STORY IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION!
Author's Note:
I am completely re-doing this story. I really, really need to. Reading it a couple weeks ago made me realize how badly this version sucked, and I feel ashamed that I've let it stay online, in this condition, for so long. Not much of the plot will change, but the writing definitely will. It sucks horribly and I'm exceedingly sorry that you've been put through the torture of reading it. Unless this is your first time encountering this story at all, in which case, you should consider yourself lucky.I hope this first chapter of this new version is much more entertaining to read. Or at least more so than the previous one.
Dedications:
Shout outs to people I love!Holly McMasters: For convincing me that my writing doesn't totally suck.
Billy Grimes: For telling me that I write in a way he never could. (Even though he tries very hard! I love you, sweetheart!)
God: For without whom, I would not exist, and neither would you, the reader, so there would be no point in any of this at all.
You: For reading this crappy refurbishment of a story. I love you all. I really do.
Chapter One:
Birthday Surprises(Number Four, Privet Drive. July 31 1996. 1:32a.m.)
Harry Potter had been trying to get to sleep for the past three hours or so. He'd tried nearly everything; reading his new copy of a bi-monthly Quidditch magazine, putting his pillow over his head, listening to music, counting sheep (which never, ever worked, but he was desperate), slaughtering sheep in his mind as they jumped a fence, and so on. But as strange as this was to him, and as much as he had always dreaded not only the summer holidays, but his birthday as well, Harry found himself excited about his 16th. He had that feeling in his stomach that he usually only felt around Christmas time. The feeling that most every child gets on Christmas Eve, and the knowledge that something good is going to happen that day. It's the reason why small children have such a hard time sleeping the night before Christmas, and the reason that Harry couldn't get to sleep now.
He sat up, sweat rolling down his forehead and his chest, as he had burrowed under the blankets earlier that night in an attempt to drift off. He hastily shoved the covers off to find that his shirt, which was sticking to him, was drenched in sweat.
With a sigh he swung his legs over the side of the bed and hopped off, quietly tiptoeing across the room to his dresser to find another shirt. He tossed the soaked, grey T-shirt in a pile with his other laundry, which he really needed to get around to, and crawled back into bed. Not too long after he had laid back on his pillow and finally began to feel a little tired, three sharp taps on his window made him bolt up and snatch his wand off of the bedside table.
He held it out in front of him like a sword and edged nearer to the window, where he could definitely see some movement from. Something was hovering outside of it. It looked like a giant, furry ball with wings. Harry jumped back suddenly as it threw itself at the window. Then, part of it seemed to fall from the bottom and quickly re-attach itself. It was then that Harry realized that it wasn't a furry ball of wings outside of his window, but three owls clumped together. He unlocked the window and thrust it open, silently praying that the Dursleys didn't hear it and awaken, and the owls glided in, landing, along with three packages, with a plunk on his bed.
Hedwig and a tawny owl Harry didn't recognize were the only owls to stand up after their landing. The other was laying on its side, twitching and fluttering its wings, and trying to remove the package from its leg. Harry recognized him immediately as Errol, the Weasley family's owl. He obligingly removed the package and took him over to Hedwig's cage and let him sip the water from her bowl.
Hedwig walked up to the end of the bed with a letter clamped in her beak. She nudged him, and with a chuckle, Harry accepted it and ripped it open.
Dear Harry,
I hope your summer holidays are going well, and that you're not thinking too much about you-know-who. I'm on holiday in Germany right now, and I don't have much time to write to you, but I hope you like your present. Everything here is so different from home. We don't speak much of the language, but luckily we haven't had too much trouble yet. Happy Birthday, and I'll see you when school starts.
Love from,
Hermione
At this point, Harry wasn't sure if she meant Voldemort or Sirius when she said 'you-know-who.' And he wasn't dwelling on Sirius, or anything, if that's what she'd meant. Oh, of course he thought about him a few times a day, but he accepted that he was gone. Mostly. Or, at least gone for now. Part of Harry didn't quite believe that he was dead. That part of him considered him to be…on holiday, if you will. Not literally, but that was the general idea: Gone for a bit, soon to return. He hoped.
Ignoring all thoughts of his late Godfather, he picked up a small, brown package with his name on it written in a script that was clearly Hermione's. Harry ripped it open to reveal an assortment of his favorite candies such as Cauldron Cakes, Chocolate Frogs, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. They were different from the ones he usually got from Honeydukes, as all of these candies were printed in German. Harry had always heard that German beer was sweeter and better than American and English beer, and he was hoping that it was the same case with the candies in Germany as well.
Next was Ron's letter:
Harry--
Happy Birthday! I'm sorry I can't get you anything this year, we're running a little low on money and I haven't got any spare saved up. Mum made you some pies instead. Hope you like them. I'll make up for it at Christmastime. See you soon,
Ron
Harry set the letter aside, not really minding that Ron didn't get him anything. He didn't need any more trinkets. When he saw the package from Ron, he could easily see how Errol had to be carried here; it was large and heavy. Probably full of the usual mince pies from Mrs. Weasley. One last letter and package remained, which Harry knew was Hagrid's the moment he laid eyes on the letter's untidy scrawl.
Harry
Happy Birthday! Hope your holiday's going well. I sent along some rock cakes on account of I know how much you enjoyed them last time.
Hagrid
Harry sighed as he let the letter drift down to his bed. Of course he knew that the gamekeeper had meant well by sending him the cakes, but Harry knew very well that Hagrid wasn't the best at cooking. He hoped that they'd be better this time--not so hard. Hermione and he had nearly broken their teeth on them when Hagrid had served them on one of their visits to his hut a year or so ago. Harry gathered up the food parcels and shoved them under his bed, in case his Aunt Petunia came routing through his bedroom. The tawny owl, seeing as its job was done, hooted in goodbye and soared off out the window and into the warm, breezy summer night.
Hedwig flew over to the table on which her cage was, eyed Errol, and turned to glare at Harry. She was not pleased. Harry gave her a strict look and she, still annoyed, took off out of the window too.
Even Hedwig's sour attitude couldn't ruin Harry's birthday. He climbed blissfully into bed and tucked himself in. He was asleep within minutes.
The next morning, Harry was exceedingly cheerful. Despite his lack of sleep, he was up at his usual time of nine a.m., and bounded down the staircase for breakfast. Dudley was already seated at the table when he got there, surrounded by all of his favorite breakfast foods. He was clearly taking a break from his mother's diet. Aunt Petunia was at the stove, where she could almost always be found at this time of morning, preparing everyone's breakfast. Harry took his seat, and not long after, Vernon ambled in from the living room and sat down as well.
At Harry's cheerful disposition, Vernon scowled and asked, "What're you so happy about, boy?"
"Don't you know what today is?" Harry questioned, frowning slightly and raising an eyebrow. Dudley and Vernon stared inquiringly at him, as Harry had never mentioned his birthday at all in the past, and hadn't seemed at all happy in previous years. This made Dudley and Vernon Dursley suspicious.
"Arbor Day? Today feels like a useless holiday," sneered Dudley. Vernon chuckled and continued poking at his fried egg, which Petunia had just placed in front of him.
"No, Dudley," said Harry, coldly, "today is my birthday. You know that."
Dudley didn't seem to be able to think up a snide remark to this, so he ignored his cousin and went back to eating.
"How old are you now?" asked Aunt Petunia, carrying both Harry's and her own plates over to the table and setting his rather harshly in front of him, causing the two sausage links to roll off, before taking a seat herself. "Eleven?"
"Sixteen, Aunt Petunia," said Harry, trying to hide his annoyance, and gathering up the sausage links. He dropped them down onto his plate with a light, meat-like clink and started on his eggs and toast.
Harry and the Dursleys' breakfast continued with little talk, besides that of the news, which Harry cared very little for these days. The Dursleys were also finally getting that summer home in Majorca they'd been wanting for the past few years. The only other comment Harry received was "Maybe we'll let you come along with us, if you're not dead by then," from his uncle.
Just as he was finishing his breakfast, Harry received a very big shock. An owl materialized with a loud POP! from near the open window above the sink and landed square in the middle of the table, unnerved by Vernon's yell of "BLOODY HELL, NOT MORE OWLS!" It dropped a small package with a letter tied to the top into Harry's slightly trembling hands and exited the same way it'd come.
Glancing at his uncle, Harry could plainly see the large, purple vein in his temple, and flinched slightly, as he was somewhat squeamish. Vernon wasn't happy.
"Don't you think that those owls can pop in here anytime they want, boy," he growled through clenched teeth, "as I've told you before, this house isn't a rest stop for OWLS! If one more owl flaps its wings near my breakfast again, I'll--"
SHWOOSH!
A second, grey owl flew into the kitchen with a yellow envelope clutched in its beak. It swooped over their heads, casting a shadow on the table, and dropped a letter into Harry's eggs. It, too, flew out of the open, lovely-curtained, window.
"OWLS! MORE SODDING OWLS! I'M CONTACTING THAT HEADMASTER OF YOURS AND HAVING HIM FIRED!"
Petunia bolted up and quickly shut the window, simultaneously draping the curtains together and flicking the lock shut. Harry just sat in place, package in one hand, fork in the other; he still hadn't fished the letter out of his eggs yet. Dudley, on the other hand, went back to his breakfast as if nothing had happened. He took another helping of bacon.
"You, boy, are OUT!" yelled Vernon. He stood up, his angry glare bearing down on Harry from above. Holding back a laugh, Harry noticed that his uncle looked rather like a bulldog when enraged. "I've had enough of your antics through the years and I'm not going to put up with them anymore! I've told you this once, I've told you a thousand times; I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS IN THIS HOUSE!"
"And I've told you this before as well," said Harry bravely, rising as well, "I can't stop the owls from coming! You can bolt your windows and cover your fireplace, but you can't stop mail from my world from coming!"
As Harry had grown taller during the past couple of years, Vernon's angry glare was on his level now, and frankly, Harry didn't care much for a purple-faced loon glaring at him. With a swift motion due, no doubt, to his Quidditch reflexes, Harry snatched his letter from his eggs and marched with his mail to the foot of the stairs.
"Where do you think you're going?" demanded the purple-faced loon.
"Up to my room," said Harry coldly. His whole body seemed to be shaking and his scar was pulsing like mad. It made his forehead throb and gave him a rather painful headache. Harry needed to get away from the Dursleys before Vernon got him so angry that he performed illegal magic. The last thing he needed was another run in with the Ministry of Magic. And so soon after his last one.
"Not until I'm through with you!"
"Well I'm through with you," said Harry waspishly, and began to walk up the staircase.
"BOY!" Vernon's yell shook the kitchen walls and Aunt Petunia's shelves full of knick-knacks wobbled threateningly.
Harry turned around, hand on the railing. He was losing his patience very quickly. Stepping down a few steps, he asked, feigning calmness, "And what could there possibly be that you still want to talk to me about."
"The owls!" Vernon yelled. "Those damn filthy owls poke their nasty beaks in my house EVERY day! It-needs-to-stop." He accented the words in the last sentence by pounding his fist on the table after each one to make his point. The table looked near cracking.
Harry took a deep, calming breath. "Haven't you figured out by now why the owls come this time every year? This--" he held up the letter from the last owl, "--is my school letter. It gives me my list of books to purchase. I need this letter. The other owls only come to my bedroom, so I don't see why they're such a bother to you. You don't even see them."
"And what do those owls need to come for, eh?" he crossed his arms over his round chest.
"None of your business."
"Don't get shirty with me, boy! You may be sixteen now, but I can still give you a good whacking over the head if I wanted to! And don't think I don't know about those owls from last night! I heard you. Letting them in at all hours of the day. Ridiculous. If you're doing something illegal, it won't be us who punish you, your SCHOOL will kick you out!"
"I'm not doing anything illegal," said Harry dully.
"Then why are you hiding things?" asked Petunia accusingly, who hadn't spoken in a while.
"Because it's none of your business," repeated Harry. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have mail."
"You come back here!" snarled Vernon, as Harry turned around. "You know, I should give you a good whacking more often. It would put you in your proper place." Dudley perked up at this. There was nothing he loved more than to see Harry getting punished. He fixed his piggy eyes on his cousin, avidly waiting.
"Try it," challenged Harry. "Just try it. Don't you remember anything Moody, Remus, and Tonks said at the train station? If you don't treat me well, they're coming after you!"
Vernon, who'd seemed to have forgotten the wizards' threats, stepped down rather quickly, and Dudley, disappointed, got up and sauntered to the living room. Aunt Petunia just stood there, throwing the occasional frightened glance at her husband.
"Fine. Go," he muttered. "And don't expect to come back down here for dinner. You won't be having any."
"Fine by me," said Harry hotly, and he stormed away to his bedroom. He shut and locked the door behind him, and he was silently glad of his punishment, as he had all the pies from Mrs. Weasley to choose from for his dinner. And they were far tastier, not to mention more nutritious, than anything the Dursleys would let him have. Even if they weren't angry.
Another thing Harry was glad for was how he'd maintained his temper. At first, he thought the walls shook because of his anger, and a great ball of fear welled up in his chest. He was quite relieved indeed to discover that it was his uncle's yells instead. Just last year, Harry had been charged with breaking the Statute of Secrecy when he used the Patronus Charm to fend off two dementors on an alley near Privet Drive. He'd just managed to save his cousin and himself before the Charm wore off and old Mrs. Figg, who turned out to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, showed up. The Order was another thing he'd found out about last year. It was an organization created by Dumbledore back in the '80s to keep the Death Eaters in check. Harry's parents, Lily and James Potter, had been members, along with their friends Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. But you could hardly call Peter a friend. He was the reason that his parents were dead.
Nearly fifteen years ago, Harry had lived with his parents in Godric's Hollow. They were a small, happy family. Or at least that's how it looked from the pictures in his photo album. The week preceding Lily and James's deaths was lived under the Fidelius Charm, which concealed them from all people but the secret-keeper, and the people whom the secret-keeper divulged the secret to.
The secret-keeper is where they ran into problems.
Sirius Black had been James's best friend. And when James needed someone to protect his family from Voldemort, he'd been the one James had turned to. Loyally, Sirius had accepted the position and the spell had been performed on him. He was Lily and James's protector.
But a few days went by and a brilliant idea struck Sirius. He went to James with it. He'd suggested switching the secret-keeper from himself to Peter Pettigrew, his reason being that Peter was small, insignificant, and weak. No one would ever suspect him to be carrying such an important secret. He, on the other hand, was well-known to be James's friend, and on Dumbledore's side. He would be the first one Voldemort would go after. So James, who had feared for Sirius's safety, agreed to the switch, and it was made.
Peter, though small and insignificant, turned the information over rather quickly. It turned out that he'd been working against Dumbledore and the Order the whole time. He told Voldemort where the Potters were hiding, and a week later, he showed up at their door and killed them both. James first, then Lily. After that, Voldemort went for Harry. Baby Harry. The little boy who would cause him so many problems. He raised his wand on the child and the death curse echoed into the night. But it rebound on the Dark Lord, and he was ripped from his body. Harry was left only with a scar on his forehead.
The Wizarding World rejoiced at the Dark Lord's death, and Harry became "the-Boy-Who-Lived." Although he was famous, he couldn't stay in his world. He was sent, by Dumbledore, to live with his mother's sister, Petunia, her husband, and their small son, Dudley, who was nearly the same age as Harry. And at the Dursleys Harry had remained. He couldn't exactly say that he'd had a bad life, but he hadn't had the best, either. Petunia, for some reason, had kept Harry, despite the frequent protests of her husband. Harry didn't know why, but had an idea that Dumbledore had something to do with it, due to a Howler she had received around this time last year.
And speaking of mail, Harry was eager to open his. The first thing he opened was the letter from Hogwarts. It wasn't as important, or at least that's what he thought, as the package so he was getting it over with. With a quick skim he noted that it said around the same thing as always, save for the ever-changing list of school books. Harry shoved the letter roughly back into the envelope and, in turn, stuck that into his robes, which were draped along the back of his desk chair. Now he could open his package. He struggled for a moment with the string holding the letter in place, but finally shoved it aside and took the letter. He slit it open and read:
Dear Mr. Potter,
First and foremost, I would like to wish you a happy birthday. It's not every day that one turns sixteen. Secondly, if you're curious about the package, you needn't contain yourself any longer. Enclosed is your birthday present from both myself and Mr. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. We feel that it would be best if you kept this. It was a prototype created in the Department of Mysteries. The down side was that they made it to be indestructible, and couldn't destroy it. It's far too dangerous to be mass produced as its predecessor was, and we know that you would put it to good use. But know this, Harry, it is a great responsibility to carry this object, and it MUST NOT FALL INTO THE WRONG HANDS.
Happy Holidays,
Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)
A prototype of what, wondered Harry. And it had previous versions. Well, it had to be something he'd seen before, he decided. He picked up the brown package and tore off the top. When he glanced down at its contents he saw a golden circle. He reached in and pulled it out. The golden circle turned out to be the top to an hourglass. It was about as long as his middle finger, and looked nearly identical to Hermione's time-turner, except slightly larger and much newer. It had a long, fine, golden chain, just like all of the other time-turners he'd seen both in the Department of Mysteries, and in his third year at Hogwarts when Hermione had used one to take her heavy schedule of classes.
Harry had a very hard time believing that this tiny, delicate-looking hourglass was indestructible. It looked as if one of Uncle Vernon's yells could finish it off. He dropped it to the ground. He had expected it to shatter, but all that was heard was a clunk as it came in contact with the floor. Harry, testing its strength, jumped on it. Still it didn't break. He bent down and picked it up, inspecting it carefully, as a scientist would do to one of his subjects. Not even a scratch.
What use did he have for a time-turner anyhow? And what was so special about this one? What more could it do? He certainly wasn't going to use it unless a few of his questions were answered. Which meant that he'd have to wait for school. And he definitely couldn't use it then. Harry sighed and tossed the time-turner into the pile of clothes near his dresser. He laid back on his bed and felt something crinkle beneath him. He sat up and realized that he'd laid down on Dumbledore's letter. Harry had been about to tear it in half, since he'd read the contents, when something caught his eye. There was another piece of paper in the envelope that he'd somehow missed.
In case you have any questions about the time-turner, I've enclosed a bit of information about it.
You may remember the time-turner that your friend Hermione Granger possessed during her third year at Hogwarts. And if you remember correctly, you would have remembered that it can take you back in time. This time-turner can do that as well. But it can take you back much, much further. As far as you want, as a matter of fact. It works in a way that is somewhat different from the original model, but still has the same basic concept.
If you wanted to go to the year 1981, for example, you would simply have to concentrate on that year. You would also need the time of year. We'll use October. And then an exact date. The thirtieth, perhaps. You might also want to pick a specific time of day, or else you'll end up arriving at midnight, the start of the day.
Harry tossed the letter aside and ran his fingers nervously through his hair.
'This certainly clears things up a bit.'
He hurried over to his laundry pile and fished out the time-turner. It was a bit damp on the surface, from touching last night's shirt, no doubt, but otherwise unharmed. He stuffed it in his pocket and began to pace around the room, a rather annoying nervous habit of his. He began to ponder Dumbledore's letters. Harry got the impression that he was hinting at something in his letters. But what could it possibly be? He tried to remember certain parts of the letters.
If you wanted to go to the year 1981, for example…
You would also need the time of year. We'll use October.
And then an exact date. The thirtieth, perhaps.
But it can take you back much, much further.
As far as you want…
you would put it to good use…
Harry stopped for a moment to consider all of these clues. Dumbledore was definitely trying to tell him something. Harry had unfortunately never been good at puzzles. Then it hit him--he could owl Hermione for help! She was the real brain of the group. Harry nearly ripped the desk drawer from the desk as he eagerly pulled it open, searching for parchment. He found an unused piece, picked his quill up, and dipped it in ink. But right as he was about to mark on the paper, a loud knock on his door made him jump, and the ink splattered all over the parchment. Silently cursing, he stood up from his desk and marched, annoyed, over to his door, flicked the lock and opened the door.
It was Aunt Petunia.
"You've just made me ruin a sheet of parchment," said Harry waspishly. "What is it?"
"I've come for your laundry," said his aunt, ignoring his complaint as usual, "since you seem to be incapable of doing it yourself." She peered over his shoulder. Harry left his position at the door and scooped up his laundry.
"Here you go," he said dully, dropping the clothes into her arms. He was about to shut the door when Petunia said, "What's that hanging out of your pocket?" Harry looked down. The chain of the hourglass was leaking out of his pocket.
"Just an old necklace," he said nonchalantly, trying to wrap up the conversation.
"Let me see it," she commanded, switching the laundry to one arm and holding out her hand expectantly. Harry dug his hand in his pocket and took out his time-turner, though he had no intention of handing it over to his aunt. He dangled it out in front of him and the gold glinted in the sunlight, causing both of them to squint. She reached for it, but Harry pulled it back so fast that her hand closed around air.
"I said, let me see it," she repeated, an annoyed and slightly angry tone replacing her former friendly one.
"Here," he held it out again, but somewhat out of her reach. "You've seen it." He pocked it again.
"Who gave it to you?" she pressed.
"My teacher. It's a school project," he lied quickly. He ran one hand through his hair nervously and kept the other in his pocket in case she tried to swipe his time-turner.
"That's a lie."
"Is not. It's a transfiguration project. I've got to turn it into a pincushion. It'll take a while, so I need some time alone," he tried to close the door, but she caught it with her foot.
"You're not allowed to use magic outside of school," she sneered. "How could that be a school project?"
"They're making an exception," he lied hurriedly, "It's summer work. New sixth years have summer work."
He must have sounded very convincing--or at least convincing enough for Petunia Dursley--because she took his laundry and left, but not before giving him a very suspicious look. He shut the door again and locked it. Now back to his letter. Harry walked over to his desk, but soon discovered that his parchment was now completely ruined. Apparently he'd upset the ink bottle when he stood up so roughly; the parchment was almost completely black. He picked it up from the blank corner and tossed it in the garbage. Aunt Petunia was going to have his head for the huge stain on the desk.
Great. Now how could he owl Hermione?
Knock. Knock.
Harry crossed the room and answered the door. It was Dudley. Without a word, he pushed the door wider and stepped into his former second bedroom, taking a good look around. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.
"What're you doing in here?"
"Mum said that you've got some glass necklace in here. Let me see it. It was a part of one of my Halloween costumes," said Dudley, his piggy eyes greedily searching the room.
"It is not yours," said Harry coldly. "I just got it today. And like I told your mum, it's a school project. Now go. I need to work on it."
"Give me the necklace, Harry," said Dudley, growing angry. "We don't want me to let it slip to daddy, do we? He wouldn't like that ickle Harry is stealing."
"And mummy wouldn't want her Diddums to bully his cousin," quipped Harry. Dudley reddened at his remark, but only grew angrier. Harry could sense this and took his wand out from his belt and held it between their faces.
"You will leave. Now."
Dudley didn't need to be told twice. One look at that wand always had him running. Ever since Hagrid had given him a pig's tail a few years back, after he'd eaten Harry's birthday cake. Not that Harry had minded too much; Hagrid wasn't the best cook. But it was always nice to see your cousin get picked on.
But something Dudley had said got him thinking. Halloween. That holiday led to two clues in Dumbledore's letter. Harry locked the door again and sat down on his school trunk.
October…The thirtieth…
Halloween was the thirty-first of October. One day after the one Dumbledore had mentioned. What did Halloween have to do with anything? He thought about the remaining clues:
If you wanted to go to the year 1981, for example…
But it can take you back much, much further.
As far as you want…
you would put it to good use…
"Halloween…1981...as far as I want…"
(Number Four, Privet Drive. August 1st 1996. 6:03a.m.)
"Mum! Dad!" Harry bolted awake. He'd sweat through another shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it where the old pile of clothes used to lay. Harry had just woken up from a very graphic dream. Never had he seen this far into the night his parents were killed. He usually only heard their voices and saw their blurred figures. But now they were vivid and bold, even now, and he saw more than just his mother running, babe-in-arms, into the next room. Harry saw everything. Things he thought he'd never have to see. Like his mother's life-less body, and his father, struggling to breathe.
"AAAARRGGGGHHHHH!" Harry cried out in pain, clutching his forehead. His scar felt like it was on fire. It hurt nearly as much as the Cruciatus Curse. The pain eventually lessened, but his head still throbbed.
This annoyed Harry, as he didn't like how Voldemort could cause pain to him without trying to. His scream probably woke up the Dursleys as well. He would have a hard time getting away with them awake.
Last night's dream had been the final step in his figuring out Dumbledore's clues. Harry knew what he'd been given the time-turner for. It wasn't to fix something he'd done wrong, it was to fix something that had been done wrong to him.
His dream had made it all clear. Of course he'd had a suspicion that the Professor was talking about the night his parents had died, but he didn't think that he actually wanted him to save his parents. He was thinking more along the lines of saving Sirius. But of course Dumbledore wouldn't change the future that drastically just to make Harry happy. No matter how much favoritism he showed him.
Since he was still wearing the same shorts, Harry pulled the time-turner out of his pocket and strung it around his neck. He thought of things he'd need for his trip to save his parents. A wand, definitely. But were there any items from the future that would help him? He had knowledge of his parents' predicament that would help, that was for sure. And judging by his previous encounters with Lord Voldemort, this wouldn't be the most difficult job in the world, especially since he had 15 years more knowledge of the Wizarding World than anyone in that time period.
'Thank God the Dursleys are still asleep. Or haven't come up here. The last thing I need is one of them poking round my room.'
Could he just…leave? Just like that? He tried to imagine leaving a letter to his aunt and uncle.
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,
I've gone back in time to save my parents from Voldemort. Please keep my dinner warm.
Harry
It sounded stupid even in his head. He grabbed his robes from his desk chair and threw them on, as he would be going to an all-Wizard community. He snatched his glasses from his bedside table and stuck them on his face, and then proceeded to his trunk to retrieve the invisibility cloak his father left for him. He stuffed it in his pocket. The light weight around his neck told him that the time-turner was still safely in place.
'Now what were those instructions?'
He picked up the letter from his desk and glanced at it again.
'Ah…I have to concentrate on where I want to go. But on what? The scenery? I have no idea what my parents' house looked like. Or is it the date?'
According to the letter, time travel had nothing to do with the scenery. It was the date that he needed.
'They were killed on Halloween. The thirty-first of October. 1981.'
Harry closed his eyes and tried to picture the events in his dream. It had been dark outside. Quite dark, in fact. And the clock had said 11:56 right before James sent Lily away. Harry's eyes shot open. James had just sent her away. No hug, no "I love you," no nothing. Last year, when Harry had seen Snape's Memory, he had assumed that his parents weren't in love, but that was sort of the final straw. He'd have to look more into this when he got there.
"October thirty-first, 1981. Godric's Hollow…11:00p.m…October thirty-first, 1981. Godric's Hollow…11:00p.m…"
Yes, it is a bit different from the original first chapter, but I like this one much better. I'm going to try and update every week or so. (I'm never good with updates, that's why most of this story is so short--that's another thing I'm fixing. Noticed?)
Anywho…review! I want to hear your opinions on the renovations!
Megan
