Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry loved his wife—he really did—but for the love of Merlin, could she be so irritating sometimes.

She was perfect just the way she was, and he’d duel anyone who said otherwise, but she also had far too many Molly-ish tendencies for his peace of mind. Not that he’d ever tell her that. He was happily married and he’d very much like to keep it that way, thank you kindly. Also, she still had that nasty Bat-Bogey Hex in her arsenal, and the last time he’d gotten on her nerves enough to experience it firsthand... well, his nose still twitched when he remembered.

Lately, she’d been pestering him—relentlessly—about a strange noise coming from the attic of the manor.

Now, why she didn’t just investigate herself was beyond him. And she called herself a Gryffindor! He’d rather just hire a professional. It was probably a doxie infestation, or at worst, a boggart.

He shivered. Boggarts. No, thank you. He really wasn’t in the mood to see a bloody dementor today.

Still, those pest-control people charged ridiculous fees. Even if he pulled the Boy-Who-Lived-turned-Man-Who-Won card, they’d probably double the cost just because they knew he could afford it. And while he could afford it, he was, and always would be, frugal. What more did he need in life, really, besides good food, fresh air, and the love of his beautiful, slightly maddening family?

So here he was, on a sunny Saturday morning, wand in hand, standing at the top of the creaky old stairs that led to the attic.

The kids were likely in the pool—he could hear their laughter floating up through the open windows. Merlin, he loved that sound. It was music to his soul.

But... there was one laugh missing.

Ally.

He smiled. His sweet middle child. The one who insisted on being called Ally only by immediate family (and Uncle Ron, who was an exception to all rules for reasons no one could ever explain). Ally said it was because it rhymed with Jamie, Lily, and Teddy. Lily despised nicknames for herself but handed them out like Chocolate Frogs to everyone else. His sweet Ally felt that not having a rhyming name was a huge crime

Just last week, Ally had been absolutely obsessed with The Lord of the Rings. To the point where, when Harry tried to gently pry the book from his hands, Ally’s accidental magic had merged him into the book. He’d spent two hours trapped inside a scene with Gandalf and a very confused Gollum, three calming draughts later (one of which he had) and one very stern lecture from his mum, who was secretly amused later and the boy swore he would never touch the book, but he secretly knew Ally was to curious to truly abandon it.

That was probably where Ally was now—curled up somewhere, nose-deep in that book.

Harry shook his head. Enough thinking about the kids. He had a job to do.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the trap door to the attic. Dust swirled in the beam of sunlight behind him, dancing lazily.

Then—something stirred.

A box in the corner tipped over, lid creaking, and from it emerged a blurry shape. It shimmered—shifting, forming—until it became unmistakably Ally.

Harry blinked. “Ally? What are you doing up here, shouldn’t you be out—”

His words were cut off as the boy in front of him suddenly began spurting blood—from his eyes, ears, and mouth.

“Ally! Ally! NO!” Harry screamed, stumbling forward, his heart plummeting. Tears blurred his vision. He slashed his palm open on a rusty nail, but he didn’t care. That pain was nothing.

He dropped to his knees beside the limp body—and then the trap door creaked behind him.

“Daddy?” came a small, confused voice. “What’s wrong? I heard you shout for me and—Merlin, why’s your hand bleeding?”

Harry turned, whipped around, and crushed the real Ally to his chest. Relief hit him like a thunderclap.

But the boggart—because it had to be a boggart—wasn’t satisfied.

The bloodied doppelgänger lifted its eyes, gazing right at the real Albus.

No.

Harry would never let anyone—thing, person, spirit, creature—harm his children, not while he lived. And if death ever tried? He’d fight it then, too.

He placed Al behind him, shielding him with his body. His voice was ragged but unshaken.

“Riddikulus!”

His wand flashed. For a moment, nothing happened—then his normally calm green eyes flared gold, as if something ancient and terrible stirred in his blood.

Instead of retreating, the boggart disintegrated. Shattered like glass.

The force of the magic slammed through the attic. The entire house shook. Harry collapsed, curling protectively around Ally as they hit the ground. His hand cupped the back of his son’s head, angling his body to shield him.

“Didn’t mean for that to happen,” he laughed breathlessly, trying to sit up.

He used his hand to properly himself up—a dusty old mirror. It glowed faintly beneath his palm, where blood had smeared across the surface.

“Daddy... what’s happening?” Ally whisper-shouted, wide-eyed.

Harry didn’t have time to answer. Footsteps pounded up the ladder. The trap door flung open—and Teddy’s purple hair popped into view.

“Dad!” she shouted. Hid voice was terrified.

Why was he shouting?

That was the last thing Harry heard before the mirror behind him flared brilliant white—and the world went dark.

____________________________________________________

Albus knew right away that he wasn’t home anymore.

For one, there wasn’t a giant statue of what looked suspiciously like Merlin himself in his attic. Also, the air tasted stale, heavy with mold and dust. His attic was supposed to be his hiding place—until a month ago, when he’d spotted a spider the size of a cow. (Thanks, Uncle Ron. Arachnophobia was apparently hereditary.)

The only reason he’d gone up there today was because his Daddy had sounded scared. Not angry, not annoyed—scared. And if Daddy needed him, he would brave anything.

“Daddy?” he called, his voice cracking. “Daddy! Where are you?”

Silence answered.

His heart pounded, and panic pressed against his ribs like a trapped bird. His Daddy had told him not to go up there today. He said it might be dangerous. His Daddy never got mad at silly things—but when he was angry, it was always quiet. He’d just stare, straight through you, like he was judging your very soul.

Al would rather face Mum’s screaming fury than that look from Daddy.

He stumbled forward, nearly tripping on a loose floorboard. Then—he saw it. A dark lump. Black curls. A familiar form slumped on the floor.

“Daddy?” he whispered.

No response.

He ran—dropped to his knees—and shook him. Nothing. His daddy didn’t move.

“Daddy! Please wake up! I’m sorry I came, I know I wasn’t supposed to—I’m sorry—I just—please—”

He sobbed, curling over his father’s chest. His tears soaked into Daddy’s shirt. He would rather have him scold him. He’d take a thousand disappointed looks. Anything but this silence.

Then—

“Oomph!” came a groan beneath him.

“Easy there, love,” Daddy rasped. “Still a bit sore.”

Albus nearly cried again from sheer relief. He threw his arms around him.

“I’m sorry, Daddy! I just—I heard you calling for me like I was dead and—”

“Oh, Ally,” Daddy whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I could never be mad at you. I’m just so, so glad you’re alright.”

They stayed like that for a moment—warm and close. Albus listened to his Daddy’s heartbeat, calm and steady. It made him feel safe.

“Where are we, Ally?”

Al looked around. “Honestly, Daddy? I have no idea.”

Daddy smiled, just a little. “Alright then. Up we go.”

His arms wrapped around Albus, lifting him effortlessly as they explored the strange room.

Eventually, they found a door. Light spilled in, too bright. Albus buried his face in Daddy’s neck.

“so tierd,” he mumbled sleepily.

Daddy chuckled. “Sleep, my son. I’ll protect you while you, always.”

And Albus believed him. Because in Daddy’s arms, the world could never hurt him.

He drifted off, barely hearing Daddy murmur something like, “Impossible…”

Only minutes passed before he was jolted awake—this time standing behind his father.

But this wasn’t soft Daddy anymore.

This was Head Auror Harry Potter. The one people whispered about. The one criminals feared.

“Who are you?” his Daddy’s voice rang out like thunder. “And what do you want with me and my son?”

Albus peeked up at his face. His father’s eyes weren’t green anymore.

They were glowing gold.

Chapter Text

Harry had a small, soft smile on his face.

Ally was barely five minutes into his nap and already drooling on his shoulder, warm and impossibly heavy with sleep. His messy hair tickled Harry’s jaw, and his tiny fingers were still curled into the front of Harry’s robes like he was afraid to let go.

Merlin, he was small. Too small to be caught up in this. Whatever this was.

Harry adjusted his grip slightly, balancing his son’s weight with the ease of long practice, and kept walking. The corridors stretched around them like an old memory — familiar, comforting, and yet—

Wrong.

It looked like Hogwarts. And Harry knew Hogwarts. He’d fought battles in these halls. He’d nearly died in them. He’d learned how to live in them, too. He knew which torches flickered more than others, which steps squeaked, which suits of armour had a sense of humour and which ones didn’t.

But this version of the castle… it wasn’t aged. There were no burn marks near the Great Hall, no scuffs in the stones where battles had raged. The air felt lighter, like the castle hadn't yet been carved hollow by war and grief.

He didn’t know how long he walked. The silence was so thick it rang in his ears.

There were no students — no chatter, no laughter, no sound of voices melding together into an unharmonious melody. It was the holidays, yes, but even during breaks, there were usually a few professors wandering about, house-elves darting past, or the odd owl swooping through the rafters.

But now… nothing.

Just him. And Ally. And the walls that had watched him grow up the first time. A flicker of movement caught his eye. He turned the corner—

And stopped cold.

There, standing in the corridor as though she’d never left it, was Madam Pomfrey.

Alive.

Not the older, silver-haired matron who used to cluck over his injuries with a mixture of fondness and fury. Not the woman who had once scolded him for sneaking chocolate frogs into the hospital wing, or stitched him up after the war when he’d nearly lost his arm.

No, this Pomfrey was younger — maybe in her thirties. Her spine was straighter, her eyes sharper. There were fewer lines on her face. Her uniform looked freshly pressed.

And Harry’s breath caught.

She had died. Not in battle. Not during some grand cause. But peacefully, after a long and full life, surrounded by colleagues and students who loved her.

He remembered holding Ginny’s hand at the funeral last. He remembered telling Jamie that she was gone but should never be forgotten.

And now she stood in front of him — real, solid, alive.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice confused. “Are you alright?”

Harry’s instincts surged to the surface.

Before she could take another step, hecradled Ally close. He kept one hand on his wand, the other shielding his son as if his body alone could become a wall between them and whatever magic this was.

His voice came out low, firm, and laced with warning.

“Who are you?” he said. “What do you want with me and my son?”

Pomfrey blinked, clearly taken aback, the concern in her eyes fading.

“Answer the question.”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. His tone was enough to freeze a Death Eater in their tracks. The softness had drained from his face, leaving something steel-sharp and unrelenting.

He knew what it meant to be tricked by something that wore a familiar face.

Behind him, he felt a small movement — a shift of fabric, the gentle press of a child waking. Albus’s sleepy green eyes peeked up at Harry , still half-dreaming.

“Daddy…?”

Ally’s voice was soft, puzzled.

But what struck Harry in the gut wasn’t the sound — it was the look.

His son looked scared. Not of fake—Pomfrey.

Of him.

Harry’s heart twisted sharply in his chest.

No. Not now. He couldn’t— There wasn’t time to explain. To soothe. To soften his edges the way his children deserved.

Later. Later, he’d kneel down and look Al in the eyes and say something that made sense. But right now, every cell in his body screamed that they weren’t safe.

So he didn’t move.
eyes fixed on the woman in front of him. The woman who should not be here.

He’d faced death before.

But he’d never let it touch his son without his permission.

Not now. Not ever.

He turned back to the fake Pomfrey only to find out she wasn't standing there anymore.

"Daddy?" Ally asked once more.

He scooped his son up, ignoring the cry of surprise from his son, and ran full speed for the door.

On his way he came across another face that was supposed to be in the grave: Albus Dumbledore, his mentor, his role model, his supporter, and most of all, the one person in the world who knew him best besides his family.

This was enough to break him out of his running.

"Alright, what the fucking hell is going on here?" He knew he shouldn't swear in front of his kid; he knew he was setting a bad example, but how could someone wearing his face walk these walls? What were these people playing at?

The imposter's eyes widened in surprise, taking in the man and the small child in his arms.

"Now, my boy—"

"I am not your boy," he said quietly. He managed to reign in his temper as Ally was firm in his arms.

Imposter Dumbledore's eyes became steely.

"I assure you, young man, I intend you no harm."

"Lies. You're posing as Dumbledore in an obvious attempt to get me to lower my guard and try to kill me in my moment of distraction."

"My dear b—man, I assure you I am he that you speak of."

"Lies," he whispered, glaring with all his might. And it must have been effective, because he saw fake Dumbledore's placid smile fade, and in its place was the face of the man who had defeated the most notorious Dark Lord in history.

"I assure you, I mean you no harm. I would even swear on my very magic if that is what it would take for you to believe."

'Is this man mad? Why would he do something as stupid as that?' he thought to himself. But then again, Dumbledore had always done strange things.

He looked down at Ally in his arms, who was staring up at him with curious green eyes — so much like his own, but somehow brighter, clearly trying to gauge his pending reaction.

'Well, no better time to be a good example than the present.'

He willed himself to calm down but tightened his hold around his son.

"Okay, Dumbledore. I'll ask a question only the real Dumbledore will know, and if you answer wrong, you're through."

"That scar in your right elbow — what's the shape of it?"

Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle, and a jovial smile lit up his face.

"Ah, what an ingenious question, a riddle within a riddle. How fascinating. But the answer to that would have to be false, as the scar on my left knee is the shape of the London Underground Tube map. How you came to know that would be an intriguing tale indeed."

Harry relaxed, unwillingly. This had to be Dumbledore. He wasn't sure why, and he wasn't sure how this came to be. He looked at Dumbledore and saw him smiling down at Ally.

"My, what a remarkable resemblance. He is your son, yes?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"Well, let's just say that there is a student right here in this very castle who looks remarkably like your son over there."

"Me?" Ally said, and even Harry looked down at him, his mind jumping to a million conclusions a minute.

"Well, I've heard that a few times actually. I'm pretty sure you're referring to Jamie, right?"

"You know James Potter?" Dumbledore was genuinely baffled, an expression that Harry relished seeing because he'd almost never seen it on his headmaster’s face.

 

"Yeah." He sighed. "But wish I didn’t. I wish he wasn't brother sometimes."

"Albus Severus, don’t say such things. You know your brother loves you in his own… unique way."

" what an unusual name you have."

"Well, yeah. I was named after you ‘cause you were my daddy’s favourite pro—" Albus was cut off as his mouth suddenly vanished. He hadn’t even seen his dad move his wand.

"I do think we should take this discussion to my office. The portraits have ears, after all."

"Isn't it walls, sir?" asked Ally.

Dumbledore looked bemused. Why would that be? And he just sighed as Al explained the origin of the metaphor — the man in question listening as if Ally were telling him where he kept the Gringotts key to his million-galleon vault.

He sighed and trailed after the two Albus, stepping over the trick step on the way as if it were just yesterday he walked these walls, and continuing on, but not before making sure Al didn’t fall for the trick step as well. Dumbledore, meanwhile, just smiled at the attentiveness of the father, finding the scene endearing.

Now Harry had put two things together. He wasn’t dumb, after all: youngish Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore — while not enough to support his full conclusions — were certainly feeding him information. While walking with Ally in hand, he observed things. The castle looked cleaner somehow, not drastically new, but pristine compared to what he remembered. And there, right up ahead, the tower next to the Headmaster’s office — blown to smithereens by a nasty blasting curse from one of the Death Eaters who had missed Ginny’s head by inches — was replaced. New, yet familiar. Here it was in all its glory. That was enough to cement the fact: he and his son had indeed wound up somewhere in the past.

Albus in the other hand was so excited. He’d heard many stories about his namesake and had always wanted the opportunity to pick the man’s no-doubt extraordinary brain. And so far, he was enjoying it immensely. The man was full of stories — some insightful, some not — but he enjoyed it all the same.

"—and that’s how I got the scar your father mentioned earlier," Dumbledore said jovially as they reached his office. They whispered the password — “Mars Bars” — and stepped inside.

Harry was amazed. He had always wanted to meet Fawkes, the phoenix, in his fully grown state. Any time his mum or daddy went to visit Headmistress McGonagall, he was either not there or the bird was restarting its life cycle.

He giggled and reached to pet the phoenix. The Headmaster smiled at him, and his father also reached forward.

"Hello, Fawkes," Daddy said in a strange, soft voice.

Fawkes turned his fiery head, looked at him in confusion, but didn’t pull away. In fact, he flew out of Ally’s arms and leapt onto his father’s shoulder. Ally looked on in awe. He had heard that phoenixes only liked good people, but he shouldn’t have expected something like this — his daddy was the goodest person he knew.

Even Professor Dumbledore seemed to relax a bit. The strain in his shoulders was gone, and his smile toward his father was no longer tight-lipped.

"Fawkes doesn’t always take that well to strangers. You must have a really good soul, young man," Dumbledore said. Daddy just blushed and muttered something too soft for Ally to hear.

Daddy put the bird back on its swing and stood there awkwardly until the old professor invited them to sit down.

"So, who are you really, and how did you get into Hogwarts without my foreknowledge?"