A little late, but here you are:
"You're going to see him, aren't you?" Daniel doesn't sound mad. Just resigned.
It bothers me more than it should.
"Yeah," I say softly. It's late in the night. We're sitting on my bed cross-legged and facing each other awkwardly in the limited space. Secrecy charms blanket us thickly. The world feels like it ends right outside of this space we've built-if we were to fall of the bed, there would be no ground to hit. We would just fall through empty space.
He gives a deep sigh, grabbing my hand hesitantly, as if he's not sure how I'll react.
"Be careful," he says.
I open my mouth to say something along the lines of, 'Of course I will be,' but it gets caught in my throat. I don't want to lie anymore.
"I can't say I will be," I say slowly. "And I don't like lying. Can we talk about something else for a change?"
He gives me a small smile. "Sure, James. What do you want to talk about?"
I pause. "I dunno. What's your family like?"
He laughs. "Huge. I've got two older brothers-Gideon and Fabian-and a little sister named Molly, plus the new baby Bilius."
Wow. "How old is Molly, then?"
"Twelve. Sweetest little girl you've ever heard of, though she can be a bit feisty. Bright red hair, along with most of the family." I chuckle along with him, wondering in the back of my mind if his Molly now is in fact my Molly later on. It's hard to picture her as a child.
"What're Gideon and Fabian like?"
"Oh, terrible pranksters. Fight like you wouldn't believe, though, and it's not pretty. It's almost like they're joined at the hip, though. You never see one without the other. Even when they're cross with each other." He's got this warm smile in his face, and I wish I could relate to it. "What's your's like, if you can say?"
I pause, thinking of what to say.
"My parents are dead. I was raised by my aunt and uncle on my mother's side," I settle on. "They're muggles."
"Oh," he said. "Do they have kids?" His eyes were full of kind interest.
"One. His name is Dudley."
"What's he like?"
I pause, considering if saying 'Spoiled rotten' would be a good idea. "We weren't very close," I say. "His parents separated us a bit. They didn't like magic, and they were a bit afraid of it."
He's silent for a few moments. "Was your mom a muggleborn?"
I nod. "I don't think my aunt knew how to deal with it."
"...James... They didn't..."
I gave him a small smile. "They never hit me. My uncle did scream a bit, but they never really hit me." I squeeze his hands faintly in mine, unsure of whether or not I should, and he squeezes back with a grateful smile.
"Would they have?" He asks. "If you'd done something bad enough?"
"I don't know." Nothing else can be said.
He pauses, thinking. "I can't wait until the Quidditch season starts!"
I laugh, relieved for the change in pace.
We speak for the rest of the night.
...
I wake up entangled in David, his head tucked under mine and his knees tangled between mine. I peek my eyes open to see the very tips of his feet poking out from under the sheets. His arm wraps all the way around my waist and mine lays lightly over his shoulder. His face is only inches from mine, still asleep.
I remember talking like this before we slipped asleep, feeling his warm breath brush across my face.
I study him, his long nose splattered like freckles, his mussed-up brown curls, and his thick lashes, watching the shadows they form across his cheekbones. I realize something.
I don't want to leave this.
...
"What if we didn't go back to our own timeline? What if we just stayed here?"
"We could end up changing things drastically. Not all of those changes would be better," Luna tells me later that day in the library.
"But what if most of them were? Wouldn't that be enough?" I ask desperately.
"Who would judge which choices are better for humanity and which aren't? Who would have the right to decide that one choice is better than another?" She asks me. "Hypothetically, let's say you manage to stop Voldemort's reign of terror somehow. Think of all the people that would never be born because no one felt the rush to live their lives before they were ended. Think of the people like Neville, who would've never realized their true potential if there hadn't been a war to fight."
"Neville would have his parents to teach him that."
"Who says they would've been good parents, Harry? Who says they wouldn't have been abusive? Neglect? How do we know?"
"What about all the people who died? Don't they deserve to live?"
She gives me a sad look. "Harry, they did live. And then they died for a great cause. It's more than most can say."
"What about me?" I ask, irritatedly. "Don't I deserve a happy ending? Can't someone else be the hero for once?"
"Would you be able to live with yourself if you did nothing, Harry?"
"But why does it have to be me?"
She sighed softly, hugging me as if she didn't know what else she could do.
"Because no one else cares quite as much."
...
"I'm here." Riddle says slowly to me. "Would you like to tell me why?"
I had asked him to meet me in the library. I guess he didn't think I was serious.
"Because," I say lightly, shrugging and sitting down in the corner Luna and I frequented. "I asked you to come and you said yes."
"But why?" he said, continuing to stand stiffly. "Why do you want me here? Why are you continuing to speak to me? I thought you wanted me to leave you alone."
"Maybe I just wanted you to stop bothering me. Now sit down." I say brightly.
He sat slowly, eyeing me almost nervously.
Tom seems to be waiting for me to say something and I have no clue what to say, so I pull a face. I need to say something, but what?
"Do you really want to know what the war is like?" I blurt, regretting the question as soon as it passes my lips.
He nods slowly. "Yes, I do."
I take a deep breath, leaning back. "Then I'll tell you. I can't promise you'll like it, though."
He sits down in front of me without a word, seeming to nudge me to continue.
"It's-there aren't words in the English dictionary to describe the sadness. Sometimes you're so scared you can't even scream. Even if you want to. You go to sleep and sometimes you're not even sure if you're going to wake up in the morning. Some people die so slowly that they can feel it slipping away. And sometimes you have to watch as they do."
He drinks it all in with a intense fascination, frowning when I stop.
"And Grindlewald? What is he like?"
"...Insane." I say surely. "There was once a time in his life when he was scared, I think, and now he still is. He just can't remember why anymore."
"How did you escape?"
"It was an accident. I wasn't meant to. I don't even really know what happened."
He doesn't ask another question. Instead, he eyes me contemplatively, as if he wonders what that means but doesn't dare to ask.
"Why are you still alive?" he murmurs to softly, almost talking to himself.
"I have no clue," I tell him. "Sometimes I think I should be dead. I've seen a lot of people die. Why wasn't it me? I really don't know."
He takes a deep breath in and out. His eyes, molten silver, pierce mine with a clarity that not many ever possess. Red seems to swim deep within them, and the hairs on the back of my neck raise.
"Do you ever think that you have a purpose, Harry?"
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