Chapter 2: The Emotional Return
Hogwarts Gryffindor House, October 30, 1994
Harry Potter's morning was not going so well. Falling out of bed while simultaneously spilling the glass of water, that he at some point must have set on his nightstand, on himself and being blinded by the morning sun that blazed brightly in his face was not the way to start a day. His roommates might have considered it hilarious but he didn't.
Once he was got to the bathroom, he peered into the image reflected in the mirror. Not aware of how long he stood there he slowly touching his own face, he couldn't believe how young he looked. His hair was as untidy as before, but he noticed the absence of grey hairs and brittleness to them, the face was not creased with stress, and his trademark scar was no longer healed but instead scabbed and red. The only thing that he could recognize was the eyes, sure they were the same green eyes that a few witches got lost in, but to Harry, all he could see was the constant bloodshed, screams, and loss.
Looking into his own eyes he all of a sudden could hear an explosion go off, he sees a group of teens running away towards him screaming. He reaches forward hoping to get them in time but his hand meets a mirror, and through sheer impact of his false hope to save them this time, it breaks. Feeling the pain of minor cuts he is instantly brought back. It took him a moment to understand that what he saw was not real and with an extreme sensation of anger and regret he wanted to shout, he wanted to scream, but he kept it in. The solitary expression he didn't hold back was the tears, gently moving down his face, dripping in the sink that he holds onto with a tight grip.
If this is was his reaction to himself Harry wasn't sure he was ready to be wandering around the school, he was thankful that his roommates had left him to this mornings misfortune. With a few well-practiced deep breaths he put himself into action, the mirror was fixed, his body washed, and his mind cleared. Harry was ready to face the day . . . . hopefully.
Walking back into the fourth year dorms he thought of the benefits and negatives of time travel he discovered while showering. On one side there is the benefit of knowing what is coming and correcting many mistakes and deaths, the other side of the galleon though he had a minor problem with, well, ummmmm, his body. Not to say Harry was insecure about his body, he is quite happy not having all those scars, but all that hard work to get physically fit all gone, never to be seen again.
Just face it, he was very insecure about his body. To Harry, it was nothing but skin and bones, scrawny and depressing looking. That was another thing realized too, going back into a teenager means dealing with hormones AAAAAAAALL over again, riveting isn't it? Back on topic, as he was washing, mourning his older badass body, he found out some scars from the school days weren't there. His left shoulder no longer had the large white gash of a scar from when he, very stupidly, out flew a Hungarian Horntail, nor did he have the 'I Must Not Tell Lies' engraved in is the right hand. Kind of hard to forget those scars.
The lack of two such scars narrowed the choices for what year it is. Obviously, it was not the seventh year, sixth was out due to the lack a hand-carved scar. As for the fifth year, since he hadn't fought the Horntail yet, it wasn't a choice either. That left first through the fourth year, and for his height, he would have to say he was either in the third or fourth year.
The final piece of evidence he needed to figure out what year he was in appeared when he began changing into more comfortable clothes. As he was putting on his winter gloves, to hide the cuts, he saw in his unfocused vision the bedpost and nightstand of one Ronald Bilius Weasley. The first idea that came instantly was to grab the sickening rat, Peter Pettigrew, but a glance proved to be useless, he wasn't there. 'Guess I'm in the fourth year'.
That thought gave him pause, should he be happy that he was in the fourth year? He had very few good memories of that year, add the fact he had one of the most traumatizing moments that left him deeply scarred emotionally, it is no surprise that he hesitated to be back. The thought that he could stop it though was a pepper-up potion in itself and began to feel warm and, dare he say, joyful.
Those feeling crashed and burned immediately as he overheard snoring, one that was all too familiar to him. All that was needed was a slight turning of the head to the right and saw the THING causing the racket. Harry's feet were soft, unheard as he inched closer with each silent step. Time froze as he stood over Ron, not sure what to do. It felt like a weight of unparalleled heaviness was all over his body, the universe holding its breath waiting for a choice to be made.
Harry was standing, literally, an arm's length away but was hesitant what to do about it. There should be no question what to do! Right here, in this bed sleeping away without a damn care, was a man who betrayed him, the rebels, everyone. He killed his own wife! HE! KILLED! HERMIONE! The rage was building, it could be felt all over his body, poised to strike, but as his fingers were about to touch Ron's throat the joints locked, body unable to move.
It was a small voice, like a sound brought with the wind. It whispered in defense of the red-head, how wrong this was. To convict a child, A CHILD, for the crimes of a man that has yet to be made. Yes, mistakes were made, many mistakes, but wasn't that the whole point for being here, to fix those mistakes and save those that were condemned and tortured in the future. This could be another saved, a changed destiny from a traitor to a savior, one who would be willing to give then horde on what he gets instead.
The opinions in his mind fought in a sea of emotions, both tidal waves neither giving up on what needs to be done. One sway left, ,'He will never change.' Another sway right, 'Nothing is written in stone.' Back again, 'He had his chance.' Again another, 'And this time he can be helped.' Harry wasn't sure how much his body can take from the see-saw of feelings he was getting.
'It's for the greater good' was hissed.
Where the house flags normally stood there were black flags with the Hogwarts crest on them, all the students were seated in the Great Hall mourning for the loss of Cedric Diggory. A man, though old, stood tall as he speaks and observed the mass of children with such a sorrowful grandfather face you'd think the students were all his grandchildren. Staring at him, his lips were moving but nothing was heard 'till finally, Dumbledore's voice broke the melancholy of his mind, "Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good and kind and brave because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort".
Harry flinches back from Ron and his bed, a bead of cold sweat could be felt running down the top of his head. His body shivers as he realized what he was about to do, not that he didn't think the bastard deserved it, but because that was his first reaction to a problem. Calming himself he rationalized that he just found out about the Weasels treachery not a full twenty-four hours ago. The wound was still fresh in his mind so of course, finishing the perpetrator would be the common reaction, just as anyone else would.
Sighing under his breath, Harry begins to walk away. Just as he passes the other side of Ron's bed he notices an opportunity that couldn't be helped, 'Nothing wrong with a little vindictiveness'. Quidditch reflexes and a tip of a bedsheet later, Ron came tumbling out of the bed, mimicking a fish out of the water.
"Huh?! Wha . . . what the bloody hell is going on?" Confused at first, Ron finally got his barring to look around the room to the lone occupant other than himself. "Why'd you ruddy do that Harry, I was having the most wonderful dream. It was about Krum, I was riding a broom with him and -"
"Roooon I don't want to hear your poofer dream! Breakfast is happening soon I reckon, wouldn't want to miss it now would we?" Never in Harry's life did it hurt his face to make a smile or strain his voice to sound playful. Ron seemed offended by such a thought of missing breakfast, "Well couldn't you of, I don't know, shake me awake like a normal person?"
"And couldn't you, I don't know, wake yourself up? Ron, we are fourteen for Merlin's sake. If you can't get yourself out of bed how will you pass all the way up to the seventh year?" Though angry and still out for blood with him, Harry couldn't help but feel exasperated with Ron. Is this what we were like all those years back?
"Come off it Harry, that's like three years away or something, we have time. Right now we should worry about the food being gone if we don't get there soon." Without a glance back, or down, or around even, Ron got up, sheet and all, and started heading towards the bathroom. Again Harry asks himself if they were really like this at fourteen?
Heading out of the room and down the stairs, he made his way out of the Gryffindor Common Room, making his destination the Great Hall. As Harry made his way through the maze of moving stairs he thought upon the interaction between himself and Ron. Though he was angry for being woke up in such a crude manner, as anyone would, there was none of his jealousy and spiteful tone. What he got from all that was two friends bickering and joking all at the same time. 'Guess my name hasn't come out yet' was all Harry felt, sure it was a bit nice seeing Ron not be a total git but not enough to forge together a broken friendship, at least on his end anyway.
Making it to the bottom step, he shakes his head clear and proceeds to head through the hallway, 'Get your head in the game Potter'. He had more important things to worry about than a failed friendship. He came back to save people, he came back to change the future, and he will do anything to achieve it . . . . anything.
Looking around there was nothing but . . . . nothing. Around Harry was white, up, down, left, right, all white. There didn't even seem to be a sense of gravity either, he wasn't sure if he was standing or floating. It felt like there was something he was stepping on but at the same time, his body seemed lighter than a feather.
An unprecedented amount of time passes, could have been minutes or hours, possibly days. The room was getting to Harry, the constant floating feeling was making him both relaxed and tired, while the space of everything white was making him nauseated and extremely disoriented. Just as he was feeling the pull of sleep for what must have been the hundredth time, he felt the room shift.
A cold breeze, though perceived as small, had enveloped him suddenly with a chill that reached the bones in his body. Far off in the direction where the breeze came from Harry saw a black dot. Quickly it was becoming more than a dot, a ball, then the size of a dragon's egg. Bigger and bigger the color black was getting 'till it was finally identified as some black smoke, it had to be more than smoke for it was far denser and darker than any he has ever encountered in his life.
The black smoke-like mass stopped just short of fifteen feet and was roughly ten times the size of Grawp, Hagrid's half-brother. It just waited there, not moving from its current position. If not for the smokey appearance Harry would have thought it stopped moving altogether, but just as his curiosity was getting to him and leaned towards it, it spoke.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here Mr. Potter? Attempting time travel, haven't you been warned before about the dangers of tampering with time?" The voice was neither masculine or feminine, the only distinct trait Harry got from the voice was delivering fear. The type of fear beyond one's anguish or turmoil, when your surrounded by enemies, or when you are taking your last breath before dying. This fear neither asked or demanded respect for it already knew it was felt. It was all Harry could do to nod his head, let alone speak for himself.
The black smog laughed, freezing what little air Harry had in his lungs. Bending, twisting, turning, and swirling was being done in front of his eyes as it was finally taking shape. When he thought it was done a billowing cloak stood in front with a hood silhouetted at the top. There was no doubt what or who that was, but more confirmation was giving as the back of the cloak broke with two skeleton wings stretched itself out, boney skinless hands grabbing the handle of the scythe that materialized from nowhere.
"Do you know who I am Mr. Potter"
Of course, he knew who that was. Death. Harry tried to answer him but no air was coming out, it felt like no air was coming in either.
Death chuckled in sadistic amusement, "You do seem to know". What happened next would forever haunt 'Mr. Potter', Death bent down towards him, wings resting outward in the view of Harry's left and right. The face of Death appeared gradually out from his hood, and though it was not sudden it still shocked Harry. The face of Death, grinning with both a sense of joy and madness, was seared into his memory forever, never to leave him. "No one cheats me out of what's mine, you want to get passed me then you'll have to pay the toll, Mr. Potter".
A/N: Some of your are probably wondering why I made my author note at the bottom this time instead of the top. Funny thing really, I didn't think I was. I was thinking up random things that I could do or talk about as I made my author note and then you could continue on to chapter 2. Well I didn't want to bummer anyone one out before reading this chapter, that way you could enjoy it. In all honesty I am hoping you readers see that's its an author note and go "Eh, dont need to read it". I was going to post this chapter tomorrow but as I worked on chapter 3 I had sat there at the same spot, not typing anything for two hours. So instead I chose to do this.
Today around noon my time, my grandfather past away. I didn't find out till 5:15 when I got home off work. I am honest to say I dont know how I feel. On one hand, I helped my grandfather with work for almost a year; every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at his work, and rest of it was either to help with cows or some other crazy thing. I LITERALLY got myself a real job again yesterday, and this happens on my second day of work.
On that same note I look at things logically. It may seem cold but no one lives forever. People will spend millions just to add another year, another month, or even to just hope for a miracle. All the same though there is a single fact of life, everything that exists must eventually die. Some of you might feel like that sounds familiar, and it is because its a little something I brought up in my first versioned story. Its a cold hard truth that some dont want to think about and yet it will always be around to remind us. I chose not to ignore this fact, and I guess you could say that's how I cope possibly. Whether it is or not doesn't really matter, its what happens after that does. The death of a family member or a loved one can destroy some people, and to others it would make them stronger.
Im not sure where I am going with this, I am just typing what I am thinking at the moment. I am choosing not to read what I previously wrote to make these statements more real. An emotion is not edited so why should I go back and change my thought or rephrase it because it would make it sound better, or to make the whole thing flow and make sense. So if this whole author note is confusing I do apologize, consider this whole author note a therapeutic moment for me.
I do wonder some times what other people do when they hear a family member die? Is it like the movies and they drop, or fall into a chair and try to deny what they heard? Is there a right way or a normal way to react to such news? My mother was the one who told me, and my first reaction wasn't sorrow for his death, and I didn't cry either; Instead I felt sorry for my mother, for she was the one who had to call it. She was the one who had to make the final decision whether to keep going or not, and to anyone who thinks that she should of kept going or found a way, my answer is your all ignorent fools.
As her son I can very well tell you she is not the easiest person to get along with, hell she knows it. I guarantee you though that I consider her one of the smartest people in the world, and no she isn't a PhD in physics, she isn't an Einstein, and she isn't one of those mad scientists. She knows her limitations though, in all my life I can, with full faith, say that she has only been wrong twice, and it was for stupid shit like got the wrong day for our neighbors little girls birthday party. She never says something without researching it first and has full confidence in it. My mother works in the medical field and has corrected and put doctors in their place. So if she says there was nothing else that could be done, then it couldn't be done.
Back to my original thought, I felt sorry for her because my mother had to make the final decision for her father. All of you ask yourself, could you make the call on one of your parents and wonder if you made the right call? That if you wait a little bit longer they could stabilize or the doctors figured out a way? There will always be that doubt and though I know my mother is strong, I also believe that will never leave her.
I think this author note has gotten a bit long for my taste so I will end it on two notes:
1) Ive heard that a book reflects the writer, if that is true I hope that something in my story will make you think and view things differently, and with it you grow just a little bit more and a little bit wiser.
2) Everyone hears the statement "No one knows when its their time", and dont worry I am not going to lecture about how 'you should be with your family more' or 'if you dont you will regret it'. Instead I want you to think about it and make your own decisions. If you had a parent or sibling dying what would you be thinking? I am assuming you love them and wanted to spend more time with them. And if we follow that road you might think of all the times you had with them. As you got older I am sure you spent less and less time with them or called them less, maybe miss a few family dinners and such, just like any normal person. All of that, there is nothing wrong with that, but at that moment when your family member or loved one is with you, would you ask yourself, could have there been more time? A call from home asking if youd like to come to dinner, but you flake because you got that new game you wanted to play, or maybe there is a boy or girl you like that you could hang with, or even just wanted a chill day to yourself. All of that seems normal now, but later it would seem like petty time you could spent with them. Im not saying dont do things for yourself, hover over the family. But when you get in a fight with them and decide to stay mad and hold that grudge, is something so petty worth that time you could sit with them just enjoying each others company. Getting angry is ok, but who has the time or energy to stay mad for a whole day, week, month? Balance it all, if you feel like your with your family too much, that's ok. Feel like you dont, well maybe you should do something then. You make the decision because at the end of the day its you who it will fall on years from now.