I read and edit my own work, if you see an error or some inconsistency in here please tell me so I can fix it!
Wordcount: 2996 without title or note
Character(s): Harry Potter.
A Place to Be.
oOo
Sirius… Cedric… Quirrell… James… Lily…
He had put countless lives in danger, including those of his friends- his family. They had risked everything to help him… and he just went and threw that out the metaphorical window. Harry glared at the tidy room around him. The judging eyes of the portraits were riveted to him as he paced the office. He couldn't stop this… energy from consuming him, it was as if all the adrenaline from the previous hours had returned and now coursed through with a vengeance, and through all his musings only one thing stuck now.
He didn't belong here.
Sirius… Cedric… Quirrell… James… Lily…
He'd killed five people -just- by existing, by not thinking, by acting. By being a gryffindor. His parents and Sirius gave their lives to let him live. Cedric and Quirrell were more… circumstantial, in the way they died anyway.
Cedric came because he insisted. If Harry hadn't told him to grab it too… If Harry hadn't been involved at all… If he hadn't been entered.
He didn't -couldn't- stay here. Not like this.
Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort, Voldemort, because he wanted the stone. If Harry hadn't gotten the stone he could still be alive, possessed but alive.
If Harry hadn't been born, hadn't destroyed Voldemort the first time, there would have been no reason to possess Quirrell. If he hadn't been here Sirius wouldn't have went to Azkaban. Lily and James -his parents- would be alive and together. Where they belonged.
.
.
.
And he didn't.
And now Sirius was dead -gone forever.
He had hurt everyone who had gotten close to him without nary a thought spared on any of the ones -not- endangered.
Snape was right; he was the very epitome of a Gryffindor. Complete with the rash actions and no forethought. He had let his friends risk themselves, let them get stunned, cursed. His best friends. His bloody family!
And yet he would risk them again if another was in danger.
Sirius… Cedric… Quirrell… James… Lily…
oOo
Everything had gone downhill so fast; no time to change course. The dream. The dash to the office. The fireworks. He'd been foolish to tell Hermione and Ron what he'd seen. Downright selfish to allow them to follow him.
Harry could have stopped them, tricked them. They hadn't been there for Quirrell, yes they had been there for bits, but they hadn't been there! The Chamber in second year, neither had been around due to circumstance. Ginny had been asleep and the only means to help him had been a snippet of information Hermione had found, Fawkes and Hogwarts itself. Third year had been just him and Hermione in the end, and even then all she had done was provide the means for him to act.
As she had all these years.
But still. They had managed to change fate that year.
Harry froze in his pacing.
'Change Fate' reverberated through his head.
He couldn't repeat it this time… But he could… Maybe…
He couldn't use the Time-Turner to save everyone; that wasn't…. feasible. Not now. But he could go as far as he could and maybe… just maybe… Save everyone left.
Why couldn't they do the same this time? Because Hermione had seen him; had watched Voldemort take over everything that made Harry who he was. But… Why couldn't he?
To save them… From himself.
Harry felt, for the first time since that misleading dream, a decrease in the adrenaline. A bit of a breather to allow him an opportunity to think rationally again.
Sirius… Cedric… Quirrell… James… Lily…
He couldn't trust Dumbledore to help him. He wasn't sure if he ever could.
He didn't belong here.
He had risked everyone -everything- by being here. He would risk them to save one of them… a man who clearly still confused him for his father…
He put the entire world at risk; almost let Voldemort get the prophecy, almost lost himself, almost lost his friends.
He did lose them. And Sirius. They wouldn't ever trust him again, would never see 'just Harry' again. And Sirius… Sirius would never see anything again.
He didn't deserve to be here. Didn't deserve them. Harry lifted his head, having dropped it to avoid the stares of the past leaders, and slowly moved toward the desk. Purposeful and clear; he'd made up his mind and Dumbledore wouldn't leave him alone up here for long. He unclenched his hands, flinging them at his sides to loosen the muscles. More than one portrait reeled back at the sudden movement.
"Boy!"
Startled, Harry whipped around, eyes darting about to find the speaker of the sudden voice. He wasn't the only one as all the portraits had turned to stare at one of their own; wooden frame of gild and all. The man had a deeply roguish look to him with bright brown eyes the colour of bark and russet hair; he obviously was one of the younger headmasters the school had seen. Harry stared up at the picture as his glasses slipped just a tad up on his nose. "What're you doing in here boy?" the man asked as he leaned forward in his portrait, a bright red feather dangling from a hand, a few volumes stacked on his desk, "You shouldn't be in here; especially not pawing our- Are you one of mine?"
His eyes had a light of recognition Harry had seen thousands of times mainly whenever someone looked at his scar. Harry cleared his throat before hesitantly replying, "One of yours, sir?"
"Ignoring the first bit will do no good for you, boy. Oh just come closer, come closer! It's not been that long since I had a conversation and I do remember how they go. Nor has it been that long since I've last seen that nose; I'd recognize one of mine from anywhere.""My nose, sir?" Harry crossed his eyes to better see the aforementioned nose. His gaze flicked back to the portrait. The two appendages did look a bit similar.
"My nose, boy!" he roared and let out a bark of laughter, "It's been nearly a full twenty years since I last saw that nose. A messy little duo and a tiny little noble of a lad. Only one in Salazar's out of that bunch; though no surprise there. What house are you in, Descendant?"
Harry gulped, the portrait was delusional. Dumbledore would be returning soon and he needed to find that blasted Time-Turner!"Come now, come on. You must be Potter's side; am I right? He was much louder than you are, I find. Come, come; we haven't all day." He gave a lazy smirk and, with a flip of his wrist that sent the feather into a tiny dance continued "Well, you don't."
"Gryffindor," Harry glared, "I'm a Gryffindor.""You don't seem like one to me. You know, I never liked that damn foolish rivalry, tore those two brothers apart it did. I was a Ravenclaw, Descendant. We are above such tomfoolery, you know." Harry and the portrait stared at each other, taking the other into memory.
"Why are the others silent?" Harry asked quickly when the portrait opened its mouth again. Ever aware of the time tick-tick-ticking away. Slowly collapsing his plans. Keeping him here.
"They know their place and it's hardly to interfere with a little talk between relatives," he looked out past Harry, into the expanse of the office, "Or perhaps they cannot join in with their words. You came here for something, what was it?"
He reared back from the question, so sudden a change of pace from the previous sentences. Harry's only answer wouldn't go over all that well to it anyway. He said nothing.
"Come, come. I was hardly born yesterday Descendant. There will be no reprimand from me, no judgement. Speak your thoughts, the ones so plainly on your face; what ails mine?"
He lifted his gaze, peering through his fringe, wide eyes impossibly green as he met the warm eyes of his ancestor. "I don't belong here."
"Oh?" he queried, one brow climbed toward the ceiling, "And what does Hogwarts say about this?"
Harry dropped his eyes, Hogwarts was his home… his sanctuary. The only place he felt safe, even if he wasn't truly safe from the people within the building of stone. Hogwarts was saved him from his relatives; gave him back his parents. The stone brought him and his friends together. Gave him his family. The castle was his refuge.
Hogwarts was his home.
Harry met the eyes of the portrait once more, "It… She's my home."
Small bursts of wind began to move, they danced unnoticed about Harry, sweeping through the office without a trail.
"Very good, my dear Descendant." He stroked the roughshod beard he had, "So… If it isn't the place… then it is the… People you don't belong with? The time, perhaps?"
He knew.
Blood hastened through Harry's veins as that realisation resonated through his core. "You… you knew! What did you do? Legilimency?" Anger- betrayal- sped through him, coursing through him. "You… knew."
"Look at me, Descendant. I merely filled in your blanks," he scoffed, "Your face is an open book, and Ravenclaws like reading; remember this.""Oh…" Harry flushed. The panic dying down as he accepted the portraits words, he supposed legitimacy had been a bit of a stretch considering it was a painting…
"Now, now. What were you planning on doing, Descendant? Stealing a Time-Turner and going as far back as you could? One spin for an hour, do you realise how many hours are in a month? A year? Most can only go so far before they reset. You would spin for eternity and never go further than a day, a week at most. Do you even know how they operate?"
Harry nodded, either his face was that transparent or the man was very good at his guesses, a small piece of his mind wondered how many others would try this. "How do they work, sir?"
"They're fae-magic Descendant, we, Wizards, understand how to collect the remnants of a faery, to add it's ashes into the hourglass and to encase it in gold to spin it without out magic interfering… beyond that, however; we understand we can only move so far with so much ash." he smiled a sad little smile down at the boy, "Fae… So hard to understand… They have no barriers; time and space are merely ideas to them." He sighed, pulling himself away from the maudlin expression on his face, "You entered here so, deeply angered. So melancholic. Whatever happened to have you feeling so disjointed… So lost in your own time… It was tragic to awaken me. Sit behind the desk Descendant."
Harry bit his lip even as he complied. A new question burned through the near suicidal thoughts of his mind, 'who was the man in the portrait'.
Dumbledore would be back any time and undoubtedly knew everything that had been said; another of the old-man's betrayals for the year.
"Let Hogwarts decide where you belong."
Harry shot his eyes up to the man, no longer directly before him, his hands shook as they gripped the armrests of the headmaster's chair. "Wha- Uh, Sir?"
The bursts of wind grew, still under the radar of the teen; invisible and seemingly unable to touch anything but him as they lightly ruffled his hair in its dance about him.
"He means, boy, to let the same magic that chose your place here, to choose your time," an elderly witch spoke from his left, the voice sounded far from frail even if the speaker's portrait looked to be holding such a decrepit woman. Harry was unnervingly startled by the second voice. It felt wrong. Much like the voices from his dreams had.
"How? Sir?" He looked back to his ancestor, who was glaring at the woman before meeting Harry's eyes again.
"Magic loves this kind of thing… To sacrifice all that one has… to give anything and everything so readily- for what ever reason… Descendant, do you trust in that? Can you?"
Harry met the brown eyes unflinchingly, "Fae magic?"
"No, Descendant. Pure Magic."
Harry took a breath, released it.
He didn't belong here, he didn't. Not now and not later. It was more, far more, than just a feeling. But perhaps… There. Before.
The wind picked up again, swirling with charged energy all around Harry. Bright sparks seemed to shoot from it though still nothing was effected by it's presence. It was as though it was an illusion.
"Let her decide where you belong; be it here or where. Whether it be you as you are now, or some new version of yourself, Descendant… Can you trust in her to know?"
Yes.
"Yes."
The wind billowed suddenly as the word was intoned. Harry lifted a hand to press his hair back, to stop it from snapping into his face from the -finally noticed- wind. Clear emerald eyes bore into the warm brown of his ancestor as the wind blurred up the air.
"Then, Dear Descendant, take heed. Fae magic and Pure magic; neither are like what you know. You will not be able to change this if you don't like the outcome."
The Portrait's words broke the dam and Harry could see the wind, could hear a creak or two of possibility; of a future here. In this time. In this place with the family he had made for himself, with the Dursleys.
Where he could endanger everyone he cared about.
Where he would be pursued by Voldemort as long as he resisted.
Where he would fight until he took his dying breath.
Where he would lose everyone. Again.
And again.
And again.
Sirius… Cedric… Quirrell… James… Lily…
.
He didn't belong here.
There was a sudden loud din of noise. As though every portrait in the room had begun to chatter excitedly, a startled and frightened clamour. The wind rushed through Harry's ears, muffling the noise until it fell away.
He blinked, a swirl of the wind moved about before him. On the edge of the desk it spun faster and faster, glowing in a familiar green light. The winds condescend, wisps began dancing and moving through him only to join the ball on the desk and yet still seemed to surround Harry. As suddenly as it started it ended.
The wind condensed tighter and glowed even brighter as they merged into one small shape on the desk's edge.
Harry drew a sharp intake of breath as the last of the wind died. It was a clear crystalline orb with thin lattice of a pale, pale green around the translucent material. The colour seemed a mockery of his eyes but beautiful all the same. It was the size of his palm and housed with thousands of dozens of tiny, shimmering little pebbles of a glimmering sand-like substance. They were tightly pressed in the centre, creating a smaller sphere within the clear orb, obscured only by the thin wisps of the pale emerald strands. Each iridescent spec shone with an inner light -a tiny star- and they all seemed to yearn to reach out. To slowly escape the dense pack and shine on their own.
Harry looked up to meet the eyes of his ancestor. The last of the wind, a light breeze dancing about Harry's hands and his chest, glowed softly in the same pale emerald of the Orb's strands. "What is it, sir?" Harry asked in the quiet; the only sounds were of his own breath coming in soft pants.
"Enough ash to go where you belong, enough magic to sustain it. Trust the Magic… Trust your Home… Trust yourself, Descendant."
And Harry did.
The last wisps of wind -of pure magic itself- engulfed him.
Sirius… A trap for the Prophecy,
Cedric… A ploy for Harry,
Quirrell… A possession for the Stone,
James… A diversion for his Family,
Lily… A Sacrifice to save her Son.He was a Gryffindor; they made rash decisions to benefit others. He'd made his.
Harry would do anything to save his family. Anything to finally, truly, Belong.
oOo
The orb didn't shatter, it collapsed into itself, the tiny beads of fae -perfection and magic- shot from the inner orb and mercilessly attacked the one that encased it; rallying together and synchronizing with the trails of the breeze.
Harry had shut his eyes, allowing the last sight to be that of the warm brown eyes; his last sound that of the horrified noise of the portraits -was that a door opening?- rushed backand his last feeling to be the gentle caress of the magic; of Hogwarts.
The orb, the Time-Turner the colour of liquid grass and sky; the tiny drops of time itself, shrunk in his hands. His grip now on something much smaller; the size of, perhaps, the inner orb of sand.
The tiny orb pulsed and sunk down -through, into, around- his hand.
He opened his eyes, a mesh of thin glowing lattice surrounded him, the office was gone; the portraits and the breeze. All he could see glowed and reflected the -so- pale lattice around him. It was as if the translucent crystal had bled opaque with the tiny bits of ash save for the lattice of light, there was just a pale glow reflected all around. As though there was nothing.
Nothing but this magic that encased him. He was going where he would belong.
A time to grow into who he was meant to be.
A time where people wouldn't hate him.
A time where he wouldn't endanger his family ever again; not with Voldemort at least.
He tilted his head back, eyes slipping shut as a soft smile began to spread on his face, his arms stretched down and out at his waist. Relaxed and unworried.
A time where he could be himself.
Perhaps he had more of his mother than simply her Eyes.
oOo
AN: I wrote this in a fit of Writers Block.
Nothing I wrote looked right, it sounded off and seemed… wrong.
Fundamentally and inherently wrong.
This was my cure. I hope. I've spent the last few weeks since I returned from the farm trying to finish the conclusion to Scarves and edit the next bit of TOC but it just wasn't working. Obviously this is kind of different than my norm. Which is odd because I'm far more cynical and pessimistic than I seem to come off as XD.
Depending on the response I'll add another chapter with Dumbledore's reaction and more on what happened. Clarify it up a bit I s'pose.
So yepp. Feedback encouraged; as I said this was my 'cure'.