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Chapter Text

Flashes of green light connected with red sending shocks of vibration along Harry’s arm as he held onto his spell.  The sounds around him where mixes of unbearable screams and spells shouted at full volume. The air felt thick and he could smell the smoke that he knew was coming from the castle behind him. This was the war he had been training for. Since the age of elven he’d known that he wasn’t a normal kid but a wizard who was destined to defeat Voldemort, the strongest dark wizard of his time. Now he stood pushing every bit of magic through his wand towards the dark wizard hoping that he would be victorious. This monster and his followers had already killed countless innocent people. This war had to come to an end.

Harry’s gripped his hand as it shook from the force required to send back the killing curse Voldemort shot at him seconds ago.

He wouldn’t loose. There were too many counting on him to win. It didn’t mean a thing that he was only a seventeen year old who had far less time than his opponent to hone his magical dueling skills. He would win.

Clenching his jaw tight he willed even more power into his spell. The green and red light of their spells moved along until a large flash disburse sending them both to the ground.

He fought to keep his eyes open as he laid there. Every inch of his body ached, protesting the littlest of movements. His eyelids felt so heavy. All he wanted was to rest; to sleep and never wake up. The last image he saw was Voldemort’s lifeless body next to him. Voldemort, the Dark Lord, the monster that had started this war was finally dead. He had done it. Now it was his turn to die. The sounds, smells, sights of everything around him dimmed into nothingness.

***

Harry awoke to white walls all around him. An unfamiliar face walked into his view. This woman dressed in lime-green robes was checking on something beyond his head; her brown eyes widened to the size of golfballs when she saw him looking at her.  In a rush she left bringing along two more who were clad in the same robes. He knew that he was at St. Mungos, a wizarding hospital.

“We are so thankful that you’ve come back to us Harry Potter. The Wizarding World is in your debt” spoke one of the women, who had her reddish hair pinned up.

He made no sound as the three ran test after test. Each test seemed to bring more joy to the trio’s faces. Oddly he already knew that he was as healthy as he was before the war had broken out. None of the pain had stuck around, though that had to be because of several positions these Healers had given him while unconcious. If he wanted to he could run down the halls at full speed  without an issue. Despite feeling completely healthy he remained in bed as the Healers whispered things to one another and left the room.

There was no reason for him to be feeling this good after everything. He didn’t even know how long he had been here.

No one came to visit him as he laid there looking out the small window that overlooked the courtyard where a few patients were allowed to move about. So many things felt off.

Where was everyone else? Did everyone from the war end up here? What happened to his friends?

Ron and Hermione must’ve been in as bad of shape as he was. The last time he saw them they had gone to defend against a handful of Death Eaters so that he could face Voldemort.

Voldemort was dead. That fact should’ve made him feel relieved, yet he couldn’t help the unsettling feeling that had come over him as he laid in his bed.  He should’ve asked one of the Healers if anyone had come to visit him while he was asleep. There had to be visitors. The Weasleys surely would’ve come, but there was nothing in the room indicating that they had come. No basket of sweets from HoneyDukes or get well cards occupied the small table that was up against the wall. It was possible that the Healers had banned people from visiting or, might’ve took his get well gifts away.  But he had been up for hours now and nothing. If the Healers were keeping out visitors before he was sure that Molly Weasley would’ve marched in the second they had informed that he woke up. He remembered when Arthur Weasley had been attacked by a snake that nearly the whole Weasley family, himself, and few Order members had paid him a visit.

A younger brunette Healer entered the room. “Dinner.”  The Healer waved her wand around allowing a small table to appear over his bed.

As the Healer placed his tray of dinner he spoke “How long have I been here?”

“Three weeks” the Healer smiled. “Your recovery was rather quick.”

“Where are the others?” The Healer’s smile faltered. “Everyone from the war, are they here? Where are they?”

“I am not allowed to give out that information.”

“Please. My friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, are they here?”

The Healer refused to look at his face as she filled up his cup with water.

“What about Remus Lupin,” The Healer still didn’t answer.  “Luna Lovegood,” The Healer looked out the window. “Neville Longbottom,”

“I am not allowed to say” she dusted her hands against her robes.

“I saved the Wizarding World didn’t I?” he snapped in frustration. “I deserve to know where my friends are.”

“You should eat” the Healer said in the tone one would use on a child. “When your done the table and tray will disappear.”

“Please!” he tried again as she started to walk away.

“You’ll feel better when you eat.”

Harry stared at his dinner not really wanting to eat. He wanted to know who else was at St. Mungos. Giving into his body’s need for food he ate quickly.

The glowing light of the sun had long vanished when Harry chanced to get out of bed. Silently he swung his legs over the bed’s edge. Curiously there were no aches at all.  His feet met the ground without difficulty. He couldn’t understand why her felt so normal. Even when he was treated by Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts he didn’t feel this well right away.

Harry shook the reason from his mind. As long as he was able to sneak out of bed he was going to find out where his friends were.

A blurred figure passed by the small fogged glass of his door.  For a moment hw froze with gus ear pressed up to the door listening for sounds of footsteps  but there was none. Cautiously he opened the door, catching the sight of what looked like black robes slipping around the  corner down the hall. Harry didn’t know what it was that compelled him to follow after it. It didn’t seem like one of the Healers.

The figure slid silently  over the ground while in comparison his bare feet clamped loudly against the floor. The whole hall was so quiet as if he were the only person around, but that couldn’t be. Having an entire hall to himself would be too much, even if he were a celebrity.

Above the  candlelight flickered before it went out. Whoever this figure was weren’t bothered by the sudden loss of decent light as it continued down the hall. Harry continued to follow.

The closer he got the colder it felt, but he was unsure if it was because he were roaming around without shoes. If he had his wand he would be gripping it tightly.  Something was not right.

The figure dipped into a room. On his tiptoes he tried to look through the room’s fogged glass, though all he could make out was one  black and one other smudge. There was someone else in that room. The blurred figure appeared to be bending over whoever it was in the hospital bed.  A sinking feeling in his gut urged him into the room. The temperature of the room was so cold his teeth began to chatter.

“Who are you?”

The figure didn’t look at him.

As it rose the dark robes fluttered around resembling a dementor. This wasn’t a dementor. This thing didn’t envolk the feeling of happiness draining from him that the mythical creatures did whenever he had been remotely close to them.

“Why are you here?” he asked the figure’s turned back.

In the corner of his eye he caught the reflection of the far window. Only his own reflection was in the glass the figure cast nothing.

“What are you?”

His bravery was wavering. If this mysterious figure decided to attack he didn’t have a wand to defend himself.

The figure turned its head slightly.  Doing the only thing he could think of in this situation Harry readied his fists.

The figure shook his head then it was gone.

Keeping his hands up just incase the figure would return he moved closer to the bed.

“Are you okay?”

It was too dark to make out the details of the person’s face.  The person in bed didn’t stir.

“Hello?” Hesitantly he touched the person’s hand. It was cold as ice. The shadowed figure must’ve done something. Chancing interrupting this stranger’s sleep he ripped the curtains on the window open. With the room lit  by the moon he immediately recognized who it was.

“Neville” he sighed. At least he didn’t have to face any yelling. “Sorry for waking you.” Neville didn’t move or open his eyes. “I thought I saw...Neville?” He tapped Neville’s shoulder, but Neville didn’t move.

Foggly remembered that Neville was a bit of a heavy sleeper back at school so he tapped harder. “Are the others here too? Neville?” He tapped Neville again and again with no response.

Frightened he fled the room. Running at full speed he tried to look for someone anyone who could help.

“Mr Potter!”  The brunette Healer ,who had gave him dinner gasped. “You shouldn’t be-”

“No time!” he interrupted pulling at the Healer’s hand. “Come please.” He ran back down the hall to Neville’s room.

“Mr. Potter you shouldn’t be disturbing the other patients this late” the Healer huffed as she turned on the lights.

In the clearer light it really did look like Neville was just sleeping, but his hands were still so cold.

“Please help him.”

The Healer stepped into the room, walking briskly over to Neville as if to hurry up the intrusion.  She placed a hand onto Neville’s neck then took out her wand. In circular motions she waved her wand.

“There was someone here” he tried to explain but the Healer was ignoring him as she cast another set of spells.

“Mr. Potter,” the Healer spoke softly. “I’m sorry he’s passed on. There’s nothing I can do.”

“There was someone here,” he tried to speak up again.

“His heart finally gave out.” The Healer looked  at Neville. “He was fighting the effects of a serious curse for days. Nothing we gave him was responding well at all.” She laid a white cloth over Neville’s face.

The ground felt as if it were falling out from under him. Neville was dead. The ache in his chest wanted to come out but stuck somewhere just below his chin.

“He went peacefully” the Healer assured in a calm voice.

He didn’t want to hear it. Peaceful or not Neville was dead. That figure killed Neville he was certain of it.

“Mr. Potter-”

“wh-What’s going to happen to him?”

The Healer looked  like she was having a hard time coming up with what to say. “You should go back to bed Mr. Potter and let me take care of this.”

“I won’t leave until I know what will happen to him.” He continued to look at Neville’s covered face. “He is my friend.”

“I’ll have to take him to the morgue. Then he’ll be laid to rest in his family plot.”

“You have to call his grandmother.”

“Mr. Longbottom’s  grandmother passed away a week ago.”

This couldn’t be happening.

“Mr. Potter please return to your room.”

“I can’t leave him.” He gripped the edge of Neville’s bed. “I won’t leave him alone.”

“I understand.” The Healer conjured two chairs.

As he sat there waiting for any sign that the Healer had misdiagnosed Neville, two thoughts occupied his mind This couldn’t be happening. This had to be a dream.

Chapter Text

The long night sitting by Neville’s body wasn’t a dream. Nor was the following days where the Healer, who he learned was named Heather, helped him finalize the funeral arrangements. It was during that time that he had learned of the others who had passed during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry stared at the tombstone in front of him bearing Neville’s name. He was the only one around to say his goodbyes. He’d been saying goodbyes ever since that night, now it was permanent. Now he no longer could see his friend's face. No longer could he pretend that he’d wake up and Neville would be there.

If it weren’t for his invisibility cloak the sparse passerbys would gawk at him for not moving for the past hour. Today wasn’t a day he was willing to deal with anyone. Getting harassed by people who thought he was this great savior of the Wizarding World was the last thing he wanted right now.

“Goodbye Neville” he whispered for the tenth time that afternoon.

Each time he said it it got harder and harder to believe. There should’ve been more people here. There should’ve been a sharing of happy memories of their school days together. Neville deserved more than his invisible whispers. Neville  didn’t deserve to die.

With great difficulty he willed himself to at last leave Neville’s side. Not daring to look back he walked among the other tombstones, following the small path to where Heather had said a monument dedicated to those who had died in the war had been built.

A large slate stood out amongst the tombstones. Its marble surface appeared blank until he stepped closer. In gold letters revealed the names of those who had lost their lives on the battlefield. There were so many names. Names of classmates and professors.

Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape...

The more names he read the lower his heart sank. His eyes fought tears so that he could read on.

Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley

Those two names stood out the most amongst the sea of gold lettering. He hadn’t known how they died. His two closest friends in the world had died all because of him. It was all his fault. So many times he told them not to get caught up in the war, but they always refused, saying that they wouldn’t let him face it alone. It was his fault. If he only he hadn’t let them get involved. If only he had done something, anything different.

He read the names again. Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley

They had gone through everything. All the stupid fights, all the late nights crammed under his invisibility cloak sneaking out of their dorms, all the groans shared over exams and homework...it was gone now. There was nothing left of his best friends but memories. He hadn’t been able to say goodbye to them.

Unable to hold it in he screamed and screamed until his throat ached. Screamed until no more sound could leave his mouth without it feeling like fine needles jabbing at his vocal cord. Still that wasn’t enough. Tears splattered onto the ground.

His whole world had crumbled in this singular moment. Everyone he’d ever cared about, everyone he’d ever loved was dead. So many. So many lives were reduced to this; a name on a slate.

“It should’ve been me” he sobbed, his aching voice trembling. “None of you deserved this.”

Forcefully he slammed his fist into the rocky ground again and again. His knuckles raw and bleeding continued to crash into the hard ground. What did it matter if he completely destroyed his own hands. He was alone. Now he had no one to run to, no one to help get him through this overwhelming grief. Had he known that he would’ve ended up like this after facing Voldemort he’d rather have died. He wasn’t naive to think that no one would’ve died in war, but this was far too much. Never in a million years did he think he would lose everyone.

Through the tears in his eyes he looked at the names again.

No one was left. Not a single member of the Weasley family, not the Order members. Not even Draco Malfoy, who had surprised everyone by fighting on the light side, had survived. No one he’d come to care about had been spared.

“Why?”

Under the protection of his invisibility cloak he stared at the slate for hours hoarsely sobbing. Eventually, there wasn’t any more tears to shed. Still he remained staring at the names trying to commit each one to memory. These were the names of those he couldn't save. He wondered if he had saved anyone at all.

Twilight set the sky of hues of dark purples and reds but it wasn’t the fading light that made him at last stir from his spot.

Something passed him setting a frigid chill along his spine. Clasping his hands over his mouth he turned slowly to look at what was behind him. A darkened figure, the same one he saw that night Neville died, stood there looking at the slate. If this thing was a Dementor it would be able to see him under the cloak, but the figure never looked at him. The figure looked on at the slate moving towards it without uttering a sound.

Harry didn’t know why the figure had come. A thought occurred to him that maybe it had come to gloat, to laugh at having Neville’s name join the list of the deceased.

Rage boiled up as he clutched the Elder wand in his hand. He couldn’t avenge everyone he lost but he could avenge Neville. This thing would be punished for even showing up.

Fast as humanly possible he revealed himself and with his tired voice screeched “Petrificus Totalus”.

The figure didn’t flinch or freeze motionless as this spell should’ve forced the figure to do so. Anger doubled over. This thing killed Neville. Killed the last of his friends. This thing had to be punished. This thing deserved to die.

“Crucio!” His throat felt like knives as he yelled the spell.

The figure shook its head and turned away.

“No! You don’t get to go! Come back and face me!”

It was too late, the figure had once again disappeared in front of his eyes.

***

“Thank you for meeting with me” the new Minister of Magic greeted as Harry dragged his feet inside the office.

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t understand why he was here in the first place, but the Minister had personally sent an escort to bring him in.

If only he had hidden under his invisibility cloak. If only he hadn’t answered his door. What was he even expecting when someone had come to knock? He had no friends left to pay him a visit and the owner of the Leaky Cauldron seldom let anyone bother him in his room.

It had only been two weeks since he laid Neville to rest. Fourteen days since he saw that dark figure in the graveyard.

At night he would still dream of the wretched thing taunting him. No matter how many times he returned to the graveyard the figure wouldn’t show itself. It was torture returning again and again without finding the one thing that could help ease the guilt and grief that suffocated him each time he dared to read the gold-lettered names. Revenge rested on the edge of his mind at all waking moment; it was the only thing that got him up in the morning.

“Come, there are several individuals that I must introduce you to” the Minister cheerfully exclaimed rising from their chair to guide him through the hall. “They’ve all heard so much about you...”

He chose not to listen. The tone this new Minister had reminded him far too much of how his Aunt Marge talked about her prized dogs. He wasn’t something that was shown off.

He studied this new Minister, how they all but led with a skip in their step and appeared to have never stepped foot outside of the Ministry. This person was without a doubt one of those people who had done nothing more than sitting on their arse during the war and was rewarded for such inaction. It made him sick.  Although he barely knew this person Harry had decided that he hated them and the Aurors that had brought him here.

In the days since Neville’s funeral, he constantly shifted from blaming himself for everyone’s death to blaming the Ministry for all their inaction. If the Ministry had listened to Dumbledore fewer lives would’ve been lost. He would’ve had at least one other person who understood what the war was like if-

“Here we are” the Minister smiled opening a large door.

Attempting to keep himself from openly acting hostile he followed the Minister in.

Within the room a handful of wizards and witches sat around an enlarged table. There were twenty-eight seats on this table, a few were left empty. A few older witches peered from their seats at him.

“Lords and Ladies I’m proud to introduce Harry Potter.”

At the mention of his name, many rushed from their seats towards him. Each were scrambling to get to him first. Hands were thrust out in anticipation for his offered shake.  Their thanks and offers for tea were not in the least genuine. These people only cared about who they thought he was, the savior of the Wizarding World. He never thought of himself as a savior before and he definitely didn’t think of himself that way now. He wanted to leave this place. Why was he even here?

Harry could feel the numbing effect of his morning potions begin to wear off. It was the only thing that was making all of this somewhat okay. Just stepping into the Ministry brought back memories of Arthur Weasley and Dumbledore...

He couldn’t let himself come apart at the seams right here. For a little longer he could hold out. Just long enough to hear what the Minister wanted then return to take the potions the Healer Heather had prescribed.

“Minister why am I here?” he asked fighting to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Of course,” the Minister clasped their hands. “These are the Lords and Ladies representing the Sacred Twenty-eight.” Each member sat up straighter in their chairs. “ For centuries there has been a position within government regarding one representative of the Pureblood families.”

“I am not a Pureblood” he mumbled.

The Minister went on. “Now that you are of age you hold entitlement to three seats.”

“Three?”

An elder witch with  ruby-red glasses dangling off her nose nodded before saying “You are the sole living descendant of the Potter family, that’s one seat.” She adjusted her glasses as she looked at some parchment. “The second seat is of the Black’s line as was stated in Sirius Black’s will.” It took so much not to tear up at his godfather’s name. He had to keep it together. “The third is Malfoy’s seat.”

“Malfoy?” he asked unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

“All occupants of the Malfoy line are no more.” The woman’s matter of fact tone put a bad taste in his mouth. He might’ve not cared that much for the Malfoys but he wouldn’t just write off the family’s death in such a heartless manner. They were still people, people who at the end had gone against Voldemort.

Biting his tongue he continued to listen. “As by law the previous line of family shall appoint a representative. Malfoys are connected to the Black family, which you are the current representative. Thus you are given three seats on our table. Three seats. Three votes. In any other circumstances such a gift of power would be corrupting although,” she looked down the edge of her nose at him. “I speak for the table that having Harry Potter in such position will not be an issue at all.”

Harry knew he should say something at the end of the elderly woman’s recount but he was confused and furious over all this. He didn’t understand what these people were about or why it even mattered if he took up these seats. Three seats. Three votes for what?

“Not to worry these wonderful people will help guide you” chimed the Minister. “And I’ll be of assistance as well.”

Glancing at the members of the table he realized that they all had that same look on their face. It was the same look when Uncle Vernon had to pretend that things were fine between them whenever the neighbors might’ve seen them together. It was the same glare of greed that his uncle had while looking at the prospects of using him until he was no longer of use. These people, this whole welcome to the lordship thing was all cock-and-bull.

He could practically hear their thoughts of how to sway him to use his votes how they pleased. The ministry was always corrupted. This was corruption staring him straight in the face. He couldn't even think of a way to make use of this situation. If Hermione was here she would know...Hermione would’ve done amazingly on turning this whole Pureblood, Sacred Twenty-eight shite on its head. He would’ve loved to see her tear down the establishment piece by piece, but Hermione wasn’t here anymore. She couldn’t take up one of his seats...

“No” he muttered under his breath fighting back the knot in his throat.

“What was that Harry Potter?”

Openly glaring at the Minster he spoke clearer “I refuse to be a part of this.”

The Minister laughed. “No reason to be overwhelmed I assure you-”

“No. I will not be any of your puppet” he gritted his teeth.

“Mr. Potter!” gasped one of the wizards.

“You have no right-” exclaimed another.

“Three seats-” reminded yet another.

“You can take the seats and shove it for all I care” he spat.

“Watch your tongue” reprimanded the witch with ruby glasses.

“Forgive him. He is just overwhelmed I'm sure Mr. Potter just need time to think” placated the Minister.

Seeing this Minister of Magic with less of a spine than Fudge ever had didn’t help his growing temper. Harry refused to be used like their new Minister puppet.

“I am thinking clearly” he spat.

“Just because he is a war hero-” the witch with ruby glasses chastised.

“What did you lot do during the war? Did you do anything?” he glared from the new Minster, who was shaking slightly, to the others. “Tell me what have any of you done besides sitting around on your arse discussing who is more superior?”

The whole group was rising to their feet their faces a mix of violet and bright red.

“Do not speak to us as though you know everything, Harry Potter. You are still nothing more than a child in our eyes” hissed a wizard with a long silvery beard.

The Minister gave several small nods clearly trying again to appease the group.

“Then you are not in need of a child’s input. Your laws have not benefited anyone other than within your own Pureblood line. Your corrupted laws and ideas helped shape the foundation for the war I fought in.” Harry raised his voice more and more as he spoke. “A war that was not at all necessary. A war that so many people lost their lives.” Hot angry tears fell down his face.

“We are not as heartless as you make us out to be” protested a witch in maroon robes. “We funded the commemorative slate with the names of those who lost their lives.”

“Well that makes all the other things right doesn’t it” he sneered.

“Now, now...Harry Potter... Things have gotten on the wrong foot...” the Minister worriedly looked across the room, their hands wringing a handkerchief. “O-Order of Merlin. Yes, Order of Merlin First Class it was going to be presented to you right after the war but we thought to give you time to recover.”

His body began to shake with rage. “Do you think I can be bribed with a stupid medal?”

“Please Mr. Potter reconsider this negative view of the fine work these individuals have done.” the Minister nervously patted their face with the handkerchief. “They funded the commemorative slate just they’ve said.  Shouldn’t we be working together?”

Harry clenched his fists so tight that if his nails were longer they would’ve drawn blood.

He wasn’t going to work with these people. He wasn’t going to be manipulated by anyone anymore. He wasn’t going stay another second in this place and he didn’t care what came out of his outbursts. “I said I refused.”

With a crack he apparated out of the Ministry.

Chapter Text

A flash from the many cameras blinded Harry as he tried to make his way through the swarm of reporters.

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter! What will you do now that You-Know-Who is gone?”

He had enough of this. He had come into Diagon Alley to take out all his funds from Gringotts bank not to be bombarded.

“Mr. Potter, what truly happened at the Battle of Hogwarts? Eyewitness were limited to the drastic loss.”

There was no way he could stay in Europe anymore.

“Mr. Potter is it true that you rejected your titles to three Lordships?”

“Mr. Potter what happened in the Ministry?”

Rumors of the Ministry incident had already made rounds in no small part due to the group of Purebloods he had insulted. The only reason why he wasn’t sent into Azkaban was because the new Minister was a spineless git who wouldn’t dare be the one who arrested the famous Harry Potter .

“Mr. Potter-”

He needed to go somewhere far away. Go somewhere there was no memories of the ones he lost. Somewhere it didn’t hurt so much to wake up day after day. He needed a place without reporters, onlookers, and incapable Ministry members trying to pull his strings.

Finally making it to Gringotts he turned to face the crowd of reporters. “Excuse me I have business to attend to.” He slammed the great big front door of Gringotts in the reporter’s faces.

He didn’t care how the reporters would interpret his actions. He had every right to be rude since they hadn't once let up on the endless questioning. Dealing with them put him in a rightful bad mood even before the war.  They weren’t just some annoying group that he could brush aside anymore. Truly he loathed these reporters. Deeply loathed how they went about trying to ruin his already miserable life. This sort of loathing had been growing ever since he woke up after the Battle of Hogwarts. Since burying the last reminder of care and love in his life he had notice that in the times he weren’t completely numb or sobbing he was filled with red hot hate. It was as if all the love he had ever received from his friends, his supportive professors, and makeshift family had been replaced to accompany hatred of the reporters, the gossipers he overheard while laying in his room, everyone who worked in the Ministry, even the innocent people who thanked him for saving their world. The longer he stayed the worse this was going to get, he knew that for a fact.

The goblins paid him no mind as he strode over to  an available teller. He wanted to get through with all of this as quick as possible.

“Mr. Potter.” The goblin looked at him with its darkened eyes.

“I came for a withdrawal.”

The goblin scrunched its face then nodded. “ Right this way.”

The goblin  led him into  the strange contraption that navigated the twisted path to the vaults underground. Stepping inside he could recall the first time he had rode in one of these. He had been eleven and totally mesmerized with the way the cart zipped and whooshed like a roller coaster he’d once seen on the T.V. Hagrid had been with him that time.

The great half giant had been  the one to show him the way around Diagon Alley. Hagrid had led him to a life free from his horrible aunt and uncle. As clear as a photograph he could recall the first time he saw Hagrid bursting through the hideout in the middle of the sea that his uncle had held them up to avoid Harry receiving the mysterious letter that turned out to be an invitation to a wizarding school. The bright pink iced cake with the misspelled Happe Birthday Harry  had been the first time he ever got a cake. Thinking of Hagrid added more weight in his limbs.

“Come on,” complained the goblin poking him in the ribs with his sharp nailed finger “time is money.”

He blinked not realizing that they had already gotten to his vault.

“Key” The goblin instructed holding out it’s hand.

The goblin made quick work of opening his vault and stood aside to let him in.

When he’d first seen this vault filled with wizard currency that his parents had left for him he thought he had to be dreaming. For a lonely beaten kid who had only received hand me downs from his much larger cousin Dudley and been fed table scraps for eleven years, staring at a heap of gold  was a promise of having his wishes come true. Now he knew that all the money in the universe wasn’t worth the things he’d faced. Money couldn’t bring back those he lost. Money couldn’t stop the nightmares or the overwhelming guilt that momentarily eased when he took potions to numb himself of all that floated around in his head. More than a few times he thought it would’ve been better if he had stayed in Privet Drive locked up in his cupboard under the stairs. If only he had never known that he was capable of magic. If only uncle Vernon was successful at keeping the unusual out of number 4 Privet Drive then he wouldn’t have known the joys of Hogwarts or having friends.  Not knowing Ron or Hermione would’ve been unthinkable before the war.

Opening up his pouch Harry began to move all of the vaults’ contents into it. Murmured comments from the goblin didn’t let up from the moment they left his vault all the way until they made it back to the main floor of the bank. It didn’t matter what the goblin thought of his actions. It didn’t matter what anyone thought.

Harry didn’t know where he was going with his family’s riches. All he knew was that he had wanted to leave Diagon Alley right away. It was a wonder that he hadn’t splinched himself from apparating without thought. Now he was aimlessly walking.  Aside from his money he had a bag filled with his invisibility cloak, a few of his numbing potions and the Elder wand. This was all he decided he needed to start again elsewhere.

It was the cobbled pavement that let him recognize where his feet had taken him. This path led to the slate in the graveyard. Coming back here hurt still, he really couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Not saying a final goodbye would feel wrong.  Following the path he came to the slate filled with the golden names.

“I need to leave.” His fingers ran over the names. This would be the last time he talked to them. “Dumbledore thank you for having faith in me... Professor McGonagall, thank you for letting me be Gryffindor’s Seeker and not giving me as much detentions as I deserved...Hagrid, thank you for getting me out of Privet Drive....Snape, thank you for protecting me even when I didn’t know you were. Lupin, Tonks, Mad-Eye, thank you for scaring the Dursleys so they wouldn’t try throw me in a cupboard again after Sirius died. Sirius, I wish we had more time together. I wanted nothing more than to get to know you better.” He dabbed his tear filled eyes with the back of his sleeve. There wasn't a way that he could ever tell them everything that he was grateful for. “Fred, George, you made each year so much better with your jokes and pranks. Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, I will always be thankful for how you brought me into your family. I am glad to have been an honorable Weasley...Ron, Hermione,thank you for always sticking with me. You were the best friends a guy could ask for.” His words choked as he ran his hands over all the other names, far too many for him to properly say goodbye to.

“Thank you all for fighting so hard.” He tried to swallow the sob wedged in his throat. “I’m sorry everyone. I’m sorry I couldn’t have saved you. I failed you all...Defeating Voldemort means nothing without having you here. You trusted me, you put faith in me to stop him and now...now none of you are here. I’m sorry....I won’t forget your sacrifices. I owe so much to each one of you.”

As Harry turned to leave a cold feeling rush up his spine. The familiar sensation made him turn back to the slate, wand in his grip.

The shadowed figure had returned. Harry couldn’t think it more perfect to leave Europe after exacting his revenge on the thing. A curse laid on the tip of his tongue,but it stilled in his mouth as he watched the figure bring a hand to the slate. Its fingers glided over the names just as he had done.

The figure’s mannerisms gave off a sense of grief, but that didn’t make any sense. This figure had killed Neville hadn’t it? Or was it actually some sort of ghost? No that couldn’t be right either. This entity was solid. Maybe at one point it could’ve been human. And it had killed Neville. He was sure of what he saw that night. 

In a shaky voice he asked “What do you want?”

The figure’s hand hovered above one of the names before turning away.

“Stop!”

The entity stopped suddenly as if its feet were trapped. Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it. The figure hadn’t listened to him before. Daringly he gave another command. “Come back here.”

The figure moved its shoulders roughly as though fighting against invisible strings.

“Please come back” he tried a little softer.

The figure slid across the ground, not disturbing a single  loose pebble or blade of grass as it came closer.

“Tell me what are you?”

You know what I am.

The words weren’t spoken, rather it echoed in his head. The voice sounded muffled and warped. It was close to being a human voice, shaped and twisted so that it would be unrecognizable. He knew of no way to make someone sound like this.

“I don’t know who you are.”

The figure pointed to the Elder wand in his hand then to his bag where his invisibility cloak laid. Then the figure opened up its closed fist revealing the resurrection stone he had lost in the final battle against Voldemort.

He looked at the faceless figure then to the stone.

“You are,” he gulped. “Are you death?”

Yes.

The single word rang stronger in his mind. Fear spread through him one second and then the next a realization hit him. He still possessed two of the the three Deathly Hallows, items that controlled Death. He was Death’s master. That had to be why he could command the figure in front of him.

“Bring them back” he commanded pointing to the slate. “Bring everyone back!”

No.

“Bring them back!” he insisted. “They didn’t deserve to die.”

I can not.

“I control you don’t I? Do what I say! Bring them back!”

Can not.

“Then....” He looked from the slate to Death. “Then take me” he cried.

No.

“If you won’t do it,” he pressed the end of his wand to his own temple. “I will.”

Don’t.

The voice almost sounded sad, but that couldn’t be. Why would Death be sad over him? Death didn’t care. If Death did care all the people he loved wouldn’t be gone.

“I was supposed to die anyways wasn’t I?” he chuckled darkly. “Everyone else is dead. I only had to live long enough to defeat Voldemort. I DID THAT." He shouted as if it were Death's fault that he'd been left behind. No it was Death's fault.  "I’m not needed anymore. There’s nothing left for me.” He pressed his wand firmly against his head.

Death watched unmoving, yet Harry could feel sadness and pain seeping from the figure.

“Avada Kedavra” As the green flash erupted from his wand Death took a step forward, setting time to freeze. With ease Death captured the spell in its hand.

“Why?” he asked looking at the darkened face with tears streaming down his face.

The deadly curse was now nothing but a glimmering light in Death’s hand.  Death looked at it, its shoulders hunched, head dropped.

Harry wondered if Death could feel emotions.  Could Death cry? Was Death crying over his actions? If it was why?

Curling its hand Death shattered the  curse, its light disbursing into tiny flecks around them. It almost looked beautiful.

“Why?” he asked again stunned.

Death shook its head slowly.

What amazement he had was swept away by the cold chill up his spine as Death came even closer. Even with them barely a foot from one another he couldn’t make out Death’s face or any distinguishable features. Looking at Death wasn’t the same as looking at a Dementor. Looking at a Dementor had filled him with unbearable sorrow. Looking at Death’s face  was more like staring into an unknown dark room.

Death extended its hand.

“You won’t kill me so what do you want?”

Death was silent.

“Answer me!” he screamed. “Tell me why they all died and I didn’t! TELL ME! Tell me why good people die! Why do you take them away?”

He slapped Death’s hand. What he thought would feel like passing through a ghost was actually solid. The confirmation of Death having an actual physical form urged him to hit Death with his closed fist.  “Give them back!” He slammed his fists into Death’s chest. He didn’t care what would happen to him for doing this. Death didn’t make a move, it just stood there taking the hits. Over and over he pounded against Death until he grew exhausted of it.

Come said Death offering a hand once more.

“No. I’m the Master of Death aren’t I?” his tired voice shook with rage. “I control you. There must be a way you-”

Not I.

“Not you?”

Not I Death repeated sounding as strained as he felt.

“Could I? Could I save them?”

Death nodded.

“Show me how to save them.”

Come.

Scrunching his eyes closed he took Death’s hand expecting to feel the coldness wash over him like a blanket of ice just like when he nearly received the Dementor’s Kiss. But what he felt wasn’t bone chilling cold or scorching hot. There wasn’t even a sense that anything was wrong. A sense of  calmness begged him to open his eyes. They were no longer in the graveyard but a bright void. Death’s dark robes stood out against the bright background.

“I’ve been here before haven’t I?”

Without answering Death motioned him to follow.

Past the blinding light was a large hall with walls that showed images like tiny televisions all on different channels. His step faltered when he saw the faces of his parents in one of the many tiny screens.

“Mum. Dad.” He pressed a hand to the small image causing it to filter to another moment. He watched his mother and father holding the hands of a younger version of himself.  Pressing it again showed his mother dressed in a yellow sundress with her hands caressing her rounded stomach as his father smiled up at her.

Come spoke Death.

He wanted to remain there watching the brief moments of his parent’s life flash by. This was better than any scrapbook or Pensive memory he had of them. There was something about it that felt out of place.

“Please-”

Come. Death’s voice echoed firmly in his mind.

“You’ll tell me how to save everyone if I do?”

Yes.

Harry looked to the image that now showed his mother pushing a slice of cake into his father’s face. Death wouldn’t let him stay here.  If he wanted to save the people he loved he couldn’t stay watching the lives of his parents he never knew. “Bye mum. Bye dad.”

Keeping his eyes straight ahead to study Death’s robes, which were weren’t black but a midnight blue, so that he wouldn’t see anymore glimpses of people he once knew he followed. When he was able to make out the patterns in its robes Death came to a stop.

One life. Death’s voice vibrated in his mind. You can save only one life.

Looking around he was becoming immensely overwhelmed at all the tiny images that represented a person’s life. How was he suppose to choose just one? How could he know which life would fix things?  “I can’t choose.”

He thought about every person who could've made a difference to the war.

One life.

Harry found the moving image of Dumbledore's life.

Dumbledore might’ve been able to do something about the war if he had lived.  

He glanced at others that had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. McGonagall? Snape? Made-Eye? Each choice he looked at didn't seem right.

One life Death reminded.

No matter how hard or for how long he thought he wouldn’t know whose life to save.  Which life could spare so many if that person had lived?

“Show me.” He turned to look at Death’s shrouded face. “Show me whose life I need to save so that everyone I ever cared about would survive the war.”

Death swayed a little. Harry couldn't tell  from sight, but it felt like Death was looking at him with curiosity. Had Death not thought that he would ask it to show him who to save?

“You said that I could save everyone” he pointed out with all of his Gryffindor bravery. “You know who I need to save. Show me.”

Death began walking further down the hall. Harry wanted to yell at Death for running away, however Death wasn’t running it was leading him somewhere. Together they walked and walked and walked on this never ending hallway. Harry recognized less and less faces as they strolled down the hall. At one point he didn’t know how long they had walked.

A life for a life.

Death reached to pluck an image from the wall that looked like a tattered old Polaroid. There was a man in the picture that he didn’t recognize at all. The man had a stern face and wore a business suit that was far more neat and expensive then the suits uncle Vernon wore for important business meetings.  His slicked back dark hair was cut short. A beauty mark sat just below his left cheek.

“I don’t understand.” He looked to Death. “Who is this man?”

Death motioned for him to turn the image over. A name in dark ink seeped through the back reminding him of the diary of Tom Riddle he found in his second year of school.

“Percival Graves?” Reading the name did nothing to help him understand.

Turning the image over again it no longer just showed the man at his desk with papers. Instead it showed the stern man chained up somewhere dark. Large welts and deep gashes laid all over Percival Graves’ body. Another man came into the picture with white hair and an evil smirk. The second man twisted his wand violently in the space between them causing silent screams to erupt from the chained up man.

Not wanting to see someone tortured he turned his gaze to Death again.

“Is this the life I need to save?”

Death nodded.

“I save Percival Graves and my friends,” he choked a little “th-they’ll live?”

Yes.

“I’ll do it. How do I save him?”

Death took his hands waving it over the picture. It lit up in a orange glow.

Good Luck.

Then he was falling forward into the bright light.

Chapter Text

The bright orange light engulfed him, a loud blaring sound followed. Harry shielded his ears, scrunching up his eyes was the best he could to block out the sensation of it all. The loud blaring tapered off into a buzzing sound as the light eased to a more manageable level behind his eyelids. Opening his eyes he saw a street light overhead. He wasn’t in Death’s endless hall anymore nor was he back in the graveyard. He had no idea where he was.

Pushing himself up from the ground he glanced around. Apparently, he had been lying on the sidewalk in near darkness. The streets beside him stood eerily empty. A shop window across the way gave off limited light alongside the dim street lights. There were more small shops on his side of the street too, all closed for the night.

Approaching the nearest store he discovered the signs plastered in the corners of the window were written in English. Knowing that he could communicate helped take in the unfamiliar setting.

Harry looked at himself in the reflection of the window. His glasses were cracked and his clothes were nothing at all what he had been wearing at the graveyard. Now he wore gray pants that had patches on them held up by a weathered belt and a button-up shirt which had noticeable tears. A worn out satchel slung across his shoulder.

Worriedly he opened up the satchel. “It’s still here” he sighed in relief at the sight of his invisibility cloak and the Elder wand laid neatly inside amongst his potions.

Without these, he didn’t know if he could accomplish his given task.

“Boy!” someone barked. “What are you doing here?” the voice belonged to an officer of some kind. The officer had an accent that sounded so strange that he could barely make out what he was saying. “Speak boy.”

“I...I”

The officer was reaching towards a baton that sat on his hip. Harry was unsure of what to do. He couldn’t tell the officer that he didn’t know where or when he was. And using magic was definitely not an option since this officer was a muggle.

“Sir, I didn’t do anything,” he said taking a step back.

“Looks like you were about to” the officer glared. “It’s my job to keep filth like you off the street. If I have to use this,” he motioned to the baton “to do that then so be it.”

“O-officer” a different voice called out.

Both he and the officer looked towards the new voice. A young man, of eighteen Harry guessed, stepped into the rim of the dim street light. He wore an odd fitting black suit that made his hunched over shoulders even more prominent. His hair was cropped in a way that could only be the result of someone placing a bowl on his head before cutting it. It reminded Harry a lot of all the awful haircuts Aunt Petunia had given him growing up.

“What do you want?” the officer rounded on the stranger.  “He’s one of yours?” The officer took out his baton gripping it with white knuckles. “I told you not to come around here again. I thought I made that very clear last week.”

The stranger froze at the sight of the officer raising his baton. Without thinking, Harry jumped in front of the stranger. With a frightful crunch,  the baton came down on Harry’s right arm. The force made him tumble back onto the stranger. With a thud, they both met the pavement.

“Be that a warning to you” the officer spat before strolling away humming.

“Y-you shouldn’t have done that,” the frightened stranger said, tears glittering at the edge of his eyes.  The stranger stood up and offered a hand. Despite the stranger being taller and older than him he acted much younger, like a ten-year-old trapped in an eighteen-year-old body.

“I wasn’t going to let some arse hit you.” Harry winced as the stranger pulled his arm.

Immediately the stranger let go of him. “Sorry. I was trying to help.”

“I think he would’ve done worse if you hadn’t shown up. Was convinced I was going to do something horrible.” The stranger looked warily at him. “I’m Harry,” he said offering his left hand to show that he really wasn’t going to do anything horrible.

“I’m Credence.” Awkwardly they shook hands.  “You’re not from around here.”

It wasn’t a question. “I-” He had to think of a story quick. The problem was that he didn’t know enough of this place to make a decent story.

“I know many of the boys from the factories.”

Factories? He wasn’t sure what Credence meant by that. Where was he? What were these factories about?

Credence looked him over.

“What did the officer mean by me being one of yours?”

“Factory boys, most without a home or scraping by living in the boarding houses... they come to my ma’s. They help us and she feeds them.” Harry was about to ask more about what the boys helped out with, but Credence looked increasingly worried, shifting his eyes at every which way along the dimly lit area. “We should go. That officer won’t be so nice if he sees us again.”

He wanted to scoff at the officer’s actions being deemed even remotely “nice”, instead he nodded following after  Credence. It was perhaps one of the unwisest things he could do considering Credence was a stranger from a different time, Hermione would’ve gone into a lengthy rant about it, still, he followed.  Through the alleyway, down a few streets, and wiggling through a hole in a fence he followed without question.

“Sorry for the long way. We’re almost there. Just across the street.” Credence pointed to a small tin house that stood between two larger buildings. A light emitted from the triangled window at the points where the rooftops met. “It’s not much, but it’s better than the streets.” Credence looked at Harry’s arm with a sorrowful expression.

“I appreciate that.” He wasn't too fond of the idea of sleeping on the streets with an injured arm in a strange place and an officer who could come by to attack him if he pleased.

Credence flashed a small smile as he pushed the door open.

“Credence,” said a  harsh shrill voice. Credence visibly lost some of his height at the woman descending the stairs.

“Ma’.”

Credence’s mother held a hard questioning gaze at her son. Splashes of red appeared around her mouth as though she was readying to release very harsh words until she saw him standing behind Credence.

Her eyes widened in surprise as if he were some large stray picked off the street. Maybe he was. “And who is this?” She now sounded as intrigued as someone looking at a new animal on display.

“Harry” Credence said hunching a little more under her gaze.

“Harry.” Her eyes moved up and down him. “My dear, what brings you here?”

Harry wasn’t sure what it was that made Credence’s mother feel a bit off. There was just something, an itching feeling that she gave off that didn’t make him feel completely in danger or safe.

“An officer attacked him...t-thought he was with us.”

“The same officer who tossed your leaflets into the sewer last week?”Credence’s mother asked bitterly.

Credence nodded looking directly at the floor.

“You know better than to be around that street at this time of night.” She scolded then turned to him, her tone changing to a lighter almost apologetic tone. “They don’t always take to us.”

Harry wanted to ask again what exactly made the officer bothered by them. Credence’s mother turned her attention back to her son. The two were having a silent conversation. Instinctively he knew they were determining his fate of whether or not he’d be on the streets tonight.

“You may spend the night Harry dear. It’s far too dangerous to be alone at night.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“My name is Mary Lou Barebone, welcome to our home. You may thank us by assisting tomorrow” she smiled.  “For now get some rest, my dear. Good night Credence.”

“Good night Ma’.” Credence bowed a little as Ms. Barebone took to the stairs.

Harry didn’t like the relief that came over Crednece’s face when Ms. Barebone had disappeared upstairs.  Pushing his suspicion away he reminded himself that he was a stranger receiving a place to sleep. If anything Ms. Barebone was being rather trusting to let him spend the night. There couldn’t be too many people in the world that would take in a complete stranger for the night. Whatever oddity he felt couldn’t be completely bad.

“Come. My room is this way.”

He followed Credence past a few tables into a small room that branched out from what he thought was a kitchen. The room was sparse, only a small twin sized bed shoved into the far wall, a small desk with a book laid on top, and a multicolored dingy carpet on the floor.

“You can take the bed” Credence offered.

“Are you sure?”

Something about Credence told him that he’d never had a friend around his age before.

“Guests should be made at home” Credence said with a worried face. Harry was beginning to wonder if Credence had been born with a perpetual look of worry.

Credence motioned to the bed again.

As Harry sat the bed it sunk low as if it were trying to swallow him up. Credence’s worried face took on a tint of shame.

“It’s old. Sorry.” Credence moved out of the room. Harry could hear the water turn on then off quickly.

Credence returned with a small water pitcher and a cup. Credence didn’t look up as he poured a cup of water and handed it to him. For some reason, Harry thought of Dobby.

“Thanks.” He sipped some water, immediately began coughing violently. Credence’s face shifted from worried to horrified.

“Im-I’m okay” he winced at the pain in his arm.

“Does it hurt a lot?”

“No” he lied. Although he wasn’t a Healer by any means, his years of getting beaten by Uncle Vernon and Dudley equipped him with the knowledge that he had most definitely fractured his wand arm. There was no sense in telling any of that to Credence. Unless he went to a hospital or an apothecary he couldn’t do much for his arm at the moment. The problem with either option was that he didn’t know where either of those things were.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Besides, you’re letting me stay here for the night so call it even.”

The dim light was put out plunging the small room into near complete darkness. Credence silently laid a ratted old blanket on the floor. It felt uncomfortable to know that someone was sleeping beneath him.

“Credence? What exactly am I helping you with tomorrow.”

“It’s easy” Credence said sleepily. “Tomorrow we have to wake up early.”

Harry lay back, sinking into the old mattress wondering what tomorrow would bring. He moved his bag over his chest, securing it with his good arm.

‘ Tomorrow I’ll try to find him ’ he thought holding onto a mental image of what Percival Graves looked like. The pulsing pain of his right arm faded as sleep came over him.

***

“Harry” a voice called out tentatively shaking him. “Harry it’s time to get up.”

“Huh?” Harry blinked.

“Please wake up.”

The pain in his arm was not helping his groggy mind.

Credence looked over his shoulder with that same worried look.  With a look like that Harry was half convinced that a monster had broken into the house. The lack of terrified screaming assured him that wasn’t the case. “We have work to do.”

Harry nodded, adjusted his glasses, then followed Credence into the small kitchen.

“Mother won’t be happy about you sleeping in” said a girl maybe about fifteen.  Her large eyes didn’t seem to blink at all. Her waved red hair sat short and she wore a long dark blue dress and black shoes. The girl tilted her head in an unsettling way. “A guest.” Those unblinking eyes were on him now, he had to fight against shuddering. “I suppose you are here to help” the girl smiled widely, too wide to not be a practiced action.

“Hello. I was the one who slept in.”

“Rest is important,” she said thoughtfully. “but our work is more important. Don’t you agree Credence?”

“Yes.”

“It’s good of you to help.” She gave another smile before moving onto one of the tables that were filled with ink, paper, and odd machines that he didn’t know the names of.

“My sister, Charity” Credence said turning to pull out a large pot onto the tiny rusted stove top.

“She’s nice.”

Credence did not comment as he struck a match and tossed it into the opening at the front of this old stove. Harry looked over at Charity pressing down on the strange machine’s handle. She paused gave him another unblinking smile and returned to her work. Charity seemed odd, then again he had little to judge on. Maybe this was just the way people acted here, wherever here was.

“Do you know how to cook?” Credence asked, a cutting board within hand.

“I use to cook for my aunt and uncle all the time.”

“Okay.”

Credence laid the cutting board down onto the rickety kitchen table next to a bowl of a few scrawny vegetables. Credence’s worried looking face held fear as he hesitantly brought over a knife from the drawer. Harry wasn’t sure how trusting he would be of a stranger with a knife if he were in Credence’s shoes.

“I could do something else if you don’t want me chopping vegetables. I couldn't do a good job of it anyway with my arm.”

“Broth.” Credence said with evident relief to put a blade into another’s hand. “There’s broth that needs to simmer.”

“I’ll do that then.”

Opening a box of broth was difficult with the use of one arm, but somehow he managed to do it.

Credence wasn't in a talking mood as he moved to pour twice the amount of water to broth into the pot. Based on the state of things he guessed that there wasn’t much food in the Barebones home. Stirring the broth he listened to the shaky thuds of the knife hitting the cutting board behind him.

“Credence” Charity called.

The sound of chopping stopped.

“I’ll be back” Credence wiped his hands over a small rag before he wrapped up the knife and took it with him.

Harry didn’t mind. Continuing to stir the watery broth he felt a pair of eyes on him.

“You are new” a small female voice spoke.

He did his best not to jump from her quiet approach. The girl was at most nine years old, her blond hair tied in a low bun. Her dress was purple with embroidered flowers near her left shoulder. Her dark eyes were almost as wide and unblinking as Charity’s.

“Hello. I’m Harry.”

The little girl blinked, which made her action of looking at him up and down far less uncomfortable as her sister. Raising attention to how he was awkwardly stirring the pot with his non-dominant hand she asked “Are you stupid?”

Harry blinked in confusion.

“Wouldn’t be so hard if you used two hands.”

“Oh well... my arm is a bit hurt.” The little girl looked at him suspiciously.

“Modesty.”

The little girl skipped away.

“Sorry.” Credence apologized again returning to finishing chopping the vegetables smaller than the width of a pinky finger.

“Is she your sister too?”

“Yes.” Credence handed him a bowl full of chopped vegetables.

“Do you have any more siblings?” he asked pouring the vegetables into the pot. Wondering just how many people lived here reminded him much of his first visit to the Burrow.

“No. Only Charity, Modesty, Ma’ and me. Do you have siblings?”

“No.” He fought not to think about Ron or Hermione who were the closest thing he ever had to siblings. Thinking about them would only hurt. It was better to think about watery broth and his mission to find Percival Graves.

“In a chatty mood this morning” Mrs. Barebone commented as she walked into the kitchen.  “Credence is usually such a shy boy.” she spoke in a dotting tone far different from the way Molly Weasley use to speak to her own children. Walking over she peered into the pot. “Not enough” she started adding in more bowlfuls of water. The soup was as good as just soggy vegetable chunks now. There could hardly be any flavor to it now. “We must make sure that there's enough to feed everyone.”

Her words set off more questions in his head. Counting himself, there were five people in this house, yet Ms. Barebone made it sound that she was trying to make a hundred portions out of this meager amount of ingredients.

“They should be here shortly. How’s your arm dear?”

“It’s alright.”

“Credence set up while I look over...” she was clearly searching for his name.

“Harry.”

“Oh yes, Harry” she smiled.

Credence carried the heavy pot into the main space across of Charity’s strange machine.

“Let me have a look at that arm.” Gingerly Ms. Barebone rolled up his sleeve. His arm was shocking deep purple. Whatever that baton was made of he was glad it only connected with his arm. “You should be more careful.” She began to turn his arm over to see the extent of the bruised area. “What brought you to that place?”

“I don’t know.”

She frowned at the way he winced from her light touch. “Have you a family?”

“No,” he choked back the lump in his throat. “They’re gone.”

Her eyes looked to him a mix of sorrow and something that he couldn’t begin to name.“Then perhaps someone brought you to us for a reason.”

Harry was sure that anyone would be frightened or think him crazy if he said that Death had brought him here.

Apparently looking over his arm was the best she could do as she pulled his sleeve down again. “You may stay for as long as you wish to help us.”

“Thank you.”

“Come, they’ll be here soon. Assist Credence with ladling soup.”

A medium length table held the large pot of soup which was steadily growing cold. Several small thoroughly used bowls laid out in tidy cramped lines alongside the pot. Harry saw Charity standing in the doorway with a small bell in her hand. She rang it over and over calling the they Ms. Barebone had mentioned.  Whoever they were took time to get here allowing Harry to look around the home properly in the daylight.

Five tables were pushed into the center of the room. One held the machine Charity had been working with as well as neatly bundled stacks of papers. The four elongated windows on the walls were dingy in the way that the Dursley’s would’ve bellowed at him to scrub ten times over. One thing that caught his eye was a large banner on the wall by the fireplace. The banner had an image of two hands breaking something that he couldn’t quite make out as red and yellow flames rose from under the hands. Yellow letters N.S.P.S. were weaved in at the top. Before he could ask Credence what the letters stood for a wave of kids entered. Many were young boys each looking more unkempt than the next. Some had patches of hair missing while others had lost a finger or two.

“Welcome back children” Ms. Barebone greeted.

A few boys looked at Ms. Barebone as though she were an angel while others stared hungrily towards the bowls spread out in front of him.

“Before we eat please take your leaflets.”

The crowd squeezed into a jumbled line where Charity stood at the front holding out leaflets. One after the next the kids sprinted from the line to take a helping of the soup. It pained Harry to see how overly hungry they all were. Some bowls barely had more than two bits of vegetables yet these kids looked at the helping as if it were a five-course dinner.

Credence moved quickly to bring up new bowls to the table while Harry did his best to fill them without spilling. Harry guessed that the Barebones had done this so often that it was second nature to Credence. Despite how odd the Barebones were Harry couldn’t think of this family who were feeding starving children as bad.

“Eat my children and spread the word of salvation” Ms. Barebone chimed.

“Salvation?” the word slipped out in a whisper as he ladled another helping.

Once he’d heard the word spoken on the T.V. by someone in a church. He’d never been to church. The Dursleys were too concerned that he would do something freakish to bother bringing him along when they went to church.

Curious Harry tried to look at one of the leaflets as the next kids grabbed bowls, but he was only able to make out half words. The line disappeared along with the contents of the pot  leaving Harry with not much time to read as he helped Credence collect the empty bowls.

Not one bowl had anything left in it, appearing as though they hadn’t even been used at all. Balancing bowls with one hand wasn’t as hard of a task as he thought it would be, even so his helping was insufficient compared to the way Credence carried all but the few bowls he managed to hold. Credence didn’t say a word as they scrubbed the dishes. The way Credence moved reminded him far too much of how he had been while taking orders from the Dursleys. There were many times that he had to work just as quickly to get several chores done the way his uncle or aunt demanded before facing punishment. Glancing at  Credence Harry noticed that his palms had several long marks crossing every which way. Whatever had left those marks Harry was sure he didn't want to come across it.

Ms. Barebone entered the kitchen. “Thank you for the help Harry dear.” Ms. Barebone started to dry the newly washed dishes.

“It’s kind of you to feed them” he said handing over a dish.

“Poor children,” Ms. Barebone spoke to the dish in her hand. “hardly ever given anything to eat.”

“There are worse things than being hungry right mother.” Charity added with admiration in her eyes.

“Yes. For it's not only our goal to feed their bodies but their souls as well. Here is where they find protection from the outside evils.” While her words confused him Charity clung to everything Ms. Barebone said. “Charity did you finish the posters?” Ms. Barebone asked while putting away the last dish.

“Yes mother.” Charity beamed practically lunging over him to hand a rolled up parchment to her mother.

“Excellent. Would you mind accompanying Credence Harry? He tends to lose his way.”  He felt Credence shrink beside him. “Having company will see to it that you both come back before dark.”

“I’ll help out.”

Credence took the posters in an over the shoulder bag and moved quietly towards the door. Harry followed, catching the eye of Modesty who sat on the bottom stair.

Once they were outside Credence found his voice again. “This way. It's best that we don't go on the crowded sidewalk.” He followed his lead down the alleyway.

“Could you hold them while I put it up?” Credence asked handing the bag of posters when they came to a wall plastered in posters advertising various things including the nightlife of New York.

“At least I know where I am now” he muttered to himself as he watched Credence lather the wall with glue from a tub in his bag. Handing the poster Credence quickly stuck it on before coating it in glue as well. The poster read: The eyes of the blind shall be open- Isaiah. Below that in larger print was: Fighting Modern evils. Join the cause! New Salem Philanthropic Society. Sinners in our midst.

These words didn’t give him any more clarity. He wasn’t even certain that it would be okay to ask Ms. Barebone what a modern evil was.

“Sorry” Credence muttered again.

“I keep telling you that it’s fine.”

“Your arm-”

“It’ll heal.”

“But-” Credence looked like he was about to spill an important secret. Whatever it was didn’t leave Credence tightened lips.  Harry followed as they continued their way to cover more walls with their posters.

He couldn’t stand the silence between them. “Do you do this every day?”

“Ma’ says we need to spread the word before it’s too late.”

“Fighting the modern evils must be tiring considering all you got is paper and ink.”

Credence chuckled,quickly catching himself to return to silence. He frowned at the reaction.  Harry supposed fighting for a cause didn’t leave much room for laughter. That was completely rubbish.

“So when a modern evil pops up do you throw the pamphlets at them? Do you knock them out with your tub of glue?  How will I know what this modern evil looks like?”

Credence gave a small smile.

***

“We better head back,” Harry said noting that the sky was slowly getting darker.

Credence looked as reluctant as he felt to go.  There was just something about the Barebone home that didn’t sit exactly right. Although he felt that way it would be foolish to start any trouble in the one place that was keeping him from the streets.

“I had fun today” Credence admitted quietly as though hoping only he would hear.

“You did?”

“Yeah, I  usually have to do this by myself. I get so lost in my head sometimes... I come home late and ma’ gets upset at me.”

“Don't you have any friends?”

“I have one friend. Sometimes he sees me passing out leaflets and talks to me...People rarely talk to me.”

“Does he come by your place?” He liked hearing the lighter tone in Credence voice.

Credence shook his head. “Ma’ wouldn’t like him. She’d be very upset to know...You must’ve had lots of friends.”

Harry thought about Ron and Hermione. Their faces still stood out clearly in his mind. If he tried he could hear their voices, but since the war they often repeated their last words. “ I-” Doing his best not to let the heartbreak come through his voice he continued. “I had the two best friends a boy could ask for. We did some crazy things back at school together.” He smiled sadly thinking back to their first year when they all became friends after fighting a troll.  He missed them. He missed everyone he’d lost. It wasn’t time for tears. He made a deal with Death to bring them back. All he had to do was find and save Percival Graves. How was he supposed to do that?

There was a long pause before Credence worked up the strength to ask the question he could see in his worried eyes. “What happened to them?”

“They died.”

“In the war?”

Harry’s heart stopped for a minute. Credence couldn’t have known about the Second Wizarding War, which wouldn’t take place until much later into the future.  Credence must be speaking about a Muggle war. War in any world at any time would be equally as devastating.

“I bet they were brave.” Credence adjusted his bag. “If they were your friends they must’ve been brave.”

“They were.”

***

“Back before sunset” Charity applauded.  “ Mother might keep you around to make sure Credence gets home on time every night.”

Modesty skipped on the hopscotch drawn onto the floor landing on the number 10 with a harsh thud of her feet. Her eyes stared at him again. Modesty didn’t say anything before turning around to go through the hopscotch while humming an unfamiliar song.

“Don’t mind her.” Ms. Barebone said. “She’s mistrusting of most.” there was pride in her statement. “Was your mission successful?”

“Yes ma’.”

Harry noticed how Ms. Barbone looked at their hands, which were covered in dried glue.

“Wash up and eat. Will you be staying another night Harry?”

“If that’s alright.”

“Of course. Tomorrow you could help pass out leaflets. Stay clear of that street” she reminded, her eyes darting to his arm. “How’s your pain?”

“Not bad.”

***

“If you want to leave you can” Credence whispered as they readied for bed.

“I thought we were becoming friends. Do you want me to go?”

“No... I mean isn’t there someone worried about you?”

He let out a dark chuckle “There's no one.” There hadn’t been anyone since the end. All there had been was names on a stone waiting for him to return to.  Harry took a breath, ever thankful for the darkness to hide his face. He didn’t want to use the limited Dreamless Sleep potions that he had. Thinking about the war, about the people he lost needed to stop before he began to break again.

“If you stay ma’ might adopt you.”

“Is that a bad thing? I can’t tell if you are trying to get me to stay or go.”

“Both I think.”

“I like the honesty.”

“Not everyone does.” Credence grew quiet.

“I’m sure your friend appreciates your honesty.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do we have to make soup in the morning again?” He asked for a change of topic.

“We only do that on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Ma’ wants us to pass out leaflets so we have to travel in the morning.”

“Okay.”

As Credence fell asleep Harry wondered if he should disappear into the night. He wouldn't, not yet, he needed to figure out how to navigate New York.

“Why did you bring me here?” he whispered into the dark sky hoping that Death would soon answer that question.

Chapter Text

Harry fought through the bustling streets while keeping an eye on the sight of Credence’s head.  If he lost Credence then he wouldn’t know what to do. A large man pushed violently against him, almost making him fall over. His arm pulsed with pain. 

“Out of the way” grumbled the man. 

Harry’s eyes darted around keeping track of where Credence went. Luckily he spotted his hunched friend. “How much farther?” he panted when he caught up to him.

“Maybe another block.”

Credence was searching the crowd as well. A block later the crowds thinned out so he didn’t have to worry about getting hit again. Credence stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and started pulling leaflets from his own shoulder bag. Following suit, he pulled out some of his own leaflets. He didn't pay any attention to what he was handing out rather the people who all were ignoring the silent way Credence was trying to get them to take the parchment. This approach clearly wasn't going to do them any good. 

Fighting all sense of preservation he stepped in the way of a man wearing a long tweed coat. “Sir please take one.” The man scrunched his face in disgust maneuvering around him. Undeterred he tried again and again.

“Fight the modern evils” he chuckled unable to say such a thing with a straight face. Several people looked at him oddly but he didn't care. His approach made Credence flash a small smile at him so he considered that a win.

“Sir, have you heard about the modern evils? Neither have I. Take a leaflet.”

“Why don't you do something useful” one man spat.

“Fighting the modern evil is useful don't you think?” The man gruffly walked away.  “Oh well,” he moved to the next.

After a few minutes, he was starting to lose faith that anyone would take a single leaflet. At that moment a hand actually took a leaflet from him.

“Modern evils?” a deep voice scoffed.

“Yup!” he raised his eyes to the person taking an interest. The man lowered the leaflet settling his eyes onto him. Harry couldn’t believe it. This man was the same he saw in the old photo Death had shown him. This man-

“Mr. Graves!” Credence greeted with a noticeable animation in his voice.

“Credence,” Mr. Graves inclined his head. “I see you have company today.”

Credence nodded. The way Credence looked at Mr. Graves was like someone seeing the sun for the first time.

“It's interesting seeing someone so ...enthusiastic about the modern evils.” as Mr. Graves spoke he didn't take his eyes off him.  His brain had a hard time processing the fact that this was the man he had to save. The urge to take the man and warn him about his death hit but he couldn't do that. Could he? It wasn’t as if Death had explained how to save him or when. 

Mr. Graves raked his eyes over him again.

“This..this is Harry.”

“Nice to meet you” Mr. Graves offered a hand. He shook it still trying to process what to say and do. “I must go. Be safe.”

“I should be telling you that” he mumbled.

Mr. Graves’s eyes shot back to him.“What was that?"

“You too.”

Mr. Graves nodded slipping through the crowd. Before he could even think to go after the man he vanished. Harry wasn't sure if the man had apparated or not.

When he turned to Credence he too was still looking at the spot they’d last seen Mr. Graves. “That was your friend?”

“Yeah. He's nice." Credence smiled. "He doesn't yell or ignore me.”

“You don't know where he works do you?”

“No.” Credence looked wearily at him.

That would be asking too much. At least I know where he is he thought. “Why doesn't your mum like Mr. Graves?”

“They haven't met he’s ...we should go.”

“Credence,”

Credence had that look again, the one that seemed like he was holding a deep secret. “Do...do you believe in magic?”

“What do you mean?”

Credence looked worried as he pointed to the leaflets they had been handing out. For the first time, Harry actually looked at the words. 

Fight the modern evil! We need a new Salem!

“I don't really understand.”  He turned over the leaflet there was a black and white picture of nude women dancing around a fire with text saying: S ave America from witches.

“Witches?” Harry didn't know how much Credence knew about the wizarding world. Were the laws in New York different than back in England?  Did Muggles know that they existed? Somehow he doubted that. Even so...

“You believe in witches?” he asked cautiously.

Credence looked ashamed. 

“You think witches are the modern evil?”

Credence twisted the strap of his bag. “Ma’ thinks so.”

Harry glanced from the leaflet to Credence. “But what do you think?”

Credence’s height shrunk a little more. “I have to go.”

“I? Don’t you mean we ?” 

“I thought you would want to leave now that you...”

Should he go? On one hand, Credence would lead him to Mr. Graves but what would happen if he was found out to be a wizard. What would happen to Credence if he did leave?

“Do you want me to go?”

“No. I mean you’re my friend” Credence said twisting the bag’s strap.

“That settles it. Friends don’t leave each other behind.” He patted Credence’s hand. 

***

When they returned to the little church several people were seated in a half circle. The banner that had occupied the far corner now hung from the banister of the second floor. Several heads turned towards them. Credence noticeably shrunk again. Ms. Barebone was smiling at them but there was a coldness in the way she looked at Credence.

“Here are two dedicated to eradicating our home of the evil witches. Have a seat Harry,” she motioned to an old stool that no one had yet occupied.

“Charity please continue the story of Salem while I have a word with Credence.”

“Spring 1692,” Charity began, her eyes wide with excitement and an eerie tremor in her voice, the kind that Ron would use when telling a ghost story. “the poor town of Salem Massachusetts  were plagued with curses from the witches hidden amongst them. When two young girls fell ill their bewitchment came to the forefront of the town's attention. Things got worse as the townsfolk began to seek out the witches responsible. The cruel witches cursed smallpox on innocent people. No one was safe.  In response tests to determine who was a wicked witch were created...”

Harry turned his attention away from Charity, the crazed excitement at which she spoke frightened him and he wanted to know why Credence had been dragged upstairs. A whip sound was muted as Charity spoke louder with more animation. “There are still witches today hiding amongst us. We need to suss them out. America has no place for witchcraft.” Charity spoke even louder as more whipping sounds came from above. He looked at the other members sitting besides him but they  were enthralled with Charity’s story. With his left hand he gripped the strap of his bag. He had to do something. He couldn't just sit like the rest when every whip rang louder and louder in his ear.

“A new Salem must come to America!”

Having enough he stood up but at that exact moment, a scream came from upstairs. All eyes turned to the banister.

“CHARITY!” Ms. Barebone screeched leaning over the banister. “A WITCH! There’s a witch inside!”

 Another woman appeared behind Ms. Barebone. Sparks flew from the edge of the wand she was carrying. A real witch. All the muggles around him gawked in horror. This was a real witch and he couldn’t defend himself or the muggles.

“Take Modesty and run!” Ms. Barebone yelled in desperation. 

“I can't let you do that,” the witch said closing the doors with a flick of her wand.

Two muggles ran to the door trying to pull it open. With a crack, the unknown witch apparated down the stairs to prevent another muggle from breaking one of the windows with a chair. Charity fainted in front of him. 

“No one can leave.” The witch sounded more frightened than vicious.

The muggles frantically pulled at the doors. While the witch was distracted he took to the stairs. He needed to know if Credence had been killed.

“Credence?” he whispered as he crawled so that no one would see him.

A low whimpering could be heard coming from a nearby room. His heart lurched to know that Credence was still alive

“Credence.”

“Shh.” Credence was hiding behind the door knees pushed up to his chest, his hands clenched. It reminded him so much of how he would try to comfort himself in a similar manner after the Dursely’s beatings. 

“Credence” He tried to reach out a hand to him but Credence flinched away. 

More cracks sounded downstairs, unmistakable it was a group appearing inside the small church. Screams filtered up to them. Credence pressed his clenched hands to his ears, eyes pinched tight. “There are more of them.”

Footsteps were approaching them. Harry clutched his bag wondering if he could take on four-maybe seven while wielding his wand left-handed. He had to try. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

“Ms. Goldstein” he heard someone speak. The screams had all gone silent. Carefully he peered out. Mr. Graves stood staring at the witch who had interrupted the New Salem meeting. She looked horrified.

“All these people have to be obliviated. What do you think you were doing?”

“Sir I can-”

“There is little you could say that will forgive you of this. Does the statue of secrecy mean nothing, Ms. Goldstein?” Mr. Graves crossed his arms.

“No... I mean it does. It was a mistake.”

“A mistake that had the potential to wipe away years of work. We will be lucky if this scandal remains in-house. An Auror attacking an innocent-”

“She is not innocent” the witch snapped. “She promotes hatred of our kind. She-”

“Ms. Goldstein,” Mr. Graves’s look made the witch freeze. “We are not to engage with Nomaj more than necessary for good reason. Had we not acted your display tonight would’ve played into the idea that we are evil. Making ourselves known creates chaos during these times. The law must be obeyed for the safety of both our worlds. Once we are done here you will be stripped of your title as Auror without complaint is that understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Graves.”

Harry backed away accidentally hitting the door which squeaked. As Mr. Graves came close Harry tugged the invisibility cloak over himself. 

“I will take care of this Ms. Goldstein.”

 Goldstein nodded before she apparated. Mr. Graves entered the room with his wand in hand. His eyes fell to Credence still curled up on himself whimpering. All tension in the man's body slacked at the sight.

“Shh. It’s me.” Mr. Graves kneeled lifting a hand to pull Credence’s head from his tucked arms. “It’s alright. You no longer have to be frightened Credence.”

“Ma’. What happened to ma’?”

“She is alright. So are your sisters.” Mr. Graves pushed Credence’s hair back. “What happened?”

“It was my fault. I was late... It was my fault...”

“Give me your hands” Credence shakily held out his hands. Mr. Graves whispered soothing words that Harry couldn't hear but could see was working. One moment Credece’s hands were littered with deep red marks then with a stroke of a thumb over it the wounds disappeared.

“What happened tonight shouldn't have ever occurred.” Mr. Graves stepped back reaching into his pocket to produce his wand.

“Mr. Graves?” Credence sounded so fearful.

“No one can remember, not even you. You’ll forget this night and that’s all understood.”

Credence nodded.

“I'll be there for you Credence as long as you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

Mr. Graves’s wand hovered in front of Credence’s face  “Obliviate.”

Under the cover of the invisibility cloak, he followed Mr. Graves as the man carried Credence down the stairs. Several Aurors were propping the unconscious muggles back into their seats.

“Good work. They should come to in a minute. Return to MACUSA. I want a full report on our actions tonight from each of you. Abernathy,” 

A small man with brown hair and a face that reminded him of a mouse approached. “Yes sir”

“Make sure Madam President is aware that Ms. Goldstein has been stripped of her rank.”

“Yes sir.”

Following Abernathy one by one the others disappeared. Only Mr. Graves remained. Harry watched as the man looked at the banner then to Credence who sat slumped in his chair.

“If only there was more I could do for you” he placed a hand gently onto Credence’s shoulder. “But the law can only bend so far.”

Instead of apparating Mr. Graves walked out of the front door. Quickly he followed. In complete silence aside from the buzzing of the street lights above they walked.

“Hey, Mister” a  lanky teen stood ahead of them. The teen had unwashed hair and missing teeth. Mr. Graves ignored the teen and kept walking. “Mister.” The teen stood directly in front of them. Mr. Graves looked completely unbothered. “You got any money mister?”

“It has already been a night. I don’t care for your meager shakedown.”

“Meager?” The teen pulled out a knife that could do more harm from infection then the initial stab. It was completely rusted. 

“This is no way to act” Mr. Graves said calmly.

“Hand something over.” The teen stuck the knife out almost touching the thick coat Mr. Graves was wearing. Harry's heart picked up. Was this the moment he had to save this man? He couldn't fully recall the scene Death had shown him. This was the life he had to save to make things right in his time. Without another thought, he moved behind the teen and with all his might yanked at his dirty shirt.

“What the-?”

Harry kicked the teen’s knee causing him to yelp and dropped the knife.

“What are you doing?”

“I assure you I’m doing nothing “ Mr. Graves watched slightly amused.

“Freak!” The teen made a break for it abandoning the knife on the pavement.

“As entertaining as that was it was highly inappropriate young man” he spoke low despite no one else around. “ I want you to reveal yourself once we round the corner.” As instructed he tugged off his cloak once they were out of sight. “So...”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I could sense your magic. Its..unusual. In addition, cloaks may turn you invisible but they do not  mask sound.”

 Harry looked at his ratted shoes as though they were the whole reason he got caught.

“Why were you following me?”

Harry didn't know what to say.

“We can do this as if talking about the weather or I can place you under arrest, drag you into my office, and spend the better half of a day interrogating you. Frankly, I have far more on my plate tonight I care for so I would like to avoid the latter.”

“Why did you obliviate Credence if he already knows-”

Mr. Graves quickly moved his hand and Harry found that his mouth was shut tight against his will. He began to struggle.

“Don't fight against it, it'll get worse if you do.” Mr. Graves whispered looking around then to his watch. “ I have used up my free time” he looked back at him and sighed. “Considering you know Credence I have no choice but to bring you in.” He looked at him again thinking something. Something tied around Harry’s wrist but he couldn't see anything there.“Wear your cloak. The fewer people know about your involvement the better.”

Despite the forced silence, he followed the instructions. Gently Mr. Graves gripped his invisible arm. With a tug, they arrived in front of a tall building.

“You will follow my every step. Once in my office you will be free to talk.”

Harry was practically on top of Mr. Graves as they moved past the side door up the lengthy stairs.

“Mr. Graves,” an Auror rushed to walk beside them. “Incident reports” he said handing a large folder.

“I expect them to be in proper format.”

“Of course.”

“We have to minimize damage at all costs.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Graves,” Abernathy joined.  “Madam President had been notified of the situation.”

“What of Ms. Goldstein?”

“She is to report to the wand permit office.”

There was almost a glimmer of relief in Mr. Graves’s eyes before he spoke again. “Keep an eye on her.  I expect she’ll attempt something reckless.”

“Yes sir.” Abernathy took off to their left while the other Auror to the right.

“Mr. Graves, Madam President wishes to meet with you in fifteen minutes” a witch reported then left without a response.

“She is more generous than I was anticipating” Mr. Graves mumbled to himself.

Finally, after the dizzying reports coming and going they made it to the office. Harry didn't know how this man could handle going through such a routine on his way here.  Without batting an eye, locking and silencing spells were enforced around them while Harry pulled off his cloak. Mr. Graves settled behind his desk; a small plaque reading Director of Magical Security  sat at its edge. The folder the first Auror handed Mr. Graves hovered open facing the man.

“Mercy Lewis” he muttered. Settling the file down Mr. Graves looked to his watch then to him. “I haven’t much time so speak.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at him. His mouth was still magically sewn shut.

“Of course” Mr. Graves moved his hand allowing him to regain his ability to speak.  “You witnessed Ms. Goldstien’s actions tonight. What did you see? The truth.”

“We were in a meeting of sorts, I guess. Charity, Credence’s sister,” Mr. Graves nodded in understanding. “ She was saying things about Salem.”

Mr. Graves momentarily looked ill but it quickly returned to a controlled face. “Continue.” 

“Ms. Barebone was mad at Credence because we were out late. Then she screamed...that Auror.”

“Ms. Goldstien?”

“Yeah, she panicked. I didn’t see exactly what she did to Ms. Barebone but once she started screaming Ms. Goldstien tried to keep everyone in. The muggles were trying to escape through the windows.”

“Mercy Lewis.” Mr. Graves ran a hand through his hair. “ I had warned her not to get involved with the New Salemers” Mr. Graves looked at his watch. 

“A bit hypocritical of you don’t you think? You are Credence’s friend.”

“No one would believe you if you said a word about that.” Mr. Graves laced his fingers together speaking in a warning tone. 

“I don’t understand.”

“I don't have sufficient time.” He looked to his watch. “I must speak to Madam President. You are to remain here.” A handcuff materialized on Harry’s left arm. “I still wish to know why you’ve got caught up with the New Salemers.”

“I... ouch” he winced as his arm hit against the armrest of the chair. 

Like a flash, Mr. Graves abandoned his desk. “Did Ms. Goldstein do this?” There was fear in Mr. Grave’s eyes as he bent to his side. 

“It wasn’t her. It was a police officer a few days ago- muggle.”

“Your wand arm” Mr. Graves asset turning his arm gingerly. Then he looked to his watch again. “I will tend to that when I return.”

With an indescribable look, Mr. Graves strolled out of the room with the file in hand.

Harry tested the cuffs on his left hand, the metal clinking against the armrest.  It wasn’t tight enough to cut into his skin but not loose enough to slip out. Resigning himself to remaining seated he tried to relax.

“This isn't how things should’ve gone.” Then again how were things supposed to go? At least he was closer to Mr. Graves. “What about Credence?” he muttered to the empty room.

The Aurors had erased the incident from their minds but they didn't make Credence or the Barebones forget about him. He really had to think of how to move forward.

Something shuffled from the tube on the far side of the wall behind the desk. A paper mouse scampered onto the desk and unfolded to lay on top of the desk. 

This place was interesting. MACUSA was definitely different than the Ministry back in England. 

A sound from the door pulled his attention. Harry watched as the doorknob jiggled little at first then frantically. There was no window for him to see who was trying to get in. It wasn’t as if Mr. Graves forgot how to open his own office door. Before he could act whoever it was left.

For what felt like an eternity all he could do was take in the office, he’d gone from following the mail tube with his eyes to counting how many pieces of paper was stacked in the incoming mailbox .  The office was impeccably neat yet he could easily see the place in shambles as the man stayed late hours to conduct business. Directory of Magical Security had to be a busy profession. 

 ***

“You didn't try to escape,” Mr. Graves said upon his return.

“Do I have a reason to?”

“You tell me.”

He chuckled. There was this odd calming effect about Mr. Graves. Maybe it was because there wasn’t anything the man could do to him. He wouldn’t be arrested. Definitely, the man wasn’t going to kill him. There was deep care behind the stoic face; he could tell based on the way he saw him take care of Credence. “I could see why Credence would consider you a friend.

“You seem far too trustful of someone you just met.” Mr. Graves uncuffed him before once again taking hold of his injured arm.

“I could say the same of you, Mr. Graves."

Mr. Graves scoffed. “You think I’m trusting of you?”

“Would you heal me otherwise?”

“I don't believe you have malicious intent. Besides, I could easily apprehend you and have you chained up with a snap of my fingers if you ever as much attempt to attack me.”

If it weren't for his past experiences with Snape’s thin veiled threats he might’ve been truly terrified of this man.

“I have no reason to attack you.”

“And I have no reason to treat you as a criminal. Innocent until proven guilty.” He smirked. “How does your arm feel now?”

 Harry turned his arm bending and unbending easily.  “Good as new thanks.” Mr. Graves checked his watch. “You must like that watch.”

“I take you noticed my position here.” He gestured to his nameplate. “Director of Magical Security needs to conduct himself in a timely manner. I also need to return you back to the Barebones. Before that, I must determine that you should be permitted to return to them” Mr. Graves’s eyes turned serious, dark as if he would cast an Avada Kedavra if he found him to be a threat. “What is your reason for hiding amongst them?”

“I wasn't hiding. Credence sort of invited me to stay and I’ve been helping out the family feeding the kids that come in and handing out leaflets.”

“I haven't forgotten how energetic you were at the job.”

“I wasn't sure what I was exactly promoting.”

Mr. Graves chuckled. “Have people told you that it is foolish doing something without thinking it through?”

“I had a handful of people reminding me of that” he smiled sadly.

“Had?”

“I rather not talk about it." Mr. Graves lifted a questioning brow. "It's just me now.”

“I find it suspicious for it to be a coincidence that you would knowingly join a group of anti-magic Nomajs.”

“If you knew me you’d know that stuff kind of happened like that.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Graves studied him. “It wasn’t through coincidence that you followed me out of the Barebones residence. Why are you really here?  We had met only today but you looked at me as though you already knew who I was.”

“I don’t know who you are not even a little bit.” Harry twiddled his thumbs. He hadn’t much time to really think of a good reason that would keep him near Mr. Graves. “But I do know something. I know that you are going to die soon.”

 Mr. Graves scoffed as he picked up the papers on his desk. Harry expected more of a reaction. He himself had at least felt properly worried when Professor Trelwany told him he got the Grim, a death omen, in his third-year Divination class.

“That’s the reason why you came to New York? Based on your accent and demeanor you would have come from England and there is no way of simply apparating over an entire ocean. Which means you are telling me that you traveled over thousands of miles and unintentionally joined the New Salmers all so you could warn me that I would die soon?”

 There were a few things off about that statement but he still nodded.

“Consider your adventure to be in vain. New York has been in Madam President’s capable hands for several years now. There hasn’t been any threat of exposure to our world until tonight, which has already been taken care of. In addition, my life is in no danger.”

“It is!” He hated being dismissed like some child. 

“And you would know this because?”

“I saw it.”

“You’re a Seer” there was a skeptical look in Mr. Graves eyes before he was being studied again. Harry wasn’t sure what exactly the man was looking for.  “It would explain your strange magic...” Mr. Graves’s fingers twitched. “Why warn me? Why would you bring yourself all this way to warn a complete stranger of a vision?”

“It's the right thing to do” he said looking at the man in the eye.

Mr. Graves leaned against his desk thinking something over. “And if I choose not to believe your warning?” 

“You can believe it or not” he shrugged. "I came to make sure that what I saw won't happen."

“You’re an interesting young man.” Mr. Graves checked his watch. “It is late.”

“Are you going to let me remain with the Barebones? Or should I make myself comfortable here?”

“I will be keeping an eye on you” Mr. Graves warned.

“Perfect!” Mr. Graves shook his head. “What are you going to do about the Barebones? I mean about the things they’re saying.”

“There is little we can do. We are not to interfere with Nomajs regardless of what they say about our kind. Exposure through our actions are more substantial than the words of just a handful of zealots.

“Then why are you close to Credence?”

Mr. Graves stared at him in a way that made him feel very small. Clearly he wasn't supposed to ask that. “I am permitting you to return solely that your sudden absence isn’t a cause for suspicion. If you try to cast as much as a Lumos around the Barebones I will not hesitate to remove you, understood?”

“Understood. I can manage without magic.”

“No magic. Not even around Credence. No one must know of you.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve lived with muggles that hate magic Mr. Graves.”

There was a pause before Mr. Graves spoke again. “I’ll see to it that you get back safely.”

Leaving the MACUSA building the same way they came Mr. Graves apparated them onto the darkened street across of the Barebone home. The dim light windows already reminded him of his first night in this new time. He looked over at Mr. Graves who showed little sign of what he was thinking. Harry wondered what was the relationship between the man and this place. Why had that other Auror come tonight? Why was he here? Mr. Graves was right it couldn’t be a coincidence that he ended up here. Death was pulling the strings yet it didn’t make any sense why Death was even helping him. Why was it this person that he had to save?

“Thanks for not arresting me.”

“Don’t make me regret that decision.”

“Be safe.”

Mr. Graves nodded and disapparated.  Hurriedly he crossed the street as the chilled air sent shivers up his spine. In one of the dirty windows, he saw Credence sweeping the floor. Credence looked worriedly at him motioning towards the back. Uncertain of what Credence was trying to say he followed the motion around the small shabby building where there was a small gap barely big enough for a slender person to slip through. Silently Credence encouraged him through it. It took a bit of maneuvering but he managed to slip in.

“Where have you been? What happened to you? You disappeared during the meeting.”

“I'm sorry...” he looked over Credence’s hands but there were no fresh wounds.

“It's rude to walk out like that. I covered for you, told ma’ that you weren’t feeling well. She wasn’t too happy.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Are you okay?” Credence asked again as if he needed the constant repetition to appease his own worried fantasies.

“I'm fine.”

“Ma’ will want you to do extra work tomorrow.”

“Alright.” He wanted to ask more about Mr. Graves but more so he wanted to stop Ms. Barebone from laying a hand on Credence again. He couldn’t stand by and witness any more abuse. 

Only one life Death’s voice whispered in his head.

“Are you okay Credence?” he asked looking to his still unmarked hands.

Credence’s eyes widened with fear tucking his hands out of sight.“We-we should go to bed.”

 ***

During their night routine  Credence kept avoiding showing off his hands. He hadn’t meant to make him self conscious about it. The old scars, ones that probably came before Mr. Graves started to look after Credence, weren’t noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. Harry knew a lot about the uncomfortable feeling of someone staring at his scars.

“Why don’t you leave?” he whispered when the lights went off. Credence was so silent but he knew he was there lying in the dark awake. “I grew up in a family that didn't care for me at all. My aunt and uncle kept me locked up in a cupboard under the stairs for the first eleven years of my life only to let me out to do chores or be their son’s punching bag...I understand not feeling like you can get out of a bad place.”

“This is all I have.” Credence’s voice was soft and tight like he was trying to hold back tears. “No one would take care of me. Ma’ adopted me since no one else would.”

“I use to think that there was no one else willing to put up with me too. My relatives were terrible but I was convinced that if my own relatives couldn’t care for me then no one would... What about Mr. Graves?”

“He can’t take me...If you want to leave you can go... I can’t. This is my family.”

“I won’t leave Credence.”

“You shouldn’t promise those things.”

“I don't leave my friends”

Tired he shut his eyes thinking of how he could prevent Mr. Grave’s death.

“Harry,” a voice whispered. He followed that voice to a small door. Opening it he saw unknown buildings destroyed beyond recognition. People were running left and right screaming as bricks and dust rained down from another building splitting open. A strange black and red wisp of smoke too large and too solid to be muggle produced spun in the air beside the destruction. A figure rushed past him and in a moment he knew it was Mr. Graves. Before he could think to help fend off whatever this was a hand stopped him. Death now stood beside him though he couldn’t tell if it was looking at him or the scene in front of them.

“Harry!”  Hermione’s voice called from behind him. Quickly he turned to see his bushy-haired friend hunched down next to Ron. 

“You’re both here.” His eyes started to tear up. 

“Go ahead and defeat that bastard mate. We’ll be right behind you.”

This was a memory, the last memory he had of his two best friends. 

“We can take care of some Death Eaters.” Hermione agreed rolling up her ripped sleeve. “We’ll see you later. After all this is over-”

Enough! Death said in his mind as its hand covered his eyes in total darkness. I’m Sorry.

Blinking he made out the wooden beams of the Barebone ceiling. Tears clung to his cheeks.

Why had Death showed him that vision? Why had it stopped his last memory of Ron and Hermione? Why had Death sounded so sad in his mind? Nothing Death did make sense. What would Death gain by helping him? It was best not to ask those questions. It was best to forget the memory. He should drink his potion and fall back asleep, but he couldn’t. Their faces were too clear he could see every detail of them. They had been there. They had told him to go on ahead with a promise they would see each other again. A promise that had been broken. It was best not to think about it. How long did they last before they were killed? Had they ever made it out of Hogwarts? Had they gotten to at least meet up with the others before- He shouldn’t think about it. How many times did he have to tell himself not to think about it?

“I’ll save them” he whispered pulling his knees up to his chest. “ I have to.”

Chapter Text

“Credence where is the Woolworth building?” Harry asked over a small lump of oatmeal the next morning.

“Why would you want to know that?”

He was determined to return to MACUSA at some point, but all he could remember was that the outside said Woolworth building. Hopefully Credence knew where it was or he’d have to find a way to sneak off to map his surroundings. 

“I heard one of those businessmen  mention it yesterday.” Ms. Barebone rose a curious brow as she took a spoonful of oatmeal into her own bowl. “I thought we might be able to hand out more leaflets there” he added hastily feeling the silent stare of  Modesty on him. 

“It would be beneficial if we had more than children in our ranks.” Ms. Barebone paused to think. “They wouldn’t allow us to be stationed directly in front.” 

“Oh,” Charity exclaimed lifting her spoon. “There's an empty storefront across the street! We could use that couldn’t we?”

“Wonderful.” Ms. Barebone smiled at Charity. “You should learn how to provide useful suggestions like Charity and Harry, Credence.”

“Yes, ma’.” 

Harry tried not to frown at the sluggish pace Credence began to pick at his breakfast. 

“Get the banner and leaflets ready.” Ms. Barebone smiled plucking Credence and his bowl from the table. “Charity make sure Modesty is properly dressed.”

Abandoning the remains of their breakfast the two girls rushed off upstairs. Without complaint, he helped Credence fold up the banner for easy traveling. Once all their things were readied he followed the Barebones on what one could deem as a very odd family trip. Even with the banner rolled up he had to fight to keep it from hitting anyone as they made their way down the street. 

“There is an excellent sized crowd” Ms. Barebone said standing up on one of the wooden crates that had been piled up beside the empty storefront. Credence stretched so that the New Salemer’s banner could be pegged to the top rim of the window. 

Ms. Barebone had a glint of excitement in her eyes as she called out to anyone who would listen. “We are the New Salemers! We come to spread the word to warn of the evil that is upon us!”

Surprisingly, a few people stopped. Quickly before they changed their mind the Barebone children placed leaflets into strangers’ hands. Harry handed out leaflets just as the others were but his eyes remained on the tall building across the street.

 Not even five minutes from when they began did the man he was waiting for show up. Mr. Graves’ outfit was different from his usual business attire, he wore a dark blue button-up and a hat that was tipped down to hide his face from Credence who was on the other side of the crowd.

“Alleyway” Mr. Graves harshly whispered in passing.

Breaking from the group he followed. 

“What do you think you’re doing” Mr. Graves snapped. “Why would you dare bring the New Salemers straight to our doorstep?” Harry could see the restraint in his hands not to pull out his wand, not that the man needed it.  If Mr. Graves wanted to he could render him immobile with a snap of his fingers. “Do you want to expose us?”

“I needed to grab your attention in a non-magical  way.”

“You are becoming more trouble than you are worth Mr. Potter.” Mr. Graves ran a hand through his slicked hair.

“I’ll make sure we don’t come here again, but I need to tell you something.”

“What possibly-”

“I had another vision last night.” He could tell Mr. Graves was debating between rolling his eyes and wanting to hear him out.

“A vision of my death?”

“You were there but I didn't see you die... I think it is related somehow...”

“What was I doing?” Mr. Graves asked; a little impatience slipping in his tone.

“You were trying to stop this thing. It looked like a huge wisp of smoke. It was destroying the city.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I am.”

Mr. Graves sighed running a hand through his hair again. “Do you have any more information?”

“No,” He felt that it was important. It was important, Death had shown him that vision, but somehow Mr. Graves’s reaction made him think otherwise. “That’s all I saw.”

“I can’t approach Madam President without proof.”

They could hear Ms. Barebone still talking in the moment of silence.

“This little stunt won't help your case. Madam President views Ms. Barebones’s actions to be... distasteful.”

“I could talk to her-”

Mr. Graves chuckled. “You do not want to risk getting on Madam President’s bad side. She is just but not without fault. It would also leave me with a sizeable amount of paperwork as punishment for letting you in... Although-” He looked at him, tapping his watch. “If you were to give a statement as an anonymous tip about your vision then we would have a record of it and avoid unnecessary issues concerning how you know me.”

“What?”

“Listen carefully, when you are able to be away from the Barebones go to MACUSA; ask to make a statement. A man named Abernathy should meet with you. You are not to mention my name  or the Barebones at all, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll make sure your statement is heard.” Mr. Graves laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Be safe.”

“You too.” There was an unsure look on Mr. Graves before he disappeared.

Sneaking back into the crowd he kept an eye on the Barebones. Ms. Barebone was still speaking but the audience was beginning to thin. He wouldn’t be able to cross the street without getting caught. Luck must’ve been on his side as some of the children he’d seen at the Barebones home distracted the family just enough to dart away.

 Harry felt nervous walking into the building without the protection of his invisibility cloak. Some passersby were looking at him oddly. He tried to tame his wild hair as if that action would somehow make him seem less out of place amongst the business suit-clad individuals. 

“Can I help you?” asked a thin man in a striped suit.

“Yes. I wanted to make a statement.”

“A statement regarding what exactly?”

“Something that I saw in a vision.”

“Come this way,” the man said sounding bored.  The man led him to another office that was more empty than Mr. Graves'. It lacked a trace of personality which made him a little uncomfortable. The man sitting at the desk looked up from his newspaper, Harry couldn’t help think that the action would've been cooler if it was done by Mr. Graves.

 “Have a seat Mr...”

“My name is Harry.”

“I’m Abernathy.” There was a shifty nature in Abernathy's eyes, it was as if he were trying to hide that fact that he expected someone to come in at any minute. It didn’t make him feel at all confident about telling this man anything.

“What is your business here today? Vision? Missing person? Or are you lost?”

“I had a vision.”

“How often do you experience visions?” Abernathy asked pulling a paper from his desk drawer. 

“More frequently lately.”

“I see..” Abernathy scribbled something down. 

“What was your vision?”

As he recounted what he told Mr. Graves Abernathy grew extremely nervous. Some would say borderline paranoid.

“That is it? You didn’t see anyone specific or a street name?”

“No.”

Abernathy looked in his eyes seeking something. Harry could tell he wasn’t able to see his thoughts. The man appeared too weak in mental magic.

“I will take your statement up with the department of Magical Security. Thank you for your time.”

“Yeah” he wanted to meet with Mr. Graves but he had promised not to mention the man.

“If you have any more information do not hesitate to contact me,” Abernathy said handing him a business card.

“Of course” he said tucking it into his pocket.

A blond woman stepped in. “Mr. Abernathy -oh.” The woman turned towards him, a slight tug at his mind that he recognized as legilimency spurred him to throw up his occlumency shields. Despite the woman being a Legilimens like Snape she didn’t seem to need her wand or have direct eye contact to read minds. “Hello, sweetie.”

“What is it Queenie?” Abernathy asked.

“I had a message for you.” Queenie kept looking at him.

“Queenie?”

“Huh?”

“The message?”

“Oh yes ummm...” she pulled a piece of paper and handed it to Abernathy. 

“Thank you. I will see to it once I escort this young man on his way.”

“I’ll do it. Why else would they have me around for?” Queenie winked.

“Alright. Don’t get distracted.”

“Come along sweetie I’ll show you out.”

Although he felt better getting out of Abernathy's office he wasn’t sure if being with a talented mind reader was for the best.

“No need to worry honey. I ain't gonna do anything.”

He couldn’t trust her. The longer he was near her the less confident he was about preventing her from reading his mind. There was far too much information in his mind that was not meant to be found out right now.

Queenie’s eyes flickered to the top of the staircase that they were on.  

“Oh, Tina!” She waved at the short bobbed hair woman he’d seen attack Ms. Barebone. Quickly he took off down the stairs. No one stopped him as he ran out into the street and tucked himself into the crowd.

“Where have you been?” Credence asked.

“I got caught up in the crowd.”

Credence gave him a look. Although he didn’t think Credence thought he was telling the truth, the taller man didn’t say a word. For the rest of the time he felt Credence’s eyes more firmly on him so he stayed close by. He didn’t even dare look to the Worthwool building. No matter what he did those worried eyes never left him. 

“What are you hiding Harry?” Credence whispered that night as they readied for sleep. 

“Nothing”

“Ma’ thinks you are.”

“What do you think?”

 “Be careful” Came the response a few minutes later.

Chapter Text

“Your idea went well, Harry.” Ms. Barebone praised offering a larger portion of food. “I was thinking of speaking there again once Charity finishes the new leaflets.”

Charity smiled. 

“Maybe we should try other places” Harry suggested remembering that having an ani-magic group shouting across the street of MACUSA was something Mr. Graves had been highly against.

“We had a good turn out! We should go back” Charity insisted.

“Charity,” Ms. Barebones voice automatically made Charity go silent. “If Harry knows of better places to get our message out then we should hear from him.” Expectant eyes fell to him.

He had to think fast of someplace a lot of people would go. “The bank.”

“The bank?” They all were looking at him like he’d suggested they go to the moon.

“Lots of people have to go to the bank right? It would be easier to draw a crowd.”

“I do believe someone put you on our path for a reason.” Ms. Barebone smiled rising from the table. “Oh, before I forget Harry dear," she said eyes turning a little darker. "try not to get lost in the middle of my speech again.”

“I won’t.”

Ms. Barebone took his hand, turning it over to inspect the once bruised skin. Even though her grip was not painful he wanted to pull his arm away. Her eyes were too sharp. Credence already warned him. “Your arm appears a lot better too.”

“I guess.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any issue helping us today.” Ms. Barebone smiled broadly before turning away.

Eyes were on him from the second he followed the family setting up the banner and handing out leaflets directly besides  Modesty. At first, he thought it was Ms. Barebone but she was back into captivating passersby to pay him the kind of attention he felt. It felt somehow a heated gaze like the ones he would get from his uncle Vernon whenever he was let out of the house to pull weeds. Mr. Graves said he’d keep an eye on him but this didn't feel like Mr. Graves at all. As he continued to hand out leaflets warning the city people of witches he kept an eye out for anyone that stood in the shadows. There was no luck. Whoever it was had to be under a strong disillusionment charm. Or was it just in his mind?

“What are you looking at?” Modesty asked.

“Nothing,” He tore his eyes from the road. “I was spacing out.”

“You are weird.”

He simply shrugged at the comment. For hours they stood there grabbing any attention they could. The feeling of being watched eventually faded still, Harry wasn’t too sure if that was good or bad. 

***

It was nearly three am when he heard the familiar sound of the crack of someone apparating. Startled he scrambled for his wand holding it firmly. 

Was it the same witch who had attacked Ms. Barbone?  Had she recognized him the other day and come back?

Slipping from the bed he crept into the small walkway that led to the kitchen area. There he saw that the latch of the window was opened. Frightened he held his wand firmly as his eyes scanned the shadows. Nothing was moving nor did anything make a sound, which meant the open window wasn't a sign that something wanted to get in. Someone wanted him to go out. With his grip sure around his wand, he stepped out of the house ready for any fight that dared to come. 

“That's not necessary.” Mr. Grave's soft voice carried in the night's silence.  He waited until he saw the man clearly in the dimmed street light before he felt comfortable to lower his wand. “Come” he instructed leading Harry to the nearest alley.

The man looked a little overworked with his hair appearing thoroughly run through. A shield and silencing charm surround them as he tucked his wand away. 

“You have done as I asked correct?”

“I did.”

Mr. Graves sighed. “I received no word about your statement. Abernathy’s team is usually so efficient...I need to know if you’ve seen anything else.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I noticed a spike in our warning system." Mr. Graves tapped his watch. "It is barely noticeable though I rather be in the know then blindsided when we are in a state of pandemonium." He tapped the watch again. "Someone may be interfering with communication between departments.” Mr. Graves looked at him hopefully.

Harry didn’t have all the answers. He wasn’t actually capable of seeing the future. Death had given him the vision. There was little sense in believing that the entity would let him see the future whenever he felt like it. 

Could Death even be trusted?

Why did he trust the things that it had set in motion?

This was all Death’s doing; its own chest game.

Was he losing?

“Have you seen anything?” Mr. Graves asked again bringing Harry from his spiraling thoughts.

He thought to lie. If he came up with something then Mr. Graves would come back to him for more ‘visions’. Lying was risky. Too risky. He needed to give the man something anything. Taking a breath he closed his eyes while mentally begging to see anything that would be helpful. He needed to be helpful. He needed to make sure that  Mr. Graves would survive. 

An image floated to the front of his mind. It was amongst the flashes of Mr. Grave’s life he’d seen back when Death had pointed out that this man’s life was the key to saving so many. Closing his eyes tighter he pressed his brows together in concentration willing the image to come clearer. All details were fuzzy. He wasn’t even sure if this event would take place now that he was here. But he had to try remember what Death had shown him before.  Mr. Graves' needed information. This was important. 

“Harry?”

The concern in Mr. Graves voice sparked a thought about Dumbledore.  He could see Dulmbedore clearly see the way life had fallen from his eyes. NO! NO! He couldn't think about that now. Harry shook the memory away.

“I saw you chained up...” he pushed his memory harder trying to get anything useful. “I don’t know where.”

“Enough." Mr. Graves placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don’t push yourself.” 

Opening his eyes he felt the ache in his head. Pain filled tears trickled down his face.

“This city might not be safe for much longer.” Harry looked into Mr. Graves face, he looked as though he expected the world to crumble around them at any minute.  “Forgive me.” Mr. Graves pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to him. “I should not put so much pressure on you." Mr. Graves gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "Even if you are a Seer you're still too young to be held responsible to hold all the answers.”

Harry rubbed his sore eyes. “Someone was watching me today.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned that sooner?” Mr. Graves scanned all around them as if each shadow were a threat.

“I thought it might’ve been you.”

Something in the darkness moved they both drew their wands. The trashcan shook as something darted from behind. The edge of Mr. Graves’ wand lit a bluish light illuminating the street around them. Whatever it was was out there. Harry expected it to be the thing in his vision, he could almost see the swirl of dark-clad red smoke lashing out at them. But an attack didn’t come as Mr. Graves advanced on the spot where the thing had darted to.

A small chuckle escaped the man before the light faded. Harry’s eyes strained to adjust on the returned dim lighting. Mr. Graves moved to pat him on the shoulder.

“It wasn’t anything to worry about. Just a cat. Go back to bed.”

“Mr. Graves I-”

Mr. Graves shook his head. “Let me take care of things.”

Hearing that was a little strange. Harry was so used to being the person everyone went to fight the threat to the Wizarding World. From young, it had been his responsibility to hold the weight of the world. In his time he was the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the single person who had to defeat dark wizards. He'd lost so much because of who he was, who others made him out to be.  Mr. Graves wasn’t asking him to have more ‘visions’ or somehow capture all the dark wizards in New York. So far all the man had asked of him was not to use magic in front of the Barebones. It was the least anyone had ever asked of him. Mr. Graves wasn't asking him to fight. 

“Go back to bed.” Mr. Graves repeated. “I will speak with you again at a more appropriate time.” Mr. Graves looked to the Barebones’ home. 

Harry wondered how often the man stood in the dark watching for trouble to strike the tinned building. There were many questions he wanted answers to still, he knew the man wouldn’t be forthcoming with answers. 

“Goodnight Mr. Graves.”

“Goodnight.” Mr. Graves disapparated. 

Harry wiggled through the gap to get back into the house. For a moment he stood listening to the heavy snores from above. The street’s dim light didn’t reach the inside of the house right now. There were only shadowed blurs outlining the tables. A noise to his left startled him yet he didn’t pull out his wand.

“Harry?”

“Credence,” he pushed his wand further up his sleeve so that Credence wouldn’t notice it. “You scared me.” He moved closer, squinting to see the other’s shadowy shape. 

“I thought you left,” Credence stepped out so that he could see his face a little better.  Worry etched in every corner as he spoke. “Are you leaving?”

“I’m not Credence. I promised that I wouldn’t.”

Credence seemed to be thinking over his words. “Why are you up?”

He had to give an excuse. “I had a nightmare...about my friends.”

Credence’s faced shifted from worry to sorrowful.  He watched as Credence quietly bent down bringing up something that looked like a glass bottle. Keeping quiet he followed Credence back into their room. In the less dimmed room he could see that it was a small glass bottle of milk. 

“Ma’,” Credence whispered opening the bottle. “She used to give me warmed milk after I had a nightmare.” He handed the bottle to Harry.  There wasn’t more than a few sips in it.“It helped a lot.” Credence smiled sadly.

“Thank you.” The milk felt a little warm yet it was easier to drink than the water here. 

“Do...Do you dream about them a lot?”

“I used to.” He looked down at the remaining milk. “After... after the war I only dreamt about them night after night... I think my head couldn’t believe that they were gone. I never knew what really happened to them... In my dreams I watched them die a million ways... Sometimes I was able to save them. Those dreams were worse. I’d wake up only to be hit with the reality that they weren’t going to come back.”

“I’m sorry.”

Harry shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.” 

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

He chugged the remaining milk. “We should go back to sleep.”

Credence nodded. 

Chapter Text

For several days Harry remained at the Barebone house learning more about their routines. It didn’t feel like this place was becoming a home; he wouldn’t allow himself to feel at home anywhere again, but he was getting use being in this time. Getting use to the process of making leaflets that damned magic. He got used to looking at starved shrunken faces of the boys from the factories that begged for more food that he wasn’t allowed to give, and he had gotten used to the way the Barebone women watched him like a hawk. Even the speeches Ms. Barebone gave was beginning to be memorized from hearing them so often. What made her damnation bearable was having Credence by his side. 

As long as he helped the other pass out leaflets or glue posters they were able to talk about something other than the views of the New Salemers.  He learned more about his roommate, how he met Mr. Graves, how he felt the day Modesty had been adopted- Credence loved his sisters no matter how strange they were. Harry got to know the two better as well. While Charity believed every word her mother spoke about modern evils Modesty was more questioning. Often he noticed the way her eyes sparkled when her mother said the word “magic”. He was sure that if brought up in a different household she would’ve grown to write fantasy novels. 

Mr. Graves appeared here and there always hidden among the crowds that sought to hear Ms. Barebone’s words. Whenever Credence spotted him he’d smile but that meant the man wouldn’t speak to Harry. The lack of another three am visit must’ve meant that things were being taken care of. Just seeing Mr. Graves’ face was enough to prevent himself from returning to MACUSA under his cloak or convince the Barebones to speak across the street of the Woolworth building. 

“Fight against the modern evil!” he said holding out the leaflets out. 

“Let us lead you to salvation! America is no place for witches!” Ms. Barebone proclaimed.

After a few days, Harry noticed a few repeating faces. A part of him worried that his helpful suggestions were only adding fuel to the fire. If his ideas brought more followers would that result in a war between muggle and wizardkind? Most people scoffed at the idea of witches in America. The only avid members of the New Salmers aside of the Barebones were the boys who they fed and Harry was sure that their interest were solely food driven.

“Excuse me,” a soft-spoken man apologized hitting Harry’s knee with his case.

Hearing someone who spoke like him made him stare at the man. He was much taller than he was with short auburn hair and bluish eyes. The many freckles that dotted his face reminded him of Ron. The bright blue coat screamed that this man was a visitor as most men wore darker grays.

“It’s no trouble.”

The stranger smiled hurrying along. 

Suddenly the feeling of being watched crept upon him. Modesty was playing with her ribbon so it wasn’t her. Credence was helping Charity pull down the banner and Ms. Barebone was stepping down from the apple crate. 

Glancing at the now dispersed crowd he thought he saw someone. A few people passed in front of him obstructing his view. For a split second, he saw the face of Abernathy. Had Mr. Graves told the man about him?  He wouldn’t go running after him until he knew for sure. Mr. Graves didn’t want anyone to know about him a few days ago. If Abernathy reported back to the MACUSA what would happen to him? What would happen to Mr. Graves?

“Harry!” Ms. Barbone’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Gawking at crowds is not something you should be doing.”

“I thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Didn’t you say you were alone without family?”

“I am.”

She looked him over, the mixture of worry and suspicion clear on her face. “Perhaps you’ve been out in the sun too long. When we return home we all should rest.”

“Yes. Ma'am.” 

***

A sound woke him that night. It wasn’t a crack or a crash , he didn’t know what it was. It was as if his ears had heard something that his mind couldn’t process. Leaning over the bed he watched Credence still sleeping soundly. His bare feet patted lightly against the wooden floors out of the room. Peering out of the dirty windows he saw nothing, no one. Quietly he crept out of the house into the street. The wind sent a shiver down his spine and the ground felt rough under his feet yet he walked. There had to be something out here calling for him. Was it Death or was it something else? He walked a little more. 

Turn back.  Death’s voice rang in his head making him turn to find the entity among the darkened street.

“Why?” he asked finally laying his eyes on the figure.

Can not be saved.

“What do you mean?”

One life.

“I know that. I will save his life like you told me.” He twisted the edge of his sleeve suddenly feeling like he was wasting time. What was the cryptic message about? He wasn’t trying to save anyone besides Mr. Graves. 

Death’s head turned towards the darkened streets.

Why was Death here? If Death was who he felt watching him all this time why hadn’t it shown him another vision or appeared sooner? No one else could see Death, that he was rather sure of. Seeing Death now felt like a timer was ticking down. But what was it ticking down to? Was Mr. Graves going to die soon if he didn’t move faster?

“Please, I need to know more. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I’m still not sure if I should trust you... I don’t fully understand why you sent me here... but I need your help.”

The darkened face looked at him. Harry hoped that Death would be as helpful as it had been before. Were there limitations of this sort of help? He still didn’t know why Death would help him.

“Please I’ll give you-”

STOP! Death’s voice screamed in his head. Don’t. Came its voice as he shut his mouth, it was kinder. Don’t. Death repeated, it sounded like a plea. There was a pain in Death’s disembodied voice.

Harry didn’t understand. Was Death stopping him from saying that he would give up everything to set things right? He would give up everything over and over again if it meant that the suffering his friends faced wouldn't happen. If Death didn’t want his begging, his soul, then what did it want? Why was Mr. Graves the life he had to save? 

“I have to save Mr. Graves,” he said, holding back his frustration while searching the empty space where Death’s face should be.

Death nodded.

“When? If I knew when then I wouldn’t feel so lost.”

Death moved closer. It’s hand rested on his forehead.  Closing his eyes he saw the tall buildings crumbling under the tremendous force of the blackened wisp crashing through it. The image shifted to a darkened place somewhere that sunlight didn’t reach. He was stepping in water. The surroundings shifted and he caught a hand chained up before he was walking up the tall stairs of MACUSA. Someone with white hair was looking over Mr. Graves’s desk; a pendant of the Deathly Hallows hung from his hand. 

These new visions were more confusing than the previous one.

Harry felt Death’s hand suddenly pull away.

 “Young men shouldn’t be out at this time of night” Mr. Graves’s voice reached his ears.  

Blinking Death vanished from sight. Only Mr. Graves remained, staring at him. There was ample reason for the man to stare, after all, he was shoeless seemingly talking to himself in the cold.

“I thought I heard something.”

“The streets make noises, that doesn’t mean we run out to them.” 

“Mr. Graves,” He looked over the man trying to see if anything was wrong. 

“Has anything happen?” the man asked turning watchful eyes from the house to him.

“Credence is safe.” Those words seemed to ease the man a great deal. “I had another vision.” 

“You did?”

“I couldn’t really understand it. I saw the smoke creature thing again, but I also saw someone with white hair looking at your desk. He was  holding the Deathly Hallow symbol.”

Mr. Graves ran a hand over his slightly stubbled chin. “You are sure of this?”

“I wouldn’t make these things up. You are in danger,”

“I’ve already told you not to worry about me.”

“I can’t!”

Sighing Mr. Graves pulled free one of his cufflinks. The opal stud laid in his hand as a whispered spell made it shine a bright purple before fading.  “Give me your arm” Mr. Graves said pulling at his sleeve. Nimble fingers slipped the cufflink into place before tucking it into its folds. “If you need me to report more visions or anything think of me and touch this cufflink. I will appear as soon as I am able.” Harry stared at the small accessory. “I am only giving you this because I don’t want you sneaking into MACUSA or causing any trouble for Credence here.”

“Why do you care about Credence so much?” It had been a question in his mind ever since he saw the way that the man had healed Credence; since he heard the joy in Credence’s voice whenever he spoke about him.

He expected another dismissal of the subject instead Mr. Graves ran a hand through his hair.

“The law is not perfect.” The words hung in the air as if they shouldn’t have been spoken. He waited until the man spoke again. “No contact with Nomajs prevents us from helping those with little magic within them. There is so much we could do for them. We could put an end to their starvation, their poverty. All their troubles could cease to exist if the law didn’t forbid contact.”

“Why does it?”

“Our strict law stems from the times of the Salem Witch Trials. Back then anyone with remotely ‘unnatural power’ was sought out and destroyed or tossed out of society if the were lucky. Even Nomajs with medical knowledge were deemed guilty of witchcraft. The actions taken place then shaped our tight segregation. Many fear that the minuscule evidence of our existence will return us to those times. And so the fear of our assistance in their world has festered the view that the suffering they face was brought on by the Nomaj’s own actions. All this poverty, pollution, the starvation, the war...It is hard to turn a blind eye to it so often. More so for squibs... Credence perhaps is the poster child for the failure of our laws we are unable to help our fellow man... Does he not matter because the magic he possesses is weak? Is it just to leave him in a place like this? Is it right to let anyone magic or otherwise grow up this way?” Mr. Graves looked to the Barebone’s home. “As the Head of Magical Security, I want to deny that our system is flawed, that there’s injustice in our pursuit to benefit our kind. As a man, I can’t turn away from the pleas of a broken young man for a better life.” For a brief moment the man was silent. Mr. Graves placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Forgive me for rambling on my dilemmas. They are not your worries and neither should my safety be your concern.”

“I,”

Mr. Graves shook his head. “I have things under control.” Harry really wanted to believe that. “Contact me if necessary. No more late-night walks on your own for the time being.” 

Harry nodded.

Chapter Text

“What is that?” Credence whispered pointing to his sleeve. 

“It’s nothing” he said curling up his sleeve as he passed the bowl of watery soup to the last starving boy in line.   

The sight of the opal cufflink made him feel more secure about the visions Death had shown him, still he couldn’t let Credence know that Mr. Graves had given it to him. He wasn’t supposed to know Mr. Graves even a fraction of the way that Credence did. The truth had to remain hidden from his friend. 

“I’ll start picking up the bowls.”

Credence didn’t say a word as he carried the empty pot back into the kitchen. 

Harry knew that the issue of the cufflink wouldn’t be dropped so easily. After all, in this house there was always an air of suspicion around him. Ms. Barebone’s sideways glances hadn’t exactly stopped over  his time spent here, yet he felt the more he stuck around to help the more she grew to include him. That would hardly matter if it was ever discovered that he was a wizard. Harry was sure that wouldn’t occur. Not one ounce of magic was used in this house or anywhere near the Barebones just as he’d agreed. 

“Come,” Modesty instructed as he stacked the empty bowls of the nearest table. 

Modesty frowned as he settled the bowls down besides her. She only talked to him on occasion, in fact he couldn’t really recall her talking to anyone for more than a few minutes at a time. Usually she was by herself creating something or singing songs that held lyrics about burning witches. 

“Do you need something?” he asked bending to match her seated position at the end of the stairs. 

“Which picture would be better for the new leaflet?” She pulled out a handful of drawings done in pencil. 

Modesty had a talent for drawing, the unfortunate thing was the images she had decided to make. In one drawing there was a woman tied up being burned alive. Even though it was a drawing it made his insides squirm as he reflected on what he heard about the Salem Witch Trials. 

“I’m not sure,” he said taking his eyes off the screaming face. “I know nothing about art. Why don’t you ask Credence?”

Modesty shook her head. “Which one is better?” she asked not taking no for an answer. 

“This one,” he said pointing to the picture of an old beggar woman bending over as a group of women shouted and pointed at her. It also made him uncomfortable but thought it better than having to hand out an image of someone burning at the stake.

Modesty looked the image over then gave him a little smile. “That’s the one ma’ chose too. Charity wanted the other.” 

Being the tie breaker made him feel odd. 

Picking up the bowls he noticed Credence was looking at him, a hint of sorrow on his usually worried face. He felt bad for possibly taking away his input. The women of the house hardly let Credence speak on anything. It wasn’t as if he were trying to replace Credence in this family, but the others had taken to him and his ideas of how to benefit their fight against the modern evil of witches. 

***

Credence didn’t speak to him all day. Not when they were washing the dishes,  not a word when they scrubbed the table tops, not even a sound when they ate. All the silence was treated as normal for the other Barebones Harry however could tell that Credence was waiting to say something. 

That night Credence didn’t ask him about his friends or the world he’d come from as had their nightly routine became. In the silence he could feel the bubbling questions Credence wanted to ask,but he wouldn't worry about it right now. 

At night was the only time he could really reflect on the visions he had. Somewhere out there stood a man with white hair who was going to try kill Mr. Graves. Someone wanted the man dead. Somehow he had to stop that. It was all a matter of when. Harry knew that it was coming, getting closer each day, each minute, and he hated it. All this waiting felt too reminiscent of the seemingly endless waiting right before the final battle with Voldemort. A part of him wanted time to move fast, to finally get to the moment he needed to save Mr. Graves. At the same time he knew he wasn’t ready.  He’d never been fully ready to fight Voldemort. Never ready to find out who didn’t make it out of the war. Never ready to lose so much.

 All this waiting was unbearable yet he didn’t want the moment to come. What if he messed up? What if he couldn’t save Mr. Graves? What if the future was already set in a way that no matter what he did the war would still claim his friends lives.

Things were too quiet. 

Everything was moving too slow. 

The end was coming yet not quick enough.

 He didn’t want the end to come.

 It needed to come sooner. 

No, he didn’t want it to come atr all for if he failed.

He couldn’t fail.

Harry tugged at his sleeve, listening to Credence’s deep breathing below him. The opal cufflink glistened slightly. 

Calling Mr. Graves was something he couldn’t do. If he did what would he say? He couldn’t abuse this power when he’d just gotten it. Not even if it would help his mind settle down. 

 He needed to sleep. He needed to know what would come when the sun rose. Sleep was important and yet it eluded him just as it had the night he was freed from St. Mungos. 

No he couldn’t think about that place. If he did then he’d see Neville lying dead in the dark. If he thought about it all he would hear the last things his friends said to him. The dying promise of being together at the end of it all. A promise that couldn’t be kept...

This had to stop.

Violently Harry pulled his satchel open. Tucked in the folds of the invisibility cloak there were only three vials of Dreamless Sleep potion left. It would be better to save them. It would be smarter to not be so reliant on them. Sleep wouldn’t come to him tonight if he didn’t take it so he downed the nasty drink. The numbness filled him turning his troubling thoughts into light buzzing before he too fell into the silence.

***

It wasn’t until he was alone handing out leaflets in the streets a day later that Credence talked to him again. During all the self imposed silence it seemed that Credence had stuck on one question.

“Where did you get it Harry?” Credence pointed once again to his sleeve, which had slipped a bit to show off the opal cufflink. 

If the streets were more crowded perhaps his pretending to not have heard the question may have been more believable, still he ignored it. 

“Protect yourself from the modern evils” he said thrusting the leaflet towards a couple walking past. The woman gave him a pitying look as the man hurried her away. 

“Harry,” Credence said.

Pushing his sleeve up more he looked to the dimming sky. “Maybe we should go back.” 

Going back now would mean they’d return earlier than usual. Handing out leaflets wasn’t all the enjoyable with the silent treatment. He’d volunteered to pass out the remaining leaflets as the Barebones readied for another speech, this time near a subway station. Ms. Barebone insisted that Credence went with him. If it weren’t for the lack of talking he wouldn’t have minded his attempt to sneak off thwarted. 

“Are you ready to go back?” he asked looking over at Credence.

Credence looked to the small stack of leaflets in his hand. “We didn’t finish.”

“It’s not as if we haven’t returned with leaflets before.”

The small stack shook for a brief second in Credence’s hands. It looked as if Credence was going to breakdown in tears.

“Hey,” he moved to place a hand on his shoulder. “It's okay.”

“It’s not.” Credence said through gritted teeth before his face turned back to worried as if Harry would hit him for speaking back.  Not wanting Credence to be punished if they returned with a few leaflets so he took them. As he moved about the street he slipped leaflets into the coats of businessmen. 

“There no more” he said proudly displaying this bare hands. 

“That's not what ma’ told us to do” Credence muttered.

“It’ll be fine.”

The silent treatment returned at full force during dinner. At this point Harry was not ready to pry words out of Credence again so soon. The way he got rid of the leaflets was hardly an issue. The businessmen would find the tucked paper and either read it or toss it out. 

Most of the leaflets they handed were tossed in the bin. Frustration growing inside of him overshadowed the guilt he should’ve had for seeing the Barebone children’s hard work tossed away.  The detailed drawing Modersty made, the physical labor of Charity creating leaflets, and the hours of Credence standing in the street enduring scathing looks; those things were starting to not  matter to him. This sort of feeling wasn’t a new occurrence; he had hit him way before he had made a deal with Death. Helplessness was key among what he felt. This type of helplessness pushed him to frustration that would boil into rage if he let it. He couldn’t let it. 

Time was moving closer to the end.

Impatience couldn’t win. 

***

As the rest of the house was asleep dark worried eyes held his gaze. Harry refused to talk first, Credence was the one who needed to speak. 

“Where did you get it” 

“I’ve always had it” he said growing tired of the repeated question.

“You’re lying to me.” Credence stared at him in shock. “Why are you lying to me?” Credence’s voice raised a fraction.

“I’m not.” he whispered hoping his roommate wouldn't wake the whole house.

“You are!” Credence stood pointing an accusatory finger at him. “That belongs to mr. graves.” Harry hadn’t realized  that credence would’ve known who it actually belonged to. “Did you steal it from him?”

“I didn’t.” He sat up straighter on the bed.

“How am I supposed to believe you? You act strange...sometimes I hear you talking to yourself at night. I thought maybe it was something about your friends, but” Credence eyed the cufflink. “You are talking to Mr. Graves, aren't you? He doesn’t talk to me anymore  but he's talking with you. Why? Why would he give you something? I’ve known him longer.” Credence gripped something in his hand.

“Credence calm down you’re over reacting this is a misunderstanding.”  He said carefully reaching under his pillow to get his wand. He would obliviate credence and then things would be alright. 

“You’re one of them aren’t you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lying is wrong.” There was genuine anger in Credence’s voice. “You are one of them.” Credence pulled out something from behind him. It was his bag, that contained his wand, invisibility cloak and potions.

“Credence give it to me please.”

“No. You’re one of them.”

With what was in Credence’s hands he couldn’t deny the evidence still he tried.“I’m not-”

“Don’t lie!” Credence rose to his full height shaking the bag. “Stop”LYING!

“Hush” his hand itched to accio his wand. He didn’t need the Barebones to come running in. what would happen if the Aurors came again? He’d be arrested for defying the statue of secrecy

“Alright,I am a wizard. I'm one of them.”

 Credence looked at him with a hint of horror in his eyes at the admission.“W-why hide that from me?”

“I can’t very well go around saying that I can do magic can I?” His childish temper was controlling him. Out there Mr. Graves was moving closer to death and here he was arguing with Credence. He needed to get to Mr. Graves. He needed his things back. And he needed to save his friends.

“Is this what you do? Lie to people so they like you?...You, you're going to take him away from me. You're going to take the only good thing away! You’re going to replace me, aren't you?”

“I’m not” he growled.

“DON’T LIE! Don’t lie to me he would never choose me over you.” Harry eyed the way Credence shook his bag. “You've been laughing at me the whole time!”

“That’s not-” The rest of his words didn’t come out as Credence tackled him with all his might. Caught off guard, they fell to the ground with a thud. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his wand had tipped out. Quickly he snatched it. Fear, betrayal, anger colored Credence’s face as he wrestled to take his wand away. Rolling over he heard one of the potion vials in his bag crack from the pressure. Liquid oozed from beneath causing Credence to slip a little. Unsure fist connected with his face.

 “Don’t take him away!” Credence cried, fists connecting with his nose. “I won’t let you!” Tears fell from Credence’s eyes as he lunged again for his wand. 

He needed to do something. If the others found them like this... but what could he do without using magic? He didn’t want to hurt Credence. 

“I thought you were my friend” Credence wailed. 

Gripping his wand tighter, Harry rolled away from the arms trying to rip it from him.

“Don’t make me do this Credence” he threatened holding his wand out between them.

Credence quivered and the room began to feel heavier then it once was. Acting on reflex he called “Petrificus Totalus!”

There had to be a spell, something like the Trace for underage magic on him because the second Credence froze Mr. Graves apparated with a thunderous crack . It took all of two seconds for the man to gather what happened. Between him still standing with his wand pointed at Credence and the petrified boy’s face covered in cuts there was no way that he could deny what he’d done. All sense of calm had left Mr. Graves, fire burned in the man’s eyes as they set on him. With a wave of the man’s hand silencing charms set in around them.

“I had warned you” Mr. Graves growled low. Eyes sharp as daggers burrowed through him. This was the first time he felt afraid in the man’s presence. 

“Mr. Graves please, he-”

“Not even a lumos. That was the agreement!” he snapped coming closer. “Did you think that I wouldn’t make sure that your word was kept? Mr. Graves’ eyes glancing at Credence while his wand firm and sure in his intention. Harry was sure that the man could do magic strong enough without the need of the wand. The man appeared as though he were debating between casting a cruico or simply killing him. 

“Mr. Graves,”

The fiery rage reigned in slightly as the man searched his battered face.

“I will make sure that none of them remember you. Now leave. If I catch you anywhere near them-”

“But,” 

“I said leave!” Mr. Graves spat.

“I,”

“If you don’t leave this instant,” Mr. Graves lifted his wand.

This was always going to be the end result if he broke the promise. Harry knew that the man would do anything to keep Credence safe. He’d seen the man strip an Auror down to nothing, he was much less than that woman was in this man’s eyes. To Mr. Graves he was a stranger, a Seer that had come to stop his death, something he didn’t really believe.

Mr. Graves’ wand shook in his hand from his death grip. Dark eyes so furious still held guilt for the threat. 

He had broken the promise made to Mr. Graves. The Barebones wouldn’t forgive him for this. He could no longer stay here. 

Nodding he pulled his soaked satchel from the ground and left.

Chapter Text

Harry woke huddled in the corner of an alleyway. Carefully he shifted the invisibility cloak from his face, it hadn’t provided that much warmth at night but it was all he had. Carefully pushing aside the bags of garbage that he had set up as a protective barrier around himself the night before, Harry cast a cleaning spell on himself. 

Despite last night ending in disaster he wasn’t going to wallow in self-pity. Getting kicked out and sleeping on the street wasn’t important. Mr. Graves’ safety was important. Whether or not the man believed it he was still in danger. 

Securing the invisibility cloak he peeked out from the alley. People were already up, making their way into various buildings around him. Harry didn’t know exactly where he was. He’d just kept running until he thought there was enough distance between himself and Mr. Graves. 

Harry needed to explain things with Mr. Graves. Returning to MACUSA was going to be his start and he would face whatever consequences may come of showing up there again.

Pivoting on his spot he apparated across the Woolworth building. Hidden behind his invisibility cloak he waited until an Auror came close to the building. The second he saw the owl gargoyle nod to them he slipped in beside the Auror. Tailing the Auror from a few feet behind he scaled the large golden stairs. A few shocked faces stared at the large golden magical exposure threat level clock that hung above; its dial was pointing to an orange section that read: SEVERE UNEXPLAINED ACTIVITY. 

Worried he hurried to Mr. Graves’s office. Not surprisingly the door was locked. Under the cloak he lifted his wand nearly touching the door as he spelled the lock open. With a small click he was rushing into the office closing the door behind him. 

“Mr. Graves,” he called but the man wasn’t there. 

The office looked different from his first visit. A large bulletin board covered one of the walls.  In the far corner, a note said unexplained activity case #201. There were a few pictures of buildings with large gaping holes in the middle of them. These pictures followed red strings that pinned to, what Harry guessed was, its location on a map. What caught his eye was in the far bottom corner was a cryptic note composed of the drawing of an eye followed by Dec. 3rd, H- no record. An arrow was drawn to a neatly written C, which preceded another drawing of an eye next to Dec. 4th, 5th, 13th. Sent? 

This was about him. These dates had to be when he told Mr. Graves about his visions. 

How was he connected with the buildings on the board? Did Mr. Graves think that he was the cause of it? 

He looked to the note again: Sent?

 What did that mean? That he was sent by someone? Who would the man think would send a seventeen-year-old to destroy New York?

 Moving away from the board he saw a few papers laid about on the desk. One piece had the image of the Deathly Hallows in the margins, next to it was a newspaper reading: Grindelwald Strikes Again. 

The doorknob clicked.

Mr. Graves glared at him. “I want you to leave.”

“Please, listen to me. I never-”

“You test my goodwill” the man growled but didn’t reach for his wand as he expected.

 The fact that Mr. Graves wasn’t immediately arresting him or cursing him was a good sign.

“I don't care if you lock me up just listen,” he tried again.

“I do not have time to entertain you.” Mr. Graves’ eyes landed on the bulletin board. “The world is being jutted into chaos as we speak. I have never seen New York to be so close to a state of emergency.” He aggressively ran his hand through his hair. “It has been safe until you arrived.”

“I’m not the cause” he said but he didn’t really know if that was true. Maybe coming here, going back in time did something. How could be sure that his presence wasn’t messing with the past? 

Mr. Graves refused to look at him properly.

“I’m sorry” he spoke into the silence that settled between them. “I’m sorry about breaking my promise. I’m sorry for stunning Credence. I never meant to hurt him.”

Dark eyes moved to him, studying his face for sincerity. 

“It was my fault. He found out I was a wizard and that we were talking.” Harry showed his gifted cufflink. “Recognized it right away...He thought I was going to take him away from you. Got in a few good hits before I could even think of what to do” he laughed a little.

Mr. Graves tugged on his own sleeve, the shared opal cufflink still there. “You can’t return.”

“I don’t care if I have to live on the street for the rest of my life.”

Guilt filled eyes betrayed the man’s set stoned face. Sighing the man moved closer to him. There was no reason to fear the man as his hand stroked his cheek, healing the minor cuts and bruises.

“You’re still in danger. Whatever, whoever is doing this,” he pointed to the board “is going to try to kill you.”

“Nothing is going to kill me.” 

A knock on the door interrupted his rebuttal. A single finger was held up to Mr. Graves’ lips. Without being told Harry pulled the invisibility cloak over him. With a wave of Mr. Graves’ hand the door opened.

“Abernathy, what brings you by?”

“I wanted to give you the reports on this morning’s incident.”  Abernathy’s eyes wandered to the board then around the room as if he were looking for something. 

“Is there something troubling you?”

“I was given an anonymous tip that HE was sighted.”

“Do not believe every anonymous tip you receive, Abernathy.”

“Sir,” Abernathy gulped. “I’m afraid that Goldstein may have overheard. She’s been missing from work for the past two days.”

“And you’re only informing me of this now?” Mr. Graves stood tall scrutinizing the Auror. 

“I was... unsure if she was ill like her sister.”

“Both Goldstiens are gone?”

Abernathy nodded. 

Mr. Graves looked to the board or maybe it was him the man was looking at. “You and I will see that they have not got themselves into trouble.  Be ready in five minutes.”

“Yes sir,” Abernathy left in a hurry.

“You must go” Mr. Graves whispered.

Harry yanked the cloak off. “You shouldn’t go with him.” Every fiber in his body was telling him that Mr. Graves shouldn’t go.

“I must make sure that they are alright.  If I don't I will dwell on it. If they are in trouble I won’t be able to handle the regret of not seeing to their safety.”

“I’ll go with you!” he volunteered.

“No.” Mr. Graves said sternly. “I won’t have you getting involved.”

“Because you don’t trust me?”

“Because I won’t run the risk of you getting caught in the middle of anything. Keeping New York safe is my job, that means I’m responsible for all who live here. That includes you.” Mr. Graves ran a hand through his slicked hair as he looked him over. Guilt shone in his face yet again. “I flew off the handle seeing Credence like that-” his voice trailed off for a moment. “The world isn’t as safe as it once was.” Mr. Graves looked to his watch. “ You can not stay here. I’ll speak with you again once Abernathy and I check on the Goldsteins.”

Although he wanted to fight back against not accompanying the man, against the bad feeling he had, he nodded.

***

Shrouded within the invisibility cloak Harry wandered the streets. The weight in his legs dragged as he sought to find a place to stay. The sun had disappeared hours ago and still, Mr. Graves hadn’t come. No matter how many times he thought of the man while tracing the opal cufflink Mr. Graves didn’t appear. Now he was aimlessly walking, hoping that his call would be answered before he dropped from exhaustion. Not following the man was a mistake. He should've listened to his instinct that Abernathy couldn’t be trusted. Maybe something happened. Or maybe Mr. Graves simply had been called into a meeting. Believing that second thought was idiotic as well as naive.

 The man had said he would return. 

Mr. Graves should’ve returned.

If he was dead then Harry had failed.

Time was dragging and rushing all at once. 

His head began to swim with multiple thoughts until bang he toppled into a stand. A rustle from behind made him hurry along the street. There was someone behind him, someone was chasing him he could hear their footsteps gaining on him- BAM!  he was knocked to the ground as this unknown person captured his legs.

“Ouch!” came the voice of his captor. Craning his head Harry saw that it was the same shy looking man he’d seen before.  “Are you okay Dougal?” asked the stranger, voice filled with concern.   

Confused Harry pulled off the cloak. 

The stranger’s eyes widened in horror before darting away. “I'm sorry. I thought you were Dougal.”

“Who’s Dougal?” he asked tucking the cloak away. 

“He’s my demiguise... They’re often invisible... I thought... What are you doing running around invisible  at night?”

“I...I had nowhere to go.” 

“It is a long way from England.” The stranger smiled sadly.  

“I’m Harry,”

“Newt Scamander.”

As awkward meetings went this one was taking the cake. He had no idea what to do, clearly neither did Mr. Scamander. Their hands were twitching at their sides unsure if the other was going to offer a handshake. Something about Mr. Scamander told him that he wasn’t really the handshaking kind.

“Are you hurt?” Mr. Scamander asked after a pregnant pause.

“I’m fine.” Aside from exhaustion and anxiety, he was fine.

“I should clean your cut to be safe.” Mr. Scamander pointed to his hands. Small scrapes glinted with a drop of blood. It was hardly the worst injury he received. “I’m staying nearby.”

Once again he was following a complete stranger to who knows where, yet it felt that this was the direction he needed to take. Death had put him on the path to Credence which led him to Mr. Graves so maybe this man was another key in his mission here.

“You really have no place to stay?” Mr. Scamander asked pushing through the rickety door of the old hotel he was staying at. This place had not one of the glamours decor of the many buildings they’d passed on the way. If Harry wasn’t so desperate for a place off the cold street and if Mr. Scamander wasn’t the kind, he’d thought anyway,  to pick up people from the streets to murder them, then he wouldn’t have stepped foot into the building. It practically screamed haunted. 

Harry nodded. 

“What happened?”

“I got into a fight.”

Mr. Scamander looked worried as he opened his case. “If you’d follow me please,” he said before stepping into the case. In a brief moment of disbelief, he watched the tall man vanish into the case. 
“It’s perfectly safe” the practically dismembered head of Mr. Scamander said.

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes as he went from the rickety hotel room to a medium-sized shed covered wall to wall with various sketches of magical beasts and vials with tiny labels. Mr. Scamander dug under some scraps of paper that had information on Billywigs; Harry recalled seeing that particular drawing in one of his textbooks at Hogwarts. 

“It’s only antiseptic.” Mr. Scamnder said plucking a cotton ball and dabbing a few drops from a green bottle onto it. The sting wasn’t terrible as the man pressed it into his scrape. 

“You study creatures?” he asked the second he noted the awkward silence sneaking up between them again.

“I do.” Mr. Scamander smiled brightly; it was clear that this was his favorite topic of conversation. “I came to America to return a Thunderbird to his home. He was locked up you see,” 

A loud roar shook the shed. Harry was ready to fight off something charging at them but Mr. Scamander calmly exclaimed “Oh,” before checking his weathered wristwatch. “She’s always on time for feedings, great internal clock.” Mr. Scamander chuckled to himself.  “Would you like to see?”

Nodding he followed out of the shed into what resembled an open zoo. Creatures of all kinds were moving about the wide space. Most of them he didn’t remember seeing at any of Hagrid's magical care classes. Then again Hagrid had always preferred to teach them about the most dangerous creatures.

“I knew someone who’d loved to see this.” He smiled sadly watching the bright pink Fwooper flutter above. This would’ve been a paradise for Hagrid. Imagining the half-giant running all over this place brought tears to his eyes.

“Are they- I shouldn’t ask,” Mr. Scamander turned away picking up some buckets. 

“His name was Hagrid. He loved magical beasts, the more dangerous the better. Once he raised a dragon in a little hut, it was a miracle the place didn’t incinerate. Oh, and he took care of a huge spider. I mean HUGE.” Harry motioned the size with his hands. “If it weren't for Ron’s car we would’ve been its dinner...You by chance don't have a Blasted-end skrewt do you?”

“I’ve yet to come across one.” Mr. Scamander's eyes sparkled in the way Hagrid's did whenever he heard of a new creature. 

Tears fell without permission. He still had a chance to save his friends. This wasn’t the end. Not yet.

“Come,” Mr. Scamander said in a soothing voice. “We can go visit the Mooncalfs. They are known to bring peace.”

 ***

Being around Mooncalfs did calm him. Their large eyes were at first intimidating but they soon reminded him of Dobby. Minutes passed with only him and the Mooncalfs. In another situation he could happily remain here.

Mr. Scamander returned looking extremely worried. “Dougal is missing. I was hoping that he was playing some sort of joke.”

“Do you think you’ll find him?”

“I hope he’ll return home soon.  It’s not safe to wander by himself.”

“How did he get out?”

“My fault completely. I knew I should've fixed my locks before coming but I felt it was important to get Frank home as soon as possible, that’s the name of the thunderbird.  I’m lucky that only Dougal decided to leave, he’s been the curious sort.” Mr. Scamander shook his head as he led them back to the shack. 

Only a simple latch divided the shacks inside to the habitats of the magical animals; it was easy to see how one might have gotten out. Newt waved his wand around letting a dusty second hammock shake out. The now dust free hammock hug just below the first. 

“Thank you” he said sitting down.

“I remember seeing you with those people talking about witches...are they your family?”

“No. They were letting me stay with them, but I can't go back.”

Newt gave a sympathetic look before offering a blanket. 

***

“Where would this demiguise be?” Harry asked the next morning after helping Newt, the man said that Mr. Scamander was too formal,  feed the many creatures.

“Hard to say.” Newt pulled his blue coat on. “This is unfamiliar territory.”

“If it turns invisible how are you  going to find it?”

“Dougal is a very smart boy he could be hiding in any place imaginable, but he does have a bit of a weakness.” Newt rifled through a few jars pushing them back to reach for something out of sight. “This,” Newt triumphantly held up a stick about the size of a ruler. 

“I don’t understand.”

“To catch a Demiguise you have to be unpredictable so I made this.” Newt twirled the stick. “It changes shape at random. It’s one of his favorite toys. You see,”

As Newt continued to recite facts about Demiguise, which may have been important, Harry wasn’t sure if tagging along on a wild chase to find Dougal throughout the city was the right path to take. How much of the interactions he had in this time orchestrated by Death? The reason behind all of this was still a mystery. Did that even matter? 

Where was the creature he’d seen in his vision? 

Did Newt know about such a creature?

These questions halted in his mind once he spotted the familiar face of Mr. Graves standing across the street. Seeing the man lessen the tension in his chest a little. Readying to run over he stopped when he noticed the waving banner of the New Salemers. He couldn’t speak to Mr. Graves if Credence was there too. It would be too late if he waited to speak with Mr. Graves. 

“....and that’s why under no circumstances should you give Dougal sugar.....Are you alright?” Newt asked.

“I... I need to go.”

“Go where? I thought you had no place to go.”

“I'll be fine.” 

How sure could he be of Newt’s role in any of this? Mr. Graves was right there. He couldn’t let the man out of his sight again.  If he failed...

Newt shook his head. “I couldn’t handle if something happened to you when I could’ve helped.”

Newt looked at him the same way he’d seen those sapphire eyes gaze at the injured creatures in his case. 

“You can’t adopt me” he said as sensitively as he could. Newt wanted to help him, rescue him. If someone had looked at him this way when he was a child he’d gladly go with Newt. 

This wasn’t his time. There were things that he had to do for the sake of all his loved ones. 

Newt nodded sorrowful eyes landing on the case.

“I appreciate you taking care of me. Good luck finding Dougal.”

“Take care” Newt said.

Harry ran through the crowds careful not to draw the eye of the Barebones. His eyes couldn’t help falling on Credence for a split second. All the inner confidence he saw slowly building had vanished. Credence's shoulders were more hunched and there was a darkening look in his eyes that he hadn’t remembered. Ducking behind another bypasser he hoped Credence wouldn’t recognize him. Not that he could. Of course they had been obliviated still, looking at them felt like looking into a world that he was once apart of.

“Fight the modern evils!” he heard Charity gleefully shout.

He continued to run to the spot he’d seen Mr. Graves, but the man had disappeared.

A sense of foreboding hung in the air today. 

***

Not for the first time, Harry been left to roam aimlessly. Under the invisibility cloak he remained close to the Barebones in hopes that Mr. Graves would return. Again there was no luck. When the Barebones called it a day he moved on, keeping an eye out for Newt while touching the opal cufflink. 

It had to be calling out to him, it had to yet, again the man didn't show himself. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He could feel it. The air around him was growing colder. Cold as a dementors’ approach. Jutting his eyes from the cufflink he saw the darkened form of Death appeared across the street.

 Racing after it Harry stumbled upon a house that had been ripped through like the buildings in his vision. Like the images on Mr. Graves’ bulletin board. 

The atmosphere around here felt heavy. The house was teetering on remaining upright. As he followed into a room he could hear a rasping sound coming from something on the ground. Death kneeled obscuring his view of the source of the sound. All feeling in his legs gave out when he saw the half-lidded eyes of a young woman, her mouth was gasping for air that couldn’t reach where a large rebar was sticking out from her abdomen. She looked to him with pleading eyes, but he was fixated on her wound and the way her breathing caused trickles of blood around the impaled object, for him to do anything.

It’s alright Death spoke. The words weren’t for him it was for her. 

She looked at Death, eyes wide but in a moment a small smile came over her face. And then she stopped breathing. Her face was still looking upwards.

Harry shook. Everything within him had frozen. His heartbeat clang in his ears. He couldn’t breathe.  Feverly he touched the opal cufflink wanting someone to come. Someone needed to pull him away from this scene. His feet couldn’t move. Someone had to save her. She was dead.

Had his friends died like this? Died alone. Laying in excruciating pain until Death had come to claim them?

 Breathing was so hard. 

Darkness covered his eyes, shielding it away from the reality laid in front of him. He could still smell the blood. Even without looking he saw this woman’s face, the faces of loved ones long lost. 

Sorry   Death said in the same calm carrying voice as it had used with the woman. 

Harry took in a staggering breath.  

Could not be saved.

Death was right he couldn’t have saved her. 

Sorry Death repeated.

Harry hoped that when he opened his eyes that her body would disappear yet he knew that wouldn’t happen. This wasn’t a vision or a dream.  This was reality. In reality, bodies didn’t disappear. 

Hide Death said pulling its hand away. 

There were voices now coming closer and closer. “A big mess ain't it” a male voice said. 

Quickly without looking at the poor woman he flung the invisibility cloak over him and curled into the nearest corner. His legs weren’t strong enough to move more than that. 

“Indeed it is.” 

Harry almost spoke when he saw Mr. Graves enter besides a reporter- muggle by the looks of it. There was something off about the man. He didn’t look outwardly different but the way he glanced at the reporter reminded him of the way Lucius Malfoy use to look down on Ron and Hermione. Still, he silently begged the two men to find the woman. She was so close if they just looked they would see her under the rubble. She could be buried properly. Mr. Graves would see to it. 

“What you reckon caused all this detective?” the reporter asked.

“Earthquake perhaps.”

“Don’t look like an earthquake to me.”The reporter snapped a few pictures as if he were in a museum. 

Mr. Graves sneered at the distracted reporter.  More and more pictures were snapped as Mr. Graves walked around. The man stopped short in the room he was hiding in. Like a bloodhound he sniffed the air, a terrifying grin coming over his face. The click of his heels echoed off the remaining floor until he came upon the woman. Her lifeless face ghostly looking to him. Mr. Graves cocked his head to the side. With the toe of his shoe he pushed her head harshly to the side cracking her neck in an unnerving sound. 

 This wasn’t Mr. Graves. Whoever this person was couldn’t be the same man he saw cradling Credence or the man who fixed his arm.  This was an imposter. Harry had to leave. He had to find the real Mr. Graves. Where was he going to look? How was he going to get passed this imposter? 

“Why are you hiding?” the imposter spoke to the air, his tone sent chills down his spine. 

Harry stopped breathing. There wasn’t a possibility that the man could see him under the invisibility cloak. Stilling more he watched the man’s attention to be focused elsewhere.

“Mr. Graves, sir.” Abernathy ran in. Those shifty eyes seemed the same as usual. 

The imposter's eyes hovered where he was crouched.

“Sir?”

Without a word the imposter strutted out, Abernathy scurrying after him.

 Harry took in a deep breath when he felt they wouldn’t return. 

Seeking help from MACUSA was not possible now that there was someone posing as the Director of Magical Security. If he brought any attention to himself he would most likely end up arrested. One thing was for sure and that was Abernathy was a part of this switch. But why? Why would Abernathy do this? In the short time he knew Mr. Graves he seemed tough but fair. Who would want the man gone? Motivation hardly mattered right now he needed to think. What was the imposter looking for? 

A blip vision hit him. Once again he saw the dark wisp and Mr. Graves standing before it. Harry was sure Death was telling him that the person he thought was Mr. Graves was really the imposter. But why would the imposter want the wisp creature? There was one person he could ask. Knowing what to do he apparated to the old hotel  Newt had brought him to. 

 He knocked but there was no answer. When he used an alohomora the room was empty. Newt’s case was missing. Newt perhaps was the only one who could help him right now. 

Habitually he rubbed the opal cufflink as he made his way through the streets. Mr. Graves would be alright until he could find Newt; he had to believe that he wasn’t too late. 

Luck brought him to the New York zoo as the evening had shifted into night.  Strange wailing sounded from one of the enclosures. Harry stood back as he watched the blue coat Magizoologist conduct an odd dance towards a creature that he faintly remembered called an Erumpent. Newt’s eyes caught him when he rolled on his back. He waved awkwardly at him.  Newt continued the dance until the Erumpent rolled into his magical case. 

“She got out when I was trying to get Dougal in.” Newt explained shutting the case tight. “Mild mistake.” Newt looked around the zoo. “No harm done.” His eyes landed on Harry. “Is everything alright?”

“I need your help. I saw this creature, I don’t know the name of it. It was undefinable, like a big ball of blackish smoke but it was alive” he rattled off.

Newt paled quickly rising to his feet. “Come with me.” Following Newt led Harry into a cold habitat, he hadn’t been allowed in this particular one this morning. It was completely empty except for a wisp of black swirling in an enchanted bubble. It looked to be a smaller version of the one he saw wrecking the city in his vision.

“That’s it” he swallowed. Was Newt’s actions the cause of the visions he’d seen? If Newt was controlling this thing then was he was working with the imposter? 

His hand twitched towards his wand. If he needed to fight Newt he would to save Mr. Graves.

Newt looked nervous. “This is an Obscurus. It can’t survive outside of the host's body...If there’s an Obscurus on the loose we have to save it.”

“Save it?”

Newt nodded looking sadly at the trapped Obscurial. “An Obscurus is what happens when a young witch or wizard denies their magic so it consumes them.  It’s one of the most destructful beings in our world... The most painful...I couldn’t imagine being in that much suffering.” Newt raised a hand to the protection bubble. The black wisp weakly swirled towards the hand.

Determination came over Newt’s face. Harry had to run to keep up with the speed Newt ascended the case.

Reemerging from the case screams could be heard but he couldn’t tell from where. Something had destroyed all the street lights leaving them in near pitch black.

Newt said casting a Lumos to light their way. “This must be the Obscurial” Newt said clutching his case protectively. 

“How do we stop it?”  He asked as they ran. 

“We must find it first.”   

Further down the streets they ran. Crashes, screams, and bodies running past them met them head on. They kept running.  Suddenly the opal cufflink on his sleeve seared his skin. The color had changed to a scarlet red. 

“What’s wrong?” Newt asked when he stopped. 

He could feel the cufflink pulling at his magic as if it were trying to direct him elsewhere. “I’m going the wrong way” he mumbled feeling the pull grow stronger, more desperate.

“Harry?” Newt looked torn between running ahead of him.

“There’s someone I have to save. He’s close by, I can feel it.”

 Newt looked at him with questioning eyes. “The Obscurial-”

A building further down the street exploded. The remaining undestroyed lights sparked wildly.

“I’m going to stop the Obscurial!”

Harry nodded. “I’ll meet up with  you.”

Newt’s gaze landed on him once more. “Be safe.” Newt took off.

Harry followed the pull of magic within him like a compass. This must’ve been what allowed Mr. Graves to appear to him before. Quickening his stride he was pulled down a trash-filled path, squeezed in alleyways, and jumping over fences that dared to separate him. And then he saw Abernathy. There was no mistaking the man’s shifty demeanor even in the dim light. Abernathy was going in the same direction he was being pulled to so he donned the invisibility cloak.

Through the damp darken alleyways to an underground entrance he followed the man. With each step he felt his magic being pulled closer, assuring him that he was on the right track. Transgressing the sewers was tight and disgusting, the stench nearly made him want to puke. Harry had to fight the urge to throw the cloak off as it dragged heavily on the ground. 

“Mr. Graves” Abernathy's voice echoes off the walls guiding him into the right direction. 

In a turn off the main path there was a hidden room. There he saw Mr. Graves shackled tightly with his arms and legs against the far wall. His face was almost unrecognizable with several welts and bruises, his eyes were nearly swollen shut. Mr. Graves mumbled in a delirious dizzy slur. Harry couldn’t believe the state of the man for being missing only a short time.

“Must be wearing off” Abernathy smirked reaching into his pocket. 

Mr. Graves glared at Abernathy. “How-how could you... betray your county...Your fellow wizards and witches...”

“How could you carry on content with the Nomajs? Grindelwald is right, these rules of being hidden belittle our existence. Nomajs should be put in their place.”

“Spoken like a true brainwashed servant.” Mr. Graves lazily shook his head. “Grindlewald will betray you and all of wizardkind. He cares for only himself.”

Abernathy gripped Mr. Graves neck forcing a potion near his mouth. “If only your precious Nomaj could see you now.”

In the same moment, Mr. Graves forcefully bit Abernathy’s hand Harry whipped his wand from the cloak onto the Auror. With a thud Abernathy fell. The heavy invisibility cloak was shed as he checked on his spell work. Abernathy looked pissed but perfectly petrified.

“Mr. Graves!” He rushed over to the man’s side.

“Harry?” Mr. Graves groaned. 

“This would be  the moment I’d say I told you so but I’ll save it for later.”

Mr. Graves slumped forward as the rest of his shackles were released. “You’re late for Seer.”

Harry chuckled as he maneuvered the dead weight of the man. “Hold up.” He cast a feather-light charm. “What did he give you?”

“Something to prevent me from using wandless magic. Its effects wears off every few hours” Mr. Graves scrunched his face “it had been barely possible to think.”  Mr. Graves head lulled as they began to move.

“Stay with me Mr. Graves” he said gripping the man tighter.

“Grindelwald,”

“He took your identity.”

Mr. Graves crunched face knotted in pain. Harry didn’t have any medical knowledge. He moved faster.

“Credence... Grindelwald wants Credence.”

“Credence?”

“I don't know why I never saw it... That living environment corrupted him. He’s not a squib.”

“What are you talking about? Is it the potion?” The man wasn’t making sense.

“No. I didn't understand until before I was captured. He’s an Obscurus. Grindlewald plans to use him somehow.”

With some difficulty he moved even faster through the sewers. Hurrying along the tunnels they reemerged from below. Panic was in the air as several buildings were either torn apart or on fire. Screams filtered through the streets. 

“Downtown,” Mr. Graves said looking more sturdy on his own feet. 

“You’re going to fight?”

“Yes” Mr. Graves stumbled a little as he tried to remain upright on his own. “I’m an Auror, it’s what we do. We fight. This is my home and I will fight till my last breath to keep it safe! Wouldn’t  you do the same?”

“I would.”

 Fear gripped him. This was the beginning of a war. A war that had to be stopped. If he let Mr. Graves go on his own the man could die.

“We need to save Credence and this city.”

 They ran. Mr. Graves’ feet still weren’t as strong as they should have been but the closer they got to downtown the more sure his feet were.  

A few Aurors had gathered around a large subway station setting up a barrier. Credence had to be there. Looking to Mr. Graves’s that welted face held horror shock at the crowd of muggles screaming and pointing at the Auror’s work. 

“This is the end of secrecy in America. This is what he wants...Chaos.” Mr. Graves gripped his fist tightly. They fought their way around the crowd to the sides of the subway station. 

“Mr. Graves?” a young Auror jumped at the man’s mangled look.

“Let us in Gregory” Mr. Graves barked.

“Yes Sir” The barrier parted just long enough for them to enter. Harry caught a glimpse of Death striding into the entrance. There was no need to tell Mr. Graves that they had to hurry. Their feet were already running down the steps to the tracks. Shouting spells bounced off the walls as they descend. 

“Stand down!” A woman in black commanded at the Mr. Graves lookalike. More than twenty Aurors stood behind the woman wands pointed at the lookalike. Newt was a few steps behind the lookalike trying to talk to a large wisp that hung above them all. 

“Destroy that Obscurus!” the woman ordered.

“NO!” Mr. Graves and Newt yelled in unison.

“Mr. Graves?” Madam President turned a confused face to them.  The imposter shot a curse at the distraction rebounding by the real Mr. Graves.

“Appears that Abernathy had much less use than I anticipated” the imposter growled. “No matter.” the imposter’s features shifted his hair turning electric shocked white and his eyes mismatched. A wicked grin spread on Grindelwald’s face at the collective gasp from the Aurors.

“Take him down!” Madam President ordered finding her voice.

Grindelwald tutted. “I think not my dear.” Grindelwald reflected every spell shot at him as if they were of little bother. Reflected spells knocked one Auror after the other to the ground.

Before he could stop him Mr. Graves jumped into action. Wandlessly he pushed Aurors out of harm's way. 

“How nice of you to join in the final moments with your men Mr. Graves” Grindelwald taunted while reflecting more spells. Pulling his wand out Harry helped shield the Aurors. 

Raising his hand Mr. Graves sent a few bricks from the damaged wall towards Grindelwald. Without a blink the bricks turned to dust. Madam President redirected a curse to Grindelwald which was flicked off all too easily. Not one of the spells cast were reaching Grindelwald. 

“You are weak for New York's finest” Grindelwald laughed. “I'm tired of this Avada-”

Harry jumped in front of Mr. Graves just as the spell was about to hit. The green flash stopped above him as the wispy mass in front consumed the spell. Then the wisps shrunk banding together until Credence was lying lifeless on the ground.

“CREDENCE!” Mr. Graves wailed.

Everything around them shook. Bricks, pipes, anything that wasn’t pinned down was sent crashing towards Grindelwald in the man’s furry. In the mass of reflection and shielding charms, Harry saw something sprung form Newt’s blue coat seizing Grindelwald’s arms at the same time a brick knocked the wand from his grip.

Noting that the man was apprehended Mr. Graves let the remaining floating objects fall. His breathing was heavy as he glared at Grindelwald. 

“You think this is the end?” Grindelwald smirked. “No cell could hold me.”

“You think you deserve a cell” Madam President stood in front of Grindelwald, wand pressed to this throat. “You have exposed our world. You have murdered countless Nomajs and wizards. There will be no trial for you” she snapped.

Grindelwald looked unbothered by her wand pressing forcefully into his skin. “What would the rest of your law-abiding members think of you Madam President?” His mismatch eyes glanced at the Aurors. “Does the council view my death as your honor? Your right? Or do you simply enjoy having blood on your hands?” he smiled. “Is that how you’ve obtained your current position?”

The fight in her eye dimmed. “Arrest him” she sounded defeated.

“No!” Mr. Graves rose from the tracks to the lip of the platform. “He can't be allowed to live Madam President. He will escape and when he does we will be at war” Mr. Graves held Grindelwald's wand directly between mismatched eyes. 

“If you do this-” Madam President began.

“I am prepared to face the consequences. This is my own action, not your orders.”

“Ah, for the greater good” Grindelwald smirked.

He looked away as Mr. Graves spoke the killing curse. The dark navy blue robes of Death slid into his eye line.

Come. Death held out a hand.

He took it. 

The world around him expanded and swirled until they were back in the hallway lined with pictures. He fell to his knees sobbing at the loss of Credence. He couldn’t have saved him. Only one life. All he could’ve done was save Mr. Graves, still he felt increasingly guilty that Credence’s life had been cut far too short. What would happen to Mr. Graves? What about Newt? He should've stayed.

“Did I do it?” he asked. If his actions had done as Death said it would have, then this pain would be bearable. 

“Yes” Death didn’t speak in his mind anymore, its voice sounded familiar and filled with sorrow.

Tears falling from his face he looked up at Death’s hooded face. Slowly Death rose its hands lifting the hood. Harry took a step back expecting something hideous, something unworldly, but it was his own face staring back at him. The only difference was this version didn’t wear glasses and had one green eye and one blue eye.

“Is this a trick?”

Death shook his head. “A life for a life, that was the deal I made with Death. You were successful.” Harry blinked unable to understand what was happening. “Look.” Death handed him a picture of a house labeled October 31st, 1981. 

The image shifted to his mother holding a one-year-old version of himself. He watched waiting for Voldemort to arrive but he never came. The image moved through a moment he didn’t experience; his parents throwing him a party with Sirius and Remus smiling happily.

“Mr. Graves and Mr. Scamander ended up working together to stomp out anyone who dared to take up Grindelwald’s mantle.” Death explained. “Their work together contributed to stronger communication amongst America and Britain, which spread to other parts of the world.”

“So there was no Voldemort? No one died in the Second Wizarding War?”

“There was no war. No Voldemort” Death said looking at the moving image of his parents. 

Harry looked from the image back to Death. “How did you know?”

“After failing my deal with Death I watched how things played out; backtracking further and further from my own time piecing together a way that might change things for the better. Of course, I couldn’t save anyone. I had to wait until someone could.” Death smiled sadly.

Harry couldn't help stare at Death wondering if he too would've ended up this way if he hadn't been successful. If he'd promised Death his very soul to save Mr. Graves...  All this time he didn't know why Death would help him. Even if he was the master of Death  this hadn't made much sense until now.“Who did you try to save?”

“Severus Snape... I thought..." Death looked away. "It doesn’t matter.”

“What happens now?”

Death waved his arm. A bluish light broke through the hall. “Go through that and you’ll return."

He walked towards the light. He could almost hear his friends calling to him.

"You won’t remember any of this. You get a second chance.”

“What about you?” he asked turning away from the light.

“I am Death,” There was a sad smile on his face. “I’ve used up all my chances. All I can do is watch until I am called.” 

He looked at Death once more before stepping through the light.