In a day of new experiences, Harry was surprised to find that the supper of Indian takeaway was perhaps the most unusual. Having been raised on the scraps of the Dursley's proper British cuisine, the explosion of spices on his palate had brought a combination of pain and pleasure that he had never thought possible. It had been a late meal, owing to the fact that the majority of the day had been spent discussing what had been learned over the course of the morning. Now, however, Nymphadora . . . er, Dora was shepherding him towards a completely foreign territory – a girl's room, specifically, hers. For some reason, now that they were married, he was expected to share it with her. His only previous experience that came close proved that the glimpse he had managed of Ginny's room had not been enough to form any proper impressions. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of roommate Dora would be. Now, he was the explorer, not she. The only thing of which he was certain was that she could not snore nearly as loudly as Ron – nothing even remotely human could manage that feat.
He did not know what to expect when entering her room, but he could see it was none of his bismuth. In fact, despite his dorm mate Dean's insistence, there wasn't a trace of pink in any shade to be found. Clearly, Dora was not like Dean's sisters. This left Harry even more confused. If everything that his dorm mates had been telling him was wrong, what could possibly lie in store for him?
The room itself had no doubt been subjected to expansion charms. The feat of magic evident by the way the area was much larger than the grand room his aunt and uncle shared. The bed itself was a wonder in terms of both scale and sheer chaos. Sheets and blankets had been bunched and layered haphazardly, with a fair bit of the mattress ticking exposed. Presumably, the odd articles of clothing strewn about were clean. Of course, given that the hamper was overflowing, they might simply not have fit. As had been the case at 4 Privet Drive, he suspected she would expect him to put things right. Considering that the rest of the room was fairly tidy, this shouldn't be a difficult chore.
Given his experience staying with the Weasleys in Ron's room, Dora would transfigure a camp bed for him. Even if she didn't, the carpet looked much more comfortable than the slice of torment that passed for his mattress at the Dursleys'. No matter how Harry looked at it, it was an improvement over his previous circumstance.
"Well," Dora closed the door behind herself. "Here we are." She seemed nervous, as if afraid Harry would find something awful to say about her room.
"Yeah." Harry said carefully. "Here we are. It seems nice."
Dora shuffled nervously while looking at her feet. "This isn't exactly how I pictured my wedding night." Was she blushing?
"I've never actually thought about a wedding night," Harry answered honestly.
"That's because you are a boy." Dora nodded and gave him a knowing smirk. "I suppose you were just considering your next round in a broom closet."
"Uh . . . storage cupboard, actually." Harry nodded.
"I'll be honest." Dora said. "I'm feeling kind of guilty. With you being as young as you are, it almost doesn't seem right, even with us being married." She paused and considered her words. "Actually, I'm feeling a lot guilty."
"You've got nothing to feel guilty about." Harry tried to reassure her.
"No, I don't suppose I have." Dora said. "Look at me, being all depressing like." Her hair shifted through forest green and ended up on baby blue.
"I can't blame you for being depressed." Harry soothed. "After all, you just found out that you were going to die in a few years. That's depressing, no matter how you look at it."
Dora took a deep breath. "Not exactly what I was talking about. Yeah, that's bad, but it isn't going to happen this time around."
"I'll make sure of it," Harry promised fiercely.
Dora's entire body shook before she took on a look of determination. "We have plenty of time to worry about that later," she said. "Right now, we have our first night together and frankly I don't think either of us are that comfortable with each other yet."
"I'm sure the shock of being married will wear off soon enough." Harry shrugged.
"Speaking of shocks; the best are yet to come," Dora said in a tone that made Harry feel weirdly nervous. "I'm about to make you very happy."
Harry smiled at her. "Just being here makes me happy. For the first time that I can remember, I have a family that wants me."
"As your wife, it's my job to show you just how much you're wanted." Dora took a step towards him, again with that voice.
"I really appreciate that," Harry smiled happily.
Frowning slightly, Dora ceased her forward movement.
Harry shuffled his foot; afraid he had upset her somehow.
"Harry, look at me," Dora commanded.
"Okay."
Eyeing Harry closely, Dora bounced a few times in place as he watched.
"Was I supposed to see something?" Harry asked.
"Those are my eyes; look lower." Dora bounced a few more times.
"Okay?" Harry questioned. "Are you having a problem with gas?"
Dora stared at her husband for a few seconds. "Harry? You do know what boys and girls get up to when they're alone together?"
"They snog." Harry said promptly.
"And?" Dora prompted.
"Well, they snog in public too." Harry said slowly, working the problem. "I've seen them in the common room."
"And?" Dora prompted again.
"They hug?" Harry guessed.
Dora considered her next words before looking Harry in the eyes. "Tab 'A' into Slot 'B'?"
Harry looked back uncomprehendingly. "Are you missing an Erector set?"
Dora stared at Harry, her eyes widening as realization dawned. "Sweet Merlin. I have to give my husband the talk."
"We can talk all you like." Harry tilted his head in confusion. "I can see something's bothering you."
Dora continued to stare for a few more seconds before holding up a single finger. "Wait right here," she said, before yanking open the door to the room and rushing out.
Wondering what he did wrong Harry decided to study the room again.
"DADDY!"
Surely, she'd be happy if he made the bed.
"I NEED YOU TO COME GIVE HARRY THE TALK!"
It was probably too late to wash the sheets now; he could do that in the morning.
"STOP LAUGHING, MUM! I'M SERIOUS!"
Those were nice; they felt as smooth as the ones Petunia had bought for her own bed.
"I PUMPED MYSELF UP TWO CUP SIZES AND HE LOOKED ME IN THE EYES THE ENTIRE TIME!"
How had she managed to tangle the blankets so badly?
"NO, I DON'T THINK HE SWINGS THAT WAY!"
Ah, there they are, he was wondering where the pillows were.
"FOR MERLIN'S SAKE STOP LAUGHING!"
"Should we be worried?" Ted asked his wife, who had finally stopped laughing.
"No dear, the healers already told me he'd respond this way." Andi said. "He's been dosed with anti-libido potions and isn't fully developed for his age. They are preparing a potions regimen to correct the problem." She placed a soothing hand on Ted's forearm. "Don't worry; he'll be interested in basic female anatomy soon enough."
"Anti-libido?" Ted shuddered. "Who would do that to a young man?"
"Dumbledore." Andi stated coldly. "Anti-libido were not the worst. Not by far."
Paddy growled deep in his throat from his spot on the floor.
"How sure are you that it was Dumbledore?" Ted asked.
"The potions?" Andi frowned. "They can be attributed to any of his followers. However, a loyalty potion keyed to him was part of the parcel. What's more, the bindings on Harry's core bore his signature. No matter what his end game is, he's proven not to be a friend of Harry's."
"This is a bloody mess." Ted scowled.
"They've sacrificed someone; sending him back in time to change things," Andi said. "As bad as it is now; things are only going to get uglier." She reached down to pet Paddy on his head. "It doesn't matter whether you think he's malicious or incompetent; Dumbledore is a major part of the problem. Make no mistake, he will be an obstacle against any corrections that we try to make."
Ted sighed. "We'll manage." Turning toward the sound of tapping on glass, he added. "We have an owl."
"Why have you become too lazy to let in owls?" his wife demanded as she went to open the window.
"I know you've been waiting for this one." Ted chuckled. "I wasn't putting myself between you and it."
"How'd you know I was waiting on an owl?"
"Please, the owl redirect charm and the way you've been glancing at that window?" Ted said. "I'm not that oblivious."
Andi checked the letter the owl had been carrying. Without opening it, she noted the author and recipient. "Right on schedule," she commented as she took a scrap of paper and wrote some numbers on it. "Take this back to the person who rented you," she told the owl, placing a sickle in the pouch on the bird's other leg.
The owl hooted amenably before jumping out the open window.
"Yes, I can imagine what a shock it was. I'll let him know to meet you at the Leaky around noon so you can discuss it," Andi was saying into the phone when Harry walked into the kitchen the next morning. "He'll see you then. Okay, goodbye." She finished hanging up the receiver.
Wandering over to the table where Ted was reading the Daily Prophet, Harry said, "Good morning."
"Good morning," Andi replied noting the boy's ruffled appearance. "Rough night?"
"We stayed up late talking." Harry said while Paddy came over to place his head in the boy's lap as soon as he sat at the table. "It was. Um."
"I can imagine." Ted said. "In the last couple of days, you've had a lot thrown at you. On top of that Nymphadora can be overwhelming."
Harry refused to look the older man in the eyes, instead opting to look down at the table. "We didn't . . . um."
"You can stop right there," Andi said soothingly. "We're not trying to make you uncomfortable. That's a subject that can wait until you are truly ready. Even then, you may wish to keep it between you and my daughter. How would you like your eggs?"
Harry blinked at the woman, silently thanking her for the out. "Scrambled please."
"Will three be enough?"
"More than." Harry nodded shyly.
"Where's Nymphadora?"
"Still sleeping, last time I checked," Harry informed her.
Andi nodded at Harry, smiling encouragingly, "Ted, is there anything interesting in the paper?" she asked, heading for the stove.
"Actually, yes," Ted said. "A once-in-a-lifetime magical accident occurred in Diagon Alley."
"Do tell," Andi said as Harry shifted his focus to the paper in Ted's hands.
"Three boys lost their magical cores in a second-hand store." Ted shuddered. "They were playing around; one took something from a shelf and threw it at his friend. It missed, hitting something else on another shelf, resulting in a bad reaction."
"Bad reaction?" Harry asked.
"You never can tell what's in a second-hand store," Ted explained. "All kinds of nonstandard enchanted items that may react badly when thrown together. In this case, literally."
"Dear, you're going to scare him," Andi scolded. "Harry, the store wasn't dangerous until the boys started treating magical items with disrespect. Likely they broke something that let off a surge causing a chain reaction. Though, honestly, I've never heard of anyone losing their magic cores in such a way."
"It was a fluke." Ted agreed. "Tragic, really. The Unspeakables are going to close down the shop for a couple months to study the incident and see if they can restore the boys' cores. How successful they will be is up in the air."
Andi sucked in a breath. "That poor shopkeeper. The Ministry will eventually reimburse him for lost business, but only after the fact. I hope he has enough savings to live off of in the meantime."
"The owner is a witch." Ted glanced at the paper. "Luckily, she was far enough away from the accident that it doesn't seem to have affected her. They are keeping her for observation at St. Mungo's."
"Thank goodness for small favors," Andi said. "By the way Harry, that was Hermione on the phone. She and her parents will be meeting you at the Leaky later; they want to discuss why you're married to her."
"Okay," Harry said. "I've got a lot of things to tell her so that'll . . . I'M WHAT?"
Andi scolded. "You do know that there was a memory for you to review at the bank. If you had been willing to look at it, these things wouldn't be catching you off guard."
The small man sighed as he took a step back from the door he had just knocked on. It was a peculiar situation to say the least. While late bloomers weren't unheard of, this had to be one of the most last-minute inclusions to the book of admittance. There was a good chance it was the actual record holder. It was so much of a surprise that when he had left the castle, Albus and Minerva were still studying the book.
The door opened to reveal a pleasant-looking woman with a warm smile. "Good morning," she said, looking down to see her visitor. "May I help you?"
"Good morning. Mrs. Wilison?" inquired the diminutive man.
"Speaking," Mrs. Wilison acknowledged. "Good morning."
"Ma'am, I am sorry to bother you so early without sending a letter notifying you of my visit. However, I have some news of great importance regarding your daughter Eva Wilison. However, the circumstance has caught us quite unaware." He took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I botched the introduction. May I come in? I have things I must make you aware of; things that are best eased into."
Mrs. Wilison looked at the man skeptically. "That is hardly a ringing endorsement for me inviting you in," she stated glibly.
"Professor Flitwick?" a boy asked in a questioning voice as he looked around his mother to see who was at the door.
The tiny professor's eyebrows rose. "Mr. Thomas? What are you doing here?"
"I live here," Dean said.
"I see. Are you, by chance related to Eva Wilison?"
"She's my little sister," Dean said as his mother took a step to the side. "Mum remarried."
"Ah." Professor Flitwick nodded. "I hope that means we can skip the 'magic is real' portion of this conversation."
"Is that why you were being cagey?" Mrs. Wilison asked.
"It is a touchy subject to spring on the unprepared," Professor Flitwick admitted. "I was unaware that Mr. Thomas was a resident here."
"You're here because Eva unshrunk her toys," Dean stated, catching both adults off guard.
"She did? Now did she? How unusual." Professor Flitwick mused. "Mrs. Wilison, may we take this inside?"
Dean's mother opened the door wider, gesturing for Flitwick to enter as she asked her son. "Eva unshrunk her toys?"
"Yeah." Dean shrugged.
"Fascinating." Professor Flitwick was practically hopping for joy. "When did this happen?"
"Around sevenish." Dean answered.
"Seven twelve to be exact," Professor Flitwick informed him. "And you haven't witnessed any accidental magic from her in the past?"
"No." Mrs. Wilison sighed. "She's a witch, isn't she?"
Professor Flitwick produced a familiar envelope with green lettering. "So, it would appear. Very eleventh hour, considering her age. What prompted you to test her abilities at unshrinking toys?"
Dean shrugged. "She wanted to try. I saw no harm in it and didn't expect it to work."
"You didn't think letting her attempt a spell could go wrong?" Mrs. Wilison frowned at her son. "What's gotten into your thick head? You know you're not supposed to do magic outside of school."
"Not to worry," Professor Flitwick interjected. "We are not talking about active magic. The normal method for undoing shrinking charms is to tap the charmed item three times with your wand. Nothing that'll trigger the underaged magic detectors. Though, in this case, the older magics of Hogwarts recognized the potential in your daughter, something they somehow missed before."
"You didn't realize she was a witch earlier?" Mrs. Wilison pursed her lips.
"No, and dare I say, the implications are somewhat unsettling," Professor Flitwick said. "How many potential witches and wizards have been overlooked simply because they have never done accidental magic nor attempted anything intentional? Before today, I would have claimed that the book never overlooked a possible student."
"Then, I'm not in trouble?" Dean asked.
"No Mr. Thomas, you are not." Professor Flitwick had a thoughtful look on his face. "Mrs. Wilison, may I summon a house elf?"
"You may." Mrs. Wilison said, curiosity evident on her face.
"Cheerie." Professor Flitwick called out.
There was a pop then a small green figure was standing near the professor. "Cheerie be here. What does charmy professor be wanting?"
"Cheerie, please ask the headmaster and Professor McGonagall to watch the book of admittance closely for the next several minutes," the professor responded. "Come back and let me know when they are ready."
"Cheerie be doing." Another pop and the elf was gone.
A tad distracted by the appearance of the elf, Mrs. Wilison asked. "Would you like some tea while we wait?"
"No thank you," Professor Flitwick replied. "But perhaps we should find some seats. This may take a minute."
Mrs. Wilison smiled and gestured for the professor to follow.
"Mr. Thomas," Professor Flitwick said as he walked, "please go and retrieve your wand."
"Yes sir," Dean said with a grin before taking off.
They were sitting in the living room when the elf popped back into existence. "Charmy professor, Professor kitty and headymaster be looking at book."
"Thank you Cheerie," Professor Flitwick said with a smile as he turned to address Mrs. Wilison. "I think it is time for a little experimentation. You are the mother of two magical children, and I dare say that is not a coincidence."
"You think I'm a witch?" Mrs. Wilison stated.
"There is a distinct possibility," Professor Flitwick said, shrinking the coffee table. "If you would lend her your wand, Mr. Thomas?"
Dean held out his wand, which his mother took gingerly. She gave her shrunken furniture a speculative look. "Could you do that to a large bed by any chance?"
"Easily." Professor Flitwick smiled.
"Is there any way I could persuade you to accompany us to my husband's vault? There's a bed in there I have my eye on."
"Your husband is a wizard?" Flitwick blinked in surprise.
"My first one was," Mrs. Wilison said. "We just found out yesterday."
"I would be happy to help, but I should also tell you that any goblin cart driver is capable of the spell."
"That is good to know." Mrs. Wilison grinned; she was going to get a new bedroom soon.
"The table." Professor Flitwick gestured. "If you wouldn't mind."
Cautiously, Mrs. Wilison tapped the miniaturized furniture with Dean's wand. All three of them watched with bated breath as nothing happened.
"Try again." Dean suggested.
With a sigh, Mrs. Wilison did so with similar results.
"That was disappointing." Professor Flitwick settled back into his seat. "I was so sure."
Mrs. Wilison frown before calling over her shoulder. "Eva! Rosie! Come here!"
From upstairs, there came the sounds of a small herd of horses charging, heralding the appearance of two girls. "Yes mum?" they said in unison.
Mrs. Wilison held Dean's wand out to Rosie. "Be a dear and tap my coffee table three times. Right now, it doesn't go with the rest of the décor."
Rosie took the wand with glee before rushing to comply.
"Well, well." Professor Flitwick turned to address Dean. "Mr. Thomas do you have any other siblings?"
"No, just these two," Dean said. "Two sisters are more than enough."
"Pity." Professor Flitwick sighed. "I wouldn't mind a few more test subjects."
"I am quite done with being pregnant," Mrs. Wilison said testily. "Three times were enough, thank you very much."
Unannounced, a glowing spectral cat flowed into the room and Professor McGonagall's voice was heard. "Professor Flitwick, what are ye at? Rosie Wilison's name was just written in the book."
Harry was the first to break the silence as he sat across from Dora in a booth. "That was disturbing." He admitted.
Dora made a gurgling noise in affirmation.
"Kind of makes me long for the days when I only had to worry about trolls in the bathroom," Harry said.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Dora replied. "It's not everyday that there are trolls in the castle, but somehow that seems less threatening."
"There was only one of them, and Ron knocked it out," Harry said.
"You're joking," Dora said. "Please tell me you're joking. I heard that the professors were the ones that took care of the trolls."
"No, that was me and Ron. The troll was out cold by the time the professors showed up."
For the second time in a short while, Dora made gurgling noises.
"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"
"Oh look, Hermione's here." Harry stated, his observation bearing fruit as a young girl stomped up to the booth trailing two worried-looking adults.
"Hold on," Dora said, whipping out her wand. "Let me cast some privacy charms. We don't want to disturb the rest of the pub."
"Hello." Hermione spared Dora a glance before homing in on Harry. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
With several flashbacks of Mrs. Weasley, Harry answered. "This is all your fault."
"My fault? How could this possibly be my fault?"
"You're the one who cast the spell that sent my cousin back in time. Therefore, this is your fault," Harry informed her.
". . . what?"
"Oh, the first thing I was supposed to say to you was 'the grapeade is sitting in the desert'," Harry said. "I hope I didn't mess that up too badly."
Hermione blinked at Harry. "Move over," she said, scooting into the booth next to him. "I need to sit down." Once seated, she took the time to look Harry in the eyes before faceplanting onto the table in front of her.
The woman who had been observing spoke up, "I've never seen her throw on the brakes that fast before. Was that a spell?"
"Nooooo." Hermione shook her head without lifting it from the table. "That was my phrase to myself if I ever need to send a message into the past."
"You have a phrase that lets you know you're sending yourself messages from the future?" Dora stared at the back of Hermione's head.
"Yes," Hermione said. "Don't you?"
"All things considered," Dora said, "I will from now on."
The woman tsked as she took a spot on the bench next to her daughter. "As if an archaic magical government wasn't bad enough, now, we have to contend with wibbly wobbly time traveling manipulations." She held her hand out to Dora. "Dr. Emma Granger."
Dora took the hand for a brief shake. "Mrs. Black."
The still standing man said, "I guess I should introduce myself as Mr. White, and Emma should have gone with Mrs. Green."
Dora looked at him blankly for a few seconds before giving a start. "Oh . . . No, that's my real name. You're lucky I watched that movie, I almost didn't get the reference."
"My apologies, Mrs. Black. I am Dr. Dan Granger."
"Wotcher." Dora patted the bench next to herself. "Have a seat. It's time for questions and answers."
"First question." Hermione raised a hand but not her head. "This has been driving me to exasperation. How did we get married without my parents signing anything?"
"Apparently, weddings can be registered if a witness submits a memory. The law states anyone can do so ninety days from when the vows are given." Harry said, probably the only one at the table missing out on the full implications of that revelation.
"From? Not after?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah," Harry said slowly, as if holding onto the word; just in case he wanted to snatch it back at the last second.
"Are you telling me that we are married because the law doesn't take causality into account?" Hermione asked.
Harry glanced sideways at Dora. "Maybe."
"Don't look at me like that," Dora huffed. "Do I look like a walking dictionary? Let alone, a walking legal dictionary?"
"I'm sure that time travel completely slipped their minds when they wrote the laws." Emma sighed. "Hello again, Harry. We met last summer."
"Hello ma'am . . . sir." Harry greeted both of Hermione's parents in turn.
Dan glared at Harry before curtly saying, "Hello, son."
"Don't be rude, dear," Emma scolded.
"I came here with the intention of being far less civil," Dan said. "Excuse me if it takes me more than a minute to completely switch the track I am on. Remember, the last thing I knew was our daughter was married without her knowledge and against her will at the age of thirteen. The fact that I have her future self to blame hasn't sunk in yet. Which reminds me, how do we know this is for real? It's not like it doesn't sound dodgy or anything."
"Oh, the memories they extracted from future Dudley are more than enough evidence," Dora said. "They went through a lot of effort to send a lot of information back in a condensed format. Instead of random dribble, we've got the memories of briefings made with us in mind."
"Memories?" Hermione asked. "How are memories helpful? Let alone enough to double as marriage certificates."
"You can view them in something called a pensieve," Harry said. "Er, that is, everyone else can. You can't on account that you cast the spell, but everyone else can."
"How is that fair?" Hermione frowned.
"I'm sure it's not," Dora said. "Sawtooth didn't go into details, just said you were banned. However, you did send a message to your parents. So, there is that. In fact, Harry and I just got done viewing what was sent to each of us."
"You think this is legit?" Emma asked Harry.
"It's legit enough that I have two wives." Harry said. "And I'm positive that Hermione was the one to set it up. She gave me a list of books that she wants to read from the Potter and Black vaults and libraries."
Hermione snapped her head in his direction and gave Harry a hopeful look.
"If you think I remember half the titles you threw at me, then you're nutters," Harry informed her.
Hermione gave an exasperated huff. "Harry! Those must be important if I told you to tell me to read them."
"Don't worry," Dora said. "The goblins wrote down the list. If you ask nicely, I'm sure Harry will reach into his pocket and get it for you."
"Harry." Hermione growled as he frantically started digging in a pocket.
"Wait one bloody minute." Dan was the source from whom Hermione had gotten her growling abilities. "Two wives?"
At that moment, a waitress crossed over into their privacy bubble. She set a large platter of chips and gravy on the table with a smile. "Here we are." The platter was followed by a gallon bottle of firewhisky, three tumblers, and two bottles of butterbeer. "It looked like you didn't want to be disturbed, so I brought extra cups, and a drink for the lass. Enjoy." She was gone as quickly as she had come.
Dan looked at the retreating waitress and then returned his attention to his party. "Two wives?" he repeated.
"Guilty." Dora said, reaching for the bottle of firewhisky.
