Chapter Text

When Harry woke up, gasping for air in a bed at St. Mungo’s, he was shocked to find Sirius sitting next to him. Not because he thought Sirius didn’t care about him- he knew he did- but because last time Harry checked, Sirius was not yet born. 

Harry was used to the face of Alphard Black, who sported similar enough features to his nephew that Harry mixed them up when he got tired. But Alphard didn’t have the face of a man who had spent over a decade in Azkaban. Alphard didn’t have sunken cheeks or permanent bags under his eyes. He wasn’t vain (that role belonged to Abraxas Malfoy) but like all the Slytherins in the 1940s, he knew that appearance mattered. It was a habit that had rubbed off on Harry during his year spent in the past. 

“Sirius?” He croaked out. His mind was desperately trying to keep up. 

“I’m right here, Harry. It’ll be okay. Do you want some water?” Sirius looked concerned and even after he handed Harry the glass, his hands hovered. Harry focused on combating his scratchy throat before seeking his answers.

“Where are we? What happened?” 

“We’re at St. Mungo’s. You were found passed out on the streets of muggle London.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Harry began protesting. He looked around, expecting aurors to come charging in any second.

“What are you talking about?”
“They’ll find you here. You can’t go back to Azkaban because of me!” 

A smile spread over Sirius’ face and he took the now empty glass of water and placed it on a nightstand. “It’s okay, Harry. I was cleared of all charges. I’m not going to be sent back there. I promise.” His hands came back to cup Harry’s face. They were shaking.

“What happened?”

“You’ve been gone for over a year now. We, well, we thought you were dead.”

“What’s the date?”
“August 2.”

“And the year?” 

Sirius seemed a little confused but answered anyway. “1996.”

All the energy fled his body after hearing those numbers and Harry sunk back into his pillow. He’d spent fourteen months in the past. How could he possibly explain that to Sirius? To anyone? He hadn’t had to explain time travel to anyone in the past. Tom was the only one who had known and that was due to a forceful legilimens attack that Harry was still angry about. 

Tom.

Tom wasn’t in 1996. Well, his counterpart was. Had Harry managed to change the future? He recalled Hermione’s warnings about wizards that meddled in time, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He stopped Tom from opening the Chamber of Secrets; had saved Moaning Myrtle from an eternity of haunting toilets. Sure, Tom Riddle had still been an arse last time he saw him, but as long as Harry kept him distracted, he seemed content enough to stick with manipulative politics and only researching dark magic. 

“Harry? Are you alright? Should I call a medi-witch?” Sirius was looking increasingly worried. 

“I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”

“You look pale. The healers said they couldn’t find any illness or injury but if you aren’t feeling well, you need to let us know. They might have missed something.”

“I’m just a little shocked,” Harry confessed. Immediately, Sirius’ urgency melted away. 

“That’s to be expected. Albus is speaking with some aurors but then he’ll be back to ask you some questions. Do you think you’d be up for it?”

Harry wasn’t really sure what questions there were to ask other than “Where the hell have you been?” But he nodded and let Sirius continue to believe whatever story they had developed about Harry having been kidnapped. His godfather had grabbed his hand, squeezing it as if he feared Harry would disappear again.

When Dumbledore entered the hospital room, Harry couldn’t help but be startled with just how old he looked. He also looked like he hadn’t slept in several days, which wasn’t helping the matter. Still, the fifty year difference was painfully obvious to Harry. The robes were the same. Today, a bright green with blue shapes decorating it. From a certain angle, they looked like rubber ducks. 

“Harry, my boy, I can’t begin to describe how good it is to see you again, alive and well.”

“It’s good to see you too, Professor.” And he meant it. It was nice having a Dumbledore around who knew who he was and wasn’t distracted by the war with Grindlewald. Despite Tom’s blatant dislike of the man, Harry never quite shook his admiration for him.

“I know Sirius probably mentioned this, but we do need to know what happened. I have spoken with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and they have agreed that you will not need to submit to an interrogation provided Sirius and I hear your story.”

“So Sirius really is free?” 

“I told you I was,” Sirius protested. Dumbledore beamed at them.

“Sirius was offered a fair trial last October and was fully pardoned. He’s even begun assisting the aurors with certain tasks. I assure you, he is in no danger of being taken away.”

“And no one is taking you from me either,” Sirius vowed. “I already petitioned for full custody of you.”

“Good. That’s good. Great really.” 

“Are you okay to answer some questions, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, steering the conversation back to the main point. “You may speak with aurors if you would like.”
“No, I’ll talk to you. Both of you. I don’t even know how I’d talk to the aurors.” As Harry spoke, he drew his knees closer to his chest. He could hear Tom in his ear, chiding him for showing weakness. 

“Perhaps we can start at the beginning,” Dumbledore said. He pulled his wand out and a moment later, the second hospital chair in the corner transformed into a very plush armchair. He settled in and then turned his full attention to Harry.

“I’m not sure what you know about the Triwizard Tournament.”

“We know that the Alastor Moody that was teaching all year was in fact Barty Crouch Jr. We found Cedric Diggory’s body at a graveyard in a muggle town that has a connection to Lord Voldemort and with the large traces of dark magic and the resurfacing of Voldemort several weeks later, we assumed that he was resurrected at that time. Was there anything we missed?”

Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat as he thought of Cedric. “No, that’s it for the most part.”

“We thought you were dead,” Sirius said. His voice was hoarse and pained. “But Voldemort never bragged about your death so we started to hope that maybe you just went missing.”

“He tried to kill me. But something went wrong.” His mind flashed back to the graveyard, the pale snake-like face of Voldemort laughing at him. 

“He was unable to?” Dumbledore asked.

“I don’t know. He tried, but the spell misfired or something. The words didn’t come out right or the wand movement was wrong. I don’t know. He tried to use the killing curse and I remember a green light flashing and then I woke up.”

“In London?”

“No. In the graveyard in Little Hangleton.” 

“How long after your encounter with Voldemort did you wake up? Can you give us an estimate?”

Harry cracked a wry smile. “I’m afraid you’re going the wrong way, Professor. I didn’t wake up after dueling Voldemort. I woke up before. Fifty years before.”

They spent the next hour hearing his story. It took a solid twenty minutes to convince Sirius that Harry had not gone insane and even longer for Dumbledore to grill Harry on details of Hogwarts student life at the time. He explained how he had been found by ministry authorities and shipped off to an orphanage in London, blending in with the many orphans and refugees from the muggle war and the wizarding on. He explained how he invented a new name for himself, pretending to be a homeschooled wizard from muggleborn parents who recently passed. He mentioned his valiant attempts to not mess with the timeline, but as soon as he explained his sorting into Slytherin, Dumbledore caught on to exactly what had happened.

“I’m assuming you caught the attention of Mr. Riddle,” he said when Harry paused to take another drink. 

“Who?” Sirius asked.

“In 1942, he would have been the Slytherin prefect. A few years after graduation, he began going by the name Lord Voldemort.” The color on Sirius’ face drained and he snapped back to stare at Harry.

“You spent the year sleeping in the same room as a mini-Voldemort!?”

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Harry muttered. He was staring at his sheets, hoping Sirius and Dumbledore wouldn’t realize that not only did Harry share a room with Tom- they ended up sharing a bed. More than once.

“Tom left you alone?” Dumbledore sounded skeptical. 

“Not exactly. I couldn’t pretend to like him and I think it drove him nuts trying to figure out why I didn’t.”

“Why would he care if you liked him?” Sirius demanded.

“He had an image to maintain,” Harry replied. “He was a prefect and was eyeing the Head Boy badge. All his professors loved him. Except you, Professor,” he added, turning to Dumbledore apologetically. “It was obvious you didn’t buy his facade. I think that’s why he dislikes you so much.” 

“Tom always disliked things that were not in his control. I believe that’s why his own mortality scares him.”

Harry privately agreed, but had gotten in the habit of trying to get the younger Dumbledore to be more trusting and kinder towards Tom. He would work through his own views of Tom Riddle without handing Dumbledore anymore ammunition to use against him.

“There is only one concern I currently have,” Dumbledore confessed, not giving Sirius or Harry a moment to dwell on one subject for too long. “I have no memory of a Harry Potter or a Harry Evans, as you called yourself, ever attending Hogwarts before now. I am not implying that you are lying, but this is clearly more than just a simple time turner incident.”

“Are time turner incidents ever simple?” Harry asked. Sirius snorted.

“Do you think you made any major changes to the timeline while in the past?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry swallowed. “Yeah, I would say so. For one, the Chamber of Secrets wasn’t opened during Tom’s fifth year. And Myrtle Warren doesn’t die.”

“Yes, I would say that constitutes a change to the timeline.”

Harry’s heart sank a little. “I didn’t think it would be possible for me to come back to this time. I didn’t mess anything up, did I? No one is going to die, right?” Sirius sat up straighter, Harry’s worry mirrored on his face. Dumbledore didn’t seem startled, just thoughtful.

“I would assume that any consequences of your actions would have already come to fruition. If your exploit through time were to impact us today, we would already be experiencing it.”

“But that’s not how time turners work.”

“No, it is not. I am not an expert in time magic, but I believe that time turners are a specific type designed to minimize the creation of any paradoxes while still allowing individuals to benefit from the added control of twenty-four hours. Even the mere act of your journey backwards through time was different. You said you were flung back due to a misfired spell, not an object. 

“My best guess is that your presence in the past created a schism within the timeline. If time seeks to balance itself, then there must be both a Tom Riddle who killed Myrtle Warren and a Tom Riddle who attended Hogwarts with Harry Evans. But they must not be the same.”
“What does that mean?” Sirius asked.

“Divergent realities. Alternate universes. In order for our timeline to exist, Tom Riddle must not have encountered Harry during his school years. So time allowed both realities to exist at the same time as opposed to the destruction of all. This is entirely theoretical, of course.”

“So, there wouldn’t be any record of me in the past? No one would remember me?” Harry tried not to sound hurt by that prospect. How was he supposed to deal with the idea that nothing he had done in the past year mattered?

“It’s possible that there might be echoes of your presence from the past, but I believe it’s safe to say no teachers remember you and our current Lord Voldemort would not either.” Dumbledore picked up on Harry’s change in mood.

“Regardless of the impact here, you still did a wonderful thing, Harry. You saved Myrtle and prevented an entire school from being traumatized. Hagrid was never expelled and I believe it’s safe to say there’s a universe out there where Ginny Weasley was never possessed and, hopefully, Voldemort grew up not as harmful as he is here. Either way, I am proud that you had the courage to do what was right, even when risking the future you knew.”

Harry nodded, but Dumbledore’s words rang hollow. How was he supposed to exist in a world where Tom Riddle existed only in a twisted, inhuman form? Was he supposed to pretend like he hadn’t spent a full year as the Prince of Slytherin’s right hand man? That he hadn’t convinced Abraxas Malfoy that muggles weren’t wastes of space? That he hadn’t bonded with Alphard Black over abusive relatives? And how was he supposed to live knowing no one in his world would remember all the times he made Theron Lestrange storm out of the common room in anger?

All the good he did, all the work he put in, and now he wouldn’t even be able to see the results. The Evangeline MacNair of his world would have gone through with her engagement to an abusive Rosier and Abraxas would teach his son to be a bigot and Tom would try to kill Harry as a baby.

It wasn’t fair. 

Once again, Sirius and Dumbledore seemed to be able to read Harry’s body language and excused themselves to give him some “time alone”. On a surface level, Harry knew he was experiencing grief. He had felt it before, when he had first traveled through time. It had felt like a hole had opened up inside him where his friends used to be and it took his entire willpower not to get sucked into the darkness. Now, it felt like a raw wound. He had accepted his place in the past and now he was back in his own time. 

He was not going to let himself cry over Tom fucking Riddle. 

Harry did not cry, but he spent the next three days in a strange daze. Healers and various experts came and went, conducting tests and offering vials of potions just to declare him in perfect health, despite some magical exhaustion and a lingering aura from an intense, magical phenomena. That made Harry laugh.

Dumbledore returned two days later with a file on Harry Evans from 1942. There were a handful of school records, including OWL scores (Harry almost cried when he learned he would not have to retake those exams). The headmaster had also conducted interviews with people who would have been at Hogwarts at the time and sought out photos from that time only to discover that Harry Evans the Slytherin was someone people were vaguely familiar with when asked directly, but no one could provide concrete memories and all photos that Harry might have been in conveniently had him cropped out. 

“It’s as if magic were covering your tracks,” Dumbledore had said, in awe at his discoveries. He had convinced Harry to speak to the Unspeakables about his experience. They were particularly interested in the events leading to his initial trip back as well as what triggered his return home. 

Sirius was with Harry every day for as long as he was allowed. He brought tear stained letters from Ron and Hermione as well as an impressive collection of sweets from the twins. Remus stopped by one afternoon to visit as well, assuring Harry that everyone was excited to see him as soon as he was discharged. No one had been told about his “little trip” as Sirius had taken to calling it. They were under the impression that Harry had been subjected to experimental magic that had had unique results but that Harry was just fine. 

Judging by the shakiness of Hermione’s penmanship, she didn’t really believe that.

Regardless, Harry was excited to see everyone again. Once he got over his shock, he was able to process just how much he had missed everyone. So when Sirius pranced into the room and announced Harry had been discharged, the smile he got in return was genuine. 

“I bet you can’t wait to get out of here,” Sirius said, handing Harry a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to change into. 

“If I stayed any longer, I think I’d have to be hospitalized for insanity.”

“Well, we’re still going to be careful with you. The Order isn’t going to want you going out and about without a full guard.”

“What’s the Order?” He asked while pulling on his jeans. Harry had heard Sirius mention it once or twice before, but hadn’t bothered to ask about it. 

Sirius glanced around the drab room. “I’ll explain later. Here’s the floo address for the Black home.”

Harry accepted the piece of paper being handed to him and glanced down at the writing:

The Order of the Phoenix has its headquarters at Number 12 Grimmauld Place

He remembered Alphard complaining about Grimmauld Place before. How dreary and borderline dangerous the manor was. He figured Sirius had handed it over to whatever this Order was instead of living in it alone. There had been several Blacks at Hogwarts in the 40s in various years but Orion Black had been the only one who had had the honor of living in the family’s home. 

Tom hadn’t liked Orion. He thought he was horrifically boring and not very bright. 

“Why did you write out the address like this?”
“It’s under a Fidelius charm. Only Dumbledore can tell people its location. Speaking of, I have to burn that now.” With a flick of his wand, the paper disintegrated. “Are you ready to go?”

Harry nodded and followed Sirius out of the room. He had been in Saint Mungo’s once before, but only in the past. Not much seemed to have changed, but Harry still looked around in interest. They arrived in a room full of several fireplaces behind a reception desk. The witch at the desk just waved cheerfully at them as they walked past. Harry stepped into the fireplace first, letting the flames tickle his legs while the chaotic portion of his mind whispered to say a different address, to go somewhere else where he could be alone and sort out his thoughts. 

He shook that voice from his head and recited the address. After several nauseating spins, he stumbled out of the fireplace into a dusty parlor. He took a few steps to get out of the way and Sirius appeared almost instantly afterwards much more gracefully. Harry took a moment to take in the room around them. A large tapestry with various names and portraits covered most of the wall and the furniture in the room looked old and very uncomfortable. 

“Home sweet home,” Sirius muttered.

Harry wanted to ask Sirius more about Grimmauld Place and the Order, but his voice died when the door to the hallway opened and a loud cry sounded before Harry was tackled by a force of curly brown hair. He probably would’ve drawn his wand if he had it, but Sirius said it had been placed in his trunk with the rest of his belongings which he would have access to now that he was out of the hospital.

“Oh Harry!” Hermione cried. Her arms were wrapped tightly around him. “We were so worried about you! I couldn’t believe it when Lupin said they found you!” She took a step back to take him in and to Harry’s horror, tears began building in her eyes. 

“It’s really good to see you, mate.” Harry’s gaze shifted past Hermione to see Ron standing awkwardly just behind her. His uncertainty woke something in Harry and he reached out, pulling Ron into a fierce hug, only letting go to give Hermione another one. 

“I missed you both,” Harry confessed. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“We were starting to think so too,” Ron said. Hermione seemed too overwhelmed to say anything else. 

The shouting and crying had alerted the rest of the building to their presence and Harry was forced to go on a hugging spree among all the Weasleys, Lupin, Fleur Delacour (Harry didn’t know why the hell she was there), and a strange, pink haired woman. 

“Alright, let’s give the boy some room to breathe,” Sirius joked, shooing the crowd back. 

“How are you feeling?” Lupin asked. He had moved to stand next to Sirius, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked older and more worn than he had the last time Harry had seen him. 

“Fine. They were just keeping me at St. Mungos for observation.” 

“He’s a picture of health, the healers said,” Sirius added. He spent a lot of time just smiling at Harry now. It was a little strange, especially since he had never made someone smile just by glancing at him. Tom only smiled when Harry entered a room if he was about to do something to annoy him. All genuine displays of emotion were subtler.

And even a room full of his closest friends couldn’t keep Harry’s mind from drifting back to Tom.

“What happened to you, mate?” Ron asked. Ginny stomped on his foot and several people jumped in to assure Harry that he didn’t need to explain anything.

“I saw Voldemort return and he messed up the spell to kill me.” He ignored the flinching over the name. “Apparently killing teenagers isn’t easier than killing babies.” 

It was only when he registered Hermione’s open mouth did he realize that Harry from 1995 wouldn’t have made such a brash comment with a smirk. He swallowed and tried again.

“I think he messed up whatever spell he wanted to use and it sent me flying through space and time. It took a while to find a way back.” Another white lie. Harry had stopped actively looking for a way back when he made the journey back to his time. 

“We’re just glad you’re home,” Mrs. Weasley said, reaching out for another hug. Harry awkwardly returned it, trying to ignore the snickering in his head that sounded suspiciously like Tom. Again. 

Lingering on the other boy wouldn’t do any good now. Especially with his extra evil counterpart still running around. It was ridiculous, really, to be experiencing a feeling not unlike grief over him. Tom was a demon in training, a child compared to the adult Voldemort, but still a psychopathic child prone to violence. And he had been able to read Harry like a book once he figured out the time travel enigma. Harry didn’t know if Tom could make friends or feel love, but there had been moments where he had looked into the others' brown eyes and seen his own soul reflected in them. 

So even though it didn’t make a lot of sense, Harry was grieving. And he let himself be carried by the questions and conversations of the others in the room to avoid it. When a lull appeared, he threw questions at anyone nearby, asking about the house, the house elf, the Black family tree, the screeching portrait, why the woman with pink hair now had purple hair, what Lupin had been up to. 

“I’m doing some work with werewolves on Albus’ request,” Lupin replied. “And babysitting Padfoot.” 

“Hey!” 

Mrs. Weasley was shooting an anxious look to her husband and Lupin was watching Harry expectantly. It took him a moment to realize they were waiting for him to ask about Voldemort. 

“Is Voldemort recruiting werewolves?” He forced out. Almost everyone in the room flinched.

“We think so. He did last time,” Mr. Weasley said. “We’re hoping to reach some of the packs first and convince them there’s a better way.”

“But why?”
“What do you mean?” Sirius asked.

“Why werewolves? I didn’t think he’d like them. If he’s against muggle borns being treated like wizards, then wouldn’t he also treat werewolves like lesser beings?” 

Lupin opened his mouth, but Sirius beat him to it: “Voldemort isn’t exactly concerned with whether or not he’s a hypocrite. I doubt he views werewolves as people, but if they’re willing to fight at his side, he’ll pretend to support them.”

“But setting werewolves on wizards would just kill wizards or create more werewolves. It’s counterproductive.”

Harry couldn’t explain why he was arguing so strongly. Using others to achieve his personal goals had been a prominent trait of Tom Riddle even as a teenager. But Tom had always prioritized the preservation of the wizarding world, even in hypothetical debates with Harry. His dislike for muggleborns came from their tendency to push for change, for their refusal to let go of their muggle roots. His opinions still weren’t good, but they could have been argued successfully. 

“Voldemort’s mostly concerned with adding to and maintaining his own power,” Lupin said. “He knows which populations are likely to support him and which ones are likely to fight back. That’s why he recruits werewolves and casts out muggleborns.”

Harry stared down at his clenched fists. He felt sick again.

“Ron, why don’t you show Harry to your room?” Mrs. Weasley asked, faking cheerfulness. “Then after come down to the kitchen and we’ll cut into his welcome back cake!”

“C’mon,” Ron gestured, “Dumbledore dropped your trunk off here when we learned you were leaving St. Mungos.”

Ron led him up an extravagant set of stairs, Hermione trailing behind them. Harry wanted to pause and take things in, the strange house elf heads on the wall, portraits of ugly witches or wizards, fancy words in Latin, and the occasional section of wall paper peeling off. He’d never been in a pureblood manor before, but Abraxas and Theron liked to compare notes about whose was better. 

“Here we are. Home sweet home.” Ron went and collapsed on one of the beds, letting Harry wander over to the other, to his trunk sitting at the foot. He opened it and blinked back tears as he pulled out the photo album Hagrid had given him. It was buried along with the Marauder's map and the invisibility cloak. His hands ran over the fabric and it felt like he could finally breathe again, having this piece of his parents back with him.

He closed the trunk again and caught sight of a familiar cage in the corner, on top of a wardrobe.

“Is Hedwig here?”

“I’ve been taking care of her,” Hermione said. “She’s out hunting right now. Her whole schedule was thrown off the past few days. I think she knew you were coming back and wanted to be ready but ended up not sleeping or eating right. She’s very clever.”

“Thank you. For watching her.”

“Of course. She and Crookshanks got along better than I expected.”

“I would’ve taken Hedwig, but Pig and Errol annoy her too much,” Ron offered.

The display of loyalty and friendship was almost too much for Harry at that moment. “I missed you guys,” he choked out. Missed was an understatement. He had felt naked and exposed being at Hogwarts without them.

“Oh Harry. We missed you too.” Hermione threw herself at him, tears starting to leak out of her eyes again.

“Everyone missed you. I think even Snape felt bad. He hardly took a point from our class the entire year.”

Harry snorted. “I doubt it was his own choice. Dumbledore or McGonagall probably told him to be decent for once.” 

“Well, the school year was rather terrible. We thought two students had died and had the worst defense teacher in all of Hogwarts history,” Ron complained. “You’re lucky she got carried off by centaurs.” He paused for a moment. “Diggory, he’s- he isn’t coming back, is he?” 

The tension returned to the room and Harry couldn’t look at Hermione or Ron anymore.

“He’s dead. He’s not coming back.”

“Harry, what happened?” Hermione finally asked. “We spent a year searching for you. The entire wizarding world was on alert looking. The Ministry even lent Dumbledore all kinds of experimental locators from the Department of Mysteries. We tried every ritual and spell to see if you were dead but now you’re back. And you’re fine. And Sirius and Dumbledore won’t give anyone any more information.”

Harry couldn’t fault her for asking. He was surprised Dumbledore had kept so much from everyone, but he appreciated the control over his life. He didn’t intend to keep it a secret from Ron and Hermione. He was certain it would eat him alive if he tried. But he wasn’t sure where to start. 

“I want to tell you,” he heard himself say, as if he were standing outside his body, “I just don’t know how.”

“How about you start right after the Triwizard Tournament?” Hermione’s voice was gentle and Ron had left his bed to sit next to Harry. 

Slowly, in fits and starts, Harry began explaining what had happened. He tripped over Cedric’s name and struggled to describe exactly how horrific it was to be thrown from the timeline. He didn’t look to see if they believed him, just focused on letting the words form one after another. He didn’t give an exact year, just mentioning he spent the year in the 1940s. He ignored the two months he had spent in a muggle orphanage, rooming with Tom Riddle. He didn’t mention being resorted into Slytherin or his eventual friendships with many future Death Eaters. 

When he finished, they sat in silence. Then Ron spoke: “Damn. You really go out of your way to make each school year crazier than the last.”

“Ron!” Hermione grabbed a pillow and whacked him with it and Harry laughed at them until he was wiping tears from his eyes. When they all calmed down, Hermione returned to her interrogation.

“I didn’t know time travel like that was possible! What did Dumbledore have to say about it? Did he contact the Department of Mysteries? Maybe it’s brand new technology! Do you think you left an impact on the past? Did you meet any of your ancestors?”

Harry tried his best to answer her questions, but it was hard when he didn’t know most of the answers himself.

He had just finished when Ginny poked her head in the room. “Mum says if you want cake you better get downstairs now.” 

“We’re coming,” Ron cried, shooting to his feet. Harry laughed again, letting himself be pulled downstairs by his friends. 

The next few days were spent in a haze. Dumbledore must have spoken to everyone before Harry had arrived, scaring them off of interrogating him. He did have to sit in a room and write out a formal report of his experience of traveling to and from the 1940s for the records in the Department of Mysteries. They didn’t care about his experiences in the past, just the magic that caused it. 

The adults had filled him in on current events and explained exactly what the Order of the Phoenix was. He could tell they were holding information back, which drove Ron and Ginny mad, but he didn’t have it in himself to ask. He had no interest in learning about this world’s Voldemort. Had no interest in the war against him. He knew that once he fully acknowledged the man Tom Riddle had become, there would be no way of stopping the wave of emotions that would follow. The best way to pretend everything was fine was to just ignore the issue.

Mrs. Weasley clearly thought he was traumatized. She was constantly checking up on him throughout the day and would snap at anyone who asked Harry a question she thought was too invasive. The twins teased her about it, rushing to open doors before Harry could: “Just in case Harry’s too fragile for such activities.”

Ron and Hermione were happy to play along with Harry, pretending like their year apart had never happened. Hermione questioned him about his OWLs and Ron told her to stop talking about school on break before diving into a long winded play by play of a quidditch game Harry had missed. He didn’t know how to tell Ron that he wanted to talk about school with Hermione; that he had spent the first two months of the school year in the library trying to avoid Tom and that the habit kind of stuck.

Harry found that he was happiest spending time with Sirius and Remus. They dug up a box of Remus’ old Hogwarts things and let Harry dig through it with them. They looked over photos and shared stories about various pranks they pulled. When Harry asked about the kind of books Remus used to prepare to be a professor, Remus showed up the next day with a bag full of various defense books for Harry to keep and look through.

He enjoyed curling up in the armchair Sirius kept in his bedroom, the posters of muggle girls permanently tacked up on the walls while his godfather wandered around, cleaning or getting paperwork done. Apparently there was a lot of legal stuff that had to be done after having all charges cleared. Harry loved those moments best; sitting silently in Sirius’ room with no one asking him questions he couldn’t answer. 

It was one of those moments that he caught Sirius watching him from the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Harry raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

“You know, Harry, I’m starting to think that all this godfather-godson bonding is an excuse for you to hide from the rest of the house here.”

Harry shrugged, sinking further into the chair. “Your room is the safest. Least amount of crazy dark wizard stuff.”

“Your room is safe too. Ron was in it last summer so whatever was going to attack would’ve gone after him already. You don’t have to be afraid in this house. We’ve gotten the worst stuff out.”

“I’m not afraid. I’m making a tactical decision. Minimizing my chances of being attacked by a cursed doorstop.”

“Right.” Sirius walked across the room and sat on the edge of his bed, leaning towards Harry. He looked tired, with worry lines appearing between his eyebrows. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Or to Remus or Mrs. Weasley? We’re here to listen if you need it.”

“I don’t need to talk about anything.”

“I would be more concerned if I thought that was true.”

“I’m fine, Sirius.”

“Time travel aside, you went through something very traumatic in the graveyard. No one would think less of you for being upset by that. And I’m sure being yanked through time and space twice can be very disorienting.”

“It’s not too bad. The wizarding world doesn’t really like change.”

Sirius laughed. “That’s true. We aren’t the most adaptable.” He continued to look at Harry, expecting some kind of response. Once again, Harry was left unsure of what people wanted to hear from him. Sirius picked up on the hesitation and changed the subject.

“Has Dumbledore let anything slip about the new defense professor?” He asked.

“No.” Harry felt his interest spike, especially knowing that most conversations he had had with Dumbledore had occurred with Sirius in the room. 

“Well good. He’s supposed to announce it at the welcoming feast and I’d hate for you to think you’d be getting special treatment just because I’m your godfather.”

“Wait. You’re going to be our defense professor?” Harry’s mouth hung open in surprise.

“They’re running out of people willing to do the job and I wasn’t excited about letting you out of my sight for such a long period of time.” 

“So you’ll be there all year?”
“Hopefully. I’ll have you know I am qualified. I went through Auror training back in the day.” 

“This is amazing,” Harry spluttered. “Can I visit you in your office? And can you stop Snape from giving me detention for every little thing?”

“I can’t see Albus letting me interfere with Snape’s teaching methods, but you will always be allowed to visit me.”

“Sirius, this is great!” And Harry meant it. The daydream of being able to spend summers with a freed Sirius had only ever been fantasies. He never considered being able to see the man during the school year, even if he were free.

“I’m glad you agree with me, but while I have you here there’s something else I have been meaning to talk to you about.” He looked nervous, glancing down at his lap, biting his lip. “I am not the most up to date on muggle opinions on the matter, and I know a lot of it depends on how you were raised, but that doesn’t mean much when it comes to you because Petunia has always been— well, anyway, I just wanted to let you know that Remus and I, we’re a couple.”

He looked at Harry earnestly. “This won’t change anything between you and I or you and Remus. I even told him that you’re my priority and if you need me to be there for you every hour of the day, then I’m there. He knows this and feels the same way. But I thought you deserved to know. Since we’re family and all.”

Harry continued to stare at Sirius as the man began fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

“So you and Remus are a couple, like romantically?”

“Yeah. We were together for a bit in Hogwarts but with the war… Anyway, I know that same sex relationships can make others uncomfortable, but I was hoping-”

“It shouldn’t.”

“What?”

“It shouldn’t make people uncomfortable. It’s normal, right? Like, it’s natural.” Harry was staring at his own lap now.

“Yeah. I’d say it’s natural. Humans have been doing it for centuries now.”

“So it’s not a big deal,” Harry said, forcefully. Sirius let out a bark-like laugh.

“Yep. No big deal. Wish dear old mum had understood that.”

“Honestly, it seems like her opinions on gay people are the least of her problems,” Harry joked. Sirius was grinning at him now, a soft look in his eyes.

“Even if it was a woman, I’d still let you know, Harry. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but like I said, you’re my priority. We’re family. So if you need my attention, Remus and I will put a pause on everything to make sure we’re there for you.”
“I wouldn’t want you to do that,” Harry said, earnestly. “I want you to be happy. The both of you.”

Sirius stood up off the bed and clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder, kneeling down so they were eye level. “You’re a great kid, Harry. We want you to be happy too.”

“I will be.” The words slipped out, surprising him. The silent admission that whatever was going on in his head wasn’t good.

But Sirius didn’t pick on it. He placed a quick kiss to Harry’s forehead and wandered back out of the room, leaving the door open. Harry set his book down, thinking about all the little interactions he had seen between Remus and Sirius over the past week. The arms being casually slung across shoulders, the lack of space between their bodies when they were standing, the way they always sat next to each other at meals. 

His stomach churned and he made his way to the bathroom connected to Sirius’ room. He leaned over the sink, trying to breathe. He wasn’t grossed out by the idea of Sirius being with Remus (although thinking about a parental figure in a relationship was weird in general). No, he was angry at the acceptance and love he knew Sirius would show him, should Harry ever come out.

No, not right. He shook his head, leaning closer to the sink, resting his forearms on it. He was angry because Tom wasn’t here, and even if he was here Harry would never be able to explain what the hell they were because they hadn’t been a couple or gone on dates or confessed their love to each other. Harry still wasn’t sure Tom could love. Harry was angry because he didn’t know how to explain himself without mentioning Tom. It felt like every part of who he had become was tied to Tom. Every change in habit, every shift in preference that made Ron and Hermione pause stemmed from Tom Riddle. He couldn’t tell Sirius that he was attracted to men and women because that part of himself was also tied up with Tom and Harry didn’t trust himself to even start the conversation.

For the first time since waking up in 1996, Harry let himself miss Tom.