There was a single moment of stunned silence as the two stared at each other.
Then, Harry simply walked past Sirius Black. It was a purely casual, dismissive movement. Harry didn't spare him a glance, stepping fully across the threshold and into Grimmauld Place. He passed the dark, heavy door of the drawing room without breaking stride and started heading up the main staircase of the home.
...Which, technically, was his home.
Just not HIS version of it.
Behind him, Sirius finally snapped out of his frozen state, his mind reeling from the sight of the man.
"JAMES—JAMES?!" Sirius roared, the question ringing out as a desperate, disbelieving cry. The sheer shock made his voice crack.
He ignored the shouting behind him. His body felt sluggish, heavy, like he was walking underwater. Dimensional travel did that, it drained his body, his mind, and his soul in a way even battles with Heretic Gods never had. He needed a bed. A long, deep sleep. A week, maybe, to recharge, because he really felt like that's how long he'd sleep.
'Ah,' Harry thought, climbing the first few steps of the dilapidated, carpeted staircase. People always said he looked exactly like James Potter. But an older, scarless Harry, without the famous lightning bolt scar that defined his counterpart in this timeline?
The resemblance was indeed strong, closer to the age Sirius remembered James being when he died. And since this timeline already had a young Harry Potter, Sirius's mind, grasping for any anchor, instantly jumped to the idea of James.
'Guess Harry being here already must have made Sirius's brain think James first,' he mused. Still, Harry privately thought he was far more handsome than his father. But that was beside the point.
Sirius's yelling summoned the rest of the madhouse.
Molly and Arthur Weasley came bursting out of the kitchen, their faces already creased with worry from Sirius's outburst. Remus Lupin followed after them, his eyes narrowed with immediate spotting him.
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody stomped forward from the drawing-room, his wand already leveled and his magical eye whirling with manic speed. Nymphadora Tonks froze mid-step, her hair cycling rapidly from a distressed orange to a warning crimson. Severus Snape narrowed his eyes from the doorway like he had just smelled something foul, quickly followed by Albus Dumbledore, who appeared behind them.
The last two figures brought a powerful, instinctual spike of disgust in Harry, an automatic response to their counterparts in his own world, but he forced the revulsion down.
Not his world. Not his monkeys to deal with, he reminded himself, focusing solely on the exhaustion that dragged at his limbs.
"Sirius, what in Merlin's name are you talking about?" Molly demanded, before she turned her head and spotted the tall, familiar stranger climbing the stairs. "Harry, what are...?" she started saying, then stopped, eyes widening as she truly looked at the man.
Before she could finish, Moody's gravelly voice cut through the air. "WHO ARE YOU?" he barked, his wand leveled and pointing straight at Harry's back.
Wands were raised on every side, a total of eight wands directed at one single person.
Harry sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and inconvenience.
He really, sincerely, did not have the mental or physical energy for this conversation right now. Were their reactions reasonable? Yes. Did he care? No. He just turned back and continued climbing the stairs.
He felt a spell hit him squarely in the back. He felt the magic wash away from his body like a light breeze brushing warm, agitated air across his skin.
He paused his climb for a beat, glanced over his shoulder, and raised a single, unimpressed brow at Moody. The entire Order gasped.
Moody's eyes, both the real and the magical, widened slightly in shock. "What in—?"
Harry really wanted to stop and say something snarky, but as he said, jumping dimensions really takes a lot out of you. While everything felt alright, it was like he was walking in water, his body slow and heavy, and the mental exhaustion was something he hadn't felt since before he became a Campione. He simply did not have the strength for the drama of explaining any of that right now.
Someone would say, Why was he here if he didn't want drama? He should have just gone somewhere else. He'd reply, Why should he, a King, stay anywhere else than his home, even if it wasn't HIS home?
He turned back and continued climbing, putting one heavy foot in front of the other.
They started firing spells after spells that just washed off his body. Stunners, Jinxes, even a few darker, harsher curses from Snape—they all fizzled, deflected, or simply vanished upon contact. His power simply made the Order's spells utterly irrelevant.
The noise, now a full-blown cacophony of panicked shouts and constant spell-fire, seemed to alert the children in their rooms.
They rushed out onto the landing and froze.
You can imagine their surprise when they came out only to see an older version of Harry walking up the stairs, with the most powerful witches and wizards of the Order firing spells at him as he utterly ignored them.
Hermione had to turn her head instantly to look at the very-much-fifteen-year-old Harry standing beside her, just to confirm she wasn't hallucinating.
The older Harry reached the top where they were and continued his path, ignoring the teens as much as he ignored the adults below. Hermione and the others drew their wands too.
They too started firing, backing up as they fired, assuming whoever this person was, he was after Harry, and they had to protect him.
Then Ron rushed at the man, brave and stupid as ever. Harry didn't bother with a spell, he merely waved his right hand in a gentle, almost bored motion. Ron was hit by an invisible force that sent him flying backward, hitting the wall with a loud grunt.
As he continued his move, he passed Ginny, Fred, and George, all sending them flying back behind him with the same casual wave of his hand. He reached Hermione and just like the rest, flung her back.
The others were terrified for their friend Harry as it seemed the man had reached him, and then, to the surprise of everyone, he flung Harry back too, sending the boy tumbling toward Hermione.
He reached a specific, heavy door at the end of the hallway.
"Kreacher."
The house-elf appeared instantly in a pop of displaced air, and then froze, his massive, bat-like eyes bulging.
It didn't know this person, yet it could tell with absolute, ingrained certainty that this was Lord Black. But how?
"Who—who are you, master?" Kreacher croaked, staring at the stranger with horrified reverence.
"This is an order, Kreacher," Harry commanded, his voice edged with bone-deep authority. "I'm taking a rest now, make sure I am not disturbed. Make sure nobody enters this room, and do not try any trickery." He commanded the elf, sure it was not his world, but he still had Black blood in him, and he was Lord Black in his world. He was certain his command would take priority over the current, exiled "Lord." That was Sirius, who hadn't formally taken the position and was hated by the elf.
He opened the door and entered the room, then spoke again, his voice cutting and sharp. "And clean this house. It is unbefitting for a resident of the House of Black to look this filthy."
That directive struck Kreacher deeper than any insult Sirius had ever thrown his way, touching the core of his tormented loyalty for the house.
Harry entered the room, closed the heavy door, and with a quick wave of his hand, warded the door silently.
Then, the exhausted King simply collapsed face-first into the dusty, old bed.
Outside, the hallway was silent for three full seconds.
Then chaos erupted.
"What happened—?!" Ron yelled, scrambling to his feet. "Why does he look exactly like you, Harry?!" Hermione shouted. "Is it Polyjuice? A curse?" "JAMES POTTER HAD ANOTHER CHILD?!" Molly wailed. "HOW DID HE TAKE THOSE SPELLS?!"
Everyone was shocked, but most of all was how he had seemed completely impervious to magic like that. Dumbledore was silent as he just looked at the sealed door.
Who was that young man? More importantly, how did none of their spells work? At first, he assumed it was just a simple defensive spell the man had done or used, but he had himself even fired multiple powerful spells, including a mild binding charm, and they had seemed to have no effect.
"Albus, do you have any idea who this man is?" Molly asked, her voice trembling.
"No, I do not," he said, gazing intently at the door.
"Why did he look like me, Professor?" young Harry asked quietly, still rubbing his shoulder from where he'd landed after being flung out of the way.
"Maybe he's your brother," Fred joked weakly, the absurdity of the situation overwhelming his usual composure.
"Another Potter, great," Snape sneered, refusing to look anything but disgusted.
"No," Sirius said seriously, shaking his head. "If James had another kid, I would have known." He looked haunted.
"Then who was he?!" Ron shouted, the lack of answers infuriating him.
Dumbledore sighed, then moved towards the door before Kreacher appeared in front of him in a defensive stance. "I myself don't know, children, but I'm sure we will have our answer when he wakes. Kreacher, if you could step aside?"
"Kreacher has been ordered not to allow anyone in," the elf said, glaring up at the Headmaster.
"Sirius, if you could please instruct the elf," Dumbledore asked, turning to the agitated godfather.
"Move out of the way, you dirty elf!" Sirius shouted, pure anger fueling his words.
Kreacher seemed to smirk, a terrible, wrinkled expression of pure triumph. "Kreacher has been ordered not to. You cannot order Kreacher to go against the order of Lord Black."
That sentence froze the majority of the room again.
"I AM LORD BLACK, you elf!" Sirius yelled, completely furious, shaking with a lifetime of resentment for the house and its creatures.
"No," Kreacher said smugly, his eyes shining with enjoyment. "Lord Black is resting at the moment."
"What a surprise," Dumbledore said, turning back to Sirius. "Are you certain you don't know this man? Never heard of him?" he pressed.
Sirius shook his head. "I thought I was the last Black male in a position to inherit the title, though I didn't want it. Sure, there are Harry and Draco, but those two aren't direct bloodlines, and apart from them, there shouldn't be anyone else."
"Me?" Harry asked, but was ignored.
"He looks young, just a bit older than us. Is he related to any Black you know?" Hermione asked, her mind already racing through the Black family tree she had seen and heard of from others.
Suddenly, the adults froze.
"You don't think he's Regulus's right?!" someone whispered, voicing the sudden, horrific possibility.
"No," Sirius snapped, his voice hollow. "No, my 'perfect' brother died before he ever.....he couldn't have, Andromeda only has this one," he said, pointing vaguely at Tonks. "Crazy Bella doesn't have kids, and Narcissa has only Draco. That should be all. If they had any kids after that, he should be younger," he finished.
Dumbledore gazed at the door, realizing he wouldn't win this battle without the elf, no doubt going as far as to activate the house's protective wards and causing a much larger issue. The elf was that damn petty, unfortunately. "Let's go," he said, startling everyone.
"Dumbledore!" Molly screamed. She couldn't believe he would just leave an unknown person here without supervision.
"Right now, we don't know who this man is, but he has made it clear with his actions that he is not here to harm us, and he has proven he can if he so wishes. So all we can do is wait for him to come out," he told them, his tone firm. "And besides, the children haven't had their breakfast."
Molly sighed and reluctantly decided to trust the man, herding the kids downstairs to eat. The adults stayed there for a bit, staring at the closed door, before everyone eventually left to go downstairs.
Harry didn't know how long it was before he woke up, but he was refreshed and ready to go. He focused on his Authorities again, and this time he felt them stronger, vibrant, and fully functional. He knew instinctively he could use all of them, but also knew that, for some reason, he couldn't cut through the world yet, it was as if the ability to cut through the world was still charging despite being able to use Fenrir's authority.
'Guess I still have to wait a bit more,' he thought, then got up, feeling the pleasant hum of returned divine power. He was hungry and needed food.
With that, he left the room and headed for the kitchen.
He walked in, ignoring how everyone froze as they saw him, and just moved to sit at the table. "Kreacher, make me a good cup of coffee," he ordered.
The elf appeared instantly, bowed deeply, and returned moments later with a cup of hot coffee, his wide eyes shining with a strange, satisfied fervor. Harry took a slow, deliberate sip and sighed in contentment before opening his eyes to the room, where half the inhabitants were pointing wands at him.
He took another, long sip.
"Well, hello there."
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