"We are screwed," those were the words Unspeakable Selwyn, head of Department of Mysteries, chose as an opening line to one most important conversation that would conclude Harry's two weeks long stay at Ministry.
Harry raised an eyebrow. He felt a bit bad for the head of Department, he really did. It was no secret Selwyn had slept the total of maybe six hours those past two weeks, busy as he was researching Harry, and the man certainly looked it. He sported truly impressive dark circles under his eyes that no clever charm could possibly hide any more. Harry suspected the man was still awake only because he drowned energy potions like pumpkin juice.
Still, Harry felt rather offended by the assumption their situations sucked equally. But acting on his rightful indignation before a person in position of power would get him nowhere – if dealing with Dumbledore taught him anything, it would be that simple truth. So instead, poorly imitating Snape's stiff upper lip, Harry drawled, "are we? I beg your pardon, Unspeakable Selwyn," he went on politely, though his words oozed with sarcasm, "but I was under impression I was screwed considerably more."
...
The Unspeakable blinked.
Frowning, Harry quickly ran over in his thoughts what he had just- oh.
His upper lip promptly slacked.
Oh my, Harry felt like slapping himself, that was one awkward wording, wasn't it?
"No, it's not, I mean, I merely meant that -!" he flushed bright red, trying to splutter out his explanation.
"I know what you meant, Mr. Potter," Selwyn assured him quickly; but then he got this contemplative look on his face, and as an afterthought he added, "I think," suddenly rather embarrassed himself.
Harry mentally groaned. Why did things like that always happen to him?! One time he needed very badly to be calm, collected and preferably as silver-tounged as Voldemort in his younger years had been, no less.
Selwyn cleared his throat. "Anyway," he rubbed his eyes tiredly, "due to your...arrival, Mr. Potter, we are all now in very delicate situation. Possibly disastrous. In that way we are equally doomed," he said, as if that alone explained everything.
Personally, Harry thought it explained very little and let him opinion be known by starring at the man with big, blank eyes.
"But maybe I should start from the beginning..." Selwyn said uncertainly. Harry's point was taken, as it seemed. "As you are aware, on September the first headmaster Dippet send an urgent message to the Law Enforcement, saying there apparently was an explosion in his office and unknown individual was found laying unconscious there."
"I gathered as much," Harry murmured, his blush already fading. "But it wasn't Law Enforcement that kept me here for two weeks, was it?" he inquired, sending Selwyn a dirty look, just to let him know that being a research project wasn't Harry's idea of good time.
The man sighed. "No, of course not. When Aurors arrived at the scene, they established few, crucial things. For one, it was evident that whoever you were, you couldn't have Apparated to Hogwarts; to do so, you would have had to destroy every single ward erected around the school grounds, and they were still in place."
"Obviously," Harry pointedly injected. Probably Merlin himself would find shattering Hogwarts many wards somewhat problematic.
Selwyn raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't show his displeasure at Harry's little commentary. "Aurors questioned Portraits," he continued. "They swore no-one went into the office, so that ruled out the possibility you had sneaked into castle under Disillusionment spell, and also, that no-one flooed in there. They claimed, one moment there was an explosion, and the next – you were laying there, covered in blood. And unlike living wizards, Portraits have no reason to lie.
"So the only conclusion they could reach, unnerving as it was... Was that you literally appeared out of nowhere. In situations like this, they did what any responsible wizard should – they called us, Unspeakables."
"What about Portkeys?" Harry challenged, frowning.
"There was no such thing on your person, Mr. Potter. There was, however," Selwyn sipped his energy potion, "a cape with Dark Lord Grindewald's symbol on it."
Harry's eyes widened. "But -! But, no, it's not Grindewald's! It's Deathly Hallows' -!"
"We know that now, we didn't know it then, Mr. Potter," Selwyn cut in, his tone leaving no room for an argument; but seeing the look on Harry's face, he softened his expression.
For Unspeakable to be so expressive, fatigue really must have gotten to him, Harry noted somewhat absently.
"Try to look at it from our perspective. It's year 1944. We are at war, both in magical and muggle world. And all of sudden, we get the information there was an explosion in school full of our children, doubtlessly caused by a man wearing Dark Lord Grindewald's symbol...-"
Yes, Harry supposed it did make sense. But just because he understood where the man came from, it didn't mean he could help a pointed, "at least you could have taken me to hospital, before you drugged me with Veritaserum."
And even before he finished saying those words, he already regretted having voiced them out.
"Tell me Mr. Potter," Selwyn leaned in, fixing Unspeakable's default unblinking gaze on Harry's face. "Should a man you've never seen before appear out of nowhere in a camp where you and your friends were hiding, and said man had a -" he stole a glance down at his notes, to check, "a Dark Mark on his arm... Would you take him to St Mungo's and fluff his pillows for him? Would you?"
Harry looked down at his palms. He needed not to say anything in response; they both knew what his answer would be.
No. He wouldn't.
He would petrify the man and demand confession the moment he awoke – and should the man stubbornly remain silent, Ron would rough him up a bit, because waiting for Hermione to brew Veritaserum would take up too much time.
"How about you tell me how I got in here in the first place?" he asked, dejected, when silence stretched for too long.
Selwyn sighed. "From what you've told us, we deducted you used very old magic. The same magic, in fact, that your mother used to ensure you would survive."
"What?!" Harry looked up in disbelief. "What – I used some kind of...what?"
Taking pity of his helpless confusion, Selwyn wasted no time to elaborate. "Wizards believe ritualism to be the oldest form of magical practise, but they are wrong. The oldest, most ancient form consists of simply articulating one's wish in a place where magic is most potent – like Hogwarts after battle, or your house during the attack of Lord...what was his name," Selwyn quickly searched through his notes, "Voldemort, doubtlessly were.
"By simple wish-making great feats of magic can be performed – you are living example of that. However, it was relatively soon replaced by more advanced ritualism; no matter how powerful wish-making was, more often than not it resulted in rather odd and unexpected side-effect. For instance, I'm fairy sure your mother merely wished for you to live, Mr. Potter. That the Dark Lord who posed a threat to you ended up destroyed in the process...well, that just happened."
Harry didn't know whether to be bewildered or astonished – or maybe he should just crack up at the thought of what Voldemort would say, had he ever heard his untimely demise well, just happened.
"Still, it takes a particularly strong-willed wizard, even in a place thick with magic, for wish-making to actually work," Selwyn mused, ignoring Harry's small existential crisis. "Seeing as you are sitting here right now, it's a safe bet to say you inherited that from your mother, Mr. Potter."
Suddenly, Harry remembered something. "But -! No, wait. It's not right, even with those side-effects. I remember wishing to be out of there, as in, out of that place. But then, technically, I was still in the very same place – in headmaster's office, Hogwarts, just...over fifty years into past."
Selwyn nodded. "Ah, yes. If the bond you share with the future Dark Lord truly is what you said it -"
"Yes, it is, I'm his Horcrux, do continue please," impatient, Harry got a word in the edgeways. He knew the concept of a human Horcrux was hard for Unspeakables to comprehend, much less to accept, but he was fed up with being doubted on this point all the time.
"Then, there is no place in the world were you would be able to hide from him."
Cold weight settled in Harry's stomach, upon hearing those words.
"Magic recognised it, of course, so if hiding you in place was for naught..." Selwyn went on, "it hid you in time, instead."
"So, now what?" Harry asked in a small voice.
"Now, we have serious trouble," said Unspeakable and swallowed a mouthful of his potion.
Harry felt his temper spike again. "Yes, Unspeakable Selwyn, I know. That little you've made clear, already."
"I'll explain it in a minute," the man appeased him. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, what was your first thought, when you learned about your time travel?"
No, Harry couldn't believe this man. "What does it have to do with anything?!"
"Humour me," Selwyn deadpanned, turning his Unspeakable creepiness on.
"I thought it was some bastard's bad idea of a joke," he snarled, obediently.
"And your second?"
Harry caught on. Reluctantly – he knew it couldn't possibly be that easy, he just knew! – he admitted, "I thought I might be able to stop him and, you know. Create a future without Dark Lord in it."
Selwyn tiredly rubbed his eyes. "I was afraid you would say so." He sighed. "Mr. Potter, I cannot stress it enough, but you cannot make any changes."
When Tom was in his fifth year, he had a dream.
He was in the Chamber of Secrets and there was that boy from the cupboard with him, wearing robes with Gryffindor crest.
- he was right, the boy was a wizard after all -
Tom was saying something to the boy, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was. How very strange. It was like his lips moved on their own accord, forming word after word – not bound by Tom's will at all.
The boy's fingers were curled around basilisk's fang
- what was he doing down here, in the Chamber? -
in his other hand, he was holding a little black book that looked like his diary, eerily so. But it made no sense. Why would the boy hold in possession Tom's diary, Tom's -
Basilisk's fang stabbed through the black covers.
. . .
Tom woke up with a start. He was laying in comfortable darkness of his dormitory, gasping for a breath. Shaking. Sweating.
Frantically, he grasped around for his diary. The little book was so very important, a peace of his soul was going to be stored in there one day, as soon as he learns how to do it...-
He paused, his fingers hovering uncertainly an inch above the black cover.
The boys eyes were green, Tom remembered suddenly. Green, and full of disdain. Looking at Tom with hatred.
His diary stabbed with basilisk's fang.
Tom raised his hand to massage away phantom pain in his chest.
Maybe...maybe, he was too hasty. Yes, that's it – too hasty. He'll learn everything there is to know about Horcruxes, of course he will. And then, Tom looked down at his diary, then, he'll think it through again.
But he won't be making one just yet.