Recap:
He sat thinking of what he'd seen happen between him and Hermione. But nothing moved him like seeing the young Hufflepuff who wouldn't tell where the entrance to Diagon Alley was. Strangely he felt that child was braver than him; here he was, wondering if he should go back in time, and the kid hadn't even hesitated. He had stayed true to wizards.
“I want that last future, sir, and I want to save that boy.” He turned his determined eyes to Dumbledore, and saw fierce pride reflected in the old wizard's face.
“I had a feeling you would. Once again, we embark on an uncharted area into magic. Good luck, my boy.” Dumbledore's voice became faint and white mist began gathering again.
It occurred to Harry that he had no idea of how far back in time he would be traveling. Feeling a slight panic, he frantically yelled, “Wait, how far are you sending me?”
“I have no way of knowing. Farewell!” Dumbledore's faint voice echoed in his ears as he lost consciousness.
Recap end
Chapter 2
Through the universe's laid bare workings Dumbledore sent Harry's unconscious form through time. But as the faint light of his spirit vanished from his sight he saw the cold beautiful face of an immutable entity look at him with disappointment, and he knew Harry's journey into the past was in danger. Afraid for him he sped after Harry and the entity pursuing him; for Death was a lady most persistent.
Harry regained consciousness and immediately was assaulted by the worst torment he had ever felt: an alien presence coiled around him. All around him rose walls of the Ministry of Magic, golden statues that used to mark the main hall lay scattered around him. Lord Voldemort whispered cruelties in his mind; it was just like he had been possessed back in his fifth year.
Then just as suddenly Harry lost consciousness again, jerked even further back in time to another moment that he had brushed against death.
This time when he awoke he was on Hogwarts ground, surrounded by a hundred Dementors, and Sirius was laying lifelessly at his feet. The cold and despair flooded through him and he choked on it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the approach of a resplendent Patronus, and passed out.
Again he was jerked backwards in time. Dumbledore had caught him out of Death's attempts to reclaim him and thrown him back in time once again.
Now, he awoke to something long and sharp piercing his arm. In front of his face the blinded Basilisk screeched in agony against the sword he had thrust into its mouth; Harry screamed along with the dark abomination, startled by the sudden appearance of his foe from when he was twelve. He fell back, and caught a glimpse of little Ginny Weasley lying pale and deathly at the base of Slytherin's statue. Basilisk poison stole his remaining vigor as he stumbled to her form, but lost consciousness.
Again, time hurtled back with Harry Potter.
Harry was on his back and over him the enraged form of Quirrel was trying to kill him. Quirrel found his hand around Harry's throat; Harry pitted his eleven year old strength against Voldemort's servant and found no purchase. Inside his mind he screamed at the fourth instance of reliving a near-death experience. Quirrel screamed letting go of Harry's neck. Remembering what he had done in the past, Harry leapt forward holding on to Quirrel. Knowing what was to come he dispassionately watched as the possessed teacher disintegrated to release Lord Voldemort's shadow.
Just as Voldemort's vaporous form was about to attack him, Dumbledore appeared as Harry had last seen him in the Dreamscape and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck pulling him away like he had a giant's strength.
“Quite enough of that, I think.” Dumbledore's blue eyes were strained and fierce, and Harry felt as if he was being carried on a speeding jet.
“Sir, what's happening?” he croaked, unable to make out the blur that surrounded him and Dumbledore's form
“Death, dear Harry, Death. She does not like letting go of you easily; you have defied her too many times. I am sure you noticed a pattern of the choice moments she had you relive. She hoped you would not have the strength to carry yourself through a second time all those moments you almost entered her embrace. Lucky that I am here escorting you, my apologies for not getting you sooner, she is rather formidable.”
Harry felt nauseous and dizzy, hardly understanding what Dumbledore was telling him.
“I don't-I think I'll be sick.” Harry groaned.
“Quite impossible in your state, don't worry. Hmm, I wish I had caught you before she took you all the way back to first year. My apologies in advance for having to suffer through puberty a second time. Now, Harry, prepare yourself, I don't have much strength left and she is right behind us. Farewell, once again.”
“But!” Harry only managed to yell before Dumbledore threw him forward into the mess of lights and gases, hurling him like doll. It was unbelievably disorienting to be manhandled by Dumbledore who apparently possessed Grawp's strength.
Oblivion.
He came to, feeling a drizzle on his face, somewhere between that allusive spot of not too heavy and not too light rain, just enough to be annoying. Eyesight blurred, he blinked slowly, hoping to bring into focus where he was. Weariness stole over him and with it the desire to find out where he was disappeared, and he straddled sleep and wakefulness for many hours.
Next he woke, the drizzle had ended and he felt weak sunshine on one side of his face. Aches in his body informed him he was lying on his side somewhere outside. When things cleared he saw he was lying on a paved road, resembling a cresting whale, swollen in the middle and tapering off to the sides. Smell of wet earth confirmed he was lying on his face; still he was reluctant to get up, thinking it wouldn't be so bad to go to sleep again.
Experimentally he propped one tired hand and rolled over, facing the sky where the sun had taken some of it's ground back from gray clouds. Raising another hand he wiped grime and particles of pavement from the side of his face. A strange sensation prompted him to look at his hand, bringing it in front of his eyes, he felt himself freeze at the sight of the dirty hand.
Unblinkingly he watched his hand, moved it this way and that, establishing that it indeed was his hand. Using the same hand he slapped himself and checked it again - the hand still looked wrong, too small.
“My apologies in advance for having to suffer through puberty a second time.” Dumbeldore's words came back to him. Using the same hand, he slapped his head. It can't be, he thought and groaned, turning over his stomach. He regarded his surroundings for a moment; suddenly he felt very exposed lying in the open and got up quickly.
At once he moved to the side of the lane, where he discovered himself to be, it ran between rows of high fences leading to the backyards of houses on both sides. It was generally unkempt, vegetation allowed to grow as it pleased in the common area; it was clean other than that. It was quiet and looked only moderately in use. Harry felt relieved; it wasn't so long ago he was hiding and running. It was extremely stupid just sleeping where anyone could stumble over him. Now that the safety of his immediate surrounding was assured, Harry took to the jarring problem he had noticed right away: he was several feet short and generally too small. Furthermore, his clothes hung off of him, made for someone much older than him.
It was enough to make him anxious but remembering his mission he suppressed the unpleasant sensation of being an eleven year old. Walking close to one side, almost hugging the fences, he decided to leave and find exactly where and how far in the past he had ended up. It was important to know where he could expect Deatheaters and Lord Voldemort to be. Not to mention where he himself and his friends may be.
“I hope I don't kill myself when I see me,” he spoke to himself and stopped for a second to roll up his pants, while thinking how strange the thought was. After rolling up his sleeves and pants six times he set out again, still keeping secretly to one edge of the lane, in case some dark wizard decided to leap into the lane.
He crept, slowly increasing pace as he gained confidence in his environment. He began to notice discomfort from his overlarge wet clothes, and the road rash on the side of his face. Soon he was walking down the long lane overhung by drooping trees less vigilantly as before, thinking about going to see his self in this time. Only now some of the ramifications of his decision occurred to him, for a first that he could not go back to his time at a twirl of a time turner after his work was done. Would his friends be willing to accept two Harrys?
What about Ginny? He wondered, now losing all sense of his surroundings.
Well maybe both of us could go out with her. The thought brought him to a halt, and he looked out blindly with a slightly queasy expression on his face when he thought of the mechanics of such a relationship.
Silently chastising himself he walked on, thinking that he should be more concerned about his mission, but with that the depressing thoughts of what Dumbledore had shown him came. It was more amusing to imagine meeting his past self, and perhaps warn him of things that had happened in the past year. With his face set in a grim line he rounded a corner and noticed a bunch of boys crowding around a hole in a fence.
They looked like they were in their mid to late teens, and much too tall; Harry was forcibly reminded of his reduced stature. He held back, wondering if he should turn around or sneak past them. It all felt too familiar, hiding from bullies and skulking past them, angrily Harry surged forward, he wasn't a child anymore. From the deep pockets he drew the wand he'd won from Draco Malfoy, and kept the youths in sight.
As he neared, two of the four disappeared through the hole talking loudly. The two still in the lane had their heads up to the neck through the hole and seemed to egging on their friends. Harry looked straight ahead, watching them from the corner of his eye, they were so like the bigger boys he used to avoid in his neighborhood. He could tell from the way they moved they were up to some mischief.
“Go on then, show us 'ow it's done,” one voice crowed.
“Make it fly. We saw you,” another voice accused. The boys standing in the lane slipped through the crack and Harry was left alone feeling a sense of alarm.
“I didn't make it fly. Get out. My Daddy will beat you!” a very small girl's voice piped up, sounding scared and defiant. Where Harry had been thinking of slipping away quietly, now he froze; he couldn't possibly let a bunch of grown boys bully a little girl.
“I saw you make that ball fly, little witch. Show us again, or else,” the first voice became a lot more threatening, other voices joined in.
Harry held back hoping they would go away if they didn't find what they were looking for from her. His grip on the wand tensed, knowing if he did something it would have to be magic, he was too small to harm the teenagers physically. But doing magic in an area like the one he was in would bring down all kinds of attention he couldn't afford. So he waited hoping he didn't have to do anything.
Soon there was jeering and Harry began to hear the girl crying and shouting. He bit his lip knowing that Deatheaters in the Ministry could well track magic in a muggle area and if he did anything he might be getting the girl in a lot more trouble than just a bunch of bullies.
There was a shriek and sharp sounds of skin on skin - they were beating her. Harry threw caution to the wind and jumped through the crack in the fence, his overlarge cloak got caught on a rusted nail and he fell hard. The boys hadn't noticed him; they were busy yelling 'witch' and 'show us' and profanities. Harry struggled, finally popping the clasp of the cloak and running into the commotion of the boys, between whom a tiny blonde girl was being dragged and beaten. Harry's blood boiled at the sight.
He ran blindly into their middle a curse already on his tongue, but there wasn't a wand in his hand. They towered over him, momentarily forgetting the girl, then with a simplistic solution to the problem one of them pulled a punch back and struck him.
Hot pain flamed on his cheek as he fell on the ground and leapt up in the next. The girl was screaming “I can't do it,” and crying. Harry tried to get her, but was caught up in a flurry of arms and legs kicking and beating him. In the confusion of the fight he reached the girl, the ring leader still had her by the scruff of her neck trying to force her to do magic. Harry bit his hand, even as the other boys were pulling at his legs dragging him back. Their leader let go of the girl, turning only enough to elbow Harry in the mouth, splitting his lips.
Dust rose up in the small backyard where Harry was putting up a fierce fight; his wand lay by the cloak near the fence, dropped when he'd fallen. With a vicious kick to the groin he was free of the boys beating him and ran to the little girl who was being slapped in a steady pattern. The boy would demand she do magic, then slap her, then make his demand again, then slap her, again and again.
Harry tackled the boy in the back of his knees, pushing him to the ground. In the same motion he rolled grabbing the girl and covering her with his body. She had started wailing some time ago, there were other shouts and curses. Punches and kicks rained down on him but he stayed shielding the girl.
“Get off her boy, or I will stick you!” Harry heard, over the girl's bawling. She was curled into him clutching his shirt. Next thing Harry knew was a sharp pain in his side, he screamed, his hand going to the wound instinctively to find a knife. The boy had stabbed him.
Just then the girl began shaking and convulsing in his arms, repeating “I don't know how, I don't know how.”
“Don't worry, you're safe now,” Harry ignored his pain to comfort her. Behind him there was an enraged shout, and a curse in Latin; someone had bursted out of the house. The girl went still and Harry looked down into her frightened blue eyes.
“It's scary,” she said.
Then in the minuscule space between her face and Harry's a blue flicker of magic appeared, and in the next moment he felt like an elephant had kicked him in his stomach.
The blue flicker of magic entered him, for a moment making him feel like he had first touched a wand. Magic exploded out of the frightened girl into Harry, first alighting his own power and then mixing with it to explode out of both their bodies.
There was a deafening roar, last thing Harry saw was the girl's teary face screwed up in fright and then he was knocked unconscious; yet again.
Nightmares had him racked on the hospital bed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and neck; visions of the future, betrayal of friends, a child's wails, an unnamed Hufflepuff's bloody brains on the street, Gabrielle apologizing: I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
With a jerk he sat up in bed, breathing hard, too caught up in his mind to notice where he was. A hand grasped his arm, startling him; he looked to find a grave looking man beside his bed.
“Are you well?” he asked.
A pause.
“Have some water. You were having a nightmare.” The man brought a glass of water to him, and Harry drank from it greedily.
“I must thank you for protecting my daughter. I saw what you did, but the worst had already happened by the time I was able to get out of the house. For that I am sorry.” The man bowed his auburn head, letting the shoulder length hair spill forward.
Harry felt awkward with the man's formality, though was glad to know who he was. “It wasn't your fault. Is your daughter alright?”
The man raised his head, showing the beginning of age lines, he regarded Harry for an uncertain moment.
“Yes, thanks to you. She is well, and has not suffered many ill effects of her accident. Your condition has weighed heavily on us. The healers believed you would not survive my daughter's magic exploding into you.”
“Her magic exploded?” Harry asked, a little dizzily
“Yes, the muggles' attack agitated her to the extreme. They were forcing her to do magic. My poor daughter, tried her best, but it came out in a destructive force. Your nearness somehow dampened the worst of it, and forced her magic to return to her calmed and peaceful. I am truly grateful, I promise you those muggles will pay with their life!” the man's quiet words were full of palpable anger. Harry became wary of his flinty blue eyes.
“No…I mean, if it's all the same, I'd rather you don't have murder on your hands.” Harry said trying to gauge how the angry man would react. He received another uncertain look from him.
“You speak quite plainly, but wise words nonetheless. However, I am afraid I cannot let those torturers escape without consequences for their actions. They put their hands on my innocent six year old daughter, and stabbed you, a mere eleven year old boy!” he exclaimed.
Harry did not have much he could say to the man. He chose to look around to find himself in a private ward, with a window. It was day, a little sunlight played behind the curtains. He spied his things folded neatly on a chair, with Malfoy's wand and his wallet set on top.
“The healers will be here momentarily. They, as I, are anxious to speak to your family.” The man looked to Harry askance.
“We are in St. Mungo's?” Harry asked, having recognized where he was.
“Yes, we are.” The man answered.
Harry stopped before asking him if he recognized who he was. It was obvious that he didn't. It was unlikely that no one in St. Mungo's recognized the boy-who-lived, Harry thought pressing his hair low over his forehead.
“May I know where to owl your parents, child?” The man asked kindly, the previous anger at muggles having left him. The question startled Harry out of his thoughts.
“No, no. I don't have parents...they died, a long time ago,” he explained dismissively, thinking about his next step, weighed down by his nightmares. And so he missed the man's muttered condolence.
“Am I to take it you are on your own then?”
“Yes. I need to leave,” Harry said, swinging his feet off the bed, it was disconcerting to not be able to reach the floor. He looked at his child sized legs in mild discomfort.
“It is unwise for a child your age to be without supervision and care. What is your name?” The man extended his hand with a familiar looking smile. Harry took the hand, blanking for a moment, hesitating on his name.
“Well?”
“Harry, my name's Harry.”
“What's your full name?” The man asked his hand firm.
Harry threw about in his head and blurted: “Gabrielle, err, I mean Gabriel.” The image of her being held hostage fresh in his head.
“Yes, Gabrielle is a very feminine name.” The man smiled like he had caught Harry in a lie but wasn't going to call him on it. “A pleasure to meet you Harry Gabriel.”
“Nice to meet you too, Sir.” Harry added the honorific, hoping good manners would make him forget his slip of giving a girl's name as his surname.
“I am Percival Dumbledore, I will return with your healer.” With that the man left, and Harry stared after him stunned.
He jumped off the bed, onto the cold stone floor and donned his clothes. All the while thinking if there was any other Dumbledore than Albus or Aberforth, he couldn't think of any. More anxious than before to find out what time he was in, Harry prepared to leave, planning on going to Hogwarts.
But just as he reached the door, Percival Dumbledore came back with a wizard in healer robes.
“Ah, you're awake,” he began in a tight voice, looking at a scroll in his hand. “I have good news, you have not suffered the lasting effect of death.”
Percival Dumbledore shot Harry an amused look, which Harry returned hesitantly, finding both him and the healer too tall.
“Other good news is that you should be able to use your magic. Quite a miracle given what you suffered,” the healer's voice turned a little accusatory and he glanced at Percival Dumbledore's face before going back to the scroll.
“Ok, thanks.” Harry shook his head not understanding the strange healer's words or behavior. Why wouldn't I be able to use magic?
“Good, good. Well, that leaves the matter of hospital fees. Please owl your parents to-” The healer was suddenly cut off by Percival Dumbledore's broad form standing between him and Harry. Harry overheard some quick and harsh whispering in which the healer hardly took part more than some squeaks.
“Rather. Well. Of course,” the healer muttered after Percival Dumbledore was through with him. “Fees waived. Off you go with Mr. Dumbledore, I need this ward room free, and don't be concerned about the scars, they're superficial only. Miracle that too.” And so the portly healer departed, leaving Harry wondering about which scars the healer was speaking of.
"Are you ready to leave?"
"Yes, I'll be going then." Harry passed Mr. Percival Dumbledore.
"And where will you be going?"
"Out," Harry replied shortly, deciding it was time to give up niceties.
"Indeed. Out and then to my home. My daughter is very anxious to see you awake. My wife would also like to thank you personally."
"I'm sorry, I have to go. I have things to do. Please let your wife I'm sorry I couldn't see her. Goodbye." Harry turned to leave.
"There is also the matter of the wand found after the muggles' attack on my daughter. The aurors wish to find the owner, as it was used to cast very dark curses." Percival Dumbledore said in a slow considered manner.
Despite himself Harry stopped in his steps to look up at him, worried he knew that the wand was his.
"I don't know anything about a wand," he said.
Percival Dumbledore knelt in front of Harry and put a hand on his shoulder. His stern face turned kindly.
"I understand that your life must be difficult, and you surely did things to survive that you would not have if you had a choice. I promise you the aurors will be much less understanding than I. If you run now it will look the worse for you." Percival Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder in a comforting way.
Harry kept his lips sealed in a thin line, thinking hard how to escape the situation he found himself in. Without a wand he was helpless, in his eleven year old body he wasn't that physically strong either. Somehow he had to get to the Order. There was also the question of who exactly Percival Dumbledore was, obviously a relative of Albus Dumbledore, but as far as he knew Albus and Aberforth were the last of their family.
"Come home with me. It should be a pleasant break from being on the streets, and the aurors will be kinder if you are under my protection," Percival Dumbledore continued.
Harry made a noise of irritation in his throat, but considered it would be easier to get away from someone's house than the aurors. He simply nodded in acceptance, and Percival Dumbledore led him out by the shoulder.
-----
Tripping and plodding in his overlarge pants Harry made his way through the modest front garden to the door of the Dumbledore household. Percival Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder had become a perpetual presence; it had begun to annoy Harry. But he was thankful how quickly the man had gotten him out of the hospital, it had been nerve-racking to wait for some bystander to recognize him and raise the alarm.
He was tired, so very tired, the hiding, the fruitless searches, months of not knowing what to do, the relief of facing Voldemort in the final battle, terror of walking to his own death, and now hindered on his mission by a well meaning man; it was too much, he sagged in his clothes.
"Come Harry Gabriel, we are at the end of the journey. Do not look so down hearted." Percival Dumbledore opened the door.
At once he smelled an unfamiliar flowery fragrance, and heard the whistle of a kettle coming to boil. Percival Dumbledore entered hanging his cloak and hat, gently nudging Harry through to a room to the right. A woman of medium height but exceptionally long braid of brunette hair stood at the stove, imperiously directing ladles pots and pans. She looked at him without surprise or warmth; her face would have been attractive if it hadn't been set in an expression of complete neutrality. Dark blue eyes danced in reflection of the stove fire, giving Harry the distinct impression that she was not a witch to be crossed.
"Kendra, this is the boy who saved Ariana, you remember?" Percival Dumbledore said.
A flash of recognition crossed the woman's face. "Of course, I did not recognize him for a moment." The ladles dropped noisily in the pans and she came forward to place a kiss on Harry's forehead. Raising his face to hers in her hands she smiled at him a truly grateful smile, and Harry was proved right in thinking she could be beautiful. Up close he saw worry lines and a few gray hairs. "Thank you for protecting my daughter that was a very brave thing to do."
"Did you say your daughter's name is Ariana?" Harry asked, a cold feeling creeping down his back. Suddenly there was the noise of several feet running down stairs, and three children showed up in the frame of the door.
"Ah, and here she is with here with her brothers. Children this is Harry Gabriel. Harry tallest from the left is Albus, then Aberforth, and you have met Ariana already." Percival Dumbledore gestured to a boy around Harry's age with light auburn hair, then one younger than him with a surly expression, and finally a shy little blonde girl, holding the middle boy's hand.
"Oh! God," Harry swore under his breath. "Albus, Aberforth, and Ariana." All color left his face, leaving him white as a sheet.
"Are you alright, boy?" Kendra Dumbledore asked, catching him as he lost balance and sat him down. She said something to Percival Dumbledore and there was a flurry of movement around him but Harry was lost.
A glass of water ended at his lips and he was subjected to a cheering charm before he came out of his shock. Sadly mixing the cheering charm with his shock left him somewhat giddy and in disbelief.
"Best if you rest. Perhaps I took you from St. Mungo's too soon. Cursed Healers, if it's not a Ministry official they pay no attention." Percival Dumbledore picked Harry bodily, making him instinctively protest at being handled like a child. Kendra walked ahead and before Harry knew it he was in a cot pressed under warm covers. "Sleep now, dinner is in a few hours. Come children lets not disturb Mr. Gabriel."
Harry was left alone in bed, staring at the ceiling wide eyed, trying very hard not to panic. "There must be another family with the same names, that's the explanation; I can't be a hundred and fifty years in the past. I mean that would mean I'd probably be dead by the time I'm supposed to be born. Then who's going to fight Voldemort? Of course, it's all just a coincidence. I'm going to sleep and then...yes." He drifted off into a half sleep, distantly aware of household sounds.
It wasn't too long when Harry felt someone near by and come out of his half sleep alert and reaching for his absent wand. The blond girl from before was standing at his bedside, staring at him with singular concentration. She had her hands crossed behind her back and simply looked at him; it was a little unnerving.
"Good evening, Mr. Gabriel," she hesitated on his assumed name, as if it was a difficult word. Her slight piping voice brought a smile to Harry's face.
"Good evening. You're Ariana?" Harry asked, a little taken aback her bright eyed face.
"I'm six years old." She held up seven fingers, and then corrected them by holding up only five with a look of consternation. Harry suppressed the impulse to laugh.
"Mummy said to say thank you," she said and looked away as if she didn't know why she had to say it.
"You're welcome," Harry replied automatically, with a bemused smile.
"You beat up those bad boys. I like you," Ariana burst out, rocking on her feet with enthusiasm and smiled for the first time showing gaps in her milk teeth; it was endearing.
As she rocked her hair fell back from her face, the candlelight showed Harry that what he had thought were shadows on her face were cuts and bruises from the muggle attack. He lost his good humor and forcibly smiled when the little girl noticed his hardening expression.
“Ariana?” a new voice came around the door, and Harry looked up to find one of the boys Percival Dumbledore had introduced him to. It was the taller one with auburn hair, and curious blue eyes, Albus.