SUMMARY
A promise or a curse? {In the end it was both. They were both.}
Time did not appreciate being twisted, and Time made sure they knew it. Our golden duo is thrust into a tilted past. To make matters worse, they've arrived from different futures. To make matters disastrous, neither properly remembers anything. {Be careful Harry... you've made an ally of Death, but an enemy of Time}
DISCLAIMER
If I owned Harry Potter, I would not have five figures worth of student debt slowly sucking away my happiness. Honestly, student loans are essentially the Muggle Equivalent of a Dementor. This is all just a very verbose way of saying JKR owns Harry Potter and I, to my and my wallet's despair, do not. (Let's be real, if I did, then HHr would have happened, Draco would have gotten a massive redemption arc, and in no way shape or form would either of the Twins died.)
MAIN PAIRING:
Harry x Hermione
BACKGROUND PAIRINGS/ OTHER RELATIONSHIPS:
Lily x James, Frank x Alice, Blaise x Luna (later). I am open to other pairings if you suggest them.
Marauders friendship (barr the wretched rat), Alice and James friendship.
STORY SO FAR:
Future 1: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Ginny breakup as do Ron and Hermione. Adult Harry makes a deal with Death after he brutally kills the people responsible for torturing and killing Hermione.
Past 2: James and Alice become best friends, Harry James Potter and Evan Charlus Potter are born. The former is a stoic baby, which worries his parents, especially Lily. The Potters and Longbottoms go into hiding after Trelawny gives a prophecy (hint: it's different from cannon). Harry's out-of-character unremitting wailing on Halloween makes Lily send James to bring Alice (a healer) to Godric's Hollow. James and Alice return to a crying Evan with an "S" shaped scar on his cheek, a sleeping Harry, and a dead Lily. Sirius come sin shortly after, fails to stop Alice from going to Longbottom Manor, then takes the twins to Dumbledore's office where an Order meeting is happening. Sirius & Co. save Alice, but Frank is in the same state as cannon. James still holds bitter feelings towards Harry, blaming his son for the death of Lily.
MAJOR AU CHANGE: wizards and witches start year one at Hogwarts at AGE TWELVE (NOT ELEVEN), and are 'of age' at eighteen (not seventeen).
An Hourglass of Ashes
"Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Harry."
~ Hermione Granger, Prisoner of Azkaban
Chapter 3
The First Was Family, Part II
"Makes a diff'rence, havin' a decent family... If they'd lived, life woulda bin diff'rent, eh?"
"Yeah . . . I s'pose," said Harry cautiously. Hagrid seemed to be in a very strange mood.
"Family," said Hagrid gloomily. "Whatever yeh say, blood's important. . . ."
~ Harry Potter & Hagrid, the Order of the Phoenix
Harry James Potter knows… things. Things that he shouldn't (couldn't possibly) know. After multiple incidences proves its veracity, he passively accepts the foreign knowledge traipsing between his everyday thoughts. After all, questioning the… information that he shouldn't have (but somehow does) only ever leads to headaches, confusion, and awkward situations.
For example, when five-year-old Harry first meets Ronald Weasley, he knows that Ron and him can never be friends. And yet, at the same time, he knows that they would make the very best of friends.
('Brothers, even.' The voice in his head tauntingly whispers.)
"Okay, boys. Arthur and I are going to the study to discuss some adult business. Behave," James Potter warns his sons, one more so than the other. The Lord of the Manor guides his redheaded visitor towards the staircase, before tossing an offhand "and make sure to include Ron!" over his shoulder.
The Potter and Weasley patriarchs both depart the front foyer of Potter Manor, leaving three young boys facing each other, one a bit more removed from the other two.
"Err, hello…" offers the freckled one. The young Weasley awkwardly scratches the back of his head before nervously stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley. But, well, I guess you knew that, from your dad saying my name, and all."
Evan responds eagerly, nearly cutting Ron off in his enthusiasm. "Hi, Ron! I'm Evan! Evan Potter! Good to meet you, mate!"
Both turn expectant gazes onto Harry. The older Potter boy wants to say hi so badly and extend an offer to play chess. Harry somehow knows that playing even just one game will be the start of a wondrous friendship with this new (yet somehow familiar) boy. But the voice warns Harry to stay away.
('Breath of the godfather,' it whispers coldly, perhaps even mockingly. 'Careful, careful.')
Sometimes Harry suspects he might be crazy. He's pretty certain sane wizards don't constantly battle voices no one else can hear. Delaying social protocol, Harry loses himself in his head, trying to convince the voice to let him make a friend. Unknowing of this inner conflict, Evan scowls at his older brother, before smiling apologetically towards their guest. "That's Harry," Evan says, rolling his eyes. "He likes books. He doesn't like people." The youngest Potter's hazel gaze darts once more to his still-quiet brother, and his nose scrunches in annoyance. "He isn't very nice with people, either. Never plays with me, or anything. So it's not just you, don't worry."
Ron tilts his head, confused. "Oh. Books aren't much fun?"
"Harry isn't either." Evan scowls. "He's just quiet and hates talking with me... or anyone else, really."
Harry wants to defend himself. 'But really, there isn't a point,' he thinks morosely. The voice already refused, and Harry learned the hard way on a terrible Halloween night to never go against the voice. So while Evan and Ron scamper off to play Knights N' Knaves in the attic, Harry embarks on his usual solo trek towards the library.
('You need to know more,' the voice hisses. 'Knowledge and skill are more important than games.')
~):(~
Years pass, and despite Harry's repeated efforts, the voice's sentiment doesn't change. It's staunch stance makes it a rather painful experience for Harry every time the Potter twins visit the Burrow. A (not so small) part of Harry wants to play Quiditch and trade friendly barbs with the other redheaded children. But a larger part, driven by the voice, directs his steps instead towards the studious quiet of Percy Weasley's room. There, the duo spend their time reading. Occasionally, Harry asks the older boy questions. Harry suspects that the only reason Percy deigns to answer any is because Harry's presence ensures that Molly Weasley's wrath (ready to devour any of her children who dare bully house guests) prevents the twins from disrupting Harry (and thus Percy's) studying with their trademark pranks.
'Then again,' Harry thinks, 'sometimes I wonder if maybe Percy answers my questions because he genuinely doesn't mind me staying in here with him.'
"Percy?"
"Mhm." Percy responds, though his eyes don't leave his parchment, where the Weasley continues to write notes.
"I don't understand." Seven-year-old Harry points to a chapter in the large tomb in his lap. "I'm reading about the case of Theseus Armagerd during the First Wizarding War."
Percy's eyes still remain on his parchment, but his quill slows. Noting Percy's piqued attention, Harry continues. "I just… well, it doesn't make sense. Why did the Ministry convict him?"
"It's rather obvious, Harry," Percy tuts. "There are laws, rules. Theseus broke them, so he was convicted."
Harry frowns, his nose scrunches. "But surely they understood that Theseus only did what he did to protect his family?"
Percy finally meets Harry's gaze. "It doesn't matter the reasons, Harry. The law is the law for a reason, and when Theseus broke it, the Ministry had every right to persecute him for it."
"But what if it had been you?" Harry's voice grows impassioned. "Theseus broke the law to save his sister's life. Wouldn't you do anything if it meant protecting Ginny from someone who wanted to hurt her?"
Percy's blue eyes widen, Harry's stare persists. The eldest Potter takes a deep breath, before continuing. "Blindly accepting the Ministry's rules means you think the laws are perfect, which they aren't. If they were, why are there still wars? Why do laws get revised?" Harry frowns. "Laws change. Ministries change... Family doesn't."
Silence reigns for a few moments, before loud applause interrupts the stalemate. Outside, Evan and Ron's clapping and repeated exclamations of "Team Bill, Team Bill!" slip through Percy's window, breaking the tension in the room. The other boys' joy twists Harry's gut in envy. Then the cheering fades, and Percy gives Harry a considering sort of look, before returning to his work. "You can join them, you know." Percy mumbles, flipping a page too quickly to have actually read it.
The cheers seem to fade, the room is quiet again.
('Some people need you more than others.' The voice says, sounding almost apologetic.)
So even though Harry wants to say okay and goodbye, instead he says, "I had another question."
Percy startles, clearly surprised that Harry is choosing to stay. He answers Harry's following question about America's involvement in the first war readily before returning to his book. A couple of minutes later, Harry sneaks a look towards the older Weasley, and catches the small smile hidden behind Percy's book.
~):(~
Another example of knowledge that Harry shouldn't have (but does), comes in the form of his Uncles Sirius and Remus.
Although no one ever told him, Harry knows that Uncle Remus is a werewolf, which makes him very tired and grumpy during certain parts of the month. And so, when a weary Uncle Moony visits Potter Manor one day, dragging himself there too soon after a full moon because he doesn't want to miss the twins' eighth birthday, Harry offers the man a large piece of Bertie Bott's chocolate.
Remus's tired eyes widen. "What's this for, Harry?"
Harry just shrugs, before retreating back to the couch to finish reading, The Goblin Rebellion: Truths and Tales.
Harry wants to say that he knows Uncle Remus needs some extra attention during this time of the month, and wants to hug his Uncle Moony and mumble 'thank you for caring enough to come, even when you aren't feeling good,' into the older man's shirt. But Harry doesn't, because the voice is already clawing along the inside of his head, gouging into the walls of his mind, angry about the small interaction with the chocolate.
('Too close, too close; a deal is a deal. Don't you dare go back on your word, or there will be terrible consequences.')
During the party, Uncle Remus repeatedly tries to encourage Harry to play with the other kids (the Weasleys, Neville Longbottom, and a couple of other guests). But Harry ignores his suggestions readily, not even hugging the weary man when his werewolf Uncle finally leaves.
('Too close, too close.')
His dog Uncle, unsurprisingly, finally arrives after everyone has left. He enters the Manor more than a little harried himself.
"Sorry for being late, pup. But, you didn't think I'd forget to bring a present for my favourite Prongslet, did you?"
Uncle Sirius gently and slowly puts a hand on Harry's shoulder as he talks (it was a well-known fact in the family that Harry didn't appreciate hugs, after an especially violent reaction on his fifth birthday a few years prior.)
"Hey!" Wails the newly eight-year-old, and now offended, Evan.
"Sorry Ev. Moony and I are obligated to favour our respective godsons." Uncle Sirius teases with a wink.
Evan makes a grand show of pouting, but then seems placated enough when Uncle Sirius dramatically hands him a fancy new training broom wrapped in a shiny red and gold bow. The youngest Potter excitedly runs to their father to beam and ramble about how it "matches perfectly with the Quidditch equipment that Uncle Moony got me, doesn't it Dad!?"
His ink-haired uncle gives a long-suffering (but thoroughly amused) laugh before he turns back to his official godson. "Happy Birthday, Harry," The grey-eyed man says softly, before offering Harry a similar broom.
Harry almost takes it, he almost smiles, but then his gut lurches violently.
('...terrible consequences.')
"I don't fly," Harry hears himself say to his godfather. "I don't like Quidditch." Then, something bitter and ugly takes over. It is hollow and vicious, a hostile force that makes Harry feel like Sirius has abandoned him more than once. In the back of his mind, he sees the shrinking outline of a man flying away on a hippogriff, sees himself young and trapped and banging against a claustrophobic cupboard, sees a red-faced and thick-necked man holding him off the floor by his collar and calling him freak. "I don't fly," Harry repeats, louder. Then he glares sharply at Sirius. "You'd know that if you were actually around."
"Harry!" James scolds immediately. "Say thank you for the gift. And apologize, right now. Don't you ever talk to your Uncle Sirius that way again."
His uncle looks stricken, as though Harry just stabbed the gifted broom between the man's ribs. And then Uncle Sirius morphs. For a moment, instead of a disheartened and clean-shaven man in slightly wrinkled Auror robes, Harry sees a cachectic man in torn pinstripes, with a half-crazed gaze hissing, "make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for—"
A strong hand clamps firmly on Harry's forearm, distracting him from the vision. "I said apologize, Harry. Now."
Harry immediately tries to yank his arm away from James's unrelenting grip, seeing a ghoulish grey arm instead of his father's hand. "They are corpses," said Dumbledore calmly. "Dead bodies that have been bewitched to do a Dark wizard's bidding." A wet cave. A black lake. A creaking boat. A painful poison. An ongoing scream.
"Harry!" His father raises his voice once more, shaking Harry by the arm roughly. Harry recoils jaggedly, panic from a memory he doesn't understand overwhelming him. "Let go of me!" Harry screeches. "Let go of me, NOW!"
James Potter slams into the nearest wall with a horrible thud.
"Dad!" "James!" Evan and Uncle Sirius chorus over each other.
While Evan and Sirius race towards his fallen father, Harry runs upstairs, the shadows of dead wraiths chasing his steps and clawing at his legs.
The green-eyed boy slams the door without his hands, locking himself in his room. He crawls under his sheets, shaking, but unable to sleep. About an hour later, the ghoulish forms writhing around his bed finally disappear, and he cautiously scuttles back out of his bedroom. On his way to the larger bathroom on the upper floor – the one with the pretty marble walls and silver awnings that he likes – Harry hears whispers echoing from downstairs. Curious, he sneaks closer to the noise, and eavesdrops on a ongoing conversation between his father and godfather.
"Well at least we know he isn't a squib now." Uncle Sirius says lightly, in a trademark attempt at mistimed levity. Harry notes that the older man's effort comes off wearier than usual.
His father sighs. "You can't just let him get away with rude behaviour like that, Sirius. You need to have a firmer hand with him."
Uncle Sirius's voice sharpens. "I think you're plenty firm enough with him for the both of us, James." Then Uncle Padfoot seems to decide to not pursue a familiar argument again, and off-handedly continues. "But hey, I think that that's the most words I've ever gotten out of him in a row. So, cheers to small wins!"
Harry hears the clinking of glasses, decides he can go one night without brushing his teeth, and quietly tiptoes back to his room. 'They thought I was a squib?'
Harry hates that he hurt Uncle Sirius with the voice's words, because a part of Harry cares for Sirius most of all. And Harry doesn't actually begrudge his godfather the man's absences, despite what he said earlier, because it is just another thing that Harry knows. He knows that his godfather loves him, but that the man feels obligated to spend most of his time chasing down the still-AWOL criminal and traitor, Peter Pettigrew. For a moment, back when Harry first wondered why Uncle Sirius was always missing, Harry suspected that perhaps Prongs wasn't the only Marauder in love with Lily Evans. But the voice had corrected his incorrect thoughts quickly enough.
('Guilt breeds obsession, you're hardly ignorant of that.')
Which, fine. Harry can sort of understand his Uncle's guilt. But even though Harry doesn't begrudge Sirius, it's pretty hard to not begrudge his father. That's because, for as long as Harry can remember, his father has hated the sight of him, yet pretends not to, all the same. Harry decides not to think too much about the way his dad looks at him when he thinks Harry isn't looking.
It gives him a headache in his chest.
('Love of the father… fate of the lover.')
~):(~
Harry also knows muggle things. He knows the difference between a telly and a telephone, even though he has never stepped foot in the muggle world. He knows the heady smell of car exhaust fumes, fuel, and dust that mix together and imbue London's busy streets. He knows he misses electricity, even though he's never seen a light switch.
('You're prone to missing things you've never had. You always have been.')
~):(~
On the twins' ninth birthday, Harry meets Professor Dumbledore for the 'first' time (since he was a baby). Harry knows that the elderly man heads the Order, even though Harry shouldn't even know what the Order is. And when the Headmaster and meets his eyes, Harry knows there is a missing twinkle (now replaced instead with a suspicious glint). Then, suddenly, he feels like the Headmaster is poking his head, even though the man's hands remain at the sides of his garish robes. Harry hears the voice laugh coarsely. 'Worry not, my wall will hold against his intrusion. But you should leave the room now, or I'm going to do something bad.'
Harry immediately turns and runs back towards the library, not bothering to be excused. Behind him, he hears his father yell out his name in shock, then apologize profusely for his son's 'rude' behaviour. He even catches the tail end of Evan telling Dumbledore to not be offended, that "Harry is rude to everyone," and tries to ignore the burn in behind his eyes when no one corrects Evan.
That same night, after his father finishes yelling at him profusely for his poor manners with the headmaster, Harry lies in bed for hours before finally succumbing to sleep. There, he dreams about a young orphan trapped in a cement bedroom, setting a cabinet on fire. Then, the fire turns an angry fluorescent green, twisting into a ferocious dragon that chases Harry out of a room of mismatched things and he can feel the flames approaching and the racing of his heart and the scream of a curly-haired girl from above as he is held back by a cage and a man with an iron hand who chokes himself and Dumbledore telling Harry that Flamel's death will not be a tragedy but rather a carefully planned and welcomed sacrifice for the greater good and 'I open at the close' and-
He avoids Dumbledore as much as he can after that, even though the old man persists on coming to the Potter boys' tenth and eleventh birthdays as well. The voice instructs Harry to never again meet Dumbledore's eyes, and Harry listens readily.
~):(~
So clearly, after all these years, Harry knows things.
However, Harry also suspects things.
The voice likes to feed a continuous paranoia that Harry doesn't understand, but must obey. It leads to him hoarding his galleons; any spare coin he sees in Potter Manor, any coin sent from Uncle Sirius or Aunt Alice. He even collects any piece of gold in the many unused rooms in Potter Manor, spare change that is easy enough for him to pilfer and small enough to not be missed. He asks for galleons whenever anyone asks what he wants for holiday or birthday presents. Harry even hoards all the change from when he overestimates how much his father needs to give him for a trip to Flourish and Blotts.
For some reason, it feels like one day, he'll need every bit to ensure his survival.
'Doesn't make a lick of sense,' Harry thinks begrudgingly, not for the first time, as he stores his galleons in the little leather pouch from Aunt Alice, the one that he keeps on him always. 'I'm the heir of a Noble House. I'll never want for money. You act like one day I'll be starving, but I don't even know what it feels like to go hungry.'
('You did. You will. She will too.')
'Who?'
Harry doesn't get a response. He doesn't expect or pester the voice for an answer either, because it has a long-established nasty habit of selective hearing. 'Besides,' thinks Harry, 'it'll let me know what it means, eventually.'
~):(~
Harry also suspects that the voice in his head probably means that he is bound for a permanent bed in St. Mungo's.
Progressively so.
Because it's not just the voice and the visions. Sometimes, Harry blacks out, and... things... things happen. Like the leather pouch from Aunt Alice, which after two hours of 'blacking out' somehow has an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. After another three hours of blacking out four days later, Harry finds a trace-less wand in the pouch, the kind that is illegal to have and only available from the black markets in the depths of Knockturn Alley. This knowledge on tracer-free wands is, of course, just another informative tidbit that Harry has no business knowing, and no book to blame for its acquisition, yet somehow still inherently knows anyways.
~):(~
Harry suspects Evan loves him, even if the youngest Potter doesn't exactly like him. It's a bit sad, actually, just not in the direction you'd think. Because, at least Evan loves Harry. Harry doesn't feel anything towards Evan outside of a strange sense of displacement and otherness.
"You don't belong here. You should have never even been born." Six-year-old Harry announces to Evan, bluntly. The youngest Potter immediately starts balling, tears streaming down his cheeks while he runs to find their father.
Harry didn't mean to be mean, back then.
"It's just the truth," he tells his father, who frowns before grounding Harry to his room for the rest of the evening. Young Harry bears his punishment in silence, while internally confused. His words had been true, just another fact among many. The sky was blue. The sun rose every morning. Evan Potter was the anomaly, with the S-shaped scar along the curve of his jaw; The Boy Who Conquered.
('the boy who shouldn't exist.')
~):(~
When Harry is eleven (about ten months before he is due for his Hogwarts acceptance letter), the voice instructs him to get himself to Flourish and Blott's on September 21st. Harry isn't too bothered by the order, as he has grown fond of the bookstore and its owner over the years.
It is easy enough to manipulate Evan into wanting to go, with a strategic placement of a flyer from Quality Quidditch Supplies.
So, on September 21st, three Potters enter a relatively calm Diagon Alley. 'Makes sense,' thinks Harry. 'All the students are at Hogwarts now. All the first years that usually horde the streets in August are huddled in groups, clumsily maneuvering through Hogwarts's winding halls, hurriedly attempting to find their classes .' Harry hasn't yet been to Hogwarts, but he can easily picture the wide halls and changing staircases spotted with clusters of students sporting their various House colours.
The trio pass by Flourish & Blotts, and Harry turns to enter. He's stopped by Evan's quiet voice.
"Don't you want to go with us?"
Harry gives a distracted and laconic response, still eyeing the door to the bookshop. "I'd rather spend the day in here." Through the glass's reflection, he sees James place a hand on Evan's shoulder to prevent the younger Potter's impending explosion. Unfortunately, Glass-James's grip doesn't cap Evan's reaction completely. Glass-Evan bristles, eyes narrowing. "Why don't you ever want to spend time with us? You know, Harry, this is why no one can stand you."
Glass-James frowns. "Evan, enough." It's a half-hearted reprimand, the type that a parent does when they don't wholly disagreed with their misbehaving child. The Potter patriarch sighs. "You're sure, Harry?"
Harry turns his head over his shoulder, nodding to his father.
James pinches to top of his nose in exasperation before shoving his hands into his money pouch. "How much will you need?"
Harry collects the more-than-needed galleons, bitterly thinking that perhaps if his father paid more attention to books he'd realize he always gave Harry too much ('if you paid more attention to books and learning, perhaps my mother would still live.'). His father instructs him to meet them back at Florean Fortescue's in three hours (the sweet treat a very unsubtle attempt to soothe Evan's growing ire). Harry nods in agreement, then turns to enter the bookstore. As Evan and his father walk off, he overhears his brother bemoan the absence of their godfathers.
His younger twin's throwaway comment brings his godfather's nomadism once more to Harry's mind. Harry used to suspect James Potter wasn't the only Marauder in love with Lily Evans. How else could someone explain his godfather's relentless search for Peter Pettrigew? Harry even used to wonder if perhaps Sirius loved Lily Evans more than James Potter did, because otherwise why wasn't his father out searching for the man responsible for their mother's death?
It didn't take Harry long to piece together the answer with the help of the voice: James Potter stayed. because James Potter's love for his dead wife was surpassed by one thing... his love for Evan.
"Harry m'boy!" The shopkeeper smiles widely, waving from behind the till. "Ever glad to see you back, lad. How's my most loyal patron been? Tell me, how did you enjoy Magic's Most Mythical Families? And what about Notable Magical Names of Our Time?"
Harry's morose expression shifts to neutral. "Good afternoon, Mr. Blotts. Glad to be back, Sir." He approaches the front table. "I've been well. I quite liked the books, thank you for your assistance in finding them. They were rather enlightening. I especially enjoyed the chapters on Morgana in Notable's."
"Atta lad, thought you'd like it." Mr. Blotts nods approvingly. "Most are quite surprised by the truth behind her, why with how the muggle writers began to spin her history." The older man shrugs, offers Harry a conspiring wink with a stage whisper. "Can't blame the writers though, a villain always makes for a better selling story."
Harry quirks a brow. "Or at least a less predictable one."
Mr. Blotts gives a small huff of a laugh. "Too true, lad. Too true. Now, any preferences today?"
Harry shakes his head. "Just browsing."
('And not for books,' the voice snickers.)
"Well, you let me know if you need anything, alright now?"
"Yes sir. Thank you." Harry nods in farewell then walks towards the familiar isles of books. His outstretched arms let his hands brush against the titles of the tomes as he passes, the familiar coarseness of their leather spines calming him.
('Deal's a deal.')
Outside of Potter Library, this bookstore on Diagon Alley is Harry's favourite place in the entire world. Reading offers a blissful respite from the uncontrolled voice and visions that bombard him. Rather, reading forces the voice to offer relevant input and visions, related to the topic Harry reads about. The entire process gives Harry a sense of control over the direction of his own mind, an addictive state compared to his baseline (random mental onslaught). Books on spells interest Harry the most. He'd eagerly practice spells' wand movements with a stick or a utensil, or anything, really. And all he needed was to do it once and (like remembering something he had forgotten), the wandwork and pronunciation came to him effortlessly every try afterwards. Of course, he never practices the wand movements and saying the spells outside of Potter Manor or Potter Forest, nor with anyone else around.
(Because sometimes it doesn't matter that he waves around a spoon, the spells work.)
Reading opened a window to more things that even the voice didn't say. Unfurling pockets of knowledge and filling in the gaps, lessening the confusion in his head. For example, last year, after Ron Weasley's tenth birthday party was winding down, Charlie had bounded up to Harry. The grinning older Weasley approached with a well-used snitch in one hand, and a well-flown broom in another, asking Harry to join their pick-up birthday Quidditch game. The interaction triggered a rather painful vision (of the golden snitch in Charlie's hand melting away to reveal a glowing stone whispering 'I open at the close,' again and again and again) that distracted Harry until Evan roughly shook him to back to reality, furiously hissing "could you at least pretend to to not hate us all." Then, last month, when reading Mr. Blott's suggested Magic's Most Mythical Families, Harry came across the history of the Peverell brothers, as well as the author's theory that the Tale of Three Brothers actually referred to them. The story produced a vision of a symbol with a triangle encapsulating a circle that was halved by a vertical line. After he blinked away the symbol, the voice whispered 'The Dealth Hallows,' with such reverence that Harry knew the author's words must be true. And when he read about the Resurrection Stone, he just knew that it had been the glowing stone from the vision. From the Potter Lineage Tome from the manor's library, Harry already knew that Ignotius's granddaughter (the last living Peverell) married into the Potter line. All in all, its a convoluted series of events that led him to suspect that the infamous Invisibility cloak that he's heard his uncles and father reference so frequently in their nostalgic stories of Hogwarts, is actually one of the hallows. Especially, when he reads more about the nature of invisibility cloaks, and realizes the life expectancy of them should not span years (let alone generations, like the Potter cloak has).
The voice pulls Harry from his musings, and urges him back to the present. Now in the isle relegated as the History section, the voice draws Harry's eyes to the newest edition of Horper Hapler's History of Magic. He's already read it, but the voice instructs him to read it again. Rolling his emerald eyes, Harry grabs it, and means to make towards the comfy blue reading chair in the west end of the store that he quite likes. But, of course, the voice takes hold of his feet, preventing him from stepping away.
('You'll read it right here.')
And so, Harry plops down onto the old but mostly clean floor. His back presses against the uneven surface of the books jutting from shelves, and he reads. Only a quarter of an hour later, he's half-reading an already read book, when a tinkling sound interrupts his concentration. He easily recognizes it as the soft ringing of the door's dangling bells, signalling the arrival of another customer.
"Welcome to Flourish & Blotts my dear! Here we have the largest selection of tomes and rolls in all of Diagon Alley. Is there anything at all that I can help you with today?"
The customer responds to Mr. Blotts too quietly for Harry to make out their response. There's about two isles of shelves between them (a second for history, as well as the row assigned to divination), so he can't see the new visitor or bookkeeper either.
"Oh, I do appreciate the pro-activeness, my dear. Minerva would just adore you for it. Unfortunately, you're simultaneously too early and late, I'm afraid to say. Most of the first year books are on back order, my having sold them all to the recent batch of new students, you see? It'll be another few weeks before the publishers will catch up and we'll start restocking. Besides, you might make better use of your galleons if you wait a few months to be certain there are no new editions being announced!"
The customer responds, again too quietly for Harry to make out their words.
"Hmm, a book to introduce you to the magical world, eh? Well how about—"
The erratic beat beat beat in Harry's chest drowns out Mr. Blott's words. Panic takes hold of his hands as they tremble and struggle to keep hold of his book. 'Stop it,' he roughly commands the voice (because he knows himself enough to know that this surge of fear is not his own.) The anxiety-laden tremors subside just in time, as a pair of ratty shoes turning into his occupied isle and enter the edge of his peripheral vision.
He forces his gaze to stay on the lines of his book. 'Stay calm.' He urges the voice. Because bad things happen when the voice gets scared, and he is in public.
"Excuse me?" The words are whispered so quietly that Harry nearly questions whether or not they were actually spoken. The newcomer continues. "I believe the book I need is behind you. Would you mind?" He looks up at, and the girl flusters, rushing to add. "Just for a moment. So sorry to disturb your reading."
('Someone. Hurt. Her.')
The thought booms in Harry's mind as he registers her sunken cheeks, limp hair, and small frame that drowns in her oversized sweater and faded jeans.
Behind her shoulder, another vision manifests; it's a warbling black and grey wraith. The hallucination wraps a skeletal hand around the girl's throat, mockingly singing: "And here I thought you a hero."
'Help her. Help her, now!' Harry's inner voice seethes, its anger loudly hitting against the walls of Harry's head, scoring its nails into the flesh behind his eyes.
"Which book?" Harry asks, jaw clenching as he tries to ignore the inner assault. As he stands, the wraith morphs into translucent grey chains, crawling over the girl's stomach and neck and scrawny limbs. When his gaze returns to her face, she flushes and looks to the side, embarrassed over what she likely supposes was a perusal and judgement of her rather ragged appearance.
"Hogwarts: A History," she mumbles quietly.
Harry tilts his head. "I like that one, it's one of my favorites, I think." He turns to grab the book, easily finding it in the spot two books away from where he grabbed his own, and then plops back onto the ground, settling into the warm space he left.
"Well?" He gestures the spot next to him. "Are you going to sit?" He keeps the book - the only copy - in his hand, and makes it abundantly clear that the girl will only get it if she sits beside him. Her eyes widen at his implication, and she fiddles with her hands before seeming to decide that her desire for the book outweights whatever risk she takes by joining him.
She sits down cautiously, positioning herself a polite distance away from him. The voice seems rather offended by this, so Harry moves over until their sides are nearly a breath away from being plastered together. She flinches at his proximity, and Harry blinks away the angry screeching in in his head. He hands the book over to her, but keeps his grip on the spine, covering the script of 'A History' with his palm. "What's your name?" He asks, unnecessarily.
"...Hermione."
'I know.' He thinks, finally loosening his hold the book. 'I also know you shouldn't be poor, because you should be the daughter of two dentists, who go on trips abroad every summer.' Instead of voicing his thoughts, he says, "I'm Harry. Hermione's a pretty name. Shakespeare, right?"
She looks unsettled for a moment, then nods slowly, while accepting the book from him. She tilts her head, and a few dull brown strands limp in front of her sallow cheek. "I didn't realize magic folk knew about him too."
'Most don't,' Harry shrugs. "Your parents must be rather well-read to pick such an obscure name from his work," he asks pointedly.
Hermione freezes. "They were." She murmurs quietly, before opening the book's cover and closing the conversation.
They read their respective books for about another half an hour, before Harry breaks the silence.
"Are they dead?" He asks, gaze locked on paragraph in his hands describing the unfortunate obsolescence of ritual magic.
From his peripheral vision, he sees Hermione tense. Keep his attention on her as her eyes harden and refuse to leave her current page in Hogwarts a History. Her previously quiet voice turns sharp. "It's rather rude to ask such personal questions of a stranger."
"My mom is dead." Harry flips a page. "Killed, actually."
"Oh!" Hermione's gaze rips off her page, she turns towards Harry, flustered. "I- I'm sorry." She pauses, clearly curious but nervous to speak. "Who… umm… do you know wh—"
"Voldemort." Harry fingers the corner of the next page, before turning it roughly enough that the parchment nearly tears.
Hermione frowns, repeating the moniker under her breath like one would handle an unpalatably stale cracker. "What an odd name."
"His true name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. 'I am Lord Voldemort' is an anagram for it. I imagine he thought himself clever for thinking it up. Anagram or not though, he needed to change his name. His blood-purist followers would never have bowed to a man with a muggle surname."
Hermione frowns. "Blood purist?"
Harry's eyes meet hers unflinchingly. "It's what you call the magical folks who will think less of you because you don't have magical parents."
"... And do these 'blood purists' still exist?"
'Are you one?' Harry hears her unspoken accusation, recognizes it from the way her neck tenses, and her body looks ready to bolt.
'What happened to you?' Harry's gut twists. 'That you're so ready to assume the worst in every stranger you meet.'
"I'm not one." Harry reassures her, though she still looks ready to bolt. "But yes, they do."
She makes a quiet oh with her lips, before frowning into her textbook. Harry supposes he understands. It must be disheartening to enter a shiny new magical world, to seek refuge in it, only to realize that bigots exist here too.
"Also, I'd appreciate you not mentioning that bit about Voldemort's name to anyone. Very few others know."
Hermione turns her gaze back to him, and raises a brow. "But then why… I don't understand... if it's a secret... " She shakes her head. "You told me, but I'm a stranger to you."
"You're going to be my friend. I trust you."
His blunt words seem to strike her dumb. Her mouth tastes the word friend over and over, before her cheeks tinge red and she buries her face behind her book.
After another ten or so minutes of silence, Harry stretches a hand over arm to close her book.
"Where is Professor McGonagall, Hermione? Why are you here alone?"
Her eyes turn in confusion. "Who?"
"Professor McGonagall," Harry stumbles a bit over the name, heart aching for a good woman who he's pretty sure died gruesomely in one of his visions. "The stern Scottish lady, the one who brought you your Hogwarts acceptance letter."
Hermione shakes her head.
"My letter wasn't brought by someone called Professor McGonagall." She tilts her brow. "I believe he said his name was Professor Snape."
~):(~
If you are enjoying this fic and want more chapters, please leave a comment or review! Let me know what you like/don't like, what you hope to see, and please please PLEASe let mek now if you guys spot any spelling or grammar mistakes.
Question : What are your thoughts on Harry in Ravenclaw with Hermione, versus in Slytherin with Hermione, versus Harry in Ravenclaw and Hermione in Slytherin?
Preview of Upcoming Chapters
Hermione, you have injuries that I can't treat properly unless I'm at Saint mungo's. And it looks like you're developing early signs of blood poisoning….
...
She was still hesitant, Harry scowls. "I spared him, Hermione." His grip on her hand tightens, and he hisses. "I spared him. You owe me."
...
Sirius frowns, shaking his head in disbelief. "Merlin James, he's a child. What you're implying... I don't think this was some heinous plot. Harry just wants to help his friend. And even if all your worse paranoias have basis, how do you think keeping them away from each other is going to help?"
...
I saw how you looked at me when I came in, Uncle Sirius. You thought I was the one that hurt her. And even if it was just for a second, in that moment, you showed me you were just like everyone else: eager to believe the worst in me.
...
The ratty hat seems to smile conspiratorially as it boldly shouts, "
Responses to Reviewers
for chapters 1 and 2
nagi92, TLM8, misslittlepsycho24, Yumnow2point0, Winter_is_here, Chelonie, LittleKatt, Chelonie, chicago51, EquaYonah - thank you so much for your responses to the questions!
Galligar - thanks for your review, I'll try to avoid the info dumps in the future! But the first few chapters might have some to orient people to the AU changes :)
LooneyLuna15 - sorry, Evan won out when I tallied the AO3/ffn reviews. But I used Charlus as his middle name :)
jzraael - you read my mind ;) Was always the plan to have Remus as Evan's godfather. The other WBWL fics where Sirius godfather to them both confuse me immensely.
Guest - I get why you're mad at James, but remember, his OOC-ness will be explained ;) I adore Alice too and also feel like she doesn't deserve to come second to Lily :)
only harmony - I will try to make longer chapters. I usualyl have quite long chapters in my fic, but for one of my ongoing GOT/ASOIAF fics thats my fav to write (Wolves Aflame), one of the reviewers mentionned that making long chapters can tire out a reader, so I'm experimenting with shorter ones to see how the response to those go :)
Dark Lord Potter Black sshhiippeerr - I'm leaning in that direction too!
kaiai - yay thanks so much for giving it a chance!
Elwyn (Iltazyara) - thank you SO much for your detailed POV on whether Hermione should be in Slytherin, you have given me a lot to think about! Even if I end up putting her in slytherin I will try to avoid mischaracterizing the purebloods. She and Harry will definitely be OP though compared to cannon, but I'm going tto give a (hopefully believable) explanation. Usually keep my AN in the text to expedite pasting between ffn and AO3 :)
Nissy Padfoot, GrangerBlackPotter, Yecatsj - thanks so much for your reviews!
Please review :)