Chapter Text
June 1945
The glorious summer was beginning. The war was over. Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald, the Muggles had overthrown the Nazis; life was reviving. With new hope and renewed strength, wizards and Muggles alike were rebuilding their world.
Harry watched a group of Muggles in colorful clothes pass by the window — observing people's suddenly increased desire for beauty was fascinating — and turned back to Tom.
"Well?"
Tom was trying Muggle ice cream for the first time. When he'd lived among Muggles, he'd been too poor; when he'd lived among wizards, he'd looked down on Muggle things.
"Better than Fortescue's," Tom admitted, stunned, then grimaced. "Don't look so pleased."
"I won't," Harry said honestly, trying to wipe the sly smile off his face, though he suspected he wasn't very successful, and tried to change the subject. "What do you plan to do after Hogwarts?"
The NEWT results weren't out yet, but Harry had no doubt Tom would have perfect marks. Many paths were open to him.
"What did I do in your past?" Tom asked in return, putting another spoonful in his mouth.
He was putting considerable effort into restraining the urge to thoroughly explore Harry's memories. He didn't always succeed, but he tried. One of his few consolations was that when Harry told him things himself, it was more interesting.
"Well," Harry thought for a moment, "specifically, you got a job at Borgin and Burkes… But overall, I think the point was that you were looking for the Founders' relics. You found them, by the way."
"All of them?"
Harry calculated: the fake Sword of Gryffindor had been in Bellatrix's vault, so with some stretching…
"Yeah," he admitted, not twisting the truth too much.
Tom nodded to himself. That sounded like him. To prove, primarily to himself, that he was capable of something great… Well, this time it clearly wouldn't be as interesting. Now that Harry clearly knew the locations of the relics and that Tom was capable of finding them.
"I think I'll become a Healer," Tom answered after a pause. "I have a suitable teacher, it pays well, and it gives a lot of access to inner family secrets. Perfect."
Harry choked. Those were literally the three worst reasons to become a Healer, combined in the worst possible person for the job. Catching his breath under Tom's slightly wounded gaze, he changed his mind and replied encouragingly:
"That sounds very good. You can count on me."
"Healer Tom Riddle" was still better than "war criminal Tom Riddle" or whatever other brilliant career plans might occur to that brilliant mind.
"Of course I can count on you," Tom muttered, still somewhat suspicious, and asked in return, "What are your plans?"
Harry was caught off guard. Obviously, Tom had to think about the future — he was graduating from Hogwarts — but why would Harry?
Harry had never wanted to be a Healer or a teacher. It had always been temporary work to accomplish some goal. As for what he actually wanted… He didn't know.
"Since you'll be earning the money… I'll build a house. Maybe plant a tree. How does that sound?"
It was clearly a joke, and Tom smirked, but… The Gaunt house needed someone to fix it up, and Tom only needed Harry by his side; so, to be honest…
"Oh, that would be perfect."
July 1975
With a loud crack, Harry Apparated. A house appeared before him: two stories, solid, clearly well-off. The Snapes — Tobias, Eileen, and tiny Severus — had lived here ever since Eileen got married.
Harry had watched their life with anxiety, but his fears hadn't come to pass. The Snapes were doing well. He was curious to see how things had turned out now; after all, he hadn't been in Britain for quite some time.
He had barely raised his hand to knock when the door swung open. A very displeased teenager stood in the doorway — not the little thing Harry remembered. A mere five years had passed — nothing to him — but Severus had grown from a tiny first-year into a young man with a heavy gaze.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, but then Severus recognized him, and his expression softened slightly:
"Oh, it's you," recognition didn't stop Severus from scolding him, though. "Don't Apparate right outside the door. Dad doesn't like it when wizards do that."
Severus Snape — a daddy's boy. Imagine that. Marveling, Harry went inside and almost immediately found himself in Eileen's embrace.
"Harry!" she exclaimed. "You haven't changed a bit!"
Why would he change? What was the point of being a necromancer otherwise?
"Neither have you," he replied out of politeness, because it would be odd to tell someone else's wife she'd become a beautiful mature woman. "But Severus has grown so much."
Severus, bored by such adult conversation, announced he was going to his room and fled without waiting for an answer.
"Teenagers…" Eileen commented. "He's always like that now. Never mind. Do you want some tea?"
Of course Harry wanted. They settled in the sitting room. Harry quickly looked around: the room had been freshly renovated, not the one he remembered, and the photos on the mantelpiece had changed too. While Eileen was conjuring their tea, he went to look. Among several less notable photographs, he spotted one with the whole family together. He already recognized Eileen and Severus, and his attention was drawn to Tobias.
The man looked far too young for someone pushing fifty. Dark-haired, almost no wrinkles — clearly potions had been involved. And besides… he was in uniform. A police officer's uniform. Harry remembered all his jackets with ACAB patches and couldn't help himself:
"Police," he snorted, picking up the photo. "Seriously?"
"Nothing funny about it," Eileen grumbled without malice. "He's very good at it."
Harry huffed. With his strength and a witch for a wife? Who would doubt it. He put the photo back and sat down at the table. He took a sip of tea, and they spoke at the same time:
"How is America?"
"How is Britain?"
They paused for a moment, deferring to each other, and finally Harry began:
"It's… very strict. Both with the Statute and with magical restrictions. Well, that works in our favor. Tom has made a fortune."
They had thought they'd go for a couple of weeks for one very lucrative commission. But in the end, the demand for a necromancer Healer was so great that they spent years there. Some cases were quite interesting, and he quickly recalled a few of the funniest ones. He also complained about Professor — what he now called his double for clarity — who, unburdened by human needs, became a terrible recluse whenever he got absorbed in something. Which happened often.
After a good laugh and another cup of tea, Eileen suddenly bit her lip, growing somber:
"We've had a war here while you were gone."
Harry set down his tea; the sound of cup against saucer was sharp in the sudden silence.
"A war?" he repeated, confused, frowning slightly. "But who…"
He knew Tom Riddle wasn't involved in this; and his Death Eaters — the Mulcibers, Notts, Lestranges, Malfoys — weren't either. Who then?
"The Blacks," Eileen said simply. "…at least some of them. They've united with the Travers, Yaxleys, Averys… and others."
Harry clicked his tongue in frustration. Those Blacks never learned. Nothing could knock the arrogance out of them, could it? Meanwhile, Eileen continued, lowering her voice and growing dejected:
"And also, it seems, Severus."
Harry was surprised, but quickly put the facts together and understood:
"He's on Dumbledore's side, isn't he?"
"Yes," Eileen confirmed slowly, and complained, "He's gotten involved with that… Muggle-born! Throwing himself into the thick of it! Who does he take after?"
Harry looked at this angry woman and remembered the little girl who had rushed to defend him against all the pureblood wizards of Britain at once, then Apparated him home to a Muggle.
Ah, yes. Who did Severus take after.
Eileen, by old habit, caught his surface, unguarded thought and flushed crimson.
"I'm not..! I wasn't like that!" she squeaked helplessly and hid behind her teacup.
Harry just laughed. Of course she wasn't like that: she was worse.
August 1994
"What do you mean you haven't even heard?!"
It was hard to tell whether Emma was more shocked or angry. Harry glanced sideways at her head floating in the fireplace surrounded by green flames and had the sense to look apologetic.
"Sorry, sorry… So you said… This will be in August? When August rolls around……"
"It's already now, you!.." She pressed her palm to her forehead. "I can't believe you forgot about the World Cup. It's even in Britain! Krum himself will be there! You should see him fly…"
Harry scratched his cheek with his quill, looking away from the letter he'd been writing, and said jokingly, with feigned thoughtfulness:
"Well, I have seen him."
It took Emma a few seconds to understand what he meant, and then she rolled her eyes.
"Fifty years ago?" she asked skeptically, and after a short pause added tiredly, "Come to the Cup, all right?"
Harry sighed but gave in. He really should spend more time with his friends.
"I'll talk to Tom," he conceded, and Emma grunted in satisfaction.
That's more like it.
That had been a week ago. Few could get tickets just a week before an event of this magnitude, but Harry had Tom, and it only took him asking for the tickets to the Ministry box to be in his hands a few hours later.
Now the match was over, and they'd descended from the stands into the campsite. The wizards around them clearly weren't about to leave; rather, they were preparing for a long celebration of the swift victory. Harry felt his spirits lift too.
Emma had been right. It was nice to immerse himself in the speed and excitement of Quidditch again; especially since Tom had taken care of all the tedious conversations.
"Did you see him, did you see him?" Emma's bubbling enthusiasm showed no signs of fading. "I have to, I absolutely have to lure that guy to my team."
Tom crushed her dreams:
"Bulgaria's national treasure?" He made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. "Don't bother hoping. Maybe if he gets a terrible injury…"
Harry didn't entirely like the direction of the conversation and was about to intervene when he overheard something from the side.
"Wait, hold on! That's Emma Flint!" a boy's breaking voice sounded. "The Longest Career in Quidditch! My father was a fan of hers! Let's go over? Maybe she'll give me an autograph!"
"Oh," a girl's voice responded, "she's with Tom Riddle himself. The best Healer in Europe. I've never seen him this close… by the way, who's the third one?"
Harry smirked. There was a certain irony in going from the famous Boy Who Lived to the unremarkable "the third one." Intrigued, he glanced back and froze.
Behind him were clustered Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and another girl he didn't recognize with black hair and piercing green eyes. Shaken, Harry realized: after all these years, he hadn't even recognized their voices.
"I know who that is," the unfamiliar girl said thoughtfully. "That's Harry Potter, the necromancer. My grandmother told me about him; he taught when she was at school."
"He's that old?!" Ron grimaced.
"Shh!" Hermione shushed him. "Don't you know that wizards who can look young in old age are very powerful?!"
Finally, Harry identified the stranger. Severus Snape and Lily Evans's daughter, Diana Snape — it had to be her. Come to think of it… his mother clearly had a thing for naming children after Muggle princes and princesses.
Smiling at his own thoughts, he turned back to Emma and Tom. The children had stirred up nostalgia in him, but they weren't his Ron and Hermione. Beyond some curiosity, he felt nothing for them, and he wouldn't interfere in their little lives.
However, after some hesitation, the kids approached them on their own. Diana stepped forward — the other two hiding behind her like a shield — and spoke, flustered but determined:
"Um, hello, Mr. Harry, Miss Emma. I'm, um, Eileen's granddaughter. Eileen Snape."
The kids had decided to use their superficial acquaintance to get a moment of attention from their idols. Deciding to encourage them, Harry actively showed friendliness:
"Hello, Diana, of course I remember," he smiled broadly and even nudged the conversation along. "Are these your friends?"
The teenagers clearly felt relieved. Exchanging quick glances, they introduced themselves eagerly and immediately, before the adults changed their minds or got tired of them, asked Emma and Tom for autographs. Hermione, after a moment's hesitation, looked up hopefully and asked:
"Mr. Riddle, I've heard you take apprentices?"
Harry snorted. That claim was clearly made up. Tom's last apprentice had been… a couple of decades ago, something like that.
"I have very high standards," Tom warned her politely. "You'd need Outstanding on all twelve NEWTs."
…yes, Tom's last apprentice had been Barty Crouch Jr., and no one had managed to meet these frankly excessive requirements since. Harry, for example, would definitely not pass them. He suspected such a high bar was just a polite way of saying, "I don't want to train my competition for any amount of money."
Hermione was clearly upset and asked in frustration:
"But why? Some of them, like Divination, are completely useless…"
Tom allowed himself to lower his politeness a degree.
"I beg to differ. From the heights of my studies, I can confidently say that Divination is a very important discipline. Furthermore, a student is characterized by their ability to deal not only with what they like, but also with what they don't."
The words weren't too harsh, but hearing them from her idol was clearly hard. Hermione bit her lip, blinked rapidly, but composed herself and tried again:
"Could you recommend that literature to me, sir?"
Tom sighed. From the tone of that sigh, Harry guessed he was about to say something scathing, but Harry couldn't bear to see Hermione so crushed and protested, hissing in Parseltongue:
"Do you have to be so harsh?"
"I'm not about to become your close friend's mentor, if you don't mind," Tom hissed back coldly.
Harry choked on a mixture of feelings. Tom's jealousy was both charming and insanely petty. Who holds onto a tiny grudge like that for decades?!
"Does it even matter anymore?" he exclaimed in English and stopped himself.
A satisfied smile appeared on Tom's lips, and his gaze immediately warmed several shades. He turned back to Hermione, but suddenly flashes of spells in the distance distracted him.
Harry turned too and belatedly remembered. The riots at the World Cup, caused by pureblood revanchist sentiment… what a headache. He had hoped they wouldn't happen, but apparently, he'd hoped in vain.
"Don't go anywhere, no matter what," he said to the teenagers. "Next to us is the safest place."
Puzzled, not fully understanding what was happening, the teenagers nodded. Harry exchanged another glance with Emma and Tom and raised his wand.
In his time, the worst part of the riots had been the Anti-Apparition dome. Many people were trapped and running around like headless chickens, adding to the chaos. Now… Harry was capable of removing it.
He shot a spell into the sky. His power spread through the air. The teenagers, more frightened by him than by the distant flashes, huddled together, staring in shock at the sky cracking open. Emma muttered, "That's familiar." Tom's face wore a proud smile; he was clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Flattered and slightly embarrassed, Harry intensified his assault, and the sky, now crisscrossed with finer and finer cracks, finally shattered! It seemed that way for a few seconds, then the magic dissipated, revealing the clear sky again. People from various countries sighed in relief and began to Apparate away en masse.
Harry nearly went deaf from the simultaneous cracks. At the same time… People in various masks were Apparating right toward them! He had ruined their plan, and he was the most visible figure; of course they wanted revenge!
Before Harry could worry about the teenagers' safety, more people began emerging from the Apparition vortexes — their faces uncovered. Eileen was the first, arm-in-arm with Tobias: now completely grey-haired but still a sturdy old man. He immediately punched one of the masked wizards straight in the face and muttered:
"Fucking wizard… Ha, I've still got it."
Then came Lloyd, Julian, Xavier, Abraxas, Walburga and Orion — they had all recognized his magic, and they had all come to help. But not just them. There were Severus and Lily Snape, Sirius and Regulus Black, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Barty Crouch Jr… And others. Among these people, most of whom in another life had been Death Eaters, Harry was suddenly overcome with a feeling… a huge, loyal, motley, but always ready to help… family.
A fight broke out, but Harry suddenly turned to Tom, understanding him more acutely than ever. Meeting his eyes, he smiled, trying to pour all his feelings into that smile.
Here, in this time, in this life, with these people; he was more at home than he had ever been.
He indulged this tiny sentimental thought for a moment, then grabbed Diana Snape's hand and shouted:
"Hold on to each other!"
And, once he was sure the frightened kids were clinging to one another, he Apparated them all at once.
They were deposited in the sitting room of the Gaunt house. The kids, having endured a rough Apparition, groaned in pain, each at their own pace. Harry fought nausea for a few seconds, then bent over and vomited. The strain had hit him hardest. He wasn't a bloody Portkey to transport four people at once!
Footsteps sounded, and, drawn by the noise, a man entered the room. In a loose shirt and narrow trousers, he looked like a neater, more elegant version of Harry Potter. Surveying the scene, he snapped shut the book he was holding, tossed it into the air — it remained floating as if in zero gravity — and moved his fingers, magically removing dirt from the carpet and unpleasant smells from the air. Shaking his head, he very naturally offered his shoulder to the first Harry, supporting him, and only then turned to the kids:
"How are you?" he asked politely. "All right?"
"I'm seeing double," Ron muttered.
The second Harry's brows drew together in confusion, then he understood the joke and laughed shortly.
"Are you dense?" Hermione hissed at her friend. "That is the double! The real one!"
"I know that!" Ron retorted. "It's a joke! Just a joke!"
…Harry's influence had meant the kids in this time were far more knowledgeable about soul magic.
"Well, all's well that ends well," Harry sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Come on, I'll show you to the Floo. And you," he said sternly to the first Harry, helping him into an armchair, "rest. Wait for me here," and softened quickly, "Five minutes, all right?"
It wasn't that he was desperate to get rid of the young people, but their families would be worried about them. He left the first Harry resting in the chair, strictly instructing him not to Apparate back until he'd fully recovered, and led the kids to another room.
"And you," Hermione suddenly asked, then hesitated, but after a moment bravely continued, "Are you Mr. Riddle's companion?"
Harry looked around. Snake reliefs on the walls, shared photos on the mantelpiece… Wasn't it obvious? Hermione's excessive directness and excessive curiosity evoked a slight nostalgia in him, so he answered with a smile:
"I'm his husband."
Muggle-raised Hermione gasped in shock; Ron made a face. Diana, embarrassed by her friends, tried to discreetly elbow them — Harry pretended not to notice. He found the situation rather amusing.
"That's a funny expression for someone with three grandmothers, Weasley," he teased without malice.
God, he'd wanted to say that for decades.
"What? No way!" Ron protested, but his curiosity quickly got the better of him. "Really? No, really? That's hilarious. I have to tell the twins…"
Extremely pleased with himself, Harry sent the kids through the Floo one by one. Ron went to the Burrow, Hermione to Diagon Alley. Diana was the last.
Harry met her gaze. Whose soul was in this calm, thoughtful girl? Who had taken his place? These were empty questions. He could never truly know; he should let it go.
"Write if I can help with anything," he said, for some reason. "You and your friends."
It was the least he could do for them. He hoped he didn't seem overbearing with the offer. Fortunately, Diana was tolerant of his oddity, thanked him briefly for everything, and disappeared into the green flames.
Harry watched the fire for a while, then turned and went to his original, who was already eager to return to Tom.
The old life, the old connections, had actually burned away long ago. His home was here now.