A/N: Hey everyone. So I'm not exactly new to this whole fanfic thing, but it has been a while. I've had this idea bouncing around in my head and decided it could come out and play. Reviews of every kind welcome
Full Summery:
They say universes run parallel to ours, where what if's play out in reality. Ava Williams was just one of the countless deaths that occurred during the first wizarding war. During the summer before the marauder's seventh year at Hogwarts a (mostly) muggle orphanage gets targeted and destroyed by death eaters. Ava was supposed to be there and die, and that was the end of her story. Sirius Black never got to admit his, admittedly small, crush on the girl and things progressed as we all know. This story follows a parallel universe where she didn't die, and her presence caused a ripple effect, changing the events dramatically and subtly alike. This story, obviously, follows an alternative story-line. How deeply, only time will tell
Pairings: Sirius/OC, potential Remus/OC, James/Lily.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter and the Harry Potter world. I own my OC's, but that's pretty much it.
There's an idea floating around about parallel universes. Some people believe that for every action we take, there is a universe where we did the exact opposite. In that world things turn out different, spurred by these minor changes that can be so crucial to the way things would turn out. In a strange way it is kind of comforting to me to think that it's true. That there's a universe somewhere where all the mistakes we made never happened and all those years or regret we spent building never got the chance to emotionally wreck us. Of course on the flip side, that would mean that there would be a world out there where all the evils we overcame would ruin rampant and there would be no hope in the world.
Hope, it's such a strange notion. It is hope that's lead me here to contemplate this. There really isn't much more I can do to avoid boredom. You see I've been dead for a very long time, since I was sixteen. It was a mistake I never could quite get over, and there's a part of me that hopes somewhere I lived a full life. It was strange, having been dead for over twelve years I can practically pinpoint the moment in which my fate spiraled into its definitive end. Perhaps there's a world where I wasn't there, and instead of ceasing I continued to exist. It's a nice notion, anyways.
The ministry and others always turned their nose up at the idea. With things such as time-turners how could there be parallel universes? I had an idea on this, too, you see. I think you go back in time in your universe, and then you've changed things and you're still playing out yours. Universes aren't meant to be crossed. It may be why using them to go back excessive period of time is so dangerous. There are stories of people who've tried to go back too far, and they just vanish. I wondered if that wasn't something to do with playing with forces we couldn't stop. Perhaps had I gone on with life, I would have grown to be the scholar I've become in death. Or perhaps I became so interested in philosophy once I died? Perhaps I wasn't interested in it at all, and just desperately clung to the idea of fixing things that had changed so horrible when I died.
Such as my friend, Conner Traverse. He was a pureblood, one of the "sacred twenty-eight", and a Slytherin. In school he was always so torn between sticking with his family and house mates or sticking with Sophie and I. While alive we were a voice of reason, and I've little doubt that it was because of us he didn't join The Dark Lord for the first wizarding war. Of course, we weren't around after and because of that he began to get twisted. It broke my heart a bit to watch him fight on the wrong side during the second war. That was just one of the many things I wish I could do, but of course not all were so well-thought. I also desperately had wanted to stay alive so I could return to Hogwarts for my sixth year and tell Sirius Black what a repulsive codfish he was. It wasn't true, but it had bothered me the entire summer that I'd died. The cheeky bugger had managed to sneak a letter into my stuff on the train before we left. I'd been beyond angered, and had probably practiced what I would say to him at least fifty times before I'd died. Of course, if I knew then what I knew now and the truth behind that letter…
I was dead, and it didn't matter. It didn't matter because I would never get to fix things, nor would I know how they played out. Of course I would also never get the smug satisfaction of gloating to Avery and Mulciber that I wasn't just some nobody orphan, but that my true last name was Peverell. That would have shut their constant teasing up, although perhaps not in a good way. The thought would have made my skin crawl if I weren't dead.
My father was the youngest heir to the name Peverell, another of the "sacred twenty-eight" purebloods and the first to run out of males to carry on the name. My father was thought to have died before he produced any children, but instead he had eloped with my pureblooded mother. When he did die I was still months old, and my mother was a selfish cow who didn't know what to do with a baby and poverty. She dumped me off at the first orphanage she'd seen and run along with her life. Parenting would probably not of suited her, not that I would ever know. It wasn't as if when you die you suddenly become knowledgeable on all of these facts. I only knew who my parents were because my father found me once I had died and explained everything to me. Perhaps in an alternative universe I could have been raised by both of them, or even just him.
I couldn't change that, of course. Nor could I change the fact I was stuck in the wrong place, at the wrong time. I'd been stupid, incredibly so. I had been so upset about that stupid letter that when my friend Sophie asked to borrow my wand I'd let her. She'd been my friend since I was eight, a year older she'd come to the orphanage after her parents had died and could do strange things just like I could. She having been muggle-born and I having been raised by muggles left us both in the dark as to why, but incredibly happy when we found someone else who could do strange things. We formed a bond, and had been thrilled when we'd gotten to go to Hogwarts, happy that we were normal somewhere. I remember she asked for my wand because hers was broken. One of the younger children thought it was a stick and had snapped it right in half to mock her. She needed to buy a new one, and in order to do that she needed to get to Diagon Alley. Having just turned seventeen she was of age in the wizarding world and could apparate there herself, so I'd thought nothing of it when I gave her my wand and shooed her away. I was still underage, my sixteenth birthday having only just rolled around a month before. What good would it do me? A lot, probably, since while she was gone Death Eaters targeted the orphanage and it burned to the ground with the lot of us in it. I can still hear the screams sometimes, and can imagine the fire on my skin.
Perhaps in an alternative reality I accepted her wish for me to side-along. But in my world, I didn't. In my world I died, and there was nothing more I could do but contemplate.