1995 - Little Hangleton
For a moment, Harry felt like he didn't exist at all, as if someone had plucked his consciousness from his brain and dangled it midair above an unending pit of nothingness. He felt light and empty and peaceful – as if everything that he was, all his burdens and fears, had been shaken free of him until all that remained was that sensation of awareness he always felt somewhere at the back of his mouth. It only lasted a moment, but for that moment, he felt euphoric. And then it all came crashing down.
In a rush, sound flooded his ears again, angry and hissing and gurgling, nearly overwhelming him. He was desperate to cover his ears, but found he was unable to move his arms. He was unable to move much of anything at all. The white that had consumed his vision was changing - moving and flashing in front of his face until he realised what he was seeing - a plume of white steam and smoke, and sharp sparks. The picture was soon disturbed though, by the dark outline of a man rising to his feet. What Harry heard next made his heart clench in his chest, and dread pool in his feet.
"Robe me,"
No. No it couldn't be. It wasn't a conscious choice, but either way, Harry was grateful for it when shock cut him off from the feeling in his body again.
Another man, sobbing and curling over a mutilated arm, pulled black robes over the figure's head, one-handed. Suddenly, Harry was staring at a face he hadn't seen in nearly twenty years. His skin like paper, pulled taught against the skull beneath, and diagonal slits in his face where his nose ought to have been.
The vivid red cat-eyes of Lord Voldemort stared back at him.
Voldemort turned away from him, inspecting his body, one appendage at a time. The small snatch of relief at losing his attention was enough for all of Harry's feelings to flood back into him at once. He was suddenly aware of pain, cutting and draining, and all encompassing. His head was throbbing, a sharp stabbing agony concentrated in his scar but spreading over his entire face. Thick ropes pressed harshly against him, binding him to a large marble headstone. Harry didn't need to look to know the name engraved on it. He nearly gagged, as the feeling returned to his face and jaw, and he was made aware of the ball of fabric that had been shoved into his mouth to prevent him from talking.
Harry knew, on some level, that this wasn't a nightmare - but it was so similar to one he had had many times before that it was hard not to believe he was actually safe and warm in his bed. Dazed, his gaze flicked between: Voldemort, his fingers stroking over his chest; Wormtail, huddled on the ground and whimpering over his bleeding stump; and Nagini, lazily circling the bottom of the headstone and tasting the air as she slithered past him. Vaguely, he realised something he expected to be here was absent. He twisted in his bonds and tried desperately to think.
His train of thought was broken with a sharp crack.
Wormtail had been thrown bodily against the headstone Harry was tied too; he noticed with a kind of drunk vagueness that Nagini had slithered out of the way at some point. Voldemort and Wormtail were talking, but Harry didn't listen. If this was like all his other nightmares, he knew what was being said. He tried to gather his thoughts again but was sabotaged by the sudden blistering pain in his head - ah, he should have remembered that. He was distantly aware of the high-pitched chuckle Voldemort gave in response to his own pained shout of frustration.
Fuck. Think. What was missing?
And then Voldemort began to speak again, "You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father - a Muggle and a fool… very like your dear mother."
For the first time, it truly dawned on Harry that this was real. This wasn't a nightmare. He was awake. And Lord Voldemort himself was in front of him, living and breathing, repeating a monologue Harry had heard once before in this very graveyard. Oh fuck - how?! It occurred to him again that he had been trying to remember something, and he screwed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to think back. He tried to shut out the pain and the disgusting cloth in his mouth, and the sound of Voldemort's hissing voice. Abruptly he remembered. Opening his eyes, for just a moment he saw Draco in front of him, crouched over the floor with his wand tip illuminated in front of his shocked face. Oh. Oh Merlin no. Death would have been preferable to this.
With his eyes open again, Harry realised he had been mentally absent for longer than he'd realised. Hooded figures in masks and cloaks were stalking forwards from behind the graves and between the trees. He watched in disgusted fascination, feeling vaguely like a spectator in this scene rather than a participant, as one by one they prostrated themselves before their master, crawling forwards on their hands and knees to kiss at the hem of his robes. It was ironic to Harry, that these proud, avid supporters of blood purity, were on their knees praying at the altar of a maniacal half-blood.
"Welcome, Death Eaters. Thirteen years, thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it was yesterday…" no. No, he didn't need to hear this again. What he needed was to do something. His eyes flitted about frantically, but he tried to keep his movements to a minimum to avoid attracting Voldemort's attention prematurely. He needed to think!
His eyes landed on Cedric's prone body. He stamped down the impending panic attack he could feel building - no! Now wasn't the time. He could deal with that later, he needed to be practical now, not feeling. He tried to draw on his training as an Auror, taking deep steadying breaths in through his nose, and releasing them out slowly while he worked to reinforce his occlumency shields - creating a mental room to push all of his feelings into, and shutting the door tightly behind them. It was something he hadn't had to do in a long time, but the skill returned to him easily.
He was distantly aware of Voldemort torturing one of the Death Eaters. He shut this out too.
Now, feeling strangely detached from everything, Harry refocused. His eyes found Cedric again and there, the edge of its handle glinting at him in the moonlight and just a little way away from Cedric's body, was the Triwizard cup - the portkey that would get him back to Hogwarts. He paused for a moment, to gather the building concern in his gut ( what would he do once he got there? ) and shut it away in another room in his mind. Later.
He was distracted again by the scene in front of him. Voldemort had replaced Wormtail's hand with a new silver one and was now addressing Lucius Mafloy.
"Lucius, my slippery friend,"
His mind turned immediately to Draco again - where was he? Was he dead? How had he ended up here?! More occlumency shielding and more rooms with more unpleasant unhelpful thoughts.
There's going to be one hell of an explosion in my future,Harry thought mildly to himself, refocusing.
His gaze was caught by moonlight that reflected off of rippling dark scales - Nagini was lazily circling them, her tongue flicking in and out hungrily.
"He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant…" Voldemort's voice threatened to disturb him again, but he forced his ears shut, and focussed instead on the snake. His mind raced faster than he could keep up with.
The snake needed to die. Should he kill the snake? What about interfering with time? What if he didn't kill the snake now, and Neville never managed to either? He should kill the snake. No, what if he caused people to be unborn, like Eloise Mintumble had? What if, in taking the time to kill the snake, he got himself killed in the process? No, he shouldn't kill the snake.
He froze when Nagini passed Cedric, her tongue flickering in and out of view as she smelt him with interest, and he knew instantly: he was going to kill that fucking snake.
When Voldemort finally turned his attention to him, he met the other's violently red eyes defiantly. When Voldemort stroked a long white finger down his cheek, the pain in his head exploded anew. He didn't know what he looked like, but he knew what he felt like - a rabid animal full of pain and fury, ready to bite at the first opportunity.
I'm going to kill your fucking snake, and then I'm going to kill you .
The words had been forced passed his occlumency shield deliberately and Voldemort paused for a second, eyeing him with interest, before laughing softly and continuing to lecture his captive audience. He felt feral, ready to take Voldemort down with just his teeth at the man's jugular.
That snake was going to die.
He fixed his eye on Nagini and watched her as she slithered round and round him. He only looked away to throw his head back and scream in agony, as Voldemort tortured him with the cruciatus curse. On and on it went, like fire in his blood burning him to ashes, threatening to split him open from the inside and spill his guts on the grass, when just as suddenly as it had started, it was gone. Laughter echoed in the graveyard. Harry panted, hanging loosely in his bonds and making no attempt to recover his previous position. Not much longer now. He twitched in anticipation as the snake slithered away towards the Death Eaters, and he knew his time had come.
There was a reason he had been offered the position of Head Auror with no interview, after all.
"Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand."
He prepared himself, gingerly testing his weight. His leg throbbed and he faltered for a moment, before compartmentalising again. When Wormtail cut his bonds, he was steady on his feet. He spat the cloth from his mouth, and watched silently as Wormtail crossed the circle, which had come closer, to retrieve his wand from Cedric's body.
When it was thrust into his hand, Harry couldn't help his small quiet sigh of relief - the wand practically sang at their reunion. Voldemort didn't seem to notice, or maybe he didn't particular care, that Harry wasn't trembling in front of him like any normal fourteen-year-old might. Harry waited for him to speak again.
"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?"
"Yes," Harry interrupted the rest of his speech before it could truly begin. Suddenly, he was moving.
With a grand sweep of his wand, Harry ripped the surrounding headstones clear from the ground and summoned them to him with force. Shocked, Voldemort raised his wand to retaliate, but had to divert his attention to deflect a headstone that was headed straight for him. Many of the other Death Eater's weren't so lucky, bowled over by enormous bits of stone and marble - more than one didn't get back up. With the headstones as a rotating shield, he leapt into action. He fired curse after curse as quickly as he could from between the stones, aiming in the loosest sense of the word and relying mostly on proximity and chance. Confused and pained cries sounded as more Death Eaters were hit by his spells. His shield of stone shuddered as it absorbed a particularly strong blasting curse - Voldemort was back on the offence, his high-pitched scream of rage enough to make Harry's ears ring.
He had to be fast. He was good, but he wasn't certain he was good enough to best Voldemort in a one on one duel, especially while he was injured and tired ( and fourteen years old again , a frightened voice reminded him). He could feel his strength beginning to leave him even now. Through the gaps in his makeshift shield, he saw silky scales in the moonlight.
He had to be fast .
With a roar, he diverted the headstones and fired them in Voldemort's direction with as much speed and force as he could, while sprinting across the grass towards his quarry - Nagini, her coils convulsed anxiously as she observed the fray from between Cedric and the portkey. Harry had to duck as a familiar green curse soared just above his head - he pointed blindly over his shoulder and cried, "Expelliarmus!"
He turned in surprised when he heard a familiar scream of fury - Voldemort's wand was flying through the air.
He refocused on Nagini, who shrank back from him, fangs bared.
'I think we should just diffindo them and be done with it - let's see them find their way back without a head. '
"DIFFINDO!!" Harry screamed his spell, watching with satisfaction as the cutting spell hit its mark, and Nagini's head toppled from her twitching neck.
"NOO!!"
Without wasting another second, Harry grabbed Cedric firmly by the wrist and pointed his wand at the cup, "Accio!"
The handle and his palm collided with a sharp slap, and he was gone.
Harry landed with a thud, face down in the grass, and was immediately hit with a wall of sound.
Voices, and footsteps, and cheers that were morphing into strangled screams. Harry paid it no mind, sinking even further into himself, relaxing his grip on both Cedric and the cup. He should probably move, but just the idea of sitting up and taking stock of his surroundings made him want to scream. No, better to stay here with his face in the grass. He was distantly aware of his fingers being peeled from Cedric's wrist and being turned over by strong hands on his shoulders.
Abruptly, he was no longer looking at the grass, but into Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes, peering at him over his half-moon spectacles. Harry had the strangest impulse to smile at him.
"Harry, can you hear me?"
Suddenly, Dumbledore was all he could hear, his focus narrowed down to the sound of his voice as it left his lips; he nodded sluggishly, eyes blurring momentarily before he found himself again,"Can you hear me?"
If Dumbledore thought the question odd, he didn't show it, "Yes Harry, I can hear you,"
"Good. Voldemort is back,"
Something flashed in Dumbledore's eyes, but Harry didn't care to interpret it - he was just so tired.
"Let's get you up dear boy," Harry wanted to scream, but he found his voice was trapped.
All of him felt trapped. He didn't fight when Dumbledore picked him up and placed him carefully onto his feet, but he didn't think he could have even if he'd wanted to. Cornelius Fudge was yelling- everyone was yelling. They were all just being so loud. He wanted to cover his ears, but much like when he had found himself tied to a tombstone, he couldn't move; this time the ropes were of his own making and existed only in his mind.
"You stay here Harry, okay? Stay right here,"
Harry couldn't acknowledge him, finding his consciousness was floating a few centimetres above his skin.
It wouldn't last long he knew, and he didn't have the wherewithal to be concerned about it. This had happened before, when he'd used occlumency to suppress overwhelming emotions in the past. He felt almost giddy right now - the fall out was going to be spectacular. His eyes sailed over the heads of the crowd and landed on platinum blonde. He looked closer - the boy had both hands on his head, gripping his hair tightly in curled fists.
Oh, it was Draco.
He wanted to wave but couldn't. He should really talk to him…
The impulse was immediately interrupted by someone attempting to usher him away, an arm gripped firmly around his shoulders and practically pulling him onwards. Even if he wasn't injured, Harry's legs certainly weren't cooperating enough for this pace - the person was half carrying him across the lawn; looking over his shoulder, he spied a shocking blonde head fighting its way through the crowd.
Was Draco coming for him, he wondered vaguely.
"Come on son, that's right," he faltered, nearly falling, but the arm around him caught him and tugged him ever onwards, "There we go, come on… to the hospital wing,"
He knew who that was. He knew what happened next. With an effort, he was able to look up to see the face of Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody above him. Except no, this wasn't Moody - the realisation curdled as new dread in his stomach. This was Barty Crouch Junior. He was paralysed for a moment by indecision.
What should he do? Elois Mintumble and her fate kept rolling around in his head but, hadn't he already changed the course of history? Was it already to late?
He was jolted free from his mind by two things: first, the feeling of his bad leg wrenching awkwardly as the fake Moody tried to drag him up steps, and second, a furious scream sounding from behind them, followed by several deafening bangs. He was turned against his will - Crouch's arm was like a vice around his chest, dragging him unwillingly along as he spun and stopped on the stairs, holding Harry close to his chest like a prize (or a shield). Harry could only loosely hold on to the arm restraining him.
"Let him GO!"
It was Draco, panting and furious, his arm raised up above his head and shooting vibrant red sparks from the tip of his wand again, and again, each one exploding in the air with a tremendous noise, flashing gold, and then drifting down like petals in the wind. He looked off though, Harry noted distantly, not quite the same cutting figure as usual, and was his hair shorter? He couldn't quite tell over the distance and through his blurring vision.
Moody adjusted his grip around his chest and stuck his wand arm out in a slashing movement - the heat of the curse made Harry's eyes water. Draco blocked it with the same strong shield he'd used to protect them in Knockturn Alley, absorbing the curse with a gentle shimmer and a noise like a gong being struck. Draco didn't fire back - how could he, without risking hitting Harry? Instead, he let out a war cry, and was about to throw himself forward, when someone caught him around the waist.
Others had arrived, drawn by the sparks and Draco's screams of rage. From left to right: Minerva McGonagall, Bill Weasley, Severus Snape and Filius Flitwick - at their head, in the centre, was Albus Dumbledore. All of them, except for Snape, who had caught Draco around the middle and was stopping him from rushing forwards, had their wands out and trained on the faux-Moody and Harry.
"Who are you?" Dumbledore's voice was low and terrible, echoing out across the distance between them, "For you are not Alastor Moody."
At his back, Crouch's breath was coming in quick excited gasps, and he could practically hear his magical eye swirling around in its socket. The grip on him adjusted again, and Harry was made aware of the blade at his throat when the tip sliced its way into his skin - he felt hot blood spill lazily down his neck. Not a killing blow, and not even deliberate Harry was sure - but it was enough to make his rescuers freeze and watch its meandering path into the collar of his shirt.
A deep maniacal laugh rumbled in the chest behind him. Harry had been clinging to the arm around him, but doing anything was becoming increasingly difficult - against his will, his grip faltered, and his arm swung back down by his side. His hand brushed against the wand that was still in his pocket. He tried to make eye contact with Draco, to try and make the other realise he had his wand in between his fingers, through a pointed look down at his pocket. He couldn't be sure if he'd succeeded - his vision was too hazy. He needed a distraction.
"No," Crouch agreed, "No, I'm not - I am Lord Voldemort's most faithful servant!" He declared, strange gleeful pride in his voice, "But you didn't suspect a thing did you, oh mighty Dumbledore? No, I've been doing my masters bidding right under your nose!"
"Let him go you lunatic!" Draco's spirits were not dampened by Snape's arm about his waist, and Harry couldn't decide if that was because he'd understood what Harry had tried to communicate, or if he was genuinely losing control under the extenuating circumstances they had found themselves in.
Moody laughed high and loud in his ear, " And what's this! The Malfoy brat, begging for the life of the Potter boy? Will the wonder's never cease," Draco had wiggled his arm and wand free, and pointed it above their heads, crying out a spell Harry didn't hear - nothing happened, but Draco did stop fighting, panting in his exertion, "And what was that meant to do?" Moody said mockingly, "Children should keep quiet when the grown-ups are talking,"
Harry heard the faint grinding of steel on steel, and he knew what Draco had done a split second before Crouch did - an enormous suit of armour was approaching them, its massive axe raised high above its head.
It was the distraction Harry needed. The arm about his chest loosened as a shocked Crouch turned to this new surprise foe, creating enough room for Harry to pull his wand free from his pocket and jab it into his captor's side, between his ribs and cry, not having the energy for wordless spells, in quick succession, "DEPULSO! BOMBARDA! STUPEFY!"
The strength of the spells threw Crouch bodily from him - propelling him through the air before he landed with a sickening crack on the stairs of the castle. He did not stand again, head lolling at an awkward angle, his arm twisted under his body, and the side of his chest, that had been closest to Harry, faintly smoking.
Harry himself was not unaffected by their sudden violent separation; he was forced back a step until all of his weight was on his injured leg. It gave way almost instantaneously, and Harry crumpled like a stack of cards caught by the wind - his head hit a stone step, dazing him. He realised quickly though, that that was the least of his troubles; the knife that had been at his neck must have caught him when Crouch was blasted away from him. More hot blood was spilling down his front - oh, this was bad.
Snape was suddenly in front of him, face pinched in anxious concentration, his wand pointed at Harry's neck as he muttered under his breath. Harry shuddered under the sensation of his neck knitting back together, only to hiss in pain when the wound re-opened and more blood spilled out, running in rivers down the back of his neck and into his hair. Snape's face darkened.
"The blade was cursed - we must get him to the hospital wing immediately," Snape barked, before resuming his muttering with increased fervour.
There were arms sliding under his back and legs, and Harry caught a flash of bright red hair before he was tucked against Bill Weasley's chest; and then they were running. Strangely, it was the most relaxed Harry had felt since the graveyard - there was nothing for him to do and he felt released from the burden of trying to survive. He relaxed into Bill's hold, but that seemed to only concern his entourage (it appeared Snape, Dumbledore, and Minerva were running with them).
"Stay awake Harry, okay?" Bill sounded panicked, "We're nearly there, just stay awake,"
"I'm fine," Harry muttered back, mildly annoyed at being kept from his rest, "m' just tired," doors were flying open ahead of them with great echoing bangs, and Harry jostled in Bill's arms as they raced up the stairs, "Where's Dr'co? I wan' Draco," if he was heard, no one answered him. He let his eyes shut and just breathed, listening but not attempting much else.
"What is all this - oh my, quickly, quickly here," Madam Pomfrey. He was disturbed from his dozing by Bill's arms sliding free from him as he was laid down onto a soft mattress, "Don't stop what you're doing Severus," she said sternly - he could hear her heels clip clopping about the bed, "We must get him to drink a blood-replenishing potion, quickly, hurry," arms were behind his shoulders again, lifting him until he was half sat up. He opened his eyes and peered to the side to see who was holding him - oh, Bill again - his robes were stained red. He twitched when a glass vial was pressed to his lips, "Here Potter, come on, you must drink this," Madam Pomfrey said gently, "There you go, good boy, well done, all of it," Harry tried to comply, letting the vicious, bitter liquid pass through his lips and slide down his throat - Madam Pomfrey's face immediately became clearer, and she smiled encouragingly at him, "Yes there we are, well done,"
"It's beginning to heal?" He heard Minerva's relieved voice somewhere to his left.
"Yes, very slowly, but the wound was deep," he heard Snape mutter, "It will likely scar," Harry shuddered at the sensation of the cut in his neck healing and slicing open again and again - each time though, the pain was less and the strange pinching sensation, like pastry being sealed together, returned faster as he healed; another vial was pressed against his lips, "You must drink again Potter, the last one though," he did as he was told, reclined lazily in Bill's hold.
His eyes flicked around sluggishly, taking in his surroundings.
Minerva was stood anxiously at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped together as she stared into his bay intently. Snape was sat on his bed, leaning over him, his eyes and wand fixed on the wound in his neck. Madam Pomfrey was still bustling about the bed, her arms full of fresh bandages which she deposited in a metal dish by Harry's head, before disappearing from view and reappearing again with a jar. Dumbledore had pulled up a chair, and was sat on the opposite side to Snape, his fingers steepled under his chin as he watched the proceedings through intense eyes.
"It cannot be a healed further through magical means," Snape said finally, leaning out of his space, turning his attention to Madam Pomfrey.
"Well move out of the way then Severus," she snapped, "So I can bandage what must be left to heal naturally," she replaced Severus on his bed, "Now then Mister Potter, let's clean you up first," a flick of her wand, and it felt like a soft searching breeze was passing over his skin and hunting through his hair, seeking out the blood and grime in its path and obliterating it with a sharp tingling sensation, "There we are," she produced the jar he had seen her holding, scooping her fingers into it and revealing a bright purple ointment. She set about smearing a thick layer of the peppermint scented gloop on his neck. He zoned out as she wrapped the bandages around his neck, moving only to assist her. With her practiced hands, his neck was bound quickly and neatly, and Bill was sliding out from behind him, and large pillows were being used to replace his supporting influence.
Harry's eyes found Dumbledore's - he hadn't moved since they'd begun - and he said what he'd been thinking since being lain on the bed, "I want Draco," he croaked, jaw trembling slightly - he realised it wasn't just his jaw, all of him was shaking, "Where is he? I want Draco,"
Dumbledore was slow to speak, and so Madam Pomfrey beat him to it, "Absolutely not, you are not fit to receive visitors yet," she said firmly.
"Why do you want to see Mister Malfoy, Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently, but Harry wasn't truly listening. He could feel the doors he had made to shut away his feelings begin the break.
He screwed his eyes shut against them and spoke through gritted teeth, "I don't care, I need Draco, please get Draco - I need to see him, please get him, please," his was surprised at the level quality of his voice; there was a sudden sound of glass shattering and at the end of his bed, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey both gasped - Harry opened his eyes to see the window directly opposite him had cracked right down the middle, small slithers of glass tumbling into the room onto the empty bed below, "Please," he whispered as Bill Weasley repaired the window with a sweep of his wand, "Please get Draco," there was a short pause.
"Severus, if you would be so kind as to fetch Mister Malfoy, please?" Harry's eyes were fixed on the window - he hadn't produced accidental magic like that in years, "Harry," Dumbledore's soft voice caught his attention, "We will need to discuss what has happened here tonight, do you understand?" He nodded slowly, "But not now - you have been through a great ordeal, and should rest,"
Dumbledore didn't comment on the small hysterical laugh that escaped him - all it had taken was nearly getting his throat slit open for Dumbledore to give him the grace of a day before questioning him - why hadn't he thought of that last time?
"Headmaster, Mister Malfoy as you requested,"
Harry snapped his gaze from the window to Draco as he approached from Snape's side. A gasp of surprise was masked amongst Harry's already shaky breathing: Draco looked so young, his face overly pointy in the way it had been when they were teenagers, before he'd grown into it, and his jaw showed just a hint of the strong masculine angle it would soon develop. He was shorter too, though still taller than Harry, and his frame was narrower. He was paler than Harry had ever seen him, eyes wide and staring, his hands trembling.
Never breaking eye contact with Harry, he collapsed into the chair at the side of his bed opposite Dumbledore. All eyes were on them.
"Your face looks funny," Harry muttered eventually.
"Your face looks funny," Draco shot back faintly; Harry could only chuckle weakly, "Where'd you learn to cast a blasting charm that strong?" Draco's eyes were dancing across the faces of their spectators, uncomfortable with the scrutiny; they needed to speak, but what needed to be said, couldn't be shared here.
"I have a contentious relationship with garden gnomes,"
Draco's laugh at his frank admission was edging near hysteria. Their eyes met, and the contact lingered, until Draco asked, "You okay?"
"No," Harry answered honestly, "You?" Dumbledore followed their conversation like a tennis match.
"No,"
"I don't understand what's going on," Harry whispered, trying to keep his words vague.
"I know - me neither," Draco glanced at Madam Pomfrey who was watching them in disapproval, another potion in her hands.
"Headmaster, I really must insist - a healing sleep is essential to establishing Mister Potter's recovery, especially in light of the near fatal wound he received today," she said gravely, inclining her head to the bandages wrapped tightly at Harry's throat.
Draco's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed; he made to stand before he could be asked to, "You'll come and find me, when you're allowed out?" Draco asked tentatively - Harry nodded silently, "I'll be in the usual place - with the cabinet," Draco said cryptically, but Harry knew instantly where he meant. He was ushered out by a stern-faced Pomfrey; he threw one last lingering look over his shoulder in Harry's direction when the door was closed behind him.
"Right then Mister Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, visibly casting aside her previous annoyance, turning pleasant but severe again, "I must insist you allow yourself to rest," she held the potion up so he could see it, "Dreamless sleep - your magical core is nearly completely drained. This will speed up your recovery,"
"I will see you when you are ready to leave the Hospital wing, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, patting his hand, "Bill will stay with you, and I shall send Molly and your friends in to be with you while you sleep," Harry nodded blankly, accepting the potion from Madam Pomfrey, "Sleep well,"
Harry didn't wait for Dumbledore to leave before swallowing two large mouthfuls of the potion. He immediately began to feel drowsy, sinking back into his multitudes of pillows. Madam Pomfrey lifted the potion free from his hands. Maybe, when he woke up, this would all be a bad dream.
Harry was woken by a sharp bang, jolting into the waking world - but he didn't move, eyes shut and listening closely to his surroundings. Please, please let him be at home. Please, please let that have been Lily slamming the bathroom door shut behind her. Please let James cry out in annoyance, having been shoved to one side by his younger sister so she could use the bathroom first, and thus avoiding traipsing up another floor to their distinctly less pleasant second bathroom.
Please, please, please.
"Sorry," his heart sank. That was Hermione's voice. It wasn't a dream.
He wasn't able to hold in the stuttering gasp that escape him.
"Harry?" Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to find Molly Weasley leaning over him, her hand stroking his hair gently, "Hello dear," she said kindly, her eyes suddenly full of unshed tears, "Did you sleep well?" Not quite able to speak yet, he nodded silently, "How do you feel?"
What could he possibly say? He felt terrible, but not for any of the reasons anyone would understand. He had just been thrust back into one of the worst days of his childhood, of his life, torn away from the family he loved, with no idea how he was getting back outside of praying Draco came up with something while he was in the hospital wing - all this, while hoping that the changes they had made to the timeline wouldn't have catastrophic results. All he could do was shake his head a little, and let Molly take from that what she liked.
She smiled sadly, stroking his cheek now, "I understand - someone's here who might make you feel better though," she looked down his bed, and he realised that the duvet on top of him felt strangely tight on one side; he followed her gaze, and an enormous black dog stared back at him, tongue lolling out of its mouth, "Don't worry," she whispered in his ear, "I know who he is - the Headmaster explained,"
Harry could hardly breath, staring down at the animgus form of his long dead Godfather. Suddenly, Sirius was up by his face, whining in his ear and licking at his cheeks, and Harry realised his was crying silently. He buried his shaking hands in Sirius's thick, black fur, and clung to him while he cried into his neck. This was torture unlike any Harry had ever known - tearing his soul between the family he had waiting for him, and the family long gone here in his arms. Molly was stroking his hair again, muttering soothingly into his ear. He suddenly wished Draco hadn't been sent away - he was the only one who would understand the agony that this was.
Molly allowed him to cry himself into exhaustion before picking up the remaining dreamless sleep potion, "You need to finish the rest of your potion Harry," she said gently, "I'll probably be gone when you wake up dear, but I'll see you soon - I'm going to try and see if the Headmaster will let you come straight to us from Hogwarts," Harry only gripped Sirius tighter to him, "Snuffles will still be here," she said soothingly, as if reading his mind, "When you wake up, he'll still be here," reluctantly, Harry let her tip the rest of his potion into his mouth, and fell into another deep, dreamless sleep.
When he woke again, he was spooning up against Sirius's great hulking form, arms wrapped tightly around his middle in a way he was sure no real dog would tolerate. He sighed into his shoulder, and decided to make the most of it.
"Lo' Padfoot," he murmured into Sirius's fur - the animagus's ear pricked up instantly, and Harry's face was being bathed in dog kisses again; Harry couldn't help but chuckle against the onslaught, "Love you too," the clicking of Madam Pomfrey's heels alerted him to her approach.
She tugged the curtains around his bed open a fraction so she could peer in at him, "Ah Mister Potter, you're awake," she paused to say something to someone outside of his curtains, but he couldn't hear what, "How are you feeling?" She stepped within the bounds of his curtains, shooting Sirius a disapproving look, before feeling his forehead and pressing her fingers into his wrist to feel his pulse - at some point the cut on his arm had been healed.
"Better," he said honestly, surprised himself at how much sleep had helped.
"Wonderful," satisfied with whatever she felt at his wrist, she released him, "Up you get, we need to look at that cut," he swung himself out of bed, dislodging Sirius as he did so, and catching his bad food in the sheets as well - Madam Pomfrey looked at him sharply at his sudden hiss, "What's wrong Potter?"
"Just my ankle," he muttered, gesturing to the swollen appendage; Sirius hopped himself down from the bed and sat at Harry's side, head resting in his lap.
Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue in disapproval, but Harry couldn't tell if it was at his injured food, or Sirius's position at his side, "One moment," with a swish of the curtains, she disappeared. Harry caught sight of the real Mad Eye's closed curtains.
Sirius whined, nudging his fingers where they sat in his lap, until Harry was slowly petting him as he waited numbly for Pomfrey's return. He wondered if Sirius found this as soothing as he did.
Madam Pomfrey appeared with another dramatic swish of his curtains, "Here, drink this," a potion was thrust under his nose - Harry resisted the urge to gag at the bubbling beige concoction that smelt like boiled cabbage, "Come on, down the hatch," pinching his nose, he chugged it - while not completely healed, he was relieved to find his ankle was no longer throbbing angrily, "Now, let's take a look at your neck,"
Harry resumed petting Sirius's heavy head as Pomfrey worked to unwind the bandages from his throat. It was only when they fell away that he realised how itchy they had been - Pomfrey slapped his hand away however, when he reached up to touch. With a swish of her wand, she filled the metal bowl on his nightstand with water, and with another it was lightly steaming. She used the warm water to delicately wipe away the ointment that had been slathered on, until she was satisfied with her work, stepping back with her hands on her hips to inspect him.
"Well Potter, I won't need re-dress it - but it's going to leave a scar,"
"What's one more," he muttered to himself, as Pomfrey produced a mirror for him to inspect his appearance. He accepted it reluctantly, hesitant to look at his appearance for other less obvious reasons. He swallowed, and finally allowed himself to look.
His own vivid green eyes stared back at him, but they were set in a face that was more familiar than he had expected. He looked, he thought, more like an older version of Al, than a younger version of himself. His crow's feet were gone, as was his permanent twelve o'clock shadow, and a hint of baby fat remained in his cheeks - if he remembered correctly, that would be gone come the next school year. His hair though, was as unsalvageable as it had ever been. Finally, he looked at the reason he had been given a mirror in the first place.
Oh - it was bigger than he had expected, stretching the entire left side of his neck from his ear and swooping down under his Adam's apple. No wonder there had been so much blood. The skin was red and angry, but the cut itself seemed to be healing shut as a thick ridge of skin, though the centre was still wet looking - it would definitely scar. The injury, combined with the sickly pale pallor of his skin, and the dark circles under his eyes, created a truly sad picture.
Harry sighed, lowering the mirror and offering it back to Pomfrey, who accepted it with a pitying smile.
"It will improve with time Potter," she tucked the mirror away, "I'm going to give you a potion to fight off infection, but otherwise there's not much more staying here will do for you. The headmaster wants to see you in his office before you return to your dormitory - I've sent for the deputy head to escort you," Harry nodded absently, "Would you like me to leave the curtains closed?"
"Open is fine," at least that way McGonagall couldn't sneak up and startle him. He looked around listlessly, watching as Pomfrey ducked behind the curtains of Moody's cubical and talked lowly to him. Sirius nudged his fingers when he stopped petting him, and a reluctant smile emerged on Harry's face; he leant down to whisper, "You're not an actual dog, you know?"
Sirius only let out a hushed bark and licked his fingertips.
McGonagall appeared just as Harry had finished dressing himself, having already reluctantly gulped down the potion Pomfrey had promised him - this one had tasted and looked like a grass smoothie. It had been strangely refreshing.
"Mister Potter," she greeted him, eyes flicking to Sirius, and she offered him a nod of greeting as well, "I understand Madam Pomfrey has released you from her care," he inclined his head, slipping carefully off the bed and testing his weight on his ankle. It still burned a little, but nothing he couldn't manage.
"Yes Professor,"
She paused at the rough quality of his voice, "If you are not up to speaking to the Headmaster, Potter, you need only say and I will escort you back to your common room," she assured him gently - he felt eternally grateful to her, but refused the offer, instead hobbling after her up to the headmaster's office, Sirius a constant supporting presence at his side. Dumbledore rose to his feet to greet him as he stepped over the threshold - drawing him out a chair and thanking Minerva, but firmly sending her away. The second they were alone, Sirius transformed, and it was like seeing him for the first time all over again.
Harry practically fell into his tight embrace, burying his face in his Godfathers shoulder and accepting the paternal comfort he had been so lacking for so many years. Sirius hushed him and stroked his back, much in the same way Harry comforted his own children. Sirius separated them, hands on Harry's cheeks, inspecting his face and neck.
"Oh Harry," his eyes caught on the scar on his throat, and he carefully tilted Harry's face to inspect it, "I knew something like this would happen," he said darkly, before tipping Harry's face into his chest again, and holding him tightly.
"Come," Dumbledore said softly, indicating with an open palm to two seats side by side, "There is a long overdue discussion that we must have I'm afraid Harry,"
Harry could not have told you, afterwards, precisely what had been said - both by him and to him.
He relived the experience of the graveyard again for Dumbledore, but found the story much shorter than it had originally been - he'd had the capacity to fight back this time after all. He brushed over the specific details of manipulating the tombstones, something he shouldn't have been able to do at fourteen, and instead lightly implied he had dashed behind them as Voldemort ripped them out the ground. He'd found in his years of working for the Department of Mysteries, the best way to deceive a skilled legilimens was to mostly tell them the truth. Avoiding eye contact helped, but wasn't crucial, and Harry wasn't overly concerned about being caught out by a man who had been hoodwinked by an imposter pretending to be one of his own close friends.
When he came to the part of his story where he cut off Nagini's head, Sirius seemed incapable of withholding his proud harumph, squeezing Harry's shoulder tighter for a moment. They progressed to discussing Crouch's attempted kidnap of him - here, he hedged around the edges of truth again. Claiming Voldemort had named Moody a plant, and that Draco must have seen him struggling to get away.
Dumbledore only nodded sagely, saying, when he had finished, "Thank you for telling me all of that Harry - you have been exceptionally brave in the face of great adversity, braver than even full-grown wizards have been when confronted with the Dark Lord Voldemort," Sirius squeezed his shoulders again, reaching up to stroke a soothing hand through his hair, "And now, I have a tale of my own to tell you - a tale that I hope will explain to you why you had to suffer this terrible ordeal,"
Harry only half listened, nodding in all the right places but not offering any comments or probing questions. He was unsurprised to hear that Fudge had taken the same approach as last time - having apparently slept through the confrontation this time, "I took the liberty of delivering your tournament winnings to your dorm room Harry," He was even less surprised to hear Fudge had, once again, administered the Dementor's kiss upon Barty Crouch Jr. Somethings never changed. He didn't precisely care about any of this though, if he was honest. His mind had returned to Draco, wondering where he was, and what he was doing, and if he had managed to figure out how they were getting back home.
He returned fully back to the present, when Dumbledore stood, "And now Harry, I am sorry to say you must say goodbye to Sirius, and I will be escorting you back to your dormitory,"
Harry's gaze snapped to Sirius, "I don't want you to leave," he admitted in a small voice - what he meant really was 'I don't want to leave you, '.
Sirius pulled him back into crushing embrace, resting his chin on top of Harry's head, and rubbing his back soothingly, "It's okay kid, don't worry - you'll see me soon."
They parted ways at the great gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office - Sirius trotting away in his dog form, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Harry watched him until he disappeared out of view, grateful that Dumbledore didn't try and shuffle him along until he was ready. He offered Harry a steadying arm, and Harry found himself in need of it. The Headmaster did not speak again until they were stood in front of the portrait hole.
"I will not do you the disservice of asking if you are alright Harry," he began gently, "because I know you are not. You have been incredibly brave today, and I know your parents would have been very proud of you, as am I," Harry turned his eyes from the Fat Lady, and met Dumbledore's gaze properly for the first time, "We have some dark days ahead of us Harry, very dark indeed, but I know that, if we are able to maintain true to what is good and right, we shall see happier days once more," he smiled, his blue eyes twinkling, before addressing the Fink Lady with the Gryffindor password, "Banana Fritters," and the portrait swung open to admit him.
Stood in the portrait hole, the entrance now shut, Harry eyed his throbbing ankle. He cast episkey and let out a sigh of relief when the pain abated back to the level it had been when he left the Hospital Wing - that would have to do. He waited in the portrait hole for five minutes, to be well and truly sure that Dumbledore had left, before he swung it open, and began the long walk to the seventh floor.
By the time he was cautiously approaching the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his trolls, his eyes fixed intently on the wall opposite, Harry's ankle was throbbing again, and he was walking with a distinct limp. The sick feeling in the centre of his chest only intensified when, with only the faintest sound of shifting stone, the door to the Room of Requirement melted into existence - Draco was already inside.
He proceeded with a calm he wasn't truly feeling, pushing the door open, limping over the threshold, and closing the door behind him. He paused only to think intently 'I need this room to be inaccessible from the outside, I need this room to be inaccessible from the outside, I need this room to be inaccessible from the outside, '. He faintly heard it click as it locked closed, and he turned his attention to the room in front of him.
It was bare in a way Harry didn't think he had ever seen it - bare stone walls, floor and ceiling, except for a huge, frosted window that flooded the room with light. In the middle of the room, sat with his legs crossed and surrounded by piles of books, was Draco. Their eyes met, and Harry was struck by the others deliberately blank expression - Draco glanced down briefly to the open book in his lap, before looking back at Harry and standing gingerly, as if his legs had gone to sleep. The book that had been in his lap now dangled by his side. Harry approached carefully, like he had when he'd found a skittish stray cat in his garden once. He stopped when they were six feet apart.
"You look like shit," Draco said bluntly, his voice hoarse, eyeing Harry's limping gait, and the red angry scar around his neck.
"You look like shit," Harry retorted weakly, and they stood in a loaded silence, until Harry said softly, "Tell me."
And Draco began to speak.
"I've been trying to figure out what we're dealing with," Draco said, voice devoid of emotion, "And to do that, I've been trying to figure out what Pyrites was doing in that flat. I thought he was trying to create a kind of quasi-time turner, one that could send him back years and years, but to a specific point in Voldemort's life - hence all his belongings in that circle. But I think he was using one specific item like a rudder - and I don't know what it was, but it clearly didn't work - I think it was originally in the ring where you were stood. I think, if you hadn't been there, I'd have ended up dead instead," Draco swallowed, "I think, we are when we are, because the circle used you as that rudder instead, and sent us back to the point where Voldemort used your blood to resurrect himself.
"But, I couldn't stop thinking about that book you found," he glanced down at the book in his hand, and Harry finally read the title, 'Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science', "Did you know," Harry's eyes snapped back to Draco's, observing that Draco suddenly sounded like he was forcing back tears, "Did you know, that one of the theories about the philosopher's stone… about the elixir of life, is that it works by borrowing time from the life of the drinkers' alternative selves in different realities.
"I mean," he let out a strangled laugh, "It's a pretty left field theory, and it doesn't sound like its very popular amongst academics, but I'm starting to think it might actually be true. Do you remember the hourglass? Do you remember the gold liquid inside it?" Harry nodded silently after hesitating - it felt like a lifetime ago, "I think that was the elixir of life,"
"But the only stone was destroyed," his voice croaked from disuse, "Dumbledore… Dumbledore said that Flammel was destroying it," he insisted, before he remembered, "but that he was keeping enough elixir so he and his wife could put their affairs in order,"
Draco's face twisted, "If you'd lived nearly seven hundred years, how many years do you think you'd see as reasonable to tie off the loose ends of your life? Enough that you didn't notice when a little elixir went missing perhaps. Pyrites stole from the Department of Mysteries itself! What's stealing from a little old man compared to that? I don't know about you, but I don't remember hearing that Flammel had died," he chuckled mirthlessly, "No, I think that was the elixir of life alright," he suddenly sobered, struggling even more intensely with his words, "I think Pyrites was trying to take advantage of the reality crossing properties of the elixir. I don't think he was just trying to send himself back in time, I think he was trying to cross the boundaries of reality. But not to an alternative reality - within his own reality, using the elixir to siphon his own time away, and the rune circle to create a gate between the present and the past,"
Emotion was building in Harry's throat, "This is very interesting Draco," he admitted, aiming for casual but knowing the shaking of his hands was giving him away, "But how do we get back?"
Draco's face crumpled, "I'm sorry Harry, there is no way back,"
It was like a bell had been struck inside Harry's head - all he could hear was ringing.
"What… what do you mean? Why is there no way back?" Hysteria threatened to eclipse him. Draco shook his head, tears finally spilling over his cheeks, "How can there be no way back?" he asked, angry now, "They got Eloise Mintumble back! And she travelled over five hundred years!!" Draco continued to shake his head, his shoulders shuddering now, "Draco, why can't we go back?" he was shouting now; he knew it but couldn't stop himself.
"There's nowhere to go back to! Eloise Mintumble travelled back five hundred years, yes, but she actually physically moved! She turned up in her body - we didn't! Pyrites wasn't just trying to travel in time, or- or travel between realities, he was trying to obliterate his own!" Draco choked on his tears, "There's a reason time turners can't go forward," Draco moaned, "There's nothing ahead of this to travel to yet Harry - and even if there was, any rescuer would only find two teenagers living in their proper time," he let out a few more hiccupping tears before finally suppressing his noises of pain, "There is no going back," he whispered.
Harry couldn't speak. He couldn't breath. The ringing in his ears was somehow peeking at the edge of his vision, until it felt like his brain was shaking inside his skull. No. No, he had to be wrong. It felt like his head and chest were in a vice, squeezing and squeezing until his lungs felt ready to burst, and his guts felt ready to crawl out of his belly. No. The doors in his mind that had been holding back his emotions semi-successfully for probably twenty four hours now, finally began to truly fail.
"There has to be something we can do," his whisper echoed in the empty room - Draco was shaking his head, "There has to be something," more tears from Draco, "But our children Draco!"
"H-Harry," Draco's adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat as he swallowed, "Even if we somehow managed to live exactly the same way again from here on out, despite the monumental changes we have both already made, including all the the inane day to day shit we did and have forgotten, even if we sacrificed the lives of the people who we knew would die, and deliberately repeated all the actions we now regret, even if we married our wives again - even if you married Ginny again, knowing you would get divorced - even if we did all that," Draco scoffed, his throat full of emotion, "Even if we did that and had children again - they wouldn't be the children we had lost. Do you know precisely when your children were conceived? What day? What time?" His laugh was mirthless, "Because I only had one and I don't. No Harry," his face crumpled into an expression of agony, "Our children are gone. And we can't get them back,"
The silence was overwhelming. Harry's vision began to blur, emotion strangling at his throat and crushing his chest. The room disappeared from view and all he could see was James's face, grinning and proud as he tried on his new school tie; Albus's, his eyes rolling and his lips ticking up reluctantly at something Harry had done; Lily's, smiling sweetly, Hector cuddled to her chest; and Teddy, not his son but as good as, turquoise hair, Harry's green eyes, and dirt on the end of his nose. And he would never see them again. He was distantly aware that someone was crying out in a desperate scream.
Oh.
It was him.
He was on the floor, legs crumpled beneath him, palms pressed into the cold stone floor, only vaguely aware of the animistic howls of pain that were escaping him. In a fit of rage, he ripped his glasses from this face and threw them with all his strength into the furthest corner of them room. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked helplessly, sobbing. Up until now everything had had an almost serene unrealistic quality to it, as if it were all happening in a frighteningly vivid dream. Now though, it felt like reality was drowning him.
A blur that Harry knew were Draco's legs appeared in front of him. Suddenly, the man's face was in front of his, made clearer by proximity - Draco was crying too. Hands cradled the back of his skull and tipped his head forward, resting their foreheads together. He didn't know what comfort was being offered, but he snatched at it before it could be withdrawn. He threw himself at Draco, wrapping his arms around him in a fierce embrace and sobbing into his shoulder. Draco gripped him back just as tightly, fingers digging into his back. Eventually, Harry realised Draco was talking through his tears.
"I'm so sorry - this is all my fault, all my fault. I'm so fuckingsorry. If I hadn't cast that stupid spell - oh gods, oh fuck, I'm so sorry, oh gods Scorpius,"
It would have been easier, Harry thought, to blame Draco. To throw the man to the floor and scream and shout in his face and fire condemnation in his direction. He wondered if he would have done that when he was actually fourteen? Maybe. He thought vaguely of when he'd blamed Hermione for weeks about his firebolt being confiscated. It would have been easier - but that's not what he did. He held Draco tighter to him and tried to fight his tears back enough to speak.
"It's not your fault… it's not your fault, either one of us could have done it, it was only lumos, how could you know? It's not your fault," Draco shuddered and cried harder. For a moment, Harry put his own grief to one side and just held the other.
He didn't know how long they cried for, but eventually they were sprawled on the floor on their backs staring at the ceiling, side by side their arms pressed together. Harry felt empty, like a great echoing pit had opened below his feet and swallowed his essence whole. His tears had stopped, but only because he had physically lost the ability to cry. He was sure they would return in good time. Next to him, Draco's breath was still stuttering occasionally as he continued crying quietly and tearlessly.
"What are we going to do?" Draco whispered, his voice nearly inaudible it was so hoarse.
Harry closed his eyes against the painful question, "How long have we got?" He murmured back.
"What?"
He took a deep breath and released it slowly before speaking again, "How long have we got till the end of term feast?" moving only his head and neck, he turned his head, so he was looking straight at the side of the others blurry face. He needed to find his glasses.
Seeing his movement, Draco turned to look at him too - he guessed Draco had a contemplative look on his face, "Maybe a week - maybe a little bit more. Why?"
"If we skip classes, we've got time,"
"Time for what?" Draco sounded tired.
"Time to make a plan - decide what to do," he turned his head back to the staring at the ceiling, "For now though, I think I need to lie here and mourn my children for a few more hours," out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco turn his head to look back at the ceiling as well. A hand tentatively moved to hold his - he adjusted his fingers so they were palm to palm, seeking comfort in that small contact.
"Tomorrow?" Draco asked tentatively.
"Tomorrow," Harry agreed.
—
Ron and Hermione didn't comment when he finally stumbled back through the portrait hole into the common room, empty but for them, many hours after curfew. They did, however, look extremely alarmed at how swollen his eyes were from crying on and off for hours. They enveloped him in the middle of a group hug without a word (though Ron did require a small nudge from Hermione), and Harry basked in the familiarity of their warm friendship.
"Oh Harry - where have you been?" Hermione asked, concerned, "We were so worried, we nearly went to McGonagall,"
"Sorry," he muttered, "I've been with Draco,"
"Have you been with him this whole time?" She didn't seem surprised he'd been with Draco, or that he called him by his first name - Bill must have told them all what had happened.
"Yeah,"
"Why?" Harry was surprised at Ron's blank question - expecting him to sound like he was about to explode. Draco really had been a prick when they were at school, and Harry had given no indication they were friends - he'd have understood the others outrage.
He pulled back and smiled at them weakly, "You wouldn't understand, I'm sorry," they exchanged a look, "I'm gonna' go to bed,"
They didn't try to stop him.