Time
after Time
Prequel to Roll Back the Years.
It
had all started with a simple Defense Against the Dark Arts class. They were
learning about dueling now. Properly learning it, not like it had been in Harry's
second year with his foolhardy teacher at the time, Lockhart. They were
supposed to be thinking about who they'd pick to be their second, and he had
been sitting in his usual seat, trying to not listen to Ron and Hermione
bicker. (As they seemed to continually do, now a days.)
Hermione
though, had an excuse for being peevish. She was taking an extra class this
year, and got little sleep. Ron and Harry assumed she had the Time Turner back,
since she kept disappearing after class for a few minutes. They never asked
though, because she wasn't allowed to them anyway.
"No,
Ron, a second should be the person who knows you best," Hermione had argued,
and they had continued to squabble the entire night, even after five games of
Exploding Snap, and only stopped when Fred and George let lose a Dungbomb in
the common room, and they were forced to go to their separate dormitories.
Who knows you best?
Harry
had been hearing Hermione's question all day though. The obvious answers
filtered through his mind once more; Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Hagrid, Dumbledore…
Harry
shook his head, and stared at the canopy above his bed, marveling at who had
been his first thought; a man he never even spoken to. The same man that Harry
had inherited his smile, his untidy hair, even his love of Quidditch from. The
man who'd fought the most feared wizard of all time for him, who'd ultimately
sacrificed his own life for his son's.
James
Potter.
His
father, the brilliant, and greatly admired James Potter.
What
he wouldn't give to have just one chance to talk to his father. It was perhaps
his deepest dream, what he prayed for every night. He knew it would never be
fulfilled; Dumbledore had crushed that wish last year when he'd confirmed that
magic couldn't bring back the dead.
Back
when he'd first learned that he was a wizard, he'd had a crazy, child-like
belief that magic could bring back his parents. He had dreamt of staring into
the face that looked so much like his own, listening to his father's voice,
thanking James for giving him life.
Of
course, it would never happen.
If
only he could fall asleep and wake up and have his parents standing over him.
To chase after Snitches with his father, and be fussed about his mother…well,
kids with parents just didn't know how blessed they truly were. Harry would
give up his Firebolt to meet his father. Hell, he'd give up magic to
meet his parents.
'That
of course is never going to happen,' Harry thought as he rolled over in bed
once more.
After
all, magic couldn't bring back the dead.
Or
could it?
There
were moments like these that Harry wanted to fly out his window- without his
broomstick. His thoughts were stretching to their breaking point, making his
head throb insufferably. He grinded his forehead with is knuckles, mostly out
of habit.
Think
Harry, for the love of Merlin, think.
The
pieces and names and ideas were staring to fit together, becoming
clearer…James, Sirius, Wormtail, Ron, Hermione…
Hermione!
Harry
jumped up, cursing his ignorance. Why he'd never thought if it before…the
simple brilliance of it all…
The
Time Turner! Harry had used it before, to save his godfather's life; why
shouldn't he use it to go back a few years and see his parents? He could talk
to them, tell them that they died…he could save them! All he had to do was tell
them Peter was Voldemort's spy, and James and Lily would live, and he, Harry,
would finally have his parents back.
Images
of a world with Voldemort still in full power didn't enter Harry's mind, and if
even they had, they wouldn't have fazed him. At that point in time, Harry
couldn't understand the deaths, the agony, or the mere pain that the entire
magical world would endure if he changed the past…and the future. His mind was
on his father.
Harry
was going to meet his parents.
Who ever said magic
couldn't let the dead live again?
A/N: This is the prequel
to a new story that I'm writing; it will probably be posted in mid February.
Reviews are the best thing you can give an author, so please (I'm begging you,
can't you tell?) review. Thanks. Mwah.
