A/N: Chapter revised as of November 3, 2024.
For the first time in his life, Harry was looking forward to a summer at home away from Hogwarts. He had missed his family dearly, and hoped to spend as much time as possible with them over the break. His plans for the next two months involved lots of sleeping in, plenty of begging his father to take them to the nearest enchanted field to practice flying, and regaling his little sister with stories of the school she would soon come to know for herself.
Which is why Harry was surprised to be shaken awake early on his first day of summer vacation. "Wake up, Harry," James said tersely. "We have visitors."
Harry grumpily pulled himself out of bed and pulled on a T-shirt and shorts before trudging downstairs after his father. When they emerged in the kitchen, Harry gawked at the two figures sitting across the dining table – two people he knew well in his last timeline, but who looked drastically different than he remembered.
"Moody?" Harry asked, surprised. "Tonks?"
"That's right, laddie," confirmed Alastor Moody, getting to his feet to extend a gnarled hand for Harry to shake. The man still sported one magical eye, whizzing about in its socket, but Harry noticed straight away that the man still possessed all four of his limbs – no peg leg in sight. Had he avoided such an injury in this timeline, or was the worst yet to come?
"I take it your father has already told you about our promising new recruit, Nymphadora?" Moody said, throwing a thumb back at his young understudy. Tonks was a fair bit younger than Harry remembered her: only nineteen, and still sporting a full head of shoulder-length brown hair, but there was no mistaking the casual smirk and devious glint in her eye that he knew so well.
"It's Tonks, Mad-Eye, not Nymphadora," Tonks sneered, her hair flashing red temporarily in irritation. "Seems young Harry here already knows better than you. Wotcher, kid."
"Hello, Tonks," Harry grinned at her; she winked back.
"Mr. Moody here was the man who trained me at the Auror Office over a decade ago," James explained. "He's the best there is, and I've asked him to come do a small favor for me."
"Least I can do," Moody said gruffly. "Your dad's gotten me out of a fair number of nasty spots over the years. I owe him a bit of babysitting." Harry wondered if any of these 'nasty spots' had been where Moody lost his leg in the original timeline, and if James' survival had helped prevent it.
"Babysitting?" Harry repeated, looking to his father. "Are you going somewhere?"
"Not exactly," said James. "I've asked Moody to train you with Veritaserum. You may be called in for questioning for Pettigrew's trial, and we want to ensure you're ready."
"Er...you're going to 'train' me with Veritaserum?" Harry frowned. "Doesn't it force me to tell the truth, no matter what?"
"Right you are, kid," Moody confirmed. "But there's a fair bit more to it than meets the eye. I'll be coaching you on how to avoid answering questions you don't want to, even if you're under the influence of the potion."
"I see," Harry nodded slowly. Wouldn't the potion force me to tell the truth no matter what? he thought to himself, but said nothing as James led them down into the basement to begin the training.
Harry and Dahlia were not allowed in the Potter basement without James or Lily's supervision. It was a spacious room, probably magically expanded, with numerous locked cabinets and strange-looking devices on high shelves that they were forbidden to touch. Harry was beginning to understand Daphne Greengrass' stance on dark artifacts – he wondered how many of the family objects contained here would also raise eyebrows with the Ministry…
"Right; let's get started then," said Moody once they were seated around a small table in the corner. "Nymphadora, would you like to administer the potion?"
"Only if you call me by my proper name," Tonks said, sticking a playful tongue out at him.
"Fine, then...Tonks," said Moody, muttering mutinously under his breath.
"Tongue out, Potter," Tonks instructed as she uncorked the bottle of clear liquid placed between them. Harry complied, and Tonks used the stopper to place three drops of the potion into his mouth. At once, Harry felt a sensation similar to the Imperius Curse – a dull feeling of unreality, a vague sense that he was not in control of his senses.
"What is your name?" Moody asked.
"Harry James Potter," said Harry at once in a monotone voice. He hadn't even consciously tried to answer the question; it just slipped out.
"Where do you live?" asked Moody.
"Number Eighteen Church Lane, Godric's Hollow," said Harry at once.
"Stop," Moody suddenly barked. "Tonks, the antidote."
Tonks uncorked another bottle and placed a drop of liquid on Harry's tongue; at once, the sensation of the Veritaserum went away. "What happened?" asked Harry. "What did I do wrong?"
"Nothing; that's the problem," said Moody. "You didn't attempt to fight the questions."
"But...but it's the truth!" Harry asked. "How could I lie about basic facts about myself?"
"Ah; that's an excellent question," Moody smirked. "You can't lie, of course. But you can get around the question by telling alternate truths."
"Erm...alternate truths?" Harry repeated, frowning in confusion.
"It's true that you reside in Godric's Hollow in a legal sense," said Moody. "But is it not also true that you spend nine months of the year at Hogwarts, in Ravenclaw Tower?"
"Yes, but...what does that have to do with anything—?" Harry asked, frowning.
"You must always be looking for flaws in the question phrasing," Tonks supplied helpfully. "If they specified what your legal address is, then you have no choice but to answer. But if they leave any room for interpretation, you must be ready to use it to your advantage."
"Quite right!" Moody nodded fervently. "The truth is a rather pliable thing, Mr. Potter. As long as you can find a way to justify your version of the truth, the potion will allow you to say it, even if it is the smallest technicality."
"Won't that seem suspicious, though?" Harry asked. "If they ask a simple yes or no question, and I talk in circles around it?"
"Not only will they not be suspicious, they will be anticipating it from you," said Moody. "You're heir to a powerful family, and it would be expected of James to coach you in these matters. I expect young Mr. Malfoy in your class has received similar training, if I know anything about Lucius."
"But...but I haven't done anything wrong!" Harry protested. "I mean, not really. Won't it look like I have something to hide?"
"Every pure-blood family has something to hide, boy!" Moody groaned irritably. "Even if you were squeaky-clean as a whistle, with the right questioning, they could get you to admit that your father has a basement full of questionable artifacts, and use that to justify a raid on this very house! Wouldn't want that, would we?"
"No, I suppose not," Harry muttered.
"Besides, as it so happens, your involvement in Quirrell's death does look rather suspicious," Moody grunted. "There's no chance they'll prosecute a pre-teen, but it could reflect poorly on your father's reputation if it got out that you assisted Pettigrew in any way."
Harry's stomach dropped at this. He hadn't considered how bad it would look if the full truth of the duel between Peter and Quirrell got out. It was a misunderstanding, certainly, but it could be spun to look otherwise. If Harry knew Cornelius Fudge at all, he knew the Minister could spin anything to make the right people look good or bad.
"Let's try again," said Moody. Again Tonks applied three drops of Veritaserum to Harry's tongue, and he slipped back into the fuzzy sensation of the potion. "Were you a witness to the murder of Quirinius Quirrell?"
Harry racked his brain for a way to deny this fact, but could not think of a way to do so. "Yes," he said.
"Did you aid Peter Pettigrew in this murder?" asked Moody.
Again Harry thought. His brain was screaming for him to say yes, but now Harry had some wiggle room to work with. He had helped subdue Quirrell, but had he knowingly contributed to the man's murder? Certainly not. "Y-No," Harry said with some effort.
"Good, very good, Potter," said Moody. "Did you enter the chamber with intentions to aid Pettigrew in subduing Quirrell?"
Harry struggled mightily with this one. Again, his brain wanted him to agree with this statement, but Harry fought it, seeking a way around it. He had entered the chamber with intentions of saving Peter from Quirrell, but subduing the man was not necessarily his primary aim. He could have chased the man off, for example, or simply delayed him until Dumbledore returned. "No," he finally mustered.
"Excellent!" Moody laughed. At his gesture, Tonks applied the antidote, and Harry once again came back to his senses. "You probably wanted to give more details explaining your answer, didn't you?"
"Yes," Harry admitted. "I had to fight not to."
"That's exactly what you need to do," Moody appraised him. "The potion will attempt to extract as much information out of you as it can, but it doesn't require elaboration unless the questioner presses you for it. And most questioners will not, as the use of Veritaserum is heavily regulated and must follow strict Ministry procedure."
"My head still hurts just answering yes or no questions," said Harry, massaging his temple. "I dunno how long I could fight it for."
"The training will help with that," said Moody, nodding in understanding. "By the time you get the hang of it, you won't even have to fight it – you'll be accustomed to giving partially-truthful answers immediately. Even if the Ministry knows you're subverting the questions, they can't legally do a thing about it."
They continued the training for what felt like hours. Harry's head hurt mightily at first as he struggled to talk around the parameters of the questions, but eventually started to get the hang of it. By the end of the session, he was able to successfully deny that his name was Harry Potter, because his mother sometimes called him 'sweetheart', so Harry was not always the name he answered to.
"You're making swift progress, kid," Moody appraised him as they headed back upstairs. "Just remember that you'll have to give the questioners something to establish trust. Being able to deny your own name is a powerful skill, but not one that will win you any brownie points with the Ministry of Magic."
"You sure you haven't had practice with this before, Harry?" asked Tonks, looking impressed. "It took me weeks before I could fight off Veritaserum that well."
"Not really," Harry shrugged. Another partial truth – he had never been trained in Veritaserum before, but the fake Moody had trained him in fighting off the Imperius Curse in his original fourth year, which had similar principles in common. His head still ached dully after lunch, and Harry decided to practice some Occlumency in the afternoon to clear his mind and alleviate the pain.
Harry followed the trial of Peter Pettigrew in the Daily Prophet over the successive months. It was sensationalized as the 'Crime of the Century': a shocking tale of a 'beloved' professor at prestigious Hogwarts being murdered by a fellow faculty member – in the presence of a student, no less. Fortunately, Harry was not named in the reporting because he was underage (and probably because his father was pulling strings behind the scenes).
Oddly, there was no mention of the Philosopher's Stone in the articles. They merely noted that Pettigrew had attempted to 'smuggle valuable artifacts out of the castle', and killed Quirrell in his failed attempt. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had managed to keep that part of the story quiet from the media – it wouldn't surprise him. Still, he was surprised that nobody questioned the motives of the man to take such desperate actions...it was just taken at face value that a lowly caretaker would take a life in pursuit of temporary riches.
Much of the reporting centered not just on the act itself, but how it reflected on the school's headmaster. 'Should Dumbledore resign?' one headline read. 'Has Britain's protector lost a step?' read another. Harry remembered how threatened Minister Fudge had been by Dumbledore's popularity and influence in the previous timeline, and he seemed to be jumping on the opportunity to slander the man further. Even the troll incident made headlines nearly a year after the fact, as further evidence that the man was losing his grip.
In mid-July, Harry received an official summons to the Ministry for questioning ahead of Pettigrew's trial. Harry's stomach twisted in knots when his father showed him the letter over breakfast, and Lily also looked perturbed, but James was more optimistic.
"Moody tells me you're making incredible progress," James reassured his son. "You should have no issues. Besides, this will be a closed session away from the Wizengamot. It's entirely possible you won't have to testify at the trial at all."
This was news to Harry. "The Wizengamot won't be watching me?" he asked, surprised.
"Good lord, no!" James chuckled. "What business would they have overseeing a Hogwarts student's testimony? No, this is just for record-keeping purposes, and to determine if your presence will be required to reach a verdict."
Harry had a bitter memory of his appearance before the full Wizengamot prior to his original fifth year, and knew that nothing was beyond Fudge's meddling. However, he had yet to earn the Minister's ire in this timeline, and he hoped to keep it that way.
On the day of the meeting, James escorted Harry into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic directly via the Floo Network. They were greeted there by an unexpected visitor… "Uncle Sirius!" Harry laughed, rushing forward to hug his godfather. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm your legal counsel, of course!" Sirius laughed. "Someone's gotta watch you to make sure you don't wind up killing another professor."
"Bloody hell, Padfoot, too soon," James groaned; even Harry blanched at the off-color humor. "And do you have to say it so loud?"
"Aw, nobody actually believes Harry here had anything to do with that," Sirius grinned, clapping Harry on the shoulder.
"Why aren't you coming with me, Dad?" Harry asked, looking up expectantly at James.
"I'm needed at work myself," James frowned. "Besides, it's a bit of a conflict of interest, considering I work in the same department that will be questioning you today."
"But good ol' Uncle Sirius doesn't have that issue!" Sirius grinned fiendishly. "I couldn't get out of that department fast enough."
"Never could hold down a real job, could you?" James said, half in jest but half with a grimace. "Anyway, best of luck, Harry. We'll meet up after for lunch." And James hurried off down the hall.
"Have you actually studied legal counsel before?" Harry asked Sirius as they made their own way through the crowds. Given what little he knew about Sirius from his original timeline, he highly doubted it.
"Oh, I've dabbled in it here and there," Sirius winked. "Before my father disowned me, he groomed me as heir to the Black family. A large part of that was learning how to deal with Ministry questioning and how to assert your rights when threatened."
"And do you think that will be necessary today?" Harry asked worriedly as they crammed into a lift car at the end of the Atrium.
"Unlikely," Sirius reassured him. "And if it is, I'll handle it. You don't worry about a thing."
The lift was almost fully empty by the time it arrived down at level nine. Harry stepped out, taking one nervous glance to his left where the entrance to the Department of Mysteries lay down a dark hallway. But Sirius guided him right, towards the Wizengamot chambers, and located the correct holding room. With a knock, he entered, ushering Harry inside behind him.
Two women were already present in the room, seated on one side of a simple wooden table. "You must be Harry Potter," said one of the women, standing to offer her hand. "Name's Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This is Mafalda Hopkirk, here to record today's session."
"Sirius Black, Harry's legal counsel," said Sirius, giving Amelia a firm handshake. Then, he grinned. "How have you been, Lia?"
Amelia groaned at this moniker. "Still trying to make your little pet nickname stick?" she asked sardonically.
"Amelia here went to Hogwarts with your father and I," Sirius explained to Harry as they sat opposite the two women at the table. "Four years ahead of us, but she was madly in love with me."
"I'm afraid you have it backwards, Mr. Black," Amelia said indifferently, though her face had reddened considerably and Mafalda Hopkirk was stifling an amused grin in the corner. "Despite your repeated attempts to ask me out, the answer is still no."
"Aw, shame, that," Sirius said with a fake pout. "I bet we would have had a lovely time together." He turned to Harry and silently mouthed the word Ravenclaw, eliciting a snort from Harry before he could stop himself. Amelia gave him a mortified glance before recomposing herself.
"Shall we get started, then?" she said, clearing her throat. She gave Mafalda a small nod, and the woman readied her quill atop a blank sheet of parchment. "Amelia Bones, presiding over the questioning of Harry James Potter, in regards to the ongoing murder trial of Peter Kenneth Pettigrew. Witnesses to the questioning are Mafalda Hopkirk and Sirius Black. Mr. Potter, can you affirm that you are here of your own free will?"
"Erm...yes," Harry said after Sirius subtly nodded his assent.
"And do you hereby grant the Ministry of Magic permission to dose you with Veritaserum and ask questions pertaining to your whereabouts on May the nineteenth of this year?" asked Amelia.
"Yes," Harry nodded.
"Very good," Amelia said. She reached into her bag and withdrew two familiar vials: one containing the truth potion, the other the antidote. She uncorked the first and leaned across the table towards Harry. "I will now administer the Veritaserum."
Harry stuck out his tongue and allowed her to place three drops on it. At once he felt the familiar sensation of the potion working its way through his body, and forced himself to relax as Moody taught him. "The Veritaserum has been applied," said Amelia. "Can you state your name and address, young man?"
"Harry James Potter, Number Eighteen Church Lane, Godric's Hollow," Harry said obediently. No reason to get combative just yet.
"Very good; baseline established," Amelia said, jotting down notes of her own. "Can you explain briefly your relationship with Peter Pettigrew prior to May the nineteenth?"
"He was the caretaker of Hogwarts," said Harry simply. "I met him when I began studying there as a student last fall." Amelia's use of the word briefly allowed him to end his explanation there, declining to share his lengthy visits to Peter's office on weekends and the close bond they'd established.
"Were you aware of Mr. Pettigrew's intentions to breach the school's defenses and steal something valuable from Hogwarts?" asked Amelia.
"No," said Harry truthfully. He hadn't suspected Peter at all, in fact – a truth that he was most irked by.
"How did you come to find yourself in the same chamber where Pettigrew and Quirrell confronted one another?" asked Amelia.
Harry was relieved to find that his practiced response was acceptable given the loose question format. "I believed that a staff member was in danger of being injured by getting in the way of the thief. So I went after them, and when I arrived, I engaged the suspected thief in an attempt to help."
Harry hoped that Amelia would not follow up to clarify who was who in his statement, which would force him to clarify that he was helping Pettigrew, not Quirrell. But she seemed satisfied with his answer.
"Quite noble, yet foolish of you," she remarked. "And did you witness Peter Pettigrew commit the act of murder against Quirinius Quirrell?"
"Yes," Harry nodded. "I watched Pettigrew use the Killing Curse on Quirrell."
All three adults present looked troubled by the way Harry casually mentioned this. "You are certain it was the Killing Curse?" Amelia pressed gently. "For someone as young as you, it's unlikely that you would recognize it on sight—"
"Pettigrew said 'Avada Kedavra', and there was a flash of green light, and Quirrell twitched slightly before falling still," Harry went on, eliciting more shocked expressions from the adults.
"Perhaps we ought to take a break," Sirius offered lightly, placing a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "Young Harry has been through a lot already—"
"I'd like to finish the questioning," Harry said. He didn't even have to fight the potion to say so – he was finding it easier than Moody's grilling in training, and wanted to conclude the session as quickly as possible. None of them knew that this wasn't the first time he'd witnessed a successful Killing Curse, and he didn't plan to bring it up.
"Erm...very well," said Amelia, looking surprised but returning to her notes. "We'll make this quick then. What happened after the Killing Curse was performed?"
"Pettigrew took my wand," said Harry. "He tried to enlist my help in stealing the object he was after. I refused, and before he could harm me, Neville Longbottom arrived. Together we were able to overpower Pettigrew and escape with minor injuries."
"And how did Peter Pettigrew sustain such severe burn injuries?" asked Amelia.
"Neville Longbottom caused the burns," Harry said. "There was enchanted fire in the entrance to the room, created by Professor Snape." This was another tactic Moody had taught him: deliver two unrelated truths back-to-back, and allow the questioner to connect them of their own accord. Neither statement was technically false, but it gave the false impression that Snape's enchanted fire had been the source of the burns.
Amelia nodded absently at this information as she took notes, looking unfazed. She didn't seem concerned about how two eleven-year-olds managed to overpower a fully-grown wizard, but then, Harry supposed that wasn't the purpose of the trial. "Very good, Mr. Potter," said Amelia, reaching to uncork the antidote. "I think we have more than enough to move forward."
"Good work, Harry," Sirius whispered in his ear, clapping him on the back.
Amelia withdrew the stopper and paused before reaching out to administer the antidote to Harry. "Actually, one last question, if you don't mind," she said, looking pensive. "We've been attempting to deduce Pettigrew's motives for the crime, you see. We are a bit perplexed as to why he took such drastic actions in pursuit of petty thievery. Do you have any insight as to why he would do what he did that evening?"
"I doubt Harry here has the faintest idea how the mind of a lunatic like Pettigrew's works—" Sirius tried to interrupt, but Harry was already offering an answer.
"I do know why he did it," he said honestly. He could not possibly talk around it, as he knew exactly why Peter had done what he did.
"You do?" Amelia asked, eyebrows raised. "Why?"
"Because he was acting on the orders of Lord Voldemort," said Harry.
The reaction was immediate: Amelia flinched violently, Sirius' eyes went wide, and Mafalda's hand twitched, leaving a large ink blot on her parchment. "Y-You-Know-Who?" Amelia asked, bewildered. "You are referring to the Dark Lord who terrorized this nation over a decade ago?"
"Yes, I am," Harry confirmed.
"He's dead, Harry," Sirius whispered. "Surely you are mistaken."
"Voldemort is not dead," Harry said firmly. "His body was destroyed eleven years ago, but his spirit lived on, fueled by dark soul magic. He recruited Peter Pettigrew to help him steal the Philosopher's Stone from Hogwarts to restore himself to full strength."
Sirius looked badly like he wanted to intervene, but he was equally as stunned at Amelia at Harry's answers. "My word," Amelia gasped, abandoning her notes altogether and staring intently at Harry. "How can you be certain of this, young man?"
"I saw him," Harry said simply. "Pettigrew was housing his spirit within his body. I spoke to him, as did Neville Longbottom. And he's trying to restore his body so that he can return to power."
"Albus did mention…" Amelia stammered, looking beside herself. "But I thought it was impossible...he was just paranoid...surely it cannot be…"
Harry's mind screamed at him to say more, to continue laying out to the Ministry all the ways in which they were burying their heads in the sand. He could feel residual resentment bubbling to the surface from his treatment at the hands of Umbridge and others in his last timeline. But he held his tongue, heeding his father's and Moody's warnings about sharing too much information. In fact, he had probably already said too much.
"I believe we should end the session here," Sirius said sharply, shaking out of his brief stupor. "We have far exceeded the bounds of the original questioning."
"I quite agree," said Amelia; she immediately gave Harry the antidote, bringing his mind back into sharp relief. "Mafalda, did you get all of that?"
"I did," Mafalda confirmed, looking equally shaken as the others.
"Good," said Amelia, carefully taking the transcription from her. "I will escort this to records myself. I'll need to speak with Cornelius urgently about this." And with a brief nod to Sirius, she and Mafalda swept from the room, leaving Harry and Sirius alone.
"What the ruddy hell was that, Harry?" asked Sirius, rounding on his godson at once. "Did Moody put you up to this?"
"It's the truth, Uncle Sirius," Harry said, looking up at him resolutely. "I did not tell a single lie. You know how the potion works."
Sirius exhaled sharply and dropped his head into his hands. "Dumbledore always said the Dark Lord wasn't truly gone," he sighed. "None of us ever believed him...but this? Pettigrew, working for the tosser? It's hard to understand."
"It surprised me as well," Harry admitted. He wished it hadn't – he should have trusted his instincts all along and known Wormtail was not trustworthy. But then, those same instincts caused him to distrust Quirrell, who was completely innocent in this timeline. How was he supposed to decide which instincts to trust and which to discard as unreliable?
Sirius and Harry met James in the cafeteria for lunch soon after. Sirius left out the most significant revelation during the questioning, highlighting Harry's successful subversion of the potion without drawing attention to himself. James looked relieved, though he seemed troubled by whatever nonverbal signals Sirius was sending his way. After the meal, Sirius took Harry back to Godric's Hollow and left rather quickly after, presumably to meet up with James again and give a full account of what had happened.
Harry half expected the Prophet to trumpet this latest development far and wide the following morning. Pettigrew's trial was already the biggest item in the news, and surely the Voldemort bombshell would cause the story to blow up even more. But he saw nothing change in the reporting over the coming days – speculation continued into insipid topics like Pettigrew's love life and his supposed 'feud' with Quirrell. Fair enough, Harry reasoned. Maybe they're saving the information until the official trial, for maximum impact.
But then, seemingly overnight, everything changed. Pettigrew's sentencing was pushed up to early August, which would be held before the Wizengamot with no press or jury present. Suddenly the reporting on the case became much more muted, merely stating that Pettigrew was expected to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. By the week of the hearing, it was no longer even headline news.
"I can't understand it," James muttered one evening after returning home from work. "Amelia Bones told me he admitted to the crime, but now the case is being buried. I dunno what Fudge is thinking!"
"Does that mean I won't be giving testimony any more?" Harry asked.
"They won't even let you attend the hearing," said James. "Which is good news, because it means you don't have to worry about being caught up in all this anymore. It just doesn't make any damn sense!"
But Harry had an inkling of what might have happened. Harry's questioning must have spooked the Ministry by bringing Voldemort's existence to their attention. If Harry knew Cornelius Fudge at all, he knew the man would do everything in his power to deny the Dark Lord's return and prevent this news from reaching the public. That meant diverting attention away from the trial and denying Harry the chance to speak on the public record.
By Friday, it was official: Peter Pettigrew was sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban for the murder of Quirinius Quirrell, without possibility of parole. He was given no opportunity to testify publicly, and the story was quietly reported the next morning in the back pages of the Prophet. Part of Harry felt uneasy with the underhanded tactics to silence Peter, similar to the way Sirius Black was unfairly locked away in his original timeline. But he was also relieved that the man was behind bars, and Harry felt that he could finally put the incident behind him.
To celebrate the end of the ordeal, James took Harry to the championship match of the Quidditch Pro League, played between the Tutshill Tornadoes and the Ballycastle Bats. It was a thrilling match, with the Bats' Seeker catching the first Snitch within five minutes and forcing the Tornadoes into aggressive mode. But Tutshill's Seeker caught the second and third Snitch, with the last being a daring dive straight through the enemy Chaser formation that won the Tornadoes their sixth league title in history.
Harry excitedly recounted the match for Dahlia and Lily when they got home, but neither female was particularly interested. Dahlia was much more excited about the following morning's events, as two Hogwarts owls arrived to deliver hers and Harry's shopping lists for the coming Hogwarts term. She squealed with delight when she learned that Gilderoy Lockhart would be their new DADA teacher, which caused Harry to groan...why couldn't anything good happen to change his new timeline?
The Potter family embarked the next day for Diagon Alley, which was choked with visitors as parents hoped to secure the freshest supplies for their children. Dahlia was practically bouncing up and down with excitement, eager to get her own robes, her own books, her own wand. None of the other Potters could get a word in edgewise as she chattered eagerly about what pet animal she would choose and which House she hoped to get into at Hogwarts.
Harry was less enthused by the trip this time around – he already had his wand and knew what his second year of classes had in store. This was reinforced further by the swarm of people trying to fight their way into Flourish and Blotts bookstore, where a sign outside the door advertised a book signing for Gilderoy Lockhart's latest publication. Harry knew he had to be careful about making assumptions about his DADA professors, but so far, everything in his new timeline pointed to Lockhart being the same pompous, vain blowhard he was the first time around.
Harry gravitated instead towards Quality Quidditch Supplies, pressing his nose up against the glass to soak in the exciting paraphernalia of his favorite sport. He would finally be allowed to try out for the Ravenclaw squad this year, and he planned to train hard and do everything in his power to make the team. "Eyeing those new Nimbus 2001's there, Harry?" James asked with a knowing smirk as he walked up behind his son.
"Yeah," Harry said wistfully, drinking in the row of gleaming, freshly-polished wooden handles lined up at the front of the store.
"Listen," James said with a small sigh. "Your mother doesn't think you need a top-shelf broom right now. But if you work hard, make the team, and prove you can handle yourself against the older kids, maybe we'll look at one next year. Until then, my old Cleansweep should serve you just fine."
"Alright, Dad," Harry said, a little disappointed. He'd ridden on Ron's Cleansweep plenty of times, and while it was no Nimbus, it was still serviceable. Besides, if he played his cards right, perhaps he could convince his father to buy him a Firebolt when the powerful new model hit the market in a year's time.
Harry followed his sister into Ollivander's to purchase her very own wand. Dahlia excitedly cycled through several options, creating a miniature blizzard and smashing half the shelves before finding a match: pine and unicorn hair, nine and a half inches. Dahlia pouted when Lily snatched it away from her outside the shop, but her mother eventually relented and allowed her to hold onto it as long as it remained stowed away at her hip.
The Potters made brief visits to the potions supplies and pet shops, where Dahlia convinced her parents to buy her a small black-and-white Kneazle, which she named Calvin. Harry didn't think Calvin liked him much; the cat never took its eyes off of him and occasionally hissed if he stood too close to its cage. The family then returned to Flourish and Blotts, which unfortunately was just as packed with people as before. Harry squeezed between packed bodies to pluck the books he needed off the shelves, waiting patiently in line for his turn to buy them.
He did his best to tune out the boastful exclamations of Lockhart across the room, already dreading his lessons with the man. Maybe I can expose him as a fraud somehow, Harry daydreamed to pass the time. Or wipe his memory to make him forget how awesome he thinks he is. He remembered feeling sorry for Lockhart when he crossed paths with the man in St. Mungo's following his accident, but suddenly he didn't feel sorry at all. It was a better fate than he felt the man deserved in this moment.
Harry finally reached the front of the line and purchased his textbooks, then carefully maneuvered through the crowd towards the exit. "Harry?" a voice called from behind as he ducked out of the shop. Harry turned to see Neville walking up the alley towards him, flanked by Ron and a clan of Weasley siblings led by Arthur.
"Hey, Neville!" Harry grinned. "Hey, Ron."
"Hey, Potter," Ron greeted him. It was still weird for Harry to be called by his last name by his former best friend. "This is my little sister, Ginny. She's starting Hogwarts this year."
"Hello, Ginny," Harry said to the timid redhead, who was clutching a pewter cauldron full of supplies to her chest. "My sister's starting this year, too. Oi, Dahlia!"
Dahlia exited Flourish and Blotts, looking irritated with him. "What d'you want, idiot?" she demanded.
"I want to introduce you to some of my school friends," Harry said. "This is Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom."
Dahlia turned to face the two boys, giving a small eep of surprise when she saw Neville. Harry watched as his little sister's face turned bright purple while she stared, open-mouthed, at the Boy Who Lived. Then, she quickly turned and sprinted off down the Alley.
"Don't mind her," Harry chuckled. "She's just nervous about starting school, that's all."
"Yeah, figures," Neville grinned sheepishly. Then, a more thoughtful, serious look came over him, and he stepped forward to whisper to Harry. "Did you get called in to testify against Pettigrew at the Ministry? My Gran helped me with Veritaserum training, but they never asked me to come."
"Yeah, I did," Harry confirmed. "But they went with a closed trial and put him away rather quickly."
"But why?" Ron piped in, confused. "My dad says Fudge would never miss a chance to take Dumbledore down a peg."
"He would if he thought Voldemort was involved," Harry said sullenly, and both Ron and Neville's eyes went wide. "The Ministry doesn't want to admit that he's back, and they'll do anything to pretend it isn't happening."
"But...but they wouldn't do that!" Ron spluttered. "The Ministry of Magic wouldn't just lie about something that important, would they?"
Harry felt a pang of sadness at the innocent looks on Ron's and Neville's faces. At their age, Harry would have thought the same thing, but he didn't realize the full scope of the corruption at the Ministry until he was three years older. Perhaps it was better that they realized the truth earlier so that they could better cope with the slander that would soon come their way via Fudge's propaganda machine.
But before Harry could let them down easy, a voice rang out from inside Flourish and Blotts, one that made Harry internally groan. "Good lord, is that Neville Longbottom?" exclaimed Gilderoy Lockhart, just loudly enough that everyone nearby could hear. Lockhart came outside to corral a mortified Neville, wrangling him into a picture-perfect pose for the flashing cameras. "Come in, Neville, come in, and I'll give you some advice on how to navigate the perils and pitfalls of fame!"
Harry gave Neville a sympathetic look, then headed off down the alley after Dahlia. Unfortunately, he would not be escaping the unpleasantness for long. When he located his family a few doors down, his father was engaged in terse conversation with none other than Lucius Malfoy.
"...Dreadful business, this Pettigrew situation," Lucius was saying in his usual drawling voice. "Caused quite a stir with the Board of Governors."
"Indeed," James said, looking cautiously guarded around the man. As Harry suspected, the two men did not appear to be allies, even if they kept up public appearances to the contrary. "Fortunately the matter was resolved swiftly, and the guilty party was given the appropriate sentence."
"Yes, yes, very fortunate," said Lucius, with an implacable look on his face. "Though, forgive me for asking, but according to my son here, your son Harry was rather close with Pettigrew, was he not? Rumor has it he was involved in Quirrell's demise – why was he not called to testify?"
Harry glanced behind Lucius and saw his son, Draco, smirking malevolently at him. Of course he would run to Daddy and tell him all the juicy details, Harry thought bitterly.
"Ah...well, fortunately it did not come to that," James chuckled uncomfortably. "The trial did not require his input—"
"I would have been happy to give testimony, Mr. Malfoy," Harry piped up, surprising both James and Lucius. "I saw the whole thing. Wouldn't you like to know why Pettigrew did what he did?"
Lucius narrowed his eyes at Harry. "I would be delighted to know, young man," he deadpanned.
"It's because he was working for Voldemort," Harry said frankly. The reaction was immediate: everyone within earshot, including the Potters, Malfoys, and several passers-by flinched at the name.
"You...you dare invoke the Dark Lord's name?" Lucius said, incredulous. "He has been dead for over ten years."
"Yeah, but not really," Harry said. "I saw him, you see, with my own eyes. And I would have been happy to tell the Wizengamot this, but I wasn't given the chance."
The smirk on Draco's face had been wiped off completely. His eyes now darted rapidly between Lucius and Harry, looking apprehensive about what he had caused.
"You used to work for Voldemort, didn't you, sir?" Harry asked brazenly, still speaking loudly enough that others walking by could hear. "Oh, but I forgot: you were under the Imperius Curse, weren't you? So you couldn't have known what you were doing."
Lucius briefly looked as though he wanted to strangle Harry, but he composed himself, a faint grimace settling on his face instead. "That's quite right, Mr. Potter," he said calmly. "I was cleared of all charges."
"Good, that's good," Harry said. "Guess we won't have to worry about you being a Death Eater again, if the Dark Lord ever returns to power."
Lucius' eye twitched slightly as he was clearly restraining himself from saying anything more in such a public setting. Eventually, he placed a rough hand on Draco's shoulder and steered him away. "You and your family have a nice day, Mr. Potter," he said to James through gritted teeth, before the two Malfoys quickly walked away down the alley.
As soon as they were gone, James rounded on his son; both he and Lily looked horrified. "What in Merlin's name was that, Harry?" James demanded. "How dare you speak to an important man like Malfoy in that manner?"
"He's a Death Eater," Harry muttered mutinously, not feeling remotely sorry. "And I bet he's part of the reason the Pettigrew story got buried."
James and Lily shared a concerned look at this, while Dahlia watched on in awe, clearly not comprehending what had just happened between Harry and Lucius. "We'll talk about this at home," James eventually muttered.
But fortunately for Harry, they never did. The Potters enjoyed a quiet afternoon in after escaping Diagon Alley. Harry could hear James and Lily having muted conversations in the kitchen while he and Dahlia lounged in the living room, sorting through their new belongings. Were they talking about Voldemort, about Harry, about Malfoy, or some combination of all three? Either way, they never confronted Harry about his outburst, and after a quick dinner, Harry retreated to his room for the evening.
It wasn't until he got in bed for the night that he realized, with a jolt, that he'd forgotten something very important in the Alley. If things were progressing like they did in his original timeline, then he would have just missed Lucius Malfoy slipping Tom Riddle's diary into Ginny Weasley's cauldron. With all the excitement over Pettigrew, he'd forgotten all about the Chamber of Secrets and the perils that potentially lay ahead for him in his second year.
I'm not going to wait until the last minute to solve things this year, Harry told himself. I'll get my hands on that diary before Halloween. Nobody's opening the Chamber on my watch.