Harry James Potter isn't normal. He didn't live in a suburban house with a freshly mowed lawn and trimmed hedge. He didn't go to public school in a suburban neighborhood. His favorite form of entertainment wasn't playing or watching football. Harry James Potter lived in a lopsided house dubbed the burrow, he went to school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, and his favorite form of entertainment was quidditch. However, even in his abnormal and strange world Harry wasn't normal. He was the Boy-who-lived, the Chosen One. Harry Potter had been famous since he was a year old for having survived the killing curse and more recently for killing the man that had delivered that said Killing Curse. Harry Potter was a hero and all Harry wanted was to be normal.
It had been two months since he had defeated the darkest wizard of the age, perhaps of all time. Two months since a battle took place on the Hogwarts front steps. Two months since he had died. Yet, it had only been twelve hours since he watched Fred get crushed, since he saw Remus and Tonks lying on the Great Hall floor lifeless, since he looked into the eyes of Severus Snape and watched the life drain out of him. Only twleve hours since he had looked into the cold, blood-red eyes of his enemy and prepared to kill or be killed.
Harry stared into the crackling fire in the Gryffindor common room and sighed. Everyone else had gone to bed, but Harry didn't sleep. He hadn't gotten more than a few hours of rest since he woke up after the battle. The faces of his family and friends, those he had killed, they haunted his dreams night after night, denying him the rest that he needed. Hermione had tried to convince him to take a sleeping potion which Madam Pomfrey had willingly agreed to give him. He had adamantly refused. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't bare to take it. Somehow he knew that for that one night of restful sleep his nightmares would return with a vengeance. So he often stayed up late, talking with Kreacher his house elf or Winky his other house elf - which he hired- about the renovations of his two estates. Winky was in charge of seeing to it that the Potter Manor was restored to its former glory so that Harry could return to it in the summer. Nothing was being removed, but simply cleaned and polished so that Harry could sort it out over his holiday. Kreacher having already cleaned Grimmuald place was having things removed from the premises. It had taken Harry a lot of effort to convince Kreacher to remove some of the Black heirlooms, but in the end Kreacher had reluctantly agreed once Harry promised to keep them in the Black family vault, providing that it wasn't something dangerous or illegal. Tonight however the two house elves had off and Harry was left to his own thoughts much to his disappointment. He hated having nothing to do, because when his mind was left to wander it usually wandered into areas he was most anxious to forget. An image floated up out of the fire place that looked remarkably like his godfather Sirius Black. Harry pounded his fist onto arm rest of the chair and then pushed his hand through his hair angrily. Don't think about it, don't think about it. He shot to his feet and began to pace feeling remarkably like a caged animal all of the sudden. Was the room getting smaller? His breaths were getting shorter. He needed to move, needed to breathe. He shot towards the door and pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Who's there?" she cried out and then when Harry came into view her gaze softened. "Oh, it's you. Out a little early aren't you?"
Harry shrugged. He was usually up and wandering around the castle by four trying to put as much distance between himself and his nightmares as possible. The fat lady was used to his coming and goings by now.
"Have a nice walk," she called after him as he headed down the shadowy corridor. He had no destination in mind just the need to escape his thoughts, to outrun the memories. He wandered down one corridor and then up another, unaware of the path he was taking his whole focus entirely on trying not to think about THAT night or any of the other NIGHTs. He passed in and out of silvery shadows and traveled up the ever-changing staircases. Eventually his wanderings led him up to the seventh floor corridor. With no clear thought in mind he paced in front of the wall across from the painting of Barnabass. Desperate to escape from his thoughts and wishing he could change what had happened. A door revealed itself to him and Harry bolted inside only to come to a stop.
He had never seen the room like this before. It was full of mirrors and time-turners. Hesitantly he stepped forward and began to move around the room examining each of the objects as he passed. The time-turners were different from what he remembered from his adventure in third year. Some were on chains like necklaces, some looked more like a pocket watch, others -and he wasn't truly certain that these were actually time-turners - were desk sized hour glasses. The mirrors were as vastly different as the time-turners, each laid in a different frame. Some of them distorted his figure and Harry wondered if these were the same kind of mirrors that he had heard some of the muggles talk of when they spoke of the fun houses at the fairs. Harry backed up and sat down on a couch in the room slightly awed. He leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes focusing on the metronomic ticking that seemed to reverberate from the time-turners as if they had a beating heart. Slowly, without wanting to, Harry drifted off to sleep his only thought was a wish to change his past.