Title: Do(O)M Day
Disclaimer: JK Rowling has Harry, and whoever else from the books show up in these plots. I don't own either and I'm not making any money from all this, so don't bother suing me.
Summary: Department of Mysteries Day. Day of Overwhelming Misery. Doom Day. The Day Time itself stopped and started to revolve around one Harry James Potter and the day he lost everything he cared about.
AN: IE, Yet Another Groundhogs Day/Harry Potter crossover story. Based around the last day of OWLs, when he and the 'Ministry six' went to the Department of Mysteries to 'save' Sirius Black and ended with Black being killed and the Wizarding World waking up to the threat of Voldemort, almost too late. First day, IE "Day Zero" is identical to canon. Everything else, as AU as I can swing it while still being based off canon.
Harry's feet hit solid ground again; his knees buckled a little and the portkey that had been shoved into his hands moments before fell with a resounding clunk to the floor. He looked around and saw that he had arrived in Dumbledore's office.
The last time he'd been in here had been shortly before the Easter holidays, the night that Dumbledore had been sacked by Umbridge and Fudge. The mess that had been made by the Headmaster's sudden departure and subsequent scuffle had obviously been repaired, as though it had never happened.
Quite a lot had happened since then in fact. If only it were as simple to make it all like it never happened, things would be so much better, he thought. He paced around the office, stopping to look out the window for several moments, noting that it was nearly dawn. He glanced over at one of the fancy grandfather clocks around the room and noticed it was only a few minutes till seven in the morning. Had it only been a day ago that he woke up with nothing more than OWLs and Umbridge to worry about?
It all seemed so... trivial now. Like the last day had been nothing but a nightmare and he was going to wake up in his bed with Ron snoring any moment now.
The empty fireplace burst into emerald-green flame, making Harry leap away from the door, staring at the man spinning inside the grate. As Professor Albus Dumbledore's tall form unfolded itself from the fire, the paintings on the surrounding walls all jerked awake. Many of them gave cries of welcome to the absent Headmaster.
Harry ignored him, struggling to keep his temper and the overwhelming guilt contained.
"Harry..." Dumbledore tried to speak to the distraught teenager, but said youth was not listening.
"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore, when Harry finally acknowledged him speaking, "you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events."
Harry said nothing. His temper became easier to control as his guilt reached a breaking point, just without going over it. He'd gotten his friends hurt, by doing what he usually did, leaping into the lions den without even bothering to look, or even think about looking. He hated himself at that moment.
"Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up now," said Dumbledore. "Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St. Mungo's, but it seems that she will make a full recovery."
Silence was the only answer the old wizard received.
"I know how you are feeling Harry," Dumbledore told him.
Harry wanted to snap out at him, get angry, tell him that he was wrong, that there was not way he could know how he was feeling. Even with Legilimency and Harry's Occlumency abilities worth less than crap, he sincerely doubted that Dumbledore could truly comprehend how he was feeling at that moment. Instead, he just turned to glance at the grandfather clock again.
"Harry?" Dumbledore's voice sounded concerned.
"It's 6:57," Harry whispered, his voice thick with emotion and tension. "One day ago, I was just now waking up, after barely three hours sleep, after watching Hagrid being chased from his home for the past fifty years, after watching Professor McGonagall being stunned by almost half a dozen wands all at once, after two solid weeks of Hermione stressing over tests for the hundredth time, and above all else, after spending two and a half months under that... witch's thumb because you didn't stay and let her take over!"
"Yesterday," Harry continued, voice still quiet and thick with emotion, tears were pooling in his eyes. "Yesterday, I thought I'd been having some bad days. A few bad weeks even. Maybe even a bad couple of months. I didn't know what having a bad day was."
He walked over to the clock and stared up at the face, "The difference a day makes, huh? I just failed one of my OWLs, History of Magic, ironically. I assaulted a Ministry Official and interim, but still official, Headmistress of Hogwarts, handing her over to a very angry pack of centaurs, terrorized Hagrid's brother Grawp, stole the school Thestrals, left school without permission, and to top it all off, broke into the Ministry of Magic just because of a magic vision I got from my aching scar."
He turned and looked Dumbledore dead in the eye, practically begging him to read his mind then and there with Legilimency. "The consequences of these actions are that five of my closest and quite possibly only friends were in a fire-fight and near-tortured to death by dark wizards that had a minimum of thirty years experience on the oldest of us. I single-handedly compromised everything you've been trying to do with the Order of the Phoenix for the past year in the span of a few hours. And, I got the very man that I was going to save, killed. By his own cousin none-the-less. I destroyed the only weapon that we had against Voldemort, which he wanted. And let's not forget, I was possessed by Voldemort and tried to kill you right before trying to get you to kill me."
He was breathing heavily and the tears were streaming down his face, wiping away the dirt of the night's battles in streaks of clear flesh. "So please, Professor, tell me again how you KNOW HOW I FEEL!"
He turned back to the clock and faced it rather than Dumbledore's pitying gaze.
He watched as the clock ticked away the last few seconds of the hour. He snorted and then sniffed. "I wish this day had never happened. Or better yet, that I could do it over again. Over and over and over again until I got it perfect. The perfect day where everybody is happy, healthy, alive, and Voldemort is either dead or rotting in Azkaban along with everyone like him that could ever possibly threaten people."
"Harry, I'm sorry..." apologized Dumbledore.
The clock clicked over to seven o'clock and began to chime.