Forging Reality

by DitzyDizzyDessy101

Chapter 4

The Many Oddities of Harry Potter

Bonjour, everybody!

I'm finally back, but you should know, just for the record, that my updates are going to be pretty slow because, after the third chappie, I hadn't had much written out ahead of time.

On a different note, a thousand thanks to every single one of my reviewers (I GOT 9 REVIEWS!!!)
and a million to Sile Ni Dhiohnnlibin who pointed out an error
and to Yalith's Wolf–who's review I absolutely loved

Also, a special thanks to everybody who contributed to my hit rate! (1027 when I posted this!)
ie, everyone reading this

Another Disclaimer:I am currently saving up to buy Harry's left shoe, but until then, the wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, nota 14- year-old kid seeking entertainment. O.K., fine, not even this disclaimer is mine, I based it off one I read somewhere—but hey! Whatever floats my boat, right? So during this story I'm pretending that I own Harry Potter, while distinctly saying that I don't. Genius, huh?

And now, onto the fic

Yay!

When Harry woke up the next morning, bright sunlight was casting warmth on his cheeks and a red glow on his closed eyelids. It was warm and comfortable, and he attempted in vain to slip back to sleep even as reality settled in around him. He thought about his meetings with his parents and their friends. Had it all been a dream? Would he open his eyes to find he was back in the tent?

Loud whispers above him broke the silence, "Count of three, ready?"

"As always."

"One...two..thr—"

Understanding immediately that he didn't want to know what they were 'ready' for, Harry reacted purely on instinct. He sprang from his bed, sprinted a few feet, drew his wand, and spun around just before the unknown voice had finished saying "three."

"What the—" The speaker was shocked, and slow to react. Good, thought Harry, that would give him the upper hand... Or it would if it weren't for the fact that he was blind. The room was hazy, but he could see enough to tell that they stood between him and what he assumed was the bedside table and, therefore, his glasses.

He squinted at two blurry figures, his wand still raised, and demanded, "Who are you? What are you doing?"

From somewhere behind him, Ron mumbled sleepily, "Harry? What's going on?"

Good, he thought, he wasn't alone. "Ron, get up. I don't know what's going on, but I might need help."

"No, no, don't—it's just us, Sirius and James. Remember?" Sirius sounded placating, bewildered, and a little scared all at the same time. "You're at Hogwarts, you transferred here yesterday... We stayed up late talking about pranks. Come on, you can relax; it's just us."

Both relief and shame instantly swamped Harry. He lowered his wand and stowed it in his pocket before grinning sheepishly. "Sorry about that. It's early and I don't take too well to being surprised."

"So we noticed," grumbled James.

Harry fetched his glasses and clambered back into bed, leaning against the headboard and watching his father and godfather carefully, a small smile threatening to spread. "I take it you were trying to pull a prank?"

Now they looked sheepish. James said, "Yeah. Couldn't help it. There you were, sleeping so peacefully and not suspecting a thing... How'dja move so fast, anyway?"

"Reflexes," Harry said simply. "We've had a tough year."

They didn't question this; in fact, they looked awkward, as if they didn't particularly like the way the conversation was going. Harry decided to rescue them and change the subject. "What were you planning, anyway?"

"Nothing too bad," Sirius shrugged. "Just a bucket of cold water and a rude wakeup. And maybe a little bit of singing ant breakfast."

"Not too bad?!" Harry exclaimed, aghast. "Compared with what, murder?"

Their indignant replies were drowned out as Remus, glancing up as he turned the page of his book, said lightly from across the room, "You should see some of the worse pranks they pull. This was actually pretty tame."

"Besides, I wouldn't consider brewing and drinking Polyjuice Potion and posing as a guy's best friends to get dirt on him completely harmless... or legal," Sirius said, smirking.

"The circumstances called for it," harry said firmly. "We thought he was... er, bullying people."

Ron must have thought it was time to add to the conversation, because he said, "No, we already knew he was bullying people. We wanted to know if he was doing something more." The Mauraders glanced at one another, but with a look at his face decided not to press for details.

"Look, whatever the circumstances, you can't blame us," said James, grinning a cheesy smile, "We're pranksters at heart and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Is that right?" Harry asked innocently. When James nodded, he asked, "Not even this?" and chucked a pillow at him.

James, or course, responded in like, and the ensuing pillow fight was not one to miss. Considering they were up against four Quidditch players, Remus and Peter were slaughtered, but for the most part the rest were reasonably well matched.

Doo-do-Doo-do-Dooo-Oooo!

Eventually, stomachs growling in hunger, they went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Overjoyed once more at having plenty of food to eat, Harry and Ron dug in, followed closely by the Mauraders. Not much later, the girls came and joined them, continuing a conversation with the other seventh years—Michelle, Cassie, Morganie, and Lily—as they all sat down together.

It seemed as though the seventh year girls were oblivious to where they were sitting, so caught up were they in their conversation about various concerts they'd gone to and what type of music they like. This suspicion was confirmed when Lily, reaching for some bacon, caught sight of Harry and Ron.

"Oh, hey guys! How's it going?" As she turned to look at them properly, she froze at the sight of the Mauraders. She glared before pointedly turning her gaze more firmly on Harry and Ron.

"Oh, erm, pretty good. You?" Harry answered, a bit put out by this behavior.

She must have seen his discomfort, because her gaze softened and she smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not mad at you. It's just... the Mauraders and I don't get along very well."

Harry glanced at James, who was scowling and picking at his pancakes. "I see, but... why not?"

"Because they're always bullying people and pulling humiliating pranks on people, and their really arrogant—" Her voice, only vaguely irritated at first, was now nearing a level of anger and vehemence that didn't even attempt to hide her hatred.

Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable. What do you say to a teenage girl who hates the one she's destined to be with? What do you say to yourmother who hates your father? All the same, he decided it was time to cut off her tirade.

"You know, he's got a lot of good qualities, too."

"Oh, right!" Lily said with a cutting bit of vicious sarcasm. "I s'pose you're thinking of how he's a brilliant Quidditch player! Or that he's got such a sense of humor!"

"Actually, no." Harry spoke quietly, trying to defend his father as well as placate her and get her to open her eyes. Easier said than done, he decided. "It was more that he's fiercely loyal to his friends and those he cares about, he's strong-willed and brave, devoted and passionate."

There was silence. Words failed Lily Evans. Her mouth opened and closed several times, and her fork clattered onto her plate. She ignored it. A faint flush crept into her cheeks for the barest of seconds, but almost immediately thereafter her face hardened. "That doesn't excuse his bullying people."

"No, it doesn't," Harry acknowledged, "But it does mean that there's more to him than what you've said. Just give him a chance to prove it. That's all I ask."

Harry allowed himself to glance at James, who was staring at him open-mouthed,

"I—you... Thanks," he stammered, looking dazed. "I—that was,,, How do you... How do you know me so well?"

Harry's eyes widened, and around the table he felt more than saw his fellow time-travellers tense. Once again, he'd dug himself into a hole. "I'm not bad at reading people," he said stiffly.

And with that he grabbed his book bag and left the hall, leaving behind a half-eaten breakfast and more than a few shocked teenagers.

Doodoodoo—DooDoo!

Harry cursed himself the whole way out. That had been really, incredibly stupid. He'd almost exposed them already, even though he already knew his parents got together of their own accord and didn't need him to help it along—if they hadn't, he wouldn't be there.

Unless... Doubts ravaged his mind. Unless he was supposed to be there, to make sure it all happened correctly. Now that was a sickening thought: his job was to make sure his parents were betrayed and Sirius condemned... and Harry himself sentenced to a miserable childhood with the Dursleys.

Could fate be more cruel? Wasn't it enough that his life had been stolen and manipulated because of some stupid prophecy and so he could defeat Voldemort? Did he have to watch it play out again and again, even have a hand in orchestrating it?

DoooooooooooDo!

"Um, excuse me, young man? Sir Harry Potter?" He jumped, jolted back to full consciousness as violently as if he'd just been rudely awoken from a deep sleep. He looked around in bewilderment, trying to figure out where he was and who had spoken.

He identified the corridor as the way back to the Gryffindor Tower. The speaker was portrait of a wizened old man playing poker, and obviously losing to the three other men he was playing with.

The old man in the portrait spoke again. "Hogwarts wants me to tell you that your Transfiguration lesson starts in fifteen minutes, in classroom 23 on the second floor. Why she's bothering to tell the likes of you, I don't know, but—" He stopped and grimaced. "Yes, yes, whatever you say, Hogwarts," he said, subdued and no longer addressing Harry.

"Great, thanks," Harry said. Fifteen minutes would be plenty of time to make it on time. But why had he been going to the Gryffindor Tower? What had he wanted?

He pondered even as he turned around and headed to his class. It hit him as he was surrounded by a mass of giggling, chatting, raucous students.

He couldn't do this. The war had changed him, aged him, and he couldn't handle being back here. All around him, people didn't care about anything more than appearances and petty fights; and he was left to worry about the fate of the world.

He had to watch events played out, eventually leading up to the Halloween when his parents were killed.

He couldn't do anything to save the people around him who were doomed to horrible ends: his parents, the Mauraders, the Longbottoms...

And when they returned to their own time, they'd have to cope with whatever havoc Voldemort had wrecked in their absence.

Da! da-Da! DaDAaDaADa!

By the time he reached classroom 23, there was still a minute or two left until the bell rang. He sat down near the back next to Remus, directly in front of James and Sirius and behind Lily and Ginny. Looking around, he saw that Peter and Morganie were sitting together and had turned to talk to Ron and Hermione. Hermione was trying hard to look politely interested, he could tell, but was also doing her best not to look at Pettigrew anymore than was strictly necessary. Ron looked faintly disgusted and, when he thought no one was looking, kept shooting glares at the rat.

"Hey, Harry."

"Hey, Remus."

"Listen, I—"

He was cut off as Professor McGonagall called the class to attention. "Okay, class, you just had breakfast and plenty of time to talk. I need your attention up here; we've got an important lesson today."

Regretfully, Remus turned from Harry to the front of the room to listen more closely. Once the class had quieted, Professor McGonagall continued, "Much Better. Now then, taking into consideration the war that is going on, and how, being seventh years, many of you will be asked to join it soon, I have decided we will spend some time covering Transfiguration in duels."

Immediately the entire atmosphere of the room changed. Nearly everyone abruptly became attentive and excited. Harry could almost hear them thinking, "Finally, an interesting lesson." He, the other time-travellers, and a rare few around the room were the only ones to take this seriously.

He felt suddenly irritated. Didn't they realize that this wasn't a game? That what she was teaching them could very well impact who lives and who dies? Couldn't they see how important this was?

McGonagall was talking again, posing a question to the class. "—examples of how it might be used?"

A few hands flew into the air, including Hermione's, Lily's, and a handful of Ravenclaws'. "How about Miss..." She consulted a piece of parchment, "Granger?"

With an endearingly familiar tone, Hermione recited, "In a duel, Transfiguration is best used as a distraction because a transfigured object can penetrate most shields, so it would effectively demand an opponents concentration and give the caster time to disarm, stun, or otherwise defeat his opponent and win the duel."

"Very good, Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor. Does anyone have more to add? Mr. Dakar?"

The Ravenclaw shook his head, "No, Professor, I think she said it all."

"Mr. Potter?"

As Harry opened his mouth to answer, his father said smoothly, "Nothing more to say, Professor."

"And you, Mr. Potter, look like you have something to add...?"

This time it was directed at Harry. He thought back to the trip to the ministry in his fifth year. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pushed away the pain and guilt of Sirius' death, concentrating instead on the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort. "You could use Transfiguration to take control of a situation, couldn't you? Like, a Transfigured statue could, say, fight or trap an opponent, especially if you're outnumbered. Or you could use the Transfigured object to directly attack your opponent because they probably wouldn't expect it, would they?" There was something more... something important... "Oh, yeah! You could also Transfigure something to protect you from a curse, like the Avada Kedavra."

When he mentioned the Killing Curse, McGonagall started violently, staring at Harry as though not sure what to make of him. The moment passed, and she shook herself to regain her composure. "That was... very well informed. Ten points to Gryffindor. I'm impressed that homeschooling would get that indepth." She turned to address the class as a whole, "Now then, as you have heard, there are several different tactics with which..."

As she continued, Harry's attention was diverted as Remus, just barely audible, whispered, "Where did you learn all that?"

Harry'd expected this to come up sooner or later and breathed back just as quietly, "DADA's always been my best subject, and I pick up that kind of stuff pretty easily."

"So do you still have the book you got it from?" Remus whispered, not letting the matter drop. "I'd like to learn more, if you do."

"Sorry, but I don't even remember which book I got it from, and I know I wouldn't have brought it here."

Remus turned his attention back to McGonagall to hide his disappointment.

The lesson ended without further hitch. The class had moaned and groaned when they found out they wouldn't actually be dueling until they'd covered the theory, and had done so even more when they were assigned an essay on different strategies that incorporated Transfiguration.

As they'd filed out of the Room 23, Harry distincly felt McGonagall's eyes on him, and was fully aware that she was likely to inform Dumbledore of everything he'd said.

DoooDo-do-do!

"So is it true?" asked Hermione quietly as she fell into step beside him.

"What?"

"That Transfiguration can block the Avada Kedavra?"

Her voice was low, but so insistant that Harry knew it had been driving her mad all class.

"Dumbledore did. In the Depar—In fifth year." He shrugged, hoping he sounded nonchalent, but couldn't help glancing over at Sirius.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," Hermione hissed, a familiar fervor in her eyes once again. "If we'd known that—now that we know it—just think what we can do! Oh, I've got to get to the library... there's bound to be something."

She suddenly stopped her rant, frowned, and turned to face him more fully, concern written all over her face.

She sounded regretful. "OH, Harry, I'm so sorry. Here I am, going on about academics when this whole ordeal's got to be so hard on you. How are you holding up?"

"Fine," he lied, but when she failed to look convinced, he said, "Drop it, Hermione. Now's not the time anyway. I'm fine, honest."

And with that, he slid into Charms and set down his books next to Ron.

---

Just a few minutes later, he received a huge shock.

They were reviewing Cheering Charms, nothing new, but when Harry reached for his wand, he pulled out the wrong wand.

Bemused, he examined it more closely.

It was long and thick, powerfully built, and, as he held it, he felt a surge of strength rush through him: hands, arms, torso, head, legs, feet...

And it was made of Elder.

---

He knew with absolute certainty what it was he held, and as he reached this conclusion, time slowed.

In a flurry of short clips, the wand was showing him its history. With surreal fascination, he watched as images swam before his eyes—duel after duel, most with a bloody end, a few brutal murders while the victim's back was turned... At last, he saw Dumbledore and Grindelwald; Dumbledore and Malfoy; he, Harry, and Malfoy... then there was the duel between Harry and Voldemort: he saw the wand, already won, dueling against its master because its master wanted a fair fight... It was won again and flew, high and dark against the lightening sky, until it reached its master's unconscious form...

Then the scene went black and Harry returned to the present.

The Elder Wand... He was the true owner of the Elder Wand...

It was a difficult concept to get his mind around, even though he'd imagined—longed for—such a thing so many times before.

Even harder to understand was the irrifutable realization that he didn't want it anymore. It was, he thought, nothing but trouble. Didn't he have enough trouble to be getting on with?

Still, though... If it helped get rid of Voldemort...

He fished in his pockets for the blackthorn wand. It was there, too, just the same as he'd remembered it.

As he was staring at it, a sudden thought struck him, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. Was it possible...?

Hardly daring to hope, he verified that Flitwick was kept preoccupied on the far side of the room, and pulled out the snapped remains of his old holly wand.

He lay them on his desk, ignoring Ron as he said, "What are you...?"

He pointed the Unbeatable Wand at his broken one and murmured, "Reparo!"

Instantly, his wand resealed itself. He picked it up and felt a warmth beneath his fingers as hand and wand were reunited.

A few golden sparks flew out the end and he stiffled the sudden urge to laugh.

"Harry, did you...?" Ron was staring at him, his mouth

hanging open.

"Stop staring, Ron," he whispered as he slipped the extra two wands away. "I'll explain to you and the girls when we're alone."

"I hope you're not missing the lesson, boys," said Flitwick cheerfully from behind them. "Results have shown that many students forget how to do Cheering Charms by the time N.E.W.T.s roll around."

"No, Professor."

"Then go on, let's see it."

Di!Di-i!DiDiDiDiDiDIIII!

They only had Care of Magical Creatures after lunch, and afterwards Harry found himself blissfully enjoying spending the afternoon wandering around the grounds with his friends, his parents, and their friends.

Dinner time rolled around, and Harry couldn't help but to feel truly at home: he was surrounded by family and friends, and back at Hogwarts, where he belonged.

He pushed worries about the future to the back of his mind—he had a chance to get to know his parents. Wasn't that what he'd always wanted?

He smiled, reminiscing about the hours spent sitting before the Mirror of Erised, the ages spent in his cupboard at the Dursleys, wishing some unknown relative would come and take him away...

"Harry? Harry? Are you all right?"

He jumped, as if electrocuted. He automatically reached for his wand, looking around wildly.

"Harry, it's me, Lyssa."

"Oh, right," he said. "Hey Lyssa. What's going on?"

She giggled. "You've been staring at your plate for ten minutes. It might be solid gold, but it's not that interesting."

"Sorry. I was just thinking."

"About what...?" She coaxed.

"About... home, I guess."

She smiled sympathetically. "You must miss them."

He shrugged, a wistful smile on his face. "I'm glad Ron, Hermione and Ginny are here. I'd be pretty lost without them."

"So where is home?"

"H—Worcester." He just barely caught himself. He didn't think she noticed.

"How do you like Hogwarts so far?"

"It's great. The castle's great, the kids are great, the professors are great—if this keeps up, I'm probably in for the best year of my life. Mind you, last year didn't exactly offer much competition."

She didn't respond to that. She just grinned and offered him the plate of mashed potatoes.

"You gonna make the plate more interesting?"

"Don't mind if I do."

Harry loaded his plate and looked around him for the first time.

Hermione was talking to Lily and Michelle about what they wanted to be after they left school.

"--I'd really rather not go into law enforcement, or work in any other part of the ministry, to tell the truth," Hermione was saying. "I'd prefer something much more rewarding, something that accomplishes something good. I'm getting pretty sick of everyone pointing fingers at the people who are actually trying to do something."

Lily nodded her agreement. "I know what you mean. Personally, I'm thinking about being a healer, but I don't know if I can just sit back while everyone else is fighting. One way or another, it'd drive me mad."

"I already know I can't just watch everyone else fight," said Michelle, "I'm going to be an Auror. I mean, come on, yeah the ministry's going to make mistakes. Yeah, they'll screw somethings up. But when you think about it, it is led by people who want to see the Wizarding World profiting. They're going to try hard to bring that about. They're fighting a difficult war, and we need to stay unified under a strong central government, or else the Death Eaters' job will be that much simpler."

Harry shook his head. Hermione, at least, might be able to convince her otherwise, but the truth was, until she saw something to make her realize the Ministry was more flawed than she thought, she had no reason to change her mind.

He looked at Ron, who was talking Quidditch strategies with James and Sirius. Peter, Remus, Morganie, and Cassie were all discussing the next Hogsmeade weekend, which apparently was in two weeks.

Ginny, he saw, looked furious and kept shooting glares at Lyssa and him. Shocked, he stared at her in confusion, but she just rolled her eyes at him and turned her glare to her plate, mashing her fork into her food with savage enthusiasm.

What had he done?

AN: I think I should let you know that this story has MINIMAL ROMANCE. I have little desire to read, let alone write, a load of mushy junk. I'm sticking with canon pairings because I don't want to deal with that many breakups, heartache, etc. Plus, I happen to like the pairings.

God Bless!