Beta: Julie. Fjad

Chapter Seventeen

The choices we make

—

The smell of fresh mint was the first thing he noticed, his nostrils catching the aroma he liked even before Harry registered that he was dreaming. The Gryffindor boy's room smelled like anything but mint. A closer description would be to say it smelled like someone had sweated all over the mint before leaving their stinky shoes on the mint leaves for a few hours.

It was quiet, but at the same time, he could hear peaceful sounds here and there.

Deciding that maybe this dream would not suck, Harry opened his eyes.

He looked around for a second, then looked down, and a high-pitched scream escaped him whether he wanted it or not.

"Aaa! AAAAA!" He knew he sounded just like the people he always mocked, but he couldn't stop screaming, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

He was getting hysterical because he was lying face down on one of the rocks that formed a ring around Saturn—the sixth planet of their solar system—and below was just nothing. Rocks were twirling and flying around—in open space, mind you—, and Harry wanted to wake up.

"You're so stupid sometimes that it astonishes even me." Through his screeching, Harry heard a very familiar sounding voice and stopped overloading his vocal cords for a second to look at the one who dared to call him stupid. Harry forgot about Saturn for a minute and looked at the man, who stood on a rock nearby. Funnily, the rock seemed to fly in completely controlled motion, it almost seemed to be floating. Harry took notice of the weird, very weird, clothes— only a cloak, like a homeless person—and then looked the man in the face.

… WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!

Before him stood himself, only older and dressed like one of the hippies.

"Man, you look seriously mental." His older self theatrically placed one hand over his eyes in a gesture of despair at Harry's words.

"It bothers you what I am wearing , but it doesn't bother you that you can somehow breathe while in space? Who is the mental one here?" Snape failed like always and landed on place number two of the "Acidic" list Harry had just created.

This guy, who not only looked like his older self would, but also had the familiar vibe of his own magic, was a bitch.

Was he real or was it just a very weird dream?

"If I am a bitch, then you're a bitch. Are you one?" Oooookay. It wasn't very pleasant to have your thoughts read even before you decided what to say, and Harry sat on his also floating rock, frowning.

He could feel that this guy wasn't a fraud, like the others.

"You are me in the future?" Harry asked, wondering if James had blown up the last nuclear bomb he had, somewhere in Yellowstone, making the whole world turn backwards a few thousand years.

It looked like, unfortunately, the nuclear bombs would not work on him either, and he'd be the last person alive. His older self certainly looked like he had lived through the end of the world.

His bright like a rainbow future was now replaced by two words : alone and crazy.

Oh, whyyyyy….

Harry's mental whining about his unfair share was stopped rather rudely by rich laughter, which came from the bent-in-half cloaked weirdo.

It was sad to acknowledge that the docs may have been right and he was actually completely insane.

His mind was holding on for now, but with the stupidity around him, he was sure to develop schizophrenia later on in his life. His older self—the Hippie—looked to be the correct age, around thirty, maybe, just in time to catch a suddenly activated mental illness. Then again, who knew what kind of radioactive face creams were available in the future?

Apply once and grow a second nose.

The laughter reminded him of roaring that was getting more pitiful with each second. Harry's certified glare which could make even Snape's glare run away and hide, didn't seem to have the effect it was supposed to have, as the man was now sitting on his butt, the cloak somehow still covered the, probably hairy, legs, thankfully, his shoulders shaking in uncontrolled laughter.

Three minutes later, when Harry couldn't sneer anymore because he had gotten a face muscle spasm, the Hippie finally collected himself and still hiccupping like a teenager idiot, his older self finally opened his mouth for other things than laughter.

Sounded perverse, somehow…

"I am so going to enjoy your conversations with our aunt and uncle." Crazy, just like he had said. "I am not from the future, you dumbo, I am your subconscious."

Oh…Ooooh, that made sense. Hmm...

"Magic?" Harry asked, just to be sure he was talking to himself.

"What else but magic can create this?" The Hippie showed around, and Harry finally nodded.

It was safe here, and it was his own mind he was talking to. "Say, if you're my subconscious, can I order you around and make you dress yourself in something better? Why do you look like you have just escaped from St. Mungo's?

"Piss off, Harry."

What a bitchlord.

His subconscious did not seem amused anymore, and changed the topic.

"I appeared to you because you completely and utterly suck at standard magic, and I know why. I can help you fix it."

Oooohhh…

Well, he should have started with it, instead of this charade with Saturn and fake space.

"Please do enlighten me," Harry said with a curious glint in his eyes.

"Because of Voldemort's attack, your soul was stuck in between the worlds of alive and dead for a few seconds." That made sense. "And since you returned on your own—thanks to your mother's sacrifice, by the way—" His subconscious stressed the sacrifice part, and Harry agreed with the logic again, "— you need to find Death in order to die fully." Oh, shit. He sure hoped there were useful spells in at least some books, because he had tried and failed so far to locate Death. "And since you've been in between the worlds, your magic is aggressive on its own." Hah…Now that made sense. "All you have to do is wish to not cause destruction before casting any light spells. Wish no harm, and you'll be peachy."

Harry looked at the most useful thing after antiseptic, and smiled in gratitude.

"I cannot stay any longer as I drain your energy. Do you have any questions?"

"Are there supernatural things like Devil, Apocalypse, reapers and so on? I mean, in real life, here? I know there is Death, but Death makes sense, others don't." Harry asked his subconscious, looking into the same green eyes, serious for a second.

"Are you retarded? Of course not. It's the crazy and the lazy who believe such nonsense. There is always an explanation, and if it's not logic, it's magic." He couldn't read the mind of his own sub-mind, and there was no need to lie, so Harry believed him.

It all made sense now. Weirdos with apocalyptic fantasies can argue with him all they wanted, but he wasn't going to change his mind.

"Thanks, Hippie."

"Ya, ya. See you, kiddo."

He wanted to say he wasn't a kiddo, but he was eleven, so his mind was correct.

Oh, well…He had all the time in the world to grow up. It wasn't like there was the end of the world approaching.

xxx

Good morning.

That's what everybody says when they see others early in the day, but is the morning always good?

He couldn't stop himself from closing his blue eyes and imagining—just for a tiny second—how well his morning could have been, if he had everything he wanted. Needed.

He needed so many things, and not only material in quality. He needed the admiration of the crowds and special treatment here and there—just like someone with a scar—; he needed to be respected and he needed to see his mother cry tears of pride when looking at him.

"Weasley, move your worthless self from the path of your superiors." Ron heard the voice he hated so much, and with a sneer, he quickly turned around to face Draco Malfoy with his two gorillas.

The blond pureblood was smirking nastily, and Ron wished to see Malfoy on his knees, crawling before him.

"Shut up, Malfoy! You should be the last one shouting about worthlessness considering who your father is!"

Ron grinned at Malfoy's pissed off face, feeling satisfaction that his words had hurt his nemesis. The blond shit who had everything without deserving anything opened his mouth to say something nasty when they heard a familiar voice.

"Hem-hem."

Now it was Malfoy who was grinning.

"Fifty points from Hufflepuff, Mister Weasley and detention for a month for disrespecting one of the most noble families in the wizarding world. Apologize immediately." Ron paled as he heard the nasty nasal voice of Professor Umbridge, and even more so when he heard just how many points he had lost. Noble families…A month!

"Sorry," Ron mumbled, barely able to not spit into the smirking face with sharp features.

I hate you, Malfoy! I hate you, Potter! Considering who was Malfoy's best pal, Ron tried not to think about and see those two. At least the scar-face wasn't here to add to the humiliation with facts that only he, Ron, knew. But somehow, Potter seemed to know way too much.

"That is not an apology, Mister Weasley. I will write your parents about your lack of socially acceptable behaviour in the wizarding world, and I'll talk personally to your father in the Ministry." The toad's voice was nastily sweet, making Ron grit his teeth in humiliation.

Mom will flip out.

"I apologize."

Malfoy's face was neutral, especially when Umbridge would glance at him, but his eyes, his grey eyes were shining with sadistic glee and satisfaction.

Why was fate so unfair to him and so generous towards such bastards like Malfoy and others?

He didn't even want to think about Potter.

xxx

"Harry."

He turned over and covered his head with his pillow.

"Harry."

The voice was getting more impatient, but was also gentle and nervous at the same time.

"Go away, Neville. I'm not here." His mumbled reply came from under the pillow and he hoped Neville understood him because otherwise he'd be really pissed.

It was Sunday so everyone and everything could wait. He was sleeping! Was it that hard to understand and piss off?

"Harry, it's time to get up, seriously. You have no time for breakfast already and you barely have the time to get up and run to History of Magic."

I'll tear your tongue out, Neville. I am so sleepy…

"It's Sunday, Neville, what History of Magic can there be on a freaking Sunday? Go away." Harry groaned, removing the pillow, and turning onto his other side before placing the pillow back onto his head.

He liked Longbottom, but now he'd murder him easily. And quickly. He'd blow the planet up if it meant he could have his sleep.

"It's Monday, Harry."

Whaaaat?

He removed the pillow, and quickly sat up.

"It's Sunday."

"No, it's Monday and we have History with Hufflepuff." Neville was already almost out of the door and Harry called him. "Neville!"

The chubby kid turned around with an open, sincere face.

"Thank you."

Two words seemed to make the Neville glow with happiness. Harry had actually forgotten to put an alarm on and since yesterday he had been reading, reading and reading, he had lost track of time. Plus the meeting with the Hippie left him exhausted. And Neville Longbottom, the coward on the outside, was truly the iron soldier Harry saw in him from the very beginning—an honest, loyal, and brave boy who was also pure, despite what had happened to his parents.

It wasn't gossip, he simply looked into Neville's mind and saw it all for himself.

Alice and Frank—the vegetables from the hospital—were his parents. Sad.

"No problem, Harry." Neville suddenly paused before offered shyly, "I could wait for you if you want."

It wasn't going to be easy for Neville— a dolphin among the sharks.

"I don't want you to get into trouble. Run, I'll catch up soon." Harry smiled an honest smile in return to Neville's, and then Neville was off.

Xxx

He had barely made it in time and quickly sat behind his desk. The Professor was a ghost, and that really said it all.

Today's lesson was going to be as boring as the ones he had had in the last one-and-a-half months here, so not even bothering with listening or taking notes, Harry took out the new notebook he had received with his order of books from a couple of magical bookshops.

Maybe it was a free gift for his large order?

A cheap, used notebook as a thank you gift for an order of over twenty expensive books and other school related materials? Cheap.

Then again, the notebook gave off magical vibes, so maybe there was some useful spell he hadn't discovered yet?

The first page was already filled with the recipes for the best milkshakes—he was going to copy them and give to the house-elves so that they could perfect his favourite drink—and Harry turned it over.

The quill started to fly over the previously empty page, filling it with a necessary shopping list of antiseptics and other very important things for hygiene.

The notebook had to be useful for something, right?

Xxx

A snowball.

One snowball could be enough to cause an avalanche and Severus had a feeling that the snowball had been thrown a long time ago, and only now the avalanche had started its descent. And he was standing right in its path. They all were.

The Ministry was playing some, still unclear, game, and as far as Severus understood, it was all about Harry Potter. It was all about who would get the custody of the Boy Wonder, and somehow, he had a feeling that it was Dumbledore who was under fire, without even realising it.

He had a bad feeling about it, and Severus couldn't shake it off

Severus looked over the sitting figure opposite of him, at the grey hair and sad, solemn blue eyes.

"Could you repeat that one more time for me, Albus? Because I still refuse to believe the Ministry would do something so imbecilic. Fudge is a moron, but not a complete fool," Severus stated, not sure anymore about what was real and what was not.

After experiencing the end of the famous Atlantis, and getting a souvenir that wasn't from this time—according to all magical tests—Severus didn't know what to think. Was Potter a reincarnation of someone from that time? Considering how Potter behaved here, Severus would guess in the previous life Potter had been a slave holder with fresh, healthy organs and other wizzle-wuzzle nonsense.

"I am being charged with the abuse of authority as the Headmaster of Hogwarts because I declined Petunia Dursley's Hogwarts acceptance, and therefore forced a magical child to live with muggles." Albus Dumbledore repeated slowly and seriously. "There will be a hearing next week."

"You have got to be kidding me, Albus." He knew his face said it all, as Albus Dumbledore even smiled a small, humorous smile, before getting all serious again.

"My thoughts exactly, Severus." Albus was stroking his long, silver beard, his old hand twirling one strand onto his index finger before uncurling it. Silently.

He knew the old man well enough to know that Albus wasn't telling him something. The Headmaster started talking again, making Severus check his mental shields for any recent breaches due to the perfect timing. "We'll see what happens at the hearing as Petunia will have to take Veritaserum and an identification test, and I am not very worried at the moment."

Considering everything that had happened ever since he had met Potter, Severus wasn't as carefree as Dumbledore tried to look.

"And if she passes the identification test and Veritaserum?" He didn't want to imagine the consequences, he really didn't.

"No one is immune to Veritaserum, Severus, you should know that better than anyone. This woman, whoever she is, will not be able to lie."

"Technically, that is correct." Severus's reply was short and he bit the inside of his lip, trying not to sound crazy even for his own ears. "However, if we take into account that so far nothing was normal and as it should have been when dealing with Potter or any of his associates, then maybe you should consider your situation in case this fraud manages to forge the test results and somehow lie under the truth potion. What if the Veritaserum fails?" He could see his reflection in the spectacles on Dumbledore's face, both looking each other in the face.

"Then it will be hell, my boy."

Xxx

He knew the day was coming closer and closer, and it actually surprised him how much time it had taken for his 'friend' to approach him.

He was walking and reading at the same time, and after bumping into someone, his bag fell and all the books flew around, scattered from right to left.

The person whom he bumped into, was standing tall—a figure of speech as she definitely wasn't tall, even compared to him—, hair as electrocuted as always, but at least now the teeth were straight.

Harry didn't know why, but ever since laying his eyes on her in France and after reading her thoughts, he couldn't stand Hermione Granger.

It wasn't about her bossiness, or about her know-it-all attitude; it was the "black-and-white" world-vision where only "right" and "wrong" existed, with no shades of grey. Maybe she'd change in the future but it didn't mean Harry had to tolerate her murderous thoughts on every occasion.

He couldn't stand her blind adoration and respect for authority, he couldn't stand her morals, and all-in-all, she had been lucky in France.

He could have killed her, or let James do it, however he didn't. He wasn't the nicest person, but he wasn't a complete psycho like James Moriarty or Voldemort.

He'd break her beliefs and then he'd watch what happened.

"Great teeth, Granger. Did you get a discount for replacing so many?" Harry asked with a laugh after he quickly got up only to then fall backwards against the wall, his head buzzing from the hit he had received in the jaw.

"Now you can find out for yourself." Granger sneered at him and stepping onto his notebook with milkshake recipes, she then hit it with her foot, making the notebook fly like a football towards the end of the corridor, before glaring at him with eyes full of hate and murder, and then she turned around and slowly walked away.

His front teeth were broken and the blood he tasted in his mouth was dripping down his chin, but he didn't notice the pain, his green eyes shining eerily for a second, Harry thought about just how much he'd enjoy destroying Hermione Granger.

Spitting the blood onto the floor, Harry failed to notice Ronald Weasley standing quietly behind the corner, blue eyes now trained on the lonely notebook.

Xxx

Where to now?

He was a first year and even though he followed the instructions in the book, somehow, he ended up with two front teeth just like the sabertooth tiger from "Ice Age". He could go to the hospital wing, but he hated any doctors, so the other option would be Professor McGonagall.

Trying to move like a shadow while putting a scarf around his face, Harry finally reached the hallway of the Professor's office, trying to not move his jaw. Luckily for him, it was almost curfew, so not many students were around.

He knocked and knocked on the door, only to get no reply.

Great. He couldn't even speak properly, and he didn't know whom else to trust with seeing this totally unnecessary humiliation.

Flitwick maybe? But then again, where the hell was Flitwick's office? He could go to either Snape and live through some very mordant but amusing comments, or go to Dumbledore and get stuck with the crazy old man for some more time. He had seen the Headmaster more than he saw his classmates, and Harry wasn't looking forward to spending some more unnecessary time with the old Headmaster for any reason.

Snape it was then.

Xxx

What have you achieved?

The world was the canvas, what trace did you leave?

What kind of picture did you paint on the canvas? Was it all pink and shiny, or was it full of grey and dark blots here and there? The canvas was your legacy to the next generations, and you'd want it to be impressive. While some may think he was a complete and utter psychopath—he was, so what?—, it did not disturb him in pursuing his dreams, it enabled him to do more and more.

He was different from others, even from the smart ones like Iceman and the Virgin, whom he had to give credit.

Oh, he'd give his heart to see Sherlock's face when he found out from Mycroft just what kind of Disneyland they had found themselves in.

The man in an expensive, smart suit, the polished look accomplished with a red tie, squeezed the speedboat's rails tighter, his knuckles turning white.

The sun shined onto his polarized sunglasses, and Jim Moriarty lifted his head towards the warm sunrays, the fresh ocean water landing on his face from the sprays from the quickly moving speedboat.

His original dream had been destroyed just like Atlantis had been. He had wanted to leave a hole in the canvas for the next generation to see, and had hoped to leave an impression.

Soooo simple.

Jim Moriarty smiled and touched his beating heart, which was now back in his chest.

His canvas was going to be the most mind-blowing in the whole wide world.

His legacy would be the total destruction of all the next generations along with the current one, and this whole fucking planet all together, and his boy, his Harry, was going to do all the killing.

It was almost too much joy.

Now he knew how proud dads felt. And that is why he was on the speedboat, travelling to their new home. Under 'their' he meant his and Harry's.

The power of God was destined to destroy not some thousands, but billions of people; the power that destroyed planets and galaxies was called Harry and he, Jim— James for Harry only—Moriarty, was going to get the unofficial custody of Apocalypse in one week.

He was such a lucky, alive again bastard.

Xxx

a/n Took me some time...To those who reviewed, thank you, guys! I really appreciate your thoughts. This update is thanks to you!

Please review and let me know what you think. I wanted to write something different and it's not for everyone's taste. Even I need help with motivation sometimes.

I specifically didn't want the readers—you—to know about Harry's power from the beginning. Because that's how Apocalypse comes—unnoticed.