Harry walked steadily down a dim corridor lined with burnished black-olive tiles, the soft echo of his footsteps the only sound in the stillness. The corridor was scarcely lit, the torches flickering weakly against the encroaching darkness in stark contrast to the florescent light that still gleamed from the crack beneath the door of the interrogation room. Harry's stride was purposeful yet cautious as entered the main thoroughfare, a shrewd grin growing wider with each cluster of witches and wizards he passed. Every nod or whispered greeting seemed to bolster his spirit. That is, until his gaze fell upon a hunched figure at the door of his office.

A man in his mid-sixties, frail and weary-looking, wandered the hall with a sort of aimless determination. His thinning hair peeked out from beneath an ivy cap, and his robes hung loosely on his stooped frame. As their eyes met, recognition sparked between them. The man's face brightened, a flicker of energy revitalizing his tired features. Harry's grin faded, replaced by a look of surprise and apprehension. This had to be a coincidence. Harry could not — and would not — accept that Theodore Nott had been right.

"Harry! I wonder if we could have a moment," called the man, his voice thin but earnest.

"Mr. Diggory. Sorry... Amos," Harry replied, forcing a polite smile.

"I've tried to make an appointment," Amos began, his words tumbling out in a rush. "They said, 'Ah, Mr. Diggory, we have an appointment for you, let's see, in two months.'"

Harry sighed softly. "Amos, I understand, I really do—"

"The reason I'm here with such urgency is I've just heard rumor—strong rumor—that the Ministry—"

"—but I'm afraid it's been a rather busy day thus far and—" Harry continued, attempting to gently deflect the conversation.

"Is it true?" Amos pressed.

Harry hesitated. "Not at all, sir. Voldemort has not returned."

Amos blinked, momentarily confused. "Voldemort? No, no..." His eyes lit up with a fervent excitement. "A Time-Turner has been found. The Ministry has a Time-Turner, does it not? Kept... for investigation?"

Harry felt a jolt run through him. "How...? No, the Time-Turners were all destroyed," he managed to say, struggling to keep his composure.

Amos caught the look on Harry's face. "Oh. But I was told you knew. Arthur Weasley... He explained it all to me. His son Ronald discovered one during last night's raid at the home of Theodore Nott. Arthur was quite proud." Trembling, he reached out and grasped Harry's hand with surprising strength. "Mr. Potter, please. Please, use the Time-Turner to save my son, Cedric. You do remember Cedric, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember your son. His loss was—" Harry began, his throat tightening.

"As one father to another... I implore you. Get him back," Amos pleaded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Get him back? Amos, that's not possible," Harry said gently, though an ache was growing in his chest.

"You must stop Voldemort from taking my son, Harry. You owe it to him," Amos insisted.

The ache grew stronger as Harry was overwhelmed by a surge of emotion. Memories of Cedric flickered before him—the Triwizard Tournament, the graveyard, the intense flash of green light. He looked down at Amos's hand clutching his and carefully pulled away. From the shadows, Delphi emerged but remained at a respectful distance.

"I... I'm sorry, Amos. You are misinformed," Harry said haltingly, each word a struggle.

"Please, Harry. You cannot understand the pain I have suffered. I've never gotten over it," Amos said, his voice quavering in desperation.

He glanced around the corridor with a distant look, as if seeing it for the first time.

"Since the moment he died, I have felt it. Everything about this world is wrong. I've never been more certain of anything. For years, I've suspected that we've been living in some sort of... parallel universe, in a warped existence where everything is higgledy-piggledy. I could never explain why, but I've known—in my heart of hearts—that this was never supposed to be our reality."

Amos's gaze sharpened, locking onto Harry's. "Now I understand. Now I have hope that it could be set right. Because now it all makes sense. We are living in an alternate timeline. Harry, you must—"

"Mr. Diggory," Harry interrupted gently. "As you know, I sympathize with your efforts to memorialize Cedric. You'll find no greater advocate and no one who wishes more than I do that we could somehow have prevented his death, but—"

Amos frowned, confusion clouding his features. "A memorial? I am not interested in a memorial—not anymore. I am an old man—an old dying man—and I am here to ask you—beg you—to help me get him back."

Harry grew rigid, the weight of the man's request pressing heavily upon him. He took a step back, creating a small distance between them. His head bowed slightly, shadows obscuring his eyes. When he spoke, Harry's voice was laced with sorrow. But firm.

"I am sorry. You are misinformed. Whatever you've heard, the Theodore Nott story is a fiction, Amos, I'm sorry. There is no Time-Turner."

A profound emptiness settled between them. Amos's expression hardened as he studied Harry, searching for any sign of deception. Slowly, he lowered himself to meet Harry's gaze, a flicker of realization passing over his grief-stricken face.

"You lie," Amos whispered, his devastated voice trembling. "Which means you will not help me. And... all is lost."

"Amos..." Harry began, reaching out instinctively.

But Amos turned away, the light in his eyes extinguished. He walked off with a wobbling gait, his ivy cap slipping from his fingers and falling to the floor. Harry watched him go, a new ache of guilt twisting in his chest. Bending down, he picked up the cap, eyes lingering on the worn fabric.

"How awful," came a soft voice from behind.

Harry turned to see Delphi approaching, her expression sympathetic.

"Heard that, did you?" he asked, trying to mask his turmoil.

"His son was Cedric Diggory, the one who died alongside you during the Triwizard Tournament," Delphi said with pause. "We learned about him in History of Magic. Such a tragedy."

Slowly they walked together down the corridor, the echoes of their footsteps mingling with the distant murmurs of the Ministry.

"But a Time-Turner? That's ludicrous," she continued. "They were obliterated at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, everyone knows that."

"That was true... until someone fashioned another from the debris," Harry admitted.

He tapped his jacket pocket meaningfully. Delphi's eyes widened in shock.

"You can't be serious. What will you do with it?" she asked.

"Give it to the Minister, assuming it will be destroyed," he replied.

"Destroyed? Seems an awful waste," Delphi mused.

Harry pretended to adopt a grandiose stance. "No, my dear, it's time that time-turning became a thing of the past," he said in his best Lockhartian tone.

Delphi raised an eyebrow, embarrassed for him. "You're quite proud of that phrase, aren't you?"

"Been working on it all day," he confessed with a laugh.

"I don't know how you're able to joke at a time like this," said Delphi, shaking her head. "So, the device came from the man you interrogated?"

"Yes, he's a strange one. Former Death Eater, works in the Department of Mysteries."

"What did he have to say?"

"Nothing. Nothing important, that is. He has clearly lost his mind. That's what fiddling with time can do to a person. But I will say this—I've been through hundreds of interrogations. That was the first time I felt like I was sitting in the wrong chair."

"Acquiring such a device... Are we sending him to Azkaban?"

"Theodore Nott? He's harmless. And I'm up to my neck as it is in paperwork," Harry replied, letting out a humorous wheeze. "If I'm being totally honest, I want to keep my eye on him. He told me some things that, well... let's just say, it could be helpful to keep in touch with someone who may or may not know what's coming."