Echoes of tomorrow.

Chapter two: an unexpected meeting

The cold night air bit at Harry's skin as he took a deep breath, grounding himself in the past. The old familiar streets of London stretched out before him, each cobblestone a ghost of memories he hadn’t revisited in years. It felt strange, stepping back into this world—the world of the second war, of secrets and betrayals, of youth and hope before the full weight of the war had crushed them all.

It was early in the evening, around the time he had been introduced to the Order of the Phoenix. Harry allowed himself a moment to adjust, feeling the magic of the Time-Turner settle. The streets were dimly lit, the familiar warmth of the gaslights casting long shadows. His heart clenched as he recalled how it had all begun—the uncertainty, the fear, the desperate need for answers.

But now… now he had the answers. And he was going to save them all.

Harry straightened his jacket and took a step toward Grimmauld Place. It wasn’t far now. He knew the familiar path like the back of his hand. His footsteps echoed softly in the empty streets, and he tried to shake off the unease that gnawed at him. Returning to this time felt like walking into a memory, a dream that could turn into a nightmare at any moment.

He lit another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face. It wasn’t just about saving his friends. It was about stopping Voldemort before the horrors of the war unfolded again. This was his second chance, and Harry was determined not to fail.

As the entrance to Grimmauld Place materialized before him, Harry hesitated. The dilapidated facade of Number 12 looked exactly as it had back then—cracked windows, ivy creeping up the walls, a feeling of ancient magic clinging to the bricks like dust. A part of him, the part that had been hardened by years of fighting, wanted to march in and take control. But another part—the younger part of him—remembered how green he had been back then. How unsure. How terrified.

There was no room for fear now.

He took one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it away, watching the embers die as they hit the pavement. With a resolute breath, he crossed the threshold, stepping into the familiar darkness of Grimmauld Place.

The hallway was dimly lit by flickering candles. The air was thick with dust and the musty scent of age. The wallpaper, peeling in places, seemed to groan under the weight of history. Harry’s eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom, his wand resting easily in his jacket pocket, though he knew he wouldn’t need it here. Not yet.

“Lumos,” he whispered softly, casting a faint glow ahead of him. His fingers brushed against the cold banister as he made his way up the stairs. The muffled sounds of voices echoed from the kitchen—murmured conversations, heated whispers. The Order was here, and Harry knew what was happening. This was the night Tonks would be introduced, the night he first met her as a fresh-faced rookie Auror.

But this time, things were different. He was different.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he paused at the kitchen door. Inside, the voices grew louder—Sirius’s familiar bark of laughter, followed by the low, gruff tones of Moody, and then the soft, musical voice of Tonks, still full of youthful excitement. Harry’s heart ached at the sound. She didn’t know what was coming. None of them did.

Gathering his courage, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was just as he remembered it—cramped, cluttered, and filled with a strange warmth despite the shadows. The long wooden table was surrounded by familiar faces: Sirius, Remus, Moody, Kingsley, and Tonks. They all turned as the door creaked open, their eyes locking on him.

For a brief moment, no one spoke. The room seemed to freeze, time itself holding its breath.

“Who the hell are you?” Moody growled, his magical eye whirring as it fixed on Harry.

Harry felt a lump form in his throat as he met Sirius’s gaze. His godfather, alive, sitting at the table, his dark eyes filled with curiosity and suspicion. Harry had forgotten how much younger Sirius had looked before Azkaban and war had aged him beyond his years.

“Harry,” Tonks began, her voice full of confusion. “Is that you?”

Her question hung in the air as the room remained silent, all eyes on the man they thought they knew. But Harry wasn’t the boy they had last seen at the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts. He had changed in ways they couldn’t possibly understand.

Harry cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. “It’s… complicated.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, leaning forward in his chair. “What’s complicated? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the Dursleys.”

Harry exhaled slowly, dropping into the chair closest to him. He had planned for this, rehearsed it in his mind a hundred times, but now that the moment was here, the words didn’t come as easily.

“I’m… not who you think I am,” Harry began carefully. “At least, not exactly.”

Tonks furrowed her brow, her pink hair shimmering in the candlelight as she studied him. “You look like Harry. But… something’s different.”

Harry’s heart clenched as he looked at her. This was the Tonks he had met when she was still new to the Order, still optimistic, not yet hardened by war. It was strange seeing her like this—before the toll of the battles, before she became the woman he had known and mourned. The rookiness in her eyes was unmistakable.

“I’m Harry,” he said softly. “But… I’m not the Harry from your time.”

The room erupted into confused whispers and mutterings. Moody’s magical eye swiveled around in its socket, glaring suspiciously at Harry. Sirius and Remus exchanged wary glances.

“What are you talking about, kid?” Sirius asked, his voice sharp.

Harry looked down at his hands, the weight of what he had to explain heavy on his shoulders. He had to be careful with what he said, how much he revealed. The timeline was fragile, and he couldn’t risk breaking it further.

“I came back,” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. “From the future.”

The room fell silent once more, every eye trained on him.

“I know this sounds mad,” Harry continued, feeling the weight of their disbelief. “But it’s true. I’m not… the boy you think I am. I’m from ten years in the future.”

Sirius snorted, crossing his arms. “You expect us to believe that?”

Tonks, however, seemed more intrigued than skeptical. “A time traveler?” she asked, leaning forward. “How?”

“The Time-Turner,” Harry said, glancing toward his pocket where the small device rested. “It’s a long story, but I came back to stop something. To stop a war. A war that will destroy all of us.”

Silence hung over the room, thick and heavy. No one spoke for a long time, until Remus finally broke the quiet with a gentle, cautious question.

“And what do you need from us, Harry?”

Harry met his old mentor’s gaze, feeling the weight of the future pressing down on him.

“I need your help,” he said, his voice steady. “Because this time… we’re going to win.”