Chapter Text
Harry Potter awoke with a pained groan. He pressed his palm to his forehead, crumpling the odd frames of glasses that were falling apart. He spluttered, pulled them off, and discarded them to the side before rubbing his eyes, wincing as a piece of glass caught his brow.
"Merlin," he moaned. "Where am I?"
He glanced around, eyes still squinted although his glasses were no longer needed (he was very glad he'd taken that eye recovery potion after… he didn't remember.) Harry felt like a part of his brain was clouding over, or dissolving. His vision was blotched white. He lifted a finger to his brow.
It pulled away, stained red as a blooming pain exploded in his forehead.
"Fuck!" Harry cried, clutching his head. He rolled over and writhed a bit on the ground, before the pain cleared and he stilled.
Harry lay panting on the floor, his chest heaving pathetically. That felt worse than a cruciatus. Wait, what was a cruciatus? Harry scowled at himself for being freakish(from what he could remember, being freakish was bad, and being bad had nasty consequences) and pushed himself upright.
Harry looked around. It was dark, but slivers of lights fell through cracks in what appeared to be wood. Harry found a door shape and pushed against it, staggering upright.
He sprawled against the ground as the door fell open. Voices became louder, then quieted as eyes turned his way. Harry coughed pathetically, trying to force himself up with shaking arms. Was he always this weak? Did everything always look this big?
Harry saw a shadow fall near his head and looked up, eyes big and scared.
"Merlin, kid, are you alright? You took quite a fall there." A boy, younger than him -wait, younger? what age was Harry?- but intimidatingly tall, leaned over and stuck his hand out before pulling Harry up with uncanny ease.
"Who-who are you? Where am I?" Harry stuttered, feeling small and vulnerable. Tears sprung to his eyes as his brow throbbed and something red dripped past his left eye.
"By the Gods… what happened? You look awful!" the boy exclaimed, grabbing his arm. "What's your name? Did you hit your head?"
Harry watched him, baffled, and then burst into sobs.
The boy cursed and mumbled something under his breath. Harry's skin tingled and the red disappeared. He shivered and stifled a sob.
"Okay… calm down, calm down. My… My name is Olivier Desmund. I- you're on platform Nine and Three-quarters. How… how old are you? What's your name?"
Harry sniffled. "Harry," he choked out.
"Harry," Desmund said, sounding relieved. "Will you, uh, come with me? I… the train's about to leave, I can bring you to a nurse. He's… he's very good, he'll fix you up in no time."
Harry sniffed and nodded tearfully, raising his hand to rub at his eyes. The red -was it blood?- was back again, and Harry sucked on his fingers to rid of it. It wouldn't do to get it on his shirt.
"H-hey, don't do that, that's unsanitary-!" Desmund cried, waving his hands around awkwardly. He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him away from where they were standing, and towards a large steaming train. Harry thought it looked familiar.
Desmund pulled him into a carriage with one other person in it, who he quickly started talking to after he carefully pushed Harry down on the bench. Harry fell asleep before he could hear a word of their conversation.
He was awoken by a hand carefully shaking him. Harry sighed and opened his eyes, turning his head towards the voice.
"Hey, Harry, we're here," Desmund said. "Come, I'll get you into the castle and we can get to the Healer."
There was a swirl of familiar corridors and then a large, white room.
"Prefect Desmund!" a male voice said. "What happened here? Did a first year fall into the lake again?"
"No, Sir, I found him in the station like this… I used a mild cleaning charm to stop the wound on his eyebrow from getting infected…" Desmund said, and Harry swayed on his feet, the voices appearing quieter and quieter.
Harry was led to a bed and given something that tasted cold to swallow. Harry made a muffled complaint but downed the liquid, giving a startled grunt when his head cleared and his vision stopped blurring.
"Yes, I thought so," a man, rather young, said thoughtfully. "Seems he's hit his head. I'll have to keep him here. I'll see what the headmaster says of this. It was quite risky, taking a stranger here. It could have been a muggle!" He scolded Desmund.
"Sorry, Sir. I couldn't think of another option. I don't know any healers personally, and since he was on the platform, I just assumed…"
"Well, you were lucky. Go off now, the feast's sure to have started by now."
"Will he be alright?" Desmund said, taking a few steps towards the doors. Harry looked around. He appeared to be in an infirmary- a large one, at that.
"I'll make sure of it, Mr Desmund. Now shoo- the first years won't get to the Hufflepuff dorms by themselves."
Desmund nodded and made his way out. The man turned to Harry and smiled.
"Hello there, chap. My name's Healer Kyren, I'm the school nurse here. What's your name?"
"Harry," Harry said again looking at the oddly familiar environment.
"Do you have a last name, Harry?" Healer Kyren asked, keeping his smile firmly on his face.
"I don't know. I don't remember."
"Okay," Healer Kyren began, inhaling slowly, "where are you from?"
Harry blinked, and thought long and hard. "I'm not sure."
Healer Kyren pulled a slight face and Harry blinked. He felt irritable, like he was feeling too many things at once.
"Do you know what year it is, Harry?"
Harry blinked. It seemed like a stupid question- how would he not know? and yet… Harry felt panicked as he realised that, no, he didn't know.
Healer Kyren must have seen the look on his face and quickly worked to calm him down. "It's alright, Harry. It's September 1st, 1941. Can you repeat that for me?"
Harry nodded slowly. "September first, nineteen forty-one." He felt there was something wrong about the date, but the feeling faded momentarily.
"Very good. Is it alright if I perform a diagnostic on you, Harry? It'll just be a moment, and all you'll have to do is sit still for a bit."
Harry nodded, and followed the instructions. Healer Kyren waved an odd piece of wood and mumbled something. Harry frowned.
"What's that?" he asked, still sitting as still as he could manage. He was beginning to feel drowsy again.
"That's a wand, Harry," Healer Kyren said. "You can relax now," he added, snatching a piece of paper out of the air with one hand and waving the other one dismissively. Harry did as he was told.
Healer Kyren frowned more and more as he read down the list of things. "I see," he said finally as he put the list away and it disappeared into a puff of glitter. "Well, Harry, it appears you're going to have to drink some more potions."
Harry blinked at him owlishly, then pulled a face. "Will they be nasty?"
"Well, that really depends on what you mean by 'nasty'," Healer Kyren said, walking over to a cabinet full of bottles filled with oddly coloured drinks. He pulled out two mud-coloured ones and one light pink one, and a small pot of light green cream. When he caught Harry looking at them with apprehension, he smiled and explained. "These two brown ones are nutrient potions- they'll help you grow better and make up for all the nutrients you're missing. You haven't eaten a proper meal in a long time, my boy. The pink one is a very light blood replenisher, but it also acts as an aid with concussions, since you seem to have hit your head rather hard. The green paste is for your eyebrow."
Harry nodded and accepted the two brown potions when they were given to him. He downed them with a grimace and then reluctantly drank the pink one, feeling relieved when it tasted like nothing in particular rather than metallic mud. He closed his eyes as Healer Kyren applied the salve to his eyebrow.
"You have gorgeous eyes, Harry," Healer Kyren said with a smile, "did you know that? They're a beautiful, vivid green colour. It's very nice."
Harry flushed and looked away. Healer Kyren just smiled more and turned away to attend to other business. Harry sighed and laid back against the soft pillows of the bed. His back ached- he didn't remember the last time he laid in a proper bed, not a makeshift mattress or flimsy futon. Then again, he didn't remember much of anything.
Harry was kept in the infirmary for the entire night before the headmaster showed up.
"No, there were no students missing from the ceremony. You said his records show he's eleven, right?" the headmaster, Mr Dippet, asked.
"Yes, and his magical core is intact: no issues there. It's a bit strained from lingering magical exhaustion, but it's not serious."
"How come he's not on the Ministry's records? Usually they notify the school of potential muggleborns attending. Is he even..?" Dippet asked.
"With all due respect, Sir, the diagnostic spell only gives a diagnosis, not a summary of a person's bloodline. But no, his core isn't untrained, so it's unlikely he's muggleborn. Although there are signs of physical abuse and neglect- any respectable wizard knows what happens when you hit a magical child. He's a very peculiar case." Healer Kyren smiled at Harry.
Headmaster Dippet turned to face Harry as well. "What's your name, my boy?"
"Harry," said Harry. "I'm not sure what my surname is."
"My theory is that he's gone through some head trauma," Healer Kyren began, glancing at Dippet, "and that it gave him amnesia. He doesn't appear to recognise much at all, in fact- despite likely being raised by magical parents. He did come in with a concussion and in mild shock."
"Hmm," Dippet hummed. "I suppose, but… what will we do with him? He doesn't remember where he came from, and heritage tests are expensive…"
"Well, isn't it obvious? He'll have to stay here. There's nothing else we can do- there's no way we could send him to a muggle orphanage. Besides, he's just the age of a first year- he needs an education, Armando."
Dippet dragged a hand over his face after Healer Kyren was done ranting. "Very well. Give the boy a suitable last name- something obscure but clearly magical. Get him Sorted- we'll say he's a transfer on a scholarship. Hopefully he does well in... something, so we can justify it."
Healer Kyren raised a brow and looked at Dippet, unimpressed. Harry could understand why- he didn't like himself being talked about like an object or a show dog, either.
Dippet cast Harry a non-committal glance before he left the Infirmary.
"Well, Harry. Let's think of a decent last name for you, shall we?" Healer Kyren looked back towards Harry and smiled kindly. Harry nodded.
"Hmm... Owen? Owens? How's that sound?"
Harry nodded absentmindedly because he wasn't sure- he knew that it wasn't his name, but he didn't know what was, so he just went along with it. "Sounds good."
Healer Kyren clapped excitedly. "Wonderful! Well, let's now quickly create some documents. You're a first year, so you'd be born in... either 1929 or 1930. Let's make that 1930, it's more logical. Let's see...When do you want your birthday to be? It can only be from January to August."
"Uhh," Harry said unhelpfully, "July? The... thirty-first of July? I think that's my real birthday, it feels familiar."
Healer Kyren grinned happily at Harry. "Well, it's good that you feel you remember something. July 31st, 1930 it is. There we go..." He scribbled some words down on thick paper with a feather and ink before standing up straight again.
"And done! I'll go make a few copies of this and make a medical form -I did a diagnostic so I have a good gist of what's going on- and a school acceptance letter. You should go up to the Headmaster's office, he'll get you Sorted," Healer Kyren snickered a little, making Harry confused, "and someone'll accompany you to get your stuff- your wand, that is. You'll probably get second-hand school books because you don't have any known funds."
Healer Kyren smiled and muttered some strange words. A beam of light connected itself to Harry's chest and the other end trailed out of the open infirmary door.
"Follow that light- it'll bring you to the headmaster's office. The password is;" he mumbled a string of weird words which Harry took to memorizing instantly. "Yes, that. Now, off you go!" the healer said with a smile.
Harry followed the string of light and reproduced the sound of the words the best he could, relieved when the doorway opened. He stepped on the staircase and almost fell over when it began to move upwards, carrying him along with it.
He stumbled out of the top doorway at the end of the moving stairs. The light from his chest disappeared.
"Oh, hello there my boy. Are you alright?" Dippet said, turning around and looking at Harry.
Harry nodded shakily and stood in the doorway until he was invited to sit down. Once he was settled, the headmaster addressed him once again.
"So, what's the name Healer Kyren gave you? I hope all the documents are done."
Harry nodded. "Harry Owens, sir."
Dippet nodded. "Well then, Mr Owens. It appears that you do not have any school equipment yet- most of this can be fixed, we have spare robes and telescopes and all of that, but potions ingredients and a wand will be trickier. Before all that, though, let's get you Sorted."
"Sorted?" Harry asked.
"Yes- you'll need to know which House you're in, after all. It'll just take a minute." Dippet stood up and went to an old bookcase, and waved his wand to retrieve an old, barren hat from the top shelf. Harry tilted his head slightly, curious as to where this was going.
"Hello Armando," it croaked in an old voice. "Do I need to sing the song? My throat is rather sore you know." Harry's eyes widened. A talking hat!
"No need, dear friend- your performance yesterday was wonderful. We just have an unexpected new addition, who needs to be Sorted," explained Dippet.
"A transfer student?"
"You could say that. Here, Owens, just put this on." Dippet lowered the large hat over Harry's head until it obscured his eyes with how large it was.
'Hello there, Mr Owens. Why, it's very empty in here,' the hat said in his ear.
Harry said nothing, just remembered being told he had amnesia.
'yes, that explains it. Well, there are lingering traces of loyalty, but they're too frayed to make you a good 'Puff. I wonder what happened?'
Harry sat still. Could it read his thoughts?
'Yes, Mr Owens, indeed I can. Why, you're not one for smarts, are you... You don't look like a Raven, nor does your head sound like one. A Lion... maybe, maybe, but there's a very strong trace of ambition. I wonder what for... Hopefully in SLYTHERIN, you'll find out."
Harry realised that the had had said the word Slytherin out loud when it reached his ears properly.
"Very good," Dippet said, clapping softly before he removed the hat. "Now, usually we introduce transfers at the start of the year, but you're clearly a bit of a special case. I'll call someone in to accompany you to Diagon Alley. Just one moment, I think Horace is free today."
The headmaster made a weird symbol with his wand and a silver light shot off through the window and circled around the tower when Harry watched it with wide eyes.
Several minutes later, a rather large man came stumbling in through the doorway, his face tinged red with effort.
"Armando, old friend, please don't ever make me walk all the way here from the Dungeons again," he wheezed, bending over and putting his hands on his knees.
"I'll keep it in mind," Dippet said dismissively as the man looked up and saw Harry. Harry fought the urge to shrink back for he had no logical reason to do so.
"Well, I'll be damned! I didn't see this boy at the Feast yesterday. Where's he appeared out of?"
"There was a... complication. He had to stay in the infirmary overnight. Quite a nasty scar he's got from the ordeal, too" Dippet commented offhandedly. Harry's hand shot to his brow, and felt the still sensitive and blemished skin of his new scar where it tore through his eyebrow crudely.
"Horace, this is Harry Owens. Owens, this is Horace Slughorn, but you may call him Professor Slughorn."
Harry nodded mutely as Slughorn grinned.
"Now, Horace, due to his complication and his upbringing -which is private information- Mr Owens here has not yet received his wand or his equipment. I would appreciate it very much if you could accompany him, today if you wish."
Professor Slughorn looked uninterested but agreed anyways. "Will we be taking the floo?"
"Of course, Horace. Go first, if you will- then you can await Mr Owens on the other side."
Slughorn nodded and grabbed some ashy-looking powder from a pot above the fireplace, threw it in -the flames turned green- and stepped inside, before bellowing "The Leaky Cauldron!" and disappearing.
"Now, Mr Owens, if you could please repeat what Horace just did, that would be wonderful." Dippet smiled at him in such a way it made Harry want to scratch his skin off.
He didn't do that- instead, he did as told and threw the powder into the fire, and stepped in the flames -they weren't warm, maybe the temperature of tea left too long- and repeated what Slughorn had said. In a flash, the Headmaster's office disappeared and then he was stumbling out of a fireplace in a worn-down pub. Slughorn was standing off the side, arguing with the bartender, who looked stoic as he told him that no, you can't have a drink, you're teaching children tomorrow for Merlin's sake.
Harry carefully approached them. Slughorn scoffed and turned away from the bartender and towards Harry.
"Well then, what're you waiting for? Let's go," he said impatiently, clearly upset that he hadn't got a drink. Harry followed him out the back and blinked stupidly when the professor began counting out bricks on a stone wall with his wand. Harry started as one of the bricks moved backwards and the wall proceeded to move apart.
"Merlin, I haven't been here since 1932," Slughorn grumbled. "Go on, then." He pushed Harry through the opening in the brick wall, which closed itself as if through magic after they were through.
"Let's see... first things first. Robes. Ah, it'll be the longest, so maybe I'll go ahead and buy us some food while you're there." Slughorn led Harry to a shop where a woman greeted them and immediately dragged Harry over to a podium and told him to stay still.
"My, this is a bit late, isn't it? Hasn't Hogwarts already started?" She asked Harry, as Slughorn had already left. He just nodded mutely while she prattled on pleasantly, measuring and pinning up his sleeves. "It'll be a bit large, but that's because you'll start growing soon. As much as I could use the funds, it's no good to get you back here in three months or so," she explained.
Harry left the shop with a bundle of clothes(work clothes, some gloves, a hat and a winter cloak) after Slughorn came back and paid with some cream stuck in his moustache.
"What's next?" asked Slughorn to noone in particular. "Oh, yes. The books. No, wait, let's get a decent trunk first, to make all that carrying bearable."
So they went to the trunk shop, where Slughorn was forced to buy one of the more fancy trunks since all the cheap ones had been sold out just before school started. The man who sold it to them had beady, glimmering eyes as he rattled off the enchantments on the trunk- most of which Harry had never heard of before, some of which he couldn't even understand what their purpose was.
Then it was time to buy the books. The shopkeeper apologized when he told them most of what he had left was second-hand, and that he'd give a discount for them. Slughorn looked like he couldn't decide wether he felt pleased or annoyed that it was cheaper and less valuable.
They got his cauldron and Slughorn shrunk it for him after taking one look at Harry lugging the thing around. Harry stuck the shrunken cauldron in his pocket, grateful. They got a set of crystal phials -Slughorn insisted crystal was better since glass sometimes had adverse reactions to potions- and a portable telescope, as well as a set of brass scales.
Slughorn told him to forgo the owl, since he could use the ones from school.
Then it was time for his wand. Harry felt a sort of longing in his chest which he pushed down as they entered the shop. The smell of worked wood was strong, and Harry sighed contentedly.
"Well hello there. Looking for a wand, I suppose?" A tall, wiry man said from behind a tall counter. Harry looked at him, curious. The man stared straight back. "Say, that's quite a nasty scar you have. How'd that happen?"
Harry shrugged noncommittally and looked at Slughorn, who was ogling some things on display.
"Horace, those are wand cores, not potions ingredients. It would do well for you to remember that. When was the last time I saw you? When you were a little boy still, I think, coming to get your first wand. Cedar with a dragon heartstring core, 10 and a quarter inches, fairly flexible was it not?"
"Yes," Slughorn grunted. "Come on, old man, let's get this over with."
The man's eyes crinkled in amusement and he turned to pull down some boxes.
Harry's eyes wandered through the shop as the man muttered to himself, landing on a chained cage. He instinctively moved closer as if something was pulling him. He reached out, and-
-Was snatched back by the man's thin hand "Careful, now, mister. That wand's very new, only a week or two old, but it's been incredibly restless, moving on its own. It's rather dangerous for one such as yourself."
Harry took a reluctant step back as the man started pulling down a few more boxes before he opened one and presented it to Harry.
"Just pick it up, give it a wave, see if it likes you."
Harry had barely touched the wand when the chained box flew open and something flew at his face. His hand snapped up to catch the thing, curling around a wand made of smooth wood that had very little bumps or blemishes.
Something wonderful, wild coursed through his body and he closed his eyes as sparks erupted violently from the tip of his wand and a fierce wind ripped at the few papers lying around the store.
"Well, Merlin's beard," the man whispered. Slughorn cursed and struggled a little with something as Harry opened his eyes. "I never would have thought. But it's a very nice wand, boy. Say... care to tell me your name?"
"Harry Owens," said Harry, clenching his wand.
The man hummed, watching Harry scrutinisingly before he turned. "Tell you what, Mr Owens, since your wand is such a troublemaker, I'll cut the price down to four galleons and eleven knuts."
Slughorn rushed to pay the thing after that statement, presumably before the man could change his mind.
"How curious," the man muttered to himself as Slughorn paid. "Those kind of magic bursts you'd only really see in adults with a decently sized core. If he's got such a core now, I wonder what it'll look like when he's older..."
Slughorn didn't grumble at him once as they made their way back to Hogwarts.