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This story is a collaboration work between Avoranger and Cal the Wandcrafter!
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Harry's eyes blinked open, disoriented and confused. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to get his bearings. Something was off. The room he was in was familiar, but different somehow. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Harry began to piece together his surroundings. As he took a closer look around the room, he realised that everything was just as he remembered it, but from a different time period. The trinkets that were now strewn haphazardly around the room had been meticulously arranged on shelves and desks, and the walls were adorned with posters and pictures that were now yellowed with age. The room he was occupying as his former office. He had chosen it explicitly for the spacious windows, which opened up to the bustling streets outside. The room had once housed his thriving business, Lily's Eatery, and was filled with bookshelves, desks and a minifridge for when he had to spend long nights working from home. But now, the room had undergone a metamorphosis, with trinkets and belongings strewn haphazardly around that Harry distinctly remembered spending weeks labouring over organising. So only one question remained left in his mind.
"What the hell is going on?"
As he stumbled through the dimly lit room, his eyes finally adjusted to the murky darkness. It was then that he caught sight of the mirror lurking in the corner, waiting like a predator in the shadows. He slowly made his way towards it, his heart pounding in his chest, and as he drew closer, he couldn't help but notice his reflection.
His once handsome face was now gaunt and sickly, his clothes torn and baggy, and the broken glasses perched precariously on his nose. But what confused him the most was the bandage wrapped tightly around his forehead, covering the spot where his famous scar had once been.
With trembling fingers, he reached up to remove the bandage, a sense of dread creeping up his spine. As the blood-soaked cloth fell away, he was met with an empty space where the scar had once been. He couldn't explain it, couldn't rationalise it. There was only one possible explanation for his current appearance, and it should be impossible. Hermione's words echoed in his mind, reminding him that time-turners cannot reach so far back in the past nor restore youth to the body. And Harry himself had no time-turner to speak of, so how could this be possible? But as he stared into the mirror, he knew with a sickening certainty that he had been flung back in time, to a world where the impossible was now reality.
With a jolt, Harry recalled Daphne, her life hanging in the balance after the explosion. Had he managed to save her? Was she alive? Harry could only hope that she had survived, that she could forgive him for leaving her behind. His heart weighed heavy with sorrow as he thought of her. Yet, as he pondered her fate, a glimmer of hope shone through the darkness. For he knew that he would meet her again, though not as the Daphne he knew. And he would do everything in his power to bring her back.
The moment he realised what had happened, Harry bolted out of the room, his heart racing with a mix of panic and determination. He had to find answers, and fast. He couldn't let himself get caught up in the Boy-Who-Lived, Master of Death, Chosen One nonsense all over again. He had done his duty, fought his battles, and now he deserved a peaceful existence. If some long lost prophecy or cursed trinkets had done this to him, he hoped beyond hope that he'd find some answers in this twisted time warp that had sent him tumbling down the rabbit hole. Maybe Dumbledore would appear, all twinkly-eyed and full of mystical guidance, just like in that time he'd encountered him in the Forbidden Forest before his confrontation with Voldemort. Except instead of magical visions and apparitions, he made it five steps down the hall before faceplanting face first into a tired and dishevelled Sirius Black, alive, healthy, and carrying a plate of food for his godson, and by the pain he felt in his backside from falling to the ground, he could immediately tell this was not some sort of spectral messenger.
He looked up at his godfather, and his thoughts turned to the future. Would he be able to survive in this unfamiliar time, where the shadows of the past loomed like a gathering storm? The prospect of reliving his past trials and tribulations made his skin crawl. But then, a glimmer of hope pierced through the darkness like a shard of sunlight. Could he have been sent back to change things, to right the wrongs that had led to so much pain and suffering? Perhaps he could save countless lives, including that of his dear godfather, Sirius.
But Harry knew the truth. He had not travelled back in time with his physical body, only his mind. He was still the same Harry, with all his flaws and frailties. This was not like his previous time-travel escapades with Hermione, where they had gone back together. This was a solitary journey, a test of his mettle, a battle against the demons of his own mind
He spent a good few hours with his godfather, his mind a tumultuous storm of confusion and uncertainty. Sirius had filled him in on what had happened, how he had fallen ill in the middle of his debriefing after being rescued. But even as Sirius spoke, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Sirius had reluctantly departed, promising to return with Harry's friends who were itching to lay their eyes on him.
But as the minutes ticked by, Harry began to hatch contingency plans and cover stories for himself. He couldn't shake off the feeling that Dumbledore couldn't be trusted, not after his previous life - a phrase that made his skin crawl with revulsion. Too many unanswered questions swirled around his old mentor's motives, and until he could unravel the true extent of the headmaster's scheming and manipulations, Harry resolved to win his trust and slip under his radar. He would deal with Dumbledore later, and would wait to see how this new turn of events would impact the headmaster's attitude towards him this year - he had the sneaking suspicion that his occlumency lessons would be starting earlier than his first run through 1995. But his thoughts were interrupted by a loud rapping on the door, prompting him to bid the visitors enter. The door creaked open, revealing Ron and Hermione beaming at him with a hint of unease. His godfather had mentioned that he and Remus were restricting his visitors to a select few, mainly keeping Molly away so he could recuperate without being smothered by the overbearing woman, and he was grateful for their assistance. He smiled at his friends, nearly having to do a double take after seeing them so young once again.
Harry settled onto the bed, his wand at the ready. With a flick of his wrist, he waved his wand and transfigured a nearby footstool and an umbrella into two chairs for his friends, causing Hermione's eyes to bulge and Ron's jaw to drop in awe. The magic came naturally to him, a reflex honed over years of practice, but as he watched his friends' reactions, he inwardly winced at acting on his instincts and casually casting magic more advanced than he should know.
"Sit down, guys. How have you been?" he asked, hoping to divert their attention from his little magic show.
"Where did you learn that, Harry? And you're using magic here?! What if the Ministry finds out and expels you for good this time? You have a hearing tomorrow!" Hermione blurted out, her disapproval practically tangible. Harry winced inwardly, while Ron shot him an apologetic look.
"Calm down, Hermione. Sirius taught me that, and anyway, it's perfectly legal to use magic in a wizard's home. This place is guarded by some powerful enchantments, and there are plenty of grown-up wizards around, so there's nothing to worry about," Harry assured her.
"A wizard's home?" Hermione repeated incredulously. Harry frowned, sensing the righteous anger in his friend.
"So we can use our wands at my house, then?" Ron asked eagerly. Harry furrowed his brow and nodded.
"Yeah, as long as there's an adult wizard living in the house, you can use magic indoors, or at least that's what Sirius told me. Didn't you know, Ron?" Harry asked, only to receive a vigorous shake of the head from his red-headed friend.
"Mum and Dad never mentioned it! I wish I'd known earlier," Ron grumbled, while Hermione remained silent, her mind racing.
Harry shrugged. "Maybe there's a reason behind it? So we don't get too complacent and reliant on magic? I'm not sure. But you could ask your mum, Ron." He had to stifle a chuckle as Ron recoiled at the thought of incurring his mother's wrath, especially after all the times Fred and George had used apparition to move their belongings one room at a time over the summer.
Hermione's anger crackled like a live wire, her frustration barely contained within the confines of her tight-lipped expression. "So let me get this straight," she said, her voice sharp as a knife. "If there's an adult wizard in the household, we can perform magic?" she demanded again, her voice edged with steel.
Harry didn't miss the flash of indignation in her eyes. "As Sirius suggested, that seems to be the case. I don't think I need to comment on what happens when I do magic at the Dursleys," he replied, his own irritation rising, remembering all the grief Mafalda Hopkirk had caused him over the years.
Hermione's protests were swift and sharp, her irritation mounting by the second. "This is grossly unfair!"
Harry's response was cautious, as if he was treading on thin ice. "Maybe it's a matter of safety," he said, his words careful and measured. "Minors require guidance, don't they? And if we mess up a spell, we can't just undo our mistakes. Who would rectify it, do you suppose? Your parents or my relatives? They're ill-equipped for such tasks."
But Hermione was not one to be placated so easily. Harry winced inwardly as he anticipated the deluge of research she would undertake in the library as soon as they returned to Hogwarts. Using his knowledge from the future, he had already disabled the tracking charm on his wand when he was alone in his room, but it hadn't occurred to him that Hermione would demand justice for the matter. Harry sighed inwardly, knowing Hermione was far from finished with the argument. "Fine, we'll research it more when we get back to Hogwarts," he acquiesced, hoping it would appease her for now. "Er... you never did answer my earlier question," he said, eyeing his friends curiously. "And what brings the two of you here, anyway?"
"We just missed you, mate! You've been asleep for six days!" Ron blurted out, grinning like a fool. Harry raised an eyebrow sceptically.
"If you missed me that much, you could've sent a letter," he pointed out, his mind flashing back to the long, lonely days of summer, the memory still aching his heart even after all the years.
Ron and Hermione exchanged guilty glances. "Yeah, sorry about that," Ron muttered. "Dumbledore… He wouldn't let us…"
Hermione cut in before Harry could say anything else. "How are you holding up? Are you prepared for tomorrow's trial?"
"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Harry said, his voice flat and distant. "It's just a disciplinary hearing, so I'm sure it won't be too bad. Don't worry about me."
Hermione gazed at him intently, her brown eyes searching his face for any sign of weakness. Harry knew she was worried, but he didn't have the energy to reassure her. His mind was already preoccupied with thoughts of the upcoming trial. It was sickening to have to go through it all over again. He repeated to himself, 'act like fifteen-year-old Harry' repeatedly, trying to tap into the younger version of himself. Even though his soul was over a decade older and an expert on self defence law, it was necessary to play the part. He felt guilty for mentally taunting Daphne in the past for getting slammed with double shifts. Now, he had to deal with the same fate because, in addition to defeating Voldemort, he had to find the culprits behind the future bombing. Was this karma? Harry winced. He would apologise to Daphne as soon as he saw her… Even if her past self would be confused as to why.
Hermione jolted awake as if remembering something, and produced a stack of papers from her pocket. Harry flinched as the papers landed roughly on his lap."Uh, what's this?" he asked, scanning through the papers she had given him: Laws and Procedures of the Court of Wizarding Britain. "You don't have to do this, Hermione," Harry said, looking guilty, but he took the papers anyway. He knew it was useless to argue with her when she was in this state. She was always like this before a big test or a trial, burying herself in books and papers until she was satisfied that she knew everything there was to know. It was one of the things he loved about her, but right now he didn't have the patience for it.
"I know you're prepared, Harry," Hermione said firmly, her voice laced with determination. "But this will help you be even more prepared. Knowledge is power, remember?"
Harry sighed, knowing he wouldn't win this argument. "Thanks, Hermione," he muttered, shuffling the papers into his bag. "I'll take a look at them later." But he knew he wouldn't. His mind was already too full of other things to worry about, and he was quite confident he had the trial completely handled.
Meanwhile, Ron's face bloomed a deep shade of scarlet, his embarrassment radiating like a beacon in the dimly lit room. "Sorry, mate," he muttered, his voice small and sheepish. "This is all I can offer you." With a wide, nervous grin, he extended a handful of parcels containing chocolate frogs, the wrappers crinkling with the slightest movement.
Harry couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's awkwardness, accepting the humble gift with a grateful nod. "Thank you," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "It truly means a lot." He paused for a moment, then added, "This isn't poisoned, is it? It's not a trick from the twins, is it? It's safe, right?"
Ron's eyes bulged out of their sockets at the suggestion, his defence rising like a wall. "Merlin's beard, of course not!" he exclaimed, his tone bordering on the edge of irritation. They all laughed, the tension lifting like a heavy fog.
For the rest of the afternoon, the trio talked and laughed about various topics, their friendship stronger than ever. But as the sun began to set and the shadows grew longer, Molly's voice echoed through the house, summoning them to dinner, leaving Harry once again to the solitary confines of his thoughts.
As Ron and Hermione shuffled off, Harry was left alone with his thoughts, or so he thought. A sharp knock broke the silence and the door creaked open, revealing none other than Sirius Black. He waltzed in, a tray of dinner in tow, with Remus Lupin close behind. Harry's heart leapt with joy at the sight of them. It was like a mirage, an oasis in a desert of loneliness. As he laid eyes on Remus, the resemblance to his godson Teddy was eerie - their faces, their grins, were like mirror images. But the thought of his ten-year-old godson made Harry's heart feel heavy. He missed the little tyke something fierce and feared he might never see him again. Would Teddy even exist in the first place? What about the Teddy from his time, who was ten now and growing up without him? Harry knew better than to tamper with fate, but he couldn't help but wish for a happier ending for Remus and Tonks. After all, of he was going to save the future, why only focus on the big picture? He pictured himself as a fun-loving uncle to little Teddy, taking him to quidditch matches and buying him sweets… The thought made him to himself.
Sirius interrupted Harry's reverie with a jolly grin. "So, what do you reckon, Harry? You look quite chipper."
Harry laughed, relieved to be distracted from his thoughts. "Oh, nothing. I'm just glad the food's here. I thought you'd leave me to starve," he replied with dramatic flair.
Sirius chuckled and summoned a paper towel to use as a makeshift table, placing it on Harry's lap before setting the tray of food before him. The menu for the evening was steak and kidney pie, accompanied by a few bottles of butterbeer.
"Are you two not eating?" Harry asked, puzzled as he noticed only one portion on the tray.
"We've already eaten, actually. We did so deliberately, so that we could keep you company while you dine," Sirius explained as he popped open three bottles of butterbeer and handed one to Harry. As he pulled up the new chairs, Sirius's eyes caught sight of the sleek design and he let out a low whistle. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, running a hand over the smooth surface. "When did we get such fine seats in this depressing dump?"
His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he realised that he had been neglectful in removing the chairs before Sirius and Remus arrived. Harry spoke up, his tone apologetic. "I transfigured them earlier for Ron and Hermione. I hope you don't mind," he explained, hoping to alleviate the tension in the room.
Sirius barked out a laugh, his eyes shining with amusement. "You're a chip off the old block, Harry. Your dad could turn lead into gold, I swear," he praised. His mind wandered for a moment, lost in memories of his youth. "He was a natural at transfiguration. That's how we were able to become animagi at fifteen. James found the trick, you see. Someone had to keep this lump of mangy fur company on the full moons, after all."
Remus rolled his eyes, his fingers tapping on the bottle of butterbeer in his hand. "It's not something to be taken lightly, Sirius," he warned, his voice low with concern. "You could end up as a permanent fixture in the animal kingdom. Not that I'm not grateful for your offer," he added with a stern look, "but I'm still a bit peeved at that. I never wanted you to risk your life just so I could have a companion during the full moon."
Sirius shrugged off his friend's worries, a devilish glint in his eye. "Where's the fun in life without a bit of danger?" he asked with a smirk. Turning to Harry, he offered a piece of advice. "If you ever feel like joining the club, make sure you let McGonagall know. Don't want to end up like these two fools." He said, gesturing to himself and Remus with a grin. "I had my left leg stuck as a dog's for two weeks during took my OWL's with the overwhelming urge to scratch behind my ear. I made up a story about spilling a bunch of potions on myself. Less trouble than admitting to preforming illegal magic, you see. And Mooney here was responsible for a flea outbreak in Ravenclaw, after a study session with the Bookworms-in-Blue."
Remus shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Well if you are attempting to scare him off the path of becoming an animal, I must say job well done, Padfoot," he retorted.
Ignoring his friend's comment, Sirius fished a worn, maroon journal out of his pocket and handed it to Harry. "Check this out," he said, excitement bubbling in his voice.
Harry thumbed through the blank pages, failing to find anything noteworthy. "What is it?" he asked, confused.
Sirius leaned in, his eyes glinting with mystery. "It's a diary, Harry. The most interesting kind," he whispered. "It's not what you can see that matters," Sirius said eagerly. "It's what's hidden inside."
Harry regarded Sirius with a sceptical eye. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice laced with doubt.
"Tap it with your wand and say the password," Sirius replied, his tone carrying a hint of impatience.
"What password?" Harry couldn't help but tease.
Sirius let out an exasperated sigh, catching on to Harry's playful mood. "The password for the map, of course!"
"Oh, that password," Harry said, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."
As soon as the words left his mouth, the book began to glow with a fierce intensity, its pages transforming before his very eyes. The cover now read 'J. Potter' in elegant golden script, with a caricature of a figure flying on a broomstick. Sirius spoke up, "I found it buried in my school trunk. I was planning on enchanting the words to change to limericks as a prank back in our 7th year, and must have forgotten about it."
Harry felt a lump form in his throat as he opened the book and flipped through its pages, each one more precious than the last. After discovering his mother's diary in the Potter family vault, he had wondered if his father had something similar, but have been unable to find it despite years of searching and inquiries. Now, as he traced his fingers across the tidy at masculine letters, he felt the strings of his heart ache. He had never seen this book before, managing to retrieve depressingly little of sirius's belongings from the various black markets he had come across after the war, and took great pleasure at locking Mundungus Fletcher in the darkest hole he could find in Azkaban, especially after it was revealed he had done similar acts of theft to various families that had been attacked in the war. Unknowingly, tears began to stream down his face, but he made no move to wipe them away.
Sirius and Remus smiled warmly at him, their own eyes glistening with emotion. "Thank you," Harry said softly, closing the book and holding it close to his chest. "I'll read it when I'm alone." He turned his attention to them then, his heart overflowing with gratitude, and gave them a tight embrace.
With a groan and a crack of his back, Harry dragged himself out of bed early on the day of his hearing at the Ministry of Magic. His mind was already a swarm of buzzing bees, thanks to his unique position as a time-traveller. He knew what was coming: the corrupt officials of the Ministry would try to hang him out to dry. But Harry was no naive teenager as the Minister no doubt expected to find. As an Auror with a thesis on self-defence law and court malpractice, he had the knowledge and the skill to defend himself, and was more than eager to participate in the biggest self indulgent power fantasy he wished he would have been able to achieve back in school. He would never admit it, even Daphne had no idea, but while finishing up his thesis for the Auror academy he had fantasised exactly how he would slap down the ministry's farce of a trial if he could have. And now was his chance.
Yet, there was one thing that gave him pause. Dumbledore, the great wizard, his former mentor, and headmaster of Hogwarts, had always been a trusted ally. He needed time to consider whether he should trust Dumbledore or not. For now, he would keep the old man at bay and find a way to get through the trial on his own. Last time, he remembered how Dumbledore seemed to be more concerned with convincing Fudge about Voldemort's return, but Harry knew that would be a fool's errand without having him directly seeing The Dark Lord. I need to focus on making Fudge seem as mad as a hatter. If attempting to reveal the truth about Voldemort didn't work last time, at least I can try to make the Wizengamot see that something is deeply rotten in the Ministry.
Harry deftly adjusted his suit, casting a quick tailoring charm to make it fit like a second skin. The dark grey three-piece suit with black pinstripes and gold buttons was a devilishly handsome ensemble that his godfather Sirius had procured for him - quite similar to the attire gifted by Daphne, who had playfully jested that her big, strong detective needed to look the part. Harry was grateful that this outfit didn't come with a fedora to complete the cliche, unlike the one he received from Daphne. Sirius, the self-proclaimed handsome devil and stylish rogue, had told Harry that every handsome young man needed four things to attract the ladies: good looks, a nice watch, polished dress shoes, and a proper suit. "Well, we can make three of those things happen at least. Unfortunately, you got most of your dad's looks," he had quipped.
Harry chuckled at the thought, checking himself out in the mirror. Sirius had told him that Madame Pomfrey specifically left a potion regiment to follow when he woke up, and while it tasted like straight grease from a deep fryer and left him feeling like he had consumed enough fish and chips to feed 20 people, it seems to have done wonders in returning the colour to his face, along with adding a few kilograms to his skinny frame - nowhere near as healthy as he had been in the future, but still better looking than his first time through 1995. He was grateful for the opportunity to go back in time, despite the dangers that came with it, and vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to keep Sirius alive this time around.
With a final appraisal in the mirror, Harry trudged downstairs to meet Mr. Weasley. The staircase groaned under his weight as he descended, and the sound of Mrs. Weasley bustling about in the kitchen filled the air. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted up to him, and he breathed in deeply.
In the kitchen, Mr. Weasley sat at the table, poring over a thick newspaper. "Good morning, Harry," he greeted, looking up with a smile. "I hope you slept well."
Harry shook his head. "Not really. I'm anxious about today's hearing."
Mr. Weasley patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I understand, Harry. But you must be strong. Remember what the muggles say, 'if you can't beat them, confuse them.'"
Harry blinked, unsure of what phrase Mr. Weasley meant to reference this time, and took a sip of the hot coffee that Mrs. Weasley had poured for him along with breakfast. The brew was bitter and potent, just the way he liked it. "I'll do my best," he declared, a spark of determination igniting in his chest. He was more than ready, after all.
The journey to the Ministry was a tedious and trying one, just as boring as he remembered from his first time, full of the usual chaos and confusion of the city. Harry and Mr. Weasley made their way to the tube station, surrounded by a throng of commuters in a hurry to get where they were going, and definitely annoyed as Mr. Weasley held up the line at the turnstile. As the train rumbled along the tracks, Harry noticed Mr. Weasley struggling with the gate pass. He held the pass in his hand, examining it as if it were some kind of cryptic riddle. Harry sighed inwardly, knowing that this was going to be a long journey.
"Here, let me show you," Harry said, taking the gate pass from Mr. Weasley's hand.
He quickly showed him the proper procedure, as Mr. Weasley watched with interest as Harry deftly handled the gate pass and the coins, his brow furrowed in concentration. Swiftly, he led him along to a carriage towards the middle of the train.
They had finally reached their destination, the Ministry's entrance looming before them like a forbidding fortress, despite its mundane appearance. The phone booth, with its reflective glass panels, stood like a sentinel on the lonely street corner, beckoning them with its sinister glow of it's internal fluorescent lights. They squeezed themselves into its suffocating confines, feeling as if they were being swallowed up by the booth's claustrophobic walls.
Harry couldn't shake the sense of unease that permeated his every nerve as they descended into the depths of the Ministry. The journey downward was like hurtling into a black hole, the sensation of falling overwhelming. He could feel his stomach churning, the whir of machinery and the creak of metal filling his ears, despite the fact that it was entirely magical. It was as if the Ministry was trying to swallow them whole contrary to the relatively slow descent speed, or maybe it was just protection against any accidental muggles who managed to be unfortunate enough to call the wrong number. Such an event would surely be disorienting enough to utterly confuse someone who wasn't expecting it.
Harry's mind wandered back to the day when a clueless muggle had stumbled into the Ministry of Magic by mistake, dialling the wrong number while trying to call his ex-girlfriend. The security desk had gone into overdrive, scrambling to convince the poor sod that he had stumbled across a top-secret MI5 facility. The incident had locked down the entire atrium, cutting off all floo access, and Harry had been late for his shift.
The memory brought a smirk to Harry's face as he recalled the picture frame hanging in the Auror department bullpen. It showed the man's visitor badge, which proclaimed him as a Lovestruck Moron. Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all, earning a grin from Mr. Weasley, who was excited at the chance to use the visitors entrance for a change. The toilet to floo system used by Ministry employees was truly the worst invention anyone had ever come up with in either the wizarding or muggle world, and Harry perfectly understood where the older man's excitement was coming from. Whoever thought it was a good idea to take the unpleasant experience of floo travel then at the sensation of being waterboarded deserved to be thrown through the veil, in his opinion.
When they finally emerged from the booth, Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him as he stumbled out onto solid ground. But the atrium was no less unsettling, with its grotesque statue that dominated the centre of the room. It made his skin crawl, but Harry and Mr. Weasley pressed on towards the security desk, determined to reach their destination.
They made their way to the lift and Harry braced himself for the update that the man named Perkins would deliver on the trial they had come to attend. 'This is it… Next stop, Courtroom Ten,' He thought to himself. Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding, as if they were about to enter the belly of the beast.
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