You think you know someone

 Albus groaned in agitation as he read through the many old Daily Prophets. A part of him was constantly worried the past events he would find here would be too different from the history he’d learned since he was a child. But another, more persistent part of him, hoped it would be different. Albus had no desire to live the war his parents fought in. And judging by the accuracy of what he read so far, he was currently relieving a significant part of history.

 Everything is exactly the same. Well, almost. The veil in the Department of Mysteries here worked as a portal rather than a passage for the land of the dead. On top of that, other than the Chamber of Secrets, this Hogwarts did not have other underground chambers whatsoever. Let alone one being accessed through the Room of Requirement. The Headmaster and Professor McGonagall had already investigated the matter.

 Abandoning the jumble of papers on the table before him, Albus went wandering aimlessly around the castle. Hogwarts was empty of students and most of the faculties (aside from a couple of professors, Filch, and house-elves in the kitchen), so the halls within were uncharacteristically quiet. Ever since he set foot in this school as an eleven-year-old, Albus could at last find it in himself to appreciate the value and history of this place. Not having bullies to look out for—and overall the lack of people here—made Albus aware of how overwhelming the magical aura was in Hogwarts. He wondered if the Founding Fathers used every bit of magic on earth in the making of this grand place. Surly they must have.

 He strolled slowly up toward Ravenclaw Tower. He had been staying at the Hospital Wing since the start of the summer, and he usually stays at the ground floor and dungeon except the times he occasionally visits the Headmistress—theHeadmaster’s—quarters. This was the first time he attempted to check on other floors.

 Everything looked nearly an identical copy of how he remembered places he’d been in to look like. Without having any restrictions on where he can and can’t go, he decided to visit the area’s he never dared go to before.

 Albus soon found himself lost. Despite having a few cousins sorted in Ravenclaw, he had never attempted to search for its common room until now. Flustered and a little ashamed, he turned a corner toward a balcony where he spotted a tiny hut near the Forbidden Forest.

 Professor Hagrid’s old hut! It looked smaller than the one of his time. Probably because the Death Eaters hadn’t burned the old one to the ground yet. How did Hagrid even fit in there? It looked too small in contrast to where the half giant lived when Albus started school.

 He wished he could go down there. He wasn’t necessarily close to Hagrid from his universe, but Albus only ever felt a sense of familiarity when in the presence of someone he’d known from his own time. Like Professor McGonagall. The same couldn’t be said about the rest that knew about him here.

 Albus was only used to seeing the dead Headmasters in the form of paintings, and that made him still uneasy around the physical, living forms of Dumbledore and Snape. And he actually never met Madam Pomfrey before he came here, so he didn’t know her all that well. She was particularly a stranger.

 As he gazed longingly at the tiny hut he thought of doing it, of going down there right now and introduce himself to Hagrid without a care of what Dumbledore might think. Looking down at the hut really brought a sense of nostalgia that made him wish for company of someone he could confide in. A friend he could talk to freely about every thought twirling in his head—

 Oh how he missed Scorpius! This nightmare would be all more bearable if he had his friend to distract him from all his worries. What he wouldn’t give to have the other Slytherin stuck here with him.

 Not wanting to spend any more unnecessary second dwelling in his own sorrows, Albus diverted his eyes from the tiny looking hut and refocused on his stroll through the castle. In his search for the Ravenclaw Tower, he had accidently stumbled on his least favorite of the Houses.

 “Ugh.”

 The Fat Lady’s portrait startled from hearing Albus, then narrowed her eyes offendedly at him. “Well you’re not that pleasant to look at yourself, but you don’t hear me making unsavory noises!”

 Albus flushed, stammering “I-I-uh. . . it wasn’t about you! It’s just—I’m lost, is all.”

 She huffed in mild annoyance, “What are you still doing here anyway? Don’t you have somewhere to go back to for the holiday?”

 Albus couldn’t help but to laugh humorlessly.

 For a moment, the Fat Lady looked critically at the sudden outburst before she asked in genuine curiosity, “No, really, what are you still here for?”

 Albus dug his hands into his pockets and shrugged to appear nonchalant, “It’s kind of a long story.”

 “Good ones usually are.”

 He stayed quiet, raking his head in search of something that would quickly change the subject.

 “C’mon! I’m sure you’re as bored as I am,” She leaned against her frame, peering at him with eagerness, “staying in this giant castle with no drama going on!”

 “Don’t you have other portraits to entertain yourself with?”

 Waving a hand around, she stated, “Do you see them now?”

 His eyes scanned the other portraits, and as promised, there was no one occupying them.

 “I. . .” He started, his mouth trying to form the words, “I’m thinking about taking—I mean, retaking my OWLs.”

 A brow arose in confusion, though she sounded suspicious as she asked, “You’re allowed to do that?”

 “I—”

 Thankfully, he saw someone up ahead approaching him. Albus used that as an excuse to avoid looking at the Fat Lady and answering her query. He could hardly structure a good lie at the moment.

 He didn’t need to see the person to know it was Professor McGonagall; her strides alone were recognizable enough, for they radiated an air of authority which she certainly held. “There you are, Mr. Potter” the Professor announced. “The Headmaster wishes to speak to you in his office at your earliest convenience. The password hasn’t changed since you last visited.”

 He had had been two other meetings with the ancient man aside from when they first conversed. Neither had been that pleasant. They also weren’t bad either, no, the problem was that Albus would leave Dumbledore’s office more confused than when he got there. Honestly, that wizard spoke in many riddles, it was no wonder his portrait turned out to be that way.

 Albus mustered a tight smile while avoiding looking at a less wrinkled Minerva McGonagall, “Great.”

 The first time he and his namesake spoke to one another was sometime after the Sirius Black of this world had gone through the veil Albus came from. The second was when Dumbledore asked Albus what he knew about the past several years (as in the 1990s) to compare the two separated timelines. So far, there were only small distinction between them that were too insignificant to cause a noticeable difference. As for their third conversation, they had discussed the possibility that Albus might not be able to return home unless they could get their hands on the veil that caused this mess. That one left Albus feeling bitter and sour.

 “Without having the veil you came out of in our reach, we may as well assume you’d still be here for the start of next school term.” Dumbledore had said to him at the end of that unpleasant chat.

 Albus became too upset at the time that he up and left without saying a word. Or rather, he did say some distasteful words that would have earned him an earful from his grandmother.

 Now, Albus was certain that they were to continue having that conversation, so he mentally braced himself for the worst as he made his way to the Griffin statue.

 Dumbledore greeted him discreetly as though knowing if he were to say the wrong thing, it would set Albus storming out of here. Again.

 “You called for me, sir?”

 Dumbledore was arranging the papers he had been working on before Albus came in, he nodded at him as he set the papers aside. “I believe it is time we continue our talk, don’t you?”

 Albus grumbled. If he were to admit to the possibility of resuming his education here, it would feel as though he gave up returning home all together. The thought terrified Albus. But he refused to voice his worry to the Headmaster in fear of appearing even weaker than he looked. “How would that work, Professor? Would I start my sixth year this autumn with the rest of Hogwarts? Would that even be wise?”

 “I would prefer not to resort to that, but it seems to be the best choice for you.”

 He remembered the lie he told the portrait covering the Gryffindor entrance. He was half worried it would become a reality. “I still haven’t taken any OWLs before I got stuck here. Would I have to do that now?”

 “Oh, you definitely should take your OWLs.” Dumbledore declared resolutely. “How else can you determine the right classes to take for your sixth and seventh years.”

 “Look, Professor, I appreciate your concern about my education, I really do, but shouldn’t we be more focused on convincing the ministry to lend us the veil?” Albus said.

 “Acquiring the veil from the Department of Mysteries will be no easy feat. Especially now that it is under extreme scrutiny.”

 “Why?” He demanded.

 Dumbledore shrugged, “Someone fell into it. Nothing like that had happened before, that is, according to what the Unspeakables were willing to share. Usually, they would only send spells or magical devices through the veil, but never a living being, let alone a person.”

 “Sirius Black?” Albus let out the name before he could think twice. 

 Dumbledore gave a grim nod. 

 “Do the. . . the Unspeakables? Do they know about me?”

 “Unfortunately, we do not have the luxury to seek immediate help from anyone in the ministry. There are some followers of Voldemort working among them. And while Lucius Malfoy was already caught, there’s no telling who could be trusted these days.”

 “Right. Because of the war.” Albus murmured. 

 A dim smile framed the wrinkled face, “I must say, the fact that Harry Potter had lived long enough to have a family of his own is all the assurance I need that Voldemort will be defeated at some point. So, am I correct to assume, there’s no war going on from when you are from?”

 “Correct.”

 “Well, let’s cling to the belief that the Unspeakables there are more reliable than they are here. I can only have faith in the advancement of magic in your time and hope the ones responsible over there are most efficient in their search for you.”

 Silence stretched between the two Albuses. The teenager doubting whether the magical resources the old wizard seemed to think 2022 possess existed at all. He couldn’t be sure. Meanwhile, the elder man was humming thoughtfully to himself.

 Albus tried distracting himself from his thoughts by focusing his attention on Dumbledore’s phoenix. Fawks was tending to his feathers, then, as though it felt itself being watched, had turned to an angle that gave Albus better view of the bird’s majestic wings.

 “Now, about the reason I called for you.” Dumbledore began, and Albus snapped his attention back to him. “Minerva urges that you must not be deprived of you education, and while I agree with her on that respect—on the condition that you’d be privately tutored, of course, to secure the secrecy of your entity—she had a different approach to the matter at hand.” Dumbledore paused to let that sink in. 

 “Hold on. Are you implying—I mean, is Professor McGonagall saying that I should enroll in Hogwarts?” Albus’ felt his eyebrows nearly disappear to his hairline. “As in this Hogwarts?”

 Dumbledore gave a brisk nod, “She and Poppy believe it not to be ethical to let your er, shall we say, circumstances stand in the way of you living.” He ended on a grim note.

 “Oh,” Albus quickly caught on to the undertone bitterness Dumbledore didn’t bother to mask. “and you don’t like that?” 

 “I suppose I don’t support the idea of exposing you to hundreds of students, but I do not necessarily disagree with Minerva and Poppy’s views. If you are to stay here for a long period of time, then it would be rather cruel to force you into hiding during your stay here.” 

 “Hmm,” Albus thought hard of what to say, “I think. . . we can just create some false background, you know? We could even transfigure my face and say I’m a transfer student.” It sounded like an easy solution to him. What could possibly go wrong?

 Dumbledore, however, seemed to find a flaw in his plan.

“We could, but it’s possible for this plan to easily be tampered with. It takes only a simple mistake, a slip—be it intentional or not—for your story to crumble, hence the plan will backfire eventually.” Dumbledore provided his prepared response as though he anticipated that notion from Albus. “And even if we were to successfully avoid the issue altogether, you would still have to build a temporary life here based on a complete lie.” Something in the man’s features visibly softened, “And you are still growing up. Pretending to be someone you’re not for months could negatively affect your sense of identity. It would be unethical of me to ask you to hide everything that makes you who you are. Now, I am not, by any means, encouraging to reveal your true identity; that would put you in a dangerous position. But what we can do is offer a little bit of truth.”

 Albus’ brows furrowed, “How?”

 “By pretending you came from another universe of course. But let it be one that shares the exact same timeline as this one.” Dumbledore said seamlessly. He must have thought about this more thoroughly before calling Albus into his office, “You can even pretend your universe is a nonsymmetrical one compared to this one. That way, your personal background could be somewhat the same as your world’s, but with modified details to fit the narrative you’re trying to sell.”

 Albus was now more confused than ever.

 “For one, you will be known as Harry Potter’s counterpart from a different world, just as Severus, Minerva, and Poppy already believe you to be. You can speak of your true life and how you grew up as freely as you like, that would be the truth after all. But if you were to speak, let’s say, of your world’s Ginevra and Harry Potter, do make sure to refer to them as Lily and James Potter instead. With that, you can sell the idea that you are only a dimension traveler without anyone suspecting that you are also a time traveler.”

 Albus chewed on his inner cheek, taking that all in while trying to make sense of what the old man was asking of him.

“Are you saying that the. . . that the concept of time travel is more dangerous to be leaked out than the whole traveling to another demission thing?” In Albus’ mind, the whole ordeal of coming from another universe sounded more threatening to have revealed than him travelling through time. At least the Wizarding World had some grasp on the aspect concerning time. After all, his aunt used to own a Time-Turner for a while before they were destroyed—and she had been only thirteen!

 Time was not a foreign thing. In fact, it probably functioned the same in every universe. So why did securing the timeline matter more than the possibility of having an alternative, yet symmetrical universe? Albus voiced his confusion on the matter, to which Dumbledore cautiously clarified, “Let me explain this in simple terms, Albus, given how your universe is identical to ours, what you call your present is considered to be this timeline’s inevitable future. And being a time traveler, from the future no less, puts you at a grave risk, I’m afraid. However, if we were to say you were from another dimension (which you are) and that the date on which you came from is indeed 1996, then all that needs to be obscured are your name and background. Fortunately for us, it won’t be necessary to forge an entire story, because your life is already different from your father’s, so use it.”

 “That’s. . .” What did he think of this elaborate scheme? Clever? Insane? Unsavory? In the end, he settled on: “Brilliant!”

 Fawks flew toward Dumbledore for him to pet. Albus had only ever seen the phoenix around Aberforth in his world, the only remaining Dumbledore of his timeline. He wondered if he should tell the man that he would not live long enough to witness the twenty first century like his brother and bird would.

 Dumbledore continued to speak with Albus while he had his eyes fixated on the magical bird. “Now, things may be a bit tricky if you are to share a dorm with the real Harry—”

 “I’m not a Gryffindor in my time.” He said bluntly. Better get this out in the open already. He hadn’t been wearing his school robes when he ended up in this world. Usually students didn’t bother having them on after supper. And since Albus came here from when he was with Rose’s study group where he wore a plain black sweater with grey jeans, the people here had no way to determine which house he belonged to.

 “Oh?” Albus looked away from Fawks in slight bewilderment. “That makes things even more convenient for the story you’ll try to convey. Further proving that you are indeed a different Harry. Potter” He smiled. “May I ask, what House were you sorted in?”

 “Slytherin.” Albus replied quietly.

 “I don’t know if your father ever told you this, but this word’s Harry once confessed to me that the Sorting Hat originally wanted to place him in Slytherin before he persuaded it to change its mind.” 

 Huh? Persuaded the hat? That sounded like a true Slytherin tactic to Albus. Though his father did tell him that he could’ve ended up in Slytherin if he hadn’t begged the Hat to put him literally anywhere else. Had his dad been lying about that? Could it be that Harry Potter was a snake sleeping in a lions’ den this whole time?

 “Then that’s good, right? It’d be like, in another world, Harry Potter did end up in Slytherin!”

 Dumbledore clapped his hands once and leaned his chair back in approval, which caused Fawks to fly away in surprise, landing gracefully on his stand. “There you have it.”

 Albus mulled the idea over and over. . . Would he share a dorm with Scorpius’ dad? It would be nice to have some semblance of his friend with him, even though he doubted this world’s Draco Malfoy would be as friendly as the one he was familiar with.

 Dumbledore was now mentioning the OWLs again, but this time, Albus didn’t leave. They discussed the subjects Albus had been planning on taking and where his interests could align with.

 Back home, he had planned on sticking to more general subjects and hoped they would be enough for whatever career he’d choose to pursue in the near future. Well, to his time’s version of the future. Despite that, Albus always had a mild curiosity about ancient artifacts. He wasn’t too invested in knowing, but he would sometimes do his own research on them as a hobby. He wouldn’t find himself minding to learn the historical value of such objects. He once imagined himself becoming an antiquarian after Hogwarts so that he’d conduct magical research on artifacts’ origins and cultural background. But he knew the job wasn’t very heard of in the Wizarding community, and therefore, it didn’t pay well. And with Professor Binns as a teacher, it was difficult to get any historical knowledge that didn’t concern the Goblin Wars, which was part of what made the ghost’s class incredibly boring. But History of Magic was important for the majority of NEWTs levels, so Albus would end up taking the class anyway. 

 When Albus told Dumbledore about what he might consider becoming, the legendary wizard had been nothing short of supportive. Albus didn’t usually care for an adult’s approval (at least, that’s what he kept telling himself), but having the approval of an important historical figure—someone so great he was named after no less!—made Albus think that becoming an antiquarian could be an actual possibility after all.

 For once, Albus left Dumbledore's office without having his head hurt. In fact, he left the office with a clear goal in mind. He trotted down the stairs, a mixture of dread and nervous excitement bubbling inside him. Now that Scorpius wasn’t with Albus to lift up his pessimistic spirit, he had to choose to be optimistic, no matter how against his nature that felt. This will be an interesting year.