A/N: Hello again! I wanted to thank everyone, who has read the first two chapters until now, even though you did not leave a review. But it’s assuring to know that someone is at least reading it, so, go on, if you like the start of this fanfiction! Fourteen chapters are already written and are only waiting to be posted! I thought about updating about twice a week, but I have to warn you that the updates will be slower, once the existing chapters are finished, because I have an important examination in March and have to study for it every night, so that I will probably only be able to write on weekends.
So, I think I kept you waiting long enough with this note. Have fun with this chapter!
Chapter 3: Friend or Foe?
Harry felt as if he was flying ... no, falling was more like it. He opened his eyes and saw blurring pictures moving by at an incredible speed. Now and then it seemed to him as if he or the pictures were slowing down, for he recognized some of them. The ambush of the Death Eaters, when he had killed Lucius Malfoy. An extremely difficult test during his Auror training. The battle of Hogwarts. Sirius falling through the veil.
He went faster again. He only caught glimpses of the pictures. The maze of the Triwizard Tournament. The Goblet of Fire standing in the Great Hall. Buckbeak. Sirius as dog. Tom Riddle. Aragog. The Philosopher’s Stone. Diagon Alley.
Faster and faster it went. It was impossible to see anything except blurred colours. A flash of green light. More colours, and then everything went dark again. Harry finally hit ground.
Though his head was still spinning, he sat up warily. While doing so, his hands gripped grass and damp ground. The spinning slowly stopped and after Harry stood up, he took in his environment. It was dark and he was surrounded by trees. His head jerked up, when an owl hooted to his right, but immediately turned back, when he heard a groan coming from his left hand side. Hermione, Ron and Malfoy were slowly coming to. Harry smiled despite this situation. At least he was not alone -- wherever he was.
“Oh man, what a trip,” Ron grunted, shaking his head. “Where are we?” The other two seemed to be thinking along the same line, because they were giving Harry expectant looks, as if he knew the answer to that question.
“I don’t know … ” he answered tiredly. “In some woods, I guess, but this could be nearly everywhere.”
“Bloody great! For all I know, Voldemort could be jumping at us any second now!” Ron cursed, gripping his wand tightly.
“No … ” Harry suddenly said. He pondered how he had not noticed this before. Though his whole body was aching like hell and he could feel every bone, he could not feel his scar. No pain, no thumping, simply nothing. His hand flew to his forehead. But the scar was still there. He could still feel the small unevenness in his skin.
“What are you talking about, Potter?” Draco snarled. “We were just facing him, so he has to be somewhere here!”
“My scar is not hurting, not at all, so he can’t be here,” the black-haired young man explained. “I also wonder … ” He stopped, not really knowing how to put the thoughts in his mind into words. Though he had experienced something similar before, the thought of it having happened again, especially through a spell, the uttering of a few words, was just too abstract.
“What, Harry?” Hermione asked.
“I mean, did you also see … normal things, when you were falling? I think they were memories or … things that happened … I saw them in reverse order, so I think …” his voice faltered again. How could he explain to his friends what he could not even explain to himself?
Draco crossed his arms over his chest. Through his torn robes, the Dark Mark was slowly fading, but remaining visible. “Are you suggesting that we travelled back in time?” he spat the last part.
“Time travel?” Ron asked, confused. “But isn’t that impossible?”
Harry, a small part of him being glad that his thoughts had been put into words by anyone but him and therefore having gained a small feeling that he might not be completely insane, and Hermione looked at each other. Both thinking of the one time they had travelled back in time, though there had been different circumstances.
“Actually,” Hermione began, “time travel is possible. But, Harry, we don’t know anything for sure. This isn’t the same as with the Time-Turner. With its help we could have only gone back in time a couple of hours, one day at the most, and we would have wound up in the same place where we used it.”
“Maybe this is the same place, only that Voldemort had found a way to send us back not just a few hours, but I don’t know how many years.” Harry kicked the grass, hating this feeling of helplessness.
“Hush,” the young woman suddenly said. “I think I heard something.”
The four of them slightly raised their wands and indeed, they could hear voices and rustling heading toward them.
“Listen,” she whispered. “If we really travelled back in time, we must not be seen. We have to hide somewhere.”
“Hey! I think I heard something! Over there!” one of the voices -- a strangely familiar voice, Harry thought -- said.
They froze. It was too late to hide. They could only hope that those unbidden guests were not putting up a fight, so that they could at least use a memory charm on them. But maybe, before they did that, they could find out where and most importantly, when they were.
“Stay close, but not too close,” Harry ordered in a hushed voice. “Lower your wands. We don’t want them to feel threatened.” The others obeyed. “Here they come.”
Four figures were coming out of the shadows and stopped. At the same moment their faces became visible, Harry’s heart missed a beat. In front of them four young men were standing. A pale one with brown hair, one with longer black hair that elegantly fell over his eyes, one with unruly black hair and a small, mousy-haired one. Moony, Prongs, Padfoot and ...
“Wormtail,” Harry hissed, as he recognized the last person of the foursome. Anger rose in him. First this man had betrayed Sirius and was responsible for his having been sent to Azkaban, where he had wasted away before he could finally flee after twelve years. Then he had helped Voldemort return to his full power and in the end, since Wormtail had been able to flee before they had been able to prove Sirius’s innocence, he was responsible for Sirius’s long imprisonment at Grimmauld Place, which was one reason for his death.
Before any of his friends could react, the anger in Harry exploded and he leapt at the small man. Harry never saw the three red jets of light coming and everything around him went black yet again.
“You!” James Potter yelled at Hermione, Ron and Draco, his wand still trained on the now unconscious Harry. “Surrender your wands and do everything we say, then your friend won’t be hurt.”
~*~
Harry did not know how much time had passed by the time he finally awoke. His first reaction, after he came to, was a searching grip for his wand, but it was gone. He did not dare to sit up; instead he took a good look at his surroundings without moving too much. He found himself lying on a more-or-less comfortable cot in a small square room. One half of the room was confined with bars -- his half. The floor and walls were made of dark stone, but the room itself was warm despite the cold environment. A gas lamp lit the room in a dim light and so he could make out the two men sitting at a table on the other side of the bars.
His heart leapt again. At first, he had thought that he had been dreaming, but now that he was seeing them again, he knew that the events in the forest had really happened. Suddenly a thought hit him and he sat up abruptly. Where were Hermione, Ron and Draco? He was alone in this room, so where were the others? Were they also imprisoned? Were they okay? Or … he did not even want to think about the worst-case scenario. And he did not need to, because he was quickly jerked out of his thoughts.
“Finally woke up, didn’t you?” the one man, one Harry had come to love as a father, a brother and a friend, though he looked much younger and healthier now, drawled.
“Finally, Sirius?” the other man asked slightly amused. Harry had only seen this man in photographs before and a few times in the Mirror of Erised. He did not look much different from how Harry had seen him before. The same untidy black hair, the same glasses … this man was James Potter like everyone had known him. They really had gone back in time. For a moment, Harry truly tried to believe this, but it was just too unreal. It was just as it had been with the Mirror of Erised. Harry wanted it to be true, but it was most unlikely. This might as well be a trap by the Death Eaters. A trap of genius, because it must have taken a lot of magic to create those clones or whatever they were. “You may not forget that he was hit by three Stunning Spells. And he was only out for a couple of hours. Others might take days, if not weeks to recover. This one’s tough.”
“Whatever,” Sirius muttered as he rose from the chair. “I’ll go get Dumbledore. You can play watchdog until we’re back.”
James smirked at his friend. “I always thought you’d be more suited as watchdog than I.”
“Funny,” Sirius countered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and went up the stairs Harry had not noticed before in the room, and went through a wooden door at the top.
Harry had watched this whole exchange with an unexplainable fascination. If they were actors, they were doing a good job. Over the years and especially after his trip into Snape’s memories, Harry had gathered enough information about his parents and their friends to have a rather fine picture of them in his mind. He was still staring at the now-closed door when he felt a pair of eyes on him. He turned his head to his father “-No, not my father. An impostor, Harry tried to tell himself -“ and their eyes locked.
“What about the people who were with me?” he finally managed to ask. He did not dare to say friends, in case those who were holding them captive did not know of their friendship -- a truly unlikely thing if they were Death Eaters -- but it never hurt to be careful. He did not want Hermione, Ron and even Malfoy to be hurt.
“They’re upstairs. I said we should have sent you and them straight to Azkaban, especially the one with the Dark Mark. But Dumbledore told us not to. He said there is something about you, something he could not put his finger on. He wanted to interrogate all of you before he decides what to do with you. I swear, there are times when I don’t understand him, but I trust him and when I look at you closer, I must say, you look familiar to me,” James informed him. “What’s your name?”
“That’s none of your business,” Harry told him as calmly as possible. If he had learned one important thing in his Auror training, it was control of his temper.
“None of my business?” the other asked. “May I remind you who of us is … ”
“That’s enough, James,” Dumbledore’s calm voice interrupted him. He walked down the stairs and stopped in front of the bars, giving the sitting Harry a good once-over. “Interesting,” he mumbled, before he turned his attention back to the other young man. “James, Poppy informed me to get you. Your wife is waiting.”
Harry could swear that James’ eyes widened, before he quickly climbed the stairs and closed the door behind him. When James was gone, Harry turned his head again to the man that claimed to be Albus Dumbledore. Like James and Sirius, Dumbledore also looked younger, though just slightly. He was wearing midnight blue robes and a pointed hat in the same colour. Simple and useful, but elegant. Half-moon glasses were settled on his nose and his eyes held the same twinkle Harry had known ever since he had first met the Headmaster.
None of them spoke at first, both staring at each other in silence. Suddenly Harry felt the familiar feeling of someone probing in his mind. He looked Dumbledore sharp in the eyes and banned him from his mind, accompanied by the calm words “Get out,” spoken in his thoughts.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled even more and his lip curled up into a small smile. “Interesting indeed.” He conjured a stuffy red armchair in front of the bars and sat down in it, but not before also conjuring one behind the bars.
Harry eyed both him and the armchair suspiciously before slowly getting up from the cot and warily sitting down in the chair. But while Dumbledore was sitting comfortably, Harry chose to sit straight. All of his senses were on full alert, as he contemplated on how to get out. The aura of magic in this room came only from Dumbledore “ Really good, Harry silently congratulated him. Even the auras were the same -- that meant the bars were not charmed. He could easily open the door without his wand, as well as getting past some of the guards, but there was still the fact that he did not know what had happened to his friends.
“Do not worry,” Dumbledore suddenly said, as if reading his thoughts, though this time Harry was sure that he had stayed out of his mind. “Your friends are all well. We did not hurt them, though I must admit that Peter, whom you obviously seem to know as the others told me, had really wanted to, when they wouldn’t talk. None of them had shown fear. I got the impression that they would have died for you if it was necessary. And this not because they are scared of you, no, they care for you. You must be a true and loyal friend to them, if they were ready to go through hell with you and they must truly think highly of you. This is also the reason why you’re secluded. We assume that you might be their leader and therefore we thought it might be possible
to talk to you.
“As I am sure you know, the alliance with Voldemort is sentenced with a lifelong presence at Azkaban.” Harry could only stare. No one except the real Dumbledore and a few members of the Order dared to speak the name. He was sure that not even a Death Eater threatened to do it by the Dark Lord himself would be able to speak this name without fear or at least the slightest stutter in his voice. Harry’s resolve that the people, people of his past and present, were impostors, slowly faded. Instead the crazy theory that they indeed had travelled back in time returned again. “Now, the evidences are speaking for this alliance. One of your friends bears the Dark Mark … ”
“He’s not a Death Eater,” Harry heard himself saying.
“So, is he not … ” Dumbledore mused. “What do I have except your word that this is true?”
“What do I have except your word that you are truly Albus Dumbledore?” Harry argued.
“That’s true, that’s true … I have to admit, I don’t like using Veritaserum, and I doubt that you’d be drinking anything I’d offer, so I think our words are the only thing we have.”
“So, you believe me?” Harry asked rather astonished.He’s lying, he’s lying, a voice spoke up in the back of his mind, but somehow, deep down, Harry started to feel that this man was truly Dumbledore. He only needed the final proof.
“The question is not do I believe you, but, do I trust you … and I think you know the answer to that question … ”
“How should I know?”
Silence fell yet again, as Dumbledore left the question unanswered. Harry lowered his head and pondered over the question. Why would this Dumbledore trust him? He had appeared in the middle of nowhere, out in the woods, looking battered and worn down and one of them was bearing the Dark Mark, the symbol of Voldemort. His friends were upstairs and they had not uttered a word. Not one single word.
I got the impression that they would have died for you if it was necessary. And this not because they are scared of you, no, they care for you. You must be a true and loyal friend to them, if they were ready to go through hell with you…
They were friends and they cared for each other. Death Eaters did not care for anyone but themselves. They would die for Voldemort not out of loyalty, but out of fear. Dumbledore knew that they were not like Voldemort’s followers, not in the least. That was the reason why this Dumbledore trusted him.
Harry looked up and met the expectant gaze of the old man. “I see,” Dumbledore said with a smile on his lips. “You know why I trust you. But I think I will leave you for now, so that you can decide if I’m worthy of your trust.”
With a quiet “Evanesco” Dumbledore’s armchair vanished, but Harry’s remained. Dumbledore looked at the young man one last tim, before he climbed the stairs. He had just touched the handle, when Harry began to speak.
“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other … ”
“For neither can live while the other survives … The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies … ” Dumbledore finished quietly, before he turned back to the now standing young man behind the bars. “How do you know about this prophecy? It was only spoken a couple of weeks ago and I was the only one present except of one eavesdropper, but he only knows the beginning of it.”
“This is not the only thing I know,” Harry answered, now finally starting to trust Dumbledore. It was simply impossible that an impostor would know the exact wording of the prophecy. So he told him what he knew, though he had Hermione’s scolding voice in the back of his mind. “A boy was born in the last week, isn’t it so? The son of Frank and Alice Longbottom? They called him Neville … But he is not the one the prophecy was about, as you will find out in a bit more than a year. The prophecy is about the boy who was born today, only about a half-hour ago, I think. He’s the son of Lilly and James Potter, and they named their son Harry.”
Harry could feel Dumbledore’s slightly bemused eyes on him, but he continued nevertheless. “From Halloween on, one year from now, he will be known as the Boy Who Lived, because he survived Voldemort’s Avada Kedavra. The spell rebounded, but did not kill Voldemort. He managed to flee, but was only a shadow of his former self. Without a body and without power he waited ten years until he first attempted to regain his power, but it took him three more years to finally succeed. However, when he fled after having been stripped from his power, he left the boy, completely unharmed except of a lightning shaped scar on his forehead.” Harry lifted his bangs. “This scar.”
“So you are Harry Potter and from the future I guess … that explains a lot, of course,” Dumbledore mused, chuckling quietly. “May I ask how you managed to travel so many years back in time? How many, by the way?”
“Twenty-one years. It was my twenty-first birthday when Voldemort and his Death Eaters attacked. He used a spell on my friends and me. I don’t quite remember it, but to discuss the exact methods of time travel it would be best if you talk to Hermione … ” Harry answered, also smiling.
“This Hermione is one of your friends, right?” Harry nodded. “Well then, I think we better go and ask her.” Dumbledore pulled his wand out of his sleeve and pointed it at the door. “Aloho-“ He did not need to finish his spell, because the door sprung open after Harry had given a quick wave with his hand. Dumbelore eyed him curiously. “As I already said, Mr. Potter, you are truly an interesting young man.”