Lord of Time

Chapter 3

Harry was very surprised by the fact that Dumbledore didn't come back a while after the Headmaster left; it was decidedly not like him at all. Was he just less persistent in this time? Not full of himself since he evidently couldn't get everything he wanted by just speaking? He hadn't defeated Grindelwald yet, so it was possible; he didn't believe that though. No, he was just bidding his time; waiting for what he felt was the right moment. Dumbledore didn't believe his story… why? His shields were impenetrable, there was no way he could think he was lying, so what was it? What made Dumbledore so suspicious of him? Or was he always that way with strangers? He honestly didn't know, but he realized he didn't care; there was no love lost between them, in fact he loathed Dumbledore with every breath he took.

He looked back down at the book feeling bemused; one of the first books people tended to give Muggle-borns was Hogwarts: A History. This looked like a version of it, at least it was some of the material Granger had spouted often enough. Looking at the title, he noticed that it most certainly wasn't that one. Wait, Bagshot wrote that book. She was definitely alive; she was the one that introduced Grindelwald to Dumbledore or vice versa. Had she written the book yet or not? What year was it published? 1947? That meant she wouldn't be publishing it for seven years yet. For all he knew, she was working on it currently; it was a big book with a lot of information. He couldn't believe he actually remembered the publication date for that damn book; he'd never read it. Then again, Granger had spouted about it often enough, making him grit his teeth in frustration at her condescending voice.

"Is there anything you don't understand?" Chang asked, smiling softly at the child. He was extremely jumpy so she tried to speak quietly and reassuringly. After what had happened to him she wasn't surprised, she could only hope that he didn't blame them for the actions of those other wizards.

"I still can't believe I have magic!" Harry exclaimed, dredging up his original feelings he'd experienced when he found out he was a wizard and before the weight of being the 'Boy-Who-Lived' was heaped upon his shoulders. "I can't wait!" Well, that was true; to experience Hogwarts without being a hero… he just hoped he wasn't let down. Hopefully he wouldn't regret wanting to be normal.

Chang chuckled; ah, to be young again, it took her back to when she was eleven, waiting patiently to see if she had her Hogwarts letter. Growing up with two brothers and a sister, accidental magic happened a lot, but who did it was sometimes a mystery. Having magic, and having enough to get into Hogwarts, was two different things; of course, every single one of her siblings and herself had attended Hogwarts. She had enjoyed the experience so much that she decided to come back ten years after leaving, and she had remained ever since, employed by two different Headmasters.

"I'm sure you can't," Chang responded. He was a very pleasant child, traumatised for sure, based on his face. He went a little pale and his face became a blank slate showing nothing. No doubt thanks to the sudden influx of abuse Hadrian had suffered at their hands. "Are you feeling hungry again?" He hadn't eaten much earlier.

"Not really," Harry admitted, his malnourished body couldn't take it. He knew better than to eat a lot, it would just cause complications, so for now he would eat small meals, exercise, and get his normal body back if it was the last thing he did. Not totally normal unfortunately, he wouldn't just spontaneously change back into a twenty-one-year-old wizard. He would just have to work hard all over again.

"We will help you be able to handle four meals a day," the Medi-witch vowed. Feeling the wards shimmer slightly, she gazed at the door to see the Headmaster enter with two Aurors, both of them young. That would help put Hadrian at ease; quite a few Aurors she knew could be quite intimidating, especially to a Muggle-raised boy.

"Hello, Hadrian, I see you've been doing some reading?" Dippet said, as he moved towards the boy's bed, "This is Aaron Moody, he's an Auror, a dark wizard catcher, and his partner Philipp Prewitt; they have some questions they have to ask you. Do not worry if you can't answer them." He gave both men a pointed look, silently telling them that he wouldn't allow them to scare Hadrian.

Harry stared at them wide-eyed, and it wasn't due to the fact he was being faced with magic and new people. Aaron Moody? He knew Alastor Moody came from a distinguished line of Aurors and that he was a pureblood, born in Scotland, although the Ministry didn't know that tidbit. Both his parents had been well known Aurors; this must be his father… although it could be the grandfather, depending on when and if this man already had a family ― a lot of factors, but either way he could see the resemblance, sort of. Moody had lost an eye and a leg, as well as most of his sanity if his paranoia was anything to go on. "Hi," Harry said, swallowing thickly and showing 'nerves' being faced with two Aurors, even if he wasn't really the least bit intimidated.

"Hello; can we get your full name for the record?" Moody said, remaining standing.

"Hadrian Peverell," Harry told them, before looking down at his fingers, stopping himself from laughing. The looks on their faces as they tried to be 'kind' was just hilarious, it just made them look as if they were about to drop one in their underwear.

"Date of birth?" Prewitt asked, joining in, a quill and parchment beside them scribing everything that was being said.

"September twentieth 1926," Harry replied automatically, cursing inwardly. Why was he automatically saying that? Was it magic protecting him from exposure? Or was he actually thinking of that date as his birthday now?

"Parents' names?"

"I don't know," Harry confessed.

"How do you not know?" Moody narrowed his eyes, displeased by the answer.

"They died before I got a chance to know them; I don't have any memories of them. I only know they were murdered," Harry replied quietly, sounding defeated. He had wanted to say car crash, but he couldn't, he just couldn't do his parents the disservice by starting up that lie again. They had died for him, for Merlin's sake, no matter what happened it would always be part of him. "I was raised by my Aunt and Uncle."

"What are their names?" Moody asked.

Harry shuddered at the sensation of his mind being opened like it was a door, he knew without the voice speaking that Death had rejoined the conversation. 'Patrick and Yvette King,'

"They're called Patrick and Yvette King," Harry answered, trusting Death to explain further.

"Where do you live?" Moody enquired, frowning at the reaction.

"Which house?" Harry whispered, hunching down further.

"How many are there?" Prewitt rasped out surprised.

"We lived in London until I was eleven, then we moved into a motel the next day. We left and we continued to move, never staying in the one place more than a month at a time," Harry confessed, "I don't remember all the addresses but I think I know one or two," pretending to be hopeful that he could help.

"The family reacted negatively to the news that Hadrian was a wizard," Dippet informed the two Aurors, "They became abusive in the care of this child. I suspect they moved around to prevent themselves being found."

"Do you know the address of where you were attacked?" Moody demanded.

'Tell them, you were in a hotel in Bulgaria, but you couldn't read it,' Death informed him.

'You want me to tell them I Apparated from all the way around the world? Are you mad?'

'When your body is dying, your magic is capable of the most amazing feats of wizarding kind. Trust in me, they will think it was a powerful burst of desperate wish magic' Death explained patiently. 'If they ask the Bulgarian authorities questions, they'll have two bodies that have been unclaimed; people will already be saying they saw a teenager with them. The chances of finding anything are slim, though; the war is causing rifts that allow Britain to be vulnerable. Albus Dumbledore might have ended it but Britain didn't send in their forces and it was remembered. They refused to help Britain with Voldemort in turn.'

Harry closed his eyes and opened them, looking up at the Aurors, "We had just travelled to Bulgaria; my uncle insisted it was safe, that he knew people there. That soon enough we would be going back home, back to London; I think we were running out of funds. It was a hotel; the writing was funny, I couldn't read it. I didn't learn a second language." The disconcerting feeling of Death leaving his mind abruptly made him wince; he hadn't left so suddenly the last time.

"Who was the family?" Prewitt questioned suspiciously.

"I don't know, we had just got there an hour before we were attacked. I don't know why it happened! Why they did it!" Harry cried out.

"Calm down," Dippet said, placing an old wrinkled hand on Hadrian's knee soothing him.

"What happened during the attack?" Moody asked changing the subject.

"They were shouting weird words, like Crucio, Avada Kedavra, then I was hit; they didn't stop, I was screaming and pleading for them to stop but they didn't… it hurt so much, then… then I heard them saying to stop that we were dead, the last thing I remember was one pointing a stick at me… I wished to be somewhere else… anywhere, anywhere safe! And then he was gone and I could see the sky… I was outside," Harry told them, breathing heavily, not able to act like a completely traumatised child since he wasn't but he did his best. He'd never acted like a normal child when it came to things like that, so he wasn't about to feign an act like that here. He wasn't weak and he would be damned before he allowed anyone to believe he was.

"Enough," Dippet informed them bluntly, "Irene, I think perhaps he should get some sleep?" making it clear to the woman that he wanted Harry given a Dreamless sleeping draught to help him rest.

"That's fine; Yaxley is coming to see him in three minutes, after that he can get some much needed rest." Chang nodded in agreement, the child looked utterly exhausted.

"Am I still allowed to attend school?" Harry asked, a vulnerable note in his voice. Yaxley? The Death Eater… no, they weren't Death Eaters yet, and this wizard or witch was obviously the previous generation, it was the ones in school now that become followers.

"Of course," Dippet said, "A promise is a promise,"

"But I have no family; will I be staying here all the time?" Harry enquired.

"I am afraid that's not possible, the Ministry has long since forbidding any students from remaining in Hogwarts during the summer." Dippet sighed; it seemed he was being asked that question more and more incessantly as time passed. Hadrian looked a great deal like Tom did too, only a lot thinner than he was. "We will make sure you have somewhere to go by the end of the summer."

Harry stared in horror; he had a good idea of where this 'somewhere' would be. No, they wouldn't, they couldn't put him in an orphanage. Oh, he so wanted to kill Death for doing this to him. Why hadn't he appeared here a few years from now? It would have been so much easier, at least he would have been legally an adult, and could have stayed in the Leaky Cauldron or something.

Then something else dawned on him… there was a war going on out there in the Muggle world… the London Blitz. Gulping loudly, he paled drastically looking ready to pass out. This was no act, Harry Potter, aka Hadrian Peverell, was absolutely terrified, and this unknown was the scariest thing he even had to contemplate facing. He had faced down his worst enemy, unafraid of death… yes, the thought of going into the Muggle world during a war was horrifying, and he vowed he would not allow it to happen… could not let it happen, even if he had to illegally Apparate somewhere for the summer.

A jarring thought interrupted him: was this how Tom Riddle felt every time he had to go back? This terror? The feeling of shutting down than face the reality? It was no wonder that he'd created Horcruxes… perhaps this was where his fixation on avoiding death had happened… feeling sick, he scrambled from the bed, "―toilet?" gagged Harry, trying to hold in the sick, standing on shaky legs.

"Right through there," Chang said, watching him go deeply concerned.

"Poor child, it's the first time he's had to think on what happened." Dippet said sadly shaking his head. He had survived, though, and he would recover with time. He shouldn't have to, but unfortunately the world wasn't fair. Right now both worlds were in a state of war; he would keep the children safe for as long as he could. He just prayed that the magical war didn't come over here.

Harry bent over the sink emptying the contents of his stomach. November, it was November, and he had until summer to figure this out; why hadn't he just said his parents were alive and under the Fidelius Charm or something? That way he couldn't have told them where they were even if he wanted to. He closed his eyes tiredly―his body ached; could he truly change Tom Riddle? Stop him from becoming Voldemort? Change the world as he knew it? Death said he could, that he was able to do whatever he wanted without worrying about the consequences of manipulating time.

Turning the tap on, he cupped his hand around the cold water and splashed his face, repeating the process before gulping some of the water in his hands trying to calm the queasy feeling in his stomach. Breathing evenly, he stared at the mirror blinking in surprise. Well, he definitely wouldn't be mistaken for a Potter. The messy hair was gone, and instead it was quite a bit longer, just short of lying on his shoulder blades. His fingers touched it hesitantly, as if suspecting it was just his imagination, but it wasn't. He no longer needed glasses, but that was due to a spell that had been invented in the future; he had created it. After his glasses were dislodged one too many times he refused to allow it to happen again. It hadn't; he had created a spell to ensure that. Nobody should have been surprised, after all his father had been rather ingenious in his own inventions, albeit the map had been used to help with pranks.

Harry touched the mirror absently; he had even changed his looks slightly? If for whatever reason he jumped in time again, would that happen again? His looks change? It would be something he would have to ask Death. His hand fell against the sink again; he couldn't let fear get the better of him like that again. How many orphanages were there in London? Do they get evacuated? He honestly didn't know. His Muggle history was shady at best; he had learned a small amount in primary school before going to Hogwarts. That was useless information, he could barely remember any of it and it certainly hadn't been about the war. Muggle studies at Hogwarts had been a joke; Burbage had been just as pathetic as Binns. Burbage was a pureblood who hadn't come into contact with many Muggles, and couldn't accurately teach it. She believed wizards and Muggles were equals, and that they weren't so different.

She was an idiot, although she hadn't deserved to die for those beliefs. She still shouldn't have been teaching the subject though. Passing that information on to the next generation of wizards and witches? Muggles shouldn't know about magic, full stop. Look what happened to those that did: Tom Riddle Senior refused to take his son, Tobias Snape abused both his wife and son, causing two of the most powerful wizards in the world to wish death upon all Muggles; their beliefs hindered them, didn't let them see the potential futures they had ahead of them. They could have been so much more, so, so much more.

A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts.

"Hadrian, dear, are you alright?" Chang called through the door, her tone worried. "Healer Yaxley is here to make sure you are properly healed."

"Coming," Harry said, giving himself one last look in the mirror. Nodding determinedly, he wandered over to the door and opened it, glad that she hadn't invaded his privacy like Madam Pomfrey used to do.

"Let's get you back on the bed, you look ready to topple over," she said, taking a hold of his arm and guiding him over, letting him put some of his not so considerable weight on her to ease the way.

"I am going to run a diagnostic on you, Mr. Peverell; it will allow me to see whether the damage is gone," Yaxley said as the boy was helped onto the bed.

"I understand," Harry said, nodding his head, his green eyes sparkling with curiosity. He could see similarities between father, son, and grandson; they looked strikingly similar with the exception of the eyes, but that could be said for nearly all the purebloods. Draco Malfoy was exactly like his father in every way, with the exception of his eyes, which were his mother's.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise when the wizard placed a hand on him… he was a natural healer? He'd heard of them but never met one; did the future Yaxleys have them? It was a gift that tended to stay in the family lines, much like Parseltongue in Slytherin or Metamorphmagus in the Black lines. The unfamiliar magic coursed through him, small halos appearing; he had no idea what they meant but he watched in fascination. He waited until the healer had finished before he asked the question on the tip of his tongue. "What do the halos mean?"

"They are the injures you sustained in the fight, the bright colours indicate that they are healing without complication. You are lucky to be alive; the curses were wreaking havoc on your body and magic. If I hadn't successfully made the counter-curses to these unknown spells, you would have been beyond even my help," Yaxley stated, not sugar coating it for the teenager. He was a healer, not a Medi-witch, and he rarely dealt with anyone under the age of eighteen. He taught classes here at Hogwarts, but those students weren't injured, he was merely teaching them spells. They couldn't do what he did, they weren't natural healers. He longed for the day when one did turn up; he would love to teach someone all they needed―pass the knowledge on to the next generation.

"Thank you, I appreciate all you've done for me," Harry said seriously. He knew he wouldn't have died, so he wasn't too concerned, but it didn't mean he wasn't thankful for all their hard work. Being a healer was more than just cancelling spells and giving out potions.

"Glad to have been of service," Yaxley nodded curtly, "Just try and stay out of trouble, your body needs time to recover. Try not to allow anyone to use any strenuous spells on you for at least a few months. The Dark curses took a lot out of you."

"Dark curses?" Harry asked, playing clueless.

"Spells of a harmful nature," Yaxley replied.

"I'm getting to stay at Hogwarts, so I think I'll be fine!" Harry claimed, smiling slightly at the wizard, a twinkle in his eye.

"Indeed," Yaxley said, giving the boy a long penetrating look; there was more to him than met the eye. "It was nice to meet you properly, even under these circumstances."

"You too," Harry said honestly. It was nice to see a pureblood that had some manners at least. One that would help someone in need, no matter their blood status. With that the wizard took the Medi-witch aside and began talking to her before leaving without another word.

"This is a potion that will help you sleep, Harry, without dreams; you need to rest and this is the best way for that. I won't leave your side. I'll be here all the time; if you sleep over night I'll be right across there, I'll know the moment you're awake," Chang said, pointing him in the direction of her office and private quarters. Only then did she hand over the potion, giving his shoulder a squeeze. He looked so pale; he definitely needed rest. She had put an alerting spell on him as well as the bed; if he moved a significant amount, she would be informed. She suspected Albus had removed the charm after she'd left for the night; only he and Dippet could circumvent her wards, and since Dippet was confused as to why she wasn't tending to him earlier, she heavily suspected the only other wizard who could. She certainly wouldn't allow it to happen again, she was going to add more charms to the ward just as soon as Harry settled for the rest of the night.

"You need to eat something first. Something light but filling; taking it on an empty stomach is not recommended." He had been sick, so it was important that he eat at least something. "Is there something you'd like?"

"Strawberry tart?" Harry teased, grinning, "It's my favourite; I had to try," he explained at the look on her face, shrugging his shoulders before he thought about it properly. "Some scrambled eggs on toast?" Hopefully the House-elves in this time wouldn't go as overboard as they did in his old time.

"Coming right up," Chang said, moving to her office, much to Harry's amusement; she obviously didn't want to explain what House-elves were for. It was a good thing really, he wasn't up to pretending that he didn't know what they were either. He was beyond tired, and the pain reliever he had been given was already wearing off. Sleep sounded really good, but as the Medi-Witch said, not on an empty stomach, and he agreed. It had happened once; never again. He had felt as though he had stones lodged in his stomach for a day afterwards; every time he moved he felt as if someone was stabbing at him.

"Here we go, try and eat as much as possible," she told Hadrian as she came back through, the tray floating in front of her, and landing in his lap. There was more than just scrambled egg and toast: some fruit, and a glass of milk.

"I'll try," Harry replied and dug into the food as the Medi-Witch wandered off and began sorting through folders at her desk. He had seen Poppy do the same thing. It was the students' paperwork, but there was a lot more than he was used to seeing as he watched.

"Have all these people been hurt?" Harry asked, gazing at her in confusion.

"Hm? No, these are the first-year files; each first-year student gets checked at the beginning of the year. To make sure they are healthy, then again when they are twelve if they wish to play Quidditch, which is a sport we play on broomsticks ― they fly on them," Irene informed the inquisitive teen. "If they have any illness that will hinder their ability to play, then I will find it and prevent any accidents. If you are finished, take the potion and get some rest."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry murmured popping the tray on the table at the bottom of the bed and picking the potion up from his pillow and swallowing it. Hopefully she meant what she said and she would stay; he didn't trust Dumbledore not to try something. It seemed a lot of things were going to change in fifty years; if this approach had continued… he wouldn't have ended up back at the Dursleys' when Poppy got her hands on it. Who was he kidding? Dumbledore would have done anything to ensure he did, which would include Obliviating Poppy of her knowledge.

"Irene," called a voice Harry was all too familiar with; speak of the devil and he shall appear, he thought sardonically, closing his eyes as he felt the potion beginning to work but not taking him down just yet. "I was hoping to speak Hadrian, if he is up to it?"

"I'm sorry, Albus, he has been given a Dreamless Sleeping potion; he needs to rest," Irene informed the Deputy Headmaster.

"I see," Albus replied unhappily.

Harry wanted to grin, but at that moment the potion began working at its full capacity and pulled him under and into Morpheus's arms.

Edited by Jake and Jordre thank you guys!