Chapter 8
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. I'm just playing with it.
Harry stared at the older man in amazement. Another Harry Potter?
This couldn't be true.
Could it?
He examined the man's face, his eyes, even his hair, looking for … something … he wasn't sure what. Truth? Deception?
He found … Understanding. Concern. Friendliness. Sympathy. Even … Family.
It sent an unexpected feeling of warmth through him.
And then it hit him. His eyes opened wide.
Wait. An older Harry Potter. With an older Ginny. And they're married. What about Voldemort?
"Do you … do you have a Voldemort too?" he asked apprehensively, fearing that he might still be a threat here.
The older man nodded. "We did. Defeated and dead over twenty years ago. In my seventh year."
Harry's heart leapt into his throat. Excitedly he asked, "Can you tell me how you did it? Maybe we can do the same thing in my world."
The older Harry pulled over a chair and sat in it, a sad and weary look on his face. "It's a long story. One filled with mistakes, disappointments, terror and anger. And deaths. A great many deaths." His eyes took on the unfocused look of someone lost in memories. Painful memories. Abruptly, he shook that look off of his face and focused again on Harry.
"I do not know if you can repeat what we did. So many times we succeeded or even just survived through sheer luck. And there's no way to tell how much is the same in your world. Even one thing different could mean the difference between life and death.
"On the other hand, the Room of Requirement brought you here. Out of all the millions upon millions of worlds that are supposed to be out there, and everyone of them different, it brought you here. Maybe …
"Maybe it brought you here, because our worlds are close enough to being the same that my story can help you end the war much sooner. And that's the major difference between our worlds. That you had a brilliant idea that I didn't and used the Room in a way I didn't.
"But in either case, you will have to be really careful, and check things out beforehand.
The man waved his wand at their chairs and transfigured them into much more comfortable chairs. "So, time to sit back, get comfortable and listen. It's a long story but I'll try to summarize as much as possible. Some of it you likely already know, but hearing it again may help you to see any differences.
"At the end of fourth year, Voldemort had just regained a body after getting me entered into the …"
AN: This is not a reading the books story. After you've read one, you've pretty much read them all. So I am skipping over the relating what's happened bits.
"… then I put the Elder Wand back where it came from, into Dumbledore's grave. Where I hope it stays forever. And I truly hope that when I die, its power is broken. And no more will die because of that wand."
Harry slumped in his chair, eyes downcast and his emotions awhirl with confusion, sadness, anger and hurt. So many deaths, so many lies and half truths. So many betrayals and disappointments.
And yet, there were heroes there too. Unbelievable acts of kindness and bravery. Of redemption. Even of love.
Harry looked up at the older man sitting across from him. Respect and admiration for what the man had achieved and survived filled him.
The man must have seen it in Harry's eye's for he sat up straighter and irately said, "Don't go getting it into your head that I'm some hero here. I get enough of that from others. I did what I had to do to survive. And if you've done what I've had to in my early years, you know that very well. Do Quirrell, the basilisk and the dementors ring any bells? The Tri-Wizard Tournament?"
Harry blushed. The older man was right. He hated it when others looked at him like he was something special. He just wanted to be accepted. Normal. Still, it was hard not to feel respect for the man, hearing all that he had gone through. He deserved it. And maybe that was a lesson for him to take away from it all. He had done similar things as this man. Maybe he deserved some respect too.
Abruptly the older man stood up. Looking up at his face, Harry could see a look of indecision on it. The man turned and walked to the office, pulled a book from the shelves behind the desk and returned.
The look on his face, turned apprehensive for a moment, but then turned into determination. Abruptly, he shoved the book at Harry and briskly said, "See if you can open that."
Harry turned it around, noting that it was a plain leather covered book, with no title showing. He opened it easily, only to find pages of familiar handwriting—his own. He raised his eyes to meet the older man's.
The man looked down and spoke as if to himself, "After the war, we all tried to get on with our lives. But it's not something that you can shrug off and forget. There were too many death's, too much pain. I had nightmares for months afterwards. We all did. Hermione said we were suffering from PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She thought that we should see healers or maybe psychiatrists to help us deal with it. She even admitted that she had seen one, a muggle whose son was a muggle-born.
"Hermione said I needed it most of all. To deal with the deaths. All the responsibility forced upon me. The Dursley's. Everything.
"But that's just not something I can do. Talk about it. Tell some stranger about the abuse and neglect. Tell them about the guilt of Sirius' death. Remus' and Tonk's. Cedric's. Fred's. The responsibility of having to be the one to kill Voldemort. I just couldn't. So I brooded. And had nightmares.
"But then one day, Hermione brought me a journal. Told me to write in it. Write down my experiences. My feelings. Make sense of them. It will do me good, she said.
"The idea of it gave me the shudders. It reminded me too much of Tom's Diary. I tossed it into a corner and forgot about it. Then one night I had a particularly bad nightmare. And for some reason that I can't explain, I pulled it out and started writing in it. And then I couldn't stop. I wrote everything down. And it truly did help. The nightmares didn't come as often.
"Life went on. I became an auror. I learned how to deal with thieves and murderers and wanna be dark lords. Learned how to navigate in magical society. How things work and how they're supposed to work. Laws and regulations. Quite often, though, I'd learn something that would make me think, 'If only I knew then what I knew now. I could have done so much better.'
"My friends tell me that I have a tendency to brood. I have to admit it's true. I brooded over those 'If I only knew's' until I wrote them down and got them out of my system. They're all in that journal. Plans and ideas for how I wished I'd handled those terrible years. Updated and revised time and again. They're even charmed to organize everything.
Plans for how to deal with Voldemort? How to save everyone? Harry looked down at the journal in his hands in astonishment. Exhilaration swelled in his chest
Wait! He suddenly thought. It's his personal journal. Harry choked out words of refusal, "But, this is your personal journal. With all your thoughts and feelings. I can't read this. Nobody should. And it sounds as if you need this journal."
"Harry, I would give anything to be able to have saved Sirius. And Fred and Remus and Tonks and so many others. Giving you this journal? It makes me feel as if I'm doing that very thing. Save them Harry. Save them for me. Save them for yourself.
"As for my needing the journal? I needed it after the war ended. Badly. That need slowly diminished over time. I rarely even open it any more. I have so many things now to fill my life with joy and satisfaction. Ginny, my children, my friends, my work.
"And now that I think about it, I realize that it can also help you to deal with everything that's happened to you, by seeing how I dealt with it. Take it Harry. I want you to have it."
Harry dearly wanted the journal. And then a thought occurred to him and he added, "I'm not even sure that I can take anything from this world back with me. Or if I can even get back." The thought frightened him. Would he be trapped here in this world, while his world was forced to deal with Voldemort without him?
The older Harry paused a moment in consternation. But then his eyes lit up and he grinned. "Harry! Don't you remember the map? Your map? It still shows your Hogwarts! As if you were still in the Room of Requirement! I think that you can go home!"
"You … you mean we're not in your world? But the room—"
"Who knows, Harry? You might be in my world. I might be in yours. Or maybe somehow our worlds have … overlapped in some way. And the room just looks like my home. I don't think we'll ever know.
"Maybe you can't take the book with you. But if your Room is like the one in my world, you might be able to call up this particular Room anytime you want with the journal a part of it. Ready to read when you need it."
Suddenly, the older man's eyes glowed with mischief. "But before you go back to your Hogwarts, I want to go over a few of the favorite plans and ideas I had for … dealing with your dark wanker. He won't know what hit him."
Harry's face lit up in an anticipatory grin, his eyes shining with excitement.