"For your crimes against the nation of Llael, her Queen and the people she represents, you are sentenced to die."
The man sneers because it is all he can do.
"Does that make you feel good, boy? Saying those words? You think you belong now? You think now that you're her executioner, you somehow have a purpose?"
The words bite, but they do not wound.
"Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?"
"Aye, I have something to say. Not to her. But to you."
He tilts his head. He is mindful of the wrathful engines behind him and the anger that is barely contained.
"I am listening."
The man grins at him.
"I pity you, you know that? I honestly pity you. You are a dog without a master. You are a killer who doesn't understand why you must kill. You are a broken, miserable thing. And the only thing that makes you forget that are the broken, miserable things you do."
He smiles even though there is nothing remotely funny to smile about.
"You are not wrong."
The man pounds a fist against his desk. Hatred, pure and undiluted, radiates from his face.
"My wife and children are dead because of you."
"For your crimes, they had to die."
"I did nothing but protect the people of Llael!"
"By serving Khador. By identifying Resistance members to kayazy Eliminators. By protecting the people of Llael, you have sold out their very heart and soul."
"And where was your Queen then? Where was she when the nation ended and Llael crumbled all around us?"
"It does not matter where she was then. All that matters is that she is here now."
"I disagree."
"Yes. Which is why you are behind that desk and I am in front of it."
The man leans back into his chair. He straightens his coat and tie. It is the act of a dead man preparing to die.
"Do your worst then."
He nods and steps aside, revealing the spinning barrels of two identical rotor cannons.
The Cyclone fires.
++++++
He wakes when it is not yet time to wake.
Propped up against the Cyclone's leg, a blanket covering his lower half. They had offered him a bed, but he had refused. He is not yet comfortable in their presence to do anything but respond with rejection. He has also grown used to the experience of sleeping out in the field when on campaign.
Reflexively, he looks up at the night sky. A thousand blinking stars in a hundred different constellations wink back at him.
He understands what has just happened in his mindscape. A ghost of the past. A replay of memory. A nightmare.
He finds it curious that in his original world, the only dreams he could dream was a single memory of the past, fragmented and imperfect. Now in this new world, he dreams the same memories, but from a different past.
He stands because there is little else to do after one wakes.
This will not be the last thought he will have on this subject. This will not be the last nightmare he dreams.
++++++
Fleur Delacour exited the floo. Clear green eyes waited for her, alight with impatience.
A year ago, those same eyes belonged to a competitor in a multi-school event called the Triwizard Tournament. Now they belonged to a friend.
"Took your sweet time, didn't you?" Rose Potter said.
The French witch smiled. Once she had considered the Girl-Who-Lived brash, impulsive, and generally unbearable. After the Second Task, she had been forced to revaluate her opinion. By the Third Task, the two had become close. What happened after the Third Task made the Champions grow even closer.
"Oui," the quarter-Veela said primly before turning serious, "I heard what happened. Are you alright?"
"As alright as someone who just survived a Death Eater attack could be."
Fleur looked at her in concern.
"You sound angry."
"I am angry. They wouldn't let me fight with them, Fleur. Not even when the danger was right there. I faced Voldemort in that damned graveyard and they still don't think I'm capable."
"Zey are concerned for you."
"Maybe so. But enough about me. How's the job search going?"
At this, Fleur's expression darkened. Ever since Voldemort's return, race supremacists and pureblood ideologues had seemingly sprung up all over Europe. While none of them had as much clout as those in magical Britain, they too had started worming into positions of influence. For a quarter-Veela freshly graduated from school, this meant a lot of doors had suddenly and inexplicitly been shut in her face.
She had written to Rose about this very subject, and much were the angry and frustrated letters the two had exchanged. In fact, it was the very reason she was here.
"Not well. I had hoped my letter to Bill asking for a recommendation to work as a Curse Breaker at Gringotts would go zrough. Even an internship would do. But I have not heard from him for weeks."
Rose looked at her sympathetically.
"That bad huh?"
"I can't explain it! It is as zough everyone has gone mad! It is as zough… as zough…"
"It is as though a Dark Lord just rose from the dead and started blabbering about pureblood nonsense all over again."
Fleur huffed.
"Oui."
"Well, if my parents and the Order actually started training me, maybe this Dark Lord problem will go away sooner rather than later."
Some of the frustration faded from the quarter-Veela when she heard her friend's own frustration leaking out.
"Zey are worried about you. Zey have already lost one child. They don't want to lose anozzer."
A peculiar look appeared over Rose's face.
"Yeah… about that… I don't think they have to worry about that anymore."
Fleur blinked at the strangeness in the girl's tone.
"Has somezing happened?"
"Oh something happened alright. My brother. He's back."
"He's back," repeated Fleur, not quite understanding.
"Yup! Caused quite a scene too."
"I don't understand. You have anozzer brother?"
"Nope! Just the one. You know, my twin?"
The quarter-Veela blinked again. Then started.
"Your twin? Ze-Boy-Who-Disappeared? I zought he… you know… disappeared?"
"You and the entire magical population of Britain," her friend deadpanned.
"How?"
Rose looked Fleur dead in the eye.
"Would you believe me if I said he appeared in a magical flash of light with four giant mechanical robots?"
Fleur frowned.
"Non."
"Well, he appeared in a magical flash of light with four giant mechanical robots."
++++++
The scars on his shoulder and back had made her redouble her efforts.
Lily had spent what had been a mostly sleepless night working on it. At first glance, it was an unobtrusive thing. A thumb-sized silver pendant, attached to a stainless steel chain. The simplicity of the item hid the true nature beneath. She had woven a latticework of powerful charms and spells into the amulet's very fabric. Spell theory had been one of her strengths when she was a student at Hogwarts and the concept behind her latest creation called upon every late night she had spent in the dorms pouring over ancient tomes and going over scrawled notes.
The theory behind it was sound. Now she only needed to test it.
She hurried down the stairs. Molly, bless the woman, had elected to cook breakfast while she was preoccupied. As the rest of the Order filed in, Lily sat next to the one the amulet was meant for.
He had eschewed the everyday clothes they had set aside for him. The smell of machine oil and coal dust clung to his frame. Lily pressed the pendant towards him.
"Harry! Please wear this!"
The boy looked at the item in her hands dubiously. A single raised eyebrow was enough to convey his skepticism. She had to push the amulet towards him again before he gingerly picked up the talisman by the chain and secured it around his neck.
"Harry?" Lily said breathlessly, "Can you understand me?"
Her son's brows furrowed. The frown was still apparent when he looked up.
"I can…" his voice was the voice of mute man who had just rediscovered the ability to speak, "…understand you."
Lily laughed in delight and hugged the boy.
"It worked! Thank Merlin it worked!"
"Way to go, Lils!" James whooped.
The Order of the Phoenix displayed similar outbursts. Seeing the smiling and happy faces around her, Lily realized that it had been far too long since they had anything to feel positive about.
The sole difference was Harry, who had remained stoic and unresponsive while in her embrace. The boy's eyes were riveted to the amulet dangling around his neck. A contemplative expression had formed over his features.
"How are we able to communicate?" he asked when she let him go, "Is this… mind-magik?" the way he said those words lowered the temperature in the room by several degrees.
"No, Harry," Lily hastened to explain, "It's just magic. I used a wide variety of charms and spells to produce the effect and enchanted the amulet to retain it. If everything works, the amulet should take what you are saying in your language and translate it into our language. It doesn't affect the mind at all. Just what happens after the mind has already made a decision."
Professor McGonagall looked immensely proud after she had finished her explanation.
Harry took the clarification at face value. He glanced down at the pendant one last time.
"If what you say is true," he said slowly, "then this is powerful magic."
Lily smiled then felt suddenly nervous.
"Harry," she ventured, "maybe… maybe it would be alright if we introduced ourselves? Properly, that is."
The boy thought for a moment before inclining his head.
"This is agreeable to me."
An expectant hush followed. Lily knew that her proximity to him would mean that she would be the first.
"Harry," she said hopefully, "I'm your mother. Lily Potter."
"Lily Potter," Harry repeated.
Lily was disappointed that there was no affection in his tone. Reflexively, she knew what she asked for was impossible. Fifteen years had passed without sight or sound of her son. There was no emotional connection and if there ever was to be, it would need to be built slowly from the ground up. Nonetheless, she desperately wanted to hear him call out for her in the same way all sons instinctively called out to their mothers. Instead, when he spoke her name, his voice never rose an octave above polite dispassion.
She swallowed her disappointment and gestured to the girl sitting opposite of the boy.
"Harry, this is your twin sister, Rose Potter."
Harry nodded at her.
"Rose Potter," he said with firm civility.
Rose waved back but didn't say anything at all. James, sitting next to her, tried his best to put on a fatherly mien.
"Harry, I'm James Potter. Your father."
"Drain Potter," the boy said politely back.
James blinked.
"It's James, Harry. James Potter."
"Drain Potter," Harry said again.
"James."
"Drain."
James looked helplessly at his wife.
"It must be the amulet having problems interpreting names," Lily reasoned, "Many English names have their origins in ancient languages like Latin or Anglo-Saxon. If the language Harry is speaking does not have the same roots, then the enchantments I've put on the amulet will struggle with translating the meaning correctly."
"Then how did he get your name right?" asked Sirius.
"Both Lily and Potter are not just names but also words in English. Same with Rose. It's the names that don't have a corresponding meaning in English that will cause trouble."
"That's a lot of names," Remus murmured by Sirius's side, "and a lot of uncertainty."
"I guess the only way to know for sure is to try," Sirius turned to Harry, "Well pup, my name is Sirius Black. Rogue, handsome, and by chance most definitely your godfather!"
The boy again inclined his head, this time in greeting.
"A Siren's Back."
Remus sputtered into his cup. Snape grinned into his cup. Sirius managed to retain some of his dignity by turning to face Lily.
"Black isn't just a name. Last time I checked, it also had an actual meaning. Unless someone recently changed the English dictionary when I wasn't looking."
Lily wrung her hands sheepishly.
"Some of the charms may be influencing the thought process behind the word formation. They may be translating what they think is the correct interpretation instead of the actual interpretation. There was no other way."
Remus looked at the circle of amused faces.
"Nothing should be worse than A Siren's Back, right?" he asked no one in particular.
"How does a siren's back even work?" muttered Sirius under his breath.
Remus smiled encouragingly at Harry.
"I'm Remus Lupin, Harry. I'm technically also your godfather."
"Tree Musk Loop Inn," the boy said courteously back.
A second of complete silence passed.
"It was worse," Rose said flatly.
Remus hid his face in his hands to avoid the grins being directed his way. Sirius patted his friend's shoulder in brotherly comfort.
"You know, Tree Musk old pal, the more I think about it, the better A Siren's Back is starting to sound."
"Am I saying your names wrong?" Harry suddenly interjected.
Rose looked at him oddly. The whole room looked at him oddly.
"You mean you can't tell?"
"I have so far followed the instructions to the letter. However, your behavior indicates otherwise."
"If he can't tell he's saying our names wrong, that might be a problem," James said.
"We can slowly teach him the correct pronunciation," Lily responded, "It may take some time to adjust, but eventually the amulet will be working with him instead of against him. In the meantime, the only thing we can do is continue the introductions."
"Then I suppose it's our turn," Molly said with a happy smile, "I'm Molly Weasley, dear, and this is my husband Arthur Weasley. It's so good to see you back with your family again."
"Jolly Weasel. A Third Weasel."
Molly looked stunned. Arthur coughed into his hand.
Harry noticed and cocked his head to one side.
"Did I say it wrong again?"
The Weasley matron managed a half-smile in response.
"That's quite alright, dear. I'm sure you'll get it down eventually."
From the looks on everyone's faces, Lily sincerely doubted that would be true.
The introductions continued on. There was a brief uproar when her son pronounced Severus Snape "Severed Snake" but the rest of the introductions proceeded without incident. By the time they reached Dumbledore, the old headmaster's eyes were twinkling.
"I am Albus Dumbledore, Harry," the aged man said, "and dare I say it has been a most interesting experience meeting you."
Harry nodded.
"A Bus's Dumbbell Doors," he said to the greatest wizard in recent memory.
++++++
Fleur had watched with a form of horrid fascination as Harry Potter had seemingly and effortlessly butchered the names of everyone around the table. It wasn't the fact that the pronunciation itself was wrong. It was the fact that the boy voiced each wrong syllable with the strength of uttermost conviction.
And then all too quickly, it was her turn. Fleur honestly didn't know what to expect. So she did as the others had done before him.
"Fleur Delacour," she said and graced him with a polite bow of her head.
The boy looked at her seriously. His strange choice of attire, the segmented armor plating covering his front, the dirt-streaked goggles sitting above his head, all of them made the whole experience entirely surreal.
"Flower Décor," he said back.
There had been a time when Fleur would have bristled at the words and the insinuation contained within. But her less than stellar performance during the Triwizard Tournament and her own growing ability to self-reflect had changed and reshaped her perspective.
She had, as her friend Rose Potter had described it, gotten over herself.
"Zat is…" she paused, thinking, "…remarkably accurate."
It should have ended there, would have ended there, had her friend turned enemy, Rose Damned Potter, not opened her mouth.
"It's not Flower, Harry," the Girl-Who-Lived grinned brilliantly, "It's Fleur."
"Flower."
"Fleur."
"Flower."
"Fleur!"
"That's what I said."
"No, you said Flower. It's Fleur. Fllleeeeeeuuurrrr."
Harry nodded when his twin had finished. The expression on his face was one of firm solemnity. He turned and fixed Fleur with burning, emerald eyes.
"Floor," he said, as though the complete annihilation of human names was something that ought to occur in the course of normal conversation, "Nice to meet you, Floor Décor."
++++++
After that, they told him everything they knew. A rundown of wizarding society. The divide between wizards and muggles. A short history of all that had transpired in the years that he had been gone. It took several hours and through all of it he remained silent, green eyes flickering to whoever was speaking but never speaking himself.
"So," he finally said after everything had finished, "You are losing this war."
Lily blinked. Out of all the things they had told him, he had chosen this particular facet to initiate conversation.
The boy's eyes traveled slowly across everyone present in the room.
"What is the disposition of the enemy?"
"I'm sorry?" James exchanged glances with his wife, equally unsure.
"What is the nature of the foe?" their son expanded, "Troop numbers. What is the quality and type of opposition you will face? Armament types. What is the possibility of heavy weapons deployment? Logistic situation. How well is the enemy supplied? Morale factors. How much more are they willing to kill you than you are willing to kill them?"
"Harry, I don't think-" Lily began to say.
"Most of them will be Death Eaters," Snape interrupted her. To Lily's surprise, the usual sneer in his voice when talking to a Potter was not present, "I don't know the exact numbers but Voldemort has been heavily recruiting. The werewolves have already joined him. There is also talk of giants being sworn into his service."
"The Death Eaters are the ones I encountered earlier?"
"Correct," growled Moody.
"They are an unprofessional rabble. A warband. A haphazard collection of individuals thrown together by a greater force. I would not consider them fit for any form of military duty."
"Also correct," Moody growled again, though this time the ex-Auror had the beginnings of a grin on his face.
"The werewolves," the boy pressed on, "if they are anything like the beasts I know, will be a harder task to handle. I am unfamiliar with giants, but I have seen enough gargantuans in my life to know that this will present an out of the context problem. Are you equipped to deal with these threats?"
"The Order of the Phoenix is doing its best to combat Death Eater activity," McGonagall said simply, peering disapprovingly over her glasses.
"I am not asking for your opinion on how you are combating these threats," Harry's response was curt and to the point, "I am asking you how you are combating these threats."
"The Order is keeping track of Death Eaters all across magical Britain," Sirius spoke up, slightly bemused at the direction of the conversation, "We warn muggleborn families if they are being targeted and help them escape."
"So you are not combating these threats."
"And how did you come to this conclusion?" Snape scowled.
The boy's eyes flickered towards him.
"Because you are warning them to run instead of warning them to fight."
"The Order of the Phoenix is dedicated to saving lives," said McGonagall, "not spending them."
"You do that by winning the war."
The silence that followed was not because of the bluntness in the words, but because there was a glimmer of truth in them.
All eyes eventually turned to Albus Dumbledore. The old headmaster had steepled his fingers under his chin. He looked thoughtfully at the boy in question.
"Harry, may I ask why you are so interested in this subject?"
"You are in a war. I am a warcaster. I would, by the definition of the word, be automatically interested."
"And what is a warcaster?"
The boy frowned slightly.
"I do not know what the title would mean in this world, but the closest approximation would be war-wizard. Battle-mage. The label is different but the purpose is ultimately the same."
"Wizard?" James perked up at the insinuation, "Does that mean you know magic?"
"I do."
"But we haven't seen you cast."
"In my world, one does not need to cast a spell to be considered magical."
A murmur arose from the room.
"Does it have something to do with those… things, outside?" asked Remus.
"They are called warjacks," Harry said, "and it has everything to do with them."
"Are we just assuming that the boy just appeared out of another world?" Moody grumbled, "It all seems so far-fetched."
"There is no evidence to suggest otherwise," Shacklebolt said musingly.
"For someone who just jumped out of another dimension, you're taking this very well, Harry," Sirius joked.
"I understand," the boy nodded, "It requires an altered perspective. The current possibility of what has transpired does not align with reality. It is a paradigm change. A fundamental shift in the underlying assumptions of how the world works. But the impossible has already happened, so what is the use of pondering it?
"I appreciate your pragmatic approach, Harry," Dumbledore smiled faintly, "But surely there must be some explanation?"
"Yes. There is. I was involved in a great battle. A decisive one. We won, but before the end, an enemy sorcerer used a..." Harry paused, seemingly trying to search for the right word, "…a malificar on me. A truly dangerous and ancient spell. It served as the catalyst. Magic did the rest."
Lily closed her eyes. The evidence was there but she didn't want to believe it. She needed to hear it from him.
"What you did out there, Harry," she said softly, "to the Death Eaters. Is that something you have done before?"
Her son locked eyes with her.
"Yes," he said without the slightest hint of hesitation.
"But you're just fifteen…" James murmured.
Harry looked at them blankly.
"War can happen to anyone. Including those my age. In that regard, I am not unusual."
"But to actively participate in war at your age," Dumbledore said neutrally, "Would you agree with me to say that is something entirely different."
The boy acquiesced to the point by dipping his head.
"In that I am more unusual than most."
"And what do you believe your role would be in our war?"
Lily started. She did not like where this was going at all.
"Albus…"
The old headmaster raised a placating hand.
"Lily, please. I would like to hear the answer from Harry."
Her son drummed his fingers on the table in thought. It wasn't so much that he didn't have an answer. Something about the way his fingers tapped rhythmically against the table edge suggested he had too many answers and was thinking of the most correct one.
"All wars escalate," he finally said, "It is the nature of conflict. One side escalates and the other must do the same. The side that fails to escalate loses. Your enemy has already escalated. You need to counter. I am that counter."
"He's right," Fleur looked slightly stunned at herself that she had spoken out loud, "About ze escalation part. Already in France zere has been a rise in pureblood sentiment. What is happening in England is also causing ze beginning of ze same zings in France and even ze rest of Europe."
Dumbledore took in the information silently. His next words, though, were for Harry.
"And you would do this? Without understanding our cause? Without knowing the reason behind the Order's creation?"
The boy shrugged.
"There is a saying in my world. An axiom to describe the profession. A sword cares not where it falls, only that it is swung."
"Is that just a saying, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "or is it a personal philosophy?"
The boy glanced at the aged wizard. It was as though he was judging if the question itself was deserving of an answer.
"It is a purpose," he said at last.
++++++
They followed their son outside to where the golems stood ready and waiting. Lily saw that they had been shut down, though their definition of shut down seemed to differ from the muggle machines she was accustomed to. The once fiery eyes were dull and no movements came from the articulated limbs, but there was still a sense of life beating from underneath their metal hulls.
When Harry stopped to a halt in front of them, it pained her to think that they, the boy and his warjacks, looked more like a family than the ones related to blood standing opposite of him.
James saw it too and when he spoke there was a rawness to his voice that Lily had seldom heard before.
"Harry, I know this is as sudden for you as it is for us, but I want you to know that we're here for you. If there's anything you need, anything at all, you just tell us."
Harry glanced at him. A considering look appeared over his face.
"Yes," he finally said, "There is something you can assist me with."
James brightened visibly.
"You got it, son. Anything at all."
"In all truth, I needed these items yesterday but with the language barrier in place," the boy played with the amulet around his neck absentmindedly, "I could not explain in detail. Do you have a pen and paper ready?"
"No, but if you tell me now I can write it down later."
"Very well," Harry nodded, "I require a full assortment of warjack-grade mechanist tools, ten gallons of machine oil and lubricants, five tons of coal, and twenty thousand rounds of Metal Storm Chain Gun ammunition."
They stared. Then they started talking at once.
"What are warjack-grade mechanist tools?" asked James, wondering.
"Why do you need twenty thousand rounds of live ammunition?" asked Lily, alarmed.
"What are you going to do with the oil and lubricant?" asked Rose in interest.
"I require the tools to repair my warjacks," the one being questioned replied, "I require the ammunition to feed my Cyclone's guns. I require the oil and lubricant for maintenance purposes."
"Oh so it's that type of maintenance," Rose waggled her eyebrows.
"Rose!" Lily exclaimed.
"Yes," Harry confirmed, "That type of maintenance," he tilted his head to one side, "Is there another type of maintenance done on this world? If so, I would like to learn how."
Rose's face ran a gamut of emotions before settling on mild disappointment.
"It was… It was a joke… Never mind. You just ruined it."
James leaned in and jabbed his elbow lightly into his daughter's side.
"I thought it was fairly good, myself."
"Thanks dad!"
Lily smiled despite herself before turning back towards Harry.
"I don't think getting these things will be a problem. But… it will be expensive."
"We can try and get some of them," James scratched the back of his head awkwardly, "The tools and the oil, but it will put a dent into our savings. Don't get me wrong, Harry, we want to help you but we don't have the means right now. The Potters were once a powerful and influential House in magical Britain, but by my father's time, our fortune had dwindled a lot. Most of what remains is going to funding the Order and whatever is left is for Rose's school expenses."
"So it is not a problem of supply but a problem of expense," Harry deduced.
James looked like he wanted to explain further but stopped himself.
"Yes. That is one way to put it."
"It is a hindrance," the boy admitted, "but not a large one. As long as supplies can be sourced, the logistics issue can be mitigated. I have enough fuel and ammo for one more extended operation. I will solve the question of expense during that time."
"How do you plan to do that?" Rose enquired.
Harry looked at her neutrally.
"Warcasters enlisted into the military are paid by their respective nation-states. The maintenance and repair of their warjacks is subsidized by the national treasury. The warjacks themselves are owned by the state. For those warcasters unaffiliated with a nation, the onus is on us to keep our engines in working shape. Contracts of employment during wartime is common and expected. Should the monetary amount in the contract not be sufficient enough for a battlegroup's upkeep, then suitable methods will be used by the warcaster to appropriate the funds he or she deems necessary."
James was the first to realize the implication.
"That sounds like-"
"Yes," Harry stopped him with a single word, "It sounds exactly what it sounds like."