perception

real-placebo-effect

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prologue: remember you will die

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memento mori

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"Poor, poor Severus." Voldemort says, tightening his grip around his neck, lifting him off the ground. God, he's gonna kill him. And it's all my fault, all my fault, all my- "Did you think you could run away? Cower behind the mighty Dumbledore? Look where he is now, Severus—"

His dark grey eyes follow the Dark Lord's and there he lies, defeated; Albus Dumbledore. "—At my feet, where he rightly belongs."

Severus looks defeated too, just for a moment – Albus is dead, dead, gone, decrepit USELESS! – but then he looks defiantly into that son of a bitch's face and spits into it. "Fuck you, my Lord."

With pure, unadulterated magic, the snake throws him back, and he's on the floor and sputtering for breath because, oh God, dear Lord, please, mercy, there's a piece of that marble sticking out through his lung. And now, he's looking at me and I know that look – run, you stupid child, run for your life! – but I can't move, can't fucking move and Voldemort, Tom, Riddle –whatever the fuck you want to call him because he's not human, he can't be– is pulling out Albus' wand and – the bloody Elder wand – is turning to Severus, oh God, no, please not him too, take me, his non-existent lips stretching over that mouth, and says happily, like a child on Christmas –

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The same time, "NO!"

I'm such an idiot, why? I should've run, run for my damned life. I nearly piss myself though as that—that—thing turns his head towards me and his eyes light up.

I don't know why – I'm going to die anyway, I'm going to die – but I just turn and run, tripping over my own dress, and I just keep on running and running and running for my life, doomed the moment I opened my fucking lips. I can feel him behind me, and hear him behind me, and his Death Eaters are behind me, and I'm going to die—

I pull out my wand and aim blindly, "AVADA KEDAVRA!", and I'm glad to hear someone fall, and I hope it's Bellatrix, the bitch, but Voldemort is still laughing, laughing at me, and I keep on running, because they're dead, dead, dead, and he's left me to die, die, die, die –

"DIE ALREADY!" I yell and at the same time willing the Avada out of my wand nonverbally, and it hits someone again but I don't know who, and oh, it's not that snake, 'cause he's still – always – laughing at me. I finally reach the room and slam the door shut and I grab it – the first and last Timeturner in the history of Timeturners – and wish I could just go back, just a few hours and warn everyone, warn everyone and no one would be dead, and Harry wouldn't have had a grain of heated sand burn slowly through his stomach and Lucy – little Lucy! – wouldn't have had to see her own intestines.

But I think too long – I always take too long, too long to run and hide and live – and they burst through the door easily, and oh God, mercy, please, because I'm going to die and I don't want to, God, I don't want to die.

"You're going to die." Voldemort says matter-of-factly – as if I don't fucking know that –

and he's waiting for me to say something so I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind.

"I don't pity you."

"Good, because I do not need to be pitied." He sneers back and I think twice about what I'm going to say, but hey, I'm going to die, right? I'm gonna go out with a bang, with pretty words and something profound and cruel and badass and—

"—I know, Tom. I understand and I forgive you." He seems confused at first – and it's terrifying, more terrifying than his snarls and screams and glee – but no one is more confused than me – what the fuck have I done this time – and now, oh shit, I bet he's pissed 'cause I called him Tom, and no one did that but Albus, no one but me and Harry and Albus and now we're all dead and dying and—

—And he's waving his wand up really high now, and I could and should just Apparate out, but I can't even gather my thoughts because he's really going to kill me.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The world goes black.

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I can feel coolness under my palms and cheek and thighs, cool and hard and unforgiving but so cool and soothing I want to lay here forever. Unbidden, my eyes flutter open and I instantly close them when the bright light filters through, hissing at the pain of my pupils contracting too fast. I try again though –don't give up, never give in, don't tell them anything, baby – and memories fly past.

The wedding—to have to hold to love forever mine – the walls, breaking and caving—Voldemort— Death Eaters—Lucius—Mira—death and blood and screams and fire—Lucy—chasing, chasing, running—and my Timeturner!

I sit up, trying to figure out where I am. Nausea hits me suddenly, the lights and colours blurring in front of me, nothing and everything is visible. I realise I'm completely naked, almost as an afterthought and find a pile of soft, warm clothes – jeans a shirt, it seems – right by my fingertips, fresh and clean. I pull them on, relishing the feel of it.

I'm at King's Cross Station, and there is a small whimpering noise that makes the back of my neck tingle.

I stumble along the rows of seats, almost buckling because I can't even feel my legs, I've forgotten how to walk and talk and breathe and care but I'm looking for—for—someone. I'm at the second row and the whimpering gets a bit louder, but there's nothing along the neverending seats.

I'm terrified, my heart hammering in my chest and instinctively kneel down and I'm met with the saddest scene I have ever seen and my stomach turns over.

The most beautiful baby, five maybe six months old, wrapped in violet blankets and as soon as I looked at it, it cried out loudly, arms reaching out, legs kicking, tears flowing down out of its stormy eyes. Its skin was puffy and red, as if the baby had been boiled or rubbed raw or both, and the scratchy, desperate heartbreaking noise that came from its small throat was so pitiful that tears prickled at my eyes.

But for some reason, I couldn't pick it up.

I just stare into its beautiful, large eyes – a turbulent shade of grey – and left it to kick and scream and try to clutch at me. I snap out of it though—he's just a child, just a child –and who would leave a child anyway?

Speaking of which, where was everyone? The station was usually overflowing with people especially at this ho—

The clock did not tell time, even I knew that. It spoke of temptation and blood and war and grinned at me with sharp teeth and a soft tongue and –

Not even the wind blew.

Kneeling back down, I want to pick up the poor baby, and it's crying so wretchedly now, I just want to leave, want us to leave—"I wouldn't do that, if I were you, my dear."

I turn, happy to hear a familiar voice, hands returning to my side. "Why not?"

"He is beyond help." Says Albus Dumbledore, and I feel a surge of annoyance. Old man's always telling me what to do.

"He's only a baby! I just want to hold him..." I say wistfully, trying to convince the man who was shaking his head at me.

"He is beyond help." He repeats, and before I can protest, or even think of protesting, he continues. "Touching him would condemn you too."

"Condemn? You've condemned a poor child? Who the hell do you think you are? " And Albus looks shocked at this—he's not usually defied, I remember now. "You gave me a chance, you gave Severus a chance, you even gave Lord Voldemort plenty of chances, and yet, here you are condemning a baby! You hypocrite."

"You wouldn't say that, if you knew the truth." Albus says almost beseechingly, and my temper's turned on to full – he's just a baby, for God's sake.

"The truth? Why don't you tell me the truth? How dare you? It was you telling the truth that killed Sirius, that killed me, that killed everyone!"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say that you're dead..." A voice said amusedly.

"And you are?" I snap, turning to meet the voice full on and my heart stops and I die a little more – die again –

"Fate, love." He says, smiling widely and he looks just like him and – "Where are you right now?"

"King's Cross Station?" I ask, tentatively.

"That's right!" Fate says, condescendingly, and Albus grins; of course he does. "You have two choices."

God, he even sounds just like him and I blink, trying to take it all in, the way there seem to be no lights but so much light, everything sharper and clearer and empty and full. He continues though and doesn't even notice my distress. "The Timeturner you carried changed you, love. For better or for worse, I can't tell you yet. The curse Tom sent missed you and hit the blasted thing instead."

I gape. Of all the things to have happened.

"It's supposed to be curse-proof, but it is a prototype. Usually, we just—send people—"

"We?"

"We," Fate stressed, "can't send you to where you should be sent yet. Usually, you board a train and go to where you belong. But you, love, there's a problem with your...passport, let's say. So, you have two choices."

"Choices?"

"You can choose to—board your train." He says, and steps closer to me, fingers running along the side of my cheek and I love him, I always will. "Or, you can change everything. You'd be free from all constraints, especially me."

Fate is smirking and his hands are running across my collarbone so gently it hurts because he still has that face.

"But there is a small glitch of sorts." Albus put in, blue eyes twinkling, as they always did.

"Glitch?" I sound like a tape-recorder, playing back everything said.

"You can never go back, love. You will never meet anyone the same again, never go through the same experiences, never, ever again." Fate says, sounding mockingly sad, just as he would have.

"You will lose everything."

To go on as a ghost, as a mere spirit—"No, that's not right."

"What?"

"You and all who are free from me will remember life as it was. But that is all. You will not be born again; you will not move on. You will go on. There's a difference. What is your choice?"

My head spins, because it's all moving so fast. One minute, I'm getting married, the next, I'm dying, and now...this? What even was this? A second chance? Redemption? Condemnation?

"I don't know." And I honestly don't. If I go on, I will be someone different, someone new, and no one will know me, but if I go on—to see them real and happy and alive—"To restart...to forget it all...I would love to, bu-"

"Excellent!" Fate says happily and Albus is chuckling. "Me and Destiny will be on your side always. We've been waiting for an opportunity like this for years, that poor, poor child!"

"What's happening?" I ask, because I don't want to die.

"Pick up the baby." Fate instructs me calmly and I move unwillingly, my feet resisting my wishes, and look at the baby, who is still crying, has been begging for me for as long I can remember.

And so I do pick him up, and he nuzzles into me, gripping my shirt tightly between his small fist as he lays his head on my shoulder and I rub his small infant back soothingly, the child's hiccups slowly disappearing as he breathes deeply.

He doesn't smell like children, like the newborn and precious; he smells of musk and wood and secrets and fire. He smells familiar. A Look is exchanged between Albus and Fate and the world starts to disappear.

"Remember, love, that not all wars are fought with wands." Fate says, pressing his lips to my own, a last goodbye, a last present, a last memory, and I can feel him in that one second, alive and loving and warm and real and there and loving me and I cry.

Then the darkness convinces me that it wasn't you.