Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit

Acknowledgments: Rpeh on the beta work.

Chapter Five

"Emily what are you doing?" Harry hissed as she moved toward the door. She gave no indication that she heard him. Instead she kept moving toward the door. She moved deliberately, her body tensing with every motion, her eyes narrowing as she stepped closer to her goal.

"Emily!" Harry hissed again, following after her. Again, it was like she didn't hear him. She slipped between two pedestrians without effort and continued up the street. Harry apologized as he stepped into an annoyed looking woman and continued after her.

He saw her standing near the door of the building. She looked dazed. A glassy sheen covering her eyes. As if they were seeing something that only she could see. He weaved through the pedestrians and found himself at her side a moment later.

"Emily!?" he hissed for a third time. She stood frozen at the door to the building. Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly, attempting to get her attention. She kept standing there. A few people walking past in the street stared at them while they passed. But no one bothered to stop. Harry thought they must make an odd sight.

Looking closer at Emily and he thought she looked dead on her feet. There were bags forming under her glossy eyes that he didn't recall being present during dinner. Her attention appeared to be anywhere else despite her eyes focusing on the door.

He slid his hand down and took hers into his. Hers was smaller, her fingers soft, her nails well-manicured as he ran his fingers over them. He squeezed it and whispered to her.

"Come on, Emily, let's go home," he said and started to tug her back to the house. She took one step with him and then pulled back hard, nearly pulling him over, as she continued to stare at the door.

"No," she said. "I can't. I….I…"

"What is it?" he asked, looking at the door, half expecting traces of magic on it. He moved around her easily enough, sliding his wand into his hand as he stared at it.

"I can't leave," she said sternly. She took another step toward the door. It seemed to take a great deal of energy on her part. Harry closed his eyes and focused on the door. He felt nothing. He could feel her there, sure, next to him. But he couldn't feel any other presence.

He paused for a moment though. Something seemed wrong in his head. He kept his eyes closed but still tried to look around, to feel around him. In the darkness of his head he could see her. A sort of glowing red aura from his left. He could feel her. He could sense her warmth and her power.

He could feel her there, he could see her in his mind clearer than if he actually opened his eyes. He blinked them open in surprise.

"Woah," he said. Emily made no comment. She reached for the door but her hand hesitated. Harry found himself growing annoyed at the inaction as the incantation for opening doors sprung to his lips. The door opened itself and he stared at her.

"Thank you," she muttered as she stepped through the door. She moved through the building with a familiarity that seemed out of place. She quickly moved ahead of him. He followed her until she stopped outside of another door. She reached for it but again her hand didn't seem able to grip the handle.

He could see the muscles in her arms straining against some unknown force. Again, he felt no magic in the air. But she was unable to push through the air around her. She'd made it about twenty steps ahead of him and he closed the gap slowly, waiting outside the door with her.

"What are we doing, Emily?" he asked as his wand leveled once more on a locked door. She didn't look at him when she spoke.

"I need to do something here," she said.

"What?" he asked.

"Something," she said.

"Then do it," Harry countered, eyeing the door.

"Something isn't letting me," she said through grit teeth.

"There's nothing here," Harry responded.

"It doesn't want me to go forward," she countered. Harry raised his brows. He knew enough about magic to both be slightly concerned and incredibly intrigued. And, given that he'd grown to assume magic had put them in this area. Perhaps it was something worth exploring. He slashed his wand at the door and once again it unlocked and opened.

This time, though, Emily didn't move. Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared forward and into the flat that now appeared before them. Harry stepped behind her and peered over her head, gazing into the dark room. There was a light on at the end of a hall, filtering slightly out around a corner. But there were no other signs of life.

He placed his hand on the middle of her back and pushed her into the flat. She turned and glared at him as she tripped over her own feet and stumbled into the kitchen.

"Don't do that," she hissed, turning to glare at him from the kitchen. He raised his brows and put his hands on her shoulders, ready to push again. But the look in her eyes told him that would be a stupid idea.

"Why are we here?" he asked again. She frowned up at him, her eyes seeming to water in the darkness of the room. He noticed she made no attempt to wiggle out of his grasp or remove his hands at all.

"You don't need to be here. I can do it myself," Emily said.

"You're not really doing that in a hurry," he said.

"You don't need to see this," Emily frowned.

"I don't even know what this is," Harry said.

"You should go," she said. Harry noticed she was blushing red. She looked embarrassed. She turned her gaze away from his like she didn't want him to press.

"You haven't been able to move without me pushing you, so I don't think that me leaving would provide you much of a boon," Harry said. "Now what are we looking for?"

"Harry please, just go. I'll meet you back at the house soon," she said.

"I don't think I will," Harry said. He slid his hands down her shoulders and her arms, sliding his own briefly into hers. "So where are we going?"

"Please, Harry," she said. But he ignored her and started to move down the hall toward the faint source of light there. He pulled her along with him. Moving slowly down the hall toward a door that wasn't fully closed. Dim light came from it as they moved.

Harry stepped toward the door, surprised at how difficult each step grew as he pulled Emily behind him. It was like she gained a stone each time he moved. He didn't look back at her as he walked. He didn't need to. He could feel her anxiety without looking at it. He wondered just what about this had her so concerned, so on edge.

It was unlike her. At least in the time he'd known her she'd never been one to shirk away from something. Or to worry. Or to not have an answer in her own little calm way. But now it was difficult to even walk down toward a doorway. And she was obviously scared of it.

That thought gave him some pause. He'd seen her do magic. He'd seen her perform spells he barely understood. He'd could sense her power. And here she was, scared stiff by something he couldn't sense.

And there she was again, trying desperately to get him to not face it for her. Perhaps she knew far more than he did. And perhaps he was being foolish for listening to her. But he'd always been the curious sort. And he knew that curiosity was going to win out, no matter what she did. The closer he grew to that door, the more he wanted to see what was behind it.

When he finally made it to the door he pulled her in front of him as they both peered through the few inches it was open and into the dimly lit room. There were perhaps only a couple of lit candles inside. It was enough light to cast a subtle glow in the room and the hallway beyond.

Harry peered through the gap in the door and into the room. He saw a bed, dark blankets and pillows adorning it, and not much else at first. But, after a few moments, a man stepped into view. He was perhaps in his forties and he was only wearing his underwear.

Harry supposed that shouldn't have been that surprising given it was a bedroom. But he still didn't really want to see that. He peered over at Emily to see what her reaction was. She merely stood there, stiff as a board. He peered around her to see her face. She had no expression at all.

In fact, her eyes looked rather glazed over again. Like a sheen had fallen over them as she stared into the bedroom. He waved his hand in front of her face as her pupils shot around. But they didn't focus on anything he did or anything he could see. Whatever was gracing her vision. He had no idea what it could be. He shrugged his shoulders and let his curiosity win as he turned his attention back to the door.

He recognized the man from the restaurant. It was the same man Emily was glaring at through dinner. Harry vaguely remembered him being with a girl that he assumed was a daughter. But something about the flat made it seem like an unlikely place for a young girl to live. There was no real sign that it was anything but a bachelor pad.

And then the man answered his question by stepping around her.

The brunette girl stood there, her eyes focused on the ground, as the man stood behind her and untied the bathrobe she wore. She didn't struggle at all as he peeled it off of her shoulders. His arms slid around her, one hand sliding low, down her stomach, the other up. She stood there, unresponsive to the touch, her eyes looked to be a million miles away.

Harry froze.

She couldn't have been more than nine or ten. She looked vaguely familiar to Harry, but before he could place it a rage filled him. He remembered his wand was still in his hand and he raised it immediately.

But he paused. The man was so tightly wrapped around the girl, and the room seemed oddly red and spinning as his rage filled him, that he wasn't sure if he could hit one without hitting the other.

Perhaps, he thought, he could summon the girl out of the way and then curse the man. A million possibilities shooting through his head as to what curse he would use on the man. He raised his wand and waited until the man's grip on the girl loosened so he could summon her away.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked to see Emily next to him. Her eyes were in focus again, but watering. Tears stained her cheeks. She shook her head and something inside Harry broke.

No? No? Why would she stop him? The man deserved whatever Harry was going to do to him and probably worse. But here she was, preventing him from doing that? No, she couldn't prevent him from acting. Not this time.

He let the power flare up inside of him as he prepared to end the man before him. But then he felt himself being forced into a tube, a suffocating pressure enclosing all around him. And, just when he thought it was going to kill him, it stopped. And he was back in the house they shared, in the foyer.

He shook as the realization dawned on him. The realization of what would happen to the girl and how he was now powerless to stop it. Powerless because she took him from that location.

"What the hell," he growled, turning and leveling his wand on her. But she didn't rise to defend herself at all. She was barely even looking at him. She just shook her head again, sadly, and used her sleeve to wipe the tears from her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. And Harry felt the rage drain out of him in an instant. But he still needed answers. He still needed to know what all of this meant. How had she known? He knew of mind magic, but he hadn't been able to feel her doing any magic. Sure, she likely could have concealed that from him. But she'd shown him how to sense it. And there had been nothing.

"What was that?" he asked, his jaw set tightly as he spoke.

"You didn't need to see that," she said. "I'm sorry I took you there. It wasn't necessary."

"What. Was. That?" he asked again.

"What you thought," she said, looking away from him.

"Why did you stop me?" he asked. She didn't answer him. Instead she walked from the atrium she'd Apparated them to and into the kitchen. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she did, rubbing at them as if she was cold. He followed her.

She was pulling down a glass from a cabinet when he entered the kitchen. She took an unlabeled bottle of amber liquid from the shelf and pulled the cap off. She sniffed the contents once before pouring a glass and sitting at the bar.

But she didn't drink from it. And she didn't look at him. She stared off at the French doors leading to Seth's beach. But she made no motion to move to it. Her eyes were glassy again and Harry thought the tears might return at any moment.

Harry watched her in silence. He waited for her to break it, knowing full well that she wasn't going to. She stared at her drink on the counter but made no more to lift it to her lips. Instead she wrapped her arms more tightly around herself as if she were outside in the cold.

He moved to the cabinet as well, taking out a glass of his own and then picking up the bottle she left out. He pulled some of the liquid into the glass and sniffed at it. It smelled faintly of honey and was perhaps too sweet for his tastes. But he drank it all the same. He gave her ten minutes and half the glass before he spoke again.

"Are we going to talk about it?" he asked, perhaps too tersely.

"I don't need to," she said.

"Well, unfortunately for you, there's two of us here," he responded. "And I would really like to know."

"What?" she interrupted sharply. "What would you like to know?"

"Why would we leave that…that….man…alone with that girl?" Harry said through grit teeth, the anger rushing back to him almost immediately.

"We have to," she said.

"Bollocks," he responded. "That can't be your excuse for everything."

"There's so much you don't understand," she said. Again, she refused to meet his eyes. He wanted to grab her and shake her. To make her look at him. To make her explain why they were condoning such a heinous act. He felt dirty even letting the thoughts pass through his mind.

"Then explain it to me," he ordered. She stiffened for a moment at his tone and then finally raised her eyes to look at him, her guise filled with rage.

"I don't think I should," she said quietly.

"You're going to have to give me something," Harry said. "Or I'm going to go find him and kill him. I'm pretty sure I can. They were only a couple of streets over."

"No, you can't," she said.

"Yes, I can," Harry said as he started moving toward the door. "Watch me."

"No," she said, strength returning to her voice as she lifted her eyes to look at him, although her arms wrapped even tighter around her body.

"Give me an actual reason to not do it," Harry said.

"I'm asking you," Emily said.

"A good reason," Harry countered.

"We can't," she said, emphasizing the second word.

"Yes, we can," he sighed. "It wouldn't even be difficult."

"It's not a question of ability or difficulty," Emily countered.

"He's a monster," Harry replied.

"It's not a question of morality either," Emily said.

"Then why?" Harry asked. "You wanted to. I could tell just by looking at your face. You wanted to so badly and then…and then you hesitated. Why?"

"We can't," she said again.

"I'm going to have to hex it out of you, aren't I?" Harry asked.

"You could try," Emily growled.

"Talk to me," he said again.

"When I got closer to them everything was harder. It was like weights were attached to me. I couldn't move. And I saw things. Saw things I'd rather not see. Saw things that could have happened. Or did happen. Or wouldn't happen. I don't know, the images all flashed by so quickly," Emily said.

"What does that matter?" Harry scoffed.

"It showed me things," Emily said. "And it showed me things that would or wouldn't happen if continued down that path."

"I can't imagine killing one pervert has much of an impact on the rest of the world," Harry said.

"Perhaps not," she said. "Perhaps he wasn't the important one?"

"What the girl?" Harry laughed, earning him a glare from Emily.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Emily spat.

"Well she's just a girl," Harry said. But he knew his mistake as soon as he said it. He shook his head and refilled his drink. "A girl who will grow up some day."

"Exactly," she said.

"But we could have made that easier for her. How could avoiding such trauma be a bad thing?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps the trauma molds her into who she needs to be," Emily said.

"That's disgusting," Harry responded.

"That's life," Emily said. "We are all the sum of our parts. Do you think you'd be who you are had you known your parents?"

"Yes," Harry said. Emily raised her brows at him.

"Do you really?" she asked again. Harry frowned and looked at her, letting that thought run through his head. And, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't think he'd be the same person without the Dursley's upbringing. But he wasn't sure that was a bad thing.

"Okay fine, maybe not. But we still should have stopped it. Your excuse is terrible. By your logic we shouldn't do anything at all. Every little thing we do could change something. If we're going to just be frightened of that we may as well just cower inside," Harry argued.

"I know it's a bad excuse. But…did you…did you not feel that?" she asked.

"Feel what?" he asked.

"When I got to the door I couldn't move. It wasn't until you opened it that I could even fathom entering. And then we were there and it got worse. It was suffocating," she said.

"No, nothing like that for me. It wasn't any different than anything else," Harry admitted.

"Well after that the visions started. And, like I said, I saw everything. It was nauseating. Thousands of different things that could happen but not what I know should happen. And it didn't change until I decided the best course was to get us out of there," Emily said.

"None of that happened to me," Harry said.

"Maybe it wasn't for you to make that decision," Emily said.

"And it was for you?" Harry countered.

"I certainly have far more experience with it than you do," she responded, her cheeks flushing pink as her glare fixated on him.

"And that makes it your decision? Wouldn't that make you more likely to stop it?" Harry asked.

"I've been in those situations," she said. "I know what happens. I can still feel what they did to me."

"And you don't want to stop it?" Harry asked.

"It isn't about what I want," she snapped.

"Then what is it about?" he asked.

"It's about what I can do. It's about making sure we stay as safe as possible. It's about getting your home," Emily said.

"That's a terrible excuse. I'd rather make a difference than be safe," Harry said.

"Would you say that if you knew exactly what safety meant?" she said.

"Yes," he responded without hesitance. She shook her head and stood.

"I don't want to argue about this," she said. Her arms still wrapped around herself. Harty thought she looked lost as she fled form the room. He watched her go, his eyes lingering perhaps longer than necessary on her. Once she was gone he grabbed his drink and turned to step out toward the magical beach to ponder what she'd said.

Part of him wanted to leave and head immediately back to where he knew the man and the girl were. But something about her words stuck in his head. Something was off. But he couldn't figure it out. He decided that his best course of action, at least for the time being, was to think on what he'd heard and just what he would do.

A sentence stuck out in his head. She'd been in those situations before? He tried to recall the myth, knowing full well the myths were likely worthless. But what had happened to Circe that could desensitize her current ideology to all of that?

His grand solution to all of it was to drink the entire bottle of whatever the alcohol was. A mead of some sort if he had to guess. But given that there was no label and he was far from an expert, he couldn't be sure.

After a few glasses, though, he didn't care. Once he finished the bottle he decided it was time to go to bed. However, he never quite made it. He remembered thinking that he should get off the beach chair and go up to his bedroom. And he remembered thinking that the sound of the waves against the beach were rather relaxing.

And then he remembered thinking the start of the sunset over the horizon was quite beautiful. Except that it shouldn't have been morning yet. He groaned as the realization that he passed out flooded through his mind. He hauled himself to his feet and went back into the kitchen. It was just after five in the morning in London proper and his only real thought was that his head hurt far too much to deal with at that moment. He guzzled down a glass of water, and then a second, before deciding that nothing, aside from perhaps sex with Cassandra, sounded better than more sleep.

Of course, he thought wryly as he stumbled his way up the stairs, drunken cuddling that led to sleeping with Cassandra would invariably lead to a more biblical version of sleeping together come morning. So, in a sense, sleep could lead to sleeping with Cassandra.

Somehow, that thought made perfect sense in his head as he entered his bedroom. He undressed quickly and threw himself face first onto his bed. Some rolling around got him under the covers as his thoughts lingered on Cassandra.

He hadn't thought about her that much since he mourned her leaving with ice cream on the balcony. And he found that odd. He didn't think it was intentional, as he reflected on it now he couldn't remember having the time to miss her.

But now he did. He missed the way her body felt against his, he missed the way she smelled as she pressed against him, he missed the way her soft hair felt against his face, he missed the way she'd squeeze his hand when she wanted something more physical to happen, and he missed having her around him.

He cocooned himself into the blankets, finding one of the fuzzy soft ones and balling it up against himself. He held it tightly to him, pressing his face into it as he shifted around on the bed. He remembered what it felt like to not be alone in bed and wished that someone else was there with him.

He fell asleep to those thoughts as the warmth of the bed enveloped him. And when he woke, he immediately lamented that he was alone in that warmth. Even if he'd overindulged and his head ached it still would have been better with someone sharing his misery.

Of course, he thought as he sat up in bed, there was someone there who would share his misery. And, if he was nice enough, she might even mix up a cure for the throbbing in his head. First, though, he knew he needed to scrub the taste of mead from his mouth.

Once he was clean and presentable, he stepped out into the hallway. He walked over to Emily's bedroom door, rapped his knuckles against the wood and waited. No sound came from the room.

He figured she must have been downstairs and so he moved down to the kitchen. Nothing about the room had changed from the night before. He grabbed himself a glass of water and moved out to the beach. Emily wasn't there. He supposed she must be sleeping and he saw no real reason to wake her up.

An odd thought struck him then. He could remember the night before. When he'd closed his eyes and cleared his mind he'd been able to feel her. He couldn't quite describe the feeling. But there was something to it, a certain warmth that he associated with her. And he'd known just where she was.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He felt nothing. He frowned in the darkness of his own mind before opening his eyes again. The hallway spun around him for a moment and he steadied himself.

But that felt wrong, he was never one to give up after the first attempt. He took a few deep breaths, concentrating on his own thoughts, his own mind, forcing himself to focus.

And then he closed his eyes once more. It wasn't instant, but this time he felt something. Upstairs he could sense power, warmth, and everything he associated with Emily. It felt faint, but he could sense it there. Somehow, in a way he couldn't explain, it just enforced his thought that she must have been asleep.

Harry decided to kill some time by making breakfast. He paged through one of Seth's cookbooks, looking for anything that would catch his eye to attempt to make. But his head hurt too much to bother getting more than a few sentences into each recipe before he gave up.

Instead he scrambled a few eggs and fried up some bacon. He ate a little more than half and put the rest on a tray. He filled another glass of water and returned to the upstairs hallway.

"Emily?" he asked the closed door, knocking on it once more. He waited a minute for a response but one didn't come. He frowned and closed his eyes again. He could steel feel something inside the room. Something small and warm curled up a few feet away from the door.

"I made some eggs. I'll just charm them to stay warm and leave them here," he said. He levitated the tray outside the door, a few feet away so she wouldn't walk into it when exiting, and turned to move back down the hallway.

He couldn't sense any sort of movement from inside but he decided the best course of action was to shrug his shoulders and go about his day.

He left the house without any more fanfare and wandered toward Diagon Alley. He had no real reason for going there, except that it felt nice to be among wizards. It was a short walk to the alley, through the Leaky Cauldron.

There wasn't a whole lot of action that late morning. He spent the day looking at what constituted quality Quidditch supplies in the nineteen thirties. It was a fairly stark contrast to what he was accustomed to. His Firebolt may as well have been a flying saucer compared to the brooms on display. Hell, even the one Emily made for him was better than the ones in the windows.

But it was still interesting to him to see the older pads, older brooms, and compare them to what he knew. He half wondered if he knew enough about broom design to leave a sketch somewhere and change the future of brooms entirely. Deep down, he knew he didn't know enough of the intimate details to do so. Still, the thought amused him and kept him entertained for most of the day.

He closed his eyes as he stepped out of the broom shop. His head automatically turned toward Seth's home. He could feel her there. The more he focused on it the more he could pinpoint her exact location. He wondered if she could do the same thing. He made a mental note to ask her about it.

It was an odd feeling. He could tell she was still in her bedroom. It was like a floating red orb in his mind, when he opened his eyes he thought he could almost see her red dot on the horizon. But he knew he was making that up. As soon as he blinked any notion of it was gone.

He wondered if it was some sort of spell she'd put on him. But that didn't seem likely. He wished he'd realized it sooner and asked her about it. He racked his brain for anything that could explain it.

The only thing he could come up with, that he could actually place, was the portals. He hadn't noticed that sense before the portals. He couldn't remember ever doing it on the island. But he knew enough to know that didn't mean anything.

Still, he knew the portals were supposed to get them home. Although he wondered just what home was supposed to be. He half debated hopping on the train to Surrey and see just what Privet drive looked like in the pre-war era. If it even existed at all. He would freely admit he knew next to nothing about architecture, but nothing about the house struck him as post-war.

That wasn't important though. While his curiosity certainly wasn't slaked there were other things he'd rather be investigating.

If it was the portals, then there had to be some sort of link between the two of them because of it. Something that was making them stay together. Or at least aware of where the other person was. He wondered just what would happen if one of them went through a portal and the other didn't.

It wasn't worth dwelling on, though, as the thought just made him nervous. What was he supposed to do if a portal popped up and she was crying in bed? Was he supposed to go find her? Or what? He shook that thought from his head as there wasn't anything he could do about it and thinking on it made him nervous.

He strolled past a restaurant with large open windows and a group of people eating at a few outdoor tables. It should have been Gladrags, or it would be by his time. But for now it was a restaurant, and one the locals seemed to enjoy. He gazed up at the sign, an oddly angular green board labeled "The Goblin's Ear," and decided it was as good as anywhere else to stop for a bite.

A few of the patrons gave him a curious glance as he leaned against the bar, but no one commented that he should probably still be at Hogwarts and he did his best to act like he belonged. Oddly, he thought, advice he'd stolen from Uncle Vernon.

Harry ordered a beer from the barmaid as he reflected on his uncle. He'd heard his uncle state it on four or five separate occasions. It was simple, really. A mere sentence. Always act like you belonged. He'd go on to say that if you didn't look out of place, people would assume you were meant to be there.

The thought gave him pause as the barmaid placed the dark beer before him without a question. She gestured vaguely to the specials floating on a board above the bar and then moved to help some other patrons. Harry sipped the beer, frowning. It tasted cheap and he decided he'd do his remaining drinking from whatever was in Seth's cellar.

Uncle Vernon had attempted to impart some sort of grand wisdom on Dudley with that phrase. Dudley had taken it to mean he should just strut around like the biggest cock in the county and do whatever he damn well pleased. But Dudley had never been the brightest bulb.

But now that he thought about it, Harry was struck with another odd thought. Vernon would constantly harp on acting like you belonged and that could open far more doors than almost anything else. And, while doing that, he'd continually sequestered Harry. He'd made sure he had no idea how to belong.

So much so that Harry still struggled with making friends and feeling like he belonged. In point of fact, outside of when it was only he, Ron, and Hermione, he very rarely felt that sense of belonging.

Although he did have to admit he'd felt less out of place now than he had in a while. Which seemed slightly ironic given that he was currently a man out of time. Still, there was something soothing about Emily's presence.

He'd noticed it back on Lepsia. When she was around him he felt more like he was where he was supposed to be. Which again struck him as an odd thought, given that he was nowhere near where he should have been.

He finished his beer and decided it was time to head out of the restaurant. He left a few coins on the bar and went on his merry way. Once he was outside, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She was still where he'd left her, unless his newfound senses were less reliable than he'd assumed.

London had cooled off some as the sun started to set and he walked back toward the house. He sauntered far slower than necessary.

Again he closed his eyes, and again he could feel her inside the building. It took him a minute to realize that should have alarmed him, as, despite the massive amount of magic that went into the building, to create marvels such as the beach, he couldn't sense that it existed at all. And yet he knew it did, and could tell she was inside of it.

Something that complex should have left a trace. He'd never bothered thinking about that before. It was early on in their lessons that she'd taught him about the mark magic left on things. She done so with a very annoying set of tests involving consuming transfigured food and retching up the rocks when he chose wrong.

It hadn't taken very long to figure out what was real and what was created. The signs were all there and fairly obvious when one realized what they should be looking for. But despite knowing that, and knowing that the building in front of him was at least as much magical as it was muggle, he still couldn't sense anything from it.

He walked up to the building and put his hand on the stones. Tactile input often helped to give a better idea of the magic in such a building or object. The problem being if it was charmed against you, touching it could result in significant consequences.

As his hand rested on the stone he still sensed nothing. He stepped back from the building and stared up at it. He'd explored it out of boredom one night. He'd gone up to the third, fourth, and fifth floors just to see what was up there. And yet, his eyes were telling him that the building didn't have that many stories.

He closed his eyes again and tried to find the magic in it once more, knowing full well that this was going to bother him until he figured it out. Magic always left a trace. And he was going to find that trace.

The first thing that popped up when he closed his eyes again was the sense in his mind of where she was. He focused once more on the building but again, nothing registered. He sighed and let his focus wane, fading back into just the warmth he now associated with Emily.

Except then there was a flash of something else. A small feeling of another presence blipped momentarily on his mind, something a few streets over in the opposite direction. But it was gone as soon as he felt it. He turned toward it and opened his eyes.

Part of him felt he should have gone back inside and checked on Emily. To both confirm if she was still where it felt like she should be, and to see if there was anything else he could do for her.

Curiosity won out, though, and instead he started down the street toward the new presence. He sauntered slowly up the street, nodding briefly at a few of the people who passed, which just drew him some odd looks.

He'd pause every few blocks just to check again if he could sense anything. At first, all he could pick up was Emily back at the house. But he kept walking toward where he thought the newer presence was.

He found himself once again walking by the orphanage. Children were playing football, or something that resembled it close enough, outside in the waning light of the day. He watched, for a moment, before continuing on his way.

But this time when he stopped to try to find his way once more the fainter presence popped to the front of his mind. It, like Emily, was behind him. It faded quickly from his mind as the far more powerful presence stayed at the home.

When he opened his eyes they were lingering on the orphanage. He paused as he stared at the building. He closed his eyes again, thinking that this time he thought he could tell what he was looking for.

And this time it obliged. Again, it was only for the briefest of moments, but he could sense something else in the orphanage. He approached the building, and once again found himself following Uncle Vernon's advice as he unlocked the gate with magic and proceeded into the building.

There were a handful of kids running through the building, toward what looked to be a communal dining room. Harry peered at it for a moment but thought that he should at least attempt to be more subtle than that.

And anyway, he didn't think he was going to be heading to the dining area anyway. Something about that rang false in his head. Instead he ducked into the corner and focused once more. His mind telling him he should proceed up the stairs.

The stairs creaked underneath his weight as he moved up them. Someone yelled that it was nearly time to eat and a few more children ran out around him and toward the stairs. He pressed himself to a wall as they ran by him without looking. His eyes scanned over the group and it didn't seem like any of them were worth following.

The décor of the entire building seemed dated. Part of him thought it might have been opulent half a century earlier, but now it all looked shabby and had the sort of mildew smell he associated with places that needed work.

He continued down the hallway, not really paying attention to where he was going, relying on the magic to lead him to where he needed to be. But he found nothing of note. He made it to the end of the hallway and then back again, but nothing stuck out.

He closed his eyes once more and continued to search for the other presence. It was still in the building. But he couldn't find where. He sighed and moved down the stairs. An older, sever looking, woman rushed toward him as he stepped into the foyer.

"What are you doing out here?" she squealed. "You will miss dinner!"

"I don't live here," Harry said.

"What?" the woman looked alarmed. "Then why on Earth are you here?"

"I'm looking for someone," Harry said. He turned his glance away from the woman and then moved to explore the building some more but she blocked him.

"Who?" she asked.

"I don't know," Harry said.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she said. Harry turned back to her and glared. But her stern expression won out and he figured it was in his best interest to not argue with her. Although a part of him wanted to hex her and be done with it.

"I was leaving," he lied, moving around her and to the door. She followed him to the door and continued to glare at him as he left. He stepped by a girl sitting on the stone steps outside when he did.

"And you, brat, inside, dinner time," she said. The girl made no motion to move and the matron stepped back into the building. Harry spun around and looked at the girl on the stairs. It was the same girl he'd seen on the stairs the first time he walked by the orphanage.

He walked over to her. She was looking anywhere but at him, and seemed to have no actual interest in going inside to eat. He watched her for a moment before closing his eyes and focusing again. The blip of power was next to him. And then it was gone again, and he could feel Emily a few streets away back at the house. She was restless now though, pacing, he thought. But he didn't concern himself with those thoughts for very long. Instead he moved over toward the girl.

She was slender with mousy brown hair and a slightly vacant expression. Somehow, despite being no older than ten, she seemed to have mastered the thousand-yard stare. He sat next to her on the stone steps. Despite knowing there was no real way he could know who she was, something felt oddly familiar about her. He could have sworn he'd seen her before.

"Hello," he said. She didn't respond verbally but instead shifted slightly away from him. He racked his brain for why she felt so familiar. The more he focused on her, the more he could sense the lingering warmth of magic around her. She would get a Hogwarts letter in a year or so, he thought. When she didn't respond he decided to try again.

"I'm Harry," he said. She stiffened but after a moment looked over at him.

"Not John?" she asked.

"No. Middle name is James though," he shrugged.

"It's normally a John that I have to leave with," she said. And it all clicked in Harry's head. He'd seen her the night before. And, despite knowing that he'd seen her, there'd been a sort of disconnect between the girl he failed to save and the girl he'd seen on the steps. The bile rose in his throat as struggled to speak.

"And you think you're going to have to leave with me?" he asked.

"Am I not?" she countered.

"If you did," Harry said, "You would never come back here."

"Uh-huh," she snorted.

"You've heard that before I take it?" Harry said.

"I've heard lots of things before," she said.

"I'm sure," Harry sighed. "I know what they…You should go to the police."

"I don't get to leave without one of them," she said quietly.

"Then run away," he said.

"I've tried," she scoffed. "It was worse with broken bones."

"I…" Harry started. The girl pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.

"I'm Emily," she said after minutes of silence.

"That seems to be a common name of late," he said.

"I guess," she shrugged. "There's another Emily here too. She's five."

"I see," Harry said. He peered over his shoulder at the building, wondering if the same fate would befall her. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to find a way to save all of them. To get them out of that building. To change whatever was going on. But he didn't know how to do that. The police, he thought. The police had to be his best bet.

He stood, wondering where the nearest officer was. Wondering how he would explain it. A girl told him, he thought. That would be the easiest way. The girl didn't even look at him when he stood. He heard the door open behind him and the matron's voice rang out.

"For the last time, Miss Riddle, get inside for dinner!" the woman barked. The words rang through his head. Miss Riddle. Emily. Emily Riddle. His wand was in his hand before he even finished turning around.

He saw the matron pull the girl into the building. She fought against the woman but wasn't strong enough to break away as she was pulled back inside. Harry moved to follow but then paused.

A small voice in the back of his mind whispered something to him that sent a chill down his spine. He'd been able to sense two things in this time. Two specific people. The first one, a trapped Angelo-Greek witch he'd spent the last year with named Emily. Sure, she claimed she was an ancient Greek witch from myth, but that was only verified by a friend of hers. And…a young…Emily Riddle.

But, the voice whispered, what if it wasn't two people he was sensing. What if it was the same person, but at different times. That would mean…

He gripped his wand tighter and closed his eyes once more. After a brief ping from the orphanage he felt the power welling behind him. He could sense Emily leaving the house. She was moving in his direction. He spun around, ready for a fight he wasn't sure he could win. But he didn't see Emily as he turned.

Instead he saw the silvery sheen of another portal. He felt it around him, all encompassing, and then he started to fall as it pulled him elsewhere.