Carry On

“Welcome back, Auror Potter.” Harry blinked through the ringing in his ears. He felt numb, even as he experienced the shifting of the world around himself yet knew that it likely wasn’t moving. Harry blinked and made himself scrunch up his face and shift. He felt hot-cold-numb. The kind of exhaustion that made one sleep for days. His chest felt heavy. It clawed at him, and Harry almost wanted to lay down and just… let go.

But the swirling of the world ebbed, slowed, and eventually stopped. He came to recognize that he was slumped to the side with his neck cricked too far to be comfortable. As he sat himself upright, he came to find that he could not lift his hands from the arms of the chair he was in.

A glance down—ropes. Magically conjured. Easy to dispel. Not advanced.

Harry blinked and recognized that the ropes were soft against his wrists. They could have been harsh.

“Auror Potter?” Someone—a man—said. From ahead. Some distance away. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. He felt addled. Merlin, he was so damned tired. How long had he been awake?

How had he gotten here?

Why was he not in an infirmary?

“Are you with us?” The voice asked again, and Harry finally raised his eyes. A nondescript plain face greeted him. One that he came to find that he didn’t recognize, but the red of their robes signified that they were an Auror as well.

Harry opened his mouth to reply to the man—but only a wheeze tumbled out instead. The corners of his mouth ached—and his throat felt raw. Like he had been caught in a crucio for too long and had screamed himself hoarse. The wheeze soon turned in to a cough that rattled through. Harry didn’t want to, but eventually squeezed his eyes shut as he rode out the hacking coughs.

By the time everything calmed, by the time Harry found the energy to open his watery eyes, well…the man had taken a seat across from Harry. Still very much out of Harry’s reach, even if he had been unbound. The nondescript man gave a quirk of a smile and reached over to the table that technically sat between them and picked up the single glass of water that Harry finally noticed.

The other Auror leaned forward, half standing up from his chair to offer up the cup to Harry without removing the ropes binding Harry to the chair.

The cup had a thankful little bendy straw. But Harry merely frowned and leaned back against his own cushy prison of a chair.

“Ah, right. Here, let me do the spells…” The other Auror stated softly as he tapped his wand against the lip of the glass. Showing off the diagnostic spells and the results that came with each different tap and spell. It seemed the longer Harry waited to take the straw, the more spells the man kept doing.

Eventually, Harry leaned forward and accepted the straw. He took a few careful sips before he leaned back. The final mouthful he kept in his mouth, swishing it around to hopeful quench how dry his mouth felt. Harry lifted his eyes and finally took a moment to observe the room that he was in.

It was a cramped little office; one he recognized as part of the Auror department. It belonged to a forgettable paper-pusher that Harry had been introduced to at least five different times but could still not recall the face, voice, or name of the person.

The room itself looked a bit worse for wear than he remembered it. Like an explosion had gone off in the room. Papers and framed art were askew. Blackened marks on the certain parts of the walls, as if multiple explosions had happened in several key points of the office. It smelled a bit like… a bit like… Harry blinked a few times before he shook his head again to clear it. He was getting fuzzy. He needed to sleep. Overall, the room was functional and that was fine.

Harry needed to leave, but in order to leave… “… where are my glasses?” The words tore through his throat, but there wasn’t much Harry could really do about that. Harry felt itchy without the familiar weight on his nose. The man let out a relieved sigh and set the glass back on the table.

“I believe that is the result of a… um… muggle procedure?” The man offered, his plain face coming alive with the smile that he now wore. He looked less plain now, merely homey. Less like a forgettable face, but someone that was just a bit hard to remember.

Harry cocked his head to the side, “… what?” Yes, he could see just fine… but where were his glasses? Why were they gone? Why did he have a muggle procedure and not a magical one? He did not give his consent for such a procedure.

Overall, that ‘what’ was the sum of things.

Why was he here? What had he been doing? Why were his hands tied to this chair? And his feet? Harry shifted his feet and took a glance down to find his feet bare and paler than he remembered them. With that, he raised his eyes and stared at the other Auror. He did his best to not blink—to make the look appear more pointed. More intimidating.  

The Auror gave a nervous laugh. “Ah, yeah. That. Um—I’m Frank. And, well. Um... What was the last thing you remember?” The man returned to his seat, setting the half empty glass back on the table before nervously leaning back and away from Harry.

Why was the other man avoiding looking him in the eyes?

As it was, Frank had not answered Harry’s question. Had merely posed his own.

Harry debated for a moment—and decided he would take the lead in for conversation. Harry took a deep breath and let it out slow as his hands formed quick fists. In and out—if there was one thing he was confident in, it was his breathing techniques. Harry did not like being confined. It made his skin feel too small and the room too caging.

It wasn’t in his nature. Not anymore.

“Yeah… I—uh—dropped my children off on the Express, then came to work for a new assignment… a… a deep cover? To uncover if magic was being used on muggles…” Harry trailed off with a frown. Things were…. Fuzzy, after that. But also for the fact of it? “I can’t… put a finger on the particulars… on any particular thing of it.” Harry clenched and unclenched his fingers had turned his gaze to lock on to the so called Frank.

“Um. Yes. That’s correct. You were given a deep cover mission. They’re normally given to the Unspeakables. But you were specifically placed to this one due to your familiarity with muggle transportation and socio-economic understandings of muggle classes. So, you were recruited—as an honorary Unspeakable, yeah?” Frank grinned, although it slowly fell when Harry clearly didn’t share his joy over the matter.

“I’ve been… cursed?” Harry attempted to clarify, digging his nails in to his palms as he fought for calm.

Frank’s whole body gave a jerk, and he stuttered over himself for a moment to clarify what he meant, “oh, no, no—goodness no. Um. Whatever was up down there—the mission that they wanted was to send you to, ah, Germany. Everything else was classified. Above my grade. It’s just. They, um. Did a… mind graft? You know about those? They needed to have you act a certain way to make you the bait.” Frank’s frantic talking slowed down noticeably at the end. His voice lowering into something that was attempting to be soothing.

As if Harry was a wild animal.

Harry was certainly starting to feel like one. Rather wild around the edges.

At the same time, Harry figured that Frank was right to be apprehensive. Harry could feel a welling of not-calm in the center of his chest and he clenched his fists harder in an attempt to grapple some control of the feeling quickly rooting in his chest. Harry knew he was rather emotional and while most people experienced ‘fight or flight’, Ron had once explained that Harry seemed to engage in ‘fight or more fight’.

Silently—wandlessly—Harry cut the ropes pinning his wrists and ankles to the seat.

Immediately, now knowing that he had the freedom to move if needed—Harry relaxed. He hadn’t realized how stiff and tense he had been until it let go. Like a seized muscle finally letting go.  

There.

A bit better.

Harry took a few calming deep breaths as he threaded his fingers and pressed his palms together over his lap. He hadn’t noticed it, but he could now feel a tremble in his hands. His stomach felt cold. His legs felt too light—too ready to run. He didn’t quite know why his body was doing this—and at the moment, well… his head felt so heavy. He still greatly wanted to go and lay down. There was a throbbing behind his eyes, now.

Harry soon held out a hand to Frank, silent and palm up. Waiting.

Frank silently passed over Harry’s wand. The wand joyfully let out several happy red and gold sparks before settling down. Harry didn’t bother to inspect it too intensely as he pulled it close and took a moment to bask in the warmth the wand left behind on his fingers. He settled in the chair and felt a bit calmer. Less like he would actually bolt now.

Still, with how things were going… he eyed the black marks on the walls. And the floors. Evidence of an explosion…

Frank followed his gaze, “ah. That. Well—the mind graft was supposed to make you a, well, a muggle. But it seems that your magic was so strong it manifested in a… mysterious way.” Frank gave a little shrug and hand wave. Frank was very calm, and Harry supposed that the man had seen stuff like this before. How often did the Unspeakables use mind grafts? The idea left a sour taste behind—felt a bit too much like Lockhart for Harry to be comfortable with. Too much like an obliviate.

Harry let out a sigh before he reached up and rubbed at his face. Although when he did so… it felt wrong. His face felt wrong. It was like the bottom of his stomach dropped out and Harry felt so awake all of the sudden. Slowly, Harry pulled back his hands and found them to be covered in some kind of white paste shavings. White… make up?

In fact, it appeared that his arms were not only bare, but covered in cracking white make up paste as well. It was ghostly pale. So pale he could have rivaled  Voldemort in paleness. And even in places where the makeup had been distressed or scratched away… his skin seemed so much paler than normal. Harry spent many hours a day in the sun—he should not be this pale.

“H.. hey. Ahem. H-hey. Before you, um. Figure that out. You need to know that, as a muggle—or at least thinking you were one… you, you uh… slipped your watchers. For a time. It took, um, a long time to track you down.” Frank offered hurriedly as Harry inspected the backs of his hands and, soon, his attire.

These were not Auror robes.

It was a hospital gown and pants.

Harry reached up and touched his face again. There was something about his face—it just felt wrong. It wasn’t the sudden bigness of his ears, or how long his hair suddenly felt, or the lack of stubble along his jaw… but something itched at Harry’s mind the longer he evaluated himself. How he was adding two plus two and somehow drawing the conclusive answer of one hundred and four.

Frank had mentioned… slipping his minders (the thought angered him that he had to have minders — minders were never good at their jobs, not even official Auror ones apparently) while thinking he was a muggle? “Why don’t I remember any of this?” Harry asked hoarsely, even as he used his wand to summon the cup to his hand. Even his bones felt… tired. He was feeling terribly drained. And… sore?

Harry took another sip of water as he eyed the scrubs he was wearing. They were a lighter red than the Auror uniform, but still clearly pajamas that would belong to an Auror in the designated place of healing.

Where were his clothes?

With his graft… he had been a different person?

Harry didn’t doubt that he had not come back quietly when he had been called back.

“It was the graft. You had an absence of memories. When the graft was dismantled, the new ones went with it. The Unspeakables were going to drain them in to a pensive for your viewing, but, well… you were just a bit too difficult to handle to do that. They were lost in the process.” Frank supplied as he shifted to stand up.

“There are a few edited reports ready for you. As well as the contents of what was on your person when you were retrieved.” Frank added cheerily after clearing his throat. It took Harry a moment before he woodenly stood up as well. He followed Frank’s beckoning hand to a blank space of wall. Harry moved to stand next to Frank, glancing between the other wizard and the blank space of scorched wall. Why were they here?

Frank cleared his throat. “I, um… don’t want you to panic. But… well—“ Frank cut off, and with a few mumbles and flicks of his wand, he transfigured a bit of wall space in to a large mirror.

Harry recoiled—how could that be him?

Purple hair, smeared thick white make up—it clashed terribly with the green-green of his eyes. It was still his face. But… but… Harry paused and shifted a step closer. And then another. He touched make up smeared fingers to his mirror. He could see swaths of his own skin on his face. Where thick make up had been brushed away. Chipped and wiped away. The tear tracks. The…

The scars. Harry reached up and brushed away the make up over his forehead. Well, he tried in any case. It stuck like glue here. Harry had neither the patience nor the time for this. His wand came up and he soon vanished the mess the white makeup was and…

And recoiled again. Recoiled and jerked away from himself.

The scars… his lightning bolt was there—but the other scars! His face was littered with them! His neck! His arms!

Harry drew in a panicked breath and hauled off his shirt.

It got worse.

He could see his own marks—but these scars were a lifetime of violence. Painted on to his skin. Scars stitching him together and closed. It looked... obscene. And he couldn’t remember a single one of these new scars that danced on his skin!

“Frank—what—“ Harry’s wand was shooting angry red sparks now, which Frank eyed warily.

“You’ve uh, been gone a long time, Harry Potter.” The man offered him.

Harry’s hand traveled over the gut marks over his stomach, short breaths whistling in through his nose. He got enough breath in his lungs to choke out, “how long?”

Frank stood silently next to him, silent long enough that Harry turned and looked to him.

“Well, um. My name is Frank Longbottom. I’m Neville Longbottom’s grandson.” Frank offered. Trying to be gentle but knowing there was no good way to go about this. “It’s been… a few decades since you have been, well, you.”

Harry felt like the ground was rolling under his feet. Like a ship at sea and a storm sweeping through.

“If… if that’s the case… Why… My face—I’m not…” Harry choked. What was he even trying to say? What the hell was this?

Frank shifted, “yeah, that caused a bit of an uproar. No one rightly knows why. Exactly. I mean, you were rather young looking when they pulled you in at twenty-eight.” He gave a little shrug.

Harry focused on Frank. (Who did Neville even marry?)

“Ginny?”

“Remarried.”

“My children?”

“All graduated. James  moved to the Americas. Joined MACUSA and had his family there. Three kids. They seem nice.” Frank offered.

And then Frank didn’t wait for Harry’s questions anymore. “Albus moved to France. He has become a potions master. Rather famous, that one. And Lily—well, she actually became a magizoologist. Currently in Asia, I believe. No children. Neither her nor Albus. I don’t think they’re going to have any.” Harry closed his eyes, holding a hand out to Frank. Frank read that as a sign to stop talking, because soon it was blessedly quiet.

In the silence, Harry slowly dropped down to his knees and pressed his face to the carpet as he focused on breathing. Frank quietly stepped away.

What was Harry going to do?

… what could he even do?

After a time, Harry looked up to find Frank had muscled behind a cramped little desk and was going through some pages. Occasionally writing himself down.

It felt so… calm.

Harry hated it. But he quickly resigned to the calm. (After all... what could he even do? If this was not a prank... what now?)

It’s been a few… decades? And this was Neville’s bloodline?

Harry slowly rose to his feet and padded over to stand in front of the desk. Frank gave him a smile up and through his eyelashes at Harry, “hey. Um, so my shift will be closing soon. This box here is everything you had on you—after it was picked over by Unspeakables.” Frank set an old fashioned leather shoebox in front of Harry on the desk.

“And this… creature, was attached to you? It was scanned, and we believe you connected and made it your new familiar.” Frank offered with a smile. From behind Frank’s desk, the Auror leaned over and out of sight before he came back with a grunt and set down a water tank with what looked to be an… octopus?

Well, Harry was more confused than heartbroken about that.

A small, toy sized motorcycle was placed on the desk next to everything else. As well as a bank card, “this here, um. Modernized Gringotts, you know? Anyway, this is your key and new account. When you were found alive, the department went through and allocated you all your missing pay from… over the years. We placed it in a new account to give you time to… think.” It went without saying that no one had been contacted about his sudden alive status.

Harry didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. His feet itched for him to run.

A larger part of him just wanted to scream.

“Could I have a sheet?” Harry croaked, motioning to a bit of parchment to the side. Frank nodded and mutely handed it over. Harry transfigured a simply bag and quietly stuck everything inside. He hesitated at the tank, not wanting to upset the creature and his little home.

“It should be fine. The cage has its own gravity, you know?” Frank offered. And Harry tipped it to the side to test. The water didn’t suddenly fall out. Although the octopus swam closer to him, almost breaching the surface of the water.

“Right… right.” Harry nudged the aquarium into the bag. Frank helpfully added some expansion charms. Soon enough, the octopus and aquarium were placed away and Harry shouldered the bag. Frank handed over a set of boots and between the two of them they had some passable transfigured socks for Harry to use.

With all of that finished… well… “… right.” Harry took a deep breath. “Do I… am I still an Auror? Do I need to debrief?”

“No, you don’t need to debrief. As for your status… it is pending. A lot has changed. And much of the old practices have evolved with the times. You’d have to be retrained if you’d wish to return.” Frank was reaching for information packets, probably prepared.

Harry shook his head from side to side, “no, no… I’ll just… I’ll just go.”

“… good luck then, Mr. Potter. I’d still suggest a glamor, though.” Frank made a gesture toward his own face.

Harry woodenly complied.

And left.