... awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time
Hermione's words whisper through Harry's mind, quiet and stern. He's heard them over and over in his head for the last three years, since the night he and Hermione released Sirius from a tower cell only for it not to have mattered at all.
She persists and nags, her warnings growing louder and louder as he fingers the charm in his hand, but he ignores it. He tells himself that Hermione doesn't understand; her family may be in the Muggle world, but they are alive and well and she can visit them any time she chooses.
And her words don't truly apply to him, because he has no intention of meddling. He knows he cannot change things mend things fix things stop things, knows if he tries he could destroy what little he has to return to.
He just wants to go, wants to see. He wants to meet his mother. Speak with his father. Spend another hour with the man who fell through the Veil while trying to protect him.
This one is slightly larger than the one Hermione had used to attend all her classes, and the sand trapped behind the delicate glass is meant to mark years instead of hours. Harry's stomach flutters and knots, nervousness mixed with something akin to panic, but he shoves it away, burying it deep, somewhere underneath Hermione's words.
Harry winds the chain around his neck, and spins the hourglass nineteen times.
What we need is more time...
The Room of Requirement fades away, first gray and then black, speckling like the screen of Dudley's teevee when the channel has gone off. He feels like he's falling, like he's tipped himself backwards off the roof of the Astronomy Tower, his blood rushing through his veins and his heart hammering in his ears.
When his vision returns, when the violent twist of colors stops swimming and settles, he's in the Room of Requirement, nineteen years behind time itself. It's larger than Harry had left it, but cozier, with a fireplace along one wall and lamps that cast a soft, yellowish light. It reminds Harry of the Gryffindor common room, from the deep red couches to the gold curtains hanging from the windows.
It's also occupied.
There are two boys in the center of the room, tall boys with dark hair and Hogwarts uniforms, their robes tossed onto one of the couches, and Harry starts when he sees them, because they are completely unexpected. Back in his own time Harry would be in Potions; he had chosen the start of a class period hoping everyone here and now would be in class.
One has his back to Harry and the other is facing him, but they are angled slightly, just enough that the one turned towards Harry is not looking right at him. They appear to be in the middle of an argument, giving Harry even more incentive not to disturb them, and Harry pulls his wand, inching towards the door, hoping he can manage to open it without drawing attention to himself.
"You haven't listened to a word I've said," says the one facing him. His features are familiar, not in a way that brings a name to Harry's mind, but Harry can't help but think he's seen that nose and jaw before.
"Yes, I have," the other replies. His voice is familiar, more familiar than the other's face, and Harry finds himself trying desperately to place it. "I heard every bit of it, but I'm tired of it. It's the same thing you've said before, and the same rubbish your mother has been saying for years."
"She's your mother too," the first says. "I know you've had your differences, but you if would just come home..."
"Differences?" The second growls. "It's more than differences, Regulus. The last time I spoke to her she hexed me black and blue,"
Harry freezes at his godfather's name, his stomach churning and a strange tightness squeezing his chest. He's missed Sirius these last few months, but he's buried it, ignored it, pushed it away because he's had too many other things to think about. Now that Sirius is in front of him, now that Sirius is seventeen and alive he's suddenly aware of just how much, more aware than he's been since Sirius died.
It hurts and it aches, searing pain that's tearing at his heart, and Harry thinks maybe this was a bad idea, thinks maybe he should spin himself back to his own time, where he can return the Time-Turner to Dumbledore's office and forget this ever happened.
But Sirius is talking again, with that voice Harry has wanted so desperately to hear, and Harry is unable to make himself move.
"Enough, Regulus," Sirius says, shaking his head. "I don't want to hear it anymore."
Sirius starts to turn, and Harry ducks further into the shadow of the doorway.
"Where are you going?" Regulus asks, grabbing Sirius by the sleeve.
"To class," Sirius says. "I was meant to be in Transfigurations ten minutes ago. If I leave now, I can probably talk McGonagall around a detention."
Regulus slides his hand down Sirius' arm, pausing at Sirius' wrist before lacing their fingers together.
Regulus steps into him, wrapping is other arm around Sirius' waist. Sirius leans away, and his arms clench at his sides like he's forcing himself not to return the embrace.
"Don't," Sirius says, moving to pull away. "You're not going to change my mind."
"I want you to come home," Regulus presses, tipping his head up to look Sirius in the eye. "I miss having you there, and she's been unfit to live with since you left."
"She was unfit to live with from the off," Sirius counters.
Regulus pauses, and Harry can almost see the argument on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it. He leans in, and kisses Sirius instead.
Sirius stiffens visibly, his hands reaching up to push Regulus way, but Regulus pulls him closer, a hand catching Sirius by the back of the neck. Sirius' arms finally move, winding around Regulus, and when Regulus tilts his head Harry catches a glimpse of his tongue slipping into Sirius' mouth.
And Harry gasps; he feels hot and dizzy and confused, and he wonders if something went wrong with the Time-Turner, if it brought him to some strange and different place, because he can't be seeing what he's seeing, he can't be watching Sirius kiss his brother.
But he is.
He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping it will be gone when he opens them, but it's not. It's worse, because they must have heard him, both of them are staring right at him. They've separated, but Harry can still see it, in Regulus' flushed cheeks and Sirius' kiss-swollen mouth, and he's struck by how much they resemble each other, how beautiful Sirius was before Azkaban.
"Who are you?" Regulus demands. His voice is steady, but there's a nervous twist to his lips.
"James?" Sirius asks. He narrows his eyes, and takes a step closer. "No, you're not James. What's your name?"
"Harry," He manages, his eyes darting between Sirius, and Regulus' hand, which seems to be inching towards his wand.
"There's no Harry in Gryffindor," Sirius replies, his eyes lingering on the House badge on Harry's robes. "Are you new?"
"Hogwarts doesn't take new students in the middle of term," Regulus interjects, frowning at Harry. "They have to wait until the next year. You know that."
Sirius sighs, like he knows Regulus is right but doesn't want to admit it.
"Bloody Hell, but you look like James," Sirius mutters. "Where are you from, then?"
Harry doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything. He takes a step towards Sirius, and hugs him. Sirius tries to pull away, but Harry holds him tight, and for a desperate, fleeting moment, Harry wonders what would happen if he brought this Sirius back with him.
But Regulus is right next to him, his wand out, his fingers digging into Harry's arm. His face darkens, and Harry shivers, not because he's afraid, because he'd seen that expression from Sirius so many times when he was trapped in Grimmauld Place.
"Leave it out, Regulus," Sirius says quietly. His hand comes up to pry Regulus' fingers away, and they lingers on Harry's arm after they are is gone. "He's scared."
"He ought to be."
"You're just going soft because he looks like Potter," Regulus snaps. He pauses, searching Harry's face. "You do look quite a bit like him. You related to him?"
"Yes," Harry says, regretting it immediately. "No. I mean, I will be." Harry looks away, unable to stand two pairs of those gray eyes, one quizzical, the other suspicious. "I will be," he says again. "I can't really explain."
"You'd better," Regulus warns.
"Bloody Hell, Regulus! Shut up!"
And Harry starts to laugh; he laughs long and hard, shaking against Sirius' chest. It feels so good, it's the first real, honest laugh he's had since Sirius died, and he can't make himself stop.
"What's so funny?" Regulus asks.
"You two," Harry manages, his breath still coming short. "Do you always fight like this?"
Regulus says yes just as Sirius says no, and Harry starts to laugh all over again. Sirius starts to laugh too, in familiar short barks that rumble against Harry's chest, and Harry feels warm and happy, because he's never thought he'd get to laugh with Sirius again.
Then he's too warm, too happy, his cock hardening as Sirius' body shifts against his. He'd always wanted Sirius, wanted to touch him kiss him taste him have him but he'd buried it, like everything else, turned it into another secret, because Sirius had been his godfather and his father's best friend and some things just can't be.
But it doesn't matter here. Nothing matters here. Time doesn't matter here.
He kisses Sirius, because here and now he can.
Sirius kisses him back almost immediately, his mouth falling open under Harry's, his tongue darting out hot and slick to meet Harry's own. It's nothing like Harry had imagined, but it's perfect, a liquid slide of lips and tongue, with Sirius' hair brushing his face and stubble scraping soft but rough across his jaw.
Sirius' hand leaves Harry's shoulder, reaching for Regulus, pulling Regulus closer by his green and silver tie. Regulus makes a disgruntled noise and bats at Sirius' hand, but Sirius leans in before he can say anything, kissing the words right out of his mouth.
Harry's pressed between them, Sirius in front of him and Regulus at his side. Harry can't look away, can't stop watching them kiss, watching their lips meet hard and slick and their tongues slide into each other's mouths.
Regulus is breathing hard when Sirius pulls away, and he's hard against Harry's hip, his cock pressing into Harry the same way Sirius' is. But Regulus sneers at Sirius, his lips parting for a cutting remark, and he tries to step away, but he can't, not with the end of his tie looped around Sirius' hand, and when Sirius' yanks him down towards Harry Regulus can only follow.
Regulus' mouth crashes down on Harry's, hot and rough and not Sirius', and Harry stiffens, trying to pull away, but Sirius' hand is on the back of his neck, his thumb smoothing over his skin, and Sirius' mouth on his ear, his tongue trailing a hot path along the shell.
And then Harry's between them, really between them, Sirius behind him, his breath warm against Harry's skin and his teeth nipping at Harry's neck, and Regulus in front of him, his hands pulling at Harry's robes and his tongue dipping in and out of Harry's mouth.
Harry's surrounded by them, trapped between their cocks, Sirius' pressed hard against his arse and Regulus' rubbing rough and delicious against his own. And Harry can't help but move, can't help but rock his hips, pushing forward into Regulus and back against Sirius, heat coursing through his body with every single motion.
He whines when Sirius moves away, he doesn't want to lose the warmth and hardness behind him, but Sirius' hands are still on him, pulling his robes away, and so are Regulus', his fingers tugging at Harry's flies. Then Sirius is back, shoving Harry's trousers out of the way, his hands smoothing over Harry's arse, and Harry's cock is in Regulus' hand, his hard flesh caged in the warm circle of Regulus' fingers.
Sirius snags his fingers in Harry's hair and pulls, twisting Harry's head around for a kiss, as hot and slick and wonderful as Regulus' stroking hand. When Regulus' cock slides against his hip Harry remembers how to move, and he wraps his hand around it, and the hiss that escapes Regulus' lips makes heat rush across Harry's skin.
Sirius murmurs a spell Harry doesn't quite catch, and then there's a finger pushing inside him, stretching him, and it's odd and uncomfortable, but Regulus shushes him when he stills, his lips sliding along Harry's neck and his thumb swirling over the head of Harry's cock.
Regulus drops to his knees, his hands moving to hold Harry by the hips and his mouth sliding over Harry's cock. And Regulus' mouth is perfect slick wet heat, his lips and tongue sending delirious pleasure through Harry's body in waves, so strong and endless it mutes out the slight ache and stretch of Sirius' cock sliding inside his body.
Sirius doesn't move, he just holds, his cock buried deep in Harry's body. He reaches around Harry, his hand dipping down to feel Harry disappearing inside Regulus' mouth, and he whispers in Harry's ear, his breath hot and heavy across Harry's skin as he tells Harry how beautiful he looks between them, how he wants to use Harry to fuck his brother's mouth.
And Sirius does, thrusting into Harry hard, rocking Harry forward and deep into Regulus' mouth. Regulus takes it, takes Harry all the way in, relaxing his throat around Harry's cock, swallowing him down.
Sirius' cock is long and thick inside him, brushing against something with each thrust that makes Harry gasp and shake, and Regulus' mouth his hot, impossibly hot, his tongue teasing over every inch of Harry's cock, his throat muscles fluttering over the head every time Sirius pushes him too far inside.
The rhythm Sirius sets is slow and steady, but Harry feels like he's drowning in it, lost in the roll of Sirius' hips and the sweet suction of Regulus' mouth, so lost his knees give out, and the only thing holding him up is Sirius' and Regulus' hands.
One of Regulus' hands leaves Harry's hip, moving between his own legs to touch himself, and Harry has to close his eyes, because he can't look, can't watch Regulus fisting his cock in time with Harry's cock slipping in and out of his mouth, because it's too much, the thought alone makes heat coil in his body so tight and dangerous he's afraid he's going to explode.
But he does explode, because Sirius makes him, snapping his hips hard, his cock hitting just the right place, pushing Harry's cock so deep into Regulus' mouth Harry doesn't know how Regulus can breathe, and he's coming, coming hard and fast and thick, right down the back of Regulus' throat.
Regulus stands quickly, pulling himself upright before Harry's cock is finished pulsing, pushing his cock into Harry's hand and kissing Sirius over Harry's shoulder. But Harry's hand is clumsy and slow when he tries to make it move, it's too hard to do anything but watch when Sirius and his brother are sharing his taste and inch away from his face.
But Regulus is doing it for him, thrusting into his hand, and then Regulus is coming, just as Sirius growls and stills behind him, and Sirius is filling Harry in a white, hot rush as Regulus spurts over his fingers.
They're still kissing when Harry slides out from between them, identical black hair curtaining nearly identical Black faces, and Harry has to look away, because now that he can breathe again, now that he can think, watching them makes his chest to tight it hurts. It hurts just to look at them, at Sirius, who will grow up to be his godfather, and Regulus, who could have grown up to be like an uncle if he hadn't become a Death Eater.
If he'd lived.
Harry's quiet as he does up his trousers and collects his robes, hoping they will stay wrapped up in each other long enough for him to return to his own time unseen. He wants to stay, but he knows he can't, because if he stays they'll talk and if they talk he'll think and if he thinks he'll try to change things mend things fix things stop things, like he promised himself he wouldn't, like he knows he can't.
As the hourglass spins, he tells himself he can always come back tomorrow after he's calmed himself and cleared his head. And tomorrow, he can meet his mother, and speak with his father. Tomorrow, he can spend another hour with Sirius, and he can see what Professor Lupin looked like before lost all of his friends.