Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

If anyone had asked Harry if he wanted to travel time, he would have said no. 

His childhood had been stuffed far too full of destiny and adventure – enough for one lifetime never mind two.

Still, intent on saving the girl strapped to the altar, he’d stepped into the middle of a time-travel spell and ended up back in his cupboard, apparently once again a young boy. 

It was intolerable.

For a long moment he simply stared at the ceiling and the dangling cobweb before he swore silently under his breath. 

The only good news was that he still had his wand clutched tightly in his right hand and that he’d thrown the idiot doing the spell clear of the circle just before it had activated.

He got up and tested the door.  It was unsurprisingly locked.  His Aunt had rarely forgotten to lock it since she hadn’t trusted Harry not to leave the cupboard in the middle of the night.

Harry blew out a breath.

He rested his wand gently against the wood and whispered, “Alohomora.”

The latch sprang open.

His Aunt and Uncle’s house on Privet Drive was dark.  A quick glance at the clock in the living room revealed it was just after four in the morning.  Finding his Uncle’s discarded newspaper by the sofa from the previous day confirmed it was the Summer Solstice and Harry was all of seven years old.

He chose to swear again.

It made a horrible kind of sense since he’d entered the circle on the Summer Solstice and he vaguely remembered Hermione talking about how the number seven was integral to the spell.

He was probably fortunate that the spell had actually worked and not just ripped him into tiny pieces as he also seemed to remember Hermione listing that as one of the possible outcomes of it all going wrong.

Fine, Harry determined.  He was in the past.  What he needed, he thought grimly, was to get back to the future.

Unfortunately, apart from his wand, he had very little in the way of substantial means about his person.  His clothes were Dudley’s cast-offs.  His shoes were bargain trainers worn out from constant use as he had no others.  His new glasses had been free from the NHS and while they hadn’t yet been broken and sellotaped back together, they really weren’t worth much.

Two options, Harry mused. 

He needed to get to London and the Department of Mysteries where they might be able to help him return to where he was supposed to be in the timeline, or he needed to find a way to Hogwarts and Dumbledore who presumably would also help him given Harry’s role in the prophecy.

Maybe.

As a child he’d worshipped the old wizard and seen him as a mentor, but as an adult, as a father, Harry had come to understand Dumbledore had been less of a saviour and more of a master manipulator.  Even Harry’s future post Voldemort had been plotted by Dumbledore with his careful choice of the Weasleys as Harry’s alternative family and safety net.  Harry figured Dumbledore had hoped Harry would simply fall in with the Weasleys in the aftermath and he had done. 

Harry tapped his wand against his leg.

He didn’t regret his marriage to Ginny – how could he when he’d been blessed with his three children because of it – but after so many years he and Ginny were all too aware that they’d fallen in love with the idea of falling in love with each other rather than that they had actually fallen in love with each other.

Divorce was just not the done thing in the magical world, Harry reminded himself, and besides…he and Ginny did love each other enough as friends and parents to ensure that their marriage continued to work to give their children security.  They weren’t unhappy.

Harry grimaced.

Life after the war hadn’t really turned out the way he’d envisaged.  Nothing very much had changed in the wizarding world.  As people recovered from the war, things had simply gone back to the way they had always been.  The more extreme legislation against muggleborns had been rescinded, and there had been some reformations in the immediate wake so there was less overt bigotry, but Harry knew that there was still a great deal of bigotry lurking underneath.  

If it wasn’t for his three children, he’d have no compunction about blowing up the entire timeline; he’d happily hunt down Voldemort before he could find a body and wage war; he’d remake the wizarding world, and…and save Sirius from Azkaban and death by Bellatrix.

But, Harry thought tiredly, as much as he might want to save Sirius and the others who had died needlessly in the war against Voldemort – Fred and Remus and Tonks and so many others…if he blew up the timeline there was no way he could guarantee that his children would exist and that was unacceptable. 

He took a deep breath.

He really didn’t trust Albus Dumbledore.  The old wizard was very invested in keeping all his pawns in the positions where he placed them.  Harry was almost certain that going to Albus would only result in him being memory-charmed and returned to his cupboard to obliviously relive events over – and with no guarantee of the outcome being the same.

Harry shivered at the thought of it.

He pressed his lips together and headed for the kitchen.  He carefully summoned the emergency kitty Petunia hid in the empty flour tin on the top shelf of the pantry to him and levitated it back into place. 

He quietly gathered an apple and filled one of the empty bottles of pop with some water.  He stowed both into his school satchel before pulling on the oversized coat Petunia had bought him for the new school year and shoving his feet into the tatty trainers. 

A few minutes later he stood outside of the house invisibility spell activated in the absence of his invisibility cloak and apparated.

o-O-o

“Would you like the good news or the bad news?”

Harry looked up from his full English breakfast as Professor Croaker slid into the chair opposite.  He pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed.  He reached for the strong cup of tea that he had poured much to the disapproval of the woman who’d brought up the food and sipped it.  “Bad news first.”

“Unfortunately, there is no way to return you to the future,” Croaker said bluntly.  He put a large dusty book down on the table with a large hand, thankfully well away from the food.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the tome.  He was certain Hermione had been reading out loud from that very same tome when she’d been briefing the Auror team.

“Tempus Fugit, the bible of time-travelling spells,” Croaker said, plucking his monocle from his face and wiping it off with a handkerchief.  He pushed a hand through his wispy grey hair and replaced the monocle.  With his tweed suit and yellow bow tie, he looked entirely like a mad professor to Harry.  “The one you detailed is a one-way trip.  It essentially unravels the timeline back to the age of seven for the traveller.  It has to be lived again.  There is no way back.”

“Bugger,” said Harry with feeling. 

His heart shredded in his chest as he grieved his children.  He couldn’t guarantee that everything would turn out exactly as it had before; had no guarantee even that even if he managed to do everything the same, if he survived his fight with Voldemort again, married Ginny again, that he would have the exact same children.

His babies.

James, his eldest and most mischievous who faced the world with a fearless bravery Harry had admired.  Albus, his youngest son who had always struggled with insecurity no matter how much he had been loved.  And Lily Luna, his beautiful daughter who had been sweet and perfect and…with a temper that rivalled her Granny Molly’s.

“I’m sorry, lad,” Croaker said.  He conjured a cup and poured himself a cup of tea.  He added two liberal sugars and downed the lot before refilling the cup once more.

Harry swiped at his wet face and mourned.

For a while, they simply sat in silence drinking tea.

Croaker cleared his throat.  “Are you ready for the good news?”

Harry raised his cup.  “Is there good news in this scenario?  I’m forty years old, trapped in the body of a malnourished boy who Dumbledore will memory charm as soon as he realises that I’m not as clueless as he needs me to be.”

“The good news is that time itself seems to be unaffected and you managed to survive the spell,” Croaker said dryly.

“Well, I kind of already figured that out,” Harry said, “my friend was pretty explicit in detailing all the ways that the spell could go wrong.”

“Including that there was a possibility that your memories would degrade within minutes of being back in the past?” asked Croaker pointedly.

Harry blinked.  “No,” he admitted, “she was rather more focused on us getting ripped into tiny shreds.”

“I would have focused on that,” Croaker said.  He set the cup down.  “There is still a possibility that your memories will ultimately degrade but you have a lot of innate magical power to burn, and I think you’ll continue to remember your past timeline until such time as your magic feels you no longer need the memories.”

Harry sighed. 

He had two options then.

He could blow up the timeline like he wanted knowing that his chance to be reunited with his children was already gone, or he could continue along the same timeline using his knowledge to be one step ahead of Voldemort and his minions.

“I understand you’ve needed to be circumspect given the time travel,” Croaker said, interrupting Harry’s musings, “but the Department stands ready to aide you, Mister Potter.”

Voldemort had gutted the Department of Mysteries when he’d taken over the government.  Croaker had been killed early on and most of the employees had been replaced by Voldemort lackeys.  Kingsley had put Emmerson Cobb in charge and he’d rebuilt the organisation into a credible Department.  Hermione had loved her boss and had been slated to take over when Cobb retired.

“Who is in charge?” asked Harry, realising he didn’t actually know.  He’d asked the elevator to take him to the Unspeakable in charge of time magic and been deposited in front of Croaker’s office.

“Eloise Babble is the Director of the DOM,” Croaker said.  “I made her aware that a time-traveller had sought help with me but I did not share any further details given your, uh, notoriety in our world, Mister Potter.”

Harry set down his own teacup and looked over at Croaker.  “What would you do if it was you?  Would you change things or would you let things play out as they did before?”

Croaker smiled.  “Ah, well, I’ve given that question some thought over the years.  In fact my first treatise here in the Department was a theoretical examination of the reasons why a time-traveller should change things if they believed they should change when time travel occurred successfully.”

Harry sat forward.  “You believe a time traveller should change the timeline?  Why?”

“Why else would magic allow such a thing to happen if it wasn’t already destined to happen?” Croaker said.  “In all the records of time travel, events happen which in the end are always the events which are supposed to happen.” 

Harry considered his and Hermione’s experience with the time turner.  Everything they’d experienced in their past had played out again in their future turn through time with events unfurling as though things were meant to be.

Croaker gestured to the single filing cabinet on the other side of the room.  “Successful time travel is rare.  I very much believe it only happens when it is destined to happen.”

Harry grimaced.  With the weight of the prophecy on his shoulders, he’d come to hate the idea of destiny.

“The only question which matters, lad, is whether you think the future you have already lived needs to change,” Croaker said, “and only you can judge that.”

Harry picked up his tea.  He already knew his answer.

o-O-o

If Croaker was the epitome of a mad professor, Eloise Babble was all-business.

She was short and plump, dressed well in a smart grey suit with a purple blouse and a matching outer robe.  Her short silver hair was neat and tidy, her make-up impeccable.  Her pale blue eyes were penetrating as they peered at Harry from her place behind her desk.

Harry repressed the urge to swing his feet as Croaker briefed her.  He was too short for the visitor’s chair that Croaker had ushered him into when they’d arrived for their appointment with the Director.  Croaker had arranged it as soon as Harry had declared his intent to change everything he possibly could as soon as he could.

“Tell me why you feel the timeline should change, Mister Potter,” Babble said briskly, folding her hands on top of her desk and leaning forward.

“Do you intend to stop me?” asked Harry.  Croaker had seemed so certain that Babble would help that the question took him aback.

“Oh no,” Babble said brightly, “the Rules are very clear that should a time traveller successfully make the trip and wish to change things, or even to maintain a status quo, all aid must be provided by the Department.  I am simply curious as to your reasoning if you indeed have a reason.”

Harry sighed.  “Look, I mostly agreed to meet you because I’m seven and Dumbledore is going to notice I’m not where I’m supposed to be eventually and interfere.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Babble said.  “The old fool thinks just that because he defeated one Dark Wizard that he knows best about everything.”

Harry nodded because she wasn’t wrong.

Babble sat back.  “How can we help me, Mister Potter?”

“You can start by getting my godfather, Sirius Black, out of Azkaban,” Harry said firmly.  Getting Sirius free was Step One in his Grand Plan of Things That Needed to Change.

Babble blinked at him.  “You want us to get Voldemort’s Right-Hand Man out of Azkaban?”

Harry frowned.  “Sirius wasn’t Voldemort’s Right-Hand Man, he’s innocent.”

“He confessed, lad,” Croaker said gently.

Harry snorted.  He pointed to himself.  “Time traveller who knows the truth about Sirius Black because he watched and heard the real traitor confess all.”

Croaker looked abashed. 

Babble nodded slowly.  “I see.  Well, there is only one thing for it then.  We’ll need…”

“Are you certain?” interrupted Croaker, sitting up straight and clearly alarmed.

“I am certain,” Babble said.  “The only way to get Black out of Azkaban is to involve Lord Black.”

“Lord Black?” asked Harry, alarm beginning to creep under his own calm.

“Arcturus Black,” Babble said.  “He’s the only one with the political clout to get your godfather released.”

“You can’t do it?” asked Harry.

“The Department of Mysteries holds little political power,” Babble explained.  “Knowledge, yes.  Power, no.”

“Especially in these days,” Croaker said.  “Our current Minister rather ignores us in favour of deeper pockets if you get my drift.”

“Fudge is an idiot,” Harry declared bluntly.  He frowned at Babble.  “That’s why you need Lord Black?  So he can pay Fudge to get my godfather out?”

“I’m certain I don’t know what tactic Arcturus will use to free your godfather, Mister Potter,” Babble said.  “He’s not a wizard to be trifled with.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “You never met him?”

Harry shook his head and kept his mouth shut.

Babble hummed.  “Do I have your permission to contact him?”

Harry folded his arms and stared at her.  “Can you guarantee he’s not a Death Eater?”

Babble nodded.  “Crouch tried to arrest him at the end of the war after the whole sorry business with the Longbottoms.  Arcturus was questioned under Veritaserum.  He disavowed You-Know-Who and was cleared of any illegal activity.”  She hesitated briefly.  “In the interest of full disclosure I should also explain that I attended Hogwarts with his late wife.  Arcturus is traditionalist but he never agreed with You-Know-Who.  He gave all the family an instruction to stay out of the fighting; none of them listened.”

“I’ll need an Unbreakable Vow from him before we tell him anything,” Harry warned.

Babble nodded.  “That seems fair.  We should all probably take vows to protect ourselves from interference.”  She marched over to the floo and threw in a handful of powder.  “Black Keep!”

There was a short discussion with a house-elf who Harry didn’t recognise.  All he knew was that it wasn’t Dobby and it wasn’t Kreacher.  He had no idea what he was going to do about the elves, but parked it as a problem for another day.

The floo flared and a tall stately man with grey hair and Sirius’ silver eyes stepped into the office in a sweep of green velvet robes so dark they could have been black.  He arched an eyebrow as his gaze landed on Harry.

“Well, Cousin, this is a surprise,” Lord Black drawled.  “What does the House of Potter want with me?”

“Vow first,” Harry instructed, sliding off the chair to stand, his chin jutting up as he held the older Lord’s gaze without fear.  He noted the ‘cousin’ greeting and belatedly remembered that the Black tapestry had shown a familial relationship between the Blacks and the Potters.

“It will be worth it, Arcturus,” Babble said.

The older man nodded sharply.  “Let’s get on with it then.”

There was a short discussion over the wording but within moments Lord Black was held to a vow not to share Harry’s secrets without his express permission.  Babble and Croaker also took the vow and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 

Five minutes of Harry describing Sirius’ wrongful imprisonment later, Black sat down in a chair he hastily conjured.  “Bagnold and Crouch both personally attested to me that Sirius was convicted after confessing.”

“He never had a trial,” Harry repeated.  “Sirius was confused after the explosion.  He blamed himself for suggesting the change of the Secret Keeper.  That was why he was mumbling it was his fault, but it wasn’t a confession!”

“And should never have been taken as one,” Babble said, tapping the file she had retrieved.  “Fudge apparently investigated the scene as he was employed by us at the time and told Crouch that Sirius Black confessed, but his statement backs up Mister Potter’s account. Crouch should have followed-up and questioned him after Black received medical treatment.”

“I think Crouch had him committed straight to Azkaban,” Harry said.  “I wasn’t ever sure on that part and Sirius didn’t really talk about it.”

“After spending years in Azkaban, I’m surprised he was able to talk at all!” Black said grimly.  “Even now it’s likely he will have suffered under the Dementors.” 

“Hmmm,” Harry murmured, “he’s likely better than you think but the why of that is Sirius’ secret to tell, not mine.”

Babble looked as though she knew; a smug smile flickered across her face briefly. 

Black shook his head.  “I knew there was something wrong.  Sirius loved James and he adored you.  He would never have betrayed him willingly.  I should have pressed for more answers.”  He stomped his cane on the floor angrily.

“So now you do know, how do we get him free?” Harry pressed.

Black rose to his feet with a determined expression.  “Leave that to me.  He’ll be home by dinnertime.”

o-O-o

Black Keep turned out to be a castle on the Cornish coastline with a warm welcoming magical ambience that reminded Harry of Hogwarts.

The house elf, Danby, was covered in a clean black pillowcase embossed with the Black crest.  He was older than Dobby, completely bald except for bushy eyebrows.  He led Harry and Babble into a large reception room before popping away.

Harry took a seat on the sofa and contemplated taking a nap.  He wondered whether Dumbledore had realised that he was no longer at Privet Drive.

Black swept into the room and waved them back into their seats.  “Sirius will be down shortly.” He looked over at Harry.  “I haven’t told him that you’re here, Cousin.  I wouldn’t have been able to convince him to get himself presentable otherwise.”

Harry nodded.  He tried not to fidget as his anxiety and anticipation that he was going to see Sirius again rose to choke him.  He reminded himself to breathe.  He focused on the older Black as the man took a seat by the fire and accepted a glass of Firewhiskey from a solicitous Danby.

“How did you get him out?” asked Harry, curious.

“Went to Fudge and told him that I’d had an informant come forward that claimed Sirius was innocent and hadn’t had a trial,” Black said.  His eyes twinkled.  “I told him that if he didn’t want me to make him an ex-Minister by tomorrow he’d have Sirius brought to the Ministry and put under Veritaserum to establish the truth.  He obliged.”

Harry snorted.

“Of course, once Sirius was dosed and questioned and his innocence proven, that’s when all Hell broke loose,” Black said.  “Director Bones has been tasked with double-checking that anyone Crouch incarcerated under the old regime and wartime mandates had a fair trial.” He frowned. “We got out of there before Dumbledore showed up.  Fudge was contacting him as we left.”

“We heard he was on his way back from Rome as we departed the Ministry,” Babble said primly.  She frowned.  “He’s going to be trouble.”

“He’s a busybody,” Arcturus said bluntly.  “He’ll want to stick his nose in as soon as he knows what has happened.”  He shifted and caught Harry’s gaze.  “I took the liberty of stopping by the Wizarding Orphans Office on my way to Fudge.  I have temporary custody of you.”

Harry frowned.  “They just let you take custody of me?”

“The Office is an underfunded mess at the best of times,” Arcturus said.  “Dumbledore told them it was all taken care of; they didn’t even have a file on you.”

Harry wasn’t surprised.

“Anyway, Nancy Kiddiminster was perfectly happy to sort the whole thing out discreetly for a small donation to the Department,” Arcturus said.

Harry sighed.  He should be grateful that the corruption had worked in his favour, he told himself.

“I admit, Arcturus,” Babble said, “I’m surprised your grandson came with you so willingly.  The estrangement between you is very well-known.”

“Walburga is a bitch,” Arcturus said, picking up his drink and downing it.  “She disowned Sirius very publicly and we decided that it was to the benefit of the family for the estrangement to stand.  No-one knew he was still my heir so he was well-protected and Sirius was able to keep an eye on Dumbledore’s nonsense.”

Harry stared at Arcturus.  That sounded very Slytherin.

Babble gaped.  “It was all an act?”

“Not all,” Arcturus demurred, “Sirius took up a lot of Charlus’ old positions after he went to stay with Fleamont and Euphemia.  Drives me batty.”

There was a creak, the sound of footsteps approaching.

Harry slid off the sofa and stood, his heart pounding.

“Alright, Grandfather,” Sirius called out gruffly.  “Where’s this surprise you said you…”

Sirius stopped abruptly in the doorway of the room.

Harry drank in the sight of him. 

Sirius was rail-thin and pale with the shadows of Azkaban writ in the depths of his silver gaze.  But he was clothed in a clean set of black trousers and shirt under a plain grey day robe.  His black hair and beard had been neatly trimmed.  He looked good.  He looked alive.

Harry wasn’t even aware of moving.

One moment he was by the sofa and the next…

Sirius met him half-way as Harry threw himself at his godfather.  Sirius scooped Harry up into a hug and sank to his knees.

Harry clung onto him as though he was seven and not forty.  He had never forgiven himself for Sirius’ death; never forgotten that his godfather had truly loved him despite being on the run and the mental ravages of Azkaban.  Sirius had tried his best to be there for Harry anyway. 

And the proof of that was evident in the way Sirius held him just as tightly. 

A sob escaped Harry and another and…

He let himself cry out his grief for all that he had lost in his godfather’s embrace.

o-O-o

“…and that was when your grandfather went to rescue you,” Harry concluded, setting his spoon down into the empty bowl almost absently.

Sirius hummed.  He’d finished his own small serving of porridge minutes before. 

Danby had popped in with potions for both of them.  Sirius had pulled a face at his but taken it nevertheless.  Harry recognised them as potions to treat malnutrition.  His own healer had prescribed it after the war.  He reached for it and took it, rinsing the taste away with a sip of milk.

Harry felt exhausted.  It felt like a whole week had passed since he’d woken up in his cupboard even though he’d had a full night’s sleep after his reunion with Sirius the night before.

Arcturus looked despondently at the bottom of his cup.  “This conversation needed something stronger than tea.”

“You’re not wrong,” Babble muttered.  She’d arrived in time for breakfast at the Keep after heading home the night before.

Sirius shook his head.  “I’m so sorry about your children, Harry.”

Harry sighed.  “I would have gone home to them if I could, Sirius.”

“Quite right too,” Sirius said gently.  “And perhaps you’ll see their souls again even if they don’t quite come to you the same way.”

“That’s a lovely thought,” Babble said.

“Well, we clearly have some planning to do if we’re to stop events from going the way they did in your past timeline,” Arcturus said.

“Let’s deal with one problem at a time,” Sirius said.  “We’ll need to get your custody fully confirmed before Dumbledore can interfere.  James and Lily’s wills gave Alice and Frank first dibs, but then you would have come to me.”

“I’ll arrange something with Petunia Dursley,” Babble said.  “We can mimic Harry being present with a vial of his blood to fool any monitoring Dumbledore has put into place.  Hopefully any absence for the last couple of days will have gone unobserved given he was in Rome.”

“We can probably keep Dumbledore in the dark until it is completely necessary to reveal Harry is in our custody,” Arcturus agreed.  “I started the legalities and I’m sure we can get everything formalised discreetly.”  

Harry inwardly breathed a sigh of relief although he winced as he realised Arcturus probably meant another ‘donation.’  Still, he really didn’t want to go back to Privet Drive so he’d just be grateful.

“We’ll need to deal with Voldemort and his horcruxes,” Harry said.  “That’s the most important task.”

“The one at Grimmauld Regulus gave his life to retrieve is easy enough to get,” Arcturus said.  “I can order the elf there to give it to me.”

“And maybe deal with that whole place?” Harry said.  “It’s been warped by the horcrux into an infested toxic mess.  We had to knock it down and start over after the war.”

Arcturus nodded.  “Walburga can be committed to Saint Mungo’s.  I should have dealt with her years ago.”

“Rather you than me, Gramps,” Sirius murmured.  “Poor Regulus.  At least we finally know what happened to him.”

It went unsaid that many of the families who had lost someone to the Death Eaters would be without answers.

“I’m probably best placed to retrieve the one out in Little Hangleton,” Harry said.  “I can speak parseltongue and I’m likely to be the most resistant to the curse on the ring.”

“You shouldn’t go alone just in case,” Sirius said.  “We’ll make a day trip of it when we’re both stronger.”

“Maybe we can invite Remus along?” suggested Harry.  He knew reforming their friendship had been a comfort to Sirius in his previous timeline.

Sirius shook his head.  “Remus is very much Dumbledore’s man.  Best to keep him out of it until it’s all over.”

Harry nodded, accepting the point.  “The cup in Gringotts is the problematic one.  Breaking in and stealing it wasn’t easy and the goblins never forgave me for it.  I also don’t think Malfoy’s just going to handover the diary.”

“I can claim the Lestrange vault and have the goblins destroy the cup,” Arcturus said confidently.  “Narcissa’s elf will likely bring me the diary if I order it as the Head of the family.  I’ve been letting things slide on that front, I should take up my duties again.”

“You’ve been grieving Grandma,” Sirius said softly.

Arcturus huffed and poured himself more coffee.

“That leaves the horcrux in the school,” Babble consulted the notes she’d taken.

“And me,” Harry said.  “This body still has the horcrux.  I don’t know if anyone else killing me would result in the horcrux dying and not me.”

“There are ways to extract a horcrux from a living person,” Babble said briskly.  “None of them are pleasant but none of them involve throwing a Killing curse at you.”

Harry stared at her.  “Really?”

“Really,” Babble shook her head.  “If Albus Dumbledore had consulted with me when he realised it back when you were a baby, you could have been free of it for years already.”

Harry shook his head.  He’d worked through his fury at Dumbledore’s past manipulations already, it was useless to feel fresh fury just because Dumbledore was so intent on his plan he’d never sought help.

“Will we have to involve Dumbledore to get to the other horcrux?” asked Harry.

Sirius shook his head.  “I’ll take up the Black seat on the Board of Governors.  It’d give me an excuse to be in the school and once I’m in, if you give me detailed instructions, I can get it.”

“Well, once we have all the horcruxes disposed of, the wraith of You-Know-Who should disappear even if he’s sheltering in a snake or some other living being,” Babble said.  “The horcruxes are the only things tying him to life.”

“What’s our next problem then?” Sirius asked.

Harry couldn’t quite believe how easy it felt compared to the frantic year he’d spent with Hermione and Ron tracking the damn things down and walking to his own death after realising he was the final horcrux.  It was infuriating.  They had to do everything they planned, he reminded himself, but still…

Babble turned to Harry.  “Do you know where Pettigrew is?”

Harry shot Sirius a look.

Sirius raised his hands.  “Don’t worry, Prongslet, I have no intention of running after the rat.  I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I’ll write it down and give it to you before you leave,” Harry said to Babble.  “Maybe you can drop it into the DMLE as an anonymous tip?  I’d rather he didn’t run before we can catch him.”  He motioned at the Daily Prophet discarded by Arcturus’ dish.  “The headline about Sirius’ release is going to panic him enough if he gets wind of it.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Babble said.  She checked the grandfather clock on the far wall.  “I should head out and give you space to discuss the last of the problems you’ll face.”

All three of them looked at her inquisitively.

“Albus Dumbledore,” Babble declared and departed.

“Right,” Sirius said gloomily, “that problem.”

“Maybe you should invite him along to the Hangleton horcrux and let him wear the ring again,” Arcturus said brusquely.

“Gramps!” Sirius closed his eyes briefly in horror.

Harry was more amused than he thought he probably should be at the idea.

“What?” Arcturus said breezily.  “It was clearly his destiny.”

Harry burst into a fit of childish giggles and soon all three of them were roaring with laughter.

o-O-o

Harry lit the three candles on the mantelpiece and stepped back.  The candles had become a nightly tradition for him, a way of remembering and grieving his children.

He wasn’t surprised when there was a clatter on the balcony and Albus Dumbledore swept in the open balcony door with a phoenix on his shoulder, coming to stand on the fluffy rug Padfoot liked to sleep on in front of the roaring fire.

Harry gave Fawkes an unimpressed look for circumventing the Keep’s wards and the phoenix flashed away.

Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment.  “You are not Harry Potter.”

“I am,” Harry said firmly.  “I’m just older than the child I should be thanks to an unfortunate time travel spell.”

Dumbledore’s fingers tightened around the Elder wand he held.  “It is entirely possible that you are Harry Potter possessed by Tom Riddle,” he proclaimed grandly.

“That’s not how possession works,” Harry said.  “You and I both know that.” 

Dumbledore’s brow furrowed.  “Voldemort will return; he is not truly dead.”

“We dealt with his horcruxes including the one trapped in my scar,” Harry countered. 

It hadn’t been easy.  Only retrieving the ring and getting the vault had done to plan. 

Harry had spent a week in bed under the care of an Unspeakable Healer after the horcrux removal which had been unpleasant and painful. 

Sirius had been caught by McGonagall in the Room of Hidden Things but had managed to convince her to help them and keep the secret.

Arcturus had ended up having to free Dobby to get to the diary and Lucius had turned up at the Keep briefly making threatening noises.  Harry wasn’t sure what Arcturus had said to the dark wizard, but the Malfoys had moved to France within a week of the visit.

“Director Babble sent people to Romania to check on the wraith.  Despite the magical theory, Voldemort was clinging onto Nagini with the last of his power.  They killed her to make sure he’s dead.”  Harry paused.  “I know you know this, Albus, because the Director told me Severus Snape has already shown you that his Dark Mark has completely disappeared, and I know she was meeting with you today to tell you everything in the hopes you’d be,” he waved at the older wizard, “less you.”

Dumbledore huffed.

“Look, I know you’re very invested in your own view of how things should go so what would convince you?” Harry asked conversationally.  “An Unbreakable Vow?  My taking Veritaserum?” He tilted his head.  “I could show you the memory of my stepping into time travel spell that brought me here.  Would that do it?”

Dumbledore grimaced.  He glanced across the room and did a double-take at the steaming scarlet potion on the bedside table.  “That’s a Flamel Forgetting Potion.”

Harry gestured towards it.  “Yes, Professor Croaker thinks my power means my memories aren’t going to fade so Eloise organised to get it from the Flamels.”

Dumbledore shifted subtly, his shoulders dropping a touch.  “Nicholas showed me how to make it once when I studied with him.”  He peered intently at Harry.  “You intend to take it.”   

Harry nodded.  It had been a hard decision, but he felt it was the right one.  “I’ll take it tonight and tomorrow I won’t remember the future I already lived until I’m an adult and I can process it all.”

Dumbledore stared at him.

“Tomorrow,” Harry continued, “I’ll wake up and remember instead that I had a really bad dream which took me to the Ministry and set in motion getting Sirius free.  I’ll remember that we’ve made sure this Summer that the Dark Wizard who killed my parents is truly dead and that we got Pettigrew thrown into Sirius’ cell as a Death Eater.  I’ll remember that I now live with my godfather who loves me very much; that my Aunt happily signed my custody over without a single expression of regret.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly.  “Petunia should have done better by you.”

“She did the best she could given her fears and insecurities,” Harry said mildly.  He’d long since reconciled himself to his childhood. 

“I feel I must owe you a thousand apologies, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“Your plan worked,” Harry stated curtly.  “It came at a high cost, but it worked.”

“Are you certain you wish to take the potion?” Dumbledore asked.  “Your memories could be valuable.”

Harry shook his head.  “Most of my knowledge is useless now.  I’ve changed the timeline too much.” He took a breath.  “I mourn for my children, Albus.  There isn’t a day which goes by where I don’t miss them.”  He blinked back tears.  “I miss my best friends, all my friends, and it will be impossible to build those friendships anew while I am truly forty and they are eight years old.”

Dumbledore nodded.  “Is there anything I can do?”

“You could release Severus from his vow,” Harry said.  “Hundreds of school children shouldn’t have to suffer his potions teaching for him to do penance for telling Voldemort about the prophecy.”

A sheepish expression crossed Dumbledore’s wizened features.  “I will release him.”  He sighed.  “I should have done so when he showed me that the Mark was gone.”

“Yes, you should have,” Harry agreed.  “You should never have made him vow in the first place.”

“He loved your mother,” Dumbledore began.

“He loved Lily Evans,” Harry stressed delicately.  “He never cared to know Lily Potter, and she was my mother.  Moreover, Albus, Severus will never see me as anything other than James Potter’s son.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly.  He looked down at the wand in his hand as though only just realising it was there.  His consternation almost made Harry laugh.

“Whatever you were thinking of doing, it wouldn’t have worked, at least not with that wand,” Harry said, his voice rich with amusement.  “The Elder Wand will never cast against me.”    

“You united the Hallows?” asked Dumbledore, eyes wide with surprise.

Harry shrugged. “I’m the last Peverell.”                

A cough sounded from the bedroom door.

“Eloise warned me that you didn’t believe a word she’d said,” Arcturus complained huffily in the doorway.  A Grim sat beside him looking furious.  “I thought our wards could keep you out!  Bloody phoenixes!”

Harry arched one eyebrow.  “Eloise?”

Arcturus flushed red.  He waved his wand at Dumbledore.  “Are you going to come quietly, Albus, or do I need to command the wards to spell your arse out of here?”

Dumbledore bowed his head, chagrin painted over his face again.  “My apologies, Arcturus, I was simply making certain that…”

“You were simply being your usual busybody self, thinking you know better than anyone else,” Arcturus said.  “Be grateful I’m the one escorting you.  Sirius would have preferred to drag you out of here by his teeth.”

Dumbledore glanced at the Grim. 

Padfoot glared back at him.

Dumbledore turned back to Harry.  “My apologies for disturbing you, Harry.  I look forward to welcoming you to Hogwarts in due time.”  He swept out and Arcturus followed after a short nod of acknowledgement to Harry.

Sirius waited until the sound of footsteps disappeared before transforming.  He hurried over to Harry and wrapped him in a hug.

“Are you alright?” Sirius asked.

Harry hugged him back before stepping out of the embrace.  “Just Albus being Albus.”  He looked at the open doorway and waved a hand to shut the bedroom door.  “So what’s going on with Arcturus and Eloise?”

“Let’s not talk of it,” Sirius said hurriedly, “I would rather not think about Gramps and…any lady friends.”  He ran a hand over Harry’s messy mop of hair.  “Ready?”

Harry took a deep breath.  “Ready.” 

He let Sirius shepherd him over to the bed and tuck him in, taking his new glasses and placing them on the bedside table.  Sirius dropped a kiss on the top of his head and stepped away.

“Will you stay?” asked Harry, suddenly nervous.  Nicholas had assured him that he’d fall asleep as soon as he took the potion but…

“I’ll stay,” Sirius promised.

Harry took another deep breath.  It was the right decision.  He couldn’t live a normal life if he remembered.  His task was done.  Voldemort was gone.  He picked up the potion and downed it.

It tasted like strawberries and lightning.

He fell back against the pillows, faintly aware that Sirius had caught the empty potion vial and returned it to the bedside table.

He kept one memory in his mind for a long moment: the picture of James and Albus and Lily playing in the backyard the Christmas before his time travel.  His children.  He’d remember them again in time, but he let the memory of them go with sadness as darkness beckoned.

“See you in the morning, Harry,” Sirius whispered.

And Harry was out like a light.

o-O-o

Fifteen Years Later

“Sorry, I didn’t hear her.”

His wife’s voice tore his gaze away from the baby snuffling in his arms and to the doorway.

“It’s alright,” Harry said, “I don’t mind.” He smoothed a finger over his daughter’s plump cheek.  “You needed the sleep – you did all the hard work.”

“Hmmm,” Hermione Potter crossed the nursery floor and slid onto the arm of the overstuffed chair they’d placed in front of the window, her arm tucking around Harry’s. 

Harry leaned into her touch.  When his memory of his previous life had filtered back when he’d turned twenty, he’d been taken aback at the change of relationships the new timeline had wrought.

Maybe there had been a momentary twinge of guilt for ending up with his former best friend’s wife, but Ron Weasley had been married to Lavender since they’d gotten accidentally knocked-up in their Seventh Year at Hogwarts.  They had five children already – all boys.

And while he and Ron were good friends, they were not best friends.  That position had been taken by Neville Longbottom, his godbrother.  He and Neville had pretty much been raised together once Sirius had found a cure for Neville’s parents in an old Black curse book buried in the Grimmauld library.  Alice Longbottom took her position as Harry’s godmother seriously.

Not to mention that the differences between Hermione and Ron which had once softened into respect and love because of the bonds of adventure and danger they’d been through together, had remained very much simply differences when their schoolyears had just been filled with homework and learning.

Harry and Hermione had started dating as Head Boy and Girl and Harry loved her beyond all reason.  They’d married two years before once they’d both gotten settled into their respective careers.

Hermione was an Unspeakable, having studied as Eloise Babble-Black’s apprentice, and Harry loved his career as a professional Quidditch player.  He’d already started working in partnership with Nimbus on a new design and he’d likely end up working for them when he got too old to compete.

More importantly, Harry just wanted to spend time with the children that he and Hermione had planned, the first of which was cradled in his arms.

Elizabeth Potter.

His heart ached still at the loss of his former children, but he was determined to focus on the future.

Hermione gave him a squeeze.  “Come on, Harry.  Let’s put Ellie back in her cot.  Sirius said he’d be over early, and Arcturus and Eloise are never too far behind him.”

Harry reluctantly conceded. 

Grandpa Padfoot was completely besotted with Ellie.  Unlike Arcturus who had remarried when Harry was ten (it had been the society wedding of the year with Eloise resplendent as the new Lady Black), Sirius had never married at all.  Although his stay in Azkaban had been shorter it had still left its mark.  He’d retrained as an Animagus Healer and set up a small practice which was well-regarded.  He and Remus had eventually mended their friendship.  Surprisingly, Remus had ended up married to Tonks, and little Teddy Lupin had been born right on schedule.

Harry placed Ellie down into the crib and set the Quidditch themed mobile gently circling. 

He and Hermione slid their arms around each other.

“We’re so lucky,” Hermione murmured.

“I definitely am,” Harry agreed.  He kissed her gently as she laughed.  “Come on.  We should sleep while we can.”

Hermione went ahead of him, and Harry cast a loving look back at the crib and his sleeping daughter.  His future stretched out ahead of him, filled with love and family. 

Harry couldn’t wait.

fin.