.

.

- 3 -

.

.

Letting out a plaintive moan, Harry gradually woke up and squinted his eyes in an attempt to see more clearly in the darkness. He was cold, his body having been in prolonged contact with the wet, icy stone floor. He must have been unconscious, but didn't know how long; probably no more than ten minutes or so.

He straightened up and shook his head while blinking his eyes to get the blurred feeling out of his sight and observed his surroundings. He was still in the tunnel, he could discern the pale lights of the street lamps not far from the exit and hear the sounds of the city in the background. The young man raised his wrist and glanced at his watch before noticing that the hands were no longer moving; they were frozen at eight thirty-four. He sighed, passing a hand over his neck.

Suddenly the vivid images of what had happened to him earlier in the evening assailed him and he rose abruptly, ignoring the feeling of vertigo it caused him. He leaned with one hand against the wall of the tunnel to stabilise himself, then scanned the ground in search of his wand, without being able to find it.

"The son of a bitch must have taken it with him, to make sure he left me unarmed," he muttered, feeling pissed off before staggering towards the exit.

He had to go to the Ministry immediately, to alert his colleagues. With luck, not much time had elapsed for the Aurors to be able to track down the suspect. Unable to apparate or signal his presence to the Knight Bus, he took the small dark path down towards the main road.

Fighting a new wave of nausea, he finally reached a deserted crossroads and stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Suddenly, he heard rapid footsteps resounding on the asphalt and he raised his head, just in time to see the silhouette of a man who collided with him at high speed, throwing them both to the ground.

Thinking it was definitely not his night, Harry managed to get down on all fours and closed his eyes when the street began to capsize violently. After a few moments he got up, took a few steps back down the road, and began to furiously rant at the man who had jostled him, looking for him with his eyes.

"What's wrong with you?! Can't you look where you-"

The squeal of a car's tyres and the dazzling headlights that blinded him were the last thing he perceived before the impact knocked him unconscious again, an expletive on the tip of his tongue.

.
.

He could hear voices. Voices arguing, and the sound of an object crashing to the ground.

"How could you do such a thing, Valerie?" one man cried angrily.

"Please Jason, it's not what you think!" a woman answered, tears straining her voice. "Troy is just a friend!"

"Leave this house, I never want to see you again. You can forget about the Gilmore inheritance."

Dramatic music rose and Harry realised that what he was hearing was coming from a television in the room he was in. Slowly opening his eyes, he noticed that the yellowed paint ceiling above him had some cracks. He straightened up in the uncomfortable bed on which he was lying, pushing the blue sheets away with one hand before releasing a hissing sound of pain. He inspected his arm and realised that he was attached to an infusion, with the green venous catheter on his wrist that was sensitive to the puncture site.

He turned his head, observing his surroundings. His bed was next to a door, there was a second one next to the window, half-hidden behind a dividing curtain in the middle of the room. City lights lit up the dark night behind the panes. The television was on, the volume louder than necessary, his neighbour visibly captivated by an episode of some soap opera. So he was in a Muggle hospital; he had probably been transported there after being hit by the car.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, put his hand over his face and then through his hair, relieved to notice that the feeling of vertigo had finally disappeared. He got up and began to walk to the small bathroom, before the taut tubing of his IV stopped him. Without thinking, he tugged at it and the catheter pulled out of his arm, spraying the floor with blood. Panicking, he rushed to the bathroom and pulled paper towels from the dispenser next to the sink to press them against the bleeding wound. After a few minutes the bleeding had finally stopped and he washed his hands, taking the opportunity to splash water on his face and wash away the remains of fatigue. He straightened up, pulled out more small paper towels to wipe himself, and opened his eyes.

He froze and stared at the reflection sent back to him by the mirror above the washbasin. Slowly, with an almost hesitant movement, he raised his right hand and the man in front of him imitated him. He touched his cheek with the tip of his index finger, and so did he. It was him, but not his face. Feeling a drop of sweat running down his back, Harry let his gaze slide over his body. His body that wasn't his own but that of a complete stranger. He let out a scream.

He could hear his roommate's voice coming through the half-open door asking "are you alright in there, lad?". No. No, he wasn't alright. The young man grabbed the edge of the sink and tried to regain his composure. He inhaled and then exhaled for a long time, taking the time to organise his thoughts. In his mind, he went back to the events of the past night, whispering his thoughts aloud. "Good. Alright. I left the Ministry at eight o'clock and went to the scene of the crime. There I met the murderer." He unconsciously put a hand on his neck. "We fought and he left me there for dead. I regained consciousness. Once I got out of the tunnel, I headed towards the city. Someone pushed me."

In a flash the features of the man who had bumped into him appeared to him. It was that same face, reflected in the mirror in front of him. Young, light-skinned and with big dark eyes and full lips, he couldn't have been more than twenty-five years old. He had a round face but a well-defined jaw and a straight nose. His black hair, cut short at the sides, fell in disorderly strands on his forehead.

"At least I'm not so ugly," he whispered, before shaking his head. "But how is that possible? What's going on? Have we swapped bodies? Is he walking the streets with my face? Merlin, what if he's a Muggle?!"

He rushed out of the bathroom, looking for his clothes. Well, the clothes of the young man whose body he was occupying. He found them neatly arranged in a small cupboard in front of his bed; a black jacket, a light T-shirt and dark trousers. In the pockets of the jacket, he found an identity card: Henry Cooper. The Auror laughed nervously at the similarity of their names. British nationality, one metre seventy-one, born in-

"1990 ?!"

He heard the voice of his neighbour answering him through the curtain, "the fall of the USSR!". Harry ignored him, keeping his eyes fixed on the ID card. Surely it was a joke, it couldn't have been possible. The actual date was 1986. Probably a typographical error. Suddenly feeling oppressed in the small room, he dropped the jacket and the papers he was holding in his hands and went out into the corridor.

He had barely walked a few metres, lost in his thoughts, when he felt a cold draught slide down his skin, more precisely his back and buttocks. He raised his head up sharply and saw that the medical staff and patients around him were looking at him, some disapprovingly, others smiling, commenting on his apparent nudity. He was in fact dressed only in a hospital gown with an open back, offering a perfect view of the back of his body. He hastily turned back, cursing the Muggles and their ridiculous clothes.

Back in the room, he hurried to get rid of the hospital gown and put on the clothes he had found. Once his jacket was on his back, he felt something inside the fabric. After a few minutes of fumbling around, he discovered a secret pocket from which he pulled a dark wooden wand, slightly longer than his own, and an Auror badge from the Ministry of Magic. A wave of relief filled Harry, who felt some of the tension in his muscles disappear and a smile appeared on his lips. "Thank you Merlin! He's an Auror. He'll surely go to the Ministry. All I have to do is wait for him there!"

As he walked quickly through the hospital corridors, he took one last look at the photo on the badge, perplexed. "I wonder if he's a new recruit. I've never seen him before. Maybe a transfer?"

With a shrug of his shoulders, he put it in his pocket and walked towards the exit.

.

He used the wand he had found to apparate directly into the Ministry's reception hall. The echo of his hurried footsteps resounded through the deserted corridors leading him to the Auror Department. He pushed open the big front door and went straight to the break room to help himself to a hot cup of coffee and perhaps find something to nibble on, his stomach empty from the previous day crying out for food. Once he had his victuals in hand, he slumped down on the small couch at the back of the room and let his head rest against the backrest with his eyes closed.

His colleagues had probably been looking for him, worrying that he hadn't come back. They were going to be surprised when he told them about his misadventures, he thought, smiling. He suddenly raised his head and his face became serious again.

"Ginny. Oh, shit," he sighed, running his hand through his hair. "She's going to be furious. She must have been worried sick. I'm going to get my head blown off."

The young man shuddered as he imagined the wrath of his wife and promised to reassure her once he had reported back to his colleagues. However, he would wait until he had found his real body before going to see her. He got up and walked into the large, dimly lit room where all the Aurors' desks were located.

"Is anyone there?" he called, noticing that the space was empty, which seemed strange to him given the current situation. "Where is everyone?"

Suddenly, he spotted an unknown man, elegantly dressed and visibly focused on reading a document, sitting at a desk. Specifically, sitting at Harry's desk. The young Auror sighed, exasperated, and walked towards the man.

"Another one of those bloody journalists! They really have no scruples, infiltrating the Department in this way," he mumbled.

He stood behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder with the back of his hand, noticing that he had small objects in his ears.

"Oy! Who are you? What are you doing here reading confidential documents?"

The man turned around. He was young, about thirty years old, had an angular face with drawn features and his brown eyes were underlined with dark circles. He gave him a surprised look and removed his earplugs, a faint music playing from them.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a tired voice.

"Didn't you hear me? Who are you?"

The man looked around, as if to make sure they were alone, and then stood up, facing Harry.

"I'm an Auror of the Department, the Lieutenant-"

"Lieutenant? Tsk. If you are so keen to pass yourself off as one of the investigators, you should at least make the effort to find out about your subject. We have no such titles here."

"What are you saying?"

"Merlin, why is fate coming after me?!" Harry wondered aloud, looking up at the sky. "Come on, come here," he continued, grabbing the "lieutenant" by the arm.

The man looked at him with a bewildered look, before trying to pull his arm out sharply. The Auror tightened its grip and dragged him forcibly towards the exit. As they walked, the man managed to free himself and reversed roles, grabbing Harry's wrist in turn.

"Sir, try to calm down and go home now," he said, continuing to walk towards the front door of the Department and releasing his grip as he reached the threshold.

"Merlin, you're the one who should be going home," Harry replied, before unceremoniously pushing him through the door and locking it behind him. "And don't come back!"

The "lieutenant" watched him for a moment through the window, visibly caught off guard by the turn of events, before trying to open the door, repeatedly pulling the handle. He ended up turning his heels and disappearing into the corridor. Meanwhile, Harry returned to his desk and fell back into his chair, sweeping across the table. He found a wand and an object left behind by the intruder, a sort of small dark rectangle whose surface reflected back to him like a mirror. When his hand touched it, the object suddenly lit up and the time was displayed.

"What's that?" Harry whispered, puzzled. "Probably some kind of enhanced mirror. Mh."

He dropped it back on his desk and turned his attention to the documents scattered there, not recognising those of the ongoing investigation. He raised his head and looked at his colleagues' desks, a strange feeling overwhelming him when he realised that everything seemed to have changed since his last visit to the Department. Where previously there had been carts full of files, he could see chests of drawers with closed drawers. The furniture was not arranged in the same way and the single workspace was separated into several rooms by large glass panels.

"What is- How is this possible? What's going on?"

A rustle of wings startled him and he saw an owl swoop through a hatch above the front door. The bird flew over the room, placed a sheet of paper on one of the desks, and disappeared as suddenly as it had arrived. Harry approached and grabbed the letter. It was a transfer order in the name of Henry Cooper, Auror Corporal First Division, assigned to the Violent Crimes Section. He tilted his head, whistling between his teeth, when he read Cooper's supposed birth date, 1990 again.

"It doesn't make sense. This is 1986." He continued his reading and stopped again when he saw the supposed date of transfer. "October, 8, 2016? Whoever wrote this is definitely nuts," he said as he put the paper down.

At the same moment, he heard the sound of a key turning in a lock, the front door opened suddenly and the man he had just chased away burst in, visibly furious.

"Merlin, what a stubborn git," Harry sighed. "How did you even get the keys? You should leave while I'm still nice to you-"

The intruder abruptly grabbed his jacket and pulled him towards the exit, while declaring "That's enough, it's gone on long enough. Get out, now!"

With a quick, fluid motion, Harry grabbed his wand and made a pair of handcuffs appear. He put them on the young man's wrist and closed the other handcuff on the metal bar of one of the uprights of the nearest glass panel. The latter remained motionless for a second, looking incredulously at his shackled arm, before pulling on it several times. Eventually, he stopped fighting and let his forehead fall back against the glass.

"What do you want from me?" he said to Harry, straightening up to turn towards him, a lock of his brown hair with its backwards hair falling back onto his forehead. "Who are you? Are you an Auror?"

"Who did you think I was?"

"Let me go. This is no fun at all."

"I don't like it either, but that's all you deserve for wanting to break into the Department like this. I don't have time for this nonsense, so shut up now." The Auror glanced at the big clock on the wall which read twenty past one. "Where have they all gone?" he asked impatiently. "We really have to stop the murderer. We have no time to lose."

He turned and walked towards the exit.

"Hey! I told you to let me go!" the handcuffed man shouted, desperately pulling on his restricted wrist. "Let me go! Where are you going? Hey! Let me go!"

Once out of the Ministry, Harry apparated in an alley near the city centre and headed towards Piccadilly Circus in the hope of finding colleagues on patrol there. When he arrived in the main square, he stopped, stunned, not recognising the place. He turned around and watched the huge illuminated billboards displaying various advertisements, seemingly straight out of a futuristic universe he could never have imagined.

The few passers-by who came and went around him were dressed in strange clothes, their mostly sober wardrobe contrasted with the brightly coloured fashion and denim clothes he was used to seeing among the Muggles. Even the cars were different, longer and less angular, their gleaming bodies reflected the artificial lights projected by the giant screens, street lamps and shop fronts.

Harry was overcome by a feeling of vertigo that had nothing to do with any head bump. He felt his pulse racing and his thoughts jostling in his mind. 2016. This was what was written in the letter he had read. Was it really possible? Had he travelled through time, from 1986 to 2016? Confused and not knowing what to do, he resigned himself to returning to the office, hoping to find a solution the next day.

.
.

"Woah, what's he doing there?" a surprised female voice whispered not far from him. "Why is he sleeping there? Handcuffed? Unbelievable. Someone managed to handcuff Lieutenant Douchebag!"

"We should wake him up," a man's voice answered, tinged with apprehension.

"Wait, wait! Don't wake him up! I have to immortalise this! We must absolutely congratulate the one who did this."

Harry perceived the sound of a camera shutter and straightened up, peeling off from his cheek a piece of paper that had stuck to it while he was sleeping. He had returned to the Ministry and spent the rest of the night there in the company of the unknown man, still attached to his metal bar. They had both finally fallen asleep after staring at each other for a long time while exchanging a few insults.

The Department was gradually filling up with the noises that accompanied the beginning of the day, the morning discussions of the Aurors filtering through the large glass panels, the aroma of fresh coffee permeating the space. Attracted by the smell, the young man stood up, startling the two new arrivals who stared at him with curiosity.

The woman was young, her dark skin and thick hair in a fuzzy bun reminded him of Hermione. She had a friendly face and brown eyes, full of mischief. She was dressed in a dark and elegant witch's outfit, close to her body, which revealed black carrot pants with a high waist. In her hand she held a small dark mirror identical to the one he had seen on his desk. Her colleague was older than her, pale with dirty blond hair, a pair of round glasses perched on his nose, he seemed less bold and more reserved. He wore the regulation Auror uniform, which fell a little too wide over his shoulders.

Before anyone could utter a word, a man in his fifties and of small stature made his entrance, a senior Auror insignia fixed to his chest. He noisily pushed a chair in his path, which woke the handcuffed man up.

"What's going on here?" the old Auror asked. "What's wrong with him? Uncuff him."

He walked past the young Aurors and put his bag on a desk a little further away; he seemed used to the antics of his team and made no further remarks about the incident.

"Meeting in five minutes," he told them.

"Yes, Chief!" the blond Auror replied.

The young woman turned to the Lieutenant and raised her wand to free him. "Perhaps you should consider keeping your personal activities out of the office, Lieutenant," she said in a very serious voice. "Anyway, it's just a piece of advice."

The latter glanced at her with dark eyes before getting up, while rubbing his sore wrist, and he walked towards the exit without a word.

"You're letting him go just like that?" Harry suddenly asked, reminding them of his presence. "He might come back."

"Of course he's coming back, he works here," the young woman replied. "But who are you?"

Last night's events unfolded at full speed in his mind; his encounter with the murderer, the body that wasn't his, the fact that it might have been 2016 and not 1986. The man he had tied up had therefore told the truth and was indeed a representative of the Magic Order. He closed his eyes, breathed in, and hoped his bluff would work.

"I am Ha- Henry Cooper. I have been assigned to the violent crimes section," he said.

"Oh yes, we were told we were expecting a new recruit," the Chief intervened as he approached him, the transfer order in his hands. "Welcome to the team then."

"I'm Liam Savage, delighted to meet you," the blond Auror introduced himself.

"And I, Rose Granger-Weasley," the young lady said with a big smile. "You're twenty-six years old, aren't you? I'm not the youngest anymore," she added proudly.

"Granger-Weasley? Harry asked without thinking. "Like Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger?"

"Yes, they're my parents, why?" she asked curiously.

He didn't answer, as the news felt like a sledgehammer blow to him. What did he expect? If it was indeed 2016, thirty years had passed, and it was normal for his friends to have had children. Ron and Hermione would now be over fifty; fifty-six years old to be exact.

"Is your father still an Auror?"

"Merlin, no. He left the Department almost thirty years ago! Your information is quite outdated."

The Chief interrupted their exchange when he signalled to his team to gather at the same time as the Lieutenant was coming back. Everyone took their seats at their respective desks and Harry sat down mechanically in his chair before being dislodged by his new enemy.

"Why is he still here?" asked the latter in a disapproving tone.

"He's the new member of our team," the Chief replied, waving to Harry to sit at the empty desk next to the Lieutenant. "Henry Cooper, a first division corporal, with no experience in violent crime."

Tsk. I've worked here for five years. I'm not a bloody rookie, the young Auror thought bitterly.

"They really let anyone become an investigator, now," whispered the man beside him.

Harry glanced at him scornfully without comment.

"He is twenty-six years old, born in 1990, so he is the youngest in the section. I'm counting on you to train him properly."

It sounds like he is talking about a child. I'm sure I have a lot more experience than they do. He slumped back in his chair and watched the members of his new team. Except for Lieutenant Asshole, they all looked pretty friendly, even the Chief, whose face seemed vaguely familiar to him. However, he did not intend to linger in this time and was already thinking about a solution to return in 1986.

.

Later in the morning Harry took advantage of his colleagues' inattention to slip away. He apparated in the main street of Diagon Alley and wandered for a moment without any real direction, noting the differences between the shops of his time and those of 2016. The ice-cream parlour was still there, just as Ollivander, the hatter, on the other hand, had changed managers and storefronts. He stopped in front of one of the newsstands and grabbed the day's edition of the Daily Prophet.

He quickly went through the paper, the news feeling both familiar and foreign, always the same old story, before putting it back and continuing on his way. His footsteps led him to a colourful shop he knew so well, Weasley Wizard Wheezes Products. With a pounding heart, he started to walk towards the door before turning back.

"No, I'm not going to stay here. I'm going back to 1986. I will see him there again." His voice trembled, betraying his emotions, and he ran his hand through his hair. "Why is this happening to me? Why do I suddenly find myself here?"

He closed his eyes, the events of that fateful night clear in his mind, and he stopped suddenly. "The tunnel. I found myself here after crossing it. That's it! If it sent me here, it can take me home. I can go home. If I go through it again, I can go home!"

Without wasting any time, Harry apparated and reappeared in the small path leading to the tunnel. He made his way quickly to the entrance and then ran along the endless dark corridor, full of hope. At last he saw the exit, where the white light was coming from outside. He found himself outside, blinking to get used to the sudden brightness of the light and looked around, breathing heavily. Below, he could see tall bars of buildings that had never existed in 1986. He raised his arms, crossing his hands at the back of his skull and uttered a cry of frustration. "Why doesn't it work?! Why am I still here?"

He turned around, set his determined gaze on the tunnel and ran through it again. The landscape that greeted him at the exit was the same as when he arrived; it was still 2016. He turned his heels and ran back and forth several times before stopping and letting himself slide against the desperate stone wall.

"Oh, Ginny. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I can't make it back," he murmured, taking his face in his hands, unable to stop the tears that began to run down his cheeks. "What did I do that was so wrong to deserve this?"

He remained still for a long time, alone in the dark tunnel, cursing the fate that was befalling him. Once calmed down, he got up, his eyes burning with determination.

"There must be a reason why I'm here. I'm sure there's a way home. Don't worry Ginny, I'll be back. After all, I promised I'd be back before you knew it."

And he was going to keep that promise.