enough wizards that you stand a chance against me." He took a nursing sip from his mug. "None of you are worthy enough to stand against Tom. Just work until you're ready to entertain me."
He was starting to dip now. His drunken revelry had fallen into an alcoholic melancholy already. The feelings he was normally able to duck and dodge between had crept up on him like thieves, and all he could do was wallow in their midst.
"Sorry," Remus said. "What did you say your name was again?"
"Harry fucking P—... Dumbledore."
"You do realize you've nearly said another last name twice now, right?" Remus asked. "You aren't exactly being conspicuous."
"You do realize I don't care?" The sludge in his cup slowly made its way into his mouth and down his throat. He tried to keep his face straight as he slapped the pewter mug against the table. "The whole reason I"m keeping it a secret is… Is…"
Why was he keeping it secret? According to Luna, none of this mattered. He could break the timeline like a branch over his knee, and all it would take is a trip to southern Mexico to alleviate all of their problems. The only reason to keep it secret was the fact that he wanted to defeat Tom, but even that was secondary to his desire for a good fight considering they could give it a second shot whenever they pleased.
Did anything matter? What was the point of all this? Reality was a fabrication that wizards like Merlin, maybe wizards like Harry if he tried hard enough, could ignore at will. Why was he even trying to make a difference when all that mattered was… Nothing, nothing at all mattered, he was just another spoke on the wheel of time and existence in an ever expanding yet rapidly decaying universe which wouldn't bother to send a card if he suddenly disappeared like a—
"Harry?"
He snapped out of his existential crisis just in time to grab James' hand before it slapped against his face. He burped up another cloud of smoke. "What?"
"I asked if you were alright," James said. "You zoned out there for a moment."
"I'm fine." Harry stood. "I'll take my leave for the comforts of bed and woman, gentleman. I bid you adieu."
Harry didn't give them a moment to protest before making his leave, though he did pause to leave another galleon on the bartop. He staggered up the stairs to his apartment, even as the steps fought against him by doubling and sometimes tripling in appearance, then made his way to his room.
"Harry?" Luna stood from their bed. "Are you alright?"
"Why's everyone asking me that?" He slammed the door shut and allowed his girlfriend to guide him from the halfway point into his bed. "First dad, then you. I'm fine, just fine."
"Of course you are," Luna cooed. "Let me get your shirt off you."
"You dirty girl." He laughed at his own joke even as she popped the buttons of his shirt and tried to settle him down. "Trying to take advantage of me in my drunken state."
"Just trying to get you comfy, love." She unbuttoned his pants without a hint of seduction. "What did your dad say?"
"I don't know, does it matter?"
"Of course not." She laid him down onto the mattress and Harry couldn't stop his eyes from closing. "You can tell me all about it when you're awake, alright?"
"Alright Loony," he said. "I love you."
She paused. "Thank you dear, I'm starting to love you too."
"Good night."
"Good night."
"Do you love me?"
"...I'm starting to, dear."
"Good night."
"Good night."