Harry, a recluse and a paranoid even worse than the likes of Moody, defeated Voldemort. But he is completely apathetic to the world around him. Luckily DumbledoreÆs always there to help. His answer? Toss Harry back in time to find himself a new purpose in life.
Chapter One û DumbledoreÆs Plan
He could rule the world. Harry Potter had that power, and even Dumbledore could see it. But Dumbledore knew that Harry would never use that power for his own personal gain. He could see that clearly, as could everyone else in the court room. Fudge couldn't and most of the power hungry politicians couldn't either, but they were blind.
Harry sat still, head down, studying his feet in that big chair in the court room. He didn't meet the curious stares, the fearful gazes. He just sat and studied his feet. To Dumbledore this was very... like Harry.
Meanwhile Fudge was going on his political campaign... His attack on Harry Potter, how he was too dangerous, should be locked up, power corrupts and all that. Instead of gratitude for defeating Voldemort, the public feared Harry instead.
Very sad, Dumbledore mused. They will alienate their hero, and when the next dark lord will come around Harry won't save them.
No. The thought came like a cold pail of water dumped over his head. Harry would save them. He was noble. He could be trusted with the power he had within his fingertips...
But, as they say, Power corrupts. And Absolute Power corrupts absolutely.
Harry was twenty-four years old, had yellow teeth, torn and tattered long hair, and stubbles on his face. The most memorable feature was his dead eyes, detached and uncaring about the world around him. Even as he sat in the Wizengamot courtroom, his future at stake, he did not seem to care.
Dumbledore sighed, the retired headmaster feeling the weight of all those years bear down upon him. He would have to do something about this situation. It was his duty, as headmaster, to clean up after his student after all.
An old proverb Dumbledore remembered right now as he thought of a few ideas, easily discarded, was 'Strike while the iron is the spice of life.' He wasn't quite sure what it meant, but he could take a guess. Don't be late to strike perhaps.
He couldn't leave the situation to fester for too long. But what could he do about it? Harry had no emotions anymore, had nothing after Voldemort's spectacular defeat. It had taken Harry's all, everything Harry had. Now Harry Potter had nothing. He was just an empty shell.
Even empty shells have little specks of what used to reside... So how could he get the real Harry back.
What was the answer? Dumbledore wondered, There is no answer. There are only questions.
Perhaps I will leave Harry to find his own way in the world. He likes to be independent after all.
That thought was discarded at once. Independence was not always a good thing, and he did not trust Harry to fix himself up. He did not even trust himself to do the right thing, but he had to try.
As the most powerful wizard in the world, politically and magically, with Harry Potter coming in at a close second, Dumbledore would be hard pressed to do the wrong thing. He had experience, he had power, he had knowledge. He could fix this himself.
Slowly... over the many days of trials for Harry's various 'dark' crimes... the answer came to him.
Harry had lost his purpose in life. So he had to gain that back. What better way was there than starting over again.
Time travel. The thought filled Dumbledore with shivers of terror and excitement. The time travel he was thinking of was light years ahead of what the department of mysteries had so far. Dumbledore liked to think big. But how could he transport Harry back... say fifteen or so years ago...? Would it be the right thing to do? What would happen to this world? Would it create a paradox?
There was one thing Dumbledore knew for sure. He had to help the man who had lost his way on the road of life.
He had to help Harry Potter.
Time Travel style.
The device for this piece of magical wonder was Dumbledore's proudest achievement, even more than finding the eleven uses of dragon's blood. Indeed, it marked the start of a new era in time travel magic. But Dumbledore wasn't too concerned about that as he sipped a hot bitter mug of coffee and poured his attention over to the drawn out plans on his desk. Would this work?
It has to work. Dumbledore remembered the last time he had seen a man so detached, so alone... Tom Riddle. I failed you. I won't fail your successor. He needed to draw Harry out of the dark path of no emotions.
Because having no emotions is painful. And the owner, the one with no emotions would do anything for emotions... And dark emotions are so easy.
Dumbledore could not let that happen! Not again! He put in his all, exhausted himself, drank caffienated beverages, muggle energy drinks, and kept himself awake night after night for two months while the trial was going... He experimented, contacted friends from the department of mysteries, and used scroll after scroll of empty parchment to ferment his plans. Most of the parchment ended up in the trash bin, or burnt if Dumbledore felt particularly frustrated.
Finally, after long hours of blood, tears, sweat and toil, Dumbledore had the answer. He knew what needed to be done, and now he knew how to do it.
In a fit of excitement, happy triumphant excitement, he used his hand and pushed all the papers, the drawings, the objects from his desk and did not even flinch when they hit the floor with a tremendous crash. He could clean up his office later. For now, he could enjoy his victory.
He spat out the bitter coffee, a horrible slimy beverage worse than any potion the late Professor Snape could invent, and opened a drawer. He took out a purple box with two hands, as carefully as he could and breathed faster.
The new and improved time turner!
A fistful of laughter escaped Dumbledore as he opened the purple box and took out the newest time turner device. He was sure that this time it would work. This time...
The time turner will take in tremendous energy from the world and send Harry back in time into an alternate universe! There Harry would have a new purpose, a new reason to keep on living and a new path. A lighter path, one with friends and hopefully family later on.
This was for the greater good. Dumbledore smiled, a real smile, the first smile since Voldemort was murdered at the front gates of Hogwarts. This was going to be a great day. But how would he present this to Harry?
An interesting problem. If he just gave it to Harry with all the information on how to use it, Harry might not use it. He was known as a recluse, and a paranoid taking things to the extreme. He had to be to survive the war. So Harry would not use it if it was presented to him plainly.
Dumbledore would have to use cunning, and guile to trick Harry into a new purpose. This was for the greater good though. Cunning had never been his forte but he wasn't all that bad at being devious.
Now... How...? Perhaps he could disguise the time turner into a portkey and throw it at Harry amid the crowd of cheering fans whenever he exited the court room? Would that work?
No. That will interfere with the time turner.
What else could he do. He had to do something, or all this effort would be wasted.
A portkey seemed appealing to Dumbledore's sleep addled and exhausted mind. It should work. Why not? There was nothing wrong with a bit of fun and mystery in time travel, right?
This made perfect logical sense to Dumbledore. Taking out his yellowish-red wand, he aimed it at the time turner.
A moment of yearning assaulted Dumbledore. The old man wished he could be the one to experiment with his device, but he was too old. He had too many obligations, and Harry needed this more than he did. But still, a bit of excitement would be good for these old bones.
He aimed the wand at the time turner - It looked like a regular time turner, like a pocket watch except gold plated, with the clock hands being cut of the strongest diamond in the world and the clock face made of ebony glass that was acquired from frozen ashes of Volcanoes around the world - He had put a lot of time into this little device and he hated to see it mangled by a dirty portkey spell.
It's for the greater good.
Repeating that mantra in his head always gave him strength when he needed it most, like defeating Grindelwauld or giving Harry the contents to the prophecy... Gosh that seemed like a lifetime ago! Dumbledore sighed, feeling tired and alone. It was time to do this. He cast the portkey spell, "Portus." A green light flashed around the time turner, but otherwise nothing happened. He hoped he had modified the portkey spell right, but really there was no way to tell with those tricky devils.
Intuition. He always trusted his feelings, and his feelings told him this would work out just fine. When had his plans ever gone wrong? Well... He chuckled and grabbed a glove from on of his drawers. He was careful not to activate the portkey. He wrapped the time turner in a couple of "Daily Prophet" newspapers and put them back in the little purple box.
A little notice caught his eye. On the daily prophet, in big bold letters, was the headline: "Harry Potter declared innocent: Celebration in front of the ministry, everyone invited."
This would be perfect! What a wonderful co-incidence. If he disguised himself right, nobody would ever know what hand he had in this. Yes, he would thrust Harry into an unknown world, and that would make Harry find his purpose in life again.
Dumbledore was a genius! At least in his own mind.
The Celebration would take place tomorrow, Dumbledore saw. So that gives me... just enough time to get ready. He smirked to himself and meticulously dressed in his disguise: An auror.
Infiltrating this secretive brotherhood of police officers would give him the excitement his creaky old bones needed.Chapter Two û The Ceremony
She remembered that one evening they were together. Luna Lovegood remembered it well. Back then Harry had been cheerful, full of life and passion, full of charisma and personality that could make friends instantly. Back then... That was five years ago when Harry had just graduated. She remembered how he had asked her out to the graduation ceremony... It was sweet.
"Luna!" She had heard a voice while she was walking to Ravenclaw tower. The hallway was deserted. She turned around and saw Harry running toward her with his book bag in one hand and a magazine in another. It was the Quibbler.
"Harry?" She asked, "What are you doing here?"
"I-" He gulped and ran a fist through his hair. He had combed it, Luna noticed at once. And he smelled of Old Spice, a muggle type of deodorant that Hermoine made Ron use. "I wanted to..." He trailed off in mid sentence and just stared off in space. Wasn't that what she always did? Luna wondered if he was mocking her.
"Will you go to the graduation ceremony with me?" He asked, his eyes darting back and forth. He was nervous, Luna could tell. But that was at the back of her mind. 'Did he just ask me out?!' She thought frantically, the inner girl in her excited and happy.
Luna had accepted of course, and very happily too. They had a grand time, until Voldemort showed up.
Luna sighed as she finished putting her make up on. She took out her best quill from her desk, her best parchment which she had been saving for a special ceremony and also put on her best jewellery. She wanted to look wonderful and fantastic for Harry Potter.
æNot that he will notice,Æ She thought sourly. æFace it, girl. Harry Potter just isnÆt the same anymore.Æ
She wet her lips and felt a rush of anticipation as she left her apartment. What would the ceremony be like, Luna wondered. She had heard rumours from her fellow reporters at the Quibbler that Harry would give a speech, and an interview too. She also heard that there would be reporters from all over the world. Harry Potter was world famous. Everyone knew his name, and everyone knew what he had achieved. How could they not when Voldemort had amassed the greatest army in history and attacked every single country at the same time?
Harry had stopped him in an epic battle. Everyone knew that. But what nobody knew, not even Dumbledore, was just how he did this.
Harry Potter was just not the same anymore. But then again, she wasnÆt the same either. She had mellowed out and become more mature. The war had made everyone grow up, especially when the children lost their precious ones. Luna felt a pang of sadness and guilt at the memory of her father. He had sacrificed himself to save her, and she would be damned if he didnÆt repay him backà by making the Quibbler the most popular magazine in the UK.
She had done it too. The Quibbler was respectable and huge, and she did it by the dint of candle light on lonely Saturday nightsà Hard work. That was all it took. Hard work and sacrifice.
Harry understood this principle well. Luna was sure of that. She walked a bit down Bosnoe Avenue, lost in her thoughts. A glance at her new pocket watch told her it was time to go.
She waved her wand and apparrated to the front of the ministry. At once her senses were assaultedà Loud blaring music was playing in the background, the air smelled of liquor, sex, and barbeque meat. She looked around in wonder, never having seen a celebration this large before.
There were people everywhere! They were all around her, talking, dancing, singing drinking songs (led by Fred and George Weasley), and just having fun. There were tables along the sidewalks filled with snacks like chips. She saw waiters dressed in white suits handing out drinks by the bottles and she saw a the Celcia Sisters playing some music on an erected podium.
ôWhere are the muggles?ö She asked a passing group of teenage witches, giggling and talking about boys no doubt.
They looked at her blankly. ôThere are, like, no muggles here.ö One of the girls said with a French accent. She was blonde and had small breasts, Luna noticed, feeling a hint of superiority. ôYeah, donÆt you know? If you were here a couple of hours ago you would have seen those aurors make wards.ö
They walked past her. Luna scribbled all this down furiously in a cheap notebook in shorthand writing. Not the parchment reserved for Harry alone of course. Just a normal cheap notebook, standard Quibbler issue. Her trained eye noticed other reporters. There was Colin Creevey from the Daily Prophet, taking pictures of everything, and there was Pansy Parkinson of the Pureblood Chronicles, sneering at everyone in distaste.
The Celcia Sisters, a group of three witches Luan had gone to school with, were finishing up their song. The loud noises were dying down gradually. Luna pushed her way to the front of the podium. A waiter offered her a bottle of liquor, which she politely declined. A few minutes later, after the Celcia sisters packed up and departed, a man walked on the purple stage. He had a bushy moustache, a black bowler hat, and freckles on his face. He was surrounded by three aurors in crimson robes.
Everyone hushed silent. The minister was here. He cleared his throat. ôWelcome one and all,ö He started giving them all a winning smile better than anything Gildory Lockhart could ever throw. ôToday we are going to be hearing something really special. Something that has never happened before, ever. Today we are going to be hearing from the great Harry Potter himself!ö
The crowd cheered wildly. Fudge beamed and cleared his throat again. The crowd turned silent waiting for his next words. ôMr. Potter has never, ever, ever in his entire life given a speech. We all know the story. He defeated the greatest dark lord the world has ever seen. But we donÆt know how!ö
The crowd roared.
ôTell us how! ô
ôPut Harry on!ö
ôPotter for Minister! ô
Fudge gave a chuckle that Luna could tell was fake at once. He was clearly uncomfortable, if the little blush on his face was anything to go by. ôYes, yes. Have patience, good sirs. This is an important moment for Britain. Harry Potter has been declared innocent of all charges, and will be presented with an Order of Merlin, First class for his bravery this very night.ö
Everyone clapped. Luna joined in, and did a little whistle too.
ôHarry Potter has done a great service for wizard kind. We owe our lives and our peace to him, so when he walks on stage I hope we will give him a proper cheer. Britain is the home of Mr. Potter. Britain is the country he fought for, and we, the people of Britain will give him a cheer the world will speak of in awe for years to come!ö There were a few scattered claps, but most of the audience was hushed.
ôLadies and Gentlemen, when Mr. Potter walks on this very stage, give him a cheer that the whole world will hear. Give him your loudest applause. When he walks on stage, make him feel welcome!ö The crowd roared. Fudge grinned widely.
ôWitches and Wizards of Britain, and the world, let me present you withà HARRY POTTER!ö
Luna screamed in excitement and clapped her hands as hard as she could. She was not alone. There were more than fifty thousand people in the magically enlarged, muggle warded, street. And they all heard FudgeÆs request. The people of Britain proved their worth.
Luna felt she was going deaf as the crowd roared like a mighty lion, or a pack of them. æOr fifty thousand of them.Æ Luna thought dryly. But she felt pride inside her, pride for Harry Potter, and pride for her country. She gave it her best, and cheered her wildest.
The crowd cheered and cheered, clapped and whistled, shouted, screamed, banged drums, played guitars and made as much noise as possible. Fudge walked out of the stage, to the side and stepped down the right stairwell into a crowd of aurors. There were curtains in the back of the stage, where Luna guessed Harry would walk out of. There were aurors too, for security, she noticed. Hundreds of aurors, all over the place. On the perimeter, in the crowd, and a few on the border of the stage as well. All dressed in crimson robes, looking alert and watchful. No doubt if anything went wrong their asses were on the line.
She scribbled that down in her notepad. That was a good line she could use in the Quibbler article. She looked up at the stage once again, but it was still empty. Still the people cheered. They kept cheering for a good solid ten minutes or so. Then it began to die down as murmurs ran through the crowd.
ôWhereÆs Harry Potter?ö Luna heard an old granny ask beside her. She shrugged and went back to staring at the stage.
Then, ever so slowly, the curtains opened. They drifted to the side, revealing a large platform behind the stage. The crowd hushed in silence. How can the people in the back see? She wondered and looked around. What she saw made her gasp in surprise. There were huge, like totally enormous û the size of ten Hagrids enormous û T. V screens. On it, she could see a perfect view of the stage. There wasnÆt just one T.V screen, there were thousands. At the bottom, there was a little caption in rainbow colored letters: Brought to you by WeasleyÆs Wizarding Wheezes!
That explained it. Luna turned her attention back to the stage. The curtains were fully open but the platform was empty. The whole crowd was extremely silent, just waiting and anticipating. Luna felt her heart race, and her breath quicken as she heard it.
Footsteps.
Thump, thump, thump.
Harry Potter walked slouched on the stage, looking like he just woke up. He wore black rimmed glasses, had stubbles of hair on his face, and wore a grey hood with a mustard stain in the muddle and faded jeans that had tears on the knees.
He was a disgrace.
Chapter Three û DumbledoreÆs Battle
Thump. Thump. Thump. Harry's footsteps echoed in the muggle street (which had no muggles), and the crowd watched with big eyes that showed their excitement and anticipation. Thump. Thump. Everyone stood silent, just watching Harry Potter walk up to the podium where the mike was.
He walked slow. Not graceful, but slow like he just didn't care. This was why Dumbledore needed to do this. If Harry did not care anymore, he could turn dark! Dumbledore was disguised as an auror, and he had a clear view of Harry's back and the crowd. The journalists were taking pictures - flashes of cameras went off, most notably the Creevey brothers.
Harry turned to stare at the two twins who looked so eager with their black cameras hanging around their necks. Even from where Dumbledore was standing, he could practically feel the glare Harry was giving them. The picture taking stopped at once.
Harry swallowed. The sound was amplified by the Weasely's Wizarding Wheezes' TVs. Harry took a deep breath and started his speech.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming here tonight." He said, his voice a whisper and completely insincere. "Today I will accept an award for the order of Merlin, first class. It is a great honour. That is all I have to say. Are there any questions?" He spoke slow, and turned his head, glancing about the stage.
Dumbledore put a hand in his crimson robe pockets: The time turner and/or portkey hummed with magical energy. 'Any minute now...' Dumbledore said to himself. In his other pocket was the portkey that would take him straight to Hogwarts. That was his escape route.
Immediately, in the front row, hands were raised. Harry swept a bored gaze at the crowd and lifted his right hand from his pocket - He had both hands in his pocket - and pointed at Colin Creevey.
"Harry Potter! Harry, sir! I have a question. What-" The eager reporter gulped in excitement. He had a big happy grin on his face that even made Dumbledore feel sick. "What is- I mean, how did you defeat the dark lord, Mr. Potter?" He blurted out the last part and looked at Harry with big puppy eyes. His image was on the T.V screen, and he looked utterly ridiculous.
Harry yawned. He was back on the T.V screen, where Dumbledore could see him clearly. "It is simple. I defeated the dark lord through sacrifice." He raised his left arm up, and everyone gasped. Even Dumbledore's breath hitched, though he had seen much worse before.
His left hand was rotting and decayed. It was full of holes in the rotten black flesh, and there was even a fly buzzing above it. "Sacrifice." Harry repeated. "Anyone could have done it with enough sacrifice. That is why I am getting an Order of Merlin." He said that mockingly, like he didn't think an order of Merlin was much worth.
Of course it wasn't. Not for that price. Dumbledore felt nauseous, and he knew he wasn't alone in the crowd. Everyone felt disgusted and sick at that sight. The T.V screen was strangely sadistic and zoomed in on Harry's hand. There was great silence in the crowd now... One could hear a pin drop and hit the concrete floor. Then, slowly, Harry put his left hand back inside his pocket.
"Are there any other questions?" He said at last, utterly calm and at peace. He looked quite the opposite of the people standing before the stage, looking at Harry in shock.
Finally someone raised their hand. It was a girl, blonde hair, blue eyes, small silver glasses... Luna Lovegood, that Quibbler reporter. Dumbledore thought she looked quite professional right now, a distinct change from the dreamy girl she used to be when she was in Hogwarts.
"Mr. Potter, what are your plans now that you have defeated the dark lord?"
Harry gave her a cold look, but the look was not much different from his normal expression. "I have no plans at the moment. Any other questions?"
"Mr. Potter!" The other Creevey said, Dennis his name was. Dumbledore recalled. "Can you elaborate on your sacrifice?" Dumbledore was also curious. What sort of sacrifice... what was the price Harry had paid?
"I made a deal with the death god. Blood for blood. Equivalent exchange. Life for life. I did not have to give up my life, just my hand because Voldemort had split his souls into seven different parts. Horocruxes."
Dumbledore winced. This was going to be disastrous once the public heard such a thing. The number of dark wizards were bound to increase now.
"What do you mean, Mr. Potter? A death god? That's just Japanese mythology, right?"
"No. It's true. They call it Shinigami. There is a price for a deal like that. There always is. It costs." Harry sighed. "Let's not get into this today. Are there any other questions for me?"
Another hand. Harry sighed again. "Okay, what's your question." His voice never rose from his hoarse whisper. He seemed like a zombie. Exactly why he needs my help, Dumbledore thought.
"Mr. Potter, what are you going to do with the reward money from the Order of Merlin?"
"The fifty thousand galleons?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, sir. The fifty thousand galleons. What are your plans for it?"
"I am going to use it to..." He stopped mid sentence and looked around at the awaiting crowd who were probably holding their breaths in anticipation of something brilliant. "Hmm... I think I will use it for... What's your name?" He abruptly asked the reporter.
"Dennis Creevey, sir." The young man said nervously.
"Yes I remember you. If you had fifty thousand galleons, what would you use it for?"
Dennis hesitated. He looked taken aback by the question. "I suppose I'd buy myself a mansion of some sort."
Harry nodded. "Exactly what I would do." He said. "Any other questions?"
"Mr. Potter! What is your opinion on the trial? Was it conducted fairly? Did the ministry have a right to prosecute you?"
Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Any other questions?"
Dumbledore knew he wouldn't learn any more about Harry now. It was time to do this. He steeled his nerve, told himself this was for the greater good, and took out the time turner portkey using the tip of his wand to carry it out of his pocket. He did not want to touch it and set it off. He held it up in the air, and flung it at Harry with as much strength as he could.
The portkey took off at great speed, aided with magic. Harry stiffened and instantly turned, his wand out and a shield spell on his lips. His instincts had been refined by the extreme training he had put himself through. ôProtego!ö He cried. A silver shield formed, hard and sturdy. The crowd gasped together. It was quite comical if the situation wasnÆt so serious for Dumbledore.
Dumbledore pushed with his magical energy. A beam of pale green light shot out of his wand and into the portkey. The portkey hummed mid air and pushed into the silver shield. Sweat beads dropped from DumbledoreÆs brow, and he knew Harry was straining as well. He could hear him groan.
Magic was like wine. The older it was, the better it tastes. Dumbledore was clearly winning the battle. Around him he felt the aurors tense and start shooting spells.
Uh oh. Dumbledore thought. Harry is putting up a much greater fight than I expected. Indeed the scrawny young man was. He put in his all. Magic fuelled by desperation is always quite potent.
The spells the aurors were shooting were only distractions to Dumbledore. He raised his left hand, the one without the wand, and held it out palm facing up. A golden circular shield formed around Harry and himself that blocked all their spells. Harry was grasping his wand with both hands and groaning in effort like a weight lifter training for the Olympics.
The crowd was shouting and screaming but they only seemed like murmurs to Dumbledore. The golden shield blocked out the noise as well as the incoming spells. DumbledoreÆs energy was quickly depleting. His knees shook with effort but he held on and persevered. Harry might have sacrificed his hand to kill Voldemort, but Dumbledore had killed Grindelwauld û someone ten times more cruel. He too knew the meaning of sacrifice and strength.
The battle of magical energy between them took on a new form as their magical energies depleted. Now they were fighting mind to mind. DumbledoreÆs blue eyes met HarryÆs hard green ones.
ôDumbledore.ö Harry hissed angrily, his eyes blazing.
The old wizard heard him, and smiled benignly. ôThis is for the greater good, Harry. YouÆll understand.ö He wet his lips and pushed with all his strength. One short burst. If this didnÆt do it, nothing would.
Harry gasped, his silver shield cracked and a hole opened up in which the portkey slipped through. ôNo!ö Harry shouted as the portkey touched him in the chest. His shield disappeared, and his wand fell to the floor of the stage as he melted and curled up into a ball of green energy. The portkey was changing him!
Dumbledore gasped in surprise. This wasnÆt supposed to happen. This was supposed to work as a normal portkey that would just take Harry into another dimension and make Harry come back after a year or so. What was going on?
A wail of pain came from the green ball of energy as it rose, higher and higher, and at last with a great bang was flung into the sky. In moments the ball became smaller and smaller until it was just another star in the night sky.
Harry Potter was gone!
The aurors took the golden shield down û it became flimsy when Dumbledore lost his concentration û and grabbed at the old wizard. ôYou! Stop! Who are you?ö
ôSorry, Harry.ö He murmured and touched the portkey in his left pocket. He was whizzed away to Hogwarts without a sound; the crowd made enough declaration of shocks and death eater attacks to cover up. The aurors grabbed thin air.
Back at his office, which was filled with packed boxes because he was retiring from Hogwarts, he slumped in his armchair behind the desk. He snapped his fingers and a house elf popped in the room. He was short, fat, had pointed ears and a big nose. ôBlinky, bring me a bottle of whiskey please.ö His voice cracked as he said it.
Fawkes, the red and gold phoenix looked sadly at Dumbledore and gave a little musical cry. Far from cheering the old man up, it made him sadder still. What had happened? What had he done to Harry? Blinky bowed and left the room with a pop that reminded him of a balloon popping. No, not a balloon. More like a father popping a childÆs hopes and dreams. That kind of pop. The pop of life destroying DumbledoreÆs hopes and dreams with a swipe of itÆs cruel arm.
In seconds, Blinky was back with a bottle in his hands. He held it up for Dumbledore. The old man grabbed it at once, opened the bottle cap with his other hand and shot the drink down. When he looked up, Blinky was gone.
Tears formed in his eyes, but he blinked them away. There was no time for this now! He had to save Harry. He made a mistake, and now he had to fix it.
Still, even with his new found purpose, it did not make his heart seem any less heavier. The night was cold and stormy and the deserted school of Hogwarts was filled with the wails of a saddened phoenix and a drunken old man.
Chapter Four - Penseive
Luna gasped in surprise as Harry Potter turned into a green ball and shot into the night sky. She felt emptyà As a reporter, she had interviewed many death eater victims, and she recognized that she was going into shock. Who wouldnÆt? Came the wry reply in her head. She could hear the screams and exclamations of surprise around her, and she herself felt like shouting. But she didnÆt. Instead she put herself in a cold state of mind and examined the situation around her.
The stage was filled with aurors, milling about and arguing with each other. The aurors near the border of the muggle street had also converged in, pointing their wands at faces in random. Out of the corner of her eye, Luna noticed Pansy Parkinson looking quite ecstatic and she felt like punching her at that moment.
ôWhatÆs going on?ö She asked Colin Creevey beside her. He squinted, made no reply and took more photographs of the stage and everything around him.
She hated to be ignored but more important stuff was going on right now. Something had happened to Harry and it was her job as reporter for the Quibbler to find out what was going on. She cast a sceptical eye around, noticing the panic and fear buzzing through everyone around her. This was not a hoax. Harry did not seem that type of person who would play jokesà He was too serious for that.
No this was different. Harry might have been hurt, or killed! She cast her gaze around her one last time, memorizing the tiniest bits of detail, and then walked back home.
What had happened? The question plagued her like a bee, buzzing about ready to sting. She knew there was something she was missing as she ran it over her mind, but what?
She leapt into her bedroom, pulled out a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and drained a long gulp. Then she went to her living room and pulled out a penseive. She deposited the memory into the silvery bowl, drank a sleeping potion, and retired for the night.
There were two reasons for not examining the memory right away. First she wanted a fresh mind when she woke up, and second, she wanted the memory to sit in the cheap penseive for a while. The Quibbler was by no means poor û It had a membership of over ten thousand, and charged ten galleons a month for the weekly issues. She had amassed a small fortune, but she was frugal. Her father had run the business to the ground, and while she loved the dead man with all her heart, she still felt annoyed at the money he had squandered.
She slept that night, a turbulent sleep filled with nightmares brought out by the nightÆs incident. Memories of her father being tortured by death eaters right in front of her. Three death eaters, dressed in black garbs with white masks had entered her home, tied her up with magical ropes and made her watch as they put her father under the torture curse. They killed him right before her eyes with the dreaded killing curse. They were going to turn on her too, and kill her, or worseà
Then Harry had showed up, not with a team of aurors at his back, or a group of members from the Order of the Phoenix. Not even with Dumbledore. He had showed up alone, looking as exhausted as ever with dark purple bags under his bloodshot eyes.
Back then he had both arms, but he still possessed the cold exterior. The angry look on his face changing to one of grim satisfaction as he dispatched with the three death eaters as fast as possible. He had taken a few curses too his side, but the way he mercilessly killed the death eatersà He was a hero and a villain at the same time, that night.
After making sure she was okay, Harry left without another word. ôWhere are you going?ö Luna demanded, and in reply, Harry grunted, ôThe next target.ö Luna had followed him, and pestered him with questions. Harry sighed, and at last in great annoyance, snapped at her.
ôShut up! I need to do this. Nobody else can save you worthless magical bastards, itÆs up to me!ö There were tears of anger in his eyes. Luna vividly recalled that. Harry seemed to be emotionally unbalanced, like the newspapers always made him out. She had not realized how close to the truth they were until now.
ôWhen was the last time you slept, Harry?ö Luna asked.
ôSleep? Never heard of it.ö Harry bitterly replied before grabbing on to LunaÆs arms and apparrating them to a muggle neighbourhood. ôGreyback is hunting tonight,ö He glanced at the full moon pointedly, and Luna followed his gaze. ôMuggles are getting hurt. I will stop the damn werewolf.ö
ôHow do you know all this?ö Luna cried. Harry pointed to his scar.
ôThis is going to be dangerous. Are you sure you want to come?ö
ôOf course I do!ö Luna replied hotly. ôI am not too young and I can take care of myself.ö
ôI donÆt care. Just donÆt get in my way.ö He brushed her off and walked forward. Luna timidly followed. They walked a few meters before being confronted by the haunted howl of a beastà a wolf. Harry brandished his wand in intricate waves and conjured a wooden pistol. ôThereÆs a silver bullet in here, good enough to kill the damn beast.ö He said to her unasked question.
ôHow did you make something like thatà.?ö Luna asked in awe.
Harry glanced at the pistol, ôPractice. Here you take this.ö He made another one for himself.
They started forward. ôWait! Why are you taking me?ö Luna asked. ôI mean, donÆt youà you know?ö
ôDonÆt I want to keep you safe, you mean?ö
Luna nodded.
ôI want you here to write an article about the increasing death eater attacks. The ministry is covering this up. ThatÆs why I am bringing you along. I will even sign it.ö
That was when the Quibbler business made a U turn from bankruptcy and erupted into one of BritainÆs finest and most productive magazines.
That was how it really happened. In LunaÆs nightmare, instead of her killing the wolf as it had leapt up at Harry from a corner, taking him by surpriseà This time there were no bullets in the gun. This time, Harry had been killed.
Luna woke up in a cold sweat, a scream on the tip of her mouth. She sucked in huge breaths and got up. It was four, the middle of the night. She knew she couldnÆt sleep, and honestly she didnÆt want to. She grabbed a cold shower, a cup of coffee, and an ice cream cone (She hadnÆt given up on all her eccentricities) and went to the living room.
The penseive was a circular golden bowl filled with silver liquid that swirled around and around. It was quite mezmorizing to Luna who stared transfixed in the bowl for some moments before snapping out of the spell. This was a cheap and used penseive she had bought from a second hand store in Knockturne alley. It didnÆt store much memories, only about twenty or so and the memories had to sit for a while before they would be available for viewing. She was impatient as it was, and pulled out her wand. She thought of the memory of HarryÆs attack and tapped her wand in the silvery liquid.
The penseive sucked her in like a black hole. Zooooooooooooom! She was sucked into the memory. She didnÆt start the memory right away û it was like a movie so she hit the pause button in her mind û and simply watched the scene. Everyone was frozen, the stage was empty and the crowd was having a fun time. She drifted through the crowd searchingà and sure enough there they were:
Draco Malfoy
Pansy Parkinson
Theodore Nott
Blaise Zabini
Mullicent Blustrode
Ernest Greyback
Zacharies Bolt
Those seven were the only Slytherin families left who strongly believed in the old blood. They werenÆt HarryÆs only memories of course. She left the seven who were standing around together with their noses held up high and scowls on their faces, and searched the crowd moreà to the front this time, near the salad bar.
Ron Weasley and his wife Hermoine were chatting (or looked like it) and eating (inhaling in RonÆs case.) They were also HarryÆs enemies, ever since Harry started to learn dark magic. She was part of the Department of Mysteries clique and knew Harry personally. Not as good as Dumbledore of course, who was like a father to Harry, but she still knew him good enough.
She remembered the break away of the six (Ginny, Ron, Hermoine, Luna, Neville, Harry) Neville and Ginny stood behind Harry, while Ron and Hermoine protested against his use of dark magic. Luna stayed neutral, unwilling to break the tie and so all six just parted ways.
Those two might still have a grudge against Harry. But they didnÆt seem tense or suspicious, like someone who was committing a serious crime would be. Still, one could never tellà
She searched the crowd some more, spotted a few familiar faces in the DA they had started in fifth year. They were quite friendly with Harry, so she passed them and didnÆt give them a thorough examination. The crowd was huge, wizards from all over the world had attended HarryÆs first public speech and so she couldnÆt find all the Slytherin suspects (who were many). She moved up to sidewalks of the muggle street.
They were magically enlarged so it took quite a while to get there. It would have taken only a second in a more effective penseive, and it was times like this that Luna hated trying to make Quibbler the best magazine in the world. The sacrifices were substantial.
The aurors, most of them members of DumbledoreÆs secret Order of the Phoenix, were tense and alert, as if they expected trouble. Well, that was their job, she couldnÆt fault them for that. Still, wasnÆt it a man dressed in a red robe like the aurors wore that attacked Harry? She licked her dry lips and took out a pad of paper from her pocket. Then she walked down the sidewalk and took all the names of the aurors that she remembered. If she couldnÆt remember she cast a drawing spell on the face and the face appeared on the page. In fact she did it for every name, putting a face beside it.
It was a cumbersome task, and one that Luna didnÆt really want to be bothered to do. Still, she knew it was necessary and without too many complaints completed the task in a good time limità About a day or so.
Exhausted, she jumped out of the penseive and took a breather on the sofa. She was dead tired, her muscles felt sore even though in reality she hadnÆt actually used them. A worry gnawed at her û she should get to the office for the next issue of the Quibbler. Luna sighed and ran a hand through her blonde hair.
This was more important. After she figured out what happened û she knew she would û and printed it in the Quibbler, her magazine would rise up the ranks and get a head start on the rest. But the rest of the investigators and paparazzi would also be trying to figure this out. The competition was stiff, but Luna Lovegood never backed down.
She ate dinner at a late night muggle coffee shop. The night breeze was cold and windy, even in the middle of July. She could feel something evil happening in the worldà It was a feeling, a coldness stirring in her bones. She shuddered, finished her pasta, and hurried back home. At once she jumped into her bed and drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Again she was plagued with nightmares, and she wasnÆt the only one.
-------
Dumbledore shifted in his troubled sleep. He knew he had made a big mistake, he could feel it in his heart. He could feelà something. He wasnÆt quite sure what, but this feeling wasnÆt good. He woke up suddenly in his villa in Northern France (He had left Hogwarts), and met the cold grey eyes of Fawkes.
Fawkes looked deep into DumbledoreÆs eyes and spoke telepathically û ôYou have freed me from my prison by breaking the bonds of the universe.ö His voice was a smooth trill, not one that made his heart soar with joy or cry with sadness like it normally did. This voice was cold and it felt evil. Menacing like, Dumbledore thought. Like GrindelwauldÆs.
His face turned white.
Grindelwauld.
He was back from the dead.
DumbledoreÆs demise was quick and efficient. Fawkes or was it Grindelwauld, he couldnÆt be sure, attacked DumbledoreÆs brain using advanced Legilimens. Dumbledore gave a strong fight, but he was overwhelmed by GrindelwauldÆs power. His mind was quickly cut into pieces and eliminated as Grindelwauld possessed him. Dumbledore died, Grindelwauld lived.
The phoenix burst into ashes, and a sad trill was heard in the night sky as Fawkes died. The only good trill the world would ever hear again.
Fawkes died, but he did not burst back to life as usual. He stayed ashes. He was dead, and Grindelwauld was reincarnated.
Grindelwauld, now in DumbledoreÆs body, grinned maniacally and started laughing. He was back! He was back in power! He laughed and laughed some more. All that trouble fighting death had paid off! All those horocruxes, all those artefacts, the old scrolls he had found in ancient ruins, the blood, sweat, tears and toil. It had paid off. He had cheated death.
His victory was cut short as he heard an icy voice that had a metallic tone to it. ôRemember our deal, Grindelwauld.ö The voice of the Shinigami said. ôNobody can escape death for ever. Unless I wish it so.ö
His blood ran cold, and he bowed his head. The Death God had spoken.
Chapter Five û Journey
Harry screamed in pain as he felt his body melting. His bones cracked and shrivelled into powder, his skin dissolved like acid, and his blood evaporated in the night air. His whole body melted, and dissolved until it was no more. All that was left was his essence, his soul, his aura, his magical energy.
No thoughts ran in his mind, just extreme pain and pain and pain. Then he started to feel himself being lifted like a puppet on strings. He went higher and higher and somehow he could see what was going on on the ground. The crowd of people and reporters were panicking, and the aurors were running like they had tigers on their heels. Then there was Dumbledore, that old kindly man who looked alarmed at Harry.
Harry felt anger, intense hate and disbelief course through him. He wanted to kill, to murder and mangle that silly old man. What has he done to me?! Harry demanded to himself inside his head. Did he even have a head anymore? He wasnÆt sure, he felt confused and dizzy. What the hell was going on?! The ground became smaller and smaller as he sensed himself drifting off into the night sky. He went higher and higher, picking up speed as he did so.
He felt like a comet, the ball of energy that was he at the front and a tail speeding his flight. He went faster and faster and soon saw the earth û a big blue globe that made him hitch his breath in wonder. He looked around at the night sky û It was so bright, filled with stars and comets and asteroids and black holes. He felt like God, and could see everything.
He looked down. He could see everything except himself. He was invisible, in spirit form or something like that. It sounded like Divination crap like astral projection. But now that he was experiencing ità
Then something changed. Instead of drifting slowly like a sailboat on a bright summer lake, he felt a storm approach himà from inside himself. He felt new energy being pumped in his heart and he started picking up speed. He went so fast until the stars seemed like a blur of light û Like flying five hundred miles an hour on a broom on a highway.
His thoughts seemed to stand still. Hell, even time seemed to stand stillà Minutes passed. Days passed, and slowly, extremely slowly, Harry realized something.
He was travelling in space.
He was a fucking astronaut!
Time passed again. It seemed years went by, but that was an understatement. Thousands and millions of years passed by. He went over hot magma balls of fire, also known as stars, he went through planets, literally through them (He made a giant hole) and still he did not stop. He could not stop in his speed, the mysterious energy propelled him onward.
He started hallucinating. He imagined he was a pirate, a ninja, an alienà He lost touch with the world and gradually seeped into craziness. He was nothing and everything at the same time.
He was god. Or it seemed like it to him. Then something interesting happened. He encountered a black hole for the first time.
The black hole started sucking Harry in. He felt the gravity on his ball of energy, or body for no better term, and he started to resist. In vain. The energy inside him tried as hard as it could to push outward, but the black hole was persistent like droplets of water making holes in giant rocks. It sucked Harry inà slowly at first and picked up speed as it went along.
Harry felt himself being crushed and smashed together. That pain, that sensation broke him out of his insanity spell and alerted him to reality. He was going to die! And he couldnÆt be happier.
Life was hell when you were bored. He had been bored for a million years. He wanted to die. The energy inside him however had different ideas.
He started referring to the energy inside him as ôDemon.ö And he even imagined it talk to him. He was going schizophrenic and he did not care. He could not bring himself to care. Now he wanted death. Demon however, did not and instead struggled.
The black hole sucked.
The demon struggled like a flea caught in a bowl of stick honey. The flea could not get out no matter how hard it struggled and this was the same with Harry.
Harry wanted to let go, but demon did not. It howled in outraged agony, and struggled even harder. Demon seemed to be HarryÆs alter ego, and would go at his goal with all the determination of space and time behind him, even when Harry felt like giving up. Especially when Harry felt like giving up.
The black hole sucked harder.
The demon struggled harder. They were like the unstoppable and immovable objects, colliding with each other. The result would be debated by Physics professors everywhere.
The black hole struggled.
The demon struggled harder.
The contest lasted for thousands of years as the black hole weakened and the demon slowly grew stronger and stronger, like a lame Dragon Ball Z show. Finally the demon broke free of the trap, mutated as it was by the struggle, it was even stronger.
The demon rushed to its destination, what ever that was because Harry did not know. He could not even bring himself to care anymore. He just wanted it to end. He wanted to die.
Why couldnÆt anyone just leave him alone. He started crying, but felt nothing as his soul moved at a speed faster than light to its mysterious destination. There was a speed faster than light, Harry discovered. The speed of magic. NatureÆs greatest mistake and greatest creation at the same time. Harry hated it and wished he were born a muggle.
Thousands of years went by, and Harry felt like an old man. He was old, in mind, not body. No, soul, not body. He had gone over his life and remembered everything that went wrong û He made up stories, an acceptable form of schizophrenia in modern society. What was modern society? He didnÆt know. He had left it. Hell, he knew one thing though.
Earth was destroyed. Five million years had passed, Harry had an accurate perception of time in his head, like a little countdown digital clock on a bomb. The time read three hundred million years and countingà And slowly lowering like a snail making itÆs way around the world. Or a demon making itÆs way across the universeà to what?
Harry had a few guesses û maybe an alternate universe? Perhaps a different planet? He felt so oldà His home was gone now, and he felt empty and old. He had no identity anymore. He did not belong, anywhere. He was, for lack of a better term, a god.
A trapped god who could do nothing.
He wished he could die, but he knew he could not. He had tried suicide before by trying to direct the ball of energy toward a sun. The ball of energy went through the sun, and while Harry suffered intense burning pain, he did not die. He could not die anymore, not until the journey was over and whatever freak of nature event that happened would stop.
What was this demonÆs goal? What did it want? Was it going to take him somewhere? Where?
Questions, and answers plagued him equally. He made random guesses, but he did not know for sure. Over the trip he encountered more black holes and tried to talk to them. They never replied but he didnÆt mind. Most of the voices in his head were silent anyways.
Finallyà Finally the countdown was over. Three hundred million (earth) years had passed, and Harry finally reached his destination.
A wall.
An invisible barrier. He, in his green ball body, hit the invisible wall. He could not see it but he could sense it û like a glass window, it shattered. It cracked and cracked and cracked some more. Light, bright white light came through the cracks, as a doorway was revealed. The ball had stopped. Harry could feel it. The demon was gone, it was dead. There were two choices now to Harry. He could go back to non-existent Earth, and he knew he could not do that because he didnÆt have enough energy to survive the trip, or he could go through the giant gateway.
The gateway was a blue circle in the middle of a bright white wall that swirled in circles. It created a hypnotic sensation to Harry, one that he did not like. Still against his will, he drifted toward it. No! DonÆt go there! He cried inside his mind. I need to die! I donÆt want to live!
He had a feeling there was going to be another trip at the end of the circle. He entered the circle and there was a blue tunnel that twisted this way and that. Serpants, black and spiky came at him and tried to bite him. They missed, but instead of following Harry, they saw the entrance to the circle and tried to get out. Harry looked back and gasped.
There was a giant human with scaly wings, and a beak at the entrance, blocking the spirits from leaving. At once he realized what it was: The Shinigami! The death god. The one he had summoned and made a deal with. The one who told him about the fourth wall that kept the dead out. He had broken it!
He felt sick inside, what was going to happen? He made the ball stop, well asked it to anyways. Surprisingly demon, who had come back from the dead (no pun intended) listened and stopped. He watched the death god battle each spirit with a giant sword, cutting it in two pieces and making the snakes scatter and disappear. There was one snake he didnÆt cut however. The snake û A long red one covered in feathers, it had grey eyes that particularly struck out at Harry û was not stopped. Instead it bowed to the death god and the death godà smiled.
Harry shuddered. The death god parted to a side and the long red snake left the death world. Then the death god closed the entrance to the living universe and cut his way through the buzzing snake spiritsà to Harry. ôWell, well, well, if it isnÆt little Potter.ö He snarled. ôYou arenÆt dead! Why are you in my kingdom?ö
Harry could not answer. For one, he had no mouth. For another, the demon answered for him. ôA short cut, my lord.ö
ôAnd who might you be?ö The death god asked.
ôA human creation û A freak of nature.ö
The death god chuckled. ôHumans are so interesting.ö His red eyes gleamed, ôI will follow this through of course. And you will tell me the whole story once you get here, young Harry Potter.ö It stuck itÆs long two forked tongue and licked the ball. The ball bowed, if a ball could bow that is, Harry wasnÆt sure how it was done but he felt it bow.
The ball wasnÆt green anymore. There was a mark on it: A black circle, and in it, a picture of the death god. The ball turned and sped through the tunnel. This time, the snakes didnÆt try to bite the ball, but instead bowed and turned aside. Harry could feel their fear, and he sympathized with them. He didnÆt know what was going on, but he knew something strange had happened. Something that had not ever occurred before.
It sped through the tunnel, came out at the other end, and Harry felt the Death GodÆs eyes linger over the back of his head as it closed the tunnel once again. He felt the death god was glad to be rid of him, and he felt the same way.
Then another journey of three hundred million years began. Harry groaned in frustration as the count down timer in his head started up once again. This was going to be a long tripà
Are we there yet? Harry asked the demon. He got no answer.
------------------------------------------------------
so is this worth continuing?
Chapter One û DumbledoreÆs Plan
He could rule the world. Harry Potter had that power, and even Dumbledore could see it. But Dumbledore knew that Harry would never use that power for his own personal gain. He could see that clearly, as could everyone else in the court room. Fudge couldn't and most of the power hungry politicians couldn't either, but they were blind.
Harry sat still, head down, studying his feet in that big chair in the court room. He didn't meet the curious stares, the fearful gazes. He just sat and studied his feet. To Dumbledore this was very... like Harry.
Meanwhile Fudge was going on his political campaign... His attack on Harry Potter, how he was too dangerous, should be locked up, power corrupts and all that. Instead of gratitude for defeating Voldemort, the public feared Harry instead.
Very sad, Dumbledore mused. They will alienate their hero, and when the next dark lord will come around Harry won't save them.
No. The thought came like a cold pail of water dumped over his head. Harry would save them. He was noble. He could be trusted with the power he had within his fingertips...
But, as they say, Power corrupts. And Absolute Power corrupts absolutely.
Harry was twenty-four years old, had yellow teeth, torn and tattered long hair, and stubbles on his face. The most memorable feature was his dead eyes, detached and uncaring about the world around him. Even as he sat in the Wizengamot courtroom, his future at stake, he did not seem to care.
Dumbledore sighed, the retired headmaster feeling the weight of all those years bear down upon him. He would have to do something about this situation. It was his duty, as headmaster, to clean up after his student after all.
An old proverb Dumbledore remembered right now as he thought of a few ideas, easily discarded, was 'Strike while the iron is the spice of life.' He wasn't quite sure what it meant, but he could take a guess. Don't be late to strike perhaps.
He couldn't leave the situation to fester for too long. But what could he do about it? Harry had no emotions anymore, had nothing after Voldemort's spectacular defeat. It had taken Harry's all, everything Harry had. Now Harry Potter had nothing. He was just an empty shell.
Even empty shells have little specks of what used to reside... So how could he get the real Harry back.
What was the answer? Dumbledore wondered, There is no answer. There are only questions.
Perhaps I will leave Harry to find his own way in the world. He likes to be independent after all.
That thought was discarded at once. Independence was not always a good thing, and he did not trust Harry to fix himself up. He did not even trust himself to do the right thing, but he had to try.
As the most powerful wizard in the world, politically and magically, with Harry Potter coming in at a close second, Dumbledore would be hard pressed to do the wrong thing. He had experience, he had power, he had knowledge. He could fix this himself.
Slowly... over the many days of trials for Harry's various 'dark' crimes... the answer came to him.
Harry had lost his purpose in life. So he had to gain that back. What better way was there than starting over again.
Time travel. The thought filled Dumbledore with shivers of terror and excitement. The time travel he was thinking of was light years ahead of what the department of mysteries had so far. Dumbledore liked to think big. But how could he transport Harry back... say fifteen or so years ago...? Would it be the right thing to do? What would happen to this world? Would it create a paradox?
There was one thing Dumbledore knew for sure. He had to help the man who had lost his way on the road of life.
He had to help Harry Potter.
Time Travel style.
The device for this piece of magical wonder was Dumbledore's proudest achievement, even more than finding the eleven uses of dragon's blood. Indeed, it marked the start of a new era in time travel magic. But Dumbledore wasn't too concerned about that as he sipped a hot bitter mug of coffee and poured his attention over to the drawn out plans on his desk. Would this work?
It has to work. Dumbledore remembered the last time he had seen a man so detached, so alone... Tom Riddle. I failed you. I won't fail your successor. He needed to draw Harry out of the dark path of no emotions.
Because having no emotions is painful. And the owner, the one with no emotions would do anything for emotions... And dark emotions are so easy.
Dumbledore could not let that happen! Not again! He put in his all, exhausted himself, drank caffienated beverages, muggle energy drinks, and kept himself awake night after night for two months while the trial was going... He experimented, contacted friends from the department of mysteries, and used scroll after scroll of empty parchment to ferment his plans. Most of the parchment ended up in the trash bin, or burnt if Dumbledore felt particularly frustrated.
Finally, after long hours of blood, tears, sweat and toil, Dumbledore had the answer. He knew what needed to be done, and now he knew how to do it.
In a fit of excitement, happy triumphant excitement, he used his hand and pushed all the papers, the drawings, the objects from his desk and did not even flinch when they hit the floor with a tremendous crash. He could clean up his office later. For now, he could enjoy his victory.
He spat out the bitter coffee, a horrible slimy beverage worse than any potion the late Professor Snape could invent, and opened a drawer. He took out a purple box with two hands, as carefully as he could and breathed faster.
The new and improved time turner!
A fistful of laughter escaped Dumbledore as he opened the purple box and took out the newest time turner device. He was sure that this time it would work. This time...
The time turner will take in tremendous energy from the world and send Harry back in time into an alternate universe! There Harry would have a new purpose, a new reason to keep on living and a new path. A lighter path, one with friends and hopefully family later on.
This was for the greater good. Dumbledore smiled, a real smile, the first smile since Voldemort was murdered at the front gates of Hogwarts. This was going to be a great day. But how would he present this to Harry?
An interesting problem. If he just gave it to Harry with all the information on how to use it, Harry might not use it. He was known as a recluse, and a paranoid taking things to the extreme. He had to be to survive the war. So Harry would not use it if it was presented to him plainly.
Dumbledore would have to use cunning, and guile to trick Harry into a new purpose. This was for the greater good though. Cunning had never been his forte but he wasn't all that bad at being devious.
Now... How...? Perhaps he could disguise the time turner into a portkey and throw it at Harry amid the crowd of cheering fans whenever he exited the court room? Would that work?
No. That will interfere with the time turner.
What else could he do. He had to do something, or all this effort would be wasted.
A portkey seemed appealing to Dumbledore's sleep addled and exhausted mind. It should work. Why not? There was nothing wrong with a bit of fun and mystery in time travel, right?
This made perfect logical sense to Dumbledore. Taking out his yellowish-red wand, he aimed it at the time turner.
A moment of yearning assaulted Dumbledore. The old man wished he could be the one to experiment with his device, but he was too old. He had too many obligations, and Harry needed this more than he did. But still, a bit of excitement would be good for these old bones.
He aimed the wand at the time turner - It looked like a regular time turner, like a pocket watch except gold plated, with the clock hands being cut of the strongest diamond in the world and the clock face made of ebony glass that was acquired from frozen ashes of Volcanoes around the world - He had put a lot of time into this little device and he hated to see it mangled by a dirty portkey spell.
It's for the greater good.
Repeating that mantra in his head always gave him strength when he needed it most, like defeating Grindelwauld or giving Harry the contents to the prophecy... Gosh that seemed like a lifetime ago! Dumbledore sighed, feeling tired and alone. It was time to do this. He cast the portkey spell, "Portus." A green light flashed around the time turner, but otherwise nothing happened. He hoped he had modified the portkey spell right, but really there was no way to tell with those tricky devils.
Intuition. He always trusted his feelings, and his feelings told him this would work out just fine. When had his plans ever gone wrong? Well... He chuckled and grabbed a glove from on of his drawers. He was careful not to activate the portkey. He wrapped the time turner in a couple of "Daily Prophet" newspapers and put them back in the little purple box.
A little notice caught his eye. On the daily prophet, in big bold letters, was the headline: "Harry Potter declared innocent: Celebration in front of the ministry, everyone invited."
This would be perfect! What a wonderful co-incidence. If he disguised himself right, nobody would ever know what hand he had in this. Yes, he would thrust Harry into an unknown world, and that would make Harry find his purpose in life again.
Dumbledore was a genius! At least in his own mind.
The Celebration would take place tomorrow, Dumbledore saw. So that gives me... just enough time to get ready. He smirked to himself and meticulously dressed in his disguise: An auror.
Infiltrating this secretive brotherhood of police officers would give him the excitement his creaky old bones needed.Chapter Two û The Ceremony
She remembered that one evening they were together. Luna Lovegood remembered it well. Back then Harry had been cheerful, full of life and passion, full of charisma and personality that could make friends instantly. Back then... That was five years ago when Harry had just graduated. She remembered how he had asked her out to the graduation ceremony... It was sweet.
"Luna!" She had heard a voice while she was walking to Ravenclaw tower. The hallway was deserted. She turned around and saw Harry running toward her with his book bag in one hand and a magazine in another. It was the Quibbler.
"Harry?" She asked, "What are you doing here?"
"I-" He gulped and ran a fist through his hair. He had combed it, Luna noticed at once. And he smelled of Old Spice, a muggle type of deodorant that Hermoine made Ron use. "I wanted to..." He trailed off in mid sentence and just stared off in space. Wasn't that what she always did? Luna wondered if he was mocking her.
"Will you go to the graduation ceremony with me?" He asked, his eyes darting back and forth. He was nervous, Luna could tell. But that was at the back of her mind. 'Did he just ask me out?!' She thought frantically, the inner girl in her excited and happy.
Luna had accepted of course, and very happily too. They had a grand time, until Voldemort showed up.
Luna sighed as she finished putting her make up on. She took out her best quill from her desk, her best parchment which she had been saving for a special ceremony and also put on her best jewellery. She wanted to look wonderful and fantastic for Harry Potter.
æNot that he will notice,Æ She thought sourly. æFace it, girl. Harry Potter just isnÆt the same anymore.Æ
She wet her lips and felt a rush of anticipation as she left her apartment. What would the ceremony be like, Luna wondered. She had heard rumours from her fellow reporters at the Quibbler that Harry would give a speech, and an interview too. She also heard that there would be reporters from all over the world. Harry Potter was world famous. Everyone knew his name, and everyone knew what he had achieved. How could they not when Voldemort had amassed the greatest army in history and attacked every single country at the same time?
Harry had stopped him in an epic battle. Everyone knew that. But what nobody knew, not even Dumbledore, was just how he did this.
Harry Potter was just not the same anymore. But then again, she wasnÆt the same either. She had mellowed out and become more mature. The war had made everyone grow up, especially when the children lost their precious ones. Luna felt a pang of sadness and guilt at the memory of her father. He had sacrificed himself to save her, and she would be damned if he didnÆt repay him backà by making the Quibbler the most popular magazine in the UK.
She had done it too. The Quibbler was respectable and huge, and she did it by the dint of candle light on lonely Saturday nightsà Hard work. That was all it took. Hard work and sacrifice.
Harry understood this principle well. Luna was sure of that. She walked a bit down Bosnoe Avenue, lost in her thoughts. A glance at her new pocket watch told her it was time to go.
She waved her wand and apparrated to the front of the ministry. At once her senses were assaultedà Loud blaring music was playing in the background, the air smelled of liquor, sex, and barbeque meat. She looked around in wonder, never having seen a celebration this large before.
There were people everywhere! They were all around her, talking, dancing, singing drinking songs (led by Fred and George Weasley), and just having fun. There were tables along the sidewalks filled with snacks like chips. She saw waiters dressed in white suits handing out drinks by the bottles and she saw a the Celcia Sisters playing some music on an erected podium.
ôWhere are the muggles?ö She asked a passing group of teenage witches, giggling and talking about boys no doubt.
They looked at her blankly. ôThere are, like, no muggles here.ö One of the girls said with a French accent. She was blonde and had small breasts, Luna noticed, feeling a hint of superiority. ôYeah, donÆt you know? If you were here a couple of hours ago you would have seen those aurors make wards.ö
They walked past her. Luna scribbled all this down furiously in a cheap notebook in shorthand writing. Not the parchment reserved for Harry alone of course. Just a normal cheap notebook, standard Quibbler issue. Her trained eye noticed other reporters. There was Colin Creevey from the Daily Prophet, taking pictures of everything, and there was Pansy Parkinson of the Pureblood Chronicles, sneering at everyone in distaste.
The Celcia Sisters, a group of three witches Luan had gone to school with, were finishing up their song. The loud noises were dying down gradually. Luna pushed her way to the front of the podium. A waiter offered her a bottle of liquor, which she politely declined. A few minutes later, after the Celcia sisters packed up and departed, a man walked on the purple stage. He had a bushy moustache, a black bowler hat, and freckles on his face. He was surrounded by three aurors in crimson robes.
Everyone hushed silent. The minister was here. He cleared his throat. ôWelcome one and all,ö He started giving them all a winning smile better than anything Gildory Lockhart could ever throw. ôToday we are going to be hearing something really special. Something that has never happened before, ever. Today we are going to be hearing from the great Harry Potter himself!ö
The crowd cheered wildly. Fudge beamed and cleared his throat again. The crowd turned silent waiting for his next words. ôMr. Potter has never, ever, ever in his entire life given a speech. We all know the story. He defeated the greatest dark lord the world has ever seen. But we donÆt know how!ö
The crowd roared.
ôTell us how! ô
ôPut Harry on!ö
ôPotter for Minister! ô
Fudge gave a chuckle that Luna could tell was fake at once. He was clearly uncomfortable, if the little blush on his face was anything to go by. ôYes, yes. Have patience, good sirs. This is an important moment for Britain. Harry Potter has been declared innocent of all charges, and will be presented with an Order of Merlin, First class for his bravery this very night.ö
Everyone clapped. Luna joined in, and did a little whistle too.
ôHarry Potter has done a great service for wizard kind. We owe our lives and our peace to him, so when he walks on stage I hope we will give him a proper cheer. Britain is the home of Mr. Potter. Britain is the country he fought for, and we, the people of Britain will give him a cheer the world will speak of in awe for years to come!ö There were a few scattered claps, but most of the audience was hushed.
ôLadies and Gentlemen, when Mr. Potter walks on this very stage, give him a cheer that the whole world will hear. Give him your loudest applause. When he walks on stage, make him feel welcome!ö The crowd roared. Fudge grinned widely.
ôWitches and Wizards of Britain, and the world, let me present you withà HARRY POTTER!ö
Luna screamed in excitement and clapped her hands as hard as she could. She was not alone. There were more than fifty thousand people in the magically enlarged, muggle warded, street. And they all heard FudgeÆs request. The people of Britain proved their worth.
Luna felt she was going deaf as the crowd roared like a mighty lion, or a pack of them. æOr fifty thousand of them.Æ Luna thought dryly. But she felt pride inside her, pride for Harry Potter, and pride for her country. She gave it her best, and cheered her wildest.
The crowd cheered and cheered, clapped and whistled, shouted, screamed, banged drums, played guitars and made as much noise as possible. Fudge walked out of the stage, to the side and stepped down the right stairwell into a crowd of aurors. There were curtains in the back of the stage, where Luna guessed Harry would walk out of. There were aurors too, for security, she noticed. Hundreds of aurors, all over the place. On the perimeter, in the crowd, and a few on the border of the stage as well. All dressed in crimson robes, looking alert and watchful. No doubt if anything went wrong their asses were on the line.
She scribbled that down in her notepad. That was a good line she could use in the Quibbler article. She looked up at the stage once again, but it was still empty. Still the people cheered. They kept cheering for a good solid ten minutes or so. Then it began to die down as murmurs ran through the crowd.
ôWhereÆs Harry Potter?ö Luna heard an old granny ask beside her. She shrugged and went back to staring at the stage.
Then, ever so slowly, the curtains opened. They drifted to the side, revealing a large platform behind the stage. The crowd hushed in silence. How can the people in the back see? She wondered and looked around. What she saw made her gasp in surprise. There were huge, like totally enormous û the size of ten Hagrids enormous û T. V screens. On it, she could see a perfect view of the stage. There wasnÆt just one T.V screen, there were thousands. At the bottom, there was a little caption in rainbow colored letters: Brought to you by WeasleyÆs Wizarding Wheezes!
That explained it. Luna turned her attention back to the stage. The curtains were fully open but the platform was empty. The whole crowd was extremely silent, just waiting and anticipating. Luna felt her heart race, and her breath quicken as she heard it.
Footsteps.
Thump, thump, thump.
Harry Potter walked slouched on the stage, looking like he just woke up. He wore black rimmed glasses, had stubbles of hair on his face, and wore a grey hood with a mustard stain in the muddle and faded jeans that had tears on the knees.
He was a disgrace.
Chapter Three û DumbledoreÆs Battle
Thump. Thump. Thump. Harry's footsteps echoed in the muggle street (which had no muggles), and the crowd watched with big eyes that showed their excitement and anticipation. Thump. Thump. Everyone stood silent, just watching Harry Potter walk up to the podium where the mike was.
He walked slow. Not graceful, but slow like he just didn't care. This was why Dumbledore needed to do this. If Harry did not care anymore, he could turn dark! Dumbledore was disguised as an auror, and he had a clear view of Harry's back and the crowd. The journalists were taking pictures - flashes of cameras went off, most notably the Creevey brothers.
Harry turned to stare at the two twins who looked so eager with their black cameras hanging around their necks. Even from where Dumbledore was standing, he could practically feel the glare Harry was giving them. The picture taking stopped at once.
Harry swallowed. The sound was amplified by the Weasely's Wizarding Wheezes' TVs. Harry took a deep breath and started his speech.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming here tonight." He said, his voice a whisper and completely insincere. "Today I will accept an award for the order of Merlin, first class. It is a great honour. That is all I have to say. Are there any questions?" He spoke slow, and turned his head, glancing about the stage.
Dumbledore put a hand in his crimson robe pockets: The time turner and/or portkey hummed with magical energy. 'Any minute now...' Dumbledore said to himself. In his other pocket was the portkey that would take him straight to Hogwarts. That was his escape route.
Immediately, in the front row, hands were raised. Harry swept a bored gaze at the crowd and lifted his right hand from his pocket - He had both hands in his pocket - and pointed at Colin Creevey.
"Harry Potter! Harry, sir! I have a question. What-" The eager reporter gulped in excitement. He had a big happy grin on his face that even made Dumbledore feel sick. "What is- I mean, how did you defeat the dark lord, Mr. Potter?" He blurted out the last part and looked at Harry with big puppy eyes. His image was on the T.V screen, and he looked utterly ridiculous.
Harry yawned. He was back on the T.V screen, where Dumbledore could see him clearly. "It is simple. I defeated the dark lord through sacrifice." He raised his left arm up, and everyone gasped. Even Dumbledore's breath hitched, though he had seen much worse before.
His left hand was rotting and decayed. It was full of holes in the rotten black flesh, and there was even a fly buzzing above it. "Sacrifice." Harry repeated. "Anyone could have done it with enough sacrifice. That is why I am getting an Order of Merlin." He said that mockingly, like he didn't think an order of Merlin was much worth.
Of course it wasn't. Not for that price. Dumbledore felt nauseous, and he knew he wasn't alone in the crowd. Everyone felt disgusted and sick at that sight. The T.V screen was strangely sadistic and zoomed in on Harry's hand. There was great silence in the crowd now... One could hear a pin drop and hit the concrete floor. Then, slowly, Harry put his left hand back inside his pocket.
"Are there any other questions?" He said at last, utterly calm and at peace. He looked quite the opposite of the people standing before the stage, looking at Harry in shock.
Finally someone raised their hand. It was a girl, blonde hair, blue eyes, small silver glasses... Luna Lovegood, that Quibbler reporter. Dumbledore thought she looked quite professional right now, a distinct change from the dreamy girl she used to be when she was in Hogwarts.
"Mr. Potter, what are your plans now that you have defeated the dark lord?"
Harry gave her a cold look, but the look was not much different from his normal expression. "I have no plans at the moment. Any other questions?"
"Mr. Potter!" The other Creevey said, Dennis his name was. Dumbledore recalled. "Can you elaborate on your sacrifice?" Dumbledore was also curious. What sort of sacrifice... what was the price Harry had paid?
"I made a deal with the death god. Blood for blood. Equivalent exchange. Life for life. I did not have to give up my life, just my hand because Voldemort had split his souls into seven different parts. Horocruxes."
Dumbledore winced. This was going to be disastrous once the public heard such a thing. The number of dark wizards were bound to increase now.
"What do you mean, Mr. Potter? A death god? That's just Japanese mythology, right?"
"No. It's true. They call it Shinigami. There is a price for a deal like that. There always is. It costs." Harry sighed. "Let's not get into this today. Are there any other questions for me?"
Another hand. Harry sighed again. "Okay, what's your question." His voice never rose from his hoarse whisper. He seemed like a zombie. Exactly why he needs my help, Dumbledore thought.
"Mr. Potter, what are you going to do with the reward money from the Order of Merlin?"
"The fifty thousand galleons?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, sir. The fifty thousand galleons. What are your plans for it?"
"I am going to use it to..." He stopped mid sentence and looked around at the awaiting crowd who were probably holding their breaths in anticipation of something brilliant. "Hmm... I think I will use it for... What's your name?" He abruptly asked the reporter.
"Dennis Creevey, sir." The young man said nervously.
"Yes I remember you. If you had fifty thousand galleons, what would you use it for?"
Dennis hesitated. He looked taken aback by the question. "I suppose I'd buy myself a mansion of some sort."
Harry nodded. "Exactly what I would do." He said. "Any other questions?"
"Mr. Potter! What is your opinion on the trial? Was it conducted fairly? Did the ministry have a right to prosecute you?"
Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Any other questions?"
Dumbledore knew he wouldn't learn any more about Harry now. It was time to do this. He steeled his nerve, told himself this was for the greater good, and took out the time turner portkey using the tip of his wand to carry it out of his pocket. He did not want to touch it and set it off. He held it up in the air, and flung it at Harry with as much strength as he could.
The portkey took off at great speed, aided with magic. Harry stiffened and instantly turned, his wand out and a shield spell on his lips. His instincts had been refined by the extreme training he had put himself through. ôProtego!ö He cried. A silver shield formed, hard and sturdy. The crowd gasped together. It was quite comical if the situation wasnÆt so serious for Dumbledore.
Dumbledore pushed with his magical energy. A beam of pale green light shot out of his wand and into the portkey. The portkey hummed mid air and pushed into the silver shield. Sweat beads dropped from DumbledoreÆs brow, and he knew Harry was straining as well. He could hear him groan.
Magic was like wine. The older it was, the better it tastes. Dumbledore was clearly winning the battle. Around him he felt the aurors tense and start shooting spells.
Uh oh. Dumbledore thought. Harry is putting up a much greater fight than I expected. Indeed the scrawny young man was. He put in his all. Magic fuelled by desperation is always quite potent.
The spells the aurors were shooting were only distractions to Dumbledore. He raised his left hand, the one without the wand, and held it out palm facing up. A golden circular shield formed around Harry and himself that blocked all their spells. Harry was grasping his wand with both hands and groaning in effort like a weight lifter training for the Olympics.
The crowd was shouting and screaming but they only seemed like murmurs to Dumbledore. The golden shield blocked out the noise as well as the incoming spells. DumbledoreÆs energy was quickly depleting. His knees shook with effort but he held on and persevered. Harry might have sacrificed his hand to kill Voldemort, but Dumbledore had killed Grindelwauld û someone ten times more cruel. He too knew the meaning of sacrifice and strength.
The battle of magical energy between them took on a new form as their magical energies depleted. Now they were fighting mind to mind. DumbledoreÆs blue eyes met HarryÆs hard green ones.
ôDumbledore.ö Harry hissed angrily, his eyes blazing.
The old wizard heard him, and smiled benignly. ôThis is for the greater good, Harry. YouÆll understand.ö He wet his lips and pushed with all his strength. One short burst. If this didnÆt do it, nothing would.
Harry gasped, his silver shield cracked and a hole opened up in which the portkey slipped through. ôNo!ö Harry shouted as the portkey touched him in the chest. His shield disappeared, and his wand fell to the floor of the stage as he melted and curled up into a ball of green energy. The portkey was changing him!
Dumbledore gasped in surprise. This wasnÆt supposed to happen. This was supposed to work as a normal portkey that would just take Harry into another dimension and make Harry come back after a year or so. What was going on?
A wail of pain came from the green ball of energy as it rose, higher and higher, and at last with a great bang was flung into the sky. In moments the ball became smaller and smaller until it was just another star in the night sky.
Harry Potter was gone!
The aurors took the golden shield down û it became flimsy when Dumbledore lost his concentration û and grabbed at the old wizard. ôYou! Stop! Who are you?ö
ôSorry, Harry.ö He murmured and touched the portkey in his left pocket. He was whizzed away to Hogwarts without a sound; the crowd made enough declaration of shocks and death eater attacks to cover up. The aurors grabbed thin air.
Back at his office, which was filled with packed boxes because he was retiring from Hogwarts, he slumped in his armchair behind the desk. He snapped his fingers and a house elf popped in the room. He was short, fat, had pointed ears and a big nose. ôBlinky, bring me a bottle of whiskey please.ö His voice cracked as he said it.
Fawkes, the red and gold phoenix looked sadly at Dumbledore and gave a little musical cry. Far from cheering the old man up, it made him sadder still. What had happened? What had he done to Harry? Blinky bowed and left the room with a pop that reminded him of a balloon popping. No, not a balloon. More like a father popping a childÆs hopes and dreams. That kind of pop. The pop of life destroying DumbledoreÆs hopes and dreams with a swipe of itÆs cruel arm.
In seconds, Blinky was back with a bottle in his hands. He held it up for Dumbledore. The old man grabbed it at once, opened the bottle cap with his other hand and shot the drink down. When he looked up, Blinky was gone.
Tears formed in his eyes, but he blinked them away. There was no time for this now! He had to save Harry. He made a mistake, and now he had to fix it.
Still, even with his new found purpose, it did not make his heart seem any less heavier. The night was cold and stormy and the deserted school of Hogwarts was filled with the wails of a saddened phoenix and a drunken old man.
Chapter Four - Penseive
Luna gasped in surprise as Harry Potter turned into a green ball and shot into the night sky. She felt emptyà As a reporter, she had interviewed many death eater victims, and she recognized that she was going into shock. Who wouldnÆt? Came the wry reply in her head. She could hear the screams and exclamations of surprise around her, and she herself felt like shouting. But she didnÆt. Instead she put herself in a cold state of mind and examined the situation around her.
The stage was filled with aurors, milling about and arguing with each other. The aurors near the border of the muggle street had also converged in, pointing their wands at faces in random. Out of the corner of her eye, Luna noticed Pansy Parkinson looking quite ecstatic and she felt like punching her at that moment.
ôWhatÆs going on?ö She asked Colin Creevey beside her. He squinted, made no reply and took more photographs of the stage and everything around him.
She hated to be ignored but more important stuff was going on right now. Something had happened to Harry and it was her job as reporter for the Quibbler to find out what was going on. She cast a sceptical eye around, noticing the panic and fear buzzing through everyone around her. This was not a hoax. Harry did not seem that type of person who would play jokesà He was too serious for that.
No this was different. Harry might have been hurt, or killed! She cast her gaze around her one last time, memorizing the tiniest bits of detail, and then walked back home.
What had happened? The question plagued her like a bee, buzzing about ready to sting. She knew there was something she was missing as she ran it over her mind, but what?
She leapt into her bedroom, pulled out a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and drained a long gulp. Then she went to her living room and pulled out a penseive. She deposited the memory into the silvery bowl, drank a sleeping potion, and retired for the night.
There were two reasons for not examining the memory right away. First she wanted a fresh mind when she woke up, and second, she wanted the memory to sit in the cheap penseive for a while. The Quibbler was by no means poor û It had a membership of over ten thousand, and charged ten galleons a month for the weekly issues. She had amassed a small fortune, but she was frugal. Her father had run the business to the ground, and while she loved the dead man with all her heart, she still felt annoyed at the money he had squandered.
She slept that night, a turbulent sleep filled with nightmares brought out by the nightÆs incident. Memories of her father being tortured by death eaters right in front of her. Three death eaters, dressed in black garbs with white masks had entered her home, tied her up with magical ropes and made her watch as they put her father under the torture curse. They killed him right before her eyes with the dreaded killing curse. They were going to turn on her too, and kill her, or worseà
Then Harry had showed up, not with a team of aurors at his back, or a group of members from the Order of the Phoenix. Not even with Dumbledore. He had showed up alone, looking as exhausted as ever with dark purple bags under his bloodshot eyes.
Back then he had both arms, but he still possessed the cold exterior. The angry look on his face changing to one of grim satisfaction as he dispatched with the three death eaters as fast as possible. He had taken a few curses too his side, but the way he mercilessly killed the death eatersà He was a hero and a villain at the same time, that night.
After making sure she was okay, Harry left without another word. ôWhere are you going?ö Luna demanded, and in reply, Harry grunted, ôThe next target.ö Luna had followed him, and pestered him with questions. Harry sighed, and at last in great annoyance, snapped at her.
ôShut up! I need to do this. Nobody else can save you worthless magical bastards, itÆs up to me!ö There were tears of anger in his eyes. Luna vividly recalled that. Harry seemed to be emotionally unbalanced, like the newspapers always made him out. She had not realized how close to the truth they were until now.
ôWhen was the last time you slept, Harry?ö Luna asked.
ôSleep? Never heard of it.ö Harry bitterly replied before grabbing on to LunaÆs arms and apparrating them to a muggle neighbourhood. ôGreyback is hunting tonight,ö He glanced at the full moon pointedly, and Luna followed his gaze. ôMuggles are getting hurt. I will stop the damn werewolf.ö
ôHow do you know all this?ö Luna cried. Harry pointed to his scar.
ôThis is going to be dangerous. Are you sure you want to come?ö
ôOf course I do!ö Luna replied hotly. ôI am not too young and I can take care of myself.ö
ôI donÆt care. Just donÆt get in my way.ö He brushed her off and walked forward. Luna timidly followed. They walked a few meters before being confronted by the haunted howl of a beastà a wolf. Harry brandished his wand in intricate waves and conjured a wooden pistol. ôThereÆs a silver bullet in here, good enough to kill the damn beast.ö He said to her unasked question.
ôHow did you make something like thatà.?ö Luna asked in awe.
Harry glanced at the pistol, ôPractice. Here you take this.ö He made another one for himself.
They started forward. ôWait! Why are you taking me?ö Luna asked. ôI mean, donÆt youà you know?ö
ôDonÆt I want to keep you safe, you mean?ö
Luna nodded.
ôI want you here to write an article about the increasing death eater attacks. The ministry is covering this up. ThatÆs why I am bringing you along. I will even sign it.ö
That was when the Quibbler business made a U turn from bankruptcy and erupted into one of BritainÆs finest and most productive magazines.
That was how it really happened. In LunaÆs nightmare, instead of her killing the wolf as it had leapt up at Harry from a corner, taking him by surpriseà This time there were no bullets in the gun. This time, Harry had been killed.
Luna woke up in a cold sweat, a scream on the tip of her mouth. She sucked in huge breaths and got up. It was four, the middle of the night. She knew she couldnÆt sleep, and honestly she didnÆt want to. She grabbed a cold shower, a cup of coffee, and an ice cream cone (She hadnÆt given up on all her eccentricities) and went to the living room.
The penseive was a circular golden bowl filled with silver liquid that swirled around and around. It was quite mezmorizing to Luna who stared transfixed in the bowl for some moments before snapping out of the spell. This was a cheap and used penseive she had bought from a second hand store in Knockturne alley. It didnÆt store much memories, only about twenty or so and the memories had to sit for a while before they would be available for viewing. She was impatient as it was, and pulled out her wand. She thought of the memory of HarryÆs attack and tapped her wand in the silvery liquid.
The penseive sucked her in like a black hole. Zooooooooooooom! She was sucked into the memory. She didnÆt start the memory right away û it was like a movie so she hit the pause button in her mind û and simply watched the scene. Everyone was frozen, the stage was empty and the crowd was having a fun time. She drifted through the crowd searchingà and sure enough there they were:
Draco Malfoy
Pansy Parkinson
Theodore Nott
Blaise Zabini
Mullicent Blustrode
Ernest Greyback
Zacharies Bolt
Those seven were the only Slytherin families left who strongly believed in the old blood. They werenÆt HarryÆs only memories of course. She left the seven who were standing around together with their noses held up high and scowls on their faces, and searched the crowd moreà to the front this time, near the salad bar.
Ron Weasley and his wife Hermoine were chatting (or looked like it) and eating (inhaling in RonÆs case.) They were also HarryÆs enemies, ever since Harry started to learn dark magic. She was part of the Department of Mysteries clique and knew Harry personally. Not as good as Dumbledore of course, who was like a father to Harry, but she still knew him good enough.
She remembered the break away of the six (Ginny, Ron, Hermoine, Luna, Neville, Harry) Neville and Ginny stood behind Harry, while Ron and Hermoine protested against his use of dark magic. Luna stayed neutral, unwilling to break the tie and so all six just parted ways.
Those two might still have a grudge against Harry. But they didnÆt seem tense or suspicious, like someone who was committing a serious crime would be. Still, one could never tellà
She searched the crowd some more, spotted a few familiar faces in the DA they had started in fifth year. They were quite friendly with Harry, so she passed them and didnÆt give them a thorough examination. The crowd was huge, wizards from all over the world had attended HarryÆs first public speech and so she couldnÆt find all the Slytherin suspects (who were many). She moved up to sidewalks of the muggle street.
They were magically enlarged so it took quite a while to get there. It would have taken only a second in a more effective penseive, and it was times like this that Luna hated trying to make Quibbler the best magazine in the world. The sacrifices were substantial.
The aurors, most of them members of DumbledoreÆs secret Order of the Phoenix, were tense and alert, as if they expected trouble. Well, that was their job, she couldnÆt fault them for that. Still, wasnÆt it a man dressed in a red robe like the aurors wore that attacked Harry? She licked her dry lips and took out a pad of paper from her pocket. Then she walked down the sidewalk and took all the names of the aurors that she remembered. If she couldnÆt remember she cast a drawing spell on the face and the face appeared on the page. In fact she did it for every name, putting a face beside it.
It was a cumbersome task, and one that Luna didnÆt really want to be bothered to do. Still, she knew it was necessary and without too many complaints completed the task in a good time limità About a day or so.
Exhausted, she jumped out of the penseive and took a breather on the sofa. She was dead tired, her muscles felt sore even though in reality she hadnÆt actually used them. A worry gnawed at her û she should get to the office for the next issue of the Quibbler. Luna sighed and ran a hand through her blonde hair.
This was more important. After she figured out what happened û she knew she would û and printed it in the Quibbler, her magazine would rise up the ranks and get a head start on the rest. But the rest of the investigators and paparazzi would also be trying to figure this out. The competition was stiff, but Luna Lovegood never backed down.
She ate dinner at a late night muggle coffee shop. The night breeze was cold and windy, even in the middle of July. She could feel something evil happening in the worldà It was a feeling, a coldness stirring in her bones. She shuddered, finished her pasta, and hurried back home. At once she jumped into her bed and drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Again she was plagued with nightmares, and she wasnÆt the only one.
-------
Dumbledore shifted in his troubled sleep. He knew he had made a big mistake, he could feel it in his heart. He could feelà something. He wasnÆt quite sure what, but this feeling wasnÆt good. He woke up suddenly in his villa in Northern France (He had left Hogwarts), and met the cold grey eyes of Fawkes.
Fawkes looked deep into DumbledoreÆs eyes and spoke telepathically û ôYou have freed me from my prison by breaking the bonds of the universe.ö His voice was a smooth trill, not one that made his heart soar with joy or cry with sadness like it normally did. This voice was cold and it felt evil. Menacing like, Dumbledore thought. Like GrindelwauldÆs.
His face turned white.
Grindelwauld.
He was back from the dead.
DumbledoreÆs demise was quick and efficient. Fawkes or was it Grindelwauld, he couldnÆt be sure, attacked DumbledoreÆs brain using advanced Legilimens. Dumbledore gave a strong fight, but he was overwhelmed by GrindelwauldÆs power. His mind was quickly cut into pieces and eliminated as Grindelwauld possessed him. Dumbledore died, Grindelwauld lived.
The phoenix burst into ashes, and a sad trill was heard in the night sky as Fawkes died. The only good trill the world would ever hear again.
Fawkes died, but he did not burst back to life as usual. He stayed ashes. He was dead, and Grindelwauld was reincarnated.
Grindelwauld, now in DumbledoreÆs body, grinned maniacally and started laughing. He was back! He was back in power! He laughed and laughed some more. All that trouble fighting death had paid off! All those horocruxes, all those artefacts, the old scrolls he had found in ancient ruins, the blood, sweat, tears and toil. It had paid off. He had cheated death.
His victory was cut short as he heard an icy voice that had a metallic tone to it. ôRemember our deal, Grindelwauld.ö The voice of the Shinigami said. ôNobody can escape death for ever. Unless I wish it so.ö
His blood ran cold, and he bowed his head. The Death God had spoken.
Chapter Five û Journey
Harry screamed in pain as he felt his body melting. His bones cracked and shrivelled into powder, his skin dissolved like acid, and his blood evaporated in the night air. His whole body melted, and dissolved until it was no more. All that was left was his essence, his soul, his aura, his magical energy.
No thoughts ran in his mind, just extreme pain and pain and pain. Then he started to feel himself being lifted like a puppet on strings. He went higher and higher and somehow he could see what was going on on the ground. The crowd of people and reporters were panicking, and the aurors were running like they had tigers on their heels. Then there was Dumbledore, that old kindly man who looked alarmed at Harry.
Harry felt anger, intense hate and disbelief course through him. He wanted to kill, to murder and mangle that silly old man. What has he done to me?! Harry demanded to himself inside his head. Did he even have a head anymore? He wasnÆt sure, he felt confused and dizzy. What the hell was going on?! The ground became smaller and smaller as he sensed himself drifting off into the night sky. He went higher and higher, picking up speed as he did so.
He felt like a comet, the ball of energy that was he at the front and a tail speeding his flight. He went faster and faster and soon saw the earth û a big blue globe that made him hitch his breath in wonder. He looked around at the night sky û It was so bright, filled with stars and comets and asteroids and black holes. He felt like God, and could see everything.
He looked down. He could see everything except himself. He was invisible, in spirit form or something like that. It sounded like Divination crap like astral projection. But now that he was experiencing ità
Then something changed. Instead of drifting slowly like a sailboat on a bright summer lake, he felt a storm approach himà from inside himself. He felt new energy being pumped in his heart and he started picking up speed. He went so fast until the stars seemed like a blur of light û Like flying five hundred miles an hour on a broom on a highway.
His thoughts seemed to stand still. Hell, even time seemed to stand stillà Minutes passed. Days passed, and slowly, extremely slowly, Harry realized something.
He was travelling in space.
He was a fucking astronaut!
Time passed again. It seemed years went by, but that was an understatement. Thousands and millions of years passed by. He went over hot magma balls of fire, also known as stars, he went through planets, literally through them (He made a giant hole) and still he did not stop. He could not stop in his speed, the mysterious energy propelled him onward.
He started hallucinating. He imagined he was a pirate, a ninja, an alienà He lost touch with the world and gradually seeped into craziness. He was nothing and everything at the same time.
He was god. Or it seemed like it to him. Then something interesting happened. He encountered a black hole for the first time.
The black hole started sucking Harry in. He felt the gravity on his ball of energy, or body for no better term, and he started to resist. In vain. The energy inside him tried as hard as it could to push outward, but the black hole was persistent like droplets of water making holes in giant rocks. It sucked Harry inà slowly at first and picked up speed as it went along.
Harry felt himself being crushed and smashed together. That pain, that sensation broke him out of his insanity spell and alerted him to reality. He was going to die! And he couldnÆt be happier.
Life was hell when you were bored. He had been bored for a million years. He wanted to die. The energy inside him however had different ideas.
He started referring to the energy inside him as ôDemon.ö And he even imagined it talk to him. He was going schizophrenic and he did not care. He could not bring himself to care. Now he wanted death. Demon however, did not and instead struggled.
The black hole sucked.
The demon struggled like a flea caught in a bowl of stick honey. The flea could not get out no matter how hard it struggled and this was the same with Harry.
Harry wanted to let go, but demon did not. It howled in outraged agony, and struggled even harder. Demon seemed to be HarryÆs alter ego, and would go at his goal with all the determination of space and time behind him, even when Harry felt like giving up. Especially when Harry felt like giving up.
The black hole sucked harder.
The demon struggled harder. They were like the unstoppable and immovable objects, colliding with each other. The result would be debated by Physics professors everywhere.
The black hole struggled.
The demon struggled harder.
The contest lasted for thousands of years as the black hole weakened and the demon slowly grew stronger and stronger, like a lame Dragon Ball Z show. Finally the demon broke free of the trap, mutated as it was by the struggle, it was even stronger.
The demon rushed to its destination, what ever that was because Harry did not know. He could not even bring himself to care anymore. He just wanted it to end. He wanted to die.
Why couldnÆt anyone just leave him alone. He started crying, but felt nothing as his soul moved at a speed faster than light to its mysterious destination. There was a speed faster than light, Harry discovered. The speed of magic. NatureÆs greatest mistake and greatest creation at the same time. Harry hated it and wished he were born a muggle.
Thousands of years went by, and Harry felt like an old man. He was old, in mind, not body. No, soul, not body. He had gone over his life and remembered everything that went wrong û He made up stories, an acceptable form of schizophrenia in modern society. What was modern society? He didnÆt know. He had left it. Hell, he knew one thing though.
Earth was destroyed. Five million years had passed, Harry had an accurate perception of time in his head, like a little countdown digital clock on a bomb. The time read three hundred million years and countingà And slowly lowering like a snail making itÆs way around the world. Or a demon making itÆs way across the universeà to what?
Harry had a few guesses û maybe an alternate universe? Perhaps a different planet? He felt so oldà His home was gone now, and he felt empty and old. He had no identity anymore. He did not belong, anywhere. He was, for lack of a better term, a god.
A trapped god who could do nothing.
He wished he could die, but he knew he could not. He had tried suicide before by trying to direct the ball of energy toward a sun. The ball of energy went through the sun, and while Harry suffered intense burning pain, he did not die. He could not die anymore, not until the journey was over and whatever freak of nature event that happened would stop.
What was this demonÆs goal? What did it want? Was it going to take him somewhere? Where?
Questions, and answers plagued him equally. He made random guesses, but he did not know for sure. Over the trip he encountered more black holes and tried to talk to them. They never replied but he didnÆt mind. Most of the voices in his head were silent anyways.
Finallyà Finally the countdown was over. Three hundred million (earth) years had passed, and Harry finally reached his destination.
A wall.
An invisible barrier. He, in his green ball body, hit the invisible wall. He could not see it but he could sense it û like a glass window, it shattered. It cracked and cracked and cracked some more. Light, bright white light came through the cracks, as a doorway was revealed. The ball had stopped. Harry could feel it. The demon was gone, it was dead. There were two choices now to Harry. He could go back to non-existent Earth, and he knew he could not do that because he didnÆt have enough energy to survive the trip, or he could go through the giant gateway.
The gateway was a blue circle in the middle of a bright white wall that swirled in circles. It created a hypnotic sensation to Harry, one that he did not like. Still against his will, he drifted toward it. No! DonÆt go there! He cried inside his mind. I need to die! I donÆt want to live!
He had a feeling there was going to be another trip at the end of the circle. He entered the circle and there was a blue tunnel that twisted this way and that. Serpants, black and spiky came at him and tried to bite him. They missed, but instead of following Harry, they saw the entrance to the circle and tried to get out. Harry looked back and gasped.
There was a giant human with scaly wings, and a beak at the entrance, blocking the spirits from leaving. At once he realized what it was: The Shinigami! The death god. The one he had summoned and made a deal with. The one who told him about the fourth wall that kept the dead out. He had broken it!
He felt sick inside, what was going to happen? He made the ball stop, well asked it to anyways. Surprisingly demon, who had come back from the dead (no pun intended) listened and stopped. He watched the death god battle each spirit with a giant sword, cutting it in two pieces and making the snakes scatter and disappear. There was one snake he didnÆt cut however. The snake û A long red one covered in feathers, it had grey eyes that particularly struck out at Harry û was not stopped. Instead it bowed to the death god and the death godà smiled.
Harry shuddered. The death god parted to a side and the long red snake left the death world. Then the death god closed the entrance to the living universe and cut his way through the buzzing snake spiritsà to Harry. ôWell, well, well, if it isnÆt little Potter.ö He snarled. ôYou arenÆt dead! Why are you in my kingdom?ö
Harry could not answer. For one, he had no mouth. For another, the demon answered for him. ôA short cut, my lord.ö
ôAnd who might you be?ö The death god asked.
ôA human creation û A freak of nature.ö
The death god chuckled. ôHumans are so interesting.ö His red eyes gleamed, ôI will follow this through of course. And you will tell me the whole story once you get here, young Harry Potter.ö It stuck itÆs long two forked tongue and licked the ball. The ball bowed, if a ball could bow that is, Harry wasnÆt sure how it was done but he felt it bow.
The ball wasnÆt green anymore. There was a mark on it: A black circle, and in it, a picture of the death god. The ball turned and sped through the tunnel. This time, the snakes didnÆt try to bite the ball, but instead bowed and turned aside. Harry could feel their fear, and he sympathized with them. He didnÆt know what was going on, but he knew something strange had happened. Something that had not ever occurred before.
It sped through the tunnel, came out at the other end, and Harry felt the Death GodÆs eyes linger over the back of his head as it closed the tunnel once again. He felt the death god was glad to be rid of him, and he felt the same way.
Then another journey of three hundred million years began. Harry groaned in frustration as the count down timer in his head started up once again. This was going to be a long tripà
Are we there yet? Harry asked the demon. He got no answer.
------------------------------------------------------
so is this worth continuing?