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Harry thinks that at this point in his life he's become somewhat of a masochist. Or, he's been conditioned by the Dursleys and Albus Dumbledore to value his life less than the lives of others. It's hard to tell. Sometimes he can't tell at all. It's all so quite frustrating.
What Harry does know, with utmost certainty that he's thrown into the past for a reason. And by gods will he find out what this reason is, if it's the last thing he does.
With a war over and a nemesis dead, Harry startles into realising that the war is not over and that this nemesis is not dead. No, wait. Pardon. It's just the First War and it's just Past Lord Voldemort. This time around he looks much more handsome, without the serpentine features.
Egad.
Voldemort smiles at his stare. ''I'm taken, thank you.''
Harry is going through a whirlwind of emotions at the moment. Firstly, he was just looking at the guy because it was weird to see him looking like a human being. Secondly, who the fuck would have him?
''Aye, how's Abraxas?'' Aberforth greets Voldemort. ''Is he around? He's a good tipper and you tell him he's always welcome.''
''I'll be sure to relay that, sir.'' Voldemort smiles. And he calls Harry's boss SIR.
Harry's too old to go back to school, thanks so very much. But he's not too old to be Aberforth Dumbledore's server. The Hog's Head offers free room, board, and something that Harry relishes the most: no questions being asked.
Though, he has a million questions that he wants to ask Aberforth when he sees Lord Voldemort slink off from the back entrance, petting along the goats that loathe Harry with an unknown passion. Harry's eyes widen comically and he's practically flinging himself mentally to bring up his occlumency shields.
Lord Voldemort waves at him and says that he'll have a coffee. ''With cream.''
''And sugar?''
''Two cubes ought to do.''
Harry curtly nods, swallowing down anxiety that's nearly had him reveal his hand.
Aberforth comes back a little later as Harry's giving Lord Voldemort's his coffee. They greet amicably. Lord Voldemort even smiles at him. It's odd to see the man smile, especially since it isn't a malicious grin or a pretend flirtatious smirk. It's just a smile. Strangely genuine.
Harry's boss sits down next to him and then they have a silencing charm put in place, but Harry can see Aberforth worrying about him, kind of how a caretaker may. Or a friend.
Aberforth detests Albus Dumbledore, Harry knows, and it seems that he's found a kindred spirit in that hatred with Lord Voldemort.
Briefly, he wonders if he's supposed to kill Lord Voldemort. If that's the case, Harry has many complaints to make. It seems oddly repetitive.
There's plenty of wacky characters that come through the doors of the Hog's Head. Everyone except Lord Voldemort uses the front entrance.
Burke from Borgin and Burke's comes often, ready to get sloshed. Slughorn joins him sometimes and they talk about a traumatizing experience they've shared, what with being there for the formative years of one Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Harry's beginning to think that he's in the wrong place to figure this time displacement out, when a boy that has no reason to be in such a place, comes into the Hog's Head.
He's taken aback how much he looks like his dead dogfather. Then Harry adjusts his glasses (he's gotten new ones, when he nearly spilled a hot cocoa over Lord Voldemort's lap and apologized profusely for it (ha ha suck it Voldemort) (though, Voldemort does tip well and has an immense respect for those working in the service industry))
And it can't be Sirius. This kid can't be Sirius.
He can't.
The child is too solemn faced to be Sirius. He's fragile and hopeless and peruses the pub's interior like it's the only thing he can do. Even Harry's had élan, bon vivre, any sort of mirth to occupy himself in between all of the attempts made on his life.
This child's light has been snuffed out cleanly, replaced by a sense of foreboding that can't be shaken out of the way. Not quickly, anyhow.
''D'you want a drink?'' Harry's taken to talking like Aberforth, because Aberforth doesn't like people thinking they're better than him. The accent's stuck.
The child – well, all right, teenager (still, a child – and is it really true that he's been the same age as this once and fought in a war? – horror creeps into Harry's bones at the mere memory of it) –looks at Harry and asks him if he can have a glass of water.
Harry nods and goes to fill him a glass, motioning for him to sit at the bar. The boy does. He leans forward, mindful not to exhibit any lack of decorum. His eyes are painful to look at, reminding him of Sirius and Tonks and Teddy all morphed into one lonely being.
He takes the glass of water and sips it. After he drains it he thanks Harry and goes to stand up from his seat. There isn't much left to do and no matter what questions wants to ask, he finds his tongue twistedly tied.
The boy waves off and leaves.
But he does come back, after a time.
Bellatrix Lestrange (recently married because she's showing Harry her ring and delightfully telling him that his staring is all for naught!) ''I am a married woman, good sir!''
Harry's staring at Bellatrix Lestrange not because she's attractive (which, mind you, she is), but because he can't believe how lucid she is. How sane. How witty. How funny. Bloody hell, Harry laughs at her jokes and hates himself after it. They're good jokes. She's the life of any party and she says, quite bluntly, that she's staking out the place for enemy activity.
Slowly, Harry nods. He's cleaning a few glasses manually, which at her suspicious look, he says calms him down. Then she nods. ''We've all got to find ways of staying calm. Tell me, Harry, could I get a drink?''
''Depends if you'll pay for it.''
She scoffs, offended. ''Of course, I'll pay for it! Don't be absurd.''
Harry pours her a shot. She asks him if he'll have one with her. At this point, Harry just wants someone to pinch him because he's about to have a shot with Bellatrix Lestrange. He does, why not.
That's how Voldemort finds them. Harry drinking Bellatrix under the table after she's decided to have another shot and another.
''Bella.'' He sounds like a disappointed parent. ''Bella, are you drunk?''
Duh, Harry thinks, of course she's drunk – haven't you got any eyes?
Voldemort sits next to Bellatrix and orders them some food. He's looking at Bellatrix (after having drunk a fifth shot with her, Harry's dropped the surname – they've moved past that) and his crimson eyes are terrified.
Dutifully, Harry brings them an abundance of chips. Which Bella doesn't want to eat because it'll ruin her figure. At which point Voldemort growls through gritted teeth that she will eat the chips else her aunt will ruin them both. For the love of her lord and the fear she harbours for her Aunt Walburga, Bellatrix eats the chips. But then it's like a dam bursting. Because Harry's chips are incredibly delicious, thank you very much.
The front door opens, Albus Dumbledore tries making one step inside, spots Lord Voldemort, pivots on his heel, and leaves.
Harry's having an abundance of laughs working in the Hog's Head. It's the only neutral ground on this damn island.
Alastor Moody has two eyes and Harry's never been more disjointed in his life. He drinks beer. Good for him. Harry says he doesn't drink on the job. Alastor nods at this, very pleased to hear that bartenders keep constant vigilance at all times. Harry gives the man a sombre smile, knowing of his fate. Maybe he can change it? Maybe that's why he's here?
Aberforth leaves him often to tend the pub himself. There isn't much business. Voldemort comes and goes.
When Voldemort isn't here, Albus Dumbledore attempts to enter the pub.
Albus Dumbledore doesn't take a single sip of his lemonade before it's taken by Aberforth angrily and splashed right in his face. There is a reprimand somewhere in there. Aberforth tells Harry never to let Albus inside. Albus looks like a crestfallen orphan.
Harry remembers that he's loved this man like a grandfather. That this same grandfather has made him do terrible things. All for that sacrifice not to pay off and to have him be back in the past, reliving the war.
One time, as he's outside during battle – Alastor Moody calls for a brief ceasefire so their bartender can make free passage. Harry, who's been sent off on an errand by Aberforth, sprints through the ceasefire and thanks both sides. Bellatrix shoots the minute she sees Harry dissapparate.
It's kind of good to be grey. He's neither here nor there. After winning his own war and playing auror for years, it's good to let loose a little bit and relax.
Still.
He can't help but wonder why this has happened to him and what his purpose in the past is?
The doors open and the boy from before, the one that looks so much like his dogfather, comes in. Harry knows that it's a Hogsmeade weekend, but most of the students go anywhere except for the seedy pub where Death Eaters and Future Order members come to participate in a cat and mouse game that makes no conceivable sense to Harry.
''A glass of water.''
Harry pours him the glass of water and asks him, this time before the boy can leave: ''Who are you?'' The accent surprises him, because Harry speaks plainly and not with the heavy working class accent he's accustomed to using when in the presence of lords, ladies, and suspicious aurors.
The boy is soon to graduate it seems, because he isn't overly concerned with stranger danger. He thinks of himself as a man and so he is one. ''Regulus Black.''
And Harry feels the wind knocked out of his lungs at that admission. He stills his response, because it's hard and it's dangerous, and he's got Sirius' little brother in front of him. Sirius has graduated already and isn't living with him. The haunted look the boy spears him with isn't similar to any he's seen.
He begins to think, in horror, that Regulus looks more of an inferi as a lost youth than when he's a dead one. It's two years before his death.
This.
Harry introduces himself as Harry Porter, bartender extraordinaire – and a listening ear when the need arises.
This is why he's here.
He'll help this boy, if it's the last thing he does.
Regulus nods, after having drunk his water.
On his way out through the door Regulus balks at the sight of Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange (who is very disappointed to see him in a pub – then Regulus snips back and asks her why she's entering it in the first place – but damn it all, Voldemort knows that Regulus exists now)
''Hello, Mr. Black.''
Regulus nods, because he doesn't know how to address the man in public. His mother calls him obscene things and if he repeats any of her choice words he's going to die.
Bellatrix tells Regulus, much alike an older sister might, that if he doesn't behave she'll tell his mother. ''Don't be like that blood traitor, Reggie. I mean the nerve of that boy. He's of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. That ought to mean something. Never be like him, Regulus. Hear me now.''
''Are you finished antagonizing your cousin, Bella?'' Voldemort lacks patience for any familial moment, having no family of his own to berate or tease.
Bellatrix shrugs, telling Regulus he can leave.
He does, but not before giving Voldemort a grateful nod.
Oh no.
Harry's stomach sinks.
He really ought to do something about this.
Fin