Harry stared at the ruins of Hogwarts. He was dirty, tired, and all together done with everything. Voldemort was dead, the war was over, but it didn't feel like a victory. Hermione had split off some time ago to help organize a search party to catalogue the damage to the castle and grounds. Ron was with his family. How many had died in the last twenty-four hours? He looked down at the wand in his hand. It was supposedly the most powerful wand ever made. One of the Deathly Hallows if the legends were to be believed. The wand had decided he was its master, whatever that meant.
He felt a surge of pure rage at the wand. It was yet another artifact that countless people had died to obtain. Just like that damn prophecy. What kind of fuck-wit would sacrifice so many lives for a rumor? Funny how their life was never on the list.
The Hallows, if they were truly the artifacts, weren't worth it. He would toss the stone in a random pond and break the wand. The cloak was something special to him though. A connection to his family that he couldn't destroy.
Harry started to walk toward the Grand Hall. He used the Death Stick along the way to fix the portions of the school he came across. Walls were patched, floors were repaired, and windows restored. He stopped in front of the large doors that now had a huge, ragged hole in the center. One hung at an odd angle which made it easy to stroll right in. The stone floor had a long trench running through the middle made by the same boulder that smashed the doors. It would be too soon if he never saw a giant again.
He tried to ignore the smears of blood along the stone as he repaired the wreckage. The doors were fixed and rehung. He floated the boulder outside before repairing the floor as well. His heart sank at the sight of the bodies that were revealed. He couldn't identify who they were, but he recognized the school robes.
Harry came to a stop before the platform where the staff table usually rested. It was an empty patch of floor now. The table had been used as a barricade somewhere on the grounds. He looked down at the floor then closed his eyes. This was the spot where it all began.
He could almost hear McGonagall calling his name for the sorting. The ghosts of excited conversations mingled with hushed shared secrets and laughter echoed around the room. If he concentrated he swore he could hear Dumbledore calling his name. When was the last time that happened in the Great Hall? Maybe when his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. Dumbledore usually spoke to him in private rather than announcing something in front of the other students. Sometime to the detriment of his social life.
The Tri-Wizard Tournament. He never thought that he would think of it fondly. The social intrigue, tasks, and the looming Ball were welcome over the bone-deep sorrow he felt now.
This was the spot where his adventure really began. What better place to destroy a myth?
Harry held the wand out in front of him with one hand on each end. All it would take was a flex of his wrists to break the Death Stick, the most powerful wand in known history. He increased the pressure, sliding his thumbs closer to the center for more leverage. The energy in the air around him began to swirl like a tempest. He ignored it as he added more pressure. It was sturdy for such an old wand. Ghosts of multiple voices swirled around him inside the tempest. They begged him to stop, they tried to tempt him with promises of knowledge lost to time, they told tales of the powerful witches and wizards that wielded the wand, they swore his story would make all the others to be dismissed. Too bad he didn't care about any of that.
The tempest around him took form as a cyclone of flames. It surrounded him, spinning faster with each moment that passed. He knew it was a bluff. The wand couldn't hurt him. It would have stopped him by now. The fire didn't even give off any heat. More whispered promises of knowledge and power beyond his imagination mingled among the flames.
Harry ignored them. He put more pressure on the wand. It was putting up quite the fight. The wand snapped with a final flex of his arms. An explosion of magic from an untold number of years erupted from the breakage. The energy buffeted his body. Sharp sparks of energy shattered against his torso. He turned away, raising his arms to protect his head in the process. The motions saved him from the worst of the backlash. He wasn't unscathed. The shockwave made his vision blurry and the edges go gray. Just as suddenly as the assault of magical energy began it stopped.
His vision started to clear. The fire was still swirling around him. Something had changed though. The speed hand increased and the cyclone was shrinking. A sense of dread settled in his gut as the flames shifted from a rich gold to a light shade of blue. It looked familiar. The sort of magical fire he hadn't see in years. Not since his Fourth Year.
Not since the Goblet.
"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore's voice echoed across time.
He couldn't think straight, his head hurt, everything around him was out of focus, and now he was hearing voices. The fire vanished leaving Harry physically standing in the same spot. He felt the change in the air around him before anything else. Hogwarts magic sang through the air without a hint of the sorrow and bloodshed it held minutes ago. He heard a collection of gasps, yells, and a couple of screams coming from all around him. The world returned to its normal speed of rotation as the details of the Great Hall took shape around him.
Harry stared up at the very much alive Albus Dumbledore. He had had a concussion before, too many times before, but he didn't recall hallucinating during recovery. Concussions did funny things to short-term memory.
He lurched forward, barely catching himself before he fell flat on his face. There was something important about this moment. His memories were too fuzzy to connect the dots. He held out a hand to steady himself on a nearby pillar. It didn't make sense to have a pillar in the middle of the Great Hall. He just cleared the area of wreckage and repaired the damage. Making changes to the architecture wasn't something he planned.
His vision cleared enough to see it was a podium, not a pillar. An ornate stone podium that held an even more ornate cup big enough for Hagrid to use. He squinted as he stared at the thing. There was absolutely no doubt about it, this was the Goblet of Fire.
A voice in his head screamed for him to act. There were things he needed to do! He could prevent so much death and despair. The memories faded faster as he tried to focus. He let go of the goblet once he felt steady enough.
At some point everyone had gone silent. It was also possible that the probable concussion was messing with his head.
"Who are you?" A voice asked from nearby.
He spun toward the voice. It sounded familiar somehow even if he couldn't place it. The face that greeted him was his own. Except it was clean of the grime of battle. The reflection looked younger too. A few years at most.
"I am Harry Potter. Who in Merlin's saggy balls are you?" He tried to say. In reality his words came out as a garbled mess somewhere between a sneeze and laughter.
Harry narrowed his eyes as he studied his reflection. When had he put on school robes? That was a bit insensitive considering the number of dead wearing the same sort. His reflection moved. The floor under his feet lurched hard. Harry's brain expected some sort of input to attach to the movement, but none came.
Honed instincts told him to move. He had lived this long by pay attention to those feelings. He moved. Rather, he tried to move. The attempt at something faster than a crawl did him in. He fell flat on the stone floor.
Harry liked the floor. It made sense. Was it stone? Yes, it was. Was it solid? Again, yes. Were there any signs of a recent battle or corpses that had been cleared from the area? No. For some odd reason it looked fine.
"I think I have a concussion!" Harry announced from his spot on the floor.
~
Waking up in the Healing Ward was a welcome experience. His head was still fuzzy but at least he wasn't hallucinating anymore. Looking at it now that he was properly hydrated and after a good night of sleep he had to wonder where that had come from. Wishing for a simpler time was one thing, somehow time traveling via the Goblet of Fire was something completely different.
Harry sat up, took his glasses from their usual spot on the table beside him, and put them on. He winced at the sound of familiar footsteps on stone.
"I'm sorry, Poppy," Harry said as she sat up. "I know you're swamped. I'm sorry for making you take care of me again."
"Poppy?" Madam Pomfrey asked.
Harry turned to look at her. His train of thought came to a grinding halt. The Madam Pomfrey he saw was not the same. She lacked that haggard, haunted look in her eyes and wore a clean set of healer robes. On top of that he was pretty sure she was somehow younger. He scanned the room to find that he was the only patient at the moment.
"Did I have a concussion?" Harry asked after a moment.
"Severe dehydration, multiple torn muscles, a hairline fracture along your ribs, and your left knee was dislocated," Pomfrey replied. "No concussion."
Harry nodded, "And the hallucinations?"
"Hallucinations?" Madam Pomfrey repeated as her own question.
Harry waved a hand at the empty room, "Where is everyone?"
"The students have been sent to their dorms until we have more answers," An all-too familiar voice spoke from the doorway.
"Dumbledore?" Harry adjusted his glasses. "Is that really you?"
Dumbledore walked closer in that stately manner he always seemed to have, "Yes, my boy. It is me."
"Please," Harry motioned him closer. "I have to be sure."
Dumbledore nodded as he moved to the side of the bed, "As do I. We have many questions that I –"
The sound of Harry's hand colliding with the side of Dumbledore's face echoed through the room. Dumbledore stumbled to the side at the impact.
"Mister Potter!" Madam Pomfrey yelled.
Harry shrugged, "Well, you're real."
"Slapping him was the best way to test that?" The Healer snapped.
Harry shook his head, "No, that was for me."
"Why?" Dumbledore asked as he stood straight once more.
Harry smiled at the old man, "I have a list of reasons if you'd like."
"Another time perhaps," Dumbledore rubbed the side of his face. "Poppy tells me that her tests have proven you are, in fact, Harry Potter. Seemingly from some point in the future."
Harry grumbled, "It couldn't just be a hallucination."
"When in the future?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath, "After the battle."
"What battle?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry started to speak, but the words faded, "I don't know." He turned his attention to Madam Pomfrey. "Are you sure I don't have a concussion?"
She nodded.
"Why is my memory a mess?" Harry asked. "Every time I try to focus it just slips away."
Dumbledore studied him and let him talk through the issue.
"Which means I need to get the information out before I lose it," Harry said quickly. "The horcrux, the one in the cave is a fake. It's really in … Damn it. There's one in the Lestrange Vault. His snake is one too." Harry closed his eyes tight trying to hold onto the memories. "There's one in my scar."
He let out a scream full of frustration aimed at the ceiling.
"There's something else," Harry growled. "Something important. Something about this year I need to do."
Madam Pomfrey moved to his bed with a potion in her hand, "This is a Calming Draught, it will help."
"This is important," Harry tried to ignore her. "The Tournament. It's …" He could feel the memories losing form. "Something about a graveyard. Someone here is a Death Eater. A member of staff?"
Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder, "May I look into your mind?"
"If I had known that all I had to do was slap you to get you to ask permission I would have done it years ago," Harry said flatly.
Dumbledore glared at that, "I have never delved into the mind of a student without express permission. It would have made years as a professor much easier."
"How do you explain that twinkle in your eyes?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore smiled. He leaned in closer and dropped his voice, "It's a charm on the glasses. People love it for some reason."
"Fine," Harry muttered after a moment. "Go for it."
Dumbledore nodded, "Thank you, Mister Potter."
They locked eyes. Harry could feel the touch on his mind. It was subtle, almost delicate compared to other times he had experienced such things.
"Oh my," Dumbledore whispered.
"What did you find?" Harry asked.
"Nothing yet," The professor replied. "Your mental protections are unlike any I've seen in recent years. An unskilled hand has caused scarring that is extensive. It wouldn't slow down a concentrated effort, but it does block out a casual scan. What happened to you, my boy?"
"You had Snape give me lessons," Harry stated flatly.
"Why would I do that?" Dumbledore muttered under his breath.
"It's one of the reasons on the list," Harry said in reply.
Dumbledore nodded, "Poppy, please note that Mister Potter needs to see a Mind Healer."
"Noted," Madam Pomfrey replied.
Dumbledore pulled back after a long moment, "Most curious."
"Care to share?" Harry asked tersely.
"You are indeed from the future," Dumbledore said. "Your presence here is altering your past in real time. Every moment you are here your memory is adjusting to your new past. The memories that are intact are rather worrisome."
Harry nodded, "Now you see why it's so frustrating."
"I was able to identify a few important memories surrounding the horcrux locations," Dumbledore added. "I wish I had been wrong about those. Seeing my own death was rather alarming as well."
"You get used to it," Harry chuckled darkly.
"My boy, I have done you a great disservice," Dumbledore sighed. "I had only wished to protect you. Instead, I left you unprepared to face the trials placed in your path."
Harry glared at the old man, "Protect me? You raised me to be your weapon."
"My boy," He took a breath. "Harry. I can understand your anger, but you are mistaken. My involvement in your life has been minimal."
"You never listen!" Harry snapped. "Not about the stone, the chamber, Sirius, or any of it. Why did you have my fathers' cloak when they were hiding? Why did you never check on me through the years?"
Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh. He summoned a nearby chair and took a seat. The weight on his shoulders seemed to push him deeper into the cushion.
"Harry, do you know how many times I speak to other students?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry shook his head.
"Outside of the yearly announcements I rarely speak to students," The Headmaster replied. "I hold three demanding positions that require me to delegate quite a bit onto my staff."
"What has that to do with my parents or my life?" Harry snapped.
"Aside from the Order meetings," Dumbledore caught himself.
Harry nodded, "I remember that much for now."
"Aside from the Order meetings and their reports, I was not close to your parents," Dumbledore said. "I spoke to your father maybe once a year if his pranks went too far. Your mother was an excellent student and rarely got in trouble. I awarded her the position of Head Girl. It wasn't until they joined the Order that I truly spoke to either of them. I was curious about your family cloak and wished to study it. Your father agreed. Either believing the Fidelius would be enough protection or simply not wanting to disappoint me." He paused. "I spoke to Remus more than any of your parents and their friends due to his condition and his reports."
"Why did you send me back to those people every summer?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore shook his head, "I thought it was best for you. The protections were bound to familial blood and powered by love."
"And you never thought to check in on me?" Harry asked.
"I had Mrs. Figg there to monitor you," Dumbledore replied. "I trusted her to report any pressing issues. She mentioned that you and your cousin liked to rough-house and that your relatives were strict."
"Strict?" Harry yelled. "I lived in a cupboard under the stairs for years! My meals were table scraps if I was lucky. I have scars on my head from the times they shaved my head. They broke my hand with a frying pan. I tried to tell you. You didn't listen."
Dumbledore winced, "Harry. Have you heard the stories from your classmates about their discovery of accidental magic?"
"Some," Harry nodded. "Why?"
"Mister Longbottom tells the story of his uncle hanging him out the window," Dumbledore said in answer. "While an extreme case, it isn't unusual for parents or family to attempt to force the outbursts by placing the child in danger. It is frowned upon, but not illegal. As for the cupboard, I didn't know. The world was in madness once the war was over. You were The Boy Who Lived but there were still trials to have, laws to put in place, and infrastructure to repair. My thought to remove you from the spotlight felt right at the time."
Harry had to take another calming breath not to slap the man again, "I'm supposed accept that this is how things are?"
"Accept? No," Dumbledore shook his head. "Be aware? Yes. I have heard many arguments for students to stay at Hogwarts all year and just as many to go home."
"And everything else?" Harry asked. "The Stone, the Chamber, and others."
Dumbledore shook his head, "The stone was never at Hogwarts."
Harry stared at him for a long moment, "What?"
"The Stone was never at Hogwarts," Dumbledore repeated. "It was a trap. Had Quirrell managed to steal the stone he would find any serum created from it would cause him to fall into a dreamless sleep. I hadn't suspected him, or the fact that Voldemort had possessed him. If the plan had succeeded it would have resulted in the same outcome. Quirrell would die from the possession and Voldemort would be sent into the world as a shade."
"The school wards didn't pick up a teacher possessed by a dark lord?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore's expression hardened, "The School Board has made certain decisions that I cannot alter regarding the Wards, funding, and curriculum. It is also why we had to wait for the mandrakes to mature. They aren't a common potions ingredient. On top of that, certain members of the board were actively working against efforts to find available options."
"Malfoy," Harry spat the name out.
"And his allies," Dumbledore corrected. "It may surprise you, but he isn't the only one working to their own goals."
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, "I know too well."
"I caught glimpses of your life," Dumbledore spoke in a soft tone. "Someone as young as you should never shoulder such burdens."
Harry glared at Dumbledore, "I didn't have a choice." He clenched his hands into fists. "Now I have to chance to fix things, and I can't remember most of what I need to know."
They sat in silence for a long moment.
"What happens next?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore gave him a small, tired smile, "Your name did come out of the Goblet."
"I've already done it once," Harry replied. "Wouldn't that be cheating?"
"Do you remember the tasks?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry opened his mouth to answer. His memories started flicker before starting to fade.
"The first task is … something to do with eggs," He finally said after a bit of struggling. "The second has swimming in it."
Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder, "The other option would be for young Harry to compete."
"No," He said quickly. "I will do it."
Dumbledore nodded, "Let's find you some place to sleep."
Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat.
"As long as Poppy has cleared you," Dumbledore added.