A/N: Welcome to year 3! I have been looking forward to this year, because the relative lack of canon plot gives me more time to flesh out all my characters that I have big plans for later. For those of you itching for a more competent, intelligent and "fun" Harry, buckle up, because this year (and beyond) should fare much better for him! We might also see some romance in the near future...but no spoilers!
Harry spent the train ride back to London with all his friends who had been Petrified, along with Neville and Hermione, leading to a rather cramped carriage car. Luna innocently offered to sit on Harry's lap to make room, but at the sight of Daphne's raised eyebrow and Ron's thinly-concealed suggestive grin, Harry instead gave up his seat and sat on the floor to accommodate everyone.
The trip flew by as the group caught up after months apart, with Ron and Daphne repeatedly shooting down Hermione's attempts to apologize to them. "We know you wouldn't knowingly try to kill us," Ron insisted. "Spending two weeks in Ministry custody is more than enough punishment for one mistake."
"Besides, Weasley had it coming," Daphne quipped. "If you'd seen the atrocious opening he used against me in our last chess match, you would've come back to make sure the job was finished!" The car erupted in laughter as Ron went scarlet at this statement.
When they pulled into King's Cross, everyone promised to write over the summer before going their separate ways. James was waiting for Harry when he disembarked onto Platform 9 ¾, luggage in one hand and Bandit's cage in the other. "Where's Mum and Dahlia?" he asked. "Wasn't she supposed to be discharged today?"
"She is, but it's taking longer than expected," James explained. "They'll meet us at home." And he guided Harry through the station to the Portkey hangar, where a rusty old anchor awaited to whisk them back to Godric's Hollow.
As soon as his feet touched down in the living room, Harry was greeted by a low hiss of irritation; Calvin the Kneazle was eyeing them warily from the foot of the stairs. "Hello to you too," Harry greeted the cat grumpily. "Don't suppose you've warmed up to me at all since you've been de-thawed?" The swipe Calvin took at Harry as he side-stepped the cat to head upstairs was all the answer he needed.
Lily and Dahlia arrived home via Floo roughly an hour after, the latter poring over her St. Mungo's discharge papers. "Sorry we're late," Lily apologized. "Dahlia insisted on grilling the Healers about each potion they prescribed to her, and precisely what's in them."
"I like to know what goes in my body, thank you very much," Dahlia said primly, not looking up from her papers.
"I could've told you exactly what your body's full of," Harry quipped. This succeeded in getting Dahlia's attention, as she tossed the papers aside and chased him around the house attempting to kick his shins, Calvin excitedly prancing after them.
The following day was hot and muggy, and Dahlia insisted on visiting the creek where the local Muggle kids liked to hang out. Lily was hesitant so soon after her discharge, but James gave her the okay, though he insisted that Harry watch her carefully. "The side-effects of magical core drainage can be unpredictable," he warned them both. "We wouldn't want to have to Obliviate an entire village for some accidental magic leaking out."
"We'll be careful," Dahlia promised. But as soon as they were out of the house, Dahlia sprinted ahead of Harry to the creek, immediately stripping off her outer layers and diving head-first into the water. So much for careful, Harry thought, bemused, as his Gryffindor sister relished in her newfound freedom with reckless abandon.
Harry decided to tan on a large rock while his sister splashed and laughed with the local Muggle children. He kept one eye on Dahlia, and the other on a gaggle of older girls wading in the shallow water. Harry was getting to the point where girls his age were starting to develop and grow out of their awkward pre-teen phase, and he had to control himself from ogling at the skimpy outfits some of the girls were sporting. You're much older than them mentally, he chastised himself. It's too early to look at them that way.
He was so determined not to stare that he nearly failed to notice when one of the girls peeled off from the group and approached him, clearing her throat for his attention. "Your name's Potter, isn't it?" she asked.
"Erm...yes," Harry stammered. "I'm Harry, and that's my sister Dahlia." He pointed out his sister, who was currently fifteen feet up a giant oak tree, laughing as the other kids urged her to keep climbing.
"Cool, I'm Kelly," the girl smiled. "I don't see you around town except in the summer. Where do you go the rest of the year?"
"Boarding school, up in Scotland," Harry answered. "Bit of a chore, but it's not so bad."
"I see," said the girl. "Listen, I'm having a birthday party next Saturday at Beckett Field. You should come by...maybe you can tell me all about that boarding school of yours!"
"Oh," said Harry, surprised. "Yeah, I just might."
"Okay," the girl smiled shyly. "Bye, Harry!" And she skipped off back to her friends, who were all giggling deviously at her. Harry watched her go – Kelly was rather pretty, a blonde Muggle girl he'd seen around the previous summer. What's the harm in a little summer fling? Harry thought to himself. It's not as if anything could really happen in a single summer…
A shriek of fear interrupted his reverie, and his focus snapped over to Dahlia, who had slipped and tumbled head-first out of the oak tree. For a terrifying moment he was sure she was about to crash painfully onto the rocks, but at the last second her momentum miraculously carried her towards the creek, where she splashed heavily into the water.
"Wicked!" Dahlia laughed as she emerged without a scratch, earning whoops of appreciation from the others. Harry shook his head with a heavy sigh, positive his sister was intentionally skirting the bounds of the Statute of Secrecy for her own amusement.
Harry stared at himself in the mirror that night, lamenting his still-scrawny figure. He'd achieved a bit of definition after a year of Quidditch training, but he was still a year away from his growth spurt that would give him a bit of height to offset his skinny frame. Why do I care what some Muggle girls think of my body, anyway? Harry thought to himself. Kelly was just being friendly...there's no harm in making new friends…
He still found himself excited as the days passed and the following Saturday approached. Unfortunately, that Friday, his plans came to a crashing halt, as he came downstairs to find James and Sirius sitting at the kitchen table, speaking in low, urgent tones to one another. "Morning, Harry," said James, hastily hiding the copy of the Prophet they'd just been discussing. "Sleep well?"
"What's happened?" Harry demanded. "Is something wrong?"
James and Sirius shared a significant look, then James relented. "You would find out on your own soon, anyway," he sighed, handing Harry the paper. Harry glanced at the front page and gasped at the headline:
PETER PETTIGREW ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN PRISON
Harry scanned the rest of the article, but it contained little information of note. "How?" he asked as he took an empty seat beside his father.
"No one's sure," James admitted. "The guards came by his cell yesterday morning, and he was just gone. Cell door still locked, not a trace of him."
"Didn't think the git had it in him," Sirius muttered darkly. "Peter was never the brightest bulb, but he had a knack for worming out of tight spots, I suppose."
"The guards knew he was an Animagus, right?" Harry asked. "Surely his cell had measures in place to prevent him transforming and escaping that way?"
James and Sirius exchanged another meaningful look. "Erm...no, Harry, they didn't," said James slowly.
"You're joking!" Harry guffawed. "You didn't think that was relevant information? That he could slip through the bars as a rat and evade the dementors?"
"Look, no one had ever escaped from Azkaban before!" James protested. "We didn't think it mattered!"
"Your father and I were in a difficult position last summer," Sirius sighed. "If we told the Ministry about Peter, they might figure out that we're illegal Animagi ourselves. That in itself carries a maximum sentence of—"
"Twenty years, I know," Harry sighed; he'd looked that information up last year when preparing to blackmail Rita Skeeter. He could understand why James and Sirius had kept that information to themselves, and in fairness, he'd failed to bring it up himself during his Ministry hearing. "So what happens now?"
"We'll need to be cautious for a while," said James. "We don't know what Pettigrew's motives will be, and he could choose to come after you or Neville because of what happened between you last spring. The Ministry's sending a few Aurors to stand guard here, and we're all going to stay indoors this summer."
"Not all summer, I hope!" Harry groaned. "I had plans to go to a party tomorrow!"
"Sorry, not happening," James shook his head. "The safety of the family comes first, and after what happened to Dahlia this year, we're not taking any chances."
Harry spent the rest of the day attempting to cajole his way into attending Kelly's party, even going to his mother in the hopes of getting her approval. "Not a chance," Lily tutted. "I'm not letting my children out of my sight for the rest of the summer if I can help it."
"Harry just wants to sneak off to see his girlfriend," Dahlia teased.
"I don't have a girlfriend," Harry grumbled.
"No, but you want her to be," Dahlia giggled. "She's a real looker, Mum. I saw Harry staring at her bum at the creek the other day—"
"You little brat!" Harry groaned, tackling his sister and playfully pinning her to the ground while attempting to cover her mouth.
"Harry and Kelly, sitting in a tree!" Dahlia shouted in a singsong voice as she grappled with her brother. "S-N-O-G-G-I-N…" Harry grabbed a nearly pillow and attempted to smother Dahlia's face with it, as both his sister and mother laughed at his embarrassment.
But Saturday came and went with no party. Harry was confined to the house, spending most of the day moping in his room and thinking about Peter Pettigrew. Once again, the timeline was progressing similarly, and yet radically different. Once again, someone had escaped from Azkaban, and many feared they were after Harry.
But was that actually the case? Harry failed to see what Peter stood to gain from killing him. He'd had the opportunity last year, in the Mirror chamber, but disobeyed his master's orders when told to do so. Perhaps Neville, then? Again, it didn't strike Harry as wise for Peter to go after such a high-profile target. No, it was far more likely that Peter was lying low somewhere, hiding from the Ministry, and just trying to survive. Hell, maybe he'd make his way to the Burrow again and have another go at pretending to be Scabbers for twelve more years…
But what if he was off to Romania in search of Voldemort? He was already in the Dark Lord's service in this timeline, and Peter might choose to cast his lot with him once more. Harry was operating under the assumption that he still had two years to go before Voldemort was resurrected, but maybe things were progressing ahead of schedule. He had to start taking the Dark Lord's return more seriously, or else enter an even darker timeline than before.
July stretched interminably onward, with Harry rapidly growing stir-crazy in the confines of the home. James spent most days at the Ministry, while Lily was hard at work in the study on a thesis project for her Potions Mastery and Dahlia preferred to stick to her bedroom. The only entertainment Harry had was the occasional letter from a friend, recounting their amazing vacations abroad, or playing with Calvin, if getting scratched and hissed at constituted 'playing'.
One sunny afternoon, Harry decided to sneak out into the yard to visit the broom shed. He wasn't allowed to fly under these lockdown conditions, but he just wanted to at least hold his father's Cleansweep and reminisce about flying. He was halfway to the shed when he was hit with a Freezing Charm from behind.
"Wotcher, Harry!" a cheerful voice called out, and Tonks Disillusioned herself so that he could see her leaning casually against the back wall. "Going somewhere?"
"Just exploring," Harry grumbled once she released him from the spell. "Are you going to tell on me?"
"Do I look like a gal who snitches on her friends?" Tonks winked. "I know how boring it must be in there. It's not much more exciting out here, waiting for nothing to happen, believe you me."
"So have they made you a full Auror yet?" Harry asked, leaning against the wall beside her.
"I have six months of training left," Tonks grimaced. "Then I have to pass a bunch of exams, or else I'm back to square one. And the Ministry wonders why recruiting numbers are so damn low…"
"What kind of exams do you have to do?" Harry asked.
"Some written work, mostly to brush up on theory," Tonks shrugged. "But plenty of practical tests, too – combat scenarios, dueling, that kind of thing."
"Sounds tough," Harry agreed.
"Course, I hear you're quite the budding duelist yourself, kid," Tonks smirked. "Chip off your father's block, eh?"
"Something like that," Harry shrugged modestly. Then, he was struck with an idea. "Say, fancy a few practice duels?"
"You and me?" Tonks asked, raising an intrigued eyebrow. "I don't suppose it would be much of a fair fight…"
"Don't worry, I'll go easy on you," Harry fired back with a grin.
"Oh, you cheeky git!" Tonks laughed. "Alright, Potter, you're on. My shift ends at five, then we can ask your folks for permission."
Harry spent the next three hours begging his mother for the chance to duel Tonks. She was reluctant, but Harry persisted, trying every trick he could think of to guilt her into it, including the need for practice in case he was cornered by Pettigrew. "Oh, all right!" Lily eventually groaned. "But if your father objects, this is the only time."
Soon after, Harry found himself squaring off against Tonks in the basement, which had shifted form to resemble a fighting arena. Harry twirled his wand in his palm, getting re-acclimated to the weight, having been deprived of it for the start of the summer. "Ready to lose, ittle bitty Potter?" Tonks smirked.
"In your dreams, Nymphadora," Harry shot back, earning a glowering look in return.
"Kick his arse, Tonks!" Dahlia cheered from the stairwell, where she and Lily sat watching; her mother gave her an admonishing slap on the wrist for this, but also watched on in anticipation.
Tonks remained on the defensive to start the duel, and Harry started slow, hoping to catch her off-guard with his hidden skill level. He fired elementary jinxes and charms her way, not giving away that he knew far more than second-year spells. "Not bad form, Potter," Tonks grinned as she lazily batted aside his feeble efforts. "Now my turn."
She switched to the offensive, firing mostly Stunners and Disarming Charms at a slow pace. Harry pretended to struggle with his defenses, when in reality he was sleepwalking through it like she was. "Let me know if you need a break," Tonks called out.
"Likewise," Harry said. Without warning, he launched into a rapid combination, sending three nonverbal spells in quick succession. The surprised Tonks was forced to erect a powerful Shield Charm to block them all, the golden surface rippling with the impact.
"Okay, little Potter knows how to play after all," Tonks grinned. "Time to take off the kiddie gloves."
The duel resumed in earnest, with Harry and Tonks trading blows. Harry gradually ramped up his intensity, delving deeper into his spell knowledge in an attempt to trick her. Tonks responded in kind, diversifying her own spells so that Harry had to stay nimble to avoid the ones he didn't recognize.
Harry found himself fatigued after a few minutes of parity. Tonks, by contrast, looked barely winded, her Auror training clearly giving her the stamina advantage. Harry's defensive work gradually became sloppier, until eventually Tonks sent a powerful Banishing Charm that shattered Harry's flimsy shield and sent him sprawling back against the opposite wall.
"Oh, my dear!" Lily shrieked, rushing forward to fuss over her son. "Oh no no, you've drawn blood, let me see it—"
"Mum, get off!" Harry grumbled, forcing himself to his feet against his mother's protests. "I can deal with some bumps and bruises, thank you!"
"That was impressive, kid," Tonks appraised him, casually strolling over as if the fight had been a walk through the park. "I've fought a few fellow trainees who aren't nearly as good as you are."
"Thanks," Harry panted, fighting the urge to brace himself against the wall from the dizziness in his head. His pride prevented him from admitting that he was in pain, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.
"Keep it up and you'll be a formidable Auror once once you're my age," Tonks said seriously. "Your dad's taught you well." Harry declined to correct her that his father hadn't taught him a thing, or that he was, in fact, much closer to Tonks' true age (and skill level) than his own peers. He still wished to keep his time-travel a secret, lest he draw too much attention to himself too quickly.
"Harry has many more options than becoming an Auror," Lily said gently.
"It's an honorable profession, Mum," Harry said. "And if it's something I'm good at, why not get paid for it?"
"I'd hate to see the two men in my life waste their lives fighting for a living," Lily sighed. "Why not do something safer, like teaching?"
"Bor-ing!" Tonks laughed. "Anyway, thanks for letting this happen, Mrs. Potter. I'd love to give Harry some pointers the next time I'm stationed here."
"We'll see what my husband thinks," Lily sighed.
James sounded a bit concerned when the subject was brought up at dinner (which Tonks was invited to stay for). He clearly didn't like the idea of his son fighting a nearly-trained Auror, but grew fascinated as Tonks excitedly recounted the duel for him. "He's brilliant, James, honestly," she said. "He just needs to build up his stamina and find an identity, and he could be great."
"That so?" James remarked, eyeing his son with newfound appreciation. "Remus mentioned you had a knack for it, but I assumed he was just being polite."
"What do you mean by 'identity', Tonks?" Harry asked.
"Most duelists excel in one particular branch of magic and use it to their advantage in fights," Tonks explained. "Like your father favors transfiguration, and Moody favors curses."
"What's your identity?" Harry asked.
"Illusion," Tonks smirked. "A perk of my Metamorphmagus abilities. I didn't show you my full arsenal today, but I specialize in tricking the opponent into seeing things that aren't actually there."
"You'll have to teach me that sometime," Harry said. He'd read somewhere that Kneazle core wands had an affinity for illusory magic, and was eager to see what he was capable of in that field.
The duel with Tonks tithed Harry over for the next few weeks, as he replayed it over and over in his mind. Looking for weaknesses in Tonks' defense, imagining tiny things he could've done better. He knew he shouldn't be disappointed to lose to someone seven years older than him (with professional training to boot), but he still felt like he was far behind schedule. There was a Dark Lord out there far more powerful than anyone he'd faced thus far, and Harry felt woefully unprepared to defend himself from such a threat.
July came to a close, and with it came Harry's thirteenth birthday. The family celebrated with a hearty breakfast and gift opening, as James took the day off of work to spend time with his son. It was a modest celebration, but Harry didn't mind...simply spending the day with family in a care-free environment was more riches than he'd ever known in his previous timeline.
"You know, Harry," said James as they lounged around the living room, throwing a sheepish grin towards Lily, "there's one more gift I haven't mentioned."
"There is?" Lily frowned, surveying the room full of empty boxes. "I thought this was everything…"
"It's out back, in the broom shed," said James. "Go on, son, see what it is."
Harry stood and hustled out to the backyard. He crossed the lawn to the shed and threw it open, laughing with glee when he saw a shiny-new Firebolt sitting inside, with a small blue ribbon tied to the end of it.
"Bloody hell!" Harry said, grabbing the Firebolt and examining it in both hands. "It's beautiful!"
"James!" Lily groaned, as the rest of the family came outside to see for themselves. "We talked about this…"
"He's earned it, Lil," said James. "Saving Dahlia...finishing top of his class...not to mention the display he put on against the Malfoy brat in their match last year. He could use an upgrade."
"He won't be used to the speed!" Lily protested. "He could hurt himself!"
"I'm a fast learner, Mum," Harry grinned. The Firebolt felt just as he remembered it, and he could not wait to try it out. His father's Cleansweep was a fine broom, but he was too used to the best of the best.
Harry wanted to take the Firebolt out to test it right away, but Lily refused. James took Harry's side and eventually they managed to wear Lily's protests down, until she gave up and retired to bed early that evening. "She'll get over it," James assured Harry as they walked down the path towards the secluded practice field that was warded against Muggles. "I practically had her convinced already – I just jumped the gun a little with the purchase."
"She'll forgive you once she sees me fly in a match," Harry agreed with a cocky grin.
Harry sprinted the last few yards to the field, mounting his broom impatiently, eager to get into the air. "Now, it's best to take it slow to start, and get used to the feel of the broom—" James advised him.
But Harry kicked off hard, rocketing into the air with a rush of speed. He shot straight up into the sky, leaving the sleepy town of Godric's Hollow far below him. Once he felt he'd climbed high enough, he tipped the broom handle backwards and flipped over into a steep dive, whooping with delight at the rush of adrenaline as he careened back to earth. He yanked hard and leveled out just feet from the ground, whipping past his father just in time to hear his yelp of shock.
Harry zipped around the field at full speed until he could no longer feel his face due to the wind chill. He swooped back over to James, dismounting cleanly and breathing heavily with excitement. "What a rush!" he exclaimed.
"Your mum definitely would have killed me if she saw that display," James muttered. "But I was right in thinking you inherited your old man's instincts on a broom. Think I can take it for a spin?"
Harry eagerly handed the broom over to his father, and watched as he too kicked off and shot into the sky. James was a bit wobbly at first, clearly out of practice after years of Quidditch inaction, but his instincts soon kicked in and he became a blur, shooting off into the distance at lightning speeds. Harry had heard of his father's prowess on a broom in his previous timeline, but seeing it firsthand left him in awe. If there was never a war, he had no doubt James Potter could have been a star Quidditch pro.
Harry and James traded turns on the Firebolt until it was far too dark to see anything, then they returned home. "I'd best go tend to your mother," James muttered as they entered the house. "Speaking of which, she's visiting her sister's family in Surrey tomorrow...if you don't want to go, you're welcome to come into work with me while she's away."
"Absolutely!" Harry exclaimed. Anything to break up the monotony of home arrest sounded wonderful, and spending the day in the Auror Office sounded fascinating.
"Alright, we'll leave after breakfast," James nodded. "Sleep well, kiddo." And he ruffled Harry's windswept hair before disappearing upstairs for the night.
Dahlia wound up coming along to the Ministry as well, having politely declined to join her mother at the Dursley's for the day. At least, describing her relatives as "those fat freaks" struck Harry as rather polite by Dahlia's standards. It was apparently Dahlia's first time inside the Ministry, as she marveled at the Atrium with its marble-tile decor and ornate fountain at its center.
"Morning, James," called out a brusque voice; Amelia Bones was also entering the Ministry, sharply-dressed and stern-faced as ever. "Stuck with the young ones today?"
"Little field trip," James winked at her. "Say, d'you think you can show Dahlia up to my office? I'll be up shortly."
"Sure thing," Amelia nodded. "Come along, Miss Potter." Harry watched curiously as his sister trotted off with her, excitedly rattling off questions about everything that sprang into her mind.
"Are we not going with them, Dad?" Harry asked, frowning.
James sighed and dropped to a knee in front of his son. "There's actually another reason I brought you in today," he admitted. "Dumbledore told me about your...condition."
Harry stiffened at this. "Condition?" he repeated innocently.
"He says you've been having visions," said James. "About the future. Some accurate, some misleading. Is this true?"
"Yeah," Harry sighed heavily. He'd hoped to keep this cover story secret from his family, but Dumbledore clearly had other ideas.
"Why didn't you tell us?" James asked softly.
"I didn't want you to worry," Harry said (and it wasn't entirely a lie). "Or think I was some kind of freak."
"I would never think that about you," James said adamantly. "The Potters haven't had a Seer in our lineage in over two centuries, but it's not unheard of. It's a difficult branch of magic to understand, and if you do have the Sight, I want you to learn how to control it."
"Yeah, okay," Harry muttered; he was feeling rather uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was headed. Had he been brought here to be dissected by some expert, who would debunk his claims instantly?
"Dumbledore recommended you meet with Saul Croaker," James continued. "He's the head of the Department of Mysteries. Bit of an odd bloke – all Unspeakables are, really – but he fought on our side in the last war, and he means well."
"What's he going to do to me?" Harry asked nervously.
"Do to you? Good heavens!" James laughed. "He just wants to talk. If anyone can impart some wisdom for a young Seer in training, it would be him. He's well-versed in all manner of obscure magic that most people don't understand the first thing about."
"Alright," Harry nodded. A simple conversation didn't so bad, so long as this Saul Croaker fellow wasn't some kind of Legilimens. He hadn't kept up with his Occlumency practice as of late and didn't feel prepared to defend his mind against mental probing.
James led Harry to the lifts, where they descended to level nine. "Department of Mysteries," announced the cool overhead voice, giving Harry a chill of foreboding – his last visit to the Department had proven disastrous in his old timeline.
James approached the heavy black door that had plagued Harry's dreams for a year, and knocked three times. Harry expected the door to open, but instead a panel of the wall behind him slid aside, revealing a hidden door. "What?" demanded an aging wizard in purple robes, eyeing James suspiciously.
"Mr. Croaker?" asked James. "I'm Auror Potter. I was encouraged by Dumbledore to introduce you to my son here—"
"Ah, so this is the troublemaker Albus was prattling on about," Saul sneered, eyeing Harry with a disdainful expression. "Alright then, sonny, come on in."
"It's okay, you go on," James encouraged Harry. "I'll be up in my office with Dahlia. Feel free to come and join us at any time."
"Thanks, Dad," said Harry, watching with some trepidation as James headed back to the lift. Saul beckoned Harry inside the secret door, where he found himself in a cozy office space, decorated with all kinds of unrecognizable trinkets and devices.
"Have a seat," said Saul, gesturing to the small wooden chair opposite the desk. Harry obliged, perching on the edge of the chair as Saul settled heavily into his own, looking exhausted. "So Albus tells me you're having visions, are you?"
"Erm...I suppose," Harry shrugged.
"You 'suppose', huh?" Saul said, pointedly, looking unamused. "Either you are or you aren't, kid. Which is it?"
"I don't really know what to call them, but sure, let's call them visions," Harry said lamely, feeling a bit called out.
"I'll be frank with you, Potter," said Saul. "I don't put much stock in divine prophecy, and neither does Albus. Whether you are or are not a legitimate Seer isn't actually that interesting to me. And why Albus would waste his one favor on such a trivial matter slightly baffles me."
"His one favor?" Harry frowned.
"As it so happens, I owe him one after the last war," said Saul, looking slightly miffed by this fact. "The Dark Lord came after me and my family in the late seventies, but Albus protected us. I owe him much more than some babysitting, so if this is all he asks of me, I'm downright chuffed, to tell the truth."
"So you won't be able to help me...er, hone my craft, or whatever?" Harry asked. "Or separate truth from fiction of what I see?"
Saul narrowed his eyes at Harry. "What do you mean, 'truth from fiction'?" he asked. "If you are having visions, they would be nothing but truth. That's how the Sight works."
Harry hesitated before going on. This guy knows a lot more about Divination than Dumbledore does, he deduced. Lying about his 'abilities' clearly wouldn't work here. "Erm...how much of what I tell you are you going to share with Dumbledore?" he asked.
Saul scoffed. "Not only do I not care what Dumbledore thinks," he said, "the great fool sent you here to me, in my own Department. As long as we're here, I'm bound by my Unspeakable oaths to never share what I learn here with anyone else, on my magic and my life."
"So you won't, or rather, can't tell Dumbledore what we discuss here?" Harry repeated slowly.
"You catch on quick for a little kid," Saul sneered. "Why, afraid the scary old Headmaster is gonna give you a detention?"
Harry noted the sarcasm and mild disdain in Saul's tone, but he was suddenly very intrigued by the possibilities he was presented with here. If Saul was to be believed, he could not tell anyone else what Harry shared with him. That made him a potentially valuable confidant – and Harry was starting to go mad with the secret he'd been harboring for so long.
"What if I told you I lied to Dumbledore?" said Harry. "That I don't have any Seer abilities at all?"
"Then I commend you for pulling a fast one on the old geezer," Saul smirked, raising a pretend glass to toast Harry. "It's never too young to understand that our heroes are rarely as wise and all-knowing as we pretend them to be."
"But I do know certain things that are going to happen," said Harry. "Because I've lived them before...in a sense."
Saul reverted back to his cynical demeanor at this. "What're you on about, Potter?" he asked. "Don't think you can fool me as easily as old Albus. My screws aren't that loose upstairs, not yet."
Time to throw caution to the wind, Harry thought. "I'm a time-traveler," he said. "Or a dimension-traveler, is maybe more accurate."
Saul stared at Harry for a long while at this, scrutinizing him. Harry half-expected Saul to laugh in his face at this revelation, but it was perhaps a credit to Saul's job working with extraordinary magic that he did not. "Go on," he said slowly.
"I was fifteen, nearly sixteen in my last, er, existence," Harry explained. "Me and my friends broke into the Department of Mysteries, because—well, it's a long story. And I went through that stone archway with the veil over it—"
Saul's wand flicked into his hand faster than Harry could blink, and the door behind him slammed shut and a Muffling Charm was applied to it. "How did you come to learn of the Veil's existence?" Saul demanded in a severe tone. "That is highly classified information!"
"As I said, I passed through it," Harry shrugged.
"No one passes through the archway and lives to tell the tale!"
"That's just the thing; I didn't," Harry said. "That was the end of my existence in that alternate timeline. And I met a...person, I guess you could say, who called itself Death—"
"Are you pulling my leg, Potter?" Saul demanded. "You could have learned of the Veil somehow, I don't know how, but you could be making all the rest of this up for all I know."
"I saw other things in the Department of Mysteries while I was there," said Harry. "A cabinet full of time-turners...a hall full of glass orbs with prophecies in them...a planetarium…"
Saul suddenly looked far more interested in Harry than he ever had before, sitting up straight and regarding the boy with high intensity. "Come with me, boy," he said, standing from his desk and striding around it. Harry stood to follow, but instead of exiting out the door, Saul walked straight over to a bookshelf and tapped it with his wand. It swung open to reveal a hidden passageway, which he beckoned Harry through.
Harry walked into the adjoining room, which was completely empty, save for a familiar stone basin sitting at the center of it. "Show me," Saul demanded, pointing at the Pensieve.
Harry hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should trust Saul with everything he knew. But the man was bound by oaths, after all, and it couldn't hurt to show him at least one memory to corroborate his story. So Harry tapped his wand to his forehead and extracted a silvery wisp of memory, dropping it into the Pensieve. He watched it swirl around in the basin, then stepped forward to put his face into it, but Saul held out his hand to stop him.
With a twirl of his wand, Saul sent the wispy material spiraling outward from the Pensieve, until it surrounded them in the room. After a moment, the mist resolved itself into Harry's memory, making it appear that they were standing within it without needing to enter the Pensieve. "Brilliant," Harry muttered, as he watched a familiar scene play out before him.
"It's this way, I can feel it," a much older Harry was saying, leading Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Luna down the corridor into the Department of Mysteries. He and Saul silently watched as the teens navigated their way through the many rooms, eventually reaching the Hall of Prophecy. Saul muttered something to himself as the older Harry reached for the silver orb with his name on it, picking it up off the shelf.
Harry could barely bring himself to watch the rest. The Death Eater ambush. Running for their lives. Fighting. The Order's arrival. Sirius' death. Finally, older Harry shouted and tore himself away from Remus, diving through the Veil and plunging the room back into darkness.
Harry stood tentatively watching Saul for several long moments, as the Unspeakable stood with his arms crossed, deep in thought. "There is no possible way you could have fabricated this memory," Saul eventually muttered. "It was far too detailed to be gleaned from second-hand knowledge of this place. And yet, certain things are...amiss."
"How so?" asked Harry.
"I am bound by my oaths not to reveal what is contained within these halls," Saul said carefully. "And while I cannot confirm nor deny that what you have shown me is accurate, I can say with certainty that there is no prophecy in our records that bears your name."
Harry nodded slowly at this. "But there is a near-identical one in its place," he surmised. "With Neville Longbottom's name on it."
Saul's eyes went wide at this revelation. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly trying to find a way around the oaths preventing him from confirming this deduction. "The prophecy that you showed me in your memory," he finally managed, "had a question mark next to your name. Do you know what that means?"
"No," said Harry, shaking his head.
"Prophecies are often ambiguous," Saul explained, turning to pace restlessly about the room. "When the Seer leaves the subject or object of the prophecy unspecified, it presents a dilemma to the Unspeakables, you see. We are often forced to leave the information blank, or occasionally, provide our best guess as to its meaning. Do you catch my drift?"
Harry nodded slowly, trying to wrap his head around what Saul was saying. "Is there a question mark beside Neville Longbottom's name in this timeline, then?" he asked.
Saul grimaced; he obviously could not answer that directly. "In your memory," he said instead, "the question mark would indicate that you were not the only possible subject of the prophecy. If a similar prophecy existed in this timeline, and if it too had a question mark beside it, the same inference could be drawn."
That was as close to a 'yes' answer as Harry was going to get. "I was the Boy Who Lived in my timeline," he explained. "I was sent here, to this world, where it was Neville Longbottom instead. Does that mean this prophecy led Voldemort to target the Longbottoms instead of me in this timeline?"
Saul said nothing for a long while, processing this. "There is one bit of information I can share with you," he finally said. "It is common practice for Unspeakables to keep new prophecies secret from the public until they have been fully realized. This makes them less likely to become self-fulfilling, you see. But once they have been realized, they are placed on the official record and made accessible via Ministry records."
"But mine never was, in my timeline," Harry muttered. "People were trying to steal it, to hear what it said."
"In November of 1981," Saul went on, still pacing nervously about the space, "a particular prophecy of interest was due to be made public as part of this process. But Albus Dumbledore intervened and convinced the Head Unspeakable – my old boss – to keep it a secret. To this day, the record remains sealed."
"Neville's prophecy?" Harry asked. Saul gave him a scathing look; obviously he couldn't answer.
"It is rare, but not unheard of for prophecies of great import to remain sealed," Saul went on. "But in this particular case, Albus was convinced that the prophecy may not have been fully realized yet. To this day I fail to understand why, considering the outcome of said prophecy."
Harry nodded slowly in vague understanding. "So, assuming a similar protocol was followed for the prophecy in my memory," he said, framing his questions in terms Saul could actually address. "If it contained, say, information about a Dark Lord...and said Dark Lord was believed dead...would that cause the Unspeakables to consider the prophecy fulfilled?"
"Hypothetically, that is correct," said Saul, nodding vigorously. "So imagine the surprise if this hypothetical prophecy was fulfilled, but the most respected wizard of the century managed to convince the Department Head that it was not yet complete! A strange occurrence, one might hypothetically say."
"Voldemort is not dead," Harry said frankly. "He lost his body when he attacked Neville, but his spirit lives on. And in my timeline, he found a way back to power."
Saul's face went white at this revelation. He stopped pacing and looked momentarily like he was about to faint. Harry waved his wand and conjured a small chair, which Saul gratefully sank back into, steadying his head in his hands.
"A remarkable bit of transfiguration for someone your age," Saul remarked, looking down at the chair beneath him. "But then, you aren't actually thirteen, are you, Mr. Potter?"
"I guess you could say I'm closer to eighteen now," Harry shrugged.
Saul laughed at this. "That explains a lot," he said. "You had the Department quite befuddled a few months ago."
"I did?" Harry frowned.
"Fudge came blustering into my office back in April waving your student record in my face," Saul explained. "Said the Trace wasn't working properly on you. I dismissed it as a clerical error at the time, but now it makes perfect sense."
"I don't have the Trace on me?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"Even I do not fully understand the magic behind the Trace," Saul admitted. "But I do know that once a young witch or wizard turns seventeen, it stops functioning at once. Clearly the Trace believes you to be of-age."
Harry did the math in his head. He was only a month shy of his sixteenth birthday when he passed through the Veil in his last timeline. That meant that, mentally, he turned seventeen just thirteen months after entering his new timeline...
"...At the end of last summer," he deduced. "So by the time I returned to Hogwarts for second year—"
"The Trace no longer applied to you," Saul nodded. "Congratulations, Mr. Potter: no matter how much Fudge whinges about it, the Ministry cannot track your use of underage magic. As far as your magic is concerned, you are a grown adult, no matter the age of your body."
"So I take it you believe my story?" Harry asked sheepishly.
"I see no other way you could know what you know," Saul chuckled. "Albus told me a bit about this Chamber of Secrets fiasco that occurred this past school year. I take it you dealt with something similar in your previous timeline?"
"I did," Harry confirmed. "And I know exactly who did it, and how. Only, things didn't happen quite the same way in this timeline."
"Understandably," Saul nodded. "You've been here long enough that the butterfly effect would have altered many things that you think you know by now."
"Yeah," Harry said bitterly. "Like Quirrell being innocent all along."
"That's what that was about?" Saul asked, arching an eyebrow. "I remember reading about that curio in the Prophet last summer and wondering why on earth two Hogwarts staff members would come to blows."
"Pettigrew was working for Voldemort, trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone," said Harry. "And Lucius Malfoy planted Riddle's diary at Hogwarts to open the Chamber—"
"Slow down, boy, slow down!" Saul groaned, still clutching his head as though it were about to explode. "I don't have the bandwidth to process all of this right now. I'm still reeling from the fact that you passed through the Veil of Death and lived to tell the tale."
"I didn't, exactly, if you'll remember," Harry chuckled. Saul rolled his eyes at this.
"All the same," said Saul, checking his watch. "Let's call it here. Needless to say this has been very enlightening, Mr. Potter. Can we continue this meeting on another date?"
"Erm...yeah, I suppose," Harry nodded. His initial trepidation had melted away, and he was now eager to speak freely about the secrets he'd been harboring for so long.
"I'll write to your father to make the arrangements," said Saul. "In the meantime, would you be so kind as to write down everything you can remember from your last timeline? Anything of note that pertains to the Dark Lord would be valuable to begin deciphering differences between this timeline and your last."
"So you think it's worth your time after all?" Harry asked.
"Let's see...the darkest wizard of our time, plotting his return to power to take over Britain once more?" Saul mused. "Yes, I'd say that is worth taking steps to avoid."
Harry felt a sudden wave of relief wash over him at these words. For the first time since he arrived in his new life, he did not feel completely alone. There was somebody else in on the secret with him – somebody he could confide in without fear of judgment or negative repercussions.
Saul led Harry back out into his main office and opened the door, beckoning Harry back into the main hall. "I look forward to our next meeting, Harry Potter," he said, shaking Harry's hand firmly.
"Likewise," Harry said. "Erm, Mr. Croaker...do you think I should tell Dumbledore what we discussed here today?"
Saul considered this. "You've concocted an appropriate cover story for the time being," he mused. "Albus always did have a penchant for sticking his nose into other people's business...I think perhaps we ought to maintain the status quo for now, until we understand better what we're dealing with."
"Alright," said Harry. "Thank you, sir." And he headed back up to the Atrium, feeling for perhaps the first time that he was making tangible progress towards neutralizing the threat of Voldemort once and for all.