Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel?

Chapter 6

Every Monster That They Made Was Once A Happy Child

There were moments in your life that you knew would stay with you forever; moments that would come to define who you were.

The moment a wolf's teeth had clenched upon his arm was one such moment for Remus Lupin, dooming him to the life of a monster. Three boys grinning at him, all dressed in new Hogwarts clothes, and, a short while later, fear building in his chest as he realised that they knew, only for it to be replaced with joy as he realised they didn't care.

The day that he had read the words 'YOU-KNO-WHO DEAD' emblazed upon a newspaper, the subheading reading, 'Lily and James Potter Dead - Son Survives!', had been another such day, leaving him without friend or comfort in the world.

Now though, Remus Lupin knew that he would be haunted by a pale, trembling face, hopeful blue eyes, and a tentative smile.

"You-you're certain," Remus asked, pleading. He already knew the answer though, had known it from the moment the Headmaster had appeared in the doorway of his office, his face grim. "There's no sign of him?"

Dumbledore shook his head, the darkness underneath his eyes making him appear, for the first time Remus could remember, old. The man had appeared to have aged with every word that had left Remus' had uttered, as he confessed the truth, of what he, Sirius Black, and Lily Evans had done all those years before.

"The Ministry was alerted to underage magic near Winchester, earlier today. They obliviated the muggle, Peggy Carter. His moth..." Dumbledore sighed, "There's been no sign of him since. Remus, my boy..."

The headmaster trailed off again, unsure of what to say. Remus clenched his eyes shut, guilt building in his chest.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Remus began. "I should have told you something-, before I let him leave this morning-, after he defeated Voldemort, before that, when we first found him. I shouldn't have let this gone on for so long."

"You and Lily did what you thought was best, at the time. Now, you tried to return him to his mother. I cannot blame you for that-, nor can I for not telling me. We all have our war secrets, Remus."

"What about the Ministry," Remus asked. "Do they know?"

"The Ministry has since realised who Margaret Carter truly was to Harry Potter, and have attempted to fix the damage that they had caused. Those spells though, they're always nearly impossible to undo. It perhaps would have been kinder to leave her as it was," Dumbledore replied. "However, they do not know about your involvement, and I would recommend that it remains that. Delores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, she's looking to tighten the restrictions on werewolves. Unless you're careful, Remus, you might no longer be able to work here, and the rest of your species might be unable to find any form of employment at all."

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could feel anything besides numb at the thought, before the second message behind Dumbledore's words came to him, causing his eyes to open suddenly.

"I'm allowed to continue working?" Remus replied, aghast. "You'll let me continue to work, after-, for all we know I killed a stude-, I killed Harry? After I helped to bring a baby into a war? You'll still trust me around children?"

Dumbledore chuckled hoarsely, taking his spectacles off to rub his eyes.

"Remus, how in Merlin's do you expect me to think badly of you? You and Lily saved thousands of lives. What you did," he paused, closing his eyes, expression pained, "it was for the greater good."

Remus shook his head, aghast. The past six months had been the happiest Remus felt in years; the first time he had had a stable job or had people who respected him. It had also meant that he had been able to see Harry, and the echoes which James and Lily had left in the child that they had sacrificed their lives for.

"Headmaster, I resign." It didn't matter what Dumbledore thought of his supposed innocence. His own opinion was what mattered, and he couldn't continue to teach students knowing he had sentenced their classmate to death. "I need to find Harry."

Dumbledore nodded, expecting the answer. "Whatever help you need though, my boy, I'll do my best to offer my assistance."

Remus didn't attempt to return the headmaster's smile as he turned to leave. In the distance, unheard by either of them, a dog began to howl.

When Harry woke, it was to the feeling of being roughly manhandled from where he had lain, and to a world of darkness, a band tied around his face.

"Where am I?" he asked, his head pounding. At the lack of reply, be began to struggle against the grasp. "Where's my m-"

He fell silent as he remembered where he had last seen his mother, telling him to run as she had prepared to face her death to save him. Was she dead? Had his impatience to try and find a family killed what was left of it?

"Let me go!" he began to yell, pulling again against the firm grasp on his shoulders. Whoever was holding him began to yell in a language he did not know, until another pair of hands grabbing his arms, and another his legs as he began to kick wildly. Whatever power he had earlier, that had knocked out his mother's neighbour, was gone, instead replaced by a growing dread in his chest.

"Put him under!" a man shouted from near his right, a sound which was quickly followed by the movement of people. "Whoever took him might soon be here! Be quick with it!"

Harry soon felt himself being shoved into a metal container, the word coffin echoing through his head before it closed, and instead all he could feel was cold.

It was difficult to know how much time had passed when he stumbled out of the cold, only into the cold laughter of men. It seemed only seconds ago that he had been pleading as multiple injections were forced into him, only hours ago that his mum had told him to run.

"Up," a voice commanded as he flinched against the light, desperately throwing his arms out, attempting to regain balance.

Several seconds passed before he regained his sight, turning his eyes upwards to find multiple faces above him, none familiar. Several of their faces became amused as he threw himself backwards, while others didn't even twitch.

It took him almost a minute for his senses to return to him, his eyes flipping around the cold, harshly lit room, and the large metal container which had held him.

"What year is it?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

His question was greeted with laughter.

"Where am I?" he asked instead. The response this time, though, was a hand grasping his arm, dragging him away from the metal coffin.

"Where's my mum?"

Any questions he had faded as he entered another room, one that might have reminded Harry of the dentist his Aunt Petunia had taken him and Dudley to before he had left for Hogwarts, if not for the binds which were placed along the sides of the chair, or the man dressed in a black suit, who was standing near it.

"Where's my mum?" he repeated as he was forced into the chair, and the binds placed across his arms. He began to struggle against the metal, yelling wildly before the suited man stepped closer, placing a hand on the side of his head.

"You will do yourself only harm with that behaviour," he stated as Harry stopped yelling, instead the room becoming full of the sounds of his struggled breathing. "What's your name?"

Harry remained silent, staring at the man with his eyes narrowed. There was something strange about the way that the man phrased the question, as if he knew the answer, but was it was not what he was looking for.

"My name is Harry Rogers."

The man stepped backwards, folding one of his suit sleeves up, the man's fist meeting his face a second later. Pain erupted where the fist touched, but Harry didn't allow him the satisfaction of making any noise.

"Eventually, you will learn to listen to what we tell you. From now on, you are not Harry Rogers. Do not make this more difficult than it needs to be. I ask again, what's your name?"

"Harry James Rogers."

The fist slammed into his nose, this time drawing blood. Harry threw the man a glare, which caused him to raise an eyebrow.

"Perhaps then, that is not the best way to do this," he said, pulling a radio from his pocket and raising it to his mouth. "Agent, kill Margaret Carter."

Harry yelled as the other side of the radio replied their affirmative, pulling against the restraints.

"No! No! Please!"

The man raised a finger, cutting Harry off.

"Agent, cancel that last order," he spoke into the radio, before returning his attention to Harry. "You will find that obedience will be rewarded with us. If you behave, it will be easier for all of us, but mostly, it will mean your dear mother will be able to continue breathing."

Harry nodded quickly, causing the man to smile. It would be easier to behave, Harry agreed, silently. If they did not suspect him, it would be easier to eventually escape and save his mum. Only, his thoughts turning to the books he had read, theories about what had become of Harry Rogers passing through his mind, I will not let them make me a monster.

"I think you'll find that our situation can be mutually beneficial," the man said, stepping backwards. "I eventually we will find out who took you, and who raised you. You, your mother, have other family members. Your mother will not be the only one in danger, but everyone you have ever cared for or who have cared for you.

"I would recommend not responding to your previous name anymore. In fact, I would suggest that you forget it entirely," he smiled slightly. "From now on, you will answer to Junior."

Time passed for him in a series of cold space and metal walls. How much time had passed he did not know, but he took comfort in the surrounding technology which remained the same, and horror in that which had changed.

Occasionally, he left the cold to find himself tied again to a chair, with people in lab coats testing his blood or taking scans. These visits were often accompanied by the disappointed shakes of the doctors', or other visitors', heads. These doctors were as uncaring as if he were already dead, treating him as little more than a body which they were harvesting.

However, once as he sat in the chair, one had leant down and had whispered, "They're waiting till you're old enough to they wipe you, but they are growing desperate. You have to trust me."

The next time he woke up, the doctor was gone, replaced by another lab coat with a blank face.

More often though, he woke to a gun, or an obscure weapon, being forced into his hand, and being told to shoot. Whenever he hesitated, his mum would appear in his mind, another neighbour pointing a gun through her window.

She had almost sacrificed her life to save him. If having to learn how to shoot a gun was the price he had to pay to protect her, it was hardly worth questioig.

The weapons training was not the worst part though. The gruelling hours which he spent being thrown on the ground, or taunted, by the soldier who had been tasked with training him was far worse. It was a repetitive cycle, that began with the man retrieving him from the cold, and him returning with bruises. He quickly discovered that though he would never be able to meet the soldier with force, he could often out quick him. Unfortunately, the tactic which he had once used for Dudley and his group of friends was less likely to work, his trainer not losing their strength in the chase, and only becoming more annoyed by his darting.

"They will kill you, and your miserable mother," the man eventually yelled at him, as he lay on the ground clutching his arm. "Give up, boy!"

Despite his best attempts though, his aim to avoid fighting eventually began to fail. Instead of running, his tactic became to move into his trainer's blindspot before attacking, as the fear for his mother's life and the soldier's teaching began to take effect.

It was only after he had used the other man's shoulder to somersault over him, before aiming for his knees and pinning him to the ground, that Harry realised he was well on the way to becoming the monster that he had promised himself he wouldn't become.

He had been left in a room, entirely empty except the table and chair that were fixed to the ground, the food that sat on it, and a camera which watched him. The food a bitter brown mush that had quickly become familiar, along with the room, his being placed in it each time before he was returned again to the metal coffin.

This small grey room had become the cupboard of his childhood, except unlike his cupboard under the stairs, even here he was not truly alone.

He had no way of knowing how many years had passed, and what had become of those he had left behind. Did his friends still search for him? Had so many years passed that, he flinched, thinking of it, his mother, or they, had died of old age?

Was he becoming a monster for nothing?

Overcome by desperation, Harry lifted the bowl, throwing it at the camera and watching as it hit the lens, shattering it, and splattering brown mush on the wall behind it.

Harry jumped up quickly, hearing yelling from outside the room, and the rattling of keys. He brought his hands up to his face and began to murmur the word, expelliarmus, as if it were a prayer.

The door slammed open, and a man walked in, a gun pointed at Harry.

Nothing happened.

When the next came out of the cold, his trainer was gone, and instead, a balding man greeted him, the Soldier with the metal arm standing behind him.

"Junior, it is time for your first assignment," the balding man stated, a smirk upon his face as Harry remained staring in horror at the Soldier who had taken him all those years ago, and the face which had been hidden by the mask.

His face remained impassive at the news, no flicker to say that he recognised the boy in front of him. But Harry recognised him, but from where he could not place. His face was completely blank, inspiring a sense of wrong in Harry. He continued to stare at the Soldier before a flash of irritation crossed the balding man's face.

"Junior, you would do well to remember what you have to lose."

His mother.

A woman who had given everything for him, but he could barely remember. Because of the soldier who stood behind the man.

Yet when the soldier spoke, he echoed the words a moment later, the man's stare burning into him.

"Ready to comply."

The dark trees reminded him of his first detention at Hogwarts; of friends, and the discovery of monsters. Except now, there were no friends, and the only monsters were him and the Asset.

They had been left on an empty road early that morning, and for hours he and the Soldier had sat, waiting. As darkness had begun to creep in, Harry's anxiety began to grow, and the words that the man had told him before pushing him out of that van that morning circled through his head.

"He is not a good man. He deals in war."

Was his mother's life worth more than this man's?

Was his mother even still alive?

He had briefly considered attempting to escape, but the soldier's following eyes left him no doubt he had been tasked with watching him, his hand never straying far from the gun at his hip, or the radio next to it. He had been sent here to babysit and complete a mission; just because Harry was no longer in their base didn't mean he was in any more control.

Even now, as he stood beside the road, watching the trees, he knew that the soldier was sitting not far from, watching from a vantage point, a rifle in hand. As lights from an approaching car began to flash off the trees, Harry crouched, waiting.

The car collided into the tree, glass shattering and barely missing him. He forcefully shut his eyes, distantly hearing the muffled exclamations of pain, and the sounds of a motorbike as the Asset approached. Louder than that though, was his own thoughts.

This man's life might mean less than his mum's, but that didn't mean he meant nothing. His mum, she wouldn't have wanted this. What about his dad? What would have Captain America thought to see his son complacent in someone's murder?

And what of his friends, whose names he could barely think of for fear that HYDRA would somehow find them. What would they think of what he had become?

What did he think of what he had become?

Even the last question was a mystery to him; who he had once been seeming locked away in a corner of a mind, where he might be able to keep it safe. But as the sound of the Soldier's motorbike began to grow ouder, that corner of his mind grew too.

Power growing in his chest, Harry stepped forward to meet the Soldier, the air around him beginning to glow softly.

The Soldier pulled his bike to a sudden stop in front of Harry, his eyebrows drawn low as he stared at him. For the first time since Harry had first seen him, the soldier didn't look blank. Instead, he looked afraid.

"Get out of the way," the Soldier said as he stepped off his bike. "The orders were not to hurt you."

Harry squared his feet, lifting a glowing hand towards the approaching assassin.

"You're not going to hurt them! I'm not going to let you hurt anyone, ever again!"

The two moved at the same time, a pulse escaping Harry's hand at the same moment the soldier darted to the side, spinning his gun towards Harry. The silver pulse crashed instead into the tree, causing it to explode, littering the road with its remnants. Behind it, other trees began to crack, falling the ground.

For several seconds, Harry watched, stunned as the pulse ripped through the trees, before almost collapsing as exhaustion overtook him. Turning to face the soldier, a metal arm met him, colliding into the side of his head, knocking him to the ground.

"I will not hurt you," the man promised, blue eyes watching Harry as he struggled to stand, blood pouring from his nose.

Harry clenched his eyes shut as his head pounded, overcome by a desire to lie down and sleep. It was interrupted, however, by the sound of the car door swinging open, and a man being dragged from its side. Distantly, Harry could hear the man begging, but the words were undecipherable.

He forced his eyes open, to stare at the man who now lay on the road, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Harry-" the man began to cough, blood splattering on the road. "It can't be you-"

Harry stared at the man, whose dark brown eyes stared back at him, understanding beginning to form within his. He wasn't here to do anything, they had never expected him to kill this target. HYDRA had sent him here to break him.

How could Harry Rogers ask for his mum's protection, or her love, when he had allowed one of her oldest friends to die?

"You're mother-, she always said you were alive-, she loved you Ha-"

There was a crack as the Soldier twisted Howard Stark''s head, leaving his eyes staring emotionlessly at Harry.

'You're mother-, she always said you were alive- she loved you'

Loved.

"Whatever you just did-, don't do it again," the Soldier ordered. Harry ignored him, staring at the familiar dark brown eyes as both nausea and grief began to build in him, tears beginning to fill his eyes for a reason he did not quite understand.

The Soldier's face was completely blank as he placed Howard Stark's body back in the car, the little emotion it had shown before completely gone, like it had been wiped.

Distantly, Harry could hear a woman's begging, as the soldier walked towards her. Harry struggled to his feet, wiping some of the blood from his face. He took a step closer, before stumbling towards the ground, and turning his sight towards the soldier as he wrapped his hand wrapped around the woman's throat, his face emotionless.

Wiped.

Oh.

He had not wanted to put much thought into what the doctor's words might have meant, but now, looking at the Soldier's face, he understood. If a person had nothing to hold onto, it was far too easy to create a monster from their ashes.

Harry faced away from the Soldier and vomited.

Harry wished he could say that he had put up a fight when HYDRA had appeared, wielding their guns and staring aghast at the destruction around them. Instead, he had barely struggled as he was placed inside a truck, all too aware of the Soldier who followed closely behind him. A woman, one of the doctors who occasionally did the tests on him, quickly approached, a needle in her hand.

When he next woke, it was to the sight of familiar walls, and the face of the man who had first greeted him.

"He is not yet matured!" the doctor yelled, barely glancing at Harry or the Soldier, instead staring at the man before them both. "It could severely affect his development! It would be a waste, Pierce!"

Several moments passed in which the man known as Pierce made no effort to reply, barely seeming to notice her presence before he turned to face the Soldier.

"Asset, tell me what happened."

"The subjects were successfully terminated, and the target retrieved."

Doubt crossed the man's face, an echo of a smile stretching at his lips.

"I suppose that explains all the trees that were destroyed? It was meant to look like a drunken accident, and it looks like anything but."

The soldier didn't answer, his face blank as he stared at the blond. The man, however, leaned forward, looking at the soldier closely. Whatever he saw there, Harry didn't know, but a second later he was leaning back, turning his gaze to Harry.

"What did you do?"

Harry made no reply, glaring at the man with an anger he didn't feel. Loved. The only thing Harry could bring himself to feel was numbness, but now, at least, HYDRA no longer had anything over him.

Pierce stared at him, unblinking, before barking out the words, 'Wipe them both."

It was as if a trigger had been pulled. The room exploded into movement; the soldier's metal hand flinging forward to the man's throat as two guards ran towards them, guns in their hands. The Soldier turned, his arm grabbing one of them by their shirts as he pulled the gun from his hand, facing it towards the guard's companion, shooting them both in quick succession. The door flung open, more men pouring in as the Soldier turned his gun from Pierce to them, though his sight instead turned to Harry.

"Get down," the Soldier growled as he placed himself between Harry and their guns, raising his own to meet them. Instead of the release of bullets though, there was a yell of pain as the Soldier falling the ground as his sparks began to travel through his metal arm.

Harry raised his own hands instead to greet them, waiting for the energy of earlier, for his magic to reappear. He began to tremble, clenching his eyes closed and praying for something. Seconds passed, in which the room remained tense before Harry stumbled to the floor.

Pierce began to chuckle softly, seemingly oblivious to the blood that stained the ground. As the eyes of the room turned to meet him, he gestured to Harry and the soldier.

"Move them both, but don't put them under."

Pierce strode out of the room, the doctor on his heels. A hand grasped around his arm, pulling him upwards with surprising gentleness. The Solider too was forced to stand; the energy that had overtaken him before entirely gone, leaving behind a broken man.

Both he and the Soldier were left in the room which reminded Harry of the cupboard, alone except for the camera, which's red light continued to flash at them. The two sat with their backs against the walls, the Soldier staring at Harry in horror, while Harry stared at his own hands.

"You're a-, you're a punk," the Soldier said, breaking Harry's stupor, before squeezing his eyes closed. The Soldier raised both his hands to hold his own head but jerked it away when the metal reached his hair.

The man's eyes snapped open; what once had been empty now stared at Harry intently.

"What's your name?"

"I- I don't have a name," he replied, shaking his head rapidly.

"No-, no-, please," the man began to beg, his voice desperate. "What's your name?"

Several seconds passed, in which he hesitated, the man's desperate eyes staring at his own before the words poured from his mouth.

"My name is Harry James Rogers," Harry said, the words forming a tirade. "I have friends, and they care about me. My mum, Peggy, she loved me, and she wanted me."

"James," the man repeated, his voice dull. "Your name is James."

"Harry James -"

The man fell backwards against the wall before Harry could finish, letting out a pain filled groan. Silence followed the sound before the man spoke again.

"Jesus Christ, Stevie. What have I done?"

Peggy's warm eyes looked into his own as she attempted to teach him to dance, the fire of the Stork Club basking the room in an orange light. She smiled gently as they took a step backwards, Steve taking care not to step on her toes.

"See, you're getting the hang of it," she laughed as he twirled her, the red dress flashing in the firelight.

"Well, I found the right partner," he replied, a smile on his face. She smiled back at him, humour and fondness both clear on her face. She leant into him as they continued to dance, both basking in the warm light.

Bucky's voice sounded from behind Steve's shoulder, the two turning to be greeted by the sight of the man, a beer in hand.

"Sorry, I would have brought you both one, but I figured there's not much point wasting money on you, Stevie. And we gotta give my future godchild the best start in life, right, Peg?"

Steve smiled in reply, placing a hand upon Peggy's own hand, which had come to rest on her stomach, feeling the slight bump of their child, and of his mother's ring on Peggy's finger.

"We're going to give them the best life possible, not just the best start," he replied, ignoring Bucky's laughter.

"I'm serious," he continued, despite Bucky's laughter. He turned his eyes towards Peggy's. "This child, she's going to be happy. I won't allow anything to happen to you, to either of you."

"I know you are, Steve. With you two for parents," Bucky said raising his glass to the two of them as Steve pulled Peggy against his chest, "this kid's going to have the best life. Going to be utterly stupid, mind you. It's got no grain of sense to inherit. I'm going to have to have a lot to teach it, but it may very well be a lost cause."

Steve laughed, contentment overwhelming him as he basked in the firelight. How could it be, that not long ago he had had bullets pouring down upon him, and before that, the fists of much larger man and the bewildered expressions of woman as he attempted to ask them to dance? Now, he had everything he had ever wished for, and so much more.

"Steve," Peggy said suddenly. He turned her eyes to her, meeting panicked eyes as he began to shiver, as the temperature of the room began to rapidly drop. "Steve, this isn't real."

"What do you mean?" he asked as the room began to fade, Peggy and her red dress becoming the only thing he could see. Blood began to cover Peggy's stomach, the red of her dress becoming dark.

"Our baby needs you, Steve. Wake up."

The warmth was gone, along with Peggy, leaving only cold blue in its wake.

"Peggy?" he yelled into the emptiness, the only response silence. The air was sharp with a claustrophobic cold that seemed endless.

"Dad?" a voice suddenly sounded in the distance. He spun around to be greeted by a small figure with Peggy's curly hair, yelling into space.

"Harry?"

"Dad! Mum!" the child called, his voice echoing through the ice.

"Harry! I'm right here!" he yelled as he began to run towards the figure.

Matching eyes met as Steve became close, pausing before colliding into the small figure.

"Dad?" the boy asked, his familiar eyes wide as he stared at him.

"Harry," he replied, pronouncing the name like a prayer. He took another step forward, so that he was barely a foot apart, and stared at the boy, horrified by the terror and shadows of his eyes, but amazed at the sight of him. Steve held out a hand to the trembling boy, struggling to keep himself from embracing him. The boy stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, before returning his eyes to his father's.

"Dad," the boy repeated, lifting his own hands up to stare at them, before turning his gaze to his father. A moment passed, in which the only sound was their breathing as Steve stared at his son's face, horrified but mystified by what he saw - his eyes, Peggy's nose, his heavy eyebrows, but Peggy's expression of fear - the wide eyes, the open mouth, and the furrowed brow.

"Am I dead?" Harry questioned, stammering. Steve froze at the question, a moment passing before the boy continued. "Where's mum?"

"No-, no, Harry," Steve took a step towards his son, who took a step away. "You're not dead. Your mum's not dead. You're both fine-, you're both going to be happy."

Steve had sacrificed himself so that thousands of other families could live, but the only reason he had been able to do that was he was certain his own would be alright. Peggy was the strongest person he knew, and he had known, without a doubt, that their child would be as loved and happy as if he too had been there too. Now though, with his son staring at his own outstretched hands, and the words 'Am I dead? Where's mum?' echoing through his head, Steve began to doubt that decision.

The boy raised a hand again, staring out the outstretched palm as his breaths became visible in the cold. Finally, he turned his eyes to the identical ones of his father.

"Please help," the boy begged as he began to crack, his hands beginning to fall apart like ice.

"No! No! Harry!" Steve shouted as grabbed onto the boy's arm, trying to pull his son closer as the world around them crumbled.

It should be mentioned that I am well aware that Howard Stark was killed in 1991, and consequently, Harry should not have been there. However, Harry Potter shouldn't be anywhere near Howard Stark or Captain America, so I think we should be able to let it slide.

Some of you may have noticed that this chapter technically a rewrite, as I was not at all content with what it was previously. However, it does add a lot more than the last chapter, as it was previously quite short, which is one of the reasons I was so unhappy with it.

Title from The Strumbella's 'Young and Wild'.

Thank you so much for reading this, and please review!