Chapter Text
Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing in regards to Harry Potter or Downton Abbey. All properties therein are those of their creators. I am only a writer working on my skills with worlds and characters that I love.
Note : This idea came about from a number of different factors. I love the show Downton Abbey, the Leviathan showed me just how much fun playing with time travel is, and I had some interesting ideas for a Peaky Blinders crossover and activities for the Great War as a result that fit in rather better in this work. All told, I plan to have some fun here and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.
Chapter One - The New Crawley
It was a quiet, peaceful, night like any other on number four privet drive. The street lights were dulled, houses were dark with the occupants asleep, and everything was as it always was. But that status was not to last for long as in the hours following the departure of a white bearded wizard the normal silence found itself broken by the keening wails of an infant in clear distress. Little Harry Potter, less than a year old, had been placed on the doorstep of his relatives by Albus Dumbledore in the hope that a set of blood wards tying him to the family's home would protect him from suffering harm from those in the magical world that might wish him ill. The problem with that plan, one that someone who believed in the natural goodness of people could never have foreseen, was that it did nothing to protect him from those that were already within the ward line. In another world, in another life, Petunia would have gone out to bring the unfortunate boy inside where it was warm, if only to keep his cries from alerting the neighbors to any strangeness surrounding her family. But in this world the woman and her husband agreed that it was simply better to leave him be and let nature take its course.
One look out the window and they knew who the baby was. They knew what he represented. And they wanted nothing to do with it. They were heavy sleepers, as many in the neighborhood knew, and it was no skin off their back to wait it out and act like they’d not heard anything until it was too late. It wasn’t as if they’d been the ones who placed him alone outside in the cold. If the boy was still alive in the morning then he would be their problem. Until then, it was nothing to do with them. They had their own child to care for and held no urge to interact with the strange and unnatural.
Out in the cold Harry continued to wail and to rage at the fate that he had somehow been placed in. He couldn’t even speak, but something inside him knew that a cold pain was closing in and that his body should not be so stiff and rigid. It also knew that he should instead be warm and held close by the woman with the red hair that sang to him and cooed softly in his ear. She wasn’t here for some reason, and he was hurting. She always came when he was hurting.
So it was that he reached for what his mind knew of her. He reached for warmth, for softness, for loving cooing. He called to it with every fiber of his being, and with that effort something happened. Something listened. With such a need for survival his magic responded at once, but it wasn’t alone. With such great desire his magical core’s stores found another wellspring of magical might hidden within the new mark on his head, and in an instant he unconsciously consumed it in full, adding the fuel to the growing fire of his need. And then it all released at once. If you blinked you would have missed it. One moment the boy who lived was crying alone in front of a house in Britain, and the next he was… somewhere else. Somewhen else.
Manchester - 1902
Matthew Crawley, fresh at home after at last finishing university and earning his official certifications as a solicitor, was just sitting down for a hearty English breakfast with his mother when a horrid wailing began to sound just outside of their front door. He folded his paper closed upon the table and asked across the distance to his mother, “Are you expecting anyone this morning?”
Isobel Crawley set her tea down and looked curiously to the door. “Now that you mention it, I’m not expecting anyone. How odd. Would you go and see what is going on?”
“Of course.” Matthew slid his chair back and wandered to the door before yanking it open to reveal, of all things, an infant. A strong breeze was blowing wind and rain across his rapidly paling face so it was no wonder the lad was screeching to high heaven. “Good Gracious!” The new lawyer quickly knelt down, pulled the child into his arms, checked to make sure there was nothing more in the basket, and hurriedly ran back inside. “Mother! We need warm towels!”
Isobel, drawing on years of experience as a nurse, quickly took stock of the situation and rushed to do as asked. In short order they had the baby boy swaddled, heated by towels, and snoozing easily within the easy rocking motion of Matthew’s arms. The mother and son spent about twenty minutes performing every test they could think of on the child but he seemed remarkably well despite being left out in the cold and rain.
Finally they heated a pan of milk, cooled it to an easy warmth, and mixed it with some porridge. Matthew spoon fed it slowly to the child while he rested in the crook of his arm. In spite of herself, the older woman couldn’t help smirking at the clearly enraptured look on her son’s face as he saw to the comfort of their uninvited guest. Had it really been just two weeks ago that he’d been assuring her that he was perfectly fine holding off on marriage and children until his late thirties, at least, to ensure he best used his time to advance in his new law firm, yet here he was becoming absorbed by his natural paternal instincts at the drop of a hat.
“Well, Matthew, does the little one have a name?”
The blonde examined his bundle more carefully before replying with, “Was there anything in his basket?”
“It looked empty to me. I assume the wind and rain absconded with any note he might have had on his person.”
“Hm.” Matthew noticed a stitch of gold on the corner of the baby’s swaddling blanket. He raised one corner of the red item and took in the word woven into the fabric. “Harry… that must be his name. Do we have any extended family that might have passed away recently?”
“No…” Isobel considered the quandary further and quickly came to a conclusion. “It must have been one of our distant relative's children born out of wedlock. That, or perhaps the unwanted child of one of my or your father’s old patients.”
“Excuse me!” Matthew gasped.
“It makes perfect sense, son. I’m a nurse so of course whoever the parent was would know that I can see him taken care of. I have contacts that can see him housed. I also would never turn away a child in need. If someone were to have a baby in less than honorable circumstances there are far worse places to leave it than with me.” She eyed the enraptured look on his face and chuckled easily with mirth. “Or perhaps, in this case, with you.”
“Me?” The solicitor stared wide-eyed at his mother. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Come now, Matthew,” she gestured to his still rocking arms and the possessive way he was clutching the boy to his chest. “You’ve only had him for a few minutes and you won’t even let me hold him. Can you honestly tell me you feel nothing for the boy?”
“We’ve only just met him, mother. It’s natural that I’d want to see him safe before handing him off to others.”
“Would you like me to take him to the orphanage then?” She raised a brow.
“No!” Matthew immediately clutched the infant closer to his chest, an act that had the little one whining as his spoon was pulled free. At once the solicitor dropped to a knee, retrieved it, and gave it back to the boy. “I mean… we’ve all heard about those facilities. Filthy places, underfunded, and totally unsuited for a boy of clear means such as this. They’d pawn him off to a workhouse at the first opportunity, more than likely.” He shuddered at the thought.
“Oh really?” Isobel retrieved her tea and took a sip to buy herself time to formulate her next words. It honestly didn’t bother her that it had grown cool, Early Grey was a delight no matter its form. “So what would you suggest?”
“Surely you could take him? You’ve raised one son already, and quite well I should hope.”
Isobel shook her head. “I could perhaps help with the raising, but I’m far too old to look after a youngster like that alone, dear boy. No, we must find another solution. One that I think is already on your mind. “
At her knowing look, Matthew blushed and looked away, an act that unfortunately put his eyes right back on the little one, pushing his heart deeper and deeper in line with his new charge. And as he stared into those verdant orbs the man knew that he was lost. All the same, the last vestiges of his self-restraint reared their ugly heads to voice all the reasons why what his mother was suggesting could not possibly work. “I can’t… be a father. I’m too young.”
“Your father was three years younger than you when you were born.”
“I’ve only just finished my degree. The firm has only just hired me.”
“I’m happy to look after the child while you are at work. You won’t be doing this alone, son.”
“I’m… not ready.”
“We never are.” The nurse placed a hand on his knee to offer a bit of comfort. “But I know you, Matthew. I know you better than you know yourself. That means I know that if given the chance you’ll be the best father this boy could possibly ask for. It also means that I know you’ve already made your choice about what to do next, you’re just afraid to admit it. So let me ask you this: Do you really think that this child will be better off anywhere but with you? And having met him, do you think you would be better off letting him go?”
“No.” The word came out with painful finality. Matthew had made his choice. Gently pulling the empty spoon away and setting it on the table, he raised the boy up to the level of his eyes. “I don’t think I would be. Hello, Harry Crawley. I’m Matthew, and I’m your papa.”
Nine Years Later
“Is he home yet?” Matthew burst through the front door and found his mother and the cook scurrying through the halls of their home with arms loaded for bear. A thick ham, mashed potatoes, leafy greens, and above all else an absolutely massive apple pie with ten candles burning along the surface. All Harry’s favorite foods.
Isobel waited for her son to follow them into the dining room where she set the items down before turning back to face him, wiping her hands on her apron as she did. “Not yet, but by my watch school should have let out ten minutes ago. If I know our boy he shouldn’t be more than a couple minutes out.”
Matthew breathed a sigh of relief at not missing such an important event and quickly divested himself of his coat, tossed it on a nearby chair, and ran to a particular loose floorboard under one of their cupboards where he retrieved a thick package wrapped in several layers of paper.
Isobel blinked at the sight. “Must you always make his gifts so difficult to open?”
“It’s all part of the fun, mother.” Matthew folded the parcel under his arm and reentered the hall, facing the door. “The harder it is to get at the surprise, the more Harry loves it when he finally finds out what it is. I swear, that boy is going to be a detective someday. Which is why he’s definitely going to love this.”
“What is it?” Isobel reached his side and settled her arm in his.
“You’ll have to wait and see the same as him.”
“I can’t believe he didn’t find it. Christmas presents haven’t been safe since he learned to walk.”
“I changed its hiding place eight times over the course of the last week.” Matthew smirked.
“And you thought you wouldn’t be a good father.” The nurse teased as outside there came the sound of the spokes of a bicycle turning and their gate being unlatched. “He’s here.” Small feet pattered up the steps, the door opened, and a small boy with spectacles and a jagged scar on his forehead came inside, nearly jumping out of his shoes at the twin shouts of “Happy birthday, Harry!”
Matthew opened his arms and a second later he had a wildly laughing boy nearly knocking him off his feet with the force of a flying hug. He laughed in kind at the act and hugged him right back before setting his son back on his feet. “Let’s see you, then. Ten years old, and my god, you’re almost a man.” Harry giggled at the praise as his papa put one hand over his head, moved it back to his own, and back again. “And almost as tall as me to boot.”
“You’re on your knee, papa.”
“And so I am.” Matthew stood back up and handed his boy the parcel. “This is for you.”
“Yay!” Harry immediately began rotating it in his hands to try and find the intricate patterns of folding to unveil the trick that would free his birthday present. Meanwhile his papa picked him up and sat him at a chair in front of the pie.
“While you work on that, Harry, perhaps you should make a wish so your Gram and I can start dishing the plates?”
At once Harry blew out the candles and his grandma began dishing plates as he continued working the puzzle of his present. Matthew observed him quickly figuring out the various tricks with pride. He’d studied books on origami during his lunch hour for eight weeks to create that puzzle and his boy was already halfway through. Yes indeed, his lad was a marvel and his grades reflected that in kind. Many of his teachers had remarked that they wanted to issue him some extra work to see if he could perform at a higher grade level and Matthew was legitimately considering allowing it, if only to see how his son did for himself.
His observations were due to be interrupted, however, and the solicitor’s attention was drawn away by the shrill ringing of the bell. “Now who could that be?” He stood up and said, “Keep at it, Harry.” His boy’s tongue was peeking out the edge of his lips, all his focus on the task before him, as he continued working at the package. “You’ll get it eventually.”
Leaving the room with a smile still stuck on his lips he went to the front door, pulled it open, and found the postman waiting with a thick envelope in his hands. “Sorry to bother you, Mister Crawley, I know this aint time for my usual rounds, but this came in special postage and it seemed mighty important.”
“It’s alright, Geoffrey.” Matthew took the envelope, flipped it open, and asked, “How are the kids?”
“Great!” the postman’s face lit up. “Molly has been getting really good at her letters lately. Thank you so much for having Harry tutor her last weekend.”
“It was my pleasure.” the blonde man would have said more, but a moment later the contents of his letter registered in his mind for the first time and he begged a hurried goodbye before returning to the dining room.
His mother must have understood the shell-shocked expression on his face, for she asked, “Whatever is it, Matthew?”
He held up the letter. “I’ve just received a missive from the Earl of Grantham.”
“That old chestnut?” Isobel inquired. “Whatever could he want with you?”
“He… wants to change our lives.” Forcing a measure of calm over himself once more so as not to startle his son, who he saw had made it through the last of the wrapping even faster than he’d anticipated and was now delightedly hugging a first edition copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles to his chest, Matthew knelt before him. “Harry, how would you like to take a ride to the country this weekend?”
“What for, papa?”
“It seems we have some extended family that want to meet us, and I’m sure they’re going to absolutely adore you.”