Chapter Text
Harry slammed into the table and slid about ten feet along the wood, knocking off goblets and plates with enough noise to silence the entirety of Hogwarts.
Because he was in Hogwarts, despite having no plans to visit the school that day. Only Hogwarts had tables quite this long. The ringing silence being slowly overtaken by whispers was also pretty unique to a bunch of students who’d been shocked silent for all of a single moment. And then there was the stew in Harry’s hair; he’d never been able to replicate the taste of Hogwarts stew and he’d certainly tried.
So yes, Harry was in Hogwarts. Which wasn’t great, because consent was important for travel plans and being magically teleported by a mysterious green portal was never going to be great, but overall Hogwarts was better than many other options. Like a cave full of inferi. Or the Dursley’s. Or the Arctic Ocean.
Harry felt his lower back throb where each metal cup had clipped his spine and groaned, but still refused to open his eyes. If he couldn’t see the many wands pointed his direction, then they didn’t exist. Instead he reached underneath himself, removed a goblet digging into his hipbone and set it gently on the table with a quiet thump.
“I’m sorry for ruining your dinner,” Harry said to whomever happened to be near. He still didn’t open his eyes to confirm. Confirming meant he had to plan and he didn’t want to plan. He wanted his back to stop hurting. That couldn’t possibly be too much to ask.
“It-it’s alright?” The voice was young, possibly not a first year, but certainly no more than third.
Harry hummed. “I don’t believe you. But I appreciate the lie.”
Before he continue a conversation that he had honestly no idea how to complete, there was a series of other thumps that sent a vibration or two through the table under his back. One was gentle, but solid, and the other happened in two quick beats, like a foot then a knee hitting the wood.
“Did you,” Harry asked the darkness of his eyelids, knowing the answer but wanting the words said for future teasing purposes, “really just jump through a portal of dubious criminal origins and no confirmed output location just because I got pushed through?”
“Yes,” Hermione declared even as he listened to the sound of her steps as she strolled down the table (of course she’d landed on her feet) and felt the cool jasmine dust of her magic wash over him. There was a shifting sound and he imagined some of the teachers or older students had been about to protest her use of magic, before recognizing the clear diagnostic incantations she was directing Harry’s way.
Ron shifted, and Harry could pictured his crouched form clearly, one knee down for balance, yet ready to shift whichever way was needed. He’d stay low to reduce the intimidation factor as well, since he towered over people even without standing on a table.
“Harry, mate, you should know that’s how this works by now. You get into trouble, we follow, and we all get out. It’d be stupid to mess with something that works.”
Harry hummed in acknowledgement but threw an arm over his eyes.
He could feel Hermione and Ron exchanging a look. “So, Harry, mate, best friend o’mine. Have you actually looked at the trouble you’ve landed in this time? Because, I got to admit, it’s a bit of a doozy.”
“Nope.”
Hermione sighed, or maybe it was Ron. Their sighs were starting to sound awfully similar. Maybe it was a couple thing? Harry was pretty sure the student who was sitting closest to his head suppressed a laugh.
Ron was the one that spoke. “We’ll we’re in-“
“Hogwarts, I know.” As if Harry would ever not recognize his home.
“Great, do you know-“
“That being in Hogwarts should be impossible? That these wards are not the ones that Hermione helped rebuild from the ground up and I added power to for three days straight? That there are at least four magical signatures in this room that should not be an option? That it’s fucking July and there should be no one in the school in the first place? Yes, yes I do. Why do you think I’m keeping my eyes shut?”
“Willful denial,” Hermione said.
Harry nodded. “Yes, that too. Besides, what if I’m hurt? Shouldn’t move if I’m hurt.”
“You’re not,” Hermione answered, apparently done with her diagnostics. “Just some bruising on your back.”
“Besides, not like pain would actually stop you,” Ron added.
Harry said nothing, because Ron wasn’t exactly wrong. Hermione sighed again. “Come on, you baby. If you get up now I’ll even give you a potion for those bruises.”
“Bribery will not work on me.”
Ron snorted. “Bribery’s about the only thing that works on you, mate.”
Again, Ron wasn’t exactly wrong. Many had learned that the hard way when threats backfired spectacularly, usually with many brightly coloured and dangerous lights.
Harry still sat up, because pain potions were great and also because there was very little he wouldn’t do for Hermione.
“Speaking of things that don’t work,” Harry said as he accepted and downed the potion, “I don’t suppose one of you can confirm what happened?”
“You mean with the idiot threatening the child with a stolen artifact in the middle of Diagon Alley?” Ron asked. “Don’t worry, kid’s safe. You managed to get him completely clear with all your usual heroic dramatics before getting yourself punted through an unknown portal.”
Harry ignored the sass in Ron’s voice. “Good. Would hate to have gotten into all this trouble for nothing.”
Harry fought against a sigh as he finally opened his eyes. The first thing he saw, naturally, was Dumbledore. Harry wasn’t sure if this was because he’d already been turned in the direction of the familiar magic signature, because the man was standing at the front of the Hall, or because that was just the way Harry’s life worked.
“Hullo, Dumbledore. Thanks for not trussing us up like spring chickens and carting us off to the Auror cells.” Harry leaned his head on the arm that was flung over his knee. He really wasn’t sold on actually seeing the mess around him, but what was done was done.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. Harry didn’t let that fool him; if they’d made one move towards the students Dumbledore or one of the staff now interspersed throughout the Hall would have done much worse than trussing them up. One thing that Dumbledore and Harry had always agreed with, however, was that you could always learn quite a lot by letting things play out.
Harry and his friends had been a surprise, but hadn’t quite made themselves a threat yet. He’d have to make sure they stayed that way.
“Hello, dear boy,” Dumbledore said and Harry was quite proud of his lack of flinching, “it’s quite all right. The wards seem rather insistent that you’re friendly.”
“Oh very friendly. Very friendly indeed,” Harry replied while fighting a blush, conscious of the way the wards were brushing against his skin like Crookshanks when he had the good treats in his pocket.
Hermione and Ron snorted, both completely aware that the wards loved Harry. Which was apparently true no matter what version of Hogwarts Harry was in.
Harry was maybe technically Lord Slytherin now, what with Right of Conquest, and that maybe technically made him a Founders Heir, which maybe technically meant that the not-sentient but not-not sentient School was even more fond of him than when he was attending Hogwarts.
Harry hadn’t really dealt with that with his own Hogwarts though, just enjoyed the magic equivalent of a castle-hug whenever he visited, and certainly had no intention of mentioning it now. He had learned about acceptable risks, thanks very much Hermione.
“Good, good. Perhaps you can help me with a small conundrum.” Dumbledore peered down his spectacles. “Hogwarts seems to be rather sure that three of you are students, or at least were students. And yet, I find myself at quite the loss. You see, I have been Headmaster for quite some time, and a Professor for longer, but, alas, I have no recollection of any of you. Somehow,” Dumbledore stroked his beard, “I doubt this is because you were unmemorable students.”
“Ah.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s fair. But we are, were students. Proud Gryffindors.” He gave an affable grin, only to get distracted by the Slytherin table and some comment about Gryffindor disruptiveness and brashness.
Harry’s gaze locked on Snape’s. Harry wasn’t even sure Snape had been the one to speak, but their eyes caught and held for an immeasurably long moment. Snape’s eyes looked bruised, not physically, exactly, though the boy could use some sleep. They were more like ghost bruises, bruises of phantom punches and cruel hands. How the hell no one realized what the boy was going through, Harry would never understand (then again, no one had ever guessed what Harry was going through, and Harry hadn’t turned himself into a master spy).
Harry blinked once, deliberately, and tilted his head to include the rest of the Slytherins without obviously turning his back on Snape. Not because Harry couldn’t trust Snape, but because the boy would surely read the move as a snub. “Hey, now. I’ll have you know the only reason I wasn’t a Slytherin was because I met a Slytherin bully on the train and asked the Hat to put me elsewhere.”
“That’s, that’s not how the Hat works?” One of the Ravenclaws said. Harry thought she might be related to Penelope Clearwater; they had the same cheekbones.
Hermione leaned around Harry, smiling tiredly as her eyes flicked constantly around the room. “Was for me. Nice even split between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.”
Several heads turned towards Ron, who grinned. “Don’t look at me. Gryffindor through and through!”
“Well, yeah-.”
“-you’re a Prewitt!”
Ron turned to grin at the two red-heads sitting at the Gryffindor table. “And you must be Gideon and Fabian-“ Ron was cut off by Harry’s silent silencio. Ron looked at his girlfriend for a moment, who wasn’t looking at wither of them but instead glaring at the school emblem on one of the larger banners, then turned and scowled at Harry.
“Nope. Not until we get the all clear from Hermione.” Harry shook his head, curls bouncing. “I’m not fucking the timeline over if I can help it.”
“Just need another moment.” Hermione sounded distracted, having turned her perusal to the staff table. At least three of the staff looked cowed and everyone else was blinking from the timeline piece of information. Which, really, Harry thought should be obvious. Then again, dark lords, giant snakes, and zombie lakes. His standard for normal events was probably a little skewed, and that wasn’t even considering he’d already gone time travelling.
Harry let out a breath of air in a deep sound that possibly came from the bottom of his lungs, but also might have been lurking around the edges of his soul. He rubbed his hands over his cheeks and up under his glasses to briefly cover his eyes. His hair still felt tacky with soup.
“Okay, come on, mate,” Harry said to Ron. “Help me here.” Harry slid down off the table, and turned to face the ruined meal and scattered plates the Hufflepuffs hadn’t done much to fix. “What a waste. Dobby and your mother would be ashamed of us.”
Harry raised his wand, smiling absently as the Holly wood hummed, and decided to take a page out of Dumbledore’s book and cast silently. A couple of precise swishes and flicks had the plates and goblets rolling off the ground to settle back on the table. There was a series of quiet bangs and thumps and then a series of odd pinging sounds when Harry scowled and gave a firm jab with his wand and all the dents and dings popped back out of the tableware.
No half-assed jobs done on his part.
Ron tapped Harry’s shoulder and nodded to the slowly spinning ball of spilled food and drinks that the redhead had summoned and contained. It wasn’t huge, exactly, since they’d apparently come crashing near the end of dinner, but it was definitely still sizeable. “What do you think?”
Harry ran a hand through his hair and thought that they’d lived too long in a tent on rations for that amount of waste not to sting, but also that they were hardly going to give floor food to the kids. He reached for one of the now empty pitchers and gave it a dramatic twirl, appreciating the gasps when it grew into a large barrel.
Ron directed the food-waste in as Harry dragged a scrap of parchment and a muggle pen out from his possibly illegally enlarged pockets. With a hasty scrawl Harry wrote a note to the house elves and tacked it on to the barrel.
After a beat’s pause, he also reached into the pocket and pulled out a sealed jar of candied ginger. It had been one of Dobby’s favourites and Harry had taken to picking it up whenever he’d passed through Diagon (he may have also taken to hoarding preservable food, but that was neither here nor there and also something that he was pretty sure Hermione still did and she was always right).
“What?” Harry said to Ron’s exasperated yet fond look. “I asked the house elves to send the ruined food to the creatures for classes. That’s extra work. And we ruined their efforts for dinner. Something to make up for that seems perfectly reasonable!”
“Sure, mate.”
“I’m being courteous. I’m a courteous person!” The little firstie next to Harry giggled. Harry thought that was unfair considering they’d only known each other for less than an hour.
Ron looked at Harry blandly, the kind of bland only achievable form someone who has shared his least favourite sandwich with you on a train and suddenly found themselves bound in a pact of loyalty, lions, and shitty communication skills. “So courteous. That’s why you called that bloke in the Diagon Alley-“
“Shh!” Harry didn’t silence Ron this time, but that was because he was in the middle of setting a barrel and jar of candy on a table and watching it pop away. “First of all, that bloke had committed at least three petty felonies and was in the process of shoving me through a mysterious portal. A portal that was green. Green! When has anything good ever come for that, I ask you? So he was rude and I don’t need to be courteous to rude people. Secondly,” Harry waved his arm for emphasis, “firsties. Don’t use that kind of language around the kids, Ron!”
Ron’s response was cut off by the firstie, who was probably also a split between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, because he reached up and tugged on Harry’s sleeve. Harry met brown eyes for longer then a couple of seconds and came to the abrupt realization that this kid was probably a Diggory. Not Amos, certainly, which meant this kid had probably died in the next few years.
Harry took in a rattling breath that only Ron recognized as shaky, and grinned at Probably-Diggory.
“What’s up, kid?”
“I’ve heard worse,” Probably-Diggory said.
“Sure, but I’m already on thin-ice with your Professors with the whole crash-landing intruder thing. I’m not going to make it worse by teaching you bad language.”
“Okay.” The kid tugged on his sleeve again, very lightly, “But are you going to teach magic? Cause that barrel thing was cool.”
Harry laughed, and reached forward to ruffle the kid’s hair, appreciating absently how many older kids tensed slightly so they’d be quicker to come to the rescue. McGonagall was also only a few broom’s lengths away and the only Professor to have approached them from the back.
“That was just silent transfiguration, kid. Professor McGonagall will teach you in a couple of years.”
“Really?”
Any reply Harry would have made was cut off by Hermione’s clear clap and quiet, “Okay.”
Harry gave a quick wink to Probably-Diggory and an approving nod to the rest of the Hufflepuffs before moving with Ron to stand closer to Hermione.
“I just need one question to be sure enough in my conclusions to start forming a plan of action.”
“So glad you’ll be forming a plan, girlie.” One of the professors who hadn’t left the table, a man with rumpled robes and several prominent scars, gave what could be only called a condescending smirk as he spoke. Harry did not like this man.
Hermione didn’t either, clearly, as she ignored him completely to smile up at the woman next to Dumbledore. “Excuse me, Professor, but could you please tell me your name and post?”
The woman, tall, older, and the kind of frail that spoke of dignity instead of weakness, leaned forward, resting her chin on one hand and letting a slightly mischievous smile flit about her lips.
“Well, now. And here I’d hoped being the first Squib Professor of Hogwarts would have achieved me a place in at least some of the History books. My name is Ariana Dumbledore, young lady, and I’m the Care of Magical Creatures Professor.”
Hermione hummed. Harry blinked. Ron whistled. The castle bristled.
It was kind of amazing, actually, how quickly all the students (including a number of Slytherins) tensed more in that instant than they had since the actual impact of Harry’s spine against wood and metal.
Harry wondered what Ariana Dumbledore had done to earn that kind of loyalty, that kind of love. He’d defeated a Dark Lord and still wouldn’t expect that kind of genuine response from anyone except the Weasleys and the DA.
Remus Lupin, in particular, seemed ready to leap to the defence of this woman. Harry had been scanning the room as Hermione talked, because threats could from anywhere at anytime and he was a soldier no matter how far away his own war actually was, and Remus would be a threat. Harry was immediately and entirely certain that if they hurt Ariana, even just with words, Remus would never forgive and certainly never forget.
And harmful words were what Remus was expecting, if the way his fingers clenched at the wood of the table indicated. Words he couldn’t block, but had heard many times before.
Harry didn’t have to wonder at that relationship, not really, for all it was one his Remus hadn’t experienced. Harry had already spent hours holding a young Teddy as the boy cried his way though full moons, wondering what might have happened if Remus had something more than the support and love of his best friends (an experience that Harry wasn’t knocking, certainly, or undervaluing, since the support and love of his best friends were the only reason he was alive).
But Harry had always recognized his Remus as someone who understood what it meant to be alone. Who’d understood that Hogwarts was home yet a home that could and would routinely be taken away.
And adult, a teacher, a Care of Magical Creatures Professor who was competent enough to recognize that Remus wasn’t a creature, to talk about the words and cruelties sent the way of people who were seen as inferior when that was the farthest possibility from the truth? Well, Harry couldn’t even imagine, not really.
He could understood devotion, though, and found himself fervently hoping that this grown version of Ariana, this woman that Dumbledore’s sister had become, was worthy of alternate-Remus’s regard. (Harry had certainly never felt he was worth what his Remus had seen in him, and would spend the rest of his life trying to be).
Hermione slid her hand down Harry’s arm to briefly squeeze his wrist, because she was far too all-seeing, then dragged his antlion back to her conclusion. “We’re in an alternate dimension.”
Ron whistled again.
Hermione just nodded. “Technically, time travel wouldn’t be incorrect, but since the dimensional changes are significant and time could simply pass at a slower comparative rate, I feel more comfortable with the dimensional classification.”
Harry’s mind focused on two immediate paths. One was less painful than the other, so he went with it.
“Ron.” Harry’s voice was iron and copper.
“Yes?” Ron turned sharply at Harry’s tone.
“When we get back: Remedial training.”
Ron crossed his arms. “Heck yeah. Full course. I’ll start planning.”
Hermione tilted her head and leaned into Ron. “And a policy review. I can push it through Kingsley.”
“Good.” Harry nodded before he started pacing, Ron and Hermione watching with understanding eyes. “This can’t happen again. Dimensional Travel. Dimensional travel because some two-bit thief stole a stupid yet apparently extremely dangerous magical artifact from some puffed-up Lord who wouldn’t know security if it bit him in the face despite surviving a full-fledged war. A war. And don’t get me started on the Aurors who thought it was a good idea to escort a criminal through Diagon Alley during the summer lunch rush with said stupid yet unidentified artifact unsecured.”
Harry spun on his heel so that his long coat flared around his knees, absently grateful for the paranoia and cooling charms that had led him to wear a coat with fully stocked expanded pockets in the middle of July.
“What if it wasn’t us? I mean, it’s always us. Always me. But what if it wasn’t? What if the landing point wasn’t Hogwarts? What if it was someone who didn’t carry three months of food in their pockets? What if it wasn’t someone who had people willing to hop into danger without thought but with training and supplies and plans? What if it was a kid?”
Harry stopped, face turning white. Hermione immediately stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Harry also immediately returned the hug, his arms curving tightly around her back, because Hermione’s hugs were amazing and she had trained him well.
“It was supposed to be a kid, Mione,” Harry said into her hair. “I fell in because I pushed a kid out of the way.”
Hermione’s arms tightened, all pointed elbows, but it was Ron who spoke. Or, well, scoffed.
“Don’t get all proud. Sure, you saved the kid, but that’s not why you fell. You’ve yet to master floo travel, much less a portkey. Portal seems like the most magical way to go, so of course you fell.”
“Thanks, mate,” Harry still mumbled it into Hermione’s hair, but looked up to glower at his friend. “And I can still out-fly you any day.”
Ron shrugged, because that was true, and grinned, because he’d successfully distracted Harry from his spiral.
“So you’re an Auror?”
Harry had to remind himself that he couldn’t just bury himself into Hermione’s hair forever, despite the fact that Hermione’s tightening hands seemed to indicate she wouldn’t mind. He also had to remind himself that this wasn’t his Hogwarts, and he really didn’t have the right to be annoyed at Dumbledore for letting the whole watch-things-play-out plan go so far. Not when it was really working in their favour.
Just because Harry would have scooped mysterious strangers away from children within the first five minutes regardless of whether ancient and semi-sentient magical castle liked them, didn’t mean everyone would. Harry was admittedly rather paranoid and tired of child-sized corpses.
He also didn’t really want to talk to the students, though. He’d been doing his best to keep focused on his friends and not interact with these students. He’d failed a bit with Snape and Remus, but he still hadn’t spoken to them. He wasn’t sure he could handle speaking to them.
And yet.
Harry turned and stared at his young alternate-father. (Harry was older than this version of his father. Harry was older, though just barely, than the age his father had died).
“No,” Harry answered before continuing to stare, to take in every line of his alternate-father’s face and every angle of his stance.
James Potter just grinned, not put-off by the abrupt response even as the moment stretched utill Ron realized Harry really wasn’t going to say anything else.
Hell, Harry couldn’t have if he wanted to (and he didn’t), because he’d made the mistake of looking away from James, and there was only one person who was going to be standing just off and behind James’s shoulder.
There was a smirk on Sirius’s face and a casual readiness to his stance that Harry figured would fool almost everyone in the room, even as Harry didn’t believe it for a single damn moment. Not when Sirius Black met Harry’s eyes with a gaze of steel frozen in the act of weeping.
Sirius, Harry was certain, had caught their mentions of war. Had caught the comments about food and waste and hoarding. Had caught the way that Hermione and Ron were never more than a grab away from Harry, gravitating towards his back and sides. Had caught the fact that Harry scanned for exits, threats, and adults. Had caught the panic leeching into Harry’s tone when talking about kids.
(Sirius, his Sirius, had been the only one Harry had ever told about the Dursley’s. Hermione knew, Ron suspected, Fred and George had pulled bars off his window, but Sirius had been the only one Harry had told. There had been no laughter that night and holy shit Harry still missed him).
As Hermione continued to hold of Harry’s breakdown by sheer force of hug, Ron picked up the quaffle and answered James’s question and Sirius’s regard because Ron was a true best friend.
“We’re consultants. Harry and I completed Auror training and Hermione some extra Ministry stuff but ended up deciding it wasn’t for us.”
“Wasn’t for you?” James cocked his head, sure he’d get a response.
Ron just shrugged, the coat George had specialized for him for Christmas bunching slightly on his shoulders. “Didn’t much like being told what to do. Had some bad experiences with that. Ministry still wanted us on the payroll, so ended up consulting.”
“And consulting means creating training regimens?” James asked, a smirk playing on his lips this time.
“Yup.” Ron popped the sound. “And just cleaning up the Ministry’s messes in general. You have a lot of questions,” he added when James opened his mouth again.
James grinned and pointed at Ron. “Yup. If you’re a Prewitt-“
“He is!” Yelled Fabian or Gideon from behind James.
“He’s a giant just like pops!” Yelled Gideon or Fabian from beside his twin.
“-then you’re” James pointed at Harry, “a Potter.”
Harry didn’t flinch, but he did step away from Hermione and pull his big-boy cloak on. He was a soldier and a consultant and much more besides. He could handle a baby James with a smug smirk on his lips and a baby Sirius with shadowed stars in his eyes.
He could.
“Are you sure about that?” Harry asked with his own raised eyebrow and slight smirk.
“Well.” James made a show up looking Harry up and down, settling the longest on the wild hair and the glasses Harry had never been able to bring himself to replace, once he realized they were a similar style to those of his father. “Yeah.”
“Hm.” Harry tapped his chin. “Nope, not my name, sorry.”
James spluttered and Sirius gave a snort as he patted James on the back.
“You don’t seem particularly worried about returning?” Sirius’s voice was low and gravelly, but not nearly so salt-filled with less time spent on rock surrounded by nightmares.
“I must confess myself curious about that as well.” And there was Dumbledore, finally down from his perch with his sister at his side.
Harry looked at him. “I’m not. Hermione’s got it covered.”
Everyone continued to look at him like he was supposed to expand on that information, which Harry rather thought his conversational habits so far would indicate against. Hermione, however, elbowed him in the side before making a little hand wave.
“Look, if getting back was an issue, Hermione would have reported the problem in her earlier assessment. She didn’t, which means she has at least several ideas on how to proceed, particularly since I’m pretty sure one of these two scooped up the offending artifact-
“Of course we did, mate. Just who do you think we are?”
“-and since there was also no mention of being out of your hair quickly, we will be discussing our return to our dimension at a later time. Alone, preferably, where many young ears can’t pickup knowledge that they probably shouldn’t have about jumping worlds and magic well beyond them.”
There was definite traces of approval in the eyes of both Dumbledores, but Harry was almost too busy bristling at the possible insult to his people to notice.
Hermione hummed and said, “The timeline of our return might be a little relevant. It’s not an inconsiderable amount of magic need to jump between dimensions, so the artifact is going to need to recharge before I can really start analyzing it. With what I got from the runes before they went dark and the owner's notes, I’m thinking about three to six months for analysis and return.”
Ron laughed at the surprised or confused faces around them. “So I maybe left out that the extra Ministry stuff Hermione was doing was mostly in the Unspeakable Department?”
“They have a really great library.” She turned to face Ron and placed her hands on her hips. “And speaking of, you will be helping with research once the artifact is recharged.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ron grinned. “And I know they have a great library. You mentioned it. Often. Enough to get access written into our consulting contract, even.” Ron’s eyes flicked over to Harry who was currently starring at the ceiling, ignoring them all, and then back to Hermione, who nodded with mischief lingering around her lips. “Man, Malfoy really came through with that one, didn’t he? Should have known he’d be absolutely vicious as a lawyer.”
There was a squawk from the far side of the room as a platinum blond carefully managed to avoid falling out of his chair. He the stormed up to them in as stately a manner as he could manage, trailing an even blonder Narcissa and a falsely nonchalant Snape.
“Malfoy?”
“Yup.” Ron grinned down at what must be a seventh-year Lucius. “Excellent lawyer. Really mellowed out once Volde-moldy wasn’t threatening his family.”
Malfoy wasn’t the only one struck silent by this sentence. Ron raised his eyebrows and looked around the room, clearly surprised by the slowly unfolding quiet but willing to go with it, for now.
Harry appreciated the quiet. It allowed the second thought, the second path that had presented itself with Hermione’s verdict of dimension travel, to fully unwind in his mind, like a slowly uncurling snake unfolding itself to scent around a room and taste the possibilities.
Because there were possibilities. Very distinct ones. And Harry had, at minimum, six to nine weeks to explore them.
A shooting star fell across the ceiling and Harry was watching to avoid looking at the students and his alternate-family with their cute smirks and sad eyes. He traced the path it would have taken and found himself, once again, caught.
He was staring at his mother. At his alternate-mother. She was watching with clever eyes and sharp focus and a little frown between her brows that suggested worry. They way she angled away from the Marauders indicated she wasn’t with James just yet, but since Harry would put his alternate-family at fifth year, they wouldn’t have been, even in his dimension.
Fifth year. She was a baby. They were all babies. They’d never been kidnapped or seen someone die. Never made a choice that led to someones’ death. There was tension, sure, and a few empty seats, and students who’d grown too fast under family who didn’t know the meaning of the word. But it wasn’t a war.
Not yet.
Harry hummed. Both Hermione and Ron froze, which drew the attention of their growing cluster of people, and the whole Hall, really. The acoustics were great when the Hall was mostly silent.
“So,” Harry threw out, starring at the stars again. “Alternate dimension. As in, completely independent?”
“Yes,” Hermione affirmed, wary and somewhat amused.
“Huh,” Harry replied. He tugged on the sleeve just obscuring the scar from Umbridge’s detentions before turning to Dumbledore. “So. Voldy-shorts a problem here, too?”
“Yes.” Dumbledore blinked slowly at the name. “Lord Voldemort had been increasing is power-base slowly but surely and there have been suspicious attacks all over England, though in predominately muggle communities that do not appear to have our Ministry concerned.”
“Huh,” Harry repeated.
Harry could hear the look that Ron and Hermione shared. Ron crossed his arms and tapped his foot twice before shaking his head. “No.”
Harry turned to his friend. “Really?” Because Harry honestly hadn’t been expecting that. He listen, probably, if Ron was really against it, but Harry hadn’t thought Ron would be against it.
Ron just shook his head. “No! You can’t go and defeat another Dark Lord in another dimension: no one will believe me! I’ll win the bet, but have no proof! You can’t do that to me, mate!”
“Another?” James asked, oddly gleeful, not even caring that he was echoed by Snape and Malfoy of all people.
“You’re betting on me?” Harry wasn’t so sure why he sounded so surprised. It actually made a lot of sense.
Hermione gave his arm a pat. “Percy and I are running the books. It’s been a great bonding experience.”
“Huh.” Harry stared at her laughing eyes. “Need me to do or fudge anything?”
Ron gestured wildly, almost hitting Dumbledore in the nose. “No! Because that’s cheating!”
Harry and Hermione both turned to Ron, though it was Harry who spoke. “I once spent three days straight researching the effects of Red Alpine Moss on magical ecosystems so Hermione would get an extra night’s sleep. I learned to make a four tier cake suspended on enough magic to ward a house because she saw it in a book and thought it would be lovely for her mum’s birthday. I went to therapy because she cried and said please. You honestly think I wouldn’t help with her illicit family gambling ring?”
“Well it sounds stupid when you put it that way.”
“Because it was stupid.” Harry nodded to emphasize his words, and maybe to not look at the way his alternate-father and Sirius were looking at him with something that might be approval.
“Also, family might be a bit of a misnomer,” Hermione interjected. Harry didn’t trust her sweet smile. “More like family, friends, and at least a quarter of the Ministry staff.”
“A quarter- don’t those people work?” Harry ran a hand through his hair.
With a sniff, Hermione continued. “Of course they do. Ministry staff are only allowed into any of the betting pools if they have at least two examples of marginal competency. Why do you think it’s only a quarter of the staff? Honestly.”
Hermione flicked her braid over her shoulder before pivoting to Ron. “And I’m willing to witness. If Harry defeats Lord Volde-shorts in this dimension it will fulfill the stakes of four Dark Lords before he’s twenty-five.”
There was the sound of several people spluttering, but Harry was the loudest.
“Four?! I haven’t defeated three Dark Lords already! Voldemort, sure, I’ll gladly take the credit for that twat but who are the other two?”
Hermione gave him one of her better get-your-act-together-or-I-will-leave-you-to-wallow-in-your-own-stupidity looks. “The Neo-Death Eaters-“
“Oh, come on.” Harry interrupted. “They were using the same hideouts as the Death Eaters! And supplies! Just because they elected a new leader and had a marginally different plan for supremacy doesn’t make them, nor their new Head Twat, a Dark Lord!”
“The Wizenmagot standards of classification disagree.” Ron pointed out to Harry. “And then there was that guy holed up in that compound by the ocean.”
“He had six followers! Six! And two were relatives, two were brainwashed, and one was his dog!”
“Yeah, but that last one was an internationally wanter serial killer who would have actually been able to bring about their plans for mass destruction. So your protests are, again, invalid.” Ron was smug. Harry wanted to rub his stupid smug face in the quidditch pitch.
“You know what?” Harry scowled, but was willing to be the bigger man and move on. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.” Because they were. There were steps to Dark Lord Vanquishing and apparently he would know.
Before Harry could say any of that, however, Hermione placed both palms on his cheeks. “I’m so proud of you for actually realizing that.”
“Personal growth, mate.”
“I hate you both,” Harry groaned. “You’re being mean to me.”
“No, you don’t.” Hermione tucked both of her hands into her pockets and rocked back on her heels with a smile.
“We just jumped into an unknown portal to keep your danger-attracting ass safe and ended up in an alternate dimension.” Ron tapped his chin. “I’m thinking that’s worth a week of being mean with a side of snippy comments. At least.”
“That’s fair and I hate that I can’t contest it.” Harry sighed. “Also, I love you dearly and you’re the best friends ever and jumping after me was stupid but thanks.”
“Don’t make this emotional.” Ron crinkled his nose. “Don’t you dare.”
“Boys. Teaspoons, the two of you, I swear. Now, how exactly are we getting ahead of ourselves?” Hermione asked.
With the ease of long practice ignoring the masses that liked to stare at him and whatever he happened to be doing, Harry ignored his avidly watching alternate-family and the other assorted students of Hogwarts.
“Right. So We need to actually figure out if Riddle the Lord of No Noses is using the same plan. Or a similar plan. Alternate dimension says only maybe.”
“You’re not suggesting that you’re planning to solve our Dark Lord problem? In just a few weeks, nonetheless?” Dumbledore’s voice held eddies of magic and belief in it, which wasn’t actually helpfully in trying to discern his emotions.
“Well, no, we just covered that.” Harry tugged on a curl, the scars on his fingers rasping slightly. “I mean, if Riddle is using the same methods to take over and attempt his twisted immortality, sure, complete annihilation is a possibility.”
“Isn’t that a little arrogant?” There was a slight sneer in Snape’s words, and Harry watched James bristle out of the corner of his eyes. Clearly his alternate-father had gotten caught up in the adventure of the matter.
“Good point.” Harry watched with no small glee as everyone startled at his easy agreement. “No seriously, really good point. If anyone elver pops out of nowhere and promises to solve all your problems, suspicion is the very least of what you should show. They’re either crazy, after something, or trying to hook you into a cult. That was some excellent use of common sense, which wizards are generally lacking, so good job.”
Snape looked taken aback and like he was trying very hard not to be pleased.
“But in this case,” Harry continued, “it would be more like re-doing my own work. Been there done that and now have several years of actual skill and training to speed things along. But his methods might be completely different in this alternate universes. So no promises yet on the Dark Lord-defeating.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant, dear boy.”
But Harry had already moved on from his alternate-mentor’s words.
“So. Steps. Really, I can think of three things that can be done to confirm Riddle’s methodology without even leaving the castle.”
“Myrtle, snake, and diadem?” Ron asked.
“Myrtle, snake, and diadem,” Harry confirmed.
“Wait, Moaning Myrtle?” Ariana asked.
All three of the dimension travellers nodded. “Is she still in the girl’s bathroom?” Hermione asked in turn.
“Yes, I’m afraid so, the poor girl.”
With Ariana’s confirmation Harry turned to his friends. “Okay, so if Riddle still got her killed, I’m prepared to say he started on the same path. Question is, do we go for the snake or the diadem next? I mean, diadem would be quicker, but…”
Probably-Diggory wiggled his way into the circle, and it was Sirius, of all people, who caught his enthusiasm and kept him back with a calming palm to the shoulder. Sirius, who’d been protecting a small boy for much longer than most knew.
Harry barely heard Probably-Diggory ask if they were really going to fight the Dark Lord. He was too busy scanning the far table, wondering if he’d be able to recognize another tiny Slytherin with the heart of a Gryffindor.
He’d about given up when the smallest tug of shadows caught his attention, not at the table, but behind Narcissa and Snape. Regulus Black had apparently crept forward on silent feet to join his cousin and brother. He had obsidian eyes set above porcelain cheekbones and a spine that gave not an inch.
His hands though, were still young. His hands trembled as they buried themselves in his robes and reached just the slightest bit out to brush Snape’s cloak before once agin being obscured from view.
“The snake.” Harry’s voice cracked out, his abrupt decision causing several backs to straighten and Ariana to eye him speculatively.
With practiced poise and understanding, Hermione and Ron didn’t question him. They let the hot cinnamon and sunlit dust of their magic weave through his own molten eddies in quiet assent and firm support.
They directed everyone several steps back without a word, ignoring the questions and somehow even getting the Dumbledores to retreat momentarily.
Harry smiled, perhaps more genuinely than he meant to, if Snape’s narrowed eyes were any indication.
“Fawkes, darling, could I have a moment?”
There was a pause, only weighted on behalf of Ariana and Dumbledore, before flame flicked to life and the phoenix caught to life in front of Harry.
The bird studied Harry for another long moment, licks of flame flicking down his wings and along his tail, before Fawkes recalled the fire and settled on Harry’s arm.
Humming a tune he’d learned from his own Fawkes, Harry reached out with gentle fingers, stroking down the phoenix’s back and letting the warmth settle into his bones. Fawkes let out an answering coo before preening Harry’s hair.
“Hey, beautiful.” Harry leaned slightly into Fawkes’s gentle beak. “If you could let me borrow the Sorting Hat for a moment, I could fix that plumbing problem Hogwarts has been having for far too long.”
With a quick peck on the ear that Harry knew was a gesture of worry, the bird flamed away, drawing loud oohs from an enthralled Probably-Diggory and most of the rest of Hogwarts beside.
Another flash and Fawkes was back, Hat in claws and dropped into Harry’s outstretched hands. Fawkes preformed one tight circle and went to sit on a very contemplative Dumbledore’s shoulder.
“Hullo, Hat,” Harry said.
“Hello. Rather old for a sorting, aren’t you?” The Hat asked through a tear of fabric.
“Oh, no.” Harry wanted the Hat nowhere near his head. He had enough trouble without being announced the Lord of Slytherin, if the Hat could even tell that much. “I’ve come far on my journey of personal growth and am quite content in being a lovely mix of Gryffindor and Slytherin, thanks muchly.”
“I don’t know,” Ron threw out as Harry plunged his arm into a chuckling Hat. “I think you’ve grown into quite the Hufflepuff, myself. Very friendly, remember?”
Harry paused, hat up to his shoulder. “What.” He tilted his head. “No, really. What? I’m anti-social, rude, and punched the last bloke who wanted to be my friend in the face.”
Hermione snorted as she leaned on Ron. “That man was a creep, and if you hadn’t I would have.” Her smile softened. “And you’re very ‘to the ends of the Earth’ for the friends you do have, which is very Hufflepuff. Also, defeating Dark Lords- the first one at least-“ Hermione was swift to add when Harry opened his mouth, “took a lot of hard work and effort.”
“Right.” Harry blinked at his grinning friends before re-focusing on the hat. “I’m taking that as a compliment. Possibly counter-productive to my current goal, but a compliment.”
His fingers brushed cool metal and he grinned at the pulse of familiar magic that tingled through his veins. As he looked up, ready to share his success, he caught the absolute horror on the faces of both Slytherins and Gryffindors, while the Hufflepuffs where practically wriggling in excitement, particularly Probably-Diggory who seemed to have decided to adopt Harry when he’d apologized to earlier.
A quick glance at the miffed Ravenclaws had Harry wincing. “Yeah, sorry to the ‘Claws, but straight up intelligence is not really my thing. I’m definitely more of a brute force or back door kind of person. It’s why I keep these two around though.”
“Wait, two?” Ron asked.
“When was the last time you lost a game of chess?”
Ron tilted he head to think. “Two years ago? George still won’t let me live it down. And he cheated.”
Harry nodded, pulling the Sword of Gryffindor fully out of the Hat and tossing the fabric back up to Fawkes who disappeared with a puff of flame. “My point stands.” Harry swung the sword a few times before spinning it around in his hand much like he would he wand.
Ariana looked at her brother. “I don’t believe that the Sword of Gryffindor is normally in that Hat.”
Dumbledore, for once, said nothing, but stared with sparkling eyes.
Harry snorted. “Nope. But help is always available at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.” He held out long enough to enjoy the silence that rang out after his possibly stolen words, because he really had learned quite a lot from Dumbledore. “Right. Let's go basilisk-slaying.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Ariana’s voice again cut through the sudden uproar.
Harry turned to her. “She’s insane. It’s really the only humane thing to do.”
“I don’t think-“ Headmaster Dumbledore started to say before Harry interrupted him by whirling back to Hermione.
“Wait. We need to check. She could not be insane!”
Hermione reached out to place her pam on Harry’s arm, the one not holding the sword. “We’ll check, but even without Riddle playing with her mind, she would have been in the Chamber of Secrets a really long time. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
Harry sagged, sword tip scraping along the stone for a moment. “Right. You’re right.”
“The Chamber of Secrets is a myth.” Dumbledore murmured, face ashen white. And Harry would be lying if he said that wasn’t just a bit comforting. This Dumbledore, at least, clearly hadn’t known about the giant deadly snake or mysterious hidden chamber hidden under the classrooms of many vulnerable students.
“Yeah, not so much.”
“If this true, you’ll be taking us with you.” The grizzled man with multiple scars and a self-important attitude spoke up again. Harry would bet his shiny new sword this was the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
“Sure. Not you,” Harry said, noting Ron nodding beside him.
“Look here, I’m the Defence Against the Darks Professor and most suited-“
Harry tuned out the professor’s speech to award himself several points and an ice cream in the future. Hopefully the near future. The future right after he slayed another basilisk. Hopefully his courtesy to the house elves meant they’d help.
“See, that’s why you can’t come, though.” Ron explained when the DADA professor finally drew breath. “Defence Against the Dark Arts professors are like, useless at best and murderous at worse.”
“I’m sorry, murderous? How often has that actually happened?” Harry didn’t need to turn around to identify the speaker, somehow, but he did anyways. Lily Evans, looked, oddly, more concerned than disbelieving. Harry looked away before he could start staring again, because he knew he wouldn’t stop (that was his mother).
“Ah,” Ron was quick to continue and draw the attention back onto himself. “Four times?”
“Wait.” Harry ripped his eyes away from his younger not-mother. “Do we have to count third year? He didn’t mean to and he made it up to me! Also, fourth shouldn’t count either. That one trapped me in a ritual sacrifice. I needed to be alive for that.”
“Honestly.” Hermione huffed, a smile twitching at her lips and she joined in. “I wish the two of you would remember that some things are worse than threats of death.”
“Expulsion,” both Ron and Harry chorused.
Hermione laughed, which made her boys grin with success. “Well, yes. But also memory charms and torture. And sheer incompetence.”
Almost the entire room was looking at them with various levels of horror, but Harry was feeling pretty great. He always did, with these two by his side. Though, the teachers in particular looked a little rough. Dumbledore and Ariana kind of looked like they wanted to bundle the three veterans away in warm blankets and colourful socks. Which, Harry wouldn’t be against, but not until the work was done.
He pivoted swiftly, not finding the Professors he was looking for by the front of the room and certain he’d seen them at some point. Ron made a subtle gesture and Harry quickly clocked both figures. McGonagall, as it turned out, was still standing behind them and in front of her Lions. Flitwick was by the main doors, blocking their exit inconspicuously.
Harry approved.
“Professors McGonagall and Flitwick can come.”
“Why those two?” Dumbledore asked, leaning forward slightly.
“Because Professor McGonagall is a badass and Professor Flitwick is a literal duelling champion? Besides, you’re needed here to keep the students safe and while the chamber isn’t actually near the dormitories you might want to keep them here for, like, an hour, just to be sure. We won’t be long.”
Harry turned and pivoted away, long coat flaring slightly in move that was maybe copied from a grown-Snape. He swung the sword onto his shoulder as Hermione and Ron fell into easy step behind him.
Harry really didn’t want to talk much more anyways, and he couldn’t have them getting their bearings enough to actually question his competency. Falling through a portal into a perfectly warded building, demonstrating sheer power with silent cleaning spells and transfigurations, being on good relations with a Phoenix, and drawing the sword of Gryffindor would only keep them on their toes for so long.
He needed to get this done before the idea of interference set into anyone’s mind. Or contacting the ministry.
His boots hit the stone of the entryway outside the Great Hall and Harry couldn’t help but smile. It was probably a good thing no one saw it, since he imagined it was rather dark.
There was a monster in a school with hundreds of children, and that was unacceptable (children who’s first reaction to strangers wasn’t fight or fear).
There was a monster in his home threatening his family, and that was untenable (his baby family, alternate or not, who were all so cute with their suspicions and their concerns and their aliveness).
There was a monster in this dimension full of his favourite people, and that was undesirable (irritating, rude, unallowable).
Harry wasn’t about to let down his friends (or family).