A discussion over bread and water
A response to the Reptilia28 challenge
I don't own Harry Potter or Chicago Fire
Harry felt the grass under his legs, the soft pressure of the invisibility cloak tucked against his stomach, a dull ache where the killing curse struck by his torso. Yes, he had returned after all.
A shriek burst against his eardrums. Voldemort was yelling, ordering someone to check if he was dead. He tensed, eyes shut, preparing to run. Two fingers, softer than anticipated, examined his neck.
"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?" Narcissa murmured.
Harry jerked his head a fraction in affirmative. Her nails contracted as she stood.
"The boy is dead!" she exclaimed.
The death eaters cried in glee, jets of light firing into the air.
The dark lord braced a hand against a tree, rising to his feet. "No one will ever pose a threat to our reign again, death eaters! Dumbledore's stooge is no more, a mere half-blood inferior to me in every way, doomed from the beginning. Crucio!"
Harry tried to remain still; he really did. But three seconds into the curse, his left leg jerked and he yelled for the entire forest to hear. The death eaters gasped, hands twitching towards their wands. A plume of fire incinerated Mrs. Malfoy in an instant, scattering her ashes across the ground.
A grimace twisted the dark lord's snake-like features, which then became a blank mask, his eyes hardened.
"Kill the boy!" A dozen curses tore Harry apart in seconds, twisted remains plopping in the clearing. The boy who lived died again, for good this time.
Harry opened his eyes to an empty room. Sunlight, or the equivalent shone through a window high above his head. As he rose to his feet, he spied two doors beckoning to his left. The first door was tightly bolted with at least five different locks, a ruby glowering in the frame. The second door with sandlewood paneling was slightly open, soft light gleaming through the cracks.
He sighed. "Well, time to embark on 'the next great adventure." Striding towards the door, he anticipated finally getting a break from months of hopelessness, half-thought plans, and at the end of it all utter disaster.
Maybe I'll get to meet my parents . . .
Someone cleared their throat. "Hold it, we need to talk."
A girl of about fifteen in a Blackhawks shirt, jeans and reeboks stood behind him, arms folded.
"Who are you?" Harry asked sitting on a nearby chair warily, half expecting Dumbledore or someone else at the crossroads, or whatever this place was.
The girl snickered, then frowned. "I'm death, of course, for the moment anyway, we're on rotation. Many souls share the responsibility, plus the main reaper's far too busy for failures like you."
Harry scoffed. "You can't be death, you're much too young, and what do you mean a failure?" He jerked to his feet, voice raising. "I've been fighting for the wizarding world single-handedly since I was eleven and what did it get me?" He shouted. "Nothing! All my friends died, not to mention I died too."
The girl's face contorted. "You think everything begins and ends with you?" she spoke in a dark tone, gesturing to nearby charts. "The dark lord conquered the entire world six months after your death. Six months! All because you botched your destiny from start to finish. Not to mention tanking everyone else's fates as well. She pointed towards herself, transforming into a thirty-something woman in firefighter dress regalia. "I would have been one of Chicago's best firefighters if I'd lived. Instead, I burned to death when the Air Force tried to stop an inferi attack. Great ending for a future firefighter! Oh yeah, I'm Rebecca Dawson, not that you'd know me."
Dawson marched over to a simple table, pushing a chair out across from her seat. "Sit!"
Harry made his way to the table, a cold trickle running across his spine.
Dawson thrusted a small bread plate and a glass of water to his place. "You can eat I guess, you're skin and bone."
A small chuckle erupted as he complied. Who knew death served bread and water prior to souls' not death, final judgement perhaps?
As he finished chewing, a thought occurred. "What else was I supposed to do? I mean I'm not brilliant or particularly magically talented, that was always Hermione. I'm well, just a hot-tempered idiot with a scarred forehead, no parents, and You-Know-Who's brother wand. My surviving to this point, was just dumb luck really."
Dawson shook her head. "You don't know the half of it, kid. You do know you dated the wrong type everything time, right?" Harry opened his mouth to deny her statement, but she continued before he opened his mouth. She ticked points off her fingers.
"Number one, dating an individual that looks like your mother shows a serious lack of emotional maturity, not to mention confidence.1 Number two, did Ginny Weasley really care for you? Or her perception of a tragic yet confident hero wrapped around her finger? And finally, you never really loved her, you were under the influence of a rather nasty little potion, I believe it's called Amortentia?"
"What?" Harry growled, rising to his feet. "You mean she was playing with me this whole time? Jerking me around like everyone else." Another suspicion arose. "Was Mrs. Weasley involved?"
Dawson rolled her eyes. "No, she actually about your wellbeing, as much as she could while being blinded by Dumbledore's machinations."
Flipping through a clipboard, she muttered, "It turns out you were destined to kill the Dark Lord, unite the Wizarding and muggle worlds in a few decades, and die peacefully at age one hundred thirteen, married to one … Hermione Granger?"
At this point, Harry couldn't help himself, he laughed, sides shaking with mirth. "Me, married to Hogwarts' top student? When I barely made mid-level grades my first five years except for DADA? No, you're wrong."
The reaper glowered. "Shut up, Potter! Granger was always on your side despite your laziness and bull-headed temper, unlike the red-headed oaf, who couldn't study to save his life and cut and run when things got tough. You think Granger cared for someone like that on her own initiative?"
Harry's jaw tightened. "He drugged her too? When I get my hands on him …"
She smirked. "May I remind you Potter, you're both dead, not to mention you still have work to do." She flipped to the second page of her clipboard. "Today was your sixth death, if you fail a seventh time, your soul will be destroyed." She pointed across the room.
A pick-ax rested on a wall hook to her left.
Harry gulped.
"So, let's do our best to get it right, think you can do that?"
The reaper flipped to page three, jotting down notes in hurried cursive. "First, knuckle down and study, alright? Half the time a few simple spells have made things so much easier."
Harry remained silent, head in his hands as the reaper wrote. "Second, you need to put your best foot forwards. Most of the wizarding world saw as an ill-mannered hobo, always dressed in muggle rags, see? And expanding your circle won't hurt, in my opinion."
"I guess it wouldn't hurt to try," Harry grumbled, drumming his fingers on the table. "And third?"
Dawson started, "Oh yes, meet your soulmate, Miss Granger, and once she's informed, grab her hand and state : 'I Harry James Potter, swear to stand by and support Hermione Jean Granger with honesty and conviction,' once that's done you and her will be immune to lust and bonded emotionally only till marriage, resistant to love potions, and mind reading, this does not mean immune, Potter, practice your Occlumency and eat right!" she clapped her hands.
"Also, get rid of your horcrux at a more opportune moment, such as when the Department of Mysteries battle before things heated up, after that you're clear to kill Voldemort. Before you ask, the timeline must remain more or less intact, however you can change a few things."
"What changes?" Harry asked, throwing his hands.
Dawson laughed. "You'll know when you see them." She turned to the last page, "Oh one last thing, anybody you tell about your situation must agree to an unbreakable vow, or you'll forfeit your chance to change things, I'd recommend Dumbledore after you tell him about the Dursleys, Snape and Granger later, don't bother with the other heads of house, they'll never support war training or mingling different houses." Pushing the clip board to Harry's side, she allowed him to read the section about memory retention, confidentiality, and so forth, before he signed it.
Harry sighed. "Well, when exactly do I go back?"
Dawson tilted her head. "Well, any destination later than fifth year is unwise, the dark side gained far too much ground by that point. Third year is a possibility but if you want to improve your image people won't take it kindly after two years of mayhem. Reminder me please who shut Hermione out over a broomstick that year?"
She waited as Harry gritted his teeth. "Just after your first trip to Diagon is a great place to start, study hard, bribe the Dursleys to keep them happy. Yes, first year it is. Good luck, kid. Use your brain, if you've got one."
She marched him out of the room, kicking him off a porch into space. Dizziness seized him as he went into free fall. The light from a receding window shone brighter. His vision shimmered and vanished to black.
11 Reference to Keough's remark about Perez in Moneyball (2011)