Chapter Text
London, July 1995
Sirius POV:
Traveling through a time portal twice, Sirius would safely say it as both the longest and shortest travel in his life.
Time worked differently once you jumped into the portal. His mind felt like going through the years, months and days, like passing lights through an underway tunnel, all flashing before his eyes, too blurry for him to properly comprehend. But he would blink twice and suddenly he felt like falling out of the other end, falling on his knees to soft grass and hard earth, feeling whiplashed. His body stung as if he’d splash face-first into a large body of water.
When in reality, they merely stepped out through one end and exited the other, as one would step through a door. Just with more force.
Sirius, held the back of his head with a loud groan, folding his body slightly inward to stop himself from vomiting, trying to control his breathing. In the corner of his eye, city nightlights obscure the starry sky, he could barely make out the shape of Remus lying two feet away from him, on his back, also moaning in pain. In between them, lying on a chair, strapped securely with his head in a helmet lolled to one side, a passed out Harry.
Sirius gritted his teeth, no time to dally. He had to save his Godson. He whipped his wand to send a large dog Patranous to their receiving team. If all was well, they would be on standby. He didn't know exactly what date it was, but he saw in the distance, the familiar London city, and knew the location was correct at least.
He crawled to Harry, reaching for his Godson’s hand. It was cold.
Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack
Five figures loomed around them. One of them whipped out their wand in the air, hiding them from muggles.
“Is it-”
“July first 1995,” An old familiar voice echoed the night. “Exactly one year, Sirius,”
He didn’t have time to feel celebratory. “Harry, quick, he’s cold.”
Two figures, reaching closer, their Unspeakable- wearing navy blue robes and a pointed hat over her silver hair in a bun. Sirius could see her thin high heels sink deeper into the grass as she towered over Harry, expertly waving her wand against his still form, speaking to another wizard, black robes, hooked nose, and long greasy black hair.
“He’s weak, we have to go now.” She orders, gripping the edge of Harry’s chair, pushing him up into a sitting position with the help of Severus Snape.
Another crack and they were gone.
Minerva McGonagall, held Sirius under his arm to help him stand. “Come, Sirius, Poppy is waiting for you.” Sirius glanced over to his best friend, watched as he was being held up by a welcoming Shacklebolt.
Dumbledore gave him a single nod before Minerva apparated them away.
They did it.
They traveled through time, found Harry in another universe, and made it back.
They were home.
***
Grimmauld Place was the safest place for them to recover.
Sirius had prepared for years, had the place stocked with resources and ensure they had experts on standby, as Lord Black, the wealth, and his family name was fully under Sirus’s control, the magic in the walls secure enough to protect them in their vulnerable state and the best place to ensure full recovery while getting them settled back in, especially for Harry, far from prying eyes.
They didn’t want to alert the press of their return and the nature of their travels was kept under tight wraps with the Department of Mysteries. All who knew had to take a vow of silence with the Unspeakable who would only be called D. Even the ministry of Magic was not truly aware of the nature of their travels, only knowing they were bringing Harry home.
The Unspeakable who worked on their case was a strict woman, experienced with a cutthroat no-nonsense attitude. It was her life's work, time-traveling, and she would have wanted to join Sirius and Remus if it was not for the risk of the portal not working, so she had to stay behind and keep track that they had reached their destination, and also because of her aging body. She had been working endlessly with them to find Harry, developing the magical ritual for them to be able to jump through time, unlocking the secrets of the Mercury Essence and helping them prepare for their journey as much as possible.
Now, she was hovering over Harry, alongside Severus Snape and Healer Setwall, the Healer Specialist they had brought in (or Sirius had heavily bought him from St Mungos, specializing in magical core treatment), made to take the same vow and would be in charge of saving Harry’s life. This was to be Harry’s main Healing team.
Grimmauld Place had to be renovated to prepare for Harry’s return. It was four stories with seven bedrooms. They converted the master bedroom to be their personal healing ward. Walls repainted to light mint, with white bedsheets, hospital gowns, complete with the best healing equipment St Mungo’s would envy and the best Healing Potions the Black money could buy. Sirius wanted to prepare for even the worst-case scenario, knowing the risk of their tenuous trip.
There were three beds in the room, one had Remus lying unconscious. Poppy was there to help with the non-threatening health issues. Especially as she has worked intimately with Remus on his health, as a werewolf since he was in school. She did a quick initial scan on Remus and stated he merely needed the minimum rejuvenating and strengthening potions. He had a werewolf curse that strengthened his core to help keep it protected and heal faster. He would fare better than Sirius’s experience with the ritual. That was a relief.
Harry was lying on the bed beside the window, four people crowding over him, a white sheet partitioned them from the rest of the room to give them ‘privacy’ to focus on their work. He hadn’t shown any movement for the last five hours.
Sirius was standing as close as he was allowed, watching them work behind the white curtain with a pained watery gaze. His arms crossed to keep himself from pacing and distracting them, hair in a frazzled loose knot, trying his best to keep himself from demanding they tell him what in Godric was going on. Poppy had put him to rights in minutes. She had nagged him to rest, but he was a bundle of nerves, unable to shut off his worry. His magical core is still strong from Harry’s healing magic a few months prior. He isn’t the one on the brink of death.
They had transfigured Harry’s clothes into a hospital gown, spelling in potions, charting his magical core, and working on him doing Merlin’s know what. It came to the point where Healer Setwall would call over Poppy to help him with a magical scan and she would run off to get some information, making a Floo Call to Merlin knows who.
It made Sirus fidgety, watching her run out of the room, then come back hurriedly half an hour later, with more parchments in hand, and still, they wouldn’t say they were done.
Mcgonaggal was busy instructing the House Elves to prepare breakfast below, Shacklebolt had slept on one of the couches, tired from a long stakeout, anxious to hear news on Harry as well. Dumbledore had left earlier, requesting he be updated on Harry’s progress; he had a conference with the Ministry to attend.
Finally, Severus Snape pulled back the white sheet, dabbing his sweaty forehead with a clean napkin, meeting Sirius’s eyes. If people had said, years ago, that Sirius Black would be in a situation where he was dying to see a positive response from one Severus Snape he would have scoffed loudly and told that person off for being a harpy.
As it is, there was nothing more that he wanted to see on his old school nemesis’s face. A sign that Harry would be okay. Please be okay. They had to have brought him in time. All they had gone through couldn’t be for nothing.
Severus Snape gave him a single nod and a tight smile. He nearly dropped down on his knees in relief.
***
Remus finally wakes up. He looks like he’s been through a werewolf transformation, exhausted, pale. Eyebags under tired amber eyes, his face moist from sweat, making his scar redder and much more visible than usual. His bed was slightly raised, helping him position himself to drink his glass of water. He was tucked under the white sheets, but his brown robes were half opened, leaving his scarred chest slightly exposed to the breeze of the cold summer night. After a long two-hour nap he was awake enough to ask Sirius about Harry.
“What should we tell him when he wakes up?” Remus asks, concerned, hovering his lips over his half-empty glass. It was on both of their minds. The worry of how Harry would take the news. How he’d accept the truth.
It had been Tom Riddle’s idea, once he learned Harry would have to leave his universe to return to their original universe and the reality that he could not follow lest he risks bringing too much change to their universe or worse- being in the same predicament as Harry was- a deteriorating magical core. Only this time with no way of saving him and getting him back to his timeline. If Harry had known earlier, if they had told him outright, there was fear that he wouldn’t have wanted to come. Would have been too stubborn (he gets that from Lily, Sirius grumbles) and would have never wanted to follow Sirius and Remus to take the trip back to their original universe. They had disagreed vehemently with the plan, but Tom did make a point.
“He’s already too sick and weak as it is, why give him more grief than he can handle at the moment?” Tom had explained dully. His eyes were a blank stare. It was like that a lot after Tom realized Harry would be leaving for good. That he’d have to separate with Harry. Forever.
Whenever he spoke with Sirius or Remus it was always in a flat voice, face void of emotion.
It was painful to watch Tom linger near Harry, the torment and grief in the boy's eyes behind a crumbling facade. It was painful for everyone when they had to finally leave.
It would definitely be painful for Harry once he wakes up.
Sirius sighed, leaning into his chair and resting his feet with his heels. He was wearing his ripped jeans and a simple black shirt. His face filled with guilt, dread, and sorrow for his Godson. “The truth. It’s what he deserves.” Harry deserves the truth. Even if it will be hard for them to say it. Hard for him to accept it.
“He’ll be heartbroken,” Remus said, leaning back into his pillows, empty glass in hand. “He’ll be so upset.”
“We knew that would happen when we agreed with the plan. We gave him the best last few weeks with Tom anyway.” Sirius says, jaw tight. Thinking about their short stay at Kent. Harry had been so happy. Watching his friends do things the muggle way. The Malfoy boys screamed when the chickens were running towards them, pecking them for disturbing their sleep to take the eggs. Tom had sat beside Harry, taking sneaky glances as Harry laughed out loud, holding his hand. Never letting go.
“It was his first love.” Remus laments.
Sirius felt hot anger flare in his chest. “Remus, would you have rathered he died ?” He already felt guilty as it was, why was Remus trying so hard to douse them with more blame?
Remus raised a brow at Sirius' sudden attitude. “No, I just think it's sad that he’ll have to live to go through that kind of pain...at such a young age. I was being empathic Sirius. You know what it feels like to lose a loved one.” And Remus and Sirius couldn’t help but take a glance at Harry’s asleep form on the white bed. It had just been two days. Two days and the boy didn't know how much his life had changed just yet. “I wish we could have done it another way.”
Sirius thought he was ready. He would accept the blame, the anger for pulling Harry from that universe, so long as he was healthy and safe and alive. But now his mind is deep with worry. He knew what losing a loved one was like. He thought of that fateful Halloween night where he lost the most important person in his life...and his chest shook.
"I wish the same.” Sirius agreed with his best friend. “If I could, I would wish for a way he never would have to feel any pain. I wish I could have given him everything he wanted, more than he deserved. But all we can do now… is give him what he needs first.” Sirius placed his hands in his pockets, his eyes distant, but his heart determined. He’d bite the bullet and do what must be done. “ Now he needs a stable home and a safe place to mourn. We’ll give it to him. I won’t let him go through this alone. We’ll be there with him every step of the way,”
“What if it's not enough?” There it was, Remus and his unhelpful questions again.
Sirius gave him a hard stare. “It simply has to be.”
***
Harry POV:
Everything felt heavy.
His arms, his chest, his eyelids. It was so hard for him to move even when he felt his brain steer awake and nagged at him- wake up, wake up, wake up. It took a few tries, but with a heavy exhale, Harry managed to slowly open his eyelids. Only to scrunch and shut them back. Bright, everything was too bright. He blinked a few times, letting his eyesight adjust. The walls are a mixture of mint and white. He could smell the antiseptic and potions. In the far distance, he could hear...the sound of muggle vehicles and people walking.
He still feels disoriented, like he had hit something on his head.
There was movement, someone was swiping his hair back.
“Tom?” he slurred tiredly. He would be so worried if Harry didn’t wake up. Harry didn’t like to see those determined brown eyes become helpless and lost, because of him. He needed to tell Tom he was fine.
It was impossible, his headache felt like a hard pounding in his head. He closed his eyes and then he was pulled back, almost immediately into the darkness again.
The next time he was a bit more lucid, remembering he was not in Kent anymore, and that he must have made it through the trip. His memory coming back, Remus and Sirius, they had traveled through a time portal and Harry had been out through the whole journey.
His eyes opened slowly, squinting at the room he was in. He quickly gathered it was nighttime, and there was a low glow at the foot of his bed, the white curtains drawn over the large window on his left, he turned, slowly, his muscles sore from being still for so long. Harry saw a figure sleeping in a chair, with his head dropped slightly forward, black hair in a loose knot, wearing a simple open neck shirt and khaki trousers. His Godfather.
He felt his stomach roll in unease. “Sirius?”
Sirius jerked awake, only to frown and scratch the light hair growing under his jaw, he looked around and when he saw Harry open-eyed, watching him, he scrambled closer, taking his hand.
“Harry, you're awake! How are you feeling kid?”
“Tired.” He admitted honestly. His insides felt hollow even if his mind told him he wasn’t hungry. “Where’s Tom?” Harry was expecting Tom in the seat, he would have wanted to be the first to greet him. He had been quite demanding in the hospital wing throughout Harry’s stay.
Sirius’s shoulder stiffened, his hands began to swipe through Harry’s messy hair. Harry could sense Sirius wanted to comfort him, but he was doing it wrong. Tom usually scratched his hair on the back of his neck, massaging the thick black strands to be wilder. He would take his long fingers and rake Harry’s hair from front to back. Sirius was swiping his hair to the side, to keep his bangs from covering his eyes. His fingers also didn't touch his scalp, only timidly moving parts of his hair in one direction. It didn't feel right.
He wasn’t wearing glasses, and the room was dimmed, so it was hard to make out Sirius’s face. The silence suddenly worried him. “Is he hurt?” Harry asked, panicked, raising slightly from his bed. Maybe something happened during their trip?
Sirius gently pushed him back down. “No, no kid… he’s as good as rain. You're the one who was sick, remember?”
Harry remembered how tired he was, how difficult it was to stay awake until the end. Losing his magic. He couldn’t even fly his broom. It was a scary feeling, the uncertainty, the loss of strength, not knowing if he’d ever get better. Only putting on a brave face so Tom wouldn’t worry more than necessary. “But I’m better now?”
Sirius was still touching his hair wrong. “Yes, you're recovering quickly. And soon you’ll be up and about in no time.”
Tom would be relieved. He couldn’t help it, his eyelids felt like large bricks were on them. “Ok, wake me up when Tom comes.” He said his next sentence half asleep already. “Don’t want him to...worry.”
The third time he wakes, remembering everything much quicker. The trip, his healing magical core. Sirius. He still hadn't seen Tom and Harry can immediately sense something is amiss.
His curtains are drawn back, it’s daytime, he can see an unfamiliar street. He sits up, feeling his muscles twitch. Rolling his shoulders lightly to loosen his joints. He sees his black circular glasses on his nightstand, takes it, his eyesight sharpening, and notices from his window how different the buildings look.
He’s wearing some hospital garment, it’s open and loose at the back, and he’s only in his blue briefs. Someone had tucked in the sheets over his feet. He takes in the room he’s staying, noticing a large blackboard with numbers and comments (magical core status, height, and weight, brain scan) and a moving ink line going up and down in a certain rhythm (that might be his pulse), he infers it as information of his well being. He thinks he’s alone until he sees Sirius in dog form at the foot of his bed.
“Sirius?” He has to run his hands along with the thick fur until the dog wakes up and gray eyes lazily open. The dog yawns then yips at him, tail wagging.
The dog jumps off his bed and transforms into his Godfather, “How are you feeling kid?” his gray eyes were slanted, scanning him from head to toe.”
“A little sore, but I feel better already. So much better.” Like he’s had a long well rested nap. Fresh. He feels ready to get out of bed. “How long was I out?”
“Four days,” Sirius says, fondly touching Harry’s head. His gray eyes are blinking rapidly. Harry can see the faint black stubble growing under his chin. “I’m so glad to see you getting better.”
Just then someone opens the door holding a tray of food. Harry forces himself not to drop his shoulders at the sight of Remus. His hair is back to its original colour- sandy brown, the scars on his face are faded against his skin, amber eyes smiling.
“Oh, thank goodness I made extra. Someone was supposed to inform me as soon as you woke up.” The last bit was directed at Sirius, eyes narrowed accusing. Sirius shrugs it off snatching a roll of bread for himself. Remus tuts disapprovingly with a frown, conjures a small table, lays out the food. Hands a glass of water for Harry to drink.
“Thanks.” He says sincerely, his throat does feel dry. He hastens to drink, asking what he really wants to know. “So is Tom joining us here? How was the trip for him? Does he know I’m awake?” Why isn’t he here yet? With me?
He doesn't miss the look the two men share, both of their eyebrows are furrowed, jaws tight. Remus clears his throat, distractingly setting up a plate of food for Harry. Sirius sighs and places the roll of bread back on the tray.
He takes a deep breath, shoulders hunched, leaning in to speak to him from his seat. “Harry, there’s something we have to tell you, and I just want you to know, that we’re here for you and we’ll get through this together.”
Harry doesn't take the plate of food offered to him, he takes a quick glance at the opened door. Feeling his stomach roll empty.
“Where is he?” He asks, he sits upright and straight, craning his neck to see beyond the door.
Remus takes a seat, looking at Sirius who is lost for words all of a sudden. “Harry, do you remember why you had to leave that universe?”
Harry feels a pang in his chest at the reminder he’s just left a life he can never go back to. “My magical core was dying, I needed to reconnect with my universe,” He says in a small voice.
“Yes, well that’s how it is for all magical beings Harry. You see, long ago, before wizards even had wands, we’d use the magic harness from plants from nature and the sun even. We’re all connected one way or another. You're growing to be an adult wizard and your core needs to pull extra magic from the universe. The universe you were born with, that your magic originates from, not anywhere else.” Remus explains slowly.
“I don't understand.” Because why would Remus try to give him a History Lesson right now, when he needed to know where Tom was.
Sirius holds Harry’s knees. His fingers are callous and pale. Giving him a cautionary look, his gray eyes wary. “It means that we’re not supposed to live in another universe, Harry. If Tom came with us, his core would be affected, just like yours was. He’d get sick… like you did.”
Harry hears the words but he can’t process what's being said. “What are you saying?”
Sirius’s grip on his knee is supposed to be reassuring, it just feels foreign. “He really wanted to come, and we’d take him if there was a way Harry. But we couldn’t. Do you understand? We couldn’t take him with us. He had to stay back.”
Like a rock had been slingshotted to his brain, Harry jerks back, pulling his knee free from Sirius’s hold. Looking at both of them like they’ve lost their minds. Shaking his head. “We made preparations. The plan was for both of us to come here.”
“He was afraid you’d be too stubborn and wouldn’t leave with us, Harry.” Remus is trying to be gentle with him, deep soft voice supposedly careful. “He didn’t want to tell you until you got here. He didn't want the… last days he spent with you to be sad. I know he feels very torn about upsetting you like this.”
Last days?
“ No .” Is the first thing Harry says. Because he knows Tom. Tom would never lie to him. Not like that. He would never let him come alone. Sirius and Remus were mistaken. They might have tried to convince Tom to stay, to not come with Harry. Tom might have played them to believe it, but Tom would always find a way to be with Harry. Always. He wouldn’t just let Harry go . It doesn’t work that way.
I’m never going to leave you.
“You're wrong.” And Harry turns his head away pulling his knees into himself because he doesn't want to shout at Sirius and Remus. Doesn't want to look into their sympathetic faces. His chest feels clamped and his head feels like writhing snakes in his brain. They didn't know Tom like he did. “He lied to you,” Harry said confidently. “He lied to you and he’s coming, he’s smart, he’d figure out how to come to this universe. He’s coming, you’ll see.”
Mine, Tom said. He’d reminded Harry so many times.
A hand reaches for his shoulder, “Kid-”
Harry shrugs it off a little bit too forcefully, staring blankly at the window. Wondering how worried Tom was, out there looking for him. Alone, in a foreign universe? How would Harry find him? Wasn’t there a special spell that would give you direction to the palace or person you're looking for? There had to be books he could read. He’d have to gather his strength. He’d have to be strong enough to figure this out. Harry couldn't lose it. Not now. When Tom needs him to be clear headed and focused. He has to be brave, for both of them.
Harry closes his eyes, hoping against hope, this was just a nightmare.
He hears the adults sigh. For once, Harry welcomes the darkness that comes.
***
He wakes up and it’s early morning now, the curtains are drawn but Harry can see the morning light seep through, hear the birds in the quiet morning of the new day. And still, Tom isn’t here.
For some reason, the candle lights were left on last night. There is a tray of food on the conjured table, under stasis, fresh and preserved for him to take. Sirius is on the floor, in his dog form, sleeping. Remus is snoring on one of the other empty beds. The door is closed.
A fleeting thought crosses his mind. He’s only known these people properly for three months or so. All they had to do was tell him about his parents and suddenly what? He trusts them? No wonder Tom had wanted to supervise their visits, Harry was being naive, acting gullible. He was falling into the same old pattern of making bad choices because of what he wanted, not what was actually happening in front of his two eyes. He wanted to believe Sirius and Remus when they spoke of his parents… wanted to believe they could give him a home, a...family?
And look where he is now, stuck in a strange place. Stuck and alone. No Tom in sight.
He smells the food through the charms. Something fried and greasy and meaty. He’s trying to keep his eyes facing the window, trying to force himself to think for once in his life. Think and stop taking what people are giving him, but then he feels his stomach growling for attention, and his mouth waters. He realizes he hasn't eaten in days.
Without making a sound, Harry gets up and takes a plate for himself. Still in the ridiculous white gown. He has to eat, to get stronger, he reasons. Then he can think better. Yes, eat first, then maybe change his clothes, then make a plan. He takes a slice of bread and fat sausages and oh, is that a bowl of onion soup? He hasn’t been able to taste food for months because of his condition. Suddenly everything is making him salivate. Every new bite is just amazing. The treatment he is on must be working. A bite and-oh, this is so good.
God Harry, what’s wrong with you? Get a grip. Tom is out there probably eating scraps on the streets.
The thought manages to sober him. He won’t let Sirius and Remus try to smother him with good food and warm things. He won’t be distracted from finding Tom.
His train of thought is brought to a halt when out of the blue, there is a knock on the door and three people walk inside without waiting for an answer. A woman in a navy robe with large owl-like glasses and curly gray hair under a witch's hat. A tall man with long black hair in a straight cut, wearing a slim vested black robe with cuffed sleeves. Lastly, a balding man in simple white and mint robes, looking straight at Harry then at the chart of numbers. His cubby hands fisted excitedly in front of his robes, giving Harry a jubilant smile.
Harry was in the middle of chewing the sausage when they came in so he swallowed a big chunk prematurely and had to massage his throat to get it painfully down.
“I see you're awake for your check-up today.” The bald man says warmly.
“Sorry to interrupt your breakfast.” The woman says, there is a glint in her round brown eyes. “You can eat while we work dear, no worries.”
Harry, however, pushes his uneaten plate on the small table. These people must have been treating him. They’ve run tests and done things while he was unconscious. He tried to stop the thoughts from filtering in and making the unease apparent on his face. He wasn’t used to meeting new people without Tom checking on them first. They could be out to hurt him, he’d say. But that didn’t make sense, because they obviously saved his life.
Sirius wakes up from the commotion and transforms into a human again, stretches his hands and feet with an obnoxious loud yawn. His black hair is a loose mess over his pale face. He gives a hard shake to Remus’s shoulder, who sits up and rubs his eyes.
“A bit early today?” Remus grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes, Hair tousled.
“I wanted to check in before I headed to the office today, I left a note ,” The woman says, voice crisp. Then she smiles at Harry, “ I really didn’t mean to interrupt your meal, but I’m a busy woman.” Her eyes were dark brown making her look even more owl-ish but in a way that reminded you that owls can do things like turn their necks one hundred and eighty degrees and they have sharp talons. “I’m glad you're well, I’m the Unspeakable working on your case. You may call me D,” She holds out her hand as if it’s normal to shake hands with teenage boys in simple white garb and briefs in the early mornings. Harry takes her hand warily, eyes darting to her stiletto sharp shoes.
If she’s noticed his hesitancy she never says. “This is your Master Potioneer, Professor Severus Snape and your Healer Specialist in charge of you, Healer Setwall.” Harry shook the thin clammy hand of Professor Snape (who gave him a curt nod) and the chubby hand of Healer Setwall who’s eyes shone behind his glasses.
“I just want to say what an honour it is to be working for you, Mr. Potter.” The Healer says, shaking his hand a little bit longer than necessary.
Mr. Potter. Oh yeah, that’s his name now. “Err, thanks?” Harry has a hand scrunching the front of his gown, cheeks warm. “I mean, thank you for helping and erm, saving my life.”
Healer Setwall was shaking his head. “Nonsense Mr. Potter, anything for you, the least I could do. After all, you’ve done for us-”
“Ehem.” Professor Snape interjects rudely, making a move to check Harry’s pulse on his wrist. Cold hand encircling his wrist, then prodding the veins under his skin.
Healer Setwall pouts, upset at being cut off like that. Professor Snape seems too focused to care.
“How are you feeling Mr. Potter?” D asks. A parchment out with a long blue quill, waiting for his answer.
Like I want to vomit. “I feel fine. I just woke up and was hungry.” He scratched the back of his neck lightly, unused to having so many people staring at him all at once.
Healer Setwall is back smiling at him, busy running his wand along Harry’s form, gently asking him to sit up so he can check his spine. D asks more questions. “And how are you re-adapting back to your universe, do you feel any pain or strain on your magical core?”
Harry feels his heart clench. Thinking of Tom.
“No,” Harry answers mechanically. Sirius and Remus are both hovering as near as they dared, Professor Snape is giving them annoyed side glances as he’s taking out the crates of potions to prescribe to his patient.
“Core seems strong,” Healer Setwall announced, his chest puffed out. “It’s a bit stunted but with time it’ll grow into the size it should be.”
“My core was stunted?” Harry asks, properly alarmed. “Does that mean it's small or something?”
“Yes, it tends to happen sometimes to children who haven’t been harnessing or developing their magic properly. Sometimes they turn into Obscurials- becoming a dark parasitic force. But I think your core healed up nicely. And we manage to stop it turning on itself.” Healer Setwall taps his wand on his muggle notepad. “Just need a lot of rest, and maybe practice back the basics of spell casting to help realign your core and build its strength.”
“Does that mean it's better for Harry to be tutored at home or should he still resume boarding school after this summer? “ Sirius asks, sounding like he was in charge of Harry. Like an adult who looked out for him.
It was...a tad bit uncomfortable.
Healer Setwall is eying Harry with pursed lips. “Hard to say, depends on Harry really. Some heal faster than others. Though the way you came, your magic was on its last tether, you could have died. But for you to have survived on that small magic for so long, it means your core is strong. Some heal faster than others, and I think you Mr. Potter fall into the faster category don’t you think?”
Harry shrugs, unsure.
D nods. “Keep observing him and let us know, we’ll do our checkups every other day now I think, all Mr Potter needs is to rest. Let magic do its work,”
Rest? He has to be out there and find Tom. “How long was I out?”
“About five days now,” D answers, smiling sweetly. Looking at Harry like she’s so happy she wants to burst. She sees Harry’s scrunched eyebrows. “Nothing to be worried about, Mr Potter, you’ve had a turbulent experience. Being out for nearly five days is just a small blip to your eventual recovery.”
Experience ? Harry's eyes are focused on his hands, feeling numb. Everything that happened to him wasn't an experience- it was… his life.
Remus helpfully intervenes. “I think we’ll postpone those questions another day, D. Harry is obviously still tired.” He places a hand on Harry’s shoulder. All these people were touching him, when he never asked them to.
Professor Snape clears his throat.
“The potions he’ll need to be on.” He gestures on the table, lines of different coloured potions that make Harry grimace. “Your previous potioneer had given you a good stock of potions to keep the curse scar at bay, I’ve merely added my own tweaks to help seal the magic.”
Even the nasty potions he was used to taking were being changed into something else. His head lowered, Harry bit the inside of his cheeks, trying not to think how everything was so different. Was changing without him having any say in them.
And he didn’t like it.
He didn’t like it one bit.
***
Harry had to stand and do a few simple squats and exercises where he tried to reach his toes in front of Healer Setwall and his checkup routine was finally over. D gave Sirius various suggestions on how to help Harry ease into the ‘new universe’. Things like reintroducing him to the culture, taking him on short tours around London, helping Harry make new friends.
Friends. He has friends.
They just aren't here.
The Healer showed Remus important exercises Harry had to do to build himself up physically to help the growth of his core. Reminding Remus to help Harry slowly progress so as not to shock his magical core into shutting down.
The Potioneer was staring at Harry, not making any small talk, just staring with his black obsidian eyes, while Harry sat on his bed, playing uselessly with his fingers. Then when it was all done, all three of them left together. As quickly as they initially came.
When it was Sirius, Remus and Harry alone, the air between them suddenly became awkward quite quickly. Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes darting between them, gripping the sheets. Remus again is pointedly eying Sirius to take the lead. Sirius catches on and swings his hand to the right in a forced cheer. “Isn’t that good news, you're getting better! In no time you’ll be able to leave your bed and I can show you around.”
Harry was already getting off his bed. His feet on the cold tiles. “I actually want my stuff back, I erm, need it.” Still keeping his distance. Bungling his words. Some small part of him is still fond of Sirius, feels a sense of closeness and hope, another part remembers what he said about leaving Tom, and it stings.
He needs to find Tom.
Sirius runs a hand messily through his long black hair. “Of course, of course. It’s in your room, why don't you rest and-
“No, show me please.” Because Harry can’t stand sitting on this bed and wait for more than necessary. “I’m fine really, I don’t need to rest anymore.”
Sirius' smile falters, eying Remus, and he is chewing on his lip, having a silent conversation in front of Harry. After thirty seconds, Sirius decides to swallow his protest and gestures for Harry to follow him. Harry quickly puts on his indoor slippers and walks behind him.
“This," Sirius waves a hand to the walls, "-is Grimmauld Place, I inherited it from my family.” Harry nods, it did look old. It was a pureblood house, Harry could tell by the designs in the chandelier and the antique furnishings. The wards also felt heavy and ancient. But the walls were oddly bare, none of the usual portraits or plaques of honor. Or any sign of the family emblem anywhere. It seemed recently decorated. Painted yellow, gold, and white. Making the old brick walls look brand new. They go up two flights of stairs. “My room and Moony’s are on the first floor, where the kitchen, drawing room, and the main study is. The second floor is all yours. Third and fourth is for guests, the library, and a few practice and meeting rooms. Maybe you can turn one of the spare rooms into a study, that’s Remus’s idea by the way. I always wanted a game room when I was younger.”
He nods, feeling overwhelmed by the idea he has a whole floor for himself. When they reach there, it’s obvious that this floor is the most well-done redesigned one. It looks jarringly different from the rest of the house. Modern. New.
His room is the second polished wooden door to the right. Overlooking the garden. It’s completely furnished with wardrobes that are clean-cut and minimalist designs. The main colour of the room is cerulean and sky blue. The curtains have thin blue lines and the poster bed in the centre of the room is king-sized, reminding Harry of the bed he stayed in Malfoy Manor. There is a small squared fireplace behind a glass wall in front of the bed. An ingenious design, to keep him warm, but also have no smoke enter.
Harry feels a bit bummed out by that because he’s used to smelling smoke. Everything smells so… new here. Unlived.
There are two doors, one must be the bathroom, and the other, like any pureblood house, a walk-in-closet. Sirius proves him right by opening the smaller door and he can see it's filled with clothes he’s never worn before and shoes of designs he’s not used to.
Harry feels his stomach drop a little. He can’t wear the clothes he owns. It would be… too different. What did he expect? Different universe. Different life. Different clothes.
“Kreacher had your clothes washed, but uh, I took the liberty to help get you new ones. They’re in trend now, look!” He takes out a shirt with five people who wore slim fitted coats of vibrant colors and bowler cut hairstyles, posing as if they were statues. “The Beatles!” Sirius shouts enthusiastically as if Harry understood who that was and should clap in delight or something.
When there is no reaction from him. Sirius' smile drops, disappointed. Then he takes out a cardboard box and places it on the bed. “I think you're looking for these. Remus and I were surprised to know you had an extendable leather pouch on you. Must be handy.”
“It was a gift,” Harry said thinking of Miranda, the Ravenclaw senior he’d look up to like an older sister. He can’t write to her and ask for advice ever again. Harry boxes the thought quickly and takes the leather pouch, opening the flap and summons for the item he needs. A single bus coin flies into his hand. Harry swallows, turning it in his fingers, it’s the size of a Sickle, made of pure silver. It feels different, cold. Like a normal coin would- with no magic. The black leather string is also not working like it's supposed to, still… Harry presses the centre with his thumb, jabbing it forcefully and chipping his nail.
He doesn’t feel the magic work. Usually, there is a slow thrum of Tom’s heartbeat and a responding warmth once he presses it. He presses again and again. Teeth gritting. “C’mon…”
“Some charms might not hold here.” Harry jumps, having forgotten Sirius was still here with him. “Even your leather pouch will soon start to lose its magic. We’ll have to empty it and rearrange your things.”
Harry feels his handshake, curling his fingers over the cold coin. Staring at the empty darkness of their leather pouch. Tom wouldn’t leave his journal in here, would he? Harry would have to take out everything, it’s charmed so it cannot be summoned. But he has to find it, it’ll tell him how to reactivate the bus coin.
Sirius has his lips pursed, staring at Harry with a forlorn gaze. Speaking slowly as if he was trying not to spook him “Maybe you can change your clothes, have a wash and we can have a proper lunch downstairs in the kitchen hmm?”
Harry is taking things out of the leather pouch with his hands, dumping his things on the floor. “Yeah, okay,” he says distractedly. Without looking up.
Sirius sighs again, he does that a lot. “Just call me if you need me, okay?”
Harry doesn't respond, doesn’t even hear Sirius open the door giving him a long lingering gaze before leaving him alone. Harry is going through the small mountain of books they have in the leather pouch. Trying to rearrange them in one of the empty shelves, thinking it’ll be easier for him to find the journal. There’s a package of envelopes tied in a silver and green string. Harry’s hand trembles, knowing their last letters from his friends. He doesn't feel like going through them yet and quickly shoves it in one of the drawers.
He can’t find Tom’s journal anywhere.
He tries to calm down, tell the growing knots in his head to be quiet, let him think. He has to have a plan. He’s in the middle of a foreign room (that’s his) in a hospital gown and his briefs with books and objects lying on the bed and haphazardly shoved into a shelf. He was a mess.
A shower might help. Yes. Shower first, he thinks firmly. Then maybe figure out where he is, what year is it even? He didn't even ask for the date. What an idiot.
Deep breaths. It’s fine. It’s fine. He can do this. One step at a time.
Harry shrugs off his hospital garb and his briefs and summons a towel from the closet. The bathroom is nice, spacious with too much room for a single person. Harry sees his body, the first time since he’s arrived in the reflection of the large bathroom mirror. He’s lost a lot of muscle, skin, and bones now, about five feet and two inches, feeling like his body is just a tangle of limbs. His skin isn't as pale, his eyes are almond-shaped and bright green. He notices the bones on the side of his jaw more prominent, his cheeks slightly hollow, making his hair seem like a bird's nest on a thin tree. And below the black fringe, the sinister lightning bolt-shaped scar over his right eyebrow.
Harry takes off his circular black glasses and puts them on the sink to wash. He is improving healthwise, can feel his magic pulse under his skin, but he still looks terrible.
Harry isn't sure what to make of the long ray of colourful bottles he finds stacked on the bathroom counter, he takes one by random and scrubs his hair and body, trying to focus on being clean. He comes out of the shower smelling of lavender. It makes his nose itch. Harry viciously scrubs himself dry and rummages through the closet for something wearable (not anything with pictures of a group of men he knows nothing of). A simple pair of blue trousers and plain yellow cotton shirt. His hair is still wet and damp, as he puts on his shoes and leaves his room, feeling refreshed and much more clear headed. He has the bus coin in his pocket.
He has a plan.
The kitchen is directly beside the stairs of the first floor. Remus is cutting some vegetables while Sirius is sitting with a drink in hand. “Do you know Runes?” Harry blurts upon seeing them, standing at the kitchen entrance.
Both of them are looking up at him with concern.
Remus swipes the knife with two of his fingers, letting the bits of vegetables fall on the board. “I took it in school, yes.”
Harry nearly jumps as he walks closer to Remus, takes out his bus coin from his pocket, and shows it to him. “You see, the magic in this coin is gone, is there some way we can reactivate it? The runes are carved here.”
Remus has a tight expression, his eyes looking at the bus coin, but his lips curved inwards in a single line, almost as if he was doing it to amuse him. Not taking this seriously. “The magic is gone because we left that universe, Harry.” Again in that slow tone, as if Harry was stupid or something.
“I know ,” Sirius had explained it earlier. His lips in a thin line, keeping his temper under a firm lid. Harry’s toes fidget in his shoes. “I figured we can just re-do the runic magic, get it working again?” He tries to explain, to make them see.
Remus placed all his cut vegetables in a bowl. Averting his eyes. “I don't think this will help, Harry.”
Sometimes he forgets how much Sirius and Remus don’t know him or Tom. Don’t know what they’ve been through. The short visits they had with him when he was sick weren’t enough. “ No , it will.” He insists. “Tom did it, he's brilliant. He figured a way for us to communicate if we-”
Sirius pushes his chair back and stands up. His expression scrunched in pain. “Kid, we know you're hurting. But Tom isn’t here, we’re trying to tell you, he didn’t follow us-”
“You don’t know that!” And the glass in Sirius’s hand breaks like crushed sugar.
Harry can feel his spine-tingling with strong currents of magic. How long has it been for him? Months, until he felt this capable, this energy, this power. It scares him a little, to know he can be this powerful and not in control. His mouth clamped shut, very aware that his chest feels hot. Face warm. He’s angry. And he doesn't want to be angry, he just wants them to help him find Tom.
Holding in his trembling. His eyes darted first at Remus then at Sirius who didn't look surprised at all by his outburst, just cautious and still as if they were waiting for him to do it again. Their eyes are a little sad. Why did they look sad?
They didn’t have to be sad. Tom was out there. Looking for him right now. Why couldn’t they believe him?
Harry ran back up to his room. If they wouldn’t help him. He’d find a way by himself.
***
Harry had locked and warded his room. He wasn’t sure how upset Sirius and Remus were by his behaviour, ignoring the pangs of hunger, even when a tray of food suspiciously materialized on the small table in his room.
They didn’t understand.
He tried to read and look through all the textbooks they had. Finally regretting his decision not to take Ancient Rune Studies like Tom had told him to. He can imagine the ‘I told you so’ on his face right now. His deep voice in that haughty manner that was quick to give orders, going on and on about Harry needing to think about prospects, about the bigger picture.
Sleeping was difficult, he wasn’t tired now after nearly a week in bed. So he stayed up and thought of plans. What he needed to do. Realizing, in some capacity he needed Sirius and Remus to help him. He wasn’t even sure where or when he was. What universe this was. Tom would always tell him to gather information before making any rash decisions. His mind is racing with the uncertainties and all the unknowns, until they all mush together and become a black dream.
The next morning, an old house-elf by the name, Kreacher, wakes him up to inform him the Healing Team was here this morning and Harry has to come downstairs.
Harry quickly washes his face and jogs into the ward. Surprising all three visitors.
“My dear, running already!” D exclaims, she had on a navy robe with a different design, this one had ink drawings of trees. “We thought for sure you would be taking a few more days of rest, Mr. Potter.” She was smiling but it sounded like she was scolding.
He shook his head, sitting dutifully on the bed. Thinking it was best he cooperated now. “I feel fine.”
Healer Setwall was doing his rudimentary scan and professor Snape was once again rearranging new potions for him.
“There are three vials you haven’t taken.” The Professor noted. “For lunch and dinner.”
“Oh.” His cheeks tinged pink, remembering how upset he was that he had stormed into his room. “I can take them now if you need me to?”
Professor Snape stared at him like he had suggested something savage. “No. You're supposed to have this after lunch and dinner, it is very specific.”
Harry bites back the urge to snap at him.
“Harry felt a bit out of it yesterday,” Sirius said, coming into his defence. “We’ll make sure he has them today.”
Harry drops his head, tapping his feet lightly with his shoes. Sirius stands close.
Healer Setwall is also a little upset with him. “I know you're feeling your strength Mr. Potter, but I’d like to remind you not to do any more sudden magic, your core is still recovering. I wouldn’t want permanent damage on your part.”
Harry swallowed so many emotions at once. Remembering his accidental magic in the kitchen and the few times he summoned items from the leather pouch. He had been excited to be able to do magic after a long while without. How can he ever find Tom without magic?
His throat felt thick. “Okay.”
They left as quickly as they came. Harry didn't know if he was supposed to leave or stay sitting on the bed. Considering the last conversation they had. Remus was sitting in the visitor chair giving Harry a smile that conveyed everything was okay, while Sirius was standing, pulling his hair back into a messy knot.
Sirius spoke first. “Harry, I want to-”
“I’m sorry-” Harry blurts out quickly, head bowed, feet crossed by the ankles. “-I’m sorry I got upset yesterday. I didn’t mean to shout or… ruin your glass.”
“Harry, we’re not upset with you,” Remus said quickly, leaning in to speak closer to him. “We know this isn't easy for you to process and you need time to deal with everything. We just want to help.”
He felt his chest expand at that. “Thank you,” And he looked up with a forced smile, pinching his own thighs to keep his emotions under control. He cannot lose it. He needs to heal quickly, needs to be strong, to be able to do magic. “I really need your help.”
It’s like a magic word that Sirius and Remus have been waiting for him to say. Both of them move closer to Harry. Sirius closes the gap between them, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder, for a second Harry allows himself to lean into the touch, needing some support, some way to share this heavy burden on his shoulders.
“Anything Harry.” His gray eyes are sincere.
Harry nods. “I need to show you something,”
Harry quickly jumps off the bed to run to his room. Remus hollered at him, “Walk!” And after he grabbed his notes and the bus coin, he took each slow step back, re-entering the makeshift healing ward, feeling determined.
He shoved the parchment to Remus and Sirius. They had raised eyebrows. “Are we in Britain?” Harry asked first.
Sirius nods. “London to be exact.”
London. That was perfect. “What’s the date?”
“8th July,” Remus answered, confused by Harry’s chicken scratched writing. Squinting his eyes, trying to make sense of it.
“Year?” Harry pressed.
“1995,” Sirius answered, also looking through his notes of plans.
Harry's lips part. He thought they traveled forward maybe a few years. Possibly even went back in time, but fifty?
What would a world fifty years in the future look like? No wonder everything looked so different, the clothes were different.
My God, how would Tom survive out there? And had it already been a week?
He breathed through his nostrils, stifling the knots in his head. “Okay. Never mind, it doesn't make a difference,” he said forcefully. “Does Diagon Alley still exist? (Sirius and Remus thankfully nodded). Good now, I need a map of London and a few questions about the wards of this house. It’s hidden somehow, I notice muggles never see the front door… and I need to find a detection spell, one stronger than the Point Me. I think Diagon Alley is where he would first try and look for-”
“Harry, are you still… is this about looking for Tom,” Remus asked carefully, in that tone, like he was afraid Harry was about to break.
Of course, it was about looking for Tom. What else would it be? “ Yes ,” Harry says exasperatedly. They said they wanted to help .
Sirius closed his face with his hands, mumbling ‘Lord Morgana’. Remus looked like he was about to be sick.
Harry’s insides turn cold.
“Fine,” Harry says, hard-hearted, unable to hide his disappointment. Snatching back his parchment and turning away from Sirius and Remus. “Don’t believe me, I’ll just find the answers by myself.”
Harry worked on his own, resolutely, ignoring Sirius and Remus during mealtimes. Staying cooped up in his room, planning. Giving them short answers when they asked how he was feeling and what he was doing. How was he feeling? Like a jumble of flobberworms that's how he felt. Dissected inside outwards, feeling strange and detached. He didn't even taste the food, not because he was sick, his mind wasn’t in it. Didn't even hear what the Healer was telling him every morning. Deadset on finding Tom.
Just find him and everything will make sense again. Everything will be alright.
Remus tries to ‘talk’ to him, Harry storms out of the room as soon as he hears the words ‘this isn’t healthy’, ‘please stop doing this’. He doesn’t need to be reasoned with. Has no time for useless debates.
Sirius tries to hold him again, but Harry dodges every attempt, leaving him hanging. He feels like one touch is enough to push over the stacks of ‘I’m fine’ to tumble all over. And Harry will be in a mess.
He can’t be in a mess. He has to be put together. Has to find Tom.
The first time Harry tries to leave Grimmauld Place to look around London, Sirius begs him not to. To consider his health and the fact that he is under the Trace and the ministry could find him. Grimmauld Place has a way to keep his magical activity from being traced back to the ministry. Harry contemplates this information and decides it isn't wise for him to stroll around London without the ability to do magic.
So he focuses on making the bus coin work.
He found the library, a tenth smaller than Malfoy Manor’s Library, but still it had a lot of books. He pulled as many books that he could carry on Ancient Runes. He was never good at studying. He’d have to amp up his skills to quickly learn how to charm the bus coin again.
I can do this , he tells himself, even if his back hurts from bending down, cross-legged on the floor, reading and writing so many books he barely understands.
I can find you, he tells himself, eyes strained, unwilling to sleep. It doesn't feel right, sleeping alone.
I can bring you home.
Because they were each other's home. It’s always been him and Tom. They were together. A set. They took care of each other. Harry promised Tom he’d do more, he wants to take care of him too, to protect Tom.
It’s his mantra day and night. Find him. Find him. Find him.
Harry accidentally snaps his quill pressing down too hard. He makes a frustrated exhale, his mind half asleep and half screaming at himself to stay awake, processing what he reads on hidden wards and runic magic as quickly as he can. Writing down the important bits to figure out the runic writings carved on the bus coin. He searches for his extra quill. On the floor, the bed, the table? Opens a drawer and sees the stack of envelopes from his friends.
He drops to his knees slowly, holding the stack of envelopes in one hand, feeling empty. He feels like a ghostly arm is guiding him to pull the strings and release the envelopes. The top one has pictures. He opened it carefully, biting his bottom lip. Knowing they were gone but wanting to take one look anyway. The first one he picks is his favourite. It was their last Christmas together, Grani was waving a peace sign, Eileen and Aethon had large smiles, eyes sneaking glances to one another, their knees touching, Hary sat beside Tom.
He hadn’t seen Tom’s face in nearly two weeks. His breath hitches and he grabs the front of his chest as if to push back the overwhelming longing he feels at the sight of him. Harry was staring at the camera, tilting his head, smiling ready. But Tom had his head turned to gaze intently at him, eyes hooded, before intertwining their fingers together and then facing the camera, giving his signature smirk. The photograph is frozen in a loop.
God, he missed that smirk.
Harry traces Tom's face with a single finger, the waves of his brown hair he kept in a certain style. His high cheekbones and defined jaw. His eyes . His eyes when he looked at Harry, zeroed in on him alone, closed off from the rest of the world.
He didn’t think he had the strength to go through all the pictures that night. So he keeps it back in the envelope. Catching the names of his friends on the other envelopes, goodbye letters. He’ll read them when he feels like it. Savour everything he has left, prolong the connection he has with them as long as he can. Unwilling to face the finality of everything. Grani, Elieen, Aethon…
Tom? Harry throws the stacks of envelopes on the floor. Written with black ink in Tom’s handwriting. The fourth envelope.
Why is there an envelope from him?
No.
He picks up the envelope from the floor, examining it closely, trembling so hard, he’s losing his vision. He feels his mind go blank. He feels so small in this newly decorated big room. Small and alone.
Something in him snaps and Harry starts throwing the carefully written notes, ink bottles, and books randomly everywhere, hitting the walls with loud thuds. It doesn't feel as satisfying, so Harry starts pulling the white coverings from the poster bed, starts kicking the chairs, and knocking off the table. Starts taking out every cloth in the closet. The envelope with Tom’s name is still crumpled in his fist. With a sudden burst of red hot strength, he all but tears it into two, hurting his own fingers in the process.
I’ll do what it takes, whatever is necessary. The envelope is but bits of paper on the floor now.
I’ll never do anything to hurt you. Words he’ll never read are scattered on the floor in the mess he made.
Because you're mine. Harry bends his knees, his forehead hits the floor and he holds himself, gripping his arms as tight as he can, breathing painfully. Forcing the screams in his head to quiet down.
Sirius un-wards his door the next afternoon because Harry missed breakfast and lunch. He opens the door slowly, cautious, to find Harry as still as a rock on the floor face down in a prostrate position. His room is like a tornado passed through.
His heart is the aftermath.
***
Every day after that is a blur. Sirius checks on him regularly to make sure he has his meals. He doesn’t say anything, but Harry sees the way he quickly takes in his room each time, carefully scanning Harry up and down. The way his eyes have a heavy worried gaze. Remus is the one who wakes him up to come down for his routine health checkups. He answers the visitors' questions. Follow Remus' instructions to exercise. Practice simple spellwork with Sirius. After he eats and does what he’s told to do, he sits on his wide window sill, just staring at the road outside. His mind blank. He doesn’t know what to think. Doesn’t want to think about anything really.
Maybe another week passes, and Harry wonders if he can just make sense of what's happening and fix it with a simple answer. He can apparate, it's his ability. He’s done it better than any adult wizard can. It helped him reach Tom once, and he was seven at the time. All he had to do was think of him, he knew he was strong enough. His magical core was getting better, healing and growing nicely, the Healer said so. Maybe it won’t be like last time. Maybe he can find a way for his magical core to survive staying in a different universe. Tom would help him. If he just thinks carefully about where he wants to go, maybe-
Promise me.
Harry closes his eyes, his hands in a fist. Losing his nerve. He did promise Tom he would never do that, apparate back.
No matter how painful or how much you miss it.
But it’s so damn hard. Knowing what he’s losing. Waking up every day, realizing he can never have any of it back.
“You promised to be with me,” Harry shouts in the empty room, feeling his muscles strained. Pulling his knees up to hide his face.
Everything feels so different. And he doesn't know what his life is anymore. The clothes are different. The food is different. The bed is different.
This is supposed to be the universe he ‘belongs’ in, but he feels estranged. A fish out of water.
When it’s nighttime and Sirius or Remus urges him to rest, he lies in bed, facing the window, the cold useless bus coin clenched tightly in his hand. Professor Snape once offered Dreamless Sleep, but Harry is scared of how good it sounds. To take a potion and just blackout.
He sometimes feels like he wants to blackout for good.
He feels someone's hands around his back, pulling him closer. A solid chest, a familiar heartbeat, his nose trailing Harry’s neck in a soft caress. Harry slowly opens his eyes, hazily making out Tom’s face before him.
Even in the dark, he can see Tom giving him a sly smirk.
“I’m sorry I woke you.” but he doesn't sound sorry at all.
“Tosser,” Harry mumbles, but his chest feels light and easy. He doesn't remember feeling like this in days.
More sounds of rustled sheets, of the lake at night, Tom has his hands under his pyjama shirt, his fingers grazing bare skin, then lower, to the area near his naval. Just a coy brush, making Harry’s cheek warm...
Harry tilts his head up, tired of pretending he’s asleep, seeking him. Tom gives him a few kisses on his chin before he swings his long legs over Harry and his forearms are on either side of his head. Staring him down. Their eyes meet, and it's like looking into a burning fire, the deep intensity he has. The wanting, the desire. Harry meets his stare head-on, feeling his insides grow hot already. Tom rewards him with a sweet smile. His eyes then roving up and down his face, smile now parted, his intentions clear.
“You're so beautiful.” He whispers reverently against Harry’s lips. Then caresses the side of his face with a single finger. Harry feels his heart bloom, his eyelids lower slightly.
Harry reaches for Tom’s pyjama shirt. Pulling a button open to see a peak of his bare chest. His hands reach to touch, he has to. Tom closes his eyes and he gives a breathy inhale. As if every touch is too much and he is struggling to keep himself in control. Harry traces his hands to touch his neck, the skin under his jaw. It's smooth, freshly cut, then he takes Tom’s hand in his, holding it in his own, leaning his cheek to the touch. Smelling the faded smokiness on his skin.
“I miss you,” Harry confesses. Tom’s eyes open, tilting his head slightly.
“I’m here aren’t I?” Then he lowers himself, and Harry can feel his whole body pressing him against the mattress. His chest, wider than Harry’s, covering his smaller frame. Their legs brushing, sending tingles everywhere. And that hardness between them, Harry has felt it under those thin cotton pants so many times, the proof of their desire.
Tom proceeds to kiss Harry like there is no tomorrow. Tongue stroking the inside of his mouth, hands exploring each other. Harry feels hot all over, his stomach tight with pleasure. His mind, though, is floating far away.
Harry wakes up abruptly, sitting up on his bed and holding his chest. Panting, turning left and right, backing up into his pillows. The dark makes him suddenly feel claustrophobic. The night chill is suddenly extra cold. Harry fumbles his hands through the sheets to find an empty bed.
It wasn’t real, he was alone. Tom isn't here.
Suddenly the high he felt from the dream came crashing down like a tsunami. His whole body feels it in large waves, and he is drowning, it's filling his chest too fast and he can’t freaking breathe . Harry tries to scratch and pinches the skin on his neck, trying to loosen the crushing sensation. His mind locked on, isn't here, isn't here, oh God, he isn't here.
Harry feels the pressure build and it's too much, he opens his mouth and rips out a scream. Breaking the glass of his window, the glass in the wall over the fireplace, the glass in the bathroom. He screams and screams and screams. Feeling the surge of magic pulsing up and down his core. Pulling his chest, his hair. Some feeble attempt to pull himself out of his misery. Screaming in hopes he can just vomit out the pain that is ripping him in two.
Sirius and Remus both burst into his room, in their sleepwear, eyes darting around the room, wide and alarmed, wands out.
“Harry, what’s wrong, Harry, what’s wrong?” Sirius frantically is shaking him.
“I c-can’t breathe!” He doesn't know how to function or how to move his lungs. “I c-can’t breathe!” And then loud sobs break from him. Hot tears come streaming down his cheeks and he is wailing uncontrollably. The tears burn him. Burn him to his core.
He loved Tom. He never said it, never thought he would lose the chance to. But he does. He loves Tom with all his heart.
Everything they went through together, flashed before his eyes. The dark and hard times, protected in each other's embrace. The discovery and wonders of magic, the possibilities of their future, holding each other's hands, The small pockets of happiness they stole every Christmas and birthday, the success they made for themselves. Standing side by side.
The first kiss.
Their last.
And now he’s lost him. He doesn't have him anymore.
He's not here.
Sirius is holding him up with an arm gripping his shoulder from the back, in a sitting position on one side of the bed. “Ok deep breaths kid. Come on, you can do it. Inhale… exhale… come on Harry, with me now.”
Remus’s amber eyes are shiny, hand pressed to his mouth as he watches from the foot of Harry’s bed. Looking helpless.
“Come on Harry,” Sirius urges, Holding him tight. As if he is willing himself to pull Harry from his torment. “Inhale, with me…. And exhale puuffff… yeah, just like that.”
“It hurts .” Harry whimpers, head bent. Nails digging deep in his chest, making them bleed. “It hurts .” He repeats. He can’t do anything as simple as breathing without it hurting. The seams that kept him together, ripping apart.
Sirius pulls him into an embrace and kisses his head. “I know baby, I know.” He murmurs. Roughly pushing back Harry’s hair, kissing his head again. Tears in his gray eyes. Looking at Remus with mirrored wretched expressions.
It took almost two hours until Harry finally calms down. He is lying on Sirius’s chest as he rocks his Godson back and forth humming a nonsensical tune, all the while petting Harry’s hair gently. It's the first time Harry smells a faint hint of his aftershave, some kind of forest musk. Remus is sitting on his bed, hands rubbing his ankles in gentle circles. Trying to be there for him.
“I know it's hard Harry, but you're not alone. I promise, you're not alone,” Sirius whispers against his hair. Harry’s eyelids are half-closed already. His cheeks were wet and his eyes stung from tears. “Remus and I will be here for you, and you’ll get through this. We’ll get through this with you.”
Harry doesn’t know if he can believe him. He believed Tom would be with him, braving this new universe together. Believed Sirius and Remus were taking them both here, promising him home. Believed he could be strong enough to keep it together.
“Can you sleep here?” Harry asks, too tired to think.
Sirius pulls Harry into a tighter embrace. “Whatever you need, Harry.”
Harry closes his eyes.
I need my heart back.
***
It’s the thirty-first of July. There are no health checks today. Sirius knocks on his door, waking him up with his fingers gently pushing back the hair from Harry’s forehead.
“It’s your birthday today, Happy fifteenth Harry.”
He is physically better, stands stronger even.
He still sleeps holding the cold bus coin.
He has a quick wash. Then heads down for breakfast.
He lets Sirius and Remus and the House Elves sing him a Happy Birthday. It's blueberry pancakes this morning. Sirius is singing every version of the birthday song he can think of. Remus shares Harry a funny story about all the pranks they’d do on James' birthday.
Afterward, Sirius whips out his wand to take out the chocolate cake, the first birthday cake he has ever had, written beautifully in emerald green and white icing. He takes out candles for Harry to blow.
“Make a wish, Harry,” Sirius says, nudging his elbow.
He can’t help it. He’s still hurt. “Will it ever come true?”
Remus is on his other side, gently placing a hand on his back. Sirius’s early cheer turns somber, putting another arm over Harry’s shoulder. All three of them are staring at the burning candles.
Making impossible wishes on his birthday.
***
August 1995
Tom POV:
Tom falls through the portal, staggering, but still standing, his feet touch the ground with a hard thud .
It was sunset, dark when he left Kent, 1942. His universe.
He’s in the middle of a field, a park of some sort and it’s mid-day now. Cloudy, he can sense heavy winds and a drop in temperature that points to a sign that a storm is coming. Tom stands in his black robes, just looking at his surroundings. The park was thankfully empty, but he could hear people, the sound of vehicles in the distance. Tom had seen similar designs of the buildings before, tall, bricked buildings stacked side by side. But the streets weren’t familiar to him, nowhere he recognized. He needs confirmation on where he is.
As if on cue, a group of… what Tom suspected to be muggle teenagers were walking across the park. Wearing the most confusing get-up he had ever seen, cotton shirts with various plastered words, and blue ripped jeans. Some held guitars over their shoulder, hair either so messy and loose or tied in a loose braid with colored ribbons. They spotted him, one of the boys, tall and lanky, gave him a nod.
“Hiya! Nice costume!”
Tom raised a brow. Costume? “Thank you. The same sentiments to you.” He drawled, standing tall, fingering the wand in his sleeve. “Can you tell me where I am?”
“Why? You lost?”
Tom raises his chin slightly. “Trying to figure that out.”
“You must have been pretty knackered last night to wake up not knowing where you were.” The teenagers gave Tom a knowing smirk. He forced himself to plaster a smile in return.
“Perhaps I was.”
Having pity on him, the boy says, “You're in London mate, Islington Green more specifically, the old Queen’s pub was that way, that jog your memory?”
London . Tom gave a thorough sweep of his surroundings once more. Harry was still in Britain.
Tom had arrived via the same portal Sirius and Remus had jumped with Harry. So they must have been dropped in the same place. Why weren’t they there when Tom arrived? Was it because he jumped a few minutes later? How much time has passed between his arrival and Tom’s?
All he had on himself was a small pouch of money (most of it he had given Harry), his black personal journal (with Harry’s picture), his bus coin in his pocket, and his wand.
He trudged the grass to walk on the concrete pavement, walking towards the bustling shops, there were red two-story buses that passed the road, and long rows of buildings stacked side by side in shades of dark coffee brown and umber with white rims.
The wind was getting stronger, several muggles in plaid clothing, suits were rushing to reach a station not far away. The sky was darkening. It’s going to be pouring soon.
Tom walked aimlessly. The streets and buildings looked muggle, not a hint of a wizardry establishment on site. He was half certain that Harry was nearby. Also musing with himself if he should check Diagon Alley and start his search from there.
Loud rumblings over his head. Blowing whistles alerting heavy rain and thunder. Tom could feel the pulse of his magical core, strong along his spine. He didn’t feel any different, being in a different universe. That was good, he needed his magic.
Tom took out his bus coin, disappointed to feel it cold. The magic was gone. And he didn’t have time to do it again. If he performed magic now, would the Ministry of Magic in this timeline be alerted? Sense his magical presence?
Tom hid behind a telephone booth, taking a chance, took out his wand. He had one spell in mind.
“Point Me Harry Potter” The wand was jerking in his hand, left and right as if it wasn’t sure where to go. Odd.
He waited a few minutes, wondering if he would see other wizards in official ministry robes telling him off for doing magic. Nothing happened. No one came.
Rain began to fall, slow drops becomes more. Tom grunts, feeling frustration creep in. Unsure which road he should take that would lead him to Harry. In the midst of the heavy rain and thunder, under the cover of the telephone booth, Tom leaned back and closed his eyes.
Harry’s magic was something he had attuned himself to for years. Harry’s magic didn't burn like his, it hummed, low static electricity, sometimes as jumpy as he was. He closed himself off, detaching himself from hearing the pattering rain, the thunder, the sound of muggles running in the rain. Trying to gauge, make sense of any magical presence in the area.
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Tom could feel it in his bones, Harry was somewhere near. He stepped out from the cover of the telephone booth, uncaring how drenched he was, eying each tall building along the street, hoping to catch some sign of his boy.
If Harry was inside one of these buildings, Tom would have to knock on each one. But he had a hunch that the place Harry was staying wasn’t obvious to a stranger's eyes. It could be warded and hidden. And he had no patience to figure it out, to do the tedious search, now that he is dripping wet. Tom would have to force him to come outside, to show himself.
He wants to see his boy.
Along the pavement, facing the stack of buildings, were iron black fences that partitioned trees to a park. The park he first fell in.
Tom gave himself a private wicked smile.
***
Harry POV:
They were in the drawing-room, it was raining outside. Harry had managed to perform all the revising spells with ease. Sirius was standing beside him, one arm across his midsection and the other holding his chin, watching him cast, careful to make sure he wasn’t straining his core too much. Remus was sitting in one of the leather seats, the Daily Prophet in hand, facing the warm hearth.
“I know the Healer thinks you're strong enough to go to Hogwarts, but you don’t have to,” Sirius says, eying the recently opened letter addressed to Harry inviting him to attend his fifth year at the magical school. “You can always stay here, we can find you tutors, Moony isn't a bad teacher.”
Remus rolls his eyes behind his newspaper, “How generous of you Padfoot.”
“No, I’m serious!” Sirius’s lips twitched at the statement. Eying Harry with a mischievous grin. “We can both give him a headache, what do you say Harry?”
“Erm…”
True, he didn’t really feel excited at the prospect of attending Hogwarts, apprehensive at how different he knew it would be. And Sirius seemed reluctant to let him join anyway. Felt it would be better if Harry was tutored privately. At least for his OWLs.
But was he willing to stay alone in Grimmauld for that long? How much longer until he no longer feels like a stranger in his own universe? When will he be a part of this timeline?
They can hear the siren of fire trucks outside, some commotion. Remus stands up to peek through the curtains, newspaper in one hand.
“Godric’s sword, was there lightning? There’s a fire outside,”
Sirius ambled closer to take a peek. “Summer storms are the worst. And look, the muggles are trying to shoot the fire with their large water hoses, it’s raining, it won’t work. Haven’t they figured that out yet?”
“But it’s odd how strong the fire is, I mean it looks like it’s pouring kneazles and dragons out there,” Remus muses, “You don’t think it’s...magical is it?”
It’s like a switch has been flipped in Harry’s brain. His body straightens, he can feel familiar magic deep in his core.
Magical fire?
Is it...
He runs out the door, so fast, doesn’t stop when Sirius calls him back. Steps out into the unforgiving rain, drenched in seconds, in his dark green shirt and jeans. Squinting behind his wet glasses, turning left and right, his heartbeat thumping wildly in his chest. Looking for-
A tall boy in black robes. Standing in the rain in front of another building just feets away from him. Harry takes a wobbly step forward, is it, is it, is it?
He can't help but gasp.
He doesn’t know if he can believe what he’s seeing.
Plastered wet brown curls, high cheekbones, the face he’s woken up to so many mornings. Shoulders rising and falling as if he had been running, searching just like Harry then stops. Nutbrown eyes staring at him in fierce triumph. He raises his head in a cocky manner, giving Harry a smirk.
Harry stops a few steps before him, really taking him in. “You missed my birthday.” His body is a bunch of nerves, heart fluttering beneath his shirt.
Tom has his hands in a fist, standing before him calmly, looking like a day hasn't passed between them, “I was late.” He conceded. “But I'm here now.” And it’s a question. One he doesn't even have to ask.
Both of them move at the same time. Harry crushes into Tom’s chest and Tom holds him in a tight embrace, wrapping two strong arms, like a promise he’s kept. The pat pat pat of water slows but continues to drop on their heads, keeping them soaked to their feet. Tom lowers his head and they slot their lips together, and finally, finally , Harry feels his world comes to rights. Every doubt, every fear, every knot in his head, leaks out of him as they reconnect with each other's tongues, their taste, their magic. His fingers grip Tom’s robes, unwilling to let him go.
The large burning fire in the park across them subsides. The muggles think it’s a strange phenomenon, lightning struck a tree maybe, causing a spark. But in such a heavy downpour?
Sirius is shouting from the front porch of Grimmauld Place, urging Harry to come back inside. Remus is standing beside him, with two hands holding his cheeks, jaw hanging open.
Still, they kiss, holding each other dearly, tenderly.
You're here, Harry’s mind sings. You're finally here.