Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

With a thoughtful hum, Luna peers at the wreckage over her rose-shaped sunglasses. Bedside her, Harry scratches at the edge of his beard sheepishly. For a long moment, neither of them say anything.

In front of them their old but cheerful Volkswagen bus stands tipped on its side, listing heavy against the columns of the henge.

"And this," Luna says very serenely, "is why you shouldn't be driving."

"What - no, this isn't my fault," Harry objects and waves his gloved hand accusingly at the henge. "This thing came out of nowhere!"

She looks at him, her expression mildly pitying. "Neolithic ritual sites don't appear out of nowhere when I'm driving."

"Well, it did! The hill was clear one minute and the next - stones!" Harry says defensively and folds his arms. "I don't know what happened, but I definitely wouldn't have missed up a giant ring of stones out in the middle of a big open field, now would I?"

Luna gives that some consideration, pushing her sunglasses back up her nose. In front of them, the bus lets out a little whine of metal scraping against stone as it shifts a little lower and settles against the column. "So we got ambushed by the Neolithic ritual site."

"Er," Harry hesitates. "I guess so?"

"Neolithic ritual sites are ambush predators," Luna muses. "How exciting."

Harry thinks about it. "Mental if true, yes," he agrees. "Though maybe it... apparated. Or we did. Or - I don't know."

"Spontaneous translocation through spacetime?" Luna suggests.

Harry grins. Gotta love Hermione, introducing muggle terms to wizarding spaces. "Something like that, yeah," he agrees. "Anyway, I didn't drive into the henge. It drove - er, appeared into… us? Apparated. You know what I mean."

"Mmh," Luna hums agreeably, tilting her head at the Volkswagen. Then she looks up at the sky above them. "The weather's changed too."

It had - from beautiful, sweltering summer day into... overcast dreariness. It looks like it's not just going to rain - but like there's going to be a storm. "Huh," Harry says, frowning a little. "Well, that's alarming. Think we passed out for a bit, missed like… a day or two or something?"

"I don't, no," Luna says.

"So, weather distortion by sudden unexplained teleportation magic - or actual temporal dislocation?" Harry asks warily.

"Well," Luna says thoughtfully and looks around. "That depends on whether the season too changed."

It hadn't, it turns out, but things are still, clearly… different. It's hard to tell by only looking around, the area isn't exactly familiar to either of them, but they both feel it. Something is just a bit off, and it's not just that they crashed into a henge that wasn't there before. 

"So, the usual weirdness," Harry says. "Something is wrong, and now we have to figure out what, does that sound about right?" 

Luna hums non-committally, which is answer enough. "Which is why you shouldn't be driving," she concludes calmly, looking at him. "These things only happen when you're driving."

Harry opens his mouth to object and then closes it. He… can't really argue against it. "Counter argument," he tries anyway. "You love it when these things happen."

"True," Luna agrees and smiles before looking at the bus. "Think we can right up Fairybell? She looks a bit sad."

She does. Thankfully, the charms Mr. Weasley helped them put on her had kept her from turning into an outright scrap. Harry loosens his wand from the wrist holster. "One of these days we really need to steal the Knight Bus user manual or something, stop stuff like this from happening," he says, lamenting all that led him here. "Come on, let's get the old girl's wheels back on solid ground."

Harry's after-Hogwarts plans sort of… meandered into nothing. Auror Academy turned out to be a bad fit, as did most of the other jobs offered to him by the Ministry for Magic. Harry's various issues with authority just clashed with everything and everyone. There were arguments, a few duels and a couple of fistfights, and in the end Harry decided it was better for everyone if he sought employment elsewhere.

Meantime Ginny got really invested in her Quidditch career and got very busy and stressed while Harry got the opposite, and things got tense. Eventually it sort of wound into an awkward ending somewhere in their second year of dating. Their parting was more or less amiable - in the end, they were both just glad they hadn't gotten married or pregnant before then, regardless of many people's insistence on it. Like Molly Weasley's. Who was and still is very disappointed.

Thankfully, Harry's relationship with the family held on during and after the breakup. He even worked for a while at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, but that was more charity on George's part than anything else. They didn't really need an extra employee at the store - though he did bring them a lot of new customers. 

Mostly he was at loose ends, still trying to figure out what he wanted to do when he grew up. At the same time, Hermione had decided to pursue a double degree of Arithmancy and Applied Mathematics with fervent ambition of forwarding wizarding sciences, while Ron finished up at Auror Academy and graduated, so both of them were busy and getting busier. He saw them once or twice a month, if he was lucky. 

It kind of made him feel like a bum. Here they were, advancing their careers, and he was just… sitting around. And sure, he had enough money that he didn't really need to work a day in his life, but still… It really made him feel like he'd just become a layabout, living off of his multiple family fortunes. Just like the person Dursleys accused him of being.

He really should be doing more with the time given to him - it had been so hard won - but… what?

When Luna told him about her plan to travel and see the world and find creatures no one ever had before, he'd kind of longingly thought he would like to try something similar. Travel, see the world, explore, maybe even go to a beach.

"Never gone to a beach before," he admitted to her. "Aside from Shell Cottage, and that doesn't really count, does it? I've never gone swimming just for the sake of swimming. Never tanned. I wonder what that's like."

Luna looked at him curiously. "Why not find out?"

Harry's immediate reaction was to shake his head and sigh. "No, I can't. I need to find a job," again, "and do something with my life."

"Why?"

Such a simple question. It turned out Harry didn't really have an answer, other than, "Well, it's what I should do, it's what people do, right?" Which honestly wasn't much of an answer.

Then Luna said, easy as anything, "You should come with me." 

And it really was that easy.

… okay, it wasn't - but it makes for a snappier story, to say it was.

Once the bus is back on her wheels - and they've repaired the big dent in her side - Harry and Luna set up camp beside the henge, Harry pitching up the canopy and the lanterns and setting up a table and pair of chairs, while Luna investigates the Neolithic ritual ambush predator.

"It doesn't exist," she concludes as she ducks out of the rain and under the canopy, while Harry sets up the folding table for some grilling.

Harry gives the henge a cursory glance. "Looks pretty real to me," he comments. "How many sausages do you want?"

"One is fine," Luna says and shows him a map book. "We are here," she points and her many necklaces clatter against the table as she sits down across from him. Her hair is dripping water on the pages. "There is not supposed to be a henge here, not that anyone knows anyway. It shouldn't exist."

"Maybe it was magically hidden until now, maybe?" Harry suggests, considering her wet hair before drying her with a flick of his wand. "Or it really apparated here from somewhere." 

He knows better by now than to question her on the location. For a person who gets lost a lot, and who loses a lot of things, Luna always tends to know where she is. It's usually exactly where she means to be.

Luna pushes her rose sunglasses up to her hair, pinning her now dry blond curls back. "Or we aren't where we're supposed to be."

… Right, never mind that then. 

"Okay, you're going to have to elaborate," Harry says, firing up the grill before putting his wand away. "Because it doesn't really feel to me like we moved much. Aside from, you know, crashing into a henge."

"We are in the same geographical location," Luna agrees, flicking her wand for a compass spell. "But the place might be different. Also, the date is different."

Harry grabs the tongs and gives them a couple of clicks in thought. "Different," he says with a steadying inhale. Then he starts loading meat, mushrooms and veggies on the grill. "Different how?"

Luna looks past the edge of the canopy, where the rain is coming down hard enough to form a sort of curtain around their camping setup. "Not as it was before or how we assume it to be?" she offers. "It's currently the 13th of August…"

"... yeah?" Harry agrees. "It is. You told me this morning. Friday the 13th."

Luna glances at him. "... in the year 1982."

Harry considers, briefly, of being shocked. There was a time when he used to be shocked about these things. He'd flail and exclaim and say things like,"That's impossible," and, "How is that possible," and, "Why is this happening to me," and so on. Teenage him was very dramatic about events and situations.

He's not a teenager anymore, though. He and Luna have been travelling for about four years now, and after what happened in Egypt… well.

"Huh," Harry says and prods the mushrooms with the tongs to make room for the corn.

"It's also a Friday," Luna adds helpfully.

"Of course it is," Harry says and clears his throat. "So we went from Friday the 13th to… Friday the 13th, but 22 years back in time?"

"That's what Tempus tells me," Luna agrees. 

"Well. That's new." They're quiet for a moment, Luna flipping through her book of maps while Harry flips peppers and corn and sausages on the grill. Then Harry says, "So, nothing wrong with my driving. My driving didn't do this."

"Well," Luna says thoughtfully. "Not your driving, no. It was more it being you who was doing the driving that did this, I think. These things only happen to you, Harry."

Harry sighs in agreement - can't really argue with that. "The plates, please?" he says and then, as she hands him some, divides the food between them before turning off the heat with a gentle tap of his wand before sitting down. "So, we should probably make sure we know what's going on before we jump to conclusions. Confirm the date at least, before we, you know, panic."

"That seems reasonable." Luna hums in agreement, conjuring herself a garish yellow plastic spork. "How do we do that?"

Harry considers it for a moment and then lifts up his wand again, doing the summoning charm for a Daily Prophet delivery. "Give it half an hour, and we should know for sure," he says.

"Good call," Luna says with an agreement, flicking her wand in the air as well. "I'm summoning a Quibbler owl."

Harry thinks about it and casts another summoning charm. "Witch Weekly," he announces.

"Spellbound," Luna adds.

"Tempus."

"What Wizard."

In the end, they end up summoning the deliveries for about a dozen different wizarding newspapers and magazines. The first of them arrive before they finish their dinner - a Daily Prophet owl, looking mighty peeved about being summoned so late in the day.

"There must be an aviary nearby," Luna comments while offering a bit of sausage to the bird while Harry gets out the Knuts to pay for the paper.

Headline is about the passing of a prominent member of Wizengamot and how yet another hereditary seat would be going empty in the future due to the lack of a viable - and non-incarcerated - heir. Looks like a big part of the issue is dedicated to  the growing concern about the state of Wizengamot and its many permanently empty seats - and how many seat holders are now, unfortunately, locked away in Azkaban.

The date, though…

"Friday the 13th, August, 1982," Harry says ruefully. 

"That seems conclusive," Luna comments, holding the sausage for the Daily Prophet owl to tear into. "What do the articles say?"

They're more or less what one expects from the Prophet. The Wizengamot article takes all the important pages with snippets of interviews and rumours and slight hints about how there might've been political motivations behind certain arrests around the end of the war. Apparently, the fact that so many purebloods ended up in Azkaban was the reason behind certain changes in the council - and its leadership.

Aside from that, there are some interviews, think pieces, an article about the recently published study on the Wolfsbane potion by Damocles Belby and so on. The sports section is mostly about the recent Harpies victory, which makes Harry's heart clench a little.

"Say this is correct," Harry says, tapping the date. "And we're twenty two years back in time… Well. I guess we got two questions, to start with. How did this happen, and can we undo it?"

"Three questions," Luna corrects, wiping her fingers now that the sausage is gone. "Do we want to undo it? Thank you," she says to the owl on the folding table between them. "That's all."

The owl gives them a look and then flaps his wings before taking off, gliding into the ever darkening sky.

Harry looks up at her and she looks back calmly, picking up a bit of grilled pepper with her spork. "You mean…?"

"This henge shouldn't be here," Luna says, biting into the pepper. "But it is, and it looks like it has been for a long time. Which means it's different here than it was where we came from. Which means this isn't the past."

Harry sets down his fork and leans back on his plastic camping chair. "So it's… another world? Alternate reality?"

"So evidence seems to suggest," Luna says and turns her attention to her food. "Though of course, we should confirm that, too, before jumping to conclusions."

Running a hand over his beard, Harry clears his throat. His heart is suddenly picking up speed. "That's, ah. I mean. Is it possible?" he asks, trying to affect a casual, calm air.

Luna shrugs. "I don't see why not," she says and picks up the last of her food with her spork. "Time travel is. Teleportation is. And we know other dimensions exist. So. why not time travel teleportation to other dimensions?"

"Yeah, but - other worlds?" Harry asks feebly.

Again, Luna shrugs, giving him a look, adjusting her big bangles idly. "Why not?"

Why not, why not indeed. "We should, um," Harry clears his throat again. 1982 - would that make him 2 years old? Or rather, his this-world-version. And it's August, so, his baby self has spent less than a year at Dursleys. If his baby self even is at the Dursleys. Maybe his baby self is at Godric's Hollow, living his best life with loving mum and dad? Maybe he isn't the Boy Who Lived, maybe - 

Harry clears his throat. "We should. Confirm. Right? Wait," he says and gives her a look. "You wouldn't mind staying? What about your dad?"

Luna tilts her head a little, her eyes straying as she thinks about it. "Well," she says. "It would be sad. I would miss him. And he would miss me. But I know if he knew, he would want us to take this opportunity. If it was him, I would want him to take the opportunity."

"What opportunity? Opportunity to do what?" Harry asks, even though he knows.

Luna shrugs, looking at the rain. "Change history. Save people. Make things better."

They're quiet for a moment, just listening to the rain pouring all around them, on the bus' roof, on the canopy. It's getting dark, and the only light is the lanterns hanging from the poles, the warm glow spilling out of the bus. It feels oddly private, even secret, like they're in an enclosed space.

And… yeah. She's right. "Okay," Harry says and draws another breath. "So, we should see what else is different. Check how close this world is to ours - if, if this is a different world. Maybe there's something in Diagon Alley we could…?"

"We should," Luna agrees and looks at him. "Do you want to finish your food first? I can feed it to the other owls if not."

"Owls?" Harry asks, and looks up just as the Witch Weekly comes swooping in, trying to land on his head. "Whoa!"

Luna calmly watches him flail and reaches to pick out another pepper from his plate. "I can examine the henge while you visit London," she muses while he struggles with the owl. "See if there's something that tells us how we got here. We'll consolidate our findings in the morning."

"That sounds - good - ack," Harry says, and manages to manoeuvre the wildly flapping and somewhat affronted owl onto his arm. "Yes, good, thank you - here, your payment…" 

The owl pecks at him as he gets the issue of Witch Weekly from her, then she accepts the payment in her little satchel and takes off in a huff. 

"Would you pick up some pudding while you're in London, Harry?" Luna says, chewing on Harry's peppers. "We're almost out."

"Yes, of course - I'll grab the shopping list before I head out," Harry says, opening the rolled up magazine. "Should check out what's in here first, though."

The cover features a potion master who'd recently released a revolutionary line of hair products - with smaller lines advertising articles about housekeeping tricks, about how to spice up things in the bedroom with spells and an interview of some author who'd written a self-help spell book.

"Oh, I remember that," Luna comments, looking at the last one. "Dad has the article in a scrapbook - my mum contributed to the book. She was the inventor of the Self-Arranging Drawer charm. Or maybe is," she says, thoughtfully. "She might be alive here. If she exists."

Harry looks at her for a moment. Then he stands up. "Think you can handle the papers? I'm heading to London," he says. "The sooner we know what's up the better. Is there anything else I should keep an eye out for?"

Luna considers that for a moment, pulling the Witch Weekly issue closer to her. "You should put on a disguise," she says. "Just in case."

Harry runs a hand over his chin. "I don't know. Who would recognize me, really? If it is 1982, my this-world-version would be just a toddler, Luna. And I don't look that much like my dad anymore," he says and then hesitates. "Do I?" 

"No," Luna agrees easily enough and opens the magazine. "But knowing our track record, we will end up breaking the law and making enemies quickly, regardless if it's regular old time travel or dimensional time travel. We already are breaking the law, technically, by time travelling this far," she points out. "So, you might as well make sure not to leave an easily followed trail for people to trace."

"... yeah, good point," Harry says ruefully. "I don't suppose we have any polyjuice left?"

"No, and I think we might be out of some of the ingredients to brew it. You should check the potion stores."

"I guess I'm dyeing my hair then," Harry mutters, running a hand through it. It's gotten a bit long, and being as scruffy as it is, he knows it can be a bit… memorable. He would need to tie it back too, maybe slick it down… "Red or blond?"

Luna looks up and squints at him. "How about a nice strawberry blond? With the dark brown robes. And change your glasses."

"Right," Harry nods, turning to enter Fairybell.

"And remember to dye your beard too this time!" Luna calls after him. "And eyebrows!"

Harry pauses at the side doors to give her a look. "Do you want to do my disguise?" he asks pointedly.

Luna thinks about it. "Yes," she says and stands up. "Go get the brown robes - the ones with the collar and shoulders. I'll get the colour swatches."

Harry rolls his eyes, good natured, and goes to get the robes.

Chapter Text

Luna has brought out the cork and black boards and filled them with charcoal rubbings and fresh polaroids of the henge by the time Harry comes back from London, early in the next morning. The boards are set in a semi circle on the edge of the canopy, and the whole thing kind of looks like the site of an archeological dig or something. Or a conspiracy board, what with all the red string connecting various bits of runework hidden amongst the stones, one particular photo that has been circled with it to signify its importance, and all that.

"It was pure happenstance," Luna concludes with some satisfaction, hands on her hips as they eye the boards. "It was the henge that did this. This here," she motions to the circled bit of runework, "Was the cornerstone rune. I only spotted it because of the Purging Goldylow sitting on it," she confines in him. "They're attracted to warding stones."

"Very convenient," Harry nods solemnly. "So, it's a ward?"

"No - an ancient travel circle - like a fireplace connected to Floo Network," Luna says, shaking her head. "It misfired. The cornerstone is  cracked here, see - I think it might've been hit by lightning. That charged the henge, primed it for some kind of transport - and when we hit the area on the other side with Fairybell, it probably interacted with her magic and connected. And since there was nothing to transport on this side, it instead brought us here."

"Huh," Harry says, eyeing her analysis. "Like throwing Floo powder into a fire, huh? Is Stonehenge an ancient Floo entrance too?"

"It's a lot of things," Luna agrees with a smile and looks at him. "In either case, our arrival was a freak accident."

"Love those," Harry says wryly - though it is better than having been summoned intentionally. Intentional summoning tends to come with strings attached and expectations to meet. "So, what does it mean for our way back? Any chance we can go home?"

"Well," Luna says slowly. "I wouldn't hold much hope for it."

Harry grimaces. "None at all?"

Luna thinks about it for a moment, clearly trying to figure out how to explain it. "The circle essentially reached out blindly, grabbed us, and yanked us here. There's no true network in place, no tether between our two worlds - and dimensions are constantly moving, shifting around, racing past each other. It would be like trying to place back an apple you picked from a fallen tree caught in a flooding river that's already miles away. Finding the right tree would be virtually impossible."

"… oh," Harry says, scratching the back of his currently very curly blond mop of hair. That's… "So. We're not going back. Ever?"

"I wouldn't say ever - anything can happen," Luna says with a sort of careless shrug. "But it seems highly unlikely."

Harry swallows, his chest clenching sharply at the thought of everything they've suddenly left behind. Admittedly, his ties back home were looser than they were four, six years ago, but still. Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, everyone else, all the friends he had made at Hogwarts, at his many jobs, during the war…

Luna looks at him and then presses her lips together uncertainly. "I'm sorry," she says. "Was I being too blunt about it?"

"No, it's just - well, yes, just a little," Harry says and plucks the glasses from his face in order to rub at his suddenly stinging eyes. "Give me a moment."

"Do you want physical comfort?" Luna offers sympathetically.

"… yeah, actually. Yes, please," Harry says and immediately Luna moves to his side, leaning her weight against him and wrapping an arm around his back. Harry wraps his arms around her and leans his chin against her hair as Luna tucks her head in the crook of his neck, and for a moment they just stand there.

It's a weird, belated sort of trepidation he feels - like he's got scared of something too late.

He hasn't even seen Hermione and Ron in weeks - though they still write to each other regularly, it's mostly platitudes these days. Hermione is too busy with her research to have anything much happen to her, and half of the stuff that happens to Ron these days is confidential Auror business. They meet once a month or so for dinner and drinks, always telling each other they should meet more often, and never do. It's the same with everyone else - they write to each other more than they see each other.

The letters were nice though. Neville is an especially enthusiastic pen pal, as is Dennis Creevey. Harry would miss both their letters - and the photographs.

Oh, God, he would never see them again. Not as they were. Not as he knew them. And he can't even remember when was the last time he'd seen them - or most everyone else from his Hogwarts years. The only person aside from Luna Harry saw more than once a month or so was Xenophilius - who had built a garage and everything for them to maintain Fairybell. And, damn, Harry was going to miss the man too, with all his crazy baked goods and crazier theories and an always ready ear for their adventures abroad. Though the new Lovegood house wasn't quite a home, it was something of a safe harbour. Place they could always return to, always be welcome at.

The idea of never parking their bus in the garden - of never making the walk over to the Burrow to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley...

Luna strokes her hand up and down the middle of Harry's back and lets him try to process the loss without saying anything. Her hair smells like green grass and fresh rain, and there's a little ladybug sitting on her hairclip.

Harry draws a shaky inhale and gently picks up the insect and shows it to Luna. "I visited Flourish and Blotts and the Alley Galley," he says, a little stuffy, with his nose suddenly blocked. "There's a few differences between our world and this one, but a lot of it is the same."

"Like what?" Luna asks, as they transfer the bug from Harry's hand to her knuckles. 

"Well, Voldemort and the first war happened. Grizelda Marchbanks is the Chief Warlock of Wizangamot, rather than Dumbledore. My younger self, my parents, all that went down the same as we know. Neville's mum survived the war unscathed, though - but his dad was killed. And…" Harry wets his lips. "Sirius is in Azkaban for the same thing as in our world, but only eleven muggles died. Stuff like that."

"Hmm," Luna says, still leaning against him, watching the ladybug crawl down her finger and over her colourful nail polish. "We should make another evidence board to keep track of the differences so we don't get confused."

"Yeah," Harry says, resting his lips briefly against her hair. She's so small and nice and he's so glad she's there. "I got some papers and history books so we can compare. Also did some shopping."

Luna looks up, nudging the bottom of his chin with her head. "Did you get me pudding?"

"Yes, I did," Harry says and with a final, gentle squeeze, releases her. "Thank you, I needed that."

Luna smiles, patting his back before pulling away and turning towards Fairybell. "Let's put the shopping away and then we can have some pudding and theorise."

"Yeah. Let's do that."

They can't nail down exactly where the world's changed, but there are a few changes that they can track.

Diagon Alley is more or less the same. Gringotts stands exactly where it was back home, Fortesque's looks like it had before the second war, Ollivanders is pretty much exactly the same - as is Garrick Ollivander who, apparently, has looked the same for decades. Madame Malkin's has a different style of robes in its storefront, but it's still there. Leaky Caldron is exactly as dingy and grimy and welcoming as it was the last time Harry visited.

"Tom's looking way younger though," Harry adds, arms folded as he thinks back - kind of wishing he had thought to bring one of their cameras along. "The sequence to open the pathway to the alley was different - I had to ask him to open it."

There are a few stores Harry didn't know at the Alley, and a couple stores - like 2nd Hand Brooms and Noltie's Botanical Novelties - weren't there at all. In the place of first there is a shop called Armoured Attire, and in the place of second there is Warvey's Warding and Wierding. They both look pretty well entrenched in the alley.

"Neither sound familiar," Luna admits, adding them to the list of differences.

"I thought they might be something leftover from the first war," Harry muses. "I imagine some spell-proof robes and home warding were in pretty high demand during the war." 

He'd popped into Armoured Attire - the stuff they sell is pretty pricey, but it isn't like genuine dragonhide robes were cheap in their world either. He'd managed to not give into the temptation to get a set, but it was a close thing - there was this beautiful dark green set of robes with scales that looked almost like stained glass with dark bronze edges and buttons to match, and, yeah. It was a close thing.

"How was the atmosphere?" Luna asks curiously.

Harry considers it for a moment. "Kind of like it was after the war, last time," he muses. "There are a lot of wanted posters and propaganda stuff plastered on the side alleys - they still haven't caught all the suspected Death Eaters or their sympathisers. And there are Aurors patrolling the alleys, Knockturn too."

"I suppose it makes sense, with how many people were under Imperius curses back then," Luna says thoughtfully, making a note of it. "Things would've been tense, for a while after."

After doing a general sweep over Diagon Alley and making sure the Galleons, Sickles and Knuts he and Luna had were still worth something, Harry did his best to check up on people to compare and see where the differences lie.

The Longbottoms is one thing. Bellatrix Lestrange is another - she'd been charged with the murder of Frank Longbottom, but, strangely, her sentence was lighter here than back home. Guess murdering one person is less horrifying than torturing two to insanity. She's still in Azkaban, but not in the same wing of it, from what they can figure out.

Lucius Malfoy and his family had gotten out of their particular charges the same way they had in Harry and Luna's original world - by claiming they were Imperiused. No changes there - except that Draco Malfoy was born a twin. He has a fraternal twin named Phoenix, apparently. The Malfoys are very proud.

Barty Crouch and his ordeal seems roughly the same as in their world, though it's hard to say whether he's been switched with Mrs. Crouch yet.

"I am tired of Death Eaters," Luna says ruefully, setting down her empty pudding cup as Harry copies a list of known Death Eaters onto the blackboard from their signed edition of Comprehensive Accounting of the Wizarding War. "What about our friends?"

"Well, the Weasleys are the same, from what I could see," Harry says, using a stick of chalk to scratch at his dyed hairline in thought. "There isn't exactly a census I could check, though, but it was written in an article about Arthur that he has seven children. Neville is living with his mother, here's hoping that will work out better for him than living with his grandmother. I, uh, don't know about the rest, I didn't really check. Your dad and mum are alright, though."

Luna relaxes a little. "That's good to know. Do they live in Ottery St. Catchpole?"

"They do, yeah - and they have a young girl named Luna," Harry says, giving her a smile while leading through the book. "As far as I could tell, they're more or less the same in both worlds."

Luna nods slowly, fiddling with her necklaces. One of them has beads shaped like dirigible plums. "I want to go see them."

Harry hesitates, lowering the book. "Right now?"

She shrugs. "Eventually. I want to go see them and talk to them and tell them everything," Luna says and meets his gaze. "I want them to know I exist."

Well. Knowing Xenophilius, it wouldn't take much for the man to believe them. And if the alternate Xenophilius is anything like their version, it would take a lot for people to believe him, if he chose to tell anyone. Harry can just imagine how it would go - Xenophilius introducing Luna as his "grown up daughter from an alternative timeline!" and people rolling their eyes and going, "yeah, right, sure she is."

Harry doesn't know Pandora, though, and can't guess how she would react. But… that doesn't really matter.

"Yeah, okay, we can do that," Harry says, setting the book down and sitting down beside her with a sigh. "I want to get Sirius out of Azkaban, as soon as possible, and I don't really care how we do it."

Luna looks at him and doesn't say the obvious thing - he won't be the man you knew and you aren't his godson. "That seems more time sensitive," she says instead, a thoughtful look coming to her face. "We should do that first."

Harry looks at her and for a moment he's speechless with how much he loves her. "You reckon?"

Luna nods and holds out her hand. Harry places the chalk on it, and she stands up. "Freeing a high value prisoner from Azkaban," she begins, writing it down on the blackboard. "Do you think we could break in?"

"Maybe in Voldemort's time when the defences were all busted up," Harry says, reaching for his own, hitherto untouched cup of pudding. "Here and now they will probably be the strongest they're going to get, with a fresh batch of Death Eaters to hold."

"Could we sneak in under disguise?" Luna wonders, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as she considers it. "Bring in a decoy and bring out Sirius?"

"Like the Crouches did?" Harry asks and spoons a bit of pudding to his mouth, thinking about it. "Who would take Sirius' place, though?"

"We could use a charmed inanimate object, maybe?" Luna suggests. "Together I believe we could transfigure it to look like a person. It would die, of course, but people die in Azkaban all the time."

Harry hesitates. They could charm something, a trunk maybe, to look like a dog to take with them to Azkaban and then Sirius could animagus his way out with them, leaving the trunk behind transfigured into human… which is, not just very illegal, but also very hard to do. "With our luck someone would want an autopsy or something."

"Hm," Luna pauses, tugging idly on her earrings as she thinks. "Maybe we could set a fire to take care of the remains?"

"Be a bit suspicious, I doubt there's enough material in those cells to burn," Harry says thoughtfully, lowering the spoon to the cup. Not that he had ever seen what was in them, but he doubts the prisoners of Azkaban were given tables and bookshelves. "We could go the legal way - capture Peter Pettigrew, clear Sirius of the false charges, get him released."

Luna tilts her head towards him. "Well… it would make things easier for him in the long run," she says slowly. "He would be a free man and wouldn't have to hide. However…"

"It would take much longer, leaving him stuck in Azkaban for days, maybe weeks," Harry says with a sigh and leans back on the plastic camping chair.

Luna is quiet for a moment and then looks away. "You do know they put Sirius Black away for a reason, don't you, Harry?"

"Well, yeah, it looked like he killed 12 muggles - and Peter Pettigrew," Harry says, looking down at the cup. It still makes him irrationally angry, thinking about it.

Luna shakes her head. "That's not what I mean," she says and starts writing something on the board. "Sirius Black was the heir of his house, and its future Lord. Before him was only his mother, right? His grandfather Pollux was the Lord when he was imprisoned, but he's old, and I think Sirius Black's mother will die in a few years too. He'd have been the Lord of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black by the year 1990."

On the board it reads Sirius Black and under it Falsely Accused.

"... Well, yeah, I guess so," Harry says slowly, a little taken aback. "I didn't know you were interested in stuff like that. Also, I thought Sirius was disinherited?"

"I looked into it with Daddy, after everything. Pollux Black reinstated Sirius after he took over the lordship," Luna explains with a shrug and writes No Investigation. "It was all so very convenient, don't you think, what happened to him? Sirius Black was the Heir of House of Black, and no one investigated his crimes. He was just taken to prison, and that was it."

Harry blinks and then slowly sets the pudding cup aside. "What are you saying?"

"If your godfather had lived free, he would have become one of the most influential purebloods in the wizarding world," Luna points out, and writes No Interrogation on the board. "Black Family is ancient, wealthy, and they have connections to a lot of magical businesses. Sirius would've had quite a deal of power, as the Head of the family."

"It definitely didn't feel like it, when he escaped prison," Harry mutters, a confused unease dawning in his gut as he watches her.

"Well, he was an escaped convict, living on the run," Luna shrugs, waving a hand lightly. "But if he had been free, he would've been powerful enough to rival a lot of the other pureblood families. If he had children, they would've been the most sought after heirs in the wizarding world for marriage. Black children were always popular. But your godfather never had kids, Harry, he never got the chance to make a family - because he went to prison. And no one argued against it, because he was on the wrong side of the war."

On the board she writes No Trial.

Harry runs a hand over the back of his neck, staring at the board. He's not sure if his blood is running cold or hot - he feels a little ill all of a sudden. "You think someone put Sirius in prison on purpose? To stop him from having kids?" he asks feebly.

"And from rebuilding the Blacks as a Light side family." Luna turns to him, tilting her head quizzically. "If Sirius Black had died without a named heir, who would've inherited him?"

Harry doesn't even have to think about it. "Draco Malfoy," he says grimly. "But he didn't because I was Sirius' named heir."

"You were supposed to die, Harry," Luna points out gently.

Harry swallows, looking between her and the black board. "You mean - but - hold on, Pettigrew killing those people and Sirius taking the fall, that was a complete accident, no one could've predicted that -" he stops sharply in realisation. 

Luna looks at him patiently, head slightly inclined in expectation. 

"It was planned," Harry says faintly. "Before my parents were killed, before he went to Godric's Hollow, Voldemort was already planning for the aftermath - to pin the betrayal on Sirius. Only Sirius knew Peter was the Secret Keeper. With Sirius gone, Draco became the heir, Peter became a hero and the Black family fortunes stayed on the Dark side. Peter just… executed the plan and used it to escape."

Luna writes on the board Life Imprisonment and then points to it. "I think the only reason Sirius Black wasn't given the Dementor's kiss is because they found out he did have a named heir," she says solemnly. "And as long as you lived, Draco Malfoy wasn't going to inherit anything."

"But - wait, Pollux Black is still alive, right? Why didn't he just disinherit Sirius again?" Harry asks.

Luna shrugs. "I don't know, but he didn't. Sirius stayed his heir until Pollux's death."

Harry swallows, looking at the blackboard and the list she had written. Sirius Black, Falsely Accused - No Investigation, No Interrogation, No Trial, Life Imprisonment. "Any other Pureblood scion would've gotten a fair trial, wouldn't they," Harry says, his voice quiet.

"Lucius Malfoy was witnessed committing several atrocities," Luna points out. "And he got away with it by claiming he was imperiused. Sirius Black wasn't even given a chance to plead his case."

"That's… Luna," Harry says, looking at her, feeling oddly hollowed out all of sudden. "You figured this out back in 1996? And didn't tell me?"

"Well," she says, hesitating and looking away, at the entrance leading inside Fairybell. She looks a little awkward all of a sudden. "I thought you knew at least some of it. It's only speculation - and your godfather was already dead. I didn't think it would help or change anything, to speculate." She clears her throat a little. "And people said it was creepy to talk about things like that. I didn't want to be creepy to you."

Harry just stares at her, speechless.

Luna fiddles with her bangles uneasily. "If it turned out my mum died because of a conspiracy, I think it would make me feel awful," she murmurs.

Harry shakes his head and looks at the blackboard again. Well, it probably wouldn't have helped at the time - he already had so much on his plate back then, he was barely scraping by with how much there was going on. But if he had known, he could've sought out justice, he could've done something, he could've…

Probably gotten into a whole load more trouble, if he's being honest.

"It wouldn't have made your godfather any less gone, back then," Luna says, looking at the board. "But now it might make a difference."

Harry's shoulders slump a little and he shakes his head. "Knowing this, even if we bring Pettigrew to light and force him to confess, the people who want Sirius gone - who are after Black Family fortunes or whatever - they would still try to keep him imprisoned."

Luna looks at him searchingly and then puts down the chalk. "I don't think it's a bad idea, to get a confession," she says, joining him at the camping table. "But maybe we should prepare for the eventuality that it won't be enough. Just in case."

"... yeah," Harry says and draws a breath. He would need some time for all of that to settle in. He would need several days to be mad about it. But… as long as Sirius - any version of Sirius - is stuck in Azkaban, it's time he can't waste. "So. First we get a confession and then we stage a prison breakout."

Luna hums, watching him worriedly. "That seems like the most reasonable course of action," she says and then, quietly, asks, "Are you angry, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry says and reaches for her hand, giving it a squeeze. "But not at you, Luna, I promise."

Luna sighs. "Okay, that's good."

Harry hums and releases her hand. He is a bit angry at her too, for not telling him before… but he's not going to take it out on her. It would pass. Luna's not the one who did it, and it isn't her job to work out the conspiracies surrounding his life for him. She could've told him before, sure - but then, he could've figured it out on his own, too. And he hadn't, he hadn't even looked into it. He'd known Sirius never got a trial, but he'd never bothered to question it. That's on him.

And besides, there are other, much more deserving recipients for his ire. 

"So, Luna," he says with false cheer. "Fancy a trip to the Burrow to kidnap a rat?"

"That sounds delightful, Harry," Luna agrees, standing up. "I'm driving."

Chapter Text

It's decisively odd to drive to Ottery St. Catchpole and not head straight home. Fairybell doesn't seem to like it either - she is pulling on the wheel, trying to follow old familiar roads to the familiar backyard. Of course, Fairybell doesn't know that her garage wouldn't be there, and that there wasn't even any space in the old garden for a VW bus like her. She was a compact little thing - but the Lovegoods of this time wouldn't have a driveway. Daddy only built it after they got Fairybell, after all.

Luna is trying not to wonder whether the Lovegoods of here and now might eventually accommodate them in similar ways. She isn't their daughter. Harry isn't their friend. They don't know anything about them. They don't even know they exist.

It's a disheartening thought, but there would be time for it later.

Luna finds a place to park in a little copse of woods, as near the Burrow as she can without being detected. Fairybell tells her there's wards around the Weasley home - which is understandable, of course. There was a war not so long ago.

"They seem to be different from the way they were, in the future," she comments to Harry, who is sitting beside her on the front passenger seat, using his wand to draw the blond out of his hair.

"Well, their wards in the future were made by Bill," Harry comments, grimacing as his wand gets caught on a tangle. "And I reckon they would still be on high alert, with so many Death Eaters still on the loose.

"That does seem likely," Luna agrees, stroking her hand down Fairybell's console, soothing her as the engine comes to a stall. "They would have detection charms," she points out.

"The Invisibility Cloak throws all of those off," Harry says and pulls at his wand, yanking out the curl pattern from his hair as he does and letting it settle in its usual state of scruffy and sticking every which way in a feathery mess. "Though I wouldn't mind a distraction, just in case."

"I think I can do that," Luna says and considers him. As delightful as it was to give him blond curls, black really does suit him the best. "Hmm… I should probably put on a disguise. Can I borrow your hair?"

Harry gives her a look. "Black hair does not suit you," he points out. "And it makes you look a bit scary."

"Yes, that's why I want it," Luna says and takes out her wand. "They will concentrate on the suspicious person poking around their wards, and not the pet rat that mysteriously goes missing."

Harry ruffles a hand through his hair a little self-consciously - it's cute - and then shrugs. "If you're sure. I don't want them to call Aurors on you, though, so, maybe don't act… too suspicious."

"I will pick berries," Luna explains, holding her wand loosely towards him. "From the raspberry bushes near the edge of the wards. It will be unusual but not a crime."

Harry hums dubiously and then lowers his hand. "Alright, sounds like a plan."

Luna smiles and then waves her wand towards his hair, sampling it. Charming her hair to look like his is always a little messy - with how long and curly her hair is and how scruffy and untamed his is, it always ends up a tangled mess in the process. It is not, she knows, a good look - it makes her look wild and unkempt. But that serves a purpose.

The hair now covers most of her face, but Luna adds a bit of colour and contour and some smudges of suspicious looking dirt, just enough to change the appearance of her face's shape. And then she colours her teeth too, for good measure. 

Harry watches her, looking mildly impressed, before reaching out to take her hairclips while Luna eases her earrings off.

"Let me get my berry basket and a cloak to throw over my dress," Luna says, wild black hair almost covering her eyes now. "And we'll get going."

"I'll change my boots," Harry says, turning the passenger seat around and heading into the house. "And get the Invisibility Cloak."

And that is about as much preparation as they do for the infiltration of the Burrow, Luna covering up her dress in a raggedy black cloak and Harry pulling on a pair of Smith's Sneakers. Luna picks up her berry basket from the kitchen along with an empty glass jar, while Harry gets the Invisibility Cloak and grabs his Mokeskin pouch of various burglary tools, and then they're ready.

"You know," Harry comments, holding out the Cloak. "Since this thing came with us, does that mean there's now two Invisibility Cloaks here?"

Luna considers the silvery fabric, barely visible in Harry's hold. "I suppose so," she muses and hands him the jar. "The Four Deathly Hallows. Hm."

"You'd think that there'd be some kind of… I don't know, cosmic law, to prevent that sort of thing," Harry says thoughtfully, slipping the jar into the pouch. Then he makes a face. "Maybe the Cloak of this world got replaced?"

Tilting her head, Luna thinks about it. "Do you know where the other one would be right now?"

"I think Dumbledore has it."

"I see," Luna hums. "Not something we can easily check up on, then. I suppose we will never know. Perhaps we will hear about it at some point, if the Cloak of this world has been destroyed by laws preventing the accidental duplication of Deathly Artefacts."

"Yeah, with my luck it will be when Dumbledore comes after me for being a thief, or something," Harry mutters and then shrugs, fatalistic. "Well, at least it's not the Elder Wand - now that would've been a disaster."

"Agreed," Luna says.

Harry pulls on the Invisibility Cloak, Luna puts on her most vagabond-like expression, and together they leave Fairybell hidden in the trees.

"Maybe we should've waited until the night," Harry murmurs, invisible.

"It would've been thematic," Luna agrees. The weather in Ottery St. Catchpole is bright and sunny with mild wind stirring the trees and bushes. Not quite espionage weather, as these things go, but Luna has learned not to expect perfect synergy from the world. "Well then, I am off to the wards. Be careful, Harry."

"You too," Harry says. "I'll send the usual signal when I'm done. Don't let the Weasleys get you in the house, we will never be able to leave if they do."

"I should be able to avoid it," Luna says - but just in case, she casts a couple of stink hexes into her cloak, to produce a stinging odour of poor hygiene. Even Mrs. Weasley wouldn't invite someone stinking like the loo into her home, no matter how polite she is being.

Hopefully. Mrs. Weasley could be kindly insistent to a fault.

Luna listens to the quiet murmur of Harry casting spells, silencing himself and muffling his presence, and then he's gone - only the way he brushes aside some branches gives him away. Then Luna is alone on the edge of the woods with wind messing her already tangled, matted mess of hair even further.

Odd, how the air twenty two years back in time smells the same, but feels so different. There are so many more Nargles about than she's used to. Wackspurts too. It seems the Weasleys have had some difficult times.

Luna watches the Purging Goldylows fly towards the Weasley's warding stones, and follows them to the berry bushes.

The raspberries grow thick and large near the Burrow's wards, but it looks like Mrs. Weasley has gotten to them already. Most of the bushes are picked clean, with even the bottom most branches emptied by sneaky little hands. Judging by the bite marks, pixies have gotten to the rest.

Still, there are few that must've been unripe when Mrs. Weasley had been picking the bushes, so there's something for Luna to do while inching her way towards the wards, tempting them to react. At the same time, she idly counts the seconds. At Harry's usual pace, it would take him perhaps three minutes to reach the house...

She knows the wards have picked up on her presence when the Purging Goldylows begin bouncing off the ground and into air, letting off little puffs of magic as they do. Alarm has been raised - the wards would be letting Mr. Weasley know someone was there. If he was home, then he would be out to meet Luna in -

There's a muffled crack of apparition nearby, and then Luna's instincts tell her she is being watched - and then, held at wand point.

She doesn't react and instead picks another handful of berries, examining them. Some of them are over-ripe, some are barely ripe. Hm. Perhaps Harry could make a jam out of them. Some raspberry jam would be nice, maybe with pancakes. She would have to ask Harry if he wouldn't mind making some for breakfast, next morning.

There's a knife's edge moment of indecisive tension, before there's a crack of twig snapping under foot and then a voice, calling, "Ah, hello there? Excuse me - Madam?"

Luna lifts her head up as though startled. "What?"

"Miss," Mr. Weasley says, wading through the bushes. "Excuse me, Miss? Are you lost?"

Luna blinks at the man, curious. Mr. Weasley has a full head of hair, and he looks rather harried and also… rather rogueish? And much like his elder sons, in fact. How nice for Mrs. Weasley. "I am exactly where I mean to be," Luna says and turns back to the bushes.

Mr. Weasley hesitates, still holding a wand, though he's hiding it behind his leg. "Ah, you - I'm sorry, but I am afraid you are on our land - is there something I can help you with?" the wizard asks, uncertain.

"You can stop picking all the berries," Luna says and shows him her meagre handful. "There's almost nothing left!"

"Berries?" Mr. Weasley asks. "Ah, yes, I believe my wife and sons picked raspberries here the other day. But - ah. Yes, I believe there are some more berries over there."

He points away from the wards and Luna lifts her head to look. She sniffs. "Bah," and then turns back to the bushes surrounding them - shuffling ever closer to the ward line. 

"Miss, really - the pickings will be much better over there, I'm sure," Mr. Weasley says, following, trying to steer her away - all the while scrunching his nose up to her smell. "I really think you ought to go that way - Miss -"

Luna rummages through the bushes as though ignoring him - but at the same time, keeping him in her field of view, just in case. Polite people, she muses, are so easy to wind up, but it doesn't hurt to stay aware. Mr. Weasley has the tendency of throwing punches when push comes to shove, after all.

"Picking all the berries," she mutters, not quite under her breath, watching him from under her messy black hair. "For shame - oughta leave some for other people to pick, really. It's only polite."

"Ah, well, I'm sure my wife believed it was only her picking these bushes - ah, Miss, what is your name?" Mr. Weasley asks. "My name is Arthur Weasley, I live just over there. You are…?" he trails away, leadingly.

"Maggot," Luna says.

"I'm sorry?!" Mr. Weasley, asks, affronted.

Luna tilts her head towards him, and shows the worm she'd picked up from one of the bushes. "There's maggots in these berries."

"Ah, well," the wizard clears his throat. "Tell you what, how about I help you pick these raspberries - over there. That bush over there looks much fuller - Miss, please -"

The trick of proper distraction, Luna has found, is to be harmless, but irritating. If you come across as too dangerous you raise alarms and people get wary and look for traps and if you're too nice about it people dismiss you quickly. But when you're just a little bit annoying but overall come across as useless, people let down their guards, just a little. They get huffy and roll their eyes and put their hands on their hips and don't take you seriously - but they decide they have to keep an eye on you.

You hold so much more of people's attention, when you're being an annoyance. You're so much more… distracting.

Luna winds up Mr. Weasley with her shuffling and rummaging, just on the edge of the wards. She even manages to get a decent haul of berries - before Mrs. Weasley comes, wand held against her side, half hidden by her hems. She looks tense and alert - at least until she spots Mr. Weasley looking at Luna helplessly, and Luna, elbow deep in the bushes, arms full of scratches.

Mrs. Weasley looks down - checking Luna's bare inner arm - and then clears her throat. "Arthur, dear - what's this?"

"Well, this is -" Mr. Weasley hesitates. "She's picking berries."

"So I see! Hello dear," Mrs. Weasley says, turning to Luna. "Are you new in the area? Do you need some help?"

Luna looks at the witch from under her hair. Mrs. Weasley is in slightly thinner shape than she was in future, but her style is about the same, as is her aura, exuding a sort of lovely, oppressive warmth. "Help picking berries?" Luna asks dubiously.

"Well, certainly I can help - but I have some berries in our house, as well as a nice batch of freshly made jam, if you would like some," Mrs. Weasley says, coming closer, not so much as batting an eye at the stink. "Oh, what lovely hair you have, thick and strong. I'm Molly - this is my husband, Arthur."

Luna shifts back before Mrs. Weasley can get close enough to make out the stink for what it was, a hex. "I don't want your help, I can pick my own berries, make my own jam," Luna says sharply. "I don't need anybody."

Mrs. Weasley stops her advance and gives her a wretchedly sympathetic look. "Oh, dear, you've been through some things haven't you," she murmurs, casting a look at Arthur. A bit of nonverbal communication via the use of eyebrows and eyeball flicks takes place between them and then Mrs. Weasley clears her throat.

"Well, uh, how about this," she says, smiling warmly. "I will help you pick some berries and Arthur will get some jam from the house. We'll call it a gift, alright?"

Luna eyeballs Mrs. Weasley and thinks she is one of the most wonderful people she knows. Mrs. Weasley also makes wonderful jam and it's been a while since Luna has had some, so it is very tempting. However… Harry is out there, in the Burrow, rummaging through the place.

"I said I don't want your jam," Luna says as obstinately as she knows how and turns away. "I can make my own jam."

"Alright, alright," Mrs. Weasley soothes, holding her hands up a little, wand hidden away now. "Of course you can, dear - but we can still help you. Would you mind if we helped you pick? It will make the whole thing go by much faster, I promise."

Luna doesn't answer, biting her lip, and Mrs. Weasley takes that for an answer. "Well then," she says, rolling up her sleeves. "Let's see if we can fill up that basket for you. I do believe there's some nice raspberries over there. Come on, Arthur, you can help too."

Luna feels a little guilty.

"Have you been in Ottery St. Catchpole for long, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks cheerfully as they work. "It's a nice area, quiet and peaceful. Have you met any of our other neighbours? They're all very lovely people - I can introduce you, if you'd like. It's been a while since we got new neighbours, it's always nice to see new folk coming in…"

She chatters on, clearly trying to put Luna at ease. Luna can see what she's doing and it's really very nice of her, but it makes Luna feel a little awkward and like she's doing something a bit naughty. Which she is. She's aiding and abetting a house burglary. Which is especially concerning with the Weasley children no doubt being at the house. Of course Harry wouldn't hurt the kids, but still…

"Of course, you should settle in, make yourself comfortable. No need to hurry off to meet everyone until you're comfortable," Mrs. Weasley says, very understanding. "It's been some hectic time, after all - but it's nice that things are finally going back to normal, isn't it?"

Luna bites her lip and then blurts out. "You have a lot of Wrackspurts around your wardline. You should do something about that."

Mrs. Weasley lifts her head, startled. "I'm sorry, dear?"

"Wrackspurts," Luna says. "They're attracted by insecurity and can wear down on magical barriers. They eat magic, you know. And infest people."

Mrs. Weasley blinks at her and then shares a look with her husband. "I see… Well. Thank you for telling us, dear. We'll do something about it, don't you worry."

Luna looks away, knowing they wouldn't do anything about it, but at least they know now. It makes her feel a little better for sneaking around and fooling them.

There's a crowing coming from overhead as a bird flies away from the Burrow. Harry is done with his mission, then.

"I have to go," Luna says, picking up her basket and standing up straighter.

"Oh, I see. Well, here you are," Mrs. Weasley says and deposits the raspberries she and Mr. Weasley had gathered into Luna's basket. "There, that should be enough for a batch of jam, I think. Do come visit us again, won't you, dear, let us know how the jam came out."

Luna looks down at the basket. It's not quite full, but it is a decent haul. "Thank you," she says. "I probably won't, though."

Mrs. Weasley smiles as she looks Luna over. She seems a little pained. "That's alright, if you don't want to. Just take care of yourself, alright, dear? And if you need anything… you can come here. We'll be happy to help you."

Luna looks at her. Mrs. Weasley is younger and clearly tired - she would have a lot of young children right now, so she must be really busy. But she's still being so nice. Mr. Weasley is nice too, smiling at her encouragingly, despite the fact that he looks a little harried. Luna wonders if he has a job at the ministry yet. Probably not. 

"If it's in our power to help, we will," Mr. Weasley says, regardless. "We'll always help our neighbours if we can."

"I'm sorry," Luna says, shuffling her feet a little. "You're very nice. Thank you for the berries."

"You're very welcome, dear," Mrs. Weasley says with a warm smile. "Do you know how to get back?"

"Yes," Luna says, looking down at the basket again. It feels like she ought to say something more or do something more, but more might give things away she shouldn't. Best not. "I will be going now."

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley says. "Stay safe, dear."

Luna nods, bows her head, and then heads away, wondering about the impression she'd left. Clearly Mrs. Weasley had seen something more than the suspicious vagabond Luna had been aiming for. Homeless girl, maybe? Potentially starving homeless girl. In hindsight, introducing the Weasleys to a character like that only to disappear her seems a little mean.

Hopefully the Weasleys would forget her soon and not be too worried about her.

But it did its job - Harry is back, waiting by Fairybell, holding a glass jar with a fat unconscious rat in it. "Got him," Harry says and shakes the jar. There are holes in the lid. "I saw you talking to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, how did that go? How were they?"

Luna thinks about it and then draws a breath. Mrs. Weasley always makes her feel a bit sad - and miss her mum. "Young and tired," Luna says. 

"Makes sense - the kids are pretty rowdy," Harry agrees, leaning back against the VW bus. He has a strange expression on. "Five boys and two girls is a lot to handle."

Two girls? Luna hums and looks at the rat in the jar. He looks completely out of it, but you never know with animagi. It's hard to tell when a rat is faking it. "That does sound difficult."

"Yeah," Harry says and blows out a breath, slumping back against the bus. He looks like whatever he saw at the Burrow probably affected him too, and he's not quite dealing.

Luna puts the berry basket down. "I would like some physical comfort, please."

Without hesitation, Harry holds out his arms and Luna steps into their hold, sighing as he pulls her close. His arms are heavy and secure around her, and it feels wonderful.

"You smell godawful," Harry complains but doesn't let go. "Stink hex?"

"Yes," Luna says, leaning into him, planting her face squarely in the middle of his chest.

"It's terrible," Harry says and nuzzles his nose into her hair. "Good job."

"Thank you."

They're quiet and still for a moment, leaning against Fairybell's side.

"Want to help me interrogate a rat before we drop him off at the Ministry?" Harry then asks.

"Yes. We should move, though," Luna says against his chest. "I wouldn't want to risk Mr. and Mrs. Weasley investigating any suspicious noises."

Of course, the bus is under a Fidelius, so there's no real fear of anyone hearing anything from inside it, but still…

"Agreed." Harry gives her a squeeze and stroking his hands down her back before pulling back to look at her. "Before we go, though…"

"Yes, Harry?"

"... Please get rid of that hex before you step inside."

Chapter Text

Peter wakes up tied to a chair, in a place he doesn't know, and immediately he panics.

His animagus transformation has been reversed and he can't change back. Trying to wriggle free, he feels the ropes around his wrists, tying him into the chair. His feet have been bound up too, and there's a loop of rope around his neck - trying to lean forward even a bit constricts his air. Which then makes him panic more.

It's a dizzy sort of panic, though. His head feels off, stuffed full of wool, slow and clumsy. Every thought and movement sloshes like he's wading through mud. Underneath him, the chair doesn't even budge, no matter how he struggles.

He's been confounded, maybe drugged. Doused with something.

The last person to do that was Sirius, as an experiment - he wanted to see if alcohol plus Confundus charm made a better buzz. It was awful. Peter had never thrown up like that before. And of course Sirius hadn't warned him or asked for permission to do it, either, the prick. Merlin, Peter is glad he's in Azkaban.

Sirius is still in Azkaban… right?

Because Peter has been caught and captured. Someone found him! But who would - and how? He was hidden! He got away! No one knew he was still alive!

Except Sirius.

Shaking his head to try to clear it, Peter squints around, trying to instinctively sniff the air for clues. The place he is in, it looks like a tent - there's curtains of fabric all around him and above him, and he can't see anything past them. So, not Aurors then! They'd probably put him straight in a cell. That's good. Maybe. Or very bad.

What is he thinking - he'd been captured! Of course it's bad!

There's no one there. Good, good, that means he has time, he can think about this, think of a way out of it. 

His last memory is going to sleep, curled up on a pillow beside Peggy's bed, snug and warm and full of crackers. It was a quiet evening - the girl had been reading all day while the other kids played. How had Peter ended up being found? Everything was perfect! 

It must be Sirius. Maybe he'd gotten out! Or someone had talked to Sirius and Sirius had told them! But how did they find Peter? No one could've known. Who would suspect a girl's pet rat? 

Oh, everything has been going so well! Peter has been so well hidden, and with a Light side family too. The Burrow is a complete madhouse, but the Weasleys are idiots, so it was supposed to be safe! They weren't supposed to ever suspect him! Sure, it was a bit undignified, living with them, as a pet, but less than being questioned and interrogated and charged. Peter would happily live the rest of his life as a girl's pet rat rather than be sent to prison. To Azkaban!

There's movement in front of him, and Peter almost shrieks in fright as a figure in a dark purple hooded cloak slips past the canvas curtains. It's a woman, judging by the hand that slips out of the deep sleeves, a wand held loose in slender fingers. 

As Peter holds his breath in terror, the witch floats something into the tent. 

A phonograph - and a gleaming silver microphone on a stand.

"W-who are you?" Peter manages, leaning back in the chair and trying to wiggle his hands loose. "What's going on - what are you going to do with that?"

The woman doesn't answer - she twiddles with the phonograph for a moment, putting on a blank record, before turning to him with the microphone. As she does, Peter sees her face - though there's not much to see. Her cloak hood covers her hair, and underneath it she's wearing a mask. 

It's not a standard Death Eater mask, it's more of a blank, generic female face.

"I - I'm - I'm one of the good guys," Peter says, shaky, as the woman sets up the microphone in front of him, carefully adjusting the stand and situating it so that it would capture his voice. "This is - this is all a misunderstanding! I'm one of the good guys! Really - I - I'm - what, what's your name?"

The witch doesn't answer - she draws wires from the microphone to the phonograph and then looks up as another figure in similar cloak steps through the tent walls. Judging by the height and shoulders, this one is a wizard.

He's wearing an identical mask as the woman - a generic female face, staring blindly ahead from underneath a black hood.

Peter swallows as the woman activates the phonograph - and it starts to record.

The wizard steps up to the microphone and speaks to it. "The day is 15th of August, 1982," he says and pulls out a newspaper. "The headline of the Daily Prophet reads:Celebrating the Boy Who Lived, with subtitle that reads, Ministry for Magic to organize All Hallow's Eve Ball for the first time in five years in celebration of the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, and his victory over He Who Must Be Named."

Peter leans back fearfully, trying to move his arms, his legs, anything - but none of the ropes feel like they are inclined to loosen.

The masked man tucks the paper under his arm. "Administering Veritaserum now," he says and nods to his partner and with a jolt Peter realised that the woman has taken something from inside her purple cloak - a clear crystal phial, holding clear liquid.

"No, no, no - you can't - " Peter says, and then clamps his mouth shut, teeth clenched and lips tucked in. It works only for a second - before the woman pries his jaws open with a gentle flick of her wand, easy as anything. Then, with a dropper and a delicate hand, she measures exactly three drops on his tongue.

Veritaserum tastes like electrical burn, and as much as Peter would like to spit it out, it's too late, it's already leaking down, numbing his tongue, his throat.

Peter has a vague realisation that this is very, very bad for him - and then his mind starts going numb, too.

"Let's give that a minute to work," the man says, taking out a pocket watch and waiting on it for a moment. "There we go. Alright. What is your name?"

"... Peter Pettigrew," slips out of his mouth, almost by itself.

"What is your date of birth?"

Peter answers that truthfully too, and all the questions that follow - where he was born, who his parents were, where did he go to school, and so on. There's a sinking, uneasy feeling growing in Peter's gut as he realises - the man is establishing his identity. 

"What is your most embarrassing memory?" the wizard asks.

"Professor McGonagall walking in on me wanking in the library," Peter says, and wishes he could bite his tongue.

"... Well, then, I think we can safely say that it's working," the masked wizard says blandly. He takes a moment to conjure an armchair and take a seat, while the witch leans against the armrest, watching. "Now. Tell me about James Potter and Sirius Black. You were friends, right?"

"We were school mates," Peter answers.

"Not friends, then?" The masked wizard leans in. "What did you feel about them?"

As much as Peter knows he should, he can't fight the Veritaserum. He can't even try - the moment a question is asked, he answers it automatically, his mind barely even trying to resist. Under that influence, he tells them everything.

"I think they were cool. They were the best in the class. Everyone liked them - except Snape."

"So you think they were good people?"

"They were bullies, but they were cool bullies."

"Okay…" the masked wizard says slowly. "What about Lily Potter - what do you think about her?"

"Lily was smart and pretty and on a different level than me, we had nothing in common until she started dating James."

"Alright," the wizard says, adjusting the plentiful sleeves of his robes. "You idolised them all, but something changed, didn't it?"

Yeah. Peter had grown up. "They were the best in school. But then school ended, and they weren't the best anymore."

"Tell me about what happened after you graduated. You took part in the war, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"How did that come about?"

"We joined the Order of the Phoenix together - Albus Dumbledore recruited James and Sirius and Lily - Remus and me, we were just tag-alongs. But we got in because they got in. They wanted people to fight the Dark Lord."

"What did you do for the Order, Peter?'

"Not much. I thought I could maybe listen in on people, eavesdrop on secret meetings, but Sirius and James didn't want to tell anyone about our animagus forms, so, I didn't either."

"So you hid your abilities from your allies. Did you take part in any battles?"

"Yes, some."

"How did that go?"

"Poorly. I almost died loads of times," Peter says and tries not to remember it, the chaos, the flashing lights, hexes thrown left and right… the pain, the blood, the horror of the aftermath.

The masked wizard is quiet for a moment. "When did you first think you might want to change sides?"

He hadn't, not consciously - but the truth potion drags an answer out of him anyway. "After the fight in the Knockturn Alley where Remus almost lost his leg. That was when I realised the Order of the Phoenix had way fewer people than the Death Eaters. We were outmatched, almost always."

"Didn't you win a lot of those battles?"

"James and Sirius won a few fights, sure, but it was always a close thing. We lost people. The Prewett twins died. James' father. I thought it was only a matter of time…"

"And then you decided to defect? How did it happen?"

"It was Severus Snape - he recruited me."

The questioning stops there, for a moment - distantly Peter notices the way the man startles and looks at the woman. They're both surprised. "Severus Snape," the man repeats. "How did he recruit you?"

"He approached me in Hogsmeade. We got into talking," Peter says, thinking back. It had been after a raid on one of the Order hideouts, and everyone had been a little out of sorts. They were looking for a new meeting place and using Hog's Head in the meanwhile - and that's where Peter ran into Snape. He knew Snape was a Death Eater, everyone knew he was a Death Eater - but for some reason, Peter decided to talk to him anyway. He'd been a bit drunk.

They talked about what prats James and Sirius used to be back in school, and Peter had thought It used to be cool back then. Now it's just kind of pathetic.

Being a school bully after school just doesn't carry the same weight. Dumbledore favoured James, sure, but James wasn't even the strongest fighter in the Order - Frank Longbottom was. The stunts James and Sirius pulled out in the field, the way they put people in danger - Peter is pretty sure they got Gideon killed with their acting. And it didn't thrill Peter anymore - it terrified him.

They were in a war. People were dying. And James and Sirius were mocking their enemies - enemies who had the advantage over them in pretty much everything.

He thought, How long until they get me killed, too?

"And Snape told you it was better with the Death Eaters, did he?" the masked wizard asks.

"Snape offered me something I didn't think the Order could give," Peter answers. "Hope for the future."

Despite everything, Peter was still a pureblood - and there was a place for purebloods in the Dark Lord's world. There, Peter would be secure, he would have a place, he would have influence. If he served the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord would take care of him.

He could be more than just the shadow of James Potter and Sirius Black's juvenile shenanigans.

At the time, Peter had told himself it was just so that he could spy on the Death Eaters. He would go to one meeting, just to see what was going on… and if something happened, he would tell Dumbledore, he would tell James and Sirius. He would be a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.

Then he'd gone to the meeting, where Lucius Malfoy had set him up with some new robes and shoes and handed over a pouch full of Galleons, saying,"People like us should take care of each other."

"How many Galleons was it?" the masked wizard asks, curious, the witch tilting her head a little.

Peter struggles not to admit, because in hindsight it wasn't a lot - but it slips out, despite his struggling. "... Hundred."

"You sold your allegiance for a hundred Galleons?" the wizard asks dubiously.

".... Yes. No."

It was mostly for the promise of more, for the security a hundred galleons gave him, for the knowledge that he would have his expenses met for the next month or so. The Order of the Phoenix never gave him anything, except missions. The Death Eaters took care of him.

The masked wizard pauses and looks at the witch. "Seems like he's starting to fight it."

"I'll douse him again," she agrees, her voice light and sweet - and then she has the veritaserum out again and she's coming for Peter. His struggles work even poorer this time, and in no time at all, Peter is going numb again.

There's a long moment of silence as they wait for the potion to work its way through him, and then the masked wizard draws a breath and asks, "When did you learn about Voldemort's plans to go after the Potters?"

"Mid October."

"What did you think about it?"

"Nothing. The Dark Lord had been trying to get rid of them for months. They were a thorn in his side. They had to go."

"And you didn't feel at all guilty? They were your friends."

"I did feel guilty, but they'd chosen what side of the war they served, and it was the wrong side."

Peter's head is starting to pound.

"... right," the man mutters and crosses one leg over the other, leaning back on the chair. He's quiet for a moment, his blank mask facing Peter.

The masked witch, once again at the wizard's side, runs a hand over the man's shoulders and then speaks. "Knowing the Dark Lord was after the Potters and planning to kill them, did you intentionally attempt to take the position as the Secret Keeper of the Fidelius Charm hiding their house?" she asks.

"Yes, I did," Peter says. 

"Tell us how it happened."

Peter tells them. In an Order of the Phoenix meeting, Dumbledore announced that he had evidence that the Dark Lord would be targeting Potters specifically, and that they and young Harry would be put under a Fidelius Charm to protect them. Dumbledore and James were meaning to use Sirius as their secret keeper, but Peter had an idea.

"After everyone had left, I told James and Lily that Sirius was an obvious choice and he'd be immediately targeted," Peter says and despite everything, he still feels a bit smug about it. "And that no one would expect it if it was me instead."

It was the cleverest thing he's done since he mastered the Animagus transformation. 

The masked wizard doesn't seem impressed - he's leaning forward now, his elbows resting on his knees, and Peter can feel how he glares.

Beside him, the witch calmly asks, "And they agreed?"

They did. The charm was cast, Godric's Hollow was hidden - and Peter went to the Dark Lord to tell his news.

"And what did Voldemort do?" the masked wizard asks, his face inscrutable behind the mask but his voice a growl.

"He made plans," Peter says, wheezing a little, leaning heavier against the rope wrapped around his neck. "And told me not to tell anyone."

Peter isn't sure why the Dark Lord wanted to wait until Halloween, but that was the plan. On All Hallows Eve, he would go to Godric's Hollow, and kill the Potters.

The witch asks, "And what were you supposed to do, Peter?"

"I was meant to go after Sirius, and make sure he took the blame for it," Peter says. "The Dark Lord had everything prepared - he gave me phials of Erumpet Potion to use. He told me to lure or drive Sirius to Muggle London and make sure there were casualties."

"Did he tell why he wanted Sirius Black to take the blame for the betrayal?"

Peter blinks, confused. His right eye is throbbing. "I thought it was so no one would know it was me?"

The masked wizard hums, noncommittal, and leans back on the armchair. "Things didn't go to plan, though, did they? Harry Potter survived and Voldemort perished. What did you do after?"

"I tried to run," Peter says, with some effort. He can't breathe right. "Sirius cornered me in Muggle London. He was mad, he blamed me. He was going to kill me. I knew I couldn't beat him in a fight, so I used the Dark Lord's plan. I shouted that Sirius was a traitor, that he's to blame - and then I used the potion phials in a crowd of muggles. Then I cut off a finger, turned into a rat, and ran."

The microphone seems to sway and Peter feels cold sweat on his face and has hair. He feels funny - he feels awful. 

"I guess that's about enough," the masked wizard says, looking at the witch. "I don't think he can take any more."

The woman hums in agreement and turns her masked gaze to Peter. "Peter Pettigrew, did you betray the Potters to He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"Yes," Peter chokes, staring at her blearily. The mask looks familiar.

"Peter Pettigrew, did you murder eleven muggles and pin the blame on Sirius Black?"

"Y-yes," Peter grunts, squinting. He can't quite see right, but the mask…

"Peter Pettigrew," the woman says slower. "Are you a -"

Peter passes out with the realisation that he knows the face depicted by their masks.

It's Lily - they're both wearing Lily's face.

Peter wakes up with a vicious, splitting headache, to find himself unbound, lying flat on his back on a hard wooden slat. It smells like piss and wet stone and misery, and the air is damp and cold. The tent is gone. The roof above his head is stone.

Fearful, Peter looks around and knows, immediately, that he's at the Ministry. There's a banner hanging just outside - with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement logo in it.

"He's awake!" someone calls, and an Auror steps into view. It takes a moment for Peter's vision to clear enough to recognize him.

It's Walden Macnair.

"Oh," Peter says faintly, sitting up on the slat. His head feels split open, and everything sways. "H-hello?"

"Hello, Peter," Macnair says with an expression that could be grim or gleeful, it's hard to tell with Macnair. "Welcome back to the world of the living."

Peter swallows, looking around. "Where - how -?"

"Seems like some vigilante has taken the law into their own hands. They decided to drop you off at our doorsteps," Macnair says. "Aren't we lucky?"

"That's - um," Peter says, uncertain. He can't really tell what Macnair is feeling. He knows the man served Voldemort and worked as an Auror, they met at one of the meetings, but this is… this might be bad. 

Macnair was the Dark Lord's favourite executioner, after all.

"I'm," Peter licks his lips nervously and tries to make himself small. "I'm innocent?"

Macnair snorts. "We have a record that says otherwise," he says darkly. "You're lucky you're already double doused with Veritaserum, you know, otherwise you would already be singing in interrogation."

Peter swallows. So, those masked people, they did not only drop him here, but the record they made as well. Bollocks. "What will happen to me?" he asks quietly.

"Now that is the question, isn't it?" Macnair says and leans in, staring at him. "Peter Pettigrew, did you know you are the last person - aside from Harry Potter - to see the Dark Lord alive?"

"O-oh? I am? I didn't know that," Peter says, quivering.

"There are a lot of people curious about that night, you know," Macnair says darkly, his eyes hard as steel. "Let's talk about it, shall we? And then we can figure out what might happen next."