De amore et bello

De Amore Et Bello

Chapter 1

🍺⚡💥

Saturday, November 29^th, 1997

“Run!”

Harry scrambles forward, jumping from roof to roof. The houses are not ones with tiles cascading in stacking patterns, but rather ones with a flat roof, edges pushed up into long blocks. The wind whistles in his ears, burning at his eyes, ruffling his outer cloak. He grasps his wand tighter in his hands, unable to help himself. Underneath him, he can see the moonlight hair, no longer slicked back but now falling in silky layers, of his best friend, Draco Malfoy, running. Even from the height he is, Harry can tell Draco is pushing himself harder than he should be, veins jumping out of his hands as he squeezes them into fists.

“Harry!” Draco screams, looking around for any sign of Harry. They’d both burst out of the Ministry, having tried to break in to fetch something important they needed, evidence that the light was not as light as they pretended to be, but had found nothing. As a sharp alarm blared in their ears and the bitter sound of Granger and Ronald’s voices had reverberated across the walls, Harry had immediately yelled for Draco to run.

Draco had obeyed without question, only pausing momentarily to glance over his shoulder to see if Harry was alright. Draco had ran through the streets and alleyways, weaving between buildings and crosswalks, crowds, and benches, whilst Harry had climbed up one of the buildings fire escapes, wanting a birds eye view of the layout he was forced to face. That way, he could track where his friend was and how close the opposing side was.

“Draco!” Harry calls back. Draco looks upwards, face slackening with relief. He yells in surprise as green light passes his shoulder, hitting the wall behind him. Bang. Gradually, pebbles start to slip from the wall, until bit by bit a little more of the wall cracks off, piling onto the ground. A crack splits down the middle with a horrible grinding noise that makes Harry’s stomach plummet. Dread pools in his gut, heady and not at all pleasant.

Draco screams as the wall behind him starts to collapse, right on top of him.

“Fuck—Draco.” Harry stumbles forward and onto his knees. The cement grazes his knees, creating small scratches that sting. Harry tunes the pain out, intent on getting to Draco. He throws his legs over the side of the roof and inches towards the fire escape, fingers grasping for the long, black metal pole, gritting his teeth in concentration.

“Malfoy!” Ronald’s bellow makes Harry’s head snap up. He can taste blood in his mouth from how hard he’s biting down on his tongue to stop himself from saying something and aggravating them further. He doesn’t want them throwing an unforgivable at Draco, or something worse. He doesn’t want Draco to be captured either. Draco whimpers, the sound loud enough that Harry hears it as he climbs down the pole, making steady work, almost at the end, near enough to the ground floor. Draco swallows thickly and looks over his shoulder, stormy silver eyes desperate.

“Harry!” Granger’s voice joins Ron’s violent roar. Harry ignores them both, their voices blending into a cacophony in the back forth of his mind, and jumps down onto the fire escape, slipping and catching himself with one hand. Pain swells in his fingers from the abruptness, pushing a low hiss from his lips. “Just come out and stop this nonsense! It’s for the greater good!”

Harry looks down at the ground, where Draco is staring up at him, shoulders drooping in defeat. He’s overcome with a sudden urge to smash Ronald’s and Granger’s face in, wanting to hurt them for making their world so dull and grey when everything was supposed to be over, for making them have to be anxious all the time, always looking over their shoulders.

Harry hears a sharp crack whilst he’s staring at Draco, looking to the side just as two red-haired males pop into the clearing. He stifles a relieved sigh. His arm burns from the strain of holding himself upwards, but he cannot move, eyes glued to the scene. “Harrikins!” Fred yells, sweeping Draco up into his arms.

“We’ve got the snake!”

“Just get out of here!”

“You know where to go!” Harry bites his lower lip and closes his eyes, willing himself to get moving, to push those feelings brimming at the surface down.

“Go!” He shouts when the wind shifts beside his ear, red stunner hitting the wall behind him, just an inch from where his head had been before he’d ducked down low, feeling the shift in the air.

“No.” Draco whispers, voice catching. “No, Potter, no, don’t sacrifice yourself because of me, because of my mistake.”

“What are you waiting for—go!”

Crack.

Harry lets a grin grace his face, feral and sinister, as the trio disappear into the shadows. They almost seem to melt away and to their safe house in the east of England. Ronald bellows in rage behind him, frustrated and angry by the fact that Draco’s gotten away and aided by his elder brothers at that. Harry lets go of the fire escape, whispering a spell that makes him float slowly down to the ground. His feet hit the floor with a soft thud. Another stunner heads his way and Harry ducks down low.

“Come to the Ministry quietly, Harry.” Granger comes closer, vine wood wand clutched tightly in her fist. Her knuckles are white and she’s breathing a little too heavily for her to be calm. Ronald follows shortly after, face puce red with anger, freckles almost white against his skin. Harry looks over his shoulder and smirks wryly.

“Sorry, Granger,” he says almost apologetically, “but I’m all booked. Maybe some other time?”

“Harry—” Granger starts, face twisting sourly, like she’s just chewed on a lemon.

“Catch me if you can.”

He gives a little, curt wave and apparates away, smirking at the twin yells of outrage.

🍺⚡💥

Harry drops into a clearing. At the far end, cloaked in multiple concealment charms and wards, was a small cottage. In the front was a small garden, maintained by Harry and Draco; Draco had asked Harry to teach him about gardening because he wanted to know if he would be able to use muggle plants as ingredients in potions and how they would react with magical ones. Harry looks around quickly, noting that nothing seems to be off, warding the space again quickly to cover his tracks of apparition before he relaxes.

“Harry?”

“Draco?” Harry glances up and grins as he comes forward, hugging the former Slytherin tightly. Ever since they had been forced on the run, they had become close. Their bond was much like Fred and George’s.

“I thought you were caught.” Draco breathes, pulling backwards, eyes slightly misty. Harry smiles as he embraces the twins, smile turning exasperated as they pretend to wail and scold him, red hair ruffled in the wind. It’s clear they’re mocking their mother and Harry shakes his head as they place two smacking kisses on the apple of his cheeks, pulling back with two teasing, beaming grins.

“I’m too careful for that to ever happen.”

“Cocky too, it seems.” Charlie Weasley’s voice spreads over the four and Harry grins, happy to hear that they’re okay. He always gets slightly worried when one of them leave the safe space of their cottage to either go and get something in the muggle shops or go on raids and missions to get things they needed.

“Well, that too,” he admits, smirking, “you got back, okay?”

Looking over Charlie Weasley, he seems to be okay. Apart from the burn marks over his bare arms courtesy of his tank top but they’re the normal for the second oldest Weasley. Charlie had given up his career of dragons in Romania when he’d gotten several letters from his brothers, asking him to come back and had seen the situation at hand. He didn’t want the wizarding world getting their clutches on them once again. Harry knows that Charlie is very much so like himself. He’d never say he’s injured unless specifically asked.

“I’m fine.” Charlie says with a small nod. “Bill’s all right too—it’s just Percy. He got a bump on the head when he got hit with a stunner, but it merely took him down. Nothing too serious.”

Harry gives him a wary look but then accepts it seconds later. Charlie was known for being honest, apart from when it came to his own injuries.

“What about you guys?” Charlie asks as they make their way inside their small cottage. After Remus had died in the Hogwarts final battle, Harry had inherited the Black estate since it had befallen to Remus as per Sirius’s request after he had perished in the Ministry attack—and a small little cottage that Remus took shelter in whenever he wasn’t out of the country. It was the perfect place to hide in because even Dumbledore hadn’t known where Remus had lived after the fateful night on Halloween with the Potter’s. The light side had no chance of finding them in a raid.

“No injuries. A few close calls though.” Draco admits quietly as Charlie shuts the cottage door, glancing out of the window paranoidly. It had been that way for all of them when they’d been declared ‘felons and escaped prisoners.’

“Good, good.” Charlie pulls the blinds down and locks the two locks and seven magic deadbolts. He pulls back and gives them a small smile. “Anything else?”

“Weasel and Granger spotted us.” Draco murmurs, heading into the living room where Percy was clutching an ice pack to his head. Draco wrinkles his nose as he takes the seat on the sofa next to Bill, closing his eyes with a short sigh.

“You saw Ronald?” Bill questions.

“Yeah, he sent a killing curse at Draco.” George collapses into an armchair, Fred seating himself on his lap seconds later.

“I’d thought Hermione would’ve seen sense,” mutters Percy from the side, wincing a little at the strain of his injury, “she was always a smart witch.”

“She wasn’t really.” Harry drops onto his knees in front of the fire and whispers a spell that has logs appearing in the fireplace. He lights them on fire and lets them burn before pulling back.

“Another one of Dumbledore’s tricks I gather?” Charlie guesses and Harry nods.

“Great.” Fred groans, head falling onto his twins shoulder. Harry scratches at his cheek, giving a nod of agreement. Bill makes a sound, a little grunt as he shifts to the side, eyes focused on Harry’s robes, tilting his head to the side.

“Harry?” Bill murmurs, sounding a little concerned. “What is that?”

Harry looks over his shoulder and then down at his cloak, ripping off the object stuck to the material. He narrows his eyes as he examines it. It’s small, just as big as his palm. It’s like a sand timer, with small dials at the top that make creaking noises every time he moves it this way and that way. There’s no chain but there must’ve been a sticking charm on it. He probably had gotten it after he’d knocked into a shelf whilst running through the halls, needing to escape Granger’s and Ronald’s clutches.

“I must’ve caught it when we went on that Ministry raid.” Harry glances at Draco, who’s gone surprisingly pale.

“Harry—that’s an Unspeakable time turner.” Draco breathes. “Don’t—”

Harry’s fingers twitch in surprise at Draco’s admittance and he gives Draco a guilty look as the time turner twists.

Screech!

Everything goes white.

🍺⚡💥

“—move.” Draco finishes exasperatedly as they plummet. Wind whips at Harry’s hair and eyes, burning his vision. He clenches his eyes shut, holding back a scream as he spins, almost barrelling into Bill and Charlie, who’re tightening their grips on each other. Draco grabs his ankle and gives a sharp tug, hastily pulling closer so he doesn’t veer further away.

Fred screams as he clutches onto George, tugging desperately at his twins cloak.

“We’re going to die!” Fred wails.

“I’m too pretty to die!” George wails back. Harry clutches onto the time turner as different scenes appear in mid-air as they fall. Harry’s eyes crack open, seeing the lights flash across his eyelids, absorbing all the different time zones—that fateful Halloween day where his parents were murdered, a small, orphaned Tom Riddle getting his Hogwarts letter, two females and two males in the different house colours taking a step back and smiling up at a glittering Hogwarts—the four Hogwarts founders.

“Harry!” Draco shrieks, voice rising, spinning a little. His grip has dislodged from Harry’s ankle, and he frantically looks back at the raven-haired male, grey eyes flashing in terror. Harry’s eyes snap to the former Slytherin, taking in the way Draco’s waving his arms, lips twisting down into a sharp frown. “Turn it! Turn it!” He pleads and Harry gulps, looking down at the time turner in his hands. He stares for a long moment and turns wide eyes to Draco. He doesn’t know what to do. How does he even work it?—

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake—” Percy yells, ice pack nowhere to be seen, breathing heavily as he comes barrelling towards him. Harry gives a yelp as Percy kicks him in the knee in his mad scramble, grunting in pain afterwards. “—give me that damn thing!” He snatches the time turner out of Harry’s hand with his long fingers and tumbles a few feet away at the momentum. His nimble fingers snag onto the small disk at the top and he snaps it a few notches.

The world goes black.

And they fall faster.

“We’re going to die!” The twins repeat like a mantra. Harry swallows, feeling like sawdust was sliding down his throat, stomach churning as bile rises. He’s going to be sick—he can’t die like this—not like this. He never thought he’d go out this way, plummeting to his death. By his side, Charlie closes his eyes as Bill holds his hand tightly, reaching for Percy’s. Percy stretches his arm across the space, corners of his eyes crinkling in concentration and strain.

The world lightens.

They stop falling.

“Well, that was—” George lets out a pained groan as they slam against solid ground, getting cut off in a painful way. Harry coughs and pulls himself into a sitting position, ribs burning, looking around. Where are they?

“Where—” he starts before blinking at his surroundings. “No.” He bemoans, scrambling to his feet and helping Percy and Draco up. Bill pulls Charlie to his feet and then they help the twins up, all four looking at the Whomping Willow situated a few feet away. And a few short miles after that, standing tall and proud, is Hogwarts herself. The windows glint when beams of sunlight slant onto the windowpane just right. The turrets peak up into the clouds, trying to get glimpses of the sun.

“Fuck.” Bill swears. “We’re at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Draco snarked before taking a deep breath, visibly collecting himself, calming himself down. His ears and neck burn a pretty pink; it almost looks like he’s got sun burnt, especially considering his pale complexion. Harry fights back the urge to snicker. “Sorry. It’s just—when are we?”

All their eyes go to Harry, and he heaves a deep sigh. Once again, the leader. He supposes that he should get used to this. He should be used to it already, but sometimes, he can dream—sometimes he can image blending into the background, letting others take over as he lives a normal, happy life, away from the fame, away from the press. He’s had strange and dangerous and adventure. He wants normal now.

“Only one way to find out, right?” Harry asks cheekily, some of the marauders personality bursting through without warning. Draco catches on straight away as Harry sets off towards the entrance of Hogwarts, the speed of his walk increasing when he hears Draco scream in frustration behind him, sounding exasperated when he next yells.

“You cannot be serious—Harry James Potter, you get back here right now!”

Harry smirks: he doesn’t stop walking.

🍺⚡💥

Sunday, September 1^st, 1977

“I cannot believe—” Draco growls as they stop in the Entrance Hall, marble staircases situated a few feet away, spanning up into upper floors, just in front of the Great Hall. There’s a loud chattering reverberating off the walls, echoing around the empty Entrance Hall. Harry gives Draco a glance of amusement and then smiles. It’s amazing to see how far they’ve come from first year—Harry would’ve probably already punched him right now and Draco most likely would’ve given him a literal kick up the ass.

“Tackling the problem head on is always the best option.” Harry said. George and Fred snicker into their palms, innocent expressions on their faces as soon as Draco turns their way. Draco looks back at Harry with disbelief written in every smooth line of his face.

“Yes, if you want to get killed!” Draco hisses as Harry pushes the double doors open. The excited chattering lilts to silence, every face turning their way, some old, some so innocent and young that Harry’s heart skips a beat unconsciously. He can tell immediately they’re not in his time for they’re not burdened by war, there’s no steel in their eyes and stubborn determination set in their jaws. They’re just—they’re just students.

“Fuck, it’s the opening feast.” Charlie whispers, eyes wide. Bill drags him along when the twins suddenly let out yells of excitement, skipping into the Great Hall and after a determined Harry. Harry’s gaze is ahead, so he doesn’t notice the way the eyes follow him nor the whispers that travel through the student body. Dumbledore’s face is the first thing Draco considers and he murmurs this to Harry, who gives a singular nod.

“Who the hell are they?”

“New transfers?”

“Shit, they’re hot.”

Harry purses his lips to stifle his laughter when he catches that little snippet from the Ravenclaw table. He doesn’t know what direction it came from and who, but the twins seem to. They wink and bow in the direction the statement came from. A boy in the Ravenclaw table goes pink as the twins beam at him. Percy sighs exasperatedly at the sight of his twin brothers being the same strange people they usually were.

It’s only when the twins get something out of their pocket, exchanging what Harry deems the marauder smile, does he decide to intervene. He stops, the others doing the same at his side.

“Fred! George! Put that prank away!” Harry barks across the Hall. Harry sees the marauders snap to attention, straightening to look, craning their necks. Fred and George give a loud groan of disappointment. George stuffs the prank into Fred’s hands, who tries to stuff it into George’s pocket. When George makes to put it somewhere else, Harry releases a sigh from his nose, nostrils flaring. There’s a tiny smile ticking up his lips as he turns despite that, looking back at the twins that freeze as soon as they see Harry looking at them. “If you don’t put it into one of your pockets, boys, I’m sure I can find a better place to put it—a much more painful place—like up both your ruddy asses.” Harry smiles sweetly. Draco smirks as the rest snicker at the twins facing Harry’s ire.

George stuffs the prank down Fred’s shirt. Fred lets out a roar of mock anger and barrels through the Hall and after George, who gives a mad cackle, dashing pass. Harry’s hand snaps out, wrapping in George’s collar. George gives a moan of pain and slumps when Harry raises an eyebrow at him, Fred skidding to a stop in front of him.

“Harrikins—” They both start. Harry smirks.

“Save it for later, boys. I’ve a plan for that, anyway.” Fred and George brighten considerably and the duo exchange satisfied grins. Draco reaches forward, tugging on Harry’s ear as a reminder. Sighing, Harry spins around and starts making his way down the Great Hall, and really when had it been this long? His eyes meet Dumbledore’s again and he lets his eyes slide when he feels the sharp prod of legilimency against his shields. Practicing with Draco really paid off.

Harry turns sharply from where he’d been approaching the Head Table, veering in front of McGonagall instead of the Headmaster. Someone inhales sharply as Harry bows down low, an ancient custom purebloods used to do centuries ago to show their uttermost respect. Whispers bounce off the walls, the purebloods explaining what this means to their friends behind their hands, surprised and astonished eyes snapping to Harry.

“Hello, madam.” Harry says politely. “We’d like to be sorted. We know it’s not conventional but then again, nothing about this is conventional, I’m afraid.” McGonagall’s stunned face makes Harry smile gently. It’s nice seeing her surprised, although there’s a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. She must’ve not been seen much respect if she’s this astonished—he vows to be a better student to her in the future.

“I—” She starts, speechless. The corners of her lips quiver.

“Is it not possible? Have you already finished sorting the first years?” Fred asks from behind Harry, leaning over his shoulder to peer at McGonagall. His eyes are wide and Harry masks a smile behind his hand, acting like he’s scratching at his brow. Draco has no problem with it, letting out a guffaw of laughter without shame.

“Ah, such a tragedy.” George pretends to cry, burying his head in his hands. Charlie pats his back with an amused smile when the male curves into him, hiding his face in Charlie’s wizarding robes. Percy rolls his eyes at the sight. McGonagall just blinks rapidly, looking uncertainly around the table for help. It’s clear she doesn’t know what to do.

“I’m—Albus?” McGonagall whispers to the man on her left, uncertain. Dumbledore stares at them for a moment and then gives a short nod, eyes filled with that damned sparkle that Harry loathes so much. After all, it was this sparkle to ruined his life and made his life the living hell it was currently; after all, it was that damn sparkle that made sure Harry was born in the first place.

“Of course, my boy—”

“Headmaster.” Harry grits out between his teeth, practically spitting the words. “Don’t call me that. It’s uncomfortable—I don’t know you and you don’t know me.” Harry says between clenched teeth. Dumbledore’s periwinkle eyes sharpen but he backs down anyway, the glitter falling away, replaced by cold calculation.

“Very well. Minerva, sort these children into their houses.” Albus says and McGonagall gets to her feet, shooting a glance in their direction. She heads down the steps, veering off to the side to reach for the Sorting Hat sitting a few feet away, on the stool. It’s utterly still, frozen like ice, but Harry can feel it watching and listening regardless, can practically taste the amusement wafting off of the fabric. Draco grips Harry’s arm abruptly and pulls him down the steps, dragging him off to the corner of the Great Hall just as the others line up.

“We can’t trust him.” Draco whispers. McGonagall steps up onto the platform again, placing the stool in front of the Head table. She looks back at them, tilting her head curiously, waiting. Harry looks down at Draco, releasing a long breath.

“I know,” replies Harry, “but it’s the only thing we’ve got. Have you got any idea on what time we’re in?” Harry asks and Draco’s eyes flitter around momentarily before his gaze locks with Harry’s. The grey is swirling around his irises uneasily, anxiously pushing at the edges as though it feels trapped. As though he feels trapped.

“Harry.” Draco mutters, hands coming to smoothen down Harry’s crooked shirt collar and his wrinkled cloak. Harry’s eyes snap down to the action and then upwards, narrowing thoughtfully.

“Draco?”

“I think we’re in our parents time. Sixth year.” Draco tells him. Harry’s breath catches unconsciously. “I see my mother and father and my mother has the hairstyle she had in her sixth year. She showed me pictures—said she never had the same hair style for more than one Hogwarts year and only wore one for the entire year. It was expected.” Draco explains at Harry’s raised eyebrows, pulling back. Harry gives a short nod, running crooked fingers through his black, messy hair, forcing out a sigh to calm his suddenly racing heart.

“Okay, okay.” He reassures himself. “We can do this. I can do this. Nothing like seeing your dead parents the same age as you, right?” Harry jokes, almost muttering to himself. Draco shoots him a concerned look but keeps silent, which Harry appreciates greatly. He already knew he probably looked insane.

“Guys, come on!” Charlie calls loudly. Harry and Draco share one last long look before they approach their friends, feet slapping on the smooth stone beneath them. When they finally manage to get to the others—curse the long goddamn Great Hall—Harry falls behind Bill, Draco slipping in front of him and going second to last.

Percy goes up first, glasses perched precariously on his nose. His red hair curls near enough to his shoulders; he’d decided to grow it out like Bill had once they’d gotten out of their mother’s clutches, liking it far better than the short cut he’d had all throughout his life. Molly Weasley had never allowed him to grow it out, speaking of it as though it was a sin to grow it out, saying he’d end up looking like Lucius Malfoy. Percy hadn’t asked again.

McGonagall lowers the hat onto his head. “What’s this? A time traveller?”

“Yes. My name’s Percy Weasley.” Percy speaks, sounding self-conscious. He doesn’t know if the hat would understand him like this. His question’s answered seconds later when the hat lets out a chuckle.

“I know who you are, Mr Weasley. It’s all here, in your head. I sorted you into Gryffindor the first time. You wanted to follow your brothers, scared of the outside world, desperate for your parents love and pride. But truly, I should’ve sorted you into Ravenclaw, you’d make a much better raven than a lion.”

“And why is that?” Percy asks, curious. The hat gives a smooth rumble.

“You excel in everything you do but you’re blind sighted by your doubt. Your doubt holds you back. You don’t move on and up when you doubt yourself, Mr Weasley. You stay at the same point all your life, and this is what will always happen if you’re sorted into Gryffindor. In Ravenclaw, you’d have a chance to flourish. You could be the very best you in the house of the eagle.”

“Then sort me there.” Percy smiles, satisfied. The hat grins, rips itself apart, a low tare jutting near it’s brim in the form of a mouth.

“RAVENCLAW!” McGonagall tugs off the hat and transfigures Percy’s wizarding robes into the official Hogwarts ones, adding the blue and bronze crest as an afterthought. Percy thanks her softly and walks off to the Ravenclaw table, only stopping when Fred and George start cheering him on, smiling slightly at the strange sight they make, red hair aflame. He snickers, sliding into one of the spare seats.

Fred approaches the hat next. George thumps him on the back for comfort and blows a flying kiss at his twin. Fred stumbles and almost falls on his face but catches himself, ears going red when Draco snickers at him, sitting atop the stool, shifting uneasily. The hat gets placed on his head, falling just beneath his eyes and he stares at the blank space in front of him.

“Another time travelling Weasley? Oh my.”

“Yep, I’m afraid there’s about three more.” Fred snickers aloud as the hat trembles atop his head.

“Oh, deary me, oh deary me. This is what I get, becoming the sorting hat.” Fred’s eyebrows tick up as the hat mumbles to itself for a long moment. He waits, feeling liquid dread pooling in his gut. “Yes, yes, Mr Weasley, you’re sneaky and sly, but that does not mean you are evil. No, you and your brother are rather brilliant—conniving if I may say so, but brilliant just the same.”

“Then I guess there’s only one place to put me?” Fred asks, smirking a little. He’s always wanted to be in Slytherin, no matter what his mother and father had said about it. Mostly, it was Molly, always droning on and on about the evil witches and wizards that had come out of Slytherin—Arthur had just hummed merrily in agreement, head stuck in a muggle magazine or busy chatting away to one of his children.

“Yes, only one. You don’t seem to be too shocked or disgusted. Usually, Gryffindors are horrified to learn about being sorted into Slytherin.” The hat sounds curiously. Fred supposes it hasn’t really had a decent conversation in a long while. A slow smile spreads across his face and a few strides away, a matching one graces George’s face. Draco and Harry exchange wary glances.

“Slytherin’s have always fascinated me. Snape acted like he always hated our pranks and what we were doing but every detention he used to scold us on what we were doing wrong. In his own sneaky way, I think he was trying to coach us on how not to get caught and how to go about it quietly. It was … world changing to me and Georgie. All we had ever known got flipped on our heads. It took time, but we grew to realise that snakes aren’t really that bad.” Fred explains. The hat hums gently, thinking.

Finally, it spoke. “SLYTHERIN!”

Fred pulled the hat off his head before McGonagall could do it for him, handing it to the woman. She smiles gently and transfigures his robes, his chest donning the green and silver crest. Fred hops down the steps, twirling his twin around as he laughs. Draco says something to him, and he nods, hurrying off to the Slytherin table, sliding into the empty seat just next to a younger Severus Snape.

George is up next. He glides to the front and sits down. As soon as it’s on his head, he’s speaking, not allowing the hat to talk or interrupt him at all. “You’re sorting me where Freddie goes. I’ll accept nowhere else and if you think about sorting me somewhere else—I’ll—I’ll—” He falters, cursing himself for not thinking this far ahead.

“Relax, Mr Weasley. I have no qualms about sorting you with your brother. In fact, I’ll be happy too; you possess everything needed for Slytherin anyway.” The sorting hat says. George beams. The hat smiles too, opening its mouth. “SLYTHERIN!” George rushes to Fred, having to double back, handing the hat to McGonagall with a sheepish smile. McGonagall shakes her head and transfigures his robes as he sprints to his brother, practically flying into the empty seat next to him. Bill and Charlie roar with laughter the whole entire time.

Meanwhile, Draco’s triumphant, standing next to Harry and shaking his arm hurriedly in excitement. Harry’s getting shaken all the while, nodding along, getting kind of dizzy the longer it goes on. “I knew it!” He sends the Weasley siblings a triumphant grin. Finally, he lets go of Harry’s arm. Harry rolls his eyes as Charlie snickers, seeing his pale face and the excited gleam in the blonde’s eyes next to him.

Charlie ascends the steps, grinning all the while. There’s no hint of nervousness in his walk, just plain excitement and calm exuding from him as well as anticipation sparking in his blue, sapphire eyes. When the hat finally lowers onto his head, it’s silent for a long time. Charlie doesn’t fidget, just sits, and waits with the hat patiently.

“You are puzzling, Mr Weasley.” The hat finally says. Charlie smiles.

“You think so?” Charlie ponders, inkling his head to the side. “I’ve always thought I was rather simple, at least, simpler than most.” The hat snorts at this and Charlie can sense the amusement coming off of it.

“There is a difference between being simple and being puzzling. To yourself, you are simple because you know yourself, Mr Weasley. You have never been confused on who you are. To everyone else however … you are like a puzzle. Unexpected. We expect the pieces but are surprised whenever a piece finds its rightful place.” The hat explains. Charlie blinks.

“So, I’m a puzzle? Huh,” Charlie thought, a chuckle of amusement slipping out before he could stop it, “where would that put me then? Where do puzzles go?” He snickers some more. The hat huffs and he thinks that if it had eyes, it would be rolling them right about now.

“I’ll show you puzzles, Mr Weasley.” The hat grumbles. It pauses and then opens its seam wide. “HUFFLEPUFF!” Charlie gets to his feet, McGonagall leaning up to take the hat off his head, flicking her wrist. Yellow and black robes deposit onto his person and he beams thankfully at her, waltzing across the Great Hall to sit next to Amelia Bones, who looks so young, no smile wrinkles around her mouth or eyes. Dimples come forth when she smiles at him, shaking his hand, grinning at him in a friendly way.

Bill’s up the steps before McGonagall even has a chance to open her mouth and call out “next”, Scottish lilt to her voice. As he sits, he flicks the long red-hair that came down to his shoulders back over it, lamenting at the loss of his dragon tooth necklace, the one that Charlie had gotten him—one that had matched his dragon bone earrings, the one’s he was currently wearing—as he’d left it on his bedside table. He’d covered it in wards and safety spells that he’d now no longer have access too as it was over twenty years away in the future.

“Ah, the final Weasley. Welcome. It’s been a pleasure sorting you all.” Bill snorts at that, wondering if the sorting hat truly meant that. He knows that George and Fred would’ve likely tried to take the piss out of the hat or threaten it to put them in the same houses.

And it had seemed like it had worked as they were both in Slytherin, giggling and laughing like children. The hat didn’t cover his eyes like the others, so he saw when Fred made George laugh so hard that pumpkin juice squirted from his noise. A few of the Slytherin’s shied away in disgust. Some leant closer in intrigue.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Not at all.” The hat said cheerfully. “You have smarts, a wonderful sense of strategy. It was like you are an offspring of Rowena Ravenclaw herself!” The hat exclaimed, sounding mildly thrilled about that tibbit of information he’d just gathered. Bill nodded.

“So Ravenclaw then, I suppose?”

“As thou deems it so!” The hat cheered. “RAVENCLAW!” Bill blinked up at McGonagall when she pulled the hat off his head. She sighed a little, changing his robe to the bronze and blue, shaking her head regretfully.

“I thought Gryffindor for sure.” She told him, as if sharing a deep, dark secret. The hall was silent, so their voices echoed around the space. Bill recognised that she was disappointed she didn’t have anyone in her house and all the others did. He smiled warmly at her.

“Not to worry, ma’am. Harry will probably end up in Gryffindor. He’s the leader of our little group, over there.” He pointed out when McGonagall’s face changed from hopeful to confused in the blink of an eye. She looked towards where Bill was pointing, right into Avada green eyes. Harry smirked and with a tilt of his head, brought his hand up in a clawing motion.

“Rawr.” He said. Bill chortled as he watched McGonagall’s eyes widen, narrowing seconds after in thought and intrigue. Her eyes roved Harry’s figure before nodding shortly.

“Well, off you go then. To the Ravenclaw table.” McGonagall waved him away. Bill descended the stairs and got Harry in a headlock in one fluid moment, laughing when Harry squirmed, glasses crooked and hair even more a mess than before he’d been wrestled playfully. Draco reached up and fixed his glasses without needing to be asked.

Bill walked to the Ravenclaw table and slipped next to Percy, ruffling his curly, shoulder-length hair fondly. Percy rolled his eyes, fixing it belatedly as his gaze is dragged to the front, watching curiously as Draco goes next. As Draco approaches the stool, his back straightens and his eyes sharpen, so that it looks like he’s calculating how to win a duel rather than get sorted into a house by a hat.

Draco sits on the stool, grey eyes glittering rather unexpectedly as he looks over the Great Hall, gaze falling onto Harry, who gives him a whoop of encouragement. Draco smiles, more like a smirk really. “Good luck, snake!” Harry exclaims. Draco smirk changes: it forms more of a cruel grin, highlighting the razor cut of his jaw and the vicious edge to his grey eyes. The hat feels cold to the touch when it finally comes in contact with his head, immediately humming in thought.

“Oh my.” The hat says faintly, in what feels like surprise and a little tinge of awe. “You seem to have been my fastest sort yet. I didn’t even touch your head before I decided to send you to Slytherin. I wonder why that was. What did I see in your head that was so impacting?” The hat now seemed to be talking to itself, so Draco didn’t even bother saying anything in return. After a solid moment of muttering to itself, in which Draco was forced to listen, painstakingly bored.

“Are you going to sort me or not?” Draco finally burst out. The hat paused in its muttering, his rant of questions cutting to a close. It chuckled.

“Impatient, but yes, I shall.” The hat said. “There’s plenty of ambition in you. You strive to be the best and expect a lot of people, lashing out when they don’t come up to your full expectations. You like to succeed and rarely back down. Yes, plenty of courage too. You’d make a wonderful addition to Gryffindor as well as Slytherin.” Draco pondered that for a moment. He knew that the hat may change its original position due to what he’d gone through, the decisions he’d had to make in the future, and he knew that he’d have to consider being welcomed into another house.

But when his eyes dragged across the Great Hall—the hat coming to just above his eyebrows—taking in all the round and slim faces, he just knew. He knew that he could never leave Severus alone, he knew that he had to be in the same house as his godfather for it would feel like something was tearing him apart from the inside if he didn’t.

“Ah, you’ve already decided I see.” The hat stated. Draco nodded sharply. “Very well. I look forward to seeing what you are capable of doing in Slytherin. SLYTHERIN!” Draco let McGonagall take the hat off as it cackled in his mind. He got to his feet, shaking the hair out of his eyes, walking towards Harry with a straight back. Harry lifts his hand and gives Draco a high-five, hand tightening all of a sudden, bringing him close to hiss in his ear.

“Don’t let your guard down in Slytherin.” Harry whispered. Draco froze, knowing what Harry was talking about. He knew that Slytherin was relatively safe but there was a lot of people gearing up to join Voldemort and he didn’t want Draco to somehow get involved in the process whilst trying to worm information out of people. Draco had had too many close calls already involving Death Eaters and future Death Eaters.

“I won’t.” Draco murmurs. Harry pulls away, giving a sharp nod. Their gazes locked for a long moment before Draco averted his eyes and Harry let go. Draco’s lips thinned into a white line. He approached the Slytherin table, grabbing his wand and wordlessly transfiguring his robes himself, McGonagall not being able to do it as he’d got up too quick. He hears her inhale sharply behind him just as he slides into the seat beside Severus, Fred and George opposite him. They tilt their heads and Draco shakes his, watching them look back towards the front, staring as Harry descends the steps.

Each slap of his boots across the floor commands attention. The solid slope of his back muscled, visible even beneath the many layers he’s wearing, visible beneath even the black leather jacket. Some of the girls mouths drop open, mouth-watering at the sight in front of them. His black, raven hair falls over his forehead and he shakes it away, the shaggy mess falling away, hat dropping over it.

“Another Potter.” Harry lets a small smile tilt up the corner of his lips.

“Hello, Eriovixia.” The hat gave a little jolt at its true name, staying silent for a great long while. Harry waited patiently until the hat would talk again. He knew that it would be shocking. The sorting hat probably hadn’t heard its true name in over a thousand years, ever since it was created. “It is nice to speak with you again, old friend. I fear I have missed your words of wisdom.”

“Indeed?” Eriovixia murmured, softly, a quite happiness bubbling in its voice. Harry smiles gently.

“Indeed.” Harry confirms. The sorting hat laughs, out loud. It shocks McGonagall and she jumps, hand going to her chest in surprise. Harry chuckles a little too, happy at Eriovixia’s joy. Despite all that Ronald had done in the past, he was right about one thing—it truly must be so lonely and boring not having anyone to talk to. Harry very much doubted that Dumbledore took the time out of his day to have a conversation with it.

“You’ve had two suggestions thrown at you in the past.” Eriovixia says. Harry hums in agreement. “Gryffindor or Slytherin? Which one suits you the best, Mr Potter? That is the question.” Eriovixia whispered. Harry threads his fingers together and crosses his legs, smirking, resigning himself to a long conversation with the hat.

“That question is one that you have to answer, I’m afraid.” Harry said. Eriovixia gives another little laugh. Harry shrugs his shoulders daintily. “I’ve had fun in Gryffindor. And I wouldn’t mind being placed in Slytherin, but yet I feel myself yearning for Gryffindor once more … I want to spend time with my family, listen to my parents argue and spend time with Sirius.” Harry sighs, scratching at his cheek absentmindedly. Eriovixia also sighs, stuck.

“I admit, old friend, I am stuck as well.” Eriovixia admits. Harry’s lips tick up.

“But you have an idea, am I correct?”

Eriovixia snorts. It sounds strange on the hat, echoing around Harry’s head. “I would like to see you cause carnage in Slytherin, but I know that your passions lie elsewhere. I am inclined to let you fulfil them. I think that it would benefit your cause greatly.”

“My cause?” Harry asks, interested, and intrigued now.

“Yes, even if you do not know it, old friend, this time travel has given you the opportunity to change things. To shape a better future. Unspeakable time turners don’t just stick to anyone—they stick to people who they think is an important person in history, someone who shapes the very foundations of the past and future. Maybe it was fate, maybe not. But I know one thing—now that you’re here, there’s no going back. You’ve changed way too much just by going to McGonagall.” The hat explained. Harry blinked, seeing the table’s shifting, murmuring to each other.

They were wondering what was taking so long.

“Are you saying that we can’t go back to our timeline?”

“As soon as you arrived here, Mr Potter, your timeline ceased to exist. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back, not anymore.” Harry swallowed softly, closing his eyes for a moment to pull his feelings back. It’s better he’s here, he knows that, yet he can’t help but think of Neville and of Luna, sitting together beneath the stars, wondering when Harry was going to visit them again. Of wondering if Granger, Ginevra, and Ronald had gotten to him once and for all.

His eyes snapped open abruptly, fire roaring in his gaze. His stare locked with Draco’s, who gave a strong nod, face determined. His mind was made up in that moment. He’d make a better future for Neville, for Luna, for Dean and Seamus, for all the future Slytherin’s and Gryffindor’s and Hufflepuff’s and Ravenclaw’s. He’d make a better future for everyone, and he’d die trying if that was what it took.

“Sort me into Gryffindor. It’s where I belong.”

“A very good choice.” Eriovixia said to Harry’s firm statement. “I wish you luck. GRYFFINDOR!” The Gryffindor table lit up in cheers and Harry could see Sirius and James wolf-whistling as Harry stood, about to walk down the steps, waving away McGonagall when she lifted her wand. He wanted to keep his clothes. The black leather jacket was Sirius’s and even though it was slightly big, it still smelt of him. Harry had cast a charm on it when Sirius had just died, the only time he’d cast magic before the age of seventeen and hadn’t gotten into trouble for it. He had worn it ever since.

He was about to walk down the steps when Eriovixia called his name. The Great Hall abruptly fell silent, everyone listening as the sorting hat had never spoken before, only when it was singing it’s strange songs just before it got sorting.

“Harry?” Harry turned. Although Eriovixia had no eyes, it still felt like he was being scrutinised.

“Eriovixia?” Harry countered, grin pulling at his lips.

The sorting hat rumbled with laughter again. “You must visit me in the future. Our conversation has been fulfilling. Tell your blonde friend to join you sometimes—he is an interesting one as well.” Harry stared at the sorting hat for a long moment before he nods.

“I will. Perhaps I will even help you with your next year’s song.” Harry laughs, almost choking on it, it’s so sudden. “Draco has a nice voice.” Something hits him in the head. He lets out a curse, looking over his shoulder at the blonde in question, leaning down to pick up the spoon that had gotten chucked at him.

“Piss off, scar head.” Draco snaps. Harry laughs at his disgruntled face, shoving the spoon into his jacket’s pocket, rocking back and forth on his heals.

“Why art thou so cruel, ferret face?” Harry beams, ducking when another spoon flies his way, reflexes sharp as his hand snaps upward, picking the spoon out of the air. He slides that one into his pockets as well and turns back to Eriovixia, bowing down low. “I shall see you in the future, Eriovixia.” Harry spins and struts to the Gryffindor table, sliding down next to Remus—Peter, Lily, Marlene McKinnon, and Mary MacDonald sitting next to him. Opposite him, James, Sirius, Alice Fortescue and Dorcas Meadowes were sitting and each one of them stared at him as he got comfortable, immediately reaching for the yorkshire puddings.

“That’s a wicked jacket, mate.” Sirius said suddenly as Dumbledore started talking, something about welcoming the new students into the school, old and young alike. Harry tugged on a bit of his raven hair, tucking it behind his ear. A few of the Gryffindor’s gaze slid up to stare at his scar. Sirius isn’t deterred by his silence like some and carries on, picking up some more pork from in front of him, eyes skimming back to Harry’s face like he can’t help it. “I can see why you didn’t want Minnie trying to transfigure it away from you. Where’d you get it?”

Harry pauses from where he’s chewing a piece of roasted potato. He swallows, turning to face Sirius.

“It was gifted to me by my godfather.”

“Do you reckon he’d know where to get one just like that?” Sirius is growing excited now, Harry can tell. They’re in sixth year, so that meant that it was just this summer when Sirius had run away from his parents, fleeing to the Potter’s, which means that he’s free. Free to buy whatever he’d want, wear whatever he wanted, be whoever he wanted.

Harry’s heart gives a lurch. His gaze falls back to his plate as he sighs. “I’m afraid not. He was murdered not even a year later.”

“Pity. He has a good sense of fashion.” Sirius said immediately. Lily inhales sharply as James ultimately realises Sirius has been inconsiderate, for he thumps Sirius on the arm, glaring at him. Sirius hisses in surprise and pain, turning to stare at James. James pointedly looks at Harry, jerking his head and Sirius finally seems to figure out what he’s said wrong, for he flushes. “Sorry.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just shrugs. He reaches for some more roast potatoes and yorkshire puddings, completely ignoring the vegetables and meat, piling some more onto his plate and nibbling at the edges of the potato. He stabs his fork into each one, humming softly to himself.

It’s only when a muscular body slides in next to him that he stops. He doesn’t take his eyes off of his food, but he knows immediately who it is. “Charlie.” He greets. Charlie smiles, hands coming up to tie his hair into a low ponytail, dragon earrings dangling.

“Harry.” He replies, leaning forward to scoop up some vegetables and meat, spearing it and dumping it onto Harry’s plate. Harry grumbles as he watches, not refusing or whining, just glaring at Charlie as he dumped the plate in front of him.

“I can’t eat all of that.” Harry says, examining the full plate. It’s stacked to the brim with food, a lot more food than Harry has eaten in a long, long time. Harry feels another presence at his back and groans, brushing a hand through his hair. “Draco, wonderful to see you.”

“Uh-huh.” Draco snorts, demanding the others to shift along and up the bench, so that he can be on Harry’s other side. The others obey, Draco smirking as he sits down. “You’re eating it. No buts nor ifs about it, scar head. Even if I have to force it into you, I will.”

“I’m feeling the love.” Harry mutters sarcastically. Draco smiles sweetly, a false sweet, eyes firm.

“You better.” Draco chirps back. They glare at one another for a long moment, the twins collapsing beside Charlie, groaning in unison, breaking the tension that had suddenly floated between them. Harry glances over at the twins, watching them collect themselves, Fred reaching forward to spear at one of the pieces of meat with Harry’s fork, shoving it into his mouth. Charlie smacks the back of his head.

“That’s Harry’s!” He says sharply. Fred moans in pain, rubbing his head.

“Well, it’s mine now. Besides, he wasn’t even eating it!” Fred protests as his twin snickers quietly to himself. Charlie inhales sharply, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know how Bill does it—one of these days I swear—I swear—” He grumbles to himself, most of what he’s saying indiscernible to the rest of the table. The twins chuckle between themselves, Fred handing the fork back to Harry.

“How I do what?” Bill sits down, shoving Charlie to the side. Charlie lets out a loud curse, one that makes teachers look their way, eyebrows raising in surprise when Percy is the last one to join, settling himself down quietly next to Draco, squeezing between the latter and Remus.

“Deal with these—” Charlie stops, takes a visible deep breath, forcing a fake smile on his face. The twin snicker to themselves. Without looking towards them, Bill brings his hand up and around Charlie, smirking in delight when it comes in contact with Fred and George’s head, the duo groaning quietly to themselves, no longer giggling triumphantly.

“I don’t.” Is what Bill says, leaning forward. His eyes fall to Harry’s plate, and he looks towards Charlie, who’s watching him quietly, nodding back when Bill gives one of approval on his choices. Harry groans, throwing his hands over his face, dragging them down until they rest on his shoulders, wrists bent at a strange angle.

“Start eating, scar head. Time’s a wasting.” Draco says bluntly. Harry picks up his fork and forcefully stabs it into the meat, nibbling on it before chewing more, continuing as he watches Fred, George and Charlie shoot random comments at each other, Bill occasionally jumping in. He could feel Draco and Percy’s watchful eyes on him the whole time and rolled his own Avada green ones.

It’s only when he’s three fourths of the way through that he stops, gripping the fork tighter. He chances a glance up at the others, only to find them all staring back at him, eyes locked onto his green ones. He sighs and stabs down hard, blinking when it gnashes with the cutlery. Fred and George let out twin winces.

“Woah, woah, Harrikins—”

“—calm yourself—”

“—it’s only a bit of vegetables!” They exclaim together. Harry turns away and gives them the finger, ignoring their spluttering. He sets his fork down, reaching to pull off his jacket, beginning to get hot and a little sweaty. Draco takes it and folds it carefully, tucking it onto his lap, nodding silently at Harry. Harry smiles tightly and continues eating.

After what feels like centuries passing, Harry finally finishes, slamming his fork down onto the table and turning triumphantly to the others. They’re not even looking at him, but rather at the twins, who’re battling for the desserts that have suddenly appeared on the table, the dinner dissolving away. Harry can’t help but laugh as Fred starts pulling at George’s hair, George screaming in pain, horror and anger all at once. He wants to stop them, draw everyone’s attention back to him to tell them he’s finished, but he sees the way his little family is laughing and giggling like the world isn’t pressing down on their shoulders and he doesn’t call out to ruin it.

He forgets about Draco. Draco’s always watching, always waiting, always multitasking.

“Well done.” Draco says into his ear, more of a hiss really. Harry ducks his head, hiding his smile. He brings his arms up, lifting his head after a few seconds of trying to supress his grin and reaches across the table to get a slice of the treacle tart lying near Sirius. His biceps are now on display as he’d gone with a sleeveless tank top, and he can feel the stares that are dragged down to them. He pointedly ignores them.

“What’re you …?” Sirius demands when Harry bumps his elbow, letting loose a sound of frustration.

“Pass me the treacle tart, will ya’?” Harry asks. Sirius looks down at the dessert Harry’s making grabby hands at. He reaches down and pushes the plate closer to Harry, blinking in surprise when Harry chirps out a “thanks, mate,” immediately cutting a huge slice and dumping it onto his plate.

“Oh, Harrikins—”

“—you shouldn’t have.” George and Fred exclaim, leaning forward the spear at his treacle tart. Harry bears his teeth threateningly, more than ready to rage war with the twins over his dessert.

“Try me boys and you really will get that prank up your ass. I’ll make sure of it.” Harry says, dangerously low. The twins gulp as Draco chuckles and Bill and Charlie lose the battle to their cackles. Harry nods, satisfied, then makes quick work of devouring the treacle tart, watching the rest of them trading retorts back and forth with ease. He laughs when Charlie raises his hands to the heavens, praying for all of Merlin, Morgana and Loki to have mercy on him.

The whole time, Harry can feel the stares on them. It makes something boiling hot and uncomfortable slide down his neck, dripping down his t-shirt. He takes a deep breath and eats the last mouthful of treacle tart on his plate. Draco hisses something in a language so forgotten that only their little family knows it now. The Gryffindor table turns to look at them. Fred and George fall silent.

“Dumbledore.”

Harry whips around. Indeed, Dumbledore is striding over, eyes twinkling. Beneath that, Harry can see the simmering rage tainting every single pore of Dumbledore’s skin, that anger wraps around the male and pulses through his magickal core. Harry inhales deeply and glances at Bill, who shakes his head.

“You can’t reveal your hand just yet, Harry.” Bill murmurs. Draco nods in agreement, eyes not moving from Dumbledore’s figure as he stops in front of the Gryffindor table. He’s portraying the grandfatherly aura that he’d portrayed the whole time Harry had been at Hogwarts—the marauders beam at him, worship in their eyes. Harry’s fingers dip beneath the table, clenching at the knife on his thigh, spelled and warded, runes dug into every inch of the metal. He wants to draw it now. He wants to feel protected.

Dumbledore smiles at them. Harry stares at Dumbledore’s brow, bringing forth a sharp Occlumency shield to block Dumbledore hence he should accidently make eye contact in his silent, seething rage.

“I wanted to introduce myself. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump—”

“We know who you are.” Harry interrupts coldly, hands positively shaking with rage. To have Dumbledore come up to them, speaking to them as though he hadn’t ruined their lives, as if he hadn’t played them all like a puppet, makes something hot, heavy and unpleasant burn in his gut, churning nauseously in summersaults.

Dumbledore smiles, wide and clearly fake. “Wonderful! As you’ve all been sorted into your houses, I feel as though I must ask for the names of your parents to get in contact with them and tell them the wonderful news.” Dumbledore tells them, folding his crooked, gnarled fingers together. Harry glances down at them. They twitch as though they sense he’s watching them. Harry looks up into Dumbledore’s face.

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary.” Harry smiles, slow and just as fake. Dumbledore’s eyes sharpen. “We’re all legally emancipated. There’s no need to contact our parents.”

Draco snorts. “Like you’d even be able to get in contact with them.”

“What do you mean by that?” Remus asks, leaning forward, intrigued. Draco arches an eyebrow at him but doesn’t say anything, turning to look at Harry, who exhales slowly through his nostrils.

“These red-heads don’t speak to their family anymore. They got legally emancipated and moved out of their house. Draco’s parents are in prison, forcing him to since the rest of his family is nuts,” Harry chuckles at the punch Draco delivers to his arm, “and my parents were murdered when I was one. My mum’s sister was a muggle and her husband and son, my uncle and cousin are abusive fuckers. We all got legally emancipated at Gringotts.” Harry explains. It was pin drop silent in the room for a long moment before Dumbledore’s face twists. It looks like he’s sucking on a sour lemon rather than a sherbet one. Harry has to fight to keep his face neutral.

“I am sorry to hear that.” Dumbledore lowers his head, no doubt hiding the anger and rage in his eyes. Harry gives a one armed shrug.

“What can you do?” Harry asks, rhetorically, turning back around to face his friends. When a minute or two passed and everyone was still silent, his little family still staring at Dumbledore over his shoulder, he releases a sigh and spins back around slowly. “Is there something else I can do for you, Headmaster?” Dumbledore blinked.

“Well, yes, I’m happy that you’re displaying such interhouse unity but I’m afraid that at feasts like this you need to stay on your house tables. You should not influence the younger students to break the rules.” Dumbledore says reproachfully. Harry’s hand snaps to his knife, moving forward slightly in his seat when Draco’s hand shoots forward, gripping his thigh tightly. He digs his nails into the flesh. Harry winces, freezing in place, glaring at Dumbledore.

“As you wish, Headmaster.” Harry says, voice dangerously low. “I’ll see you guys later. Sneak into the Gryffindor common room later in the evening.” Harry hisses. They nod and get to their feet, silent, faces pinched and pale. No doubt they felt nauseous about Dumbledore trying to manipulate them so and were remembering the years in Hogwarts before when they had blindly followed him.

“See you later, scar head.” Draco says, leaning down and brushing a kiss to his temple. He smirks at Dumbledore when the man’s eyes widen just a fraction at the casual display of affection.

“See you, Draco. Be careful—and make sure the twins don’t get into trouble!” Harry calls at Draco’s retreating back. Draco shoots a thumbs up over his shoulder, sliding into the seat opposite Severus, the twins taking the seats either side of him. Charlie sits back at the Hufflepuff table, Amelia engaging him in a conversation almost immediately as though she’d been waiting for him—Harry almost snickers at the thought of Amelia having a crush on Charlie. Bill and Percy slide back into their seats at the Ravenclaw table but don’t say a word to each other or anyone around them, too stuck in their head.

Now that they’re gone, time passes quickly. Dumbledore strides back to the Head table, satisfied smile on his face, smugness twinkling in his eyes. Harry wants to punch him in the jaw. Instead, he sits back and listens belatedly to the marauders chatting to each other, snickering, and sharing and trading jokes with each other. The girls roll their eyes. Lily shifts away when James flirts with her and Harry examines James, wondering how someone could not see how unnatural it was.

Three quarters of an hour later, the prefects are getting to their feet after Dumbledore’s ending speech. Harry gets to his feet and follows after the marauders. In front of him, Sirius throws an arm around James and Remus’s shoulder. Peter glances at them, longing shining in his gaze before he lowers his eyes and sighs, almost silent. Harry wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so observant and had sensitive hearing.

“Wait up, scar head!” Draco calls. Harry blinks and turns. Draco’s sprinting up to him and would’ve slumped right onto him, taking him to the ground, if Harry hadn’t caught him, swinging him to a stable standing position. The marauders ahead pause and turn to look at them, only moving when Draco grabs Harry’s arm and starts pulling him forward. “It’s going to be weird not seeing your ugly mug in the morning.” Draco says after a moment of silent, breathing not at all affected by the many steps. Harry sighs.

“Gee, thanks for the love, Dray.” Harry grumbles. Draco punches his arm and Harry laughs, shooting a sly grin Draco’s way when the blonde rolls his eyes. “But, you have a point. It’s going to be weird not seeing your pointed snobbish face in the morning.” Harry jogs up the stairs, slipping past the marauders, who all startle in surprise at the suddenness, not having heard his footsteps. Draco roars, offended, and barrels after Harry, taking the stairs two at a time.

Harry throws his head back and laughs. He’s still running, so he doesn’t notice the staircases moving. Draco screams as Harry slips, momentum throwing him forward and over the edge. Harry yells out in surprise and turns frantic eyes to the ledge, hands shooting forward and catching at the edge. His fingers dig into the stone and he’s straining to keep himself upright and not into the plummeting abyss beneath him. He can hear Draco’s thundering footsteps sprinting towards him and the marauders panicked yelling.

“Hold on, Harry!” Draco breathes. Harry looks down at the world beneath him, clenching his shut. He can see the grinding and shifting of the staircases and gasps when his shoulder throbs. His fingers spasm, the floor seems slippery, he’s shifting down and down—

Harry lets out a yell when his fingers give up. He’s falling, falling—

He’s being caught. Draco’s thrown himself forward, sliding across the stone, gripping Harry’s hand. The force takes him forward a couple of centimetres. Harry’s eyes connect with Draco’s, the males frantic grey eyes. “FRED! GEORGE!” Draco bellows, the yell shaking through Hogwarts. It doesn’t seem real when the twins suddenly appear, sprinting up the stone steps and throwing themselves down onto the stone, hauling the duo up and onto the safety of the steps, just as it snaps back into place, the marauders arriving at their side.

Harry’s breathing heavily. Draco’s gasping beside him and then Harry’s being crushed beneath Draco’s weight and Draco’s scolding him, thanking Morgana he’s alive, whispering threats into Harry’s chest and thanking the twins reverently. Harry just pats Draco on the back gently as Fred and George sit back, breathing slowly, in and out. Then, they’re across the small gap and pressing against Harry’s side, pressing their faces into his shoulders. Harry chuckles softly.

“Not the first time I’ve been in a situation like that. And it probably won’t be the last.” Harry reminds them. Draco grumbles something incoherent into Harry’s chest. It’s most likely a curse or insult about Harry, so he ignores it. He pulls them upwards and to their feet.

It’s a long time before the three lets him go. The marauders are breathing harshly behind him as Harry finally separates from the trio and heads up towards the Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady swings open when the password is spoken. Harry heads up the stairs, sighing gently.

He’s in for a ride, that much so is obvious.

🍺⚡💥

Harry drops down onto the bed, curtains around his four-poster fluttering with the light breeze. He looks around the new room he’d be staying in for the next two years, drinking everything in with his eyes. It’s practically the same as his other dorm, the one he’d shared with Ronald, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. The only things that are different are the small trinkets lying around on the desk, on the bed and on the floor as well as the posters on the wall. There’s a stray cassette player with muggle cassette tapes filled with music lying a few feet away. Harry thinks this belongs to Sirius. His godfather had always been a music-cholic.

The marauders flock in, all going to their respective beds. Harry finds that his prediction had been right. Sirius goes to the bed with the cassette tape lying on the floor. He’s on the far right of the room, whilst Harry’s on the far left. On Sirius’s only side, Remus lays, Peter in the middle and James closest to Harry. Harry frowns, tugging the curtains around his bed closed a little, leaving only a slither when the marauders look up and glance his way. The sounds of springs going off makes Harry think that Sirius or James have jumped on someone’s bed. Hushed whispering greets his ears.

The whispering caters off after a long moment. Harry cranes his ears, wanting to know what his younger godfather and father were talking about. He wonders if they’re creating future pranks, wonders when the stupid prank on Snape was going to happen, whether Sirius has decided to be cruel yet and willingly lead Snape down to the Whomping Willow, telling him how he can get into the Shrieking Shack.

Harry’s listening so intently that he flinches when the voices suddenly go into uproar.

“What’re you doing here?” James and Sirius snarl simultaneously. There’s so much hate and anger in it that Harry immediately flicks his wrist, curtains flying open with twin screeches. Harry’s wand is in his hand in seconds, slipped out of the wand holster on his forearm. His leg swipes out, taking the male to the floor, jabbing the tip of his wand against the males jugular. The whole room seems frozen as Harry meets grey eyes.

His eyes flitter down, scowling, and shoving Draco back down onto the floor from where he’d lifted him up, hand bunched in the males collar. Draco’s smirking. “Couldn’t wait to get your hands on me, scar head?”

“You wish.” Harry snorts, sheathing his wand. He stands, leaning down to grab Draco’s arms, forcefully lifting him to his feet, letting him go. Draco yelps, stumbling and falling flat onto his ass again. Harry turns and smirks, walking over to the twins to envelope them in hugs, groaning when he’s lifted into the air, ribs being squeezed within an inch of their life.

“Harrikins!” They croon, rubbing their noses against his cheek.

“Can’t. Breathe.” Harry gasps out. The twins let go of him, placing him back on the floor, patting him off, grinning at him. Harry snickers and slings an arm around Draco when the males barrels into him, having gotten up off the floor. Draco presses closer, slinging an arm around Harry’s waist, making a face at Fred and George.

“Look at this, Forge.”

“I see it, Gred.”

They share a look. “How cute.” They coo. Fred reaches forward to squeeze Draco’s cheek when the male rears forward, snapping his teeth sharply. Fred yelps, drawing back and pushing himself behind George, who’s giggling to himself.

“Calm yourself, Fred, George, Draco.” Harry says, turning, letting go of Draco as he does. He marches to his trunk and reaches for the handle, clicking the lock three, waiting for label to show up, labelling it Hogwarts. He shoves the trunk open, taking in the Hogwarts robes, sighing to himself. He reaches for the robes, chucking them on his bed hazardously.

When he’s finished that, he pulls off his leather jacket and throws it onto his bed, nearest to his pillow. He pulls the shirt over his head, ignoring the sharp inhale from somewhere in the room, reaching for the Hogwarts jumper, foregoing the shirt and tie. He doesn’t bother with the pants, just tugs on the outer cloak, spinning.

“Let’s go.” Harry flicks his wrist. His clothes zoom into the trunk, the trunk jumping a foot in the air, closing with a snap. When it lands on the floor, everything is locked. “Try and go into my trunk, lads, and we’ll have problems.”  

Sirius inches forward, interested despite himself, eyes a little narrowed. “What type of problems?”

“The kind that makes me mad and makes you end up in the hospital wing for days on end.” Harry grins, sharklike and lethal. Sirius stares, giving a sharp, jerky nod seconds later. Draco claps an arm on Harry’s bicep, pulling him away and down the stairs, the four leaving the Gryffindor common room. Fred pulls out a silver cloak that flutters in the slight breeze, looking like silk, grinning like a loon.

“Me and George will go on ahead. Distract anyone.”

Draco smirks lazily. “Don’t go having too much fun.” The twins exchange mischievous glances before taking off, pulling the cloak over them as they went. They disappear before they’ve even turned the corner. Harry links his pinkie with Draco, wanting to stay connected, walking down the corridor and towards the room of requirement. Draco doesn’t say anything for a long moment. It’s only when they’re descending up the stairs towards the seventh floor that he finally speaks.

“It’s strange living in a time where people are alive.” Draco says. Harry glances at him, watching as he stares at the floor, thoughtful expression on his face, sad light dancing in his eyes. “For years, I’ve wished I could change the past, make a better future for the witches and wizards that would grace Hogwarts halls. I thought that if I could change it, then maybe all the bad stuff I’ve done in my past would be erased. Would balance out.” Draco’s mouth ticks up at the corner, a bitter-sweet thing.

Harry hesitates. “Draco—”

“No, don’t say anything. I just …” Draco stops, lips quirking up. “I just wanted to tell you. I’ve never had someone to tell this too; someone that knew what I’ve done and didn’t judge.” Draco glances at Harry and squeezes his pinkie tighter. Harry smiles gently back and looks ahead as they arrive on the seventh floor. The twins are already waiting there, door being embedded in the wall already.

“The others are already in there.” They both say simultaneously. The four enter the room and look around. It’s a simple room really, the living room of Remus’s old cottage. Everything is the same; even down to the picture frames lining the surfaces of the furniture. Charlie is sitting in one of the armchairs, the arm rests are much like the ones in the Gryffindor dorm, patched and fraying. It gives off a homey feeling, like a warm bath after a hard day of work.

Percy and Bill are perched on the loveseat, Percy’s feet in Bill’s lap. They’re in pyjamas, lounging around. Fred and George have disappeared, gone through a door that connects to another private room, likely the bathroom. Harry’s eyes focus onto Charlie when the male stands, stretching a little before he leans down and plucks two different coloured pyjamas off the small coffee table. He holds them out, expression amused as they both go for the colour of their houses—Draco, green and silver, Harry, red and gold.

Harry stares for a moment, just looking down at them. He’s still staring when Fred and George emerge from the bathroom, snickering to themselves as Fred collapses onto an armchair, George falling onto the other twins lap with a drawn out sigh. He’s still staring when Draco nudges him in the side and starts making his way to the bathroom the twins had departed from. It shocks Harry back to the present. Puffing out a breath, he waits until Draco’s finished before entering the bathroom himself, stripping down quickly and pulling on the red and gold silk pyjamas.

Leaving the clothes in a pile on the counter near to the sink, next to the others, he starts towards the door, sliding into the room. Draco’s seated himself on the second to last armchair. There’s a love seat and one more armchair. Harry sits on the lonely armchair that’s separated a little away from the others. He folds his legs beneath him, the room silent for a long moment as they process what’s just happened.

“You know,” Percy starts, “when I first got out of bed this morning, my first thought wasn’t that we were going to stumbles over twenty years into the past where our parents are basically the same age as us.” Percy folds his fingers together. Draco purses his lips, his legs thrown over the arm rest, practically sprawled there.

“Neither did I.” Draco replies. He flicks back the blonde hair that’s in his grey eyes and peers at them rather intently. “But the true question is are we deciding to properly change this? Completely forsake our future?”

Bill hums. “That’s the thing; I don’t think our future will be erased. Time’s a fickle thing. If we were to change things, start reshaping the future into the one we want since we have the capability to that now, I suspect that the future we create will crack off into a different segment of the timeline, just there, drifting off. We’ll create a new reality, a new timeline and the other will just exist.” Bill explains. Charlie leans back, biting his lip.

“Then I don’t see the problem in changing the timeline. We can save everyone.”

“Or we can doom them all.” Harry speaks up after a moment of thoughtful silence. The others turn towards him, face pinched at the knowledge at how badly the timeline could end if they made a mistake. It’s silent for a long while after that, no one knowing what to say. Finally, Draco raises his head from where it’d been lowered, gaze on the floor.

“If there’s a chance, then shouldn’t we take it?” Draco whispers. Bill stares at the blonde, eyeing him with concern. Whilst Draco’s not loud in the way the twins are or particularly snotty like he used to be when he was younger, the quiet calm and solemness radiating from the younger is something they’ve never seen before.

“You okay, Draco?” Bill asks softly.

Draco hesitates, glancing in Harry’s direction. Harry’s face betrays nothing of what he’s feeling. “I just … we have a chance to change things, to better the future we’ve known, to not let corruption tear down the wizarding world. We could build a better future. We’ve been given a chance, no matter how fucked up or strange the chance came to be. Wouldn’t it be foolish to not take the chance being given to us?”

“Draco’s right.” Fred speaks up, George nodding in agreement from beside him.

“We have no direct way to get back to our time line and I’m not sure many of us would want to because of what lies in wait for us there. We have a chance here, not there. To right the wrongs of not just us, but everyone else.” George looks around, waiting to see if his point has hit home. When it’s clear it has, he sits back, pressing back into Fred’s chest. Charlie wets his lips.

“And it’s not just that. There are some people here that have had their lives completed repressed and controlled. They didn’t get to live their lives the way they wanted to. Other people decided that they were just a pawn in their game of chess. I’m not saying that we could help everyone, but do we not owe it to our loved ones to do whatever we can to get them out of the shit situation they’re in, whether they know it or not? Whether they know how much they mean to us?”

All eyes go to Harry. It’s clear they’re waiting for an answer from the one they deem as their leader, no matter if Harry himself doesn’t deem himself as one. Tense silence thickens the air. After a moment, Harry gets to his feet and begins to pace. His footsteps thud on the ground, almost like a ticking time bond for the decision rumbling in his chest.

He wants to say yes, Merlin does he. It’s like his blood is roaring for it, desperate for this chance. He can get to know his parents, get to hug Sirius, get to laugh with Remus, finally get to know the real Peter Pettigrew. But with all of that comes the underlying question of what would happen if he failed? What happened if he made the future worse for everyone involved? What if it was like the butterfly effect? One small change and the world collapses, tears itself apart and the ending happens anyway. Where Lily and James die, Sirius ends up in Azkaban, Remus forever alone and Peter insane, spending the rest of his life supposedly ‘dead’ as a rat.

Sighing, Harry comes to a stop. He spins on his heels to face the rest of the room. All of his friends are expectant. “Alright, we’ll change the timeline.” George jumps to his feet with a whoop of elation. Bill and Charlie duck their heads to stifle their smiles whilst Draco doesn’t bother hiding his mirth, simply fills the room with his warm chuckles. Harry crosses his arms, arching an eyebrow. “But this means that we have to be extra careful. One small slip up and the wrong people find out …” He trails off meaningfully. Percy purses his lips.

“Then we’re dead and it’s all for nothing.” Harry gives a jerky nod. Draco hops to his feet, walking over to the far corner where a chalkboard materialises onto the wall, much like the one in Snape’s classroom. Long, pale fingers pick up white chalk, scribbling in neat writing a title at the top.

Things we know:

Draco brings the chalk straight across the chalkboard twice, underlining the words harshly. He bites the inside of his cheek and glances around the room. “What do we know about the future that changed it drastically?” Draco asks. They look at one another, pondering in silence for a long moment. Charlie hesitates.

“We know that the Potter’s were murdered five years from now.” Draco nods, turning to the board. Harsh grating echoes around the room.

James Potter and Lily Evans murdered on the 31^st of October 1981.

“We know that they weren’t properly in love.”

James Potter and Lily Evans dosed with love potions. (By whom?)

Harry purses his lips, taking a step forward. He picks up another piece of chalk, crossing out the words in brackets. Draco stares at him as he does so, gaze intense. “We know that my parents were being dosed by the person they trusted to keep them safe.”

(By whom?) By Dumbledore.

“You never told us of this.” Bill murmurs, eyes oddly sympathetic. Just like Harry, he knew what it was like to have parents that didn’t really love each other, one having been dosing the other. Unlike Harry, however, the conspirator wasn’t a powerful figure, but his own parent believed to love him. “How long have you known?”

“A while.” Harry doesn’t elaborate and they don’t pry for more information. Harry pauses, gritting his teeth as he tries to recall past things he’d stumbled across when questioning his best friends sincerity when it came to their friendship. With the reminder of how many years that had been wasted on fake friendship came the rushing anger that was always settled beneath his skin, waiting to strike. It was hard to push that feeling away, so Harry had learnt not to dwell too long on it.

And now it was all coming rushing back.

“Harry?” Draco whispers, reaching a hand out. Harry looks down. Without even realising it, the fingers holding the chalk had been shaking, causing scratchy line to appear across the chalkboard from where it’d been pressed down. Inhaling deeply, Harry begins writing. The messy scrawl is a complete difference to Draco’s neat, tidy one.

“We know that Sirius went to Azkaban. We know that Dumbledore, for whatever reason, didn’t deem to dose Sirius with spells and compulsion. We know that Peter was driven insane after torture in order to get the mark because he initially refused. We know that Peter gave my parents location away.” As he speaks, he writes. Notes flow freely as he finally diverges what he knows to the others.

Sirius went to Azkaban. No trial. Escaped thirteen years later.

No spells or compulsion for Sirius. (Did he have a natural defence against it? Was it due to him being a Black?)

Peter tortured. Joins Voldemort. Goes insane.

Sends the James Potter and Lily Evans to their death.

Draco frowns thoughtfully when he sees the second bullet point Harry writes. “You may be onto something with the Black thing. At a young age, Black’s are taught Occlumency and Legilimency. It a defence mechanism in our minds that deny access to things like the imperio curse or simple potions and compulsions that aim to control certain parts of our brains to make us do things or make us believe we have to act a certain way. Mother told me that Orion had a journal and wrote down the notes of what they’d learned. He expressed how … proud he was of them in there.” Draco’s voice is yearning. Lucius, as well, had not truly been in the correct mind when Draco was growing up.

“What did it say?” Charlie asks. Draco frowns thoughtfully before digging through his pockets, pulling out a small pouch that’s shrunken down.

“Engorgio.” Draco sticks his hand inside the pouch, burying his hand inside, down to the elbow. When he retreats, in his hands is a flimsy, leather bound notebook. He opens it up, flickering across to a certain page. “I took it out of mother’s room because I was interested in what the man had to say. Orion isn’t often talked about in our family.”

“Sirius doesn’t really talk about him either.” Harry tells the rest of the room. Draco nods.

“I don’t think he would’ve. Orion wasn’t active in the last few years that Sirius was living in Grimmauld. It details the lives of his children up until Sirius enters Hogwarts. Once Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, Orion starts being proud of him, only later on in his entries, he writes about how disgusted the sight of his eldest makes him, but the way he phrases them … it sounds like he’s almost having an internal war with himself on what to write.” Draco flips to a certain page. Faintly, they can see scribbled across the parchment is random sentences, some crossed out so boldly it was like Orion was trying to remove it completely.

My eldest is completely out of control. He disgusts me makes me proud. I cannot live in the same house as him. I’ve never been prouder more disappointed. The voices are so loud. I can’t hear myself. I only have one child. No, two. My eldest needs to be struck from the family tree. He needs to stay. Stay. Stay. STAY.

“It seems he was under something heavy.” Harry observes. His fingers trace the words in the middle. “‘The voices are so loud’. That definitely sounds like he’s either under compulsions or an imperio.” Harry says, taking a step back. He jots down the things they’ve just found out.

Orion Black put under compulsions. (For what?)

“What I don’t understand,” Percy starts, sitting forward, “is if the Black’s are taught Occlumency and Legilimency so young, quite possible continuing to learn it all through their childhood and into adulthood, then why was someone as skilled as Orion being under compulsions? Why wouldn’t Orion have been able to best them?”

Draco releases a sigh through his nose. “Either the compulsions were way to strong for him to overthrow which I rather so doubt. Strong compulsions are often very noticeable, so smaller ones are the better way to go. They’re less detectable in the things such as the bloodstream. The other way to go is … not so nice.” Draco winces.

“What is it?” Fred says, dread in his voice. George clutches onto him.

“Well, in order for someone powerful to throw off compulsions … then Walburga would have to find a way to ensure that Orion didn’t have the capabilities to throw them off. She’d find a way to make him sick, maybe physically or mentally weak. Something such as—”

“Poison.” Charlie sits up from where he’d slouched in his seat, covering his face. Horror stricken; he turns to face Harry. His eyes are inquiring, practically begging for Harry to disagree. “Didn’t Sirius mention that in his sixth year that his father grew sick, so sick he had to be administered into St Mungo’s where he later died for some reason or another that they could never find out?”

“Yes.” Harry breathes, feeling a little sick. “But how would Walburga manage to poison Orion without everyone knowing. Surely they’d do blood tests, magical cores tests, that kind of thing?”

“They would,” Draco confirms, “but some families have access to things that are untraceable. Dark magical, dark potions and dark poisons. With how dark the Black’s can be sometimes, I rather so doubt there’s not a poison in the Black library that’s deadly and untraceable. It would be easy for Walburga to take Orion out and play the perfect little widow. With Sirius out of the picture, who, from Orion’s entries, could’ve easily been a Ravenclaw with his smarts if it weren’t for his temper and mischief, it would’ve been easy.”

“And what about Regulus?” Harry demands. “Wouldn’t Regulus know? Or at least suspect?”

“That’s the thing. Orion writes Regulus to be almost like a Hufflepuff. With some tears and some acting, which I was told Walburga was very good at, along with her usual manipulation and punishments, it would be no skin off her teeth to make Regulus believe that Orion died of natural causes. Regulus was caring and kind, if a little gullible.” Draco grimaces when he says this. The others wince as well at the wording. Harry turns back to the chalkboard.

Orion poisoned by Walburga. (Why?)

“Now that one’s easy enough to answer. Greed.” Draco states. “All of Walburga’s life she’d been gunning for the opportunity to gain some cash, some status. With her marrying Orion, who I’m told was quite the bachelor in the days before he grew sick, she gained status among other Black family members. She quite literally rose from the ashes of her previous life. Along with bringing to life two healthy, powerful boys, Walburga was a saint among purebloods. Though they didn’t account for how cruel she was behind the scenes.” Draco explains.

(Why?) For greed.

Percy sighs sadly, face twisting downwards into a crestfallen expression. “Poor Sirius. Poor Regulus.” Percy whispered. Harry makes sure to keep his expression blank. Draco shakes his head, pulling them all from their bubbles of personal thoughts.

“Let’s move on from the Black’s.” Draco interrupts. Harry’s tense shoulders relax at that. The Black’s—especially Sirius—was a dark topic in the back of Harry’s mind that he never wanted to reach out and touch ever again. The emotions were still to raw, still haunted him. If Draco notices him loosen up, he doesn’t say anything. “We know where Lupin was, where Pettigrew was, we knew that Dumbledore meddled too much in the lives of those he deemed light.”

Remus comes back from the werewolves. Find’s friends dead or incarcerated. Goes to live in cottage. Becomes professor in third year.

Pettigrew flees and stays with the Weasley’s disguised as a rat. Believed to be dead.

Dumbledore sent Harry to the Dursley’s. Put compulsions on Harry and the Order members.

“But the real question is—do any of you remember who has compulsions on them and who are doing Dumbledore’s bidding willingly?” Charlie asks. Frowning at this, Harry tries to think back on which of his friends had been true to him and those that had been along for something of their own gain. If he could remember just who was loyal to Dumbledore then it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe that at least one parent of theirs were willing to Dumbledore’s cause as well.

“Well, we know that anyone with a dark core should be discarded from the willing pile. So, Remus has to be on compulsions. And Orion, Regulus, Abraxas, Andromeda, Narcissa, Lucius, Severus.” Draco begins, going towards the opposite side of the chalkboard, separating it into two columns. One says willing, the other forced. Draco taps his lip before scowling when he realises he’s smeared chalk along his mouth and cheek. “Damn it.”

Fred snickers. “Tergeo.” The chalks forcefully wiped from Draco’s skin. It leaves the surface clean but leaves a patch of red soreness. Draco yelps, sending a dark glower when the twins dissolve into hearty bellows of laughter. Pursing his lips to hide his smile, Harry focuses their attention back onto the task at hand.

“I assume he’d also put those with grey cores under compulsions.” Harry says, nodding his head at the list of people. Draco hums in agreement, writing down all the names he can think of with grey cores. Sirius Black, Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, Lily Evans, and Tom Riddle are some that get jotted down. Bill makes a small indiscernible sound.

“I would’ve thought Riddle was a dark core rather than a grey.” Bill notes, intrigue in his voice. Harry huffs softly, for he knows the concept of magickal cores and wands are fascinating to the eldest Weasley. Being in Gringotts, having worked as a curse breaker for many years, mainly to get away from his ‘mothers’ overbearing touch had lead to a whole new world of magic being expanded beneath his very eyes. Hogwarts had not had the full overlay of magic possible. Many of the things learnt when Riddle was in school had been taken away from the curriculum.

“You would’ve thought that considering his whole entire family having dark cores, including his mother. But no, Tom was born with a grey core but with the splitting of his soul into those pesky Horcruxes, it lead his core to crack and break. It darkened so much that if you’d looked at it in our time, it would’ve definitely turned to a completely black core.” A shudder passes throughout the room for a black core was only for those that’d gone completely insane, dipped over the line between what magic was created for and what wasn’t supposed to be made in the world.

One such example, was when Riddle made his inferi—anyone with less than a black core would’ve never been able to use their magic in such a way to make the inferi possible. Another, would’ve been Bellatrix, using the crucio curse as if it was what came naturally to her, having the capabilities to torture two souls into complete madness, never able to return their sanity.

“There are some light cored people that Dumbledore managed to compulsion to go along with his ideas. Dad was one of them.” Percy speaks after a long stretch of silence. Draco looks to Harry, biting his lower lip.

“You’re going to have to name them. I’m not as well versed in who was light that wasn’t controlled like you are.” Draco recedes. Sighing minutely, Harry steps forward, hastily scrawling the names of people he knows with definite certainty aren’t loyal to Dumbledore’s cause. Arthur Weasley, Gideon Prewett, Fabian Prewett, Peter Pettigrew, Euphemia Potter, James Potter, Fleamont Potter and Amelia Bones all pile onto the list.

“Now for those that are loyal to Dumbledore and Dumbledore only.” Harry starts writing, the names flowing without pause. He’d made a mental list inside his head as soon as Draco had split the lists into columns and now the names piled up on top of one another. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Molly Prewett, Ronald Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, Hermione Granger, Cornelius Fudge, Mundungus Fletcher, Augusta Longbottom to name a few are written down.

The tension around Draco’s brow relaxes. “Many have not been born yet. And many do not attend Hogwarts as they’ve graduated.” Draco notes, shoulders easing back from where they’d been bunched around his ears. Harry looks towards the willing list and silently agrees. Many were at a distance and not an immediate concern to the company that’d travelled back in time. Draco hums slowly before reaching for his wand, flicking it in an intricate pattern. “Tempus.” A blue, blinding light traces letters into the air. Draco’s lips thin when he realises they’ve been in the Room of Requirement for over two and a half hours discussing what to do.

“Blimey, is that the time?” Bill gets to his feet, frowning. The time reads 11:34. Percy yawns, jaw seeming to crack apart from how wide it spreads. Draco nods unhappily before flicking his wand, the incantation too low for Harry’s ears. Draco’s clothes zip towards him, almost melding into his skin, pyjamas ripping off his person with a small snip. Another flick of his hawthorn wand and then everyone’s clothes are zooming over to them, sticking to their bodies, pyjamas folding into neat piles.

“Who’s table are we sitting at for breakfast?” Fred and George ask together. Charlie stretches his arms above his head and yawns wide and exhaustedly.

“Well, we sat at Harry’s table for the feast. Let’s sit at the Slytherin table for a cultural shock.” Charlie eyes glint mischievously as he says this. Fred and George burst out into giggles, both grabbing their wands and heading for the door. They sandwich Draco between them, throwing the cloak over their persons, the door opening and closing. Harry smiles and hugs the others goodbye, creeping out of the door, glancing around the seventh floor corridor.

When he steps out, he finally feels like he can breathe easier now that they’ve got a plan. Thank Merlin for crafty Slytherin’s named Draco Malfoy.

🍺⚡💥

When Harry finally returns to the Gryffindor tower, having crept up the winding stairs leading the common room and whispered the password to the grumpy portrait, he’s tired. The Fat Lady huffs at him as her frame swings shut, almost like she’d flicked her tightly curled hair over her shoulder to dismiss him. Rolling his eyes, Harry walks towards the stairs and starts ascending, taking a sharp right, and veering towards the slightly ajar door that lead to his dorm room. A yawn breaks across his face.

“Where did they even come from?” Sirius is hissing when Harry gets closer. Harry takes a step forward, leaning carefully against the wall, straining his ears to listen. They haven’t seem to have heard him coming up the stairs as they still have their little marauders meeting. It seems whilst Harry and the others were having their meeting about whether or not to go back or stay in the past, the marauders had been having a meeting about them.

“They were probably home schooled, Pads.” Remus says, yawning himself. Sirius, likely, had kept them up to discuss the time travellers. Harry finds his lips quirking upwards before he can stop them for it was just like Sirius to bestow himself onto people without warning nor thought, refusing to think about the consequences. It was perhaps why Sirius got into so much mischief at this age.

“Yeah, but home schooled where?” James asks, joining in. Harry releases a soft sigh through his nose. Knowing from Remus’s stories, when James and Sirius paired together and agreed on a certain subject, Harry knew that they’d continue digging to get the answers they wanted no matter if they got a few bruises and hexes out of it. Harry knew that Draco would definitely hex his cousin to have a broken nose if he pestered him. Though it was unlikely considering the house Draco had been sorted into. Sirius would rather shave his luscious hair off his head than be caught consoling with a Slytherin.

“Oh—I don’t know Prongs—maybe at their house?”

Peter lets out a light giggle whilst James whines. “That’s not what I meant, Moony and you know it!”

“No, James, I don’t,” Remus snaps, the sound of a thud breaking the air as Remus slams a book onto the ground, “I am tired. We have classes tomorrow. We get our schedules, and I am far too irritated to listen to your bloody conspiracy theories!” Harry peaks through the crack of the door, watching Remus pinch his nose. James and Sirius are huddled together, Sirius’s head on the formers lap. Though he sits up when Remus lays into them.

“Remus—” Sirius starts. Remus silences him with a glower. Pursing his lips to hold in his snickers, Harry pitches his foot forward and nudges the door open further. He leans against the doorway, noting that none of them even notice the small creak of the door. 

“He’s right you know.” Harry speaks, smirking when the four jump, whipping around to face him. Sirius is on his feet in seconds, narrowing his eyes. His gaze jerks to behind Harry’s shoulders, going to Harry’s face and then back again.

“How … how long have you been there?”

Harry’s smirk widens. “Long enough.” He doesn’t elaborate which makes Sirius grumble irritably to himself. “And Lupin’s half correct. We’ve been home schooled most of our life, but it’s only been recently where we decided that we weren’t going to keep living the way we were living.” James leans forward at the slight glimpse of information he’d gotten from Harry, intrigued beyond words now. Harry can practically see the gears in his mind whirring.

“What happened?” He breathes. Harry’s smile turns bitter.

“Let’s just say that whilst I can take any physically punishments, I refuse to let anyone strike my family. And when they did … I decided it was time to pack up and run.” Harry smirks wryly, refusing to dwell on the way Sirius takes a step back and Peter sucks in a soft gasp. James expression falls before twisting with righteous fury, likely seeing the similarity between Sirius’s home life and the one they believed Harry and his friends to be subjected too. Remus doesn’t react at all, which Harry’s grateful for, for the kindness and understanding would’ve likely flayed open a chasm in his chest he wasn’t ready to fall into.

Harry approaches his bed and pulls back the covers, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his socks. He climbs in, completely foregoing his night-time routine, far too tired and mentally exhausted to care. Ignoring the eyes on him from the other four, he reaches up, tugs the curtains around the fourposter bed closed and falls back onto the bed with a soft thump. Sighing, he stares at the ceiling.

When he closes his eyes, sleep claims him almost immediately.