Chapter Text
Harry rolled to his left, a smile gracing his lips. But instead of a warm body he found only cold sheets. He scrunched up his nose, sat up and looked around. Huh, okay ... where exactly was he? The room was in an inviting brown, all kinds of woods with no paint on them. Even the bedding was brown. The only color came from the striped yellow-and-red curtain which looked like it came right out of a movie from a time where movies weren't even invented yet.
„Ginny?“, he called into the room even though he didn't really expect an answer. It was years since he had last smashed his brain with alcohol, so this could not be the case. Being head auror he also did not go on active missions anymore, so a stray curse was mostly out of question as well. He must have been struck with an obliviation charm. But by whom? And why was he left here, seemingly in perfect condition except for his memory loss?
Harry sighed deeply. Well, he would not find out by sitting on the bed. Time to take his belongings and leave. He went into the bathroom and found it stocked with a toothbrush, toothpaste and a shaver but nothing else. Oh, yeah, some shower gel and shampoo. Remarkably empty, maybe it was a hotel room? He looked into the mirror and recoiled.
Okay, who the heck was he? This wasn't his body, he would never look this ... well ... actually, he looked pretty ordinary. Not fat, not thin, not muscled, not an asparagus, brown, slightly thinning hair, morning stubble. He was in the body of a quite average looking guy. Middle-aged white male, no distinguishable features. Maybe not even middle-aged, rather more a guy in his thirties. At least he had not liked being called middle-aged when he was this old.
„Well, well, who am I?“ Harry stepped out of the bathroom and looked for accessories like a wallet, a phone or a passport. „Bingo.“ He found a wallet and some keys lying on a sideboard next to the door. The door of the bedroom, so it was most likely a hotel in which he stayed. The keyring only held three keys, one an antique looking car key and two normal door keys. He opened the wallet which held twenty pounds and some small change as well as some papers. He stared at the papers for a second, dreading to open them.
That curtain, the car key, papers as identification ... it couldn't be, could it? He opened the one that had personal identification on top. Grenmore Horten, born April 23th 1894. Harry took a deep breath. 1894. And he was in his thirties. Coupled with those horrific curtains he must be somewhere in the twenties or thirties, trapped in the body of a muggle. How did he get here?
More importantly, how would he get back? He had to find the Ministry. The Unspeakables would know what to do. Or maybe ... wait, thirties, that meant Dumbledore was alive and in his fourties or fifties or something like that. He was a teacher at Hogwarts or maybe he was already headmaster and McGonagall was still a student and-
Harry froze in place.
And Tom Riddle was a small boy.
He sat back on the bed. Maybe that was it. Maybe they found a way to time travel him here, so that he could stop Voldemort before he ever became a dark lord. He must have given his acceptance for that and the time travel must have cost him some of his memories.
So what was his mission? To kill Tom Riddle? Most likely not, he would never consent to killing a child. He had three of his own, no one would ask such a thing from him. Bloody hell, couldn't they have sent some instructions through time as well? They had most likely told him how to get back too, he had simply forgotten. Harry sighed again. No crying over spilled milk. He would have to contact the Ministry anyway, maybe the Unspeakables had a device to talk to people in the future.
But first of all, he had to find out who and where and when he was. He opened his drawer and found some underwear, two trousers and a few shirts. On a clothes hanger there was exactly one jacket, not even a coat was to be found. Either he had left England and was somewhere unusually warm or this wasn't his primary residence – hopefully. Seeing as there were no personal items anywhere, it was most likely the latter. His personal identification stated that he lived in Bath, an English city at the Southern coast. He opened the door and found that none of his keys fit it. Well, where did people put their room keys? He looked on the bedside table and grabbed a pair of trousers hung over the back of a chair. He found the key in one of the pockets. He also found a notebook which revealed itself to be a calendar. The mark was on 21st of July with two appointments, one with a hairdresser, the one afterwards with an Officer Standen at an address in London. He looked up the days leading up and following this day. He had had a few meetings with military officials these last few days if the marked day was today or yesterday. He would have to find that out by buying a newspaper.
So he was most likely in London. That made things easier. He dressed in the jacket – having to acknowledge that it was quite a fine suit jacket – and took all keys, papers, the wallet and the calendar with him.
Taking the staircase, he counted three floors to ground level. He seemed to be in a nice hotel with carpeted floors and clerks in black suits. The lounge even had a newspaper rack, so he could read one without leaving the hotel.
July 21st 1932. Oh well, he had guessed correctly. Thirties then, right before the Second World War. And he was somehow in contact with high ministry officials, even owned a car ... that did not bode well. At this point he was surprised not to have found a uniform in his room. Did he remember a Grenmore Horten from school? No, they hadn't exactly been taught about WWII in elementary school. He looked at the clock and checked the time while conferring with his calendar. He had about an hour until his appointment with the hairdresser. For now he should most likely stick to the schedule so kindly provided to him. He went up to the clerk who seemed pretty impressed with Harry – or rather Grenmore Horten – and asked for directions. The hairdresser seemed to be just down the street while the officer on his list seemed not so easy. The clerk showed him a map which he asked to take with him. When the clerk told him that it cost three shillings, Harry froze for a second. Of course, this was 1932. Everything had a completely different worth. Wow, twenty pounds, that must be ... he must be quite rich. Well, he owned a car, so of course he was rich.
„Can you tell me where I parked my car? I seem not to remember.“
„But of course, Sir, your Ford is parked right in front of the hotel. It is the only car, you can't miss it.“
Oh well, easy. A Ford. Most certainly not an automatic. Hopefully he would not have to manually start it. He should have a look at his car before seeing the hairdresser. He took the map after paying – which wasn't easy, the money looked completely different – and stepped out. For once it was not raining for which he was instantly thankful. Finding his car was abnormally easy which might have to do with the fact that it was the only car on the whole street. A cobblestone street, at least it wasn't mud. Driving without any kind of vehicle suspension on these streets would be horror. Well, at least he had a car. Even if it looked like the first one ever build. It had a roof at least. Ford Model A. Huh, that most likely meant it was the first Ford ever built.
What had he gotten himself into? Oh well, nothing to do about it. He should head to the hairdresser first.
Shaving, haircut and face massage was five shillings in total. The money in his wallet must be more than an average laborer got in a whole month. He would have to be on the watch not to get robbed. Of course he had no credit card, so the cash was about the only means he had to survive seeing as Mister Horten had not written down which bank he frequented. While getting his hair trimmed Harry had read the whole calendar. He seemed to have been in the military up to now, so he was most likely a World War One veteran. That did not exactly sit well with him, he had no inclination to fight in the second one. He would have to see what his meeting with Officer Standen would conclude to. Maybe he could quit before the second war? Even though he hoped he would not have to stay that long anyway.
He took his car which was surprisingly intuitive to work, even though driving manually was a hassle after all these years. Reading the map was also easier than he thought, central London was a lot smaller than in his time and no one had a problem with him stopping in the middle of a street. There weren't too many cars on road anyway and carriages took a wide circle around him. Damage to a car were life threatening costs in these times. He finally found the Office of Internal Military Affairs in which this Officer Standen waited for him. He went in and asked at the desk where to find the man. The friendly young women even brought him to the right door. Harry was surprised how nice everyone was but well, that might have to do with having all this money. Did they expect tips?
„Major-General Horten.“ The young officer saluted. „It is a honor to meet you.“
„Well met, young man. Be at ease.“ Hopefully all those military movies James liked to watch had anything to do with reality.
„Thank you, Sir.“ Standen moved back behind his working table. „We were all sad to hear about you leaving us.“
„Life always has more for us in stock.“ Harry replied blandly. And where would he leave to?
„I prepared all the papers for your retirement.“ Standen looked up to him like some of his trainees would from time to time. „Are you sure you want to lay down your career? With all your honors, you could be Field-Marshall in the next war.“
„That is too high an honor.“ Actually he had no clue about military ranks. „But one great war was enough for me. It is time for young souls like you to take up my work.“ Thank God for all the speeches he had to hold as head auror. Such patronizing nonsense easily left his lips by now.
„I am so glad I was able to meet you, Sir.“ The hero worship stood in Standen's eyes.
„Yes, so, about the papers ...“ Good thing Mister Horten had already initiated his retirement. The next war would most likely have killed him. Come to think of it, Bath wasn't the safest place as well. Maybe he should move his host's body as a thanks for lending it.
He read and signed some papers which freed him from the military to begin a whole new life. Harry didn't know what Horten had planned for himself but following the schedule, he would most likely find out.
But first of all, he should find the Ministry and try to contact his future self.
Shit. Double shit. Triple shit.
He was without a doubt a muggle. A non-magical creature – thereby unable to get access to the Ministry. What were his options? He could go to the Leaky Cauldron, risking to be obliviated again. But really, what else could he do? He should write himself a note of what he knew and what he was planning to do before going there.
Nodding to himself, he did just that before setting off to the shady parts of London. He parked his car some streets away because it would create rumors in that part of town and walked instead. He seemed to have taken a bullet to the hip in the war seeing as it began to hurt when he moved around for too long.
He entered the Leaky Cauldron and saw someone looking a lot like Tom behind the counter. Maybe a father or grandfather. He went over and was ruffly greeted before he could say a word: „Not exactly ya' part of town, isn't it, Mister?“
„More like exactly my part of town.“ He sat down and leaned a bit over the counter. „Are there muggles in earsight?“
The bartender nodded in positive, then nodded towards the door leading to the kitchen while whispering: „Follow me.“
Wow, this was even shadier than in his own time. Right in this moment he direly missed his magic. But his try with the Ministry only confirmed what he had suspected: In the body of a muggle he was a squib.
„Who are ya?“, asked the bartender as soon as they were out of sight.
„Cast a silencio on the door.“
The man cocked an eyebrow but did as he was asked.
„Right now, I am a squib as you can see. I am a wizard who was transferred into the body of this muggle. I need to reverse this but for that I need to get in contact with the Ministry. But as I am right now, I obviously can't.“
„Sucks to be ya.“ The bartender crossed his arms. „What's in it for me to get ya there?“
„A pound for your time.“ Which was a lot more than it was worth but he did not exactly want to go around with his story. „And your silence on the matter.“
„Done.“ The bartender's eyes were as large as platters. „I'll get Daisy to tend the bar, just a sec.“
Nice. A fast working man. Harry used the time to spare a thought for Ginny. Did she know where he was? Did she know there was a chance he might not come back? Had he properly said goodbye to her and the children? He sighed and rested his eyes for a moment. Lily was still so small. Not exactly a kid anymore but also not a teenager. Would he miss seeing her grow up? Would he not be there to be snarky to her future boyfriend? He had to get back. He had to find out his mission and how to travel back in time.
„There is no device invented yet which can sent messages into the future.“
Harry groaned. Hours of explanations so he could finally meet an Unspeakable and then this. He argued: „Can't we simply write a message which will still be there in the future?“
„Mister Auror,“ he had not given them his name, „everything you do, everything you say creates a time warp which changes the future. Every second you breath you create another future. By now the future in which you are sent back in time might not even exist anymore.“
Harry froze. James, Albus, Lily ... he might have already killed them by going back in time. Had he already changed history? He said: „But ... when you use a time turner,whatever you do also already happened in the time you came from. There is only one timeline.“
„Yes, time turners have a special magic on them which holds the timeline together. You cannot change history with a time turner. But you did not come here with a time turner. You came here specifically to change history. So whatever you do will change history. Just expect that your timeline does not exist anymore.“
„That can't be what I wanted.“ Harry shook his head. „I never would have willingly consented to that.“
„It might have been a magical accident.“ The Unspeakable laid a hand on Harry' shoulder. „From what you told me to prove your story, you were the highest ranking men beside the Minister of Magic. You know more about our department than our current Minister of Magic. You might have tested something which might have thrown you into a magical time loop. As you know most things we have down here are unstable.“
„In my time, we accidentally destroyed your time room. There was no time device left.“ Harry mumbled.
„Which should proof this was most likely not planned.“ The other sighed. „I am sorry for your loss. It is hard to tell you but you will most likely never see your time again.“
He felt dizzy all of the sudden. He grabbed for something to remain standing and settled for the hand on his shoulder which had been there for the last bit of the conversation. He had never found Unspeakables particularly emotional but this one had a heart at least. He offered a handkerchief when Harry lay a hand over his eyes.
„Would you tell me about your future?“, he asked after a minute of composing.
„No.“ Harry gave back the handkerchief he hadn't even used. He would not cry. Not now at least. „If there is a chance of it still happening, I would ruin it by telling you. Maybe when I am sure it never will.“
„As you wish.“ The Unspeakable nodded. „Wait a moment, I will give you something.“
Harry waited even though he knew the other might throw a curse at him to make him talk any second. Some Unspeakables were like that. Curiosity over common sense. But what would running do? They would find him anyway. Right now, he was a threat to his own existence but he was unable to do anything about it.
The Unspeakable returned with some kind of pendant and said: „This is unable to give you back your magic but it gives you the status of a wizard. You will feel magical to other creatures and objects, so that you can enter magical areas like the Ministry.“
„Thank you, that is most helpful.“ Harry replied in all honesty. It really was. How thoughtful of the other.
„I want you to remember me with kindness, so that you will tell me everything the next time you come here.“ Oh ... well, at least he was honest.
„What is your name?“
„Henry Potter.“ Oh God ... that would be his great-grandfather or something along the line. His great-grandfather had been an Unspeakable? „What is yours?“
„I might tell you next time. Otherwise I'll change history.“ Harry sighed. „For now I seem to be Grenmore Horten.“
For now and forever.
„Farewell, Mister Horten. Until then.“