Chapter Text
Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived for many years.
Then, after defeating Voldemort, he became the Boy Who Lived Then Died Then Lived Again.
As of this moment, he was probably actively being named The Boy Who Disappeared Into Thin Air, because he quite literally is not in his timeline anymore.
He rationalised, the Wizarding World is not a stranger to such occurances as time travel. In fact, it used to be common knowledge that one could do so if one acquired a Time Turner. Unfortunately they were all destroy a couple of years ago, in the very Minisitry Department they were stored in.
Then how in Merlin’s name did he not only travel back in time, but travel so damn far into the past that he could barely tell the year he was in?
Well, in retrospect, it was his own fault this time. He could blame the Universe all he wanted for this unplanned turn to his life – his now relatively normal, peaceful life after the War, but he didn’t. Hermione had, as always, warned him. Multiple times, even. “Don’t meddle in things related to time! It’s honestly the most dangerous thing you could do, Harry, and that’s saying something!“ It went on and on. She told others, friends, family, former Professors even. Most fortunately, however, he didn’t know yet.
He’ll kill me when I get back.
Ron somehow stayed neutral, and it made Harry laugh most times by how lost his best friend was in that lonely middle-ground. Harry asumed he would take his girlfriend’s side, but as persuasive and scary she could be when that fiery, concerned fury unleashed itself, Ron trusted Harry’s gut, and it told him to meddle.
The Ministry called him in one day for ’a matter of great urgency’ , so he had no choice but to go. He was getting sick of these inceasant meetings. Most were quite useless and borderline maddening, since all they did was waste his time and spoil his mood. However, he could not escape any, because, maybe quite foolishly in his opinion, he had hope one of these would be actually important. Surprisingly, this one was just that. One of the apprentices for the newly – established Department of Mysteries found a Time Turner. The object should have been destroyed with the rest, in their fifth year, Harry knew, but somehow this one was mostly in-tact. Alas, the damage to it was substantial enough anyway for the Department to declare it disfunctional. Possibly dangerous.
Harry’s Magic, however, did not agree. He felt a pull, a warmth, similar to the one when he held his wand in Ollivander’s, as the object lay in his palm. The shimmer of it’s golden structure, the intricate writings, they all called out to him, alike to a prophecy. The Ministry had no issues with him keeping it, so he did.
As he recalled this moment, Harry found he could blame something other than himself – his Magic. Though it is a part of him, it seems to have a will of its own half the time.
That same will propelled him to try and fix the thing. As it is – that singular, idiotic action led to him being transported into a past.
He still didn’t know the year he was in. The unknown didn’t frighten him like it used to, but the uncertainty of what to do next? Yes.
Without a familiar face around, a comforting hand at his shoulder, Hermione’s cool intelligence or Ron’s easy humor and brilliant strategies, all other things seemed more grey, empty, but daunting as well. He had no one to rely on.
Harry firmly decided not to panic, because even if he did it wouldn’t fix this issue. It wouldn’t fix anything, and in his experience with situations like these, which he had no control over whatsoever, all panic could do was make it worse. His ’damnable luck’ wouldn’t fail him now. It couldn’t. He could not afford it to. So, the final plan was what it had been for most of his life – to follow and trust his instincts.
…
If not for the ability to basically turn invisible, Harry would have been in jail by now. Why? His flat in London was not his flat, of course, and the timeline change didn’t result in transporting him to another place, so the people currently residing in it would…react, to a stranger just popping into existance in the middle of their living room. Again, luck was on his side, and they weren’t even there.
On his way out he stole a newspaper from a guy on the street, still Disillusioned. Harry turned into a desolate, narrow alley to examine it. His first directive – find out what the date was. The answer made the disquiet return a smidge, churning in his stomach. He truly had no one. Not anyone who would know him in this time anyway.
27th of July, 1973.
„Huh…Well this is…just great…“
’Kay, I can work with that.
Carefully, he carded through multiple next steps that would possibly help him get back to his timeline. Back home.
Home.
For so long, before he had an adult in his life who actually cared enough to take him in and give him a place to call home, the only place he had thought of in that way was Hogwarts. Even now, with a flat of his own, it still didn’t feel like it. Not yet.
Again, his thought out plans and ideas fell away to the insistance of his instincts. It sure was getting old at this point.
There was a solid month ahead of him, though. Where would he stay? Heck, how to get into Hogwarts as a grown man?
Then, an idea struck.
Hogwarts always needed Defense Professors, didn’t it? Excitement bloomed in his chest.
Harry couldn’t help it – he grinned like an absolute madman in that dark unknown alley.
…
Firstly, Harry went to Diagon Alley.
Not only was the street familiar, but it also gave him some needed respite from the whirling thoughts. The shops stayed mostly the same, with some differences in products – like the broom models, which were in his time quite old and cheap, however the most expensive and desired here. Ollivander’s was identical to the one he went to to buy his first wand. With some lingering sullenness, he recalled the ruins the War had left behind of the place.
The first larger deviation that caught his eye was the style of robes. Not only visible on witches and wizards in the Alley, but also in display windows of robe-shops. It wasn’t shocking, but it did accentuate the three-decade gap. Long, quite lank robes seemed popular, in even more disturbingly bright colours than Dumbledore would wear. Harry started to think the man had obviously liked this particular style and sort of stuck with it. Though most of the wizards didn’t quite fit into this new style, keeping to their regular muted coloured robes, the witches appeared to embrace it fully. He assumed the men who did not approve of it were Purebloods, ever the traditional, noble stock of wizard kind. Harry almost rolled his eyes at the thought.
He couldn’t quite tear his eyes away, so much so that he proceeded to lose himself in the small and the significant differences. Harry, oblivious to the people around him, was quite literally shoved out of his awe and reverie. Confused but chagrined, he sent an apologetic look to the person he ran into. Or did they run into him?
„Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there. You alright?“
His green eyes met black, almost irritated ones. The irritation disolved quickly, as the - teen? took him in. There was something vaguely familiar about him, Harry briefly considered, though he could not put his finger on it.
„Um, yes,“ the boy replied quietly, though not lacking in firmness. The black gaze still searched his face, as if wary.
„Alright,“ Harry said, not a little awkwardly. He cleared his throat. „Well, you’ve probably got some shopping to do. Hogwarts, I assume?“
The teen frowned, as if debating whether to answer the stranger or not. After a moment, Harry shrugged internally, content to get on his merry way, as there was no answer. Then, the black haired, suspicious boy answered.
„Yes, Third Year,“
„Ah,“ Harry smiled, nostalgia and memories overflowing in his mind, „I remember DADA classes being quite fun,“
The boy shrugged slightly, „Depends on the Professor’s competence. I prefer Potions, anyway,“
It was as if a lightbulb turned on in his brain. Dark eyes, black, slightly greasy hair, hooked nose, and the interest in potions…
It was young Snape!
Harry would’ve slapped his forehead if he could. Of course it was! This was the year his parents were also in their Third Year, the rest of the Marauders, too. How did he not think of that?
„Very true, though Slughorn…Never mind,“
„Isn’t very creative, I’m sadly aware,“ Severus scowled at the cobble street under them.
Harry chuckled, though not at the jab at a Professor, that he didn’t – but at the same time did expect from a young Snape. The thing Harry found funny were the expressions Severus made. They were identical to the ones Harry had witnessed multiple times during his school years, although now Severus was only a teen and didn’t intimidate Harry in the slightest.
Before he could comment, a flash of brigh copper hair all but ran into Snape.
„Finally! Christ, Sev, can you not wander off like that? We need to go get the rest of our stuff, or – „
Her gaze suddenly landed on Harry, and the man barely swallowed the gasp that rose to his lips.
It was Lily.
„Oh, hello there, who’s this, Sev?“
„No idea,“ he drawled, „We just ran into eachother,“
The suspicion on her face baffled Harry for a moment, until he remembered how close the two were back then. More percisely, right now. Lily knew Snape so well that his avoidant answer made her curious and, most of all, unconvinced. Seems like the Occlumency thing hadn’t started yet, huh?
„If you say so,“ she muttered, though pointedly sent a raised eyebrow at her friend, „We better get going then,“
„Sure.“ Severus looked to Harry, then back to Lily. Harry could palpably feel the gears turning in the teen’s mind. So, he was still the perceptive little – whatever, even back in his school years. He had undeniably noticed the similarities between Harry and Lily. The eyes, a most noticable one. Lily broke the silent exchange by tugging her friend by the hand.
„C’mon Sev!“ she urged, „Have a nice day, sir!“
Harry, unable to avert his gaze from Severus’ calculating one, simply nodded. They disappeared into a shop, and left The Boy Who Lived And Decided To Disappear Into Thin Air standing in the middle of Diagon Alley.
…
After that unexpected reunion, Harry got to work. He had his wallet on him, luckily as always, and enough money to buy certain necessities for his current predicament and plan. First, he bought a cheap suitcase, in which he could stuff the other things, like a set of robes, parchment, a set of quills and a few ink bottles. Most importantly, he bought himself an owl, a loyal companion to be sure, but Harry required their usefulness much more.
When he saw the snowy white one in the back of the shop, nostalgia hit his chest quite hard. The worker warned him that it was a weary, old thing, but Harry did not budge. Now happy to have an owner, it screeched at him and nibbled appreciatevely at his fingers when allowed out of the cage. Harry was bound to get attached, but at that moment, reminded of dear Hedwig, he didn’t find the will to care, though he knew it might hurt to leave the owl behind once he found a way back. A name, however, was hard to think of. Examining the surprisingly energetic flutter if wings and the yellow-eyed glare, which Harry thought carried something akin to mischief and excitement, it came to him.
Adamant, Harry named him Fred.
Once he payed for a room in the Leaky Couldron, he immedietely set to writing the letter to Dumbledore.
After that, things got very, very interesting.
…
Albus Dumbledore arrived at the Leaky Couldron two days later.
By that time, Harry had already hatched a plan, a route of conversation he was willing to take with his former Headmaster, and it really was supposed to be simple. He would greet him, make tea, and then begin with his reasons for the letter, the job application and his determination to get said position, as if he didn’t already know how short the candidate list was.
For all his achievements, Harry had gained significant confidence, but it had never turned to vanity nor arrogance. He had thoroughly concidered his next step if he failed to become a professor. If Hermione and Ron were here, they would cheer him on and at the same time tell him off for being a fidgety mess. „You’ve no reason to be nervous, mate! You’re probably the best applicant he’s had in years!“ Ron would say. Hermione would agree, stating how his best area was in fact DADA. Ron would add that Dumbledore would be daft not to hire him, to which his best friend would earn a scolding look from Hermione, though she’d grudgingly agree after a moment.
Harry smiled to himself at the whirl of imaginary support his best friends, his family, would offer. In this new, but past world, he was constantly reminded of the emptiness they left behind. When he wanted to ask Hermione about a charm he couldn’t quite remember, or go test some new products for Wheezes with Ron, the atmosphere dropped around him into perpetual dissapointment and tangible absence. Harry refused to let it stall him, consume him like so many times emotions had in the past. It drove him to succeed in going back. Nevertheless, he was affected by it, even more so because of the general loneliness in the age he found himself in.
That changed slightly once Dumbledore arrived. He accepted Harry’s proposal to a formal interview via letter. He met the man upon his arrival, and was not at all surprised by his attire. It was so remeniscent of the Dumbledore Harry knew, that a grin made its way on his face. He was simply glad to see a familar face, though it hadn’t, by some strange miracle, changed at all. He wore the same half-moon spectacles, the same, if not more colourful robes – a lively shade of light blue. His beard was as long and silvery as ever, and his eyes held a familiar spark. Despite the grudge Harry held for the man because of the neccessary decisions he made in the War, he was immensely happy to see him.
They exchanged pleasantries, made it up to Harry’s room and sat at the dining room table – small as it was. Harry prepared tea. His improved perception skills, which grew along with the wariness during aforementioned war, keenly observed the man from his peripheral vision. Dumbledore sat in silence, observed his surroundings, his gaze landed on Harry a few times. Harry noted it never probed, nor lingered long. Briefly, Harry considered why his usual casual glance at people’s surface thoughts never came. Then, offended by his lack of foresight, he pushed the memory back, as his plan called for stealth. If Dumbledore saw it, he would know.
Harry served the tea hastily and sat down across from the headmaster.
„Well, I gather it is time to discuss the reason for this meeting, Mr. Potter,“
Harry cleared his throat, contemplating his choice of words. „I agree, Professor, though I have to ask a favour first – to add a silencing charm to the room,“
„Oh? Do go on,“ he acquiesced, „After all, how could I refuse such a benign request from a former, or, dare I say future student?“
The knowing smile on the man’s face made Harry want to kick himself. Damn this shit, let’s go in full-on Gryffindor at this point.
Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose, in an attempt to gather his thoughts and discern how to continue this. The particular habit was not intentional, rather transfered to his being by accident – being too close to his mentor could do that, apparently.
„As disturbing and as it is to hear one’s plans squashed with a sentence, it is more so the fact that I’m now calmer than I was before, even though I probably shouldn’t be. I’m sorry for essentially trying to trick you, Headmaster, but I’m sure you realise how my actions would be neccessary in my, erm, situation?“
„Do not fret, young man, I am certain the deceit you wished to achieve carried no ill-will behind it. Though I am curious as to how you found yourself in this predicament.“ Dumbledore proceeded to reach into the inner pocket of his robes, proffering a small, cardboard sweets – packet, „Sherbet lemon?“
Harry was taken aback by, not deja vu exactly, but not nostalgia either. It was, oddly, something in-between, familiar yet not, though not unpleasant. It felt alike to the bittersweet moments in life where it’s neither sad nor happy, but the emotion can’t be percisely explained. Sometimes, it wasn’t even meant to be. He accepted the sweet.
And so, Harry found himself asking his former Professor for a Pensieve, to show the memories relevant and explain. He obliged and brought it, set it up on the table and waited patiently while Harry extracted memory after memory.
He revealed nothing about the War, the good nor bad, the deaths, the battles, his or Harry’s involvement. Even the first war was years away, let alone the second which noone even suspected to occur. Due to that annoying instinct-y feeling again, he revealed only the occurance of both – not a word more. Harry assured Dumbledore that whatever informaton he had could not be, in any way, shape or form, used in this timeline – lest they alter the future completely. Dumbledore understood, but Harry couldn’t help but feel the man’s subtle disappointment – at time being as finicky as it is, or at the loss of valuable information? Harry couldn’t tell.
He continued to explain the circumstances that got him here. Unfortunately, Dumbledore couldn’t provide an answer or even a guess as to why he was sent to this time specifically, but he would help provide insight and guide Harry along the way. Aquiring a Time Turner wasn’t an issue, because none were destroyed, but it didn’t feel like it was his time to leave yet, no matter how much he wanted to. Things were never that easy, not for Harry bloody Potter anyway.
After all was said, Dumbledore obviously had one more question.
„Am I correct to assume the position at Hogwarts would aid you in your mission?“
Harry nodded as he swallowed the last of his tea. „Yes, sir. Not only is it the safest place, it’s also been my home for a long time,“ he smirked to himself (at the safety bit of course), „I am also quite sure you need someone suited to the job,“
Harry was once again greeted by a sparkling gaze from his former Professor, and relief flooded through him. Not that he wasn’t sure the job was his, but it still reassured that little remaining insecurity and hopeless ache that still lingered from his childhood. He shook it off once Dumbledore gave a verbal answer.
„Indeed,“ he said with a small, but satisfied smile, and stood, „I am happy to say the job is yours, Mr. Potter, but I do wonder how a Gryffindor has such semblence to another house – quite adamant rivals…“
The query wasn’t really a question, so Harry smiled in response. A wistful, yet dry and almost fake one. It didn’t offend him, though it would be seen as an insult by his younger self. Instead, a surge of something akin to pride and contentment rose in his chest. Well, that is what happens when you live with a Slytherin half the time… He never let it show.
The deal was done. Now, the only thing left, was to commit.