Chapter 20: Quiet Ferocity
• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •
Something hot was brewing inside his chest.
"Hold on tight!" he heard James yell. "We're riding a dragon who's learning to fly for the first time."
He flexed his wings experimentally. He could feel the strength of the muscles and tendons beneath his scales. He crouched low, prayed his alternate family were holding on tight, then reared onto his haunches and pushed off with all the force he could muster.
He sprang easily into the air. Shouts of alarm arose from the surrounding bush. He bashed through the dense foliage, twigs and branches whipping at his iron scales. The weight of his passengers felt heavy and unnatural against his shoulder blades. Even with his counterpart in his Animagus form, three humans and a monkey were a heavy burden.
He burst through the canopy into the still night air with Death Eaters shouting up at him from below. Curses whizzed past him. He glimpsed the Death Eaters amongst the heavy trees, scuttling about like ants.
He manoeuvred expertly in the air and swooped back down toward the canopy.
He wasn't learning to fly. He'd been flying since he was a year old.
He opened his jaws and unleashed a breath of rage and resentment that had been brewing within him from the moment the Cat had first struck. The forest exploded in a shock of orange flames, leaving a fiery trail in his wake. Screams wafted through the deafening crackles and pops of the Death Eaters rose above the canopy on broomsticks, their silver masks reflecting the moonlight hauntingly.
Harry welcomed them.
They peeled off in four different directions, darting about him like gnats. He snarled and unleashed another fiery breath. They evaded him easily. He twisted and contorted in the air, snapping and snarling. They were nimble, darting in and out of reach. A curse struck his leg. It dug in and exploded like a firecracker, shooting bolts of pain through his muscles. He screeched, animalistic, and tore after the offending Death Eater.
His passengers were shouting, but he couldn't discern their words. His mind was a storm, a frenzied cacophony, with a single-minded hunger to destroy. The Death Eaters' curses came too quick to dodge. He was too large to manoeuvre out of their path. He surged upward, higher and higher, ascending far enough above the Death Eaters that they hesitated to follow.
In the air he found a brief moment of respite. His passengers were whooping and yelling – or shrieking – he wasn't sure. He couldn't spare a thought for them just yet. There was still a wild force brewing inside him, something he could not contain.
He dove downward once again and released his fiery breath, leaving the forest in a carnage in his wake. Black smoke billowed heavily into the once clear night sky. Below him the world writhed and flickered and crackled as though it were alive.
The Death Eaters had disappeared. Good.
He turned to the cottage with visions of reducing it to nothing more than blackened ruins, but a figure had risen menacingly above it. Shrouded in smoke, the Dark Lord hovered in the air, his piercing red eyes glaring at Harry across the expanse. He returned Voldemort's gaze with vehemence. Fire instinctively flared in the back of his throat like a dog salivating for fresh meat.
"I am impressed, Potter. Truly, I am," Voldemort's amplified voice echoed across the expanse. "I can see what tempted my alternate self into holding you close. I will not make his mistakes. You may be closer to immortal than even myself, but I can still rip you from your flesh. I can tear you from your bones and condemn you to a life of incorporeal damnation."
He slowly raised his wand as he spoke, beckoning. Harry growled. Smoke poured from his nostrils. This could all end now. The shouts of his alternate family were just white noise to his ears. He careened toward the Dark Lord, hungry and insensible. He had felt the Dark Lord's wrath – now the Dark Lord would feel his. Voldemort raised his wand – Dumbledore's wand – high above his head with an air of pure, exhilarated anticipation.
"Avada KedavraI!
Harry careened out of the curse's path, never hesitating in his pursuit. Voldemort curse, however, fizzled out rather anticlimactically before it could reach him. Voldemort snarled with annoyance and released a flurry of curses, but it was clear they were lacking a certain oomph.
The Elder Wand was underperforming.
Vindication surged through him. Even after Voldemort had seen all of Harry's memories, the Dark Lord didn't realise the wands' loyalties didn't belong to him. Harry was almost upon the him. Red hot fire scorched his throat. Death Eaters were waiting on the ground below them. He didn't care. He didn't care what curses barrelled into him, he just wanted to see that miserable monster burn.
A shout he couldn't ignore suddenly reverberated through his head.
"Harry James Potter," Lily's voice hissed. "In the name of all that is magical, stop! You're going to get us all killed unless you turn around right now!"
That made him pause. He'd quite forgotten about the family clinging to his back. But everything inside him itched to see his intentions through. He couldn't turn away now.
"He's not mortal, Harry. This will achieve nothing. Son, we need to get home," came James' voice, firm and calm in his ear.
He growled with displeasure, but the fire died in his throat. The weight of his alternate family was suddenly heavy against his shoulders. They were supposed to be fleeing. What was he doing?
Just like that, the desire to protect suddenly far outweighed the desire to destroy. He twisted in the air, flying like a dart in the opposite direction of the Dark Lord.
"You dare…" Voldemort's voice followed him, echoing across the trees. "Will you not face me like the beast you are, instead of cowering with your tail between your legs? I'm coming for you, Potter, and your family too. It's time you fools at Hogwarts met your fate!"
Harry ignored him, and strangely, they were not pursued. He beat his wings as hard as he could all the same, suddenly gripped by fear. He had to get his family home. He had to get them to safety. He would never forgive himself if they were hurt. This was all his fault.
At last, he felt himself pass through the Anti-Apparation wards. He sank lower and found a clearing between the trees where he thumped inexpertly back onto solid ground. His family was all too eager to clamber off him, looking pale and flustered.
He let go of his Animagus form and became human once more. The moment his anatomy included a magical core again, the exhaustion hit him all at once. He dropped to his knees, then his hands, then sank bodily against the ground, moaning. Unconsciousness swam along the edges of his vision and he fought to stay awake, cursing his body for giving up on him so miserably.
James seized his shoulder, and a nauseating flash later, they were back on the grassy lawns of Hogwarts. Harry groaned, staring up at a dazzling sky and gasping for breath.
"You're okay, Harry, you're okay," James said, sinking beside him. "Sorry, I should have warned you about the transformation back into a human. It can be a bit of a shock to the system. Plumalucem!"
James knelt beside him and put one arm beneath Harry knees and the other beneath his shoulder blades. It took Harry a moment to figure out what he was doing.
"No – don't–" he rasped, but it was too late. He was already being hoisted into his father's arms with all the ease of James' Featherlight Charm.
He stared wearily up at his father's conspiratorial grin – a grin that knew Harry would under no circumstances have allowed this kind of treatment if he'd had any power to stop it.
"You're okay, son. I got you."
Harry suddenly realised that his family hadn't been captured by accident. They had risked everything to save him, and he drifted into the darkness with that thought nagging at the back of his mind.
• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •
The first thing Harry became aware of when wakefulness returned was that someone was stroking his hair. Gentle fingers brushed through his hair in soft, even caresses. He was lying on his stomach with his face mashed up against a pillow. He tried to force his eyes open, but the onslaught of brightness made his head immediately begin to pound. He groaned and screwed his eyes shut again.
The fingers stroking his hair stilled. "Harry?"
He mumbled something unintelligible and struggled to roll onto his back, unable to believe how utterly exhausted he was. His limbs felt as though they were made of lead. It was an effort to keep his eyes open. Everything ached, right down to the bones.
But the mattress was soft. It might have been the most comfortable bed he'd ever laid in, and he decided to be thankful. Lily and James were sat either side of him, still covered in blood and grit. A light morning glow was filtering into the Hogwarts Infirmary, and the two looked very out of place in the tranquil setting.
"How are you feeling?" James asked. He was looking at Harry with such concern. It did something funny to his insides.
"Tired," he mumbled.
"That's to be expected. To say you overexerted yourself last night would be an understatement."
And just like that, last night came flooding back to him and his stomach twisted with horror.
They knew everything.
Everything.
Visions of himself kneeling before Voldemort, killing for Voldemort, having his soul torn apart by Voldemort – the man who murdered his family, the man who stood for everything they'd ever fought against – flashed across his mind.
Shit.
Lily grasped Harry hand and held it tightly, sensing his rising anxiety. "It's okay, Harry. Everyone's okay."
"I'm – sorry," he said on impulse.
"Harry, what could you possibly have to apologise for?"
He didn't know. His chest felt tight. He didn't want to do this. How could she look at him like that? With such sympathy and devotion. She'd seen all the things he'd done for Voldemort. Didn't she care? He was a dark wizard. Coerced or not, he'd helped a Dark Lord take over the wizarding world. Didn't that mean anything to her? There had to be a limit to a mother's love for a son who had abandoned everything she stood for.
"We're the ones who need to apologise," said James resolutely. "We absolutely hate that this is the way we found out about… everything… and we're so sorry, Harry. It's… I still don't think I've been able to fully grasp these – these horrors that you've had to face. We were going to obliviate ourselves. It seemed the decent thing to do… but we have to know these things. We have to set them straight."
Oh no.
"Can we not do this now?" Harry asked, pulling away from Lily's grasp and pressing the palms of his hands to his stinging eyes.
"You don't have to do anything, just listen. You were wrong, Harry. We would never condemn you for what that man – that monster has done to you. We know who you are now, indisputably, and everything has changed."
"Nothing has–"
"Yes, it has," Lily interrupted with a quiet ferocity. "We are the only ones who have the right to tell you what's what, because we're the only ones who care about you wholeheartedly and unconditionally, so you need to listen to us when we tell you there is no what in all that is magical that we're sending you back into the hands of that monster."
"You don't–"
"No!" she interrupted again, eyes flashing. "We let you keep your distance all this time because we didn't know the full truth, but now we do, and now we can help you. We will help you. There is always a way."
"You can't–"
"Harry, we get it, you've had a difficult life, and you've got so much at stake; your friends, your soul, we get it, but we refuse to give up, and we refuse to let you give up either."
"Let me?" Harry echoed exhaustedly. "Voldemort wears my defeat as a medallion around his neck."
Lily and James shared a heavy look with each other.
James said slowly, "We saw you give up last night, Harry. I caught the exact moment. You couldn't see a way out, so you just let go… yet here you are now. You got away because we were able to help you. We can help you out of this, too. You just need to trust us."
Harry stared at the ceiling, unable to stand their gazes. They'd seen every waking moment of his life, so why didn't they get it? Couldn't they see that he was irrevocably, irreparably doomed? Perhaps more so than he'd ever been in his life?
The Voldemort of this world would never trust him again. His only remaining horcrux was Nagini, and Harry could only venture to guess what kinds of obscure, dark rituals Voldemort was enacting at this very moment to keep his final anchor to life safe. Trying to destroy her now was assuredly nearly impossible. He wouldn't even know where to begin, and no one could help him, not even Dumbledore. It was beyond hopeless.
He'd failed.
Which meant his Voldemort was going to be beyond furious. Harry was now stranded in this universe, and there was no way his Voldemort would stand for that, which meant there was only one conceivable course of action.
Any second now, his Voldemort was going to materialise, beyond furious, and plunge a basilisk fang into Harry's horcrux. The thought sent a cold shiver of fear down his spine. There was nothing he could do to stop it, and there was certainly nothing James and Lily could do either. This was his inevitable future.
He was about to attempt to put this into words when the Infirmary doors burst open and Holly charged in. She froze at the sight of Harry for a moment before launching herself onto him, making him gasp. She buried her head into his shoulder.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so, so sorry – what I – I don't – I'm sorry I'm so, so–"
"Holly, come on, let him breathe," said James, gently coaxing her off him.
She sat on the edge of the bed and whipped her nose. She looked pale, with bloodshot eyes and dark shadows underneath. It pained him to see her like this. It took him a moment to figure out what the matter was.
"Holly, you have all the strength of a pygmy puff. It barely even stung," he said hesitantly.
"You're full of it," she said accusingly, averting her gaze. "The way you flinched–"
"That was for Voldemort. It's the first rule of torture, Holly. Put on a show."
She swallowed hard and narrowed her eyes at him. "So… I didn't hurt you?"
"Not really. You're really bad at torturing people."
A nervous, frantic laugh bubbled up from somewhere dark inside her. "So when Voldemort got out that other whip with all the different strands, you were just putting on a show then as well?"
Harry hesitated. "Yeah," he said, giving a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "All a show."
She didn't look convinced, but thankfully he was saved further questioning when Mrs Longbottom appeared and began insisting that they should be letting Harry rest.
As James and Lily reluctantly ushered Holly off, she asked, "Harry's going to stay here, with us from now on, right?"
James suppressed a smile. "It's going to take some convincing but, yeah, he'll realise soon enough that he's one of us now."
Harry bit his lip. He couldn't bring himself to voice just how wrong James was in front of Holly.
"Are we going to obliviate ourselves?" Holly asked next.
Lily cast a wary glance at Harry. "No, honey. We decided against erasing them. We're going to keep our memories so we can help Harry."
"Oh," she said quietly. "Do you… do you think you could just obliviate me, then? From the moment we were taken? I just keep seeing the whip – and the blood – and all his memories…"
James pulled her into a tight embrace when she faltered. "I know, I know, it's horrible, but we can't obliviate that much."
"Why not?" she demanded, blinking rapidly.
"Because it's already become a part of who you are. Something inside you has changed from this experience. We can take away the memory, but that change will still be there, and you won't know why, and it'll drive you insane with not knowing."
"But – but I…" she stared at her hands. Harry had never seen her look so small. He hated that he'd done this to her.
"Holly, listen to me," James began, kneeling down a little to look his daughter in the eye. "This all happened just a few hours ago. You're still processing. It seems like a catastrophe at the moment, but I promise as time goes by, this experience will have less of a hold on you, and then you'll be stronger and wiser for what you've experienced. Just be strong and give it time. Can you do that?"
She nodded, and after saying their quiet farewells, the three of them went to get some breakfast. Harry tried to give them some semblance of a reassuring smile as they left, then laid there and stared at the foot of his bed, ignoring his own breakfast that had appeared on the bed-side table, waiting and waiting for the Dark Lord to arrive.
• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •
He didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, but suddenly he was being shaken awake.
"Come on, Potter. How dare you be asleep when Daphne Greengrass has chosen to grace you with her presence?"
Harry groggily batted her away and sat up a little, feeling considerably stronger. She hopped onto the bed and sat on his legs.
"How are you going?" she asked.
"Fantastic."
"You're supposed to say, 'Daphne, I'm in terrible, terrible pain and I need vital medicine right away."
"Why?"
She held up a bottle of Firewhiskey. "I brought medicine."
"Isn't it a little early in the morning for hard liquor?"
"Shows what you know. It's two o'clock," she said. Harry blinked at that. "You've been dead to the world for at least a day now. Your counterpart has been painting you as quite the hero to anyone who will listen. He must have retold his story of gallantry about a hundred times, and I've noticed that with every time the details become more ludicrous. Are you really an Animagus?" When he nodded, her expression turned mischievous. "I've always wanted to ride a dragon."
"Not happening."
"Oh, come on… let me ride your dragon," she murmured, quirking her eyebrows in a manner that suggested she was no longer referring to his Animagus.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Ah, so after all this time you've just been trying to get in my pants."
"I thought that was obvious," she said dismissively. "And why not? You could then say with absolute confidence that you're the only Dark Soldier who's not a virgin."
That made him laugh. "That is not a milestone anyone is keeping track of."
She gazed at him searchingly for a moment and leaned in a little. "I bet you're afraid of it – your Animagus, I mean. I bet you think it's proof that you're this big bad monster."
Harry shook his head. That had been exactly how he'd felt, but not anymore. Not after last night.
"You were right," he said. "I'm through with being afraid of myself, afraid of my own parents. I'm never going to be afraid of anything ever again."
She raised her eyebrows. "Just like that?"
"Just like that.
It really wouldn't be that hard, he mused. His worst fear in the world was having his horcrux destroyed, and that was going to happen any second now.
Daphne popped the cork off the Firewhiskey and took a swig. "Well, come on, then. Let's go get some lunch. You must be starving."
"I'm good," he muttered, turning his gaze to the ceiling resolutely.
Daphne stared at him for a moment. "Come on, haven't you got a plan?"
"For what?"
"For what to do next, of course. You've always got some scheme in the works. How are you going to get Nagini, eh? Another daring heist? A brilliant deceit? What's your plan?"
"I haven't got one."
"Why not?"
Harry sighed. Why didn't anyone understand?
"Because I'll never be able to get to Nagini. Voldemort knows she's his last horcrux, so he'll be protecting her with everything he's got. I… can't compete with that. It's only a matter of time before my Voldemort realises that I've failed. I can't really see him tolerating my little happily ever after stuck in this universe, can you? So he'll take the only option he's got left and stick a basilisk fang in my horcrux. After which I'll probably implode on myself like a dying star and beg for death."
Daphne stared at him for a long moment, mulling over his words thoughtfully.
"…and your solution to this impending doom is to just… lie here and torture yourself all the more?"
"There's nothing more I can do," he said quietly. The thought gave him a queer sense of peace.
There was nothing more he could do.
But Daphne Greengrass clearly thought otherwise. She jumped to her feet on top the bed, standing over him and crossing her arms.
"I am thoroughly disappointed in you," she declared. "I never thought Harry Potter would lie down and die this easily."
Harry squinted up at her with irritation. "I'm just facing facts."
She rolled her eyes. "Look, Potter, it's fair to say that you've spent pretty much your entire life following orders. Zero freedom, zero future – completely miserable, right? If I were you, I would see your current situation as an opportunity. You said yourself that you can't change what's about to happen, so nothing you do from this point onwards matters… so why don't you just go and fucking enjoy yourself? Who cares? Wouldn't going out there and clawing any measly sliver of happiness you can get your hands on be in and of itself an act of rebellion? One final 'fuck you!' to the man who caused it all?"
Harry opened his mouth to disagree, but nothing came out.
His actions no longer had consequences. He was free in a way he hadn't been in a long time. He'd spent so long being tortured, and perhaps even longer torturing himself. Couldn't he catch a break? He couldn't help but imagine Voldemort's face if he materialised in all the throes of rage, ready to end Harry's life as he knew it, only to find Harry in the midst of a spirited game of exploding snap.
Daphne was staring down at him and slowly beginning to smirk, as though she could see the machinations of his mind gradually coming to the realisation that she was right. She handed him the Firewhiskey. He took it and forced down a large gulp. The burn in his throat reminded him of his Animagus, and it made him feel invisible.
"Fine, have it your way," he muttered, throwing the blankets off him.
Daphne stopped him abruptly, paling slightly. "Wait, wait, wait… your back, it's all healed up, right?"
Harry paused and rolled his shoulders experimentally. "I think so. Why?"
"No reason," she said quickly, jumping off the bed. "I just really didn't need to see that."
"What, blood?"
"I told you, I can't handle that stuff."
Harry gave an incredulous scoff. "I can't believe you of all people are squeamish around blood."
Her eyes flashed. "Yes, well, that's why I learnt a hundred different spells that could kill you without leaving a spot of red, so watch your mouth."
Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, but froze with his arms held out in front of him. He stared at his bare wrists, free of shackles, free of Dark Marks, and with just the faintest scars as the only proof of the runes that had once been carved into his flesh. Their absence gave him a strange impression of airiness. There was a lightness to his movements. It was an illusion to be sure, but a blissful one.
He quickly threw on some robes he found in the bedside table and followed Daphne out of the Infirmary, feeling just the barest hints of exhaustion still plaguing his muscles.
"So, what did you have in mind for your last day on earth?"
He didn't have to think for long.
"Quidditch. Definitely Quidditch."
She smiled. "Alright, let's see if we can't scare up a match."
She led him to the Great Hall. Though it was well past lunchtime, a group was still gathered at the table that was traditionally Gryffindor's. His alternate family were there, along with Sirius, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. Their aspects were tense, conversing in quiet tones.
"Harry, how are you feeling?" James asked.
"Who's up for a game of Quidditch?" Harry asked the group in lieu of answering his question.
James' eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure you're–"
"Hell yes!" his counterpart said loudly, jumping to his feet. "I've been waiting far too long to whop your arse at Quidditch."
Harry gave an indignant scoff before he could stop himself. "Oh, remind me, which Harry was the youngest seeker in a century?"
"That doesn't mean squat. I know for a fact that you haven't played a game in years."
Harry couldn't keep himself from grinning. Why had it taken him this long to permit himself Quidditch? It was a testament to how much he loved the game that just the thought of it already had him acting like a schoolchild.
"Skill isn't something that wears off," he said.
His counterpart's eyes widened as though he was seeing Harry for the first time. He looked positively giddy. "Oh, it is on," he said, giving Harry a competitive shove before taking off in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch. Harry was about to follow alongside Ron and Ginny when Lily stopped him, full of concern.
"Harry, Mrs Longbottom didn't accidently slip you an Elixir of Euphoria, did she?" she asked, looking searchingly into each of his eyes.
Harry shrugged and pulled away. "No, I've just decided to reassess my attitude. Are you coming?"
James stood up and gestured to the vacated seat next to him. "Harry, would you have a seat, please? Have something to eat and then we can discuss–"
"Dad, I want to play Quidditch. Are you coming or not?"
Anything James had been about to say died in his throat. The word had felt foreign on Harry's tongue, but there, he'd said it to the only person who deserved the title, for the first time in his life. James' expression was getting to painful to look at, and his cheeks were beginning to burn, so he turned away decisively and followed his counterpart.
"Yeah… yeah, okay," he heard James stutter, and Harry couldn't help but smile He also heard James turn to Daphne and quietly, "What in Merlin's name did you say to him?"
• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •
As it turns out, Harry should not have been so confident in his Quidditch skills. James had quickly shot down the idea of the two Harrys being on opposing teams.
"You two have enough of a rivalry going on. I'm putting you both on the same team so I can thwart both of you at once," he said as he handed out the broomsticks.
Hermione and Lily had elected to watch from the stands, which left Harry, his counterpart, Holly, and Ron on one team and James, Sirius, Ginny, and Daphne on the other.
"Don't you want to be on the same team as your boyfriend?" Harry had asked Ginny.
She pulled a face. "Of course not. He thinks he's a better player than me."
Sirius handed everyone a Beater and released one Bludger and the Quaffle into the sky. Everyone kicked off, and Harry followed suit in confusion.
"Where's the Snitch?" he asked.
"There isn't one," said Holly. "We're playing Backyard Rules with only four players a team. One Quaffle, one Bludger, everyone gets a Beater. First team to score a hundred wins."
"Oh." He'd never been in a game of Quidditch without a Snitch, and he'd certainly never participated as anything but a Seeker. "Er, my boasting was based purely on the assumption that there would be a Snitch."
"Sucks to be you then," Sirius yelled with a grin before throwing up the Quaffle to begin the game.
He found it very difficult to focus on the game at first. It had been a very long time since he'd simply enjoyed the act of flying, of that sensation of weightlessness that flipped your stomach, of the wind whipping through your hair. Everyone else was taking the game far more seriously. It was clear from the very beginning that he didn't size up. Talent was one thing, but tactics were quite another, and they'd had been perfecting them for years.
On one of the few occasions he did manage to seize the Quaffle, Sirius and James closed in on either side of him. He tried to duck away, but they had him penned in. His counterpart screamed some kind of warning, but before he could figure out how to escape, James and Sirius performed some kind of simultaneous barrel-roll manoeuvre that left him dizzy, Quaffle-less and not entirely sure what had just happened. All he knew was that Daphne was laughing very loudly at his expense.
"What are you doing, Harry? Get your head in the game!" Holly reprimanded after Sirius had scored. They were losing 50-30.
"I'm a Seeker," Harry argued. "I don't actually play Quidditch, I just wander around aimlessly until I catch the Snitch and take all the glory."
He was promptly banished to be Keeper down the other end of the pitch, which suited him just fine. It gave him a chance to watch the others, and he had to admit that he was impressed. When his counterpart got the Quaffle, James and Sirius attempted to pull the same manoeuvre as they had on him, but his counterpart drew sharply upward and performed a double barrel roll with practised ease, evading the two.
Intrigued by the double barrel roll, Harry tried it himself, swinging himself upside down only to find that had hadn't given himself enough momentum to get back up again. He dangled upside-down for a moment, marvelling at the blue sky which had now become a blue ocean beneath a green sky, with the goal posts hanging down like great fishing hooks.
He wondered what was taking Voldemort so long. It had been hours, now. Why was he waiting? To torture Harry from the suspense? He imagined Voldemort sitting in his throne, stroking Harry's horcrux maliciously, waiting for the perfect moment to ravage Harry's whole world…
He shook himself of the thought, dread curling his stomach. He swooped down to right himself and tried the double barrel-roll again. He soon found himself performing lazy barrel rolls across the sky. He was so engrossed that he nearly failed to notice Ginny barrelling toward him with the Quaffle, easily avoiding the Bludger Ron sent her way. She threw the Quaffle with perfect aim at the centre goal. Harry just managed to right himself and lunge for the Quaffle before it could sail through.
"A-hah!" he said victoriously.
His sense of accomplishment was short-lived, however. Sirius got on past him not long after, and his team surrounded him in frustration.
"I thought you were some kind of prodigy," said Holly, whacking him on the shoulder.
"I'm trying," he muttered.
"Come on, they're about to win," his counterpart said hotly. "I swear to Merlin if we lose I'm breaking all your broomsticks!"
"You guys are taking this a tad more seriously than I'd anticipated–"
"It's Quidditch!"
"Exactly! I just wanted to play a stupid game. You're treating this like the bloody World Cup."
"It might as well be," his counterpart retorted. "The stakes are just as high. Don't you see this is about respect? Bragging rites? Whoever wins this game is going to be lording it over the other for months!"
"Okay, okay, I'll do better," Harry muttered, still bewildered. "Merlin, should I just transform into a dragon and incinerate their goals? It'll be a bit difficult for them to win after that."
He'd said it as a joke, but his counterpart looked as though he was seriously considering it. It needn't have mattered though, as Ginny had soon scored them their winning goal.
Daphne sidled up next to him. "Not so confident now, are we?"
"Shut up," Harry said with pretend hostility. "I want a Snitch."
"What do you think Black is getting?"
Sure enough, Sirius returned with the snitch and set it off. They continued to play into the late evening, and to Harry's relief, everyone took the ensuing games much less seriously. He caught the Snitch more times than he cared to remember, each time bringing back that familiar exhilaration.
When the sun drew close to the horizon they trudged, tired and sore, back up to the castle for supper. His counterpart animatedly described a manoeuvre he desperately wanted to attempt, whereupon two players would actually jump onto each others' brooms to confuse the opposing team while Ginny strongly argued that this was a pointless and stupid thing to attempt.
Harry lagged behind them, walking beside James and listening to their bickering. At the entrance, Peter Pettigrew was waiting for them.
" James, why didn't you tell me you were back?" he asked jovially. "I was worried sick. Harry, are you all–"
James stepped in front of Harry. "Don't talk to him," he said with a quiet ferocity.
"Prongs? What's wrong?"
James' body went rigid, as though it took every bit of his self-control not to do something extreme. "Stay away from my family, Peter," he said, venom lacing every word. "I never, ever want to see you again."
"What… why? What did I do?"
"James–" Harry began.
"Everything! You're responsible for everything – you miserable rat – you–"
"James, no," Harry growled, pushing James away from Peter and standing between them.
"Harry, you don't have to put up with him anymore," said James, glaring over Harry's shoulder.
"He didn't do anything wrong."
James gave a nasty laugh. "He's the reason you lost everything."
"Yeah, my Peter. This Peter is good, and kind, and different."
"What… what did I do? Please, tell me–"
"Peter, can you give us a moment?" Harry asked without turning away from James. "I'll explain everything later."
Peter fumbled to argue for a moment, but the look on James' face sent him retreating into the castle. James turned away from Harry, raking both hands though his hair.
"You don't understand, Harry. We nearly lost Peter seventeen years ago. We discovered Voldemort had been grooming him, but he was our friend, so we helped him get away. We stayed loyal to him because we thought he would always be loyal to us. We trusted him! It never occurred to me that he could have actually become a Death Eater, but now..." he trailed off.
"This Peter hasn't done anything."
"Maybe not, but all it took was one decision," James said, beginning to pace. "That's the only difference between our worlds. One decision, and Peter becomes this… this monster, and I'm never going to be able to look at him the same. It's like I've been blinded to this side of him my whole life. I'm so sorry, I was a fool to ever trust him, and you paid the price. This world's Peter is just as horrible as yours."
"This Peter never sold out his friends."
"No, but he would have!" James said forcefully, halting in his pacing and sitting heavily at the bottom of the steps, glaring out at the lawns and the Quidditch Pitch in the distance.
Harry sighed and sat beside him. "You know, Dumbledore believes there are probably millions upon millions of different universes out there, filled with an infinite number of possibilities. There's probably a world where I'm a dark lord, and Voldemort is a symbol of the light fighting against the evil that is the Dark Lord Harry Potter." He hesitated. "There's probably even a world where you and Mum gave me up to Voldemort to save yourselves."
"We would never–"
"No, you wouldn't," Harry reassured. "But somewhere inside you, there's a part of you that would have. Just like there's a part of Peter that would make him serve Voldemort, and a part of me that would become a dark lord. Sometimes our paths are chosen for us just as much as we choose them for ourselves."
"What are you saying, Harry? That I should just love and respect him as I always have while completely ignoring all the things he's done in the universe just next door?"
"I don't know," he said honestly, staring at his hands. "But you can't be angry at a Peter who's only ever been a loyal friend. I spent a long time being angry at your Peter, but I guess I realised that to be angry at him is to be angry at every person who ever existed, because there's bound to be some reality out there where they did unforgiveable things. In Azkaban your Peter stood up against Voldemort to try and protect me. My Peter never would have done that. Maybe you should just try to be thankful that this Peter was spared his own demons."
James gave Harry a long, hard look before sighing heavily and gripping Harry shoulder. "You're right, Harry… you're right," he said, voice heavy with exhaustion. "Merlin, I hate that I wasn't there for you. You've had to go through so much on your own. Your mother and I, we had our theories, of course, but we never could have imagined how..." he trailed off miserably.
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Forget about it. I didn't want you to know."
James hesitated. "Well, we did know at least one of us was dead," he said, catching Harry by surprise. "We've had that one figured out for a while now. How could we not? But it was clear you didn't want to talk about it, and we figured seeing us must be painful for you, so we kept our distance. It seemed the kindest thing to do, under the circumstances, but we can't go on like that. You need us, Harry."
Harry rubbed at the faded runes beneath his sleeve. Alarm bells were going off in his head. He didn't want to talk about this. The world was getting darker as night set in, and with it the rising sense of foreboding he'd been swallowing down all day was now threatening to spill over. He got up and left James without a word. Supper was just unfolding in the Great Hall, but Harry prowled straight past and escaped to his room.
He stalked to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He stared at the boy in the mirror, barely recognising his own appearance. What was taking Voldemort so long? He found himself willing the Dark Lord to come, to put him out of his misery. He stared down at his deactivated runes. Were they preventing Voldemort from coming to this world? That wouldn't stop Voldemort from driving the fang into his horcrux anyway. He went as still as he could, focusing to feel even the barest twinge of pain in his scar.
"Harry?" came James' voice.
He felt a twinge of annoyance. James and Lily appeared hesitantly in the doorway of his bathroom. He didn't acknowledge them. He flicked on the tap and watched the water flow.
"Harry… please talk to us."
"Can you please just leave me alone?"
The last thing he wanted was for them to be a witness when Voldemort finally came to his senses.
"No," said James.
And suddenly they were either side of him, gazing at him through the mirror. His heart constricted painfully. Did they know? Were they doing it on purpose? Did they realise they were bringing to life what he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised all those years ago?"
Lily placed a hand on his shoulder. "Voldemort is going to pay for what he's done to you."
All the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He closed his eyes, still bent over the basin. It occurred to him that this was the real torture. This was far, far worse than having dead parents. He hadn't had to cope with relentless devotion. He would give anything to return the two of them to the abstract concepts they'd been before he'd been summoned.
He smiled a little with tired exasperation. "You can't possibly –" he cut off when the ground beneath them shuddered. His first thought was that Voldemort was finally arriving, but then a sizzling, crackling crash reverberated in his chest and Harry was bolting to the window in alarm, James and Lily at his heels.
The sky was alit with glowing splinters that severed upward from the ground, where hundreds of Death Eaters stood just beyond the wards. Their wands were raised to the wards, lips moving in an eerie chant.
Nausea twisted his stomach. This may be an alternate universe, but Harry had lived this particular timeline before. Images of a burning Hogwarts, of Albus Dumbledore lying motionless in the grass, of students torn from their home, flashed before his eyes. Voldemort's Death Eaters had come to raze Hogwarts of everything it protected and drag him away from his home all over again.
He swore quietly.
"We'll be okay," said Lily. "We've been preparing for exactly this scenario ever since the Reformation."
"This is all because of me," Harry said. Voldemort had sworn revenge on him. He never should have stayed at Hogwarts.
"Don't," said James firmly. "We'll get through this, and when it's all over, you'll come with us and we'll all be a proper family. I promise, now come on."
He ushered them urgently toward the door. Harry followed mutely, heart sinking. James' words had felt so familiar, just like the promises Sirius had made to him about being a proper family in his third year.
It might have been the intensity of James' gaze, or the fervour of his voice. Whatever it was, Harry was suddenly convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that James was going to die.
I know it's been a while so I'm just gonna leave this here and slink back into the shadows with promises that this story isn't abandoned and that I'll have the next chapter soon(ish)...