What Else Can We Do?

Part 1:

The Dreamers

Chapter 3:

'Between the conception

And the creation

Between the emotion

And the response

Falls the Shadow'

~ 'The Hollow Men' by T.S. Eliot

'I'm sorry about cursing you all, I truly am,' the man said, sliding his wand back into his coat pocket before he patted its flap closed with a hand. He looked at them with piercing blue eyes. 'The old wand-hand is a bit trigger-happy and doesn't abide by pleasantries anymore.'

He took a wary step towards them. Harry wanted to shout and yell, anything to let out the rage and fear mixing together into a sickening cocktail in his gut. He hoped the bastard could see it all in his eyes. If anything happened to Ron and Hermione . . .

'I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I need you all to listen to what I have to say first before I free you,' the man continued, gesturing with a weathered hand as if to placate them. All Harry wanted to do was wipe that damned sincere look off his face with a well-deserved punch. 'My name is Aberforth Dumbledore, but I am not the man you may know. I am from the future. And I am in desperate need of your help.'

His expression was determined, but the effect was tempered by resignation. The counter-curse must've been non-verbal because the next moment they were released from the spell's hold. Harry scowled, ready to stalk over and react in kind, but Hermione was at his side, a tight grip on his wrist, looking at him beseechingly. He backed down with that look confusedly, and became more so when Hermione stood in front of him, as if shielding him.

'If you are indeed who you are claiming to be, then why did you bring us here and strip us of our belongings and wands? Why did we go through that –' she stopped, almost breathless at the end, and looked down. Ron went to her side and silently took her other hand, watching her with concern. Hermione took in a deep breath and looked up at the man once more, her expression cold. 'Why did we go through such pain?' she finished.

Even though Harry knew Hermione was terrified by the death-grip she had on his wrist, she was still standing her ground. The flood of pride was surprising – he'd never felt this much of it for her before. He had always wondered, but he knew now why the Sorting Hat put her in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw.

Aberforth stared at her sadly. He almost replied a few times, but seemed to think better of it each time. He looked at the ground, eyes flickering in thought, taking on a more tortured look with every passing second. 'I suppose I should start at the beginning,' Aberforth finally said. 'I do this not to garner your pity or your forgiveness, because I deserve neither, but for the sake of clarity – and the mission, which is more important than us all.'

Putting the point of his wand to his temple, Aberforth withdrew a ghost-like strand of memory and eased it into a small opaque crystal ball resting in the palm of his hand. He tapped the ball with his wand and it lit up like a small sun. From the light, images began to take form all around them in a grainy, flickering montage. The closest thing Harry could describe it as was a hologram, like what he saw in that 'Star Wars' film Dudley was fond of as a kid.

'These are memories from my past and your future. Seven years from now, in the year 1998, the Dark Lord Voldemort will begin anew his war to conquer the wizarding world. He will do so in a way that none of us suspect. He will target magic itself,' Aberforth said, his voice empty, his expression haunted. He grew pale, but resolute as he watched his memories play out before their eyes. 'Before we knew it, Voldemort had changed the very nature of magic, made it darker, evil, by corrupting nearly every place in the world where the Wild Magic is anchored.'

Seeing their confused expressions, he explained, 'Wild Magic is the base of all magic, be it Light or Dark. As its name implies, anchors are needed to channel the Wild Magic into the Leylines of the world. In turn the Leylines sustain places like Hogwarts, imbuing the very earth with its power and presence, which then nurtures and fuels our own magical cores. All of these things are necessary for our existence as magical beings. Voldemort corrupted this process.'

Harry found himself watching a scene of Aberforth's memory then: a witch wandering the ruins of a street that almost looked like Diagon Alley, digging through the rubble with her bare hands, covered in dust. She went for her wand but stopped before grabbing it, tears welling up in her eyes. He felt compelled to watch her.

'In consequence, those naturally inclined toward Light Magic, such as myself, found themselves getting weaker, increasingly unable to draw upon their innate magic. Some even turned into squibs. We had no choice but to turn to muggle technology to survive. We had to turn to archaic forms of it like steam-power since modern electrical-run devices were mostly incompatible with magic and its users, even ones who could barely call themselves such anymore.'

The memories had jumped forward in time, showing scenes of people huddled around wood ovens, their home a cave. There were a myriad of groaning pipes following the walls, blackened oil lanterns illuminating small patches of earth as they hung from poles, make-shift aqueducts and huge, rusting engines that laboured in the background, the constant drone of their working parts putting Harry on edge. All those things he had delighted in and had taken for granted because of magic had been stolen from these people. He knew very little of what it meant to be that lost, he realised.

'We tried, and succeeded for a time, to fight back with our new weapons that were powered by an unholy mixture of runework, gunpowder and steam. It took our enemies by surprise at the very least,' Aberforth said quietly, smiling a little, but it had no humour or warmth. 'We held on – for over forty years. So many died. I buried too many friends. I knew it was a losing battle but I kept going even after the Order was long gone because I couldn't bear the thought of giving up, or of what Voldemort would do to us if we did.'

Aberforth put his hand over the crystal ball, causing the hologram memories to disappear. They were still behind Harry's eyes though, replaying their horrors again and again: witches and wizards who knew too much of war and its consequences. His people abandoned in their suffering. 'When our last stronghold fell, when my comrades lay slaughtered at my feet, I knew what I had to do. I had nothing left to lose, you see. I found the last untainted anchor of Wild Magic and used it to call forth a daemon. I made a deal with that daemon and he gave me the power to do what was necessary – to take us back in time and stop Voldemort before it was too late.' Aberforth pocketed the crystal ball with a sigh. 'I brought you here because I cannot do this alone.'

'What did you do to us?' Hermione asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

'You three are the sacrifice I had to make to save the lives of many more – the sacrifice for a new future that does not end in annihilation. I am sorry, so very sorry,' he said, his voice breaking. 'I know that my apologies will never be enough – but if there is any measure of the versions of you I knew in you yet, then you'd be willing to give up everything for a chance to end this once and for all.'

'Stop dodging my question. What did you do to us?' Hermione bit out, angrier than either Ron or Harry had ever seen her.

'I ripped you out of your time. I put you through a ritual that would Change you into something else. Something that can defeat Voldemort. Something not human.'

'Why?' Hermione asked, sounding close to tears.

'Because you asked me to,' Aberforth replied. 'Your future selves, that is.'