Harry followed the news of the ICW's manhunt of Peter Pettigrew in Albania over the coming days. Or what little news there was, at least...the Daily Prophet was vague at best in providing details about the case. Harry suspected that Ministry was pressuring the paper to cover up their failures to apprehend the dangerous man, and most mentions of Pettigrew nowadays simply celebrated the fact that he had been 'driven out' of Britain by the Auror force.
Judging from James' reactions around the breakfast table each morning, he had noticed the same trend. "Rubbish as usual," he spat, tossing his copy of the Prophet aside and picking up the Salem Herald, the American wizarding publication he'd recently taking out a subscription for. "At least the international outlets are covering the story properly. Fudge's puppets are too afraid of criticizing him for fear of losing funding."
"Who cares about Uncle Peter now that he's gone?" Dahlia complained for the second time that week. "Can't we just forget about him and go on holiday? I wanna sunbathe in the Canary Islands again!"
"You can sunbathe at the creek with the local Muggles," Lily pointed out. "Besides, your brother has an appointment at the Ministry in two days."
"Ugh, you're still seeing that Unspeakable weirdo?" Dahlia scoffed at Harry. "Why, do they want to dissect your brain to see how demented it is?"
"They're mystified by my massive intellect," Harry quipped back, sticking out his tongue at her. "Doubt they'll take much interest in yours, unless they want to know the contents of the last two hundred issues of Witch Weekly."
"Enough," James sighed irritably at his children. "Harry has had a challenging year at school. These meetings are essential for him to develop his unique abilities. Besides, our family vacation will be in August, but it's a surprise."
James winked at Harry, who grinned at the implication. His father had been dropping subtle hints about the Quidditch World Cup over recent months, updating Harry about Ireland's progress through the tournament. They had advanced to the final just last weekend by defeating Peru, and Bulgaria was poised to flatten Slovakia in the other bracket to set up the same match-up as Harry's previous timeline. Harry had no doubt that James was subtly stoking Harry's excitement in the match in order to surprise him with tickets for his birthday in late July.
He had mixed feelings about going to the Cup this time around. He knew it was likely the Death Eaters would strike once more, and Barty Crouch Jr. would mount his escape and seek to rejoin Voldemort. Did Harry want to get caught in the middle of all that again? Should he attempt to stop it from happening? What ripple effects could that have on the timeline? It made his forthcoming meeting with Saul Croaker that much more important.
Harry was apprehensive as he headed down to the Department of Mysteries later that week. Much had happened since their last encounter – or more accurately, much had gone wrong. How much did Saul blame Harry for it all? Was he upset that he'd lost the Time-Turner he had been entrusted with? The silence was maddening, and Harry feared the worst.
He found Saul's office door ajar and slipped in with a knock, closing it behind him. "You're late," said Saul without looking up from his desk. He was perusing a heavy leather book, deep in concentration.
"Sorry," Harry muttered. "My father was preoccupied and couldn't bring me to the Ministry until now." That was partially true – James had been held up at home that morning, but Harry didn't exactly hustle to Level Nine upon arrival, dreading his meeting with Saul.
"No matter," Saul said with a wave of his hand. "Sit." Harry perched upon the chair opposite Saul's desk, as the man shut the thick tome and looked up at Harry.
"Before you say anything," Harry said hastily, "I'm sorry for losing the Time-Turner. It was foolish of me to put myself in a position where I could lose it."
"The blame rests entirely on me, I'm afraid," Saul sighed. "I was barely able to get approval from Fudge to let you use the blasted thing in the first place, as he didn't trust a teenager to handle the responsibility. For once, the fool was right...though I suppose a broken clock is right twice a day."
"What about the diadem?" Harry asked. "I mentioned it in my letter, but you never responded."
"Yes, that is what I have been looking into," muttered Saul, indicating the large book he'd been reading. "Not much literature exists on the object, aside from brief mentions of its abilities and the fact that it was lost centuries ago."
"What kind of abilities does it possess?" asked Harry.
"Allegedly, it bestows wisdom upon the wearer," said Saul. "Not unheard of in modern times – I believe you Hogwarts students are well-versed in smuggling Concentration Potions to cheat on your exams. Similar magic was likely applied to the object itself."
"So what would Voldemort want with it?" Harry pressed.
"That is the curious thing," Saul mused. "I very much doubt the Dark Lord cares much for its base properties, nor does he strike me as a mere treasure hunter. From what you described, it sounded like something he requires to regain his strength."
"How would that work?" Harry frowned.
"I have a theory, but I hope very much that I am wrong," Saul said darkly.
"And how do we determine that?"
"Hopefully, our field trip will enlighten us further," said Saul, glancing at the clock on the wall and rising from his seat. "Come."
"A field trip?" Harry repeated, surprised, as Saul led the way through the secret doorway into the inner sanctum of Saul's office. "To where?"
"Not far," said Saul. "Just across London. Take my arm, Harry."
Harry tentatively did so, unsure of what to expect next. Saul twisted on the spot, and the next thing Harry knew, he was being pulled into a horrible feeling of compression, as though he was being squeezed through an impossibly tight tube. After a few seconds of discomfort, he fell to his knees on solid concrete, dry-heaving from the experience.
"First time Side-Along Apparating?" Saul chuckled. "It's never fun, that's for certain."
"Not at all," Harry agreed weakly, slowly getting to his feet while fighting the urge to empty his breakfast onto the street. "Where are we?"
"Wool's Orphanage," said Saul, indicating the building before them. "Or what's left of it, anyway."
Harry frowned; they appeared to be standing in front of an office building, with multiple stories of workers toiling away at their desks in the windows. "This doesn't look like an orphanage," he muttered.
"The orphanage was actually an old church, which was torn down in the seventies," Saul explained. "Only the cemetery remains." And he indicated the fenced-off plot of land beside the office space, with small tombstones weathered by the elements still visible through the wrought iron bars.
"So why are we here?" asked Harry.
"The old matron is still alive, and she lives just down the street," said Saul. "I've arranged a meeting with her, so that we may gather some information."
Harry processed this as Saul led the way down a narrow side street. "Wait...this was Tom Riddle's orphanage, wasn't it?" he asked excitedly. "How did you find it?"
"By sheer trial and error," Saul muttered bitterly. "Got a list of every Muggle orphanage in the city over the past half-century and started making phone calls. By a stroke of luck, Mrs. Cole recognized the name Riddle, and she agreed to meet."
Something in Saul's tone made Harry think he was only telling a partial truth. "I can't imagine she was too pleased to be discussing him," he surmised.
"Yes, well, she may have hung up on me and refused to speak," Saul chuckled. "But I got her address from the yellow pages, and hopefully she'll be more amenable in person."
"What if she isn't?" Harry asked.
"That's where you come in," Saul grinned. "My poor, orphaned nephew, just trying to learn more about his long-lost grandfather Tom."
"You bastard," Harry groaned. He should have known Saul wasn't inviting him out of the goodness of his heart – he needed Harry to further his own gains.
"That's no way to talk to your favorite uncle," Saul scoffed. "Ah, and here we are."
They paused in front of a shabby apartment building as Saul checked the door numbers. He located number three and knocked. When no response came, he knocked again more firmly, until an elderly woman tottered across the room and opened the door for them.
"I'm not accepting solicitors," she croaked irritably at Saul.
"Pardon me, Mrs. Cole, but we spoke over the phone last week," Saul said politely. "It's about Tom Riddle."
What little color remained in Mrs. Cole's face drained at the sound of that name. "I told you, I don't wish to speak about that horrible boy," she said, making to shut the door in their face, but Saul prevented her.
"Please, hear me out," said Saul. "My nephew here, Harry Riddle, has been trying to learn more about his family. He's an orphan, like Tom was, and his grandfather Tom is his only link to his past. Can you tell us anything about him?"
Mrs. Cole surveyed Harry, who put on his best 'poor, lonely orphan' face. Eventually, she sighed.
"Very well; come in then," she said. "I'll put the kettle on."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Harry, as he and Saul crossed the threshold into Mrs. Cole's living room. It smelled musty and stale, and the decorations looked to have not been updated in decades. They sat on the sofa as Mrs. Cole prepared tea in the kitchen, bringing it out on a tray and setting it on the coffee table before settling into an armchair.
"I'll tell you what, boy," said Mrs. Cole, looking at Harry, "this is a tree you'd best not bark up. I don't know what became of your grandfather, but he was a wicked, wicked boy in his youth."
"So I've heard," Harry muttered. "But perhaps if I learned more about what he was like, I can ensure I don't make the same mistakes he did?"
"Hmph," said Mrs. Cole thoughtfully; that appeared to have been the right thing to say. "Well, I'm afraid I can't tell you much about where Tom came from. He was born just down the street, at the old orphanage, on New Year's Eve many decades ago."
"Were you there?" asked Saul.
"I had just started working there as a teenager," Mrs. Cole nodded. "And a girl about my age comes stumbling in from the snow, ready to burst. I suppose that would've been your great-grandmother."
"What was her name?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Poor thing never told me," Mrs. Cole lamented. "She died just after giving birth, unfortunately. Only thing she said was to name the boy Tom Riddle, after his father, with the middle name Marvolo, after her father."
That's something to go on, Harry thought to himself. Voldemort's mother had been a pure-blood witch, and Harry knew that tracking down her family would be essential. A first name was a good start to finding the answers he sought.
"You have a remarkably strong memory for your age," Saul commented. "Considering this was nearly seventy years ago now."
"Yes, well, you never forget a boy like Tom," Mrs. Cole said darkly, drinking deeply from her teacup. "Nor are you the first people I've told this story to. There was that strange man who appeared when Tom was ten or so – the boarding school teacher, with the odd purple robes."
Dumbledore, Harry realized. "Was that the last time you saw Tom, then?" he asked.
"Oh no, he came back during the summer months," said Mrs. Cole. "I dreaded the day he returned every year, you know. It sounds terrible to say, but I began to fantasize that he might die while away at boarding school, so that he could not return to torment the other children."
"Torment them how?" Saul inquired.
"He was a nasty bully," said Mrs. Cole bitterly. "The others were terrified of him. They swore up and down that he could make bad things happen to them, things they couldn't explain. Freak accidents and the like. Two poor kids were never quite the same after our day trip to the coast of Eastbourne...we could never pin it on him, but we knew somehow he was responsible for it all."
Harry could only imagine what a young wizard discovering his powers might be capable of as a bully. What if it had been Dudley who turned out magical instead of him, in his previous timeline? How would he have wielded such terrible power to torment others?
"What else can you tell us about him?" Saul pressed.
"He stole things all the time, too, I know it," Mrs. Cole continued, refilling her teacup with more amber liquid (which, Harry realized, was not heated and reeked of alcohol). "Again, we could never catch him with the things he took. But he had a knack for taking away the things the other children prized the most. It can't have been an accident."
"What of his later years?" asked Harry. "When he would come back for summers. What was he like then?"
"Wasn't around too much towards the end," Mrs. Cole shrugged. "He spent the nights here, but often left in the morning and would be gone all day. Strictly speaking, we weren't supposed to let him wander, but none of us were about to say no to him, and the children were happy to see him gone."
Harry wondered what the teenage Tom Riddle might have been up to while away on summer holiday from Hogwarts. He had the Trace on him, so he couldn't have gone far...perhaps spending time in Diagon Alley downtown, or its darker counterpart, Knockturn Alley? Or had he, like Harry, found a way to subvert the Trace and travel more freely?
"Do you know if any of his fellow orphans are still alive?" asked Saul. "If we wanted to ask one of them more questions?"
"Can't help you there," Mrs. Cole muttered, taking another deep drink of her 'tea'. "Couldn't tell you where any of the kids ended up today. And all the records are sealed today by the state, so you would need a judge's approval to view them."
Harry looked to Saul at this information. He wondered if the man might insist on delving deeper into Tom's history, perhaps Confunding a judge to unseal the records for them. But to his surprise, Saul looked satisfied by Mrs. Cole's answers.
"We appreciate your time, ma'am," Saul said with a small bow. "I know this must have been challenging to speak about."
"Hope it was worth it," Mrs. Cole muttered darkly, looking again at Harry. "I admire you for wanting to explore your family tree, but trust me, you should leave this trail cold. Only darkness awaits you along your paternal bloodline."
Harry felt an icy chill at these words, and did not doubt Mrs. Cole's words. He was fortunate that he was not, in fact, related to Tom Riddle, and privately agreed that the more he uncovered, the more sinister secrets would be unearthed.
"We'll see ourselves out," said Saul, rising and indicating Harry to do the same. Then, to Harry's surprise, Saul drew his wand and aimed it between Mrs. Cole's eyes. "Obliviate."
Mrs. Cole's eyes went out of focus, and she dropped her teacup, which spilled across the carpeted floor. After a moment, her head slumped forward and she gave a low snore, as though sleeping.
"Was that really necessary?" Harry asked as Saul cleaned the mess and levitated the cup back onto its tray. "She's a Muggle...it's not like she'll tell anyone we were here!"
"And what if the Dark Lord decides to come back and close off all ties to his childhood?" Saul said pointedly. "If he invades her mind and sees we visited her, our cover will be blown. Besides, she's had plenty to drink; she'll just assume she got a bit tipsy if she notices the gap in her memory."
Harry couldn't argue with that. It seemed overly-cautious to him, but he supposed there were risks involved in leaving her memory intact. He followed Saul out of the door and back out onto the street, walking back in the direction of the old orphanage.
"Well, that was highly disturbing," Saul muttered.
"Young Tom Riddle sure sounded like a menace," Harry agreed.
"That's the least of our concerns right now," said Saul. "Something else Mrs. Cole said could prove quite problematic for us. Let's discuss it back at the Ministry."
Saul extended his arm, and Harry took it, feeling himself spinning back into the terrible feeling of compression. They reappeared in Saul's office a moment later, with Harry once again slumping to his knees from discomfort. This time he was unsuccessful in holding down his breakfast, emptying his stomach onto the cold floor.
"I promise it gets easier over time," Saul chuckled as he waved his wand to clear up the mess.
"It had better," Harry muttered to himself as he stumbled to his feet. He followed Saul back into the main office, sinking gently into his armchair. "So, what did you learn from Mrs. Cole?"
"Something I'd hoped not to be the case," Saul muttered, dropping into his own seat. "But I fear that diadem Pettigrew found may be something far more sinister than we imagined."
"The diadem?" Harry frowned. "She didn't mention anything about a diadem…"
"Remember what she said about his thievery?" Saul pointed out. "'He had a knack for taking away the things the other children prized the most'. What does that tell us?"
"You think he is a treasure hunter?" Harry asked, confused.
"Yes, but not for the reasons you'd suspect," said Saul. "He coveted items that others considered sacred or important. And what could be more sacred than an object hand-crafted by a Founder of Hogwarts?"
"But why would he send Pettigrew to collect it?" Harry asked. "What makes it so important?"
"I've been working on a theory since you brought up the diary last year," said Saul. "And I'd hoped I was wrong, but now I fear that I am not."
"What does the diary have to do with this?" asked Harry.
"Everything!" Saul snapped. "For one thing, how many boys do you know who keep diaries? Much more of a female-coded activity."
"...And there's no way Tom Riddle would write down his thoughts for others to discover," Harry deduced. "So you think he stole that, too?"
"Probably from Myrtle Warren, the girl he killed in his sixth year," Saul nodded. "And how coincidental that the version of Tom that resided in the diary was eternally sixteen years old!"
"You think he created the diary around the same time as killing Myrtle?" Harry asked.
"At precisely the same moment, I fear," said Saul. "I believe he turned it into a horcrux."
"A what?"
"A vessel in which one conceals part of their soul," said Saul, standing to pace about the room. "It requires a terrible act, namely murder, to tear the soul in two and leave part of it inside another object. So long as the vessel remains intact, a person can survive even if their corporeal form is destroyed. The vessel can be anything, really...a trinket, an old shoe—"
"A diadem?" Harry realized with dread.
"Indeed," Saul said grimly. "Mrs. Cole confirmed to me that Tom had an obsession with collecting objects of sentimental value. If he turned Myrtle Warren's diary into a horcrux, it's plausible he did the same with Ravenclaw's diadem."
Realization was dawning on Harry fast at Saul's words. "That's what Death was talking about!" he breathed.
"Death?" asked Saul.
"When I went through the Veil," Harry explained. "Death said that Voldemort had split his soul to become immortal. And he did it multiple times."
"Just twice, we can hope," Saul muttered.
"Three times, at least," Harry corrected. "There's one inside Neville Longbottom's head."
Saul nearly collapsed back into his seat at this revelation. "How can you be sure?" he demanded.
"Death said that I had one in my scar," said Harry. "It's the reason I was able to come back...because that soul fragment went on to the afterlife, apart from mine."
Saul mulled this over in silence for a few moments. "That explains quite a few things," he muttered. "Your descriptions of your scar in the last timeline made little sense to me before. Hurting when you were around him...seeing visions through his mind...speaking Parseltongue…"
"Neville's is the exact same," Harry confirmed. "Does that mean he's a horcrux too?"
"It would seem so," Saul exhaled sharply. "So long as the Longbottom boy lives on, so too does the Dark Lord."
"You can't mean that he must be killed!" Harry protested. "Surely there's another way?"
"None that I know of," said Saul. "But I can consult with my colleagues abroad...discreetly, of course. If word ever got out about this, Longbottom would be hunted by every governing body in the wizarding world."
"So you think it was wise to hide the diadem from Dumbledore, then?" Harry asked hopefully. "I worried that he might make the connection to Neville's scar."
"It's possible that he arrives at the same conclusion, considering he knew about the diary," said Saul thoughtfully. "But a year has passed and he has not yet moved to eliminate the Longbottom boy, so it may be that he doesn't realize it. Albus is a smart man, too smart perhaps – too willing to sacrifice anyone and anything for a greater cause."
Harry nodded forlornly. He'd privately harbored the same fear, and still suspected the Headmaster had given him such a long leash in the last timeline in the hopes he might get himself killed to solve that problem. Would Dumbledore have resorted to killing Harry himself if that hadn't come to pass? He wouldn't risk the same happening to Neville.
"So we don't tell him," Harry nodded, silently grateful.
"For now," Saul corrected. "We have to figure out how many horcruxes may be out there and destroy them, and fast. If we are unable to, we may need all the help we can get."
"And we have to find a way to save Neville's life," Harry pointed out.
"If possible," Saul nodded. "I'm no child-killer, but if there is no other option, the boy must die to see the Dark Lord finished."
"Then let's find an alternate solution before it comes to that," Harry said grimly.
"I will work on it," Saul nodded. "In the meantime, you need to keep looking into Riddle's past."
"Why?" asked Harry.
"It's the only hope we have of locating his other horcruxes, if there are indeed more," said Saul. "Look into his childhood, his friends at Hogwarts, his family tree, his post-graduate employment."
"I learned a little last summer from the Muggle library," said Harry. "His Muggle father and his family lived in a village called Little Hangleton. No mention of his mother, however."
"That's a start," Saul shrugged. "Though I suspect his maternal lineage will be much more relevant to our interests. We also need to know who he was close to at Hogwarts...if he made a horcrux as young as sixteen, he likely learned about them from someone there. We'll need as many clues as we can get to find more of these objects, which in theory could be hidden anywhere in the world."
"But wouldn't Voldemort need to have them on-hand, in order to resurrect himself into a body?" Harry asked.
"Yes and no," said Saul. "It is possible to return without one, so long as any portion of the original soul is present. But the ritual does become more powerful if multiple pieces of the same soul are present."
"That's probably why he had Pettigrew retrieve the diadem," Harry realized.
"That is my suspicion as well," Saul nodded. "You told me he returned in your last timeline without a horcrux, but his body would have been much weaker than if he had a more intact soul fragment to work with. The diadem would allow him to return to a similar physical state as existed at the time of its creation."
Harry felt a shudder of foreboding at this. In theory, he'd faced the least intact version of Voldemort's soul the last time, the one that had been reduced the most. Imagining a Voldemort with more of his soul intact, at the height of his powers, was a chilling possibility.
"There's one other factor in our favor," said Saul. "He chose to hide a horcrux right under Dumbledore's nose, at Hogwarts. That means he likely chose to keep the others in symbolically significant places as well. That, combined with his penchant for notable artifacts, may give us a chance of locating and destroying them."
"I'll learn as much as I can, then," Harry nodded. "Do what you can for Neville."
"I will," Saul nodded. "I'd also encourage Longbottom to use extreme caution next school year – as should you, as we cannot be sure if the Dark Lord's plans involve you somehow."
"What could he want with me?" Harry frowned.
Saul said nothing at this, merely giving him a reproachful look. Harry deduced he was bound by his Unspeakable oaths not to reveal more. Is it something to do with the prophecy? he wondered. He was reminded of what Firenze said in the forest two years prior: that his and Neville's fates were linked somehow. If only he could hear what the damn prophecy said in the first place…
"Well, it might be difficult for Neville to lay low next year," said Harry. "If the Triwizard Tournament is still happening, he'll likely be entered as part of Voldemort's ploy."
Saul grinned at this. He began to say something several times before stopping short, clearly figuring out a workaround of his Unspeakable oaths preventing him from speaking plainly.
"There may or may not be an ancient object stored in the Department of Mysteries that matches the description of something you described from your previous fourth year," Saul said slowly.
"The Goblet of Fire," Harry nodded. "Has the Ministry asked for it to be prepared yet?"
"If they have," Saul said with a smirk, "and if Longbottom's name comes out of it this fall, he will be compelled to compete. We should endeavor to prevent that from happening at all costs."
"I will capture Barty Crouch Jr. at the Quidditch World Cup," said Harry resolutely.
"Good," Saul nodded. "And you should have backup in case things go south."
"You think I should tell somebody else what I'm doing?" asked Harry, surprised. "Won't they wonder how I knew about his existence?"
"Are you pretending to be a Seer or not, boy?" Saul scoffed. "Make up a story about a dream or something. Your father's a damn Auror – take advantage of that!"
Harry nodded slowly at this. He had definitely messed up enough things by attempting to solve problems by himself. He hated to worry his parents with such important matters, but the time for caution was past. The fate of wizarding Britain hung in the balance.
"I think my friend Luna Lovegood is a Seer," Harry said, remembering her prophecy a month prior. "A real one, I mean. Should I tell somebody, d'you think?"
"Somebody like Dumbledore, you mean?" Saul surmised. "No, I reckon the old fool doesn't need to know. I've never heard of a Seer in the Lovegood family, however."
"It's through her mother, Pandora," said Harry. "I don't know what her surname was."
"Find out," said Saul. "And keep her close if possible. Most people don't believe in prophecy when they hear it, but if you can interpret her visions correctly, they can give you forewarning of impending danger."
Harry nodded. Of course he would keep Luna close – he felt very protective of her already, and wanted to help her in any way he could. He resolved to owl her as soon as he returned home to solidify plans to meet up later that summer.
"Well, I'd best get back to work," said Saul, glancing once more at the clock on the wall. "Unless there's anything else you can think of?"
"Just one thing," said Harry. "I tried to cast a Body-Mirroring Charm a few months ago, but I blacked out. Is it possible for me to strengthen my magical core so I can perform more powerful spells like that?"
"Normally I would discourage it," Saul sighed. "Witches and wizards' cores grow at different rates, much like our bodies. For instance, we don't allow children to practice Apparition until they come of-age, though for some, it may be possible as young as sixteen or fifteen."
"Or fourteen?" Harry asked hopefully. "With all the time-traveling I did last term, I'm practically that age already." Indeed, his wrist-watch currently read the 3rd of September – a full sixty-two days of extra time added to his body thanks to the Time-Turner.
"There is a ritual that can strengthen your magical core, though it is illegal," Saul sighed. "It's perfectly safe, of course – simply a byproduct of the Ministry's outdated views on blood magic."
"D'you think you could help me perform it?" Harry asked excitedly.
Saul surveyed him through narrow eyes. "I really oughtn't let a teenager convince me to let them perform dark rituals," he muttered. "Though with a Dark Lord on the rise, perhaps conventional logic has to be set aside. I shall consider it...in the meantime, catch your target at the World Cup and learn what more you can about Riddle."
"I will," Harry nodded, standing to go. "Thanks, Mr. Croaker."
"Oh, enough of the pretense," Saul said dismissively. "The name's Saul. We're partners in this mess, whether I like it or not, and I'm not your professor or babysitter. Now get."
"Alright then, Saul," Harry chuckled, exiting the office. Saul remained as prickly a personality as ever, but he could tell the man was warming up to him. Harry had trusted the man with his deepest secrets, and so far Saul had proven reliable. Hopefully their partnership could continue for the foreseeable future.
Harry found himself unable to relax like he'd hoped as he returned home to play out the remainder of his summer. He visited the creek with Dahlia and went flying in the evenings with James, but his mind was often elsewhere, preventing him from enjoying his free time like he ought to be. He was itching to learn more about Tom Riddle and begin hunting for these horcruxes, whatever and wherever they were.
He was especially intrigued by Little Hangleton, wishing to visit the village but unable to think of an excuse to convince an adult to take him. He had realized it was the very same village that contained the graveyard where Voldemort resurrected himself, which meant that could be his next destination once Peter found him in Albania – if they weren't there already. He considered writing to Saul requesting another field trip, but the man had insinuated that he was bogged down with work and unable to devote much time to helping him.
Why couldn't he just Apparate there himself? Harry lamented that it was illegal before the age of seventeen, and that his core might not be developed enough yet. But then, Saul had said it was theoretically possible...what if he could do it after all? Harry had found a book in James' personal library in the basement about the process, which sounded rather simple to him. Destination, Determination, Deliberation…surely he could figure it out on his own!
He decided to throw caution to the wind one muggy afternoon, as he dozed off while sunbathing at the creek and awoke to find that Dahlia had returned home without him. He yawned and stretched, already dreading the long walk home in the dreadful sun. But what if I don't have to walk? he thought to himself. He had spent the past couple of weeks reading about Apparition studiously and decided now was as good a time as ever to give it a shot.
Harry bade farewell to the other teens and made to walk up the path to town, but slipped behind a large tree to make his escape. Destination, Determination, Deliberation… Harry pictured the back garden of his home and visualized himself spinning on the spot and re-appearing there. He certainly felt determined enough to learn this new skill, and had spent hours imagining the process so that he could be deliberate in his movement and thoughts.
Here goes nothing, Harry thought. Keeping the image of the garden firmly in his mind, he closed his eyes and twisted on the spot. He briefly felt himself being squeezed into a very tight space, then heard a deafening CRACK and felt a jolt of horrific pain before losing consciousness.
He awoke an unknown amount of time later, blinking back into reality as the sterile white lights of St. Mungo's shone judgmentally upon him. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, trying to get his bearings, feeling a flush of embarrassment when he saw his father sitting beside his bed, looking rather cross with him.
"Mind explaining what the bloody hell you were thinking, Harry?" James asked tiredly.
"Just thought I'd try some new magic I read about," Harry said vaguely. James obviously didn't buy it.
"What possessed you to believe you could Apparate at your age?" James demanded. "Not only is it highly illegal, it's extremely dangerous. If we'd found you a minute or two later, you could have died."
"What happened, exactly?" Harry asked.
"Well, your mother heard a loud crack in the garden," James explained. "Imagine her shock when she discovered the upper half of her son's torso bleeding out over her azaleas."
"Oh," Harry muttered, wincing at the mental image. He'd read about the possibility of Splinching in the book but had assumed it to be an unlikely side-effect for those less skilled. He looked down to see that his body was thankfully back in one piece, though his legs were tingling painfully, as though they'd spent considerable time separated from the rest of him.
"I'm sure it was nothing compared to the dozen or so Muggle kids who found your lower half by the creek," James muttered. "Took an entire team of Obliviators all afternoon to clean up that mess."
"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled. "I really thought I could do it."
"Look, Harry," James sighed, "I can tell that you're eager to grow up and do things normal adults can, but you simply aren't ready yet. You're still young, and have a lot of learning to do. So please, for the love of Merlin, slow down and stop over-exerting yourself! You're only going to keep hurting yourself."
"You're right," Harry nodded. "I'll be more patient." Though what he didn't say was his patience would last for the rest of the summer at most...he had every intention of performing the blood ritual Saul had mentioned to strengthen his magical core further. Mentally speaking, he ought to be nineteen by now, and he was growing tired of being trapped in a younger boy's pubescent body.
"I don't know what your rush is, anyway," James chuckled. "Look, I was your age once, and I get it...being a teenager sucks. But I promise that you will look back on these years as the best of your life one day. Why squander them? Enjoy your freedom and lack of responsibility while you still can! What's the big hurry?"
A Dark Lord on the rise, for one thing, Harry thought. But he couldn't exactly tell James all that he knew. And his father had a point: Harry did want to salvage some semblance of a childhood in this timeline, and although defeating Voldemort was his foremost priority, he had every intention of living a long and happy life afterward. He didn't want to look back on his Hogwarts years regretting all the things he failed to do that the other kids his age would one day relish.
"I'll slow down, Dad, I promise," said Harry. "This won't happen again."
"Good," James nodded, leaning down to kiss Harry on the forehead. Then he whispered in Harry's ear, "Now get some rest so you're back to full strength for the big game."
James dangled a handful of golden tickets in front of Harry's face. Harry feigned surprise and excitement as he took the tickets and examined them.
"We're going?" he asked as he took in the printed lettering: 422nd QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP FINAL – IRELAND v. BULGARIA – 18 AUGUST 1994.
"Sure are," James grinned. "Had to call in a few favors at work, but all four of us will be there together. An early birthday present."
"Thanks, Dad," said Harry, stretching to give his father a hug. Privately, he continued to harbor mixed emotions about the event, knowing the task he had ahead of him. Part of him wished he could just take on the Hungarian Horntail again rather than track and capture a wizard as dangerous as Barty Crouch Jr. It would be a risky maneuver, but if he pulled it off, he could deliver a serious blow to Voldemort's plans of resurrection.
And he would have his father there to help him. Saul was right: Harry could not keep charging into these situations alone and hope to save the day. There was too much at stake, too many people depending on him to succeed. He had a strong support system around him and had to learn how to use them when he needed help. His self-reliance had served him well when he was a poor orphan marked for death, but now it would only harm him and those he loved.
Time to put Gryffindor Harry to rest once and for all, Harry thought determinedly. The Hat put me in Ravenclaw for a reason, and it's about time I proved it right.
A/N: In addition to this chapter marking the start of a new year for Harry, it also marks a shift in the fic as a whole. Consider this the start of Act II: The Part Where Harry Doesn't F*$&! Everything Up All The Time. But Voldemort has some added tricks up his sleeve as well...if anyone manages to suss out this year's big twist ahead of time, I'll give you a gold star! Some of the seeds have already been planted a while back in the fic, so let the speculating begin…