Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…
Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling
Italics on pre-tense, emphasis and thoughts.
…Chapter Six…
Of Parties and Parents
Harry sat frigid in his hard-backed seat, heart racing and palms sweaty, wondering how Remus had ever convinced him to invite Cho to the family dinner party, how many gruesome ways he could torture her when he got out, and when in Merlin's name it had started to go so horrendously, impossibly wrong. And to think, he had thought all those years of suffering under the Dursleys' meal time banter was bad - it was nothing to the horridly awkward predicament he had thrown himself in here, head first with an animalistic fever and unreasonably optimistic hopes.
It had been unbearably naive of him to think this reunion would be dandy - that he might be considered a friend, accepted without question.
Lily arched her brow higher still, waiting expectantly for the answer he couldn't possibly give.
Tuesday had rolled in wet and cold, breaking the stream of warmer weather with sheets of icy rain, the gloom quite reflective of Harry's expansively dire mood. But the shadowed path of the day refused to remain so, and as the clocks of Hogwarts chimed six Harry found himself elated - happy beyond reason and scared shitless all the same. He paced his small, circular bedroom in a frenzy; throwing robes this way and that, brushing his teeth, combing his irate hair all the while attempting to shave and grade his third years paper on the tea brewer 'Earl of Gray' at once.
But he couldn't concentrate, nor stick to one task at a time - he was too damn excitable.
Another boring Monday had bumbled in and out without any particularly interesting happenings - except, it seemed, that Snivellus Snape now regarded Harry with even more inexplicably spiteful hostility. Harry honestly didn't mind. Tuesday, again, looked to hold only bleak, mundane prospects - the usual - but then Remus, despite Harry's misgivings of greatly offending him that past Sunday morning, had seen it fit to invite him to a dinner party last moments notice.
At Godric's Hollow.
Harry's parents house.
Perhaps he should have hesitated, let the idea stew in his mind and take a little time to properly think it over. Certainly, that's what Hermione would have advised he do. Harry couldn't help but feel just a little bit suspicious that he of all people might be invited to such an occasion (there had to be an alterier motive, surely) but there was no way in hell Harry could refuse the offer - he'd been waiting, dreaming of such an opportunity since his journey to this strange new world. The mere thought of venturing to his old home, the unrestrained anticipation that held him captive on seeing his parents again, sent grating shivers cutting down his spine.
Harry let out a hiss, the enchanted razor chasing him around the room having nicked his chin painfully.
Abruptly he stopped, abandoning the papers, throwing the razor to the ground and stomping on his useless comb, and as he turned swiftly on his heel his ankle caught in a set of jumbled robes and Harry fell unceremoniously back onto his bed. He seriously had to consider the enlightening prospect of never getting up. It was tempting - all too tempting.
"You really ought to get a move on, Hadi," came a weary command from a spot directly above Harry's bed, the portrait of a young woman stopping her preening to look down upon her. Harry had become quite attached to Lady Catherine - a chatty young witch from the eighteenth century, forever griping on whatever took her fancy; from the backboard of her portrait to Harry's intemperate mood swings. "Forget the hair - it's a futile effort. The stubble will do and the papers will wait. And do wear the silver robes, dear, they're most becoming."
"Hmph," Harry grumbled back in reply, his head still burrowed in his favorite, fluffiest pillow. Slowly, his mind racing and dancing between hundreds of differing tracks, Harry retreated to a detached, automatic flight and took Catherine's suggestions to heart. Frighteningly soon he had dared one last glance at the mirror atop his dressing table, a pale blank mask gazing back, and Harry made his way down the spiral staircase and on to the Entrance Hall, where he would be meeting Cho - Remus had extended the invitation to a partner, and Harry could think of no other he might like (or could conveniently ask, really) to accompany him. She would be a distraction in the very least, a means to draw unwanted attention away from himself. He hoped.
Questions fought each other about his mind and Harry struggled to arrange an orderly fashion, placing them in categories of 'Must Find Out', 'A Tad Inappropriate' and 'Certainly Not This Time'. There was so much he wanted to know, that this one opportunity counted for so much, and Harry was terrified that he'd screw it up, come off as a complete wanker and that no-one (namely his parents and Sirius) would ever care to see him again. He supposed, though, either way it would be worth it - whether they liked him or not, Harry just had to see them again.
There was a lot riding on the exercise - his performance would be volatile.
It was on the third floor corridor where a three headed dog had once resided that Harry ran head on into another, lost as he were in his own world of battling subconscious, and he stumbled back, barely catching his balance. The other wasn't so lucky, falling heavily to the ground with an enormous pile of books scattering about them.
Harry grumbled loudly, impatient to leave the castle that had become such a hindrance, a cage, and be on his way, just as the fallen girl cursed.
"Honestly! Is it too much to ask for a person to stick to one side of the corridor!" Hermione Granger reprimanded, ignoring Harry's offered hand of assistance and climbing stubbornly up by herself. "If we all stuck to the left side, these things - " she stopped abruptly, turning a lovely shade of beet red, taking notice for the first time of the Professor she was mercilessly berating.
"Accio books," Harry quipped, rather amused at his old friends antics, opening his arms to catch the stack of heavy texts that came flying up from the ground. "I do give you my utmost sincere apology for," Harry smiled, "walking so obviously far too close to the right. But as much as I'd love to stay and chat, Miss Granger," Harry continued, pushing the enormous volumes into Hermione's arms a little regretfully, "I'm rather in a hurry," his voice trailed off, already three steps away, leaving the mortified Head Girl to gape.
It was the first words he'd uttered to the Hermione Granger of this world.
Though, Harry had to have priorities - visiting the home of parents he'd never known took president over an embarrassing collision with his best friend's counterpart. He could make some pathetic excuse to chat to Hermione later - his parents, on the other hand, were much harder to corner. Perhaps he might give her a detention for the scene.
Harry met Cho in the Entrance Hall. She looked pretty, as always, wearing a wide seductive grin and a lovely set of violet colored dress robes. Together they made their way to Remus' office, where the three of them had arranged to floo together on to the Potters' home.
Cho herself was flushed and exuberant; the Potters' were a seclusive family, very rich and quite famous within the English Wizarding community. The husband, Cho informed Harry - James Potter - was Head of the Auror Office, and the wife - Lily Potter - also worked at the Ministry, in the Recreation of Combinative Charms Department. Cho continued prattling on with the families social standings, giving Harry an intricate account of the Potters' popularity, and exactly how very close they were rumored to be near Dumbledore's exclusive following.
Stopping at Remus' office, Harry knocked eagerly on the hard wood of the door, so much so that Cho shot him an enquiring look. I've waited seventeen years, Harry told himself, grinding his teeth together and cracking his knuckles. He could wait another five minutes. Still, Harry was hardly able to stop the wildly excited grin from answering her, and it took all his effort not to tap his foot in impatience.
Remus opened shortly, making polite conversation as the three went quickly to the fireplace. Cho lead the way in, disappearing behind a heated blast of sparkling emerald green flames. Harry followed, loathing the jolt of terrible spinning twists as his body left Hogwarts and pounded to a halt some thousand kilometers on, eyes shut tight and ash assaulting him.
With a tremble of disbelief Harry stepped from the fireplace, brushed his robes off and walked slowly to where Cho stood waiting at the doorway of his father's office. Remus joined them a moment later, and the trio quietly made their way, behind Remus' direction, to where the guests stood about in a comfortably furnished living room. Harry felt that he wasn't quite able to digest what was happening around him, to comprehend the situation he was headed for.
Eyes followed his every movement, caught his every breath. It was only then that Harry really began to question why he had been invited, and his previous excitement came crashing down about his ears - it was a friendly interrogation, a plight to source the secrets, the mystery they must undoubtedly see surrounding him.
It was Harry's worst nightmare, a living hell - and, as confusing as it seemed, all he had ever wished for.
The room was compressed with Order members, tightly gripped wine glasses, breezy laughter, dim music and oppressed chatter.
Harry allowed Cho to pull him further in to the party, pretending to listen to her consistent whispered narrative all too happily - his focus tied largely to the faces swimming around him from all directions. He consciously noted Remus move to where Peter Pettigrew stood alone in a corner, and James, his father, loudly express himself to an avid audience including Mad Eye, Tonks and yes - a cheerfully attentive Sirius Black, who definitely looked healthier, handsomer than Harry ever remembered seeing him before. Again Harry found himself in a fight to control the pounding of his heart, and it took a great deal of strength to pull his gaze away from the group and continue a measure of the rooms occupants.
The sensible part of Harry kept telling him that this wasn't happening, that he was in a state of surreal euphoric dreams. And though Harry knew that he really was there, that these people of this Brave New World were in fact not merely a figment of his imagination, the complete impossibility of the situation gave Harry confidence.
What did it really matter what they thought of him anyway, Harry told himself, though the words fell deaf, silent and full of falsity. Because he did care - but he could hardly let that hold above self preservation. He supposed it would be better to come off arrogant and flamboyant than to be utterly polite, but full of shite.
A tray floated past them carrying auderves and various alcoholic beverages, and Harry grabbed at the opportunity to give his confidence another boost. Swiftly he snatched two glasses of blood red wine from the tray, passing one to Cho. She took it hesitantly between damp fingers, and continued without pause her observations of the rooms pleasant decor. Harry feigned negligent interest, nodding his head and smiling innocently, gulping the wine quickly to steady his shaking breath.
It was Lily, sneaking up quietly behind Harry, that made the first move towards him.
"Hello there," she greeted, pushing a strand of deep red hair from her smiling, welcoming face. "You must be Hadi?" Harry wasn't fooled. Her eyes were calculating, the hold of her stance ready for attack. She was measuring him, weighing him - and definitely finding him lacking.
Harry nodded, not quite trusting himself enough to speak. He supposed, then, if he were to be gruff and nasty the Order might just let him be - either that or take him by force.
"And Cho," Lily continued, turning to Harry's companion. "Remus has been telling me about you both - it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"As it is to be here," Cho replied, gushing. Harry imaged her bending over backwards to lick his mother's shoes. "You have a beautiful home."
Lily smiled her thanks politely, planting her gaze firmly back towards Harry. "You do look an awful lot like my husband," Lily stated carefully, watching for the slightest reaction to this.
Harry instead looked away from her, towards where James was standing, laughing loudly and hitting Sirius hard on his back. There was no point denying the obvious resemblance, and Harry answered with the only plausible explanation he could find. Their resemblance was uncanny, so blatantly obvious it would be stupid, ridiculous to say otherwise. "Yes, perhaps we're of some distant relation." Harry tried to smile, his eyes back on Lily, unblinking, but the grin came off more of a grimace. "The older families, you know," he carried on, "easily get intertwined."
It sounded lame even to Cho, who was looking back and fourth between James and Harry with the first glimmer of unease.
Harry had to ponder fleetingly why it had not occurred to him earlier that it might have been wise to change his appearance - the only answer to surface was that he hadn't quite believed he was really there, that he really had managed to travel to an alternate dimension. All this time he had still been waiting to wake up. Initially not disguising himself had added a rush, a little dare to his grand expedition of this unfamiliar, yet so alike his own, environment. It would certainly make things more interesting now, Harry thought grudgingly, annoyed at his own sense or lack of sensibility.
What was it Moody had always lectured? Constant vigilance.
Such preaching had bored him then in the testy, rebellious years before.
Lily raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you'd like to head on down into the dining room, dinner will be served shortly."
Harry nodded and attempted again to smile - he really shouldn't have bothered, as the odd twisting of his lips only proved to look mildly freakish - and Cho tugged his hand, again leading him on.
"It's so cute when you get flustered," Cho chided him, giggling, though she was in truth a little anxious at his display of such odd behavior. Harry could tell it was beginning to dawn on her how little he'd let on, and what she actually knew about him - which was, again, shit all.
Running away to Australia seemed quite a nice option just about then too, as the twenty-some guests slowly began to make their way into the hall, and Harry walked on in complete realization of exactly what he was headed for - a bloody interrogation, and questions he certainly could in no way, shape or form answer, if he wanted to be safely back at Hogwarts the next morning.
He was surrounded with Auror's, Ministry Officials and the like. It was so very, highly likely he'd be caught out in his deceit. Dumbledore would have checked up on him, Harry was sure of that. The possibility of the dinner party ending in Azkaban was shifting closer with every waking second, at every word to tumble forth from his mouth - seeing his counterpart parents and godfather was looking less and less like a price he could willingly pay to share such privileged information, or lack thereof.
Still, it gave Harry the biggest thrill to see his parents at such close proximity, to talk to them and see them interacting with others he knew, despite the consequences that would undoubtedly transpire when the fabrications of his identity were pulled apart from the seams.
Harry was slightly jarred at the images of his parents and Sirius presented to him - all were, despite Harry's wishes for their well-being, perfectly fine. Nice. Comfortable. Alive. But he couldn't sway the feeling in the pit of his stomach that screamed for him to prove his worth, to save them from what they didn't need saving. They were, in truth, doing just great without him. And it stung. It quite sickened Harry that his so called 'hero complex' had hoped for them to be ill, in need of him and want of him.
Candles lit the path to a large dining room, painted in a sophisticatedly Gryffindor light with scarlet hued reds. An oval shaped mahogany table fell to the centre of the room, dressed with all they needed for a feast, warmed by an arched fireplace set along the left wall. A view of the estates gardens would have usually been seen through the line of windows, but at the time only chilly black nothingness stared mirroring forth. Harry had been to Godric's Hollow just the once since his own parents deaths, visiting soon after his sixth year the old house, where under very different circumstances he might have grown up. Seeing the glorious dining room took his breath away, the collaborating image of the ruins that stood in its stead in his own world replacing the presence, lingering in the forefront of Harry's mind.
He thought of what might have been, what his life would have been like if there had been no prophecy, or if his parents had not died that night.
Harry jumped when a familiar voice broke through his thoughts and quickly took a seat towards the end of the large table, overlooking the blank window frames, next to Cho. The chatter continued around him, though Harry never could shake the feeling that he was been closely examined, pried apart with flickering eyes and battering lashes. He'd have been quite content to be left out the conversations, though Moody and Tonks had other ideas entirely.
James, seated further up the table from Harry and just out of his immediate vision, swished his wand in a silent command and the plates set intricately about the table suddenly filled with masses of food. Harry thought, shifting uncomfortably in the hard backed chair, that really he should be glad not to be seated too close to his father, where the object of their looks might again be raised. Still, he was a little peeved with the seating arrangements. Helping himself to a slice of steak and kidney pie, Harry was reminded with a spitting image of meal times in the Great Hall at Hogwarts.
Mad-Eye, sitting opposite Harry, dished potatoes onto his own gold rimmed plate like he hadn't eaten for days. "Need we make introductions, Hadi Evans? Or does your post as Divination Professor exempt such formalities?"
Harry snickered. "No, you're quite right, Moody. Introductions aren't necessary."
Harry thought the Auror looked mildly impressed - or it could have been a trick of the light. "And how are you enjoying Hogwarts, Professor?"
And so it begins...
"I like it there," Harry answered shortly, fleetingly aware that he had the attention then of the entire ensemble, fitting neatly into the lull. "It's very... " Harry swallowed, thinking hard. "Big."
Moody looked straight at him, both eyes googling - for once - in the same direction.
"And where again, precisely, did you say you lived in Italy?" Tonks asked politely.
"Here and there. I moved around a lot." Harry grinned.
"Any family?" she pressed.
"No, none."
"Schooling?" Moody simpered, shifting. "You have attended a Magical School at some point, have you not?"
Harry nodded, meeting the aged Auror eye for eye. "Yes," he answered simply, refusing to give out any more than he had to. "I did."
Sirius' barking laugh broke the awkward pause, rescuing Harry and securing the resumed rise of chatter again about them. Harry couldn't help ogle at his Godfather for just a moment, knowing that his attention would be known and not particularly caring. It was just so amazing to see him alive, to see him laughing.
"You play Quidditch at all?" Sirius called from further down the table. "I heard there was going to be a staff match later in the year?"
"Yeah," Harry replied. "Should be ... interesting."
"Hey, hold on a moment." Harry held his breath, James looking his way straight down the table. Hazel eyes met green and held. Harry blinked. "You must be Harry's teacher then, right?"
Harry smiled, nodding. "Yes, Harry's great. No problems at all."
"Harry, not a probelm?" James looked scandelised. "My son is not being a problem! What a travesty!"
Sirius snickered. "We'll have to have a word to him about that, then."
They laughed. Harry looked away, shielding his face from view. It was ridiculous for him to be jealous, really. And jealous of his blond self nonetheless! It made no sense.
"Hadi," Cho asked, interrupting. "Your English is so spot on - perhaps someone here would know your old teacher?"
Harry could have strangled her.
"I doubt it," he said instead, smiling. It was painfully obvious that no-one bought it.
For a while then Harry got into a good rhythm of dodging questions and diverting assumptions. The food was eaten and conversations carried on. He knew, though, that it wouldn't last much longer - if anyone hadn't been suspicious of him before they certainly would be now. His time in the shadows had come to an abrupt end, and soon - far sooner than Harry would have liked - he'd be forced into a position where he'd have no choice in really answering their questions, whether by the Ministry or the Order or even Voldemort. His story, the truth of his presence in this world would not be bought by any means, Harry was sure. He didn't particularly like the idea of pushing himself onto his parents either, for people to feel pressured to embrace him.
Harry doubted that would come to be the case anyhow - he'd be murdered, broken, or looked away in a Psych ward at best - long before anyone felt inclined to believe his tale.
But there was one thing he was still sure of, a decision Harry had made before his attempted time travel and of a sense he knew would never change - if he were to fight this time, it would be on his own, of his own accord. Seeing the Order again gave Harry strength, courage.
No loved ones would perish before him, fighting a noble but lost cause - it would be his war, his battle, his terms.
Though Harry was undecided on where he stood here, how much he could let on and help this world to his own sacrifice - and, really, how much he wanted to - he was positive of this one standing. And looking at his parents then, at Sirius and Remus and Nymphadora, Harry knew he couldn't do nothing, he wouldn't sit back and watch them be massacred.
It was with an earthly sinking that his fantasies of a 'normal' life slowly moved from wavering to dead, breaking thin threads of regret.
But he knew it was right - it certainly wouldn't be easy, but Harry had set out to rewrite history for a better world and he'd see that through to the end, no matter to the consequences on his part.
"Tell us about your parents." Lily asked him, smiling sweetly. "Surely you must have a pair of those hidden away somewhere?"
Again the rooms attention was turned to him, appraising, calculating. Waiting for him to slip, to crack.
But Harry was, thankfully, saved from answering the terribly awkward question by the sound of hurrying, thundering footsteps.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, sweat beaded on his forehead and blood trickling down the side of his face, swung the door to the dinning room nearly clean off its hinge in his anxiousness, slamming it hard behind him. Half the Order members stood, anticipating the disastrous news before it reached their ears.
"There's an attack at the Ministry," Kingsley began, hurrying forward into the room and stopping short at the table, placing a ball of iridescent blue sting at the centre next to a platter of broccoli and cauliflower.
"Which department?" Sirius asked, picking the ball of string from the table and throwing one end to James, so that the length was within reach to all those seated along it.
"The Hall of Prophecies." Kingsley replied, panting, sharing a knowing glance with Mad-Eye. "The portkey leaves in five, four, three…"
Around the table hands flung forward to grab a hold of the string, clutching thread with shaking fingers, trembled breath, wands at the ready.
Harry froze. The Hall of Prophecies? There was no way in hell he could pass that up. Harry waited till the last moment to bring his wrist forward and twist the string into his grasp, Remus throwing him a questioning look, mouth opening to ask, but it was too late.
Harry felt the familiarly unpleasant tug at his navel close in, shutting his eyes to escape the dissying shapes and colors of his surroundings go spinning past. The last thing he saw was his father's approved look, grinning back at him with grim reassurance.
...pppqqq...
A/N: So, here we are again, after another ridiculously long wait - sorry. I do find myself saying that an awful lot here! Anyways, thanks for reading and thanks for being so patient :)