Disclaimer: Don't own HP. No profit being made.

A Clock on the Face of Hell

Chapter 3: The World With A Wand

According to the Leaky Cauldron's clock, we arrived at Diagon Alley by 11:30 a.m.

Funny thing how the brain works. I suppose it varies from person to person, but the first thing I noticed was the sheer amount of birds flying overhead. Owls, ravens, eagles and the occasional tropical bird swooped down from tree branches and perched themselves on people's shoulders. There was even one old witch with a large, yellow hat on her head that served as a perch for three owls that happily swayed on their spots with the woman's limping movements.

The next thing I noticed was the huge amount of witches and wizards walking around the Alley. I've never been very good at estimating numbers, but I thought there were at least four hundred people ambling about. As we walked through the crowds I saw families happily bouncing from store to store, kids pleading with their parents to get a new broom, Muggleborns staring wide-eyed at everything (I must've looked like a Muggle parent wearing robes) and a few house-elves consulting shopping lists taller than themselves.

We walked past Fortescue's and Filius looked up at me with a grin on his face. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he said. "You'll get used to it in no time at all. I was quite overwhelmed myself when my father took me to buy my first wand."

My hood covered my face so Filius didn't get to see me nodding dumbly with my mouth hanging slightly open. In fact, nobody could see my face, but it didn't scare anybody either. Even though I was wearing full Death Eater regalia (except for the mask) kids walked up to me and stared unabashedly, trying to see past my obscuration charm, and giggling with each other at the strange man wearing long robes and a hood in the heat of the summer. And the parents weren't concerned either. A young woman even smiled at me apologetically as she picked up her laughing daughter, who continued to look and wave at me from over her mother's shoulder.

And the stores were fantastic too. Even if the products being sold were somewhat old-fashioned and generally relics in my time, one could appreciate the selling techniques of the owners and the vibrant colours used to capture attention. There were flashing signs, banging noises and squeaking animals in stores that catered to young audiences. Other more serious establishments had opted for the employment of spokewizards that would stand outside and call in loud voices things like, "There's a special discount for today's most fashionable hair styles – we've gone mad, ladies and gents, absolutely mad!" or a man standing outside a bookstore would yell, "Books, books! Spells, charms, house-hold tips and Quidditch guides! They're just flying off the shelves!", and things that looked like books would soar right out of the store, annoy the post-carriers overhead and fly back inside.

The contrast to my time's Diagon Alley was so vivid I couldn't help but stare at everything with undisguised awe. I had seen the place change many times, especially through my fifth, sixth and seventh years, but when we left for this Time Diagon Alley had burned already. Stores had been blasted apart, blood pooled on the streets and goods were littered on the ground.

The mood of this Diagon Alley was captivating. I found myself relaxing and trying to enjoy the moment. Filius certainly helped, pointing at anything that looked interesting and generally acting his part of a young teenager, while I tried to keep myself from rushing into Quidditch Quality Supplies and buying the latest prototype to replace my heavily damaged Firebolt.

Every now and then we would come across a chocolate frog bouncing happily down the street and a frustrated child chasing after it. Filius even pointed at a man with his son sitting on his shoulder leaving the narrow passage to Knockturn Alley. The small kid was using his father's head as a drums set while the man complained to anyone who would hear him about the skyrocketing prices of goods in general.

"Filius," I said, speaking for the first time since we'd arrived, "whatever happened to this place? What happened to the number of witches and wizards in our time? And why did Diagon change? This is definitely better than the first time I came here with Hagrid."

My friend sobered for a moment. "Voldemort and Grindelwald," he said. "The Alley was first bombed in late '45. Voldemort takes credit for the rest." He appeared to shake himself from the bad memories. "But that never happened yet. That's why we're here. And now how about having some early lunch? Nobody makes chicken soup like Weaver's."

"Oh, that does sound pretty good," I said, allowing the change of topic. "I'll be happy as long as I never see a can of peas again."

We headed towards the restaurant he suggested. On the way we passed Ollivander's, which looked as cramped and old as it had in my time. By now I wasn't surprised to see a line waiting outside the shop. I idly wondered if Ollivander could remember every wand he sold in these times too. My bet was he couldn't; there were just too many customers.

I spotted a newspaper and magazines stand. The sheer amount of publications available was mind-blowing when I compared it to my time. I was slowly starting to think that comparing the two worlds would get tiring and pointless very soon. I asked the owner for today's Daily Prophet and received a strange look and was offered two publications; A Warlock's World and The Fact Breaker.

Intrigued, I bought both of them, while Filius made a face at my choices. "That first one," he said, pointing at A Warlock's World, "prints fiction. An interesting read for those toilet moments or waiting in a line, but don't expect facts. The other one though… I think you, of all people, will enjoy that."

I decided to look at them more carefully later. This new time would require a lot of catching up. History was definitely not one of my strengths. For now I took a quick peek at the title of the first article of The Fact breaker and the date. My eyes widened.

It read:

Sunday, January 15, 1945
Dark Lord Grindelwald declares war against the
Confederation of Sorcerers of America
Tensions rise in Asia and Eastern Europe
By Jane Stinter

"Filius, what the hell is this?" I hissed.

"There will be time for that later, Harry. I promise to answer any and all questions after we eat," he said. "And what's the exact date?"

"January 15, 1945."

Filius paled slightly. "1945? Oh, dear…" I gave him a demanding look but he said, "I know, I know. But not now, Harry, please. We'll talk about this later."

He refused to talk about the war for the next few hours. I gave in.

Past the Owl Post, Gringott's and a small shop that sold trunks we found Wompton Weaver's place. Filius smiled a sad smile that had me quite curious about his memories of this time. It seemed that every place he looked at he found a fond memory. It didn't surprise me to see he looked a little teary-eyed by the time we took a seat at a table outside the restaurant.

"Good memories?" I asked.

Filius smiled a little and nodded. It pleased me to see his frustration hadn't surfaced since we'd left Lac du Der-Chanteqoc. Maybe I had acted like a royal dick, but nobody could argue with the results; my friend looked happier. He kept closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. I don't know what he smelled that had him in such a good mood, but my stomach was growling to the aroma of chicken and freshly baked bread.

From across the table I looked at his childish face – unwrinkled and innocent, with blue eyes much too wise for a kid – and we shared a short look that said it all. There weren't many people that would've understood the moment. I don't know what words Filius would've used to describe the hope this Time's possibilities offered, but for me it was fucking freedom.

"You may take your hood off, Harry," he said. "You are attracting more attention with it than you would without it. It is a warm day, after all."

I did so immediately; the heat was stifling and I was sweating. Cleaning and cooling charms could only get you so far. I was looking forward to a nice, hot, long shower and a set of clean robes with no tears or burn marks.

"I'm starving," I said. "What's good here? Can't spot a list." I looked at the other tables and noticed people had menus in their hands. I couldn't see any boards with specialties or particular dishes. Filius chuckled and twice rapped his knuckles smartly on the table, and two menus popped into existence in front of him. "Oh, right," I said, a bit embarrassed as he handed one to me. "Magic and all that…"

Filius grinned at me. "Perhaps I can teach you more than warding," he said, entirely too happy in my opinion, though he was entitled to it, I supposed. He consulted the menu, pushing his reading glasses up, which looked ridiculous on his glamoured, young face, and clearly said, "Cherry syrup and soda with ice!" There was a soft clinking noise and a tall glass of a ridiculously sweet beverage appeared. He looked at his drink appreciatively and said, "There is more to magic than simply waving a wand, Harry."

I shot him a dirty look and called for my own drink. A glass of red wine appeared. I took a careful sip and closed my eyes, relishing the dry taste of the wine I'd taken a liking to when travelling with an Australian. I said, "And there's more to life than being a smart arse, Filius."

"Indeed," he said, still smiling. "I believe you are at fault on both accounts."

I chuckled and sipped my drink in silence.

A young woman came by to take our order. She looked to be in her early twenties and had curly brown hair tied together in a ponytail behind her back, a kind, wide smile and very light blue eyes that settled a second too long on mine. I couldn't resist smiling at her too. It had been too long since I'd last been the object of interest of a woman that wasn't a psychopath, a cold-hearted killer or a broken soul.

"Good morning, sir," she said. "How are you today?"

"Oh, I'm fine, just fine, thank you," I said, glancing at Filius' amused expression. "How about you?"

"Very well, thank you" she said, her smile even wider, as if she wouldn't dream of being anywhere else. Her eyes settled on Filius. "Oh, he's adorable, isn't he? Is he yours?"

Filius' eyes widened a little and he looked at me for support. I grinned and said, "Oh, no, don't have any kids. This here is Mr. Filius Bonham."

"Yes, yes, of course," she said. "You do look alike, but you are much too young to be a father, Mr.…"

My heavily glamoured friend glared balefully at me and, before I could answer, he said, "Bonham, Harry Bonham. He's my uncle. Harry's taking me shopping today!"

I choked a little on my drink but I managed to pass it off as a regular cough. When the waitress turned to look at me concernedly Filius gave me a cheeky grin full of white teeth. Bastard could sure act. He pulled off the innocent excitement masterfully. This battle of wits was way above my level.

"Well, Mr. Bonham," she said slowly, "should I take your order?"

"Ah, yes, please," I said, somewhat composed, occasionally shooting a glare at Filius. "We'd like two chicken soups and some bread, and perhaps the bottle from which this came from? The wine is quite good."

"Very well, Mr. Bonham."

I grimaced. "Please, Ms.…"

"That's Miss Laura Weaver," she said with a wide smile.

"Yes, of course," I said, while Filius made gagging gestures behind her back. "And please call me Harry, Miss Weaver, just Harry. I'm afraid I don't share my nephew's liking to our last name."

Laura smiled sweetly at Filius and said, "Alright, Harry. Your order will be ready in just a few minutes."

I stared at her retreating back before turning to look at Filius. He kept the child act for a few seconds, going so far as to sip his drink noisily and say, "I want more, Uncle Harry!" Little bastard would be a nightmare to deal with in public.

"Why did she come over if we can order stuff without help?" I asked curiously. "And why are you pretending to be my nephew?"

"Surely not because young Laura wanted to talk to you."

"You know, Filius," I said pleasantly, "I won't ditch you for women. You don't have to act so jealous."

"Oh, please," he said. "That has to be the poorest attempt at flirting I've seen in the last thirty years. All you did was smile like a wide-eyed Muggleborn while she waited for your lines. I've seen better from my Ravenclaws, including a particularly amusing one where a fifth year quoted Shakespeare for Valentine's in the Great Hall. He at least got a date out of it."

I snorted. "Hard to beat that."

The contrast in his tone and eyes with his behaviour came to an all time high when he fished a cherry from the bottom of his drink. He savored it slowly. Worst part was I couldn't tell if he was still acting.

"You do know," he said unexpectedly, "that the last name you forced us to take will follow us for years, don't you?"

I waved my hand dismissively. "Of course not," I said. "We'll settle for an appropriate identity later. And I don't want you pretending to be my son, nephew, cousin, little brother or whatever you can come up with either, no matter how well you can pull it off or how easy it is to change your appearance."

When he'd said he would change his face by use of glamours I had expected something a little more subtle. But no, not Filius, he never did anything half-way. If he was going to disguise himself he was going to do it right. And he did.

Bastard used his small stature to look like a twelve or thirteen-year-old. His height, coupled with his hair and eyebrows dyed black, nose and ears shortened slightly and his wrinkles gone, gave him the look of a snot-nosed brat with wide, mischievous eyes and a permanent white, toothy grin on his face. He told me this was not how he looked like when he was young, as that would've defeated the disguise's purpose.

"I'm not joking, Harry," he said, still pleasant and smiling, so that whoever looked at us would see a typical uncle-nephew moment. "That young woman was Wompton Weaver's daughter, in case you haven't noticed. This place, small as it may look like, is actually a rather busy restaurant and, by night, a pub. And do you know what happens at pubs, my young Apprentice?"

"People drink? And don't call me that."

"Very good, Mr. Harry Bonham," he said without missing a beat, "people do drink. They also tend to talk. Gossip is the norm in this community. Granted, a young man with a strange name and his nephew won't garner much attention, but I suspect we won't be sitting idly in the sidelines for long. Someone is bound to notice sooner or later that Mr. Bonham is not your regular citizen and that his naïve nephew can wipe the floor with him in a duel."

"As I recall, I'm not the one who left a tattoo of himself on a certain room's ceiling."

"Ah, yes, there is that," he said with a grimace. "There will be retribution for that, young Bonham. But how did you know I would try levitating myself above you?"

I grinned. "Same way I know you're wondering if a third drink of that thing you like will give you gas."

His eyes widened and for a moment he looked away. "Legilimency?" I nodded, still grinning. "Should have known. That move won me the semifinal in an international dueling tournament."

The flow of thoughts I had been picking up on a few seconds ago suddenly stopped. He gave me a smug look and ordered a third drink, his only comment being, "I do hope you don't mind the smell."

Laura came by again to drop off our food. The bread was crispy and warm, and the chicken soup, just as Filius had promised, was by far the best I'd ever had, though a week of canned food might have had something to do with my assessment. Filius furtively sampled my wine with the chicken and complimented me on an excellent choice. I was reluctant to confess I'd chosen the Syrah randomly.

Throughout our meal we discussed the matter of our identities and possible future actions. We had no idea where to start with on the latter as the consequences of changing something were still unclear. An identity was somewhat of an easier topic and went well with the wine and chicken, so we concentrated on that for now. It was ironic to see we'd spent over a month doing research and planning our moves and covers, only to discover they'd all gone out the window from the very first second I'd stepped out the Clock.

"It has to be something permanent," I said as I dipped some bread into the soup. "Polyjuice and glamours are all well and good for a couple of hours, but I won't spend decades using that. There has to be another way."

Filius nodded around a mouthful of chicken and potatoes. "Yes, I quite agree," he said. "There is the possibility of using blood magic. That would mean, however, that we would be aligning ourselves to another family, in a way. Strangely enough, blood magic requires someone's blood to work."

"Yeah, not something I particularly care for. Let's leave that as a last resort. Any other brilliant ideas?"

"Potions?" he suggested. "Rejuvenating, aging, and the like are viable, I think. I do not know how much different I'll look in twenty years, but my height is still an inconvenience. Plus the older you get the more you'll look like your grandfather, who is currently around here somewhere. I remember he used to live in Godric's Hollow."

"But again there's that dependence on some substance," I said. "Imagine we're talking to Dumbledore and suddenly Filius Flitwick makes an appearance. The old man would start screaming his head off about paradoxes and second chances."

"Ah, good to see you aren't bitter there, Harry."

I shot him a dirty look as I practically inhaled the scalding soup. I called for Laura and asked for a second helping to share. Despite how small he was Filius could sure eat; he claimed to have a high metabolism.

"Now back on topic," I said. "I need to look young so that nobody compares me to my grandfather. You need to look… well, different. And permanently so."

Filius snorted. "Only way to look forever young without the regular use of potions and charms is the Elixir of Life, and I doubt we can get that in an Apothecary," he said. I perked up at the mention of the infamous Elixir. "I suppose we could use regular make-up. It wouldn't take long to put on and it'd last the whole day. Only problem would be if we were to get wet or if someone picked up on it and decided to vanish it."

Filius kept listing possibilities but my mind was elsewhere. Already I was running through possible scenarios that could potentially get me some of that Elixir. It was a fairly simple potion to make, I remembered from a book I'd once read, but some of the ingredients were very expensive and almost impossible to find; the Philosopher's Stone among them.

"Say Filius," I interrupted his rant, "how good is your warding?"

"I assure you my title of Master is well-earned, Harry.

"And how's your curse-breaking? Particularly on breaking wards and defensive enchantments."

"Ah, I am quite proud of my skill on those areas," he said. "Albus himself once consulted me about bringing down the wards around a shabby house in a small town – that same year he died, incidentally. He had the raw power and skill to do it, while I had the knowledge and experience. But of course, I'm barely a spring chicken in transfiguration compared to –"

"Ah, yes, thank you, Filius," I interrupted again. He looked put-out, a cute expression on the face of the thirteen-year-old he was pretending to be, though it felt wrong to even think of Filius as a child; he was practically ancient compared to me. "So you know your ward-breaking and I have the raw power –"

"I do wonder when you got so strong," he interjected, but I ignored him for now.

"– that we would need to break into someone's house, right? Even if it belongs to an old pureblood family?"

Filius looked surprised. Then his features settled into an expressionless mask, though I could still the keen intelligence in his eyes, assessing me. In a flat tone he said, "So the Dark Lord Potter comes to the surface. What is it that you have in mind?"

"First tell me if it is possible to break into… say, Malfoy Manor, for instance."

He cautiously nodded.

"Excellent," I said. I pushed my bowl of soup aside and leaned forward, so that I was looking straight into Filius blue eyes, who kept his thoughts a secret through Occlumency. "Then breaking into Nicholas Flamel's house shouldn't be a problem."

Filius stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment, lost in his own thoughts and probably labeling me with different synonyms of insane and reckless.

"The stone?" he finally whispered.

I nodded seriously. "The Elixir of Life is a permanent solution for my problem and we could probably modify it to serve you as well. We would need help. We would need to do some serious research. We would need to make sure Flamel and his wife aren't there. And above all, we would have to make sure we aren't caught." I looked at him confidently, a smirk on my face. "But we can pull it off."

Filius continued to stare at me, judging my assertiveness and plan for what it really was; ridiculously bold and dangerously risky. I understood his doubts and did my best to stare back at him openly and unblinkingly, my thoughts hidden beneath the surface just in case he could read them, and my self-assured expression firmly in place.

After several long seconds he leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. He absent-mindedly took a sip of his disgusting drink, sighed appreciatively and said, "Your idea is quite dangerous, it can backfire very badly, our chances of success are slim and I think there is a good chance we will be caught." I sat up a little straighter, ready to argue my point, but he added, "That said, it's the only permanent suggestion we have, and I cannot, in good conscience, dismiss it."

He looked at me with a grim smile I would become quite fond of.

"When do you wish to start?"

We left Wompton Weaver's at around 12:30 p.m.

For two time-travellers who had taken the wrong bus we were acting and feeling quite at ease. I kept expecting Filius to flip out again and start screaming his undying hate for Nazis. He never did though. We calmly walked through the busy streets of Diagon Alley, discussing our options in low voices and pondering what we could possibly do next.

"Let us think short-term for now, Harry," Filius said. "I do not know about you, but I am quite tired and, frankly, utterly disorientated. Food certainly helped, but I need to relax and think things through."

"Um, the Leaky Cauldron then?"

"As good a choice as any."

We entered the dingy pub and headed straight for the bar. An ugly wizard with dirty hair and dull, black eyes was standing behind it, playing with some bottles, levitating them wandlessly and flinging them around him as the patrons watched amusedly and dropped a few Knuts after some particularly impressive move.

Filius hopped on a stool and watched the show with interest. I shook my head and sat beside my friend. It seemed the magical world's barmen were unable to run their establishments without some sort of quirk or eccentricity; Aberforth had been a brooding asshole with a fetish for goats; Tom had opted for the friendly but creepy wizard that trailed after you with hot cups of cocoa; and this guy had picked up juggling as a part-time job.

I pulled the rooms register towards me and quickly checked the names as the barman played with his bottles. There weren't any that particularly rang warning bells, though I was somewhat curious to see a Mr. Harfang Longbottom was staying in room 11. My friend Neville had never mentioned family with a first name so...interesting.

"Oi, you," I said.

The barman threw all bottles to the air and with a quick flick of his wrists managed to suspend them, so that they hovered above him as he walked closer to us. His eyes flickered from Filius to me and, deciding I was the responsible adult, he asked, "How can I help ya?"

"May," Filius whispered.

I ignored my friend and said, "Yeah, we'd like a room for tonight. Two beds, please."

The man grinned, grabbed a quill and scanned the register. "Alright, lad. We got 14 for ya. Yer names?"

I looked at Filius, sighed and gave the barman our fake names. The man gave me a strange look but wrote them down. From under the bar he pulled out a metal box, and with a frown on his face he stuck inside his hand, which went inside all the way up to his elbow. He peered intently until he found what he was looking for, and pulled out an old set of keys, the painted gold on them already quite faded. The barman pushed the keys forward and looked at me expectantly.

"Thanks, Mr…"

"Name's Cox, Liam Cox."

I grinned, amused, and Filius palmed his face tiredly, already knowing or suspecting what would happen next. The barman, one Liam Cox, gave us a forced smile and resumed his juggling. I followed the bottles with my eyes, taking note of the apparent pattern they followed, resolutely ignoring Filius' disapproving face.

We turned and left. Filius hopped down from his stool and went first, climbing through the narrow staircase located beside the bar, which was lined by walls of polished wood. Old paintings of previous owners and not-so-distinguished wizards and witches hung on both sides, and most of them looked down on me with their noses upturned as I followed my short friend.

When I reached the landing I found Filius already standing in front of a closed door. The metal plaque read 14 in faded, black letters, and I tossed Filius the key before going back downstairs.

"Where are you going?" Filius called.

"Be right back," I answered, already jumping down the stairs two at a time.

A few minutes later I stepped inside our room and closed the door. The one problem with it was glaringly obvious. I couldn't resist commenting on it.

"This sucks, Fil."

From his place by the rickety, wooden desk that stood close to the window, Filius nodded. "I know."

"I mean, it really sucks."

"I agree."

The room was pretty comfortable, over all. It had a desk, a table and a couple of chairs, a big, wooden wardrobe, a surprisingly wide window, a small couch and a full-body mirror, which I hoped didn't talk. Nice as the room was, that Cox the Juggler had either made a mistake or fooled us, because there was only one bed; one small, single bed.

"You think we should complain?"

"After you probably just did downstairs?" Filius said distractedly, peering at the streets of Muggle London through the window.

"Alright, I get it – temper and subtlety and all that. Not my strongest traits, you know."

Filius gave me one of those looks and began emptying his pockets on the desk. He was so small he had to stand on tip toes. As he pulled out the flying carpet he asked, "Bed or couch?"

I shrugged and walked over to the bed. Small clouds of dust drifted upwards lazily and became visible through the rays of sunlight that crept inside the room. I sat down on the bed. It was hard and the cover was rough. I knew I wouldn't be spending my time in this piece of shit of a pub. Maybe I could spend a few nights in Laura Weaver's place. She had told me to drop by the restaurant one of these days, after all.

I kicked my boots off, tossed my Mokeskin pouch on a bedside table and settled down for a nice nap, my mouth already open wide in a yawn and my eyes watering from the lack of sleep. I interlaced my hands behind my head and looked at Filius, who was tapping his wand here and there. He enchanted the door, windows and walls, and I thought I felt the wave of magic settle over me, but I was too tired to accurately tell what they were; proximity and silencing, most likely.

"Can we make this bed bigger?" I asked. "'Cause I'm not sleeping on that couch."

"I'll do it, if you don't mind," Filius said. "Your Charms work was always questionable when subtlety was of the essence, and I would rather avoid waking up on the floor."

"Suit yourself."

I flicked my wand and the window panes suddenly darkened, cutting off that annoying supply of light, and I closed my eyes, my wand still held loosely in my hand in case Cox got creative. I felt another weak wave of magic and heard another bed squeak under Filius' weight, who sighed contentedly.

We lay in the dark in silence as our eyelids grew heavier and our bodies relaxed. I sleepily mumbled, "So what would you say your strongest trait is, Fil? Subtlety? Stealth?"

I heard him yawn and say, "A three feet-tall man can hardly go unnoticed." He shifted in his bed for a moment and then said, "I recently discovered my unlimited patience. You have insisted on trying me every single day, but so far my patience remains true, and none of your stunts will make me lose it."

Grinning in the dark, I said, "You do remember your anti-Nazi rant in France, don't you?"

There was a moment of silence in which I could imagine the grimace on his face and the reluctant twitch of his lips. "Yes, I do," he said, "and it is far from over. But I believe I can be excused, seeing as you had just shot us through time." I heard Filius snort as he added, "And missed the target by forty years."

I closed my eyes, yawned again and said, "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Someday, Harry, someday."

I muttered something unintelligible and drifted off to sleep.

Occlumency afforded me some peaceful hours of sleep. Occasionally a random image or two would dance in my unconscious mind, showing disturbing images of broken bodies and burning buildings. Sometimes I would dream about my friends dying and sometimes about my enemies dying.

I woke up and stretched sleepily on the bed.

The room was much colder than it had been before, and though it was still dark, there was also a soft glow of a few burning candles. The damp smell of old, wet wood had been replaced by the deep odour of burning tobacco, mingled with other more colourful smells of fruit, which I had learned to associate with Filius in a thinking mood or in an excess of alcohol.

Luckily it was the former. I could see the outline of my small friend, hunched over the newspapers I'd bought, a frown of concentration on his face as he pulled distractedly from his black, wooden pipe. Greyish smoke lingered lazily in the air. It was amusing to see him smoking a pipe and reading the newspaper; he looked like a twelve-year-old role-playing for father's day.

I yawned and said, "That thing's going to stunt your growth, you know."

Filius looked up from his reading, the pipe hanging loose in his mouth, and mumbled, "Cheeky brat."

I got out of bed and ran my wand over my robe. Most wrinkles and a few patches of dust vanished instantly. I walked over towards the table and took a seat opposite Filius, who was once again engrossed in his reading.

"What time is it?" I asked. I felt refreshed and completely awake. A wonder what a good night's sleep could do to your mood.

Filius looked up again, plucked the pipe from out of his mouth and spoke as he filled it with a curiously red tobacco.

"Breakfast will be along in a few minutes. I slept very well, thank you. Yes, we shall talk about important matters over breakfast. It's a little over half past five a.m." He lit the pipe and pulled deeply, and while surveying me through his reading glasses, said, "Now do be quiet while I finish this article."

I plopped my feet up on a chair and said, "Yeah, I'm not a morning person either, Fil."

A flick of my wand and the window panes went back to their original translucency – a little bit cleaner too, perhaps. The lighting didn't change much, for the sun was only just rising, and only the dull, yellow light of the buzzing lamplights of Muggle London filtered in through the window. Filius was reading The Fact Breaker, so I yawned and picked up A Warlock's World while I waited. The front page was littered with small articles that surrounded a large one, which was titled "The map is drawn with wands."

There was a picture below it of a globe of the world hovering in the dark, while a wand circled it and drew random lines that formed what I assumed were boundaries between countries. A rather crude drawing, for sure, but I liked the analogy and my interest was piqued.

I skipped a few rather droning parts that reminded me of Binns. Overall the article seemed more interesting than it really was, though I did find a few gems here and there.

I learned Grindelwald's so-called quest for 'the Greater Good' had taken him practically all over the world. He was considered an extremely powerful wizard (though some accounts in the article bordered on ridiculous) and was apparently unstoppable. He, along with Adolf Hitler, had built himself a vast and powerful empire, with its capital in Berlin, Germany, and a second, slightly smaller one in Rome, Italy.

The vastness of Grindelwald's forces and the influence it held was beginning to get through to me. I was beginning to see why Filius so feared these times. Voldemort's regime was dark, terrible in many ways, but the sheer number of soldiers in Germany and Italy, both magical and Muggle, was astounding. Voldemort had been a madman who lusted for power, while Grindelwald was a rational, competent and powerful man with ideals. There was nothing more dangerous than a man with ideals and the will to see them bloom no matter how strong the opposition.

I looked up from my reading and found Filius to be staring at me with an inscrutable expression on his face. "Read," he said evenly, his pipe in hand and wand in the other, and despite the glamours, looking more like the weathered old man that had seen his country die than the easy-going Charms Professor I liked. He tapped his wand on the pipe and the red tobacco smouldered and burnt a light grey. "I shall fetch our breakfast so that we can talk. It is time you learn about this war and for us to decide how we fit into it."

I nodded, seriously for once, and said, "I want boiled eggs, please," which completely ruined the moment.

He took a last pull of his pipe, dropped his reading material and left the room, his walk slightly clumsier and expression childish. I'd thought Severus Snape could act, but Filius Flitwick could wipe the floor with him any day.

My perusing of A Warlock's World and The Fact Breaker led me to several more surprises, and not all of them nasty.

It seemed the Ministry of Magic was actually competent in this time. I could still see a hint or two of political bullshit and public opinion manipulation, but in general they were doing a rather good job of keeping Grindelwald at bay. It seemed this era's Dark Lord intended to occupy Britain, and The Fact Breaker speculated that Hitler had promised him London as a reward for his help, which was rather ridiculous, since I speculated Hitler was as dangerous as a toothbrush compared to Grindelwald.

I learned the Muggles had formed some sort of alliance. Neither publication went into great detail about Muggle affairs, but the current debacle in Britain was if the Ministry should offer their support to the Muggle armies, which appeared to be slowly scraping some victories in the Continent. The issue was highly polemical, according to A Warlock's World, because the International Statue of Secrecy prohibited such blatant showcase of magic. Nevertheless, it appeared that Hit Wizards and Unspeakables were supporting their fellow Englishmen from the shadows, discreetly breaking curses cast upon them and shielding their leaders from assassination attempts that would've otherwise wiped their ranks clean from Senior Officers.

Among the rather nasty surprises was an article about the involvement of Japan. It appeared that while Japan's Muggle armies were busy fighting in the Pacific, Japanese Warlords and High Sorcerers were ordered to aid in Grindelwald's campaign. Their reasons for doing so weren't very clear, but A Warlock's World didn't hesitate to point out those Warlords and Sorcerers were bad news for the wanded allies, for they were vicious, powerful and highly trained in combat. I remained sceptical about their competence (I had seen little to no competence in the magical world at large) but I didn't miss the fact that Grindelwald had a whole lot more allies than I'd thought possible when I'd learned Dumbledore had defeated him.

Filius returned levitating a tray with our breakfast. We cleared the table of some random garbage and grabbed our dishes. I studied the food for a moment, wondering if that Cox would dare mess with it, before I shrugged the concern off and tucked in hungrily.

"This is pretty good," I said. Filius swallowed and nodded. I noticed he was having grapes and melons. "What the hell is that anyway? You're having fruit for breakfast?" I looked down at my eggs and bacon. "Did that guy put something in the food?"

Filius chuckled. "Not that I know of. This is merely an old man's digestive system's choice."

"Ah, yes," I said. "I keep forgetting you're the senior citizen here, what with your height and everything..."

He shook his head, kept slicing his pieces of fruit and said, "Must you mock my height, Harry? I don't recall mocking your recklessness...hard head...arrogance...stubbornness...lack of an education...poor manners –"

"Alright, alright – I get it. Jesus..."

Filius sipped his coffee calmly and threw occasional glances at The Fact Breaker, which he kept open next to his 'food'. I stood up and grabbed my Mokeskin pouch, from which I fished out a couple of Galleons. My friend waved off my money, saying, "We will need to pool our resources soon. No sense in dividing our expenses for now." I shrugged. Money was one thing I did have, but I knew it wouldn't last more than three or four years, even if we lived cheap and spent with care. At some point I would need a job or something more...lucrative.

I returned to my breakfast and for a few minutes only the sound of chewing made for company. Filius kept staring at the newspaper with unfocused eyes while I thought about what I'd learned from both publications. My friend had been right about A Warlock's World – it seemed to contain more fiction than substance – and The Fact Breaker was as he'd said too – dry, filled with information and useful for those who were trying to form their own opinion.

My thoughts were of course rather unfounded as of yet, for I had seen only one publication of each. But A Warlock's World reminded me too much of the Daily Prophet, which used to be as reliable as Goblins, while The Fact Breaker had an air of being a serious publication where editors made their thoughts known and shared the most relevant news with the reader. I had yet to confirm if any news printed were factual. And that's where Filius came in.

I pushed my empty plate away and sipped the last of my orange juice. Filius mimicked my movements and leaned back with his coffee in hand. For a moment we kept silent, wondering where to begin, until Filius spoke.

"Before we begin, are there any questions about what you read?"

I slowly shook my head. "It was pretty clear," I said. "I still don't know how this came about, but the general outline was told accurately. Is it all true then?"

"I'm afraid it is," Filius said gravely. "It is apparent that you are largely ignorant of the second world war, but for all intents and purposes, at least for the next few months, all you need to know about Muggle events is that the war ended around the 2nd of September, 1945."

I looked at him with a hopeful expression. "Then it's almost over," I said. "The date is January, 1945. A couple of months and the Nazis are history again."

"Yes, Harry. If events happen the same way they did before, then that is quite true," Filius said, but sighed wearily. I frowned. "Wizard events, however, are now getting worse."

"Wasn't Grindelwald defeated in 1945?"

"Indeed, Albus bested him in 1945, but in November of 1945," he answered. "The magical war will get worse until the very day Grindelwald is defeated. Diagon Alley is yet to be bombed. Italy, Japan and Germany will face England, the Soviet Union and America in Europe sometime in October of this year. A large number of Hit Wizards will die trying to assassinate the Dark Lord. You could almost say the Muggle war ends when the Magical one begins in earnest."

We fell silent. It was quite a lot to take in. I'd thought that the war was almost over. But I'd already realized that Hitler was but a buffoon compared to Grindelwald. It wasn't very surprising to learn that his Muggle puppet's fall wouldn't impact his campaign, especially if Muggle armies were kept ignorant of the magical threat. The Allies would toast to their victory and go home, leaving wizards and witches to finish their war.

"It does sound bad," I conceded, "but we know Dumbledore eventually defeats Grindelwald. We've hardly done anything that would change such a huge event. I know it's cold-hearted, but if we let events play out and track down Riddle... Dumbledore will end this war and we can prevent the next one from happening."

Filius gave me a pleased yet sad smile and said, "For once we are in agreement, Harry." I started to say something but he continued. "But answer this, Harry, if you will." He levelled me a serious look. "Suppose we find Riddle and...exterminate him, then what? What will you do with your life? Will you stay out of sight for the rest of your life? Will you one day confess to be Harry James Potter? Will you meet your parents and risk the death of your other self?"

To my friend the questions might have been of importance, but to me they weren't. I knew exactly what I would do with my life; kill Tom Riddle, thus fulfilling the Prophecy; leave England; settle in somewhere warm, probably America; and live my life without looking over my shoulder. I would've liked to see my parents and friends, but I'd already accepted there was no room for me in that future. My friends and family had died.

I shared my thoughts with Filius and he sighed, as if he had expected my life's plans to be these. He listened patiently however, and filled his pipe with that strange red tobacco. When I was done he nodded, lit the pipe and said, "I understand, Harry. I cannot say I wouldn't do the same in your situation."

"Now," Filius said and leaned forward, adopting a more focused expression, "where do we find Riddle? How do we track him?"

"Well, I know quite a bit about his life," I answered, pleased that I knew something that would help us. "He graduated in '45, so he should be out there right now. I also know Dippet refused to give him a teaching position at Hogwarts –"

"Teach?" Filius interrupted with a squeak, choking on his pipe. "That bastard – teach? In my school?"

"I know," I said, completely agreeing with the sentiment. "But Dippet said he was too young, so he applied for a position in Borgin & Burkes, where he should be working right now."

Filius still looked horrified at the thought of Voldemort teaching at Hogwarts. I couldn't blame him. Snape had been bad enough as Headmaster, but that raving lunatic of a Dark Lord would've brain-washed the students within the week. Hell, I would've been brain-washed too perhaps, and that was not a very happy thought. It was hard to picture myself working for Lord Voldemort's Empire.

"So we have a chance, Fil," I said, distracting him from whatever it was he was thinking. "We can nail the bastard while he's running in and out of that hell-hole. A nice curse to the head, maybe puff one or two Horcruxes, and we're off to live by the beach."

"Sounds easy in theory," Filius said dryly, "but I doubt the actual execution will be." I made to say one killing curse wouldn't be too hard but he continued. "It is, however, a good – if unpolished – plan. There is also the matter of our identities. You still wish to go along with the Elixir of Life?"

I had almost forgotten about that, but I nodded confidently anyway. "Yes, it's as good a disguise as any," I said. "A few mouthfuls should be enough to keep me young for one or two decades, if what Dumbledore once told me is true. And we could modify it to create a new look for you too. I know for a fact Voldemort wanted to use it to create a new body for himself. If he can do that then we can pull this off."

"Very well," Filius said with an air of finality, "it is what we'll do. We should go to Knockturn Alley and discreetly inquire about this Tom Riddle. I will be glad to be done with this part of our plan." I nodded eagerly – too eagerly perhaps, because Filius adopted a grave expression and said, "But do not rush, Harry. One mistake, one second too early or too late, and we could be chasing Lord Voldemort all over the world. We must be very discreet in our methods. Nobody is to remember us or our involvement."

Nodding seriously, I stood up and put away the Galleons I'd pulled out back inside my Mokeskin pouch. I vanished the second bed Filius had conjured, a little surprised at how long it had lasted and how defined it looked, and walked towards the door, where I stopped and looked expectantly at Filius.

"Right now? he asked.

"Why not?"

A sigh. "Very well. Though I warn you, most shops don't open until eight or nine in the morning."

I shrugged. My pocket watch was still stuck at 3:04 a.m. I'd have to change it later or see about getting a new one.

"I have a feeling Borgin & Burkes never closes," I said to Filius, who gave me a searching look. "Let's go now. Someone will surely be there."

Filius picked up his things and we left the newspapers and the empty breakfast tray scattered on the table. I gave the room a last look, making sure I had left nothing behind, and Filius quickly brought down his enchantments. When he nodded, showing we were done, we opened the door and walked downstairs.

Liam "The Juggler" Cox was manning the bar this morning too. We ignored him and the glare he sent our way. The pub was completely empty save for an old witch having breakfast in a booth. I picked up the guest's quill, signed a fake 'Harry' with a flourish and pushed the register and a Galleon towards Cox.

He picked up the coin and grunted something that sounded like, "Come back soon."

Diagon Alley was practically empty. Filius estimated the time to be 6:45 a.m. and the sun was already creeping up in the horizon. It was a pleasant morning now that the sun provided some warmth. Only a few shop owners were rearranging their display windows and others were setting up small stalls in the middle of the street. I only barely recognized Fortescue, the ice-cream vendor, who was walking from shop to shop, his young face stretched in a smile as he greeted his friends and acquaintances.

We walked past the owners and workers, past Gringotts, which was already open and two Goblins were guarding the entrance with bored looks on their faces, until we came upon the entrance to Knockturn Alley. I pulled my hood up and Filius cancelled his glamours and donned his hat. My friend assured me that this part of the shopping district wasn't quite as bad as it used to be – or would be – but I still erred on the side of caution. I didn't have my reputation to protect me in 1945.

Knockturn, unlike Diagon, still showed some vestiges of what nightlife in the Alley was all about. A few drunken wizards littered the streets, lying on the floor with their backs against shops, begging for a coin or two in slurring voices. I thought I spotted a hag losing herself within the mazes of passages. One drunken witch got too close for comfort, but quick as lightning I pointed my wand at her throat and she backed away.

The Alley's regulars eyed us distrustfully.

The buildings were tall and grime covered the walls, and the streets were paved with cobblestones, their colour faded black. Shadows fell upon the narrowest passages, the light blocked by the towering shops, brothels and Inns. Windows were sometimes covered in dust and the displays my eyes settled on were all decidedly disturbing. Eyeballs, hands, black, glittering powders, dried beetles, rotting mushrooms and other assorted items were a common occurrence here.

We came upon number 13B, Borgin & Burkes, probably the most notorious and most profitable shop in Knockturn Alley. Its windows displayed the usual assortment of dark items that made the owners blend in perfectly well with their environment, though the contents of the shop were more valuable and expensive. I saw a bloodstained pack of cards, a hangman's rope and shrunken heads, which had been hung from a rope that crossed the display window from side to side. Arranged in order by their size were rusty, spiked and sharp instruments and weapons, ranging from your every-day potions knife to a heavy-looking maul with a spear-like spike on the fore-end of the haft.

I looked at Filius and he nodded resolutely. The door was locked and a sign on it stated the shop was closed. Undeterred, I pulled out my wand and quietly forced it open. Somewhere in the shop a bell sounded shrilly and stopped when Filius closed the door behind us.

Inside, the place was quite large, dimly lit with floating candles and the floors dusty, with a path that led deeper into the shop, marked by prints of footsteps that had cleared the filth. There was a large stone fireplace to the side, in which a few embers still burned and crackled merrily, adding to the flickering red lighting of the room. We walked slowly forward, following the path, and taking in the view of grotesque objects, the most hideous of which had been purposefully well illuminated by many candles.

When we reached the counter a man was already waiting for us with a polite yet alert expression. He had dark, unwashed hair that hung past his bony shoulders, a pasty complexion, dull, grey eyes and a nasty, blue scar on his neck.

"Good mornin', sirs," he said. "M'fraid the shop ain't quite open yet. Come back by nine."

I drifted off to the side and let Filius handle the polite part of the conversation. Leaning against the counter, I watched my friend clasp his hands behind his back, where I knew he kept his wand hidden, and show his polite face to the man, blue eyes wary and grey hair hanging unruly past his nose.

"Ah, I'm very sorry, Mr..."

"The name's Borgin, sir."

"...Mr. Borgin then. Charmed," Filius said, and his eyes briefly left the man's face and scanned the room. "I'm afraid we missed the closed sign. But no matter, for our business shall be brief."

The man looked bored. "I see," he said, not bothering to ask for our names. "An' the door's open then? Funny that. Closed it meself."

Filius ignored the distrustful look and gazed at him evenly. "I'm sure you can tend to your faulty enchantments later on, Mr. Borgin. My associate and I are looking for your assistant, a Mr. Tom Riddle."

A brief flicker of surprise passed through Borgin's eyes. I straightened imperceptibly, my wand in hand, hidden under my sleeve, and my attention on the surroundings and the shop's owner.

"Aye," he said slowly. "Young Tom's been doing the odd job 'round here. Dunno why you'd be lookin' for 'im though. Quiet lad, very efficient an' honest, see? No need ter talk to any Aurors."

"We aren't Aurors, Borgin," I cut in rather brusquely. The man's eyes swivelled to mine. I prodded subtly with Legilimency but he looked away immediately, his expression clouded yet fearful. "Where is the kid?"

"Robbed you, did he?" he said with a nervous laugh. "No matter, no matter, gents. I'm sure we can solve this, no wands drawn, eh? Talk to me, what's he done now?"

"Believe it or not," Filius said before I could answer, "he hasn't done anything – not yet anyway. We need to talk him about some other...delicate business." He gave Borgin a friendly smile. "Surely you understand, don't you, Mr. Borgin?"

"Yes, yes, 'course," he said quickly. I noticed him moving his hand discreetly towards his waist, almost hidden behind the counter. I tensed. "You see, young Tom does the odd job 'round 'ere. Don't see him too often unless he got news fer us – me associate and I, I mean. You could try an owl. I'd say it'll be the fastest way to reach 'im."

Filius' face showed the sign of his impatience. "We don't have time for games, Mr. Borgin," he said in a low voice. "Tell us where we can find this Tom Riddle, or we shall have to move our discussion to the back of your establishment."

Borgin abruptly snarled and pulled out his wand, which he aimed directly at Filius, and cried, "CRU –"

But I had already moved. There came a loud bang, like a gunshot, and the surface of the wooden counter he had been standing behind splintered and split in half, collapsing with a heavy groan. Borgin was thrown bodily against a stone wall, and he crashed to the ground, where he screamed in pain and shock, cradling his broken hand.

Filius looked at me with wide eyes, his hands frozen in mid-motion, and nodded shakily. I flicked my wand and banished the pieces of wood to the side, stepped over a puddle of black ink and slashed pieces of parchment, and looked down at Borgin.

A nasty black-blue bruise was already forming on his forehead and his dirty hair was damp with his blood. I grabbed him roughly by his hair and dragged him away from the wall. He whimpered in pain and slumped down on the floor, on his back, so that his eyes met mine when he looked up. My wand was trained unshakably between his eyes. He swallowed nervously, a pitiful moan escaping his lips.

"My friend tried the nice way," I said evenly. "A waste of time then, Borgin?"

"N – No... Please."

I crouched down and whispered in his ear, "Do you know why I came along? Because my friend is too nice to get the job done." I grinned at him. "But I'm not, Borgin," I hissed softly, so that Filius wouldn't hear. "I'll rip the information out of your skull if I have to. Will you force me to cut off your limbs, one by one, until you answer?"

"But I – I told you!" he cried. "We don't call Riddle – he comes to us with the sale! We just point him to possible collectors."

"And why do I find that hard to believe?" I asked as I stood up, wand still pointed at Borgin. "Would you be willing to say that under Veritaserum? For every lie you say I'll cut off a finger. Sound good? Think you'll be able to brew your poisons by the time we're done?"

Borgin looked at me fearfully but sure, his broken hand cradled uselessly, face streaked with blood and forehead swollen. "Yes," he said shakily. "I ain't lyin'."

I frowned. No sane man would be willing to try and lie under the effects of a truth serum when the consequence was dismembering. I looked at Filius, who looked back at me expressionlessly and shrugged. A surface scan of Borgin's thoughts revealed the hatred he felt for us, the fear, pain and shame, and the desire to tell the truth so that we would leave.

My hopes of catching the young Voldemort quickly vanished. I told Filius to clear the place up while I asked Borgin if Tom Riddle would be coming to the shop anytime soon. Realizing we were leaving, he quickly and honestly said business was rather slow lately because of the war and the skyrocketing prices of goods. It occurred to me that I could set up a trap, using Borgin to name me an antiques collector to Riddle, so that he would come to me. But trusting Borgin was one mistake I wouldn't make.

"Very well, Borgin," I said, "you get to keep your fingers if you manage to keep your silence."

"Yes, sir. 'Course," he said, his head bowed.

"You ready?" Filius nodded. The wooden counter had been fixed and its contents had been repaired and placed more or less in their previous locations. My friend had two wands in his hands, the second belonging to Borgin. "Then we can kindly return Mr. Borgin's wand. And do say goodbye to the man, though odds are we'll see him again soon."

I turned and walked towards the exit.

Behind me I heard a wand clatter to the ground and Borgin shakily reorganizing his possessions on the counter. Filius footsteps sounded closer to me and I turned just in time to see him point his wand at Borgin and mutter something. There was a thin beam of pale, silvery light that struck a surprised Borgin on his head. He dropped to the ground, unconscious, and Filius followed me out of the shop.

"Memory charm?" I asked as we climbed the stairs.

"A block – harder to spot, though breakable."

I nodded, satisfied with Filius' precautions and confident of his skills. We opened the door and I cast a few of the charms I'd broken. Borgin would be able to tell something was different but the block would make it impossible for him to realize why.

"How do you wish to proceed?" Filius asked once I was done.

"I have no idea what to do now," I confessed. Tracking people down was hard work and required many things we didn't have.

We walked away from the shop, the harsh sunlight making us squint to inspect the Alley, though it appeared to be almost empty now. Only a few people were walking around, most stopping by the Apothecary or a pet's shop. We turned in a narrow passage and ventured deep enough that I was sure no one would overhear or see us.

"Maybe it is time to get Albus involved," Filius suggested.

I wasn't very keen on the idea. The old man had fooled me too many times for me to want to see him, let alone ask for help. But there weren't many options out there, and I at least knew Dumbledore could be trusted to keep a secret. In fact, you could blindly trust Albus Dumbledore to keep anyone's secrets for as long as humanly possible.

"Perhaps, Fil, perhaps," I allowed. "Let's see what he's up to first. I also want to know what'll be happening in London in the next few weeks – months too. All you can remember."

"The Leaky Cauldron then?"

"No way in hell," I said adamantly. "Muggle London is safer. Take my arm."