Chapter 4: Culture Shock

The news spread quickly through Hogwarts of Professor Dippet's death; people even seemed to know before Dumbledore announced it at breakfast. It came as a surprise to few; Dippet had grown quite old and was known to sleepwalk all the way out of the castle frequently. Albus Dumbledore, the well loved Transfiguration teacher, head of Gryffindor house, quidditch referee, and deputy headmaster extraordinaire had been made headmaster. He hired a fiery young woman, Minerva McGonagall, to fill his former rolls.

The night after Dumbledore found Dippet, he returned to the clearing where the crystal had been. He had a much more difficult time finding it that night. When he finally found himself upon the clearing, the crystal was missing and the snow was glittery and smooth. Dumbledore returned glumly to the castle, but frequently paced his office contemplating what he had seen. Occasionally his eyes would light up blue as they had on that night.

Meanwhile, Harry was hidden deep in the forest of Dean with his bag of soul objects (he would not call them horcruxes—rightly, as they were not), and the other miscellaneous objects that rode with him back in time. Harry set up camp and began a routine living off his surroundings.

After two weeks of living in the forest, Harry was still trying to ignore the changes that had happened to him. When he used basic magic to gather food and hunt or start fires or build shelters, he pretended it felt the same. He pretended that the sensations of directing the magic weren't completely different: clearer and more powerful.

He ignored how every time he felt happy or anxious or proud the feeling seemed to come from somewhere else.

Despite Harry's ability to conjure fire and shelter, it was January and he was cold and beginning to tire of the hard living in the forest. He wanted to know why the world felt different. And he was getting tired of killing deer. He shrunk all of his possessions into his bag (including his Broomstick; he would apparate). He used his wand to change his appearance so that no one would recognize him. He was not ready to rejoin his life as an Auror and the Man Who Lived Several Times (And Once More), and did not want people alerting the ministry of his whereabouts.

After lengthening his hair, and turning it dirty blond, hiding his scar, changing his eyes to brown, and making himself taller, he disapparated silent, and reapparated in Diagon Alley silently. He paused, wondering at how silently he'd managed to appear until he remembered he was ignoring his new powers.

Having sorely missed the taste of real food, he made a beeline to the Leaky Cauldron. He ducked through the bricks and into the pub. He sat down at the bar. A man he'd never seen was serving drinks.

"Where's Hannah?" asked Harry. His voice rasped from disuse.

"Hannah who?" asked the scruffy bartender.

"Hannah Longbottom? Is she sick?"

"I do not know a Hannah Longbottom, and Mrs. Longbottom does not frequent the pub."

"Oh," said Harry, not wanting to put off his new acquaintance. "Are you new?" he asked.

"I should like ter ask you the same question. An' I thought this pub was world famous, not ter brag, or nothing. I've been here fer near fifty years," he replied, clearly offended.

"Er, sorry," said Harry quickly. "I am new. In town." He knew bartender wouldn't be able to call his bluff, as no one would recognize him. "What's your name?" Harry asked.

"I'm Will, but folks around here call me Willy."

"Hullo, Willy," said Harry, puzzled. He felt something within him instinctively reach out and touched Willy's aura. His instincts told him that whatever he was doing would be a good way of acquiring information. His mind blanched at the contact, but he became fascinated at what he was seeing. He learned that Willy was telling the truth. When he said "Mrs. Longbottom," he pictured a young woman with a horrible vulture-topped hat.

Through this silent exchange Willy stood transfixed by Harry, staring at him hungrily. Harry didn't notice, though he did notice that he seemed to grow hungry or warm and flustered every time he paid too much attention to the vinyl record. Harry retreated into his own head, and Willy snapped out of his trance, slightly flustered.

"W—what's your name, then?" he asked. He filled himself a glass of water and downed it and filled it again.

"I'm Harry," said Harry. It was a common enough name that he didn't worry about being recognized, plus he had a sneaking suspicion that, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be recognized anyway. He contemplated his new information.

"Not you—" A woman in her mid-thirties sat down next to Harry. Willy leaned into the bar and winked at her. "What's your name, Sweetheart? Is there anything I can getcha? Fire whiskey, maybe? "

"My name is Mrs. Rosmerta, and no."

Harry was startled by Willy's sudden change in demeanor, and wondered offhand if Mrs. Rosmerta was a sister of Madame Rosmerta.

"Well, there might be somethin' you can get me, darlin'."

Harry cringed and covered his face. Mrs. Rosmerta bristled and looked like she was about to retort. Somehow, Harry felt responsible for Willy's behavior, so he intervened.

"Er...excuse me?" said Harry, "I'd just like some steak and kidney pie, if you've got any."

"If I've got any…If I've got any…" Willy tore his eyes away from Rosmerta's breasts, muttering dramatically and retreated into a back room. Rosmerta took the opportunity to storm off, muttering something about wanting a bar that was a bit less sticky.

Willy returned a minute later with a bowl full of Harry's old favorite—and a giant bowl for himself, too. He sat down and began eating with animistic vigor.

Harry moved a stool down in order to avoid the flecks of food flying at him, and felt the Bowling Ball's aura creep out towards his own pie before he dug in, sensing for poisons or any other unwanted substances.

He finished his pie. He ate quite rapidly. The Record shifted uncomfortably, dimly aware that it had definitely caused Willy's behavior with Rosmerta and maybe his new appetite (though maybe not his table manners). Harry decided it was time to leave. He left his money on the counter, and headed towards the door, only stopping to pick up a Daily Prophet.

"That Prophet's weeks old, that is!" shouted Willy through a mouthful of food as Harry walked out the back door.

"Not a problem," called Harry, as he absentmindedly flipped to the front page.

He made to take out his wand, but he felt his magic touch the bricks before he could get there. The bricks opened. Harry paused, frowning, before going down Diagon Alley searching for a bench on which to sit while he read the Prophet. He found one and glanced at the front page.

"Armando Dippet Kicks It,"read the headline. Harry chuckled. He had never gotten used to how blunt the wizarding world was sometimes. He did a double take. Armando Dippet? Wasn't he the headmaster of Hogwarts before Dumbledore? He read through the article. It was an obituary. Harry looked at the date. It read "December 12th1955 CE." Harry stared. By "weeks old" Willy must have meant thousands of weeks old. He stood up and tucked the relatively useless artifact in his bag. He only kept it because he reasoned that some collector might want it. He went searching through the Alley for a current Prophet.

He found a boy selling newspapers next to Olivander's shop, and conjured a knut from his bag to pay (he was starting to enjoy his wandless powers). He wandered off with the newspaper, and again, flipped to the front page. He looked first at the date. It read "January 5th1956 CE." He took a deep breath and walked back to the boy selling the newspapers.

"Excuse me, son, but I believe I've been confunded. Could you give me the date?"

"Sure thing, sir. It's the fifth of January."

"Ah…and, the year?"

The boy stared. "Nineteen fifty six, sir."

Something rose up inside of Harry. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Unbidden, the Bowling Ball's aura stretched out and enveloped that of the boy's, shaking the truth from him. The boy recoiled. Harry took control of himself, but the damage had been done. The boy was looking at him fearfully, shaking. Harry panicked, and did the first thing he thought of. He reached out to the boy with the part of him he felt when he was happy-the Hat aura, which stopped the boy's shaking. Harry wordlessly Obliviated him, and disapparated silently before the boy regained his bearings.

Harry was horrified with what he had done. He wanted to get back to his own time. Back in the forest of Dean, he stretched out his magic. He focused completely on his wand and his magical core and willed himself to move rapidly forward in time. He thought of freezing himself and hiding himself away, but he had no guarantee that he would be found at the right time. As a last resort, he pulled out the broken time turner, but as he did, he touched the crystal. Suddenly he was hit by a rush of memories from his old life. He remembered his days in the future, and realized that they were purposeless and empty. He didn't do anything that any other witch or wizard couldn't do. His talent and life was being wasted. He was Harry Potter, however, and certain things had been expected of him. He was locked in his profession, and he would never be able to live up to his childhood years. His friends might miss him, sure, but they had each other, and their children. His own children had Ginny, who had proven herself a perfectly competent parent.

In the past, he wasn't famous. He wasn't even sure his parents had been born yet. He was free to start himself a new life. He abandoned his futile attempt at rejoining his future, and began worrying about the present. He knew he should give the fifties a chance.

Harry knew that he had a lot of work to do before he could come in contact with a wizard again. He sat under a tree making his plans, a hand on his chin. He needed to explore and practice controlling his auras. He needed to practice making his auras undetectable to others, and keep them from affecting others. He needed to start his magical education from the beginning, taking into account how his magic worked. Eventually, he needed to make himself an identity to rejoin the wizarding world.

Also, he needed to shave.

As Harry had first suspected, being in the crystal must have caused specific parts of his soul to grow into each of the six objects. He started his new magical education by giving himself over to each of his parts individually to sample the effects. He found that he could focus on one part, if he kept a physical distance from the other objects. Eventually he learned to focus on each without the physical distance.

First he started with the hat because it seemed the most innocent. He put it on and spent a day thoroughly enjoying building snow men and conjuring birds and bewitching them to fly in happy formation. Clearly, he thought, he had discovered the part of his soul that was joy and freedom.

Next, he ran wild in the woods for several days while in contact with the Muggle vinyl musical record, his instincts taking over. He snapped out of it after he had fed several times on raw, hand hunted meals, and some of his sexualinstincts started taking over. He did not explore the possibilities on that front, but he understood that the record represented his basic instincts.

Harry practiced his flying skills on his Broom, his confidence and connection with the object allowing him to soar to new heights, so to speak. He could now maneuver better than any flier ever had—or would—on any broom. He believed his ego and confidence and pride resided in the Broom.

He spent a very twitchy night after connecting with his inner bowling ball. He was plagued with thoughts that someone had locked him in the crystal to kill him. He feared that he would never be able to leave the forest. He jumped at every crack of a stick. He dreamt of Voldemort killing his parents for the first time in years. He felt angry, and paranoid, and fearful. Though he had known that all of these were a part of him, it took some adjusting to their new potency.

His wand guided him though all of his magical endeavors. He realized that it was his magical core. He spent a few days focusing on all of the magical auras of the trees and animals around him. He realized that in magical beings, thought and intention was connected to the magical aura. He felt where spells had been cast, and he was able to cast wandless spells more powerfully than any spells he had ever cast before. He no longer needed to rout magic through his body.

In his body resided the seventh part of his soul, which beat his heart, digested his food, took in and released air. Harry found that he could function normally if he stayed attune to each of his pieces in moderation.

The only object that he did not explore was the Egg. He tried, but it remained silent at his touch. It did not take his consciousness into itself as it had on his first night in the past, though he felt a powerful and strange aura within it. He felt like whatever was inside was hiding the part of his soul from him so that he couldn't get inside, but it didn't feel hostile. He left it alone after a while, not wanting to disturb it. He was confident that it would open up (literally and figuratively) when Harry needed it.