Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
Harry was woken by someone yelling at him; his head hurt so he kept his eyes closed. The thought of getting up nearly made him vomit. Harry snapped his eyes open though when he heard heavy footsteps and the voice coming closer. A giant who looked like his uncle loomed over Harry with huge hands reaching to grab him. Acting on instinct Harry blasted the man back with a push of wandless magic.
This time he did vomit, his magic hurt. After a minute the nausea passed, but Harry still felt drained - as though he'd been using magic constantly for an hour. It was quiet so Harry sat for another minute with his eyes closed before he felt well enough to open them.
This can't be real. Right?
He was in his old cramped room at the Dursley's, with Dudley's broken toys pushed against one wall, and Vernon Dursley out cold against the other. In the light that filtered through his curtains Harry glanced down. His hands looked completely smooth and the scars were missing. And he had on a pair of torn old pajamas he could vaguely remember from years and years ago. It didn't make sense.
When Harry glanced at Vernon he realized his uncle didn't look right either - he weighed more than Harry remembered, like before Vernon and Dudley lost weight the year Aunt Petunia made them diet. And Vernon should have a bit of grey in his hair, and he didn't.
Harry stood up confused, and nearly toppled as his head spun. After a moment he turned towards the door. It was bigger than doors should be. What sort of weird hallucination would make doors bigger. Harry glanced around the room and realized everything was scaled to the size of the door. His bed had seemed right, but was in fact way bigger than it should be, as was Vernon, and even the toys.
There was a sudden dizzying realization as he glanced back at himself - the room wasn't bigger, he was smaller.
Harry stumbled towards the door as Petunia walked in. She saw her husband against the wall and shrieked "What have you done to him? You freak!" As Petunia stepped towards him Harry used a bit of wandless magic to create a loud bang that startled her into stopping. A loud noise required far less effort than knocking her out.
Harry sat back down on his bed and waited for the spinning to clear. After a minute Petunia slowly moved towards Harry again, and he gestured threateningly, "Come closer and I'll knock you out too - go check on Vernon; make sure he's alright."
As he watched his aunt grab Vernon and look him over Harry tried to think. This didn't feel like a dream or a hallucination, but he couldn't be sure and he knew he wasn't thinking very clearly. After she finished looking her husband over Petunia started to yell at Harry again, and he stopped her with another magical bang. "He's alive, right? Good go get the newspaper, and make breakfast for me" When she didn't move and stared at Harry angrily he used another bang, even louder than the other two, "I will hurt you if you make me."
That worked and after Petunia ran out of the room and downstairs Harry shakily forced himself up. He quickly checked on Vernon as well; the man was an awful person, but not a threat to anybody and he didn't want to accidentally kill him. Fortunately it looked like his uncle would be fine.
Harry then stumbled downstairs, with his head spinning, and threw up again on the carpeted stairs midway down. He felt better after that, and smiled at the vomit. Petunia was going to be the one to clean that up, he thought viciously. When Harry reached the bottom of the stairs she was there, with Dudley hiding behind her and looking at Harry with wide eyes. Harry was surprised to realize Dudley had been cute as a kid, all fat and pudgy. Harry grabbed the newspaper; it showed as August 1, 1991 as the date. The day after he went with Hagrid to Diagon Alley the first time.
Harry sat down on one of the giant chairs in the dining room with his legs hanging beneath him. It was weird to suddenly be tiny. He felt nauseated as he stared at the plate of eggs and bacon Petunia had prepared for him. After a minute Harry shouted "Petunia get in here." The woman came into the room after a minute. She looked terrified as she watched him intently with wide eyes, and jumped when he started to talk; Harry was used to scaring people, but it was still enormous fun to watch his aunt act this way. Even though she might be imaginary. "Get my wand from my trunk, also make up some toast, I don't think I can keep anything else down. And get me some money, one or two hundred ought to do it."
The thin woman had been about to move until he demanded the money then she turned back to him with a resentful scowl. Harry used another bang, and said "I'll give Dudley a pigs snout to match his tail - don't think I won't." Then with another bang his aunt scurried off.
What had those shamans done with the ritual circle he'd stupidly stumbled into. Harry knew it was possible this was real, and not just an illusion. He decided to see Diagon Alley. Was the magical world back in August of 1991 too?
Two hours later, disguised with blond hair dye - Harry had learned the hard way it was more reliable than a glamour - and makeup to hide his scar Harry sat at a table outside Fortescue's Ice Cream parlor. His bowl had long since melted into soup, and Harry stared mindlessly at the people shopping in the alley. He could still barely think and yesterday was a vague blur; Harry was almost sure though he'd been brought to the Hogwarts infirmary.
Lucius Malfoy walked through his field of vision, and rather than anger or enthusiasm, Harry felt tired. Was he supposed to kill them all again? Harry kept trying to think through "was it real?" and "how?" But he always lost track of his train of thought and his mind returned to an incoherent haze.
And then he saw her. Messy hair, slightly oversized front teeth, hands gesticulating wildly as she talked to Mrs. Granger, wearing cutesy children's clothes. Harry could hear her voice, high pitched and a child's, but not quite make out what she was saying. And for the next minute while she was in view he just watched unable to turn away as Hermione talked and moved and acted alive.
And then she went into Flourish and Blott's. Harry sat there for a moment, and reflexively started to tease his imaginary Hermione about how she'd dressed as a kid. And as he did he felt like he'd been brutally kicked in the stomach; she was dead and not able to hear him. The image of the girl he'd just seen was replaced by his Hermione, smiling at him, laughing, reading in the common room… dozens of images went through his mind on top of each other. And the most tearing emotional anguish he'd ever experienced ripped through him. Far worse than what it felt like when she died (because he'd repressed, refused to think it, he'd needed to be strong so he could kill) - she was dead dead dead dead. She'd always be dead dead dead dead. He might be in the past, but that living girl wasn't her and never could be.
His Hermione, the girl who'd saved his life so many times, the girl he'd loved, the best friend anyone could possibly want, his brilliant wonderful best friend was dead because he stunned Voldemort. And that would never change. She'd never fulfill the dreams she had, she'd never free the house elves, she'd never have a successful career, she'd never read another book, she'd never write a book. She would never fulfill her potential, or grow old or be a mother or be anything, all because she'd been blown to bits at eighteen.
And part of Harry had never admitted it to himself. He'd always needed her, so he pretended she was still with him. He'd read books because she pushed him to. He'd have conversations with her about new ideas, he enjoyed her worrying over him when he did stupid things with his broom. And so much more. At night he'd imagine her with him, and it would be alright. He wasn't alone.
But all of that had been in his head. And unlike the girl he just saw she was dead.
Harry felt a tight lump in his throat and his eyes start to water. He couldn't push it away this time, but he wouldn't break down in public. Harry ran to the apparition point and jumped without thinking, going somewhere that felt safe. And then surrounded by trees and a burbling creek he broke down and sobbed; he thought of how she was gone, and how he missed her, and how he was so sorry. Slowly his grief expanded, it wasn't just Hermione who was gone. There were others he'd lost: Neville, during the Battle of Hogwarts, with an ill fitting sweater and brilliant wand work; Luna with her mismatched shoes, elfin features and blonde hair, telling him that that Dumbledore's Army had been like having friends; Dobby wearing a pile of hand knit hats; Molly giving him a tight hug and a sweater that made him part of the family - and so many others.
He'd never allowed himself to truly grieve for them because it had felt like if he didn't grieve they weren't gone. But now he cried until he had no more tears and the sobbing slowly receded and he felt drained. And as he leaned with his suddenly tiny body against a tree Harry realized this was the spot where he'd started the night dancing with Hermione to cheer her up and ended in her arms. He'd returned often when he needed to feel close to her.
The clearing was younger; many trees were larger in his memories and that large old tree would be a big log in 6 years. Still it was mostly the same. Somehow seeing nature sent back in time, not just humans and their buildings, made it feel real. He was really here. He was really eleven again. And everything had been reset.
It was time to say goodbye to her. Harry had always intended to hang onto the memory forever - but here now he knew she'd want him to let go. To be happy without pretending, and to eventually find new friends. Perhaps to eventually find a new lover. But Harry's mind recoiled from that thought; he needed to let go of her imaginary presence, but that didn't mean he needed to completely move on yet.
So as the long summer evening slowly turned to night Harry spent hours bringing to mind his friends and reliving the good times and saying goodbye.
Harry's plans were obvious. He was going to do what should have been done the first time. Protect his people. Especially Hermione, she might not be his Hermione but she was still a Hermione. And she was going to live a wonderful life where she had an opportunity to grow and learn and read. She was going to live to ninety, choose any career she wanted, and not be hurt by discrimination from the bigots of the wizarding world.
Hermione wasn't the only one, Neville, Luna, Dobby, Ginny, George and Fred, Lupin, Sirius - even Ron. They were all his people. And he was going to protect them from their enemies. All of the death eaters, including the ones in that leaky bucket Azkaban would die. Voldemort would be permanently destroyed. And he'd kill others - definitely Umbridge and maybe Fudge - everyone who'd worked to pass laws that would hurt Hermione, or Dobby, or Lupin. They were his enemies and he'd kill them.
Harry knew it would take years before he was ready to move. His body and magical core were simply not ready to use as much magic as he would need to kill them over a few days. And if he didn't kill almost all his enemies fast they'd flee and organize and become a bigger problem. Also there was no real hurry. It wasn't until after sixth year that it all went to hell. So he'd wait until before that year to kill all of the death eaters. But there were many things he had to do earlier. He needed to figure out how to free Sirius and Dobby. They couldn't wait.
Also Voldemort, it would be safest to kill him immediately. Harry had once taken down a wizard in China who had a horcrux, and to do so he'd been taught a modified horcrux ritual. The murder of someone whose soul was already split could be used to force the remainder of the soul into an object. Harry could give Quirrelmort an opportunity to kill the unprotected Boy-Who-Lived, and then spring a trap on Voldemort. It would definitely be best to do it before the start of the term, and even in his current condition it should be easy and safe. Voldemort was stupidly overconfident. After he made this plan Harry felt a spasm of anger at Dumbledore, like he did every time he remembered how easy it was to permanently remove someone protected by a horcrux. Should he kill Dumbledore as well?
Part of Harry desperately wanted to. But Dumbledore was useful, and he wasn't evil; he was a horrible failure as a leader, but he had the right goals. If Harry could let Hermione go, shouldn't he also let that hatred go? It was unimportant in this world too; he'd never follow Dumbledore's sick, indirectly murderous ideology here.
Harry knew he also needed to decide what was he going to do at Hogwarts. How would he deal with the children that were clones of his friends?
After a minute's thought Harry shrugged, he'd play it by ear. He knew he'd never have the same relationships with them that he had had with the friends he grew up with. They were kids and he was a great warrior who'd seen more bloodshed than almost anyone. Perhaps he would simply not get along with them at all; it might even be best if he didn't try. But no matter what he'd protect them.
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