Chapter 4
Harry laughed running through the field hand in hand with his parents, giggling whenever they lifted him off the grass, relishing in the feeling of flight.
Sirius Black appeared in front of him, holding out a Christmas gift — yes! It was the Nimbus 2000. He ran into his godfather’s arms and was swept up into a hug as the flash of a camera went off.
Hermione and Ron were suddenly next to him, trying to tame Fluffy. And there was Neville, looking scared but determined.
Then Harry was on a broomstick, speeding towards the golden snitch, rain pelting down on him, his vision blurry.
In the distance he could hear his friends calling his name.
“Harry! Harry! Harry!”
“Harry!”
He woke with a start, eyes flashing open to see Ron towering over him again.
Harry took a deep breath and moved to get up, leaning back on his elbows and thanking Ron when he passed him his glasses.
“So are you just going to be waking me up everyday now?” He asked dryly.
Ron frowned. “As long as you keep sleeping in mate,” was the response Harry got as he flopped back down in bed.
“Oi!” He yelped as Ron tore back his sheets, exposing him to cool air from the open window on the far side of the room. Bloody Seamus and his abnormally high body temperature.
“You got a letter,” was all Ron said before tossing a thick white envelope at him and turning to leave.
“Everyone’s waiting for you on the pitch. Try not to be too late, yeah?”
“Er yeah, got it, be right there,” Harry called back to Ron’s retreating figure. Most of the beds around him had their curtains closed, and Harry could see why as he bounded towards the window, closing it shut.
It couldn’t be later than six in the morning, from the looks of the sky, so why the bloody hell was Ron on his case about getting out of bed?
Harry wracked his brain, starting to feel more awake as he moved back to the bed to get ready for the day.
The pitch. Ron said people were waiting for him…Quidditch, of course. Harry was captain.
As he made his way to the grounds, broom in hand, he felt himself grinning for the first time since this madness began.
Two hours later, Harry was showered and back in bed, utterly exhausted and happy for the first time in what felt like forever.
He should have known it wouldn’t last.
He turned over to lay on his stomach, fully intending to go back to sleep seeing as it was Saturday, when he felt something crinkle beneath him.
It was the letter Ron mentioned that morning. Harry picked it up cautiously, running his wand over the envelope looking for any sign of trouble. When he found none, he opened it to find a single sheet of paper.
Dear Harry, the letter began, and with a deep inhale, Harry started to read. Ten minutes later he was still staring at the sheet of paper in his trembling hands.
It wasn’t a letter from the order, or from Dumbledore, or a missive from the ministry. It was something far more ordinary – and far more unexpected.
The note was from his parents.
They wrote that they’d seen the paper the other day and told him they were proud of him. His father made groan-worthy jokes. His mother hoped he was taking care of himself, and reminded him they were coming up to see him at the next Hogsmeade weekend. They wondered if he’d like them to bring him anything.
He looked down at the signature again, tracing the words his parents had written.
With love, mum and dad. He had a mum and dad.
The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and he blinked away his tears just as Neville entered the dormitory. Neville, whose parents were dead. Harry offered his friend a smile, trying not to feel guilty.
“Hey Nev, alright?” Neville turned to look at him startling out of thoughts of his own.
“Oh. Hey Harry. Yeah, you?” He said running his hands through his hair. The moment he turned to face him fully Harry saw the scar.
It was like his, but different. For one it didn’t resemble lightening, but more just a deep gash. And instead of his forehead, it was on his cheek.
“Harry? Mate?”
Harry blinked, realizing he was staring. “Yep all good here. Were you looking for something?”
“Just Trevor. You seen him?”
“No, sorry,” Harry offered with a sheepish smile. He left the dorm to let Neville get on with his search. He had his own to do.
By the time Harry reached the Great Hall and took a seat next to Hermione, she was already half-finished with her breakfast and poring over notes for some class or other.
She looked up from her reading briefly to greet him with a warm smile. “Sleep okay?”
“Really well actually,” he said, piling his plate with enough food to feed a quidditch team. “It’s good to be back here.”
“I’m glad,” Hermione said, closing her books to face him fully. “Look, I know it was a lot of information for you yesterday, Harry, I shouldn’t have told you everything like that all at once. I’m sure it came as a shock.”
“No, please, Hermione, I’m sorry, I know it’s pretty unbelievable,” he said with a short laugh.
Hermione bit her lip, not meeting his eye. At her expression, Harry knew he said something wrong.
“About that.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you, Harry, I do. Mostly because I can’t think of any reason you would lie about something like this…but I’ve also done some research and it seems like while there havebeen accounts of wizards claiming to have visited different timelines throughout history, there’s never been any, well, proof.”
“What are you getting at, Hermione?”
“Don’t you think we should maybe consider telling a professor-”
“No!” Harry interrupted his friend before she could change his mind with reason and logic.
“I just think I’m a bit out of my depth here, Harry. McGonagall or Lupin…even Snape might know-”
“Hermione, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’d rather keep things between us for now, alright? I just don’t know who I can trust…”
She gave him a look. “Not even Ron?”
Harry winced. “Not-not yet. And besides, you’re the brightest witch of our age. I know we can figure this out together.”
Hermione closed her eyes as though praying for patience and then took a deep breath. When she opened them again, Harry saw a familiar look of determination on his friend’s face that had always given him hope.
“Alright,” she said with a faint smile. Harry grinned triumphantly.
“But if we run into anything dangerous, or anything that could jeopardize this timeline more than you already have…I’m going straight to McGonagall.”
“Deal.”
Over the following weeks, Harry fell back into the habit of being a Hogwarts student. Between classes and quidditch, and stalking Draco Malfoy the best he could (this Harry didn’t have the Marauders map and for someone he was supposedly ‘cozy’ with, Malfoy was quick to run whenever he got near), and spending time with his friends, he almost forgot he wasn't supposed to be there.
Almost. Luckily Hermione didn’t let him forget. She found a way to carve out two hours in his schedule everyday to discuss their research and updates and make note of things that didn’t add up.
For one, Harry didn’t have the lightning shaped scar on his forehead or the mark of the locket on his chest. Neither did he have a scar from the gash on his forearm that Wormtail gave him at the graveyard. But he still had I must not tell lies etched into his skin and a burn scar from his time at the Dursleys.
Hermione theorized that the scars associated with Voldemort were gone because his connection to him didn’t exist in this timeline — and perhaps they would interfere with the way things were meant to progress here if they weren’t erased. But everything else that made him who he was in his other life, including the scars from Umbridge’s punishment, remained.
“Oh,” Harry said after hearing her explanation. “I suppose that makes sense. Neville’s already got the scar, well a different scar but same idea,” he thought aloud, shifting on the common room sofa to get more comfortable.
“Harry, Neville got those scars on his face from the dragon in the triwizard tournament. They weren’t from v-Voldemort. He’s never faced him in a duel, not really.”
“Oh that’s right. He wasn’t there the night his parents died. But what about Quirrell?”
“The way I remember it, the two of you stunned Quirrell before he could cast a spell and then made a run for it. But Harry, why should it matter whether Neville’s been marked by Voldemort or not?”
Harry’s heart dropped, Hermione’s words triggering his memory of the prophecy.
“He was never marked as his equal,” he said quietly. “What?” Hermione asked, bewildered.
Just then, a loud squeak tore Harry from his thoughts. He turned and saw an ugly rat leap off the armchair by the fire and run towards the portrait hole.
“Oh fuck!” Harry yelped. “Stupefy!”
The rat fell limp and Harry approached it slowly, wand held out in front of him.
“Harry!” Hermione whispered furiously, coming up behind him and grabbing his arm.
“What are you doing! It’s just Scabbers! If he’s dead Ron’s going to have a fit…”
Harry ignored her, pulling his arm out of Hermione’s grasp and poking the creature with the toe of his trainer to make sure it was really unconscious.
“I need a cage or a box or something. Quick!”
He heard footsteps go up the stairs and a moment later Hermione returned with a small chest.
Harry took it and trapped the rat he knew to be Wormtail inside before facing her.
“This isn’t Scabbers, Hermione. Or well it is. But it’s also Peter Pettigrew. He’s an animagus. He’s-ugh he’s been here the whole time! If he’s overheard us then Voldemort is at an advantage.”
Hermione stood there in silence, eyes wide.
Harry ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I think you’re right. I think it’s time I spoke to Dumbledore.”
“Harry, you can’t just speakto Dumbledore, he’s the headmaster! He doesn’t have time to meet with students.”
Harry groaned. “Fine! Then McGonagall, Snape, anyone.”
“How about me, mate?” Ron stood by the entrance to the stairway, arms crossed, looking at Harry expectantly.
“Ron! What are you doing up?” Hermione jumped in surprise.
“Thought I heard someone mention Scabbers, and when I checked his cage he wasn’t there,” he said not looking away from Harry. “What have you got there, by the way?” He asked, pointing at the wooden chest in Harry’s hands.
Hermione hastily spelled some airholes into the tops and sides of it. Harry shot her an irritated look.
“It’s nothing, it’s fine Ron, just go back to bed,” he tried. When his friend didn’t budge, Harry sighed.
“Fine, have it your way. But you might want to take a seat.”
By the time Hermione and Harry finished explaining the fact that Harry wasn’t actually from this timeline to Ron to the best of their ability and convinced him not to let Scabbers run free, Harry was exhausted.
“So let me get this straight. You want to kill my pet rat, because you’ve gone mental. And I’m supposed to let you?”
Harry let out an exasperated breath. “I knew this was a bad idea. I’m not mental, Ron. And that rat is not a pet. I can prove it.”
Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry. “How?”
Harry turned to Hermione then, who was looking back and forth between them like she was watching a tense match of wizarding chess. “There’s a spell. To turn animagi back into their human form, isn’t there?”
“Yes, but-”
“So we’ll do it then,” Harry said with a tone of finality.
Hermione scowled. “If you’d let me finish,” she huffed. “There is a spell, yes, but it’s incredibly complicated, Harry, it’s way beyond our skill level.”
Harry looked at her in shock. His Hermione had never met a spell she couldn’t master. And he told her as much.
“What? Hermione, you brewed polyjuice in second year!” He pointed a finger at Ron. “You destroyed a hor…er, cursed necklace with the sword of Gryffindor just a few months ago, back in my world. And not to brag – but, I mean, I learned to cast a corporeal Patronus in third year. I fought off the bloody imperius curse at 14! We have the skill!”
His friends shared a look that was all too familiar to Harry, having seen it on his own Ron and Hermione’s faces countless times.
Harry growled in frustration. “Fine. I’ll learn it on my own. But when I do, and when I prove that that rat isn’t what you think it is, will you please consider the possibility that I’m not completely mad?”
“Yeah, of course mate,” was Ron’s stunned reply.
”Oh Harry, I don’t think you’re mad,” Hermione started, but Harry cut her off with a betrayed glare. She shrunk in his gaze.
“I really brewed polyjuice potion in second year?” She asked after a moment.
Harry tried not to get his hopes up. “Yeah,” he said with a small smile.
“And me, the sword of Gryffindor came to me?” Ron chimed in.
“Pretty much,” Harry shrugged, fudging the truth a bit. To make up for it, he added “oh, and we broke into Gringotts and flew out on a dragon.”
His friends still looked unconvinced, so sighing, Harry pulled out his wand and conjured his patronus. He relaxed when he saw Ron’s features break out into a huge grin. “Wicked!”
“Oh,” Hermione breathed.
“So…you’ll help?” Harry ventured.
Ron shrugged. “I mean, yeah, Harry, you’re my best mate. Mental or not.”
Harry ignored the jab and turned to Hermione next.
She smiled reluctantly back at him. “I’ll head to the library first thing tomorrow to see what I can find.”
“Brilliant.” Harry sighed in relief.