Chapter Text
The Hall of Prophecies was eerily quiet, except for the soft hum of countless glowing orbs stacked on endless shelves. Harry moved cautiously, his wand ready in one hand while the other trailed along the cold metal edge of a shelf for balance.
“This feels wrong,” Hermione said softly behind him, her voice barely above a whisper. “We shouldn’t be here.”
Harry didn’t respond. The oppressive atmosphere of the place was already gnawing at him, but his scar burned faintly, guiding him closer to his target. He stopped abruptly, staring at a sphere glowing faintly on a lower shelf.
“This is it,” he said, his voice flat. He bent down to inspect the tag:
S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. - Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter
Hermione stepped up beside him. “Harry, we don’t even know if taking it is a good idea. What if this is what Voldemort wants?”
“That’s exactly why we need to know what it says,” Harry replied. He reached out, and his fingers brushed the smooth surface of the orb. The moment he lifted it, the room seemed to shift--the air grew heavier, and the faint hum of the orbs became a low, unsettling vibration.
Harry froze, his wand raised in the hand that wasn't carrying the prophecy. A quiet rustle came from behind a nearby shelf, followed by the unmistakable click of boots on stone.
“Stay together,” Harry whispered.
Out of the shadows stepped Lucius Malfoy. He moved with calm precision, his wand already drawn, his pale features unreadable in the dim light. Behind him, other figures emerged, their faces obscured by masks, their movements quiet and deliberate.
Malfoy’s gaze settled on Harry, unflinching. “Hand it over, Potter.”
The older man had clear distain with every word. The simplicity of the demand made Harry hesitate, but only for a moment. He tightened his grip on the prophecy and took a step back.
“No.”
Malfoy exhaled sharply, almost as if he pitied the boy’s defiance. “You don’t understand what you’re holding. You can’t begin to grasp the consequences of your actions.”
“Then explain it,” Harry said, his voice steady.
“That’s not how this works,” Malfoy replied. He raised his wand slightly. “Give it to me. Now.”
Spells erupted almost immediately, not from Malfoy, but from the masked Death Eaters who flanked him. Harry barely had time to react.
“Protego!” he shouted, throwing up a shimmering shield. The first wave of spells ricocheted off harmlessly, but the impact sent him stumbling.
“Run!” Harry barked, ducking a streak of red light.
Hermione fired a quick stupefy, narrowly missing one of the Death Eaters as Ron yanked her back behind a shelf. Ginny moved fluidly, using the narrow aisles to her advantage, her spells sharp and focused.
Harry sidestepped an incoming hex and retaliated with a swift stupefy and expelliarmus, disarming one of the masked figures. His movements were precise, calculated, not like the flailing improvisation he usually relied onn.
Malfoy stayed back, watching the chaos with cold detachment. He didn’t shout or bark orders; he didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to direct his allies.
“Harry, we need to move!” Hermione called, her voice tight with urgency.
Harry glanced at the nearest doorway and shouted, “This way!”
The group sprinted toward the circular room, their footsteps echoing. Harry yanked open a door at random, ushering everyone through. They spilled into a strange chamber filled with ticking clocks and the hum of something ancient and alive.
“The Time Room,” Hermione muttered, her eyes darting around.
Harry cast a quick spell to lock the doors, but it didn’t do much against experienced wizards. The door burst open moments later, and the Death Eaters flooded in. Harry ducked behind a desk, firing off a Petrificus Totalus that struck one of their attackers squarely.
Fuck, Harry thought, feeling the pressure of the situation truly crush him and force him to face the fact that he was too careless going in here. It was all his fault. He turned around, frantically trying to locate his friends and think of a way out of this. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny and Luna worked in tandem, their spells keeping the advancing Death Eaters off balance.
Lucius Malfoy stepped into the room last. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Instead, he gestured with a flick of his wand, sending a wave of dark energy crashing into the shelves behind Harry.
“Look out!” Hermione shouted.
Harry had been too far into his thoughts to notice the danger until it was too late. The shelves toppled upon Harry, and the Time-Turners shattered on the floor. A golden light erupted, rippling outward like a shockwave. The noise was deafening--a crackling roar that swallowed all other sound.
Harry felt the magic pulling at him, twisting his body like a rag doll. He tried to hold onto the prophecy, but the world was already slipping away. His mind felt like jello and his body went numb.
“Harry!” someone called, but the voice was faint, distant.
And then--
Nothing.
...
When Harry eventually woke up, it was to a familiar smell of metallic, earthy Blood-Replenishing Potion. He recognized it immediately by the sharp, iron tang lingering in the air and the disgusting aftertaste clinging to his dry mouth.
As he sat up, disoriented, his mind raced. He had just been in the Department of Mysteries...Time-Turners shattering, golden light swallowing everything. Now, he was here, but where was here?
The room was dimly lit, with high, vaulted ceilings and stone walls that seemed far older than Hogwarts’ hospital wing as he knew it. A row of neat, narrow beds lined the room, but their design was subtly different, simpler, more utilitarian.
A brisk voice cut through his thoughts. “Ah, you’re awake at last. Try not to move too much.”
Harry turned toward the voice. A tall, stern-looking woman in a starched white uniform approached, carrying a tray of potion vials. Her hair was tied back in a severe bun, and her spectacles caught the low light as she examined him.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” she said matter-of-factly. “Whatever nonsense landed you in such a state, I’d suggest you avoid it in the future. Magic isn’t something to trifle with.”
Harry blinked at her. This wasn’t Madam Pomfrey. The woman’s attire and demeanor were formal, almost old-fashioned, and her accent carried a clipped edge.
“I--um, where am I?” he managed, his voice hoarse.
“Hogwarts, of course,” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You were found unconscious near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. No sign of what caused it, just you, crumpled on the ground.”
“The Forbidden Forest?” Harry repeated, frowning. His last memory was far from Hogwarts, much less the Forbidden Forest.
“Yes, and quite a spectacle you made of yourself,” the nurse said, setting the tray down on a nearby table. “You’re fortunate a group of students spotted you before anything worse happened.”
“Students?” Harry’s stomach twisted uneasily.
“Indeed,” the nurse said, raising an eyebrow at his tone. “Mr. Malfoy and his friends brought you in. I’ll have to speak to the headmaster about all this.”
“Malfoy?” Harry’s head snapped up. The thought of Lucius saving him boggled his mind further, his confusion deepening. This wasn't right. Could this be a dream? “What’s your name?”
The nurse gave him a sharp look. “Madam Gilbert. And you are?”
This rang more alarms in Harry’s head. Not to sound pompous, but who in the wizarding world wouldn’t know who he was at this point? Brushing a hand over his forehead, he confirmed that his lightening bolt scar was still there and uncovered by his hair.
He was scared and wary.
“Harry.” He paused. The woman--Madam Gilbert--simply nodded.
Harry’s heart was racing, his mind scrambling to make sense of everything. Madam Gilbert raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment on the boy’s unwillingness to share his last name. Instead, she had only returned to her tray of vials, her sharp, efficient movements continuing as if nothing were amiss.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” she repeated, shaking a bottle of a silvery liquid and pouring a few drops into a spoon. “Take this, and try to relax. It’ll help your body recover from the shock.”
Harry obeyed, swallowing the potion in one go. The bitter, unfamiliar taste burned down his throat, but it seemed to soothe the pounding headache that had settled behind his eyes. Madam Gilbert’s presence was clinical and unyielding, like a machine that went through the motions of healing without any trace of concern or sympathy. Harry didn’t mind. At the moment, he didn’t know what to make of any of this, and her businesslike approach left him too confused to care.
“So, child, what happened? Why are you here?”
The panic in Harry’s face must’ve been obvious, because her expression softened and she spoke again, “Was it Grindlewald? You’re safe now, you know?”
"Grindlewald?" Harry let the name tumble out of his mouth in confusion. If Harry had been confused before, it was nothing compared to what he felt now.
“Oh, you poor child. Was that how you ended up in the forbidden forest?” she asked. Her previous stern tone had much softened after Harry's confused words.
Harry internally sighed at his situation. Of course this had to happen. Unsure of what else to say, Harry just agreed. “Yes?”
He didn't know what he was saying or doing. Harry figured he might as well go along with whatever, because this must be some crazy dream. Maybe his mind comforting him as he is being tortured by death eaters in reality. There's no way this is real.
She set down the spoon and adjusted her glasses, then gave him another look. “I’ll be back in a moment. The Headmaster needs to be informed, and I need to discuss your condition with him. Don’t try to get up.”
With that, she swept from the room, her robes swishing behind her. The door clicked shut, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. The mention of Dumbledore gave him a minor sense of relief; Dumbledore could help him, explain everything.
Harry waited, the silence in the hospital wing pressing in on him. His mind was racing, still unable to make sense of what had happened. He was in Hogwarts, he was certain, but it was different. The medical wing wasn't exactly how he had remembered it-the beds were worse then he remembered, dilapidated and smaller. He had to think. He thought he could still feel the weight of the prophecy in his hands, but it had somehow been lost in the chaos, and now it was gone. He even checked his pockets and, nothing.
As the minutes stretched by, his mind settled into a state of alertness. There was no sign of his friends, and that only added to his growing unease. Ginny, Luna, Ron, and Hermione should have been here too, they had to be!
He needed to know what was happening. How long had he been asleep? He needed to get back to his friends.
Harry’s hands were shaking as he reached for his wand, relief washing over him as he grabbed in on the bedside nightstand. The familiarity was calming. He muttered a quiet “Tempus,” pointing it at the window where the dim light filtered through the stone.
The time appeared in glowing letters, but when Harry read it, his blood ran cold.
Thursday, November 16, 1943.
He stared at it, his heart pounding in his chest. The words blurred for a moment, and he blinked hard, trying to make sense of what he had just seen.
No. No, that couldn’t be right. He cast it again, only to be shown the same thing. This had to be some kind of mistake. Maybe he was still delirious from the potion. Maybe the nurse had mixed something up. But as he focused harder, his chest tightening with panic, the reality crashed down on him with an awful finality as he cast it a third time.
1943.
That was... nearly fifty years before he was born. How was it even possible? How had he ended up here?
His head spun, his thoughts tumbling over one another. Time-Turners. The explosion. The golden light. He had somehow been flung into the past. But how? Why? The furthest time turners had ever worked were a few hours. Not years, not half a century! What was he supposed to do now?
He clutched his wand tighter, trying to steady his breathing. This wasn't possible. His mind darted back to the Department of Mysteries. The Death Eaters. Malfoy. The time room. But it was unheard of for any wizard to travel back in time so far! How could this have happened?
He couldn’t risk staying in the hospital wing much longer. He needed to figure out how to get back to his own time, to find his friends. They must be lost somewhere here as well, just as confused as Harry was.
With a deep, shaky breath, Harry pushed himself to his feet, his knees wobbling slightly as the effects of the potions still lingered in his system. He took a tentative step, then another, moving quietly toward the door. The last thing he needed was to get caught trying to leave, but he couldn’t stay here, not when everything was falling apart.
As he reached for the door handle, the sound of footsteps outside froze him in place. He held his breath, straining to hear. The footsteps stopped just outside, and Harry panicked. He ran back to the bed, practically throwing himself under the covers (painfully, he internally noted, that his legs were sore and strained with excessive movement. Brilliant.) and hoping they didn’t notice his abrupt movements. Stupid. He shouldn't have gotten up in the first place.
The door creaked open and out came Madam Gilbert and another man; Harry’s eyes widened as he realized this was the man he’d seen in the portraits behind Dumbledore in his office.
A closer look got Harry's memory to jog and remember the mans name; Headmaster Dippet. The portrait versions of him had always exuded a kind of stoic authority, but in person, the man looked older, a bit worn, though still impressive.
“Has he regained any memory?” Dippet whispered, his voice tinged with concern as he stepped further into the room, not aware that his whispers could be heard by Harry .
Madam Gilbert gave a firm, professional nod. “He’s awake. But, Headmaster... I don’t believe he remembers much. He claims to have no memory of how he ended up in the Forbidden Forest. His condition was severe. I’ve treated him as best as I could, but...” She trailed off, looking down at Harry who was caught staring at them. Harry simply looked away in mild embarrassment.
“Ah, I see,” Dippet murmured. “We must get to the bottom of this, of course. We cannot afford to let such a mystery go unresolved.”
Then Dippet spoke again, his voice loud and probing as he addressed Harry. “Young man,” he began, “I must ask, how did you manage to get past the Apparition wards? Hogwarts’ wards are quite strict, as you know. There’s no way you could have gotten inside without...well, without some form of transgression.” He paused. “How did you get here?”
Harry could feel his heart thundering in his chest. How much could he reveal? How much could he risk? He needed a cover story, something that would fit the time period but not make them suspicious. He had to be careful.
If being hunted down by a dark Lord his whole life taught him anything, it was to be careful who you could trust.
His voice came out hoarse, strained, but he hoped it was convincing. “I don’t remember,” Harry said quietly, keeping his eyes closed. “I was... I was... Obliviated.” He winced at the lie but pushed forward. “I... I woke up in the forest. I don’t know how I got there. My memory’s foggy.”
There was a tense silence. He could feel Dippet’s sharp gaze on him until there was a familiar push on his mind; similar to Snape, yet less forceful. Harry automatically responded with what little knowledge he had, and thrust his mental walls up. Dippets eyes only widened slightly before returning to normal and withdrawing from Harry’s mind. Why would he do that?
Madam Gilbert, standing off to the side, didn’t interrupt. Harry’s heart was still racing. The potion-induced haze was starting to lift, but his thoughts were still swirling in confusion.
“I see,” Dippet said slowly, as if mulling over the words. “Obliviated, you say. Well, that’s troubling, but not impossible. You’ve certainly caused a stir, young man. I trust you’ll explain more as your memory returns. For now, we have the matter of your identity to address.”
Harry nodded slightly, still playing the part of someone trying to recover from shock. “Yes, sir,” he said, his voice rough.
“Do you remember your name?” Dippet asked.
Harry was hoping they wouldn't ask. He had thought briefly about it; would it be wise to tell them of his Potter heritage? Would it make sense in this time?
Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Harry…Evans.” He paused, simply substituting his mother’s last name, then added quickly, “But I... I know that my family...” Harry’s throat tightened, but he kept his voice steady, “My parents are gone. They were killed.”
Dippet’s brow furrowed, and for the first time, there was a trace of sympathy in his expression. “Killed?” he repeated, as if weighing the significance. “That’s tragic. Was this recent...?”
Harry swallowed hard. “I was very young,” he said quietly, “I don’t know much about them. I was told that they were killed by a dark wizard.”
"Who have you been living with since?" Dippet inquired, "Is there anyone we can contact?"
Harry paused before answering. "My godfather."
Harry thought before continuing, realizing that Sirius wasn't here anymore. "But he passed recently. So I've been on my own."
“An unfortunate fate Grindelwald has instilled upon you,” Dippet murmured. “Tell me, son, how has your schooling been?”
“Good,” Harry felt his voice squeak as he conjured a lie, shocked as he spoke and realized how easy it was, “I was homeschooled. But I’ve been studying hard for my OWLs.”
Dippet smiled, “Of course. You seem like a smart young lad. Perhaps... perhaps that’s why you’re here, young man. There’s something we can offer you here at Hogwarts. A place to grow, to learn, and to understand more about yourself and your place in the world. If you were getting ready for your OWL’s that would make you a fifth year. How old are you?”
“16,” Harry was silent for a moment, trying to digest Dippet’s words. He could hardly believe what was happening, but he had to go along with it. For now. Perhaps later he would simply tell Dippet the truth of the situation, but for now, he wasn't sure who he could trust.
Dippet turned to Madam Gilbert and nodded. “If his memory returns in time, we’ll find a way to help him piece things together. In the meantime, we can allow him to remain here at Hogwarts. He will be enrolled in classes with the other students. Let’s give him some time to recover, and we can discuss more when he’s feeling better. You are not the only refuge we've gotten these days, Harry. Worry not.”
Madam Gilbert seemed satisfied with this, though she didn’t offer Harry any comforting words. “Very well, Headmaster. I’ll see to it that he gets settled.”
“Excellent.” Dippet’s gaze shifted back to Harry. “I’m sure you’ll come to feel at home here, young man. Hogwarts has a way of making lost souls feel welcome. But for now, rest. When you feel ready, we’ll discuss your next steps. In the meantime, welcome to Hogwarts.”
“Thank you,” Harry said quietly, trying to still his expressions. He didn't know how to act. How to feel. It was surreal, Harry felt that if he closed his eyes hard enough, he'd open them and be in the Department of Mysteries again. That this was all some kind of sick hallucination.
Dippet nodded once, then turned to leave. Madam Gilbert followed him out, leaving Harry alone in the room again.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Harry let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His thoughts were a whirlpool of confusion and fear, but one thing was certain--he had to get the hell out of here.