WARNING: Major psychological trauma, not changing the rating because it's in the movie, but domestic abuse and anxiety attack warnings all the same.

Thank you, Sectumus!

Summer 1995

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Leta whispered.

"Are you sure you want to come with me?" he countered.

She nodded.

Again, they shuffled through the halls beneath the invisibility and an invisibility charm.

It was the end of the day more ministry employees were leaving, the guards undergoing shift changes.

Security was a lot tighter once people actually believed the war was on.

They followed in after some exited, a tired man with his head down.

Harry didn't have the dubious advantage of having an insight into Voldemort's mind this time around. But he knew that they had been trying for months before Voldemort had attempted sending Nagini.

Harry still thought it was asinine that the Order had tried protecting the prophecy, what had it done really?

Reaffirm Voldemort's intention to murder him.

What a waste of time, resources, and life.

Harry didn't understand Dumbledore.

Or perhaps hindsight defined clarity of visions, and it wasn't as if Harry had ever known what Dumbledore was thinking.

Harry led the way to the Department of Mysteries, using Snape's spell to further disguise any sound they made. When they got to the entrance, he motioned for Leta to sit.

"What are we doing here?" she asked.

"Waiting," he said, leaning against the wall.

"Waiting for what?"

"For someone to show up, we need to see who of the Death Eaters and who of the Order is on guard duty."

"Why?"

"Because I need to know who I can mess with. Later on, a lot of people got hurt and died because of these prophecies."

"Why don't we just destroy them?"

"That's the plan, but I want to see if we can get one of the Death Eaters blamed for it."

"I like you," Leta stated.

Harry smiled, though she couldn't see it, "I like you too."

"So, what are we going to do in the meantime?"

Harry pulled a sack out of pocket, "Can I interest you in some Mystery Beans?"

"This game isn't as fun without being able to see them," she said. Bertie Bott's every flavoured beans amused her greatly when Harry had snagged a box for her, and he had saved a second box for such an occasion as this.

"I thought we could guess what type of thing it is, for every one you guess right, the other person has to take two at once."

She snickered, "Game on."

Two hours later and Harry had the taste of chalk and blueberries on his tongue and was laughing so hard he almost threw up.

Leta smacked her lips, "Toffee with a side of… napkins?"

Harry clapped a hand over his mouth as he leaned into her as they both shook with suppressed laughter.

It wasn't that funny, really it wasn't that funny. But it had been a trying week.

He had died not long ago, and Leta was still adjusting to losing the world she had once known.

His amusement, however, died when he saw Lucius Malfoy turn around a corner.

And a cloaked figure that Harry had a suspicion was none other than Broderick Bode.

This was happening too soon, this attack wasn't supposed to happen until the winter.

But Harry should have supposed that his disappearance would change things.

Dudley's death had changed things.

Leta transfigured the floor beneath the door, keeping it from shutting and locking behind the Unspeakable.

"Imperio," Lucius cast before the Bode, who Harry recognized by his pallor and distinct profile.

Harry cast the stunning curse twice in quick succession.

Leta followed up his spell that made both men go lax, their eyes shuddering shut.

Lucius fell, not expecting a defence and being imperialized, Bode hadn't stood a chance.

Harry ducked beneath the invisibility cloak and wasted no time in collecting Lucius's wand and dragging the man's body into the hall of mysteries.

Leta levitated Bode back into the hall.

Harry fired a weak stunning charm at the wall with Lucius's wand, thankful wizards didn't use DNA or fingerprint tests.

Harry accioed Bode's wand to him, and when the wand didn't hate him, he turned the wand on Lucius, stunning his body the jolted from the not so weak charm.

Harry wondered if Narcissa Malfoy would take him to the hospital. Thinking of the pale and proud woman, he was glad that he was framing Bode for what he was about to do.

Harry cast the memory spell silently, tearing into Lucius's mind with ruthless intent.

This was war, and Harry thought of all the families Lucius had helped ruin, the people he killed, the people he almost killed, and the other crimes he had committed.

Harry took the moment he had been hit by the stunner, and then he took years.

He didn't focus on specific memories, he just washed away the man's purpose.

Would Lucius remember he was a Death Eater? Would he remember Voldemort?

Would he remember his family?

Harry didn't know nor did he particularly care. His only goal was to keep the war away from Hogwarts, and that meant the other side had to lose before the other Death Eaters were broken out of prison. Before fear could cripple the nation.

"Harry?" Leta asked.

Harry dropped Bode's wand, not knowing what Lucius would retain, whether he would be like Lockhart or insane like Bertha Jokins, or something else.

After all, how much did memory define who a person was? Harry took Leta's hand leading her to the hallway of prophecy.

"What do we do now? Do you even know which one is yours?" She asked, seeming daunted by the rows and rows of glass orbs.

"No, but that's not what we are here for," he answered, eying out how large the room was.

"Then what, pray tell," Leta began tersely, "are we here for?"

Harry brandished his invisible Holly wand, "Structural damage."

His spell hit the dead middle of one of the shelves, which rippled with the sound of tinkling glass before shuddering and tipping backward.

An avalanche of dominoes cascading downward.

Leta laughed, a brightly coloured spell launched from her wand the other row of shelves tipped back, raining prophecies, hitting the ground like a waiter's worst nightmare.

They possibly had too much fun and they didn't till every last visible prophecy was broken. If any survived, they would be near impossible to find.

They walked hand and hand, Lucius and Bode exactly where they had been.

Someone would find them in the morning.

"Leta?" Harry asked, squeezing her hand.

"Hm?"

"There is someone I would like you to meet."

Chapter 4 - Forget Me Not

For Ron, the month had been… mundane.

He hadn't realized how much Harry held him and Hermione together. Without Harry, they seemed to disagree about much, and despite themselves, distance formed between them.

Ron found himself hanging out with Neville, of all people, more often.

Unexpectedly, however, it brought him closer to his sister who had been his best friend when he was younger. And Ginny became closer to Hermione, so the three of them became close in different ways.

None of them were purely inseparable like Ron and Harry had been, but none of them seemed as alone as Harry himself did without Leta Lestrange at his side.

Leta Lestrange, apparently, was the grandchild of Leta Lestrange who ran away from the wizarding world eighty years ago.

Which likely made Leta a half-blood and not a Lestrange at all really.

The rest of Slytherin House seemed to have realized that and despised her for it. Or at least, Malfoy and his cohorts did. They called her a half-blood often and viciously, as if they were calling her a bastard.

But together?

Leta and Harry lit up like the rest of the world didn't exist and they were dancing through life, like nothing could touch them or bring them down.

They were almost always smiling at each other, passing notes, exchanging looks, and being so polite to the professors that it always made them sound insincere.

Especially when it came to Umbridge.

Dolores Umbridge whose bad luck did not end with the Attack of the High Table. Nope, Umbridge suffered any number of issues, from the graded homework she was about to pass back to students routinely bursting into flames, her desk chair becoming the favourite perching spot for what seemed an inordinate amount of porcupines that had taken up residence in her classroom, and a terrible case of breaking out in Pig Latin.

One memorable day, she had even grown a snout and oinked before she realized her face had been transfigured.

It was, to put it mildly, a series of unfortunate events.

Umbridge was unable to counteract these occurrences and the rest of the staff seemed in no hurry to help her, especially after she began going around reviewing the other professors' classes.

Ron didn't know how, or even why, but he was positive it was Leta and Harry who were behind it all.

Which was scary because after writing home about these events, his dad had said it would be quite impossible for Harry to behind it all, the spells and potions needed to pull it all off were well beyond what two fifth or sixth or seventh years should have been able to pull off.

Fred and George had tried pestering Harry about but Harry barely looked at them, his every reply a noncommittal answer and a dismissal.

Hermione lasted all through September before breaking.

Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George, backed her up, cornering Harry after dinner in the common room of Gryffindor Tower.

A Weasley-Granger shake down, if you please.

Harry didn't look amused, narrowing his emerald eyes at them, but he said nothing, just stood still, waiting on them to make the first move.

"Harry," Hermione said. "We need to talk."

Something flashed in Harry's gaze before he retreated into himself, his eyes going a bit distant, as if he was counting on a beating.

The thought made Ron feel a bit ill.

"We are your friends," Hermione told him.

Again, Harry remained silent.

"We know you aren't a mute, mate," Fred said.

Harry raised a brow.

"What happened to you?" Ginny asked.

Harry's eyes flicked to her but again he didn't answer.

"Tell us what we did wrong?" Hermione pushed.

"Nothing," Harry finally said.

"What?" Hermione demanded.

"You did nothing wrong," Harry said clearly.

"Then why are you treating us like this?" Hermione asked.

"I haven't done anything to you," Harry returned.

"You cut us out!" Hermione said. "After everything we've been through—"

Harry snapped, "Am I indebted to you? After all the shite we've been through, am I beholden to you no? Are my opinions irrelevant because I owe you my life?"

Ron flinched, because he couldn't tally a life debt between them all even if he had wanted to. They had all saved each other on innumerable occasions.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed. "I mean we are always going to be friends—"

"You don't know a bloody thing about me, Hermione. Maybe you know me better than most, but that isn't a particularly large achievement given how many people believe the papers."

"She knows you better than anyone," Ginny snapped.

Harry raised his brows, "Is that so?"

Ginny squared her shoulders, "Yes, it is. Ron and Hermione know you better than anyone on the planet."

"Fascinating," Harry drawled. "Let's put that to the test, shall we?"

Ron felt a sudden sinking sensation, one he knew Hermione was feeling as well given how the blood had drained from her face.

Harry was quiet by nature, he never talked about his past and rarely voiced his feelings, though Hermione was pretty good at reading him.

Harry's lips curled into a cruel smile, "Who was my best friend before arriving at Hogwarts? Before Hagrid took me from the Dursleys?"

"Hagrid?" Hermione blurted. "Not Professor McGonagall?"

Harry's smile was triumphant, "Yes, Hagrid, who had to chase us down on a Merlin forsaken island when the Dursleys tried running away from the army of owls attempting to deliver my Hogwarts letter."

"What?" Ron croaked.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was that question too difficult?" Harry asked, unrelenting. "Let's try another then, shall we? Do you know the first time I apparated was? How often I used accidental magic before arriving at Hogwarts? Do you know what Dudley's friends used to think of me? Do you know why I give a damn that my cousin is dead?" Harry looked at Ron.

"Because you're a decent person," Hermione said.

Harry laughed at that, "No, I'm not. If I told you what I've done, you'd never look at me the same."

"Tell us," Hermione demanded, her ire rising.

"No," Harry said, taking a step toward, fury dancing in his green eyes. "If I tell you then you will tell Dumbledore, and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not go to prison."

Hermione gaped at him then whispered in a hushed voice, "You've done something illegal?"

Harry patted her head in a condescending manner, "Don't worry, Mione, no one will be able to prove any of it."

She brushed his hand away, "Don't call me that."

He bared his teeth at her, "Don't tell me who I must and mustn't be friends with. People change, I've changed, and I don't need any of you anymore." Harry pushed past them, his shoulder knocking Ron's making him stumble back.

"We will never stop being there for you," Hermione called.

Harry didn't look back, "Guess I'll have to try harder then."

That got Ron's blood boiling, he called to Harry's retreating back, "You'd be dead without us!"

Harry paused, then looked back over his shoulder, "I've met Death, Ron, and he taught me how to smile."

And with that cryptic remark, the bloody bastard left them.

George whistled.

Fred sighed, "We should leave him alone."

Ginny spun on him, "What!? How can you say that? He's clearly hurting."

George shook his head, "No, that's a man who's seen the world burn and ready to burn with it. Leave it alone, you'll all get hurt otherwise."

Hermione was in tears again but she spoke as if her cheeks were wet, "I'm not going to abandon him, no matter what."

"Give him space," Fred warned. "Friends come and leave. He's been through hell and you can't help him unless he lets you, which he clearly doesn't want to do."

Hermione set her shoulders, "We'll see."

Ron had a bad feeling about this.

A bad feeling that was proved right the very next day.

Ron and Neville were sitting on either side of Hermione who had just turned her tortoise into a beautiful teapot, white with pink roses. It was a review spell, but still, Hermione was the first to finish it, as usual.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," McGonagall said, giving Hermione a pleased look.

Hermione preened, Transfiguration had always been the class she had been best at and most proud of.

Ron looked up feeling eyes on him. He caught Harry's look from across the room, where Harry sat amongst all the Slytherins, completely unpestered because the people who outright bullied Leta or Harry tended to have Umbridge's luck.

The glint in Harry's eyes was mischievous and slightly malevolent.

If Ron could have, he would have taken Hermione's hand and bolted from the room.

Harry flicked his wand as if he were a conductor of some grand orchestra and the turtle Leta had been petting rose into the air on white wings.

A full sized crane swooped around the room in a lazy graceful arch, before turning back to Harry and Leta. Flaring its impossibly beautiful wings, the crane looked as if it would land on Leta's hands, but instead, in a shimmer of magic, the crane shifted into a finely shaped blue willow teapot, decorated with elegant cranes that only a master artist could have achieved.

Leta smiled down at the teapot held prevalently between her hands as if she had been handed a bouquet of flowers.

Ron gaped, the amount of power and precision that would take… He truly didn't know Harry had it in him.

It also made him think that he likely was the one behind all those attacks and pranks on Umbridge.

McGonagall cleared her throat, "Thirty points to Gryffindor. Well done, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said with a pleased smirk.

Ron looked at Hermione who had sunk in on herself, looking as if she was fighting not to cry.

Harry shown her up, deliberately, with the intent to make her look subpar. She wasn't, but Ron didn't know if her comparative nature would accept that or if the pain of Harry wanting to hurt her could ever be washed away.

If she would ever forget this moment.

Ron had been jealous of Harry, more often than he liked to admit, but in that moment, he honestly hated him.

Harry did not enjoy being cold, or in small spaces, or in the dark.

He didn't mind the night, but indoors, where he might not know if day had come or how long he would have to wait to be let out, that scared him.

On the rare occasions, he complained to anyone about being locked up in the summers, no one had understood him.

They didn't know how literally he had been.

It was better once he got to Hogwarts, knowing that the misery he endured would end with summer, and that if something truly awful happened, if Uncle Vernon finally snapped and tried to murder him for real, that he had a means of defending himself.

It hadn't been like that in his cupboard, when he had been small and forgotten, when every adult he knew either didn't care about him or outright hated him.

Uncle Vernon had been a giant, Harry merely a bug to be squished if he drew too much attention to himself. Aunt Petunia wasn't a different type of nightmare, her and the tasks she assigned him no matter how difficult, no matter if hot outside, or if he could barely reach the stove.

But what had been the worst of it, had been being locked in that cupboard, trapped, no escape, and knowing that absolutely no one was coming to save him.

All he could do was wait in the dark, listening for danger, waiting for whatever new danger the day would bring.

Hogwarts had its dangers too but Harry would honestly rather face Voldemort himself than be trapped and helpless, listening for danger, hardly able to sleep, knowing that if he slept too deeply and didn't rouse quickly enough he would be walloped in the morning.

No, Snape, Umbridge, Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters did not frighten Harry as much as being locked away in a cage with no way out of it.

But here he was locked in a cage once more, only it was worse, so much worse than anything that he ever endured before or could have possibly have imagined.

He was in the dark and he wasn't listening for danger, no he gave fuck all about his personal state of being, at the moment.

Because right now, he was listening to Hermione screaming.

Listening to her being tortured because of him.

Because of him.

Harry pressed his face into the cold bars as her voice broke him, over and over again.

He had failed her and locked away in the dark, he had no way of getting to her.

No way of getting her out of this hell.

Her voice pitched with a sob and Harry's tether to his belief in the world snapped.

Something vital broke in him.

An eternity passed as Hermione's pain imprinted itself inside his mind.

He made himself focus on the sounds, it was no less than he deserved because her blood was on his hands.

And he would never forgive himself for it.

Harry woke with a start, clapping a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from crying out.

These were dangerous times, no one could be allowed to hear him cry out. They could never learn how much he loved Hermione.

She was more than a sister to him, more than his best friend.

And Harry had single-handedly ruined her life.

Hermione didn't have her parents because of him. She had been tortured because of him. Because of him she was risking her life everyday.

because of him.

He held his breath, pushing himself down into the bed, his skin slick with sweat. He held his breath until he was forced to suck air back into his lungs.

It took longer than it should have for him to regain himself, to keep from hyperventilating. He reached out a hand toward the other side of the bed, to see if Leta was still safely beside him.

But his fingertips brushed the curtains.

Which grounded him slightly, remembering where and when he was.

Hermione was safe, blessedly unaware of the future that might have befallen her.

Leta was safe within the castle walls as well, for the castle walls had not fallen, had not been breached.

Not yet.

When it came to Hermione, Harry was both selfish and a fool.

Knowing how Ron felt about he, had never said anything about his own feelings, not when Hermione tried so very hard to make herself noticeable to his endearing but obtuse friend.

However, when Ron had left, when Hermione cried herself to sleep, Harry's resolve had broken.

He would have done anything just to see her again.

He had succeeded in the end, succeeded too well.

They were each other's first, it had been awkward and they ended up laughing most of the way through it.

They did get better at it.

Harry had been so wrapped up in their fledgling relationship, in his heart being twisted and tangled by finally brave enough to voice and act on those feelings, that he had hardly spared a thought for Ginny. With Hermione, he had forgotten about the girl he had professed to love and about the friend who had betrayed them.

But Hermione hadn't.

She had run back to Ron when he returned and Harry had no right to lament it as Ron had saved his life. And though Harry had said goodbye to Ginny, he knew that her expectation was that Harry would wait for her.

Ginny would not take kindly to him sleeping and snogging another witch.

Still, Harry had held onto his feelings for Hermione until Bellatrix had carved agony and hatred into her arm, creating scars that would never heal. Harry knew then that his feelings would only bring her more pain.

Harry couldn't let that happen, he couldn't let her suffer anymore on his account.

He had also known then, that was a promise he couldn't keep.

Not until he time travelled, not until now when he had a second chance to make things right, to keep his friends safe.

Harry was aggrieved he couldn't keep Leta Lestrange safe along with everyone else. But Leta with her relations to the other Lestranges and the Malfoys would be forced to make a choice. With or without Harry, she would be challenging the Dark Lord. Additionally, like Harry, Leta had no one else. They were both orphans, and though Harry had Sirius back… well, it would never be what it could have been.

When Harry dressed for the day, he found himself unable to leave the tower without ensuring Hermione was okay.

He was being a right bastard to her, he knew that, everyone knew that. But he knew that if he explained why, if he confided in Hermione at all, that she would never let him go. She would never step back, never back down.

It was part of why he loved her.

But until Voldemort was dead, Harry couldn't knowingly take everything away from her again.

He wouldn't.

Still, Harry watched the sunrise, counting the hours down with a Defence book of Advanced Charms on his lap. The whole time he waited, his heart thudded erratically as he told himself over and over again that Hermione was safe and unharmed.

He glanced up at everyone who went down to breakfast.

Finally, after the fourth group, Hermione came down with Ginny. Harry watched her gate, the way she held her bags, and then she looked up, catching his gaze there.

There was pain in those brown eyes, though nothing he didn't deserve, but there was no physical injury he could spot.

He looked away, some of the tension bleeding out through his limbs.

Neither Hermione nor Ginny approached him.

He missed them both, he missed Ron, he missed them all.

But he had lived this life already, and it had cost Hermione and the Weasleys more than he could stand to watch them lose again.

What remained of his sanity required his loved ones to be kept safe. He had already lost Dudley this time around and he would not let Ron and Hermione risk their lives for him anymore.

They might not think so, but it was a simple fact that they were all better off without him.

AN: Thoughts, cranes, or feedback, pretty please?