The air was thick with tense silence as Harry and Nym stood in what would've been Harry's office in 12 Grimmauld Place. There was only one thought running through their minds—Gellert Grindelwald, the greatest dark wizard of recent history, was on the ascent, and in only a few years, he would unleash terror upon not only the British Isles, but the entirety of Europe, the effects of which would be felt across the globe.
In comparison to the man and his ambitions, Voldemort seemed like a baby, not even to be thought of. The sheer scale of Grindelwald's coming reign made Harry's blood run cold. Unlike Voldemort, who had ruled through brute force and fear, Grindelwald had something far more terrifying—vision. Charisma. A following that truly believed in his ideals, and by that, he meant truly.
"You know," Harry began with a wry chuckle, breaking the heavy silence. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but things are going to be so bad that I'm not even thinking about Voldemort here. He must be what now? Ten?"
"If that," Nym replied, her voice carrying a hint of fatigue. She rubbed her temples and shrugged, crossing her arms. "This is an alternate reality, right?" she asked.
"That's the most probable answer. Why?" Harry's gaze sharpened, studying her with an intensity that betrayed his growing suspicion.
She did not reply immediately. Instead, she gazed at him, tilting her head slightly, her mind evidently turning something over. Her eyes—now a deep brown, having unconsciously shifted from their previous vibrant purple—held a cold calculation that Harry had seen only a handful of times before. Harry furrowed his brows before releasing a small sigh.
"Tell me you're not thinking it as well," he muttered, already knowing the answer.
"Want me to lie?" Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact in a way that made Harry's stomach twist.
"He's a kid, Nym," Harry said softly, leaning back against the wall. His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of their predicament physically manifesting upon him. "It wouldn't be right. For all we know, he might not even turn out that way."
"It's Voldemort we're talking about, Harry," Nym replied, her voice hardening. "Didn't you see what he was like in those memories Dumbledore showed you? The bloke was torturing animals before he could properly tie his shoelaces."
"That doesn't mean—"
"Don't give me that," she cut him off, not unkindly but firmly. "I know that look, Harry. You're thinking about how you could've turned out, given your upbringing. But you're not him. You never were."
Harry grimaced, knowing she was right on multiple fronts. Even before his teenage years, the young Tom Riddle had that madness inside him. He was not a killer—not yet—but he was sadistic. Thievery was amateur-level stuff, but mentally torturing kids in that cave was another ball game altogether. If he was being honest with himself, he knew there was no redemption for Tom Riddle. It was as if magic itself had morphed him into what he'd become—magic that had perhaps taken root within him before he was even born—when he was conceived under Amortentia.
"You've got that thousand-yard stare again," Nym observed, her voice softening. She stepped closer, the vibrant purple returning to her eyes. "Knut for your thoughts?"
"You can literally read them," Harry replied dryly, though there was no real bite to his words.
"Yeah, but it's the principle of the thing, innit?" she countered with a ghost of a smile. "What are you thinking?" she probed softly, reaching out to cup his cheek.
Harry leaned into her touch, drawing comfort from the familiarity of it. "Just that things have gotten royally fucked up in no time," he replied, sighing deeply. "One minute I'm giving you a rundown of what I've been working on, and the next we're decades in the past in some alternate reality."
"Yeah, clumsy me strikes again," she chuckled humorlessly. "Should've known better than to touch mysterious magical artifacts."
"It was an accident," Harry said softly, feeling her self-deprecating thoughts through this bond that they now shared. It rippled through him—a mixture of guilt, fear, and beneath it all, a fierce determination. It was another anomaly that would need some comprehensive research. It was not that he minded being linked to Nym on such an intimate level, quite the opposite, but there was this unnerving possibility that both would die if one of them did.
"It won't come to that," Nym said firmly, hearing his thoughts. Her fingers tightened slightly against his cheek. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
"We don't know that, Nym," Harry said softly, gazing at her. His green eyes, normally bright and alert, now carried a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. "And you have to agree that it's a massive risk. I mean, my track record speaks for itself. You don't deserve it just because my lovely lady luck decided to fuck with me once again."
"Oh, don't start with the self-pity," Nym rolled her eyes, but her expression remained gentle. "We're in this together, whether you like it or not. Besides," she added with a hint of mischief, "I've survived being your dear friend for years now. If your luck hasn't killed me yet, I reckon I'm immune."
"That's not how luck works," Harry countered, though a small smile tugged at his lips.
"That's exactly how luck works. Ask any gambler," she quipped. Her expression grew more serious as she continued, "Yeah, well, there's not anything we can do about it. What's done is done. What we've got to think about is what we're gonna do now. I'm going to take up the Black family name, but I want to make it clear that I'm doing it against my wishes."
"As you've told me hundreds of times over the years," Harry replied dryly. "I still remember how you nearly hexed Kingsley when he suggested it after the war."
"The man should've known better," Nym sniffed indignantly. "Bloody politicians, always thinking they know best. How he turned out that way is still a bloody mystery."
"Still, Nymphadora Black has quite a ring to it, eh?"
Nym's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Harry hissed when she pinched his nose hard, a move she'd perfected over their years together.
"Fucking hell, woman!" Harry recoiled, rubbing his nose gingerly.
"That's for your cheek, Potter." Her stern expression was belied by the amusement dancing in her eyes.
"Technically, I'm not anymore," Harry replied with a sigh, his hand dropping back to his side. "Too much scrutiny. The Potters have always been a close-knit family, with little to show in terms of branching out. Anyone claiming to be a distant cousin would be investigated thoroughly."
"Yeah, family planning and all that," Nym snorted. "I've seen the family tree. Still can't believe your family's had so much trouble conceiving over the years. Your lot are practically the opposite of the Weasleys."
Harry shrugged. It was true, after all. The Potter line had always been precariously thin, with most generations having only one or two children who survived to adulthood.
"One would think your family doesn't know how to properly use the tools they've had at their disposal," she continued, her voice dropping to a suggestive purr as she stepped closer, smirking at him. "But I know firsthand that's highly inaccurate."
"You've had one sample to test that theory out with," Harry chuckled, feeling some of the tension leave his body. He could always count on Nym to find a way to lighten even the direst of situations.
"One was plenty," she replied with a satisfied smirk. "Quality over quantity, as they say."
Harry shook his head, amused. Leave it to this woman to be playful even when their whole world had turned upside down. It was one of the many things he'd come to love about her—her ability to find light in even the darkest of times.
"Still," she said, her expression softening, shadows creeping back into her gaze. "It's kind of a relief."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "How so?" he asked, genuinely curious.
She gave him a small smile, tinged with a sadness that he felt echo through their bond. "We've only got each other now, and honestly, it's not like we had many people left anyway. You were buried in Unspeakable work, and after Ginny's wedding, you weren't as close to the Weasleys anymore. I've been on my own too, with Mum gone and... well." She didn't need to finish the thought. "At least this way, we don't have as much to lose."
Harry studied her for a long moment. It was a morbid thought, but no less true. The war had taken so much from them both, and the years that followed hadn't been much kinder. The few connections they'd maintained had slowly eroded with time, until it was just the two of them spending their free time with each other.
"Yeah," he murmured. "I guess that's one silver lining." He reached out, tucking a strand of her currently brown hair behind her ear. "Though I'd argue I have plenty to lose."
Something softened in Nym's expression, a vulnerable moment that she rarely allowed herself. "Careful there, Harry. Almost sounds like you fancy me or something."
"Can't imagine why," Harry replied with a small smile. "Must be your sunny disposition."
"Or my incredible talent for landing us in impossible situations," she countered, her voice lighter.
"That too."
Nym stared at Harry for a moment before she sighed, the playful moment between them passing.
"So it's final, huh? You're going to take up that name?" There was concern in her voice, a hint of fear that she couldn't quite disguise.
"You got any better idea?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow, prompting her to frown.
"You could always go muggle," she suggested, though the lack of conviction in her voice betrayed her. She knew as well as he did that it wasn't a realistic option.
"Yeah," Harry scoffed. "And give up a golden opportunity to leverage some power for myself and throw away this advantage? I'm not a child, Nym. I don't have the luxury of being idealistic anymore."
"When were you ever?" she muttered, though there was no real heat behind it. "Still, Harry, that name? It'd put you right in the sights of not only Grindelwald, but possibly Dumbledore too. Are you sure it's worth the risk?"
"I don't think I need to worry about Dumbledore," Harry said honestly, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "The old man is frankly not old in this timeline, and from every account I've read and heard of him, he's a pacifist who wants to do nothing with the Hallows. He's happy being the professor at Hogwarts, away from everything that led to his sister's death."
"Please tell me you still don't believe the drivel Skeeter wrote," she observed, her tone skeptical. "That woman wouldn't know the truth if it danced naked in front of her wearing Winky's tea cozy."
"Skeeter might be a lot of things, but she would never paint Dumbledore in a positive light if she could help it," Harry replied, a wry smile tugging at his lips at Nym's colorful description. "And besides, I'm putting more faith in what Nicholas told me about Dumbledore. His judgment's solid."
"Nicholas Flamel? The bloke who thought allowing Dumbledore to hide the bloody Philosopher's Stone in a school full of children was a good idea?" Nym raised an eyebrow. "Solid enough for us to consider him an ally in all this?" she asked skeptically, earning a chuckle from Harry.
"Fair point," he conceded. "Of course not," he shook his head as he walked forward, looking around. "This new reality that we are in… no one can know about this. That's our secret to take to our graves. Obviously, that means we won't be telling anyone what we know is coming or anything else."
"But when it truly comes down to it, we can count on Dumbledore," Nym nodded, following his train of thought. "If only because he's predictable in his own way."
"Exactly. The man's got his flaws—Merlin knows I've seen them up close—but when it comes to stopping Dark Lords, there's no one better in Britain. He might not be seeking the Hallows, but he won't stand by and watch Grindelwald tear Europe apart, either."
"Let's just hope we don't have to test that theory anytime soon," Nym replied. She stretched, her spine making a series of small pops. Harry's eyes obviously lingered on a certain part of her desirable body with keen interest. "So, what now? We've got a plan, sort of. You'll be a son of... them," she wouldn't say the name, not yet, "and I'll be the reluctant daughter of a distant branch of the Blacks. Thank Merlin those old codgers won't have any right over me, with them having cut off any relation with their squib descendants over the centuries. There are so many that they won't even be able to tell which one I've come from."
"And that's why it'd sell perfectly. Your blood is the only verification needed. For me, well… they are a family that are shrouded in mystery. It wouldn't be a surprise to see one appear out of nowhere."
Nym scoffed. "Oh, come off it, Harry. Obviously, it would be a surprise."
"I didn't mean it that way," Harry rolled his eyes. "The people would indeed be shocked that a member of that infamous family has appeared, but the existence of one won't be surprising. That's the perk of being a mysterious family. You can pull anything out of your arse and no one can say for sure that you're bullshitting."
"Can't deny that," Nym chuckled. "So, getting our new identities, settling in, and probably OWLs as well if we are to attend Hogwarts. We'd need gold, and lots of it if we want to be taken seriously, especially you. The family name will only take you so far."
"Don't you worry about that," Harry smirked.
"All right. What then?"
"We establish ourselves," Harry said firmly. "Build connections and gather resources. That's why Hogwarts is important. We need to be ready for what's coming, and that means having influence."
"Sounds very Slytherin of you," Nym observed with a small smirk. "You're not planning to get sorted there, are you?"
"The Hat did want to put me there," Harry reminded her, chuckling. "Maybe it's time I embraced that side of myself a bit more."
"Just don't go full Pureblood ponce on me," she warned. "I've had enough of that from actual ponces to last several lifetimes."
"I make no promises," Harry replied, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "I might need to start carrying a cane."
"Do, and I'll use it to beat you over the head," she threatened, though her eyes danced with amusement.
"Noted," Harry chuckled. He sobered after a moment. "Now, if you're ready? Let's get going. I'm sure we've stayed in this place longer than either of us would've liked."
"Can't deny that." Nym cast one last glance around the room, her expression unreadable. "Hard to believe we might never see it as it was again."
"Maybe that's for the best," Harry said softly. "Too many ghosts. I only lived here because of Sirius."
Nym nodded, understanding passing between them without words. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. "Alright then. Into the past we go."
"Into the unknown," Harry corrected, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
"Same difference, innit?" Nym replied with a small smile. "Lead the way, Potter. Or whoever you're going to be now."
Harry nodded, drawing a deep breath. With Nym's hand firmly in his, he twisted on the spot. The pair apparated away, ready to face whatever this new reality had in store for them.
TBC.
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