Written for Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Season 7 – Round 5
Title: A Never-ending Starry Night
Team: Arrows
Chaser 3 Prompt: (Pocket Dimension) Write about the things that could happen inside a 'space pocket' where the inside is bigger than the outside. Eg: Hermione's beaded bag (with extendable charms), a wizard's tent, a sphere that holds a small universe with a different set of physical laws, etc.
Optional Prompts: 1: [word] fire. 7: [Dialogue] "Don't look at me, I didn't do it." 13: [Painting] Van Gogh's The Starry Night
Word Count: 2464
Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter
As the title suggests, this story takes place in my series, The Second Chances Reality, which you can find out more about by reading my profile. In these stories, Harry started life over in an AU where Severus Snape is his biological father. However, this can easily be read as a stand-alone story. In this story, Harry is 14 years old.
Also, while the original painting of The Starry Night is located in a New York Museum, for the sake of this story, it is in an unspecified UK museum.
This was his father's idea of fun? Harry thought bitterly. An old muggle museum. Harry sighed as he wandered down a secluded hallway alone, frowning at the several paintings decorating the walls. Boring.
A white mist flew to his side and solidified into his familiar, Sam—a three-tailed red fox. Sam walked at Harry's heel, swiveling his head around at the many paintings, his black-tipped ears perking. He looked up at Harry, speaking through telepathy.
: Quite fascinating, don't you think? Sam asked.
"No," Harry said, crossing his arms, slowing down to look at each painting. "But Dad thinks I need to develop a better appreciation for our history."
: History can be fun to learn.
"I get enough of it from Binns—nothing fun about it."
: Knowing the history of your world is rather important, Sam nodded his head, his tails flicking behind him. Especially if you do not want certain history to repeat itself.
"Well, maybe." Harry looked down at Sam. "But that's more important in politics and for government people. Not me."
: If you say so, Sam snorted, smiling up at Harry.
Harry paused in front of a painting at the end of the hall, Sam stopping and sitting down at Harry's side, looking up at the artwork. It was Van Gogh's The Starry Night, and the whirling clouds, shining stars, and crescent moon in colors of bright yellow against a darker blue held Harry's attention. Harry frowned curiously at the strange darker shape in the left foreground before reading a bit of the history of the painting. "This one isn't very good," he decided.
: That's a matter of opinion, Sam said. I could never do that. Was this artist one of your kind?
"You mean a wizard? How should I know? Look here, what's this say?" Harry scratched at an old, engraved plaque that was placed just under the painting.
: Can't read, don't know, Sam said without so much as looking at the words.
"It says . . . Ignis est . . . amicum vestrum?"
: Ah, Latin, Sam nodded. Fire is your friend. I can agree with that.
Sam breathed a small flame up into the air in a show-off way. However, before his fire dissipated completely, The Starry Night painting seemed to catch the flame, and the blue and yellow colors swirled. Harry and Sam gasped as they felt a hook like sensation somewhere behind the navel tug on them, like a portkey, and they were sucked into the painting.
The painting returned to normal, leaving no trace of what had just happened to Harry and the fox.
Meanwhile, Harry and Sam landed harshly on the cold hard floor in a dark room. Harry groaned as he pushed off the floor, looking around at his new surroundings before staring at Sam with wide eyes.
Sam stood and shook himself off, sniffing the air. The room was empty except for the lonely bed in the corner. He caught Harry's look and huffed.
: Don't look at me, I didn't do it. You know I don't have that kind of magic.
"You did something. What was that? Where are we?"
: Saint-Paul de Mausole, Sam answered, standing on his hind legs to look out the barred window.
"An asylum? Wait, how do you know?"
: That sign. Sam motioned with his nose to a sign outside and then dropped down to all fours.
Harry stepped over and looked out the window as well. His eyes widened and he smiled. Outside the room was a large cypress tree reaching for the sky, and past the tree, a small village, and past the village, rolling hills. Harry left the window and ran for the door.
: Where are you going? Sam barked at him.
"Exploring," Harry said, holding the door open.
: Don't you think we should look for a way out?
Harry scanned the room quickly and shook his head. "Don't see a way out in here."
Sam sighed, but he reluctantly followed Harry out of the room and out of the gloomy empty building. Harry tapped his chin in thought. "Where is this place again? I know I recognize that name . . ."
: France, Sam answered, leading Harry down a stone road.
"Right. I think I read that Van Gogh made this in 1889. Anything cool happen then? You were alive then, right?"
: I must apologize—visiting an asylum in France never crossed my mind as something to do in 1889.
"Fine, fine. Look! The sky is so beautiful here. I've never seen so many bright stars above me before."
Harry tilted his head back far to take in the view, Sam glanced up as well. The wondrous swirls of blues and greens with yellow orbs shining down on them was perfect—too perfect. Like a painting.
"You act like you've never seen the sky before," said a man dressed in trousers and an overcoat with a velvet collar. The man stepped out of his house and frowned. "You're a new face here."
"Yeah, I'm Harry," Harry held out his hand and the man accepted the handshake. "I kind of got sucked into your painting, it's really cool."
"Sucked into my painting?" the man asked, his frown deepening.
"I mean . . . you don't know you're . . . err, never mind. I just thought the sky was really pretty tonight is all."
"Sky never changes," the man said, glancing up. "The only change here is you and that fox there."
"What do you mean the sky never changes? It can't be night all the time. Morning has to come eventually."
The man looked at Harry with a creased forehead, blinking a couple times before shaking his head and walking away, muttering under his breath. Harry narrowed his eyes and looked back up at the sky, then down at Sam. "It's not me, right? The sky does change."
: Let's just keep looking for a way out of this painting.
The two continued through the small village, admiring the simple structures of the houses. Several more people were stepping out of their houses; men wearing waistcoats and trousers and women in bustle dresses. They all seemed to be headed for the white steeple, and Harry and Sam cautiously tagged along, doing their best to stay out of everyone's way. Like pale zombies, everyone formed a crowd around the entrance of the steeple and looked up, waiting.
"What are they waiting for?" Harry asked.
: Why don't you ask them? How should I know?
Harry glared at Sam before stepping forward and tapping on the closest man's shoulder. The man and a woman turned to look at him, though they seemed to sneer at his faded jeans and plain button down.
"Excuse me, sir, ma'am," Harry waved awkwardly. "What is everyone doing?"
The man and woman blinked at him before the woman said, "Why, what we always do every twelve hours, come to the steeple and listen to the bells—oh, it is a mundane tradition."
"Oh," Harry said. "By the way, do you know what time it is?"
"Almost the next twelfth hour."
"I mean, what time is it really? Last I knew, it was almost noon. Do you have a watch or something?"
"What is 'noon?'" the man spoke. He shook his head. "There are twelve hours between each of the bell songs. Every hour the bell chimes once and every twelve hours, the bells ring."
"But how do you know when it's been twelve hours?"
"The bells."
"Well, how do you know when it's time for bed or when it's time to eat lunch or . . ."
"You sleep when you are tired," the woman said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And you eat when you are hungry. What is 'lunch?' It sounds like a delicacy."
Harry threw an exasperated look over his shoulder at Sam, who snorted and looked away unhelpfully, curling his three tails around himself. Harry sighed and folded his arms.
"So, you all just do whatever you want when you want every day except for the twelfth hour?"
"What is 'day?'" the man questioned, stroking his beard.
"Like tomorrow, it'll be day. The sun will come up. The night will be over."
"There is no . . . tomorrow," the man said slowly. "Night does not end. It is impossible. The world will be ending when night is over. And the stars are always up. They never go down."
Harry frowned, more confused now, but it hit Sam as the bells began to ring above them, a slow continuous chime. This was a world that never saw sunlight, a world where time did not truly exist nor mattered since no one aged. There was no tomorrow, and there was no yesterday. There was only twelve hours ago and twelve hours from now in an endless, repeating cycle.
: This place is just one long starry night, Sam said, walking over to Harry, flicking his ears up at the boy. The residents have no idea they are living their lives on repeat. They just go through the motions again and again.
"I wonder if this is what it's like for the paintings at Hogwarts," Harry said. "But it couldn't be, they can move around in their paintings and they go to bed like the rest of us."
: These people need a serious dose of vitamin D, Sam said with a shake of his fur.
The bells stopped suddenly, and everyone turned away from the steeple and froze at the sight of Harry and Sam, as if just realizing they were there. For once, they did not act like zombies as they studied the strange duo.
"Err, hi?" Harry offered.
"What is that?" a woman shrieked, pointing at Sam.
Sam lowered his tails and his ears pivoted to the sides as he offered a smile, hoping to seem non-threatening.
"This is Sam," Harry said, gesturing to the fox. "He's my familiar or umm, pet. Yeah, he's a fox."
"That is not a fox," a man pointed out. "It has three tails."
"Well, technically, he's a kitsune."
"What is a kitsune?" one man asked.
"It cannot be anything good," a woman said, "It must be gotten rid of."
"We shall chase it out of the village."
Everyone cheered as they ran to the wheat fields to grab pitchforks. Harry and Sam slowly backed away as the villagers came marching back toward them.
: Come, now, Sam smiled, pitchforks are so 1790s.
"It speaks!" a man said.
"It must be a demon!" came another voice. "And it has the boy under its control."
The villagers yelled angrily and jabbed their pitchforks at Harry and Sam.
"I think we overstayed our welcome," Harry said, stepping back hesitantly.
Sam growled and leaped forward, opening his mouth to breathe a flame of fire. However, a yellow flame did not escape his mouth, instead, a darkish blue fog, like paint, swirled in front of him. It was enough to throw off the villagers and they gasped in horror. Sam closed his mouth and blinked, his ears flattening.
: What? No fire?
"Physics is obviously screwed up here," Harry said. "What do we do now?"
: We run. Let's go!
Sam turned and ran back toward the asylum, Harry following. The villagers chased after them. Sam led Harry back to the empty room where they had first appeared. He looked around for an escape, running into each corner of the room, trying to figure out what strange piece of magic brought himself and Harry into the painting.
Harry had shut the door to the room, but the door did not lock, and it wasn't long until the villagers broke into the room. Harry backed up against the opposite wall. Sam jumped in front of Harry, snarling.
"There has to be a way out! What did we do to get here? We had to have done something!"
Sam snapped his jaws at a pitchfork that was jabbed his way. It was hard to think and keep back an angry mob at the same time. He knew it was pointless, but he opened his mouth and attempted to breathe fire again, only for the blue fog substance to swirl out of his mouth and swirl in the air around him, growing larger as he kept breathing the substance in every direction to back up the frightened villagers.
Harry squinted his eyes at the swirling color and a he spotted a glimpse of the museum hallway. Sam paused in his flame breathing to bark and growl at one man who dared to sneak in closer, and the small glimpse of the hallway disappeared as the blue fog evaporated. Sam started breathing more of the blue stuff and the hallway appeared again. Harry's eyes widened.
"Sam! Whatever you're doing, keep doing it! That's our way out."
Sam continued to breathe the strange substance, and he also realized that more and more of the museum hallway revealed itself in the pattern.
: Harry, on three, we jump.
"Okay," Harry nodded. "One."
: Two.
"Three!"
Together, Sam and Harry jumped into the blue swirl before it could completely evaporate. They landed harshly on the hard museum floor, rolling away from Van Gogh's The Starry Night art piece. They panted as they looked at the painting, then each other.
Harry smiled and started laughing, Sam chuckling as well.
"That was a close one," Harry said. "I thought we'd be skewered for sure. Your fire must have been what got us in and then it got us out. It's like the plaque said: fire is our friend."
: It certainly was. And I'm glad to breathe normal fire again. Sam breathed a quick flame, away from the painting, experimentally. Satisfied, he pushed up to his feet and stretched. Harry jumped up and brushed himself off.
"There you two are," Severus said, walking down the hallway casually. He looked around. "I wouldn't expect to find you in the art exhibit of all places. Enjoying yourselves?"
"Oh yeah," Harry nodded, glancing down at Sam, who winked at him. "It's been really exciting."
"I'm happy to see you embracing this trip, Harry," Severus said, wrapping an arm around his son's shoulders. "I knew it would do you good. Come, I'm sure the Ancient Egypt exhibit will be more interesting than the art exhibit."
"I don't know, Dad," Harry said, smirking up at his father. Sam morphed into his mist form to stay out of sight of muggles. "Art is pretty brilliant."
Unbeknownst to the trio, the stars in The Starry Night brightened before retaining its stillness once more, the village peaceful in the distance.