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Harry stopped walking to allow a group of people to cross the corridor. They don't acknowledge him. They never did. Not that he minded. There was a beauty in anonymity.
In fact, ending up in 1926 was a relief.
For about five seconds.
Then he remembered that Tom Riddle was going to be born at the end of it.
And the upcoming economic depression in Britain.
And the fact that he didn't act, sound or dress like someone in the 1920s.
But that wasn't his problem. Not anymore. To stop himself from interfering even accidently, he moved an ocean away to New York City. He got a job working as a mail clerk at City Hall easily enough and rented a small room in the Lower East Side.
Most people ignored him and that worked out great for him as he ignored them right back.
He had returned to the basement sorting area after his rounds and was just storing the trolley when his supervisor shouted his name.
"Sir?" Harry asked as he stepped into Mr Jones' tiny cramped office.
"You're off now?"
"Yes, sir."
"Quick on your feet, Potter?"
"Yes, sir."
The man tossed a large brown envelope at him which he caught easily. "Get that over to Woolworths in a jiffie. Do not give it to anyone else. Got it?"
Harry glanced at the name and address written on the parcel and quickly responded. "Yes, sir. I'll run this over right now."
After grabbing his jacket, a delivery slip, and clocking out he made his way out of the building in no time, though the nearest exit was on Park Row and not Broadway as he needed. He would have liked to cut across the lawn but the entire area around the Jacob Wrey Mould Fountain was roped off for a fundraiser later that evening. Even without the short-cut it was a three minute walk, less as he rushed, though he did not run otherwise he would look like a thief.
Thankfully he had the right of way at the crosswalk and made quick work of getting to the Woolworth building. Though the structure was massive and housed many businesses the parcel in his hands was actually for The F.W. Woolworth Company itself which was on the 24th floor.
After several minutes waiting for, and riding, the lift it was easy enough to navigate the appropriate floor as no other company shared it. Then there was another ten minutes waiting for Mr Stanford Radcliffe to sign for and retrieve his parcel. He spent the time thinking about what he wanted for his tea. Last night he had a chicken and mushroom pie which was very nice. He pondered and decided on bacon. Bacon never did anything bad to him, bacon was his friend.
As soon as Mr Radcliffe finished flourishing his pen, Harry was on the move. He made sure to store the signed slip to return to Mr Jones the next morning. He had his sights on getting up to Essex St to visit his favorite pub a few streets from his bedsit.
His mind was solely on his tea, bacon on a buttered roll with brown sauce and a side of chips, as he made his descent. He had just stepped out of the lift in the lobby when he felt a poke.
A mental poke. He stepped away from the contraption, making way for the other passengers as he looked around trying to find the source. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary so he shrugged it off as a weird headache and made his way across the lobby.
The poke got stronger and stronger as he walked. It didn't hurt, but it was persistent. Someone or something was trying to get his attention. But he didn't know anyone in New York City regardless of the year.
Then the poke turned into a tug. He didn't like it, so he ignored it again. Whatever it was did not appreciate it. The next tug was so strong he had to stop himself from crashing into a couple of women going in the opposite direction. Then the feeling changed.
This time he felt like he had cast his Patronus. It was an all encompassing happiness. He blinked in confusion and paused to look around but again, nothing looked out of place. He was going to, once again, ignore the strange phenomenon and chock it up to it being a quirk of being Harry Potter when he heard shouts from several feet behind him and before he could turn around something smacked into his back.
It was a small something and thankfully did not hurt. With it the intense feeling of happiness, home, and love multiplied. He reached around with his arms and tried to see over his shoulder but his neck was not long enough.
Next thing he knows he's waking up in a hospital bed. He looked around the stark white room and wondered how he got there. As he braced to sit up the door opened and a contingent of people entered. Aurors. Load and loads of aurors.
"Hello?" Harry made no sudden movements.
The sea of aurors parted. "Mr Potter," a stern faced woman with a bejeweled head scarf spoke. Harry hoped she wasn't housing a second head under it.
"Um..." admit to nothing.
"My name is Seraphina Picquery."
"Nice to meet you, ma'am." He felt like he should know that name from somewhere.
"I am the President of MACUSA."
This is why Binns should have taught something else besides Goblin Wars. "Um…" he didn't know what to say. He'd been hiding from magicals since he arrived in this time. He didn't have a wand or anything remotely magical on his person or his room. He didn't even have an explanation for why and how he was in 1926 in the first place. He merely stepped out to do a quick top-up as he had run out of bread when instead of stepping into an Aldi's he was in a random crowded bakery. A lot of freaking out resulted in no answers. He was kicked out of the store for touching everything in reach thinking a portkey had transplanted him. Once he got away from the screaming baker and into a quiet alley he checked himself over. He had empty pockets. He had no wand, or money, but he could still do magic. No bright lights or incantations, only a strong will type of magic. Which he used to forge documents and a bit of money to board a ship across the Atlantic once he discovered the date.
"Mr Potter?"
"How do you know my name?"
"You had a delivery slip in your pocket and your supervisor provided an accurate description."
"Right."
"I'm here to discuss what happened several hours ago."
Play dumb, not that it would take much. He knew nothing about MACUSA. "I don't know what you mean, ma'am." Before Madam President Piquery could say anything there was a hum. From behind him. He would deny it vehemently if asked but Harry yelped and swatted, a reflex reaction. Except the humming was coming from him. "What," Harry twisted his torso to see what it was to no avail. "What are you, you stupid thing." And like a summons, the thing shifted, across his back to his shoulder and into his right hand. A wand. "What!" The Elder wand. The shock and confusion was not an act. He instinctively clutched the wand and it finally stopped humming.
"Mr Potter," the President caught his attention.
"Oh, sorry." He turned his attention to her while shaking his hand but the wand refused to budge.
"I'm here about that object in your hand." She sounded like she was laughing at him.
"I don't know where it came from," and he wasn't lying. "And it won't let go."
The story that was told to him, after a quick explanation of magic, with enthusiastic nodding from the contingent of aurors in the background was this. About four hours ago Head Auror Percival Graves along with other MACUSA department heads and an entourage of assistants and aides were on their way to a meeting. While in the lobby of the Woolworth building in transit to said meeting, for all appearances Mr Graves was disarmed of his wand. And instead of it going into the waiting hand of an enemy, it went flying clear across a wide corridor, over the heads of a dozen meandering witnesses right to the back of Harry's jacket.
When an enraged Graves charged forward to retrieve his wand, from a young man making a very good impression of a dog chasing its own tail, an immense pulse shot out from the wand rendering everyone within a ten foot radius unconscious. After the chaos settled they were left with a wand that refused to be removed from Harry's back, sore heads from those that had been knocked out, and the discovery that Graves was in fact someone in disguise, a wanted criminal named Gellert Grindelwald. The real Graves was discovered half an hour ago in his own home, drugged and imprisoned.
"I don't know what to say." He really didn't. Harry was too busy freaking out. All because of a chocolate card. A very helpful chocolate card that he saw sixty-five years in the future. Ten-pin bowling. Alchemy work with Nicholas Flamel. The greatest wizard of modern times, Albus Dumbledore. Famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald. In 1945! Not 1926. But not anymore it seemed because he was now owner of the Elder Wand and it wouldn't let go of his hand no matter how much he shook it.
"This must all be a shock to you."
Harry nodded and then had to ask, "Am I in trouble?"
"Nothing that can't be overlooked."
"Overlooked?"
"It is against the law for wizards to interact with non-magicals."
"What?!" Maybe he should have stayed in London after all. Or decided on fish and chips for his tea.
"MACUSA is grateful for your role in capturing a criminal that could have hurt us more than you'll ever know. We'll provide resources for your transition into our community as a show of gratitude."
"You're welcome, I guess. I do hope Mr Graves recovers. Though I wasn't awake for most of it and all I wanted was a bacon sandwich."
THE END