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Harry had just completed his Auror training, and he was ready for a well-deserved break from the constant chaos that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Little did he know that his newfound peace was about to be shattered in the most peculiar way.

He found himself in the attic of Grimmauld Place, surrounded by a chaotic mess of old Black family heirlooms and dusty relics. Harry had volunteered to clean up the house, hoping to rid it of its dark past and make it a home for his friends and allies.

As he manoeuvred through the cluttered attic, he stumbled over an ornate mirror tucked away in a forgotten corner. "Bloody hell," he muttered as he crashed to the ground, his wand slipping from his grasp. He glanced up at the mirror, its glass seemingly untouched by the years of neglect.

"This whole place is a hazard, who thought it was a good idea to place all things creepy in a secret room?" Harry mused, reaching out to touch the dusty surface. But the moment his fingers made contact with the glass, a strange sensation washed over him. Reality seemed to twist and contort around him, and he felt himself being pulled into the mirror's depths.

In an instant, he was no longer in the attic of Grimmauld Place. Instead, he stood on a pristine, eerily familiar white platform bathed in an otherworldly light. The architecture around him was grand and surreal, with towering marble pillars and a high, vaulted ceiling that seemed to stretch into eternity.

A deep, resonant voice echoed through the space, "Greetings, Harry Potter."

Harry spun around, his wand at the ready, only to find himself face-to-face with a figure unlike any he had ever seen before. It was a spectral being cloaked in shadows and wearing a top hat that seemed oddly out of place.

"Not this shit again” Harry blurted out in exasperation .

The figure smiled, its features shrouded in a dark cloak. "My Master. I am the ‘One at the End of All’ or as you mortals call me, Death. ‘ , and you have been brought to the world between worlds after your mortal shell has been destroyed."

Harry's mind raced with questions, but he couldn't deny the bizarre circumstances of his current situation. "Alright, Death so I’m dead, Then what's this all about ?"

Death leaned forward, its eyes gleaming with an eerie light. "You see, Harry, you are the master of death."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "The master of death? But I destroyed all the hallows?"

Death gestured to a nearby pedestal where three objects lay—a cloak, a wand, and a stone. "You possess all three of the Deathly Hallows, they cannot be destroyed. With them, you have become the master of death."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "So, I'm the master of death now? What's the job description?"

Death's voice held a hint of amusement. "There is no such ‘job description’ but I do think I can help you, my master, to make a choice. You may choose to return to your world and continue your life, or you may choose another path, one that will take you to a different time and place."

Harry grinned, his usual sense of adventure and bad decision making skills kicking in. "Well, Death, I've faced down Voldemort and countless other insane creatures. Auror training got boring fast, I'm up for a little bit of excitement . Let's go with the 'different time and place' option."

Death's top hat tipped slightly as it nodded. "Very well, Harry Potter. Prepare yourself."

With a wave of its hand, Harry felt a rush of energy, and the world around him blurred into a whirlwind of colours and sensations. As he hurtled through the unknown, he couldn't help but think, "If I was normal I would be so freaked out, but at this point this is just Thursday." And with that, Harry Potter was thrown in front of a snowy castle on the side of a Mountain, that looked like it came straight out of a fairytale… if he ignored all the wizards pointing their wands at him.

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Harry's eyes fluttered open to a rather unwelcoming sight. A legion of wixen, dressed in antiquated winter clothes, surrounded him, wands pointed in his direction. It was an army of what looked like 1930s-era magical vigilantes, and they were definitely not here to welcome a time-traveling stranger.

Before he could even say "Expelliarmus," a barrage of spells struck him, each one more disorienting than the last. Harry's body went rigid, and he was suddenly bound by unseen magical restraints. He lay there helplessly, unable to move an inch.

The wixen were convinced that they had apprehended a spy or intruder, and their faces bore expressions of stern accusation.

In the midst of the chaos, a figure emerged from the crowd, and Harry couldn't help but do a double take. It was Gellert Grindelwald, but not the elderly and feared wizard of Harry's history. This Grindelwald was young, strikingly handsome, with silver hair that shone like moonlight, and heterochromatic eyes that seemed to hide a galaxy of secrets.

"Who are you?" Grindelwald demanded, his gaze locked on Harry. "And who sent you here?"

Harry, still reeling from the effects of the stunning spells and quite mesmerized by the young Grindelwald's undeniable allure, couldn't resist a cheeky response. "I'm Harry Potter, and I came here on my own accord. I'm afraid you won't find much in the way of espionage on my resume."

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow at the stranger who had suddenly appeared in their midst. "Harry Potter, you say? It's a rather unusual name."

Harry's grin didn't waver, and he let his gaze linger on Grindelwald's stunning silver locks. "I could say the same for your hair. Is it all natural, or is there a special charm involved?"

Grindelwald looked slightly taken aback by the question. "My hair is natural. I've had it this way for as long as I can remember."

Harry's mischievous smile deepened. "I've got to admit, it's pretty remarkable. I've always had a bit of a hair problem, you see."

The wixen looked utterly baffled by this bizarre conversation. But before they could make sense of it all, Harry, still unable to move his body, decided to push the boundaries even further.

He extended his hand towards Grindelwald, his gaze never leaving the man's captivating eyes, and he jokingly called the Elder Wand to him. The legendary wand left Grindelwald's grip, floated through the air, and landed gracefully in Harry's hand.

The courtyard erupted in a chorus of gasps and disbelieving murmurs. The wixen were paralyzed with shock, and the scene was so surreal that it defied logic and explanation.

Grindelwald's eyes widened in disbelief, and the Reapers, who had been observing the proceedings, were on the verge of complete panic.

In the midst of all the chaos, Harry couldn’t help but admire the smooth lines of the Elder Wand in his hand, turning it over like a child with a shiny new toy.

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Gellert Grindelwald stood amidst the chaos of the courtyard at Nurmengard Castle, a sense of bewilderment etched upon his face. This was not at all what he had expected when he confronted the strange intruder.

The man who had introduced himself as Harry Potter lay before him, once again bound and petrified, yet seemingly unfazed by the dire circumstances. Grindelwald couldn't help but be intrigued by the vivid green eyes that sparkled with a mischievous glint. There was an unmistakable cheekiness in those eyes that was impossible to ignore.

As Grindelwald watched Harry Potter, he couldn't help but be captivated by the stranger's audacity. This was not the typical response he received from those who found themselves at his mercy.

The man had flirted, bantered, and even, in a stroke of audacious magic, summoned the Elder Wand to his hand. Grindelwald had expected resistance or perhaps fear, but what he received was a curious cocktail of charm and bravado.

Even in the face of potential danger, Harry Potter had managed to turn the situation into a peculiar spectacle that had left Grindelwald himself intrigued and somewhat amused.

The silver-haired dark wizard couldn't help but admire the man's spirit, even as he maintained a cautious air of authority. Grindelwald had never encountered someone quite like this in all his years as a wizard.

As the Reapers, tried to regain control over the situation, Grindelwald's focus remained fixed on the captive who had inadvertently turned the tables.

What had brought Harry Potter to this place? What secrets did he hold, and what peculiar magic allowed him to wield the Elder Wand with such audacity? Grindelwald found himself pondering these questions as he gazed into those hauntingly mesmerizing emerald eyes.

The silver-haired wizard knew that Harry Potter was no ordinary intruder, and the mystery of his sudden appearance in Nurmengard was one that Grindelwald couldn't resist exploring.

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Chapter 4

In the heart of Nurmengard Castle's vast library, Gellert Grindelwald sat at an ornate table, his brow furrowed with a mix of fascination and frustration, while Harry Potter, bound by magical restraints, exuded an air of nonchalance, mischievously grinning.

Grindelwald had been trying to interrogate the enigmatic time-traveler, seeking answers about his extraordinary claim to be the master of death. Every question he posed seemed to lead to more flirtation, cheeky remarks, and baffling revelations.

"Mr. Potter," Grindelwald said, his voice laced with a sense of intrigue, "You claim to be a master of death. And yet, you've confounded every notion I had about the Deathly Hallows. What do you want?"

Harry leaned back in his chair, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, Gellert, I want a lot of things. But right now, I just want to know if you're as interesting as they say."

Grindelwald's frustration was growing, but he couldn't help but be captivated by Harry's charisma and audacity. This encounter was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

"You are a puzzle, Mr. Potter," Grindelwald admitted.

Harry grinned, leaning closer, and whispered, "You're not so simple yourself, Gellert."

Grindelwald's attention was suddenly drawn to the bound man before him, and he found himself unable to resist the impulse to reach out and gently hold Harry's chin. Their eyes locked, and a charged silence filled the room.

In a voice laced with a hint of temptation, Grindelwald asked, "What if we were to form an alliance, Mr. Potter?"

Harry, never one to pass up an opportunity for mischief, leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against Grindelwald's ear. "An alliance, you say? I've always been curious about the dark side, Gellert. Maybe you can show me how it's done."

Grindelwald's eyes glittered with intrigue, and he could feel the pull of Harry's charm. Fate had denied him the title of master of death, but in exchange, it had bestowed upon him a most captivating enigma named Harry Potter.

Grindelwald's fingers deftly removed the magical binders that had kept Harry restrained, and he offered a hand to help him up. Harry rose from the chair, stretching his limbs, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

With the tension of their previous encounter dissipating, Grindelwald decided to show Harry to his new quarters, just next to his own.

"Come," Grindelwald said in a calm, low voice, leading Harry through the maze of corridors within Nurmengard. The dark wizard didn't need to speak a word; their alliance had been sealed in unspoken understanding.

They arrived at a door, and Grindelwald opened it to reveal a finely appointed room, furnished with dark wood and heavy curtains. It was an impressive, almost regal, accommodation.

Harry surveyed the room with a grin. "Not bad, Gellert. This is quite the lair you've got here."

Grindelwald allowed himself a rare smile. "You may find it suits you."

As they stood in the doorway, Grindelwald extended his hand, his piercing eyes locking onto Harry's. "Auf Wiedersehen, Mr. Potter."

Harry returned the look, his eyes still dancing with mischief. " Farewell, Gellert."

Grindelwald stepped away, leaving Harry in his new quarters. They had formed an alliance of intrigue, a partnership that promised to redefine their worlds. And as the door closed, the echoes of their unspoken understanding filled the air, leaving the future shrouded in mystery.

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Nurmengard Castle loomed over the Swiss alps, all serious and shadowy, but inside, it was like Harry was on a vacation from the heavy baggage of being the Chosen One. He bounced on his absurdly large bed, feeling lighter than a pygmy puff on a trampoline.

The next morning, Harry strolled through the gloomy corridors, he bumped into the Infamous French General, Vinda Rosier, looking all imposing in her dark green robes. She could freeze a galleon with just a look. "Bonjour, Monsieur Potter," she greeted with an icy nod.

"Morning, Ms. Rosier, but Harry works just fine," he replied, grinning like her frosty demeanor was a warm summer breeze. Even the dangerous witch couldn't resist a slight smile.

She led him to breakfast, where Gellert Grindelwald sat like a dark wizard king. Harry, the master of charm, couldn't resist a jab. "For a world-domination guy, your castle's pretty swanky."

Grindelwald, silver hair and all, smirked. Vinda Rosier eyed the duo, caught between amusement and suspicion.

When Grindelwald tried steering the conversation to their alliance, Harry was having none of it. "Oh, Gellert, alliances are dull. Let's make it more... interesting ."

Grindelwald, intrigued, raised an eyebrow. "Interesting?"

Harry leaned in, voice dropping like he was sharing a secret recipe. "Why not? Reshape the world and have a bit of fun on the side."

Even Vinda Rosier, the ice queen, couldn't resist a raised eyebrow.

Grindelwald, though, wasn't one to back down. "A informal alliance, Mr. Potter?"

Harry leaned in even closer, conjuring a tension thicker than treacle tart. "Exactly, Gellert. Mix business with pleasure."

Grindelwald chuckled, Vinda's frostiness melting a tad. "Very well, Mr. Potter. Let's see where this alliance takes us."

Harry had turned a serious alliance into a game, and Grindelwald was enjoying the play.

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Days passed in a blur of meetings and planning. Harry was getting the hang of Nurmengard and its eclectic bunch. As he continued to help with the war efforts, he found himself getting closer to the dark wizard.

One morning, Grindelwald got serious about their alliance. "Mr. Potter," he began, all business, "we're reshaping history. Your future knowledge is crucial."

Harry nodded like he was discussing Quidditch strategy. "Got it, Gellert. I'm all in to ensure your forces rock."

Grindelwald admired Harry's audacity. "And, in return, what would you want?

Harry leaned in, voice conspiratorial
“A vacation with a little bit of fun. That's the deal, Gellert. I help you in rewriting history, and you let me have free rein."

Grindelwald's gaze locked onto Harry's, and a silent agreement passed between them. They were two masterminds, and their partnership promised a future without dark wars, and maybe with a few more stroopwaffles.(Harry puts them right up there with treacle tart)

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Newt Scamander heaved a long-suffering sigh as Albus Dumbledore stood on his doorstep, eyes glinting with a streak of mischief. "So, Grindelwald's up to no good again, is he? And you think some mysterious creature is behind it?"

Newt shook his head, already treating himself to another adventure. "Well, I suppose I don't have much choice, do I? Lead the way, Albus. Just promise me no one will try to eat my Niffler this time."

Dumbledore chuckled. His beard quivered with amusement. "I make no such promises, my dear Newt. After all, who can resist the allure of your furry little kleptomaniac?"

As they set off, Newt could not help but wonder what kind of magical menagerie he would have to wrangle this time around. Hippogriffs? Acromantulas? Merlin forbid, another Obscurus? Whatever it was, he knew one thing for certain—it was bound to be a right bloody mess. Ah, well, at least it would make for a good story later, right?

The words had not been broadcast; there had been something ominous in the way that Dumbledore had spoken them—the new plan, whatever it was, of Grindelwald's and some dark creature that would be included. Newt couldn't help a twinge of concern. Grindelwald had always been a formidable opponent, and the thought of him with this power of some unknown magical beast at his command sent a shiver down Newt's spine.

As they apparated to the Entrance to Hogwarts, Newt could not help but reminisce about the days when he was part of the school. He remembered this as the place where his interest in magical creatures was discovered, where he finally found a good friend in Leta Lestrange, and where he was expelled for taking the blame for her deeds.

The memory of that fateful day still stung, but Newt had long since made his peace with it. He knew that his expulsion had been the starting point which saw him off to track and discover all manner of fantastic magical creatures, finally emerging as a true travel-beaten magizoologist of some note.

The closer he was to the castle, the more sentimentally nostalgic he grew in feeling. Hogwarts represented for him what it did for hundreds of its students: a second home, a place where he had been truly accepted and understood. And here, with this urgent request from Dumbledore, Newt had found himself once again drawn into an intrigue or adventure that seemed to follow the great wizard wherever he went.

Dumbledore ushered Newt directly into his office, the walls familiarly bedecked with portraits of past headmasters. It was with a pang of curiosity and faint unease that Newt was bidden to take a seat, for the matter at hand was of the greatest importance.

"Newt," broke in Dumbledore, his voice grave, "I very much suspect Grindelwald has obtained the services of a seer, or some creature of immense magical force—to help him in his aim for domination. The records I have been sent indicate that this creature is somehow guiding the course of the conflict, winning Grindelwald an unnatural advantage."

He bowed forward, his brow furrowed in thought. "A secret creature, you say? Ah well, Albus, mysteries have always been my cup of tea, magical or otherwise."

Dumbledore nodded, his lips playing out every small smile. "I knew I could count on you, my dear friend. With your expertise, unmatched knowledge of the magical world at large, I believe we have a chance to unravel this mystery and put a stop to Grindelwald's machinations."

The determination now surged through Newt. From his childhood, he had been taming the most vicious of beasts and surviving treacherous political games in the wizarding world. Now was the time that this latest threat to the magical realm was to be faced—and with Dumbledore by his side.

With this, they set off to track their first clue. What was a bit of magical mayhem compared with the discovery of new and wondrous creatures? Newt clutched his trusty suitcase, ready for yet another adventure.

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The night was ablaze with the spectacular chaos orchestrated by Harry and Gellert. Amidst the chaos at the French Ministry of Magic, Harry was his usual cheeky self, flirting with Grindelwald while covertly collecting every bit of information needed for their impending victory.

As the French Ministry went up in metaphorical (and literal) flames, Grindelwald, armed with Harry's gathered intelligence and future knowledge, dramatically declared himself the sovereign of Magical France. It was a moment of triumph for the duo, but for Harry, it was like watching the most dazzling show in town. He stood by Grindelwald, not just a partner in crime, but an enthusiastic audience member cheering for the grand finale.

With a theatrical flourish, Grindelwald proclaimed, "I, Gellert Grindelwald, hereby declare myself the sovereign of Magical France!" Harry, ever the drama enthusiast, weeped dramatically and showered Gellert with magical sparkles for good measure, making sure the moment was nothing short of magical.

Hours later, the two stood together as the display of magical fireworks that followed lit up the night sky over the French Ministry of Magic. The air was filled with energy as Harry leaned in, emerald eyes flashing with mischief.

"Gellert, my dear," he whispered in low, sultry tones, "This is quite the show you've put on. Really, I am impressed."

Grindelwald turned to Harry; the smirk still played about his lips. "Why, My Liebling, I'm delighted you're enjoying the performance. After all, this is only the very beginning of our grand plans."

Harry chuckled, his fingers trailing along Grindelwald's arm. "Oh, I've no doubt about it. But tell me, what's next in store for the sovereign of Magical France?"

Grindelwald's eyes gleamed with ambition. "World domination, obviously. With you by your side, My Liebling, there is nothing that isn't achievable to us."

Harry himself found his lips twisting into a smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way. Together, we shall rewrite history."

As fireworks slowly faded into the night sky of Paris, Grindelwald took his chance—pulled Harry close to him and captured his lips with passion. Harry eagerly reciprocated, tangling his fingers in Grindelwald's hair as they lost themselves into the heat of the moment.

When at last they parted, both men were gasping, their eyes alight with desire and the excitement of a newborn alliance.

"Gellert," Harry murmured, his voice husky with as much emotion as he could drum up as he stood before him.

Grindelwald sidled a palm up against Harry's cheek, the tips of his fingers tender, yet full of possession. "And I, my dearest , have never known a person like you. Together, well, we shall set our world into a different order and ensure the safety of all wizard kind."

They turned their eyes skyward again, hand in hand, as the last fireworks burned out into the night. Grindelwald and Harry had just claimed the French Ministry, but to them, this was only the start of their great adventure.

It was impossible for Harry, as they made their way back to Nurmengard, not to have a little fun and tease his new partner. "You know, Gellert, really, I have to say, this flair you possess for drama is quite… well, impressive. You were practically born for the stage."

Grindelwald chuckled and closed the distance between them, drawing Harry closer. "And you, dear Harry, are the perfect co-star. Together, we'll put on one hell of a show that the world won't ever be able to forget."

As they returned to Nurmengard Castle, the fortress echoed with the resounding cheers of Grindelwald's followers, celebrating their triumph in France. Harry, ever the enthusiastic supporter, basked in the adulation, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Grindelwald, momentarily distracted by the revelry, noticed Harry's absence. Excusing himself from the festivities, he made his way through the grand halls, searching for his elusive partner. It was in the castle's kitchens that he found Harry, a mischievous grin on his face as he hovered over a tray of freshly baked cookies.

"Gellert, my dear," Harry exclaimed, his voice lilting with delight, "I've been waiting for you. Come, try one of these delectable treats I've prepared to commemorate our victory."

Grindelwald, amused and endeared by Harry's culinary endeavours, approached him, a smile playing on his lips. Harry, seizing the moment, plucked a warm cookie from the tray and held it out to Grindelwald, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"A kiss for the sovereign," Harry declared theatrically, before pressing the cookie against Grindelwald's lips and pressing his own lips on Gellert’s cheek, the gesture playful and intimate.

Grindelwald, unable to resist the temptation, took a bite, savouring the warm, delicious treat. As he chewed, his gaze locked with Harry's, a newfound tenderness shining in his eyes. In that moment, the grand plans and the chaos of their takeover seemed to fade, as Gellert simply admired the green eyed angel that seemed to have crashed into his life.

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The war room of Nurmengard Castle buzzed with the intensity of planning, paperwork, and the ever-inept reapers that Gellert Grindelwald had acquired from the French Ministry. The clock had long struck midnight, and exhaustion crept over the minds of both the dark wizard and his formidable General, Vinda Rosier.

There, amidst all the organised chaos, was beaming Harry Potter looking remarkably like a housewife from the 20th century who suddenly realised that somehow, in the midst of alliances and magical escapades, he had become the most glorious of homemakers. He breezed into the war room like a shining example of domestic charm with a tray of steaming mugs, girdled in his whimsically floral apron.

"Gellert, my dear," Harry crooned playfully, "You and Vinda have been working like slaves. I brought you both something to warm your spirits and soothe your weary minds."

Submerged in scrolls and quills, Gellert, beaming with amazement and gratitude, looked up at Harry. Vinda couldn't help but burst into laughter at this unexpected sight of a dark wizard being handed refreshments by his companion.

"Ah, Harry, you truly are a sight for sore eyes," said Vinda, taking the mug and nodding thanks. "I must say, your timing is impeccable. Gellert here has been positively buried in these reports."

Gellert took a sip of the fragrant tea before his shoulders started to let go of the tension. "Indeed, my dear Vinda. And I must confess, Harry's presence lightens my heart, even amidst such laborious work."

Harry beamed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, you can't very well lead a revolution on an empty stomach, can you?" He turned to Gellert, his voice low and conspiratorial once more. "I've also made something special for you, Gellert. A little treat to help you relax."

Gellert's eyebrows rose with curiosity, and he found himself following Harry with eagerness out of the war room and into the kitchen. The smell of freshly baked goods wafted through the air, and Gellert's mouth began to water in anticipation.

Harry had really outdone himself in the kitchen; it was literally a haven of culinary delights. There were entire trays of cookies and cakes and other kinds of confections atop the counters, and he could not help feeling a sense of wonder at the display.

"Harry, you have really excelled yourself this time," Gellert murmured, his eyes taking in the scene before him.

Harry beamed, his hands clasped together in delight. "Only the best for my dark overlord." He plucked a warm, gooey stroopwaffel from the tray and held it out to Gellert. "Here, try this. I think you'll find it quite delightful."

Gellert took the proffered sweet, their fingers brushing as he did. He took a bite—flavors just sort of exploded on his tongue. A perfect balance of sweetness and richness; a small moan of pleasure escaped his lips, and Harry's eyes sparkled with triumph.

"Delicious, isn't it?" Harry purred, taking another step closer to Gellert, his voice low and sultry.

He nodded, his gaze holding Harry's. "Absolutely divine," he breathed, and slipped his free hand forward to stroke his cheek.

The two men might have stood there, lost in the moment, as the world around slowly faded into the background as they gazed into each other’s eyes. With Harry by his side, Gellert knew victory was going to taste all the sweeter.

As the night wore on, Harry could see that Gellert's eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. Carefully, he coaxed the dark wizard from the war room, back towards his bedchambers.

"Come now, Gellert," Harry whispered softly. "It's time to rest. You've done enough tonight."

Gellert was too tired to argue, letting Harry guide him toward his bed. As Harry started to help him slide off his outer robes, Gellert seized his hand and pulled him down closer.

"Stay with me, Harry," he moaned softly, his eyes pleading. "I don't want to be alone, Liebling."

Harry's heart swelled with affection for the man before him. He got onto the bed beside Gellert and settled in his warm embrace.

"Of course, my love," Harry breathed, pressing a soft kiss to Gellert's forehead. "I'll always be here for you."

As Gellert drifted off to sleep, lulled by the warmth of Harry in his arms, he knew he had gained something much more precious than any victory or conquest. Harry to him was a kindred spirit, a partner in both life and in his grand vision for the wizarding world. He allowed himself to succumb to the peaceful embrace of slumber, secure in the knowledge that Harry would be there when he awoke.

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The morning sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a warm glow on the room where Gellert Grindelwald found himself waking up in a rather unfamiliar situation. The rhythmic breathing beside him, the weight of another body in his arms – it was strangely calming, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time.

As Gellert stirred, Harry Potter blinked awake, those emerald eyes locking onto Gellert with a soft smile. He brushed a strand of blond hair away from Gellert's face, the gesture so tender that it sent a shiver down the dark wizard's spine.

"Morning," Harry greeted, his voice a velvety whisper.

Gellert, usually composed and collected, practically melted at the sight of Harry's affectionate smile. Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's lips. It was a kiss filled with a strange sense of peace, a feeling Gellert hadn't known for a long time.

Harry, overjoyed and mildly surprised by the romantic turn of events, whispered a soft, "Finally."

Gellert, not one to let an opportunity slip away, kissed him once again, this time with a hunger that spoke of a longing finally satisfied. The world seemed to fade away in that moment, leaving only the two of them entwined in the sheets of a bed that had seen more war strategies than romance.

Pulling away, Harry's eyes sparkled with a newfound joy. And then, as if guided by the mischievous spirit of Sirius Black, he dropped a question that would catch even the most composed dark wizard off guard.

"Do you ever think about having a kid?" Harry's words hung in the air, and Gellert's expression shifted from post-kiss bliss to sheer surprise.

"A kid?" Gellert repeated, as if the idea had never crossed his mind.

Harry, seemingly unfazed by the unexpected turn, grinned. "Yeah, you know, just one. A little version of us running around causing mayhem."

Gellert, caught off guard, could only stare. The idea of fatherhood hadn't been on his agenda, especially not after years of pursuing power and control. Yet, here was Harry, suggesting it like he was proposing a weekend getaway.

The only braincell Harry inherited from his mother, the one that hadn't been shared with James Sirius and Remus in Hogwarts, decided to go haywire. Harry, with a mischievous glint in his eye, leaned in and whispered, "Imagine a little wizard with a flair for mischief and mayhem, a little dark lord in the making."

Gellert, who had faced rebellions and conquered nations, found himself floored by the whimsical idea of fatherhood.

"A kid," he mused, his thoughts spinning like the whirlwind romance that had brought them here.

Harry, sensing the internal chaos, grinned and said, "Just imagine the bedtime stories I'd tell them about the Dark Lord and the daring Time traveller who stole his heart."

Gellert, torn between bewilderment and amusement, couldn't help but laugh. The echoes of laughter mingled with the morning light, painting a picture of a romance that defied expectations, where the once-feared dark wizard contemplated the prospect of a little mischief-maker with the most unexpected partner by his side.

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Deep within the labyrinthine corridors of the French Ministry, Newt Scamander tiptoed through the shadows, attempting to blend into the emptiness that surrounded him. The ministry, once bustling with activity, now echoed with the eerie stillness of abandonment.

Dumbledore's voice crackled in Newt's earpiece, offering instructions that ranged from obscure riddles to questionable fashion advice. "Remember, Newt, subtlety is key. And perhaps a splash of color in your wardrobe wouldn't hurt."

Newt, exasperated, muttered to himself, "Subtlety, subtlety," as he adjusted his vibrant magenta coat – not exactly the best choice for stealth. He edged cautiously through the deserted hallways, eyes darting around for any sign of movement.

Dumbledore's voice chimed in again, "Ah, Newt, did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally turned my socks into pygmy puffs? Quite an amusing tale, really."

Rolling his eyes, Newt mumbled, "Not the time, Albus."

As Newt wandered deeper into the labyrinth, he stumbled upon an inconspicuous door that seemed to beckon him. Against his better judgment, he cautiously opened it and found himself in a room filled with magical artifacts – a forgotten storage space.

His eyes widened at the treasures before him, but before he could fully appreciate his accidental discovery, Dumbledore's voice whispered through the earpiece, "Newt, behind the third shelf on the left, there's a rather fascinating Time-Turner. Take it; it might come in handy."

Newt hesitated but decided to trust Dumbledore's peculiar guidance. He reached for the Time-Turner and, with a quick turn, felt the fabric of time warp around him.

Chapter Text

Gellert Grindelwald's eyes sparkled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation as he descended the stairs of Nurmengard Castle, hand-in-hand with Harry Potter. The morning light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow on their faces and the remnants of their earlier conversation about the prospect of becoming fathers.

Harry, brimming with excitement, couldn't suppress the beaming grin that spread across his face. As they settled at the breakfast table, his eyes locked with Gellert's, conveying a deep affection that transcended the boundaries of their tumultuous past.

Gellert, however, found himself grappling with the notion of fatherhood. The idea both intrigued and intimidated him, as he wrestled with the implications of such a profound responsibility. Yet, whenever he gazed into Harry's eyes, the uncertainties seemed to fade, replaced by an overwhelming desire for a life together.

Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Harry turned to Gellert, his voice soft and sincere. "Gellert, you're my everything. I can't imagine my life without you."

Gellert felt a surge of emotion, reaching across the table to take Harry's hand in his own. "Harry, the thought of being apart from you is unbearable. Will you be mine, forever?"

Stunned by the sudden declaration, Harry found himself momentarily speechless. Gellert, sensing the weight of his words, continued, "I want to give you everything you desire, including a family. What do you want, my love?"

Harry’s eyes sparkled with unadulterated excitement as he leaned in, his voice low and husky. “Gellert, don’t you see? We can shape the future, mould it to our will. Together we can create a world where wizards are free to love openly, to use magic without fear of persecution.”
Gellert felt a shiver run down his spine at Harry’s words. He reached across the table, taking Harry’s hands in his. “You speak the truth, my love. But the path to that world is fraught with danger. We must be willing to make sacrifices, to fight for what we believe in.”

Harry nodded, his grip tightening. “Then let us fight, Gellert. Let us be the ones to lead the charge, to show our people the way to a better future.” Gellert’s eyes gleamed with determination. “And what of those who would stand in our way? The No-Majs, the narrow-minded fools who cling to their outdated beliefs?”

“They will see the error of their ways,” Harry said, his voice unwavering. “We will show them the beauty of our vision. They will have no choice but to join us.” Gellert felt a surge of pride at Harry’s words. “Then let us begin, my love. Let us find the child who will be the key to our future, the one who will help us shape the world to our liking.”
Harry’s face lit up with a smile. “Tom Riddle, at Wool’s Orphanage in London. He is brilliant, ambitious and has immense potential, besides he can be your little protege, our Little Dark Prince. He is the perfect child for us, Gellert.”

Gellert felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect. “Then it is settled. We will bring Tom Riddle into our lives, nurture his brilliance and guide him.” The two men sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their decision settling around them like a warm hug.
Gellert could feel the trepidation that lingered, the uncertainty of what lay ahead, but the unshakeable trust he saw in Harry’s eyes dispelled any doubts. “What if we fail, Gellert?” Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in his words tugging at Gellert’s heartstrings.

Gellert reached across the table, cupping Harry’s face in his hands. “We will not fail, my love. With our love and guidance Tom Riddle will become the amazing child we know he can be. We will give him the family he deserves, the love he craves and the purpose he seeks.” Harry leaned into Gellert’s touch, his eyes shining with renewed hope. “Then let us go, Gellert. Let us bring our son home.”

Chapter Text

Gellert wrapped his arm around Harry's waist as they stood in the doorway of the room they had prepared for Tom. "My love, you needn't fret so. Tom is not a newborn, he will hardly need a nursery."

Harry chuckled nervously, leaning into Gellert's embrace. "I know, I know. I just want everything to be perfect for him. He's been through so much already, I want him to feel at home here."

Gellert pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's temple. "And he will, Harry. Look around - this room is fit for a prince. Tom will be delighted."

The room was spacious and airy, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light. A grand four-poster bed dominated the space, adorned with plush bedding in rich, jewel-toned fabrics. Bookshelves lined the walls, already stocked with a variety of magical tomes.

"You're right," Harry admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I suppose I'm just a bit...overeager. I want so badly for Tom to love it here, to feel safe and cared for."

Gellert chuckled, giving Harry a gentle squeeze. "And he will, my love. Tom is a brilliant child, and he will see the depth of our devotion to him. Now, come - let us finish the final preparations. I'm sure he'll be arriving soon."

Hand-in-hand, the two men set about putting the finishing touches on the room, their excitement and anticipation palpable in the air.

Chapter Text

The instant his fingers closed around the intricate device, he felt a sudden jolt. The world blurred and twisted about him, and, before he could so much as stutter a reaction, he was whirling in a vortex of swirling colors and sensations.

For some minutes, he was giddy, till at last, in a strange, unfamiliar forest, he felt himself again. The air was heavy with the smell of unfamiliar plants, and the calls of unfamiliar animals made the air vibrate.

"Professor?" Newt said, but there was no answer. He tapped the earpiece. "Dumbledore? Can you hear me?"

It hit him in a panicky way: Newt was alone, stranded in time and place. He sucked down an acidic breath and fought the heart race. "Alright, Newt," he murmured to himself, "time to put those survival skills to the test."

He clutched his wand tightly and set off into the unknown forest, with senses on high alert. Whatever lay ahead, he was determined to find his way back home.

Chapter Text

The small, dimly lit room at Wool's Orphanage felt more like a prison cell than a child's bedroom. Six-year-old Tom Riddle sat cross-legged on his bed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he gently stroked the tiny snake coiled in his palm.

"There, there," he whispered soothingly, his voice barely above a murmur. "You're safe with me." The snake flicked its tongue, seeming to understand the boy's words.

Tom had discovered the snake a few days earlier, slithering across the orphanage courtyard. He had been drawn to it, captivated by the way it moved and the strange connection he felt. Ever since then, the snake had become his constant companion, a silent confidant in the bleak, joyless existence that was his daily life.

The matron, Mrs. Cole, had caught wind of Tom's unusual pet and had flown into a fit of hysterics, ranting about "devil's spawn" and the need for an exorcism. Tom had quickly hidden the snake away, terrified that it would be taken from him. The snake was the only thing that brought him any semblance of comfort in this wretched place.

As the day wore on, Tom's solitude was only broken by the occasional visit from the other children, who would taunt and tease him, sensing his difference and fearing his strange powers. Tom would simply glare at them, his grip tightening on the snake, until they scurried away, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

Mealtimes were a particularly unpleasant affair, with Tom sitting alone at the end of the long table, picking at the meagre portions of food provided by the orphanage. The other children would often whisper and giggle, casting furtive glances in his direction, as if he were some sort of exotic, dangerous creature.

Tom sighed, his fingers tracing the smooth scales of the snake. "One day," he murmured, "I'll be free of this place. I'll show them all that I'm special, that I'm meant for greatness." The snake seemed to sense his determination, coiling tighter around his hand.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, Tom carefully tucked the snake back into his pocket, ensuring it was hidden from prying eyes. He lay back on the bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling, his mind already racing with plans and dreams of a future far beyond the confines of Wool's Orphanage.

Unbeknownst to the young boy, a certain Green eyed man and his Light haired companion were making their way across the channel to free him a lot sooner than he’d ever imagined.

Chapter Text

Harry practically dragged Gellert through the crowded streets of London, their excitement growing with each step as they neared Wool's Orphanage. Harry clutched Gellert's hand tightly, bouncing on his feet as they wove through the dark alleys, eager to meet the young Tom Riddle.

"Easy there, mein liebling," Gellert chuckled, squeezing Harry's hand reassuringly. "Tom will still be there when we arrive."

Harry flashed him a sheepish grin. "I know, I know. I'm just so excited to finally meet him, to bring him home with us."

As they approached the orphanage, they could see the children playing in the yard, but little Tom was nowhere in sight. Harry's brow furrowed in concern as he approached the matron, Mrs. Cole.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said politely. "I'm looking for a boy named Tom Riddle. Is he around?"

Mrs. Cole's expression soured at the mention of Tom's name. "That boy," she spat, shaking her head. "Always causing trouble, that one. Always up to no good."

Harry felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him. "What do you mean? Where is he?"

"Locked in his room, where he belongs," Mrs. Cole replied dismissively. "That child is the devil incarnate, I tell you. Always doing strange things, scaring the other children."

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he could feel Gellert's grip on his hand tighten. "Strange things?" he pressed.

"Aye, strange things," Mrs. Cole confirmed. "Things move on their own when he's angry, and he can talk to snakes, the unnatural little beast."

Harry's heart swelled with pride. Tom was a marvel already doing accidental magic at such a tender age. And he was being mistreated and misunderstood. The thought of a young, innocent child being labelled as a "freak" and locked away for his magical abilities made Harry's blood boil with righteous anger.

"Well, ma'am," Harry said firmly, "I'm here to adopt Tom Riddle. And I will not be taking no for an answer."

Mrs. Cole's eyes widened in shock. "Adopt him? But you simply can't! He's a menace, I tell you! A devil child!"

"Then he shall fit in perfectly with us," Harry retorted. "Tom is coming with us, where he'll be loved and cared for. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a child to collect."

Without waiting for a response, Harry strode inside the orphanage, Gellert at his side. They were going to give Tom the home he deserved, no matter what anyone said.

Harry and Gellert quickly made their way to Tom's room, and with a flick of Harry's wand, the door burst open. Inside, they found a terrified little Tom, his eyes wide with fear as he cowered in the corner. A small snake was coiled protectively around him, hissing menacingly at the intruders.

"Easy there, little one," Harry said softly, kneeling down to Tom's level. He spoke in Parseltongue, soothing the snake. "We mean you no harm. We're here to take you home, where you'll be safe and loved."

Tom's eyes widened in surprise at Harry's ability to speak to the snake. He slowly uncurled himself, still wary of the strangers.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"My name is Harry," he replied gently. "And this is Gellert. We're here to adopt you, Tom. You're a very special boy, you know. You're a wizard, just like us."

Tom's brow furrowed in confusion. "A wizard? But the matron says I'm a freak, that I do unnatural things."

Harry's heart broke at Tom's words. To think that this boy, this innocent, magical being, had been made to feel ashamed of his abilities, that he thought of himself as a freak, filled Harry with a deep sorrow. He wanted nothing more than to wrap Tom in a warm embrace and assure him that he was loved, that he was special and wonderful just the way he was, but it was too soon and he barely curbed his desire to comfort, afraid to spook the little boy.

"You're not a freak, Tom," Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. "What you can do, the things you can make happen, that's magic. And there's a whole world of witches and wizards out there, waiting to welcome you."

Tom's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. "A whole world? Where I can do magic?"

"Yes, Tom," Harry said with a warm smile, reaching out to gently touch the boy's arm. "A world where you'll be accepted and cherished for who you are. Will you come home with us?"

Tom glanced at the snake, then back at Harry and Gellert. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Okay," he whispered. "I'll go with you."

Chapter Text

Harry and Gellert quickly gathered Tom's meager belongings from his room at the orphanage. The boy watched in awe as they used magic to neatly pack his few clothes and personal items into a small suitcase.

"There, all set," Harry said with a smile, shrinking the suitcase to fit in his pocket. He turned to Mrs. Cole, who was watching the proceedings with a mix of fear and disgust.

"You'll be forgetting all about Tom Riddle from now on," Gellert said, his voice dripping with menace. He raised his wand and cast a powerful Memory Charm, erasing any trace of Tom from the matron's mind.

"And just to make sure you keep your distance," he added, flicking his wrist. A nasty curse hit Mrs. Cole, causing boils to erupt all over her skin. She let out a pained shriek before collapsing to the floor, unconscious.

"Gellert!" Harry admonished, though there was no real heat behind his words. He knew how much the orphanage had mistreated Tom.

"What?" Gellert shrugged unapologetically. "She deserved it."

Harry rolled his eyes fondly and turned to Tom, who was watching the exchange with wide, frightened eyes.

"Don't worry, Tom," he said reassuringly. "You're safe with us now. Are you ready to see your new home?"

Tom nodded hesitantly, clutching the small snake that had been his constant companion. Harry and Gellert led him to a secluded alley, and Gellert held out an old tin can.

"Grab on, mein kleiner," he said. "This is a Portkey. It'll take us straight to Nurmengard."

Tom eyed the can warily but did as instructed. The moment his fingers touched the metal, he felt a familiar tug behind his navel, and the world spun around him. He squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the strange sensation.

When the dizziness subsided, Tom found himself in a grand, castle-like building. Harry and Gellert were standing beside him, unaffected by the Portkey travel.

"Welcome to Nurmengard, Tom," Harry said, his emerald eyes shining with excitement. "This is your new home."

He took Tom's hand and led him inside, Gellert following close behind. The castle's interior was just as impressive as the exterior, with high ceilings, ornate furnishings, and a general air of magic that made Tom's heart race with anticipation.

"Come, let's get you settled in your room," Harry said, guiding Tom up a grand staircase. They stopped in front of a large, intricately carved door. "This is your room. Go on, take a look."

Tom pushed the door open and gasped in awe. The room was larger than the entire orphanage dormitory, with a massive four-poster bed draped in luxurious green and silver fabrics. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes on magic and dark creatures. A large window offered a breathtaking view of the surrounding mountains.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked, watching Tom's face light up with wonder.

"It's amazing," Tom breathed, running his fingers over the soft bedspread. "Is this all really mine?"

"Of course, mein kleiner," Gellert said, ruffling Tom's hair affectionately. "Everything here is yours now."

As if on cue, Tom's stomach let out a loud rumble. Harry chuckled and swept the boy into his arms, settling him on Gellert's lap as they sat on the bed.

"Sounds like someone's hungry," Harry said, summoning a feast of delicious baked goods and steaming food. He picked up a fork and held it to Tom's lips. "Open up, little one. Time to fill that tummy."

Tom hesitated for a moment before parting his lips, allowing Harry to feed him. The food was delicious, and he ate hungrily, relishing in the warmth and affection radiating from his new guardians.

Gellert watched the scene with a soft smile, his heart swelling with pride and protectiveness. He knew that with Harry and himself, Tom would grow up to be a force to be reckoned with, but most importantly, he would know what it meant to be loved.

As Tom finished his meal, his eyes began to droop. The excitement and stress of the day had taken its toll. Harry and Gellert helped him change into soft pyjamas and tuck him into bed, the little snake curling up at his side.

"Sleep well, mein kleiner," Gellert whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Tom's forehead. "Tomorrow is the start of a new adventure."

Tom smiled sleepily, already drifting off to the sound of Harry and Gellert's quiet good nights. For the first time in his life, he felt safe and content, knowing that he had finally found a place to call home, hoping it wasn’t merely a dream.

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore paced across his own office. One of its walls was taken up by a lost trace of Newt, the magical link to keep track of the magizoologist, to whom he had entrusted an important assignment deep in the French Ministry. The trace that now seemed invalid, as Newt had just vanished in the middle of the sentence.

"Merlin's beard!" muttered Dumbledore, parting his ginger hair with his hand. "But where can the boy be?"

A host of possibilities shuffled through his mind after he touched the time-turner, could Newt have been captured by Grindelwald's reapers, or worse, could he have fallen through time and be stranded in an unfamiliar time period? A shudder ran up Dumbledore's spine; he couldn't help picturing the poor magizoologist and his suitcase full of magical creatures blundering through the ages and the chaos those creatures would cause.

But then realisation washed over him, one that made his heart sink and his stomach churn, he would have to break the news to Theseus Scamander, Newt's older brother and the British Head for the Department of Law Enforcement. He was a force to be reckoned with, being so fiercely protective of his little sibling, and Dumbledore knew the dressing-down he would get from him.

"Oh, Merlin's saggy left—" Dumbledore groaned in an overly dramatic fashion, dropping his face into his hands. He could already hear Theseus' voice ringing through the damned Ministry, even so many miles away. How Dumbledore could possibly have been so bloody reckless so as to loose his precious baby brother on a dangerous mission. Surely he'd hex him into the grave, and Dumbledore couldn't help but wonder again whether he should really start work on his last will and testament.

With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore steeled himself for the confrontation. He had to find Newt, no matter the cost. The fate of the wizarding world hung in the balance, and he couldn't afford to lose one of his most trusted allies. He only hoped that Theseus would understand the gravity of the situation and lend his support in the search for his missing brother, rather than turning him into a newt (no pun intended).

As Dumbledore apparated to the Ministry nonchalantly, (read, terrified) his brain couldn't help but summon a few of the scenarios on what the hell could happen: Would Theseus duel with him on the spot, indifferent to the gawking crowd around them? Or would Theseus throw a mean glare at him, wrung from him some confession of guilt? Whichever way it was going to be, Dumbledore knew it was going to be a pain, and he only prayed in earnest that he would come out alive.

Dumbledore squared his shoulders as he entered the busy interior of the Ministry of Magic. Having known Scamander quite well, he was aware it wouldn't take too long before news of Newt's disappearance reached him, and the idea of facing the formidable auror made his knees weak.

Sure enough, as Dumbledore was walking toward the lifts, a booming voice echoed through the hall, and everyone turned to look at him, both witch and wizard.

"Dumbledore! Where in the name of Merlin is my brother?"

Dumbledore groaned internally. He'd underestimated Theseus and his ways of keeping track of his baby brother. Robes billowing in his wake, Theseus Scamander strode forward, fury in his eyes. Swallowing hard, mustering his courage, Dumbledore looked at the auror that was now looming over him.

"Theseus, my dear fellow, I—" he began to say, raising his hands defensively.

"Don't you 'dear fellow' me, Dumbledore!" Theseus was already screaming, with his own wand drawn. "Where's Newt? What have you done to him?"

Dumbledore raised both his hands in a gesture of conciliation as he went on to find the proper words to undo the upset Auror. "Theseus, please, allow me to explain. Newt was on a mission for me, and—"

"A mission?" Theseus cut in scathingly. "And you just let him wander off, did you? Merlin's beard, Dumbledore, you're supposed to be the greatest wizard of our time, and you can't even keep track of my little brother?" Dumbledore raised a placating hand to the distraught Auror. "Theseus, my dear fellow, I assure you, I am just as concerned about Newt's disappearance as you are."

Theseus narrowed his eyes and clutched his wand even tighter. "Concerned? You've lost him, Dumbledore! How could you be so reckless with my baby brother?"

Dumbledore sighed; he knew he trod most carefully. "Theseus, please, let us work together to find Newt. I believe he may have fallen through time, and we need to act quickly to locate him."

Theseus snorted, his face tightening. "Work with you? Think again. This is my brother we're dealing with, and I'll be hexed if I let you within a foot of him once more."

Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise. "Theseus, you must understand, Newt's safety is of the utmost importance. We need to put all of our resources together and—"

"No!" Theseus interrupted, his words laced with mucus. "You keep away from Newt. I will find him, and I don't need your assistance."

Dumbledore's mouth opened as he wanted to protest, but he was cut off.

"Don't even think about it, Dumbledore. This is my brother we're talking about, and I won't let you use him or endanger him again, you've done quite enough!"

With that, Theseus turned on his heel and stormed out of the atrium, leaving a very shocked Dumbledore in his wake.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Surrey, 1989

Newt lands gracefully on top of a slide in a strangely colored children’s park, still clutching the time turner spilling sand in his hands. "Well, that turned out well," Newt thought, looking around at the strange neighborhood with uncannily similar houses lined up.

He gets up from the slide, dusts off his coat, and checks on his suitcase. Pickett peeks out to try and look around, still sneezing from the time sand whirling around them.

A young kneazle brushes past his feet and meows menacingly. Delighted, Newt picks up the little furball and lets him sniff him. “Hello there, little one. Any idea where we’ve landed?”

The kneazle meows and yanks the chain of the time turner still clutched in Newt's hand, then runs to a very normal, absolutely not freaky house across the street with a gleaming number 4 on the front door.

Newt runs after the offending feline and pauses in front of the house. The kneazle climbs the wall to the first floor and into a small window in the corner. Newt sighs and unlocks the stark white door with a quick "Alohomora."

He climbs the stairs, looking around the house and seeing a blonde family in all the Muggle photos. He ascends to the first floor and hears meows from a … under the steps?

He approaches the door, curiously examining the multiple strange locks placed on the outside, and unlocks them with a flick of his wand. The door creaks as Newt opens it to reveal a sparsely furnished and cramped closet with a tattered cot and strange toys in one corner.

The most curious thing, of course, is the startled young boy lying on his side with the kneazle licking at his arm. The boy holds the chain of the now shattered time turner in his hands and points a wand toward Newt. “Who are you?!”

Newt approaches the boy cautiously. “Hello, uh, I’m Newt Scamander.”

Chapter Text

Theseus Scamander paced back and forth in his office, his brow furrowed with worry and anticipation. Ever since Newt had gone missing, he had been consumed by a single-minded mission: to find his brother, no matter the cost.

The Auror Department had been mobilized, with every available Auror under Theseus's command tasked with infiltrating the French Ministry for any clues about Newt's whereabouts. Theseus had even called in favors from his not-so-savory contacts in France, leaving no stone unturned in his desperate search.

But as the days turned into weeks, and still no trace of Newt could be found, Theseus's frustration and anxiety only grew. He knew that his brother could be lost in time, stranded in some unknown era, and the thought of his little brother alone and afraid filled Theseus with dread.

Determined to leave no avenue unexplored, Theseus had also reached out to the Department of Mysteries, pleading with the Unspeakables to lend their expertise in the field of time magic. The department had been hesitant at first, wary of the potential consequences of meddling with the delicate fabric of time.

However, Theseus's anger and threats, along with the gravity of the situation, eventually swayed (or rather scared) them. The Unspeakables agreed to assist, and a team of their most skilled researchers was assembled to analyze the temporal disturbances and try to pinpoint Newt's location.

Theseus hovered over the Unspeakables, bugging them for updates, offering suggestions, and pushing them to work faster. He knew that every moment Newt was lost in time was a moment too long, and he would not rest until his brother was safely back home.

The other Aurors in the department watched their boss with a mixture of awe and concern. They had never seen Theseus so consumed by a case, so driven to the point of obsession. But they also knew better than to try and slow him down—Theseus Scamander was a force to be reckoned with when it came to protecting his brother.

Then one day, the Unspeakables made a breakthrough. They detected a temporal anomaly—a disturbance in the fabric of time that they believed could lead them to Newt's location.

Theseus was immediately summoned, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and trepidation. This could be the moment he had been waiting for, the chance to finally bring his brother home.

The Unspeakables were very sure that his brother had fallen into a time portal and that the only way to get him back was through a myth.

Chapter Text

Newt Scamander stared at the young boy before him, eyes wide with concern. The boy was small and thin, with messy black hair and bright green eyes filled with a mixture of fear and defiance. He clutched a battered wand, and the kneazle from the park had curled protectively around his legs.

Newt took a tentative step forward, his voice soft and reassuring. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just… well, I saw your kneazle run in here, and I followed him.”

The boy’s grip on the wand tightened. “He’s not mine. I found him in the park.”

“Ah, I see,” Newt said, nodding understandingly. He looked around the cramped, dusty cupboard, taking in the sparse furnishings and the general air of neglect. “It’s not very comfortable in here, is it?”

The boy shrugged, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s home.”

“Is it, though?” Newt asked gently. He knew what it was like to feel out of place, to long for a place where you truly belong. He saw a flicker of pain in the boy’s eyes, and his heart went out to him.

“What’s your name?” Newt asked, hoping to break through the boy’s guarded exterior.

“Harry,” the boy replied hesitantly. “Harry Potter.”

Newt’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He had heard the Potter name before, but there was no way this little boy could be the child of the famous potioneer Fleamont Potter. Newt glanced down at the broken Time-Turner on the floor, the sand still spilling from it like tears. He knew he needed to get back to his own time, but he couldn't leave this boy here—not like this.

“Harry,” Newt said, kneeling down to meet the boy’s gaze. “I know this might sound strange, but I come from a different world—a place where magic is celebrated, not hidden away.”

Harry stared at Newt, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Magic?”

“Yes, magic,” Newt confirmed, pulling out his wand. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a small, fluttering Bowtruckle.

Harry's eyes widened further as a gasp escaped his lips. He reached out a tentative hand toward the Bowtruckle, and Newt smiled encouragingly.

“You see, Harry? There's a whole world out there that you don't know about—a world where you can learn magic, where you can make friends and where you won't have to live in a cupboard under the stairs.”

Newt’s words hung in the air, filling the small space with a sense of possibility. Harry's grip on his wand loosened slightly as a spark of hope flickered in his eyes.

“Do you… do you think I could go with you?” Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Newt's heart melted at the boy's vulnerability. He knew he couldn’t take Harry with him to his own time—there were rules about time travel—but he couldn't bear to leave him here either.

In that moment of compassion and instinctual protectiveness, Newt knelt down once more and gently took Harry's hand in his own. "Come with me," he said softly, lifting Harry effortlessly off the rickety cot.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise as Newt stood, cradling him against his side. The kneazle, sensing the change in atmosphere, followed closely behind them. Newt couldn't bear to leave this vulnerable child behind in such a dismal place; the cupboard felt like a prison. He was determined to offer Harry a glimpse of a different life—one filled with magic and wonder.

As they stepped out of the cramped cupboard, Newt glanced back at the dusty room. "You won't have to live here anymore," he reassured Harry. "I promise."

Harry looked up at him, uncertainty flickering across his face. "But where will we go?"

Newt smiled gently. "I don't know yet, but hopefully we'll find a place to call home."

With that, Newt turned on his heel and made his way toward the door. He felt Harry's grip tighten around his neck as they stepped into the dimly lit hallway. Newt's heart swelled with hope; he could sense that this was just the beginning for both of them.

Chapter Text

Harry awoke the next morning to the soft sound of Tom's breathing, the little boy still curled up peacefully in his four-poster bed. Sunlight streamed through the large window, illuminating the room's rich colors and casting a warm glow on the ornate decorations. Harry smiled, feeling a surge of affection for Tom. He tiptoed out of the room, careful not to disturb his new son.

In the main hall of Nurmengard, Gellert was already at work, poring over maps and documents spread across a long table. The atmosphere was serious as he plotted his next moves for gaining influence within the International Confederation of Wizards. Harry watched him for a moment, admiring the way Gellert's brow furrowed in concentration, before stepping forward.

"Morning, love," Harry said, wrapping his arms around Gellert from behind. "How's the world domination planning coming along?"

Gellert turned slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "As well as can be expected. The ICW is ripe for manipulation. With a few strategic moves, we can position ourselves as their leaders without them even realizing it."

Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Just remember to leave some time for our little snake. He needs breakfast more than your evil schemes need to be plotted."

Gellert rolled his eyes but smiled. "Fine, fine. But only if you promise not to burn the pancakes this time."

"Hey! That was one time!" Harry protested playfully.

As they discussed their plans, Harry moved about the kitchen area, preparing breakfast for Tom. He hummed softly to himself while conjuring fluffy pancakes and fresh fruit, determined to spoil Tom with all the comforts he had missed at the orphanage. Gellert looked at his lover’s impossibly charming mannerisms and smiled as he worked around the kitchen.

Once breakfast was ready, Harry called for Tom. "Tom! Time to wake up and eat!"

The little boy shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and looking adorably disheveled. Harry couldn't help but smile at him.

"Good morning, sweetheart! How did you sleep?" Harry asked as he set a plate in front of Tom and ruffled his hair.

"It was nice," Tom replied shyly, glancing around at the grand surroundings that still felt surreal to him.

As they ate together, Gellert continued to discuss his plans with Harry in hushed tones while occasionally throwing in some dark humor about their “future” as dark lords.

“Just imagine,” Gellert said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “once we take over the ICW, we can finally ban all those dreadful Muggle laws!”

Harry laughed. “And then we can make it mandatory for all wizards to wear practical clothing! I mean, who thought robes and capes were fashionable they’re such gaudy hindrances?”

Tom giggled at their banter but looked confused. “What’s wrong with Muggles?”

“Oh nothing!” Gellert replied with mock seriousness. “Just that they’re terribly dangerous and have no idea about magic.”

“Or how to cook!” Harry added dramatically. “I mean, have you ever tasted a Muggle pancake? It’s like eating a piece of cardboard!”

Tom’s eyes widened as he took another bite of his delicious breakfast. “I like pancakes,” he said defensively.

“Exactly!” Harry exclaimed. “That’s why you’re one of us now! We’ll teach you everything about magic—and how to make pancakes that don’t taste like cardboard!”

Gellert smiled amused at Harry’s antics and hugged him from behind, “Darling don’t tease our son he’s still young and impressionable.”

Harry snorted at that last part while Tom looked utterly embarrassed and flushed.

Just then, there was an unexpected knock at the grand door of Nurmengard. The sound echoed ominously through the halls.

"Who could that be?" Harry wondered aloud, exchanging glances with Gellert.

"I'll check," Gellert said curtly, his demeanor shifting into one of caution as he approached the door. Harry picked up Tom in his arms and held him protectively as he kept his other hand on his wand.

As he opened it slightly, a figure cloaked in shadows stood outside—a stranger with an air of urgency about him.

"I need to speak with Grindelwald," the intruder demanded, his voice low and steady with the lilt of a British accent.

Gellert narrowed his eyes but stepped aside to let him enter. "You have my attention," he said coolly.

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched this unexpected visitor step into their home—his instincts telling him that whatever this man had to say could change everything for their plans. The man took off his hood and faced them.

“Well,” Harry said cheerfully as he leaned against the wall with an exaggerated grin, “I hope you’re hungry because we just started on breakfast! And trust me; you don’t want to miss my pancakes!

Chapter Text

Theseus Scamander paced the dimly lit room of the Ministry's Unspeakables, his heart racing as he absorbed the gravity of their revelation. The only way to bring back his brother, Newt, was through a myth—a fabled tale that spoke of the Master of Death and the legendary Hallows. The Unspeakables informed him that Newt was trapped in a diverged timeline, and time-turners were useless in this case.

"You're telling me that death is more powerful than time?" Theseus asked incredulously, crossing his arms. "And I need to find a myth?"

"Precisely," one Unspeakable replied, adjusting their glasses. "The Hallows are merely stories, but if they exist, they could hold the key to your brother's return."

Determination flooded through Theseus as he clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t let a myth deter him from saving Newt. He spent days scouring every book that mentioned the Hallows, poring over ancient texts and obscure references until he stumbled upon a name: Gregorovitch—the last known wandmaker to possess the Elder Wand.

With a flick of his wand, he packed his belongings haphazardly into a suitcase, muttering spells to ensure nothing was left behind. “Germany it is,” he declared to himself, setting off on his quest.

Upon arriving in Germany, Theseus found Gregorovitch's shop nestled between two quaint cafés. The wandmaker was a heavyset man with a white beard and an air of weariness about him. After some small talk and flattery about his craftsmanship, Theseus got straight to the point.

“I need to know about the Elder Wand,” he said firmly.

Gregorovitch sighed heavily. “Ah, yes. A powerful wand indeed. But it was stolen from me years ago by none other than Gellert Grindelwald.”

Theseus felt a surge of frustration. “Grindelwald? You must be joking!”

“I wish I were,” Gregorovitch replied with a grimace. “He took it right from under my nose in the dead of night.”

“Great,” Theseus muttered under his breath. “Just great.” He knew what Dumbledore said about Grindelwald being unreasonable and dangerous, but Newt was worth any risk.

With newfound resolve, Theseus set off for Nurmengard Castle, where Grindelwald resided. He knew the wards would be formidable, but he had spent years training as an Auror—he could handle whatever magical barriers lay in his path; anything for Newt after all.

As he approached Nurmengard’s towering gates, he took a deep breath and knocked firmly on the door. After a moment of silence, it swung open with an ominous creak.

Still wearing a hood, Theseus stepped inside and found himself face-to-face with Grindelwald himself—still imposing even in pajamas. “I need to speak with Grindelwald.”

Gellert narrowed his eyes but stepped aside to let him enter. "You have my attention," he said coolly.

Theseus removed his hood to reveal himself. A gasp came from behind Grindelwald from a young man no older than 21—a scruffy-looking wizard with wild hair and a jagged scar on his forehead—wearing an apron and holding a young boy protectively against his chest.

The man smiled, amused and almost starstruck at Theseus. Choosing to ignore that fact, Theseus listened as the man cheerfully asked him to stay for pancakes.

Chapter Text

Newt Scamander wandered through Diagon Alley with little Harry Potter, his hand gently holding the boy's smaller one. The child looked around with wide, uncertain eyes, taking in the magical sights of the bustling wizarding street. Harry clutched Newt's robes, simultaneously terrified and fascinated by the moving window displays and magical creatures peeking out from various shop windows.

"It's alright, Harry," Newt said softly, his gentle voice calming the nervous child. "Nothing here will harm you."

As they passed Flourish and Blotts, something caught Newt's eye—a display of books that made him stop abruptly. There, prominently displayed in the window, was a familiar title: "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" with his own name as the author.

Harry looked up curiously. "Mr. Newt? Why did we stop?"

Newt's mind raced. If the book was here, published and selling, it meant he might still be alive in this timeline. More importantly, his older self might be the key to understanding how he had traveled through time and how to return safely.

"Just a moment, Harry," Newt murmured. "I've discovered something interesting."

The little boy nodded, still shy but trusting Newt completely. Around them, Diagon Alley bustled with witches and wizards, completely unaware of the two wizards despite their reputations.

Newt's hand tightened around Harry's as he began formulating a plan to contact his future self.

Newt knelt down beside Harry in a quiet alleyway, his wand raised. "Watch closely," he whispered, concentrating deeply. A silvery creature emerged—a delicate salamander Patronus that danced with an ethereal light. The Patronus carried a message to his future self before darting away.

"What was that?" Harry asked, eyes wide with wonder.

"Magic," Newt smiled, taking Harry's hand. "Let's get some ice cream while we wait."

At Florean Fortescue's, Harry nibbled cautiously on a chocolate scoop while Newt ordered. Just as they finished, a sleek owl swooped into the parlour, dropping a crisp envelope directly in front of Newt.

The message was brief: "Gringotts. Immediately. East Wing. - N.S."

Newt exchanged a knowing look with Harry. "Looks like we have an important meeting, little one."

The mysterious Patronus message had worked perfectly, connecting Newt with his older self in this unfamiliar timeline. Something told him answers were waiting at Gringotts, and those answers might be crucial to returning home and making sure little Harry was safe.

Chapter Text

The moment Theseus removed his hood, Harry's world seemed to stop. Standing before him was the legendary Auror he'd spent countless hours admiring during his own Ministry training—a wizard whose exploits were whispered about with reverence in the hallowed halls of magical law enforcement.

"Theseus Scamander," Harry breathed, his emerald eyes wide with an almost comical mixture of hero worship and excitement. "I can't believe you're actually here!"

Gellert's reaction was immediate and decidedly less enthusiastic. His grip on Harry's waist tightened, a low, possessive growl rumbling in his throat. The jealousy radiating from the dark wizard was palpable, creating a tension that seemed to crackle like magical electricity.

Tom, blissfully unaware of the adult dynamics, continued munching on his pancake, syrup decorating his chin like a sweet badge of honor.

Harry was lost in his own world of admiration. "I used to have the most incredible photo of you from the Ministry archives," he continued, practically bouncing with excitement. "Your takedown of those Romanian dark wizards in 1932 was absolutely legendary! I studied your tactical reports during Auror training—they were required reading!"

Theseus blinked, completely bewildered. Here he was, standing in Nurmengard—the fortress of one of the most dangerous dark wizards in history—being enthusiastically praised by said dark wizard's partner while a small child offered him pancakes and said dark wizard looked like he was about to hex him or worse.

"I'm sorry," Theseus said slowly, "but am I missing something?"

Gellert's teeth were clenched so tightly they might have been carved from marble. "Harry," he said with forced patience, "perhaps we should discuss why our unexpected guest is here?"

But Harry was unstoppable. "Do you know how many times I practiced that shield charm you developed during the continental dark wizard conflicts? It was revolutionary!" His eyes were shining with an almost embarrassing level of admiration.

Tom looked up at Theseus, syrup now covering most of his face. "Are you going to eat pancakes?" he asked seriously, as if this was the most important question in the world.

Theseus cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm here on a matter of utmost importance. My brother Newt—he's lost in time, and I've been told that the Deathly Hallows might be the only way to retrieve him."

The room went silent. Even Harry's excited chattering stopped.

"Well," Harry said after a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face, "you've definitely come to the right place."

Gellert sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Mein Gott, not this again."

"I'm the Master of Death," Harry continued, now addressing Theseus with a mixture of excitement and serious intent. "And Gellert here possesses the Elder Wand. We might actually be able to help you."

Theseus looked utterly confused. The scene before him was so far from what he'd expected when he'd set out to find the Elder Wand—a domestic kitchen in Nurmengard, a small child covered in pancake syrup, a star-struck wizard who seemed more interested in his past achievements than the gravity of his mission, and Gellert Grindelwald looking like he was one moment away from either hexing Theseus or pulling his lover away and hiding him away.

"Pancake?" Tom offered again, completely oblivious to the magical tension surrounding him.

Gellert muttered something in German that sounded suspiciously like a mix of exasperation and dark humor and took Tom up on his offer for his pancake and munched on one. Harry shot him a look that was half-warning, half-affectionate.

"So," Harry said, turning back to Theseus with a bright smile, "tell me everything about your search for Newt. And would you like some pancakes while we talk?"

Theseus realized, with a mixture of disbelief and resignation, that this was going to be a very long conversation.

"I'd love some," he heard himself say, watching as Tom pushed a plate towards him and Gellert rolled his eyes.

Just another day in Nurmengard, apparently.

Chapter Text

The marble halls of Gringotts towered around Newt and little Harry, the boy's emerald eyes wide with wonder at the goblin tellers and gleaming surfaces. Intricate details caught Harry's attention—the crystal chandeliers, the precise movements of the goblins, the stacks of golden coins that seemed to shimmer with magical potential.

A goblin teller led them through winding corridors to a private meeting room deep within the bank's underground chambers. As they entered, an elderly wizard in a blue coat—remarkably similar to Newt's own—was engaged in a heated discussion with the head goblin.

"These dragons cannot be kept in such conditions!" the older Newt declared passionately. "They require specific environmental considerations!"

The head goblin looked supremely unimpressed. "Our vault security is non-negotiable, Mr. Scamander."

When the two Newts locked eyes, the room seemed to pause. The older Newt smiled, gesturing for them to sit. Little Harry, exhausted from the day's adventures, had already begun to drift off in the younger Newt's lap.

"I suppose," the older Newt said softly, "we should discuss how you've managed to arrive here."

The younger Newt nodded, carefully stroking Harry's hair. "It's a long story," he began, his voice dropping to a whisper to avoid disturbing the sleeping child.

He explained how he'd found Harry—a child living in deplorable conditions, locked in a cupboard, starved and abused by his so-called family. The Dursleys had treated the boy worse than a house-elf, denying him basic necessities, clothing, and affection.

"I couldn't leave him," Newt whispered, looking down at the sleeping boy. "Something about him—he reminded me of myself. Misunderstood. Alone."

Harry's small hand clutched Newt's robes, a testament to the trust he'd already developed. The older Newt watched the scene with a mixture of curiosity and understanding, recognizing the protective instinct that had clearly taken root.

"Time," the younger Newt continued, "seems to have fractured around me. One moment I was on a mission in the French Ministry for Albus, the next… here."

The head goblin had long since left, leaving the two versions of Newt alone with the sleeping Harry

“Time travel,” the older Newt said dryly, “is never simple. But I wouldn’t worry too much. Theseus has always been remarkably… persistent.”

The younger Newt snorted. “Persistent? That’s a diplomatic way of saying he’s as stubborn as a Hungarian Horntail with a grudge.”

“Precisely,” the older Newt chuckled. “He’s probably already contacted every magical researcher from here to Antarctica, demanding they find a solution. I’m surprised the Department of Mysteries hasn’t spontaneously combusted from his inquiries.” They spoke in hushed tones, careful not to disturb Harry’s slumber.

“Those Dursleys,” the younger Newt said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “are about as suitable for child-rearing as a blast-ended skrewt is for a nursery school teacher.”

The older Newt nodded vigorously. “I’ve seen his memories. That cupboard was smaller than most of our creature habitats.

“Albus Dumbledore,” the older Newt said, now looking like he was restraining himself from a full magical tantrum, “has much to answer for. The ‘greater good’ can go hang itself with a self-knotting rope.”

A soft magical pulse seemed to escape the older Newt—less a protective wave and more a magical eye-roll at the universe’s ridiculous sense of humor.

“Tina and I,” the older Newt said suddenly, a mischievous glint entering his eyes that suggested he was about to commit some delightful magical mischief, “would be more than happy to raise him. Our children are grown, our grandchildren are old enough to roll their eyes at our adventures. We have more than enough love—and frankly, more than enough space.”

The younger Newt looked surprised. “You’d adopt him? Just like that?”
“Adopt?” The older Newt’s laugh was part chuckle, part magical rebellion. “My dear younger self, we would do more than adopt. We would turn his life into such a magnificent magical adventure that Dumbledore would have an aneurysm trying to understand our plan.”

They spent the next hour discussing logistics with the kind of detailed planning that suggested they were plotting a magical heist rather than a child’s guardianship.

The older Newt would leverage connections, navigate bureaucratic nonsense, and ensure Harry’s safety all while maintaining a running commentary that made the entire process sound like an elaborate joke the universe was playing on magical administration.

“The look on Albus’s face,” the older Newt said, his eyes twinkling with pure mischief, “when he realizes his meticulously constructed plan has gone completely sideways? Absolutely worth every moment of paperwork.”

As they talked, Harry stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. The younger Newt soothed him by rubbing the little boy’s back softly. “He’s been through so much,” the younger Newt whispered.

“And now it’s my turn to ensure he’s safe,” the older Newt replied. “Primarily, how to convince the ministry to let me have guardianship without letting Dumbledore know.”

Outside the meeting room, Gringotts continued its banking and financial affairs. But inside, two versions of Newt Scamander had just ensured that the Albus Dumbledores’s greater good plan was about to get gloriously, hilariously derailed in both timelines.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Scotland, Albus Dumbledore felt a shiver go up his spine but he ignored in favor of having yet another lemon drop.

Chapter Text

The journey from Gringotts to the Scamander family home was nothing short of magical. Young Newt carried a still-sleepy Harry, while the older Newt led the way, apparating them to a sprawling countryside estate that seemed to shimmer with magical protections.

"Welcome," the older Newt said with a warm smile, "to our little Creature haven."

The property was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. Multiple habitats stretched across rolling green hills, each seemingly designed to house different magical creatures in their most natural environments. Massive enclosures blended seamlessly with the landscape, magical barriers barely visible to the untrained eye.

"Tina!" the older Newt called out. "We have some unexpected visitors!"

A elderly witch emerged from what looked like a combination greenhouse and creature rehabilitation center. Tina Scamander was elegant, with a short greying bob and kind eyes that immediately softened when she saw little Harry.

"Oh, Newt," she said, understanding immediately crossing her face. "Another rescue?"

The younger Newt peeked from behind looking slightly embarrassed. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

Tina widened her eyes at seeing a younger version of her magizoologist husband, and sighed in resignation, “Well, come on in then.”

As they entered the main house, Harry began to wake up properly. The interior was a perfect blend of a comfortable home and a naturalist's paradise. Magical creature sketches covered the walls, intricate terrariums lined shelves, and soft magical lights created a warm, welcoming atmosphere.

Harry's eyes grew wide with wonder. Creatures he'd never imagined peeked out from various habitats—a Bowtruckle playing with some wooden figurines, a Niffler attempting to steal a shiny trinket from a high shelf, and what looked like a baby Thunderbird sleeping peacefully in a specially designed habitat.

"Would you like a tour?" the older Newt asked, watching Harry's expression of pure amazement.

The boy nodded, his earlier shyness replaced by unbridled curiosity. As they walked through the house, the older Newt and Tina exchanged knowing looks. The younger Newt watched carefully, protective of the child he'd rescued.

In the creature sanctuary, Harry was in absolute heaven. A small Demiguise played peek-a-boo with him, turning invisible and reappearing, making Harry giggle with delight. A group of Bowtruckles seemed fascinated by the boy, crawling closer to examine him with curious eyes.

"Do you like the creatures?" the older Newt asked softly.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "They're beautiful," he whispered, as if afraid speaking too loudly might scare them away.

After the tour, they sat in a cozy living room. The older Newt and Tina exchanged a look—the kind of look that spoke volumes without a single word being said.

"Harry," Tina said gently, kneeling down to the boy's level, "how would you feel about staying with us? Permanently?"

The room went silent. Harry's eyes filled with tears—not of sadness, but of a hope he'd never dared to feel before. "You... you want me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

The younger Newt felt his heart break. The older Newt and Tina exchanged a look of pure determination.

"Want you?" the older Newt said softly. "My dear boy, we would love you."

Harry's composure broke. Soft sobs escaped him, years of neglect, of feeling unwanted, of believing he was nothing more than a freak, all came pouring out. He launched himself into the arms of both Newts, clinging to them as if they were his lifeline.

Tina joined the embrace, her own eyes misty. "You're home now," she whispered. "You're safe."

The magical creatures seemed to sense the moment's significance. The Demiguise wrapped itself protectively around Harry, the Bowtruckles clustered nearby, and even the more shy creatures seemed to draw closer—as if welcoming a new member of their family.

The older Newt smiled mysteriously. "We'll find a way, you won’t ever have to go back" he promised.

As the day turned to evening, Harry explored his new room—a magical space that seemed to change and adapt to his interests. Drawings of Colorful creatures lined the walls, magical children’s books floated on shelves, and a window showed a view of the forest behind the Scamander estate.

"This is really mine?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"All yours," Tina confirmed, tucking him into bed.

The younger Newt watched from the doorway, a mix of emotions crossing his face. He'd found Harry in the worst of circumstances, and now he was witnessing the beginning of a magical new life.

Outside, the magical creatures of the sanctuary seemed to celebrate—soft chirps, gentle rustlings, and magical glows signaling their approval of their new family member.

As Harry drifted off to sleep, surrounded by more love and magic than he'd ever known. The universe, it seemed, had its own way of writing happy endings.

A few doors away, the parlor of the Scamander home hummed with quiet energy as older Newt meticulously filled out adoption paperwork. Tina watched over his shoulder, her experienced Auror’s eye catching every detail.

“These Ministry forms are worse than tracking an escaped Niffler,” Newt muttered, his quill scratching methodically across the parchment.

The younger Newt sat nearby, petting a sleeping Pickett, his expression a mixture of concern and hope. Tina noticed his restlessness and smiled softly.

“I’ll contact my old contacts at MACUSA and the British Ministry’s Department of Mysteries,” she said, her professional tone cutting through the room’s tension. “Time travel isn’t unprecedented, though it’s certainly rare.”

Older Newt nodded. “Theseus will be investigating from his end as well. Between an determined Auror brother and your connections, we should find a solution.”

The younger Newt looked up. “You’re certain we can get me back to my own timeline?”

“Absolutely,” Older Newt said firmly. “Theseus always finds a way, especially when family is involved.”

Pickett crawled onto the paperwork, seemingly offering his own silent support to the adoption proceedings. “Well,” Newt chuckled, “looks like we have an official witness.”

Chapter Text

The grand dining hall of Nurmengard felt more like a strategic war room than a breakfast setting. Harry Potter sat with an infectious enthusiasm, Tom nestled protectively in his lap, while Theseus Scamander listened intently to his increasingly elaborate theory about reopening the Veil of Death as a temporal gateway.

"The magical resonance," Harry explained, gesturing dramatically and nearly sending Tom's pancake flying, "is all about frequency modulation!"

Gellert Grindelwald watched the interaction with a mixture of possessive irritation and reluctant fascination. Every time Theseus so much as glanced in Harry's direction, magical sparks would subtly crackle around Gellert's fingers—a silent warning that screamed, "Mine."

Tom, blissfully unaware of the adult tensions, continued methodically consuming pancakes. Syrup decorated his chin like a messy badge of honor, and Harry lovingly wiped it away with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intense magical discussion.

"Your Mission in the Great War in 1916," Harry gushed to Theseus, his eyes sparkling with unbridled admiration, "was absolutely legendary! I studied your tactical reports during Auror training!"

Theseus blinked, simultaneously flattered and overwhelmed. "I... thank you?"

Gellert's fingers drummed an aggressive rhythm against the table. The magical tension could have been cut with a knife—or perhaps a very sharp pancake fork.

"The Veil," Harry continued, now fully in lecture mode, "exists in a liminal space between magical dimensions. Theoretically, if we can recalibrate its fundamental magical frequency, we could create a temporal bridge!"

Theseus leaned forward, professional curiosity piqued. "And you genuinely believe this could retrieve my brother?"

"Absolutely!" Harry declared, bouncing Tom slightly. The child giggled, syrup flying everywhere, completely oblivious to the complex magical theory being discussed.

Gellert muttered something in German that sounded like a colorful mixture of magical theory and parental exasperation. His hand inched closer to Harry's, a clear territorial gesture that screamed, "He's MY wizard."

"The Department of Mysteries will absolutely despise this approach," Theseus mused. "Experimental magic that potentially disrupts fundamental magical barriers?"

Harry's grin could only be described as mischievous. "Sounds like fun!"

Tom, finishing his pancake, looked up with wide innocent eyes. "More?" he asked, his voice a perfect blend of childish innocence and future dark lord entitlement.

"Of course, my little snake," Harry cooed, cutting another piece of pancake with surgical precision.

Gellert's jealousy momentarily transformed into fond amusement. "Our son," he emphasized to Theseus, "is already showing excellent negotiation skills."

Theseus couldn't help but chuckle. The scene was surreal, discussing potentially world-altering magical theory while a future dark lord ate pancakes and Harry Potter fanboyed over an Auror legend even with the threat of a jealous dark lord.

"We'll need precise magical calculations," Theseus said, professional mode engaging. "Someone intimately familiar with interdimensional magic. Preferably someone who understands magical theory and has experience with extraordinary magical phenomena."

Harry's eyes gleamed with the kind of excitement that suggested he was about to embark on something monumentally dangerous and incredibly exciting. "Well you have the perfect candidate already!"

Gellert sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Mein Gott, this is going to be a long planning session. Liebling, Are you sure you want to do this?” Harry nodded enthusiastically.

Tom, oblivious to the magical scheming, continued eating pancakes. A small piece of syrup-covered pancake fell onto Gellert's meticulously pressed trousers.

"Oops," Tom said, not sounding sorry at all.

Harry burst into laughter. Theseus looked bemused. Gellert looked like he was simultaneously plotting world domination and wondering how he'd ended up in this absolutely mad situation.

"So," Harry said cheerfully, "shall we discuss how to potentially break several fundamental magical laws in the war room?"

Theseus raised an eyebrow. "Is this how you normally plan magical operations?"

"Pretty much," Harry replied with a completely straight face.

Gellert muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "And they call ME a Maniac."

“Come along, Tom darling! You can spend the day with Auntie Vinda today!” Harry picks up the 6-year-old, wipes the syrup off his face, and drops him off with a very confused Vinda Rosier, telling her she’s on babysitting duty.

Chapter Text

The war room of Nurmengard had seen many things: clandestine meetings, the planning of revolutions, and at least one spectacular duel that had singed most of the original furniture (Harry maintains that it is not his fault). However, it had never witnessed anything quite like this—a dark lord, the master of death, and the British head Auror, who was technically supposed to be arresting them both, sitting around a table. They were ostensibly planning a highly illegal infiltration of the British Ministry’s Department of Mysteries to reach the Veil of Death.

“I’m telling you,” Theseus said, leaning over the table to point at the Ministry map. “The only way in is through the Floo network in the main Atrium. Everything else is warded to hell and back.” Harry's green eyes sparkled as he nodded eagerly. “That’s brilliant, Theseus. You’re brilliant.”

Grindelwald, who had been pacing dramatically in the background, froze mid-step. His heterochromatic eyes narrowed as he turned to look at Harry. “Yes,” Grindelwald said slowly, his voice cool. “Theseus is very clever. How fortunate that we have such a brilliant Auror to guide us.” Theseus, oblivious to the venom in Grindelwald’s tone, gave a modest shrug. “It’s not cleverness; it’s experience. You spend enough years chasing dark wizards, and you learn their tricks.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he gazed at Theseus with admiration. “That’s amazing. I mean, you’ve probably seen everything, right? Fought the worst of the worst?” Grindelwald cleared his throat loudly, breaking the spell. “Harry, if you’re done fawning, perhaps we could return to the matter at hand? Or would you prefer Theseus regale you with more thrilling tales of his heroic exploits?”

Harry blinked, looking between Grindelwald and Theseus in confusion. “I wasn’t fawning.” “You were practically drooling,” Grindelwald muttered under his breath. “What was that?” Harry asked, tilting his head. “Nothing, darling,” Grindelwald said with a tight smile, though his wand hand twitched as if he were contemplating hexing Theseus into next week.

Theseus looked up from the map, finally noticing the tension in the air. “Right. Back to the plan. Once we’re inside the Atrium, we’ll need a distraction to draw the Aurors away from the lower levels.” “Distraction,” Grindelwald repeated, his tone clipped. “Yes, of course. Harry, why don’t you share your brilliant idea for that?” Harry perked up, clearly thrilled to be included. “I was thinking—cursed teapots. Small, unassuming, but they can cause chaos in just the right places. We plant them in the Atrium and boom! Instant panic.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow. “Cursed teapots?” “It worked on the Death Eaters once,” Harry said defensively. “And it’s not like they’ll be expecting it.” “It’s… unconventional,” Theseus admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “But it might actually work. Simple, effective, and unexpected. Good thinking, Harry.” Harry beamed at the praise. “Thanks, Theseus. I knew you’d get it.”

Grindelwald’s grip on his wand tightened as he interjected sarcastically, “Yes, thank you, Theseus for validating Harry’s ideas. I’m sure he’s never heard such glowing compliments before.” Theseus frowned as he finally caught onto Grindelwald’s edge of sarcasm. “Are you all right?” “Perfectly fine,” Grindelwald replied tersely.

Harry turned back to the map and asked, “So once we’ve planted the teapots, how do we get past the wards in the Department of Mysteries? They’ve upgraded it since last time when Gellert and I tried to get in.” “Yes,” Theseus said as he refocused on their task at hand. “The wards are keyed to detect unauthorized magic, but I’ve dealt with similar systems before. If we can find the anchor point, I can disable it.”

“See?” Harry grinned at Grindelwald. “Theseus is brilliant.” Grindelwald's jaw tightened as he replied dryly, “Yes, you’ve mentioned.” Theseus continued without noticing Grindelwald's irritation: “Once the wards are down, we’ll have about ten minutes before the Ministry’s failsafe kicks in. That’s our window to get to the Veil.”

“Also about the Veil?” Theseus asked uneasily. “What exactly do we hope to achieve once we reach it?” Grindelwald exchanged a glance with Harry before answering cryptically: “The Veil is not just a gateway—it’s a nexus of ancient power. If controlled properly, it could be wielded to rewrite Time itself.” He added pointedly for Theseus's benefit: "In your case all you need to know is that we can open a portal straight to where your precious baby brother has landed.”

“Ten minutes,” Harry repeated seriously. “That’s tight but we can do it—right Gellert?” Leaning down closer to Harry's ear with an intimate whisper that sent shivers down Harry's spine, Grindelwald replied softly: "For you, my love, I would tear down the entire Ministry."

Harry flushed and leaned back into Grindelwald's touch with a shy smile saying sweetly: "That’s… very sweet Gellert." Clearing his throat awkwardly again as if trying to steer things back on track for everyone involved after such an intimate moment shared between them both; Theseus suggested: "Right then! If there’s nothing else I’ll start preparing the necessary counter runes for those wards."

Grindelwald straightened up with an unwavering gaze fixed on Theseus as he said smoothly: "You do that Auror Scamander—and do be careful—Ministry wards can be… unpredictable." Theseus raised an eyebrow suspiciously and responded: "Is that a threat?"

“Merely a warning,” Grindelwald replied calmly while maintaining eye contact with him until he left their presence entirely before turning back towards Harry who looked concerned about what had just transpired moments ago between them both.

“What was that about?” Harry asked curiously after observing how tense things had gotten during their meeting earlier on regarding plans for infiltrating Ministry grounds together today alongside one another along with Gellert himself too!

“Nothing darling,” Grindelwald replied deceptively calm while leaning closer into him again now that they were alone together once more again like before earlier moments ago earlier too! "I simply don’t trust him."

Harry looked skeptical now after hearing this statement made by Gellert himself just now saying back: "You don’t trust Theseus Scamander? One of history's most honorable Aurors?"

“It’s not his honor I distrust,” Grindelwald said leaning even closer now still while gazing deeply into those mesmerizing green eyes staring back at him intently right now too! "It’s how he looks at you."

Harry blinked confusedly while processing what was just said aloud by Gellert himself moments ago saying back: "The way he looks at me? Gellert—he's just being nice!"

Grindelwald's expression darkened further still while shaking his head adamantly stating firmly: "No one is just nice towards someone as captivating as you."

After staring blankly back at him for several moments longer than necessary; suddenly bursting out laughing uncontrollably after processing everything said aloud between them both moments ago too! "You’re jealous! Of Theseus Scamander!"

“I am not jealous!” Growled out Grindelwald stiffly while trying hard not showing any signs of weakness whatsoever during this exchange taking place right now either!

Harry leaned in closer with a playful grin forming across his face teasingly replying back cheekily: "You are! That’s adorable!"

Grindelwald scowled deeply now but couldn’t stop that faint blush creeping up along his neck either despite trying really hard doing so anyway still!

“Don’t worry," Harry reassured him gently cupping one cheek tenderly against soft skin beneath fingertips lightly brushing against stubble growing there too! "You’re still my favorite criminal mastermind."

Grindelwald sighed heavily resting forehead against Harry's forehead gently closing eyes briefly feeling overwhelmed by emotions swirling around inside him right now too! "You are insufferable."

“And yet you love me for it," replied Harry smugly grinning widely knowing full well what kind of effect words spoken aloud could have over time spent together like this!

“Unfortunately,” muttered out Grindelwald begrudgingly though ghosting smile tugged ever so slightly against lips curling upwards ever so slightly too!

Chapter Text

The Ministry of Magic was always busy. Even in the dead of night, when the rest of wizarding Britain was asleep, the Atrium bustled with enchanted memos, late-shift workers, and bored security wizards nursing cups of lukewarm tea. This presented a problem for three wizards who had no business being there.

Harry Potter, Gellert Grindelwald, and Theseus Scamander stepped out of a dimly lit Floo grate, their movements deliberate, cloaked under Disillusionment Charms. The air in the Atrium was charged, but not with the usual Ministry energy. It was the static tension that came with plans that would either work spectacularly or fail catastrophically.

“I told you,” Harry whispered as they crept toward the center of the Atrium, “Teapots were the way to go.”

Grindelwald, his voice a low murmur, replied, “If these ridiculous teapots actually work, I’ll personally write to Witch Weekly and inform them you’re a genius.”

Theseus rolled his eyes, his voice barely audible. “Can you two focus? I’d like to get out of this alive, if you don’t mind.”

The trio moved swiftly, their Disillusionment Charms making them shimmer faintly as they weaved through the crowded Atrium. Harry carried a small satchel containing the enchanted teapots, which he’d spent hours charming to scream, explode, and occasionally sing old Celestina Warbeck songs.

They reached the fountain in the center of the Atrium, its golden statues glittering under the flickering torchlight. Harry crouched beside the edge, pulling out one of the teapots. It was a gaudy pink affair with tiny painted daisies, and its spout emitted a soft hum.

“Are you sure about this one?” Grindelwald asked, his tone skeptical.

“Absolutely,” Harry said, setting it down. “This one sings ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love’ before it explodes. A classic.”

Grindelwald sighed dramatically, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Your commitment to chaos is admirable, if unorthodox.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied, grinning.
“Theseus,” Grindelwald added sharply, “make yourself useful and set the next one near the security desk.”

Theseus glared at him but complied, grabbing another teapot from Harry’s bag and stalking toward the desk.

“Do you have to antagonize him?” Harry whispered to Grindelwald, who was inspecting another teapot with disdain.

“It’s not antagonism,” Grindelwald replied smoothly. “It’s establishing dominance.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Grindelwald said, leaning close to whisper in Harry’s ear, “You adore me.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t respond, instead focusing on planting the final teapot near the Misplaced Portkeys desk.

The first explosion was subtle, by Harry’s standards that is. The pink teapot at the fountain let out a high-pitched shriek, then burst into a cloud of glittering smoke. Wizards and witches nearby jumped back in alarm, their voices overlapping in confusion.

Moments later, the security desk teapot erupted with a deafening rendition of Celestina Warbeck’s greatest hits, drawing a swarm of security wizards.

“These are working better than I thought,” Harry muttered as the trio slipped through the chaos, heading toward the lifts.

Grindelwald glanced at him, his expression half-amused, half-irritated. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.”

“You’re always both,” Harry said with a grin.
“Theseus,” Grindelwald called as they reached the lifts, “Disable the security charms on the Department of Mysteries floor. If you can manage it.”

Theseus clenched his jaw but raised his wand, muttering a series of intricate counter-charms. The lift doors opened, and they stepped inside.
“Done,” Theseus said tightly.
“Brilliant,” Harry said, giving him an encouraging smile.

Grindelwald made a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a growl. As the group debated their next steps, Theseus found himself standing next to Grindelwald again.
“You know,” Grindelwald began, his voice low, “I don’t often meet someone as… frustratingly noble as you.”

“And I’ve never met anyone as obnoxiously pretentious as you.” Theseus snorted.

“…But Dumbledore’s worse,” Grindelwald added.
“Oh, absolutely,” Theseus agreed, crossing his arms. “Manipulative, reckless, self-righteous”

“And don’t get me started on his fashion sense,” Grindelwald interrupted.

Harry, overhearing this, grinned. “You two are bonding, that’s adorable.”

Harry was met with simultaneous quips of “We are Not!” as they made their way to the 9th level.

The Department of Mysteries was unnervingly quiet. The trio moved through the winding corridors, the walls lined with shimmering, enchanted doors that seemed to pulse with ancient power.

At last, they reached the Veil chamber, the massive room dominated by the archway at its center. The Veil itself fluttered slightly, as though caught in an invisible breeze, its shadowy surface exuding an ominous hum.

Harry approached it slowly, his heart pounding. The whispers began almost immediately, soft and insistent, brushing against his mind like fingers on a fogged window.

Grindelwald placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, pulling him back slightly. “Careful,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “The Veil is unpredictable. It does not give its secrets freely.”

“I know,” Harry said, stepping closer. “But we need it. And I think… I think it knows me.”

The hum grew louder as Harry raised his wand, murmuring an activation spell he had found in one of Grindelwald’s forbidden tomes. The Veil shimmered, its shadows swirling like ink in water.

The whispers turned into voices, indistinct but growing louder, overlapping in a cacophony of sound. Harry’s grip on his wand tightened.

“It’s responding,” Grindelwald said, his voice tinged with awe.

“Theseus,” Harry called over his shoulder. “Get the letter ready.”

Theseus frowned but pulled a rolled-up parchment from his coat, tying it to the leg of the owl he had summoned. The bird looked distinctly unimpressed, but Theseus whispered something calming to it.

“What exactly is this going to do?” Theseus asked, his voice tense.

“The Veil isn’t just a doorway to death,” Grindelwald said, his tone laced with fascination. “It’s a nexus. A conduit. With the right spell, it can send messages across time and space.”

“You’re sure about this?” Theseus asked, looking at Harry. Harry gave him a crooked smile. “Not even a little.”

“Comforting,” Theseus muttered, releasing the owl.
The bird hesitated for a moment, then flew toward the Veil. Its feathers shimmered as it passed through, disappearing into the swirling shadows. The voices rose to a crescendo, then abruptly fell silent.
The room seemed to exhale, the tension breaking as the Veil settled back into its steady hum before the owl burst back out the other end holding a distinct unspeakable mask.

“It worked,” Harry said, his voice filled with wonder.
Grindelwald stepped closer, his hand brushing Harry’s. “You did it, my love. You’ve awakened the Veil.” Harry turned to him, smiling. “We did it.”

Theseus cleared his throat holding the owl and the mask. “Not to interrupt your moment, but we should probably get my brother back before someone realizes we’re here.”

“Always so practical,” Grindelwald said, though his tone was less biting than usual.

As Harry’s chant filled the room, the Veil began to shimmer violently, the shadows coalescing into shapes that twisted and turned in eerie, hypnotic patterns. The whispers grew louder, overlapping in a cacophony of voices that seemed to claw at the edges of sanity.

“Theseus,” Harry said, his voice unusually serious. “If this goes sideways, you’re in charge of yelling ‘I told you so.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Theseus muttered, gripping his wand tightly. “I’ll shout it from the rooftops.”

Grindelwald stepped closer to the Veil, his wand raised high as the shadows reached out like ghostly fingers. “It’s responding, Someone’s on the other side ” he said, his voice triumphant.