Lost Time

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Never Gone

-

He went through several more doors before arriving in a fairly pleasant office. Another familiar person was sitting behind the desk, scribbling away on some forms. He looked up and smiled, confirming his suspicions.

"Harry!" Colin Creevy exclaimed. "Good morning, sir! I have the usual on your desk." He grinned unblinkingly, bobbing his head. He had changed the most of everyone yet, growing spectacularly in height and sporting longish hair. Despite it all, Harry was reminded of just how much he detested the naïve Gryffindor. His personality was still as grating as ever.

"Thanks Colin." he managed, giving the man a faint smile, "Is there anything I should know for today? Detective Longbottom said there's a body coming in." He tried to sound as informed and collected as possible, using the information he had absorbed from his conversations.

"Right you are!" Colin chimed, "The Aurors are bringing in the body of one..." and here he paused, furrowing his eyebrows before looking at his papers, "...Alan Stranger. Deputy Commissioner of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad." He stopped again, procuring from his robes one of the bright yellow sheets Harry had seen Goldstein passing out. "My mistake, according to this, his department is now called the Home Office."

"What did he do?" Harry asked, desperate for any knowledge he could put to use. At the very least, he needed something relevant to talk about in case anyone wanted to talk to him.

"He retired from the Hit-Wizard Squads several years ago, and was relegated to administrative duties. Despite this, Judy tells me that he all but controlled the entire station of Magical Law Enforcers as well as the Hit-Wizards squads. You probably know more of that than I do. The Commissioner of Hit-Wizards spends most of his time in the Wizengamot, tied up in court cases and the like. You're lucky you don't have to do all that work."

"Oh yes, very lucky," Harry replied. He assumed 'Judy' was a friend or close relation of Colin's. There couldn't be anyone who would ever marry the excitable wizard. Harry wasn't at all surprised that the same boy who worshiped him throughout Hogwarts ended up as his direct assistant.

"Though, I don't think you'd mind if Daphne switched places with you. You don't seem to like it down here all that much." Colin mused. "Speaking of the lord and master, she'll be around soon. She sent a memo, saying she was meeting her father. Probably a PPB meeting."

Harry didn't ask what 'PPB' was, but resolved to find out himself. "Probably." he concurred. "I have to go though, before she comes back and sees me loitering around." Excusing himself, he went off to explore the office further.

The door past the entrance room lead to a small corridor that opened to a large opening. The ceiling was low and fitted with cold, white flames to illuminate the many steel tables that were spread across the room. All were set parallel to each other, each with a small workbench equipped with bladed instruments and strange potions. The tiled floor was dark and stained, more so around the spotless tables.

The table at the far end was occupied by a motionless body covered in white muslin. Various splotches of red were present in the fabric in the fabric. Harry moved toward what he recalled was the first body the unknown killer had left behind. He reached for the small clipboard on the workbench, flipping through the notes.

Pages of his own writing appeared before him, each signed by his initials, all with his messy scrawl. He found the name of the subject, as he reminded himself, having resolved to get into the mind of this future Harry Potter. The dead man's name was Alric Risengeit, the son of prominent German family that had moved to Britain several decades ago. He was a notable member of an organization named simply the PNRP. There were more personal details, but he skipped over them to find if his older self had come up with any ideas. He was disappointed to see the last page, the one dedicated to "Cause of Death", covered with a large question mark.

Harry placed the clipboard back and looked around some more, ruffling through papers and charts before finding another door. He went through it and found a small, tidy office. In in the middle sat a large, wooden desk, with a comfortable-looking chair and a window behind it. Harry knew it was artificial, but it lent a small escape to his otherwise depressing, dark workplace.

Looking to make sure Colin wasn't close by, he made his way to the chair, sitting himself down with a measure of guilt. He went through his drawers, finding quills, ink, dissection tools, and even a placard with his name on it -

-

Dr. Harry James Potter

-

Chief Forensic Officer

of the

British Ministry of Magic

-

The prefix before his name caught his eye, and he sat looking at his name and position with slight awe. His older self was clearly accomplished, worth something other than his defeat of Voldemort. With a slight swell of pride, he placed the placard on his desk, practicing his new formal name in his head. It was ridiculous, but Harry felt as if it were something more important than the prophecy and all it entailed. This was not something thrust onto him - he had pursued it and achieved something great all on his own.

Spinning around, he found several framed parchments on the wall behind the desk. Graduation certificates, merit awards, and honors hung visibly behind him, bestowing upon the office a sense of legitimacy that Harry suddenly remembered he didn't deserve.

"Harry!"

The growing dread in his stomach ballooned at the call, and he instinctively grasped his wand. No reassuring warmth flowed through his fingers. He turned and stood, looking through the door to see the same dark haired woman he had seen in the Ministry atrium earlier. She wore form-fitting robes and had alluring eyes, a shade of violet that Harry had seen on only one other.

"How wonderful to see you here so early!" She said smiling, leaning against the inside of his door. Before he could reply, she continued, entering the office. "Though, I have to say you look lost. Are you feeling well?"

"Just tired." he replied, shuffling through some papers. Fearing he would somehow give himself away, Harry kept his eyes on the various charts in his hands, avoiding looking directly back at her. He needed to show familiarity, not embarrassment. "I had a long night."

"A long night? At the Potter household?" She laughed, and Harry had the feeling he was being ridiculed in some way. "Hannah doesn't seem much for pillow talk." The slight trace of smugness on her face made something boil in Harry's blood, and he felt as if he needed to do something on behalf of his...wife.

But Harry restrained himself, deciding to dwell on more important issues - like finding out who the woman was. The violet eyes were a clue, and he strained to remember. The face, her shining black hair - she seemed like a younger Bellatrix Black. But there were only a few surviving families related to that dead house, the Malfoys and Andromeda Tonks being the closest. There were several related through Sirius' grandmother, of which the Longbottoms and Greengrasses were most prominent.

The latter name rang in his mind, and he suddenly recalled a wily, black haired Slytherin girl in his own year, quiet and largely detached from Malfoy - Daphne Greengrass. Colin's offhand comment of a meeting suddenly made sense. Daphne Greengrass was meeting her father, the PPB figure. Tonk's warning against him suddenly made Harry even more wary around the woman, more so as he recalled Colin mentioning her as their superior.

Harry decided to take attention away from himself, to shift it away to other things. "So are we getting a new name too? The DMLE and the MLES both got splendid new acronyms."

"My father said we're too small, so he's not going to implement a change. It isn't as if the office is in the public eye. I don't think we could, either. Neville and his swashbuckling "People's National Reform Party" would give us even more trouble than they already are. The bloody fascists like to think they represent the people. They're just a fearmongering bunch of irrational fools."

Harry grinned inwardly at her slip of information. So the PNRP was a political party headed or at least controlled by his old friend Neville. "I'm sure he doesn't think well of you, either." he said with a smile.

"Of course he doesn't," she sighed, giving Harry a demure, helpless look, "He'd like nothing better than to throw our entire family into Azkaban. Without trial. He's a regular Barty Crouch - he even has the silly toothbrush mustache and the inflated ego." Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the image of Neville in Hitler garb.

"But don't tell him I said that," she said, her eyes holding all of his attention, "I report to him, but you report to me." She reached into a folder she had been carrying and pulled out a stack of papers similar to the one Colin had read through. "But enough of that. The Aurors are having some trouble in their initial processing, so it'll be some time until you get the new body. Familiarize yourself with his information and be ready to work as soon as it comes in."

"I'll do that." Harry said, and he felt the dread return.

"Good. Now I have to leave. Be a good boy while I see to this new murder scene we've found." Leaning forward, she placed a quick kiss on Harry's cheek before disappearing out his door. He stared after her, wondering what had happened. He fought something inside and looked at the band around his ring finger. What kind of man had his older self been?

Mind running wild, Harry turned to the papers he had been given. On top was the picture of Alan Stranger posing for his identity card. He glared at Harry, jaw set in place. The image seemed to see right through his facade and accuse him of fraud. Harry didn't have to read through the file to know his newest subject had been a fantastic Hit-Wizard.

Behind the initial biography, Harry found information about the man's activities, his favorite dwellings, and other data he was sure his older self could make sense of. He dropped the papers back and leaned back into his chair. What had he lost? Years of his life had gone by, gone in a mere fraction of a second. He was eight years older, eight years closer to death. Eight years had been stolen from him.

He angrily drew his wand, casting a spell to close and lock the door. The intent and words rang through his mind, but nothing happened. His wand sat dead in his hands, none of the tingling through his arms that he had become so accustomed to - so dependent on. He tried again, but felt nothing.

"Eclusio." He said out loud. A small spark of light flew from his wand, disappearing into nothingness before reaching its target. Panic seized him and he tried again and again, managing nothing but the smallest of quivers from the wooden door. He moved to something simpler - "Lumos!"A faint, pitiful light shone from his wandtip, flickering pathetically before fading away. No amount of repetition could allow him to keep it for more than several seconds.

Nothing but the most simple of spells worked correctly, all of them either failing or eliciting no response at all. What had happened to his magic? He thought about his time so far - his magic had been present when he had engaged Voldemort, and he hadn't attempted magic since. Was his older self a squib?

No amount of rationality could calm the frenzied terror that gripped him. He was without magic! His life was intertwined with the force. His heritage, his escape from the Dursleys - all were because of this gift he had been given. He strained to think of a reason. Perhaps it was only temporary? But something far worse occurred to him still - was this Voldemort's doing? He had still hadn't received answers on whether he had prevailed in his last battle, but it was entirely possible that the Dark Lord would take away the possession that he valued most - that they both valued, and owed their escape from wretchedness to - from his final foe.

--

"Dr. Potter!" Colin's voice rang Harry out of his thoughts. He looked up, putting aside the newspaper he had asked his assistant to retrieve. The paper joined an empty desk, devoid of any sort of sign indicating human inhabitance. There was nothing personal, no pictures of his wife, or even his friends from the Order. It was a far cry from Mr. Weasley's warm, inviting desk in The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. What had become of the smiling young man arm in arm with lovely wife, surrounded by friends?

"Yes, Colin?" He replied, shaking away the slight reverie. He grimacing inwardly when he saw the suddenly proud look on the man's face. Apparently his older self did not call the younger wizard by his first name.

"The body is here. Auror Williams needs a signature from you for a release." He waved a long document in front of him. "I'll just give this to him."

Harry furrowed his brows. "What? Isn't that for me to sign?"

Colin looked uncomfortable, and he looked at him slightly confused. "But you can't...without... You asked me to do them from now on, remember?" Harry's eyes fell back to the wand lying uselessly on his desk and gathered that the signature needed some sort of magic to seal. Colin knew.

"Right, of course. Go ahead, Mr. Creevy." He said quickly, dismissing him. Harry's face had turned red, and he wished the man would simply leave instead of gawk. He looked down to his papers, pointedly ignoring the wizard as he grasped Harry's wand and performed a quick spell on a signature that bore his name. Harry saw with slight anger the accuracy of which the messy scrawl of his name had been reproduced. This was not an infrequent, or even a recent occurrence. It was obvious Colin had been doing this for quite some time.

Harry's assistant looked at him tentatively before leaving the room without a word, dropping his wand back on his desk. He waited until he heard the slight squeak of a gurney being pushed into the examination room before he left his office, seeing Colin scurry out to the entrance room out of the corner of his eye.