A/N:
Written for the International Wizarding School Championship.
School and Year: Durmstrang, Year 3
Theme: First Wizarding War 1945 – 1990
Prompts: Death [Main], Time Turner, Thunderstorm
Word Count: 1647
Death and Desires
When Death had initially come to Harry Potter, slinking and coiling in the shadows, he had not known what to say.
"Master," it would whisper.
"What does your heart desire, Harry Potter?" it would murmur.
Harry would ignore it, for the most part, determined to never demand anything from something as treacherous as Death.
But that had been before.
Before all the losses, the chaos, and the destruction. There had been no point in winning the Second Wizarding War. Not when they had not really won in the first place. Months after Voldemort's supposed death, rumors of resurrections had surfaced.
They (Dumbledore) had been wrong. Voldemort had made a lot more than seven horcruxes.
He had made ten.
Harry and his friends had gone underground, determined to fight but also to keep themselves alive. They had strategized and planned, winning some and losing a lot more. It had not taken a long time for the Wizarding population of Britain to flee for their lives.
In one of the raids of the Ministry, Hermione had come back with a time turner and given it to Harry. They had stared at it for hours, thinking of the best possible way to use it. It was one the oldest time turners, dated the year Merlin had died. Hermione had told Harry about its power, how it could make time fluid and isolated.
They had both devised a plan that would involve using a lot more Dark Magic than either was comfortable with. But they had no other choice.
Hence, when Death had come to Harry that night, he had finally replied:
"Give me the power to take it all back and change time."
Death had stilled, swaying in the air. It had smirked at Harry and had given a salute to Hermione before vanishing.
Hermione had turned to Harry, frowning darkly.
"If we do this, no one can know how we did it. Ever. After it's done, you give it all up. The Master of Death, the time-turner, everything."
Harry had agreed.
A slow fire had ruined it all. An ill-timed Fiendfyre. There was debris, chaos and shattered pieces of life not truly lived.
Emerald green eyes stared at a portrait of a couple laughing. A man with messy raven hair and a woman with hair burning bright red. The slow hiss of fire devoured everything, just like it had devoured the lives of many.
As Harry Potter watched Godric's Hollow burn down, he knew it had all gone wrong again.
His brain conjured up questions, scenarios, and linkages. But he had no answers this time either. Half the world was dead, the magical community was still broken.
"What does your heart desire, Harry Potter?"
A question that he had thought he had understood. A question he thought had finally gotten an answer to. He thought he knew what he had truly wanted. Harry had wanted to save the world – to make sure Voldemort never gained power, to make sure his parents never died, to make sure he saved as many as he could.
But every path he took towards making his desires a reality ended like many others. Every time he pulled the dial on the time turner and went back, erasing the history of the current present, his regrets increased. He would go back, try to fix as many problems as he could and then, something would go wrong. Then, he would do it all over again. Harry had lived through so many scenarios and lives, that he barely remembered what his first life had truly been like.
His parents – surviving Halloween, only to die cruel deaths a dozen times over.
Sirius – not going to Azkaban, only to be tortured and murdered in different ways.
Dumbledore – always gone, never quite making it till the end.
Harry thought of the threads he had pulled and manipulated. He thought of the ways he had chosen differently every time. And yet - each time had gotten progressively worse.
What was the point of playing fate when Fate intervened? He was tired of watching everyone he loved and cared about die over and over again.
As Harry took out the time-turner and pulled the dial, all he heard were whispers of darkness.
Harry's Original Life: January 23rd, 2001
"Harry, you do realize I cannot come with you?" Hermione asked, eyebrows furrowed. "Only you have that power since you are the Master of Death. And you won't age either. When you go back and make the changes, my life – and I – will change according to those experiences. You understand that, right?"
Harry stared at his best friend, nodding slowly.
"You are telling me I can never get this version of Hermione back. I understand. We have planned things perfectly. Nothing will go wrong."
"Don't try to save everyone. I know you cannot help it. You don't have to be a hero every time," Hermione warned, softening her tone. "Just stay focused. You go back to 1980 and you start destroying the horcuxes. One thing we know for sure is that Tom Riddle had made only five horcruxes by then. Don't sway from the path. Promise me, Harry."
"Of course, Hermione. I promise."
As Harry reflected on his choices, he realized he never should have broken his promise to Hermione in the first place.
But Death had gotten to him every time, muttering in his ear.
When he had seen his parents and Sirius, he knew he would have done everything to make sure they survived.
His mistake had not been wanting to keep them alive.
His mistake had been believing that he would be allowed to do so.
It was always raining whenever he landed in 1980. There was always a thunderstorm waiting for him.
As he landed near Leaky Cauldron for the one hundred and eighty-ninth time, Harry was cautious.
As Death whispered promises and vengeance in his ears, for the first time Harry ignored the chatter. He wondered how many times he would be able to do this before he fell apart. He was tired of going back in time, trying to fix things and coming back, only to repeat the whole process again. The time turner had given him a taste of power and Harry hated it as much as he craved it.
He conjured an umbrella and stood underneath the outpour of rain, even as people ran around him to find shelter. He knew what awaited him inside the Muggle pub that was down the street - James Potter and Sirius Black, celebrating the impending arrival of a certain Potter heir. Celebrating in the Muggle world because of the trouble in the Wizarding one, especially since James Potter was supposed to be in hiding.
Harry knew what he wanted to do - it was what he had done every time ever since he had found out about their presence. He wanted to go inside the pub and watch them being happy and alive.
This time, Harry chose to ignore everything and walk away.
He wandered around London for hours, barely bothered by the thunderstorm. Death floated next to him, a constant companion these days.
"What does your heart desire, Harry Potter?"
As Harry stumbled into a park, he suddenly realized the rain had stopped.
He looked around, curious.
He looked around again, startled.
The entire block was dry. It looked like it had never rained there and that was impossible since he could see the storm up ahead and behind.
Just as he thought he should investigate, a high-pitched giggle reached him. It was the sound of a baby laughing. Harry entered the park and followed the sound of the giggles.
As he approached a trio, the middle-aged parents looked up at him and smiled as they played with their toddler. Harry saw the uncontrollable, bushy-haired mess and his heart constricted. The mother of his future best friend smiled at him and Harry wanted to scream in agony.
Harry broke his stare and looked at the sunny park in wonder.
"How come it is not raining here?" he asked stupidly.
Mr. Granger laughed.
"We hardly know ourselves!" he replied, cooing at his daughter. "All we know is that we had planned to come here today when it started pouring. We told Hermione and next thing we know, our entire neighborhood had cleared up. Not a spot of rain. But then, Hermione has never liked thunderstorms, has she?"
Harry nodded, heart in his throat.
Hermione Granger had hated thunderstorms.
Harry stared at the baby in wonder, thinking how Hermione's burst of accidental magic had managed to actually stop a thunderstorm in one area.
Hermione laughed at her mother and suddenly her eyes locked with Harry's.
Just then, Death slid next to Harry, whispering words of doom.
But there were more whispers.
"Don't try to save everyone."
"Don't sway from the path."
"Promise me, Harry."
Words Harry had never heeded before because he had been too scared to do so.
Harry almost swayed on the spot and Hermione focused her attention on her parents again.
He walked away quietly.
He made a promise, just as he felt the darkness of Death's aura choke him. Harry smiled at Death and looked at it head-on, finally understanding.
"I will not save the ones that have already been lost to the ravages of time. You can keep them, they were not mine to save. But I will save the ones that are supposed to die after I become the Master and you will not stop me. I will give the mantle up after I kill Voldemort and after it is all over."
But Death, menacing and cruel as always, smiled.
"Very well. Is that what your heart truly desires, Harry Potter?"
Harry stared Death in the face, no longer fearing the future he never had the courage to live in.
"Yes," he replied, resolute. "Yes, that is what I truly desire."
-fin-