Time's Lullaby
By: Shy-Hime
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Warnings: Slash, super!creature!Harry, OOC!, Bad!Dumbledore!Hermione!Ron!Molly
A Memory
The sky was dark as the clouds swirled lazily in a mass of oncoming storm. Lighting flashed as thunder cracked over head. It wasn't long before the first drop of rain fell from its mother and splashed against the cold cheek of a young man. The man was sprawled on the barren ground, a swirling like pattern marring the surrounding charred dirt.
A lone figure stood above the bleeding and broken body, a thin, knotted wand clutched in his hand by his side. Red eyes gazed at the dead body without emotion. He had finally defeated the only person who could defeat him and the Wizarding World would soon be his. Purebloods would rule on high and muggles would be eradicated till only the pure remained.
…But…there was no sense of victory. No thrill for what he was now free to do. He felt hollow. Empty. A shell. He couldn't even feel scared at the emptiness.
He…he had spent so many years after his return trying to kill the abominable brat that he felt like he had no purpose left. What was the point of ruling the world, if there was no one to challenge him for it?
The rain began to pour from the sky in sheets of fierce water, pelting the emotionless wizard and soaking him to the very core. His ruby eyes bore into sightless emerald eyes and finally, the supposed dark wizard of all time, whispered, his words lost within the pounding rain, "…You were a worthy opponent."
"…Thank you," a voice whispered in his ear, brushing past as if a breeze was simply passing by. He gave no indication he had heard, for he had not. Emerald colored eyes gazed at the now empty shell of a once man, now monster, sadly before they disappeared in a shimmering mist of silver that went unnoticed.
An old fashioned cottage,
Nestled down in the trees
The windows wide open
Inviting the breeze.
Emerald eyes glittered with some unknown emotion as they gazed through a glass window and into the living room that was laid out inside. Two men sat on a couch, obviously comfortable and comforted in the others presence. One was a small, elf like blonde that was curled into the side of a tall and broad dark skinned brunette. Both were reading a book of their choice and there was the faint note of a melody spinning around the room.
Silvery lips twisted up in a bittersweet smile as a see through hand reached out and hovered just above the clear glass. He shook his head and gazed at the happy couple, knowing he would never be a part of it. Never. He sighed and without looking at the two spun around and made to leave. "Potter?"
He froze and refused to turn, knowing it was impossible for anyone to see him when he was like this. The voice was deep and smooth, washing over him like the waves of the sea trying to drag him into their depths. "Potter? Are you there?" He kept his lips sealed; knowing that if opened them he wouldn't stop.
"Blaise, what are you talking about?" the other man questioned, running a hand through his long, blonde locks as he shifted over so that he stood next to his lover by the now open window.
The exotic man barely glanced at the pale wizard, purple eyes staring out into the steady pour of rain, as he replied distractedly, "I…can feel Potter here, but I can't see him, Draco."
Harry cursed in his head. How could he have forgotten about the Zabini's gifts? He turned and locked gazes with Blaise before he huffed lightly in disappointed amusement. He shook his head, breaking eye contact and murmured, voice barely heard over the incessant rivers of rain, "I guess, I shall see you soon, if not in the same timeline."
Before the other wizard could form a reply Harry once more in a shimmering veil of mist. Blaise blinked, rubbing his eyes in bewilderment. A pale hand rested against his arm and Draco questioned quietly, voice concerned, "Blaise? What is it?"
Blaise took once last look into the rain before shaking his head and closing the window. "It's nothing, love." He glanced back over his shoulder, "…It's nothing."
An old fashioned clock
On an old fashioned shelf,
In an old fashioned room.
You remember, yourself.
Severus Snape was a proud and cruel man. He knew this. Very well, in fact. While this was fact, it was a lesser known fact that he had loved once and lost it, never loving again in his rapidly fading life. He married and his wife bore a child. However, he only saw his child once before his wife and child were spirited away.
He swore off love and his cruelty and darkness swelled and festered like an infected wound. Choking him it their stranglehold. Suffocating him. Killing him. Empty, dark tunnel like eyes bore into the dying flames that licked in the fireplace of the place he once called home. A small, clear glass filled with dark amber liquid, sloshed slightly in its confinement as spidery fingers twirled it slowly.
A grandfather clock was pressed almost brutally against the wall opposite of the dwindling flames. Web like cracks were spread almost the entire length of the wall, all centered at the grandfather clock. The clock was silent, however, and had one feature that did not relate to any other grandfather clock, or any clock.
Instead of the standard roman numerals that indicated what the time was three names were inscribed in the ancient face. Severus Tobias Snape. Lilith Mae Snape nee Evans. Harrison Alexander Snape. One of the six hands was pointing at Lilith's name while the opposite partner was pointing at Life After Death. The second pair was pointing at Severus and Home, whereas the last was indicating Harrison and Listless Limbo. However, the smaller hand for Harrison's was actually flickering between Listless Limbo and Setting Time.
Suddenly, with a large rather cacophonous chime, the clock's pendulum, which had previously been still, began to move. Slow ticks echoed throughout the room and Severus's eyes slowly moved from the fire to the clock. The wall behind the clock creaked and groaned as the cracks crept slowly further across the expanse of wall.
Harrison's hands were spinning wildly, as if they weren't sure where they were supposed to be. The ticking grew louder and louder as each second passed and wind was beginning to swirl slightly around the room, a shimmering quality hidden within it. Severus raised an eyebrow as he stood, setting his glass on the stand next to his chair. An earsplitting whistle screeched through the air before a burst of something exploded throughout the room.
When the blinding light dissipated the clock was silence and Harrison's hand was stopped in between Setting Time and Life After Death. Severus looked at the clock and a wry, bitter smile curled his lips. He gave a sort of huffy chuckle and slumped into his chair. He picked his glass up once more and raised it to his lips, murmuring before taking a gulp, "Have fun starting over, my son."
How the clock kept a-ticking
Throughout the long day
And striking the hours
In an old fashioned way.
Tick.
Harry opened his eyes blearily, his pupils dilating briefly before once more contracting into slits. They glowed in the surrounding darkness and his tail flicked nervously behind him. His ears swiveled around his head, trying to find the source of the steady ticking noise. He slowly stood from his previous lying position on the floor.
Tick.
The last thing he remembered was visiting his father briefly, but being in the Slytherin's Family Clock's presence had mixed with the innate magic of his inheritance. He had been caught in the resulting blast and had heard his father's last words to him.
"Have fun starting over, my son."
Tick.
Start over. It was a thought that seemed to scream lies and catches. He never seemed to ever get a choice before, and even in death he didn't get a choice he was being set back, whether he liked it or not. Green eyes roved over the empty blackness, that didn't even seem like it had any beginning or end and if you even began to think of how exactly he was managing to stand on something that was virtually not there your brain would hurt trying to find a logical reason for how.
Tick.
It wasn't that he didn't want to start over. There was a great many things he could change. Wanted to change. But the people he knew and loved, wouldn't be the same as the people he knew. It wasn't sure how he felt about that. The mere thought of what he could change sent a tingling thrill down his neck and all the way to the tip of his tail.
But wouldn't going back mean he would be manipulating the people around him to do what he wanted not what they wanted?
Tick.
HAVE YOU MADE YOU CHOICE?
Tick.
"Did I ever actually have one?"
Tick.
…THAT IS UP TO YOU, MASTER OF DEATH.
Tick.
A pale blue light was beginning to form in some sort of distance in the endless dark. Green eyes focused in it and a sleek tail fluffed up slightly. Fangs nibbled on his bottom lip lightly before a determined glint entered his steeling eyes.
Was he willing to change the people he knew in order to have a happier life without the manipulations of crazy old men and insanity driven grandparents?
Tick.
Taking a look at the darkness surrounding him he finally decided on a choice he felt he didn't actually have. He took a step forward. Then another. And another until he was walking slowly towards the steadily growing light in some direction in the bottomless (and topless and sideless) abyss. Red eyes with a silvery green pupil watched the young man walk towards his fresh beginning with something akin to pride glowing within their depths.
Tick.
UNTIL LATER.
Some old fashioned flowers
In the wide window seat
Flung an old fashioned odor,
Both dainty and sweet,
Round the old fashioned chair,
Where in times long ago
An old fashioned mother
Had rocked to and fro,
Whose hair was as white
As the blossoming leaves
In the old fashioned orchard
Of crabapple trees.
Whose voice had of old
Lulled the baby to sleep
Singing old fashioned lullabies
Tender and sweet.
Eleven years old Harry bit his as he nervously wrung his hands. Where was he?
He was in an old cottage that was pretty standard for a village that held mostly elderly people retired from the world. As he scanned the rather beautiful room, his eyes fell on a…strange figure lounged carelessly on the comfortable looking armchair. "W-Who are you?" he nearly whimpered.
The man was odd looking. For one he had cat ears that were flicking lazily and a cat tail was pulled onto his lap and long, spidery fingers were rubbing the length with deft strokes. He wore a simple button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and simple black trousers. His feet were bare, but if he lived here then that didn't really mean anything. What caught his attention the most were the startling emerald colored eyes.
A small smile curled onto the man's face and he answered in a creamy tone, rich with a soothing quality, "Hello, young Harry. I am the future you."
Whose white wrinkled hands
Are now crossed on her breast,
For the old fashioned mother
Has entered her rest.
ParaNoiablooD: Obviously, I've changed quite a bit, but I'm quite happy with the way this turned out. It's a bit odd, and slightly choppy, not really explaining anything, but I guess that's just kinda the way I write now. Please do not expect quick and fast updates that the original probably had.
I will only write when I'm inspired and I don't want to give you guys' half-assed chapters, so please be patient and don't ask me to update please. I'll try my best to keep this going and not make anyone wait for a half-year for an update, but I can't promise anything.
On another note, the poem in here is called A Memory written by Alfred Lyman Flude, and I take no credit for it.
FIRST CHAPTER FIN