GUESS WHO DID THE THING tsume

/

There's a graveyard and a giant cauldron that could probably fit all of Spot and even most of their backyard pond and a bunch of people in dark robes shouting and another small form on the ground screaming and a very young and scared Harry staring at him with wide eyes from her spot tethered to a gravestone and Leon is deeply concerned that he's botched something up. In the middle of all this chaos is Tom, standing with a nonplussed expression as he holds a small turtle in one hand and Harry's favored Panera poppyseed salad in another.

"This isn't Machu Picchu," Tom says, annoyed, and then curses start flying everywhere.

/

Later, when Tom has successfully and heroically (but don't tell him that) battled off the dastardly and scary looking villain, and Harry is eating her salad with a bewildered expression, and Leon is sitting there holding his turtle, he can admit he may have messed something up.

"I really didn't mean to," Leon says, sadly.

Tom is wholly unable to deny him anything when he makes that sad kitten look, so he finds his anger and annoyance at having to duel a crazy and evil alternate version of himself melt away like water in his hands.

"It's fine. It was your first attempt." Tom consoles, begrudging. In all fairness, why did Harry have to be at Machu Picchu, anyway? What was she even doing there, trying to commune with the dead? He's not entirely sure what ritual would need to be in that place in particular, but all the same Leon was meant to take them to Harry, and, well, he didn't exactly fail in that.

"Didn't mean to what, exactly?" The young and bewildered Harry asks, chewing on her salad. It appears her love for panera's unexciting salads exceeds time and space.

Leon and Tom exchange glances.

"I was looking for you." Leon admits, dropping his gaze to the ground.

They've made camp on a hillside somewhat far from town, and the headlights from sparse passing cars are the only thing to be seen for miles of darkness. There's nothing else but the endless blanket of stars above them to act as light. When he looks up into the infinite cosmos, he has to wonder why they ended up here, of all places. He glances at Tom; it must be difficult for the young man, but nothing shows on his expression.

"Really? What for?" Harry asks, surprised. She frowns then. "Do I know you…?"

She sets down her plastic fork, staring at Tom. Tom awkwardly looks the other way. It's dark enough that she probably won't recognize him, but he can't imagine that will last for long.

"This is a very complicated situation." Tom says instead of answering. "It's probably for the best if you don't ask after our identities."

Harry's brow furrows. "Are you guys like, secret agents or something?" She pauses. "Does the magical world even have those?"

"Yes, but we're not one of those. We're… time travelers."

Harry sits up straighter, eyes widening. "... Terrible things happen to wizards who mess with time." She says, voice small.

Tom chuckles sheepishly. "Yes, well, here we are. It's a bit of a moot point, at any rate."

Leon frowns up at him. "Well, now that we've rescued her, can we go back now?"

Tom sighs, scratching the back of his neck. "Unfortunately it's not going to be that easy."

/

Tom mentions that he may or may not have drastically changed the timeline of this particular multi-verse, so Leon tries not to get worried over it, but he gets worried anyhow.

It's just— Harry looks so sad. And small. And oddly vulnerable.

He's never seen her look anything but perfectly poised and ready to take over the world at a moments notice, so it's odd to see her as anything less than infallible. And yet, the Harry next to him couldn't be any farther from the god-like creature he knows so well. Her usually tamed curls are a matted mess of flyaways, she's streaked in dirt and barely even comes up to his shoulder. Sure, he's had a growth spurt recently, but it's been pretty lackluster so far in comparison to other boys his age. Tom assures him it's only a matter of time, but he's starting to get antsy about it. His father is quite tall, but Harry's not winning any height awards. What if he ends up her size forever?

This just makes his eyes drift over to the girl next to him, fidgeting in a manner that is at least somewhat familiar. He's seen Harry fiddle with her hair before, at least once or twice, usually before she and Gellert get in a row. He can't tell if she's mad or upset right now, though. But those are her usual default emotions when she and his father are getting ready to butt heads.

"Okay, so I just go and distract the crowd." She repeats, and with the determined glint in her eye she looks a little more like the infallible and perfect mother he remembers. Even though she's still barely tall enough to look over her shoulder.

"That friend of yours is probably doing a good job, but yes. Try to keep them all away from the school for as long as possible." Tom replies, looking thoughtful.

"Err— thanks for that, by the way." Harry blurts out, causing Tom to turn to her with a confused lift of his brow. "Saving Cedric, I mean. He really could have— anyway. I just feel like I should really thank you for coming when you did, otherwise Cedric and I both would have been dead."

"You have nothing to thank me for." Tom replies, carefully. He's lucky the darkness and her lack of glasses is making him difficult to see; otherwise, she would realize just how ridiculous it is to thank Tom Riddle of all people.

Leon watches the scene with interest. He can't imagine how difficult this all must be for Tom; battling off this horrifying iteration of himself, seeing Harry so defenseless. Then again, it's very possible Tom has had to encounter a lot of different versions of both Harry and himself in all his various travels through time and space. Maybe even different versions of Leon. The thought is so boggling he puts it aside.

"But you—

"Anyway, the Quidditch pitch should be just up ahead." He points to where the Forbidden Forest thins out, a little ways ahead of them.

Harry nods, then bites her lip. "What about you two? Will you be okay getting what you need and stuff?"

"We will," Tom returns, with a calm assurance that can only come from a man who gets himself into absurd situations like this regularly. "Don't worry about us."

Harry looks conflicted.

It's odd, Leon thinks, how easy it is to get attached to her. She looks nothing like his mother, the Harry he knows, and yet he already feels such a closeness to her. He hadn't realized how similar they looked until this moment. He always knew he had his mother's eyes, but his similarity to Gellert is pretty overwhelming. The coloring, the hair, the facial features. Well, not all of them clearly. As it turns out he actually recognizes a lot of the expressions Harry makes as the ones he sees in the mirror when he's scowling as he tries to tame his unruly hair. Her look of frustration, consternation, worry and concern— he never realized how similar they looked, mainly because he just so rarely gets the chance to see Harry as anything less than composed. Harry very rarely looks like a frazzled and insecure pre-teen with crippling stranger-anxiety and a self-deprecating complex, mainly because she isn't one (anymore), so she and Leon don't exactly have a lot in common.

"He always knows what he's doing." Leon confides to the girl, who still wears an unsure expression. "He never fails in anything."

"Lies." Tom calls over his shoulder.

Leon smiles widely at Harry, who tentatively returns it. The dimples, at least, are one of the few obvious traits they share that he could pick out no matter what.

"You two seem really close," Harry notices, as Tom scouts the area ahead to make sure Harry will have a clean break back to the Quidditch pitch, and he and Leon will have an easy route into the castle.

Leon shrugs. "We're…" Brothers, he wants to say, but something stops him before he can get the words out of his mouth. "Yeah. We are." He ends instead, awkwardly.

Harry just smiles at him, with a knowing look in her eye. "I see. Really close."

Leon flushes miserably. "It's not like that."

It's really, really not, and the last thing he needs is Tom poking his head back their way and somehow hearing it.

Not that he imagines Tom doesn't have some inkling. Tom knows everything, and Leon can't imagine he's being entirely subtle with… with whatever is going on with him currently.

Despite her young age, Harry seems to have her usually sharp sense of subtlety and tact and takes it in stride. "Huh. Well then, should I just make a run for it you think?" She changes the subject smoothly, eyeing the Quidditch pitch from beyond the treeline.

"I would wait for Tom." Leon replies, grateful for the reprieve.

As if on cue, he sees a soft wand light bobbing towards them in the darkness. Tom appears from behind a row of trees, holding a thumbs up sign.

"If I don't see you guys again— um, thanks for saving me, and I hope everything works out." Harry bids farewell with a nervous and somewhat awkward laugh. Even though Leon has never really seen his mother act all that awkward or nervous, the gesture is surprisingly familiar. Maybe it's the sincerity in the gesture— her intent to convey her feelings in the most honest way possible, no matter the situation.

Apparently Leon isn't immune to it now any more than he ever is. He darts in quickly before she can leap away, wrapping her in a hug. Harry doesn't actually like physical affection, he knows. Obviously that doesn't apply to he or Tom or Gellert, but this particular Harry has never met him before, so he assumes she'll fly out of his hands as quickly as she can. To his surprise she doesn't. She even wraps her arms around his back, with a featherlight touch that speaks volumes, coming from Harry.

"Thank you. It was really nice meeting you."

"You too, Harry." He manages to choke out.

/

"Why didn't you tell me you were injured?" Tom asks, exasperated.

Leon is equally as exasperated. "I told you, I didn't notice until now."

Tom scowls down at his ankle, which has finally stopped bleeding. And swelling. Leon swears he really didn't notice; he was a little too caught up in the moment. Now that the adrenaline has faded, his ankle throbs dully, a muted but steady pain. Tom has him propped up on a window sill in one of the castles many winding hallways; the excitement of the night is far away from them, nothing but the lights out in the distance and the drifting sounds of the crowd.

He touches the protruding bone, angry red and steadily swelling. "I don't think it's broken." He mutters, with narrowed eyes. "But I'm not a healer. There's no way to know for sure."

Leon bites his lip, eyes downcast. "I'm really sorry."

"It's hardly your fault." Tom shrugs off. "It'll be fine."

Leon shakes his head. "Not just about that— about all of this." He takes a shuddering breath, lets it out in a shaky exhale that turns into a weak bubble of laughter at the end; "I can't believe I messed this up so badly."

Tom looks up at him from where he's kneeling on the ground before Leon, Leon's foot still in his hand. Leon finally meets his eyes with a guilty expression. Tom gives him a wry smile. "Come on, Leon. Do you really think I've never done something similar?"

"Probably not something so catastrophic." Leon retorts, balefully.

"This is hardly catastrophic." Tom replies, amused. "Leon, trust me when I say you don't yet know the meaning of that word. Catastrophic is trying to get to medieval Rome and ending up being chased by a velociraptor."

"That never happened to you." Leon says, immediate.

Tom raises a brow.

Leon considers.

"Please tell me that never happened to you."

"It might not have been a velociraptor, since I don't believe it was this planet, but my point is that there are far worse outcomes than a sprained ankle."

"And you having to fight yourself." Leon points out, in a small voice.

Tom goes quiet.

"I… can't imagine that was easy for you."

Tom sure made it look easy, in the same way he makes everything look effortless. But Tom is also the type to hide everything behind an unflappable veneer of calm and intellect.

He sighs heavily. "'I'm aware of who I am, Leon."

Leon sits upright so fast he almost whacks Tom in the face with his other foot. "And who exactly do you think you are? That's not you at all! You're not like that! You're nothing like that!" He refutes, vehemently.

Tom merely watches him with a steady degree of certainty. "I think I'm rather qualified to decide what I am, don't you think?"

Leon has nothing to say to this in response, pouting mulishly. Tom traces a gentle fingertip over the ridge of Leon's ankle bone. When Leon doesn't so much as twitch, he gives a nod of satisfaction and whips out a tin of bandages. From where, Leon has no idea. But he always imagines Tom to have some kind of pocket universe where he can house small items and pets— he has no idea how else Tom always manages to pull them out of nowhere.

"Mum says we're all our own worst critic." Leon says quietly, causing Tom to look up.

He rarely calls Harry Mum mainly in a somewhat misguided bid to be more like Tom. The moment he was old enough to realize Tom didn't call Harry Mum he dropped the word with an immediacy that seemed almost preordained, and rarely ever reverted to doing so unless under great emotional duress. Tom tried to explain to his two-year old shadow that just because Tom called her Harry didn't mean he had to as well, but reasoning with Leon was forever a futile task. Especially when it came to his total idolization of Tom. Short of Tom referring to Harry as Mum himself, Leon would stubbornly refuse. And that was never going to happen, so Harry it has stayed.

Tom should have realized, way back then when Leon was barely starting to speak in full sentences, how great a responsibility had been burdened on his shoulders. Leon looked at him like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky— not unlike how he used to look at Harry, he notices with no small amount of irony— from the very first day he looked up at Tom with those heart-wrenchingly familiar green eyes. He followed Tom everywhere, and Tom was forever pleased to have a willing and enraptured audience for all his shenanigans. It wasn't until Leon bodily injured himself trying to imitate Tom that the gravity of the situation had sunk into his teenage brain. There was now a small, malleable, and easily breakable child that wanted to do everything Tom did, and there was no amount of cajoling or reasoning that would stop him.

He'd been wholly unprepared for the level of accountability he was now subjected to, and to this day he had to wonder if he'd ever live up to the responsibility.

Didn't Leon understand? This wasn't a matter of being overly critical of himself or not. He couldn't fail in this.

He couldn't be that man. He could never be anything like Voldemort, because if he was, then Leon was sure to follow in his footsteps.

"So I think you're actually the least qualified person to see yourself in an unbiased light." Leon continues, boldly meeting his eyes.

Tom meets his stare head on. "Are you saying you would be, then?" He asks coolly.

Leon looks a bit flustered as he stutters through a response; "Well, no, but I just don't think you should be so hard on yourself."

"That's your expert opinion, huh?" Tom returns drily, as he carefully began wrapping up Leon's ankle.

Leon nods.

Tom smiles up at him. "I see then. If you're the expert, I suppose I should listen to you then."

Leon returns his grin with a cheeky one of his own. "You should always listen to me. Didn't you say I'm a teenager now, so I always know best?"

Tom rolls his eyes. "No, I said you think you always know best." He gives the bandages another tug, before rolling on his heels and standing up. "They're not the same thing."

"They sound pretty similar to me." Leon disagrees, cheerfully. "So I'm a teenager, and I'm an expert, so you should listen to me when I say you and Voldemort have nothing in common."

Tom can't help but shake his head fondly. This stubborn streak is all Harry. "You're lucky you're cute, or I'd never let you get away with this kind of attitude."

He'd only said it to distract Leon off his current tirade, and it works like a charm. The boy blushes spectacularly, indignant. "I am not cute!" He insists, hotly.

Tom just snorts, reaching out to ruffle his hair before he can dodge out of the way. "You're positively adorable." Leon makes an affronted noise, not unlike a hissing cat, and bats his hand away.

He jumps up after Tom on unsteady legs, testing his weight on his bandaged ankle. Once it's clear Tom did an excellent job cleaning it up and splinting it, he bounds after him. "Why do you always have to say it like that?" He says, miserably.

Tom can't help but laugh at his disgruntled and despondent expression. "Because it's true, of course." And then, before Leon can continue to protest; "Now, there are some things I need to do before the aurors are done interviewing the crowd; in the meantime, I want you to stay here and wait for me."

"Stay here?" Leon is affronted.

Tom gives him a look of stunning indifference.

Leon deflates. Okay, he's got a point. Leon can barely even shuffle around with his bum ankle, he'd be of no use to Tom in whatever mission he's trying to accomplish. It does annoy him though— they're supposed to be a team!

"Okay, fine." He sighs, leaning back against the window.

/

As it turns out, it was not fine.

"Dot? Dot— where are you?"

Harry's mysterious magic turtle— with its infuriating ability to shrink or enlarge itself, and scamper around at a speed far too quick for a turtle— has disappeared in the interim of Leon botching the dimensional travel, and Leon and Tom creeping around Hogwarts castle.

Tom had ostensibly told Leon to stay put, but Harry had told them she needed Dot at all costs. If Leon didn't make the concerted effort to find the damned reptile now, Tom would have to do it himself whenever he came back from doing… whatever he was doing, and that would only delay them further. Leon had caused enough trouble as it was, so he was hoping to at least help out a little bit.

Perhaps he was only making the situation worse, though.

"Point me." He says again, and his wand spins around in daring circles on his palm. It finally came to a halt on the center hall of three pronged staircases, and he headed in that direction. He was starting to feel like Dot was running him in literal circles.

Leon is familiar enough with the castle to at least have a vague idea of where he is. The problem is, he has no idea how much time they have left before the castle is flooded with students and teachers and aurors alike, and he's been trying to come up with some kind of convincing lie about his identity without compromising the entirety of their time travel and he has yet to come up with anything impressive. Maybe he'll make up some outrageous lie about being a Malfoy bastard.

Finally, his wand leads him up to a very familiar staircase.

"Oh no." He sighs.

The gargoyles pass with the universal passcode he is absolutely not supposed to know (wool socks) and he tiptoes guiltily up the spiral staircase leading to the headmaster's office.

It's empty, to his unending, near crippling relief.

There's just Fawkes in the corner, staring at him with his unblinking, luminous eyes. He's in the sublime days of his rebirth cycle, beautiful plumage striking and deep. Fawkes chitters quietly, before fastidiously straightening out his feathers. Leon is flattered; Fawkes rarely cares for his own appearance, unless he's trying to impress someone. And for whatever reason, Fawkes has always seemed to want to impress Leon. Even from the first time they'd met the Phoenix had taken a strange liking to him. Leon supposes he shouldn't be surprised Fawkes recognizes him, somehow.

"Hi, buddy." Leon can't help but be pleased at seeing such a familiar face. "Can you believe what I've gotten myself into now?"

Fawkes blinks his goldenrod eyes, and then fluffs up and presents himself in all his colorful glory.

Leon laughs. "Yes, yes, you're quite a vain bird, aren't you? Don't you know by now you're the most beautiful creature in all the land?"

In response, he stretches out his wings to reveal the intricate, luminescent shading of his interior feathers. They glitter crimson and deep sapphire and molten gold all at once. And there, crawling about by his talons without a care in the world is—

"Dot!" Leon cries, leaping to grab the little thing before it can run away again.

Dot doesn't even attempt to make yet another impressive getaway, he just stares up at Leon with a bored expression.

"What are you doing here? I looked everywhere for you! And how did you even get here, anyhow?" Leon complains, annoyed.

"Ah yes, I should probably apologize for that. It was following me around, you see, and seemed rather fond of Fawkes."

Leon drops the turtle in shock.

"Oh dear," says Dumbledore.

/

So Dot is fine, and Leon is most definitely not. Nope, definitely not fine. He is, in fact, halfway to hysterics.

Harry's current Headmaster— and his current transfiguration teacher— sits across from him on a muted paisley print armchair that clashes terribly with the crushed velvet sofa Leon has found himself on. Dot, the blasphemous trouble maker, has seemingly fell asleep in the palm of his hand. After sitting in silence for the past fifteen minutes, Leon wishes he could join him. Professor Dumbledore had served them tea when they sat down, but Leon's has long since gone cold and tepid. Meanwhile, his curious professor seems content to sip his own cup and just gaze at Leon in silence.

Leon doesn't quite know what to make of it.

Leon's relationship with his transfiguration teacher has been strained ever since the sorting hat first called out Leon Grindelwald.

The name itself didn't mean much to most of the people in the hall; to them Gellert Grindelwald was a wealthy pureblood aristocrat from the mainland, an enigmatic figure with a high net-worth and even higher connections. But that was not the case for his Professor Dumbledore. He knew exactly who Gellert was— or rather, what he was capable of. After seeing for himself just what his own father could do to the world without Harry around to wrestle him into behaving, he had to admit Dumbledore's fears were not unfounded.

All the same, in that point in time, in the Hogwarts in which Leon attended, Grindelwald was not so much the dreaded Dark Lord of the continent as he was the charismatic and ambitious boy whom Albus Dumbledore had befriended in his youth, and consequently had an abrupt falling out with. Leon wasn't entirely sure what exactly their history entailed, but he knew the ending wasn't… great.

At any rate, Professor Dumbledore and Leon did not interact much if they could help it, and Leon wasn't entirely sure who started that status quo but he also had no interest in changing it. Leon was the only Slytherin the Head of Gryffindor house mostly left well enough alone, and in return Leon kept his head down in transfiguration class and always turned in quality work in a timely manner.

Leon had never seen much reason to change the state of affairs. As curious as he was about his father's past, he had to say he wasn't that interested in it. He was still a teenager after all, and there was nothing a teenager wanted less than to sit down and have an awkward and painful conversation with an adult.

Leon was, just slightly, regretting his choices now.

It would have been nice to have something to break the silence with. But he actually didn't know the first thing about his father's former best friend. Aside from the fact he had a phoenix that was quite fond of Leon.

Leon bites into his lip, staring down at Dot in his palm. Why did Dot have to go here, of all places? Why couldn't he have been a well-behaved mystical turtle and stayed put?

Opposite him, Professor Dumbledore did not seem to be suffering from any kind of awkwardness at all. Actually, he seemed quite content. He was just watching Leon shift around nervously with a small smile, as if he either found Leon endearing or amusing. Or maybe he was just enjoying Leon's pain. He really had no idea. All he knew was that this whole event was bewildering and horrifyingly awkward, and he would really like to just melt into the ground.

He tries to distract himself by actually drinking a bit of tea, but only manages to nervously spill it all over the saucer and onto his hand.

"Ah, I see I'm making you quite nervous." The Headmaster says. "Please forgive an old man for his nostalgia; you've caught me quite off guard."

Leon nods wordlessly, not entirely sure how to respond.

"Truly, I had known something was amiss, but this is still… unexpected." He continues on, conversationally. "There are so many questions I'd like to ask of you, and yet, I suppose I must refrain."

Leon nods again. This time though, he does have something to add. "Err— could I ask you a question then?"

The Headmaster leans back, blinking profusely. Leon is not really sure what has him so taken aback until he shakes his head. "American, really. Would have never guessed…" He muses, mostly to himself. And then; "You are more than welcome to ask anything you like."

Which, Leon notices, is not actually a promise of an answer.

All the same, he may as well ask.

"Why… " Leon clears his throat, gathering his courage. There's a reason he's not in Gryffindor. "Why did you and Gellert stop being friends?"

Dumbledore's amused and indulgent expression drops, and suddenly, the man looks much older than his already considerable years.

"Ah," he replies. He pours himself another cup of tea. "That is the question, isn't it? I, myself, have thought on it countless times over the years. Why did things have to end that way? Was it inevitability? Was there something more I could have done? Rather, the gift of hindsight has told me there were many more things I could have done, things I should have done, and things I should have never done, but will have to live to regret for the remainder of my years."

Leon stares, blankly.

"To put it simply, we stopped being friends because our journeys were no longer on the same path. I do not regret the path I chose, but I must say I deeply regret the way I chose it. I caused so much unnecessary pain for myself and others, Gellert especially. Perhaps if I had not, he would not have chosen the path he ultimately walked down."

"I don't think any of it is your fault." Leon blurts out, and then immediately regrets it.

Dumbledore is looking at him in a way that, for the first time, makes Leon think the man is actually seeing him. The whole time Leon's known him, it always seems like his professor has been looking through him. As if Leon is a foggy mirror into the past— a past his transfiguration teacher wanted to actively avoid, at that. Leon had always just assumed Dumbledore and his father had some kind of explosive falling out, and the end result was both of them so furious at each other that they still, to this day, refused to speak the other's name.

But he's starting to realize the opposite might be true.

Perhaps it wasn't anger that made it so impossible for them to move on, but regret.

"My fa— err, Gellert is hardly the type to let someone else change his mind, and his mind was made up well before he'd ever met you. To be honest, I think it's rather presumptuous of you to assume you had anything to do with his decisions at all."

His father really was quite stubborn. Just as stubborn as his mother, in fact, which would explain a lot about their relationship.

He's expecting Dumbledore to be offended at his honest but still rather rude opinion, but it seems to be the opposite.

Actually, Dumbledore is smiling at him. A large and honest smile full of fondness, which is so unusual and atypical to see from the professor who normally ignores him that Leon isn't sure what to make of it.

"I see." He replies, still smiling. "Well, if this is the expert's opinion, I suppose I'll have to accept it."

Leon bristles as he hears that condescending word again. Why are the adults in his life always patronizing him just because he's a teenager? He knows a lot of things, okay, and he's pretty sure he's right about this. If he was to be an expert on anything or anyone, Gellert would be pretty high on the list.

"Yes, you should." Leon sniffs, crossing his arms. "I am a teenager, you know. That means I know everything."

"No, that means you think you know everything." A cross voice replies from behind him.

Leon bolts upright in his seat.

The door to the Headmaster's office opens, and a tall and familiar form appears in the doorway.

Tom takes one look at the scene that greets him when he enters the office proper, and then sighs deeply. "Why do you always get yourself into these situations?"

He doesn't even sound angry. He just sounds resigned. Like he had wanted to expect better of Leon, but then this was the result. It made Leon want to curl up and die. Tom's disappointment was positively unbearable.

"...Sorry." He replies, sadly.

"Ah, Tom, good to see you. You've cleaned up quite nicely." Dumbledore enthuses, as he unwraps a lemon sherbert. He peers over his half-moon spectacles to examine the young man with his piercing, owlish gaze. "This is of course to assume you are the Tom Riddle that young Miss Potter watched emerge out of a cauldron and not, in fact, the Tom Riddle who acted as her dashing savior and fended off the dastardly villain?"

"I see your imagination is as rampant as ever, Dumbledore." Tom replies, wryly, neither confirming nor denying Dumbledore's theories.

"It's a riveting tale, you must admit." Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling. "And I'm thrilled you've decided to stop by."

Tom scowls darkly. "There's no need for the facade; I'm sure that damn turtle didn't just magically happen to find itself up here on accident."

Dumbledore didn't look even remotely abashed to be caught out. "I must admit, I was deeply interested in seeing the lauded Xuanwu in person. But to be quite candid, I find it's rather… lackluster in person."

"Much like the Fenghuang, it tends to forego most flashy displays and conserve its energy." Tom replies, glancing at Dumbledore's bird, then to Leon. "How long do you plan on holding him hostage?"

"I assure you, no one here is my prisoner." Dumbledore insists, setting his teacup back on its saucer. "You two are free to leave whenever you like. Assuming, of course, that it is still possible."

"What do you mean?" Leon asks, eyes widening.

Dumbledore blinks at him. "Terrible things happen to wizards that mess with time." He reminds them.

Tom rolls his eyes, hard. He reaches over to haul Leon back onto his feet, making sure to take Dot with them. "Yes, well, it's a good thing we're not messing with time then, isn't it?"

The Headmaster leans back in his chair, blinking a few times. "Oh." He says, brows raised so high they near reached his hairline. "Oh, I see. How fascinating."

"Leon, take my hand." Tom commands, as he slips Dot carefully into one of his pockets, looking annoyed and also like he would rather die than have to spend a moment longer in Dumbledore's company.

Leon doesn't need to be told twice. He's already probably going to get the lecture of his life from Tom on proper 'dimensional travel etiquette', so he should probably just listen to what he says.

"Well, it was truly a pleasure to meet you, young man." Dumbledore says to him, smiling. "Thank you for indulging in the nostalgia of an old man."

Leon isn't sure what to say in the face of such honest gratitude. "No problem. Um, thanks for answering my questions."

Tom is looking at him with a narrow-eyed, suspicious gaze that Leon studiously avoids.

A blue light envelops them.

Dumbledore waves. "Safe travels, both of you."

/

When they arrive, Harry appears to be in the middle of some kind of ritual. She stands in the grassy center of a ring of stones, Yama in her shadow. The mountain air is frosty in the light of morning, and the scenery is rather picturesque. The golden sun casting against the mountain summit, the rolling mist weaving between the cresting peaks. Leon has never been to Machu Picchu, but he imagines most of it is not supposed to be floating.

They clearly interrupt whatever she's doing with their abrupt arrival, for half of the floating structures collapse back into the mountainside with a massive, echoing boom. An eruption of dust besieges the mountainside in the interim, and in the distance, Leon thinks he hears the start of an avalanche. He grimaces.

Before they can cause too much irreparable havoc to the surrounding scenery, Yama rises out of Harry's shadow and all of the chaos momentarily freezes. Leon can't see anything with all the dust, but he imagines Harry must do something, because within moments everything is put back where it should be.

Harry stares at them, nonplussed.

Leon scuffs the ground with the toe of his shoe, shame-faced. "Sorry we're late. I might have… messed some stuff up."

"I take full responsibility." Tom offers, as he slips Dot out of his pocket. "I was the one who let him try the spell this time; I should have instructed him better."

Harry just looks between the two of them, brow raised. In her full goddess regalia, she looks wholly intimidating despite her small stature.

"It's a long story." Tom adds, expression deadpan.

"Uh-huh."

"Probably not worth the effort to tell it." He continues, and Leon, catching on, begins to nod furiously.

Harry is absolutely not convinced, and continues to stare at Tom with her narrowed, unimpressed green eyes. A lesser man would have confessed under the weight of her gaze, but Tom just holds her eyes with a stone-faced look. Leon is quietly impressed. Even Gellert would have caved by now.

She seems willing to drop the subject for now— probably just to interrogate them at a later date. "Fine, fine. I suppose there are more pressing matters to get to."

Leon and Tom breathe out a sigh of relief.

But it appears their relief was destined to be short-lived.

Harry drops her suspicious expression in favor of a sad, disappointed look.

"Guys. You forgot my salad."