Summary: Harry Potter felt more like the Cursed One than the Chosen One. As the war rages on, more and more people are hurt, killed, and tortured. And he blames every single murder on himself. But one night, he is given the opportunity to set right everything by taking care of one business - killing Voldemort October 31, 1981.
Categories: Dark/Angsty Fics Characters: None
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Character Death
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 3
Completed: Yes
Word count: 5370
Read: 7077
Published: 07/17/07
Updated: 07/18/07
1. Passion by Marauder by Midnight
2. Understanding by Marauder by Midnight
3. Epilogue - Reunion by Marauder by Midnight
Passion by Marauder by Midnight
Author's Notes:
Thank you to my beta Colores for strengthening this story.
Chapter 1 - Passion
“Lily, go upstairs. Take Harry and run. I’ll hold him off.”
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Please, don’t hurt him! Take me instead!”
“Move, you stupid girl.”
“Not Harry! Please, not Harry! Take me instead!”
“Avada Kedavra!”
A scream of horror quickly overpowered by a menacing cackle…
“AVADA KEDAVRA!”
Harry awoke covered in a coat of his own sweat. The dream had come stronger than ever, and the burn in his chest was indescribable, a true change from the temporary ache he had been used to.
Beside him, Ron gave another one of his thundering snores. Harry glared at his friend’s sleeping form with disgust and jealousy. How can he sleep in a time like this? Horrific murders, inhumane torture, a menacing threat to the world of magic and humanity as they knew it.
The moonlight filtered through the shutters of Ron’s window and illuminated a glinting golden chain holding on to a small hourglass on Harry’s dresser. He turned away, knowing he shouldn’t give in to temptation and tamper with the past. Instead, he occupied his mind with images he had seen not long ago.
Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Ginny’s furious expression as she insisted she go along with him, Ron, and Hermione. Remus and Tonks’ engagement party.
The corners of Harry’s mouth, which had taken an upward turn, froze. Remus.
Remus stood tall until one of the circling Death Eaters, Bellatrix, knocked him down in the back of his knees. He gave out a shout of surprise but went down without a struggle. Harry heard Hermione beside him choke back a sob and Ginny farther away lead the shaking Tonks away from the scene outside the window.
“…Now, I’ll ask very plainly: where is the Order’s headquarters?” Bellatrix was smiling cruelly, but the glint in her eyes showed her growing impatience.
Remus, the new Secret-Keeper, stayed obstinately quiet, even when a Death Eater shouted, “Crucio.”
The members of the Order who had gathered to watch looked away, some softly crying, “Oh.”
“You’re wasting your time, Auror,” Bellatrix snapped frustrated. “The Black Manor was my home, remember? We’re standing right outside it!” she screamed with a cackle. When Remus continued to stare resolutely forward, Bellatrix flicked her wand, “Avada Kedavra.”
Harry didn’t know which came first: the Order bursting out of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place or Remus falling neglected but never forgotten on the hard concrete.
The pain in Harry’s heart intensified as he remembered the death that had just occurred the day before. His eyes flickered back to the dresser, the Time-Turner so innocently shining in the moonlight. He trembled as he reached for it.
All this hardship, this pain could’ve ended sixteen years ago. Sirius, Dumbledore, and Remus wouldn’t have died. Bill wouldn’t have been so deformed. Hagrid wouldn’t have been reduced to the soulless shell he was now.
He, Harry, wouldn’t have grown up an orphan.
The last thought made him clench his teeth with suppressed rage and sorrow. He snatched up the tiny hourglass before his wave of determination ebbed away. He never ceased to think about all the deaths he had been responsible for; his frequent nightmares never let him forget. Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus, his parents.
As he clutched the Time-Turner in his hand, he allowed all his emotions to overcome him. Heartbreak. Agony. Wrath. Longing. Blinded by his passion and all the You shouldn’ts and Don’ts thrown into the wind, Harry, equipped with only his wand and Invisibility Cloak, gave the Time-Turner several turns, one for each hour since that fateful day.
As Ron’s dark and cluttered room dissolved from view, Harry fleetingly felt guilty. Professor McGonagall had argued long and hard with Scrimgeour to get him the Time-Turner he now used to follow the last Horcruxes through Tom Riddle’s history. She had severely warned him of the consequences of abusing the Time-Turner and had thrown in a rare hint of concern, “I hope you don’t do anything rash at a time like this, Harry.”
Harry pushed these thoughts aside, hoping “ no, knowing “ that what he was going to do would be the best for everyone.
The scene before him was familiar, still Ron Weasley’s bedroom, but with some very important changes. Light streamed in from the window at the end of the room. Though he knew what to expect, Harry was startled by the posters that now decorated his friend’s walls. Instead of the Chudley Cannon posters he had become used to, each of the large white canvases depicted a large ball of orange fur, which bounced around under the words ‘Nillie the Puff.’ Despite his grim mission, Harry couldn’t help chuckling as each Nillie somersaulted excitedly.
Still smiling, Harry glanced toward Ron’s bed and froze. Sitting on a Nillie bed with boards flanking each side, a tiny redheaded infant was staring curiously at Harry. The child wore flannel clothing that didn’t quite cover his chubby arms or legs. His eyes were a lighter shade of blue than Harry was familiar with, although his round face already sported a few freckles.
Harry wasn’t sure what damage he was doing, appearing before Ron Weasley in his infancy, but he knew he had to leave for more than one reason. A cursory glance out the window confirmed Harry’s estimation; the sun was already beginning to set.
“Fred! You give back Percy’s costume now!”
Murmuring an apology to the wide-eyed Ron, Harry Apparated from the Burrow with a loud crack!, concentrating on the task at hand. He wouldn’t allow himself to be sidetracked, not at this crucial moment in history.
Harry appeared on the sidewalk lining a quiet street. The few early trick-or-treaters already out and about thankfully did not notice his appearance. Harry watched as a mother and child walked in front of an unremarkable two-story blue home a few houses away without so much as glancing at the door. The Fidelius Charm had already been cast a week before.
Harry briefly wondered why he was able to see the house numbered twenty-three before realizing that Peter Pettigrew’s traitorous act helped him doubly. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had sought out the man as they journeyed to Godric’s Hollow only a few weeks before and had found a pathetic creature tormented by the guilt of killing his best friends. It didn’t take long to extract the address they needed from the ruined man. Despite his hand in the Potters’ deaths and fueled by the knowledge that all will change, Harry spared a moment to wish Peter’s soul a good rest, wherever it was now.
Harry turned his attention to the Potters’ home. The blinds had been drawn and the shutters closed, as if its inhabitants kept a secret which desperately needed hiding. He walked grimly up the steps and opened the locked door with a wordless wave of his wand.
Too easy.
Harry threw on his Invisibility Cloak and entered the quaint home. He locked the door behind him and struggled to strengthen the spells on the measly guarded door. Harry cursed silently when he realized he knew nothing that could hold back Voldemort for a significant amount of time. Not for the first time, he wished Hermione, with her infinite wisdom in spells and charms, was there to offer her help.
Giving up, Harry turned back around. The row of picture frames on the bureau by the stairs immediately captured his attention, and, despite his earlier promise not to get sidetracked, Harry found himself inching toward the first frame.
The picture was familiar; Moody had shown it to him back at Sirius’. The Order of the Phoenix, as complete as it ever would be, waved at him. All were smiling, not at all aware of the hand of death that would untimely claim almost every one of them.
Harry moved to the next photo, another that he recognized. Lily and James waved cheerfully at him on their wedding day with an equally happy Sirius Black beside them. Harry tried to ignore the pain in his chest as he fought back the tears the picture had conjured.
Harry let his gaze slide a few frames over to the last and most recent photo, the only one he didn’t recognize from the photo album Hagrid had given him. An infant with a dust of black hair on his head was crawling slowly between his parents in the grass, his tiny face contorted with concentration as he moved his arms. No scar marred his white forehead. Lily Potter laughed delightfully at the child, her head tossed back as she looked so relaxed and at ease. James Potter was smiling widely as he looked at both his wife and son with eyes full of love and care. The three Potters seemed oblivious to everything, as if nothing existed but the three of them. Unlike the other photos, none of them acknowledged the camera or the photographer.
Harry reached out tentatively to stroke the wooden frame around the picture, wondering why he hadn’t seen this photo the first time he’d visited his old home. This was what he longed for: a family to call his own. And here was his opportunity, to finally have what he had always wanted and never got. Doesn’t he deserve a family? Doesn’t he, Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, the key to the survival of the Wizarding world and the Muggle world, doesn’t he, if not anyone else, have the right to reunite with his mother and father?
A tiny clinking sound interrupted Harry’s thoughts. He whipped out his wand and cautiously tiptoed to the kitchen. Could Voldemort have come already?
When he peeked around the corner, Harry relaxed. Lily Potter was washing the dishes, Muggle-style, and placing them in the cupboard, her back toward Harry. From this angle, he couldn’t see his father or himself. As he was just about to move for a better view, he heard a coo of laughter.
Lily turned her head slightly, still washing the dishes, to smile at the unseen child.
“It’s a shame he can’t trick-or-treat with the others,” Harry heard his father say.
Harry could see Lily’s eyebrows slant conspicuously in a frown. “There will be other times,” she replied, her tone firm. Harry wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince James or herself.
A clatter of bowls caused the child to squeal with delight. “Of course. I’m not saying otherwise, Lily.” A sigh. “I can’t help but wish we were a normal wizard family, not for our sakes but for Harry’s.”
The sound of running water stopped. Lily dried her hands on a towel and leaned against the counter, her hands folded over her belly as she spoke. “It’s impossible for us to hope for such a thing anymore, James. Dumbledore told us our Harry was different and would probably always be different. We’ve got to protect him at all costs. Even if,” she hesitated, “even if we can’t see him grow up.”
Harry resisted the urge to run into his mother’s arms and to shout that if they wanted to live, they needed to leave “ now. But he knew that even if he changed history at this very moment, if he helped his parents flee from Godric’s Hollow, it would never end. Voldemort will come after them again and again and again. Harry could not risk his parents’ lives anymore. He must defeat Voldemort here, in the past.
Harry crouched and waited. A rustle of newspapers. The scraping of the chair against the wooden floor. Soft cooing sounds and gentle laughter. The songs of a family. Harry didn’t know how long he spent there, slumped against the wall of his old home. He took in everything he heard from the kitchen, drinking it in thirstily to make up for the drought of the past sixteen years. He envisioned the child in Lily’s arms at that moment “ a babe gurgling contently at the whispers sighed into his ear, a toddler kissed by each warm touch of his mother, a boy who believed himself to be the one precious entity in this woman’s universe.
Tears streamed down Harry’s cheeks as James began to sing a soft lullaby.
“Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home.”
Harry closed his eyes and let his father’s voice surround him. The sweet melody sounded familiar to Harry, and he knew this wasn’t the first time James Potter had sung it to him. He heard the rustle of clothing as someone stood up. Quickly and as silently as possible, Harry moved behind the wall separating the kitchen from the sitting room just as James carried the sleeping baby passed and toward the stairs, Lily following closely behind, reaching up occasionally to touch the child’s or her husband’s arm. The three passed so closely by that the cloak stirred, yet Harry felt no alarm at all.
“If I get there before you do
Coming for to carry me home
I'll cut a hole and pull you through
Coming for to carry me home.”
The rest of the lullaby wafted down from a room upstairs, fading to an end. After moments of silence, James and Lily tiptoed back downstairs hand-in-hand. They were whispering into each other’s ears. The tenderness of their smiles and the caressing touches forced Harry to look away to allow the couple an intimate moment alone.
Then “
“James? James, what is it?”
The apprehension in Lily’s voice made Harry peek up again. Lily was staring wide-eyed at James who seemed frozen, his hazel eyes glued to the door.
Then Harry heard it as well. Footsteps coming up the pavement toward the door at an disturbing pace. As if the stranger, catching a glimpse of his prey, was closing. Now was his chance. Harry pulled out his wand and gripped it in his sweaty hand. Fierce with determination, he wordlessly urged Voldemort to make his appearance.
Lily’s mouth was open in shock. “H-how can this be? Peter… He couldn’t have…”
James already had his wand out. “Lily, go upstairs. Take Harry and run. I’ll hold him off.”
Lily’s head whipped around to look at James. “No.”
Blue light seeped through the blinds of the windows; Voldemort was already working through the guards on the door. James kissed his wife on the forehead. “Go! Think of Harry! Go!” He and Harry watched as Lily let out a sob and scrambled up the stairs.
The lock on the door clicked. James dove to the side of the door just as it swung open to hide him from view. Harry’s eyes narrowed in fury as Voldemort stepped into the well-lit hallway. He took a moment to take in his surroundings and, like Harry, moved to the row of photo frames. He gave them a cursory glance before stalking toward the kitchen. A low oath echoed through the silent home, and soon, Voldemort strode impatiently toward the stairs, his dark cloak swishing over the row of pictures. Just as Voldemort reached the base of the stairs, the figure behind the door gave a shout and a jet of red hit Voldemort’s stomach.
James emerged from his hiding spot, his wand out in front of him. The grim determination in his eyes was unmistakable; Harry knew he’d fight to the death. Unable to bear the idea of losing his father just paces from where he stood, Harry thought, “Avada Kedavra.” Nothing happened.
Voldemort turned with an expression of impatience. James threw another Stunning Spell at him.
“Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, AVADA KEDAVRA!”
Harry watched, eyes open with horror as Voldemort, seemingly undeterred by James’ sudden appearance, flicked his wand almost effortlessly. “Avada Kedavra,” he hissed, and James Potter slumped to the floor.
Harry stood rooted in his spot, staring with disbelief at the lifeless body that had cradled him just moments before as Voldemort, not sparing the corpse one glance, swept up the stairs. His one chance to save his father “ gone. For an agonizing moment, Harry considered giving his Time-Turner one more turn, one more hour before Voldemort came in, to give himself yet another chance.
Before he could deliberate for long, a bloodcurdling scream from upstairs sent all of his thoughts in a frenzy.
Harry pounded upstairs, all sense of caution gone. Perhaps, just maybe, he could save his mother. The spirit that need not go. He couldn’t ask her to make the ultimate sacrifice. Not when his wand was available for action.
“Please, don’t hurt him! Take me instead!”
When Harry reached the top of the stairs, he saw a shadow just slip into a room to his right. He sprinted, his cloak billowing around his ankles.
“Move, you stupid girl.”
Voldemort’s back was toward Harry when he charged into the room. On her knees right before the shrouded Dark Lord was Lily, her arms clinging to a wailing bundle. Tears flowed down her cheeks “ tears that cried for the husband she knew to be dead and the child she needed to be saved. Unfortunately, no tears could keep Lord Voldemort from finishing what he had set out to do.
Just as Harry was about to whip off his Invisibility Cloak, the reasoning Harry had pushed to hard to the back of his mind came up again.
As difficult as his life has been, Harry knew there was a purpose to what obstacles he had encountered, and he had to admit that without them, he couldn’t have grown in the man he was today. True, the Harry Potter now would be different from the Harry Potter who had two loving parents. But he couldn’t guarantee that the change would’ve been for the better, and he wasn’t sure if he could take such a chance.
Could murdering Voldemort right here, with a spell at his back, still allow him to develop such close friendships to Ron and Hermione? Would he still have known such a wise mentor as personally as he had? Would he and his friends have grown into such powerful wizards in such a short amount of time?
Images flashed through his mind. Ron’s reaction when he first saw Harry’s forehead. The fight with the troll in the girls’ restroom. The look of gratitude in Ginny’s eyes after her ordeal in the Chamber of Secrets. The warmth Harry saw in Sirius’ eyes when he recognized his godson. The incredulous expressions on the twins’ faces after receiving Harry’s prize money. The joyful laughter of Neville as he cast his first Patronus. The seemingly unfortunate blossoming romance between Fleur and Bill and Remus and Tonks. The unlikely laughter Harry shared with the Order every so often.
Harry aimed his wand at Voldemort’s back. If he didn’t do this, so many more lives would be lost. But would make a difference? Fate had a funny way of having her way in the end.
He knew he couldn’t interfere.
Just then, Lily’s eyes moved ever so subtly, ever so fleetingly and met Harry’s. Those eyes “ exact copies of Harry’s, right down to the indescribable horror that penetrated into the depths of the pupils. Harry blinked in surprise, but as soon as he broke the connection, Lily’s fear-filled eyes were staring up into that lizard-like face once more.
“Not Harry! Please, not Harry!” Harry’s heart almost broke hearing her mother’s desperate pleas. “Take me instead!”
“Avada Kedavra.”
As the green light hit Lily squarely in the chest, Harry could feel the scream “ the scream of utter pain and agony “ coming out of his throat. Lily’s rapidly dimming eyes were on Harry, her mouth wide open, as if the shrill cry came from her already lifeless body. She, too, slumped to the ground, one arm still around the babe who, as though he already knew the hurt he had just been condemned to, now shrieked even louder.
Joining into the cacophony, Voldemort let out a gleeful laugh. The whole house seemed to quake with his evil joy, his cackles clashing jarringly with the fresh, mournful sounds still being elicited by both Harrys.
Harry turned away as the chuckles of ecstasy grew into screeches of surprise, anger, and excruciating pain. He felt a powerful breeze fly past him, and the floor beneath him shook violently.
Then silence. Unbearable silence.
End Notes: This chapter was written on July 14, 2007. Anything proven incorrect in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows will not be re-incorporated into this story.
All reviews are graciously accepted and appreciated.
Understanding by Marauder by Midnight
Author's Notes:
Immense thanks, again, to my beta Colores.
Chapter 2 - Understanding
Dumbledore found him on the doorstep of the ruined home at midnight. After Voldemort vanished, Harry took out his anguish on his home. Harry had blindly used almost every charm he could think of on anything he found in the house, the house tainted with murder and the blood of his parents “ people he should have but couldn’t save.
“James?” Dumbledore’s voice was gentle but inquisitive, a hint of caution appropriate for times like these. Harry didn’t bother looking up as he spoke.
“They’re dead.”
“Ah.” Dumbledore sounded as if he already knew, though it wasn’t a surprise. House number twenty-three was uncannily visible to Muggle and wizard alike.
Dumbledore swiftly stepped around Harry and passed the open door to examine the damage. Harry didn’t follow; he knew what he would find there. The corpse of his father not far from the door, untouched by the fury Harry had unleashed. Upstairs, his mother, one motionless hand, as if stopped in mid-caress, resting lovingly on a sleeping child, now marked with a jagged scar.
The row of pictures that depicted the comfortable life the Potters had laid in shards of broken glass and splinters of damaged wood. Harry had searched for the photograph of the family they had been but found no trace of it ever being there.
What was he doing here? Harry couldn’t remember what had driven him so insane as to come to Godric’s Hollow. But there was a purpose to him being here, if not for the reiteration of the love he was fighting for and the people he had to avenge. He learned something about himself tonight, but he didn’t know what it was.
Harry heard soft footsteps approach from behind. “You must be Harry then, from the future?”
“Yes.” Harry began to turn his head so he could speak properly with his professor. He caught a glimpse of a bundle in Dumbledore’s arms.
“I ask that you not look this way. You “ that is, your child self “ are awake, and I’d hate to imagine what damage it may do to you in the future, if you should have dreams of seeing yourself.” Dumbledore’s tone was light; Harry could detect no sign of remorse in his voice.
“Where are you taking me?” Harry couldn’t keep his irritation out of his voice; the world didn’t stop for the two greatest heroes Harry had never known.
“I’m not taking you anywhere. Hagrid is on his way to take you to Little Whinging, though you probably already knew that. I suggest you put on your Invisibility Cloak; I believe that’s him right there.”
Sure enough, Harry spotted a star in the distant sky growing closer and closer. In the silence of Godric’s Hollow, he could here a rumbling noise that grew louder. Harry squinted; it looked as if it was a…motorcycle.
“Harry. If you would.” Harry threw on his Invisibility Cloak. “Now then, if you would step inside the house. You may watch from a window if you’d like.”
Harry stood and passed Dumbledore as he stepped into the ruined home as Dumbledore stepped out. Harry tried not to stare at the child swaddled in cloth in Dumbledore’s arm.
As Hagrid neared, Harry could hear something overpowering the roar of the flying motorcycle. Loud, wet bawling sounds. When Hagrid landed, the streaks of tears on his cheeks were visible even to Harry.
Hagrid cried long and hard, blubbering things Harry couldn’t understand. Dumbledore did his best comfort the giant man while holding a child who now awoke wailing as well. Harry could not understand how none of the neighbors heard the cacophony in the middle of quiet Godric’s Hollow. “There, there, Rubeus,” Dumbledore raised his voice so that he could be heard. “All is not lost. Lily and James gave their lives to protect little Harry, and didn’t they do that and more?”
Hagrid seemed temporarily comforted by this and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his coat. “Yer right, Dumbledore. Yer right.” Hagrid looked toward the house with despair, as if imagining the horrors that had occurred in that very place. He had no idea.
“Take Harry over to Little Whinging. I have some matters to attend to first, but I will meet you there.” Hagrid nodded glumly as he took the still shrieking baby. After he mounted the motorcycle, Hagrid glanced toward the home one last time before revving the engine and launching himself, and Harry, into the night.
Dumbledore stayed in the yard watching the motorcycle leave. When Harry could no longer see the headlight of the motorcycle, Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and made his way down the walk toward the door.
Harry was already there, seated once more at the doorway, glaring at nothing in particular. Dumbledore leaned against the doorframe and, when Harry looked up, seemed so tired and mournful. Could his former headmaster be missing his parents as terribly as he did now?
Silence.
Harry had so many questions, so many thoughts he needed to voice. But he had no idea where to start.
“How?” Harry finally croaked out. “How could I have stood by? I had ample chance to end everything before they died.”
Harry heard Dumbledore shift into another position, his eyes never opening. “I think you already know the answer to that, Harry. You have come to terms with mortality. It is impossible for any of us to escape death.” Dumbledore’s voice became gentler and barely a whisper. “Fate will claim the strongest of us all in the end. Lily and James died for a cause they strongly believed in, and there’s not an honor I can think of that’s greater than that.
“And for you to face Voldemort in the end, Harry, you must accept death.”
Harry knew Dumbledore was right once more, and he allowed the peace to settle between them. Whatever complex emotion he was feeling at that moment, regret was not one of them.
Harry realized that he didn’t feel as uncomfortable about the last battle with Voldemort as he had before. His greatest fear now, he knew, was not that he might perish but that he might fail in bringing down the murderer who would stop at nothing to ensure the spread of evil.
Something Luna Lovegood had said to him his fifth year came back. Anyway, it’s not as though I’ll never see Mum again, is it? And he will see Dad, Mum, Sirius, and Remus again as well. Suddenly, the doom lurking ahead of him didn’t seem that dark anymore.
“Harry, I believe it’s time for you to “ well, go back to your own time,” Dumbledore quietly interrupted Harry’s thoughts. “I doubt you’d want to wait, what is it, sixteen years, so we’ll have to go to the Ministry to set up a little rendez-vous with the head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes.”
Dumbledore waited as Harry struggled to gain control of his muscles and stand. He silently accompanied Harry to the Ministry but not before he said, “By the way, Harry, you couldn’t have killed Voldemort then even if you wanted to.” At Harry’s quizzical look, Dumbledore smiled sadly. “You didn’t destroy the Horcruxes, remember?”
Fate had the upper hand once again.
End notes: This chapter was written on July 14, 2007. Anything proven incorrect in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows will not be re-incorporated into this story.
All reviews are graciously accepted and appreciated.
Epilogue - Reunion by Marauder by Midnight
Author's Notes:
Thanks, once more, to my lovely beta Colores. Without her, this story would've been a dreadful mess.
Carry Me Home
Epilogue - Reunion
Harry felt his soul drift slowly away from his falling body. All around him was chaos and murder. He could hear the shrieks of the Death Eaters who had seen their lord fall to his knees, dead. Other shouts, most likely taking advantage of the distraction Lord Voldemort served, convinced Harry that they had triumphed. He heard the wails, those much closer and much louder, of his friends as he faintly felt his own kneecaps slam into the ground.
He couldn’t see their expressions anymore, but the sheer sorrow that traveled with their voices rippled through his spirit. He wanted to tell them, “Don’t cry. Everything will be all right. I’m okay,” but no sound came from where he felt his mouth was. As he felt his soul float farther and farther away from its earthly counterpart, he heard a new set of voices. Voices that weren’t at all unhappy to see him.
“You did well, my son,” whispered the man who had sung him the lullaby.
“Knew you could do it,” chuckled a voice he had terribly missed since the end of his fifth year.
“Never doubted you for a second,” his friend werewolf said jovially.
“I love you, Harry.” The woman whose face Harry’d last seen contorted with fear floated forth, containing nothing but warmth for the son she’d lost so early on.
Their essence and breath caressed Harry so comfortably, he couldn’t help but close his eyes. The love Harry found him surrounded by was so strong, it felt tangible. For the first time since he visited October 31, 1981, light broke through the dark clouds of emotions Harry had shrouded himself in. Here was his family at last. Here was where he belonged.
Harry’s specter turned back around one last time at his body which now rested on its stomach, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. The corners of the mouth were turned upward ever so slightly.
A warm breeze blew by then, tossing a rectangular piece of paper around playfully. The paper landed not far from where Harry had been moments earlier. There, Harry saw the missing photograph he had secretly so desperately tried to find the instant he returned from Hallow’s Eve. The family oblivious to the evil of the world. The edges were crinkled now, as if someone held it outside its frame for hours at a time to stare at the smiles of the father, the laughter of the mother, and the happy innocence of the babe.
Faintly Harry realized that Voldemort had slipped the photograph into his cloak the night he visited the Potters in a futile effort to claim a piece of the one thing he didn’t understand: love.
Harry looked down at the Dark Lord’s broken body and smiled with pity. Then he closed what should have been his eyes and rid himself of the sixteen years of turmoil in preparation of reuniting with his family at last.
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home.
Welcome home, Harry.
End notes: This story was completed on July 14, 2007 and was written without any knowledge of the events that occur in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Any information disproved or any new information revealed will not be incorporated into this story.
All reviews are graciously accepted and appreciated.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.