Chapter 4
"Even if I could do it, agreeing would virtually be a confession to unlicensed death magic." The late middle-age man took a long inhale from his cedar pipe after he spoke and blew the smoke down toward the counter. It was long before opening and the pre-dawn light gave the room a grey tinge through dusty curtains.
"I might have some new evidence that might point towards a certain antique dealer as a suspect of a particular crime against the late Emerson Borgman," James replied cordially, leaning over the ash covered counter of Willy Bord's less than reputable antiques shop. James didn't particularly need any antiques but Willy didn't exactly get his by conventional means. Grave robbing was not an easy profession in the Wizarding world as it requires quite a bit of magical knowledge. Willy lacked the usual curse breaking skills, which left enough of a magical signature for a solid conviction in any court. Necromancy was much harder to prove and much more profitable when used illegally instead of with a license from the ministry.
On the other side of the counter, the prematurely grey wizard narrowed his eyes and took out his tobacco tin. James had confiscated a tin with a similar Celtic knot design from many upper class purebloods. "Extortion is a crime."
"One that carries much less of a reprimand than the consequences of encouraging the dead to rob their own graves," replied the auror with sly grin. He began to absentmindedly run his finger through the layer soft ash. The whole store appeared to be covered in it. Even the merchandise inside glass cases had a slight grey coloring. Heavy gold and silver jewelry made less appealing by a thin powdery film coating. The crystals and jewels all dimmed by the haze.
James took a good long look at the stolen goods covering the walls. A magnificent bronze shield with dark blue runes painted across it was no doubt very old and had been carried out of a hill by ancient bones. A pair of gauntlets had a variation of the Potter crest that could not have been acquired Bord from anyone living—gauntlets that had been buried with a distant great uncle many years ago.
"Maybe," Willy tapped his pipe against the counter a few times in consideration. "But I got to wonder who would be interested in an auror looking to have a necropsy preformed on some kid. Perhaps the ministry would turn a blind eye but the Prophet could be very interested in information like that. In fact I know a sweet little thing that just loves pieces on corruption of our government."
"I'm sure you have a usual fee for this kind of thing," James replied as he shifted his weight. "A fully trained and willing necromancer is difficult to find."
A long drag from his pipe and a slight hum as he exhaled brought about a nod from Willy Bord. "500."
"Galleons?" While willing to spend more than that, James still considered it as a hefty amount with a slight frown. Knowing he couldn't hesitate too long, he brought a hand down firmly on the counter scattering a light haze of ash up into the air. Eye contact and a determined glare was all it took for a confirmation.
"You'll have to leave the body."
James glanced back across the shop to where Harry lay across a clean stretch of floor still wrapped in the crimson robe. The night was ending and he was running out of time to discreetly transport his son.
Reds and oranges ranged across the sky as Sirius Black headed over to the Rat's Tail. While used to working long hours the recent discovery of twelve bodies that had disappeared months earlier, the end of the day had turned into merely a dinner break. Despite how busy and chaotic Auror Headquarters had been everyone seemed to find time to wonder about the thirteenth body. As every water break, or quick snack had turned toward Harry Potter, Sirius flashed back to the body wrapped up in red robes. He had promised James. So he kept his mouth shut and hoped that everyone assumed his silence was grief over his lost Godson.
They could have used James in the office today. A clear mind and steady purpose to help focus the investigation and calm those sent to the families. Sirius could have used James today. He couldn't get their last conversation out of his head. "If Harry's dead, than who's at the house?" James' own promise to explain everything later had still not been fulfilled. Sirius hadn't exactly had time to sit down with his best friend and have a pint to be fair.
Here he was, at the Rat's Tail with very little expectation of finding James here but he was hungry.
"Sirius!" Called Remus from a booth in the far corner. Across the table from him was Peter with an arm around Celine.
The tired auror stopped the witch who waited their table and ordered a brown ale and some stew before heading over to his friends. Sometime out of school, Peter had met the petite Celine through her cousin, a congenial Hufflepuff name Sophia. Up for a job interview with the Daily Prophet, the dark haired, Spanish woman got a good taste of English culture and became closely acquainted with some recent Hogwarts graduates.
"Long day?" Celine asked as Sirius took a seat on the bench next to Remus.
Sirius shrugged and took a long drink from Remus's beer which earned him a healthy glare from the werewolf and a chuckle from the couple across the table. Feeling more a little better for the drink he replied. "How's the store?"
"It's doing well. Sales are up, so close to school starting up again. Lots of little firsties coming in for their first trunks." Peter responded with a brief smile.
The new-comer nodded. While never quite able to keep up with the other boys at magic, Peter did have a particular talent with wood working and business savvy. The wizarding world had a demand for handmade enchanted furniture that he'd built a business model around. He constructed the furniture and Remus was able to perform the complex enchantments. Keeping them both with a moderately steady income and much more job security then Remus had ever hoped for.
"Heard from James lately?" The other three at the table shook their heads briefly and the two men took a bite from their food while Celine wiped up some spilled water drops with a small white napkin.
None of the group had taken Harry's disappearance well and had taken James and Lily not taking it well even worse. The usually vibrant couple hadn't been out with them in weeks and was rarely returning Floo calls or Owls.
"James hasn't been into work in several days." Sirius supplied grimly when they didn't say anything. The need to ask them about what had happened in the alley was squashed when his dinner came. It was a relief not to have to keep his mouth shut as he opened it for a bite of the stew. It wasn't the best but it was fast, filling and burnt his tongue.
"Something's happened." Celine said with long pauses between her words. The break of the silence following Sirius's word brought them all a breath of relief. "The whole Prophet is talking about it but the ministry hasn't released an official statement." She stopped to look directly at Sirius. "You know what happened."
Light from the third quarter moon was coming up through the thin windows, castling slender bands of silver across the assortment of clutter. Since the Ministry had started notifying the families of the missing persons, his life had been one floo call after another until he'd severed the tie between his fireplace and the Floo Network. No doubt the Ministry would send an angry letter once they'd realized what he had done. Usually bright eyes dulled from lack of sleep, Dumbledore sat in his favorite chair trying to piece everything together.
It had started the morning after the Alternate-Harry had woken up. First the Jens had summoned him using the Frog Cards. The first body to be found, Paul's family had been notified first. It seemed that wherever the Auror's went, Dumbledore found himself there an hour later, consoling the families and promising that there would be an informal investigation into the deaths. It was definitely not a coincidence now that all the bodies had been found on the same day, and he briefly wondered how The Press hadn't gotten their ink-stained hands on the story yet. And throughout the calm he maintained in the chaos, Albus's thoughts kept drifting back to the young man in the bed room at the top of the stairs in the Potter's house.
Dumbledore sat heavily in the high backed chair in his office. He was no young man himself and the night following the families finding out had not been any easier than the day. The Martins had been particularly hard to calm down, especially when the frog card in his pocket kept buzzing from poor Victoria Stuit. She'd had the hardest time of it knowing that Harry was alive if not particularly well; demanding why her brother had died when Lily got to keep her son in her perfectly rational and reasonable voice. And just when he had convinced her to take a Calming Draught so they could have a coherent conversation, the Carter's had been informed of Sarah's death.
Finally Dumbledore had tracked down the Auror's in charge of informing the families and firmly insisted that they take a long break at Donata's on him.
"What could they have been trying to achieve? What was the goal, the motivation behind trying such a risky ritual with incomplete information?" He sighed with the constant nag at the back of his mind that that simple golden key could open many doors.
"Why not entertain the possibility that they were trying to bring this second Harry here?" Asked the Defense Against Dark Arts Professor, who sat sipping lightly on a cup of earl gray.
"That doesn't make any sense. Who would sacrifice a boy just to bring the same boy from another dimension here? No." The older of the two men shook his head. That didn't make any sense. "The intended outcome was something entirely different. Young Harry was an unexpected variable. The boy wasn't supposed to alter the outcome of the ritual like that. No, it seems unlikely that Harry would have known that he could alter the outcome let alone that he was when he did it."
Dumbledore stood up to pace over to his bookshelf. There had to be more on this ritual than what he had found. If there was a wizard out there that could find enough to attempt it then Dumbledore just wasn't looking hard enough. He ran his fingers across the aged titles despite knowing he wouldn't find the answers there. Gregoire's Memoirs on Modern Interpretations of Ancient Rites throughout West France was about as useless as Brin's Chronicles of Pixie Migration.
"Perhaps something will come to you if you sleep on it. Albus, you look exhausted,"
Dumbledore nodded towards to one of his closest confidants. "You're right. I need to rest but I cannot shake the feeling that there is something much bigger going on here."
The long time Defense Against the Dark Arts professor stood and approached in order to place a hand on Dumbledore's shoulder. The comparatively youthful fingers rested firmly providing the strength of a younger man as well as the confidence and support of an old friend.
"You're upset because you can't control the situation." He paused in order to make eye contact directly with his mentor. "Albus, you can't save everyone."
Lily woke up with an ink transfer on her face though she was not aware of it yet. There were certain dangers to using Understanding Traditional Purebloods: Modern Wizarding Customs and dried tears as a pillow. She'd spent the whole day before researching and even still had stayed up most the night to continue. Yet it had not been long enough for researching the rituals and incantations required for laying her son to rest.
He was dead.
Despite the exhaustion deep seeded and cold in her chest she began to get up. The light summer duvet was an array of bright colors in the morning sunlight but Lily ignored the elaborate bed in search of her lost hope. She'd had it two nights ago, before James had left but sometime around the cremation rite it had slipped away. She had been left feeling like she'd misplaced a significant part of herself. All summer the constant companion had kept her diligent in the search for her son. Now what little warmth it had provided was replaced with a steel weight.
A willing sacrifice.
Most of her knew she needed to get up and get dressed. She needed to take care of the lost boy in her son's bedroom. He'd been ignored the day before and yet she sat in yesterday's robes sorting and planning. They could use the Potter estate for the funeral. Ancient Oak is difficult to acquire discreetly but not Alder.
Why him?
She was going to need to make his burial garments. Perhaps it would be better to get the fabric from a muggle. Would that be appropriate? A muggle would be less likely to ask questions but would they have the right fabric.
Was it all planned ahead of time?
James would no doubt wish to break tradition of holding it during the full moon, so they would have to do it during a new moon. That only gave them a week.
Had he known that it would be the last time he saw them at King's Cross?
Alice came from an old line and was going to be at the funeral anyway. Perhaps she knew if it was okay to do it early. Was it early? The day he was found isn't necessarily the day he died? Was she supposed to count from then anyway?
Why them?
James' father was the oldest being asked to attend. He should do the incantations over the pyre. Lily would need to have the elder Potter's over to explain everything. Niel was going to take it worse than James had. With a sigh the grieving mother laid her head back against the giant text in front of her.
A willing sacrifice for what?
The sun was nearly half way to midday when Harry opened his eyes to this new world once more. He'd fallen asleep early enough in the evening but even late in the morning he felt he could roll over and drift off again. Instead he rose and pulled on the clothes from yesterday. It didn't seem right to use the clean clothing of a dead man that shared his face.
Harry had spent the majority of the day before exploring the other Harry's things. Trying to imagine a life he had never lived based on the artifacts scattered about the room. He had started with the frames on the desk. Faces he'd known intimately moving in a fashion that he couldn't remember. And the faces he didn't know—how many people died in the first war that never had children? The rough drafts of homework assignments littered the desk, written in a familiar scrawl. Yet the "t"s weren't quite the same and the angle was different, similar to the clarity achieved by the children that hadn't learned to write with a pencil first.
In the desk drawers he found Intermediate Transfiguration, Flesh-Eating Trees of the World, and two year old editions of Which Broomstick?. He went through the dresser to find standard clothing, some muggle t-shirts, jeans, underwear: nothing that would distinguish this boy from any other. Drawn to the closet, Harry found a well used Nimbus 2000 and a much smaller child's Comet model. The design was identical to the one he had used.
He went through the closet of robes, and found the empty trunk, different design and wood yet it was still his name etched into the brass plate. Harry could imagine Lily going through all of the other boy's things, carefully hanging up his school robes and wondering if they'd gotten too short again. Stepping out of the closet, he had wondered where she might have placed the things in his own trunk. It wasn't his trunk. It wasn't his room and she wasn't his mother. He had been going through a dead boy's things. The boy that had lived this life. It had seemed irreverent to touch his things then. Harry didn't want to be wearing the dead boy's clothing yet he didn't know where his own had gone.
Harry spent down the rest of the day down in the kitchen wondering what to do. James stopped by once, grunted at Harry, grabbed something from the fridge and left again. Harry hadn't seen anyone else that day by the time he decided to retire to a dead man's bed.
The sounds of wood against metal drew him out of his room and down to the kitchen. There was something comforting to him about the sound of cooking. Harry found it hard to be wary of someone willing to cook for you.
The woman in the kitchen was shorter and of a more muscular build than Lily Potter however. She set down the pan in a decisive motion.
"Mum," urged a familiar voice from the table. The shape of his face was still round but there was nothing chubby about the boy in front of him. Despite the obvious physical changes, the most striking difference was the strength in his eyes. Harry doubted there was little this boy had ever been timid about.
"Oh, you must be Harry," the woman startled Harry out of his staring. Her face contorted into a lopsided grimace before she tried to soften it with a forced grin. "The other one."
In facial feature and build the two were remarkably similar and Harry found it very hard to imagine the Neville and Alice of his world ever looking like these two. The Alice in Saint Mungo's had been thin and gaunt and had looked very little like Neville. They were completely different people.
"I'm Alice Longbottom," the woman brought her hand to her cheek and chuckled looking down. "I suppose you probably already knew that though."
Harry nodded and shook the offered hand. Moments later she had ushered him over to the stove and was filling his plate. "Lily is right. You are tiny. We've got to feed you." It felt like ideal chatter, sounds she was making to avoid any silence in the room. "Do you like bacon? You're a young man. Of course you like bacon." Soon enough he was seated across from The Neville will a full plate of breakfast despite being past noon and Alice was rushing off again.
"You're really not him?" The inflection at the end of the sentence didn't feel much like a question to Harry. Perhaps Alice had it right when it came to silence. He had no idea what to say to this stranger he was having brunch with though.
"No. I'm not." The eggs on his plate became immediately a lot more fascinating.
"I'm not your best mate." Neville asserted in response his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched.
"No. You're not."
The boy across from him nodded sharply once then picked up his fork, scooped up a wayward egg on the side of his plate and with eyes firmly fixed, ate it. Harry took a couple of bites of the late breakfast. The scrambled eggs had cheese melted in; it tasted like cheddar and made them a little slimy.
"Why don't you boys head outside. Harry looks like he could use some sun," Alice remarked breaking the silence after a particularly long and awkward lunch. Suddenly Harry wondered where she had disappeared to after serving. Her face was set a little firmer now, similar to the look Neville was still giving him. A determined glance that seemed to be firmly set somewhere he wasn't. At that moment it was directly on Neville. "Imagine how many exploits and awful pranks Harry has done that you never had a chance to be a part of."
Neville shifted around a half piece of toast until it hit a large pile of eggs.
"Oh go on," Alice insisted picking up Neville's plate, the piece of toast still in his hand. She had Harry's stacked on top of it moments later and carried them over to the side of the sink. There was a second in which she began cleaning up from the meal before turning around to glare at the boys. "Get."
Slow to move, Neville stood first and Harry followed second careful not to make a move before him. They headed toward the kitchen door leading to the back lawn one after the other. An afternoon breeze came through the door masking the heat from the golden sky. Barefoot as he had no idea where his shoes had gone, Harry's feet felt the green blades bending under his weight. They walked a little ways out from the house till Neville found dappled shade from an apple tree, the beginnings of fruit peeking out from oval leaves.
"You're nothing like him." Neville said after he sat down, looking up at Harry.
"I know hardly anything about him." Harry shot back taking a seat a little ways away, the sun warming his arms and back.
The silence returned as Neville fiddled with his wand. He passed it back and forth between his hands, rolled it between them or balanced it between three fingers.
Sighing Harry laid back into the grass and tried to relax. He had done some pretty remarkable things, gotten himself out of the most ridiculous situations yet he found himself completely unsure of what to do or how to act. Neville had known a Harry his whole left and Harry had known a Neville for a good while. Under different circumstances perhaps they would have a lot to say to each other but Harry couldn't imagine what to say. What could possibly be acceptable conversation in this situation?
"I can't do it."
"What?" Harry looked up to Neville having gone very still.
"Teach you to act like him." Green eyes locked on brown as the sentence ended. "Dumbledore. He says you have to act just like Harry. Remember things that Harry did. That sort of thing."
It made sense. If he was going to take over the identity of someone else he had to be convincing. This was going to be harder than Harry had initially thought. He couldn't live in obscurity here; he had to live as someone else. With a sigh the teenager laid his head back onto the grass.
A standard barn owl headed toward them against the warm afternoon sky: a graceful, brown bird with two large, white spots on the left wing. The Evening Prophet usually came in just after work for most wizards but the sky was still radiant from the sun just past the height of its arc. Were it not for thickly folder paper in its talon Harry would have dismissed as a letter for someone in the house.
"Does the Prophet usually come in the afternoon?" Harry inquired to no one in particular. Perhaps it was the first of many differences he was going to have to get used to.
"That's really early for the Evening Prophet." Alice commented loudly from the smallest kitchen window above the sink. Harry's head whipped upwards toward the opening. Moments later the owl followed the path his head had taken as it landed expectantly on the ledge. Alice fed it a small piece of bacon before she disappeared back into the kitchen with the parcel.
"Lily!" Alice shouted urgently jarring both boys on the grass.
Despite being in a laying position, Harry was on his feet first and was running to the door wand raised. Racing to the door, he found himself in a moment of frustration as he hadn't turned the handle far enough to get it open. Calming himself slightly, he got the door open and was into the kitchen and immediately searching for intruders.
Lily came down the stairs a moment later and Neville in the door behind Harry a second after that. They all just stared at him. Wand raised ready to help fight. They watched as he slowly dropped his wand arm to his side. The tip of wood brushing against his blue jeans and he stared at the counter. The boy had gone nearly still, even his breathing slowed but his green eyes were locked on the paper.
The Boy Who Lived?