Harry was pretty sure he was in the process of making the biggest mistake of his life, but was too upset to allow his self-preservation instincts to kick into gear. He knew deep down in his gut that when the anger receded and he was thinking clearly, he would want to kick himself for his actions, but at the moment he was letting himself run on impulse, consequences be damned.
This is how he found himself ducking in and out of alleyways in London, despite the fact that Voldemort was a real and viable threat and he had been given explicit orders not to step foot outside of his aunt and uncle’s home for the summer.
“It’s too dangerous.”, they - everyone! - had told him, “I know you’re going through a lot, but you need to be patient and wait for us to come get you.”
He was through waiting and he was out of patience.
Getting to London had been surprisingly easy, and Harry had been astonished that he had made it this far without being accosted by an Order member and returned to Privet Drive. He would have assumed, especially after last summer, that he and his relatives’ house would have been watched carefully, and that any attempts at escape would be thwarted.
Instead, he had met no resistance as he had slipped out of the house in the early hours of the morning, just before sunrise.
He hadn’t even planned on leaving, he was going to deal with a summer in isolation, just as he’d dealt with it every other year, but after waking up from a particularly distressing nightmare about Sirius and the veil, he made the rash decision to end his summer of solitude and join his friends at the Burrow.
The problem with joining his friends at the Burrow was that once he got there, one of two things would happen; he’d either be returned to the Dursleys against his will or he would be allowed to stay at the Weasleys but every single step he made would be monitored to make sure he didn’t do a runner again.
With this in mind, he had made the decision to first do everything he would want to do before being an Order prisoner once more. First and foremost on his list was to purchase some new clothes, as his clothes were growing uncomfortably tight after several years of use, followed by a visit to his parents’ vault. He knew the vault had more than just money in it, but he had never been given the opportunity to look through it at his leisure. Today, though, he was on no one’s timetable but his own.
Walking had given Harry the chance to release some of the tension that several weeks of reliving Sirius’s death over and over and over again had caused, and for once he was able to focus on something other than his dark, depressed thoughts and his dreary destiny.
Being locked away at Privet Drive had done very little for his mental health; the Dursleys were always quick to set him to work, to keep him so busy he had time to focus on anything other than the chores they’d tasked him to complete. This year, though, there had been less demands and more of a weariness of his presence. He supposed that was, in part, due to the Order’s interference. Normally, he wouldn’t complain and would be happy from the reprieve. This wasn’t a normal summer, though, and the lack of focus had only served to make the pain of his loss even harder to endure.
He hadn’t expected to feel like this.
He didn’t remember what it was like to lose his parents; for as far back as he could remember he had been an orphan. It had been difficult to process and manage his grief over Cedric’s death, leading to many sleepless nights and intense waves of grief, guilt, anger and fear. But losing Sirius cut him so much deeper in all of those emotions. At times, he feared he would drown in it, swept away into the tide until it consumed every ounce of his body and he existed no more. At times, he wanted to throw himself in front of a train as penance for the death he had caused - though he knew he couldn’t, since apparently the future of the wizarding world was on his shoulders.
He had expected to be sad, he had expected mood swings and loneliness. He had expected to pick up a quill and parchment and begin to write to his godfather only to realize there was no one left to accept an owl. He had even expected the nightmares and tears that accompanied them. He had expected the ebbing and flowing of anger and guilt, to think about what could have been done differently and to mourn the experiences they wouldn’t be able to share.
He had not, however, expected it to feel like someone had reached into his chest and pulled out his heart, stomped on it, then tossed it in the rubbish bin. He hadn’t expected how all-consuming the grief could become if he dared let any of it trickle through. He hadn’t expected how hard it would be to keep all of that emotion locked into a tiny box and stored away as deep into his mind as possible so that none of it escaped, for if it began to escape, he would surely die from it.
When it was quiet, the box rattled and shook, bulging at the seams and threatening to burst forward in a torrent of misery and pain. It was much easier to keep the box quiet and buried when he had something to focus on. Today, he was focusing on not getting caught.
His idea to run off had seemed brilliant at the start. It wasn’t until he had walked from Surrey to Weybridge that he started to doubt the brilliance of his plan. The sun had now peeked over the horizon and there was no longer the cover of trees to hide him from view as there had been along the A320 and A245. He was sure he had been seen by plenty of people crossing through the residential areas of New Haw and he could only assume they were all muggle, as no one had run out to stop him and no one had tried to capture him and deliver him to their Dark Lord. In fact, no one really seemed to notice him at all, which was fine with him. He had made it, though, and once again disappeared into the foliage of his route until there was none left to protect him.
All in all, it was a stupid idea. Walking literally all day to get to London, knowing that the closer he got, the more people he’d come across; the more people he came across, the more of a chance he’d be seen by a Death Eater or an Order member. He kept himself company from Waybridge to Hampton simply by berating himself over his poor life choices.
Which, of course, brought his thoughts back to Sirius.
The sun shone on his face and neck, leaving him hot, sweaty, and in desperate need of a drink to cool him off. Worst yet, it wasn’t even midday and he knew it would just get worse without the shade of trees and woods to protect him.
Of course, by now he was nearly halfway there and it would be stupid to turn around and go back to the Dursleys, so he really didn’t have a choice, did he?
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the little bit of muggle money he’d been able to squirrel away over time. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it would be enough to get a fizzy drink and possibly some food to hold him over until he arrived at his destination.
He saw a sign for the train ahead, and wondered idly how much a train ticket to London would cost and if it was worth the risk. He decided against it, though, and instead ducked into a Tesco. He felt relatively safe here, because it was hard to picture someone like Lucius Malfoy doing something as mundane and muggle as buying bangers and crisps at the supermarket. This led him to wonder whether the Malfoys ate crisps at all, or if they ate fancy dinners for every meal and looked down on those who enjoyed a good chip butty or fish and chips over whatever it was that wealthy people ate.
His stomach growled, and he counted his money once more before settling on purchasing a fizzy drink and treat, and enjoyed the pleasures of air con for just a bit more before returning to his journey, pockets lighter but stomach fuller. He had loitered in the store long enough to peruse a map to make sure he was on the right track - he was pretty sure he was; he had spent many childhood years daydreaming about running away from the Dursleys and deciding exactly how he would do so.
He walked for a few more hours, starting to feel less liberated and more on edge. He knew it wouldn’t be as easy as just walking away from the Dursleys; if it were that easy, why hadn’t he done this years ago? He had fully expected someone to have swooped in by now, berating him and telling him how stupid he was; or worse, snatching him and delivering him right to Voldemort himself. He had not expected to have made it ¾ of his way to his destination without a single incident, without anyone even taking notice. Had the Dursleys realized he was gone? Probably. Did they report his disappearance to Dumbledore? Not likely, since there were no signs that anyone was looking for him.
Anxiety blossomed with each passing step as Harry waited for something, anything to happen. As a result, he was suddenly hyper-aware of every passing car and every shout in the distance. His lunch - if it could even be called that as it was more of an assortment of sweets and treats - threatened to make a reappearance as Harry found himself in larger crowds as he made his way closer to his destination, one step at a time. It was harder to listen for anything out of the ordinary when there were more people, noise and action taking place around him and it felt disorienting and overwhelming.
Since Sirius died, Harry had felt like his brain was malfunctioning - concentrating was harder, processing information was harder, making choices were harder. This confuddled feeling was amplified by exhaustion as the many miles he had trekked throughout the day began to take a toll on his body.
Without warning, the box inside of his brain that contained all of the hurt he’d experienced burst open wide, and it felt as if Harry were being sucked into a black hole of misery and despair. He braced himself, taking a deep breath and muttering, ‘No, not now.’ as he forced all of the emotion back to the recesses of that box, locking it tight and pushing it away. He had to focus. Why couldn’t he focus?
He licked his chapped lips, awareness to his surroundings heightened again now that the box had been pushed to the recesses of his mind. He was getting close, he could sense it. As a child he had never given much thought to what would happen once he got to London after running away, but now he could feel something guiding him, a feeling deep down in the pit of his stomach that reassured him that he was going to end up right where he needed to be.
He decided to trust his instincts, they had a history of being right most of the time. He was glad he did, when he started to recognize his surroundings and eventually found himself not far from the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry realized, at this point, that he hadn’t really given much thought to how he would handle this part of his journey. He would easily be recognized as soon as he walked through the door; he was the chosen one after all, and there was no real way to know if those inside would be friends or foes. Anxiety bloomed again, sending the tingling sensation of ‘watch out’ throughout his entire body from head to toe as he realized that he was already treading very dangerous waters, being out in the open like this. It was not unusual to spot witches and wizards in this area, and he was standing out in the open as if he weren’t supposed to be stashed away in Surrey for safekeeping and pulled out to use in battle when it was time.
He slipped into an alley, and quickly formulated a plan. It was not a very good plan; that was Hermione’s forte, but it was a plan nevertheless. He would stick to hiding in alleys, always on the move, until it was late, and then he’d simply sneak into the Leaky Cauldron after it was closed, avoiding being spotted by patrons, as they’d all be gone.
It was a good idea, until Harry realized that 1 - he didn’t know what time the Leaky Cauldron closed, 2 - he didn’t know how he’d get into the Leaky Cauldron, as the ministry was still tracing his wand usage, and 3 - if he waited that late, he’d find himself unable to get into Gringotts because it, too, would be closed and he’d have nowhere to go.
He’d have to just hope no one recognized him, then. He slipped into a shop, asking for directions to the loo, and then stared at himself in the mirror, trying to decide the best way to conceal his identity. He would have to ditch the glasses, which would be difficult, as everything was incredibly blurry without them. He adjusted his hair so it would completely cover his scar, though he had no idea what else he could do to escape notice. The sunburn that covered his exposed skin was a nice start, he supposed - anything to make him look different would work in his favor at the moment.
Fearing that this would be the end of his journey, fearing that someone was about to spot him and take action, and fearing that he was going to get into an incredible amount of trouble, he made his way towards the Leaky Cauldron, slipping off his glasses at the last moment. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the blurry view, and entered the doorway behind a couple and their three kids.
The kids were excitedly talking about all of the shopping they were going to do in Diagon Alley, and were begging for an ice cream cone. Without much thought, he followed the family to the Alley entrance and stepped through behind them - after all, it wasn’t uncommon for there to be a lot of traffic at this entry point. It wasn’t until he was making his way through the Alley that he realized the family had provided him the perfect cover, letting him appear like he was their disinterested teenager being dragged along behind their more hyper children.
This was definitely a better plan than his original had been.
Of course, he had to establish his identity once he got to Gringotts, but the goblins were discreet and understood his desire for going unrecognized, as he had expected. He wasn’t disappointed by his vault. He collected some money, making sure he had enough for school materials and some extra to change over to muggle currency to buy some new clothing (as it would be safer to shop in a muggle shop than any store here) and then made his way towards the artifacts and other possessions that had been stored within the chamber.
He found a few photographs of his parents that he immediately decided were going to leave with him, and he carefully placed them in the muggle-style backpack he had stolen from Dudley. He’d get Hermoine to help him with the spellwork that would allow him to include them in his photo album without damaging the photos.
There were a lot of other odds and ends, mostly things he didn’t recognize. He knew they had to hold some sort of sentimental value, otherwise they wouldn’t be stored here for safekeeping, but he couldn’t decipher what they were or why they were important. He’d have to come back another day with Ron or Hermione; someone who could help him figure out what all he was looking at.
He was just about to leave when something shiny caught his eye. He had to get on his hands and knees to reach the small object, which looked like it had been buried underneath all of the other objects he’d been digging through and was just out of reach.He stretched his arm, barely able to grasp a thin gold chain, and tugged on the object. Something about it looked familiar, but he couldn’t see it well enough to figure out why.
Once he had secured it, he sat back and examined it more closely. A time-turner. Not exactly like the one Hermione had been using in the past; it’s shape was a bit different and there were inscriptions carved into it in a language Harry did not recognize, but it was definitely a time turner. What on earth was a time turner doing in his vault?
A time turner.
A strange feeling swelled in his chest, and he gripped the small device tightly. A time turner. He could go back in time and save Sirius. He could erase this entire miserable summer. With just a small change, he could go back and make the right decisions, spare the life of his godfather, and hopefully spend the summer laughing with his father’s childhood best friend, feeling loved and secure and not on the brink of a breakdown.
The logical part of his brain told him he should talk to Ron and Hermione about this before making plans and decisions.
The logical part of his brain, in Hermione’s voice, warned him about his hero complex. Dumbledore’s voice warned him about the dangers of messing with time. Ron’s voice warned him about setting off on things alone and how wrong things could go. Even Snape’s voice was there, calling him an idiot.
On the contrary, he could also clearly picture Sirius’s voice telling him that the risk is what made the adventure worthwhile.
No, he couldn’t wait and talk to anyone about this. No one could know. They would take it away from him, and the time turner was very clearly his, after all, it was in his vault. He couldn’t let anyone get in the way of saving Sirius.
He slipped the time turner over his neck, tucking the trinket into his shirt. Later, when he was not in the middle of Gringotts, he was going to make this right. For the first time all summer, everything felt right in his life.
The thing was, he wasn’t entirely sure how to use the time turner. Sure, he had used one back in third year with Hermione, but she was really the expert on that particular device and they weren’t attempting to go back weeks, just far enough back to fix the events of that particular day. Still, it couldn’t be too hard, could it? After all, Dumbledore had entrusted one to a 13 year old; how dangerous could it be? His brain was reminding him that the answer was ‘very dangerous’, but his heart would hear none of it.
After leaving Gringotts, Harry kept to the shadows and tried to blend in with his surroundings. He wished he had brought his invisibility cloak - a bit of planning before making this trip would have made things a lot easier. He was thoroughly surprised when he made it all the way back into muggle London without being spotted. This really was turning out to be his lucky day.
No sooner had the thought of having good luck crossed his mind, he spotted a familiar face among the crowd. He slipped into the shadows, hoping to stay out of sight, and watched as the man casually walked towards the Leaky Cauldron. He wasn’t sure where he knew the man from, but it was definitely a wizard. He knew the odds of running into wizards or witches in this area were high, but he had never really considered what that meant for him and how much danger that put him in.
Harry was no stranger to dangerous situations, but this time it felt different as he was completely alone and no one had even an idea of where he was or that he was potentially making decisions that could get him killed. He recognized the surge of emotion as fear, and he tried to squash it down and bury it so he could keep a level head.
Or as level as one’s head could be when they had been making impulsive, rash decisions all day without really weighing the possible outcomes.
He licked his lips, wishing he could just aparate somewhere safe. Somewhere with water and perhaps food. His skin felt tight and warm where the sun had burned his skin and his head was beginning to throb in time with his heartbeat. He wondered if it were the summer heat causing his headache, or if it were the need to take care of his basic needs like food and beverage, or if it was a sign that he was in danger. He put a hand to his forehead, pushing against the dull throb, and isolated the source of the pain. It was not his scar, so he felt fairly confident that it was not Voldemort related. He was definitely overreacting.
Harry wasn’t sure how long he had stood there, lost in his thoughts and lacking in focus and concentration, but eventually he shook his head and pushed the feelings of discomfort, fatigue, and nervousness aside. He needed to come up with a plan of action before it became too late at night. He still needed to buy some new clothes and he needed to attend to his hunger and thirst. Then, he needed to figure out a way to get to his friends.
No, not his friends. He touched the chain around his neck lightly, reminding himself that if he went to his friends, they’d take away his chance of rescuing Sirius. He missed Ron and Hermione terribly, and he had never gotten into a situation this big without them by his side as long as he’d known them, but there was no way that he would be able to pull this off if they knew what his plans were. He had to do this alone.
He stepped back out into the street after looking carefully to make sure he wasn’t going to run smack dab into a Death Eater or an Order member. The coast was clear, as far as he could tell, and he wasted no time in getting as far away from the Leaky Cauldron as possible.
He quickly stopped at a muggle clothing store and bought a few necessities - they would be even more important now that he was on a quest to save Sirius. His original plan was to arrive at the Burrow and ask someone to return to Privet Drive for his belongings, since he couldn’t very well have lugged a trunk all the way to London from Surrey, but now that his destination had changed, his plans needed to as well.
Harry, overall, was satisfied with how the day had progressed. There had been a few moments where he felt like he was royally bollocking everything up, but those moments paled in comparison to the hope his broken heart felt at the idea of bringing Sirius back and having his godfather once more, at the idea of not being responsible for yet another death. Sure, he was hungry and tired, and he wasn’t really sure what to do to actually go back and save Sirius, but he was a lot closer to a solution than he had been earlier this morning when he woke up drenched in sweat after yet another dream of Sirius falling through the veil.
He trekked down a side street, cloaked by darkness now that the sun had set and night had fallen. Harry wasn’t entirely sure where he was going; he needed to be somewhere secluded to use the time turner so no one would see him randomly appear. It would be helpful to be near Hogwarts, the Ministry, or Grimmauld Place - those were the three locations he’d be most successful in changing the outcomes of that dreadful night. If he were at Hogwarts, he could prevent himself and his friends from leaving for the Ministry in the first place. If he were at Grimmauld Place, he could keep Sirius from leaving. If he were at the Ministry, he could intercept before the moment of Sirius’s death.
He gave it some thought as he hurried across a roadway and into another dimly lit alley. He really shouldn’t go to the Ministry - he had no desire to relive any moment of that night again. His friends had been hurt, Sirius had died, the pain from Voldemort ripping through his head had been unparalleled. Going to the Ministry would be the absolute last resort. That left returning to school and returning to headquarters. At Hogwarts, he’d have more resources on hand...the library, his friends, professors, and the familiarity and comfort of his home. At headquarters, he’d have Sirius. Not that he’d really have any of that, anyway, as he wouldn’t be able to reveal himself to anyone.
This was a lot harder to plan than he’d imagined it would be.
He found himself moving in the direction of Kings Cross without even realizing it, and he supposed the decision was being made instinctively for him; he was going to return to school and prevent himself and his friends from running to the Ministry. It was likely the best course of action anyway; if he hadn’t left school, Sirius wouldn’t have had to go to the Ministry to rescue him and he’d still be alive.
He became so absorbed in his planning that he forgot to remain aware of his surroundings, and before he knew it he was back on the main streets and a perfectly suitable target for any passing witch or wizard. As he made his way to the train, he went over the plan in his mind. He was going to find a secluded spot to use the time turner, he was going to board the train and head to Hogsmeade, and on the train he would finalize his plan to stop his group from leaving. There were still a lot of unknowns, but overall he felt like he had a fair shot of success.
Harry startled slightly as he realized he had drifted back into the main part of town. As soon as this realization hit him, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand straight and a flutter of panic blossomed in his chest. Anyone could be here, watching him, trailing him, ready to destroy his plans for Sirius. He quickly glanced around, not seeing any imminent danger, but he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched and the nagging feeling of worry was enough to send him slipping out of the crowd as soon as possible.
Sweat made his hands slick as he held his breath, watching from the shadows for anything out of the ordinary. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, maybe 5 minutes or maybe closer to 10, but just as he was working on convincing himself that his imagination was running wild, he spotted a familiar face.
Snape.
In London.
No more than three meters away from him.
He held his breath, pushing himself as much against the nearby brick wall as he could to conceal himself. He couldn’t be caught by Snape, of all people. Not when he was so close to getting Sirius back.
Snape stopped walking and looked around suspiciously, and Harry felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. There’s no way Snape could know he was here; the man hadn’t been walking like he was searching for the teenager, nor had Harry done anything that would give his location away. ‘Keep walking’, Harry silently urged, ‘Keep walking, keep walking, keep walking’.
To his relief, Snape did keep walking. As soon as the coast was clear, Harry took off at a heightened pace to reach the sanctity of the station as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to run into anyone else he may know. He didn’t want to risk Snape returning and carting him back to the Dursley’s by the neck. He just wanted to put his plan into action and see Sirius again.
It didn’t take long to reach his destination, and as he approached, he started to think of the perfect hiding place to use the magical device sitting against his chest. Bringing it to the toilets would give him privacy, but there was too high of a risk of being seen once the time changed. Finding a dark corner would have the same risks. He could think of no place where he could hide with no chance of anyone else being present months back.
Perhaps if he used it on the train? If he planned it right, he could time his appearance to align with it being empty just prior to boarding...but he didn’t necessarily want to go back to the start of the school years or revisit the start of school just after the Christmas holidays - that was too far back, he only needed to go back to that day at the Ministry. He bit his lip as his mind raced with possibilities; he could turn back time to board the train, hide on the train, make it to Hogwarts, and then hide in the room of requirement or an abandoned classroom, then move time forward to the night at the Department of Mysteries. Could time turners even move time forward? Maybe he should experiment with the time turner first before making a decision, as this one did not look the same as Hermione’s, and it might possibly work differently.
His head gave a painful throb, breaking him from his scattered thoughts. He knew he’d have to come up with something, he couldn’t just stand in Kings Cross, hoping no one recognized him.
Harry looked around at his surroundings once more, really wishing he had a friend here to help him work through the details of this insane plot. Maybe he was making a mistake. He paled rapidly as he spotted a familiar dark head of hair and scowl in the distance. Snape again. Why was he back? Was he looking for Harry?
Their eyes connected, recognition dawning in the elder’s expression, and just as the professor opened his mouth to call out for the wayward teen, Harry turned and took off running. He didn’t have a specific destination in mind, he just knew he had to get away from Snape, and quickly. People moved out of his way as he barrelled through them, and he could hear murmurs in his wake about delinquent children and how parents needed to keep a better watch on their children - it was a bit too late for that one, really.
“Stop right there!” came the bellow of his professor, but Harry ignored him completely, finding himself at the entrance to Platform 9 ¾. He disappeared through the barrier, and looked around in a panic for somewhere to hide, knowing he had only moments before Snape would catch up to him. He was going to be in so much trouble.
The metal of the time turner felt cold against his sweaty chest, and in what could only be described as his most impulsive action of the day, Harry decided it was now or never, and he rapidly spun the dial of the time turner. His only thought was that he could figure out where he was, and then re-evaluate from there once Snape wasn’t on his heels. In a panic, he spun the dial over and over, knowing that Hermione’s time turner sent them back one hour for every rotation. He needed more than an hour, he needed weeks. Snape appeared through the barrier as Harry lost track of the frenzied spinning, and just as the angry potions master was about to lay his hand on Harry’s shoulder to stop him, Harry let the device fall back against his chest and disappeared, leaving the furious spy grasping at only air.
Harry knew immediately that he had messed up very, very badly.