Professor Potter

Harry was having a good day. He slept in. He got ahead on his work, picking what books he wanted to teach to his sixth year class. He was feeling both productive and rested, much fresher than he had been after his extremely long day earlier that week.

Then a portrait cleared its throat.

The man in the frame had a skinny build, with sideburns that stuck out at least three inches. He was wearing nice robes, and Harry couldn't help but notice how thick his eyebrows were. Given that the wizard looked slightly familiar Harry thought that his other frame might've hung in the Headmaster's office.

"Does Dumbledore want to see me?" he asked.

"When you have time," said the portrait, in a tone that suggested Harry ought to make some.

That was no problem. Harry wasn't busy. So he stood and stretched, beginning the walk up to the Headmaster's office. He wondered if his good day would survive this meeting.

Conversations with Dumbledore tended to be heavy. Despite Harry admitting that he came from the future, Dumbledore had barely asked any questions since that first meeting in his office. It was slightly peculiar, to be honest, but Harry wasn't complaining. It saved him from lying about items like the Gaunt Ring (stashed in a locked compartment in his desk) that Dumbledore was better off not knowing about.

Which wasn't to say Harry planned to withhold any other Horcrux details. An image of a frail, rotting arm passed through his head. No, it wasn't because of Voldemort's soul that he was keeping the ring away from the Headmaster. The sooner Harry could destroy it the better, but that would take a few errands to pull off.

The gargoyle sprung aside the moment Harry uttered, "Corkscrew cannonball." Shaking his head at the Headmaster's sense in passwords, he finished the climb and entered the office. 

"Ah, Harry!" said a wall of books.

The headmaster's desk was looking a lot like a library table after one of Hermione's raids. There were so many books, totaling to thousands of pages when added together, that Harry could only see a few wisps of gray hair peeking over the top.

"Excuse the clutter," said Dumbledore.

A moment later, the middle portion of the pile floated into the air, gliding across the room to form a pile beside the door. Harry caught a glimpse of a few of the titles as they raced past. Time-Turner, Magic, or Miracle? A Tree of Few Branches: Time Travel and the Unknown. So You Want to Go to the Past? And so on.

Harry leaned forward eagerly. "Did you find anything?"

Dumbledore chuckled. 

"I found a great many things," he said. "Some were more useful than others. Did you know that the effects of Time-Turner sand were only discovered when an Unspeakable sneezed himself two days into the past? Alas, I don't think such fascinating stories are what you're after. You are curious if I've learned anything about your unique situation."

"And have you?"

"Possibly," Dumbledore paused a moment, running his bony finger down the spines of nearby books, before making eye contact with Harry once more. "I have a theory. I do not know if it is possible, probable, or even if it is what has happened to you at all… But I thought I ought to at least ask, to see if you'd like me to share it anyway."

"I never had much talent for research, let alone with something as confusing as time travel," Harry said. "I couldn't even tell you why Time-Turners work the way they do. If you have anything, I'd be grateful to hear it."

Dumbledore beamed. He looked truly happy, and Harry realized that he had been hoping to share his ideas the entire time, but Harry was the only one who could listen. Yet he'd still asked first, to see if Harry wanted to risk getting his hopes up.

It reminded him that the man in front of him was not a warrior. He could fight as well as any wizard, which was why he had been called to do it across his long life. But any violent streak he once held had died with his sister, leaving a professor who actively avoided power as much as possible, purely out of mistrust of himself. He was an academic, a scholar, and a philosopher. Researching a case like Harry's had probably been the most fun he'd had in a long time, definitely since Voldemort's return.

Dumbledore swung his wand and the curtains closed. The room was dimmed— not enough that Harry couldn't see the headmaster, but enough to make him blink. A moment later, a glowing light-blue dot appeared in front of Dumbledore.

"Time is a path," Dumbledore said, watching the dot expand up into a straight line. "No matter what we do, despite all the magic we wield, this is not something we are capable of changing. We do try."

A much thinner line of blue light broke away, arcing around and teeing into the original line lower down. But rather than form a new branch, the original line only reabsorbed what had broken away.

"Time-Turners are a powerful tool. But despite common misconceptions, they can only change the future. If I were to use one to change your breakfast this morning— What was it, by the way?"

"Sausage and eggs," Harry rattled off.

"Wonderful. Protein is important. Now, as I was saying, if I were to use a time turner in order to, say, change what you had for breakfast this morning… I would have to change it to sausage and eggs."

"But that's not changing it," Harry said.

"Ah. But if you had sausage and eggs, then you had them because I went back and made you have them. We don't know what you would have had without my intervention. And indeed, it doesn't matter at all, because that is not part of the path events were meant to take."

"Did you make me have sausage and eggs?"

"I can't say that I did." A glimmer entered Dumbledore's eyes. "But it would have been quite funny if I did. Now, I fear I've painted a bleak picture of Time-Turners. If all I've said is true, then is there no point to them? Not at all. To understand their true power, we must look at—"

"Dinner," Harry said.

Dumbledore beamed.

"Exactly!" he said. "You cannot change the past. But if I used a Time-Turner, and while in the past I was to sneak into your pantry and replace everything with pickled herring, I can hazard a guess as to what you would be eating after this meeting."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "That's nefarious. But those examples don't match with my case. I've definitely done things that didn't happen in my own time. That shouldn't be possible."

"By these rules, it wouldn't be," Dumbledore said. "Which leads me to believe that you didn't just travel through time."

Harry felt a headache coming on. "Explain."

Dumbledore swung his wand again. The blue line remained firm and straight. But all around it, more appeared, each of them parallel and not overlapping, yet identical.

"This is the part that is conjecture," Dumbledore confessed. "But already, the two of us have found many instances where this is not the past that you remember. I believe this isn't your past at all. Instead, I suspect that while timelines cannot be offset, there is not, necessarily, only one in existence. If that is true, then you have — for lack of a better term — simply hopped from one into another."

"Like… dimensions?" Harry said.

"More or less. You said this entire affair was not one that you planned, but was instead planned by those disappointed to have lost the war, correct? They would not have been satisfied with a simple Time-Turner, because as we went over, even if they reached the desired time and somehow survived, their influence could not turn the tide. If they remembered Voldemort losing, then Voldemort would lose. They had to find a world, instead, where he had not lost— not yet."

Harry took a deep breath.

"I'm never getting back, am I?" he said.

His tone was flat. He didn't see any reason to beat around the bush, nor to scream and throw a tantrum. It wasn't Dumbledore's fault, and even if it had been, lashing out would do nothing beneficial.

His heart ached at the idea of never seeing his Hermione, Ron, Neville or Luna again. Yet…

There was a reason echoes of the past tempted him into lingering too long by the Veil. If he weighed the people he still had in the future on one side of a scale, and those he'd lost on the other… he knew which side it would lean toward.

"We don't know if this is indeed true or not," Dumbledore was saying. "Personally, I believe hopping between lines may be easier than leaping forward through time, but I just cannot say for certain. Do not yet lose hope. There is much left to check."

"It's fine." Harry leaned forward, forcibly pushing down his messy thoughts for now. "You know what this means though, right? Voldemort is on the loose. And just because he lost in my time, doesn't mean he won't win in this one."

"That is a reality I was already prepared to face," Dumbledore pointed out. "And to fight, tooth and nail."

Harry stood up. He pressed two fingers to his chin, starting to pace. "We'll have to do this in an orderly fashion. I can share everything I know. Some of it won't be true here, but most of it should be. We can't do this on a need-to-know basis. You're familiar with things here, so you're more likely to know what translates and what doesn't. I'll have to write it down, or—"

Harry stopped, his eyes falling on an innocuous silver bowl sitting atop a shelf. He spun back to Dumbledore.

"Why write it down when I can show you myself?" he asked.

Dumbledore peered at him.

"Memories are our own personal treasures, Harry. You would allow me to intrude on them? This is not a scene or two you are talking about. It is events across years, all of them your own experience. That is not a decision to make lightly."

"With all due respect, I think that it is," Harry said. "Privacy is important. It's less important than stopping a genocidal psychopath from killing thousands."

Dumbledore stayed silent. He sat back in his seat, steepling his fingers. 

"Your conviction is genuinely admirable," he said. "I am quite busy… But as you said, some things take priority. Visit tomorrow evening, if you have time, and we can begin."

Harry offered him a nod.

"Was that everything?" he asked.

"Yes, I have nothing else at the moment," said Dumbledore. "You should take the night off. This has been a lot to process, no matter how commendably you've taken it."

Harry nodded again. He left the headmaster's office right after, thoughts of the war racing through his head.

His advice to Dumbledore about taking Voldemort seriously applied to him as much as to the headmaster. He'd been acting on his own, but he'd taken things somewhat lightly. Throughout everything he did, there was the assumption that it would work out in the end.

He couldn't rely on that. Sirius was alive. So was his father. Remus, Tonks, Fred Weasley, Alastor Moody… The list was overwhelmingly long. This was a chance to save as many as he could— and not as a teenaged student, but as a grown wizard with power of his own.

Dumbledore was right. He wasn't exactly happy about showing the man practically his whole life, ugly moments and all. The very idea felt mortifying, as if he were being put up for judgement on his every choice. But too much was at stake for Harry to plan everything on his own. He needed help. He needed someone, even one person, to make sure that he wasn't missing something crucial.

"Ooh, that's a scary face."

Harry stopped at the last second, barely keeping from walking right into someone coming the other way around a corner. He recognized the red robes and hat before he ever saw the pretty face and brown hair pulled over one shoulder.

"What happened?" Septima Vector asked. "Did Umbridge say you looked like a wizard this time, instead of a Muggle?"

Harry forced himself to smile— although really, it wasn't hard. The friendly Arithmancy professor was easy to talk to, and now that his heavy thoughts had been interrupted, he slipped back into a more usual mood.

"Ah, it's worse than that," he said. "Dumbledore told me I'm not allowed to take the kids on a field trip to Newcastle. How else am I going to show them the miracles of a real, operational factory?"

Septima's smile grew flatter and slightly bemused, but it wasn't her who answered.

"Who's this nutter?"

Harry turned to the side, facing a woman who wasn't on the teaching staff, yet wasn't a complete stranger either.

She had a circular nose ring that hung beneath her nostrils, along with frizzy, almost wispy blond hair, which scattered this way and that on her head, like she'd just climbed off a broom. Despite this, her blue eyes were sharp, and her features were pretty. Though Harry didn't know her personally, he'd seen her this week. She called for more aggressive action at the Order meeting in Longbottom Manor.

"Marlene!" Septima said. "Do you have to be rude to everyone you meet? Honestly, this is why you're still single."

"First off, I'm not trying to date him, am I—"

"Ouch," Harry said.

Marlene glanced at him. "No offense. And second off, you're just as single as I am!"

"But I don't complain about it every time I get drunk," Septima said, as if that closed the argument. Turning back to Harry, she said, "Meet Marlene McKinnon. She's a friend from Hogwarts, who works for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"I'm a perfect fit," Marlene said, "because I was an accident myself."

Harry choked while Septima shook her head.

"And she uses the same jokes for far too long," she added. "Bad jokes, too."

"You're crazy," Marlene told her. "That one never fails to get a reaction!"

"I had to explain what you meant to my grandma, because you even used it on her!"

"That was ages ago," Marlene waved her off.

Marlene paused for a moment, staring at Harry. Her eyes darted all over his face, followed by a very small nod. Harry had wondered if she recognized him even though he hadn't spoken at the meeting. It seemed she did.

He also had an answer to why he hadn't recognized her before hearing her name. The only time Harry saw her was in an old, faded photograph. The Marlene McKinnon in his timeline had been a casualty of the first war like his parents… and she died alongside every other member of her family.

It almost made him tear up, seeing someone that should be dead living with so much spunk.

Marlene turned to Septima. "Why's he looking at me like that?"

"Nobody's looking at you funny," Septima told her. "Say, Harry, the two of us were just on our way for drinks. Would you be interested in coming along?"

"Where did you have in mind?" Harry asked.

"Three Broomsticks," Marlene said. "Where else?"

"No reason not to," Harry decided. "I wasn't doing anything else. And technically, I've been ordered to take the rest of the evening off by the Headmaster, so I might as well."

Septima gaped at him.

"Just how hard did you fight for that Newcastle trip?"

"Not hard enough," Harry said forlornly.

The walk to Hogsmeade wasn't a short one, but that's how good company made it feel. Septima was the most playful member of the staff, helped by the fact that she was the closest to him in age. And Marlene, well…

She just didn't seem to give a fuck about anything.

"So are the two of you shagging?" she asked as the trio passed the first buildings of Hogsmeade.

"No!" Septima said. "Why would you…?"

Marlene shrugged. "You were awfully interested in getting him to drink with us." She paused. "Are you trying to shag him?"

"Marlene!"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle as he watched Septima blush and smack her friend on the back of the neck. He was used to seeing her be the one doing the teasing. It was good to see her on the back foot for once.

He thought Marlene was teasing her, at least. It might have been a genuine question.

Septima and Marlene were still scuffling when they arrived at the Three Broomsticks. It was awfully quiet inside. Until Hogwarts was in session the inn wouldn't see the majority of its business, and the three of them were arriving a bit late for dinner. Harry waved at Rosmerta as the three of them picked a table.

The barmaid approached them almost instantly.

"Well, if this isn't a motley crew," she said. 

"I figured I'd pay you a visit," Harry said. "These two were going the same place, so…"

Marlene leaned over to Septima.

"Wasn't going here our idea?" she whispered, although the effect was ruined when she did it loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Does it matter?" Septima asked.

Marlene thought about that. "No, it really doesn't." She addressed Rosmerta. "Get us all drunk!"

"That's my job," said Rosmerta. "The usual?"

Soon, the trio was splitting a tall bottle of Firewhisky. Marlene downed her first shot like a champion, belching proudly after it disappeared.

"That's the stuff!" she declared.

"You can take your time a bit," Septima reminded her.

"Nah, I'm alright," Marlene said. "Now that You-Know-Who's back, gotta make the most of every moment."

Septima's head whipped around. But there were only one or two other patrons drinking at the bar. No one had heard Marlene. Septima sagged.

"Don't talk like that!" she hissed. "Who knows what the Ministry will do?"

Marlene just laughed and poured herself another shot.

"I don't get anything out of pretending it ain't true," she said. "Augusta Longbottom said it's the case. If she believes it, that's good enough for me, no questions asked."

Augusta Longbottom, not Dumbledore. Harry's mind raced. In the meeting, it had been Dedalus Diggle and Marlene who argued most stridently against Dumbledore's approach. There had been others, too, and all of them stopped at the exact same time— as soon as Augusta Longbottom let the matter drop.

"What's Neville Longbottom like?" Harry asked.

"He's just a kid," Septima insisted. "I know everyone likes to talk about him, but whenever I look at him, I just see a student with too much attention on his shoulders."

"He's not just a kid!" Marlene insisted. "You don't get it. It's about what he represents."

"And what's that?" Harry asked.

Marlene set her drink down. "Look, in the first war, things were bad. It was starting to look like there was really no hope. And then all of a sudden Augusta Longbottom is running around proclaiming her grandson's victory, and just like that, Voldemort is gone. There was a raid planned on my house the very night it all happened. We only found out after the fact, because the Death Eaters got cold feet and chickened out, but if it went through… My family owes our lives to the Longbottoms. I'll do anything for them. At that point, you're more than just a kid, even if it's not fair."

She lifted her glass and hurled it back, downing another shot. Septima stared down at the table, before guzzling her own alcohol just as quickly. After a few seconds of silence, Harry asked, "So the two of you went to school together?"

The women accepted the change of topic readily. Soon Harry was being regaled with Marlene's attempts to teach the Giant Squid to play fetch, and Septima's bookish personality that kept her locked in the library "more than any sane human could stomach" (according to Marlene).

The evening got later. The sun started to set. The other few patrons filed out, and no one arrived to replace them, turning the Three Broomsticks into their own private lounge. A second bottle of Firewhisky was brought out. Harry was laughing at a story Septima was telling when he promptly choked on his drink.

Firewhisky came out his nose. In case you're wondering, it was every bit as uncomfortable as it sounds. Marlene pointed at him and laughed, before eventually finding the breath to ask, "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" Harry coughed.

Neither of the women turned around. Which was good, because if they had, they would've seen Rosmerta, wiping down the bar with a rag, pull her dress down to reveal one of her boobs, nipple and all. She smirked and giggled, pulling her dress back up to its proper position.

So that was how she wanted to play this.

Harry stood up. "Rosmerta, do you have any more bottles under there?"

Rosmerta looked over.

"You haven't even finished that one!" she said.

Harry grabbed the bottle by the stem, angling it back and downing the final fifth that had been sloshing around the bottom. 

"Now we need one," he said. "I guess I'll have to go and grab it."

Marlene cheered him on as he crossed the room. Harry was definitely drunk, which might explain why he was going along with a plan like this one. But his tolerance was good enough that he wasn't wasted. He ducked behind the bar.

"Let's see!" he said loudly. "It's got to be around her somewhere!"

Instead of rooting around, however, he grabbed something that wasn't Firewhisky. Rosmerta gasped as she felt her panties slide down her legs, but she managed to keep it quiet enough that the others didn't notice.

"Looks like I'll have to dig around a little bit!"

Harry pushed his head up the bottom of Rosmerta's dress.

He heard the barmaid whimper as his tongue plunged past the lips of her pussy. He dug around inside of her, using the positions to reach even deeper than normal. He felt her moistening around his tongue. It became a bit of a game— while she tried to keep her voice down, he did everything in his power to make her moan despite that.

His hands were fixed on her thighs, squeezing her skin. Rosmerta was gripping the bar as she tried to hide her pleasure. Harry couldn't see it, but he could hear her nails scraping on the wood.

"What's taking so long?" Marlene asked.

"There's quite a lot down there to search through!" Rosmerta said. "He's having to be quite— ooh. Thorough!"

"Are you alright?" Septima asked. "You're looking a bit…"

"Just tired!" Rosmerta said.

Harry had taken as much time as he could get away with, and he'd gotten Rosmerta as ready as he could. Now he focused on her clit. He pressed his tongue against her most sensitive nerves, slurping against her crotch in his efforts to pleasure her.

Rosmerta's body stiffened. A sharper noise leaked from her lips, and she slammed both hands over her mouth right after. Harry felt the rush coming his way and extricated himself at the last second. Rosmerta orgasmed hard, causing clear trails to dribble down her inner thigh.

As Rosmerta caught her breath, Harry snatched a bottle of Firewhisky and stood up, lifting it triumphantly while Rosmerta gasped beside him.

"I'll be right back," Rosmerta said hurriedly. "I've got to use the bathroom!"

She walked away, climbing the stairs up to the second floor instead of ducking into the customer restroom. She left her panties behind, laying on the floor behind the bar.

Harry returned to the table, planting the bottle of Firewhisky between Septima and Marlene.

"You know, I've got to visit the lou myself," he said. "Be back in a minute."

He climbed the stairs, following the blond who went ahead of him. If you looked carefully, drops of liquid dotted each stair, dark against the light-colored wood.

O-O-O

Septima poured herself a drink, then refilled Marlene's. They sat together, neither of them saying anything. Overhead, a rhythmic, thunderous thumping echoed through the floorboards.

"Do they think they're fooling anyone?" Marlene asked.

"Oh Merlin! Oh Merlin! Oh— ahhhhh!"

This cry was followed by a fleshy smack and an even louder, throaty wail.

"Maybe they're not…" Septima said. "I mean, we don't know what they're doing. He could be giving her a massage."

Marlene laughed loudly. "Oh, I'm sure he is. All the way up to her kidneys by the sound of it!"

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

"It really is the ones you wouldn't expect," Marlene said. "Walking around in that goofy coat, smiling awkwardly all the time… But listen to him go!"

"Marlene." Septima said. "Let's talk about something else, please?"

"What else can you even talk about in a situation like this?" Marlene asked. As if on queue, the sounds stopped, but only for a moment. When they came back they were twice as guttural, and far wetter. "I think he's got it in her mouth now."

Septima groaned, hanging her head.

"I don't know what's got your panties in a bunch," Marlene said. "We've still got alcohol. And now, we've got in-house entertainment!"

"Glagkh! Glagkh! Glagkh! Glurk!"

"I want to go home," Septima said.

"But you can," Marlene pointed out. "And you're still here. C'mon Septima, tell me how it really is. I bet you've changed your mind."

"On what?" Septima asked.

"Whether you want to shag him. Merlin, I might have to try after listening to this!"

After a final noise that sounded as if something were being swallowed, the wetter noises faded, only to be replaced right after by more loud thuds (now accompanied by the squeak of bed springs).

"Harry's cute," Septima said. "And he's nice."

"And apparently he's a god in bed."

"But that doesn't mean I have to jump his bones," Septima finished with a harsh look. "We'll be working together all year. I'll have time to feel it out."

"Maybe," Marlene said. "But Septima?"

"Yes?"

Marlene glanced up at the ceiling, where Rosmerta's screams were leaking through more clearly than ever before.

"Don't take too much time with a guy like that. Otherwise… you're just going to lose your spot in line."