The one Time-Turner that Harry would probably ever have personal access to was "borrowed" from Fred and George Weasley after the Quidditch World Cup was over. He had seen them disappear into the forest with Ginny, but hadn't seen them actually disappear into time -- in fact, he probably wouldn't have noticed it at all if it hadn't been lying so blatantly on the bedside table during the late-night panic and confusion. But, in all actualality, the twins and everything they did was pretty blatant.
When Mr. Weasley told them to run, Harry seized his chance. In the moment of distraction, he grabbed the Time-Turner and placed it around his neck. Ever so quickly, he turned the tiny hourglass over and over again. Harry had often thought of this, of finding a way to fix everything, but he still had had the problem of being too far away. He had never actually dreamed of his plans coming to fruition, and had hoped that he would somehow be at Hogwarts. Although, come to think of it, that wouldn't work either. Thinking fast, he gave himself two extra hours to get to the house where he needed, absolutely needed to be. He spun through time, just as he had done with Hermione to save Sirius and Buckbeak, not too long ago. But what was this? Such turbulence! Harry was jolted about so violently he nearly retched in midair. Unfocused, he wondered where it would land if he did.
And surely, surely this should be over already, but it had been so long ago...still...
He went spinning and whirling through time for so long that, when the world finally settled around him, he fell to his knees and spent half of one precious hour vomiting and, eventually, dry-heaving.
He finally straightened up, and then panicked. How much time did he have left? Checking his watch, he cursed. He had not remembered to find out what time it started. He had no idea what was left, or when he needed to be there, even.
From the distance, he heard yells and grunts. Looking around, he realized that it was just after another Quidditch World Cup! There would be dozens of Portkeys leaving! Running over, he found the one he needed and hurried to touch it before it left. He heard the worker call out to the other people nearing the place where he stood.
"Leaving in five minutes! Godric's Hollow! Ah, Ms. Bagshot, hurry along now, you'll miss it!"
Harry had to ask. He had to know if it would work.
"Excuse me, sir? What's today?"
"Eh? Halloween, of course! Surely a youngster like you would know that!"
"And the year?"
"What's that, then?"
"Please, sir, the year?"
"1981, of course, but why?"
Harry opened his mouth, to say what, he didn't know, but the Portkey saved him by taking him to where he needed to go. Taking him to an hour before Voldemort had started him on the perilous, parent-less path of his life. Taking him to his parents' house.
His last thought was of his parents, and how they would love to see him, all grown up.
*****
As the first snow of the winter started drifting down, it settled lightly on the markers of the cemetery. A few villagers, bringing flowers to pay their last respects, carefully wiped the flakes away from the names on the grave, right beside the statue of the three who had died. Had died, like they just passed away, all by themselves, with no outside help. The village whispered of murder, but only whispered. Still, the whole house had been destroyed. That had to count for something. It must have been murder, mustn't it? Sighing, they turned away. An old woman, the historian, turned for a last glance, shedding one solitary tear.
There were four bodies in the grave marked with three names, for there really were only three people, after all.
A/N: I know, weird ending still. I did add details, though. Thanks to Tassel630 for the great advice!
Please review, fellow writers! Take two seconds out of your day, and I'll review at least two of your stories if your review is signed! Come on!