AN: This is just a little something I cooked up when I was feeling too sick to work on my major projects. I've got something big in the works for you guys, and it's almost done so just hold on a bit longer. I've been so into it that I have been neglecting The Cupboard Club, but that too is being worked on and will be updated soon. Anyways, hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, obviously.
Nothing can wear you out like caring about people - S.E. Hinton.
"Go kill Voldemort."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I already have?"
"Well, then just do it again!"
"No."
"Why not?"
"It was hard!"
Harry Potter, twenty two years old and hero of the wizarding world, was staring down... Harry Potter, fifteen years old and (that word) of the wizarding world. They had been at this circular argument for half an hour, and the Order members around the room were torn between highly amused (Sirius and Remus), freaking out (Dumbledore), and a confused mix of worried, pitying, and indifferent (everyone else). Except for Snape, who had just walked into the room without being told of the plan ahead of time and so was justifiably crying in a corner over the fact that the number of Potters in the world had doubled itself in a day.
"Don't you care about everyone? Ron, Hermione, Sirius, anybody?"
"Of course I do."
"Then go kill Voldemort and protect them."
"I already did."
"And now do it here, too!"
"I don't want to!"
Harry glared at his younger counterpart. Was he really so insufferable when he was fifteen? That actually made a lot of sense. Atleast he wasn't so bad anymore. Though judging by the number of friends he had, he probably was still very bad. It didn't make much sense that all his friends would leave him just as he got his shit together. Whatever, fuck them. And fuck the little shit in front of him.
"Why don't you do it?"
"I'm only fifteen! I can't beat a Dark Lord! I'd die for sure!"
"Yeah, well, you won't always be fifteen! Learn some combat spells and get him later. That's what I did!"
"But you could do it now! If we wait until I am ready, countless more innocents will die! Can you live with that on your conscience?"
"Listen, kid. I've gotten out of the habit of doing things for other people without getting anything back. You know what happened after I defeated Voldemort? They held a grand party in my name, one that I couldn't attend since I was still in the hospital (though my nurses did), and then they all forgot about me. All they cared about was that I 'do my duty' and then bugger off to some other country so I won't be their problem if I turn dark.
"From the blank expression on your face, you either don't understand or are in denial. Let me explain it in a way even Ron could understand. In Quidditch, Chasers are still good after they have shot on goal. Keepers are still good after they have blocked one shot. Beaters are still good after one hit to the Bludgers. But Seekers are worthless after they catch the Snitch. I swooped in, killed Voldemort, caught the Snitch, and then ended my usefulness. When another Dark Lord comes around, they might call me back to catch another Snitch, and then I'll be a pariah once more.
"You understand know, I can tell by the way your face tightened up. I have the same reaction when my worst fears are confirmed. You've thought of this before, haven't you? Of course you have, I did when I was your age. Second, Fourth, and Fifth years really did not help with that. Who knows, though. Maybe after you beat Voldemort, you can convince everyone that you're still just a young man with so much more to achieve and not an old man with one foot in the grave."
The Order members (apart from Snap who was still crying in the corner) that remained in the room once the older Harry began his rant all really felt like they should intervene at that point, especially Dumbledore who didn't want his Golden Boy to turn away from his destiny. They were beat to the punch, however, by Harry himself... the younger one.
"That shouldn't matter! You don't help people for what you get out of it, you help them because it's the right thing to do. I think you got the spell wrong, Professor Dumbledore, because if he were really me, he wouldn't brush off his responsibility to help people and let someone else take care of it."
"Indeed, my boy." Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling. Crisis averted.
"Do you even hear the irony of what you are saying? I'm not you because I won't kill Voldemort and am telling you to do it? That's exactly what you did by summoning me here. Which I'm not happy about, by the way. I was in the middle of a very engrossing debate about the merits of having an unhinged jaw, that's not a weird sex thing, and I would very much like to get back to it. So if you could please reverse the spell that brought me here..."
"Of course, my boy. But you see, the reverse spell requires the completion of the task for which the champion was summoned. I am afraid that I cannot send you back until Voldemort is defeated."
Harry, the older one, felt his rage building. Even from the grave Albus Dumbledore still pissed all over his plans. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down, Harry asked, "What did you summon me to do? The specific words you said to bring me here, what are they?"
"I believe the phrase was 'A Hero to defeat the Darkest Wizard alive.'"
"Darkest wizard alive, eh?" Harry thought long and hard about that... well, not that long. It was actually quite easy for him to decide who he considered the 'Darkest Wizard alive.' After all, Voldemort was half dead, so he didn't count. "Done. Confringo!"
A burst of light shot from the older Harry's wand and headed straight for an unoccupied corner. Or, at least, a corner that everyone but him forgot was the hiding place for one Severus Snape. The man abruptly stopped crying, the first time he had done so since entering the room, but no one would call him bipolar over the sudden shift. Not only because they needed no more evidence that he was bipolar, but also because anyone would find it hard to keep crying once their head was a red paste on a wall.
"Now send me back before I start blowing more heads."
Needless to say, Harry got back to his home dimension soon after. Threatening to blow up people's heads was a very good way to get what he wanted. He'd have to remember that.
Walking through the front door of his house, since the spell did not put him back exactly where it took him from, Harry called out, "Honey, I'm home," and waited a couple seconds for a response. He got none, of course, but he figured it helped him with the loneliness to pretend otherwise.
He entered his living room to see it was just as he left it. Books everywhere but the bookshelves, random pieces of discarded clothing dotting the furniture, boxes of muggle take-away food, and a huge boa constrictor lying across one of his couches.
"Oh, you're back. Where'd you go?"
"Just some loony ol' coot trying to control me from beyond the grave. Don't worry about it, it's been dealt with."
"Oh, good."
The two spent a few seconds together in comfortable silence before Harry once more opened his mouth, "You still haven't thought me how to unhinge my jaw."
"Urh, I told you, snakes don't unhinge their jaws. That's just dumb. And even if we did, why would you want to know how to do it?"
A longer stretch of silence, this one not comfortable in the least, before the snake finally ventured, "It's for a weird sex thing, isn't it?"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"... Yeah."
"Dammit, Harry!"