Kugel
Harry only realised how monumentally stupid that idea had been when he awoke to see a mirror image of himself staring at him worriedly.
“Hey, Moony…” other him called out. His brain befuddledlby reached out to where he’d heard that before. Moony! Of course, it was Remus. So that means this must be…
“What is it, James?” came a tired reply.
“There’s a person here.”
“Here! Are they a student?”
“Well they look a bit like…”
“A bit like what?”
“A bit like me?”
Through his squinted eyelids, Harry could see a much younger, much less tired looking Remus Lupin.
“Oh fuck, he does.”
James hit him.
“Moony!”
“There’s bigger things to worry about, Prongs! He’s shaking- and his heads bleeding- we need to get a teacher!”
Then the cold dark of unconsciousness took him again, and he passed out.
Harry woke up, and realised he was in the hospital wing; but not his usual bed. Slowly, the memories of his earlier interaction came back to him. Was it all a figment of his imagination or was he truly in the past? And if so, how far back was he? His dad looked about fifteen or sixteen, but he’d never been the best at judging ages.
He heard steps leading up to his bed and he opened his eyes. Four vague, person-shaped blobs were stood in front of him. Belatedly, he realised he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
He felt around his bedside for them, and realised his hands were still shaking. Hopefully, no permanent damage was done, like with Neville’s mum and dad.
Someone helpfully handed him his glasses, and when the world swam into view it was a, much younger, Madam Pomfrey. Even that didn’t truly convince him- she could just be utilising a form of magical Botox he was yet to discover, but the absence of her usual fond tutting disturbed him. In its place was a look of concern, yes, but also a distrust that he wasn’t used to. When he turned to the other three figures at the foot of his bed, he saw Dumbledore and McGonagall, neither of which looked much different, and a scowling man he didn’t recognise.
Dumbledore spoke, and while it was still gentle, to a child on a sickbed, it was with a cold firmness that had never been directed to Harry before.
“Do you mind explaining how you came here?”
Images flashed through his head; his possession, Dumbledore and the Dark Lord’s duel, the veil, Sirius…
The memory of Sirius’ death hit him like a ton of bricks. He pushed it down, repressing it. If he was correct, he was back in time, so it didn’t matter anyway.
“I don’t know.” he croaked instead.
The man he didn’t recognise scoffed.
“Of course he knows. A better question, boy, is why you have a cut on your forehead that reeks more of dark magic than anything I’ve ever seen before, a blood quill scar on your hand, you’re showing signs of the after-effects of the cruciatus curse and, oh yeah, the last spell your wand cast was an unforgivable!”
The last point made Harry sit straight up.
“You have my wand?” he asked eagerly. He had an emotional attachment to it; it had got him out of many a fight.
“Yes, but until we have this matter cleared up you won’t be getting it back.” said Mcgonagall with finality.
“So, out with it! What happened?”
The unknown man was ferocious, leaning forwards and acting with a suspicion Harry hadn’t seen since Alistair Moody.
“Really, Gudgeon,” said Dumbledore. “Let the boy catch his breath.”
He turned to Harry, speaking kindly.
“We all work at Hogwarts. This is Madame Pomfrey, our healer, Professor Gudgeon, our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor McGonagall, the deputy headmistress and Transfiguration teacher, and I am Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster.”
Gudgeon cut him off, snarling
“He probably knows all that, he’s probably been sent here as a servant of bloody Voldemort!”
Harry flinched at the name. Gudgeon seemed to take this as proof, gesturing wildly at him.
“More natural for you to call him ‘My Lord’, is it?”
Harry brought his left arm out of the sheets and pulled up the sleeve.
“You have to have checked my arm, if you even cast priori incantatum with my wand.”
Gudgeon sneered.
“That means nothing. What sort of spy would you be if you had a bloody dark mark?”
Harry was faintly amused. Although this was obviously quite high stakes, it was definitely a change in pace for people to not know who he was. But Gudgeon wasn’t done.
“And, on the topic of your wand, been casting unforgivables lately? That’s a lifetime sentence on its own, no matter if you’re a death eater or not.”
“I didn’t cast it.”
Well that was a blatant lie. He had cast it, on Bellatrix, but he’d completely forgotten about it due to his own torture until it had been brought up.
Dumbledore leaned forward, apparently interested in this new piece of information.
“Who did?”
“I can’t say”.
Dumbledore leaned even further.
“On you?”
Harry had a split second decision to make. If he said yes, that would open up more questions, because crucioing a child couldn’t be normal, even in pure blood circles. On that note, it would require him to have at least one Wizarding parent, or have someone outside his family do it, which in turn lead to its own questions. If he said no, it would make him look ridiculously suspicious.
He looked up, taking care to avoid the older wizard’s eyes, as he knew he was still crap at Occlumency.
He suddenly realised that if he was at school with his parents it meant that he was at school with Snape as well. Imagining sharing a classroom with the greasy gif, he internally grimaced.
“Yes”, he said levelly.
This certainly garnered a reaction. Gudgeon looked more suspicious, if possible, while McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey audibly gasped. Dumbledore’s face cracked with concern.
“Who cast it, my boy?”
Harry looked down, pulling on every shred of pathetic orphan he had.
“I- I can’t say.”
“Voldemort, perhaps?” came Gudgeon’s voice, remarkably callous. At least Moody could occasionally draw on some tact. Madame Pomfrey apparently agreed, for she swatted his arm.
“Really Marcus!”
“I just find it a bit suspicious, is all!”
Harry had to concede the point to him. He was entirely correct with most of it, and the rest wasn’t such a great leap. To his surprise, McGonagall’s Scottish accent cut in.
“I have to agree with Marcus. The boy needs to be clear with us!”
She turned to Harry.
“Was the curse cast by Voldemort, or not?”
Noticing his flinch again, she said, almost gently,
“Don’t be afraid of the taboo here, it can’t penetrate Hogwarts’ wards.”
Harry was entirely confused, having no idea of what a taboo even was, or which specific one she was referring, but he assumed it had something to do with why the wizard-raised children were so afraid of saying the Dark Lord’s name. He smiled gratefully, and it was perhaps the unexpected kindness that lead him to make the utterly stupid decision of directly lying to these, frankly quite intimidating, wix.
“No, it wasn’t cast by my- the Dark Lord.”
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.
There was no coming back from that. He cursed himself internally for trying to say the man’s true name when he knew it wouldn’t work, and he cursed the Dark Lord, because only some form of mind magic could’ve made it his first reaction to say ‘My Lord’, of all the bloody things. All four adults stepped back on shock, eyes widening. Gudgeon smirked triumphantly.
“Your Lord, is he boy?”
Harry knew he’d turned white. He was such an idiot. They were in the middle of a war, and he’d all but spelled out he was working for the other side.
McGonagall spoke again, and this time her voice was cold.
“I think it would be for the best if you told us your name.”