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''EVERYBODY SCATTER!'' Fleamont Potter shouted and threw down a potion that turned into a smoke screen.
Harry likened this scene to the one straight out of Ratatouille when all of the rats scattered in the kitchen. Tom Riddle was carrying many books and running in one direction. Abraxas Malfoy had a cauldron he was holding over his head and sprinting in the opposite direction. Walburga Black was screeching, usefully for once – because they'd delegated her to be the lookout for professors.
And Harry, Harry was just standing in the middle of this cacophony, staring at his grandfather in utter, utter awe.
He'd like to say that this was the first and only time he'd ever seen his grandfather this feral, but alas this would be a big lie.
One might wonder how Harry Potter had found himself in the 1940s at Hogwarts, sharing a dormitory with his own grandfather and Ron's grandfather and honestly anybody's grandfather. Well, it was quite obvious in a very un-obvious way: Harry had time-travelled. It was some sort of side-effect of his being Master of Death. Hermione was hopefully figuring out how to bring him back to his proper time. While Harry enjoyed a pause from the mundane life of being an adult – being a teenager was the worst possible thing he could wish on his enemy, let alone himself. No amount of self-loathing would willingly bring Harry back to a time when he was this hormonal.
He saw couples coupling left and right in this era! Wasn’t he fed lies about them being chaste back in the 40s? What was this?!
But the worst had to be the one time he’d accidentally found his own grandparents making out like there was no tomorrow in a broom closet.
Fleamont Potter was a lot less stereotypically gentlemanly than Harry had been led to believe. But, if he were perfectly frank, he’d never actually heard much about his grandfather from people. Now he realised why: Fleamont Potter was feral.
Harry James Potter was in just a tiny bit of a time-misplacement conundrum. Nothing to see here. And definitely nothing worth investigating. Except it'd been one whole day in the past that he'd gone without anyone noticing his misplaced nature before the worst of the worst accosted him in a corridor and forced information out of him.
The most dangerous among them had to be Tom Marvolo Riddle. He recognized Abraxas Malfoy and Zephyr Avery with him. But, and this was where things took a turn for the baffling, Harry also noticed a lot of students from other Houses like Ravenclaw’s ever present, ever representative Nobby Leach – Hufflepuff’s Mandy Sullivan, and Gryffindor’s Fleamont Potter!
Fleamont Potter, who'd brought a nice-smelling potion right up to Harry's nose and had his mind completely fog over. He told him and his ragtag gang of misfits everything.
One such misfit was a very strapping young lad called Tom Marvolo Riddle, who was going through the agonies of finding out about future events. Another was an incredibly hot young lad called Abraxas Malfoy who really looked way too hot to be anyone's business. But the sigh of relief that fled past their leader's lips was the highlight of this monumental moment.
''Whew!'' Fleamont Potter put his hands on his hips and laughed. ''I was worried this was one of my rival business' saboteurs. But a time-travelling grandson isn't that bad!''
Tom Marvolo Riddle was screaming into a cauldron in this secret room (The Room of Requirement, Harry’s mind immediately supplied) which these misfits were using for potion brewing. The cauldron was luckily empty. Abraxas Malfoy was laughing his ass off next to him. ''Mon chou, please, there is no need for you to be so worried! Goodness, you should learn from your mistakes!''
''How...how did you wind up working with them?'' Harry gestured to Abraxas and Tom. Feared Slytherins. This didn't make sense. Why would a Gryffindor as beloved as Fleamont ever stoop to this level?
''Well, it all kind of began with the cocaine actually.'' Fleamont pondered, rubbing his chin. He'd said it so nonchalantly, too!
Harry James Potter boggled .
The Cocaine Conundrum, more commonly referred to as the We Need A London Man operation, was a bit of a fiasco if Fleamont Potter had anything to say about it.
As any seventeen year old, Fleamont Potter feared no man, god, or otherwise any authority figure. What he did fear was failure, and as any seventeen year old, Fleamont Potter decided that he wasn't going to think clearly about this at all.
Zephyr Avery came to Fleamont with a request for a potion. ''You're the only one I can trust to do this properly, Potter.''
When Slytherins said Potter, they said it with a kindred sort of kindness.
When Gryffindors said Potter, they said it with disbelief and misunderstanding.
And Fleamont Potter wanted to affirm that trust they had in him. And he would brew anything. For a reasonable price.
''Um,'' Fleamont whispered when he saw the recipe, but Zephyr had already run out of the bathroom stall, ''um, chap? Good man? Zephyr??? Where am I supposed to get the cocaine from?''
This wasn't Zephyr Avery's problem. He'd given Fleamont an advance, the recipe, and wouldn't pay him the total sum amount until the product was finished.
Fleamont Potter knew that there were only two types of people who could get him cocaine on such short notice: addicts and Londoners.
And he’d rather avoid the former.
So, off he went hunting for Londoners!
Nobby Leach was a London man. And he was a Ravenclaw. So that made him all the more insufferable. If Fleamont could pick a London man for this business, he’d have gladly picked Tom Riddle. But Tom Riddle was going through a phase where he pretended he had zero dealings with muggles and was a pureblood pick-me. So, Nobby Leach it was!
Except Nobby Leach talked circles around Fleamont’s carefully constructed pyramid schemes. It took Mandy Sullivan intervening to actually get anything out of them.
‘’Oh, you just want cocaine?’’ Nobby Leach said. He was smiling. ‘’Sure, I can get you that. I’ve got an idea.’’ Nobby Leach and his ideas would be the death of him. But that was neither here nor there at the moment. For now, Nobby Leach represented Fleamont Potter’s only chance at getting his potion down correctly.
Apparently people heard about this cocaine business. Professor Dumbledore just sighed, terribly disappointed: ‘’Are you doing this because of the war?’’
‘’No, sir.’’
‘’To impress a girl?’’
‘’No, sir. I don’t impress girls generally and I don’t think cocaine would do much of anything.’’
‘’Is this for your personal collection?’’
Fleamont Potter just kept thinking about if he’d gone to Tom Riddle, Dumbledore never would have found out. Nobby Leach was sloppy. Tsk. Tsk.
But Fleamont had an ace up his sleeve. He took out a vial from his robe sleeve and threw it down to the ground. Smoke began emanating from it. While Dumbledore was fussing about clearing the smoke from his office, Fleamont was all but fleeing from the confines of those 4 walls. That vial was a godsend for leaving conversations halfway through, right at that moment when it was clear they would turn awkward.
‘’Why do you need cocaine for?’’ Abraxas Malfoy asked. He had accosted Fleamont. Loomed over him. The absolute fiend of a man.
‘’A potion.’’ Fleamont said.
This was a boring answer, it seemed.
‘’I can get you some.’’ Abraxas Malfoy said. ‘’I’ll even pay for it.’’
‘’Why would you do this?’’
Abraxas Malfoy wanted to try muggle drugs, actually, but that, too, was neither here nor there.
Harry Potter was listening to this tale with a worried expression. ‘’Fleamont-‘’
‘’Monty.’’ Fleamont corrected. ‘’Call me grandpa Monty.’’
‘’Grandpa Monty,’’ Harry felt weird calling a man younger than himself that, but there he was! ‘’What the hell is going on in your life?’’ He gestured to Abraxas and Nobby and Tom and Walburga and many others in the Room of Requirement. They’d nearly escaped the nosy professors, and they’d only managed to do so because Fleamont had shattered a very toxic potion that began steaming. No regard for the safety of others, this man!
‘’I just reckon it’s much more fun to go through life without worrying about what others think of you.’’ Fleamont winked at Harry. He even ruffled his hair. Very grandfatherly. ‘’I’ve always wanted a grandson. Getting one at 17 is a real nice perk. How old are you?’’
‘’I’m in my seventeen year old body, but I’m actually in my twenties.’’
Tom Riddle whispered: ‘’This entire year is shaping up to be a disaster.’’
Abraxas screech laughed. It sounded not unlike a peacock.
Tom Riddle was the next London man. And he was a Slytherin. But he was one of those nerd Slytherins that never broke the rules and cared about their marks, so Fleamont didn't think he'd find anything other than a dreadfully law-abiding citizen in him. But that Abraxas Malfoy boyfriend of his was definitely a rule-breaker. And if Abraxas Malfoy wanted cocaine, Tom Riddle reluctantly got him whatever he wanted.
Abraxas, Tom, and Nobby wound up getting Fleamont way too much cocaine than what he knew to do with. Much more than Zephyr’s potion needed.
The excess was distributed among fellow like-thinkers.
‘’Oh my god, my grandpa does cocaine.’’
‘’It’s not a habit.’’ Fleamont scoffed. ‘’We had to check if it were good or not before we used it for the potion.’’
‘’What’s this potion even for?’’
Abraxas Malfoy shrugged. ‘’I was in it for the cocaine, to be honest.’’
Tom Riddle sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘’It’s a magic amplifying potion. Zephyr needed it for a duel.’’
‘’A duel?’’ Harry was learning so many things. He was on a wild ride.
‘’With Walburga Black, yeah. She wiped the floor with him. Potion didn’t help at all. Sometimes you just can’t beat strategy.’’
Walburga Black looked at Zephyr Avery, weird as hell with his weird as hell magic going haywire, raised a wand at him, and then just wordlessly caused his shoelaces to tie together so when he stepped into a duelling position he fell face-first into some mud leftover from a puddle. Scottish weather was horrendous.
When she found out this was why they needed the cocaine for, she berated the group until they gave her the leftover cocaine. What she did with it wasn’t any of their business.
''It's all so very inexplicable in the end.'' Fleamont Potter said. He shrugged next, because to ruminate over things just wasn't his style. Let other people worry, he said, he was just going to go through life brewing and stirring up trouble. ''But that's how we began working together. It's a multi house movement. Our biggest contributor is Professor Slughorn.''
''And Professor Merrythought.'' Tom Riddle couldn't go on one day without mentioning his favourite professor.
''Yes, of course, and Professor Merrythought.'' Fleamont nodded. He pulled Harry up by his arm and told him, patting him with one hand all while madly gesticulating with the other, ''Now, since you're here and you've got all sorts of future knowledge, let’s make a deal where you give me recipes of never before seen potions, I brew them, patent them, and become internationally well known. We split the profits.'' Then he smiled. ''You'd do that for good ol' grandpa Monty, wouldn't you?''
Harry Potter was left with an impression that the reason why everyone had always called his father a menace to society was in part because his grandfather was an active menace to society back when being a menace to society was rather difficult and much more nerve-wracking.
''Sure, Grandpa Monty.'' What foreign words! What a foreign feeling of dread! Harry felt like he was complicit in a crime of epic proportions. In a way he was.
Fleamont Potter brewed a potion that Harry told him.
He, Tom Riddle, and Eileen Prince were splitting the recipes. It would be too suspicious if only Fleamont was getting these potioneering revelations.
Harry didn’t know how much he was changing the future, but it beat out getting mugged or killed because he was from the future. People in the 1940s were all so much more feral than he’d been led to believe. Case in point: Fleamont Potter running an illegal potion brewing business with like half of the Slytherins that would become Tom Riddle’s Knights of Walpurgis.
‘’I call them what?’’
‘’Knights of Walprugis.’’
‘’That’s awful.’’
‘’Looks like you were trying to kiss Walburga’s ass by endearing yourself to her so she’d let you coexist with the purebloods, pureblood pick-me.’’ Fleamont added.
Abraxas Malfoy screech-laughed again.
Truly, this was a cursed timeline. Harry looked at Tom Riddle, saw him cross his arms in disbelief, and just stare.
‘’Fine, I’ll call us Monty’s Brewers.’’
Harry Potter was incredibly worried that when he came back, the Death Eaters would be no more, but instead he’d open a book about the 1st War and read about some sort of Immortality Elixir gang.
Professor Slughorn was frothing at the mouth. He was draping himself over Fleamont’s shoulders and crying out: ‘’Goodness gracious, dear boy! You’re a certified potioneer! A genius!’’ Then, to Tom: ‘’Really, Mr. Riddle, you should apply yourself.’’
‘’I don’t care for potions.’’
‘’He only cares for me!’’ Abraxas Malfoy shouted. He was draping himself over Tom’s shoulders and setting his chin on top of Tom’s head, as their height difference dictates. Tom Riddle, short king, curled his hands at his chest and smiled smugly.
''Am I gonna see you on the field?'' Fleamont grinned.
There was the last game of the season for this year. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.
''You play quidditch?'' Harry's eyes sparked to life. Yet another thing that he had in common with both his dad and grandfather filled his chest with joy.
Fleamont all but spat on his joy and stomped on it. ''Me? Play? Never! But I am a very integral part of the game.''
Harry Potter was a quidditch marvel. He’d learn this came from his grandmother Euphemia, who played chaser.
''A referee assistant?''
''Oh, I was, but then they deemed I was too much of a danger for the others.''
Harry was coming to terms with a lot of things, but one of them was that his grandfather was a seemingly terrifying man. And he was only seventeen!
But if he weren't a referee, and he wasn't a player – then what was Fleamont “Monty” Potter?
The luck Harry had in the 40s was just awful. His last quidditch game in this year and there was a thunderstorm. Everyone was barely making out their surroundings.
One person had it worse off than everyone else, though, and that had to be the quidditch commentator, fighting against Zeus himself. Thunder blared and he fought to be heard, throwing caution to the wind and climbing on top of the desk and shouting:
’’Malfoy is soaring through the air, aiming straight for the bludger, and his Herculean strength strikes yet again – flinging the bludger from Black – that’s WALBURGA Black for anyone confused about the quantity of the members of the NOBLE and that’s yes, MOST Ancient House of Black – oooh! Oh! Seeker Porter is going for the snitch – he’s spotted it everybody – here comes seeker Black – that’s ALPHARD Black – in pursuit of the snitch. They’re neck and neck everyone. Tensions are on the rise. Are you looking? Because my FOUR eyes can’t stop tracking these two gentlemen and I should say I have much lovelier things to be looking at when I’m not on the quidditch pitch giving commentary - like the most wonderful chaser known to wizard kind– Professor Dumbledore, please, you are obstructing my careful work as commentator, do not let it happen again – And PORTER catches the SNITCH! Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup!’’
More thunder blared. Cheers of joy erupted from the stands. Red fireworks were being shot off, the Gryffindors were jumping, Hogwarts was in a whirlwind of emotions.
‘’Everyone, Fleamont Potter thanks you for following along and wishes you a most stupendous six hours, as well as a speedy recovery of your senses and wits that will no doubt be rendered useless during the P-A-R-T-Y. Professor Dumbledore is informing me now that professors know what we mean when we spell out taboo words. I will choose not to believe this just for the sake of my own sanity. Goodbye!’’
The chant Gryffindor Hear Me Roar filled the stadium, the great corridors of Hogwarts, the great hall of Hogwarts, and the Gryffindor common room. It reached a culmination there as the very heart of the chant.
It was a momentous victory, never before being done with such a drastic difference between the two scores, so that the Gryffindors even got Fleamont Potter to cheer with them. He’d been swept up along the élan of sportsmanship. Harry soaked up the praise the most.
‘’Where are we hosting the party?’’ Septimus Weasley asked. ‘’Charlotte from Hufflepuff’s asking so she can coordinate the Puffs.’’
Euphemia Ranjan could be heard groaning. ‘’Let’s give them the wrong location. Those people are so boring. I have nothing to talk to them about!’’
‘’There’s no party without the Puffs.’’ Fleamont grinned. He was all but inching onto Euphemia’s lap.
‘’They made brownies, I bet.’’ Euphemia raised her brows.
‘’Oh they definitely did.’’ Fleamont grinned.
‘’Connoisseurs of the art.’’ They both laughed.
Harry watched them with a small smile. And then became horrified at the vivid make out session that followed. Definitely worse than Lav Lav and Won Won.
A side effect of there being a war in the past was that everyone cared very little about their lives. Which meant that they could all be as weird as possible, because they could very well die next year. Nobody knew anything. Another surprising thing was how interconnected the Houses were in the past. Tom Riddle and Abraxas Malfoy were dancing a very complicated looking dance that was apparently called Swing. Personally speaking, Harry had never seen it.
The Forest, not yet Forbidden, only mildly disallowed, was the main place for any upper year party. The only exceptions to this rule were the lower year quidditch players whom the upper years got drunk for their own entertainment. Walburga Black was merciless to her younger brother. ‘’Alphie, Alphie, do you want to throw up again?’’
Alphard Black answered this by flipping his sister off and throwing up all over Ophelia Smith. Walburga Black’s laughter mixed in with Ophelia Smith’s horrified screaming.
Abraxas Malfoy was nearby, needling a special someone into going off behind a tree and snogging. That someone was pretending not to be interested. It was a song and dance they knew well.
The Ravenclaws brought illegal pyrotechnics and potions. ‘’Do you want to think you’re invisible? Grab the red potion. Want to think you’re a cat? Grab the red potion. Want to have these upcoming months pass in a blink of an eye–’’
A chorus: ‘’GRAB THE RED POTION!’’
Then when someone grabbed the red potion, William Baker and Nobby Leach set off some firecrackers that turned into a red lion and jumped around the partygoers.
The Hufflepuffs brought, well, the stuff . No party was complete without the Hufflepuffs. They were partly a reason why they couldn’t have any of the parties inside of Hogwarts. The smell of cannabis would tip the professors off. So they went to the Forest, protected by magic from rainfall and boring caretakers. Also, they brought the food. They lived RIGHT NEXT to the kitchens, after all.
The Gryffindors brought an absurd amount of alcohol. Euphemia Ranjan carried whisky bottles in her school bag. She kept taking whisky bottles out of her bag. People had gathered. One. Two. Three. Four. ‘’HOW MANY ARE THERE??’’ Five. Six. Seven. ‘’Euphemia’s the cat’s meow everybody!’’ Eight. Nine. ‘’Charlus, I’m going to go and have a good cry. This can’t be possible. It’s too much.’’ Ten. Eleven. ‘’SOMEONE TELL HER TO STOP!’’
Tom Riddle noticed the small grin on Euphemia’s face. He brought Abraxas Malfoy to the scene. His fairy blood gave him better sight than most. ‘’Oh there are just four. She just keeps taking out the fourth one multiple times. It’s very good magic.’’ Tom nodded. Abraxas kissed him then. Tom hissed in indignity, but everyone was too busy paying attention to Euphemia to care for the likes of them.
‘’TWENTY-THREE???????!!!!’’
And the Slytherins secured the location. This clearing in particular was a very difficult place to find unless one spoke to the forest snakes for directions and safe passage. They had a parselmouth, but no Slytherin dared to say who it was. Only the Ravenclaws found this worthy of investigation. Though, they couldn’t get any comment from drunk Tom Riddle since he was too busy battling Abraxas’ tongue for the ultimate dominance.
Harry Potter danced. He did this very badly, because 90s dances were too strange for the 40s people to appreciate. Then they began shunning him. Only to remember that he was the one who caught the snitch. The boos turned into cheers. Harry Potter was going through a lot of emotions in the 1940s, he could tell you that much.
Life moved on after the party and the massive hangover.
‘’Do we have any classes together?’’ Fleamont asked.
Harry checked. They did, they had Divination of all things next.
Harry and Fleamont were sitting together in Divination. This was an absolute waste of their time. Fleamont didn’t believe in prophecy. Meanwhile Tom Riddle, sitting right in front of them with Zephyr Avery, was writing everything down like his life depended on it.
’’I SEE A GRIM!’’ the professor shouted and clutched her heart in her hand, screaming at a poor student whose name Harry couldn’t remember.
’’She sees one in the mirror every time she wakes up in the morning.’’ Fleamont muttered and Harry had to stifle a snort, else he’d give away his position and the fact that, truly, he couldn’t care less for the professor’s many, many grims. She saw one almost every class.
Fleamont handed Harry some hair products. ‘’Your hair’s a mess, sonny boy.’’
‘’Grandpa Monty, please, you’re seventeen. Don’t call me sonny boy.’’
‘’These youths are so rude these days.’’ Fleamont just sighed. ‘’I bet you never even call.’’
‘’I would if you were alive.’’
Fleamont all but curled into himself and died at those harsh words. ‘’Don't’ tell me these things!’’
‘’S-Sorry!’’
They were trying to brew Wolfsbane. It was a group effort. If they brewed it successfully, they’d be so rich and set for life that there would be no reason for anyone to become a Dark Lord. Very pointedly Harry glared at Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle very pointedly ignored him.
Fleamont was too giddy. Euphemia said she loved him. This giddiness led to carelessness.
And without really meaning to, one of his hand gesticulations just seemed too broad, too speedy, too much out of control and he accidentally knocked a vial into the cauldron.
It all happened in slow motion. Fleamont jumped out of the way. Tom Riddle was pushing himself out of the way, but he was not nearly as quick as Fleamont.
Tom Riddle had a horcrux. He would be fine.
Harry Potter sighed as the cauldron exploded straight in his face.
He, too, would be fine.
Harry Potter woke up in a world that was neither here nor there really. Death laughed at him again. This time he could see her much more clearly. She clapped her skeletal hands together. Around her neck was a busted up time-turner. None of this filled him with any assurance. The world had turned upside down and he was hanging off of a branch by his sock belts. A very novel thing from the 1940s, he agreed, but incredibly old fashioned by his standards.
''Did I die?''
Death, at this point, was wheezing.
He did die, apparently.
Harry rubbed his eyes and groaned. He sat up in this neither here nor there world and groaned. ''I'm a bit fed-up with all of this. Did Hermione figure out a way to bring me back?’’
More wheezing.
But yes. Apparently. She had.
Harry woke up looking into Hermione’s eyes.
Hermione looked at Harry and asked him when he'd gone. She was worried, rubbing her hands together anxiously. Her hair had seen better days, frayed near the ends from stress. ''Oh Harry! You've really got to stop doing these death-seeking things, please. I nearly lost it.''
''I was in the 1940s.'' Harry whispered. ''Met my grandfather. Helped Tom Riddle get a date. It was all very comical. We all went to a party together. Very nice blokes.''
Ron Weasley wheezed, coming from behind him and hugging him. ''Blimey, Harry, you never do things the easy way, do you?''
''As my good ol' grandpa Monty would say, Ron, everything's easy as long as you don’t have any witnesses?'' And then Harry did badly formed finger guns. ''Eyy.''
Both Hermione and Ron were deathly afraid for Harry's mental health. They checked him in St. Mungo's, but all they could tell him was that he suffered from being way too cool for these nerds. A side-effect, the healer said, of hanging out with super cool people.
''Grandpa Monty.'' Harry made a fist with his hand and narrowed his eyes passionately. ''I'll never forget the wisdom you taught me.''
The wisdom herein being how to take care of his hair.