Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Initially, Harry was quite surprised to wake up. He was shaking, and there were still tears on his face. 

He gazed around and found himself in a dead-end alley, propped against a few metal bins. For a moment, he wondered if someone had gotten him out, but that couldn’t be right. He went through!

Harry pushed himself to his feet, feeling incredibly unsteady, and braced his hands on the brick wall behind him. 

As his mind kept racing to try to figure out what the hell was going on, he began to take notice that he was moving in slow motion. So he started waving his hand about madly in front of his face, but it looked normal.

It was like he was in a dark room, trying to make his way to the door by walking slowly and spreading out his arms and legs so he would feel anything around him before running into it.

Harry sighed and collapsed against the wall. Then his eyes widened and began to well as he began to adjust to what had just happened. He was murdered! Sent off to execution by someone he trusted! Someone that he’d been told by every role model in his life to trust!

Harry was pissed, and rightfully so. That asshole Dumbledore had him killed to save his own arse. And even after Harry killed Voldemort, everyone still believed him.

‘ I regret to have made the mistake of trusting a cunning, wayward boy twice. ’ He’d said.

“I guess I’m lucky.” He said to himself shakily, taking a deep breath and wiping at his eyes. “The Veil of Death obviously doesn’t do what they think it does.”

You are correct. A female voice with a transatlantic accent said.

“Who’s there?” Harry looked around the alley, but he was still alone. He tried to pull out his wand, only to find he didn’t have one.

I am Death. The voice said. And you, Harry Potter, are my master.

“Sorry, ma’am, but I’m not into that kind of thing.” Harry said awkwardly. Trust him to be the one to be saved from death only to have a horny woman from the 20s trying to push her kinks on his little gay arse.

That’s not…look, the person of the Peverell Bloodline who collects all of my hallows shall have power over me. That’s how it works.

Harry’s mind flashed to the wand, the stone, and the cloak. He knew what the legend said, but even if he did believe it, he wouldn’t have expected it to be like… this.

You are immortal, you can communicate with me, as can anyone you bond with, but you alone can summon my hallows by will and use them to their utmost power. Harry wasn’t quite ready to face that, so he moved on.

“Ok, so where am I?” Harry asked.

You are in an alley off Orchard Way in Ormesby, North Yorkshire, on Tuesday, 9 June, 1942.

“I beg your finest pardon…WHAT?!” He went back in time?!

Yes, you did. I brought you to this specific universe for a reason.

“What do you mean, ‘this universe?’” Harry asked. He didn’t know if he should feel pleased or cheated that he wasn’t dead.

The Veil of Death takes a person to a universe to one that runs parallel to the one they originate from. 

Parallel universe…okay, maybe that meant that Harry wouldn’t have to deal with all of Dumbledore and Voldemort’s bullshit.

In this universe, everything that has happened in your universe, and everything that will happen is the same. Unless you decide to change it, and I’m hoping that you do.

Of course. Of course Harry was the Chosen One again. Dying would’ve been so much better.

“Why are you hoping for me, specifically, to save the day?!” Harry whined. “I need a break! Why me?! ”

Because you can save everyone from Voldemort. You can even save Tom Riddle from Voldemort.

“How?!” Harry was on the edge of his proverbial seat.

By destroying Albus Dumbledore’s influence on the Wizarding World.

~~~

Harry decided to ignore all of the actual reasons he was in 1942, because he was going to cry if he acknowledged the pressure that was still on his shoulders. 

Instead, he focused on other things.

The streets were cobbled instead of paved, something simple that Harry didn’t think he should’ve enjoyed as much as he did. There wasn’t the constant hum of electricity that was present in his time. Though, you didn’t really notice that until it was gone. 

Something he was very much enjoying about being in the 40s: the clothes. He was wearing a button down shirt, a sweater vest, trousers, work shoes, and an ivy cap. He was also very happy that his vision correction charm was still in effect.

The material his clothes were made of was soft and breathable, it wasn’t too warm, the trousers weren’t tight in the crotch, the shoes were snug, and the cap wasn’t giving him a headache. It was perfect!

Alright, here’s your story; your name is Henry Joseph Peverell, born 25 June, 1927. Your mother died recently of polio, and you never knew your father.

Okay, he still had issues, that made all the acting work a lot easier.  

Your mother’s name was Alice Peverell. Before she died, she told you to go to Ormesby Hall for work. Now go inside that shop and ask the keep for directions.

Harry took a hard left through the door of a small shop, nearly passing it. 

As he stepped in, the bell over the door rang, and the lady behind the counter spoke.

“Hello, love. Is there anything I can help you with?” She asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I was wondering if you could give me directions to Ormesby Hall?” The lady’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, why d’you ask?” She asked.

“My mother died a couple days ago and she told me I could find work there.” Harry said.

“Oh, dear me.” The lady gasped. “What’s your name, love?”

“Ha–enry…Peverell, ma’am.” Harry caught himself before he could say the wrong name, then trailed off as he finished. He was doomed.

“Well, Henry, you just go up the road and turn right. It’ll be right there. Knock on the back door, I’m sure Mrs. Robinson will fix you up.” The lady said. Harry blinked. 

‘ Okay, that was a fluke, not everyone will be like that. ’ He told himself.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Harry turned and quickly stepped back through the door.

“Best of luck, love.” The lady said from behind him.

Harry followed her directions, and the walk only took a few minutes. When he made it up the road, he found himself in front of a large house. There were three levels, and it was made of well-managed red brick. Harry thought he would be staring at it forever. He would be living there?!

~~~

By the time Harry made it to the back door of Ormesby Hall, the sun was going down. He knocked sharply, and after a few seconds it opened. A tall man in black trousers, a pressed white shirt, and a black vest stood there.

“What are you doing, boy?! The sirens will be going soon, get in!” The man grabbed Harry’s arm and jerked him through the door. “Mrs. Robinson!”

Harry looked around the small dining room he appeared to be in. The room was warm, probably from the proximity to the kitchen. The floors as far as he could see were tile, and well-kept.

There were a few guys and girls sitting at the end of the long table that occupied the room, looking at him curiously and whispering.

“What is it?!” A woman called. “For Christ's sake.” She walked through an arch across from Harry, and he immediately got nervous, like when Professor McGonagall was pissed off.

She wore a long black dress with a chatelaine on the belt, her brown hair was in a shampoo and set, and her hands were folded elegantly at her waist.

“Matthew, who is this?” She demanded.

“My name is Henry Peverell, ma’am.” Harry said.

“And where is your mother, young man?” Harry did his best to look depressed.

“She died earlier this week. She told me I could come here to find work.” He said.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Henry, but we do not have the capacity to compensate anymore staff.” Mrs. Robinson said.

“Well, I don’t have a mother or a place to sleep, so maybe we can be resourceful together.” Harry huffed. “I’m sorry, but I’ve had a rough week, walking from miles away, sleeping in alleyways, and I haven’t come this far to be turned away because you can’t give me money that I don’t need.” Mrs. Robinson sighed.

“What can you do?” She asked.

“Dishes, cooking, laundry, ironing, mowing, weeding, tending to plants, I can dust, sweep, mop, wash windows, I can run errands, mend things.” Harry rattled off the list of things he’d done at the Dursleys’. He’d never really imagined they’d be this helpful. “I can do most things.”

“Well, you’re in luck, Henry.” Mrs. Robinson said. “I’ve got a leaky tap. If you can mend it, then I’ll bring you on.” Harry smiled weakly.

“Where is it?” He asked. 

Mrs. Robinson led him through the arch to a busy kitchen. People were rushing around an island, dropping off dirty dishes and picking up full platters, then leaving the room.

Mrs. Robinson gestured at a sink on the counter behind Harry, and he turned around. He knelt down and opened the cabinet below the sink and turned a valve on one of the pipes to turn off the water flowing to the tap. 

He stood up and turned it on to drain the water left inside.

“I’ll need a screwdriver.” The man who answered the door went to fetch one, and once Harry had it, he quickly took the tap apart, found the issue, corrected it, then put the tap back together.

He went back under the sink to turn the water back on, and then he tested the tap, and it worked perfectly.

“A deal’s a deal. Welcome to the staff, Henry. I am Mrs. Robinson, the housekeeper.” Mrs. Robinson said. “You can sleep in the apartment above the stable block, but tonight we have the air raid drill before you can head to bed.” Harry nodded, his mind reeling at the fact that he’d have an apartment to himself!  

“That being said,” Mrs. Robinson continued, “If you ever hear the sirens, you drop everything and run for the house.” Harry’s stomach tightened.

“Yes, ma’am.” He said.

“Supper’s over, the lights are out.” A man called.

“David!” Mrs. Robinson shouted. A middle-aged, formally dressed man walked through a crowd of staff. “Henry, this is Mr. Williams, the butler. David, this is Henry Peverell, he is joining our staff. He will be staying in the stable block apartment, so we will need a new key.”

“Nonsense, he can take mine. I have no reason to be in there, and if anyone should need him, you will have a key, as you do for every room in the house.” Mr. Williams pulled a keyring from the pocket of his coat and looked through the keys, before taking one off and handing it to Harry. It was a silver, ornate skeleton key. Harry accepted it.

He furrowed his eyebrows at the speed Mr. Williams was able to find the key, when there were probably a hundred on that ring.

“Thank you, sir. But how did you know which one was which?” He inquired.

“Each key for the house has a number engraved on the shank,” Mr. Williams showed him one of the keys, so Harry could see the number, “The two that do not are the key to the stable block apartment, and the stable master key, and the master key is worn from use. The condition of your key is so pristine because it has been rarely used.”

Harry looked over at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs to his left, and he saw a middle-aged couple and two staff, obviously a valet and a ladies’ maid. 

Everyone in the room bowed or curtsied to the couple, and Harry followed suit.

“Good evening, everyone.” The man said. “Compliments for supper, Ms. Simon.” Harry looked over and saw a stout blonde woman curtsy.

“Thank you, your Lordship.” She said.

“And who’s this?” The lady asked.

“This is Henry Peverell, your Ladyship, he’s a recent member of our staff. Henry, this is the Baronet and Baronetess Pennyman.” Mrs. Robinson introduced. Harry didn’t know what to do, so he bowed again.

“Your Ladyship.” He said politely.

“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Peverell.” Mr. Pennyman said.

“Likewise, your Lordship.” Harry gave a somewhat nervous smile, then he was startled by the red alert siren.

“Ah, I was wondering when that bloody thing would sound.” Mr. Pennyman said. 

Someone turned off the kitchen light, and Harry went with the group down to the cellar, which was draughty and dimly lit, to wait for the white alert. 

“Henry, I’d like you to meet the rest of the staff.” Mrs. Robinson said. “You’ve already met Matthew, he takes care of maintenance around the grounds, he’s meant to, at least.” Matthew raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “This is Ms. Simon, our cook, and her assistants, Sarah and Loren.”

Sarah and Loren looked to be about Harry’s age, which was fifteen again, unfortunately. They were sitting either side of Ms. Simon, who smiled at him kindly. Harry noticed that Sarah’s hands were clasped around a small silver watch, the chain winding through her fingers like a rosary, and Loren’s head was on Ms. Simon’s shoulder. She looked exhausted. 

Harry smiled and waved, before moving on with Mrs. Robinson.

“This is the gardener, Mr. Johnston, and the footmen, Oliver, Noah, Jacob, and Charlie.” Mrs. Robinson gestured at each of them as she said their names. The boys were huddled around a crate full of wine bottles, playing a card game. 

Oliver and Charlie looked like a down-low couple, but that was a common thing amongst straight men. Noah and Jacob, however, looked like they would be the ones with a twink between them, chuckling jock-ily and saying, ‘No homo, bruh.’

“Over here is Mrs. Pennyman’s ladies’ maid, Martha, and the other maids, Poppy, Ella, Charlotte, and Olivia. And you know me and Mr. Williams.” Harry smiled politely at the maids as he forced their names into his memory. Martha was tall and looked very dignified, while the other girls were a bit shorter. Martha was probably in her thirties, and the other maids looked to be in their early twenties. They all wore the standard black dress and white apron, so Harry would have a bit more work keeping them apart.

The only reason he could keep the men apart was because he would take a broom cupboard holiday with most of them.

Harry just sort of stood awkwardly in the corner until the second siren sounded and everyone marched back up the stairs out of the cellar.

“I thought it would last longer than that.” Harry said to Mrs. Robinson.

“The real thing does, but that was just a drill.” She said. “You can go on to bed, I’ll be ‘round in the morning to give you your assignments for the day.”

“Alright.” Harry said. “Good night, ma’am. And I’m sorry that I snapped at you, earlier.” Mrs. Robinson smiled at him.

“It’s alright, dear.” She said. “Get some rest.”

As he walked to the stable block, Harry’s mind was—once again—reeling. He was only just beginning to notice that everyone’s accents were slightly more antiquated than anything he’d heard before in his life! It seemed strange that that was a major thought, what with everything going on at the moment.

And Death! She was nothing like Harry would have expected. She was this omnipotent, godlike figure, but she seemed…chaotic.