Are we friends? Are we not friends? Oh we're coworkers
Oh there were a lot of idiots in the ministry and some of them were running around like headless chickens. Idiots really.
Harry highly doubts that he had actually enjoyed working for the ministry. To be fair, James did say that his first option had been to become DADA professor—curse Remus for being such an amazing teacher. Alas, he settled for Auror. Hopefully, Remus will retire soon so Harry could snatch that position and be free from the bloody ministry. Sure! Working with Ron and Tonks sounded great from how the two spoke to him, but the rest of them?
From what he knows from Barty—he still can't believe Barty Crouch jr. was his age in this universe—Ron and Tonks were Aurors, Draco was a highly accomplished healer in St. Mongus, while Hermione has taken post as the transfiguration professor (the only thing that was the same in this bloody world to his own). But even then, she seemed different from the girl he knew in his supposed past life.
He doesn't think that questioning Barty regarding his relationship with Tom Riddle was a good idea. If anything, the man was dangerous for him. Harry was highly aware of the fact that he was unaware. He didn't know the backstories of these people, he didn't know the connections between them. But that should be fixed immediately considering how he had to know which ones he had to stick to.
Draco was apparently one of them, strangely enough but he'll accept that there's a world where Draco's a pretty decent guy to be friends with. To be fair, to be absolutely fair, Draco wasn't that bad after the war. Really, he met Draco at a pub once and then the two bump into each other there twice a week—drowning out your sorrows with some gin and whiskey with your school rival was actually very fulfilling. Even when they had to drag each other out of the pub before one of them started a brawl (mind you, it was Draco who got into fights and not Harry).
After that, Harry found himself coaxing Andromeda into tea with Narcissa. The four of them were pleasant after a while, softening whenever Teddy came into the frey. Oh how both women had doted on that child. Draco was more or less fond of Teddy, smiling smugly whenever Harry's son changed his usual blue or black hair into pale blonde. (Harry was often affronted whenever that happened).
“Try to be courteous with the minister,” Barty mumbles under his breath, glaring at Harry with a great heap of frustration.
“What the fuck did I do to you?” Harry raises a brow, pressing a hand against his hip. He clicks his tongue, “Whatever the fuck I did, I don't remember a bit of it.”
Barty snaps at him, “So what if you don't remember? That doesn't erase what you've done.”
Harry grits his teeth. Technically, it did somewhat erase whatever mistakes he's made. He's not their Harry. No. He was a broken and abandoned sacrifice from a different world, so he sure as hell was allowed to pissed with the situation he was put in. Death was fucking with him, that was obvious.
The Barty of his world had been a Ravenclaw but he doubts this one is the same. His eyes narrow, before shaking his head in exasperation. “Damnation Crouch.” He mutters, “Are you finished with being a bitch? I've got a minister to meet.” He grins, leaning close to Crouch, invading the other's comfort zone.
Barty, clearly perturbed with his personality, recoiled with a look of bewilderment and a hint of fear in his eyes.
Oh, Harry grims, maniacal and almost satisfied with that fear. Oh this was going to be great.
Barty Crouch didn't just hate him, he was scared.
Oh this was brilliant!
Without another word, he turned towards the door they had stopped in front of. With a single knock, a muffled reply was all it took for Harry to grin at a seething Barty before he entered the room with what lazy confidence he had.
However… his bones practically went stiff, blood running cold when he saw that familiar face. Horribly handsome and black eyes — not like the red he had gotten used to whenever he imagined Tom Riddle. But he looked… normal — or as normal as the dark lord of another dimension was.
“Head Auror.” Harry has trouble describing what is going on with Riddle's face but he's pretty sure it's a smile. Which looks… well, it's unnerving and his eye twitches at the sight. Tom Riddle was capable of smiling like that? Well that was one hell of a surprise if anything.
“Minister,” he murmurs, speaking in genuine unfamiliarity. Again, he'd have to emphasise his memory issues. However, Regulus had been careful in warning him about Riddle's fascination with him—bloody hell, was the bastard obsessed with him in every universe or something?
“Welcome back,” Riddle says simply. “Though it is a shame that not all your memories are intact. How much do you remember?”
Aaahhhh… so this was an interrogation—of sorts. Well, that was in typical Slytherin fashion to immediately assess the situation—specifically an amnesiac who was the head of the bloody auror department. Harry couldn't really fault him for that. He would immediately interrogate any of his friends if they had lost their memories too.
“Well, hm…” he considers for a moment, “Not much. Magic, spells, and such are some things that cannot be removed from my memory.”
Riddle seemed pleased with that. Gods, it was difficult to actually fathom that Tom Riddle (one whose face was amazingly intact and not the noseless one that looked so much like a snake) was capable of looking so damn pleased—at him!
“A few names, associating those names with certain people… well, that's it.” He shrugs, “I'm not quite sure on how to manage an entire department now—since I can't even recall who my secretary is at the moment. Might need a few more days to recuperate.”
Riddle chuckles, “Oh no. I assure you that you'd be able to handle all the Aurors. You come to that role naturally and your instincts will compensate for your lake of memory. The body is capable of remembering many things, of course.”
Well, his vacation was going down the drain. Should he submit a resignation letter? Harry is tempted. Very, very tempted.
“Now, for the safety of the Ministry and for your safety,” Since when was Riddle considerate of him? “I'd like to check a few things. Take a seat, Harry.” Riddle waves his wand and pulls a spare chair closer to his desk.
Hesitantly, Harry takes a seat, hoping it wasn't the same one as the wizengamot seats that conjured chains that bound a person to the blasted thing. Well, it wasn't but it felt like it was. He blames Riddle for that.
“Who are the people you are familiar with, at the moment?”
“Er… Tonks, Ron, Draco, Hermione, Luna, and the rest of my close family.” He shrugs, carefully assessing Riddle as well while the other scrutinises his actions. “Maybe Barty but I'm not really sure about him.”
“I see. You remember those who are closest to you.” Riddle leans back against his seat, eyes narrowing as Harry simply sits there with his arms crossed, lazy eyed as they conversed. “But it seems your personality has been altered due to the lack of memories.”
“How so?” Harry raises a brow, a bit distressed that Riddle seemed to be able to discern him from the original owner of this body. He was sure the rest of his family and friends could recognise the changes but…
“I do not claim to know you intimately, Harry.” Riddle admits (and yet he calls Harry by his first name). “But you were more… hm… what is the word…” Riddle trails off, snapping his fingers like he was going through a eureka moment. “Cheerful. Yes, you seemed to be much more optimistic before the incident.”
He can't particularly contest to that thought. Cheerful, optimistic? Well weren't those words outside of his vocabulary. The only times he's felt genuinely happy was when he got his Hogwarts letter, when he first held his sweet Teddy—
Teddy, oh Teddy… his son, his only child. What happened to his baby? Gods, he had just come of age when Harry died. Did he try to avenge him? Did Teddy manage to inherit all of Harry's titles and wealth? That boy had been orphaned before he turned one and now he lost his only living parent at the age of eighteen. Dread creeps up into his chest, finally realising that his death is perhaps a bad thing. Teddy… sweet Teddy.
“Harry?”
Harry's eyes snapped up, immediately plastering a smile on his face. “Yes, minister?” He hums, struggling to keep calm under Riddle's gaze. He was on the verge of getting up, picking up a chair, and chucking it right at Riddle's bloody face.
“Hm… perhaps you should get some rest for today.” Riddle sighs, raising a brow.
Harry doesn't even hesitate to stand, smiling brightly and shamelessly.
Riddle looks bewildered, if not a tad annoyed by his joy.
Who wouldn't want to get out of work and still get a good salary? His supposed amnesia might get him some leniency with others. He's pretty sure he'll need a few days to recuperate (read: investigate this new life) and rest (read: avoid the bloody ministry). Of course, who would condemn the righteous head of the Auror department that practically risked his life in order to apprehend members of a terrorist group?
“But—”
Of course there's a ‘but’.
“—I would like it if you came in tomorrow.” Riddle hums softly, getting up from his chair and facing Harry with a strange look. Gently—and gods was he gentle—Riddle took Harry's hand into his own and smiled.
He was going to kill himself at this point. Harry thinks, shuddering when he feels Riddle's hand on his.
“It would be beneficial if you were able to familiarise yourself with your workplace early on. After that, I'll see what I can do about a leave of absence.” He explains, horrifically soft that Harry has to stop himself from recoiling at the mere prospect of Tom Riddle being soft. “Rest assured Harry, just sit back and let me handle everything.”
“What?”
“Don't think too much about it, my dear. It might give you a migraine and damage that brilliant mind of yours.” Riddle hums, tucking a stray strand of Harry's hair behind his ear.
Well, wasn't that creepy.
“Let me handle everything for you. I'll make sure you needn't worry for anything else during your recovery.” God, he spoke so soft that it made him want to curl up in a ball and cry about how weird it was to be treated so softly by TOM FUCKING RIDDLE.
To Harry's horror, Riddle lifted his hand up to his lips, pressing against the back of Harry's hand. He pulled his hand away, blinking in surprise and confusion, to which the man laughed. He fucking laughed! The audacity!
Gritting his teeth, Harry glared at the man who looked so fond of him that he almost blanched. This wasn't his world, that's for sure. This world was so strange and peaceful and happy.
Harry wasn't used to happy.
With great hesitance and a lot of pride being set aside, Harry asked—with gritted teeth, “Minister… were we friends?”
It takes everything in him to not blanche at the simple prospect of friendship between him and Tom Riddle. In retrospect, there shouldn't have been a chance of friendship between them, but then again, Harry was kinda deprived of information from this world. He had spent the first few days in this world kinda indisposed due to his protective parents that hounded him through day and night.
To his absolute chagrin, Riddle merely smiles and pats his shoulder, sending him out with a cheery yet vague reply that answers no questions but produces more. Oh he was gonna strangle the motherfucker when he got the chance.
Barty greets him when he leaves the office, blinking at his quizzical expression. “What happened to you?”
“Was I friends with the minister?” He blurts out, immediately regretting it.
Barty’s brows furrow—that’s not a good sign—and he frowns at Harry with an almost dumbfounded look. A lightbulb seems to pop up above his head, clearly remembering that Harry had memory loss (if he actually and successfully reincarnates, maybe he should be an actor).
“You and the minister worked closely together.” Barty mumbles, narrowing his eyes cautiously. “I don’t know much, but I’ll give you the basic information. When we were first years—” Harry takes note of that, confirming their ages, “—Minister Riddle was two years above us. Though you work together now, I can easily say that you two were at each other’s throats when we were still in Hogwarts. You were the consistent threat to our winning streak in the house cup.”
“Quidditch?”
“And DADA.”
Harry acknowledges this, humming as he tilts his head. “So we’re just coworkers?”
“Yes,” Barty replies with a neutral tone. But oh… oh dear.
Harry was quick to see that flicker of hesitation and anxiety in his eyes. It was a simple second but it was enough for him.
“Yes, you and the Minister are strictly coworkers.” Barty sniffs, huffing as Harry chuckles softly.
“Thank you for the clarification,” he says in the most sincere tone he can muster. That disturbed look on Barty's face is something he takes absolute joy in. “I'll stop by the Auror department to tell the rest that I'll be going home. The Minister dismissed me for the day.”
A simple pat on the shoulder was enough to make Barty shudder. He really was having far too much fun with this. But then again, he had to remember that investigations must be done in order to properly function in this new life.
Barty gulps as Potter leaves the office. He glances at the Minister’s secretary who looks equally concerned. “Not a word, Priscilla. Not a word outside of this office.” He tiredly warns but then again, Priscilla was quite smart. She simply nods, warily glancing at the door as if that strange version of Harrison Potter would enter the room again.
“He’s a lot more…” she trails off, “subdued… Don’t you think?”
Barty can only nod, because it’s the truth. Potter had been so calm and strange.
For fucks sake—Barty knew that amnesia did a number on people but not to this extent. Bloody hell. Potter had transformed into an entirely different man.
“He smiled more.” Priscilla mutters and Barty sends a little hex towards her. The secretary only scowls, shaking her head as she returns to checking on files that were in need of sorting. “Should I send a basket to the auror department? They’ll have to deal with this new one now.”
“That’s recommended—”
“Barty.”
The two of them immediately freeze like deers on headlights. Priscilla gives him a pitying look, sending him into the room—sending him to his death. The treacherous woman.
Deep breaths Barty, deep breaths. He tells himself as he stands before the youngest Minister ever to be born. Barty kept his face as blank as possible, treating the man with respect as he bowed quietly.
Tom Riddle had been notorious and infamous; a literal symbol for House Slytherin who had come to practically worship the grounds he had walked on. Emerging into society as the heir of Slytherin at the age of twelve, immediately becoming Lord when he had come of age in his sixth year, everyone was amazed by him. He was brilliant—and Barty came to revere such a fact after Riddle had basically socially murdered his father after ousting his misconduct to the entire country.
Oh what a wonderful day it had been when Bartemius Crouch Sr. was basically chased out of the ministry. Barty had watched the entire thing, laughing his ass off with Theo Nott at his side.
“I want an update on the Potter situation.” Riddle says, rather coldly. He glances at Barty once, before going to signing off reports and putting rejected and approved proposals into different piles.
Swallowing thickly, Barty summons a file, and clears his throat. “The cause of his memory loss was a wild and unknown spell being fired at him, hitting him directly on the forehead. He has sustained no further injuries aside from a scar that cannot be vanished away.” Barty nervously shifts his foot, continuing on as the Minister did not try to cut in. “Auror Potter was then put in a coma that lasted for three days. There are no further updates from St. Mungo’s after the first day, as Lords and Lady Potter removed their son from the facility and had Lady Malfoy as his healer for the next two days.”
Barty looks up at Riddle again, questioning if he must continue. With a wave of a hand, Barty continues on.
“From the reports given by Lady Malfoy due to ministry requirements, we’ve discovered that his memory loss was immediately confirmed when Auror Potter could not remember even their parents. Aside from the instinctive knowledge of everything in regards to his magic, Auror Potter cannot remember anything outside of names and some faces associated with said names.” He can uncomfortably recall how Potter was precariously curious about him just moments ago. It was terrifying to be honest. “In the next three days, the Potter couple has spent their time trying to bring Auror Potter’s memories back. Their attempts were not as successful as we required as he was only able to recall names, faces, and certain dates.”
“So his memory has essentially been wiped clean.” The minister mutters, glancing up at Barty with a blank and nonchalant look. “What of the Order of the Phoenix?”
Now that was what made Barty flinch. The Dumbledore issue has been going on for three years straight and he felt like he was going to kill himself every time he was asked about it. How Potter had managed to keep his composure every time the topic came up is a question Barty would like answered—three pages perfectly written and presented to him to explain how and why Harrison Potter was so fucking cool about it.
“Well—”
“Get on with it, Crouch.” The way he enunciated his surname sounded horrible. Barty hated his father most and that came with the name.
“The three terrorists apprehended by Auror Potter have been identified as Sturgis Podmore, Griselda Fawley, and Farrel Doge.” He surveys three different files, all of which were dedicated to the newly captured order members. “We’ve only managed to gain little information due to their suicidal attempts at keeping their organizations dealings secret. As of late, Ronald Weasley interrogated Farrel Doge and the man attempted to end his life with poison that was hidden in his tooth. Later on, we successfully dissected these poisons from Fawley and Podmore.”
The room’s temperature dropped significantly, making Barty wince as he observed the Minister’s reaction. His expression was professionally subdued but even Tom Riddle could not hold back his magic in such a flurry of anger and frustration.
“Blasted old man.” Riddle practically spat, “Postpone any more interrogation. Contact the Department of Mysteries and requests professional unspeakables to do a thorough scan on all three prisoners. Dumbledore is a cunning man willing to sacrifice people for his gain. There will be curses imprinted into their very bones if I must suspect.”
It’s enough to make Barty blanche at the mere prospect of being bound with magic that burned into your very bones. He shudders, nodding in understanding as he notes on contacting the unspeakables soon after this meeting.
“Anything else?”
Barty did not fumble. He refuses to admit it as he whips out another paper and clears his throat. “Auror Tonks and Auror Lestrange have successfully located Alastor Moody. Currently, they are hunting the man down with the assigned squad that the Head Auror had given them.”
Seeing that the minister was visibly satisfied with this, Barty relaxed—just a tad bit—and organised his files once more. As he chews on his lip, he glances at the minister who nonchalantly looks away and proceeds to write up notices once again. “You are dismissed, Barty.”
Barty bows low enough to be visibly respectful of the man, slipping out the door in a quick motion as he banishes his files back into his bag that rested on his office. As the door closed shut, he slid down against it, sighing in absolute relief.
He heard Priscilla snort at him.
“Shut up Priscilla.”
First things first on Harry's list of strange yet big differences between this world and the last. He's listed them all down—not alphabetically because he does not have the time nor motivation to do such a thing. (Hermione is most likely stiffening in strange horror in his previous universe, questioning as to why the universe has made her feel so aghast and offended.)
- Harrison James Potter, simply Harry for short, was the son of three people. James Potter, Lily Potter, and Regulus Potter. Why they decided that it would be James' name they'd take, he did not know.
- Luna was his godsister, now it was not only Neville who was stuck with him.
- He and Ron were aurors. Neville was apparently a terrifyingly good herbologist that was currently travelling the world for a research paper of his before he'd return to Hogwarts to take the mantle of herbology professor.
- Tonks or Dora and Draco were his cousins. His fucking cousins! My god he was horrified at the mere prospect of that.
- Barty along with some others from supposedly older generations had been born in his generation instead.
- There were other people here who did not exist in his world, such as the Lestrange boy that was apparently Bellatrix and Rodolphus’ son.
- Last but not the fucking least, Tom Riddle was bloody minister instead of the damn dark lord.
First of all, he did not appreciate being chucked into an entirely new—because yes, this world was so horrendously unfamiliar that he wanted to curl up in a ball and wail—and be forced to do as much research as possible in order to survive—again.
Did he say anything about the order? Right. That issue.
The entire world had been practically put into a ball, someone had shook that ball, and now pieces fitted into places where they were not supposed to be. Harry was in that kind of situation and was on the verge of grabbing a knife from their kitchen and killing himself with it.
The Order of the Phoenix was a fucking terrorist group for Merlin's sake. It felt like he was going to jump off a cliff by the time he actually meets an actual member of the bloody order.
Being sent home was the best option for him to be honest. Though… the childhood bedroom was concerning for him. When he heard childhood bedroom, he immediately thinks of the fucking cupboard. He can't quite grasp the mere concept of having a perfectly good room as his childhood bedroom. Hecate had mercy, he really couldn't wrap his head around it.
The bed had a charm that allowed him to basically adjust the temperature of the bed itself. There were pictures and books littered across the shelves. Some toys were still on the shelves, specifically a plush cat, stag, dog, wolf, and well… he had actually saw the rat toy and chucked it into a box that was stuffed in a trunk filled with all trinkets from his supposed childhood.
“I guess you were happy…” he mutters, staring at the trunk yet again. He listlessly picked up a book, and album. “How quaint.”
The album was filled with pictures from Hogwarts years. They were labelled depending on the year, along with stupid little notes like: “Harry ate a frog during the match!” which was Harry's first match in his second year, the date being November 10, 1992.
“Cake incident of ‘94.” The pictures were silly ones with all four houses chucking cake at one another. There was a picture of Draco getting hit square in the face, another was of Harry already picking the frosting from his hands, and another was of Hermione, Luna, and Ginny posing for a picture covered in cake. It was funny considering they moved, watching the endless cycle of Draco's horrified face and then a splatter of cake on his face. January 13, 1994.
“First prank and first detention.” December 1, 1991. It was a moving picture of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and a few others sat in detention, all posing like idiots for the picture. He narrows his eyes, recognizing a few—Draco, Neville, Nott, Parkinson, Zabini, Bones, and the Patil twins. He blinks, surprised that this version of him had been friends with so many people.
He flicks through the rest of the album, pausing immediately as his eyes practically bugged out of his head. He chokes at the sight of the picture, gasping as he almost drops the album.
“First perfect potion. Severus was proud.” March 16, 1996.
“Sweet Morgana.”
He felt faint. So absolutely faint.
Oh my fucking god, Severus Snape was smiling in a picture with Harry brewing a bloody potion. He looked drastically different from the Snape of his world, because Snape was not as well kept as this one. His greasy hair looked neat even in the picture.
“Oh my god Snape is nice in this universe.”