Chapter Text
Mr. Harry Potter of number twenty-four, Kingsford Road, was proud to say that he was a perfectly normal wizard, thank you very much.
He had a wonderful wife that he loved dearly, three children that were a tiny bit difficult to handle, but who he also loved so greatly, two owls and a cat. He was also blessed with many friends, and a good, stable job at the ministry he had wanted since he was a teen. He was making a hefty salary, and his wife -an athlete- also brought home a lot of money. They had a giant house, warm, with always an extra snack and equipped with all the latest magical gadgets his kids begged him for.
He always tried to focus on that stuff. The good ones. The ones some people, people he knew and shared a table with and called his friends, never got to experience.
Sometimes, when the whispers get a bit too much for him, he’d go and sit in a muggle caffe, two hours away from London. He’d apparate there, find his usual seat by the window and just look at the passersby. Then he’d walk around for a bit and go home. Not that he’d ever tell anyone that; it wasn’t that he was stubborn, nor embarrassed, more like, he was avoiding an uncomfortable conversation. Ginny would tell him that she’d tag along, Ron would shrug and tell him that he’s always there, and work gets a bit much for him too sometimes, and Hermione would tell him again, to go see a mind healer. None of those options sounded appealing to him. If he was being honest, Harry did not know what he wanted. Sometimes he caught himself thinking that he just wanted to go back. Back to his first year, when he was still allowed to make mistakes, when the world didn’t depend on him without doing anything, when he was Harry, just Harry, and not ‘The Savior of the Wizarding Britain, who mercilessly and bravely fought Voldemort’ like the newspapers had said.
Because the truth was that Harry wasn’t all that brave. Sure, he was, at least just a bit, he knew that. His Gryffindor uniform was hanging along Ginny’s in their attic and if he closed his palms, he could still feel the cold from the steel handle of the sword, that would turn warm after a moment, drenched in blood. Yes, he knew all that. But Harry considered himself a coward, because sometimes, just sometimes, he would imagine that he had a choice to go back and re do it all again, and sometimes, just sometimes, he would imagine himself refusing. In his deepest, darkest desires, the ones who whispered to him that maybe it wasn’t just the horcrux the hat was looking at, he refuses. He just sits down and sleeps, for after all these years that had passed, he was still so tired.
He never did that though. An unexplainable feeling inside him lead him where he was. An Auror. Still the famous Harry Potter he always was, still after dark wizards, his entire life even now a shadow of Voldemort. It’s not that he disliked it, per say. He wanted it. The thrill, the chase, the spells. How could he ever just bury his head down after everything he’d been through? Harry hadn’t spent a single year of his childhood nor his Hogwarts life where he wasn’t fighting. What good would it do to stop now? After all, when the system fails you, you must take matters into your own hands.
It hurt him to think that he wanted this, even and a little bit. Every time he was running after a criminal, buildings exploding around him, windows shattering, glass everywhere, the world around him engulfing in flames, his mind would shift. For a single fragment of a second, he was back, and the person in front of him wasn’t a human, but the monster who had tormented him then, and continues to do now, in his darkest nightmares. And then his wand flashes and he wins. He always wins, because people know he can. Because he has won before and will win again.
At least he hoped he would.
“Don’t let him get away! Cut off all possible exits, circle around him!” Harry screamed, his voice hoarse, his eyes half-lidded from all the smoke that was flying around, his ears buzzing from the intense pressure. Fuck, they came underprepared. Their target was supposed to be an upcoming, not so powerful terrorist the ministry had to keep an eye on, not some bomber maniac.
Harry almost fell to his knees as the ground trembled from under him, seeing his coworkers tumbling down from his peripheral vision. He put an arm over his eyes, stumbling forward while running through the debris and the fallen walls. The acrid smoke clung to his lungs as he pressed on, heart pounding in his ears, each desperate step fueled by the certainty that hesitation would mean disaster. His wand was still in his hand, raised and ready to fire whenever needed. And just as he was about to, with the bomber’s silhouette getting closer, his vision went blank and his ears started ringing. His wand left his grasp, and his hand shot out to grab the man in front of him, tackling them both to the ground.
Energy was building around him with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals. It surged in the smoky air, tangible and volatile, as if the whole world was holding its breath for the next explosion. Harry felt it coiling in his chest, a desperate, wild magic begging for release, crackling just beneath his skin, each shouted command and every flicker of spellfire magnified the tension. His left hand was moving desperately, blindly searching for his wand. He quickly cast a wandless shield around him as the rest of his body was fighting off the criminal. He could feel himself burning, blood on his tongue. His eyes opened slightly, just enough to notice the man’s wand on the ground a few feet away from them. He let a smirk crawl its way onto his face, his hand reaching to pin the other man down. As the criminal reached into his pocket, alarm bells dinged into Harry’s head, and when the man pulled something metallic out of it, he reached and grabbed it.
He heard an earsplitting sound and the next thing he knew was pain. A horrifying, gruesome pain that he could feel travelling through his body at rapid speed. It felt like his insides were being torn open, a horrid, flaming sensation engulfing him whole. The voices that he was trying to tune out were getting lower and distant as Harry felt his consciousness slowly fade out.
Another day at work.
He could feel someone shaking him awake, so his mind came at peace. If they had time to worry about an unconscious person, they had immobilized the terrorist, and that was all Harry cared about in that moment. He tried to open his eyes and make a sound, but his body wasn’t responding to him anymore. As all noise around him slowly disappeared -voices, rumblings, his own breathing- Harry felt a euphoric sense of calmness fall around him. The world shrank to a pinpoint, the chaos of shattered glass and fire replaced with a quiet that seemed almost impossible. He slept and at first it felt like sleep was slipping deeper than it should. Weightless. Familiar. Then the ground gives way.
He falls.
Not through air, or earth, but through something thinner. Like memory losing its shape. There is no fear because fear requires awareness, and he has none, his mind is blank, folded inward, drifting while the rest of him drops away. There is no up or down, yet the motion is unmistakable. A quiet, endless descent, the sensation of leaving without knowing what is being left behind. He does not know he is dead. He does not know he has crossed anything at all. He just keeps falling, suspended in an unconscious surrender, passing through the invisible barrier between life and whatever comes next.
The first sensation Harry could feel was still, the solid ground beneath him. Then it was the sound of his own breathing, a deep, hungry one like he hadn’t breathed in years. He reached for something -anything- and found cloth in his fists. He gripped it hard, coughing, his mouth full of the taste of blood. He could still smell smoke and fire, but his body was cold, as cold as it could be. He could hear a voice close to him and two hands shaking him awake.
“-ive! He has a heartbeat!” the voice said. A man’s, Harry noticed as his consciousness drifted back, his eyes still too heavy to open but his mind a little bit clearer.
A heartbeat? Of course he had a heartbeat, why wouldn’t he have one? Sure, he probably passed out for some minutes there, and sure, the pain he felt was excruciating, but it wouldn’t be some unknown wandless terrorist that would kill him.
“Hey, kid, can you hear me?” the voice said and the only thing keeping Harry from cussing the man off was that when he tried to speak only a pained groan came out. ‘Kid’? He spent more than a month trying to grow that small beard out and he was very proud of it. Who would call a thirty-year-old man ‘kid’ anyway? His coworkers had been teasing him that he looked young, especially shaved but-
All the meaningless rambling Harry was doing in his mind came to a halt as he rolled off the man’s arms and touched grass. Grass. How was this possible? They were in the ruins of a building, next to a road, in the middle of winter. Still, his hands wandered over thick, wet grass under him. His arms gave up and he collapsed on the ground, not on all fours anymore, and his face landed unmistakably on wet grass. His eyes opened slightly, still hurting, and he found himself looking at a burning village. Well, not burning currently, more like burned to crisp. He could spot human figures, Aguamenti flying off their wands towards the little fire that was left on some roofs. It was raining, the sky dark with clouds, the walls of the houses stained red. The distant sound of voices cut through the haze, urgent and hopeful, as if life was clawing its way back from the ashes.
“There is a survivor from this side too!” Harry heard the man over him yell as he tried to push him up. Harry tried to pull away, and when the man grabbed him by the shoulders Harry exploded. With a wave of his magic, his body erupted and the man got sent flying back. Harry was left panting, trying to push himself upwards, with a hand on his chest as he managed to get on his knees. Where was he? That was surely not anywhere near London. Had he apparated away by accident?
“John!” a female voice behind him yelled and Harry turned to see a group of people scattered around, a woman in a long, old-fashioned skirt approaching him, and a man on the floor in front of him. “I told you to not make sudden movements, the kid is obviously in shock. Are you alright dear?” The woman asked as she knelt beside him, offering a hand. “Everything is fine now, the aurors are here.”
Harry shallowed as he looked at her, confused. He let his eyes wander around, to the village, behind her to the group of people -aurors?- and finally, in front of her, to the old man that was now pushing himself upwards.
“It’s alright!” the woman rushed to say, pulling the speechless Harry up to his feet. “I know you didn’t mean it. Defensive magic in these situations is very common, there is nothing for you to worry about, right John?” she asked as she turned to the man behind her, who has also just got up from the ground.
“Blimey, kid, you have got some strong magic.” The man -John, Harry noted- said as he wiped his hands on his clothes. “Knocked me back good.” He said with a laugh. “What’s your name, I don’t remember us talking a lot before.”
Harry continued looking at him with the same stupid expression on his face, not making a sound, his eyes darting around the place slowly, taking it all in. Thankfully, the woman stepped in again, delivering a smack to the back of John’s head. “Oh, for God’s sake! The kid was unconscious a moment ago, let him breath first! It was a miracle he survived.” She scolded as she turned back to the aurors that were now approaching.
Survived what? Where was he, who were these people and what was going on? They had a weird accent and if such an accident occurred where survival was considered a miracle, why didn’t the ministry know anything? Also, if those people really were aurors, who were they and why couldn’t he recognize them? Nothing made sense, his head hurt and he felt like he was about to cry. Another man approached him and put his hand on his shoulder.
“I’m auror Robinson.” He started saying, a bit awkwardly, like he was talking to a kid. “Before anything, just know that you are really brave and strong, and you being alive right now proves it.” The auror started saying as he guided him away, and Harry’s legs just listed, following away from the burning houses. He knew that something bad had happened. Those words had been spoken to him so many times, when he was a teenager in Hogwarts, more than he’d like, and the first times they were believable, they really were, but after a while you just take them with a simple ‘thank you’ that means nothing, because those words don’t either. “Can you tell me your name?” he asks as another man wraps him up with a blanket. Harry looks at the ground and blinks a few times, words not leaving his mouth. Was he still unconscious and dreaming? The auror sighed and looked at him with an understanding look. “It’s alright, I understand you do not want to talk after all this.” He muttered as he left him to sit on a bench, close to some other people, that looked at him a bit funny but said nothing.
‘All this’? What had happened? Where was he? Questions and observations were swirling in his mind, one more obscure than the other, each thought tumbled over the next. He took a deep breath, his hand clenched around the blanket.
“Excuse me.” He spoke up and he froze dead in his tracks. That wasn’t his voice. More like, it was his voice but not his current voice. His voice was deeper, more mature, the voice of an adult-
“What is it? We’re here to answer any questions. We know its difficult for you right now.” The auror said, his eyes visibly tired as he looked at Harry with a condescending look.
“I- I was just…” shit, why was he stuttering. He shallowed once more, his throat suddenly very dry as he looked the auror in the eyes and finally realized that every single person he met so far was taller than him. “What happened?” he asked. Such a stupid question but he had to know eventually.
The auror rubbed the back of his head in an awkward tone before speaking. “Ah, yes. Well, a man came- well not exactly came, more like fled to your village. This man… he was one of Grindelwald’s followers, a loyal one too. He betrayed him, and the people in black you saw were… well… his subordinates let’s say.” He said with a low tone. “Those people are dangerous.” He continued with a whisper, barely audible. “None of you did anything wrong. Grindelwald’s followers are just merciless. Its wizards and witches like that who makes us ashamed. Slaughtering a whole village and for what…” the auror mumbled as he walked away from Harry with a disappointed nod of his head.
The universe was playing a prank on him. Yes, that was it. Because Grindelwald wasn’t alive. Harry has never, and will never meet Gelert Grindelwald, because the dark wizard’s legacy came to an end thirty-five years before Harry was even born. Heck, fifteen years before his mother was born! His breathing quickened and he had to physically grab his chest to calm down. He was still unconscious, with his fellow coworkers over him, probably casting a few healing spells before moving him to St. Mungo’s juts to be sure. The criminal was captured, and he’d wake up any moment now and go home to his family. He let out a low, strangled laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The sound felt foreign, and in that moment, he realized just how detached he was from everything around him. The crackling of burning wood, the distant shouts of aurors coordinating with the last remaining villagers, the heavy weight of the blanket around his shoulders. All of it pressed in on him, suffocating and unreal. As he stared ahead, he caught glimpses of ash swirling in the air, illuminated by scattered spells, and his mind tried desperately to piece together memories that refused to surface. He was surrounded by strangers, swept up in a nightmare he couldn’t remember entering, and with each passing second, the sense of loss grew heavier, settling in his chest like a stone. He pinched himself but he didn’t wake up.
“They’re saying they’ve never seen him before.” a voice behind Harry hissed, pulling him out of his thoughts, and he couldn’t help but overhear a little.
“They are all in shock!” another caught in, stressed and angry. “They just lost their families, they won’t identify a random teen, be patient. We should move all the remaining villagers to a safe house in London. After a few days we should ask them to describe faces. Maybe Dumbledore or Scamander can identify anyone.”
Dumbledore. The name acted like a rock in his heart, a sharp pain in his chest. Still, a familiar comfort. The world spun a little faster, the edges of reality blurring as the truth pressed in. Harry sat motionless, his breath shallow, struggling to reconcile the impossible with the present, while the voices behind him, barely a whisper, argued over the crackle of distant fires and splashes of water. He felt a nudge on his shoulder and almost let his magic take control again, before turning harshly to see two aurors looking at him.
“Can you tell us your name?” The woman asked in a soft tone, but impatience was still evident behind it. “We have to move you away from here.”
Harry looked at them for a moment, his mind completely blank. “Ron.” He sputtered out, not willing to give out any information before he figured out what the hell was going on.
“Okay, Ron” the other auror started as he turned to walk away and made a motion for Harry to follow. “This is probably your first time using a portkey, so just stay calm. I know everything is a little blurry right now, but I need you to cooperate for just a moment.” He mumbled as he practically shover Harry in front of him. A few more people, all of them distraught and some crying, were gathered around a can. “Do you know what a portkey is?” the man asked and Harry just nodded. “Alright than, grab it when I say three.”
Harry tried to ignore everyone else around him, his heart clenching at the sight of a man bawling his eyes out, holding a bloodied shirt that probably belonged to someone else. He almost missed the countdown, his hand reaching for the can at the last minute. The world spins, air seems to scream past him, though he isn’t moving through it in any ordinary way. His body is dragged forward, twisted, compressed, as if being forced through a narrow passage made of pure force. He slams into solid ground, knees buckling as he stumbles forward. The impact knocks the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping and a bit disoriented. How long has it been since he used a portkey and why is it worse than apparition? Shit, he remembered it evidently better. He looked around. He was in some kind of pub that he’d never been before, but the layout seemed a tad familiar. The smell of smoke and spilled ale hung in the air, mingling with the scent of something hearty cooking in a back kitchen.
“Pardon the intrusion.” The auror said at the man behind the bar that also seemed strangely familiar, but once again Harry could not pinpoint exactly what who he was resembling. “I’m an auror,” he said flashing a badge that Harry did not recognize as an auror badge. “Please move these people into rooms as soon as possible.”
The man from the bar got up and looked them up and down for a moment before leading them up the stairs.
The stairwell creaked beneath their feet, and Harry kept his head low, letting his hair hide his face from the other survivors as they shuffled past faded wallpaper and battered doors. The warmth of the pub faded behind them, replaced by the drafty chill of the hallway overhead. The bartender paused at each door, unlocking them with a practiced flick of his wand, barely speaking except to gesture for people to step inside. Harry was the last to receive a room. The man looked at him with a sympathetic look as he opened his door. “An attack?” he asked carefully and Harry nodded after a moment, unsure of what to say. “They are becoming more frequent. You look the youngest too.” he said as Harry walked inside. “If you need anything don’t be a stranger. Name’s Tom.”
A horrible, horrible feeling started forming inside Harry chest as he stood in the doorway, dumbfounded.
The pub was familiar because Harry had been visiting it each summer for six years straight, and then again after a decade when his kids grew up. He’d sit there with Ron, because apparently James said that even though he’s the Chosen One, it’s too embarrassing to be seen shopping with his dad. And he’d laugh with Ron as his son and Hugo left chatting to buy their supplies for the year. The man was familiar because he was the owner of the pub, The Leaky Cauldron, who served them breakfast and scolded Fred and George and-
He had to calm down.
“Actually.” He said to the man just before he left. “Do you have a newspaper?”
“There should be one in each room.” He replied with a tight smile as he went down the stairs and Harry immediately closed the door behind him. His back pressed against the wood for a moment before composing himself and pushing forward. With his eyes, he located a newspaper folded on the edge of the bed. He didn’t even bother sitting down as he grabbed it and turned to the front page.
THE DAILY PROPHET
Wizarding Britain’s Most Widely Read Newspaper
Saturday, 21 December 1943
MINISTRY WARNS AGAINST OVER-ENTHUSIASTIC SPELL-CASTING
“Just Because You Can, Doesn’t Mean You Should,” says Official
The Ministry of Magic today issued a polite-but-firm reminder that Transfiguration spells are not to be used to ‘improve the appearance’ of garden gnomes, teapots, or distant relatives.
“We’ve had six reports this week alone,” said Bertram Wilkes of the Improper Use of Magic Office, “including one unfortunate incident involving a hedgehog, a silk hat, and a very confused Muggle postman.”
Offenders may face fines, wand probation, or mandatory attendance at Spells and Consequences: A Practical Seminar.
His heart caught at his throat. He gripped the crinkling paper tighter; the weight of unease settled deeper in his chest. His eyes kept scanning the date, like it’d magically change if he asked nicely. Slowly and unfortunately, everything started making a bit more sense now. The outdated clothes, the unknown aurors, Grindelwald, the old badges. They were looking at him weirdly because he was wearing modern clothes. They didn’t recognize him because-
No. Not knowing who he is was one thing, but…
‘You look the youngest too’
‘The kid was unconscious a moment ago, let him breath first!
‘Blimey, kid, you have got some strong magic.’
‘I told you to not make sudden movements, the kid is obviously in shock.’
‘Hey, kid, can you hear me?’
The newspaper fell to the floor as Harry sprinted to the bathroom, his side colliding with the wall as he pushed himself in, panting, eyes wide.
He looks at himself in the mirror and barely recognizes the fifteen-year-old boy staring back.
The face is smaller than it used to be, thinner, the angles sharper. His green eyes stand out the most. Too bright against his pale skin, dark circles underneath them like he hasn’t been sleeping enough. His hair is a mess, as usual. The round glasses sit slightly crooked on his nose, smudged with fingerprints he doesn’t remember leaving. The chill from the cracked window crept in, prickling his skin, and he gripped the sink tighter, needing something solid to grab on.
His eyes drifted to his forehead. To his empty forehead.
Next thing he knew, he was on the floor, back against the wall as he curled and hugged his feet. His throat was dry and closed, every time he swallowed it was heavy and difficult. He couldn’t see himself in the mirror from that angle and he was grateful for that. No, at times like that he had to think clearly, not sit on the floor and cry. What would Hermione do?
“Merlin Harry, sometimes you forget you’re a wizard, don’t you?”
Right. His breathing was coming out shaky as he pushed himself up, trying to avoid looking at the mirror. He’s a wizard, he can do magic, he has a wan-
A terrifying thought crossed his mind as he started patting himself frantically, searching in his pockets. His hand grabbed something, but noticeably not his wand. A metallic but light sphere, reinforced with rivets and bands. At the center was a circular red-glowing lens, and on the inside, a radial symbol (a rune wheel if he had to take a shot in the dark with his very limited knowledge). The same eerie red glow appeared through cracks and smaller panels around the object.
So that was it? He grabbed it from the criminal he was after before the explosion, and it was either making him see things or have extremely vivid dreams. His wand was not on him. It was probably because he had no time to grab it after it fell. Harry really wanted to rule out the possibility of time travel, but his skin was itching, worry bubbling deep inside him. His clothes still had dirt, as well as mud on them and a bit of blood he supposed was his own. He had to stop and think clearly, form a nice, well-tailored train of thoughts that would not consist of him breaking down. He couldn’t afford to. Not right now
His mindless rambling came to a halt as he heard a knock on the door. Was it the innkeeper? How much time had he spent on the floor? He walked out of the bathroom and stood in the middle of the room, just before the bed, looking at the door like it’d eat him. A knock echoed through the room once more.
Not the time to sulk around. Be a proper Gryffindor.
“Come in.” he said with a breath. The door opened slightly and the innkeeper popped his head in from the crack.
“Is it a bad time? Someone would like to speak to you.” the man said softly. Harry simply nodded negatively and the man let the door open fully.
There in all his might, stood Albus Dumbledore. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore almost half a century younger than how Harry remembered him. He thought that flashes and memories had blurred his vision for a minute before realizing it was just the light tears that had started to swell up in his eyes. He could not understand if it was because of the headmaster or because of the gravity of his situation. Dumbledore thanked the innkeeper with a nod, and when he left, he turned to Harry.
“Is it alright if I close the door?” the older man said with a slight arch of his eyebrows as he pointed at the entrance of the room. Harry nodded almost mechanically as he took a few steps back. Closing the door with a hand and pulling his wand out with the other, he looked at him again. “You wouldn’t mind me pulling out a chair to sit in, no? I’m an old man and those chairs hurt my back.” He mumbled as he shot a look at the dusty chair that was already in the room and a smirk at Harry.
“No problem.” He mumbled as he watched the professor conjure a brand-new chair with a wave of his wand and sitting down.
“It’s not a bad room.” He said and Harry just nodded again like an idiot. “Back in my days, they did not even have bathrooms here. There was a shared one where the back of the tavern is now. And the innkeeper -Charles, if I’m not mistaken, would yell at us when we wasted water. But oh, I shouldn’t be bothering you with old tales from my age at times like those. Lemon drop?” he asked as he offered Harry a small candy he had seen tens of times before.
“No, thank you.” He replied politely. Dumbledore’s presence seemed to both calm and unsettle him -a paradox he’d known since childhood.
“Very well. Mister Tom told me you were brought in just an hour ago. I prioritized coming to you before everyone. I am a professor you see; it is in my nature to protect the next generation. The aurors mentioned your name being Ron?”
Harry’s face flushed at that just a bit. He couldn’t bear the idea that Dumbledore was calling him by that name. “Uh… I apologize, professor. I might have lied.” He mumbled sheepishly as he sat down on the bed. The old man laughed as he plopped a lemon drop in his mouth.
“That is quite alright my boy.” He said with a raspy laugh, his eyes narrowed but light, amused. “I do hope that you will share it with me.”
“Ha- Harrisson.” He mumbled meekly, unsure of himself.
“So, Harrisson-“
“Harry.” he interrupted quickly. “Just Harry.”
“Harry then.” the professor mumbled and took a breath, like he wanted to say something but chose not to, yet. “If I may know your age?” he added instead.
“Sixteen.” Harry said simply. Lying wouldn’t help him here and neither would telling the whole truth. If his physical body looked sixteen, then so be it.
“An age of self-discovery and pursuit. Very important for a teen’s life.” Dumbledore said, nodding seriously. “From your upbringing, I guess you were homeschooled when it came to magic.” Was he talking about the village? So that meant he was supposed to be from there, that’s why the actual villagers were confused when he showed up. They did not recognize him as a person from there. “A very kind man I talked to, told me you were quite good at launching people.” he continued with a mischievous smirk.
Harry’s face flushed for a moment as he let himself laugh, trying to seem like he wasn’t panicking inside. “I apologize for that. I- I was acting in… self-defense?” he said with a nervous look and Dumbledore just nodded with an understanding look again.
“After that attack I do not blame you. Do you mind if I see your wand? I heard Olivander passes by those villages that are far away himself.”
“I lost it.” He hurried to reply. “While they were attacking.” He continued, desperately trying to keep every piece of information subtle, afraid he would say something that wouldn’t match what had happened.
The man’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and Harry wished, like he had so many times in his life that he wasn’t stupid.
“You pushed him away with wandless magic?” Dumbledore asked, calmly.
“I- It was more of a… a defensive, emotional spell.” He explained with a nod, trying to sound sure and serious, things he definitely wasn’t. “I like studying magic.” Did the village even had a library? At this point he was telling nonsense with the slight hope that he wouldn’t sound like a complete madman who hit his head at the fight. When the professor didn’t reply he took it as a sign to continue. “The elders told us short stories on how to make simple potions and cast basic spells, and I listened and- that’s it…” he just trailed off with a shallow, his gaze on the floor.
“That is truly impressive.”
“Ah, thank you, professor. I’m sorry if what I did was out of line.”
“Nonsense, my child. You were -understandably so- in a state of distress.” He said and Harry let out a small sigh of relief at that. He was unsure how much more of his story Dumbledore might question but oddly comforted by the professor’s patient presence. “You see, my original plan, was for you to stay in Hogsmeade. It is the only all-wizarding village in Britain, located near Hogwarts in the Scottish Highlands. You know Hogwarts?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
Candlelit halls and shifting staircases, the sting of cold stone under his palms as he ran for his life, the echo of spells shouted in panic and fury, friends laughing by the fire and friends falling in battle. He thought of classrooms that had taught him far more than magic, of a castle that had been home, battlefield, and grave all at once, of the moment he had walked into the forest to die and the moment he had walked back out again. He let none of it show.
“I am very glad. You told me that you enjoy leaning about magic, and I believe that it is a most serious crime for a magical child to not get the education they deserve, no matter where they come from. Mr. Harrisson, would you be kind enough to join me in Hogwarts for the start of the second semester?”
“What? You mean me? As a student?”
“Yes. I believe with a little support from your teachers you will be able to keep up with the classes. Even if you don’t, no one will judge you.”
Harry remembered walking its halls as a boy and leaving them as something else entirely, carrying ghosts, scars, and victories he had never asked for. Lost as he was, the thought unsettled him most of all—not that Hogwarts was here, but that no matter the world, it seemed he could never truly escape it. Still, where else could he go? He had no name, no vault, and no knowledge on how he got here. Maybe a teacher, or the library, or the freedom of at least having a wand would help him figure something -anything, out.
“I think I will take upon your offer.”
“Excellent!” Dumbledore exclaimed as he got up, hands on his knees. “I will pick you up in a few days when Christmas vacations come, to take you to visit Diagon Alley. Just outside the pub, it’s this alleyway where- oh well, I’m afraid I have no more time here. I will explain everything next time. Try not to wander around for the time being.”
“I will try. Thank you, sir, for helping me.”
“It is what I must do Harry. Dark times…” he said, trailing off. “Dark times require people to stand up. Happiness can be found in them, if only one remembers, to turn on the light.” Dumbledore walked towards the door, his robe trailing behind him. “You forgot to mention your last name.” he said as he stood in the doorway, smiling back at him.
“Evans.” Harry muttered softly.
The door to the room closed with a creek as Dumbledore left.