Chapter Text
"Harry," Voldemort whispered. "Don't you see? You can't win this. You can't even fight me."
Crimson trickled down the side of Harry’s face, hot and vivid, staining his already rosy cheeks as he wiped a rough hand across his forehead. His hair was a picture of disarray, a mess of wild raven strands that he had to shove out of his eyes to blink up at Voldemort. He flinched as another flash of green light streaked towards him from amidst the shelves of unspoken prophecies, the foggy blue spheres glowing brighter with each step the Dark Lord trekked near them.
"I don't need to fight you," Harry said shakily, raising his wand. His hand was steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the frenzy of colorful spells flying through the air around him. "I just need to stop you."
The tip of Harry’s wand glowed dimly, casting an ember of golden light across the dark corridor.
Voldemort’s mouth twisted, something uncharacteristic flickering across his face that Harry was unfamiliar with. An emotion that had rarely crossed his tracks during their battles.
Recognition.
Before Harry could deflect the next flash of emerald hurtling towards him, the Department of Mysteries shattered. The shelves shuddered, fragments of broken glass and shards of Harry’s fate spinning like poisonous daggers through the air.
Harry’s surroundings faded in a swirl of bright constellations and glittering stars.
"Oh, dear," a voice murmured unpleasantly. "I didn’t think his eyes would be that striking. I fear that the emerald color may clash with our school robes. Don’t you think so, Madame Bain?"
Another voice hummed thoughtfully. "It’s quite good news that this is a school for wizarding education and not fashion, then, Miss Beauséjour."
Harry curled on his side, eyes fluttering open.
"You’re awake!" the unknown girl kneeling at his bedside exclaimed, clasping her manicured hands together in glee. "You fell out of one of the carriages, or that’s what we figured." She dipped her head in the direction of the woman situated across from Harry, her eyes sharp and her smile sharper.
"We’ll have to reinforce extra safety precautions for next year," the older woman commented - likely in her mid-thirties, Harry concluded - patting Harry’s shoulder in a show of mock sincerity. "This is quite the unfortunate circumstance for you to end up in, dear. Speaking of," her gaze narrowed on the young girl studying Harry in awe. "Why don’t you go fetch our charity case something to drink, Léa?"
The girl - Léa - nodded furiously and spared Harry one last wonderstruck glance before scurrying off towards the double doors as Harry faintly realized what he was lying in was to be some Hospital Wing. Something akin to Hogwarts, at least.
The door barely clicked shut behind Léa before Harry registered a pointy wand to his throat. "Who are you? Where did you come from? I know you are not a student here, despite Miss Beauséjour’s efforts to convince me otherwise," the woman snapped.
Harry blanched, grappling for his own wand. His pockets were empty, so he settled on wincing meekly. "Who am I? Who are you? Are you one of Voldemort’s followers? Did he capture me? Where is the Order?"
"I have no idea what you’re going on about, boy," the woman hissed menacingly, digging the tip of her oak wand further into Harry’s windpipe. "You are in Beauxbatons Academy of Magic."
"What?" Harry whispered. "Beauxbatons? But that’s in…"
"France," she finished, raising a bemused brow.
"Yes," Harry echoed. "France. What am I doing in France? Where’s Dumbledore?"
"Dumbledore?" she drawled, the syllables flying out of her mouth like a curse. "Why at Hogwarts, of course. What would you need with a Transfiguration professor?" She faltered. “My great Merlin, are you a student at Hogwarts?”
Harry bowed his head in acknowledgment, cringing at the fresh burst of pain sprouting throughout his throat.
The woman sighed, carefully tucking her wand away, and leaned over the metal railing wrapping around his bedside.
"I really need to see Dumbledore, ma’am,” Harry repeated.
She frowned. "Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Madame Bain, the etiquette instructor at Beauxbatons. We’ll have to admit you to the Headmistress, Madame Maxime. If you are a Hogwarts student, as you claim.” She said the last phrase slowly, as if she were still suspicious about his whereabouts.
Harry rubbed his forehead, grimacing at the pain sprouting through his scar. The bleeding had stopped. "How long was I out for? Or…er, what’s the date?"
Madame Bain gave him a sympathetic look. "September second, nineteen forty-three."
He blinked. "Pardon? Nineteen forty-three?"
Madame Bain’s smile slowly faded. "You sound confused. That’s the first thing I teach in my lessons at the start of the year. A brief refresher on why it’s important not to display your confusion."
"It"s nineteen forty-three," Harry repeated, fisting the silk bed sheets, a nervous habit that he’d never ceased to grow out of during his residence at the Dursleys.
"You are a Time-Traveler," Madame Bain concluded. "That is highly illegal, boy. You could find yourself in major trouble with the Ministry back in your own time. How did you even manage to access a Time-Turner? Those are quite rare and limited, even within France’s magical government."
"I have a habit of getting into things I don’t want to," Harry said dryly.
Her rose-painted pursed. “I can see that." She swiped a hand across her forehead, looking sickly in a spur-of-the-moment. "I will most definitely need to refer to Madame Maxime. For now," she lifted a clump of clothes off the nightstand, dumping them in Harry’s arms.
He gaped at her, cradling the set of blue Beauxbatons robes to his chest. "Are you serious?"
"Whether this is your time period or not, I think your professors wouldn’t appreciate you suspending your magical education," she implied sternly. "It’s only until Madame Maxime and I sort this out with the French Ministry and send you dilly-dallying off on your way."
"And Dumbledore?" Harry voiced hopefully.
"And Dumbledore," Madame Bain sighed heavily. "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn’t," Harry said, recoiling at the harsh glare she sent his way. "Harry Potter, ma’am."
"Potter," she hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin. "Potter, Potter. What sounds like Potter? Potter. Peverell." Her eyes gleamed. "Peverell. Harry Peverell. You are to be Harry Peverell. They haven’t been seen in society for quite some time now, so no one would question. You have gotten off to a rocky start, tumbling out of a flying carriage and all that." She waved a careless hand, a wisp of dark hair falling into her face with the act. "You were homeschooled, which explains your lack of manners."
Harry’s jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon? Could we rework this backstory, please? I'm willing to find a compromise."
Harry's days of being the Boy-Who-Lived were over. He was going to be the Boy-Who-Fell-Out-Of-A-Carriage.
Madame Bain sniffed. "If you test me in lessons like this, I will turn you into a unicorn. It has been done before," she warned, before settling back into her chair. "Everything is final. Change into your robes while I inform Léa of your backstory. She’s a kind young woman and is in your year. She will help you find a strong circle within these castle walls."
"I didn’t tell you my year," Harry noted. "How did you even figure this all out?"
Léa came bursting back through the glimmering double doors, a cheery grin frozen on her face. "She has an extraordinary talent for weeding everyone’s nasty little secrets out of them. It’s also the legilimency, as well, I suppose."
Harry’s brows furrowed accusingly. "You read my mind?"
Madame Bain rolled her eyes. "Don't look so devastated. I do what I need to when the safety of Beauxbatons is put in peril. Léa, darling, this is Harry Peverell." She gestured towards a perplexed Harry. "He was previously homeschooled and is a recent transfer - hence his inability to understand how carriages work, leading to this incident."
Léa’s mouth formed an understanding O. "I’m sorry, Harry. That’s an awful way to start your first day of school. No worries, we'll spin it around!" She twirled, prompting her bright blue robes to flutter around her form gracefully. "Come along, now. I suppose you’ll need a tour of the castle, hm?"
Harry stuttered for the right words, his speech evidently failing before Léa made a sound of amusement and dragged him off the bed. "Goodbye, Madame Bain!" She blew a kiss in the professor’s direction. "C’était agréable de te voir!"
"I’ll be in contact, Mister Peverell," Madame Bain called after them.
Harry let Léa drag him down the sparkling marble corridors, mind drifting to thoughts of broken Orders and Dark Lords as she rambled on about the annual tea party occurring that upcoming weekend in the Beauxbatons courtyard.
"How are you going to get out of this one, Harry?" a voice swept across his head.