Harry, do you think about me ?
Red hair, fair skin, brown eyes.
Harry, do you think about me ?
Soft lips, bitten nails, pointed elbows.
Harry…
Harry woke up suddenly, sweaty and disoriented. He rarely lost himself in the world of dreams, precisely because of these types of nightmares. But sometimes, the world of the living was too much and simply existing became… intolerable. Sleep was like a small death, for him, and the only death he was going to get.
Harry sighed and took in his surroundings. He currently lived in a small hut in the middle of the Sahara, because after a while, dealing with humans had become difficult. In his youth, he had never really thought about the intricacy of the passing of time, but once he had become its very witness, he had noticed its delicate cruelty.
All things alive had suddenly risen one day without reason, and it seemed as if after a blink, they would quietly lay in the sand, their cells slowly disintegrating. And in between, there was a wonderful moment of tension, of excitement, of discovering.. All emotions he hadn't felt in a long time. He could only remain a spectator, forever wistful of the wonder that was life.
But it was enough angst for the day. Harry stood up and got out of the hut to stare at the starry sky. If his calculations were right-and they usually were-he would be able to go to the next world in a few minutes. He had the time to shower.
After the death of the last descendant of Teddy (Sophie, her name was Sophie…), but more precisely of the last person who knew him as Harry potter, he had decided to go away. This world was now dead to him, and staying could only mean living in memories.
Once he had made the conscious decision of leaving, he realised that he always knew the means to do so. In a corner of his brain there was the entire universe, but he had been too stubborn to accept it.
The death of Sophie meant also the death of his last bond to his humanity. The very second she closed her eyes for the last time, he accepted the fact that he was a god.
He, Harry Potter, or the being that wore this name, could never die.
But it also meant that he suddenly could do anything.
So he leaved.
And sometimes, just sometimes, he allowed himself to think about the endless expense of time that seemed to englue him… But then, he had become an expert of refusing to consider the obvious. Change was his greatest friend, but eventually, in each world, he would fall behind the new generations of creatures that lived in it, and then, he would leave.
Harry suddenly rose his head. The stars that only he could see had finally aligned; it was time to go. He took a deep breath, tasting the magic that seemed to flow in the air, and took his first steps since ten years in space. And when he reopened his eyes…
He was not in the Sahara anymore.
Harry smiled, a bit tipsy because of the magic that always seemed to sing and dance when he used it to pass between worlds.
These first moments were always the most precious. The stage of discovery made him remember his youth, when magic was new and every corner hid a wonder.
He currently was in a forest, that seemed altogether terrian. So he may still be on a version of Earth…
He crouched to touch the earth under his feet. He could sense magic.
He decided to simply walk to get out of the woods, to get himself used to the birds and trees that lived on this planet. And after a few hours, he could sense them slowly taking their rightful place in his brain.
Finally, he saw the beginning of a city at the edge of the woods. He recognised London. Pleased, he entered the capital after casting a notice-me-not.
He understood fast that it was not his London. He could taste worry and fear in the air. He snatched a paper from a bin and looked for the date.
28 May 1939…
So it was world war two.
But he could also sense magic in the atmosphere… He decided to see for himself if this world had birthed wizards and witches or something else altogether.
He continued to walk slowly, taking the time to observe this London that suffered the quiet before the tempest. It really was a tense atmosphere. He shuddered.
Suddenly he was hit by something-no, someone. Surprised, he looked down, only to stare into the darkest eyes he had ever seen.
"Are you okay?", he said, helping the boy to stand right.
He was one of these pretty children that were always used for the adds, with his hair as dark as his eyes and his pale skin. But he also sported a bruise on his cheek. Harry reigned his rage in and looked around, searching for what had made the boy flee. He saw a group of children around the boy's age down the street, running towards them.
He sighed and looked down again. The boy was also looking at the children, a concentrated frown on his face. When he noticed that Harry had reported his attention on him, he suddenly smiled and answered :
"I… I'm fine, sir, sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going…"
"It's quite alright", said Harry, amused despite himself by the attempt at manipulation. He decided to play the game. "Were you playing with these children?"
"Oh, no, I was reading when they decided to… Nevermind, I'm sorry to take your time."
Oh, he was good. The children had stopped upon noticing Harry and had quickly backed away, snickering. They had thought that the boy was being scolded because of his hunched shoulders.
"You can stop, you know, they seem to have decided to let you endure my ire. They're gone."
The boy dropped his saddened expression, and stared at Harry through shrewd eyes.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Right. Now, may I see this bruise? I'm a doctor. It will heal faster."
Without waiting for an answer-he knew the boy would say no-, he touched the bruised cheek and recoiled in surprise.
"Oh, you're magical."
And suddenly, the boy, who had begun to look outraged at Harry, stilled eerily and concentrated his entire attention on Harry.
And Harry was engulfed by one of the hungriest stares he had seen in a long time.
