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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 2 months

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not me updating this post (it's more likely than you'd think)

Dust and debris spread like a fine mist through the air.

Harry can see the storefront across from him. The window’s glass has large looping letters, their outline gilded and just catching what little light shines through the smoke clouds, but he can hardly make out the words. He feels so dizzy.

What’s going on?

At first the world is straight, if a little blurry, and then it is not. He’s tilting—no, falling—Harry is falling; he’s been pushed, shoved? The culprit is running off somewhere into the smog, and he catches himself with his hand on the brick behind him. He thinks it must hurt but can’t really feel it.

There’s definitely something going on here, Harry nods almost to encourage himself. And he’s sure of it because, even though it‘s painful to look at (now that he’s seen it - he can’t stop staring), spellfire is sparking up and down the alley. Probably a fight, but who’s fighting? And - what’s that?

A large chunk of rubble, he realises. Then he corrects himself—chunks.

Oh.

They make an impressive line through all this dust and whatnot to the point where things actually seem visible. And now that he’s sort of able to see and mostly paying attention, Harry’s noticing that the chunks aren’t coming from nearby buildings; they aren’t falling from the sky.

He watches, brows raised, as the ground a bit off in the distance breaks, cracks, and almost crumbles out of itself. The massive stone tears straight up and away, shooting at harrowing speeds towards—something, Harry’s certain. Their mass is being used as projectiles.

Woah, he thinks and hopes he says it out loud because whoever’s doing that needs to hear this, now that’s wicked. The magical strength required to do that must be enormous, but judging by their wavering and almost wild flinging energy, it lacks in any refinement or skill. Whoever is doing that is desperate. Scared. So, not wicked, probably.

Harry’s tempted to find the poor bastard and give them a pat on the back, maybe take them out for a pint. Hell, he could use one right about now. He’s feeling pretty desperate and—well, maybe not scared—but definitely confused, too.

Which brings him back to: What’s going on?

Waking up in the middle of an ongoing fight is what Harry had been expecting; what he hadn’t been expecting is waking up in the middle of what looks like Diagon Alley if he squints a bit and tilts his head to the left.

Deciding he’s overstayed his wall welcome, Harry straightens up, cautiously keeping his hand on the brick for steadying. He dusts himself off rather pointlessly and gives his Auror robes a quick pat down. No wand.

That’s a problem. Nothing he can’t work around, but it’s a problem long term. Thankfully, he isn’t out of practice with wandless spellwork, but it vastly limits what he can do to lend a hand with whatever the hell is going on here.

And he’ll really have to lend a hand and get out of here as quickly as possible. Ron is no doubt losing his mind with worry, and they still have to take care of some rouge wizards reaping havoc on a small wizarding community in Alfriston. If Harry really is in Diagon, he’s a long way away from there, so time is of the essence.

Seriously, what happened anyway? What did that wizard throw at him?

It occurs to Harry then that he should probably give more attention to the wizards currently throwing things at him because one of those large pieces of rubble abruptly interrupts his train of thought and sightline. He gathers whatever magic he can and prepares to apparate away from its path, but—

Nothing.

He tries again. And again. It’s getting closer.

Then on his fourth attempt he feels something grating against his skin and realises—anti-apparition wards.

Something is not only going on… but is very wrong.

Harry’s eyes widen, and he ducks, rolling out of the way and further into the street. The world continues rolling even when he stops, vertigo crashing over him all too suddenly and forcing him to catch his breath; Merlin, Harry feels like he’s dying.

He only gets this way after portkey travel or long-distance flooing—how he got here does not agree with him at all. And watching as that stone impacts the shop window he stared at earlier, Harry startles at another simple revelation.

He can’t hear.

He takes a deep breath and coughs, tries again until he feels calmer and doesn’t choke with every lung full. He can hear, but it isn’t anything substantial, only a low-volume, high-pitched ringing noise that echoes around in his head. He feels nearly delirious. And a bit like he’s going to be sick.

Mindlessly, Harry steps back and out of the way of a nasty-looking violet spell, its shade almost neon. He takes a moment to assess his body more carefully.

Fingers, toes—check. All limbs, head is on straight, joints are bending the right way—he’s perfectly fine. He doesn’t feel any major injuries but forces a pitifully weak healing charm from within - out. He’s shit at wandless healing even though everyone swears otherwise, so it doesn’t ease up the nausea, but it does fix his hearing.

He almost wishes it hadn’t.

Screaming louder than banshee cries, whizzing spells, explosions echoing, the dull droning of the wards, buildings breaking, shouts, crying, pleading—the world is so much louder than Harry is expecting, and he flinches, holds his hands against his ears at the onslaught.

It takes some time, more than he wants to tolerate, and a few more close calls with ugly spells, but when Harry finally gets his bearings, he jumps into the fray.

It’s hardly a thought to magic away most of the debris in the air, and with it gone, he takes in his surroundings. His head whips back and forth, taking stock of what’s newly visible. Harry’s unsure where to begin and who to ask for an explanation of what is even happening. He can’t spot any familiar Aurors, but there are definitely people scattered about in uniforms…

Harry nearly pauses at that. Yes, there are definitely people dressed in uniforms. Ones that are dark and black and flow like ink and look eerily familiar, and others that look strikingly like Sirius’s old—

“HELP!”

Harry’s eyes unerringly find the source of that scream—a young woman clutching a child.

Their backs are up against the broken remains of a side alley, and her body is trying to cover the kid, hide them, to the best of her ability. A wizard in dark robes blocks their only way out, wand held stiffly in a tight grip - it’s pointed straight at them.

Harry’s already moving, but his eyes squint, disoriented as he catches the unmistakable glimmer of silver reflecting off sunlight from the side of the wizard’s face. And this does make him pause. It makes him pause just long enough to feel and humour the stomach-swooping horror of recognition—of wrongness—that sight causes.

It’s certainly a good thing that Harry has gotten to be so proficient at pushing down and sealing away horrors of all types and that he continues to be fast on his feet, quick on the draw. Helpful, too, that his wandless stupefy is still in top form.

The wizard crumples to the ground, and Harry’s assist goes unnoticed in all the chaos. Yet the woman finds his eyes anyway, obviously having noticed him earlier, maybe even calling out for Harry specifically. She peers up at him, relieved and overwhelmingly grateful, but stares for a beat too long.

And Harry, long used to prolonged stares, gives her no mind. He quickly comes over to help escort her and the child somewhere safer. She mutters something as he lifts the mute kid into his arms, their eyes wide and blinking. Harry balances them mostly on his left - his right hand holding their back steady, but he wants to keep it free to cast just in case.

“What was that?” Harry asks while waiting for the kid to get comfortable and finish tightly wrapping their arms around his neck. He releases his hold on their back once they settle, and he takes a gentle but resolute hold on the woman to help guide her out of the alley and any direct fire.

She’s shaking violently, but when she repeats herself, her voice is more confident—louder. “I- I didn’t know you had become an Auror, James. I thought you only g-graduated this summer?” She asks.

For a moment, only a moment, all of Harry’s battle-hardened instincts fall away.

He feels his shoulders drop from their tense hold, and he—he just can’t believe what he’s heard. She doesn’t look anywhere close to his parents’ ages had they still been alive, even by wixen ageing standards. Really, she looks much closer to Harry’s age, maybe a couple of years older, give or take. They had probably gone to Hogwarts together for a while, so then why—

Why does she think he’s his father? James, she called Harry, like they are friendly. Like they know each other.

Shock. Harry can excuse this as shock. He sorely wants to, but that feeling of wrongness is rearing its ugly head once again.

So he decides not to say anything at all. Harry stays quiet and focused. He stuns anyone suspicious they come across and brings them both to a mostly unharmed shop out of the way with a blessedly working floo connection in a warded office in the back.

The kid gives him a big hug before they leave, still mute, still blinking with wide eyes, and the woman turns to Harry, puts one hand on his arm, squeezes him once and says, “Stay safe, James.”

He watches them leave.

Breathe, Harry, he tells himself. And it almost works because he can hear the wet gasp and feel his chest move up and down with it. Yet he remains breathless, his mind whirring and unable to catch a thought long enough to actually think—until his feet start moving.

Harry exits the building and, with a clarity he doesn’t truly feel, rounds the corner. He’s confident that Twilfitt and Tattings should be just here, only a few feet away. When he arrives at the distinct shop front, still standing on what Harry can only guess is unadulterated rich-pureblood spite, the store looks nothing like the clothing shop he’s seen hundreds of times before.

Unsettled but always willing to take a gamble, Harry sticks to the edges of the alley and makes his way further up Diagon, closer to Horizont. He avoids bouncing spells and crumpled bodies and casts when he has to all the way until he spots the familiar sign of Ollivanders.

With careful hesitation and a churning deep in his gut, Harry tries something with no small amount of hysteria. He holds up his hand right before the shattered glass of Ollivanders’s main window and says:

“Accio Harry Potter’s wand.”

Harry stands there foolishly for a moment, lingering. Nothing happens.

A short laugh rushes out of him; vicious relief nearly causes his head to sway, but he can’t help it. For a breathtaking moment, he had almost convinced himself that he’d felt something like a tingle, like a response from his magic that something was about to happen.

Shock, Harry reminds himself. She was just in shock.

He shakes his head to clear it of whatever madness had briefly held him and readies to shoulder open the door and commandeer a temporary wand. Even an incompatible wand will be better than nothing if he continues lending a hand to the Aurors on the scene. But before he can even take a step, his eyes catch movement in the darkness of the shop. And—Oh, that’s coming straight at me.

“Whoa!” Harry ducks and turns to watch as a wand takes an arching turn and bounds straight towards him again. But this time, Harry is ready; he catches it with a smart thwack to the flat of his palm.

The immediate warmth and pure magic radiating from this wand floods his veins unlike any other—but that’s a lie. It’s exactly like one other. One other wand from when Harry was eleven. His very first wand.

He looks at the fine holly wood in his hand, feels the blazing heat of what is no doubt a phoenix feather core, and the familiar curves and juts of its crafted exterior, and conjures no happiness at the sight of his old friend. Harry feels dread take hold of his very being, leaving him cold and wrung dry.

“Tempus,” Harry mutters, and like delicate clockwork, the spell casts flawlessly and more naturally than any spell Harry has cast in ages. The time of day and month are troubling enough, but the year really causes its own upending.

1978.

Harry takes a deep, steadying breath in. He locks all the terrible and horrible things he’s feeling away in a small corner of his mind, shoving it all into a cupboard under the stairs. And he takes a deep, steadying breath out.

He nods once to himself and holds his wand in a textbook grip. Logic and Auror instinct, but more prevalent, war instinct, sinks its familiar claws into the still healing scars of his mind.

He leaves Ollivanders and makes his way carefully up Diagon Alley, distantly acknowledging that he hasn’t done as good a job as he’s hoping at concealing his anxieties. His casting is too accurate and decidedly not as innocent as it’s been. He trades stupefy for spells that may lean a little darker than any Auror really should be using.

He can’t say he has the element of surprise on his side. Still, the terrorists attacking the alley aren’t exactly looking out for an Auror dressed like Harry, so he has a precious few moments of them treating him like a civilian before realising their grave error.

But, by then, Harry has blasted them halfway across the alley. They’re face down on the cobblestones or missing a limb or two by the time their ah-ha moment of ‘civilians don’t normally fight like that’ echoes in the quiet of their unconscious minds.

As Harry gets closer to the heart of the battle, picking off black-robed wizards one by one and gathering appreciative and perplexed looks from Aurors, he realises that faces are beginning to gain an awful familiarity. He wants to hex himself—of course faces are starting to look familiar. He knows an ungodly amount of wixen who fought in the First War. He’s heard numerous stories of their bravery and seen photographs of them, after all, and Harry really should have known that seeing them would be inevitable, even now—even when he isn’t ready.

But he hasn’t ever travelled this far back in time, so can anyone blame him for being caught by surprise?

Because—there she is.

She’s fresh out of Hogwarts. Classes must’ve only ended a month or so ago. And she’s standing at the heart of the battle. The August sun lends an unfairly clear day to the gruesome attack and shines on the brilliant auburn of her hair, all tied back and away from her face like a flaming whip. Gods, there she is.

Harry is shocked still, eyes locked on the sight of Lily Potter.

And he pays for it with a gnarly gash to the side of his ribs.

Gasping out, he quickly breaks from his trance and curses his inability to stay focused. Harry fires back with his own cutting spell; of course, the much nastier sectumsempra won’t be nearly as easy to bounce back from, but Harry just can’t muster up the fucks to give at the moment.

Mum—Lily—is the one who stops his next assailant, though Harry doubts she even notices her assistance. It turns out she’s the one ripping stone out of the earth and flinging it at anything silver and moving. And, Merlin, it’s nearly charming. He’s going to throw up.

It takes a blue spell, its colour vibrant and just off enough for Harry to connect that it isn’t anything friendly, barely missing her, for him to decide enough is enough.

Harry centres himself and pulls at his magic. He aims his wand at the ground beneath his feet and chants until small spikes start erupting around them like saplings from the cobblestone. He doesn’t stop until they grow taller and taller until they tower over every head and every thatched roof, and until all the ruined pathways around Diagon Alley have become impractical and claustrophobic.

Startled cries come from every direction; Harry thinks he hears bones snapping from those who can’t thread the needle before the spikes grow too close, like a dense forest. No one is spared of his sudden anger…

…no one except for Lily Potter, who stands in a small circle of safety. The spikes around her have curved inward, lending shelter. When Harry finally catches her gaze—oh no, oh no, oh no—he finds that her arms are raised. Almost like Harry’s a robber, and this is all just some kind of hold-up. He feels the urge to laugh die as quickly as it comes.

Not a soul moves, but Harry isn’t one for inaction. He lifts his wand and casts a sonorus; he speaks, “If you are a follower of-“ Harry mindfully avoids His name, unaware if the taboo has been enacted, “the Dark Lord, I believe you’ve caused well enough damage today. Leave.”

It’s silent for a long moment. And then, suddenly, the sharp snap of the anti-apparition wards shattering is all Harry hears. He can almost feel the rain of its magic falling down all around them, preceding the sounds of loud pop-pop-pops from the Death Eaters tucking tails and running away.

Harry is a little shocked that simply demanding they leave works. Then again, turning all of Diagon Alley’s streets into some giant’s version of an Iron Maiden in the heat of his anger is probably something to be wary of. When the last pop fades, and all is quiet once more, Harry transfigures the cobblestones back. Once again, marvelling at the easy control with his holly wand.

It dawns on Harry, now that the battle is cleared up as best as he can manage, that he has no way of returning to his time and nothing to immediately keep that thought from taking hold and consuming him whole. He stands, mind racing and paralysed, as multiple hesitant thanks, thank you so much, you saved us, are whispered his way. And he could really do without the reminder of how irreparably fucked he’s just made the timeline, but, you’re welcome, he supposes.

Then, through the whirlwind of his breakdown, he feels two gentle hands on his arms, pulling him out of the dark and into the eye of the storm.

“Excuse me?” Harry looks up at green, sage and fresh like a vegetable garden, like summer’s grass on a quidditch field, like sprigs of thyme on a holiday roast surrounded by family; he looks up at the eyes of Lily Potter and startles at the sound of her voice.

Is this what she really sounds like? Harry remembers her voice clear as day from—well, it’s nothing he wants to think about now. But he doesn’t remember it sounding like this. So bright and so…

“So young…” Harry mindlessly replies. And Lily Potter’s answering frown is enough to leave him sorry for the rest of his miserable life.

She turns her careful attention to Harry’s bleeding shoulder, and he finally realises she’s trying to heal him. He doesn’t mention that he isn’t too worried about it and that the gash on his ribs is way worse because she starts speaking again, and all Harry wants to do is shut up and listen to her voice forever.

“Speak for yourself, firecracker,” she says. “You look about my age and handled yourself better than any of these Aurors.”

Firecracker? Harry mutters soundlessly. He’s bewildered at the idea of his mother giving him a nickname like that, his mother giving him a nickname at all. Something screaming and rotting and twisting in his soul mourns the loss of it until now.

“This doesn’t look as bad as I’d thought. Do you feel any intense pain? Any sharp shooting down your arm or back?” She asks.

Harry shakes his head slowly and in a daze. She hums, doubting, “Well, even if it doesn’t hurt too badly, let’s get you to St Mungo’s and patch you up—“

Harry steps back and out of her gentle hands, shaking his head with much more clarity. “No. No doctors. I can heal it myself well enough.”

Lily’s eyes widen, and something on his face must scream that he’s planning on making his great escape—it doesn’t matter where as long as it isn’t here in front of her of all people—because she suddenly grabs his wrist tight enough to bruise. “Wait! I’ll listen! I won’t force you to see a healer, but please,” she grips him even tighter, “we haven’t had a… a victory like this… in a long, long time.”

Her eyes pry into him; they search and search, and she must find something because she steadies her panic and softly demands that he - “Don’t go.”

Harry can only stare, horrified, at his own mother standing before him, young and alive and begging him not to go.

He’s saved from answering as they’re interrupted by a loud shout, “LILY!”

A man full-on tackles Lily Potter with force strong enough to pull Harry with them, but madly, all Harry can think is that - Mum has quite the grip.

And now that he’s so close, Harry quickly deduces that the new link to their growing chain is none other than James Potter.

Harry’s eyes blink slowly; a bone-weary exhaustion takes staunch hold of him as he listens to his father ask after his mother’s well-being. Finally, Lily speaks over him firm and unyielding, “James. I am fine. Where on earth have you been?”

“I was dealing with some Death Eaters towards the mouth of Knockturn—but that doesn’t matter! What matters is that you promised to stay by me, and in less than two shakes of a fairy’s wings, you were nowhere to be seen.”

Lily scoffs, “I cannot believe you are blaming me right now when you are clearly the one who wandered off first! We agreed to stay near the centre, and, oh wow! Would you look at that? That’s exactly where you found me, isn’t it?”

Harry cannot believe he’s watching his parents have their first domestic argument, and he isn’t even technically born yet. This is cruel and unusual. Wait, are they even married?

“Okay. Agree to disagree,” James nods. Lily’s got that look on her face that Hermione sometimes gets with Ron, like he’d better say the right thing in the next four seconds, or he’ll get a nasty left hook to the face. Harry feels his stomach drop right out of him at the thought of never seeing Ron and Hermione ever again. Oh god. And then, James continues, “We are both at fault.”

James’ eyes stray towards Harry, looking long and hard at his face. He finds Lily’s tight grip next and asks, “Who’s tall, pale, and ready to be sick standing beside you here?”

“What?” Lily asks, and her eyes fall on Harry, too. Her mouth parts in a horror Harry feels immensely. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry; I promise I didn’t forget about you. It’s just that James is so distracting, and oh merlin, I haven’t even introduced myself—“

“Lily, take a deep breath. And maybe let the man go?”

“James, you have no idea what happened. But you would if you’d have been here.”

Harry clears his throat, “Um,” James and Lily both turn and give him their full attention. Oh, that’s awful. How does Harry simultaneously feel like the youngest and oldest person here? He’s clueless about what to say next but settles on, “Um… I’m Harry.”

“Harry,” James and Lily say it together. Perfect unison. Lily’s eyes are wide, but her smile is wider, and James looks extremely confused and nearly half as put out. His brows furrow until they almost touch, and he comments, “My grandfather’s name was Harry.” He frowns and corrects himself, “Well, his name was Henry, but we all called him Harry.”

Oh. Should Harry have given them a fake name?

“James…” Lily murmurs. She isn’t quiet enough for Harry to miss her following words, “He looks a bit like he could be your brother, doesn’t he? Even a bit like Charlus?” James silently and slowly nods, his eyes still locked on Harry.

“What did you say your surname was again, Harry?” James asks with all the subtlety of a hippogriff, like he’s trying to be slick.

And Harry, no stranger to risky bets, replies, “I didn’t. But it’s Potter. Harry Potter.”

The silence that follows is the loudest he’s heard yet. Wasn’t he nearly deaf earlier?

Until—“Lily. You got a good grip on him, yeah?” James asks.

“Of course,” she nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

James grins. “Hold on tighter, then.”

The sudden gathering of magic in the air has Harry’s hair standing on end. He knows what’s coming but doesn’t truly process it until he catches sight of James’ wand out, and by then, it’s too late.

They apparate out of Diagon Alley.

#eventual #harrymort #tomarrymort #tomarry #pov: harry #my fic #4.2k words #yeah - i added a thousand whole words to this #unnamed fic #surprise again #it's time travel and the first wizarding world - two of my favourite vices (still)#i told you this might change drastically and no one believed me #i didn't give this a final glance before posting so if there are any mistakes - no there aren't 😭

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lolathestoryteller · 26 days

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long lives the kind of love (April 12th prompt; Chocolate) @jilymicrofics

Lily is nervous nowadays, when taking Harry outside — or really just going outside at all. She really shouldn’t be though, because there’s nothing to be nervous about…not anymore, at least.

They’ve been at peace for almost a year now and, finally, most of Voldemort’s followers have been found and incarcerated.

Unfortunately though, some of his deatheaters have had the advantage of their social status to lean on, like Lucius Malfoy for example. His importance as a highly regarded employee of the Ministry of Magic probably saved him from a lifetime in Azkaban.

Not to mention his undeservingly clever imply that, whilst doing Voldemort’s bidding, he‘d been under the constant influence of the Imperius curse.

The most unbelievable part of it is, that they had actually believed his lie.

At least his crazy sister in law, Bellatrix Lestrange, has not been so lucky. She’d gotten a one-way ticket to the dementor trap.

Lily still can’t imagine the pain she’d caused upon Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Tortured to insanity the report had read.

Lily knows they have a child too, a little boy Harry’s age — Neville, who’s much too young to already have lost so much.

She promised herself she’d tell him one day, how bravely his parents had fought for him — for all of them.

Sometimes she still forgets, mostly just in those first few minutes after waking up, that they no longer have to hide, that Voldemort’s no longer after them…because of that failed curse — the curse that should’ve ended her son‘s life.

Love protection Dumbledore explained. Harry was spared because of James’s and her own readiness to sacrifice themselves, in the blind hope to somehow protect him.

The public now sees that as some sort of tragically beautiful story — two young parents ready to give their lives for their baby…and a boy who, at merely fifteen months, saved them all from Voldemort’s wrath.

It agitates her every time she’s out in public, walking by a witch or wizard who‘d turn around to stare at them — at Harry. They‘d whisper and point him out…like a sort of saviour.

It makes it undeniable, despite of how much Lily would like to hope that people might get over it at some point.

Harry‘s going to have to grow up as a celebrity of sorts — a boy every child will have heard of by the time he is old enough to even remotely understand…with the expectation of greatness already sitting heavily on his shoulders.

And no matter how much she’ll want to shield him, she knows she can’t ever completely lift that burden off him.

The burden of being the boy who lived.

Merlin, she bloody hates that title. Sounds just about ready to be printed onto a chocolate frog card, that one. Which, by the way, would better not happen, hence one wanted to see her get really mad.

Which, if James‘s word is anything to go by, one might want to avoid. Of course, James can be a bit dramatic at times, Lily reckons — but he’s right about one thing…nobody in their right mind should dare to mess with her son.

She’d been ready to die for him. She wouldn’t hesitate to fight for him either, no matter her opponent.

One should never underestimate a Mother‘s love.

#lily potter #harry potter #james potter #jily microfic #jily lives #baby harry potter #lily‘s pov #after the first war #chocolate frog #the boy who lived

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o-wyrmlight · 3 months

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I'm having way too much with this chapter that I was struggling on just yesterday. What the fuck. Holy fuck. This is what happens when I read a fanfic with a great narrative voice that I adore. I just start going off, I guess. This means Kim's going to be very inwardly opinionated and vocal in Chapter 6.

Anyway whoo Chapter 6 preview for A Toast To The Pigs, a fanfic where Harry didn't lose his memory in Martinaise and still has to solve the case. This preview skips the next chapter:

“…I lost you there, didn’t I?” Harrier asked, sounding disappointed. “Somewhere at the end.” Kim lifted his eyes from his notebook. He stopped flicking his pen in his fingers to push his glasses back up from where they were sliding. Harrier was watching Joyce Messier, a brow raised and a half-crooked grin plastered on his face. Some offshoot of that odd expression of his. Joyce Messier smiled apologetically, shaking her head. Ah. Joyce Leyton-Messier. Kim had almost forgotten entirely that she was there. She really was committed to just listening to his theories and not sharing anything. What was it again that spurred Harrier to share absolutely everything about his theories right here? Rather than somewhere he and Kim could go over in private? Wasn’t this supposed to be confidential? These were just theories. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps it was another can-opening. All right, big man. Wet dog. Can-open away.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #wyrm writes #a toast to the pigs #so far this chapter is now at 10k+ words #depending on how much longer i'll spend on joyce i might split the end of chapter 6 into chapter 7 #because i want to do an hdb chapter summary with joyce and the subject of like #the end of what i currently have of chapter 6 #(each chapter summary is a brief 2nd person hdb pov)#shit's subject to change you know. this is first draft shit. lookit them go #anyway this is fun. they're having fun. I'M having fun. kim's excited. can you tell #did you know on desktop you can drag and drop the tags that you wrote #i didn't know that!!! i just found that out!!! by trying it out!!! so cool

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rebelcharmings · 10 months

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preview of my eah hogwarts au!!

i’m planning on having this one fic be about their first year, mainly switching between the povs of raven, apple, darling, lizzie, and also occasionally a few others. and then any other fic i write will just be randomly set anytime in the au bc god forbid i have to write a full length 50 smth chapter hogwarts au going from first year to seventh year in chronological order…i just wanted to write silly little one shots of them in hogwarts, but then i got all these ideas of how to implement stuff from eah (evil queen, etc) into this and just Had to at least establish what it’s like in this universe

#posting this to also hopefully force myself to actually finish it #or at least the first chapter of ravens pov #ever after high #eah #raven queen #dexter charming #eah fanfic #eah harry potter #eah hogwarts au

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oflights · 8 months

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wip snip 4.3

yeah i think about the roman empire:

Harry finds himself caught up in staring, in taking in every familiar detail of Draco, and some newer ones, too. He’s dressed as many of his colleagues are, but it doesn’t look like a costume on him: he looks as though he gets out of bed every morning and dresses like an ancient Roman, like every piece of the ensemble was made especially for him. “Close your mouth, Potter,” Smith says in a snide undertone. Harry doesn’t listen. Draco’s white tunic is short, falling in gentle, rippling folds above his knees. Heavy golden cords keep it fitted and tight to his waist and his chest, the tasseled ends dangling where a belt would be. Over the tunic drapes a heavy scarlet red toga, pinned to the chest with what looks like a solid gold fibula stamped with the image of a swan. A golden crown hugs the back of his head, nestled in his tousled hair with the ends at his temples. The gold is delicate and bright, molded into the shapes of grass, leaves and stalks of wheat, and when the candlelight hits it, the brightness warms up the color of his hair until it looks like a sun has risen just above his head. “He is such a fucking git,” comes Smith’s voice again, but when Harry finally manages to glance over—never mind that his mouth is still open—he’s staring, too, his face lit up in genuine, undeniable pleasure. “Scarlet red, the bloody—and he’s paying tribute to Apollo, the absolute nuisance he is. Jack is going to shit himself.”

#drarry #drarry wip #drarry fic #wip snip #time travel fic #oflights #this meme has been killing me and i can't sit on this scene any longer #no context just a teen romcom staircase (sort of) entrance #in harry's first pov chapter 😬#a few chapters away lol

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moiravim · 7 months

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Roughen Up Part 5: Girl's Dormitories

Roughen Up Masterlist

Regulus Black

Tonight was a lot. I into the common room. People are still partying, but thankfully I had missed the climax. I make my way past everyone and to the staircase going to the girls dormitory.

I start to climb the staircase when the steps turn, making a slide, causing me to fall down.

A few Slytherins give me weird looks, but my focus stays on the staircase. What just happened?

I carefully put my foot back on the step and it happens again. This is what happens when the boys try going to the girl's dormitories.

It shouldn't be happening to me. All my things are up there. My books, my clothes, everything I care about is up there.

How does the staircase even know? I really wish Dorcas was here. She'd know what to do, and if not, she could at least get me my stuff.

I was going to wait for her, but then I saw someone I recognized walking down the staircase.

I think her name is Marlene. She's a Gryffindor who's friends with my brother. Not only that, but she's wearing Dorcas' sweater. I decide not to question if they're together.

"Hey, Marlene, right? Do you know where Dorcas is?", I ask. She looks at me confused. "Um, yeah... She's in her dorm", she responds, confused.

"Could you please go get her for me? It's urgent". Marlene looks at me like I'm not speaking English. There is a long, akward silence and I get ready to repeat myself when Marlene shrugs, nods, then walks back up the stairs.

I know I should be upset to get to my room, but it sort of makes me happy. It makes me feel like I'm a real boy.

I think I'll come out as trans to Dorcas when she gets here. She doesn't seem all that straight herself.

Finally, Dorcas comes around the corner and walks down the staircase. She looks pissed.

"Why didn't you just come up to our dorm?", she asks. I wait for her to finish going down the stairs for me to take a step forwards.

The staircase changes again, making me loose my balance.

Barty Crouch jr

My best friend is Evan Rosier. We've known each other for what feels like forever, but in reality has been quite short.

To be honest, I knew I liked him since the day I saw him. We met during the sorting ceremony, and we haven't really separated since.

He's the only person who makes me feel happy and normal.

I wish I could just surround myself with Evans and never see anyone else ever again.

Everyone else acts like I'm crazy. Maybe I am crazy. But Evan makes me feel sane.

I hear a light knock on the door before it opens. It's Evan and his twin sister, Pandora.

Pandora is nice, but she's pretty weird. At the same time, she's probably the most supportive person I know.

She knows Evan and I are together. She's so sweet about it. If my father found out he'd kill Evan and then me. And possibly all and any witnesses.

Some may call Evan and I 'puppy love', but in my opinion we're meant for eachother. I have a feeling whatever this is, it's going to last.

"Hey, Barty. What are you up to?", Evan asks. I'm thinking about him, that's what I'm doing. "Nothing. What about you?"

He shrugs. "Panda and I were just walking around campus. Did you know how many Hogwarts secrets there are? We keep finding passageways".

Evan is a very active person. He could run all around the school for days. Sometimes I'm like that too, but most of the time I don't want to do anything.

"I'm gonna go sit in the common room", Pandora says as she walks out of the dorm. "Ok! Be careful! Technically your not supposed to be in here", Evan responds. He's right. She's a Ravenclaw in the Slytherin common room. But no one really seems to care about those rules.

Evan jumps onto my bed, collapsing next to me.

Pandora Rosier

I go down the staircase from the boys dormitories. That's when I see her. The girl I met in the library. She's talking to another Slytherin. They both seem upset.

"Hey, is everything okay over here...?", I ask.

"Who are you?", the slytherin girl asks. "Oh! My name is Pandora. Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude".

"Regulus, do you know her?", I hear the girl whisper. Regulus? Is that a nickname? It's a bit strange. 'Regulus' nods.

"Pandora, this is Dorcas. My roommate. Or... Ex roomate", she explains. What does she mean ex roommate? "He can't go up the staircase to our dorms. It won't let him", says Dorcas.

'Him'. Regulus must not be a girl. I guess I should have asked him for his pronouns when we first met.

"What are your pronouns?", I asked him. He responds immediately; "he/him... I just came out. I don't know what to do, I can't get to my dorm and it's getting late".

He just seems so stressed, all I want to do is help him.

So I do.

"My brother has a dorm you can sleep in. There's two extra beds, he'd be selfish to refuse you", I say.

Regulus smiles and nods. I'm happy I could help him. "If you ever need any help transitioning or anything, I'm here. Okay?", I add.

Regulus nods again. "Yeah. Actually, could you help me cut my hair? I'm too scared to do it myself, but I think it would help a lot...", he asks.

I smile at him. "Oh course. Dorcas, would you like to come with?", I question. She shakes her head, "no. I have potions work to do... Sorry".

"It's okay. Don't worry. Come on, Regulus"

I grabbed regulus's hand and guide him to the nearest bathroom. I find a pair of scissors on the way there, and I grab them.

"So...what are we thinking here?", I ask. Regulus shrugs. "I don't know. I just want it shorter...", he says. I nod.

This must be very overwhelming for him. I start cutting small pieces off, making my way up. I stopped once it's a little above his shoulder. "How about this?"

He looks in the mirror and smiles. "Maybe a little shorter?", He asks. "Of course. One moment..." I say, carefully cutting off more pieces. I put more layers in his hair, and put the scissors down when I'm satisfied.

"It's perfect. Thank you Pandora...", He thanks as he looks at himself in the mirror. He finally looks satisfied with his own appearance.

"Your welcome. Now, it's time to go to bed. Come on, I'll take you to my brother, Evan's room".

We walk back to the common room and up to the boys dormitories. He looks nervous, but I send him reassuring smiles. I then knock on Barty and Evan's door.

"Come in!", I hear Evan shout. I open the door. "I brought you guys a roommate! Also, you can't say no. He doesn't have a dorm to go to", I explain.

Evans sighs, but nods. "Yeah, okay. That's fine"

Regular sense me a nervous look, so I take him and guide him to the nearest empty bed. "Get ready for bed, Regulus. I'll help you bring your things here tomorrow. Sounds good?"

I wait for his response. "Sounds good", he lets out an exhausted sigh.

"Barty, Evan... Thanks a lot", I say before walking out.

A/N: I don't really like how people make it seem you need to cut your hair to be trans. You can be trans FTM with long hair, or the other way around. I just wanted Regulus to cut his hair because it makes sense for Regulus. You can most definitely be trans FTM with feminine features. Sorry if I offended anyone with this part.

@jegulusposts @thestarslittleking @doingyourmom069

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rewritingcanon · 12 days

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my polly the definition of “im not arguing with a man with big brown eyes. whatever you say, beautiful.”

(she is going to argue with him but she’ll admire the two tiny black holes on his face at the same time)

#writing in the pov of a teenage girl is literally the funnest thing ever i cannot reccomend it enough #DONT PAY ATTENTION TO THE PROSE MY FIRST DRAFTS R ALWAYS HORRIFYING #yolly #polly chapman #harry potter #hpcc #cursed child #harry potter and the cursed child #hp #ccsquad #yann fredericks #magic hour #yolly fic #<- gonna start calling it that atp #or #magic hour sequel #but i feel like that may be a bit… misleading with the lack of scorbus that will be in it 😭

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dewitty1 · 22 days

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Stalking Harry

orphan_account

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/OMC Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson Additional Tags: Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, POV First Person

Summary:

Harry Potter is the most eligible bachelor in the Wizarding world. Draco Malfoy is a disgraced ex-Death Eater with emotional baggage and a bit of a crush.

(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭*⁺˚. * ･｡ﾟ☆

Excerpt:

Potter cranes his neck to look up at me. “You must really hate me. How can you even stand to be in the same room with me right now?”

“I don't hate you. Not anymore, at least.” I look away and shrug. “I wish I could. It would make everything easier, certainly.”

Harry shakes his head. “You should, Malfoy. You have every right to; just look at what I did. I am such an idiot! I can't believe I ever thought that we —” he cuts himself off with a strangled cry.

“That we what?” I ask, curiosity piqued. I haven't forgotten the beginnings of his strange, aborted confession from earlier.

Harry sighs and shakes his head. “I thought you knew, that night. I thought you knew it was me. You did see someone in the gardens, didn't you? You knew someone was there?” I nod and he continues. “I knew it was you straight away. And I guess I convinced myself that you knew it was me too, that you were...that you were doing that for me. I thought that in some weird, roundabout Slytherin way you were telling me that you were interested in me. That was when I started to watch you differently.”

“You're telling me, Potter, that the thing that instigated your interest in 'getting to know me' better was watching me get buggered like a cheap whore at a black robe event?” I arch a brow.

At least Potter has the decency to blush. “That does sound terribly shallow, doesn't it?” he chuckles nervously.

“Well, I did notice your preoccupation with beauty. Sorry to disappoint in that department.”

“No! I meant what I said earlier. You are beautiful. Those,” he says with vehemence, pointing at my chest, “those do nothing to detract from it. Those are a reflection on me, Malfoy, not you.” Harry groans and cradles his head in hands again. “This is so fucked. I feel like the biggest arsehole in the world, harboring some stupid, sick, passionate-rivals-turned-passionate-lovers fantasy in my brain, when you really should hate me. I’ll go before I make an even bigger arse of myself,” he adds, pushing back from the table so quickly that the chair falls to the ground behind him.

I snatch him by the arm before he can get halfway across the room. We've come this far; it's now or never.

“I already told you, I don't hate you —”

“— But you should!”

“But I don't. Stop being such a drama queen and listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once.” I close my eyes and steel my nerves. I can do this. I just can't look at him while I do. “I did know it was you in the garden. I wanted you to see, not because it was my way of letting you know I was interested — I would have thought it was pointless anyway — but because I thought it was the closest I would ever get to actually being with you. Because I want you. I don't know why or when it started, and I swear that no matter what Pansy says I was never really stalking you. I want to smash your face in sometimes, Potter, its true, but I don't hate you. Not truly.”

I have to stop and take a desperate gulp of air. I'm talking too quickly to bother breathing between sentences. But I have to get it out, there is something inside my gut driving me forward, pushing me, whispering now, now, now frantically in my head.

“You say you'd like to get to know me and I'd like that too, but I'm scared shitless. I've never wanted anything more and there are so many reasons why it's crazy and its won't work — the scars, the war, the dead — but I can't stop myself. I want it so badly it hurts to think about sometimes, so I try not to think about it ever. But I don't hate you, Harry Potter, don't you ever think that. And don't try telling me that I should, because I don't think I can.”

I've run out of words and breath, but I keep my eyes shut tight. I'm scared of what I might find if I open them. So I just sit there and wait. What seems like an eternity passes and I still haven't heard Potter start to laugh or run from the room. I let curiosity get the best of me and crack one eye open.

Potter is standing dumbstruck, staring at me as though I've just smacked him upside the head with a rainbow trout. I clear my throat, genuinely concerned that all the head-banging has actually done harm. Before his name can even form on my lips, he lunges towards me.

You'd think that having survived a war I'd have better reflexes, but he truly catches me unawares. My chair almost topples, but I grab the side of the table to steady myself. Thank Merlin I regain my stability, because I soon have Harry Potter in my lap, attacking my face with his mouth.

Technically speaking, it's one of the worst kisses I've ever received. Clumsy and wet, he's trying to kiss every inch of my mouth all at once. It's as though he's been practicing with that damned Crup of his. Even though I should be repulsed by the sheer amount of saliva involved, I'm light-headed with happiness. What he lacks in finesse, he more than makes up in enthusiasm — not to mention the fact that it's Harry fucking Potter and he's in my lap. It's everything I've fantasized about for the past year and so much more.

My heart is pounding with fear and arousal but now that I've tasted him on my lips, I don't know if I can ever go back. I hope Gryffindor courage can be sexually transmitted, because I'm going to need a lot of it if we are actually going to do this.

₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡

#Stalking Harry #orphan account #Drarry #Drarry fic rec #Fic rec #Hp Fic rec #Drarry fanfiction #Hp Fanfiction #Harry potter fanfiction #Draco Malfoy pov #Draco Malfoy #Harry potter #first person pov #hp fic #drarry fic #hp #Carey's bookmark fic recs #Carey's personal bookmarks #my recs

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boasamishipper · 2 months

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You posting Dan/Harry fic got me to check out the original Night Court series and I love it so much (and I'm also enjoying the revival)! Then I went back to read Judicial Impropriety and it gives me all the warm fuzzies. I love how you write Dan/Harry so much. especially their banter, sweet moments, and how much they want each other, I've reread it twice this week already :D do you have more ideas for them, aside from your Judge Leon series (which I also love, though it can be painful) 💜

hi nonny! thank you so much, i'm so happy to hear you enjoyed Judicial Impropriety and my Judge Leon series - and that my fics got you to watch the original night court series! i'm beyond flattered 🥰

to answer your question, i do indeed have more dan/harry fics planned. here's what i'm tinkering with right now:

Pretrial Motions: In which Harry celebrates his impending appointment to the bench by having a one night stand with a hot attorney he meets in a bar. Preseries AU.

Moral Obligations: In which Harry's not-so-judicial thoughts are about Dan, not Christine, and Dan's morals decide to kick in at the worst possible time. 4.22 AU.

Code of Conduct: Companion piece to Judicial Impropriety - Harry's POV of how he and Dan get together.

and over in the Judge Leon AU:

Sweetheart Deal: Leon works up the courage to ask out Rene Robinson, and Dan debates getting back on the market after a chance reunion with old flame Joan Hobson.

Contributory Negligence: After Leon is badly injured in a car accident and goes into a coma, Dan comes to terms with how much Leon means to him.

Residuary Legacy: On the sixth anniversary of Harry's death, Leon joins Dan in scattering Harry's ashes off the coast of Rhode Island. On the way, Dan reflects on his and Harry's love story, from the beginning to the end.

#thanks for asking!#night court #dan x harry #dan fielding #harry stone #my fics #code of conduct and pretrial motions have been fun to write bc it's my first time writing harry's pov

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shegoesbyjoy · 1 year

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the other side of oblivion

ya girl is back at it again with another DE fic ✌️ 4,528 words, pretty heavy angst (with an uplifting conclusion), and features a healthy sprinkling of some of my favourite quotes from the game.

this was written rather obsessively over the course of 2 days, most of which fell in the early hours of the morning because i apparently Do Not Know how to maintain a proper sleep schedule when i'm inspired to write. bit of a different format than the usual as well, which was fun to try it out!

as always, love to hear your thoughts if you read it (tysm for reading regardless 💖), share if you'd like, and hope you enjoy :)

#disco elysium #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #disco elysium fanfiction #disco elysium fic #harrykim #kimharry #my fic #fun fact i'd written 75% of this in third person before going back and switching everything to second bc the narrative kept demanding it!!!#the entire fic shook itself out so much more smoothly after that lol #but that makes this the first time i'm writing second person AND harry's pov which is wild #a songfic (sorta)? in the year 2023? it's more likely than you think #this is one of my fave songs actually and it's kinda rly special that it inspired fic for my fave game :')#also i'm just trying to be creative with how i write and not worry too much about it yakno #just trying different shit to see what happens and idk #maybe it works maybe it doesn't but i'm having fun

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simuran · 1 year

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This Is How You Lose The Time War and The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August feel like two sides of the same coin

What if you were my enemy in countless lives, travelling through time, and the only way to escape the endless war would be to love you and kiss you

What if you were my friend, and my enemy, and still my friend in countless lives, travelling through time, and the only way to stop the end of the world would be to love you and kill you

#this is how you lose the time war #the first fifteen lives of harry august #And Harry DID love Vincent even at the end don't @ me!#You can't spend a century pretending to be someone's best friend and confidant without still feeling at least some ofthe affection you show #But ohhhhh the contrast between the requited love of Red and Blue that was enough to see each other as equals. each other's POV as valid #And Vincent's need for control above all. To undone Harry even when he 'confessed' to be living his 'third' life.#To turn him into a harmless pet hnghngnhngnhnh #Also the letters Red and Blue write to each other vs Harry writing the whole BOOK to Vincent??? Oh The Parallels #Posts by me

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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 1 year

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Dust and debris spread like a fine mist through the air.

Visibility was unsurprisingly low, given how thick the smoke clouds were. Rushing bodies, wicked spellfire, and large chunks of rubble were the only things that disrupted it. And the chunks, Harry realised, weren’t coming from nearby buildings like he had first blindly thought. He watched, brows raised, at the sight of cracking stone tearing straight from the ground, shooting out and away at harrowing speeds, their mass used as projectiles.

Impressive, Harry thought. The magical strength required to do that must have been great, but it lacked any refinement or skill. The wavering, rotating masses that flung wildly and in any direction they could reach spoke of desperation and fear. Well, Harry couldn’t blame them.

He was feeling pretty desperate and… maybe not fearful… but definitely confused, too.

Waking up in the middle of an ongoing fight was what Harry had been expecting; what he hadn’t been expecting was waking up in the middle of what looked like Diagon Alley if he squinted a bit and turned his head to the left.

He dusted himself off rather pointlessly and gave his Auror robes a quick pat down. He was working with no wand and just his wits. He supposed things could have been worse. Thankfully, he wasn’t very out of practice with his wandless spell work. It did, however, vastly limit what he could do to lend a hand.

And he’d have to lend a hand and get out of here as quickly as possible. He and Ron were still taking care of some rogue wizards reaping havoc on a small wizarding community in Alfriston, and Harry was definitely a long way from there. What had happened, anyway? What did that wizard throw at him?

Maybe he should be paying more attention to what wizards are currently throwing at him. One of those large pieces of rubble abruptly interrupted Harry’s train of thought and sightline. He gathered whatever magic he could and prepared to apparate away from its path but startled at the grating sensation of anti-apparition wards. His breath caught as it fully dawned on him that something was very wrong.

His eyes widened, and he ducked and rolled out of the way further into the street. Vertigo hit him all too suddenly, forcing him to catch his breath. Whatever means of travel he’d taken to get here did not agree with him at all. In fact, Harry had just realised he couldn’t hear anything. Only a low, high-pitched noise that echoed around in his head. He felt nearly delirious.

Mindlessly stepping back and out of the way of a nasty-looking violet spell, he took a moment to assess his body more carefully. He had all his fingers and toes, all his limbs, his head was on straight, his joints were bending the right way—he seemed perfectly fine. And even though he felt no injuries, he forced a despairingly weak healing charm from within - out. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t have too much wandless practice with those, so it didn’t quite ease the onslaught of nausea, but it did fix his hearing.

And the world was much louder than Harry had prepared for. Screams shouted out like banshee cries, and the sound of whizzing spells and explosions echoed all throughout. He cringed against the relentless noises, hands coming up to cover his ears until he could adjust. It took some time and a few more close calls with ugly spellfire, but when Harry finally got his bearings, he jumped into the fray.

He magicked away most of the debris in the air, and his head whipped back and forth, taking stock of the newly visible surroundings. Harry was unsure where to begin and whom to ask for an explanation of what was even happening. He couldn’t spot any familiar Aurors, but there were definitely people dressed in uniforms…

Harry nearly paused at that. Yes, there were definitely people dressed in uniforms. Ones that were dark and black and flowing like ink and looked eerily familiar, and others that looked strikingly like Sirius’s old Auror robes from—

“HELP!”

Harry’s eyes caught sight of a young woman clutching a child for dear life. Their backs were pinned up against the broken remains of a shop, and her body hid the kid to the best of her ability while a wizard in dark robes stood before them, wand raised and ready to cast. Harry caught the unmistakable glimmer of silver reflecting off the sunlight in the Alley from the side of the wizard’s face, but he refused to linger on the stomach-swooping horror of recognition its shine caused.

It’s a good thing Harry had always been fast on his feet, quick on the draw. It’s also a good thing his wandless stupefy was still in top form.

The body crumpled to the ground, and Harry’s assist went unnoticed in all the chaos. But the woman had seen him and quickly found Harry’s eyes. She peered up at him, relieved and overwhelmingly grateful, but stared for a beat too long, and Harry, being used to it, gave her no mind. He quickly came over to help escort her and the child somewhere safer. She muttered something as he lifted the kid in a secure grip, one arm by the bend of their knee and the other firmly on their back.

“What was that?” Harry asked, releasing his hold on the kid’s back after they had adjusted to the position, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Harry tried to take a gentle but resolute hold on the clearly in shock woman to help guide her out of the direct fire. And when she repeated herself, it was with more confidence, even though she was shaking violently.

“I didn’t know you had become an Auror, James. Didn’t you only graduate this summer?”

For a moment, all of Harry’s battle-hardened instincts fell away. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She didn’t look anywhere close to his parents’ age had they still been alive. Really, she looked much closer to Harry’s age, maybe a few years older. They had probably gone to Hogwarts together for a short while. So then, why—

Why did she think he was his father? His father, who had apparently only graduated this year?

Shock, Harry could excuse this as, and he sorely wanted to, but that feeling of wrongness was rearing its ugly head once again.

So Harry stayed quiet and focused. He stunned anyone suspicious they came across and brought them both to a mostly unharmed shop out of the way with a blessedly working floo connection. He watched them leave and exited the building, confident that from here, just around this corner, should be Twilit and Tattings. But when he arrived at the distinct shop front, still standing on what Harry could only guess was pure rich-pureblood spite, the store looked nothing like a clothing shop.

Unsettled but willing to take a gamble, Harry stuck to the edges of the alley and made his way further up Diagon, closer to Horizont. He avoided bouncing spells and crumpled bodies and cast when he could all the way until he saw the familiar sign of Ollivanders.

With all his hesitance and the churning in his stomach, Harry tried something with no small amount of hysteria. He held his hand up, right before the shattered glass of Ollivanders’ main window and said:

“Accio Harry Potter’s wand.”

For a breathtaking moment, nothing happened, and Harry was so viciously relieved that he couldn’t help the short laughter that fell out of him. Shock, he reminded himself, she was just in shock.

Shaking his head clear of whatever madness had temporarily held him, he readied to shoulder open the door and commandeer a temporary wand. Even something poorly matched would be better than nothing if he were to continue lending assistance to the Aurors on the scene.

But before he could even take a step, something was flying straight at his head.

“Whoa!” Harry ducked and turned to watch as a wand took an arching turn and bound straight towards him again. But this time, Harry was ready; he caught it with a smart thwack to the flat of his palm.

The warmth and pure magic from this wand that flooded his veins were unlike any other— but that was a lie. It was exactly like one other. One other wand from when he was eleven. His very first wand.

Looking at the fine holly wood in his hand, feeling the blazing heat of what was no doubt a phoenix feather core, and the familiar curves and juts of its crafted exterior, Harry felt no happiness at seeing an old friend. He felt dread take hold of his very being, leaving him cold and wrung dry.

“Tempus,” Harry muttered, and like delicate clockwork, the spell cast flawlessly and more naturally than any spell Harry had cast in ages. The time of day and month was troubling enough, but the year really caused its own upending.

1978.

Harry took a deep, steady breath in. He locked all the terrible and awful and horrible things he was feeling away in a small corner of his mind, shoving it all into a cupboard under the stairs. And released his breath. He nodded once to himself and held his wand in a proper grip. Logic and Auror instinct, but more prevalent, war instinct, sunk their familiar claws into the still-healing scars of his mind.

He left Ollivanders and made his way carefully up Diagon Alley once more, distantly acknowledging that he may not have done as good a job as he was hoping at concealing his anxieties. His casting was accurate and decidedly not as innocent as it had been. Stupefies traded for spells that might have leant a little darker than an Auror should really be using.

He couldn’t say he had the element of surprise on his side. Still, the terrorists attacking the alley weren’t exactly looking out for an Auror dressed like Harry was, so he had the first few moments of them treating him like a civilian before realising their grave error.

But by then, they were blasted halfway across the alley, laid face down on the cobblestones, or missing a limb or two. The ah-ha moment of ‘civilians don’t normally fight like that’ only echoed in the quiet of their unconscious minds.

And the closer Harry got to the heart of the battle, picking off black-robed wizards one by one and gathering appreciative and perplexed looks from Aurors, he should have realised that faces may start gaining an awful familiarity. He should have realised that he knew of an unfortunate amount of wizards and witches who fought in the First War. He had heard numerous stories of their bravery and seen photographs of their faces, after all, and Harry really should have realised that seeing them would be inevitable, even now— even when he wasn’t ready.

But he had never travelled this far back in time, so could anyone blame him for being caught by surprise?

Because there she was. Fresh out of Hogwarts. Classes must’ve only ended a month or so ago. And she was standing at the heart of the battle. The August sun lent an unfairly clear day to the gruesome attack and shinned on the brilliant auburn of her hair tied back and away from her face like a flaming whip.

Harry was shocked still at the sight of Lily Potter.

And he paid for it with a gnarly gash to the side of his ribs.

Quickly breaking from his trance and cursing his inability to stay focused, Harry fired back with his own cutting spell. Of course, the much nastier sectumsempra wouldn’t be nearly as easy to bounce back from, but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck at the moment.

He created jagged spikes of transfigured rock from the ruined pathways all around them until the war zone that was once Diagon Alley had become impractical and claustrophobic. Startled cries came from every direction; no one was spared from his sudden attack and aggression. No one except for Lily Potter, who stood in a small circle of safety, the spikes around her lending shelter. Her arms were comically raised like Harry was a muggle robber, and this was all just a hold-up. And he felt the urge to laugh die as quickly as it came.

Not a soul moved, but Harry wasn’t one for inaction. He cast a sonorus and spoke, “If you are a follower of,” Harry mindfully avoided His name, unaware of when exactly the taboo had been enacted, “the Dark Lord, I believe you’ve caused well enough damage today. Leave.”

There was silence; then there was the sharp break of the anti-apparition wards shattering, and with it, the sounds of loud pop-pop-pops from Death Eaters tucking tails and running away. Harry was a little shocked that simply demanding they leave worked. Then again, turning all of Diagon Alley’s streets into some giant’s version of an Iron Maiden in the heat of his anger was probably something to be wary of. When all was quiet once more, Harry transfigured the cobblestone back, again marvelling at the easy control with his holly wand.

It dawned on Harry then that, now that the battle was cleared up as best he could manage, he had no way of returning to his time and nothing to immediately keep that thought from taking hold and consuming him whole. He stood paralysed and in deep thought through the multiple hesitant thanks, thank you so much, you saved us directed his way. And he could really do without the reminder of how irreparably fucked he’d just made the timeline, but, you’re welcome, he supposed.

Then two gentle hands on his arm pulled him out of the dark.

“Excuse me?” Harry looked up at green, sage and fresh like a vegetable garden, like summer’s grass on a quidditch field, like sprigs of thyme on holiday roasts with family; he looked up at the eyes of Lily Potter and startled at the sound of her voice.

“So young…” Harry had mindlessly replied. Lily Potter’s answering frown was enough to leave him sorry for the rest of his miserable life.

She turned her careful attention to Harry’s bleeding shoulder, and he realised she was trying to heal him, “Speak for yourself, firecracker. You look about my age and handled yourself better than any of these Aurors.”

Firecracker? Harry muttered soundlessly. Bewildered at the idea of his mother giving him a nickname like that. Something screaming and rotting and twisting in his soul mourned the loss of it until now.

“This doesn’t look as bad as I’d thought. Do you feel any extreme pain?” She asked.

Harry shook his head slowly and in a daze. She hummed, doubtful, “Well, even if it doesn’t hurt too badly, let’s get you to St Mungo’s and patch you up—“

Before she could finish, Harry stepped back out of her gentle hands, shaking his head with much more clarity. “No. No doctors. I can heal it myself well enough.”

Her eyes widened, and something about him must’ve given away that he was planning on making his great escape because she suddenly grabbed his wrist tight enough to bruise, “Wait! I’ll listen! I won’t force you to see a healer; but please,” she held on even tighter, “we haven’t had a- a victory like this- in a long, long time. Don’t go.”

And Harry could only stare, horrified, at his own mother standing before him, young and alive and begging him not to go.

They are interrupted by a loud shout, “LILS,” and a man full-on tackling Lily Potter with force strong enough to pull Harry with them. But, madly, all Harry could think was that his mother had quite the grip.

And with Harry’s much closer proximity, he quickly deduced who the new link to their growing chain was. James Potter.

Harry’s eyes blinked slowly; a bone-weary exhaustion took staunch hold of him as he listened to his father ask after his mother’s wellbeing. Finally, Lily spoke over him, firm and unyielding, “James. I am fine. Where on earth have you been?”

Lily scoffed, “I cannot believe you are blaming me right now when you are clearly the one who wandered off first! We agreed to stay near the centre, and, would you look at that—that’s exactly where you found me, isn’t it?”

Harry could not believe he was watching his parents have their first domestic argument, and he wasn’t even technically born yet. This seemed cruel and unusual.

“Okay, agree to disagree. We are both at fault,” James’ eyes strayed towards Harry. He looked long and hard at Harry’s face and landed on the tight grip of Lily’s hand. “Who’s tall, pale, and ready to be sick standing beside you here?”

“What?” Lily asked, and her eyes fell on Harry too. Her mouth fell open in a horror Harry felt immensely, “Oh my god! I’m so sorry; I promise I didn’t forget about you—it’s just James is so distracting—and oh my god, I haven’t even introduced myself—“

“Lily, take a deep breath, and maybe let the man go?”

“James, you have no idea what happened, but you would if you’d have been here.”

Harry cleared his throat, “Um,” James and Lily both turned and gave him their full attention. It was awful. “Um… I’m Harry.”

“Harry,” James and Lily said together. Lily’s eyes were wide, but her smile was wider, and James looked extremely confused and put out. His brows furrowed until they were almost touching, and he commented, “My grandfather’s name was Harry,” he frowned and corrected himself, “well, his name was Henry. But we all called him Harry.”

Maybe Harry should have given them a fake name.

“James…” Lily murmured. She wasn’t quiet enough for Harry not to catch her following words, “He looks a bit like he could be your brother, doesn’t he?” James just silently and slowly nodded his head.

“What did you say your surname was again, Harry?” James asked like he was trying to be slick.

And Harry, no stranger to risky bets, replied, “I didn’t. But it’s Potter. Harry Potter.”

The silence that followed was very loud.

Until, “Lily. You’ve got a good grip on him, yeah?”

“Of course,” she nodded like it was obvious.

James grinned, “Hold on tighter, then.”

And the sudden gathering of magic in the air had Harry’s hair standing on end. When he caught sight of James’ wand out, he knew it was too late.

They apparated out of Diagon Alley.

#eventual #harrymort #tomarrymort #tomarry #pov: harry #my fic #3.1k words #unnamed fic #surprise #it's time travel and the first wizarding war two of my favourite vices #this may change drastically before i post it to ao3 but i kind of like it so maybe it won't

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