A Riddle to be Solved Ch. 11 (Patreon)

The Nexus was a singular point, the place all universes are tethered to, the bridge between them and also the force that gives them life. It was where all had originated, and the end of all paths.

The small section that Harry and Emily were allowed to see on their travels was a translucent bridge that led from one ball of swirling light to another.

All around them was an interconnected web of swirling lights of many colors, all of which represented a universe. If they strayed from their narrow bridge, they would fall into an unknown world with no way of returning.

The had to walk the path fate set out for them.

Cross the bridge connecting the universes. Complete their task, return through the veil to their own world.

It was a supremely vulnerable position. If fate wanted to, she could vanish the bridge and send them plummeting into the vast emptiness of the nexus, or she could send them to a world that was not their own and leave them stranded.

Emily cracked her neck as she followed just a step behind Harry. Their steps always felt heavy here, echoing off into the cage of lights that surrounded them. Harry was not able to tell if this place was in outer space, as it appeared to be, or in a pocket dimension.

Or perhaps, it was not a real place at all, simply the best manifestation their mortal brains could come up with to explain what they were experiencing.

The first time they'd stepped through, it had been a stark reminder of the sheer scale of the threat that they were facing. They were going up against a cosmic being, a fundamental force of the universe.

They were undeterred. They plugged away at their plans, biding their time. Meanwhile, they needed to dance to fate's tune, act as good little puppets.

Harry reached back and grasped Emily's hand as they stopped in front of the gate to this new universe. The soulmates shared a nod before taking the leap, entering a new world.

…

Harry Potter gasped as he startled awake. For a second, he couldn't recognize his surroundings, until Ron's loud snores finally grounded him in reality.

He was in his bed at Hogwarts. It was the middle of winter break. Nothing was going on.

The young boy had been having strange dreams for a while, dreams that he couldn't really recall but that always left him panting and sweating whenever he awoke.

The floor was icy cold to the touch as his feet settled on it, which he was thankful for, as it helped knock the last of that sleepy haze off from his brain. He curled his toes, focusing on the sensation as every little muscle twitched, anything to remind him that he was awake.

He glanced over at Ron's bed, but he knew his mate wasn't getting up until at least ten the next morning.

Harry grabbed the invisibility cloak from the edge of his bed and padded his way out of the common room, not bothering to change out of his pajamas or even put on shoes.

It was winter break, and the castle was basically empty. Besides the Weasleys, noone from Gryffindor had decided to stay back, and it was the same for all the other houses.

Harry threw the cloak on as he exited through the portrait hole. It was so big on his eleven year old frame, he was basically walking around with a sheet over himself.

His feet trudged the now well worn path, the same path he'd traveled since christmas break had begun.

He'd chosen not to tell Ron about the mirror. It just felt too weird, and he worried that Ron would freak out.

Harry entered the abandoned classroom and closed the door behind him as silently as he could manage. Then, he removed the cloak and walked over to the large mirror at the center of the room.

The Mirror of Erised.

Harry plopped down in front of it, rubbing his hands together as he gazed at his reflection.

Except his reflection looked older, a full grown adult. He was a tall, handsome man, emerald green eyes not burdened by Harry's wonky glasses. At first, Harry had thought it was his father, but he'd been wrong.

“How were things today, Harry?”

“They were good, we had a snowball fight with the twins.”

Older Harry smiled kindly, “And afterwards?”

“I-I found the books you were talking about. They were really neat.”

Older Harry's smile turned mischievous. “I'd say they're a little more than just neat, wouldn't you agree?”

The two of them laughed, and in that moment, young Harry felt the closest he ever had to being amongst family.

His face fell. “Do you really have to go?”

Older Harry sighed. “Dumbledore will move me after tonight, Harry.”

“He's taking my family away from me… again.” Young Harry's voice filled with anger.

“Hey now, don't get yourself down, Harry. Remember what we talked about. Just keep plugging at it, and you'll have a family the headmaster won't ever be able to snatch away.”

“But… are you sure I'll be able to find Lady Voldemort?”

“Believe me, Harry, when the time comes, you'll find that Lady Voldemort is a lot closer than you might think.”

At the same time, several floors above, a different conversation was being held in the quarters of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

“And you are certain this plan will work?”

“I am you, am I not? The only person you can trust.”

“You are a younger me, less experienced.”

“I'm not the one who ended up without a body, needing to live off unicorn blood on the back of some mediocre witch's head.”

“You dare insult Lady Voldemort?!”

“What can you do about it, Emily?”

Voldemort grumbled, but the truth was, there was nothing she could do.

“What if this is just playing into some scheme of yours? What guarantee do I have that you will not interfere with my rise?”

“You have none, you can only trust my words, and you know how trustworthy we are. But if you must know, my intentions are to cross over into the new world, to find a body and begin conquering under a new name. If our paths were to cross as masters of our own domains, then I cannot guarantee that things will be peaceful, but I can say that I currently have no desire to remain in England.”

Voldemort mulled those words over, unable to use any form of legilimency to test her counterpart's truthfulness, and not even able to look into her face.

She was merely a growth on the back of Quinn Quirrell's head, and her counterpart was possesing said woman through the tiara that lay atop her head.

He first instinct was to disregard what her Horcrux was pushing her towards. She had a perfectly good plan, what did a mere fragment of herself know that she didn't?

But the Diadem had made too many salient points. She had proven to her that Dumbledore knew, that he was merely setting a trap, she had proven that Severus was no ally of hers.

More than all that, she had shown her how blind she'd been. If she were to continue attacking the Boy-Who-Lived, it would only lead to her demise. No matter how wide the gulf in their power was, the prophecy would lead her to her doom.

Unless, of course, she brought the boy over to her side.

The Dark Lady had not seen the point in such a thing. She'd seen the Potter boy in class for a full semester, and he was wholly unremarkable as a student, showing none of the talent she had displayed from the moment she had stepped through those halls.

But then the Diadem had told her the boy was a Horcrux, and Voldemort had verified it herself, and that changed things.

“Fine,”

The Diadem seemed pleased. “Good. Then I will take my leave. I have taken the liberty of planting some books about your first rise. When the boy asks, you merely need to weave a believable lie.”

“That will be no issue.”

The horcrux slipped off Quirrell's head and clattered onto the desk before falling onto the floor. Voldemort could do nothing to retrieve it, as Quirrell had been rendered completely unconscious and she had been left too weak to possess her body.

She knew that the Diadem would not be there in the morning. She would need to just let that loose end go and focus on her ultimate goal.

…

Out in the village of Hogsmeade, a young woman was approaching the room she had been renting at The Three Broomsticks.

The muffled moans she heard from inside the bedroom turned loud when she opened the door.

“Ah, you're finally back, love?”

Emily smiled as she watched Harry plowing Madam Rosmerta on the bed. The barmaid was drooling on the sheets, her gigantic tits squished against the mattress as her bountiful ass jiggled with each thrust from Harry's hips.

“Indeed, everything is in place. I see it went well on your end as well.”

Harry grinned as he thrust even harder into Rosmerta, his thick cock knocking the back out of her tight pussy.

“Young Harry is primed, we just need to give him some time, I'd say.”

“And your relatives?”

“Paid them a little visit, though the neighborhood is not what it once was, I am afraid.”

The two of them chuckled as Emily shed her clothing and leaned in to give her husband a deep kiss. All the while, Harry kept fucking their little toy into the bed, her pussy squelching loudly as Harry filled her quivering cunt with his meat.

“Come now, pet, your mistress needs loving too.” Emily settled in front of Rosmerta, and the buxom barmaid was conscious enough to begin picking away at Emily's pussy. It was very sloppy and erratic, but Emily still extracted more than enough pleasure from it, especially since Rosmerta's face kept getting smushed against her pussy with each of her husband's thrusts.

“So, how much longer?”

Harry shrugged, “A few more months, I'd say.”

No matter how long they spent in these alternate universes, they were always returned to their own world mere seconds after having left it. Considering their own immortality and eternal youth, it meant that they could take their time, especially in cases like this one.

Some worlds needed a hammer, others like this one required a defter touch.

Well, they could just cause chaos, decapitate all the heads of state and hope for the worst, but where was the fun in that? Besides, Harry liked to keep his counterparts alive and well, whenever possible.

Harry brought down a hard smack on Rosmerta's fat ass, earning a squeal that was muffled by Emily's pussy and leaving a big red handprint on her cheek.

Harry pushed in and filled her pussy up with fresh, gunky goo, which began to leak from her snatch and drip down his balls.

“You know, you've fucked her so much, you've surely gotten her pregnant.”

Harry shrugged. “We're bringing her back with us as a souvenir, isn't that right, pet?”

Rosmerta moaned into Emily's pussy as she bounced her hips up and down, making her cheeks clap and milking more of Harry's seed into her snatch.

Harry pulled out with a *plop* as he got up from the bed and rounded up on his wife.

Emily opened her mouth, gladly taking her husband's cock into her mouth and sucking it clean of juices and cum, replacing them with her slobber.

“Daddy.” Emily pouted as she popped his cock out of her mouth and slapped her cheek. “My little pussy needs some loving too, you know.”

Harry smirked. Emily was his soul mate, and no one would ever truly be able to take her place in his heart.

Emily spun around and presented her pussy to him. Harry hoisted her up and speared her on his shaft, bouncing her on his cock as the two Gaunts fucked standing, with Emily cradled in her husband's arms.

Rosmerta watched from the bed as her master and mistress fucked. They were so elegant, so perfect. They looked like sex gods as their glistening, sweaty bodies bounced in rhythm, Lady Gaunt's fat tits swaying hypnotically as Lord Gaunt smashed his hips against her own.

She had been so easily broken by them. Turned from a confident woman into nothing more than an eager sex slave, willing and eager to be degraded to the extreme.

When her two new masters orgasmed together, Lord Gaunt dropped Lady Gaunt on the bed, and Rosmerta was already more than trained enough to know to crawl over and begin licking the lord's cum from the lady's pussy.

Rorsmerta didn't know what they meant when they said they would take her back. She had no idea about half the things they talked about. All she knew was that she was theirs now, and she had never been happier.

…

Albus Dumbledore sighed.

Things had not been going well. He'd set everything on such a tight track, it was all set up so that Harry would face Voldemort in pursuit of the stone, a nice, controlled encounter where Dumbledore would swoop in at the last moment and save the boy from any real danger.

Of course, he was taking a great risk by using the Philosopher's Stone as bait. But even greatly weakened, Voldemort was skilled enough to sense magic, and she could sense if Dumbledore had placed a fake artifact inside the mirror.

No, the real stone needed to be there to ensure Voldemort was fully ensnared.

Things had take a nose dive during christmas break, unfortunately.

First had been the nasty business at Privet Drive. There had been an explosion of a pipe of some kind, Albus was still perplexed as to why muggles had explosive pipes just running through urban housing. Number Four had been reduced to rubble, and there had barely been anything to identify the remains of the Dursley family.

Albus had spent an entire night casting charm after charm, trying to find some form of magical sabotage that had caused such a tragedy. But no, in the end, muggle negligence had toppled many of his plans.

Albus had spent the intervening months scrambling to find a solution. Would he have Harry stay at Hogwarts? Place him with a light sided family of his choosing? How would he stop Cornelius or someone else from raising up a stink now that the Boy-Who-Lived was homeless? It was all made that much worse when somehow, the forever unscrupulous Rita Skeeter got a hold of the story, making it front page news.

He had been so focused on trying to keep his control over Harry's life intact, that he'd missed the most horrifying of developments.

Harry had been serving detention with Professor Quirrell every single night for at least the past month.

When Minerva brought it to his attention, wanting Quirrell brought in for abuse of authority, Albus had almost had a heart attack right then. He'd thought Emily wouldn't be stupid enough to attack Harry right under his own nose.

Unfortunately, when he'd investigated, it had turned out that Harry had began acting up during her classes, and that Quirrell's detentions were fully justified. To Albus’ frustration, he had no way of spying on these detentions. All he could do was observe Harry as he left, and the boy seemed normal. Tired and sleepy, but not like someone who had been tortured. He'd slipped anti-compulsion and memory charm dispelling potions into his drink, and there had been zero change in the boy's demeanor.

For some reason, the respectful young man that had arrived at Hogwarts was acting up in Quirrell's class. Albus’ running theory was some sort of interaction between Voldemort and the cursed scar that made the boy irrationally angry.

Regardless, things were shaky, but Albus was sure he could recover. Harry and his friends were still investigating the stone, and Voldemort was still unaware that Albus knew she was here. It could all still be salvaged.

…

“You're late.”

Harry closed the door behind him. “Sorry. Hermione gave me an earful about how I need to stop being disruptive in your class. Wouldn't let me go.”

Quinn Quirrell smiled. “Regardless, I believe that will be another week's worth of detention for tardiness.”

Harry smiled up at the woman.

Quinn Quirell was a pretty woman, with shoulder length brown hair and a pretty enough face, along with a svelte body that was tight, though not bombastic.

Currently, her eyes were glowing a deep crimson. Quinn Quirrell had relinquished control to Lady Voldemort.

She pushed off from her desk, patting her lap, “Come, Harry, have a seat.”

Harry's face flushed, but he walked over eagerly, climbing onto Quirrell's lap and melting into her embrace as she wrapped her arms around him.

The boy nuzzled into her embrace. “mommy.” He breathed out, his face pressed against her bosom.

QuirrelMort smiled. “It'll be even better when I regain my real body, Harry. You'll help me with that, won't you?”

“Of course I will, mommy.” Harry rubbed his face against her small chest, and Voldemort chuckled as she lifted her shirt up.

Harry latched onto one of her breasts and began to nurse on it like a baby. Voldemort couldn't help but moan as the pleasure coursed through her body. Her hand trailed down Harry's body, sliding under his pants and wrapping around something hard.

Harry groaned against her tit.

“Does baby want mommy to help him with this?” She gave his young cock a few strokes.

Harry nodded eagerly, and Voldemort began to slowly jerk the eleven year old boy off as he nursed from her breasts.

Everything her horcrux had said had proven true. She had managed to pervert whatever protection the boy's mother had placed on him, and all it had taken was for him to see her as his mother.

The Boy-Who-Lived was now putty in her hand, and at first, Voldemort had considered just killing the brat.

But, as their sessions went on, she settled on the original plan. He was her living Horcrux, after all, which made him her child of sorts. And the more time she spent with the boy. The more she saw some of herself in him as well. The years of abuse and neglect Dumbledore had heaped on him had done no good, but under his mommy's guidance, Harry Potter could be great.

The lies had helped. However she had managed it, her horcrux had planted some false ‘hidden’ book in the library, written in parseltongue, expounding about Albus Dumbledore's many crimes.

Voldemort had read through it, finding only the barest nugget of truth and a million lies that basically painted Dumbledore as the true dark lord.

It had been quite easy for her to claim authorship of it, and to weave a few more lies about how Dumbledore had tricked her into killing Harry's parents.

The boy had been so starved for love, so resentful of his upbringing with the Dursleys, it had been child's play to turn him.

Quirrellmort lowered her head down and wrapped her lips around the boy's little cockhead, preening and purring as the young boy shuddered and bucked in her embrace, filling her mouth with his premature seed.

…

The death of Cornelius Fudge came on a random tuesday evening in the middle of march.

Alarm bells were going off non-stop in Albus’ head, but he and Severus had kept their eyes on Quirrell, and she had had no chance to do something untoward to the minister.

Still, Albus was very conscious that with circumstances forcing him away from the school for the next few days, Voldemort would have the perfect opportunity to strike at the stone. He'd put Severus on high alert, and he'd taken one of the instruments keyed to Harry's condition with him. The moment Harry became distressed past the normal amount, Albus would return, decorum be damned.

…

Dispatching Snape had been child's play. She may be weakened, but she was still Voldemort, and the arrogant traitor had been so sure of himself, he had not even considered the thought that she might know.

“It is your turn to shine. Make mommy proud, Harry.”

She ran her hands through the boy's hair as Harry stood in front of the mirror. She preened proudly as after only mere moments, something slipped into the boy's pocket, and he happily handed her the

Philosopher's Stone.

“Well done, Harry, well done.”

“What now, mommy?”

“Now? Now I will take you home, and we prepare our revenge on Albus Dumbledore.”

…

He had been waiting for the device to begin whirring at any moment. He'd sleep walked through the emergency session, primed for it to go off and for him to need to sprint off to Hogwarts.

It never did go off. But, when he returned to his box after giving a long-winded eulogy for the deceased minister, he noticed something much worse.

The device was dead, the trackers he had placed on Harry had been removed.

He'd summoned Fawkes and flamed off to the mirror chamber without a single thought. To his great horror, he found only an empty husk that had once been Professor Quirrell. Worse was when he dashed off to the Defense Professor's quarters and discovered the corpse of Severus Snape.

Harry Potter was soon found to be missing, and Albus Dumbledore's world crumbled to dust.

…

In a heavily warded manor home, Harry Potter sat on a bed, teeming with excitement and anticipation.

His mommy was about to reward him, she was going to show him the new body she had fashioned for herself. Harry sat naked on the bed, his still growing cock hard as a rock as he couldn't wait to catch the first glimpse of his mommy.

The door creaked open and Harry's body tensed as he prepared for his first glance at perfection.

“mommy, you're so beautiful.”

Harry was at loss for words as his mommy stood in front of him, her entire body laid bare for him.

Her skin was a pale, chalky white. She had a small nose, and there was a permanent dark eye shadow surrounding her glowing, crimson eyes. Her hair was a deep blood red, and it reached down to her back. She was tall, at least six feet in height, with a voluptuous body including massive, heaving breasts and a wide hips attached to a bountiful arse.

Voldemort crooked her finger at the young boy and Harry stood from the bed as if in a trance.

This new body of hers… it was different from what she had been before. The red hair had especially been a surprise, but in a sense it worked well, as it helped connect her to the boy's birth mother.

She smiled down at little Harry. Her beautiful little boy, her prince. Voldemort saw herself as his mommy. He carried a piece of her soul, what stronger bond could exist than that?

Harry wrapped his arms around mommymort's waist, his head nestling right under her gravid tits. Voldemort returned the embrace, feeling her wretched soul sing.

She put a finger under the boy's chin and, with but a hint of magic, lifted him up until he was level with her face.

“Tell me, Harry. Do you love your mommy?”

“Yes mum.” The boy said in a breathy voice.

“And will you be a good boy and obey mommy? No matter what mommy does?”

“Yes, mum.”

Voldemort's lips curled upward. “Good boy.”

She placed a kiss on his mouth and her baby boy moaned into it.

Her desire for his young flesh was almost shocking. She couldn't stop herself from shoving her tongue into his mouth, dominating the young boy as her long tongue easily slithered down his throat.

Harry was rolling his hips against thin air as his cock twitched with need. Voldemort

Squeezed her tits together and leaned forward, allowing the boy's cock to slide in between her mountains of flesh. Harry's delicious little cock was now wedged between her gigantic breasts, and the boy moaned into her mouth as he humped himself into her tits.

Voldemort was shocked when her little boy took initiative, his hands flying to squeeze her tits and tweak her nipples as he humped. His little cock was fucking her chest, covering her tits in slime as his pre-cum oozed constantly from his tip.

This body was so much more than Quirrell's pathetic little frame. This was the body of a mommy, the body her little boy deserved for his pleasure.

It was time for him to break it in.

Harry groaned in disappointment as his body drifted away from his mommy, sending her a pout as he was placed on the bed.

“I hope you're ready for mommy, Harry.”

Her hips swayed as she walked over to him. She had regained her body, and the absolutely loved flaunting it for her special little boy.

Voldemort climbed onto the bed, savoring the moment as the wide eyed raven haired boy lay flat on his back, staring up at her in complete awe.

She shimmied over to him, swinging one leg over his body and giving the boy his first full look at her delicious mommy cunt as it oozed clear juices down onto his chest.

She straddled him, and the mattress sank down as Harry lay trapped between her legs.

The young boy huffed as Voldemort settled her hips on top of him, the full weight of her womanly body settling on his eleven year old hips.

“Mommy!” Harry gasped as his cock was trapped between her cunt and his stomach, the shaft being coated in slime from her slick, wet lips.

Voldemort dragged her cunt along his shaft, and Harry grabbed onto her hips, his hands being engulfed by the softness of her curves. Driblets of precum escaped Harry's glans as his mommy's pussy made his balls ache.

“You don't mind mommy smothering you, do you baby?” Voldemort's voice was husky as she leaned forward, her pendulous breasts hanging over his face.

She received an answer in the form of the boy latching his mouth onto one of her tits. Voldemort hissed as Harry sucked hard, and to both their suprise and pleasure, a substance resembling milk began to flow from her udder and down the greedy boy's throat.

She would investigate exactly what that substance was later. For now, Voldemort grabbed onto the boy's stiff cock, this perfect little cock that would take this body's virginity.

She lined him up with her cunt and slammed herself down onto him, the poor boy's pelvis be damned.

Harry definitely felt the impact of mommy's full weight crashing down on him. But it was overwhelming by pure bliss as Voldemort's cunt engulfed his cock.

Harry had never felt as much love as he did this very moment. His mother's love was burning through his little cock, which began throbbing in ecstasy as mommy bounced on his lap.

*plap*plap*plap*plap*plap*

Each slam of her hips against his own was another pinnacle reached as mommy's cunt gripped him, working to squeeze his balls dry as Harry's face was smothered by her massive tits. Rivulets of purple milk were now streaming down Harry's cheeks as the boy kept drinking, uncaring that he was on the verge of choking as each bounce of his mommy's hips on his lap led to another jolt to his system.

She slammed down her hips one last time and then began grinding her pussy in a wild and violent circular motion, taking poor little Harry's cock for a ride as she twisted her hips every which way. Harry was being suffocated by the mature body of the Dark Lady, and he could not have been happier.

Voldemort was almost shocked that she came just as Harry blew his pre-teen wad inside of her pussy, filling her with his fresh spunk. She clenched tight around him as he filled her well, seed feeling hot as it rushed up into her womb.

She had discovered she could produce milk, she would soon find out if she could carry a child.

She rolled over with her baby boy still wedged inside of her. She squeezed him tight to her body, sighing contentedly as Harry continued to suckle away at her breasts while his little cock dry-twitched inside of her cunt.

…

“I love a happy ending.” Emily wiped a tear from her eye as she and Harry observed the mother and son.

“I'd call this a resounding victory for the bad guys.” Harry held his hand up, and after a moment's glare his wife gave into the high five.

“Childish.” She muttered.

The medallion strapped to Harry's belt began to glow, the signal that they had in fact succeeded, and they were to be brought back to the nexus.

“Come along, pet.” Emily snapped her fingers and Rosmerta crawled on hands and knees over to them, a collar adorning her otherwise nude body.

Emily tugged on her leash as she grabbed onto her husband's elbow, and a moment later they disappeared in a flash of light.

…

“What is she doing here?” A disembodied voice asked as the trio traversed the narrow gangwalk towards the next point of light.

“Just a small little pet we picked up,” Harry said calmly, not bothering to try and locate the source of Fate's voice, knowing it was a futile effort.

“You test the limits of my kindness.”

“After all we've done to help your cause. Surely some gifts here and there are no big deal.” Emily chirped as she led Rosmerta along the trail.

There was a moment of silence before Fate spoke. “Do not let it happen again. The multiverse is not a smorgasbord to satisfy your deviant urges.”

Harry and Emily shared quiet smiles as they approached the portal that would send them back home.

“I will allow you time to leave her in your world, but I require your services once more.”

They didn't respond. Usually, fate had them ‘correct’ one universe at a time, giving them plenty of time in between to return home. Of course, there were no set rules to this arrangement besides her whims, and they knew they had no option but to comply.

“Of course.”

…

“Daddy, you're back!” Fleur exclaimed as they found her and Delphi were strolling butt-naked through the empty halls of Hogwarts.

Harry raised an eyebrow. From their daughter's perspective, they'd only been gone a few minutes at the most.

“Oooh, who is that?” Delphi cooed as she glanced down at the kneeling Rosmerta.

Emily handed her the chain attached to the collar. “Here, consider it a birthday gift.”

“But its not our birthday for another six months.” Delphi said, even as she gladly took Rosmerta's chain and tugged on it.

“Early gift.” Harry said. “We have to go, I'm afraid.”

Fleur pouted. “But you just got back!”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Don't make me discipline you little brats.” She warned.

That was more than enough to cow the little troublemakers. And so, Harry and Emily left as the medallion on Harry's hip began to burn once more.

Delphi and Fleur shared mischievous grins as they scampered off to find their sisters, Rosmerta yelping as they yanked on her collar.

…

Harry and Emily emerged onto a familiar cobblestone street. They found themselves smack dab in the middle of Diagon Alley.

There was no rhyme or reason as to where or when they first arrived upon exiting the nexus. Sometimes it was Hogwarts, usually it was some random street or stretch of countryside in England. The range of time also varied greatly, with the only constant being that somehow, someway, Harry Potter was involved in the situation.

For some reason, Harry was the lynchpin that connected all of these timelines. The turning points that led to a timeline being deemed ‘light’ or ‘dark’ by Fate always revolved around him and his actions.

It was strange. Harry had a very high opinion of himself, but did the fate of an entire universe containing billions of planets and stretching for billions of years really only hinge on the actions of one boy in late 20th century England? And this held true for every single world?

It was suspect, to say the least.

It became readily apparent that they had not managed to blend in well. As they walked their way down to The Leaky Cauldron, they found the eyes of every witch or wizard they passed locked onto them. Whether young or old, they eyed them suspiciously. They didn't seem afraid, more just weary.

Harry and Emily ignored the onlookers, though they did make some quick observations.

“Everyone's wearing the same yellow wristband.” Emily said.

“I figure that's how they know we don't belong,” Harry responded cooly.

Besides the leering strangers sporting identical wristbands, the Alley looked just as it always had. The same shops that they'd seen in a half-dozen other timelines were open, more or less. Gringotts still loomed tall and imposing in the background, Ollivanders was still there, Florean Fortescue's, Quality Quidditch Supplies, Madame Malkins…

“There is no Knockturn Alley here.” Emily noted.

Harry nodded along quietly as they entered the dingy pub.

The Leaky Cauldron was as it always had been, the immutable little hole in the wall that served as the entry point to the wizarding world.

The place was sparsely occupied, the tables covered in a light layer of dust. Tom stood behind the bar, cleaning a mug with a rag as he watched them stalk over to him.

Emily held up two fingers, “Two shots of firewhisky, make mine a double.”

Tom grimaced even as the couple hopped onto the barstools.

“Afraid I can't serve you.”

“For what reason?” Harry drummed his fingers on the table, curious amusement on his face.

Tom pointed towards their wrists. “You're not registered.”

Just like everyone else, the barman was wearing a yellow band on his right wrist.

“And that's reason enough to deny us a drink?”

Tom chuckled. “That's reason enough for you to say your prayers.” Tom placed the mug on the table as he slung the rag over his shoulder. “Been a long while since I've seen two dark mages roll around these parts.”

Emily smiled, “And how exactly do you know we're dark mages?”

“Simple as can be, ma'am. You're not wearing the wristband. Only practitioners of the dark arts would flaunt the law like that. Of course, word was they'd all been eradicated.”

“Guess the word was wrong.” Harry said.

“Like cockroaches, they are.” An aged wizard muttered from a few tables way.

Emily laughed. “I take offense to that.”

“You should be shitting your pants is what you should be doing. I don't know how you're unaware, but around here,” Tom gestured all around him, “This is how dark mages end up.”

Every single wall of the pub was decorated with mounted heads. There were well over a hundred in total. They were the heads of witches and wizards, their faces blank and expressionless, all staring ahead into nothing.

Harry recognized some of them. Bellatrix LeStrange was displayed right next to her husband and his brother. Lucius Malfoy was a few rows down, along with Snape and Mulciber.

There were even more that he didn't recognize, though, many of them deformed and inhuman in the same way as Harry's original Voldemort had been.

“So this is a trophy room, then?” Harry asked.

Tom chuckled, “Of sorts. Of course, the constable displays the archest of arch-villains in his office. But we're one of the few establishments granted the honor to display his lesser trophies.”

“This constable sounds like a very intriguing figure.” Emily said. “Care to set up a meeting?”

A commotion was beginning to build outside, a crowd was gathering as a shadow loomed over the entrance to the cauldron.

Tom chuckled once more as he looked between the two Gaunts.

“No need for that, I believe the constable would love to make your acquaintance.”