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Horcuxes Vs. Hallows.
“What is now proved was once only imagined.” William Blake.
Reflection was something that Harry James Potter had found rather enjoyable and yet extremely daunting. At first, he had found his new hobby rather calming as it helped him be able to look back upon the last seven years of his life, now as a man who seemed to have lived through the life of a seventy year old. The losses that had occurred tore at his heart: his parents, Sirius his godfather, Remus Lupin who was quite possibly his favourite teacher, Tonks who died after giving birth to her son in the battle, Fred Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody: the old Auror who died saving Harry, Colin Creevy, the boy who had been so enamoured with Harry had died during the war. The names of at least sixty more that had died during Voldemort’s second reign lay forgotten on Harry’s lips. He wished that he had known them. To be able to acknowledge and thank them.
More than often, Harry would visit Hogwarts castle. He would venture alone to the Headmasters office, the gargoyle had been removed and had perhaps perished, Harry wasn’t sure. Harry would sit in the place opposite the Headmaster’s rather large chair and stare around at the portraits that would greet him and he would stay, under the watchful blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, who knew not to bother him, for hours on end in silence.
It was in these moments that Harry would ponder the question; what if everything had happened differently?
What would have happened had Harry known the outcome of the war? Would he have been able to save those that had died for him? Perhaps, Harry thought, they could have survived. His Godson would remain with his parents and Harry thought cruelly of fate replaying itself once again, for Teddy Lupin remained an orphan much like Harry had been at his age. The Elder wand had been restored back to Dumbledore’s tomb, the ring lay forgotten in the forest and Ignotus’ present lay on Harry’s lap, the material sifted through his fingers. The Hallows that had once been separated, had, for a fleeting period of time, been brought together before leaving’s it’s counterparts for one last time, distributed amongst the many different hiding places in the old castle and it’s grounds.
Pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, Harry raised his eyes to stare at the striking blue that stared back down at him. “Do you think,” began Harry slowly, his voice hoarse and scratchy, as though he had not spoke for a very long time, “ – that things could have been different? Better?”
“Perhaps,” replied the portrait of Albus Dumbledore slowly, who seemed to choose his words carefully, “But we are not to interfere with fate’s intricate plans, Harry. We are merely pawns played in the big game that has been set aside for us.” At the deceased Headmaster’s words, Harry’s thoughts instantly fled to the thought of his best friend Ron, the ardent chess champion, with whom Harry had never won more than one match.
“You know that… - “ he broke off, “ - you reckon it had to be this way?” asked Harry, frowning.
“It is not easy for me to say,” said the portrait. “The outcome could have been much better or possibly much worse. I do not know Harry. I can only guess.”
Harry nodded shortly and sat once again in silence. Looking back upon his years made Harry feel quite nauseous. From everything he had battled against: Basilisks, Dementors, Merpeople, deatheaters and many a time, Voldemort himself. “You once allowed me to change fate,” said Harry calmly, ideas springing to mind. “To change the path that was set up. With Sirius and the time turner, you let me save him then. I could go back and save the others –“
But Harry fell silent, his new idea at first had seemed brilliant and then, suddenly out of nowhere, flaws flew to Harry like chasers soaring towards a Quaffle, for if Harry used a time turner it would cause more trouble than he dared to see. To be unseen, Harry would need the cloak that he possessed right now, but there was no telling if a curse would fly in the opposite direction and hit him causing perhaps instant death. Harry sighed, defeated.
“A time turner,” said Dumbledore finally, “Would not work in these situations, I’m sorry Harry.” And Harry knew from his tone that he truly was sorry. Like Harry, Dumbledore had experienced a deep sense of loss that had eaten away at him for years.
Harry stood up. “There’s always got to be another way.”
Dumbledore’s calm face looked grave as he spoke calmly and placidly, “Do not dwell on the past, Harry. Look forward to the future.”
Harry nodded stiffly and swept from the office, a hard look set upon his face.
“I told Tonks – Nymphadora - not to go after him,” said Harry just as quietly, “But she didn’t listen. She knew you’d take care of Teddy. But she loved him… that’s why she went. It’s the way they would’ve wanted to go… together. Fighting. She loved him so much and he loved her too.”
Andromeda sniffed loudly and patted Harry on the shoulder, “Thank you,” she said, “For telling me.”
Harry could only nod.
For the following weeks he attending the funerals of those he had loved and known; Fred Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody’s burial, Colin Creevy, Augusta Longbottom, Lavender Brown, Terry Boot…and the ones who had died fighting and Harry had never known. How he wished he could go and talk with them, to learn more about them. They were now just a list of names to go down upon the tombstone set in the Hogwarts’ grounds of those who had died to protect their school.
It was with a heavy heart that Harry returned to The Burrow that afternoon. Welcomed in by a sniffly Mrs. Weasley, Harry nodded his head once at Percy and Mr. Weasley who sat at the table in deep conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt and headed up to Ron’s attic room not long after.
Once inside, both he, Ron, Hermione and Ginny sat in a stiff silence, occasionally talking about mundane topics such as Quidditch and returning to Hogwarts for their seventh year, however Harry was sure that their minds would wander off to the funerals that had taken place earlier that week. Breaking the conversation about the Cannon’s chance in the England Cup that winter, Harry turned to Hermione. “You read that book about magic law and what isn’t possible, didn’t you?”
Taken aback by the sudden question, Hermione merely nodded.
“Was there anything about… separating your body from your soul?”
Ron looked up, “You’re not on about Horcruxes? Blood hell Harry, I thought you’d learnt by now-“
Harry hastily cut him off, “No, I’m not on about Horcruxes. I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime. I mean about… sending the soul somewhere different. Not an object just somewhere else.”
“Somewhere different?” repeated Hermione thoughtfully. “I know I’ve read something about that somewhere. But why on earth would you want to send it somewhere else?” She asked, staring over at her friend.
“No reason,” answered Harry, hoping that his voice remained light and casual. “Just curious what with everything about souls. I’m just thinking about how Riddle managed to get his soul back from when he was at Hogwarts.” Harry smiled inwardly as he noticed not one of his friends flinch when he mentioned Voldemort’s true name. They were finally safe from such evil.
“You mean time-travel? I’ve read about that, oh this is going to sound morbid,” said Hermione, with a frown “ - but destroying a body and sending the ‘soul’ into a different time frame. From what I’ve read, it is possible although not very nice. You have to experience dying and then being brought back to life. According to Mole’s law, you need to have a purpose to be brought back to life, if you don’t display a worthy cause, you simply die.”
Ron scoffed, “Who’d want to go and do that anyway? All those nutter’s are dead, aren’t they?”
Harry did not smile.
“You’re sure Hermione?” he asked finally, staring over at his female friend who nodded firmly.
“Yes, I’m quite sure.”
“Have you got it?” asked Harry, “the book?”
Hermione frowned and sighed, slumping in her seat, her posture disappearing, “No.” She breathed disappointedly, “I must have lost it during our quest for the Horcruxes,” Ron snorted at her choice of words, “ – but I must pick up another copy from Diagon Alley when we go back. You should get one too, Harry.” She suggested, “Mole’s Magical Theories and Practises.”
“Moles Magical Theories?” repeated Ginny, standing up, “Percy’s got that somewhere.”
Harry’s head shot upwards, “He has? Do you think he’s still got it?”
Ginny shrugged, “I’ll go check if you want,” she offered with a smile aimed at Harry, “Won’t be hard to find it, Percy’s got all his books alphabetised and labelled in subject matter.” As she left the attic, Ron turned to Harry.
“So what’s this all about? Sending your soul to whatever you said, the future?”
“I was thinking more of the past,” said Harry, “Like what Voldemort did with the diary.”
“But that was a Horcrux,” Hermione pointed out.
“I know,” said Harry, wishing that they’d somehow understand, “But I’m not going to make a Horcrux, do you really think I’m that stupid?” The couple shook their heads, “I’m just interested in seeing if you could send your soul to the past.”
Ron looked baffled for a second but Hermione turned to Harry, her face pale as she soon understood, “Oh Harry!” she cried, “You can’t honestly be thinking what – Harry’s that’s preposterous. You can’t seriously be wanting to do that.”
“Hold on a minute,” said Ron, silencing Hermione, “You mean you want to go send yourself back to the past?” When Harry stayed silent, he added, “Are you mental?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’ve been asking me that for years, Ron.” He commented dryly as Ginny reappeared in the room carrying a thick, heavily cared for large book. She dropped it in his lap and sat down,
“Lucky for you Percy’s downstairs. He’d kill us if he knew we were nicking his things. It’s his private collection, so he says.” She said as she picked up a miniature toy snitch and tossed it in the air.
“Cheers Gin’,” Harry thanked her, leafing through the book. Hermione made out to grab the book from Harry, but he held it away from her with a sigh. “Hermione,” he said, “I’m not going to do this.” He lied, hoping his voice came across genuine.
She studied him dubiously for a few moments, “You promise?” She asked him, “You promise me Harry that you won’t do this?”
“Do what?” interrupted Ginny loudly, “What’s she on about Harry?”
Harry ignored her, but nodded his head. “I promise,” he said quietly, looking Hermione in the eye. Satisfied, Hermione nodded and announced that she was going to go and finish some reading of the Standard Book of Spells 7. Ginny volunteered to go and help her mother with that nights dinner preparations and both Harry and Ron remained in the Attic, occasionally talking. After settling back down on his camp bed, Ron in his own (the ghoul had been banished back to the roof) Harry felt his mind wander onto the Dursley’s, his only remaining relatives.
Where they alive? Harry did not know. He hoped that they were, for Harry would not wish death upon them even though they had treated him horribly for the past seventeen years, they still had allowed him a home and food, something they could have easily dismissed. Harry thought of Dudley, his large, piggy-eyed cousin who in their last moments together had wished Harry well. Dudley and Harry had never gotten along, Dudley had personally made sure that during Harry’s primary school years he would get bullied constantly from the boys in his class.
For most of his life, Harry had been bullied, told that he was worthless and that he was lucky enough to be handed Dudley’s old clothes and toys. At Christmas, Harry would have been lucky to scrape a brand new toy out of his Aunt and Uncle and instead have to watch Dudley’s large bottom wade through his vast amount of presents.
He was soon pulled out of his reverie by Ron, “What are you thinking about?”
“The Dursley’s,” Harry responded truthfully. Ron looked over at him, his freckled face dimmed in the afternoon fading son,
“What are you thinking of them for –“ he stopped mid sentence as he too realised the chance of their demise, “Oh.” He finished.
“Yeah,” said Harry noncommittally, his voice seeming faint and far away, “I still don’t know what happened to them. No-ones heard from Dedalus, have they?”
“Well no,” agreed Ron, “But that doesn’t mean-“
Harry gingerly waved a hand and finished talking. Neither of them knew the outcome and now that Harry thought of it, he was afraid to find out. Ron stared at him, and Harry looked back through the lenses of his glasses, an extremely uncomfortable silence met their ears.
There was a knock on the door and Ginny poked her head round, “Mum’s calling. It’s time for dinner.”
With a silent nod to each other, Harry and Ron rose themselves from their beds and left the attic room, dawdling on their way to the kitchen for their supper, Ginny’s small hand finding Harry’s and giving it a gentle squeeze.
Harry could only give a faint smile back.
Harry took his time before answering, “I think you’re doing the right thing, Ron. But I thought all of this was all ready cleared up-“
“Not yet,” Ron broke in, “I’ve not asked her to be my girlfriend officially and I thought I’d ask you for permission.”
Harry choked on his butterbeer, feeling the bubbly substance fly up his nostrils. After mopping himself down and pinching his nose repeatedly, Harry said, “My permission? Why’d you need my permission?”
“Well it’s like what you said, innit? That Hermione’s like your sister and you sort of asked permission when you and Ginny started dating – stop laughing Harry!”
Sorting himself out, Harry nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” He apologised, “But you really didn’t need to ask for my permission,” he told Ron, “And I’m fine with it, really.”
“You’re sure.”
“Certain.” Harry grinned.
“Well,” said Ron, whose ears had turned red, “Now all I have to do is ask, don’t I? Do you think she’d want flowers? Never mind, I can’t even remember that spell. What was is, Avis?”
Harry snorted. “Flowers?” he said dryly, “And here you are trying to get into Hermione’s heart. A book would be better, wouldn’t it?”
“Now that I think of it, yeah.” Said Ron, who shot to his feet suddenly, “Think I have time to pop into Diagon Alley? But what books hasn’t she read?”
“Not many probably,” Harry smiled slightly. “Listen, you go to Flourish and Blotts and I’ll stay here and keep her occupied.”
For a moment, Ron said nothing until he agreed and asked Harry to tell everyone that he’d ‘popped out for a breath of fresh air.’ After agreeing, Harry had casually walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen to Hermione and Ginny talking animatedly about the new school year. “Er Gin?” said Harry, “Can I have a word?”
Hermione smiled at the pair before taking a sip of her tea. Standing up, Ginny walked over to Harry and he took her hand, leading her out into the hallway. “Listen,” said Harry slowly, keeping his voice low, he wasn’t sure if any more of the extendable ears were lying around the house, “I need you to do me a favour. Can you keep Hermione busy for a bit?”
Ginny stared at him, “Why?”
“Because Ron’s… well, your brothers going to ask her out,” Harry said in a hushed voice, glancing at the door that led into the kitchen.
“Really?” came Ginny’s surprised voice and Harry noticed that she looked like the cat that had ate the canary, “Is he now? Not took him long has it?” She remarked sarcastically.
Harry laughed; Ginny’s sense of humour was one of the things that he loved about her and something that he would miss quite dearly. “Yeah,” he said, grasping her hand a little tighter, “Think you can do that for me?”
“I s’pose.” She said.
“Brilliant,” Harry gave Ginny a fleeting kiss on the lips before nudging her into the kitchen, turning back on his heel and heading up the stairs into his and Ron’s bedroom. Moles Magical Theories And Practises lay open on his lap, his eyes scanning the page on soul transportation.
Soul Transportation.
For a soul to be transported to a different frame of time, the body of the soul traveller must first perish and be left behind. To do this, the body of the soul traveller must be killed either by him or herself and to hold a good reason to be presented before the Gates of time. If the reason is not liable the Gates will deny the request and the traveller will simply die at his or her hands. (See Page 294.)
Soul Transportation is an incredibly tricky matter and is extremely and excruciatingly painful. One must first experience the incident of dying before having the soul ripped apart from the body. The soul is then transported to the Gates to be questioned thoroughly before a verdict is chosen. Once chosen and the purpose accepted, the soul is then sent hurtling into the past to merge with the previous body owner’s soul. Memories and recollections are then fused together and the past self shall now know the events of the future.
Soul Transportation is an extremely rare event. Known to this day only two people have ever succeeded: Marbola Kettlewidge (Who now has his own Chocolate Frog Card) and Karl Dodderson, the famous and now deceased alchemist.
Taking a deep breath, Harry closed the book and placed it back on Ron’s bed. For the soul transportation to work, Harry would indeed have to kill himself. Harry found this rather morbid and thought back to the incantations that followed the end of the passage. Only two people had ever succeeded on soul travelling. But that doesn’t mean nobody else tried it. Harry wondered as to how many people had died by having their requests denied at the Gates.
He was a little nervous now; Harry had thought this to be much harder than the instructions had just read. Still, he hesitated, his plans fading. Harry had hoped to do this today whilst Ron, Hermione and Ginny were busy. Even if he was not as quite comfortable as he had been before, Harry was still determined, although a new number of problems faced him. His body would be the first hurdle to jump over. What would happen to his body? The Wizarding World had thought that Harry had died not long ago, but Harry knew that they’d think it would have happened again. Rifling through Ron’s belongings, he found a long piece of parchment and a quill. His hand soaring down in Ron’s trunk, Harry pulled out an inkwell of colour-changing ink. He shook his head, he needed firm black ink to make the letter important and serious, the ever-changing colours would make it seem as though it all were just a big joke. A thought struck him, how on earth was he going to start this letter of farewell?
Everyone –No, thought Harry, that was far too impersonal. He ripped off the top of the parchment with his hands and started again, his quill scratching down his words.
To Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the rest of the Weasley family, The Professors at Hogwarts, Hagrid, Neville and Luna, To Dean, Andromeda and most of all to Teddy Remus Lupin.
I’ve spent the past few weeks thinking of how different things could have turned out. I could have saved more people; I could have stopped people from rushing into battle. The world would be filled with more happy faces – the ones who matter most dearly to us.
I’ve found a way in which I can bring them back. Not the ring or some spell but a way in which this reality won’t exist but a better one will. A reality where we’ll have everyone back.
I know that you’ll be angry and I’m prepared to do this to save those of us who fell during the battle. I know that you’ll be angry and hurt that I broke my promise Hermione, but I’m not doing it for me, I’m doing it for all of us.
If all goes well – then you’ll see me in a year’s time and you won’t know anything different. I’m the only one who will know about the time change when my souls fuse; I even read the fine print.
I’m going to miss you all but I’ll see you soon
- Harry.
He finished his letter and checked it over, crossing his T’s and dotting his I’s quickly. Harry swallowed and folded the letter neatly, placing it atop Ron’s pillow. Harry moved away and cleared his belongings. He knew, inside, that this would be a terrible moment for his best friend, for Ron would come back home to find Harry’s body in his bedroom and a short note on his pillow. But Harry knew that this would not matter, for shortly, Harry would make the world a better place. He would relive his last year with the knowledge and confidence of someone much older and wiser.
Gingerly, Harry rolled his wand over in his fingers. He knew the spell, so why was he delaying? Harry was not afraid of death and Sirius’ words rang in his head like a bells chiming. ‘Quicker and easier than falling asleep.’
Harry gulped back emotion and tapped his wand in his hand, red sparks flying from the tip. He was ready to die, once again, to save those that he cared about. Those that had died fighting to defend their school, to buy time for Harry to do it; to finish Voldemort off once and for all.
Harry’s heartbeat quickened. He was ready to face Voldemort once again, to finish the on-going battle. But what if something changed? A nagging voice came, What if it was pure luck and chance that allowed you to survive last time? What if that luck has gone?
Harry had no time and was sorely tempted to brew some Felix Felicis – but what was it that Slughorn had said? Highly Toxic and what else – to be taken sparingly?
He knew he was no excellent potions master and had no chance of brewing a perfect a perfect Felicis tonic without the aid of Snape’s old potions book.
Snape.
Harry now understood why Snape had been so hard on him all those years. Why he had yelled at Harry for calling him a coward – Severus Snape in no shape or form was a coward and Harry now knew the truth. Perhaps this time he could thank Snape, thank him for giving his mother a chance to live and for putting his neck on the line.
But Harry knew there would be no chance for a hearty reunion. Would Snape still give Harry his memories? Would Harry be able to save Snape who had worked so hard? Would that affect the rest of the outcome? Harry wasn’t sure.
He glanced down at Fabian Prewitt’s watch; it wouldn’t be long until Ron would apparate back home. Harry needed to be quick and swiftly get this done. He glanced back at the letter, walked towards his side of the bed and halted.
He knew the incantation, a simple Avada Kedavra charm, so why was it taking him so long? Harry closed his eyes, emotions bubbling and stirring inside of him. He truly meant it. He truly wanted to die; to save those people that had died for him. “Avada Kedavra.” He spoke quietly and even though his eyes remained closed, Harry could see the blinding green light from beneath his eyelids; the spell hit him squarely on the chest, directly in front of his heart. Before the curse hit him his mind reeled back on the words he had remembered to think, they echoed around his head like a trumpet call in a cell in Azkaban. Seele Zeit Reisen Leben. Seele Zeit Reisen Leben. Seele Zeit Reisen Leben. Seele Zeit Reisen –
He was somewhere else, drifted apart from his old body. Harry felt incredibly light, as though floating on air. Still he didn’t open his eyes, using all of his senses to tell him where he was. The air was tight and compact; Harry knew he was somewhere inside. The air smelt salty and reminded Harry of Shell Cottage, Bill and Fleur’s home.
He opened his eyes.
Harry found himself standing in a brilliant white room, four rather large grand pillars stood around him and Harry walked, surprised to find himself floating above the ground, his body transparent, much like the ghosts that haunted back at Hogwarts. He unsteadily moved, still not used to the thought of gliding rather than walking. A voice startled him; Harry turned and came face to face with quite possibly one of the most grotesque things he had ever encountered. It looked as though it had once been human, although modified time and time again. Flesh was ripped and laid open, a number of eyeballs rolled back in their sockets, iris’s of blues, hazels and even reds, different textures of hair lay on the creature’s head, frizzy blondes and black curls but Harry did not have too much time to be in awe of the creature for it turned to him and spoke his name. “You are Harry James Potter.”
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but found his ability to speak had been ripped apart from him. After a few seconds of being unable to answer verbally, Harry found that he could move. He nodded his head.
“Welcome to the gates,” spoke the creature and Harry wanted to turn around and glance at the gates again, but found himself unable to. He felt compelled to stare at the monster in front of him.
“You are dead.” hissed the monster, “You have died in hopes of returning to the past on the 28th July 1996 to rectify your mistakes during the war, am I correct?” The voice had changed, it seemed as though hundreds of voice were emitting from the creature, all speaking the same words.
Harry nodded once more.
The voice changed again, this time into the shrill of a woman, “You have chosen most nobly.” The monster turned away from Harry, his large bulky, burnt arm thrust outwards, causing a portal to appear in front of them. The monster’s left arm turned towards Harry who doubled over, transparent hands trying to clutch at his throat that seemed to have closed. Harry fought, his hands forcing through his body. He could not feel, he could not save himself. The feeling disappeared and Harry made a gurgling sound. Cautiously, Harry spoke, his voice weak and faint and Harry was surprised to hear it echo around the Gates. “You’re letting me go back?” he asked, voice feeble.
The creature turned towards him and suddenly Harry understood. The being was made of the souls of the hundreds of people who had not succeeded in soul transportation. It was their voices, Harry would hear, when the monster spoke, the voices, which sounded like a stadium of fifty thousand people. The exterior of the monster was made of their bodies and appearances. Harry felt sick at the thought of how many people had committed suicide to go back and had not been given that chance; so many lives had been wasted. The creature leapt aside with great agility when Harry moved towards the portal that had been created.
“You will be transported back to the night of July 28th 1996.” It spoke; it’s voice this time sounding like a child’s. Harry heaved, how could a child have wanted to attempt something so dangerous? He moved towards the portal, feeling a force pull him forwards, he moved quicker than he would have had he been alive, his transparent self slithered forward and before Harry could turn back, he found himself floating through the air, twisting and turning and convulsing at every turn. Pain filled him and Harry felt as though he had been hit with a hundred ‘Crucio’’s at once. His body writhed and Harry lurched forward, tumbling through the gateway until he felt his body collide with something very strong and something very solid. It was himself.
Harry felt as though all of his life was being sucked away and he let out a silent yell as he was sucked inside of his former self who lay on the bed at Privet Drive. Both he and his former self writhed on the bed, tossing and turning, panting as the pain suddenly ceased and Harry felt himself be filled with something else. It seemed as though there were two Harry’s at first, and now there was just one. Circumspectly, Harry wriggled a finger, and then another, and another until he moved his whole hand. Guardedly, Harry sat up, wincing from the slight pain. He stared through the lenses of his glasses. Everything was how he had left it. His trunk, packed and ready to go. Hedwig’s cage lay on top with Hedwig herself inside. Harry halted in front of her cage, bending his index finger and smiling when she nipped at it. “Good girl,” he spoke quietly, brushing two fingers over her plumage, elated at the thought of having her back.
Near him stood his school trunk, Harry flung it open and glanced at the Support CEDRIC DIGGORY and POTTER STINKS badge, watching it feebly change the words every few seconds. Harry looked around the room. Everything seemed so odd – as though it had been dozens of years since he had been back here. His trunk lay packed with the things Harry knew he would not need for the journey. He checked again, placing the utmost important items inside a rucksack, ready for when he would need them. His fingers clasped around the fake locket, Harry now knew that the R.A.B had indeed been Regulus, Sirius’ younger darker brother. How would Harry get this across to both Ron and Hermione without sounding as though he knew too much? Could he simply say that Sirius had let it slip once? That he’d only just remembered?
Harry shoved his potion making kit, his muggle clothing consisting of jeans, jackets and t-shirts, socks and underpants, his parents photograph album and a stack of letters were tucked neatly inside. Harry then decided to pocket his wand, knowing he’d need it at the ready. The Albus Dumbledore Remembered article was on the floor and Harry looked at it, not bothering to read it for he had many a time, and instead pulled open his bedroom door, carefully striding over the cup of tea. He picked it up and noticed it was now lukewarm, Dudley must have put it there a while ago.
Harry set down along the landing, opening his cousin’s bedroom door without knocking, there was no need for such formality. Dudley lay on his computer chair, his large bottom dropped over the side, his piggy eyes that had been once staring over at his television screen now focused on Harry. “Thanks for the tea, Dudley.” Said Harry, his voice sounding as they were old friends.
“What?” asked Dudley who Harry noticed was shocked beyond belief.
“You know,” said Harry, “The tea you left outside my room. I just wanted to say thanks.”
Dudley nodded, dropping his playstation controller on the floor. “Y-Y-You’re Welcome,” he said shakily as the loud voice of Uncle Vernon followed the sound of the door slamming sounded.
“Oi! You!”
Harry rolled his eyes and turned to Dudley, “You coming, Big D?”
“Don’t call me that,” replied Dudley who unsteadily got to his feet and the two cousins left the room and walked along the landing, Dudley’s rather vast self a few steps behind his thinner cousin.
Harry looked at him, “Why not?”
Dudley shrugged his great shoulders and the pair of them reached the living room finding Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon dressed for travelling. “Yes?” asked Harry.
“Sit down!” said Uncle Vernon. Harry raised his eyebrows, feeling the impact of dejavu but sat down all the same. Dudley made to sit down when his father said,
“Not you Dudders! Just him!” His uncle spat the word so venomously, Harry felt as though he had been struck.
Dudley remained standing.
“I’ve changed my mind.” Said Uncle Vernon.
“Have you?” said Harry, “No surprise there.”
They argued for a while longer and in a bored manner, Harry recited what he had said before. That Kingsley was monitoring the Muggle Minister and that Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle were more than fit for the job. When his uncle made to argue, Dudley interrupted in a firm voice, “He’s telling the truth dad,” said Dudley, “I want to go with these people. They’ll keep us safe.” He glanced at Harry, as though asking for backup.
Finding it extremely odd that the two cousins were agreeing on anything, Harry nodded. “You’ll be safer with them than here. He won’t waste any time in killing you. I wouldn’t stay here if I were you.”
The doorbell rang.
Hesitating ever so slightly, Harry moved forward to open the front door. After unlatching the lock and pulling the door outwards, he stared, shock evident in his eyes when he spotted Mad-Eye Moody and Dedalus standing in front of him.
“Hestia’s dead,” said Mad-Eye gruffly, as he stepped into the house “There’s been a change in plans Potter. Where’re your Aunt and Uncle?”
Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Hestia couldn’t have been died. Why was it so different from last time? How had things changed? Why was Mad-Eye here? Why wasn’t he getting ready with the guard to take him back to the burrow? Even though he was elated at seeing the formerly dead ex-Auror, Harry could not understand why and how it had changed, that was, until a nagging thought hit him hard. This is an alternate reality. The voice inside the back of his head told, You’re changing the past.
Harry swallowed. Things were definitely going to be different and he couldn’t go back.
The quote at the top of the page is a favourite of mine and it would be amazing to get some feedback for this story. I do not have a Beta currently for this story and if anyone’s at all interested, please drop me a review or a personal message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Any feedback for this story would be amazing, especially reviews.
- Daisy Ashley.