Title: Into the Past
Summary: Harry is afraid of facing Voldemort, and needs reassurance that he can defeat the monster. So he creates a potion that could help him, or drive him insane.
Warnings: None, really. Just some slight cursing- I'd rate this K+, tops. Oh! And character death of a created character that could almost be taken as the character death of one of J.K.'s characters. The rating has gone up to whatever's after K+.
Author's Note: I got the prompt from a story of Lomonaaren, called Survivor's Joy. There's this one bit in it where Draco is wondering what he'd done in a past life to deserve what was happening to him, and this idea sprang fully formed from that line.
.. … …
The potion looked innocent enough- to anyone else it would have looked a bit like a calming draught and a cheering potion combined. To Harry, however, it looked a bit like a cobra- fascinating and horrible, all at once.
It had taken months to prepare, months of explaining away the need for esoteric and just-this-side-of-legal- ingredients. Months of torture, wondering if this potion was the right thing to do, if when it was done, would he even drink it?
But here it was, a gently swirling hunter green concoction, waiting for him to imbibe it. He stared at it, trying to gather the courage to lift the vial and swallow. He wondered whether it would taste good or disgusting, whether it would drive him insane, or give him the courage he needed.
In all the texts he'd read, all the author's had agreed on only one thing- this potion was almost guaranteed to drive the drinker to insanity, for Time Herself didn't want just anyone to discover the knowledge of their past lives. But Harry needed to know, needed to see if his was a soul reborn or one in it's first incarnation of life.
If it was his first, then all he would feel was the sensation of a warm hug. If it was more than that, he would be sucked into visions of those lives, and they would play, each one of them, until he went insane of they ran out.
Harry narrowed his eyes, then reached forward and grabbed the vial. He hesitated only for a moment, but his need to know if he had ever needed courage in past lives like he needed it in this life was overwhelming. He tilted his head back, and drank.
Seconds past before anything happened- the vial slid out of his suddenly lax fingers and shattered on the floor. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped against the seat, vision obscured by clouds of grey. Then he was sucked into the past, and information slammed into his brain.
… … …
He jerked back as his fingers lit a fire. He hadn't even used flint- it had just happened. He looked around, wondering if anyone had seen what had happened, but no one was watching. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that if his Clan Master had seen the fire come from his fingers that he would be beaten and thrown out of the camp, easy prey for saber tooths. He must remember to keep it hidden, to try and keep it from happening again.
… … …
She watched as vines grew from the touch of her fingers, gasping as they budded and flowered in seconds. A hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up in to the prideful face of her father. She had inherited the family gift, then! Now her family could still supply the Lord with fine wines year round, and enjoy his protection.
… … …
He wondered if they would ever find somewhere to stay. They had been on the move ever since the Muggles had torched their village, and winter was drawing close. The forest they were in had provided protection from the elements, but they were going to need something more substantial than that to survive the coming cold. Finally, though, they had no more time, and he sighed and prepared to cast a spell to make the woodland they were caught in invisible to Muggles. Someone else could make the dwellings- he was the only one strong enough to curse and hide an entire forest.
… … …
She lounged on the couch, indolently waving her hand at a servant. He came and knelt beside her, offering up grapes and cheese for her pleasure. Ah, it was good to be hailed as a god.
… … …
He trudged home from work, tired and aching in all his joints. If only he could cure all his hurts. He woke up the next day, and all his pain is gone. What had happened? Why was he suddenly so pain free? All throughout the day, things seemed to go well for him- the taskmaster was one of the kinder ones, the food was better than normal, his work was recognized as exceptional. It was a trend he hoped continued.
… … …
'Mama, Mama!' she cried, excited. 'Look what I can do!' The wooden horse rose into the air under the smiling gaze of her mother. 'Very good, darling. You'll make a fine witch yet.' She whooped, pleased.
… … …
He was worried about his friend. Ever since they had disagreed on how to handle the Muggleborns, the blasted man had kept to himself. It was damned frustrating to realize that his best friend was a bigot, but he was still his best friend. He rose to go find him- maybe they could work something out.
… … …
His sword swung through the air, whistling before it struck his attacker in the side. He was a King, dammit! His guards were supposed to prevent things like this from happening! He fought hard, ignoring his wounds until the botched assassination attempt ended the only way it could- with the death of all his attackers. Then he Healed his injuries and called for the Master of the Wards. The shrinking little idiot had some explaining to do.
… … …
She marched along in silence, ignoring their catcalls and comments. She stood calmly as she was stripped, wondering how the people she had cared for all these years could betray her so. She'd healed their young, nurtured their crops, protected them from raiders, and now this? She was pushed onto the pyre, the fire lit, and stood silent as the flames licked at her feet, jumped past her knees and ate at the ropes binding her to the stake.
… … …
Inching his way along the wall, he listened intently for sounds of pursuit. Hearing none, he slid into the alley and tapped his wand against the brick. When the passage opened, he stepped inside and straightened. Finally away from Muggles and their prejudices, he could be what he was, and no one would stop him.
… … …
Flinching as stones hit him, he scrambled to get away before the crowd could injure him permanently. The followed, laughing and sneering, as he half ran, half crawled, searching for any place to hide. Into the forest he went, and the sounds of clomping footsteps were lost as the forest swallowed them up. He hid in the bole of a tree for a long while, making sure they were gone, before emerging. Rustling leaves were the only warning he had before an Elf appeared in front of him, reaching to take his hand. He gratefully accepted- they would know how to heal him.
… … …
She waited calmly, wand resting lightly in her hand as she allowed her opponent to make the first move. She countered it easily, then cast in lightening fast succession- within seconds the duel was over. Once again, she was hailed as the finest dueler in all of Avalon.
… … …
She wondered, silently, how her grandchildren would grow up in this world, one where machines had replaced magic in so many ways. They were young now, three and seven, but they would learn the ways of the Muggle along with the ancient wizarding ways. As she shifted, as her bones creaked, she wondered if she was seeing the end of the era of true magic, untainted by the mass inventions of the magicless.
… … …
Harry sat up with a gasp, startling the person in the chair next to him. The scenes replayed across his vision, and he groaned and clutched his head with his hands, ignoring the concerned voices around him. Finally, finally, the visions faded to a murmur in the back of his skull, and he could understand what was being said around him.
"-idiot boy! What on Earth possessed you to take that potion! You could have gone insane!" He listened in astonishment as Snape ranted, feeling as though he'd woken up into an alternate universe where Snape actually cared.
He turned to Hermione, and she spoke just loud enough to be heard over the irate Potions Master. "You've been unresponsive for three days, Harry." she said, voice full of concern and relief. "We thought the potion might have harmed your brain."
The brunet gave a grin. "Wouldn't have made much difference," he joked. Hermione smacked him on the arm, then launched herself at him. He hugged her back gratefully. After what he'd just experienced, he needed the contact.
"-isn't even listening to me, Headmaster!" They both turned at Snape's words, disentangling themselves as they caught Dumbledore's twinkling eyes.
"Leave the boy alone, Severus." the man admonished gently. "I gather he's had a rough few days." Snape scowled and turned on his heel, robes flaring out behind him as he stalked from the room.
Dumbledore watched him go, then turned to Harry. "I trust, my dear boy, that you found whatever answers you were searching for?"
Harry closed his eyes and searched himself, looking for the gut clenching fear he'd learned to live with, had experienced for years. He couldn't find it. All he found was the memories of his past, the information they gave, the depth of calm and reassurance they made him feel.
He looked up at the Headmaster, hundreds of years of experience shining from his eyes, and said "Yes. Yes, I believe I have."
… … …
Here are his past lives in order of appearance and in greater detail:
First one was in the latter era of caveman times, right before they started being all domesticated and such. He's a muggleborn. Second was quite a bit later- the vassals of a feudal lord, they were what were called hedgewitches. Third was what I figured would be a cool way to create the Forbidden Forest- a bunch of Witches and Wizards that needed a break from Muggles.
Fourth was in a country where those with power ruled- not one of Harry's best incarnations. Fifth was some day laborer who figured out that for him, wishing hard enough made something happen. Muggleborn. Sixth was the beginning of the magical career of a little girl- she went on to do great things, let me tell you. Seventh was kind of expected- he's Godric, and worried about Salazar.
Eighth was a King of the Royal family- the last one to rule before he was murdered later on and replaced by the Ministry of Magic. Ninth was a witch being burned alive for practicing magic- before the advent of whatever spell Weird Wendolin used to prevent death. Tenth was a middle to upper class Wizard, annoyed at having to go through the muggle bits of town to reach the wizarding bits.
Eleven was a man being chased by idiot kids into the Forbidden Forest, and being helped by the denizens of it. Twelve was the greatest duelist in the history of the wizarding world- her record has stood for two hundred years. Thirteen is rather self-explanatory- an old woman wonders how the following generations will be different from her own.
Just so you know, there were more incarnations, I just didn't write them all down. Feel free to fill in the blanks!
MannyWitch