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Chapter Text

“Reducto”

"STUPEFY!”

“Protego!”

The stunning spell bounced off Hermione’s defensive charm and hit the larger Death Eater. He went slamming back into a tall, dark instrument that had been previously emitting a low, ominous hum. The other Death Eater’s reductor curse missed Neville, who had stumbled gracelessly to the side and into the centre of the room, right as the spell hit the cabinet of hourglasses.

Glass splintered, the low humming magnified and Neville let out a low moan of despair as the cabinet and the instrument toppled forward, towards each other.

Harry leapt forward and pushed Neville out of the way. Before he could shield himself the objects collided and a burst of magic erupted through the room. "HARRY!” Hermione screamed.

He whipped around, but stopped short at what was seemingly glass encasing him in odd triangular formations. It was as if he’d been entombed inside a monochrome kaleidoscope, a giant hand spinning the end and making the glass-like panes shift, multiply and swell. Light refracted and sent jagged beams of brightness, ricocheting throughout the chamber as the air filled with a deafening clamour.

Neville and Hermione were visible through several sheets of the odd material, and on the floor to the left of them was the sprawled body of a Death Eater.

Harry was blocked from them.

A pocket of the glossy formation sealed him from floor to ceiling and wall to wall with the ever-changing glass. It coalesced over the cabinet and the dark instrument which formed the apex of the tented configuration. He stepped to the border of it, hoping to see an empty window fragment or even a crack in the glass - but winced when he heard a crunching noise.

Looking down he could see golden sand. It trickled out of the glass fronted cabinet where there were several jagged holes. The whole thing was vibrating as the dark instrument shuddered, spewing out the glossy, glass-like concoction.

Reaching his hand forward Harry slowly poked at the material to find it was, indeed, malleable. It was like clear, thick mucus. The sand from the cabinet, pooled over it, and travelled upwards, siphoning out in glittering eddies and swirls.

He watched in sick fascination as a whorl of golden sand, neared where his finger prodded the soft glass.

The sound of yelling startled him. He stood there, frozen, as he squinted at Hermione and Neville. The material had grown thicker and he could barely hear them. “What?!” He mouthed at Hermione.

“IME. ACE AND IME!”

The whorl of golden sand spun closer to his finger, and clustered around it as if inspecting the offensive appendage.

“HUH?!” Harry shouted as loudly as he could.

Hermione ran her hands through her hair in frustration and raised her wand. Pointing it towards Harry she begun to trace letters into the air.

Beside her Neville gasped when he heard a deep, male groan and sent a stunning spell to the Death Eater that had knocked over the cabinet. The large man had barely begun to stir before he was knocked out cold again. Hermione concentrated on her task, fiery blue letters appearing in the air before her.

 T    D N A    E C A P S

Harry read it backwards with only minor difficulty. Space and? More of the golden sand was assembling around Harry, positioning around his pointer finger like a gathering army. He was too focused on Hermione to notice.

O D   -   E M I T   D N A   E C A P S

Space and Time! Harry’s heart thudded. He was trapped in a dome of pure space and time! Before he could really comprehend it; the dark instrument reached a screeching pitch just as the sand descended on Harry’s finger.

 It was like being struck by lightning.

Ф

Hermione cried out in despair as the golden sand descended, liquefying and defying the laws of physics as it flocked upwards, quickly smothering her friend. With one finally ear shattering screech, the gooey glass bulged outwards and then rocketed back in. With a wink it was gone.

And so was Harry.

The cabinet and the dark instrument finally toppled over and shattered. No more sticky glass spewed out of the instrument. It lay there looking almost like an innocent, broken sculpture. Hermione and Neville gaped past the blue words that still hung in the air before them.

S P A C E   A N D   T I M E  -  D O N ' T   T O U C H

Chapter Text

Harry was compressed to the size of a button, swollen to the size of the sun and thrown through a hole as tiny as that of a straw. The air around him screeched and his core shook with more pure magic then he had ever felt in his life. Images began to flash before him, too quickly to determine more than blurred shapes and a myriad of colours. Odd bits of music and voices reached him. Some were of foreign languages.

The world grew darker and the sound of a tinny instrument faded as the chatter of young voices took its place. “Professor! Professor, he pushed in front!” Walls closed in on Harry. “Oh shut it Perkins.” His glowing hands were beginning to become dimmer but before the liquefied sand left his system, Harry glimpsed a rotting hand cloaked by tattered, black cloth. He scrambled backward as the light went out completely.

Harry hit what seemed to be a wooden door, but he couldn’t tell for sure in the pitch blackness. The air was frigid and Harry’s breath froze in his lungs.

“You’d wet yourself anyway Perkins”, pitched in a different voice. Harry was disoriented. He could hear voices nearby but all he could see was darkness and all he could feel was the wooden door behind him that he pawed at with icy hands.

A slow, rattling breath sounded inches from his face and he felt the tickle of a stray bit of foul-smelling material. “What was that?!”

Before the scream that garbled up Harry’s throat could leave his mouth, the wooden door behind him collapsed and he tumbled backwards into the light.

Ф

Terrance Perkins was a gawkish, smug – looking Ravenclaw who always stood with his head tilted up snidely.

Which made it all the more satisfying to James when he barged the boy out of the way and watched as the smugness turned to outrage. “Professor! Professor, he pushed in front!” Perkins whined childishly.

“Oh shut it Perkins”, Sirius sneered.

Professor Diggles, the newly appointed Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, sized up James and Sirius, now at the front of the queue. James raised his brows challengingly and the professor shuddered, his ginger mutton-chops wobbling. It had only taken the man a few weeks to realise that detentions did not deter the Potter – Black duo. Before the Professor could muster a reply, the cupboard holding the Boggart rocked forebodingly, and Perkins flinched and leapt backwards. Sirius cackled.

“You’d wet yourself anyway Perkins”, James commented in false pity, shaking his head sadly. Sirius sniggered helplessly as Perkins face became beet-red. The Ravenclaw opened his mouth - to let out more whining sounds - no doubt, but before he could a ‘BANG!’ came from within the cupboard.

“The boggart’s becoming more agitated”, Professor Diggles called to the class. “Is everyone in line? Good. Now remember; Riddikkulus!” He swished his wand and many of the students copied him in practice. “Perkins back in line - ”

A deep, deathly rattle emanated from the cupboard and everyone froze.

“What was that?!” a student from the back cried. Mystified, the Professor swished his wand and wordlessly unlocked the cupboard. James stood with his wand at the ready, prepared to face his boggart. Possibilities flashed through his mind.

Swimming in deep water. A swarm of Grindylows. Manticore, Gytrash, Inferi… A boy fell out.

A boy that looked like him.

He tumbled onto the classroom floor backwards and hit his head on the cold stone, knocked out cold.

The class gaped. “You’re afraid of fainting?” Sirius guessed hesitantly.

But Perkins distracted James from retorting with a whimper and a pointed finger.

The side of the cupboard the boy had fallen from stood gaping open. Around the other door curled a grey, rotting hand. The air in the classroom became cold and cruel, the mist on the windows turning to ice. A familiar yet horrifying sound filled the air. A Dementor’s breath. The hooded face followed the hand, - swollen, chapped lips peeking above the gaping hole in the middle of its head. 

James locked ‘eyes’ with it.

It stopped, shifted with a ghostly white blur, and stepped out of the cupboard as a psychotically grinning Inferi. Slimy, mummified skin stretched over its skull gauntly, the dead flesh baring its teeth more than the usual smile would. Around its neck was a familiar, silver rose necklace. His mother’s necklace. Bile rose in the back of James’ throat.

“I don’t think the kid-James is part of the boggart Professor!”

“I think he’s real!” One voice seemed particularly concerned.

“Must be.”

James barely registered the voices or what they meant. He lifted his shaking arm and shouted “Riddikkulus!” but he hadn’t thought of anything humorous to turn the boggart into. It cocked its head at him, completely unaffected. Racking his brains, James stood before it, mouth opening and closing like a terrified fish.

“RIDDIKKULUS!” boomed the Professor’s voice. The Inferi lost the dark veins, the damp skin and all sense of horror when it became a stock – standard skeleton. Diggles made it use one of its bony arms as a flute to do an Irish jig before he sent the Boggart back into its abode with a whoosh of his wand. His smirk dropped when he again spotted the unconscious student on the floor. For Student he was, though not in a state that any healthy, well –behaved student had any right to be.

The Gryffindor tie was in tatters around the boy’s neck and blood, grime and sand was smeared across his school shirt. Broken glasses hung crookedly from the boy’s nose.

He looked incriminatingly like James Potter.

“Class dismissed”, growled Professor Diggles. His students were shaken and confused but still managed a healthy amount of protesting as he ushered them out. Miss Evans and Mister Lupin were particularly hard to shoo, claiming that as prefects they should stay and help. The Ravenclaw prefects had already wisely left the room.

“No, off you go. However…Potter! Black! You stay.” He didn’t care that detentions were as much a punishment for the pair as a light tap on the hand. This time they’d gone too far.

James hadn’t moved anyways. He was staring at his comatose counterpart. Though maybe counterpart was going too far.

The small, crumpled frame was that of a fourteen year old? Perhaps fifteen? And James was currently a sixth year and coming quite nicely into his lanky height. But that didn’t explain why the boy looked like a fourth year James Potter. Sirius stood to his right, perhaps going through the same thought process as James.

“Professor - ” the Lupin boy started, the two prefects still lingering at the door. Professor Diggles sent them a warning look and the boy broke off. With a steely nod to her professor and a lasting look at the young boy on the ground, the girl dragged her protesting companion out of the room and the door shut behind them.

“I have no idea” their professor fumed, “no idea! Why you thought this was a good idea. But I can tell you now that this is the last straw.” The frumpy man gestured wildly to the James Potter look-a-like. “Locking a younger student in a cupboard WITH my boggart?! Without a wand!”

James quickly spotted that there was a wand sticking out of the boy’s pocket but before he could say so, Diggles began rubbing his forehead and pacing.

“Why you made him look like you Mr. Potter is beyond my guess but I assure you, once he has been properly identified, his parents will be notified that you were the perpetrator!”

James gulped. What if some third year had (poorly) disguised himself as James Potter and went exploring last night?

But that didn’t make sense… What was the motivation for an alibi if the kid was just going to get himself locked in a cupboard with a boggart? And how did he survive all night in close quarters with it, without becoming catatonic with fear?

“Disguise? I’m not so sure…” muttered Sirius. James could only nod. The alternatives were far and few between but one thing was for sure – James Potter wasn’t exactly the poster child for innocent night wanderings. The Potter visage was no angelic filter.

Professor Diggles sent a silver squirrel patronus streaming out of his wand, which scurried determinedly out of the classroom. “Potter. Black.” He seemed to have lost some steam now, but he sounded ancient with fatigue. “There will be serious consequences for this. You’ve crossed the line boys.”

“But Professor we had nothing to do with - ”

“We have no idea who - ”

The door swung open with a creak and McGonagall stepped in with narrowed eyes. Just as she un-pursed her disapproving lips, a groan from the floor stopped her short.The boy heaved in a gulping breath of air and his eyes shot open. They were a brilliant green colour but were filmed over with glassy tears as he blinked through his disorientation.

He haphazardly straightened his glasses, but just as his eyes focused Professor Diggles swooped down upon him and stuck his nose in the boy’s immediate field of vision.

“There, there” the boy was yanked up and being dusted off by the Dark Arts Professor before his feet were firmly planted on the ground. “I’ll remove the glamour in just a second Mr…?”

The small boy was staring at James and Sirius. “Potter” he replied vaguely.

“Yes and Black. I’m sorry about what they’ve done. Well then - ” Diggles cleared his throat. “Finite Incantatum.” He waved his wand over the ruffled student. The boy remained the same.

There was an awkward pause. He cleared his throat. “Finite Incantatum!”

The boy continued to look too much like James Potter for his own good. “Well it just can’t be Polyjuice - the size difference! Finite - ”

“Silvester!” snapped McGonagall. “Before anything else- no matter how confusing – a student’s health comes first.” She beckoned to the unidentified student. “Come along now. The Hospital Wing for you.”

“Yes” the boy nodded faintly. “I seemed to have hit my head.” He gazed at James and Sirius. James shifted uncomfortably. “Hard” whispered the kid as he trailed out after Professor McGonagall.

Professor Diggles stammered incoherently as they left the classroom.

“Professor, we swear to you we have nothing to do with this” James said slowly and evenly. Their teacher just blinked and frowned at them. “So we’ll just - ” James gestured towards the door and then dragged Sirius out by the collar before Diggles could regain his wits.

Two corridors down, they finally stopped and turned to each other. Sirius had a look of bewilderment plastered to his face.

James sympathised. “What the hell was that?!”

“Who knows…To the Hospital Wing?”

James nodded eagerly and they raced off to find their mysterious newcomer.

Chapter Text

Instead of turning right towards the hospital wing, Professor McGonagall took two lefts, a staircase up and then a right. “Erm, Professor McGonagall? The Hospital Wing is that way…” the boy trailed off dazedly. McGonagall took another right without comment.

The boy was familiar with her obviously, which didn’t overly surprise her considering her suspicions. She glanced quickly backwards at the Potter – Doppelganger.

The boy frowned and came to a dead stop. “Professor - you look… younger.”

McGonagall raised her eyebrows in false-pleasure and pulled her mouth into an admittedly strained smile. “Are you trying to boost your Transfiguration scores Mr. Potter?”

But the boy didn’t smile back though he did not protest to being called ‘Potter’. “You are younger.” He started to back up before his eyes alit with horror. “The Department of Mysteries!” The boy cried, slapping a hand to his forehead. McGonagall started at the loud exclamation. “Sirius.” His face was drained of colour.

“Sirius Black?” McGonagall queried, taking advantage of the boy’s disorientation to steer him into her office. She closed the door behind them and the boy whipped around in horror.

“We left him there! Me and – oh no!” he collapsed into McGonagall’s guest chair as she stared at him in consternation. “Hermione, Ron, Nev – ” he paused. “Hermione and Neville. I was with Hermione and Neville and the Death Eaters – ”

“Death Eaters?!” gasped Professor McGonagall. The boy ignored her as she lowered herself faintly into her chair.

“The cabinet, the noise, the sticky glass…” The boy levelled her with wide, shocked eyes. “I didn’t think it was possible without a Time Turner.”

McGonagall frowned. “Time travel?” The boy nodded. “It’s not.” Her head whirred. So the boy was not in possession of a powerful Time Turner?

“Bu – ” he stopped. “Oh! The cabinet! The hourglasses inside it – they were Time Turners!” At McGonagall’s confused look he elaborated. “The cabinet was hit by a curse. It shattered and the sand from the hourglasses leaked and interacted with the stretchy glass. Erm – the stuff that came out of the black thing – errr – it was making a humming sound and then it got very loud?”

McGonagall still wasn’t sure what he could be referring to. The boy obviously hadn’t inherited James’ way with words. “You will have to draw it for me later Mr. Potter. For now we should deal with the solid facts.” She eyed him cautiously. “You have been exposed to a fair amount of the sands of time – I dare say – if you were able to come back this far.”

With a wave of her wand, her china tea set filled with freshly steeped Earl Grey. She set two steaming mugs and a creamer of milk on the desk between them.

Taking a grateful sip of the strong brew, she thought to ask – “How far have you come back Mr. Potter? Thirty – Forty years?” She guessed based on James Potter’s age.

“Erm. What’s the date exactly?” The Potter boy hesitantly took up his mug of tea.

“It’s October eighth, nineteen seventy-six.”

The boy’s hands shook slightly as he took a fortifying sip of his tea. “I came from the eighteenth of June.” He met her eye. “Nineteen ninety-six.”

McGonagall choked on her tea.

Through her spluttering the Potter boy remained silent. He looked floored to have witnessed such a lack of decorum from his Professor, but McGonagall merely swiped tea from her chin with the sleeve of her robes and stared right back at him. The boy’s mouth dropped open.

McGonagall leant forward in disbelief. “Only twenty years!” James must have been so young when he and his wife had Harry! She assumed the boy was about fourteen, which would make James be a father at about twenty-two years old. “How old are you boy?!”

The kid flinched slightly at her use of ‘boy’ and McGonagall frowned.

“Err, I’ll be sixteen in about a month and a half.”

McGonagall collapsed against her chair; tea forgotten. After some quick maths a horrified shudder ran through her. “James Potter – a father in only four years’ time. Merlin save us all.” The boy observed her guardedly.

“So you figured out who my father is?”

“Mr. Potter. I’ve been calling you ‘Mr. Potter’ for about ten minutes now” She rolled her eyes as the boy flushed. “Also you could be James Potter’s scrawnier – green eyed –” she paused. “Mr. Potter, who is your mother?”

The boy blinked at the sudden topic change. “Lilly Po – Evans.”

McGonagall blinked at him rapidly.

Ф

Harry felt out of place with this young Professor McGonagall. Her usually strict bun was haphazardly gathered back, strands of hair escaping from the messy knot at the base of her neck. She wore one of future McGonagall’s standard work robes – but the quality was less ‘steam ironed’ and more ‘I slept in this last night.’

The only thing that grounded him was the characteristically thin line of her lips as she goggled at him.

Finally with a deep breath and a muttered “the world’s gone mad” she straightened in her chair and observed him with a furrowed brow. Despite all the frowning she’d been doing, this McGonagall didn’t have any wrinkles. She was quite young indeed then. Perhaps in her late twenties - early thirties.

Harry just stared back at her, trying to come to terms with the fact that this young woman was McGonagall.

“So Mr. Potter. What do I call you?” she said briskly, cracking out her brand-new tin of Ginger newts and shaking them under his nose.

Oh yes. This was McGonagall, indeed. “Harry” he croaked, shaking his head at the biscuit tin. She lowered it to the table and bit into one thoughtfully. For a moment there was only the sound of munching as Harry waited for her to reply.

“Benjamin!” His Professor proclaimed, holding a half-eaten ginger newt aloft. Harry looked behind him but there was no one there. He turned back to McGonagall in confusion. “Benjamin Ellis spent most of his life travelling the world with his Muggle parents who were not enamoured with the idea of him being a wizard. After his magic became too uncontrolled they reluctantly agreed for him to attend Hogwarts for the first time.”

“Erm – not to be rude Professor McGonagall – but why are you telling me about this Benjamin bloke?” Harry queried.

“Because Potter. He doesn’t exist. Not yet.”

“Wha-what?” Harry spluttered.

“You can’t stay at Hogwarts looking like James Potter’s long lost brother. No.” She grabbed another Ginger Newt. “You must assume a new identity and tell no one that you have time travelled, Mr. Ellis.”

“B-but Professor - ” Harry stammered, feeling overwhelmed. “I’ve time travelled before. It was like a loop! Everything that we did – had already happened the first time around! I’m meant to be here.” McGonagall’s lips grew thinner.

“Mr. Potter. Earlier when you were beginning to remember things you exclaimed ‘The Department of Mysteries’. That is where you were before you time travelled, was it not?”

Harry nodded. “Have you ever read ‘Hogwarts - a History’ Mr. Potter?”

Harry scowled. “A bit” he muttered.

“Then you would know that it is impossible to apparate into the grounds? This is why – upon your appearance – and your likeness to James Potter that I suspected you had time travelled. But one thing confused me. Your location in a cupboard that is bolted to the floor with charms and unlikely to move in centuries. ‘Who would choose to time travel while in a cupboard?’ I’d thought.”

McGonagall took a sip of her tea. “Do you recall Mr. Potter, how it felt the first time you time travelled? Compare it to the last and describe it for me please.”

Harry felt like he was right back in Transfigurations class, though the lesson content was quite different. He swallowed and cast his memory back to third year.

“The first time I was just standing. The world blurred around me and everything went backwards but really, really fast.” McGonagall nodded encouragingly.

“The second time – I was hurtling through the air. It was painful – it felt like I was being shrunk and stretched.” Harry shuddered. “And I could see the backwards flow of time. But it was much faster than before so it was all just blurred colours. There was odd music and voices too, like I could hear things from all over the world.”

“Well what can I say Mr. Potter. You’re either the luckiest or the unluckiest kid in the world.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“You could have ended up in the dungeons of some Caribbean prison in the sixteen- hundreds for all we know.” McGonagall scrubbed her hands over her face. “The black thing that was making a noise. I’ve never seen or heard of such a thing. However, there’s really only one thing it can be.”

“Space right?” Harry said with growing dread, thinking of Hermione’s fiery blue message.

“Some instrument that harnesses that which we cannot humanly comprehend of our physical existence, that’s for sure”, McGonagall sighed. “But since I’ve never heard of such a thing, I have no idea whether it transported you just to a different location and time, or a different universe entirely.”

Harry gaped, feeling his stomach drop to his toes. “I could be in an alternate universe?!”

“Either way is not ideal Mr. Potter.” She informed crisply. “If this is your universe then you would surely be able to borrow a powerful ministry time-turner and return home. However, you will have to wait until we are certain you are in the right universe.”

McGonagall raised a brow. “Skipping out of my office, looking like your father is a sure-fire way to complicate your stay here” she said sternly. “But you are correct. The Wizarding method of time travel creates a loop wherein all that has happened – will happen – and is happening. So you must carefully examine past events and make sure your actions revolve around keeping them the same. As I’m sure will happen perfectly” She paused. “That is – if you are in the correct universe.”

“And what if I’m not?” Harry demanded.

McGonagall heaved a sigh. “If you are in an alternate universe – it would greatly hinder our goal in getting you back to your own time. There are no time turners that serve the purpose of going forwards and sideways into a different dimension. It would mean you are most likely stuck.” McGonagall grimaced sympathetically.

Harry felt faint. Suddenly he was very aware of how dire the situation was. He felt slightly short of breath. All the bruises and cuts he’d gained in the fight at the ministry seemed sharper in focus and he touched a damp spot on his head with a wince. McGonagall’s eyes narrowed in on his injuries. From a drawer of her desk she drew out a small wooden box that she enlarged with a jab of her wand.

“Here Potter. Have a calming draught.”

She handed over a vial that Harry took with trembling hands.

Once he’d taken the potion and settled, she rounded the desk and started waving her wand over his wounds. He felt the one on the back of his head begin to stitch itself together.

“I apologise for not taking you to the Hospital Wing. I admit my first priority was to get you away from that hopeless Silvester Diggles.” She said the name with an implied roll of the eyes. “And then I was too caught up in your story. But I should have fixed you up right away. My mother would be rolling in her grave…Oh she was passionate about the Healing arts”, McGonagall clarified at Harry’s questioning look.

This McGonagall was positively chatty Harry thought, trying not to let himself think that maybe this was an alternate universe. He also felt awkward at her casual mention of a dead mother.

“No need to feel sorry Harry.” She said softly. “She lived a long life and I was privileged to have gotten the time with her that I did.”

Harry’s gaze darkened but McGonagall was too busy mending a cut on his arm to notice.

“All done”, she chirped, patting his wrist before reclaiming the seat behind her desk. “Well this gives us some homework doesn’t it Mr. Potter? Or should I say Mr. Ellis.”

Harry gave her a glum look. “But first!” She brought out her wand and tapped her chin with it. “Hmm, no need to make you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. I’ll just tweak a few things” she muttered, a spark of excitement lighting her eyes.

“Err – Professor can I –?” An odd sensation in his eyes stopped him short. McGonagall had her wand aloft and with several more swipes of her wand she leaned back in satisfaction. “Professor?”

“Ah yes.” She rummaged in another desk drawer and pulled out a hand mirror. He took it anxiously and brought it quickly to his face. Oddly, though his eyes strained as he squinted at his blurry mirror image.

“Remove the glasses Mr. Ellis.” McGonagall advised. With a frown, Harry did as told – and cursed as his reflection came into focus without his wire framed glasses.

His jaw dropped. He was still Harry – sure – but he was so different.

His hair was more of a chocolate brown than jet black, and all resemblance to James Potter’s distinctively spikey-mop of a hair-do was gone. Instead it flowed in artful waves across his forehead, neatly curling at the base of his head and tickling his ears. It oddly reminded him of Sirius’ hair in the pensieve – though he, like James, had jet black hair.

His face had the same bones, curves and lines – but a soft bronze-glow suffused his skin like he’d been lounging on a yacht in Greece. Freckles dusted his nose and spattered across his forehead and cheeks.

His eyes looked different without the glasses but he was most disturbed by the dulled colour of his iris.

McGonagall had turned his emerald green to a muted olive. They worked quite nicely with his tan and chocolate brown hair but he still felt distinctly less like himself.

“Sorry” McGonagall said, seeing Harry focus sadly on his eyes. “They were a beautiful shade of green. But they’re so distinctly Lily’s. I don’t know how I didn’t notice straight away.” She smiled at him. “I thought you looked so much like Potter when I first saw you. But without the hair and the glasses – well – I see his mouth and eyebrows. But there’s so much Lily. The cheekbones, the nose, the ears, the expressions!” McGonagall marvelled.

Harry felt warmth blossom in his chest at being likened to his mother beyond just his eyes. He looked down at the mirror again and traced one of his ears in thought.

“So they fall in love.” McGonagall shook her head disbelievingly, a grin tugging the corner of her thin lips. “Stranger things have happened I suppose.”

Harry shrugged helplessly.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat all business again. “So – blend in to the nineteen - seventies as best you can, don’t make a mess and certainly don’t go blabbing about the future. Report to me every Thursday afternoon. You are exempt from Transfiguration homework but you will have to do your work for other classes as its best that the less people know about your predicament – the better.”

She pulled a spare piece of parchment towards her and began to scrawl sharp, precise hand-writing over it. “I will of course relay your cover story to the other professor’s, though I will have to tell Headmaster Dumbledore part of the truth. It wouldn't do not to since hes usually in charge of informing the muggle parents about their child's magical abilities.”

“You’re not going to tell Dumbledore everything?” asked Harry, shocked.

“Again. The less people – the better. Plus I imagine that Dumbledore would erase all our memories and do what he thinks is best for the greater good, rather than think of the individuals involved. No, he only needs to know enough that he will not notice the holes in the Benjamin Ellis story.”

Harry was dumbfounded to hear Professor McGonagall speak of Dumbledore without any note of reverence. Mind you this was likely before the young Professor joined the Order of the Phoenix and fought against Voldemort’s followers alongside Dumbledore. He couldn’t help a spiteful little jolt of vindication, knowing that this time round, it was Harry withholding information from Dumbledore rather than vice a versa.

“Here is the instructions and password to get to my private chambers if there is an emergency.” Harry accepted the parchment. “And I stress emergency Potter – Ellis. I am not fond at being woken at ungodly hours.”

He spent the next half an hour with McGonagall, fleshing out Benjamin Harry (Harry insisted on the middle name) Ellis’ back story. She gave him a timetable which resulted in a row because she had placed him in fifth year classes. He was nearly at the end of fifth year, but McGonagall insisted that being sixteen was a lawfully and magically interwoven requirement of being a sixth year. Harry was only fifteen years and roughly ten months.

“It’s for the best anyways Mr. Ellis.” McGonagall admonished. “Imagine having to dorm with your father and not give away that you already know him!”

Harry’s scowl blackened. He barely knew his father.

Examining Harry’s disgruntled expression, McGonagall declared briskly “In fact – I think private chambers would be most appropriate. We’ll say it’s because of some sort of condition.”

Harry was conflicted. Private Chambers sounded nice… but he had wanted to stay with his parents in Gryffindor tower.

“How do you feel about faking incontinence?”

Harry scowled again.

Chapter Text

The Gryffindor common room was bustling with students preparing to leave for the evening feast. Lily Evans, however, was sat in a squashy pink armchair staring into the fire and feeling queasy. She had been out of it since Defence Against the Dark Arts and was embarrassingly absent- minded in Ancient Runes. Fortunately her last class – Transfiguration – had been a revision lesson.

“Lily? Lily?!”

Lily jumped in her seat when the large brown eyes of Mary Macdonald appeared inches from her face. Mary snorted and then carefully smoothed her face. “Do you intend to come to dinner or not Miss Evans?” Mary pursed her lips and raised a brow as she tapped her foot.

Lily grinned. “The mannerisms are McGonagall, but you should work on that Scottish accent.”

“Yeah – not my best.” Her friend frowned. “But my Binns is coming along quite well. Check it out.” Mary smirked and hit Lily with a quick “Confundus.”

It was a light hit but it still made Lily’s world go fuzzy and her head spin. When the effects cleared she shot Mary an exasperated look. “What, too interactive for you?” Mary teased.

“No it’s genius” Lily said drily. Mary poked her tongue out just as Alice, a seventh year girl, descended the girl’s stairs.

Lily had become quite close with her throughout their last year, both of them being Gryffindor prefects at the time. This year – Alice was Head Girl, and had used this to her full advantage by always scheduling patrol duty with either Lily or her boyfriend Frank.

Lily and Alice had spent most of their patrols wandering aimlessly while spilling their hearts out to each other about anything and everything. They had once almost entirely missed a frantically snogging couple ensconced in an alcove – because they were in such deep discussion about the rise in muggle technological surveillance and what that meant for the wizarding world– and had to double back to confront the out-after-curfew couple.

“Hi Mary” Alice smiled politely at Mary, before turning to perch herself on the arm of Lily’s chair. She bumped her shoulder with Lily’s in silent greeting. Mary, however, was fixated on the portrait hole. Lily turned to look – but only caught the flash of a cloak disappearing.

“Well, I’m off!” Mary turned back to them. “I’ve been promised some juicy gossip about Shannon Dillally” she wiggled her brows and skipped off and out of the common room.

“Dillally?” Alice frowned. “Isn’t she a really quiet Hufflepuff in your year?”

“That’s the problem you see” replied Lily. “Don from my dorm has some dark conspiracies about quiet Hufflepuffs and she’s indoctrinated Mary. Wasn’t too hard, mind you – Mary’s suspicious about anybody who’s quiet – but that’s just Mare for you.”

“Hmm, that explains why she doesn’t seem to like me.”

“Don’t be silly Alice” Lily admonished, waving a dismissive hand. “Mary just… doesn’t understand anyone who’s not like her. It’s nothing personal.” Alice raised her brows sceptically. “Really. And if you’re wondering about Don – she hates everyone.”

Alice snorted. “Oh I know about that one… Shall we head down to dinner?”

Lily rubbed at the pulling sensation below her collarbone and frowned. “Umm I’m not actually feeling so well.”

“What’s wrong?” Alice asked sympathetically.

Lily paused. “Oh – nothing. Just – just a headache.” She felt awful for lying, and something in Alice’s eyes hinted that she wasn’t being very credible – but in the end Alice just nodded. She offered to escort Lily to the hospital wing for a quick remedy, but Lily waved her away saying she might just go to bed early.

The lie didn’t sit well with her, making Lily feel heavy even after Alice had left for the Great Hall. She promised herself that Alice would be the first to know if what she was suffering was anything serious. Lily slipped her feet back into her school shoes and exited the portrait hole, turning towards the Hospital Wing.

All in all, Lily felt that it had been quite an unproductive day. The mysterious arrival of the Potter-ish boy had hyped her up for a Friday full of intrigue and drama. Instead – the rest of the day had proceeded as if the boy had never even existed. During Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall had avoided her eye and completely failed to mention his fate – despite obviously being in the know.

Lily wanted – no – needed to know why the boy looked like a younger James Potter. The age difference ruled out Polyjuice Potion. Had the boy transfigured his facial features to mimic Potters? Lily wrinkled her nose. Why would anyone do that? Maybe if the boy had disguised himself as a prefect she would be able to see the advantage – look like a prefect on duty while actually sneaking around at night. But Potter was one of the worst disguises you could pick if you were gunning for plausible night-time innocence.

And there also begged the question of how the kid had ended up in a Boggart infested cupboard? Not by choice certainly. Locked in by older students? But no – Lily had never seen this student before, and it was unlikely a disguise.

Lily froze a few hallways away from the Hospital Wing. The offer she’d received earlier that year! Top-performing students were allowed to undertake more classes with the use of a Time – Turner. She had declined.  But there were others – and surely many, many students past, present and future presented with the same opportunity. Perhaps the boy was an ancestor or descendant of Potter who had been supplied a faulty Time Turner?

Lily snorted; thinking of a Potter that was actually diligent with his studies. However preposterous that sounded – it was the only explanation that made sense.

And yet none of this accounted for the odd feeling that had sprung up in her chest when the boy first appeared. She touched the spot beneath her collarbone, slightly left of her sternum and winced. It felt like there was a hot needle pricking the surface of her skin and burrowing beneath. She took a deep breath and fisted her hands.

Surely the Healer would know what Lily’s ailment was.

Ф 

“She won’t even look at us!” exclaimed Sirius jabbing the tabletop with the hilt of his fork.

James nodded darkly. “And she said she would take the mini – me to the Hospital Wing…”

It had been quite anticlimactic when James and Sirius snuck into the Hospital Wing under the invisibility cloak – only to find the place deserted.

“Why would she lie…?” Remus murmured next to James, scowling at the reflection in his spoon.

“Well perhaps – perhaps they already fixed him up by the time you two got there!” Peter piped up.

Sirius scoffed. “Don’t be daft Wormy. They were barely out the door ahead of us.” Peter fell silent and a dark mood brewed over the group. The ceiling reflected their stormy state perfectly; dark clouds roiling and smudging the starry sky with inky drifts. Students began to arrive by the dozens and soon the tell-tale scrape of Dumbledore’s chair cut through the din.

“Attention students. Quiet now, quiet.” Dumbledore waited as the chatter in the room died down. James perked up. Perhaps he would tell them who the boy was? “Hogwarts had a visitor this morning.” He surveyed the students, half – moon spectacles glinting.

James exchanged excited looks with his friends. “A warning to the wise – do not hide in a cupboard. You may have the misfortune to encounter a vanishing cabinet instead.”

A vanishing cabinet? But why did…? James looked at Sirius – who frowned back at him.

“The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom is strictly out of bounds – until staff are able to be rid of the boggart sequestered within the vanishing cabinet –”

“Boggart?!”James heard Simon Dennings squawk.

“– and to relocate the cabinet itself, as well.” Dumbledore finished.

“A vanishing cabinet?” Remus whispered. “Sure. But why didn’t we recognise the kid?”

“Yeah.” Sirius said. “All we know is that he looked a lot like you James. That can’t be just a coincidence.”

James looked back to the staff table – and jumped when he found McGonagall was staring straight at him. Her eyes looked very cat-like in the flickering light of the candles and a crack of thunder split the ceiling. He couldn’t look away.

The memory of the boy with the tattered Gryffindor tie was brought to the front of his mind. Black hair turned into insignificant brown. The face was unimportant. The uniform was a spotless silky blue.

James shook himself. Dumbledore was droning on about the importance of avoiding unknown rooms and cursed objects. What had James been thinking again? He couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Thankfully the other vanishing cabinet was in the capable hands of Professor Regnard. Unfortunately one of her students decided to hide inside of it. You can imagine the poor boy’s shock when a boggart joined his company.”

James shuddered sympathetically but beside him Sirius snickered.

“Do you remember the look on his face?!” Sirius nudged him. James snorted when he recalled the horrified twist of the boy’s mouth as he tumbled backwards out of the vanishing cabinet. “Priceless” Sirius chuckled.

“To end a distressing story pleasantly – Mr. Botrel was unharmed – and had a nice squiz at the Scottish countryside before he was returned to Beauxbatons. Not that I recommend a vanishing cabinet as a reliable means of sight – seeing.” Dumbledore winked at third year Basil Elliot who flushed as red as his tie at the attention. “Now – I think I have held you long enough. Bon appetite!”

A rich spread of food sprung into existence and James happily dug into his roast potato, thanking his lucky stars that it wasn’t him who had been unknowingly whisked off to a Boggart’s abode. Merlin knows that he’d done his fair share of hiding in broom cupboards.

At the staff table, McGonagall felt a trickle of guilt. But until she had figured out the nature of Harry’s time leap - it would do no good to have the Marauders on their tail. Or the rest of the school for that matter...

Ф

“Tut. Tut” Madame Pomfrey read the diagnostics chart and clucked her tongue. Lily felt guilty for having interrupted the Medi – Witch’s dinner but eagerly leant forwards to read the results. A sharp “Miss Evans!” stopped her from glimpsing anything from the sheet of parchment.

Pomfrey’s gaze softened. “Lie back on the bed please, Dear.”

Lily lay back and rested her hands on her churning stomach.

“I’ll be back in a tic” Madame Pomfrey said, marching off to the storage cabinet at the end of the room. Rain battered the windows and made the lake dance in the distance, fissions of lightning splitting the sky as Lily waited. Madame Pomfrey came back with two vials in her hand.

“A tonic for your stomach and a potion to clear that fuzzy head of yours.” She fluffed up Lily’s pillows and found some extras, propping her up to take the medicines. “Knock em back quickly Evans. They’re not exactly flavoursome.”

Lily gulped them down swiftly and snagged a tail of Madame Pomfrey’s apron before she could leave. “Madame –” Lily released the length of fabric but looked unflinchingly back at the unimpressed Medi-witch. “– It’s just… what about my chest? What does it mean?”

Madame Pomfrey scanned her carefully with narrowed eyes. “You are not familiar with the feeling then?”

Lily shook her head and Pomfrey knitted her brow. “You did not bring it up when you came in Miss Evans and I thought it wise not to mention. But if you were not even aware of the nature of your predicament… that is odd indeed.”

Pomfrey came back and sat at the foot of her bed.

“What is my… predicament?” Lily asked, feeling the frosty air in her lungs with a keen awareness.

“It – my diagnostic spell identified it as a trace of ‘Hostias Praesidium’ – it is ancient sacrificial magic – one founded upon the deepest of love. Rarely does the benefactor of such a sacrifice live to feel the after-affects.” Madame Pomfrey searched Lily’s gaze.

“You must love somebody very much indeed Lily Evans.”

Lily gaped at the Medi – Witch but the older woman merely patted her on the shoulder and left for her office. Lily wracked her brains. She loved her family, her friends and even some of her professors. But the deepest of love? Maybe her parents…? But she couldn’t remember ever having sacrificed enough for them to trigger an ancient magic.

She slipped off the hospital bed and wandered out and back to Gryffindor Tower. Lightning illuminated the landscape as she passed tall – arched windows. Night. Day. Night. Different each time she looked. Clambering through the portrait hole after supplying the password, “Niffler’s Nip”, she took the right staircase immediately and collapsed into bed.

Lily drifted in a half-unconscious state, despite the grumbling sky, – mind echoing with Madame Pomfrey’s words. When she finally found true slumber, her hand was limply resting on her heart and her face was set in a frown, even in sleep.

* 

In a chamber that led off Minerva McGonagall’s private rooms; Harry Potter lay in bed.

He had a hand pressed to his sternum where a peculiar pulling sensation was. But he was smiling nonetheless. The faces of two black – haired students were seared into his memory, which he examined and replayed with every ounce of his re-collective power. Soon enough – he wouldn’t have to rely on his memory. Soon enough – he would see them in person.

Harry fell asleep smiling.

Chapter Text

Mr. Botrel was the talk of Hogwarts all throughout the weekend. Lily must have heard the name a hundred times over before the repetition struck her as odd.

Her mind had been glued to the sharp, tugging sensation in her chest, wandering the castle once she realised the pull was stronger or weaker depending on where she was. It was particularly marked in the East Wing of the castle.

At one point she had even leant against the wall, chest aching and head swimming. She was between a painting of eighteenth century witches braiding each other’s long locks – and a portrait of a wizard and his dog, both sporting impressive moustaches.

Lily let her bag strap slip of her shoulders. It hit the floor with a clatter as ink pots, quills and various items collided. Unconcerned, she leant her head against the wall and concentrated. In her mind’s eye it was like a cord was tugging her. If she were to let the cord run straight to the source she would have to turn around.

As it was, the tension seemed to be wrapping around one side and pointing into the chambers behind her and slightly to the left. Empty chambers. No staff member or Hogwarts visitor would dare to set up shop next to McGonagall, who was only slightly further down the hall.

The sound of voices rounding the end of the hall made her shoot up straight and gather her bag. It was a Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff duo who appeared to be related.

“Don’t go pulling a Botrel, George. You’ll find out your Boggart in sixth year anyways” the Hufflepuff boy said.

Lily was stuffing a quill that she’d missed back into her bag, but froze when she heard that name again. Botrel. Who was Botrel? Why is everyone talking about him?

They were closer to Lily now. She hitched her bag onto her shoulder and trailed slowly down the hall towards them, studying the portraits to the side of her.

“Please.” The younger boy rolled his eyes. “I’m not so stupid as to hop into a vanishing cabinet.”

“Hmm. I wonder why he went in there in the first place…Maybe he was meeting up with somebody?”

The Ravenclaw boy paused. “Why would he meet up with somebody in a cabinet?”

“Um” the Hufflepuff laughed uneasily. “French tradition, of course Georgie” he ruffled his brother’s hair. “You’ll find out when your older.”

Lily passed the scowling Ravenclaw and grinning Hufflepuff, thoroughly confused. So the boy’s last name wasn’t Potter? Botrel… A French last name. Though that didn’t mean much among the increasingly diverse last names of Britain. But where did the vanishing cabinet come into play?

The footsteps behind her faded into the distance. The hallway was deserted again and Lily made her way carefully back to the middle – where the pull felt most distinct. Glancing around, she slipped her wand out of her pocket, hoping that McGonagall didn’t have a radar for misbehaving students.

Alohamora. Lily was quite accomplished at last lesson’s non-verbal charms – much to Professor Flitwick’s delight – and the door cracked open immediately.

Lily had once again turned to look over her shoulder when a gasp from within the room had her snapping her head back around.

She had just unlocked the door to someone’s private chambers… Oh Merlin. There was the sound of bed springs and then the soft thump of a foot on carpet. And then another – creeping towards the door. She felt sweat pool in her hands. Why hadn’t she knocked to make sure there was no one there?

All Lily could see through the slither of space between the door and frame, was a hint of light and dust-motes.

Lily thought of her prefect’s badge – could imagine McGonagall confiscating it with the utmost disappointment written across her face. 

Lily gulped, wildly searching for an excuse as to why she would do such an invasive thing. She couldn’t tell the truth… The truth being that she was pulled to this door – almost literally.

She waited; listening. There was a person behind this door who could have something to do with her condition. Certainly no one had come angrily barging out like she had expected. Did they have something to hide?

Lily edged forwards uncertainly. She reached out a tentative hand and knocked quietly on the door, making it creep dangerously back.

A hand curling around the frame of the door stopped its movement.

Ф

Harry had had a hearty meal supplied to him by a house elf in lieu of attending Friday night’s feast. The next morning had brought a full steaming-hot English breakfast and at lunch McGonagall had even joined him for tea and sandwiches in her sitting room while she marked papers.

In fact, Harry was pretty much in the lap of luxury. No looming danger from Voldemort – in this time Voldemort didn’t know Harry even existed. No schoolwork. No responsibilities.

And yet, he felt slightly ill. The air was stale in his lungs and there was that tugging sensation in his chest. It was early afternoon and Harry already felt like sleeping because of it.

He was lying on the slightly dusty bed in the spare chambers, desperately trying to employ Snape’s Occlumencey lessons, despite spending most of his fifth year resisting them. He was trying for a clear mind and a numbed awareness of his chest ache.

But no matter how he tried to settle his thoughts – Harry was hyper-aware that he was in the same castle, at the same time, as his parents. His stomach swooped nervously just thinking of it.

His parents were alive and in this castle right now.

They might even be in the Gryffindor common room - playing gob stones, wizarding chess, planning pranks. Or outside - swimming in the lake, playing Quidditch, just lying down and enjoying the weather? – anything would fascinate Harry endlessly. He didn’t care if they spent their Saturday afternoon’s entrenched in Divination homework. The fact that they were currently real, solid people who had Saturday afternoon’s to fill with activities, fun, drama – was frankly mind-blowing to Harry.

The door to his room clicked, snapping Harry right out of his ambling thoughts. He shot up ram-rod straight on the bed. The door was only open by a slither and whoever was behind it remained silent.

Harry slipped off the bed, cringing when the springs protested. He froze with one foot on the floor waiting for a noise. Nothing. He paced forward quietly. The hall outside was dead quiet.

Just when Harry had decided randomly opening doors was just another quirk of the castle – he heard a knock. The door edged open at the quiet tap, tap and he quickly caught the frame before it could swing forth completely.

McGonagall’s plan was to introduce him as a new student on Sunday night’s feast, so he could attend classes on Monday. Technically he wasn’t even supposed to be here yet. Harry thought of a reality where he never made it back to the Ministry – where his friends were left in the dangerous situation that he, himself had gotten them into.

He shut the door.

It was likely just a student who’d forgotten which door was McGonagall’s. He spun the lock and padded back to the bed, rubbing his chest absently.

When McGonagall knocked on their chamber’s adjoining door later that night, Harry had worked himself up with such tension that he felt like a livewire.

“Lo” he greeted dully, sitting cross-legged on the bed and spinning a thread religiously in and over the fingers of his left hand. McGonagall arched a stiff brow and then beckoned him into her sitting room. Reluctantly he followed and collapsed on a low green armchair with golden tassels. His professor conjured a steaming hot meal from the kitchens that had obviously been especially saved for him.

“Potter.”

“Mmrff?” Harry choked out around the hot bun he’d immediately stuffed into his mouth. He swallowed inelegantly, chagrined at being so intently watched by his professor while displaying such bad table manners. Aunt Petunia would have stuffed his mouth with Dudley’s dirty socks if he’d done that at her dining table.

Young Professor McGonagall, however, was barely concealing an amused smirk. “If you are quite done Potter.” She grimaced. “I must say – it’s difficult to call you ‘Potter’ when I am acquainted with such a different – ehm – definition of what that entails.”

“Er” Harry said. “You could call me Harry?” he ventured cautiously.

“Hmm.” McGonagall eyed him. “No.”

“Well then – ”

“I make it a rule to only address student’s by their last name. It better conceals when I happen to be exercising favouritism.” She winked at Harry. Harry blanched into a second bite of his bread. McGonagall? Favouritism? “Besides, I will need to get used to addressing you as Ellis, Ellis.”

Harry swallowed. “I’ll need to get used to that too.” He swirled a piece of pasta around his plate. “So… what does the Potter name… err, entail to you?”

McGonagall harrumphed unenthusiastically. “Potter. A name most notoriously accompanied by Black.”

“My Godfather” Harry grinned proudly.

Professor McGonagall paled. “Of course” she moaned. “Honestly, having been raised by those boys, I am dumbfounded that you haven’t paraded the halls and started a black-market Hogwarts business of fortune – telling.”

“Have they started illegal businesses before?” Harry frowned.

“Oh, not strictly illegal. But, yes.” McGonagall waved a hand dismissively. “Anyways, they’ve undoubtedly told you all about their shenanigans.” She missed the tightening of Harry’s mouth when turning to accio a catalogue from her desk. “But whether Mr. Potter has matured in his, what, mid-thirties? – doesn’t change that, as of right now, the last name Potter means nothing but trouble.”

Harry’s stomach sank. Suddenly his bread and pasta didn’t seem as appetising as before. He’d hoped that McGonagall would vouch for his dad’s maturity. Maybe remark upon his newfound morals?

Because if James Potter was still anything like he was in the Snape’s memory of fifth year – then Harry wasn’t sure he wanted too much to do with him.

“I’m looking for a new set of dress robes” Professor McGonagall said conversationally. “Halloween coming up and all. Oh, how about these ones?” She pointed out a Witch in her catalogue who regally swished around in her silky, orange robes, a pair of dried bats hanging from her earlobes. “Kind of a Pumpkin colour aren’t they?”

McGonagall seemed more to be engaged in conversation with herself than with Harry. He finished his meal with a few well timed “Mm’s” and “Ahhuh’s”, uncharacteristically desperate for the weekend to be over.

Unfortunately, Sunday was equally sludgy and slow. Harry wallowed around, reading books and/or imaging how his parents would react to him. Would they like him as a person? Without knowing he was their son?

In the evening Harry received a platter of roast chicken and vegetables and a note. The writing sprawled across the parchment with such pomp and flair that it was barely legible. Harry tucked into his dinner and attempted to interpret the many swirls and scribbles before him. After several read throughs he was confident in what it read.

To Mr. Benjamin H. Ellis,

Whilst I find myself mystified at the unconventional handling of your application to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; I have been reassured that you are satisfied and ready to acclimate. As the Deputy Headmaster, I find it pertinent that you should receive missive from me, if only for the sake of propriety – if not possible new Intel.

Upon your commencement you will be expected to bring official matters to either myself or the Headmaster – A.P.W.B Dumbledore (addressed; Professor Dumbledore). You are not to rely on lower level staff, as has seemed to be the case so far.

By tomorrow eve you will be sorted and relocated to your new common room where you will find House – specific additions to you school uniform that you will be required to wear during school hours.

You will receive you class schedule on Monday morning. In two weeks the staff will evaluate your progress and decide whether your experience, or lack thereof, is appropriate for your year level.

Here’s hoping you adopt house pride with as much gusto as the other fifth year students and that you enjoy Hogwarts to its fullest.

Sincerely,

R. G. Wallet,

Arithmancy Professor and Deputy Headmaster.

By the end of his fourth read through, Harry felt a dull throbbing in his skull, and was holding his head in his hands. This Professor Wallet bloke sounded like a bit of a pompous git. Like Ernie Macmillan if he’d been born in say the… seventeenth century? Blimey the man sounded ancient. No one talked like that anymore!

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to ignore a tickle of anxiety at the thought of being sorted a second time round. It wasn’t worth dwelling on obviously – he was a Gryffindor through and through – nothing to worry about it.

An old, knowing voice slithered to the forefront of his mind, despite his efforts to quell it.

‘You would do well in Slytherin.'

Ф

“I don’t want to do my Charms essay Moony.”

“Then don’t.”

Sirius gasped in horror while Remus calmly jotted down his draft with a sleek albatross quill. “You’re meant to force me to do it Moony. That’s your job”.

James snorted. “Yeah Remus, what’s Padfoot meant to do? Motivate himself?” he scoffed, a smirk ticking up the corner of his mouth. James was sat in the squashy couch nearest to the study desk his two friends occupied. Peter was sprawled out on the carpet, nose buried in ‘A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration’, muttering despairingly.

“You should have learnt the skill of self-motivation years ago Sirius” Remus looked from his parchment to his textbook and frowned. Sirius, who was carelessly running the feather end of his quill through his hair, rolled his eyes.

“I use my talents sparingly Moony” he sniffed. “Why should I expend myself when you could put the energy in for me?”

“Suit yourself Padfoot. What does it matter anyways? We’ll all someday die and yet the Earth will keep on turning – Sirius Black and his charms essay or not” Remus diligently added another note to his page.

Sirius groaned. “You’re an enabler Remus Lupin. A big, dirty enabler.”

Remus shrugged.

“If Flitwick asks me where my essay is, I’ll say that your depressing existentialism is contagious” Sirius threatened. “I deserve an extension on the basis of Moony-induced-chronic-motivational… depravity.”

“M.I.C.M.D. Sounds like a legitimate disease Padfoot. Flitwick will lap it up” James encouraged.

“He’ll probably ask what it is though…” Peter frowned.

James went to kick Peter in the shoulder when a large black cat distracted him by jumping onto his lap. It had honey-gold eyes and endearingly fluffy tufts at the ends of its ears and the toes of its feet. The cat had cosied up to him so many times since the start of the school year that James knew all his favourite spots to be scratched.

"That cat deadset barked at me the other week” Sirius pointed to the black feline on James’ lap. It continued to purr like any normal cat, though there may have been a smug tilt to its mouth. “I swear it knows… things.” Sirius raised his brows significantly.

“And I’m sure it’s already contacted the Minister of Magic himself” James shook his head despairingly. Peter sniggered appreciatively but Remus only nodded his head solemnly.

“Yes the accusation may have been a tad hard to interpret, but Mr. Meow’s testimony is true. Sirius Black is guilty!” Remus declared and tapped his quill on the desk as if it were a judge’s gavel.

“Sounds sexy…” Sirius smirked. “Outlaw Sirius Black, wanted Dead or Imperiused.” He leaned back in his chair and grinned at Remus.

“Only you” Remus chuckled.

“Mr. Meow, really?” James asked Remus. “What did you name your teddies back in the day? Mr. Bear?”

“Teddy actually.” Remus scratched his chain with a grimace.

James shook his head while Sirius and Peter chortled, and continued to pat the cat. He wondered who owned it and what is was really called. He hadn’t seen it in the Gryffindor common room before this year, but it looked like a middle-aged cat.

“What did you guys think of the announcement” mumbled Remus, who had abandoned drafting his essay in lieu of slumping on the desk on his folded arms. He was pointedly ignoring Sirius, who had taken to tearing bits of parchment and dumping the shreds into Remus’ hair.

James perked up, hand lapsing mid-pat. “It’s bollocks! What parents decide that travelling the world is more important than their kid going to Hogwarts? And then – all of a sudden – oh yeah! Our kid needs an education! What is it tenth of October? Oh it’s only been a month and a bit since the start of the school year, we’ll just drop him off and he’ll catch up easy –peasy” James scoffed. “Great parenting.”

“Never knew you took education so seriously Prongs” Sirius smirked.

“C’mon – it’s Hogwarts!” James stressed. “And the timing!”

“It is very strange that he’s starting just now…” Remus furrowed his brow.

“Nah” Sirius waved his hands. “He’s muggleborn they’re saying. Parents didn’t want to send him away to a boarding school. Went travelling instead. They’re probably like those muggle heppeez with waist-length hair” he said knowledgeably. “They likely forgot that he’d ever even got a letter and only remember a few days ago.”

“Heppeez?” Remus opened his mouth. “Oh! Hippies?”

“S’what I said” Sirius frowned.

“No y – ”

“Not all Muggles are morons” James cut in.

“No that’s not what I’m saying! There’s a – it’s a certain type of Muggle” Sirius said impatiently. “Just you wait though – that kid is going to be like Wormy in Charms – but with every subject! He’s four years and a month and a bit behind!”

“Hey” Peter squeaked angrily.

“Hmm. Would have provided good entertainment if he was a sixth year” James sighed. “Classes get boring when you’re not epically failing them Wormtail.”

“They’re just teasing” Remus advised a red – faced Peter.

James and Sirius raised their eyebrows. They certainly had not been just teasing. But no one wanted to deal with a sputtering, insecure Wormtail for long, so they left it at that.

“Either way, I’m actually excited for tomorrow morning. I want to get a good look at this uneducated git” smiled Sirius. “He’ll have long hair and veggie-breath, mark my words!”

“It’s a bet” Remus held out his hand and Sirius shook it confidently.

“Say goodbye to your jumbo block of chocolate Moony.”

“Bet’s off.”

“No come on. Five Galleons then?”

“Two.”

“I’ll bet ten that he’s sorted into Hufflepuff. You’d have to be a bit woolly-headed – raised like that.”

“That’s the spirit James. Moony?”

“Two Galleons, final offer.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll bet five Galleons that he’ll turn out to be a really smart Ravenclaw.”

“You do that Pete.”

Ф

It was the dead of the night, the day before he would start classes, a few days after he’d been transported back in time when Harry bolted upright in bed, a cold sweat chilling his back.

He’d been dreaming that he was being told off by a sixteen year old Lily Potter for sneaking around at night. He’d pointed out their lack of age difference and then suddenly she had morphed into Molly Weasley and sent him off to Honeydukes to buy Acid Pops for Charlie’s favourite dragon. He had sneaked out of the castle and through the secret passageway but the floor was paper and every step left a dark, inky footprint in his wake. His hands had been empty.

Harry panted in his bed, fully awake now, hand slapped over his face. His face that was golden and freckled and almost unrecognisable. A decent disguise, all in all.

Unfortunately, the Marauder’s map never lies.

Chapter Text

"They have an all knowing map?!” McGonagall asked, clearly taken aback.

Harry relaxed a fraction when it became clear that his Professor wasn’t going to throttle him for his late-night drop in. There had been a moment there when she had wrenched open the door, hair bedraggled and one eye twitching, where Harry had been unsure. “With my name on it” Harry nodded, settling down in his usual low green armchair. Professor McGonagall began to pace.

“Well once you are resorted into Gryffindor –” Harry’s stomach twisted nervously “– could you locate it and charm your name to read Benjamin Ellis?” McGonagall asked.

“I would have thought you could just confiscate it? And no – the map never lies.”

“Never?! This is advanced spellwork…” muttered McGonagall. She sounded impressed, albeit reluctantly so. “But, yes – I suppose I could tip off Argus.”

“As soon as possible” Harry stressed.

“Indeed” McGonagall nodded, a stray clump of hair sticking out haphazardly. “Very good. Well off to be with you then” she shooed her hands at him. “You have a big day ahead of you.”

Harry gulped and stood, trailing towards the door. Harry heard a soft sigh behind him.

“Potter… just remember you can come to me with anything.” McGonagall looked stern, but there was a kind tilt to her mouth. She seemed worried for him. “If – if this is too much for you – you just have to say. We can arrange something else.”

Harry looked back at her, touched that she would be so concerned without even knowing the full story. Knowing barely anything really. Harry frowned. But there was no use burdening his Professor with the sadness that lay in store. “Thanks Professor McGonagall” he said instead.

She smiled. “Goodnight, Potter.”

“Night.”

Harry went back to his restless dreams. He was being followed. He was lost in time. He was drowning in the Slytherin common room, dark water filling his lungs as the Sorting Hat cackled at him.

There was a patch of peace among the frenetic clamour of voices, fear and apprehension. A brief bubble where someone sang to him, a soft, lilting lullaby that seemed to roll in from the hills and spread ripples across the great lake. 

When he woke the next morning, it was the lullaby that lingered, the words lost to him but the notes ringing clear in his mind.

Harry stared at the ceiling and drew in a deep breath. The air was crisp after the rain all weekend and the smell of wet, autumn foliage drifted in through his open window. It was a lovely Monday morning. The stonework in the ceiling was comfortingly familiar, as was the trill of birds and the chill Scottish breeze.

And yet – Harry felt out of place. This had been his home for the past five years. And now he had to walk the halls as not only a stranger to Hogwarts – but as a stranger to magic itself.

Harry respected McGonagall’s choice to frame him as a clueless Muggleborn. It was a perfect cover for how often he would visit his Head of House, which would be Professor McGonagall. It would also explain why Harry was so abruptly attending. And if he dropped the ball with his studies – again; clueless Muggleborn overwhelmed by his study requirements.

But it would be painful. He belonged here and pretending otherwise would be an everyday strain.

He heaved himself into a seated position and only then noticed the bundle at the foot of his bed. The outer layer was clearly a plain school robe, the black material bulging with what was likely the rest of his uniform. Underneath was a brown, leather satchel with a gleaming, brass clasp.

Harry stared at it in wonder. It was slightly worn at the edges, so the clasp and gilding were probably only recently shined. Whose was this? He flipped open the cover flap and found a name etched into the leather.

Isobel. M. Ross

Harry frowned. Was this Professor McGonagall’s mothers? Some sort of relative surely… Why would McGonagall lend him something that precious?

He guiltily peered inside the satchel and saw that she had even stocked it with a large sheaf of parchment, two bottles of ink and a standard brown quill.

A flush crept up his neck. It only just occurred to him that he technically didn’t have a sickle to his name. This had to have come out of McGonagall’s pocket or a fund from the school. Either way, he was a charity case.

When he unbundled the uniform, a black tie with the Hogwarts crest was the first thing to fall into his lap. He set it aside, along with any thoughts of his resorting.

The seventies uniform was slightly different to the one Harry was used to. To bring warmth in chilly months, was a thick, grey waistcoat rather than the short/long sleeve pullover vest that Harry usually wore. He wrinkled his nose. It seemed a bit prattish to wear a waistcoat to school.

He dressed, instead, in the normal long sleeve white dress shirt (which he suspected was the same one he arrived in) and slung the black tie around his neck. The pants definitely were his, since there was a small burn mark near the top button which was decidedly irremovable. With the thick school robes over top, the cold was almost sufficiently staved off.

Deciding that he had stalled long enough, Harry finally hiked his new satchel onto his shoulder and went to the door. There was a sharp knock, Harry with his hand already on the doorknob, pulled it open with only brief deliberation.

“You’re dressed. Good.” Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly.

“Ah – yes” Harry said. “Thank you” he added with an awkward tilt to his shoulder, nodding towards the satchel.

McGonagall smiled quickly. “Just be sure to keep it spit-spot, Ellis.”

Ellis.

Right.

The Charade had started.

“Come along now, Ellis.”

Harry trailed after McGonagall. It was only as he straggled behind her long, sure strides did he notice the stool in her arms and the Sorting Hat being levitated behind her. It’s old, leather face was inactive, eyes closed and mouth set.

“Usually Professor Wallet, as the Deputy Headmaster handles the hat. But as soon as we enter the Great Hall we’ll get straight into your sorting. So Albus asked me if I would like to place the hat and stool.”

Harry shrugged, stomach roiling nervously, though he spared his Professor a smile. “You officially do the sorting by the time I attend Hogwarts.”

“Oh” McGonagall frowned slightly, though she seemed pleased. “Well it will be an honour.”

Ahead, Harry could see the doors to the Great Hall. He could faintly hear Dumbledore through them, his rich voice slightly stronger than Harry remembered.

He stopped.

In front of him McGonagall paused as well. She turned to him, gaze sympathetic.

Harry’s head was swimming. He felt simultaneously drained of blood, and like his cheeks were heavy with it. He was freezing and too hot, and tremors ran through the bones of his fingers and down his spine. His chest tightened, like there was a cord tugging him forward, a strangely tangible physical manifestation of how inevitable his fate was. Harry marvelled that it was always him who seemed to get into the worst situations.

McGonagall came back to him. “Harry Potter.” She looked into his eyes carefully. “You are safe with me. No matter what happens.” She lifted a hand to the side of his face, the other gripping the stool. “I’ve got you.”

Her voice was smooth but determined. Harry took several deep breaths. “Let’s go.”

She patted his cheek. “That’s the spirit.”

With a flick of her wand, the doors swung open, just as they reached them. She strode in confidently with Harry on her tail, suddenly swamped with hundreds of blinking eyes.

“Ah. Just on time.”

Ф

James wanted to kick himself.

Sirius did kick him.

“Ouch!”

“Well if you hadn’t kept the map in your bloody robes and had put it in the safe spot, we would still have it!” Sirius snapped.

“I know!” James griped right back.

The morning had started out well. They were all excited to see which house the new student would be placed in, pockets rattling with coins and grins in place. Furthermore, Lily Evans had forgotten to immediately scowl at him when he smirked her way. Instead she had tilted her head at him, muttering and rubbing her chest – which was a bit strange. But he would take anything that wasn’t a scowl and a “Fuck off Potter” at this point.

All in all it had been a promising start to a Monday morning.

Until Filch.

'Routine search my arse!’ thought James furiously. Someone had tipped off the caretaker. Who and how they knew was beyond him, but there was no other explanation. Remus agreed.

“The spare parchment excuse has worked a dozen times and he’s never blinked an eye” Moony grumbled.

“He went for it straight away too, and you had those Filibuster Fangs in your pocket as well” Peter piped up.

“Your right Wormtail.” (Peter glowed at the compliment.) “This is very fishy” Sirius said darkly.

“We’ll steal it back” James said, ruffling a hand through his hair as they entered the Great Hall. “Easy-peasy.”

“Of course we will.” Sirius slapped him on the back.

The next few minutes were spent strategizing and when Dumbledore began his speech and they quietened down - James’ head was still whirring with ideas. He was barely paying attention until the door to the Great Hall abruptly opened. James jerked in his seat at the loudness of the old doors being forced back so suddenly. In came McGonagall, with the Sorting Hat and an unfamiliar kid in tow.

The boy looked decidedly non-hippy-ish.

“Dammit” cursed Sirius.

Ф

The Great Hall was buzzing with excitement come Monday morning, an anomaly considering it was mid-October. Only a few weeks earlier, everyone had begun to feel the monotony of school again and it had been unbearable.

Trust Binns to have stirred the pot. The doddery old professor had turned up to Breakfast one Tuesday morning in his frilly, white nightgown and had to be informed by the Headmaster himself of his bed-attire.

To Lily’s horror, (unfairly outweighed by her amusement), James Potter and Sirius Black had attended History of Magic in matching skimpy, pink nighties. They had claimed unfair standards between staff and student populace, even getting Remus to quote a section of the ‘Hogwarts Officiated Rulebook’. Which pointed out that if Binns wanted to give them detention for inappropriate attire, he would have to give himself detention as well.

Professor Binns ended up giving them detention for disrupting the class.

Many a girl, and even a few boys had been caught with photographs of the event, much to Lily’s profound bewilderment. She took a House point off every person she found in possession of one.

Not that she wouldn’t indulge in teasing Potter over the images. Frustratingly, he had only seemed pleased when she had come out with “Your arse looks like my great aunt Judy’s in that photo”. Probably because she had even deigned to look at his scrawny backside. It’s not like she could have avoided looking there. Especially having confiscated Gabby Fisher’s close-up shot of it.

But even the excitement of seeing half of the Marauder’s arses clad in pink satin had died down eventually.

And then – this. Lily frowned to herself. She’d been so caught up in the Botrel-Potter (?) case that she had barely spared a thought for the announcement of a new student. Now though, with the arrival of the new kid imminent, she found herself gossiping along with her friends.

Who was he? Why was he attending so abruptly? What would he be like? How would he do classes when he had no magical education?

“Attention students!” Dumbledore’s voice, though light and cheery, still boomed when he addressed the hall. “As you were told last night – today is the day we welcome our new student – Benjamin Ellis. Though his timing is odd, his placement here will be rightful. He is a young wizard, with as much a right to Hogwarts as any of you.” (Low muttering sprung up at the Slytherin table.) “Please make him feel welcome, as I’m sure you will” Dumbledore chirped serenely.

Lily rubbed at the twang in her chest, almost absently, such as she’d grown used to it. She was determined that as a Prefect and a muggleborn herself, she would look out for Benjamin Ellis. She was almost sick with worry thinking of how the Blood Purists would treat him.

It was bad enough that she was Muggleborn, but this new kid had spent fifteen years in the Muggle world and couldn’t perform a single spell. He would be looked down on, even by non-purists.

“He will be commencing with the fifth year students, so fifth years I talk especially to you when I say this.”

The doors to the hall banged open.

"Ah. Just on time" Dumbledore beamed.

The cord snapped straight.

Lily’s eyes followed the invisible stretch of tension from her heart, across the hall, to the doors – to a pair of eyes. Her mouth fell open.

There was a young boy staring back at her.

Chapter Text

Harry couldn’t feel his legs, and yet they dragged on without his permission. The risen dais of the staff table got closer and closer, a line of staring faces blotting his vision. They blurred and twisted, turning back and forth between neighbouring professors as a snaking whisper of voices trailed through the Hall and rose up from all sides. He kept his eyes on the staff table.

“Practically a muggle”.

“Doesn’t belong”.

“Too late”.

The words tangled together, and for the life of him Harry couldn’t understand a single syllable. Because there was a cord in his chest.

Connecting him to his mother.

He could feel panic blurring the edges of his vision. How was he going to survive this ordeal – to pretend and keep his head down – to make it back to the Department of Mysteries? His mother – his mother – was there at the Gryffindor table, fifteen feet away at most, staring at him.

His father was there too. Harry had barely caught a glimpse of the spiky black hair, but he would place James Potter at about five spaces down the bench from his future wife. Harry’s future mother. Were they already dating? No Professor Lupin said seventh year… Were they already in love? Was his mother at all romantically interested in his father?

Harry rubbed his chest despairingly, avoiding the eyes of a pair of whispering Hufflepuff boys as he made his way up between their table and the Ravenclaw one.

He desperately wanted to know everything about his parents. But Merlin. He didn’t want to unravel the fabric of the spacetime continuum and inevitably cause the obliteration of the wizarding and muggle world both. And the galaxy. He didn’t want to destroy that either.

Harry thought through his options again. Either he had travelled through a linear timeline where everything has happened, is happening, will happen… where he cannot screw it up. Or he has travelled through time and dimension and he is in an alternate universe and undoubtedly stuck there.

The first one was more dangerous but more rewarding. His real parents. Not some ‘alternate dimension’ Harry’s parents. Or alternate dimension Harry’s sibling’s parents. But then there was the problem of accidentally erasing his own existence.

The second was more freeing and yet more scary. Freeing for he’d be able to talk to his – or at least inter-dimensional equivalents of his parents – and reveal things without fear of paradoxical repercussions. Scary because if he were to go back to his own time within this universe – it would likely be a to a Ron and Hermione who didn’t know him. A Sirius Black who was Godfather to a different Potter son.

Harry shuddered, wondering which reality was worse. He tried focusing, instead, on putting one foot in front of the other.

McGonagall had reached the dais first and set about placing the stool adjacent to the Headmaster’s chair. Dumbledore was stood, gesturing for hush, long sky coloured robes trailing from his arms. The sun spilled in from the enchanted ceiling, turning his long beard gold.

Harry let his vision tunnel on the sorting stool as McGonagall took her place standing beside it.

He ascended the steps on shaky legs, quite as nervous as his first-time round. But unlike last time, he didn’t have to kick off the ground to hoist himself onto the rather tall stool. He turned and perched on the edge of it without difficulty, finally facing the crowd of students watching him.

There were too many eyes to focus on, so Harry looked to the back of the hall where the great doors stood gleaming, wooden, and dark.

What house. What house. What house.

“The Sorting of Ellis, Benjamin – to be welcomed by his house as one of their own – and by his school as a fellow pupil” Dumbledore boomed. Harry flushed at the pomp of it and wished the ground would swallow him up, stool and all.

McGonagall placed the hat over his head without ceremony. He flinched, expecting it to slip over his head completely, but it stopped just above his brows. His eyes were left to dart around the room as he waited for the Sorting Hat’s verdict.

“Time is an interesting thing isn’t it Ellis?”

As usual the sorting hat’s voice wasn’t so much heard as felt – a voice that was croaky and silken, sharp and warm – all at once. Harry listened, frozen.

“Time plods on steadily for you. For me – time is all at once. You see – I’ve sorted you before. Harry Potter.”

Harry gasped. Beside him McGonagall frowned. He shook his head at her quickly and focused back on the hat.

“You won’t… tell, will you?”

“I know you – like the inside of my hat Potter”, it chuckled, the sound reverberating inside Harry’s head. “I won’t tell. I know why I shouldn’t.”

“You know?”

“Everything.”

Harry shivered.

“Time has ensnared you. It plays tricks with your human mind. But you see Potter – its not a trick. It’s a gift”. If the hat were a man, Harry imagined he would be inspecting his nails. Hiding a mocking smile. Eyes crinkled at the corners.

But the hat wasn’t a man. The hat was a hat. A Sorting Hat.

“Gryffindor!” It roared.

Harry felt such sheer relief that he surely would have staggered if he was standing. The strength of it slumped him through the shoulders and jellied his knees.

Professor McGonagall smiled warmly at Harry. She pulled the hat from his head and with a squeeze of his shoulder she turned him to the Gryffindor table and gave him a gentle push.

His right leg caved in on the first stair, so he brought his left down to the next stair to counter it, firming his stance after the awkward stumble.

Two stairs down, three to go.

The Gryffindor tie glinted red and gold on his chest. There was a familiar splotch on it. McGonagall must have glamoured it to look like the standard black tie of pre-sorting first years. She would be so confident that he would be re-sorted to the same house, Harry thought.

And she was right. Here he was. Walking to the house he belonged in. In Nineteen Seventy-Six. His stomach turned. The cord buzzed as he took the final stairs and he was forced to finally lift his head to search for an empty seat.

There were none. 

*

Lily held her breath with the rest of the hall, eyes glued on the boy her heart-cord led to.

He had deep brown hair and a sun-kissed complexion, freckles spreading across his nose and cheeks. His olive eyes seemed stretched wide and he blinked too rapidly, as if in shock. Lily’s eyes darted around his person, taking in the slouch of his shoulders and the too-thin frame and felt a strange feeling coil in her heart.

‘Hostias Praesidium’, Madame Pomphrey had called it. The mark of a sacrifice borne of the deepest of loves. That was what was welling up inside her, she realised with horror. Love.

For a stranger.

Lily knew her jaw was hanging open. This person. This person was the most important person there could be and the incomprehensible truth of it choked off her windpipe and sheened her eyes with tears.

The boy sat upon the stool with the Sorting Hat on his head. Her boy – her heart skipped a beat. Where were these thoughts coming from? She gripped her butter knife tightly in her right hand, trying to feel the smooth metal of it and nothing else.

Her mind had cleared only marginally when suddenly the hat was calling out “Gryffindor!”

Lily swallowed.

The metal of her knife was growing warm in her fist. She ran a finger over the blunt edge of it and pressed. When she drew her finger away there was an indent in the pad of her forefinger. She stared at the red line. To her right, Don’s left hand was tapping a steady rhythm.

Thud, thud, thud, th-

The tapping stuttered.

Lily looked up sharply as an odd silence fell on the table.

Ellis had reached the Gryffindor table, but he had not taken a seat. People were looking awkwardly right and left, Mary to the left of Lily, cleared her throat. Oh. Lily supposed, since it was already well into the start of term, that people had just naturally spread out to fill the gaps. Everyone was here so why not make yourself comfortable?

There was space. Just not enough space for a person to fit. There were satchels – nestled between friends – or draped leisurely on the bench, lounging legs stretched wide or sprawled out and even a space half-taken by a second year’s ginger tom -cat.

The silence mounted for a few more stiff seconds.

Lily felt her heart sinking. Why was no one moving? Why hadn’t she moved? She opened her mouth –

“You can take my seat!” piped up Henry Cathowalk, a very polite string-bean of a first year.

From there, there was a mad scramble as bags were lifted from the bench and increasingly more offers were given. The poor ginger cat was elbowed off his seat with a yowl as Everton and her fifth-year posse bunched up tightly and giggled at Ellis invitingly.

“Oi Ellis! Sit with us! Are your parents hippies?!” Sirius Black called from down the table.

Lily could see Ellis waver a moment, eyes drawn longingly to their side. His stare swivelled slowly, slowly over to Lily, green eyes apprehensive. When their eyes locked, he seemed to drink in her features, sweat lining his brow and pallor greying.

Lily stared back – entranced. There was something about his face… something so familiar…

Abruptly, Ellis swayed – and toppled.

A figure darted out from the bench that was closest to the Hufflepuff table. It swooped in and caught the falling boy even as Lily was shooting up from the bench with an alarmed cry.

Ellis lay half crumpled in his saviour’s arms, eyes closed and head lolling on his neck.

James Potter tightened his grip on the boy and met Lily’s eyes.

He had the oddest expression on his face.

Chapter Text

“GRYFFINDOR!!”

“Aha! That’s five galleons from you dear old Wormy!” Sirius crowed delightedly at a forlorn Peter. “And a grand ol’ ten galleons from dear, sweet Prongs!” Sirius grinned and held out a leather pouch victoriously.

James deftly tossed the fat, golden coins into the pouch. “Don’t spend it on anything I wouldn’t.” He leant an elbow on the table and smiled as Sirius jangled his coins happily. Allowance from the Black parents hadn’t been generous of late.

“Of course.” Sirius flipped his hair and winked. Peter slid his coins across the table with a sour twist to his mouth. “Cheers Pete.”

“And I’ll collect my winnings now too, thank you” Remus smirked, holding his hand out.

Sirius huffed. “You get one galleon for the lack of long hair, but we don’t know if he has veggie breath from here.”

They all turned to look at the new student who was standing awkwardly without a seat. He was slightly short for a fifth year, and worryingly thin.

“Hey here’s our chance for a whiff boys” Sirius wiggled his brows. “Oi Ellis!” he called down the table. “Sit with us!” There were seats freeing up closer to the boy than where the Marauders were though.

Sirius hiccoughed before he gathered his voice. “Are your parents’ hip-i-pies?!” he hiccoughed again. “Damn it.” He put his hand over his mouth.

James was craning his neck to see down the table – when he was struck by ice cold water. It splashed into his ear and ran down his neck and under the loose collar of his school shirt.

Ever so slowly, he turned to the opposite side of the table where a white-faced Peter was holding an empty glass in his hand. Beside James, Sirius spluttered, having received the full brunt of the attack.

“What was that?” James asked sweetly. He trailed a finger around the rim of his own glass before lifting his gaze to Peter with an eyebrow cocked.

Peter sat there with his empty glass and a dumb look on his face. “W-w-ell.”, he looked to Remus helplessly, but Remus only frowned.

Sirius swiped at his eyes and whipped his sodden hair back with a growl. “What the fuck Peter?”

“Hiccough cure.” Peter looked around at them all. “You know – you need water or – to be surprised.”

“And you thought you would combine the two?” Sirius deadpanned. “How splendid.” Sirius hiccoughed again, and his glare became murderous.

“Yes, consider me well shocked” James gave a mocking bow, hand poised to whip his glass forth and start a good old pre-class water war. A pair of eyes burning into the side of his head stopped him.

Benjamin Ellis was staring at him

Something froze in James’ chest and he became very still. If he were in stag form his ears would be twitching and nose carefully scenting the air to ascertain his opponent’s motives.

Though James couldn’t smell it in human form, distress was marked in the other boy.

Benjamin’s eyes were wide, his mouth parted, and hands fisted into the fabric of his school cloak. He was blinking rapidly, and James could see a worrying sway to his stance. The boy’s eyes roved over James’ face, flickering to his sopping, foul-mouthed company as well before slowly sliding away, complexion greyed.

James could see it happening a mile away.

He shot up from his seat, knocking elbows with Sirius and toppling the water jug onto Mandy Taylor’s lap as he vaulted over the table and out into the aisle. Benjamin’s eyes rolled up into his head as James skidded across the floor, arms outstretched.

He caught the boy mid-faint.

One arm was under his shoulders and the other slung about his waist. The unexpected weight had James keeling slightly, but he soon regained his balance and shifted a hand to support the boy’s head.

James could feel everyone’s eyes on him and he was suddenly very aware of his wand sitting uselessly in his pocket. His wand! James curled over himself and the prone figure in his arms. He was a Wizard with a fully functioning wand – but instead of cushioning charms – he had leapt over a table and several people, to catch the boy.

James refused to let the humiliation take over him. He focused back on the unconscious kid in his arms.

Sweat matted the brown tufts of hair over the boy’s forehead, a sheen of sweat sitting at his temples and across his top lip. James brought a hand up to support the boy’s head. The skin at the base of his neck was too hot. Fever? He stroked the hair away from the boy’s forehead and frowned.

James felt odd. He felt as if a dream had faded away stickily, clinging to his conscience just long enough to taunt him with irretrievable enthral, replaced with the grit and strength of real memories. Like when he had Quidditch practice early. The sudden awakenings dispelled any dreams and by the time he was having an after-practice shower, the regret of not remembering would be washed away along with the sweat and dirt.

James didn’t feel like he could wash this away, this feeling. That he’d forgotten something very, very important.

He brushed at the boy’s forehead again, all watching eyes forgotten and hearing dulled.

There was a risen shape there, like a scar, but even squinting James couldn’t see any visible scar tissue. He felt the same place again and traced at the zig-zag pattern. Freckles met the joints of the line where it bent, like a constellation.

His attention shifted as he became aware of a certain set of eyes on him. James lifted his head slowly as if he were the needle and she were magnetic north.

Lily Evans was unblinkingly taking in the sight before her, expression unreadable. Her attention was always a heady experience for James, but while his stomach swooped familiarly, and his blood ran hotter, he felt strangely focused.

He tore his eyes from Lily’s and gathered the boy up as he stood.

“Potter! Mr. Potter!”

Professor McGonagall was striding down the aisle, wand in one hand and lifting a corner of her robes with the other. She was short of breath and her eyes darted anxiously between James and the boy in his arms.

“Mr. Potter.” She stopped before James. “Poor boy was probably overwhelmed by all the –” her hands fluttered past him “…magic, floating candles and all that. Anyhows, I am more than capable of taking him from here.” She glanced pointedly at her wand.

James tightened his grip on Ellis. “I can carry him Professor. Levitations are rough on the neck. Plus, he’s very light.”

McGonagall squinted at him.

“Your levitation charm may be ‘rough on the neck’ Mr. Potter”, she raised a brow, “but mine are fully adept at offering support for the head and spine, and Mr. Ellis will be entirely comfortable.”

James opened his mouth to retort when the boy stirred in his arms.

Quickly, James set him on the ground, hands under his elbows to support him as Ellis blinked open his eyes –

– and immediately rocketed backwards and into a surprised McGonagall.

“Oof! P – Ellis.” She steadied the unbalanced boy by gripping him at the shoulders. “I think it’s off to the Hospital Wing with you.” She made to steer the boy forwards with little effect.

Ellis dug his heels into the ground and stared at James with saucer-wide eyes. His face was flushed and eyes wet. Were his airways clogged? James took a step forward but stopped when the boy flinched backwards.

“Um” James frowned. He held his hands up placatingly and lifted an eyebrow at Professor McGonagall, eyes making their way back to Ellis even as he spoke to her. “Would you like me to escort Ellis to the Hospital Wing?”

James noticed Ellis’ breath quicken at the suggestion. His eyes kept growing bigger, as if he was trying to take in as much of James as possible, gaze darting all around his face and cataloguing his person.

“That’s very kind of you to offer Mr. Potter”, McGonagall recaptured his attention, “but you have class to be getting to”, she added sternly.

“Ah yes, wouldn’t want to miss – Transfiguration” James smirked at his Professor as she froze halfway through another nod.  

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. “Indeed. In that case I could use you help Mr. Potter” she smiled at him and James felt hope rise in his chest. “Tell the rest of the class I’ll be ten minutes late.”

And with that she was off, steering a near-catatonic Ellis by the shoulders, towards the exit and out of the hall as the rest of the student populace buzzed with excitement.

James gritted his jaw, keenly feeling the unresolved nature of his first meeting with Benjamin Ellis.

A tap on his back, drew James out of his thoughts. Turning around, James was confronted with an irate Mandy Taylor holding a water jug in her hands. Her skirt was already dripping with what seemed like half the contents of it.

Oh.

Crap.

Before James could escape, Mandy swiftly emptied the water jug onto his head. It sloshed unceremoniously over his face and back and chest, wetting his shirt to his skin.

He spat some of it back out onto her face.

With a growl she ran back to the Gryffindor table for another jug of water. While she was at it, James decided that they may as well invite the rest of the hall.

But first – with a flick of his wand and wide arc of his arm – James dumped the contents of all of Hufflepuff’s water supply – right on top of Peter. 

*

At the height of the water war and in the midst of dodging and retaliating, James caught sight of a figure leaving the hall.

She drifted through the deluge of pumpkin juice, sunflower tea and water, seemingly unaware of it as it soaked through her red hair and darkened her robes.

Rather than turning right towards the Transfigurations classroom, she turned left.

Towards the Hospital Wing.

Chapter Text

Madame Pomfrey’s voice was soothingly familiar.

If Harry kept his gaze forward but tilted slightly down – all he could see was her rustling apron, the crisp, white sheets and empty hospital beds.

If he happened to look too far left, an unfamiliar student lay recovering from what looked like a quidditch accident.

If he looked out the windows, the whomping willow sprawled cold and shivering, half the size it usually was and steadily shedding it’s leaves.

It was a narrow pocket of vision where he could pretend all was normal, so he concentrated on Pomfrey’s voice and the feel of her hands kneading his cold ones.

“Here, Ellis. Let’s get some life back into these hands. You’ve suffered a rather nasty panic attack.”

Harry gritted his teeth against the coddling. He’d fainted. It wasn’t a panic attack – it was pathetic. Heat rose in his cheeks all over again at the memory.

“How often do you feel like you did at breakfast Ellis?”

Harry sighed out through his nose and stared at a patch on the opposite wall. It had been hard enough assuring Professor McGonagall that he would be alright, he didn’t need someone else overthinking things.

“Harry.”

Madame Pomfrey paused. Harry couldn’t see her face, he was still looking forwards, but he could tell from his peripheral that her head was tilted.

“Pardon?”

McGonagall wouldn’t be pleased, but Harry was finding himself prematurely exhausted with the subterfuge.

“I prefer to be called Harry” he stated firmly.

Pomfrey shifted beside him. “Middle name?”

Harry repressed a sigh and nodded. “Yeah.”

“I make a habit of addressing my patients by their last names, Ellis.’

Harry closed his eyes and nodded sharply. He jumped when he felt Madame Pomfrey pat his shoulder.

“I’ll make sure to think of you as Harry Ellis, if that’s what you prefer.”

Harry finally looked up at her then. Her smiling face was clear and unlined, a sparkle in her eye that would evolve into a determined shine. Harry swallowed thickly and quirked his lips in a limp half smile.

“Very well then”, Pomfrey nodded to herself. “I’ll escort you to your class, just let me check on Dunvers.” she clacked over to the quidditch-accident kid and rolled out his curtains with a screech. She stepped within the makeshift space and Harry collapsed against his pillows, finally alone. 

“Excuse me?”

Or not. Harry craned his neck around to see who had spoken, but he couldn’t see past Dunvers’ curtains. He could hear Madame Pomfrey stepping out the other side of her patient’s area. He propped himself up on an elbow, alert.

“Madame Pomfrey! How are you?”

“Well. And you?” Madame Pomfrey’s expectant note fell still in the air for a moment.

“Well, thank you!

It was a girl, her cheery tone discordant among the rows of hospital beds.

There was a brief silence as Harry struggled out of the tightly tucked sheets around him and managed to swing his legs round to the side.

“If you are feeling that well, dear, I’m afraid I don’t understand why you are here when you have a class to be getting too.”

There was another pause, and then the girl spoke again, hesitant. “I have a study period next Madame. I thought it might be kind to show the new boy to his class? Is he feeling any better?”

“Well. You have perfect timing, I was just about to take him myself. Right this way.”

Two pairs of footsteps turned to Harry’s bed and began approaching.

Panicking, Harry stood quickly and immediately regretted doing so when his vision darkened, grey and black like a dead tv channel.

He reached blindly with his toes and had placed one foot into his trainers by the time his vision cleared. He was just about to shove his other foot in when Madame Pomfrey and the student rounded Dunvers’ curtains.

The girl had Neville’s face.

Harry blinked.

He was vaguely aware that Pomfrey and the girl were still getting closer, and yet he seemed to have lost the power to move. His mind was on the ‘Spell Damage Ward’. On Lockhart cluelessly, obsessively signing away. On the barking lady covered in fur and the man with the strangling plant.

Neville’s mother, the version with white hair and hollow cheeks proffering empty gum wrappers to her son, faded away and was replaced. The new version was blonde and plum-cheeked, Head Girl badge glistening proudly on her chest.

“Ellis dear? Are you alright?” Madame Pomfrey stalked forwards and clamped her hands down on Harry’s upper arms, peering into his eyes.

Harry had to wrench his gaze away from young Mrs. Longbottom. He looked back at Pomfrey squarely. “I’m fine.” She let go of him with a disapproving cluck, as he gathered his bag from the ground and finally got his remaining shoe on.

“Hello” Mrs Longbottom gave him a little wave. Harry straightened up quickly and swallowed.

“Erm. Hi” Harry said, lifting a jelly-like hand in return. He tried to discreetly wipe the sweat from it on his robes as his arm feel back to his side again.

“Ready for your first magical class?” she chirped as Madame Pomfrey began to usher them both into the hall.

Confused, Harry frowned as the Hospital Wing doors closed behind them. “Err…” He side-eyed Mrs Longbottom. She had Neville’s round face and lopsided smile, framed by a fringe that stopped above her brows. She was looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry, what was that?”

The smile abruptly slipped off her face. “Oh! Forgive me, I forgot that you’re not feeling well. I shouldn’t ask so many questions” she frowned. Before Harry could assure her, face flushed, that he was quite alright thank you – she perked up again with another smile. “I forgot to introduce myself – I’m Alice. This is my last year here.”

“Harry”, he replied without thinking. “Erm. My parents call me that. But you can… call me Ben” he trailed off weakly, wondering how he was going to maintain this long enough to get back home in one piece.

Alice nodded slowly. “Alright Ben. What class am I showing you to?”

Harry rummaged for his schedule just as they reached the end of the hall, pausing in front of a knight in armour.

As he drew it out, four boys approached from the intersecting corridor, muttering lowly and unsubtly gesturing to Harry. Harry studied them unflinchingly as they got closer.

There were three Slytherins and one Ravenclaw, all sporting scornful looks as they breezed by. One stood out – the Ravenclaw.

Harry had seen those cold, blue eyes somewhere before, but he couldn’t place where.

A huff to his right, startled him as his timetable was snatched out of his hands. The boys disappeared around the corner as Alice studied Harry’s timetable.

“Don’t mind them” she spoke, sounding forcibly calm as she traced a finger down his Monday classes. “Although – and it pains me to give them any credence – you probably shouldn’t aggravate them.” Here, she looked at Harry almost sadly. “It’s hard to think of someone you’ve grown up with at Hogwarts as being capable of wishing pain upon their peers. But it’s happened before.”

Alice was gripping his schedule tightly, almost balling it up. Just as it was beginning to look tear at the edges, she seemed to realise what she was doing. With a little yelp she straightened it back out and drew out her wand. “Sorry! You probably don’t even know what I’m talking about.” She began to run her wand over the sheet, smoothing out the wrinkles almost like a Muggle Iron. “Right. You have Herbology in Greenhouse two.”

Harry cleared his throat as they began to make their way to the Entrance Hall. “I… have an idea of what you’re talking about. Professor McGonagall told me about it.” He kept ‘it’ purposefully vague, hoping Alice would tell him something he didn’t know about Death Eater activity in his parent’s time.

“Oh, it’s just awful!” Alice cried. “When I was in third year, well – we knew about the Death Eaters of course – and we were reading all these awful thing in the news – but it didn’t feel real to me until that year.”

“What happened?” Harry pressed.

“There was a group of seventh years. Nasty sort. They were always boasting about joining ‘The Dark Lord’ as they called him – but”, Alice blew out a heavy breath, “we didn’t really take them seriously. They were Hogwarts kids y’know?”

Harry on the other hand, who had never actually pictured Death Eaters as school children, was having a hard time comprehending the opposite. He knew that many had gone to Hogwarts… but – it was hard to make sense of his feelings. It somehow didn’t add up that the place that felt like home to him – full of magic and wonder, could produce anyone capable of dark deeds. He was aware of the paradoxical nature of his thinking.

Voldemort himself had attended, after all.

“But in their last year, end of term – they had a celebration” Alice grimaced as if the word tasted foul in her mouth. “They took five Muggleborns into the Slytherin common room. Tortured them. I won’t go into detail – it’s too awful – but the younger Slytherins who were there, still have nightmares to this day.”

Harry felt cold.

“None of them died, but only one of them continued to go to Hogwarts afterwards. I suspect the other’s parents refused to let them come back. Except Henry Matheson – Henry Matheson was too insane to come back to school.”

Bile rose up in Harry’s throat, and he found he couldn't look at Alice just then. His fingers were trembling as they walked across the Entrance Hall, a few stray students darting about in a rush to get to class.

“I don’t mean to scare you, Ben” Alice said quietly, and Harry was shocked to see she looked close to tears.

“They were all convicted, with lifelong sentences. All except one. A Black. She was underage and claimed she had only stood by. She’s served her sentence at Azkaban, the wizarding prison and was released after six months."

Black? Harry thought grimly that he might know which Black she was referring to. Though it was hard to think of her as anything but ‘Lestrange’.

Alice seemed to notice his dark look. "The important thing is they’re not here anymore. They can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

The doors to Hogwarts were standing wide and welcoming, a fresh breeze crisping the air as they approached.

They stopped on the threshold, pausing to look upon the Forbidden Forest.

Harry looked slightly above and beyond the forest, that had become less mysterious to him over the past years.

Somewhere out there was Bellatrix Lestrange.

And she was being entirely underestimated.

“The school learnt it’s lesson that night. Nothing like that will ever happen again.” Alice turned full to look at Harry. There were still tears shining in her eyes, but she looked determined. “And I really don’t mean to scare you. But I do mean to warn you. Your background makes you a bigger target than the other Muggleborns.”

Harry couldn’t help but secretly relish the idea of being ‘targeted’. He’d faced Death Eaters before, and boys who sauntered about on high horses. An image of Malfoy’s sneering face came to mind.

Nevertheless, he made sure to keep his expression neutral.

“You come straight to me or the Head Boy – Frank, if anyone so much as threatens harm. And if we’re not available there is sixth- and fifth-year Gryffindor prefects you can go to for help. Or any of the prefects. Straight away” she pointed at Harry sternly.

At Harry’s nod, Alice straightened and smiled at him.

“Come on. The Greenhouses are this way. Would you like some gum?”

Harry was once again reminded that Alice was Neville’s mother, Mrs. Longbottom. He’d almost forgot, seeing her so young and spritely.

He was going to decline the gum, but then he remembered Neville, tucking away her wrappers for safekeeping. If Harry got back, maybe he could gift Neville with something Harry craved himself; stories of how his parents really were - back when they were young and happy.

“Yes thanks” Harry said.

Alice smiled.

*

“Alright, you’ve been about as conversational as a wart on a hag. Time to spill. What was all that about?” Sirius trotted alongside James, Remus setting a faster pace ahead of them as they rushed to Greenhouse three.

All throughout Transfiguration Sirius had been pestering James about the incident in the hall.

They’d arrived in class sopping wet, eager for Professor McGonagall to explode with anger at the sight of them – but she hadn’t been there.

That’s when James had remembered the fainting student and how McGonagall had rushed him off to the Hospital Wing. The water fight had almost completely dispelled the memory of it until then.

Apparently so for Sirius too, as he began to question James’ actions with increasing fervour.

James was still struggling to sort it out in his own head.

He’d been so consumed by it that he hadn’t even realised Lily Evans was missing from class until she walked in behind Professor McGonagall twenty minutes late, with a dazed look on her face.

What had they been talking about? For clearly something had happened. Professor McGonagall was solemn and pale while Lily had been obsessively reading a slip of parchment and fiddling with the hem of her skirt, something she always did when she was nervous.

James had tried to look over her shoulder – she’d been seated at the desk in front of him – but had been rewarded with a defensive glare. She’d tucked the parchment away after that, sitting ramrod straight for the rest of class, as if she had been intensely focusing.

But she hadn’t taken any notes.

A sharp pain shot through his foot. “Fuck!” James stumbled in his gait.

Sirius shoved his wand in his pocket, tossing his hair back with a defiant look on his face.

Ahead of them Remus stopped to see what the commotion was. James heard him snort before he turned back around and continued his hurried stride to Herbology.

“What in the bloody heck was that for?” James growled out, rounding on Sirius.

“We need to talk” Sirius crossed his arms. “Or at least you need to. You’ve been pissy all day” he poked James in the chest.

James scowled and rubbed at the sore spot. He and Sirius glared at each other for a few moments before James sighed, rolling his eyes. “What do you want to know?”

Sirius looked him up and down critically, both brows furrowed. “You acted really strange around the new student…”

James looked back at him squarely.

Sirius leaned forward expectantly.

James… honestly didn’t know what to say – which didn’t happen to him often. He scratched behind his ear and looked at the ground, trying to think of a suitable explanation.

“Mate.” Sirius clapped his hands in front of James face. “You were cradling him” Sirius screwed up his face.

James grimaced. “I was holding him. After I caught him”, he explained slowly.

“You had a weird look on you face” Sirius pointed, accusatory. “And you stroked him!”

James spluttered. “I did not stroke him! I noticed a weird freckle pattern on his forehead!” Sirius leant back, eyes wide and brows cocked, a ‘sure you did’ expression on his face. “And what weird look?!”

Sirius looked at James despairingly. “Like- like he was a bloody unicorn or something!”

They stared at each other in mutual horror for a second.

James swallowed. “Look, in all seriousness – I have no idea what’s going on with me. It’s like – there’s something about him – ” but Sirius’ face was becoming more horrified by the word.

“You’re not trying to tell me that – that – ”

James stared back in consternation as tried to follow what on earth Sirius thought he might mean.

“You’re not doing that love at first sight thing again are you? You never told me you were into blokes!” 

Sirius looked James up and down as if he was seeing him for the first time. James gaped back at him, at a sudden loss for words.

“I’m you best friend, James, you should tell me these things.” Sirius looked deeply betrayed.

When James said nothing back, mouth still hanging open, Sirius let out a disgusted laugh and stalked off.

James was left rooted to the spot.

It had all gone too quickly for his brain to catch up and for a few moments his mouth opened and closed of its own accord. He wanted to shout Sirius down, make him wait and actually take the time to just goddamn listen for once in his life – but before he could – someone behind him shouted his name.

“James! Hey James, are you alright?”

James recognised the Head Girl’s voice before he turned, but he wasn’t expecting her to have company.

His heart rate picked up but he steadfastly ignored it.

“Hey Prewett, how’s it going?” James tried to keep a relaxed stance. He sent a vague nod towards Ellis, who was standing several paces behind Alice – where he seemed to have frozen to the spot. “New kid”, he acknowledged, not looking him in the eye.

Prewett gave him a slight frown, before perking up again. “Let me introduce you! Ben, this is James Potter. He’s the Quidditch captain” she smiled, before flailing. “Oh! You probably don’t know what that is – but it’s a sport we play. On brooms. In the air.”

Lord she was persistent James thought, holding back a grimace.

“That’s me” he said when the silence stretched out and ‘Ben’ still said nothing.

Finally, James couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a peek. He was just going to glance quickly but halted when he saw the expression on the kids face.

It was the hall all over again, wide eyes roving all over James, seeming to catalogue every inch of his face.

Ellis was pale, puffs of air blooming and dying too quickly in the cold autumn air.

“And James this is Benjamin Ellis” Prewett gestured with both arms to the boy, eyes darting between them quickly. “But he likes to be called Ben.”

“Harry” the boy suddenly said, voice crackly. James and Alice looked at each other in briefly shared confusion.

“I thought only your parents called you that?” Alice frowned.

The boy, (Ben? Harry?), flushed and pushed the toe of one of his trainers into the dirt. He shrugged, seeming to have run out of words.

“Hey it’s alright!” Alice patted the boy’s shoulder which only made him redder. “You’re starting a new chapter of your life. You can call yourself whatever you like! If I were to go to a new school I’d ask everyone to call me Allie – it’s much prettier than Alice.”

The boy looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. At this point James was rather amused.

“Well it was nice to meet you Benny” he smirked at the boy, who straightened up indignantly.

“Harry.” The correction seemed automatic. James knew there was more to this than met the eye but he decided to analyse that later.

“So, it is Harry that you prefer. The truth has been revealed.” James tried to smirk at the younger boy, but he was afraid it was more of a warm smile than anything else.

Really there was something, chronically wrong with him. James was never like this. He even maintained face better in front of Evans. And that was really saying something.

Prewett looked pleased. “Harry it is then. Why don’t I let James take you the rest of the way? Then you can say that James found you wandering lost in the castle, and you’ll both have an excuse for being late to class” Alice shot James a slightly disapproving look.

“Works for me” James shrugged, trying for nonchalant.

“Cheers” Alice chirped. “It was lovely to meet you Harry.”

“Yes, you too” Harry replied, seemingly genuine. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I’ll see you boys later then” Prewett beamed, and then skipped on her jolly way back to the castle. Or at least it seemed that way to James, who could barely stomach her relentlessly bubbly nature. It reminded him of Evans, and James didn’t like to be reminded of his vulnerabilities. Denial was bliss.

“Come on then Harry.” James shoved his hands in his pockets and motioned Harry over with a tilt of his head. “What Greenhouse are you?”

James could see the boy’s lips moving a few moments before he heard any sound. “Two.”

“Ah it’s just a bit further along.” They trudged forward in silence for several paces before James couldn’t stand it. “So… do you play Quidditch?” James asked –

 – and then wanted to slap himself in the face.

To be fair – asking people about Quidditch was James’ fall back – it was in his blood, for Merlin’s sake. But of course Harry didn’t play Quidditch! What an idiot question. Before James could apologise for the slip-up, Harry perked up beside him.

“I love Quidditch!” 

*

This wasn’t going at all the way Harry had imagined his first proper meeting with his father. His words kept falling limp and meaningless, feeling raspy in his throat on their way out. He wasn’t entirely conscious of what he was saying.

Which is why it took him a few seconds to realise why his Dad had stopped dead in his tracks.

“I love Quidditch!”

Oh no. Harry wanted to slap himself. Quidditch was something he could usually talk about for hours and he’d grasped onto the question like a lifeline – eager to show off what he had in common with his Dad.

“Err I – because – ”, Harry stammered, floundering for an excuse. An image of eleven-year old Hermione swam before his eyes. ‘I learnt it from Hogwarts A History’ she said importantly. “Because I read up – on everything before I came here. And Quidditch seems like it would be really fun” he said lamely, bracing for disbelief.

His Dad was silent. Harry looked over to him and felt a thrill run up his spine when James was looking right back. Harry was never going to get used to this.

His Dad nodded slowly at him, eyes narrowed slightly. “Right. That explains it.” He walked forward further and stopped pointing to where harry knew Greenhouse two was. “This is you kid.”

Harry swallowed. He wasn’t sure he had made the best first impression. His Dad on the other hand was – well – he didn’t seem anything like the sneering, immature boy he had seen in Snape’s memory. Maybe James was over his petty feud with Snape?

Harry was aware that he’d been staring for too long, but his Dad was smiling back at him, even if he was frowning as well.

“Okay then” James snorted softly. “See you around Harry.”

And then he was off. “B-bye” Harry called after him, cringing at his newly developed stutter.

His Dad looked back over his shoulder one more time, wearing an amused smile. He lifted a hand for one last wave and then disappeared around the corner, shaking his head.

Well that could have gone worse, Harry thought. Well no, it couldn’t have gone much worse, but Harry was happy nevertheless.

Heart pounding from the encounter, Harry finally stepped into the Greenhouse.

*

Lily must have read the slip of paper a thousand times. She’d folded it ten different ways, crumpled it, balled it up, flattened it and then crumpled it again.

She could remember signing it and the importance of doing so – but of course she couldn’t remember why.

No one likes when someone says, ‘trust me, you don’t want to know’, because of course you do – until you know – and only then do you believe the person who warned you.

This – was all in the wrong order.

Lily had known something, agreed that it was for the best that she didn’t, and now, well – she was clueless. And that little person saying ‘trust me you don’t want to know’ was herself in the form of her signature in permanent ink.

Lily had the highest faith in her Professors, especially in McGonagall. And it would be silly not to trust herself in the matter. So she kept quiet all day, despite the fact that she was burning with curiosity.

By the end of her last class she’d grown antsy. Her notes were unintelligible, she was exhausted and barely felt like making conversation with friends.

Tomorrow would be better she thought, as she readied for bed. Her curiosity would fade away and soon she would barely be thinking of the confidentiality slip.

Lily didn’t notice the black water at first.

She had her eyes closed when she turned the shower on, blissful heat coursing down the tense line of her back. When she opened them to grab the soap, it was a moment longer before her brain caught up with the sight before her.

There was ink running down her right leg, black plumes spreading through the water at her feet and greying as it swirled down the drain.

There were words on her leg, just above where the hem of her skirt usually sat.

Half of it was smeared and unintelligible and the other was rapidly being lost down the pipes.

“No, no, no!” Lily hurriedly hopped out of the shower, slipping on the tiles slightly as she scrambled to get her towel from the hook on her door.

She patted it carefully above the words, so no stray drops could further distort them, peering at them desperately.

A memory was stirring in the back of her mind. A memory of stubbornness and rule breaking and dipping a finger in her inkwell and tracing it over her thigh as she smiled and nodded back at McGonagall.

Only the third word and half of the second one were left. The rest was a washed-out grey smear. Lily abandoned trying to make sense of the letters preceding the last word, or if it was even letters plural. It just looked like a wonky line.

She focused on the last word. Shaky water lines ran through it but she tried her best.

S d n y ?

No.

Sorry but with one ‘r’?

Not likely, Lily was a competent speller.

Ah one of the lines she’d been focusing on was just another smear. So, no ‘y’.

S d n ?

Or… or..

Son.

Lily traced the word, finger hovering over her thigh.

Yes.

Son.

Lily sat down on the little bench in her stall for a long time after that, wondering just what had she signed away?