Chapter 2: Unspeakable Rendezvous

  The magically expanded hold of the Scourge's Folly shuddered violently, living up to its wretched name. Waves battered the schooner's groaning walls, and Harry gripped the bench beneath him, certain the rotting vessel would split apart. Dust rained from the ceiling as lanterns swung wildly, casting jagged shadows over the huddled passengers. Magic might hold the planks together, but Harry doubted it could outlast the storm.

  He'd questioned the schooner's seaworthiness the moment he boarded in Sydney - peeling paint, creaking timbers, and a smell like wet troll. Now, as nausea churned his stomach, he cursed Wizarding transportation anew. "Couldn't they invent a spell for not feeling like you're dying?" he muttered, knuckles white on the bench.

  After enduring several hours of stomach-turning sailing interspersed by port stops at Seoul, New York, and Baku (which Harry was pretty sure was located on an inland sea and should have been unreachable by ocean), the ferry service finally arrived at London. Unsteadily stumbling from the gangway, Harry let out a sigh of relief as his legs touched solid ground. Bloody hell, everything's spinning.

  Controlling his nausea, he followed the other passengers to the designated Apparition points. Thankfully, border control was fairly lax before the war, so nobody questioned his identity; Harry supposed that the ability to simply fly or Apparate across the English Channel made strict policing of international travel difficult.

  Harry left the port and Apparated straight to Diagon Alley. Time to do some fact-finding.

  It was late afternoon, and the cobblestone roads were crowded with visitors despite the summer heat. Walking past the familiar sights of the iconic street, still untouched by war, he was suddenly hit with strong nostalgia for the British Wizarding world before Voldemort's return.

  He thought back to when he had roamed the alley streets during the summer before his third year, after he blew up Aunt Marge in a fit of rage and had to stay at the Leaky Cauldron for several weeks. Shopping for school supplies … enjoying the sun while doing his homework at Florean's Ice Cream Parlor … then he met up with Ron and Hermione and laughed at their squabbling over Scabbers and Crookshanks.

  Looking back now, those days were some of the most happy and carefree days of his life, even if he was stressed out at the time by news of a mass murderer on the loose.

  Harry passed in front of Florean's, glancing at a familiar wanted poster depicting said mass murderer. The scraggly black locks and menacing expression had once tormented him in his third year. Now, he only wished he could see the man in person again.

  Navigating through the crowds and arriving at Flourish and Blotts, Harry picked out Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century and Modern Magical History from the bookshelves. Let's see, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named … Girl-Who-Lived … aha, found it.

  Iris Lily Potter, also known as the Girl-Who-Lived, was born on July 31st, 1980. Voldemort arrived at Godric's Hollow on Hallowe'en of 1981, proceeding to murder James and Lily Potter before failing to kill Iris Potter and disappearing. Harry nodded to himself. Same old story, just different gender, huh?

  Other events such as Dumbledore's duel with Grindelwald and the First Wizarding War also seemed to match, although Harry had to admit he was never the best at History of Magic.

  Another important detail, Harry noted, was that what little the public knew about the Department of Mysteries also matched what Harry remembered in his world. Hopefully my memories of the place will be useful here …

  Striding to the offices of the Daily Prophet across the street, Harry asked for old copies of the Daily Prophet from the last four years and settled down in the archives room to read.

  He was specifically searching for events that he remembered happening during his first four school years. Dumbledore kept a tight grip on the happenings at Hogwarts, so incidents like the troll in his First Year were unlikely to make it to the press. However, major events like the petrifications in his Second Year would be hard to cover up.

  As he flipped through issues from his first three years of school, Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. Strange … details about my 2nd year are different here. He didn't see any mention of the flying Ford Anglia, for example. Did Dobby decide not to stop Iris from going to Hogwarts?

  There didn't seem to be anything about the Chamber of Secrets, either. No mention of mysterious petrifications or Dumbledore being fired. Maybe Dumbledore had more control over the school? Did he cover the whole thing up?

  On the other hand, the embarrassing group photo with Lockhart at Flourish and Blotts was still front and center on the September 2nd issue. 12-year-old Iris Potter looked similarly mortified to be dragged to the front of the shop for a photo-shoot. Harry grinned to himself. Huh, she looks just like me! She was also wearing those crooked glasses back then. He felt a bit strange looking through these uncannily familiar-yet-not pictures of his "little sister".

  Everything in Third Year seemed to match up with his memories. The same family photo of the Weasley's trip to Egypt in the summer, with Scabbers' missing toe barely visible. The same articles on Sirius' escape from Azkaban, his maniacal face screaming from the front covers.

  "Fourth year … also many differences." Harry murmured as he shook his head. No Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup. All the scathing hit-pieces about Harry courtesy of Rita Skeeter were instead juicy gossip columns about Iris Potter's love life.

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  And what is Ol' Tommy up to? Looking through the short news blurbs about the missing Ministry witch Bertha Jorkins, the brief commotion at Mad-Eye Moody's residence, and the illness of Bartemius Crouch Sr, Harry felt some relief. Alright, Voldemort is up to the same old tricks, which makes everything easier. The more chess pieces that remained the same, the better Harry could play his game.

  Standing in the bright afternoon sun outside the Daily Prophet offices, Harry considered his next steps.

  "Didn't find anything about a dimension-traveling Sirius Black … not that I was expecting anything." He heaved a sigh. "Looks like I'll have to make a trip to the Department of Mysteries."

  Light rain drizzled down from the night sky, creating ripples upon the puddle surfaces in the street. The hum of rain against the windowpane blurred with the clinking of beer cans and noisy clamour of customers in the muggle pub. Sitting in a quiet corner booth, Harry shifted uncomfortably under the scrutinizing gaze of the tall, dark-skinned man across from him.

  Several days ago, Harry had sent an anonymous letter to his former Unspeakable mentor, Trevor Lapis. Although the Trevor of this dimension didn't know him, Harry hoped that the letter contained enough intriguing clues to draw his interest. In the letter was the time and place for their meeting - a nondescript muggle pub near Charing Cross.

  Trevor Lapis leaned forward, fingertips steepled, his yellow eyes narrowing like a hawk assessing prey. A black top hat covered his head, its rim lined with faint runes. Harry met his gaze, the scar on his forehead half-hidden under damp hair. He'd rehearsed this a dozen times in his head, but dimensions were fickle things - he had no idea if the details he prepared would be enough.

  "You'll forgive my skepticism, Mr…" The Unspeakable paused as he raised an eyebrow.

  "... Potter." Harry hesitated, but decided to be honest.

  The significance of the last name wasn't lost on his former mentor. Lapis' eyes flicked up to the scar, then gave Harry a searching look. He continued without comment.

  " 'Dimension traveler' is a quaint tale, especially for a Monday evening." His words were cool and precise. "And yet… you knew about the tea."

  Harry's mouth quirked. In his world, Trevor took Earl Grey with two sugars and a dash of cinnamon - a detail even Hermione hadn't pried out of the man.

  Harry leaned forward with a bit more confidence. "Not just the tea. You grade rune translations in red ink because 'bloody mistakes deserve bloody reminders.' You made me recalibrate the Wardstone array six times last winter after I botched the third sequence. And…" His voice lowered. "You keep a photograph of your sister in your desk. Face-down. Because guilt's easier to ignore if you don't look at it."

  Trevor's hand twitched, nearly imperceptible, toward his coat pocket. His little sister's death in the First Wizarding War was still his life's biggest regret. Even if someone guessed this from public records, very few people could know such a specific detail as the placement of a photograph.

  Harry pressed on. "You've got a scar on your left palm from that cursed Babylonian scroll. Called it a 'rookie error' even though it was your fifth year as an Unspeakable. And you hate Firewhisky. Prefer gin. With lime."

  There was a lull as the Unspeakable processed Harry's words with a stony face. He slowly tapped his index finger on the table. "A compelling list of stolen trivia. But … you're wrong about the scar."

  Harry's smile faltered.

  "It was on my right palm." Lapis opens up his right hand, revealing an unnatural rune-shaped brand seared into his flesh.

  "Ahem … of course, not everything is the same between planes. That's to be expected." Harry gave a nervous chuckle.

  The dark-skinned man seemed half-convinced. "Even if I entertain this… multiverse fantasy, why approach me? What is it that you need from the Department?" Lapis had a vague guess, but he still needed to make sure.

  Harry's tone was blunt and urgent. "Access to the Department. The Veil's not just a relic. I fell through one in Australia - that's how I got here."

  The runemaster's eyes gleamed with interest.

  "Sirius Black - my godfather - fell through it before me. In my world, he's gone. Here … maybe he's not." Harry's words were filled with sincerity. Years of effort studying the Veil had finally seen a faint ray of hope - even if it came as the result of an accident, Harry had proven that passageway through the Veil was not a death sentence. "Maybe there's a thread I can follow to pull him back … no. There has to be a way to find him. I know it."

  Lapis adjusted his top hat, narrowing his eyes. His voice was flat when he spoke again. "How many dimensions are out there? Are you sure you aren't just chasing after a ghost?"

  Edge creeped into the young man's voice. "I've chased worse. And …" Harry felt a surge of excitement. "... you know something. I know your tells. You only touch your top hat when you're hiding something."

  Trevor's eyes flicked up to meet with Harry's. The green eyes were filled with barely suppressed emotion.

  A few seconds passed before the stern man rose from his seat, sniffing in grudging acceptance. "Meet me at the Ministry atrium, tomorrow at 8 pm. And wear Unspeakable robes to cover your face - I've left them at Gringotts."

  Lapis tossed a silver key onto the table - Harry recognized it as a vault key. The man paused before leaving the booth, glancing back.

  "Oh, and Potter? You're a good kid. Your godfather would be proud of you."

  Harry pocketed the coin, the weight of two lifetimes in his palm. His hand was shaking. Was it from relief, or anticipation? He didn't know, and frankly didn't care either.

  After letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, the "good godson" gave himself a wry grin, letting the tension drain from his body. "Proud? Sirius … would probably try to strangle me if he knew how I got here." Harry chuckled to himself and shook his head.

  Stepping out of the pub with a spring in his step, Harry stopped by the curb and looked up at the dark sky. Even the rainy London night seemed infinitely brighter than before.

  Five years … five long years since Sirius had fallen into the Veil, lost to their world. And yet, despite all the odds, across the infinite planes, Harry had finally found him again. In Trevor Lapis' eyes, Harry had seen a startling truth - his former mentor in this world knew what had happened to Sirius, and he wasn't dead.

  Harry stretched out a hand, letting tiny raindrops land in his palm. He was determined to fix his regrets this time, come what may. No doubt there were many trials ahead. Was Sirius still suffering from the curse Bellatrix hit him with in the Death Chamber? Did Sirius' trip through the Veil cause complications? How in the world were they going to return home?

  But these were questions for tomorrow. For now, just knowing that Sirius was here, alive in this dimension, was enough.