The chamber wavered before his eyes. Every deep, shuddering breath bringing the candles flame into sharper relief. Through the pain, the disorientation, the world took slow shape around him once again.
He wouldn't focus on the ringing in his ears.
Or how the candle light had been brighter, warmer, before.
Before.
He thought he would feel stronger afterwards. Powerful. Wasn't that the point of the ritual? To come out the other side with a stronger hold over his own life? He wasn't going to be a puppet for fate, he had long since resolved to not leave anything to chance. He was strong! He had more power within him than any two wizards combined. He was Slytherin's heir, he was above all!
Even death.
On the chamber floor just a foot away from where he crouched, hand on his chest to keep the agony back, lay his journal. To anyone else it was just a useless book, worn leather with his name on the cover, blank pages, unassuming. Boring.
For Tom, it breathed. It thrummed with magic. His magic. It called to him. A mournful melody set to the drip, drip, drip, echoes of falling water on the chamber floor. It had been a tedious affair to get back in when school was out. In the end though he knew it would be worth it. There was no where else such a ritual should be performed. These rooms belonged to Tom and no one else. It had just seemed right.
He had planned it all out ahead of time, always finding comfort in being prepared. He would apparate to Hogsmeade, sneak back into the castle through one of the secret passages, avoid being noticed in the nearly empty halls, and enter the Chamber of Secrets. Simple. For someone like Tom it was almost too easy. It hadn't even been a challenge. Once the chamber had sealed behind him he had laughed in triumph, setting out the area for his ritual with a spring in his step.
Now, though. It was just dark. The damp seeping through his robes, freezing him to the bone. It hadn't been this cold when he'd begun, he was sure of it. The idea of leaving now, of traveling back to London, was daunting. His legs shook beneath him as he tried to stand, once, twice, three times before he had to give in and give up.
The deed was done. He was supposed to feel powerful at having taken the first step to best death. He was not supposed to be reduced to this weak, trembling creature.
A furious sound escaped him then. A roar. A cry. He couldn't tell. It reverberated around him for what felt like hours before fading to nothing, as he lay there, panting. Marginally relieved from the release. He hated this. The whole point was to take control, to never feel weak again!
With a great effort he calmed his breathing, the chamber settled once more around him. This was just a minor setback. He would have to stay in the chamber for a night, but he would be better in the morning. He had to be. He would rest now, finding comfort in the knowledge that no one need ever know about this.
That he hadn't the strength to stand, couldn't even conjure a blanket or charm to keep the chill at bay.
Eventually he lowered himself to the cold floor, stringently ignoring the ever present layer of water as he stretched out. The chamber spun around him, forcing him to close his eyes to the now dancing flames. In the dark he reached over, hand finding the journal instantly. It still sang to him. And though he did not plan to test it, he had the feeling that no matter where the book was, he would always be able to feel it. To find it.
He clutched it to his chest, over the pounding of his heart, where the rip in his chest ached like a tangible wound. Almost he could feel the piece of his now ragged soul trying to return from the book. He refused to let it....but having it so near the rip helped. Slowly his breaths evened out, the pain receded.
Alone in the chamber, resting on a bed of cold wet stone, surrounded by nothing but fragile candle light, Tom Riddle cradled the book that held a precious sliver of his soul and finally gave in to sleep.
Chapter One
The platform shook as another train came barreling down the tracks, and for a quick, breathless moment all was noise and blustery chaos until, just as suddenly as it had arrived, the train passed, pandemonium following in its wake. In the trains absence everything felt calmer than before. Families moved once more across the platform, vendors smiled and sold their wares, and Harry Potter stood against a pillar, watching it all.
He hadn't moved since he'd entered the Underground, he had no plans to either. No train passing by could take him where he wanted to go. There was no destination that he felt even a glimmer of desire to see. Then again, traveling hadn't been the reason he'd chosen this location. It was dark, and despite the roaring of the passing trains, it was mostly quiet. He would left alone here, but not lonely.
Harry smiled as a small family passed before him, the mother and father each holding one of their child's hands. Every now and then they would lift her up so that her next step met only air. Peals of laughter echoed through the station, other passersby glancing their way with fond smiles until the family moved on. It was good see, to know. That even with the recent attacks, bridges that suddenly broke like brittle glass, freak tornadoes out of clear skies, sinkholes, and a new strain of the flue that so far resisted all treatments. Despite all that, there was still joy in the world.
As little as it was.
More often than not the people that walked past did so quickly with their heads down, careful to not touch or talk to anyone else. That suited him well enough as well. Everyone was too concerned with making it home in one piece to really care much about a lone teen just minding his own business. Which was exactly what he wanted.
He just....really needed time to be alone. Or well, away from Privet Drive. All summer his family had been just as callus and awful as ever until finally he had reached his limit for the Dursley's. For everything really. But especially for Vernon storming in, yelling about drills or whatever. As though that was what was important. Poor Vernon Dursley and his terribly hard life of drill selling.
Harry sighed, hugging his arms close to his chest to chase away the chill and perpetual fatigue. The anger he'd felt at having Sirius ripped away from him had been swift and destructive. White hot and furious, it had burned quick and bright, consuming everything in its path. He had destroyed Dumbledore's office, raged like he'd never done before. Not that he could recall most of it. His memory of that time was hazy at best, and often since that night he was glad for it. Sirius' death, learning that he had been prophesied since birth to kill Voldemort, having to return to life as though his heart hadn't fallen through the veil as well....it had been too much.
But the hottest flames truly did burn out swiftly, His anger was gone, vanished once everything began to calm down around him. What was left behind wasn't quite pain or sorrow, but a hollow, frozen reflection of both. Not quite substantial. Ephemeral. Sneaking moments when all he could remember was the blue light of the Ministry, the look of fear in Sirius' dark eyes before he fell. Then there was nothing but the cold.
The cold was now a constant companion of his. Even in the middle of summer he'd been forced to wear his thickest sweaters, though they did little to keep him from constantly shivering.
He was getting used to being cold.
Every now and then he scanned the crowed, looking for something more nefarious than businessmen, students, and families. He knew it wasn't safe to be out lately. Especially for him. But despite the danger, despite the letter Dumbledore had written to him telling him to stay put. That he would come and retrieve Harry after his birthday. He just couldn't stay inside.
He may have a room now, but he could never shake the knowledge that he was just few steps away from that dreaded cupboard. And after....well after everything, the walls of his tiny room had started feeling closer than ever. He didn't think he could have stayed in there any longer. And he didn't want to sit around, waiting for Dumbledore to show up. Take him from one prison to another. For he feared that Dumbledore would try to take him to Grimmauld place so that the Order could watch over him until he could flee to Hogwarts once more.
He never wanted to go back to Grimmauld place again.
He'd return to the Dursley's soon, wait for Dumbledore's arrival the following evening and request to be sent to the Burrow instead. He didn't fancy waiting out the summer surrounded by his friends and the pity that had been in their eyes when they had parted at King's Cross. But it was better than the alternative.
It had to be.
"It didn't have to be like this."
Harry jumped at the small raspy voice, looked around frantically for the source before his gaze dropped down to a very tiny lady that had snuck up on him. Harry was small. Five years of regular meals while at school could in no way fix eleven years of near starvation. He had long since accepted his lot in life as 'petite', but if he was small then this woman was minuscule. Her small form was wrapped in so many shawls it was impossible to see much of her body, though her face was tan and rosy, lined with age, and she looked up at him with large violet eyes.
"I um, beg your pardon?" He asked, confused. She wasn't the first elder traveler who had tried to speak with him. Though those had asked him if he was lost or needed help, concern coloring their inquiries. This, was something completely different.
"It didn't have to end up this way." She repeated, just as enigmatically as the first time.
She was crazy. That was clear enough. Harry plastered a smile on his face and nodded sagely. "I'm sure it didn't." Should he call someone? There was a vendor just a few feet away selling meat pies, surely he had a phone. There was probably a security guard somewhere in the station....
"Some, when given the opportunity to fix things, squander their chances. Some turn and walk away from fate."
"Tragic." Harry said, mostly because he thought it would mollify her if he seemed to agree. Surreptitiously he looked around for anyone who may have misplaced their wandering grandmother.
They all avoided catching his eye.
"Some take the chance, and the world is always better for it." She smiled at him then, toothy, bright. Somehow knowing, as though they shared a secret. "And they themselves are always better for it as well." He nodded absently, only half listening to her.
"What will you choose?"
He snapped back to attention as she took one of his hands and shoved something cold and round into it. "Wha-" He started to say but she cut him off.
"Go." She said, not quite yelling but suddenly intense as she herded Harry back, away from the pillar and towards the tracks. "Go now, boy, or you'll miss your train!"
He looked behind his shoulder, there was a train....he hadn't heard it approach. The doors were open and waiting, and for no good reason at all, he stepped inside. The strange little woman didn't follow him on, she simply stood there watching him. that same incomprehensible smile on her face.
"Which path will you choose?" She asked again just before the doors closed, replacing his view of her with his own, pale reflection.
"What," He said softly. Utterly confused. "The hell was that?" He looked down at his hand. He held a round silver locket, old and tarnish on flimsy silver chain. It was wrapped loosely in a piece of parchment covered in large, loopy writing. It said 'Do not open until you are alone'.
The train kicked and began to move, leaving the station behind. Harry stuffed the locket and note in the pocket of his jeans, grabbing a rail to keep from flying down the aisle. The speakers overhead crackled before announcing that the train was now going express.
He groaned, tucking his head into the crook of his arm. So not only was he on an unknown train, he would be going to the end of the line with no stops.....Great. With a resigned sigh he went to find a plaque with a stop schedule to find out where he was going.
The train traveled all night. There was little to do but wait, so Harry propped up against one of the windows and tried to rest. There were very few passengers on besides him. Undoubtedly everyone else would have known that the train was running express and had gotten off if their destination wasn't the last stop.
Though his eyes were closed he did not sleep. Sleep was not safe, his dreams were treacherous things that gave him no rest or peace. On the off chance that he managed to sleep through the night he would wake drained and aching, as if he'd spent the night playing a rather vigorous game of Quidditch instead of sleeping. So he closed his eyes but kept his mind from falling into the hazy siren song of sleep.
The end of the line was a small station by the sea, old and weathered, but even within the chipped plaster walls he could smell the ocean. It had been so long since he'd been to the beach. The Dursley's were never one to let him go on their nice vacations, he'd never had the opportunity to just admire the vast majesty of it all.
As Harry left the train he overheard a conductor say that the next train would depart in thirty minutes. Since he wasn't going anywhere for a while, and he had a pocket full of muggle money, and a hidden pouch of galleons just in case, he left the station and headed for the beach.
If he missed the next train he'd just take a later one. He could spend a few hours on the beach, catch his train, and make it back to the Dursley's long before Dumbledore said he'd be there. It would be like he was never gone. If he was really lucky no one will have noticed that he stepped out the night before and he could just have a pleasant, quiet, birthday alone.
It was easy enough to find his way to the beach from the station, even though the sun was just a promise on the horizon. He just followed the crashing of waves, walking further and further into the cool fresh breeze until his feet hit rocky sand.
Here and there a car full of groggy muggle families dotted the shore. Families that wanted to get an early start of what was sure to be a nice summer day. Staking out their territories before the crowds showed up. Harry avoided them as much as he could. Walking around them until he found a secluded stretch of sand.
When he was far enough away from the muggle families that no one could see him or would sneak up on him unannounced, he sat on the squishy dew damp sand to watch the sunrise.
He was sixteen years old now. Another year older....no wiser. He chuckled softly at his own joke. Would he have cards from his friends when he returned to the Dursley's? Probably not. It was likely Dumbledore would have told everyone he was going to get Harry and take him back to their world, so why bother with owls when they could just wait a day?
He didn't have anything to celebrate his birthday on the actual day. Except a crazy old lady and an impromptu trip to the beach. With a soft gasp he remembered the locket! He fished it out of his pocket hastily.
He unwrapped it from the parchment strip, tucking the paper away after he scanned the writing again. 'Do not open until you are alone.' Such an ominous statement. He had come into contact with many a nefarious object during his time in the wizarding world. Things that should never be touch at all, let alone opened to unleash potential terror.
But the locket was light in his hands, cheap silver on a chain so delicate he feared it would break under the locket's insubstantial weight. He cupped it in his hands, knees drawn to chest as he shivered in the chill air. He could feel nothing from it. Not like Riddle's diary, or Hermione's time turner, the rememberall, wands, the Marauder's Map. Every magical item felt of magic. Pulsed with it. Some stronger than others, certainly, but it was always there. If the locket was enchanted, or cursed, he should be able to tell.
In the pearly light of dawn he traced the thin script on the front of the locket. MG. that was it. Initials. Maybe the woman from the station? Maybe it was just something she'd found and in her delirium had handed it off to another stranger.
The clasp was difficult to pry open, resistant with age and disuse. Eventually it popped open with a little, groaning crack. Falling open on loose hinges to show two contrary pictures within.
The first was a man. Stationary and severe. He was a muggle, Harry was sure. With Black hair and dark eyes. Handsome, with high cheek bones and a chiseled jaw, strong nose and full lips that were set in a sly smirk. He couldn't see much of the man's clothing, the picture was mostly just his face. But from the faded sepia hue he figured it must be quite old...There was something almost familiar about this muggle. It tugged at a long abandoned memory.
Movement from the other side of the locket caught his eye, banishing that nagging tug. The other half of the locket was taken up by a witch with long, lanky black hair and dull grey eyes. Even in the low light she looked sallow and gaunt, though she smiled sweetly at him. Casting hesitant, blushing glances in the direction of the other picture. As though she knew he was right there and wanted to see him. Could she see him when the locket was closed? Even in the dark?
Harry snapped the locket closed, turning it in his hands to inspect it the silvery light. There was a large dent on the back, several scuffs and scraps along the rim, and grit pressed into the engraved letters, but other than that there was nothing to it. Just a lost memory of some love struck witch? She didn't look anything like the lady who had shoved it into his hand. Maybe it was a friend of hers? Her sister? He was just about to open it again when several cracks split the air.
Harry was up in an instant, wand out and poised to strike. Years of being targeted had long since ingrained him with the speed and focus to fight back. The didn't stop the panic that raced through his veins at being found. How could the Death Eaters have known he was there?
Unless the woman.
Who was she really?
"Okay, now, son! Put your wand down. We're not here to hurt you." One of the cloaked figured said, though he couldn't tell which.
Harry looked around, frantic, at the wizards and witches around him. Each with their faces uncovered, wands out but not pointed to him. Several had their hands in the air as though to calm him down.
There was no way for him to know the faces of every Death Eater. Voldemort had been at large over a year now, he was bound to have followers Harry would have never seen before. So the fact that he didn't recognize any of the faces wasn't instantly reassuring.
A tall woman with curly, tawny colored hair and dark brown eyes broke away from the group, approaching him like he was a wild animal. "Hello there. my name is Sheryl Cane, we're with the ministry." Her voice was calm, though when she smiled it held something of exasperation in it. Like this was just a job she was ready to get over with. "You know you can't be using magic outside of school."
"And around the muggles." A gruff bearded wizard added, Cane nodded in agreement.
Harry gaped at them. "I didn't use magic!"
"Son, we got the call that a lot of magic was just used, right here." Another witch said, she was tall and slender with bright red hair and an angry cast to her blue eyes. "And our underage tracer went off."
"Everyone calm down." Cane ordered, those around her quieted as she focused back on Harry. "Now, what's your name, love? I'm sure we can get this all sorted out."
Was she serious? The ocean breeze lifted his hair up, sent it flying in every direction. He had neglected it for so long now that it almost reached his shoulders. For the most part it just curled however it wanted, not bothering him one bit. And now it danced in the wind, leaving his scar completely on display.
Cane's eyes searched his face, landed on his scar, and dropped back to his eyes without recognition. No one else in the group seemed to notice either, even though several had moved to stand next to her and in front of him once they deemed him not to be a threat.
He didn't like to brag, in fact the existence of his celebrity was often something he loathed, but never had he been somewhere in the wizarding world where no one knew who he was. There was always someone who knew him by sight, and if not that his scar was a dead give away. Literally every witch and wizard knew about that!
Cane didn't know him....none of the other's did as well. He took a deep breath, in and out. In and out. Something....was not right.
"My name is Harry....E-Evans." Hesitantly he added his mother's last name, if they really knew who he was someone would call him on that. Why wasn't anyone calling him on it?
"Well, Mr Evans, mind telling us what spell it was you just cast out here on a muggle beach?"
Harry gaped at her. "I told you I didn't use any magic!" Frustration broke through his worry for a moment. He might be surrounded by strangers, completely confused, but he would be damned if they kept thinking he was lying about that. He was pretty sure he was at his limit on breaking that no magic until you're an adult rule. "I was just here on the beach minding my own business when you lot popped up. Oh, wait, there was a locket." Was that it? The lady in the station had said to open when he was alone, was there some sort of magic in it he hadn't felt before? Something that....well he didn't know what it had done.
The locket was no longer in his hand, he must have dropped it in his haste to get his wand. He searched the sand around him, now rosy from the rising sun, it wasn't there. No glints of silver caught the light, nor was it trampled underfoot.
It was just gone.
"It was just here...." Harry said softly, dazed. "I swear I didn't caste any spell..."
The bearded wizard whispered something in Cane's ear that had her nodding before she turned to Harry with an overly tender smile. "Let's head to the office, We can get this sorted out there. Maybe get you some breakfast. Would you like that?"
Before Harry could even form a reply, a large hand clamped down around his arm, pulling into a black vacuum as he was apparated away. They materialized in a small, cozily decorated room. There were several plush chairs and a small hearth with a merry fire going. There were no window, though the room was hardly oppressive for it, all soft pastel colors and warmth.
"This is one of the waiting rooms in the Improper Use of Magic Offices." He lead Harry to one of the chairs, watching him closely as he sat down. "My name is Basil Burke." Burke smiled at him exactly as Cane had, as though he feared Harry would run if spooked.
Harry nodded, casting a wary look around the room. Burke squeezed his shoulder and said in a soothing voice. "You aren't in trouble, now. We just need to get this all sorted out. Who are your guardians?"
Harry chewed on his lip worriedly, how did these people not know him? "Petunia and Vernon Dursley....they live at number four Privet Drive in Little Winging, Surrey."
Burke nodded. "I'll go look into contacting them now. Cane will be by in a bit, she'll want to run a test on your wand, just to make sure when the last time it was used was." He held up his hands in a placating manner before Harry could even his open his mouth to protest. "It's standard procedure for this sort of thing. Now, I'll be over in the office, right there, if you need me." Burke pointed to one of the few wooden doors around the room, waiting for Harry to nod again that he understood the simple direction, then he was off, dark robes billowing as the door closed behind him.
There was no clock in the room, and if this really was the ministry it meant to no windows at all. There was no way to tell what time it was now, or how much time had passed since Burke had entered his office, but the warmth from the hearth had seeped in through his sweater, stilling his chills if not completely warming him, by when Burke returned.
He held a white porcelain cup in one hand and what looked like a magazine in the other as he approached, that overly tender smile back in place. "Thought you could do with a cup of tea. And got this for you. It's my son's, he's about your age. Fourteen?"
Harry shook his head. "I'm sixteen."
"Oh!" Burke appraised him again, a flicker of emotion Harry could decipher crossed his face before settling in that placid smile again. Shrugging, he handed Harry what turned out to be a muggle comic book with muscled man on the cover that appeared to shooting sparks from his hands. "You're muggle born, right? Figured you'd like that."
"Er...no. My parents weren't muggles." He quirked an eyebrow at Burke's confused frown. "But my aunt and uncle are."
"You're guardians?" Harry nodded. "That makes sense, then." He mutter to himself, then he was back to his cheerful demeanor. "Cane will be here soon. Drink your tea, Harry, and try to relax."
Harry eyed the steaming cup as Burke disappeared into his office once more. It smelled like normal tea when he took it in his still cold hands. That didn't mean he wasn't wary of it. Something strange was going on and he didn't know if he should trust these people or not.
He still hadn't taken a sip of the tea, choosing to hold it in his hands for warmth instead, when another door opened and Cane swept into the room. Without the wind blowing her hair around it framed her face in delicate curls, making her look younger than he had originally thought her to be.
"Hello, Harry," Cane said as she entered, she held a covered tray in her hands that she sat before him on the table. "I believe I promised you breakfast." She lifted the lid, revealing a large plate of eggs, toast, and sausages. There were little pats of butter and tiny crock of jam. It looked amazing.
Even though he was starving....what had he even eaten the day before? Had he eaten the day before? He suddenly couldn't remember when the last time had crept down the stairs to raid the pantry had been. But his wariness increased, he couldn't make himself eat just yet.
Harry had heard Mrs Weasley yell about how Arthur needed to eat a good, healthy breakfast at home. Appalled by the sugary confections that plagued the halls of the Ministry. This food, Cane hadn't just scrounged it up from around the department.
"It's from the cafe across the street. I promise it's safe." Cane was giving him thoughtful, almost sad, look. She crouched down at the side of his chair, putting them almost face to face. "I need to check your wand now, Harry. I'll do it here so you can see. Try and eat something, okay?"
He didn't really have much of choice, so he set his tea down, fished his wand out from his jeans and handed it over. He tried to keep an eye on it as she worked, but his eyes kept going back to the food. It didn't look like there was anything wrong with the it, that he could tell. And after a tentative nibble of some toast, he found himself quickly scarfing the rest down.
Cane did whatever it was she needed to do to his wand. Shaking her head in confusion as she handed it back to him. "Well, you were right, it hasn't been used today. And the last spell wouldn't have accounted for what we sensed today." She rose back up with a soft groan. "Finish your meal, and we'll get a hold of your relatives and send you home."
"Okay." Harry said around a mouth full of eggs, he was feeling much better now that he knew they weren't going to try any funny stuff with him. It was probably the best encounter he'd ever had with the Ministry if he was being honest. No one trying to pin things on him that hadn't done, or using him to make some sort of point or demonstration of their powers.
They just gave him breakfast and a comic, and were going to send him on his way.
He didn't noticed when Cane left the room, but by the time his plate was clean he was alone. He settled back in the plush chair, enjoying the tingling warmth that the food and tea lent him, and decided he might as well pass the time with Burke's son's comic.
He scanned the cover, taking in the heavily lined details of lightening and what was probably a visual representation of the character having super powers in the form of white hazy lines. Hardly paying attention to the name and issue number, he was just about to turn to the first page when the small printed date at the bottom caught his eye.
1944
Harry turned the comic over in his hands curiously. It looked good for being so old...odd though that Burke's son would let such a collector's item out of his sight. Just leaving it at his father's office. With a shrug, Harry opened the book and began to read.
Burke's door opened again and he and Cane came over to him, twin looks of confusion and worry on their faces.
"Harry...." Cane started, glancing over at Burke before she continued. "Harry, we're having trouble getting a hold of your family. Is there anywhere else they might be?"
He closed the comic, instantly attentive. He wasn't worried, not exactly. It wouldn't be the first time the Dursley's just up and left him with no warning. It wouldn't even the first time they had abandoned him on his birthday. "Not that I know of....sometimes they leave without saying anything though." Burke and Cane shared another look, Harry hurried up and tried to smooth it over. "You really don't need to contact them. I can get home on my own."
He made to sit the comic on the table and stand up, but Cane was once again crouched in front of him, a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated. "We just want to talk to them. It's dangerous for you to be wandering around alone. With the wars and everything."
Harry nodded, but...wars? There was just Voldemort. Right?
"Is there anyone else who we can talk to? Someone who can come get you." She asked softly.
"There's Professor Dumbledore." He said, hesitant. He hadn't wanted to get him involved, still hoping he'd be able to get home before Dumbledore could find out that he had disobeyed him about leaving.
Cane looked instantly relieve. "I'll send him an owl right away. We'll get this sorted out Harry. Don't worry."
He wasn't worried. Maybe a little concerned. More annoyed than anything. He had gotten himself to the ocean, accidental though it may have been. He could get himself back home no problem. But he nodded, watching as she hurried from the room once more.
Burke came up him again, even though he smiled there was a tension around his eyes that hadn't been there before, highlighting dark, tired circles. "You like Quidditch, Harry?"
"Yes." he said dubiously
Burke pulled a paper from his robes, the pages already pulled back to show an article on a resent Quidditch match. "It might be some time before we can get a hold of Albus, so I wanted to give you something else to do. Do you need anything else?"
"No, I'm find. Thank you." Harry took the paper, held it in numb hands as Burke nodded and walked off after telling Harry yet again to just let him know when he needed anything.
For several long minutes he just sat there, fingers playing back and forth across the smooth newsprint. They couldn't find the Dursleys....they didn't know who he was.....the comic.
Swallowing dryly Harry closed the paper, turning it until the front page was showing and upright. It fell through his fingers when he read date, hitting the floor with a resounding crack that filled the silent room
Daily Prophet, 31 July, 1944
~~~
Ablus had been in his office, penning yet another letter that would surely go unread, when he'd received the Ministry's owl. He was actually happy about this distraction. A child needed him and that, at least, was something he could handle.
He took the floo to the Ministry Atrium, not bothering to stop and pen a reply first. Dusting excess powder from the sleeves of his bright magenta robes, he made straight for the lifts and to the second floor.
It felt like ages since he'd left his office, since he'd walked in the sun, since he'd stretched his aching legs. Even a stroll through the Ministry felt like a treat. He found himself humming softly in the lift, smiling at the all the tiny envelopes as they fluttered overhead, several zoomed out the doors as soon as they opened. Albus following them at a more relaxed pace.
A group of black clad Ministry workers stood in the hall, whispered frantic words to each other, fidgeting as they looked to a door at the end of the hall. Sheryl Cane broke away from the group when she spotted him, giving him a wane, but kind smile.
"Albus, I can't tell you what a relief it is to see you." She clasped his hands warmly, squeezing them tight.
"Something wrong?" The letter said he needed to confirm the identity of a student. An odd request, yes, but one that should have been simple enough.
"I'm not sure...." She sighed, a great release of air that seemed to deflate her before his eyes. "I just don't know. He says his name is Harry Evans, but there's no child listed on the Hogwarts registry with that name. No Harry at all. Several Harolds and a few Harrisons, but no plan Harry. No one named Evans either, as far as I can see."
"That is odd." Albus gave a thoughtful nod. "The name is not familiar to me. He said he knew me personally?"
"Yes," Her voice was desperate, she clutched his arm as she led him to the door. "Not just that but the names and address he gave us for his family also appear to be wrong. Not only is there no magical person listed as living in the area, when we sent someone to look in on the house it turned out an elderly muggle woman lived there alone, not the aunt and uncle he claimed to live with."
Curiouser and curiouser. "What are you thinking?"
"I don't know, Ablus. But...that's no all." She stopped before the door, her voice low so as not to carry, the usual healthy glow of her skin tinged slightly green. "He's....unwell."
"How so?"
She ran a hand through her hair, wincing slightly when a curl caught on her ring. "You know I don't do kids, Ablus. I'm not good with them. But I just...I can't handle abuse cases above all."
He frowned down at her. "That's what this is then?"
"I don't know, he won't talk to us. After we said we'd contact you he's been completely unresponsive."
"I'll do what I can." He assured her. Turning to the door he made sure to put on his best, kindest smile. Eye's twinkling, he opened the door.
The boy was sitting in one of the room's large chairs, placed so that he could look into the fire. The day, what he had gleaned from the window that morning, was bright and sunny. A warm breeze blowing in what had otherwise been a dreary summer. But this boy was shrouded in a large muggle sweater, arms wrapped around his chest tightly as though to keep everything, not just his phantom chill away.
He couldn't see much of the boy, swallowed int he chair as he was. Just his hands, small and bony where the clutched his elbows and the outline of thin legs through his jeans. Then he turned his head, probably sensing eyes on him. It took everything in Albus to not gasp, to not physically flinch.
Times were hard. No one was immune to the deprivation the wars were causing. But he couldn't imagine what this boy had gone through to look as he did. His face was not just gaunt, it was almost skeletal. Dark circles marred what was otherwise smooth pale skin, so white he feared that it had been sometime since the boy had seen any sun at all.
But it was his eyes, such a lovely, shocking green, that made Albus' heart stop in his chest. They were large, haunted eyes. He'd seen those who had suffered great loss before. In his students, in my friends in family. In the mirror. Grief always made itself know in one way or another. And he was looking into the eyes of a child who had seen far more than his fair share.
He knew now why Sheryl had been so distraught. She wasn't equip to help out in this way. But he was.
He approached the boy slowly, keeping his warm smile on his face. "Hello, Harry, was it?"
He nodded, his throat visibly working, his long neck just as thin as the rest of him.
"Would you like to tell me what's going on?" Albus asked softly, sitting himself in the chair across form Harry's.
Harry turned back to the fire, worrying his lip for a time before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of parchment. He read it quickly, glancing up at Ablus with his large luminous eyes once he was finished. Harry held out a small, shaking arm to him, Albus had enough time to notice a few faded scars on his fingers before he realized that Harry was trying to offer him the note.
He took it with steady hands, "Thank you." He said brightly, smoothing it out, he began to read.
Dear Harry,
If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four Privet drive this coming
Wednesday at eleven o'clock. There are some matters I wish to discuss with
both you and your relatives, including Sirius' estate and where it
would be best for you to spend the remainder of summer break.
If it is agreeable to you, I should also be glad of your assistance with a matter
to which I hope to attend once we leave your aunt's home. It should not take
long.
I do hope this missive finds you well. And remember to stay within the
boundary of Privet Drive until I come for you on your birthday. Please send
your reply back with this owl, I hope to see you Wednesday.
I am, yours most sincerely
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
He blinked at the parchment for several seconds before reading it once again. He placed the missive on his lap so Harry wouldn't see it shake. He'd written that....it wasn't just his name that proved it. That was his hand writing, it was written in a tone that he knew as his own.
He hadn't written this.
Harry was staring into the fire, absently picking at a thread on the over large sleeve of his sweater. After a while he turned to meet Albus' eyes. Again he found them too bright, piercing and somehow accusing. Harry worried his lip again before clearing his throat to speak. "I...left my aunt's house. Just for a while. I meant to go back before my birthday actually arrived."
He trailed off mumbling something about wards and how he, Ablus, had said it was safe. Albus nodded encouragingly to him, trying to get him to keep talking.
"I went to the Underground, just to watch the people and be alone. But this strange woman came up to me talking about fate and changing fate. I thought she was crazy. Then she shoved a locket at me and pushed me on a train....When the train stopped it was morning and I was at the ocean, so I just decided to spend some time there."
Harry fidgeted a little, his exhaustion clear though he made no complaint, nor did he falter in the telling of his story. "I went to a secluded part of the beach to watch the sunrise....I took out the locket she handed me, there was nothing about it really. It was just old. I opened it and then all these Ministry workers showed up. And...."
"And?" Albus prompted, though he already suspected what Harry would say.
Harry's gaze dropped to a newspaper that was sitting on the small table between them. "And....nothing is quite right. No one knows me here and....and the date, it's wrong."
"How so?" Albus' voice was but a whisper, he leaned forward, intent on hearing Harry's every soft spoken word. "How is it different? How is it wrong?"
"If the paper is correct, if that's today." He looked to Ablus who nodded, it was in fact that day's paper. "Then I'm....somehow I traveled more than fifty years in the past."
It took an eternity for Albus to process that. Or so it felt. Fifty years in the past? Fifty years in the future....he looked down at the paper still on his lap, at a letter he had yet to write. He gave a curt nod. "Do you still have this locket?"
Harry shook his head, sighing softly. "When they all showed up I was so startled I dropped it in the sand, but, when I looked for it, it was gone."
"It would certainly be easier to figure out what had happened if we could examine the locket, as I'm rather sure it's what caused this."
"I think so too." Harry's voice was thoughtful, low. "It didn't feel like anything when I held it though. I couldn't sense any magic from it. It was just an old beaten up locket with a muggle photo of a man and magic photo of a woman...that's it."
Dumbledore ran a hand through his long auburn beard, if there were a few more grey hairs in it than there were a year ago, well, he had earned them twice over by now. "We'll figure this out Harry. Don't you worry." He folded up the letter and handed it back, making sure that his face only showed calm acceptance. "But you can't stay here...I'll set up accommodations for you. You can't stay at Hogwarts I'm afraid, but we'll find you a place all the same until school starts."
Harry nodded, taking the letter back, clutching it in his thin hands. "Thank you, Professor."
"You'll be in the sixth year, they tell me." Harry nodded. "We'll then there's nothing for you to do but get some rest. I'll make sure you're somewhere safe." The front page of the paper gave the latest news on both the muggle and wizarding world's wars. Albus gave a little gasp of understanding. If Harry had seen that it would account for some of his unease.
"Listen," Albus leaned forward, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on Harry's arm for comfort. Halfway there he thought better of it, something in the way Harry sat, so still, so closed off in his own little bubble, told him it was better to not make contact. In the last moment he placed his hand on the paper instead. "I don't want you to worry about any of this. The wars. You'll be perfectly safe here, and nothing can get past the wards in Hogwarts. You can just focus on school."
Harry laughed, light and derisive.
"Is everything alright, Harry?"
He met Ablus' eye for the first time straight on. "It's just funny, sir. You telling me that."
Ablus didn't stay long after that. Too unsettled. It wasn't the first time meeting a potential student had sent a shiver of cold dread down his spine. Mostly because it meant he would have some unpleasant dealings with the muggles who had raised them. As Deputy Headmaster it was his job to bring the muggle born children into the fold. In his time he'd dealt with more than his fair share of bigoted, hateful guardians that always left him grateful that he could be there for those children.
This was different.
There was something in the way Harry had said 'you', how it was emphasized. He hadn't said, it was odd for someone to say that him, or just that it was a funny thing to say. It had been darkly humorous to him that Ablus would say such a thing to him. In fifty years he was going to have such a relationship with this boy that Harry would find it so counter that Ablus would want him to just be a kid and not worry about the wars.
There were so many questions he couldn't ask. Time was finicky thing. It was probably not for the best that Harry was running around so displaced from his own time, but Ablus couldn't find it in him to put anymore pressure and worry on those small shoulders.
Sheryl was waiting for him when he exited the room, his melancholy mood must have shown on his face for she tried to give him a smile full of false cheer. "So, do you know him."
Ablus nodded. He had already gone over what Harry needed to tell people when they asked about him. Now was his time to start it off. "Harry's parent's died in the war, he was being raised and schooled at home by his godfather until his recent passing. He'll be going to Hogwarts in the fall." It was close enough to what little Harry had shared with him. Generalities, no specifics.
"What about the address in Surrey?"
He shook his head as he stepped away, towards the lifts. "Forget about that. It was a mistake. I'll have his accommodations set up soon, be waiting for my owl with instructions. Make sure he has everything he'll need, clothes. Robes for school and daily wear." It wasn't safe for him to dress like a muggle when walking around the wizarding community. That was yet something else that seemed to have changed between and now and Harry's time. "Make sure he gets everything he'll need for school as well."
"Of course, Ablus." Sheryl said, trailing behind him. "Take it out of the school fund?"
"No." He stopped in his tracks, running a nervous hand through his long, wavy hair. "No....I'll cover everything. I'll send a letter to Gringotts." Maybe it was silly, but he felt responsible for Harry. He had plenty of money now, he'd never use it all on his own....and he couldn't shake the feeling that he owed it to Harry in some way.
"...Okay..." Sheryl didn't sound as sure, but she made a little note in the pocket book she kept in her robe.
With that taken care of he left her in the hall and got in the lift. Gone was the leisure pace of before. He no longer wanted to stretch his legs, to smell the roses, to ignore his duties in favor of any little distraction.
When he reached the Atrium, Albus fled.
~~~
For a time after the door had closed, after Dumbledore had left, Harry sat and stared at where he had been.
He had looked so different. So young. Though more haggard than Harry remembered from before. When he was eleven and just beginning his journey at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had seemed so light, effervescent. Full of life. Sometimes he had thought that a gentle breeze would just come and swoop him away, he'd never known someone to exude so much cheer.
After Voldemort's return he had begun to change, but who wouldn't with so much to worry about. He was leading a war....Harry knew how he felt. How draining and heartbreaking that was.
Maybe he had just as big a hand in the wars going on now as he would in fifty years?
He tried for a while to remember what those wars were...World War II, the Nazis and well there were bombings and it wasn't a good time. But he knew they didn't win, and wasn't that comforting? He smiled softly to himself before breaking out in giddy laughter.
It didn't matter what the wars were, he knew they didn't win. Who ever was terrorizing the wizarding world and muggle world alike. They didn't win! Really he had no reason to worry about them at all! Not them! Not Voldemort either! He couldn't touch Harry from the future.
He stood from the chair, walking over to the fire, Dumbledore's letter to him held loosely in hand. The man himself had given him another order....to let go....to not worry....to relax. Voldemort's war was still going on. Somewhere, but not here.
There was a place where Harry was meant to face him. Kill him or be killed himself.
Somewhere, but not here.
The parchment caught fire easily, it burned low. Consuming words he never wanted to read again. When he could keep it in his hands no longer he tossed it, careless, into the fire.
He laughed again, it was so unbelievable. It probably wouldn't last.
But for however long he was stuck here, tucked away, anonymous in the past.
Harry was finally free.