Chapter Two: Samhain Noon
The following morning, Harry was awoken by a knock at his door. Despite wanting more sleep, he forced himself to get up and answer. He quickly dressed in his discarded clothes, throwing on a pair of grey trousers and the homemade navy jumper he had received from Mrs Weasley last Christmas, a white stag knitted on its front. Leaving his outer robes and dragonhide boots where they lay on the floor, he placed his glasses atop his nose as his socked feet padded across the room.
Swinging the door open revealed not the woman from his check-in the night before, but a man. His face was tanned and forehead wrinkled, with a balding head of salt-and-pepper hair. In one hand he held a plate stacked with toast, while the other carried a plastic bag, its contents clanking together noisily. Upon spotting his own tired eyes, the man gave him a sympathetic smile.
"Morning lad, well, it's the afternoon really! You missed breakfast, so I've brought you something to eat. Also, I popped down to the shops to pick up some baby food after my wife told me you had a little one with ya." He indicated to each of his hands as he said this, offering Harry their contents.
"Oh no, you shouldn't have." Harry said automatically, shocked by the kindness he was receiving from the couple he had basically stolen from. He realised belatedly that he couldn't actually afford to reject the food he didn't deserve, not having packed any for either of them.
"Don't worry about it, son." the man dismissed, waving the hand still clutching the bag. "We had kids of our own you know. I remember just what it's like when they're that age; you take any opportunity you get for a bit of extra shut-eye! Course, mine are all grown up now," A faraway look came over his face at this, lost in memories.
"Thank you." Harry murmured as he took the offered items, shutting the door behind him. Sitting back atop the bed, he began to nibble at his toast, trying to push down his own feelings of shame. Could he really continue doing this, take advantage of these unsuspecting Muggles, all in the name of taking care of his younger self? Looking at the infant still sleeping peacefully, he thought he could learn to live with the guilt.
Harry watched as a small hand rubbed the scabbed over wound on his forehead in discomfort, and couldn't help but wince, his finger reaching up to trace his own matching scar. The mark stood out against the boy's otherwise unblemished skin, and he could now see why it had become such a distinctive feature. Were his own scar had faded to white once the Horcrux inside had been destroyed, Harry's was red and jagged, and would likely remain that way until the soul piece it held was been removed. How he was going to accomplish that remained a mystery to him for now.
He wasn't going to let little Harry become a sacrificial lamb like him. He'd only survived under very specific circumstances, likely impossible to recreate exactly. Harry gave a dejected sigh, his mind becoming abuzz with the unanswered questions he'd been trying to avoid pondering on. They were unhelpful in their current situation, but his insatiable curiosity had always been one of his biggest weaknesses.
Harry wanted to know how he was able to coexist with another version of himself and hadn't gone insane when he'd seen his younger self, just like Hermione had warned him all those years ago. He hadn't even considered the possibility before he'd gone rushing off. Perhaps his method of travelling through the Veil had something to do with it; time-turner's could only go back so many hours after all.
Another thing he had yet to question was why he had ended up here, or more specifically, in this time? Harry supposed that even though he had not physically owned the Cloak of Invisibility until he was eleven, he had inherited the heirloom the moment his father had died. However, glancing back at the crib beside him, Harry idly wondered if he was still even that Hallow's master. He'd been carrying the cloak with him when he had walked through the Veil, did he still have it, or had it vanished like his wands?
Deciding to take stock of his belongings, he searched through his pocket to retrieve his mokeskin pouch. He placed the things he had acquired from the cottage to one side, before dumping the rest of its contents onto the bed. Harry saw that most of his treasured possessions were gone: along with his cloak, the Marauder's Map was also missing, as well as Fabian Prewett's dented watch, which Molly had given him for his seventeenth birthday. His Firebolt was still there, shrunken down, resembling a paintbrush more than a broom, to be able to fit within the bag.
The majority of the books he'd had with him were now absent; accept his notebook that he had filled with his own research, the photo album, with pictures of his parents and friends, which he'd received from Hagrid, and his copy of 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'. Hermione had published this version after translating the original runic text, together with Professor Dumbledore's own extensive notes on the various stories that he had left to the Hogwarts Archives after his death, and adding her own additional commentary defining wizarding terms for Muggle-born readers.
Checking his coin purse, he discovered it to be completely empty; he didn't have a Knut to his name! Come to think of it, if the world believed Harry Potter to be a one-year-old, which technically was true, then he didn't even have a name of his own.
Harry remembered reading somewhere that the goblins had enchanted their coins so they were unable to be duplicated; maybe something similar had happened to the rest of his things. If two versions of the same thing could not exist at the same time, it might explain why only his previously owned possessions had disappeared.
Regardless of the current how's and why's, his cloak would doubtlessly come in handy. He'd already reclaimed the Elder Wand, despite never gaining its allegiance in this timeline. Summoning the other Hallow to him, its silky material covered him like a blanket where he sat, causing him to disappear from sight.
Harry chuckled wryly to himself, imagining Hogwarts' Headmaster frantically searching through his office to try and find his misplaced wand and borrowed cloak! Having somehow lost two of the most powerful magical objects, and the saviour of the wizarding world in a fortnight must be stressing his old mentor out.
During his musing, little Harry had stirred from his rest. Sitting up in the crib, he peered around the room in confusion, searching for any familiar faces. Although he was just over a year old, Harry somehow seemed to know that the bed that he slept in was not his own, nor were his current surroundings. When he didn't see anyone, little Harry let out a pathetic whimper, not having the energy to cry out loud anymore.
Upon hearing the sound, Harry discarded the cloak, quickly moving to the child's side to try and comfort him. "Up!" the boy demanded, though it sounded more like a plea, lifting his arms and looking at Harry with wide green eyes. From the small, hoarse voice, it was obvious that last night had taken a toll on him.
Harry easily obliged, gently picking him up, when a sour smell reached his nostrils and he realised that the baby's bottom was wet. Little Harry kicked his legs around, attempting to remove himself from the discomfort.
Harry frowned to himself, he knew he would have had to change him sooner or later, it didn't mean he was looking forward to it though. Grabbing the nappy pack still lying on the bed, he made his way to the bathroom with the squirming boy in hand.
He had seen Andromeda do this, when Teddy was still young, with quick and well-practised hands, but had never changed any nappies himself. Harry found himself once again lamenting not being in his Godson's life more when he'd the chance. But by the time he had been feeling better in himself, Teddy had already grown up and was attending Hogwarts.
Bringing himself back to the present, he glanced down at the illustrated instructions provided on the pack before placing Harry down. The boy shrieked in protest at being forced to lie on the cold tiled floor, but his fussing went ignored. Undoing the nappy's fastenings, Harry immediately began to gag as the full force of the smell hit him. The stench was strong enough to make his eyes water. How someone so small could make something that stank so much was beyond him.
Harry quickly learned that simultaneously trying to keep hold of the child, wipe him clean, and get rid of the soiled nappy, was near impossible. Once removed, Harry wanted to incinerate the foul object on the spot, but instead settled for banishing the nappy and casting a scourgify charm to try and maintain some measure of cleanliness for both him and his younger self.
Sighing in relief when he had successfully managed to wrestle Harry into a clean nappy, he silently begged that it would be easier the next time he had to go through that ordeal. The boy crawled off, apparently content to go explore the rest of the hotel room. Harry too rose from the floor, immediately going to the sink to scrub his hands with hot water and soap.
He returned to see little Harry playing with the remainder of his toast, smearing the jam on the bread with his fingers, before sticking them in his mouth. "Right, you must be hungry. Let's get you something to eat," he realised, going to retrieve the baby food from where he had left the plastic bag.
"Ya, ya, ya!" the boy giggled, bouncing as he slapped his chubby hands down into the ruined slice for emphasis.
Chuckling under his breath, Harry unscrewed the small jar's lid. He gave the orange purée a dubious sniff, sweet potato if he'd had to guess, or maybe butternut squash? Regardless, he picked up a spoon and mug from the tea tray that had been provided in the room, filling the latter with water. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the infant, he began the arduous task of feeding and watering the boy.
It was obscenely messy, not least of which because little Harry seemed determined to feed himself, trying to grab the spoon and getting his hands covered in the food as well as the jam. Those sticky hands then proceeded to go everywhere, spreading the muck. He also had to guide Harry very carefully, trying to keep him from spilling too much of the water all over himself as he drank.
Once again, Harry sighed - he got the feeling he'd be doing that a lot from now on - as he looked down at the grubby boy, though little Harry seemed quite pleased with himself. Perhaps he should just give the boy a bath, but the thought of having to remove and reapply the clean nappy he had just put on was enough to make him discard that idea.
Instead, he picked little Harry up and brought him back into the bathroom. Setting him down on the edge of the tub, Harry wet towel, using the damp cloth to wipe off the worst of the mess, before casting another cleaning charm.
That done, he placed Harry back down on the floor; making sure to keep anything else the boy could use to dirty himself again out of reach. He should probably get Harry dressed next. Looking down at the pile of baby clothes laid out on the bed, he went about picking out an outfit that would keep the child warm in the cold November air.
He settled on a long-sleeved maroon top, a pair of soft woollen overalls, and a fleece-lined yellow raincoat, the pockets made to look like little wings. Harry would have thought that the hood was meant to resemble a chick's or duckling's face, but the long thin beak and bright red button eyes made him realise that it was a Golden Snidget. Harry couldn't help but smile at how appropriate that was; he'd read about the small birds in 'Quidditch Through the Ages', perhaps his parents had known he would be a future seeker.
Harry only lamented not packing any shoes for the boy, if only because the image of little Harry splashing in puddles wearing matching yellow wellies, was adorable. He considered trying to transfigure a pair of socks into boots, but before he could even make an attempt, he felt a tugging at his trouser leg.
"Mummy?" Upon hearing the plea, Harry looked down and saw large eyes filled with longing. His heart ached painfully, brief cheerfulness gone. Yesterday, little Harry had had a mother and father. While he could not remember his own parents, for his younger self, they had been there his whole life.
"You're going to be staying with me from now on," he said, as brightly as he could manage. "I'm Harry, by the way." Now was as good a time as any for introductions he supposed.
"Hawwy," the boy repeated emphatically, sternly stabbing his thumb into his own chest. Of course, the same name thing was confusing enough for him, he couldn't really expect a one-year-old to make any more sense of it. Referring to him as little Harry was all well and good in his mind, but it didn't really work aloud.
"Oh, right. Yes, you're Harry. I'm Ha…ah…" Harry quickly cycled through any vaguely similar sounding names to his own that he could think of. Though, he'd never been very good at coming up with aliases for himself. Harrison, Harold… Hadrian? Like the wall? "Hadrian." he announced, deciding he actually kind of liked the sound of that one.
Little Harry just continued to stare up at him; he didn't seem to understand, only that his mother wasn't there. "Daddy?" he tried instead, a bit more forcefully this time. Harry – Hadrian, now, he supposed – gave a strained smile. Searching through the bed's pile, he picked up the stuffed black dog and held it out for the child to see. It had just the effect he was hoping for, distracting Harry as he reached for the toy in his hand, which he gladly gave to him. "Pa'foo!" the boy cried happily.
Hadrian felt himself freeze. Oh shit, Sirius! He hadn't even stopped and really thought about the man, far too many immediate concerns on his mind to think clearly about things that had always been distant history to him. Even when Hadrian had originally formed his plan, it had been to get his Godfather out of Azkaban; not only was the man still alive in this time, but he hadn't even been arrested yet!
Fortunately, Harry seemed to sense his sudden urgency and let himself be dressed without much fuss. Hadrian rapidly tossed all his belongings back into his pouch, throwing on his own robes and boots.
He picked up Harry, holding him on his hip, the boy still clutching the scruffy dog in his arms. Briskly, he left his room, passing the reception area, not slowing in his stride when the woman back behind her desk tried to grab his attention. "Sir, are you checking out?"
"Er, yes! Wait, no… maybe?" he called over his shoulder before the door to the B&B shut behind him. When they were out of the building and onto the street, Hadrian took his wand and began running it slowly down the length of both his and Harry's bodies. "Effugiat." he whispered, casting a Notice-Me-Not charm, wanting to keep the wandering eyes of any Muggles off them.
Once Hadrian had finished the incantation, he placed his wand in the palm of his hand. Most tracking spells required you to have placed them on the target beforehand; however, Hermione had tweaked the Four-Point spell so that the compass would also point to a named object or person. She had mainly used it to keep track of her children, and Ron, when they had wandered off into the busy crowds of Diagon Alley, or to find a misplaced book, for fear of damaging it with a summoning charm.
"Point Me, Sirius Orion Black." Hadrian intoned, hoping that the man was close enough to be in range of the spell. The Elder Wand spun in his hand, before locking onto Sirius' location. Immediately, Hadrian headed off in the shown direction, walking swiftly and with purpose; he had to find his wayward Godfather, preferably before the man was able to hunt down the traitorous rat.
Hadrian spent the rest of the day searching Muggle London for any signs of either Sirius or Pettigrew. While he hadn't stopped to check the time, the sun was beginning to set, and he felt as if he had made no real progress.
It certainly didn't help that, every few moments, his wand would start to spin again before pointing him in a different direction. He could only assume that Sirius had apparated to a new location, but Hadrian wasn't nearly as confident in his knowledge of the city's layout to constantly be doing the same. Though he did try a couple of times, much to Harry's displeasure; the boy's face scrunching up, seeming to dislike the sensation of Side-Along apparition as much as Hadrian did.
Harry was also prone to the odd fit of boredom, acting out and demanding to be let down. And though Hadrian wouldn't mind giving his tired arms a break from carrying Harry, he very much doubted the boy would be able to match his fast pace. Doing so would only waste time they didn't have.
"I know Harry," Hadrian said, his tone soft. "But I need you to be patient, okay? We've got to find Padfoot before he gets himself in trouble." His words seemed to placate Harry's temper for now.
As the sky above them grew dark, and the street lamps began to flicker on, Hadrian's luck seemed to turn around. The wand in his hand had not moved from its set position for a while now, it appeared as if Sirius had finally stopped for the night. Drawing closer, Hadrian couldn't help his building excitement at the prospect of seeing his Godfather again.
That was until he heard the distant BOOM of a powerful explosion. Harry was instantly startled from where he'd been nodding off against Hadrian's shoulder. The child's distressed cries joined those of the frightened, fleeing Muggles. A steady plume of smoke rose a few blocks down from where they currently were. Hadrian rushed towards it, fearing the worst.
Through the clouds of dust, he saw the number of Ministry employees that had already arrived on the scene; even Fudge's signature lime green bowler hat could be spotted in the crowds of wizards. Obliviators rounded up the remaining Muggle onlookers, while others blocked off the area, performing damage control. The only thing left of Pettigrew was his severed finger, lying in the smouldering crater left in the road.
Sirius knelt in submission; hands bound with chains, surrounded by Aurors, and the dead bodies that littered the street. Two men flanked Sirius, each roughly gripping one of his shoulders, their wands pointed at his face.
The man before him looked far more like the resurrected spirit he had talked to within the Forbidden Forest than Hadrian had seen him in life. Sirius' face wasn't gaunt and waxy, but young and handsome, black hair long and lustrous rather than matted and unkempt. However, his striking grey eyes still swam with the same grief that had haunted them till his death.
Sirius howled hysterically with bark-like laughter, yet his face was completely devoid of humour, tears trailing down his cheeks. "It's all my fault!" he wailed, sounding unhinged even to Hadrian's ears.
"Sirius Black, you are under arrest for the betrayal of the Potters to the Dark Lord Voldemort, the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggle bystanders, and for suspected activities as a Death Eater." an older Auror spoke, his voice steady and face hard. The two others holding onto Sirius blanched at the use of the name.
Sirius just continued to laugh, hiccuping chuckles mixed with broken sobs. He gave no other reaction, not even when his wand was snapped in half. That was until he heard the use of his nickname, his head snapping up at the sound.
"Pa'foo!" Harry cried, arms outstretched, the hand not currently holding onto his toy reaching towards his Godfather. He thrashed about in Hadrian's grasp, once again wanting to be let down, socked feet kicking into his side.
"Harry…" Sirius began, his voice trailing off in disbelief. Grey eyes drifted up to meet Hadrian's own, widening as he focused on his face. "...Prongs?" the convict whispered before jumping up to his feet and leaping towards Hadrian. His sudden movement caught his guards by surprise, allowing Sirius to break free of their hold on him. "James!"
"Nice one, James!" Sirius shouted, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. Caught up in the heat of combat, he hadn't even seemed to notice his slip of the tongue. But Harry had, it caused him to pause in his actions, and almost cost him as he only just managed to dodge another jet of light.
"Prongs, you're alive! Oh Merlin, you're alive!" Sirius barely made it two steps before he was hit with multiple stupefying spells. The man dropped to the floor, face colliding with the asphalt, instantly rendered unconscious. The pair of Aurors rushed forward to where he lay limply.
Then his Godfather was hit squarely on the chest, sending him falling backwards through the veiled arch. His body curved gracefully, the smile not quite gone from his face, but his eyes still mingled with shock and fear. And then Sirius was gone.
The sharp crack of disapparation sounded deafening to Hadrian. He stared at the spot Sirius had just been, willing the man to reappear! The sting of unshed tears burned his eyes. He needed to hold himself together; he couldn't break down now, not here.
Some of the other ministry officials eyed him suspiciously, but were quickly dismissed by a wave of the commanding Auror's hand, returning back to their work. He must have been a higher ranking officer, to have recognised the robes that marked him as an Unspeakable. Hadrian gave the man a nod of acknowledgement, trying to look as if he belonged there, despite the fact that he was currently holding a shrieking child in a bright yellow raincoat.
Discreetly as possible, he fled. His sprint quickly sped into a full-on run; the Invisibility Cloak wrapping around him and hiding them from sight. Hadrian didn't have the right mind to cast a silencing charm to quiet Harry's wails or his ragged breaths, his brain screaming at him.
Why hadn't he done something? He'd just stood there! He could have saved him, should have saved him…
His footsteps echoed around the empty underpass of the bridge he had found his way to. He collapsed into a heap on the ground, panting for air, his legs sore and head spinning.
Cedric, Sirius, Dobby, Fred, Remus, Tonks... All their voices called to him from the other side of the Veil. He'd stepped through its arch in hope of accomplishing the impossible. Or had that simply been the excuse he'd told himself, had he really wanted to join them… Had he wished for death?
Hadrian could no longer hold back his tears, cradling Harry in his arms as he joins the boy in his crying.
Notes:
I wanted to thank everyone who has followed, favourited, or reviewed my story so far! Though the numbers may seem insignificant in comparison to some others, I honestly do treasure each one of them.