The Potter Timeline
Chapter 42 - The Junction of Destinies
Harry stood inside an old cottage. Wooden beams supported the corners and ceiling of the small room he was in, and the slightly uneven walls were painted a bright turquoise. The hardwood floor seemed very old.
The room was dark save for sunlight pouring in through a single window at the center of one wall. Toys and books were neatly stacked across several shelves, and next to Harry sat a baby crib. But the crib was empty. The window was open, and a soft, warm breeze blew in, ruffling a blue curtain hung to one side...
Harry had been here before.
It was his childhood room inside his parents' house, just as he saw it after Voldemort's spirit passed through him in the Hall of Reflection his first year.
But how did he get here this time?
Wondering if this was real or a dream, he walked around the room, gazing at the crib, the shelves of books and toys, as well as a rocking chair his mum and dad might have used. Then, the twelve-year-old heard the beautiful voice of his mother singing from outside, just like before.
"Mum?" he let out wide-eyed before bolting toward the open window where the breeze blew in. Harry looked out onto the lawn and...gasped in horror!
Instead of Lily Potter holding his infant self, Tom Riddle stood there holding the pale creature in his arms, swaying back and forth. Riddle looked up at Harry with an evil grin.
"Say 'hello', Harry," he uttered with Lily's voice.
The flayed, ugly child looked at Harry with its unearthly red eyes and waved at him.
"NOOO!" Harry shouted and bolted toward the door of the room.
But when he leapt through the doorway, he appeared at his aunt and uncle's house on Privet Drive, standing in the kitchen at dinnertime. The sound of the telly from the living room blared loudly as Dudley always insisted on watching it while eating.
"Harry! Get over here right now and finish cooking our dinner, you lazy boy!" Aunt Petunia spat at him from the stove top with a perturbed look.
Harry was just about to utter "yes, ma'am" out of reflex when he glanced at the dining room table in horror. In Uncle Vernon's seat, Tom Riddle sat grinning back at him and the pale creature with red eyes sat in Dudley's place.
"What are you about, boy?! Hurry up!" Riddle snapped at him in Uncle Vernon's voice.
"Yeah, Harry, I'm hungry!" the creature uttered with Dudley's voice as it hopped up and down in its seat, laughing at something on the telly.
Harry panicked and bolted through the doorway into the foyer. But as soon as he leapt over the threshold, he found himself inside the Hall of Reflection at Hogwarts, holding a broom in his hands - the night of his detention his first year. He glanced into the mirrored surface and saw Filch and Mrs. Norris staring back.
"Come on Governor! Hurry up and clean! We haven't got all night!" Filch complained to him.
Harry turned and was stunned to find Riddle staring back him with that same evil grin. And on all fours, next to Riddle's leg, the red-eyed creature tilted its head up at Harry like a cat. Feeling like he was going to vomit, Harry threw down the broom and sprinted past them to the doorway, flinging it open, trying to get away from this nightmare.
But instead of the third-floor corridor, Harry found himself running down a darkened hallway which seemed to go on forever. The chattering voices echoed off the walls around him. A chill swept through his mind.
"I told you, Harry. We're a part of you," the voice of Riddle appeared from everywhere, with that otherworldly sound, "we see everything in your head. There's no where you can run."
In full-out panic now, Harry quickened his pace. But the faster he ran the louder the voices grew.
"Harry, Harry, Harry..." they taunted him in unison.
He glanced about frantically for an exit.
He had to get out!
He had to escape this horrific nightmare!
"HELP!" he yelled out at anyone.
"HELP!"
The voices turned to chanting.
"HELP, HELP, HELP, HELP..."
Harry stopped and collapsed onto his knees. He placed both hands over his ears and shut his eyes tight, trying to block out the noise. But he could not erase them from his mind. Their mocking chants grew more intense, and Harry felt himself on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"AAAHHH!" he yelled frantically.
Unable to wake, the boy bowled over onto the floor.
"Help..." he uttered brokenly, "Dumbledore...McGonagall...Hermione...anyone...help..."
Darkness encroached into his mind. Tears fell from his eyes. Harry felt all hope leaving him...
BANG!
A terrific, blinding light appeared. For a moment, Harry couldn't see anything as he seemed to simply float in some bright, ethereal realm.
What happened?
Where was he?
But before he knew it, the light disappeared, and Harry was sitting at a school desk.
He looked up and saw a classroom full of Hogwarts students sitting at similar desks around him, each of them silently writing on parchments as though an exam was in progress. Gazing about the room, it seemed familiar to Harry.
The two casement windows were open. Sunlight poured in along with a Spring breeze. Overhead, the sight of floating candles provided a pleasant, soothing light. Then, it finally dawned on him.
He had been here before.
This was one of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, second term of last year, when Professor Dumbledore had taken over in the absence of Quirrell. And Harry was amazed at how real it seemed. And when he looked at the person to his left, he jolted in surprise.
Hermione!
She was a first-year again, with that fluffy, brown hair, and that telltale, serious look as she briskly wrote on a piece of parchment with one of the quills he gave her at Christmas that year.
Was he still dreaming? Or was he somehow transported back to that moment in time? Curious, Harry leaned toward his friend and tugged on her sleeve.
"Hermione," he uttered quietly, not wanting to disturb the others.
"Hermione!" he said a little louder.
But she didn't respond. She simply kept writing, never looking at him or saying a word, as though he wasn't even there.
Harry was puzzled.
"She can't respond to you, Harry. She isn't real. She's merely a part of your memory."
At the sound of that familiar voice, Harry quickly glanced toward the front of the classroom. The headmaster stood there, gazing back at him.
"Professor!" Harry shouted partly in surprise and partly from relief to finally speak to a person.
The old wizard smiled at him.
"Hello, my boy. How are you?" he asked kindly.
"I'm...I...don't know. Where are we? What's happening?" he asked in bewilderment.
Dumbledore stepped a couple of paces to his right.
"We're in one of your memories, Harry."
"In my...memories? In my head?"
"Of course."
The wizard stepped a few more paces along the front and gazed around.
"I thought this might be the best one to speak to you in. If you recall my first class after Professor Quirrell vacated the post last year, what I said to you in this very room about light being the best weapon against darkness seemed...appropriate. And, since it was a Defence Against the Dark Arts class, what better place to talk, considering your present circumstances."
Harry's brow furrowed at the man.
"Are you real or just a part of my memory too?"
"Oh I'm real, Harry. This body you see is your memory of me from that class. And I'm speaking with you through it, in your head, as if we were having a chat face to face in the real world."
Harry grew concerned.
"And...he's not here, is he?" he asked with a frown, afraid Tom and the creature would suddenly appear.
"No, Harry. Tom Riddle and the shard cannot touch this place. You are safe and protected, in more ways than one."
Harry nodded.
"So, if this is a memory, from my head, then where am I...actually?" Harry asked hesitantly, hoping the headmaster wasn't about to inform him he was dead.
Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back and chuckled, as though reading Harry's mind. But the answer was still surprising.
"St. Mungo's. More specifically, you're inside a newly-created, special ward at the hospital for those needing more, shall I say, immaterial medicine. Maladies of the soul, if you will, which you most certainly have at present."
"St. Mungo's. Is my body alright?"
"Oh yes, Harry. You're in perfect health physically, though unconscious and lying in bed. I am standing by your bed, and there are several Healers in the room with us, as well as a few familiar faces who wished to see you."
Harry thought back to his harrowing experience in the Chamber of Secrets.
"What exactly happened, professor? The last thing I remember was Fawkes carrying me toward the ceiling of the chamber before I blacked out."
Dumbledore paced back toward the professor's desk.
"After Professor McGonagall apprised me of your condition the day before yesterday, I knew I'd better not waste time. I left the conference and arrived yesterday, not long before Hagrid informed us you were trapped inside the Chamber. I acted quickly, and with a little counsel from someone close to you, I had Fawkes deliver the Sorting Hat to you along with its contents."
Harry thought about the water pitcher.
"Hermione! She's the one who sent the pitcher!"
"Yes, Harry. And she transfigured the rooster herself, believing you would remember Professor McGonagall's class and confident you could untransfigure the dear bird without, as she herself put it, exploding it."
Harry laughed, remembering that crazy episode. Dumbledore continued.
"Fawkes brought you to us from the Chamber in a rather grave state, I'm afraid. Madam Pomfrey was able to patch you up physically, but you've been in a coma, of sorts. Thus, I had you brought to St. Mungo's. From what the Healers have told us, it would appear you have sustained a vicious psychic attack from Tom and his companion soul shard."
Harry grew worried.
"So...what's going to happen now? Riddle is still inside and has threatened to drive me mad since he can't completely possess my body. What can I do?"
Dumbledore stared at the boy firmly.
"That is why I had you brought here, Harry. And that is also why I asked a very powerful Healer to help solve your dilemma. She is here with me now and is, in fact, the one facilitating our present communication in your head."
"Who is she?"
"An old friend of many years whom I have consulted on numerous occasions concerning both physical and spiritual matters. Her name is Madam Rosamund Accola, from Switzerland. Most fortunate for us, she was attending the International Confederation conference and I asked if she would be willing to come to Britain and help with your predicament. She gladly accepted, especially since it was a chance to both meet and help the famous Harry Potter. She is not only a powerful Healer, Harry, but a powerful psychic, well versed in matters of the soul. May I introduce her to you?"
Harry nodded.
"Yes, professor, of course."
Dumbledore smiled and then nodded at a pupil sitting a few seats away from Harry and Hermione. It was Mandy Brocklehurst, the Ravenclaw girl. The first-year suddenly stopped writing, sat up in her seat, laid down her quill, and turned, facing Harry with a smile.
"'Allo 'Arry. I'm Madam Accola. It is a pleasure to meet you," she spoke with a French accent.
Harry was stunned. The image was Mandy from Harry's memory, but the voice was certainly older and different.
"Hello, Madam. And you."
The girl gave him another warm smile.
"Professor Dumbledore has told me of your problem and I 'ave been looking into your mind to see it. It seems there are three souls within your body. There is you, 'Arry, a pure, unblemished soul. There is a fractured soul, weak and unstable..."
Mandy's face took on a very serious expression.
"...Then, there is an older soul fragment, very dark, very evil, very powerful. These two are what plagues you, am I correct?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Mandy nodded.
"From what I sense, 'Arry, they are trying to become one but can neither do this nor consume you. Do you know why?"
"My...mother's love, her sacrifice, I believe," Harry responded, looking up at Dumbledore.
The wizard smiled back at him. The woman continued.
"Yes, 'Arry, that is part of it. And a most fascinating thing it is. I see this light throughout your whole body. I have rarely encountered such a thing in all my career as a Healer. But that is not all. Fractured souls do not possess the power of a whole, pure soul, such as yours. So long as you are there, these fragments cannot overcome you."
Harry grimaced.
"But they are able to take control of my body sometimes, and they're constantly in my head. Is there a way to remove them?"
Mandy looked at the headmaster solemnly. He returned her expression. Mandy then looked back at Harry.
"Yes, 'Arry, but with, as you British would say, a catch."
Mandy sat forward.
"There is an ancient ritual that was once used by our Scandinavian cousins from the North. It involves cleansing the body by temporarily removing the spirit, the life-force of the body."
"How does it do that?"
"It requires two very powerful witches or wizards. One uses an incantation that is rarely known in our world, Celestis Levare, to lift the spirit from the body. The other stabilizes the soul with the Numina Stabilius spell, to keep the spirit...anchored, if you will, to the body. If done correctly, the spirit leaves the body temporarily, allowing the body to free itself of any unwanted elements. In my country, this ritual is called 'Le petit mort', the 'Little Death'."
"But can Tom and the other fragment take over the body if my spirit leaves it?"
"No, 'Arry. These two soul fragments 'ave become dependent on your personal life-force which is in your blood. They are tied to it. A mere soul piece does not possess its own life-force. If your spirit vacates your body, these soul pieces will 'ave no longer anything to cling to and will die."
Harry thought about this.
"So, that's why Tom and the other fragment has to possess someone. But with the power of my mother's love in my blood, he can't control the life-force in it or take it for his own."
Mandy threw Dumbledore an impressed look. He nodded at her. She then smiled at Harry.
"I must say, 'Arry, for one so young, you 'ave a very bright mind."
He blushed.
Mandy's face turned grave, however.
"There is, 'owever, a risk to this ritual. It requires the upmost attention and timing. A single mistake in the process could be fatal to the patient. And the ritual's success depends strongly on the patient's reaction to the lift."
Mandy leaned forward.
"I will not lie to you, 'Arry. There is the possibility you may not survive this. Some spirits are not able to bear separation from the body, even momentarily, and pass on to the afterlife."
Harry swallowed hard and gazed up at Dumbledore.
"But, if it works, I'll be rid of both fragments," he said.
The headmaster gave him a sad smile.
"Yes, Harry," he said, "but you must decide whether we perform this ritual and remove the fragments or not. It is a choice only you can make."
Harry thought about something else.
"Professor, the nightmares I had, where I was inside the manor house. Is it possible that they weren't actual nightmares, but that I was seeing through another of Voldemort's soul fragments?"
"Yes. With the fragments inside you, you have the ability to view what Lord Voldemort is doing. These two fragments' continuing existence could be of aid in the fight against him. However, the converse is equally true. Voldemort most likely can see what you are doing - who you are associating with, whom you...love. They may very well become targets because the Dark Lord perceives them through his soul pieces in you."
Harry looked down and thought further.
"Then, if I don't go through with this, while I might be able to use Voldemort's fragments to spy on him and his followers, those around me would be in danger. But if I do go through with it, Tom and his shard will perish, whether I survive or not. And those around me could be better concealed from Voldemort."
Harry took on a determined look and gazed at Mandy and Dumbledore.
"I think the choice is obvious, professor, madam. I'd like for you to perform the ritual."
Dumbledore gazed at the boy with a proud look.
"Harry, you are the bravest, most selfless soul I have had the pleasure of knowing. And Madam Accola and I will do everything in our power to ensure success, for our part, at least."
"So, you two will be performing it, then?"
"Yes, 'Arry, as I discussed with the professor beforehand. I will perform the lift, and he will perform the stabilizing. But the rest is up to you, whether you remain with us or...depart for the afterlife."
Harry nodded and gulped.
"Okay," he uttered.
The headmaster and Mandy glanced at one another knowingly. Mandy then gave Harry one last look.
"'Arry Potter, it is a great pleasure to 'elp you in this way. I look forward to meeting you in real life after. Bon courage!"
"You too, madam. Thank you."
The Ravenclaw turned back to the desk, picked up the quill and resumed quietly writing as though the Healer had never talked through her. Harry was amazed. The headmaster looked at him.
"Harry, before we begin, there's someone who is eager to speak with you," he told him.
Dumbledore nodded to Harry's left. Harry turned and watched as first-year Hermione suddenly blinked, sat up, and turned to him.
"Harry!" the girl uttered with a worried expression.
"Hermione!" Harry replied with strong emotion.
She put down her quill and leaned toward him, grabbing both his hands in hers, though it seemed odd - he could feel her hands, but they were neither warm nor cold, they just...were.
"Are you okay?" she asked, "when Fawkes brought you up from the chamber, you were unconscious, bruised, and covered in blood. I was so worried you were dead!"
Harry smiled, squeezing her hands affectionately.
"I'm fine. And you did it, Hermione, you and Professor Dumbledore! The Basilisk is dead thanks to your 'water pitcher'!"
The girl beamed at him.
"So, it worked! I knew you could do it! After reading what Scamander said about the crowing of the rooster, I remembered our class last term. It seemed so obvious then."
"Yes. And it's finally over with. At least...that part is," Harry said, his face souring at those last words.
Hermione's face turned to worry again.
"Professor Dumbledore told me what's happening," she spoke with a glance at the headmaster who was simply watching this exchange silently.
Harry looked at the man as well, then back at her.
"Yes. I've agreed to have them perform the ritual, to expunge the soul pieces from my body. But...there's a chance I might not survive."
Hermione's face saddened. She moved in and placed her forehead right against his. Her eyes became teary as she looked fearful for his life. But then, she sat back, and her face took on a fierce expression.
"You come back to me, Harry! You understand?!" she scolded him, squeezing his hands tightly.
"You come back to me..." she now muttered brokenly in voice latent with deep emotion.
Harry was nearly in tears at this. But he leaned his head against hers, their noses touching.
"Okay," he told her with a smile.
A few tears fell from the girl's eyes, and they stared at each other a moment longer before Dumbledore cleared his throat. The second-years sat back and looked up at him.
"I think it's time, Harry," he said pleasantly.
Harry nodded at him, then looked at Hermione.
"I'll see you after," he said.
Hermione nodded and let go of his hands. She looked up at Dumbledore who smiled back. Then Harry watched as first-year Hermione turned back to the desk, picked up the quill, and went back to writing as though the exchange had never occurred. Harry felt a lump in his throat. But he drummed up courage and turned to the headmaster.
"I'm ready, professor."
Dumbledore smiled.
"Very well. Let's begin."
The headmaster walked over and closed the windows to the classroom. He then held up a hand and snapped his fingers. All of the floating candles went out, leaving only sunlight coming in through the windows as illumination. The students at the desks kept writing, despite the loss of light. Dumbledore was now barely visible himself and Harry gazed at him intently and curiously.
"Now, Harry," he spoke, "don't be alarmed. Once you leave this memory, Madam Accola will place you in a very dark space. It may seem as though you are lost and cut off from us or anyone else. But keep in mind that we are still with you, by your bed. This first step is necessary to perform the ritual."
Dumbledore then walked away from the center at the front and disappeared into the darkened corner of the room. All Harry could see was the other students obliviously writing away. The old wizard continued.
"I want you to recall a pleasant memory. Something which made you feel happy, feel safe, or even feel...love. When you have such a memory, concentrate on it, and do not let it go. It will be your anchor through this process. Understand?"
"Yes, professor," Harry replied with a frown.
"Good luck, my boy. I look forward to having a chat with you again in my office. And this time, I'll offer you some candy that isn't so tart."
Harry chuckled, but then sensed the headmaster disappear. He looked around at the other students, including Hermione, and suddenly felt...alone. He swallowed hard, apprehensive about what was going to happen. But before anything else could happen, Harry followed Dumbledore's instructions.
To use the memory of his mother in the backyard of his childhood home now was unnerving - he had a fear of looking through that window and imagining Tom Riddle and the hideous creature standing there. Instead, Harry tried to cull a memory from his time at the only real home he'd known since: Hogwarts.
Thinking back over both this year and his first, one memory popped into his mind: sitting with Hermione on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his chest, leaning their heads on each other, both laughing at her bunny rabbit slippers. The memory was warm to his soul and soothed his mind.
Harry felt peace and a sense of...
BANG!
The classroom went blank and was replaced by utter darkness.
The silence was breathtaking.
Harry was aware only of his consciousness and felt swallowed up by the nothingness around him. Strangely, it wasn't claustrophobic. But he felt totally alone. Until, that is, he heard them.
The chattering voices.
At first, they were soft and low. But they gradually grew louder. If Harry could feel his heart, he was sure it would be thumping. But he could feel fear. The increasing noise of the voices alarmed him. Remembering Dumbledore's words, he concentrated on the memory of him and Hermione, trying to recall as many details of it as he could: the crackling fire, its glow in the room, Hermione's warm embrace...
The voices were so loud now it was difficult to focus - he couldn't think straight and was losing grasp of the memory. It seemed the soul shards were coming for him, coming to take him...
BANG!
Harry gasped as it felt like someone had grabbed hold of his heart and violently yanked him upward, out of his body.
And with this, an incredibly bright white immediately replaced the darkness.
The voices changed from chattering to...screaming, as though two people were being ripped apart while falling into a deep abyss. The screaming gradually faded and then finally...disappeared.
There was nothing but silence and the white light.
Harry waited for an eternity it seemed, wondering what happened, and where he was now. Then, a form appeared in his visual field. After a few moments, the form grew sharp and it appeared as though he was looking through many windows with white-coated, steel frames around them. Harry was now aware of something behind him, pressing against his own form. It took a minute, but he finally realized he was lying on a floor. Curious, he reached up with his hands to see if they were present. Sure enough, he was back in his body - or at least, a body. He realized too that he was naked, but he felt neither cold nor hot.
Harry sat up and glanced around. He was in a building of some kind. But the floor on which he sat, the walls, and the ceiling containing the windows were all covered in white. Then, Harry stood and was surprised to see two sets of train tracks running along either side of a...station platform! Wondering what this place was and where his clothes went off to, Harry was surprised to suddenly find a set of robes hovering in the air a few feet away. He reached out, took them, and placed them over his body - they felt soft and warm.
In the midst of the platform, a brick barrier stood, similar to the barrier at King's Cross between platforms nine and ten. But the bricks were pure white and the two signs indicating platforms nine and ten, respectively, were blank. The boy was puzzled...
"Can I help you, young man? You look...lost."
Harry spun around and stared up at a figure standing before him.
"You!" he uttered in surprise.
It was the mysterious stranger who had helped him through the barrier his first-year and helped load his things on the Hogwarts Express. The man looked exactly the same, except his attendant's uniform and cap were completely white.
The man smiled.
"Hello, Harry," he said.
Harry swallowed hard.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The man stared at him momentarily as though weighing the question, he then smiled once more.
"I suppose there's no need to hide it."
The man reached into the jacket pocket of his uniform and pulled out a pair of glasses. When he placed them on his face, Harry's brow furrowed as the spectacles were round, like his. The man then removed the attendant's cap from his head and brushed the dark hair from his forehead.
Harry stepped back in astonishment. There, on the man's forehead, was...a lightning-shaped scar!
The boy was stunned.
The man chuckled.
"Yes, Harry, to the question in your mind. I'm...you, but years older."
Young Harry just stared at his older self, trying to process this.
"But...how?"
The older Harry took a deep breath and pursed his lips.
"It's a long story," he said, "and a rather...complicated one. But suffice it to say, our strange and wonderful universe holds more mysteries than you can possibly imagine. You're witnessing one of them right now."
"And...you're real and not just something in my head?"
Older Harry laughed, as though he himself had asked someone else this very question before.
"Just because we're in your head, does that make it any less real?"
"No. I guess not," young Harry answered, remembering that Dumbledore, Madam Accola, and Hermione were able to communicate through the memory in his mind. But the boy was intensely curious.
"So, are we...fragmented souls, like Voldemort?"
Older Harry seemed impressed by this question as his eyes narrowed at the twelve-year-old.
"No. Your soul is as whole and pure as the day you were born, Harry. And so is mine. We are, shall we say, separate from one another, and yet still connected...apparently."
Young Harry nodded. But this was really strange, and he stretched his mind trying to grasp at some explanation.
"Are you from another...time, then? Are you from my future?"
Older Harry shook his head.
"No. Not another time. Another...reality, let's call it, as I'm not quite sure how to describe it myself. My life has been different from yours, Harry. And from what I've seen so far, yours will no doubt turn out much differently than mine."
Harry nodded again, though still bewildered.
"So...I'm not dead, then?"
"Not by a long shot. And I'd hazard a guess you know why."
The twelve-year-old looked down for a moment.
"Professor Dumbledore told me that when Voldemort tried to kill me, us, as a child, we were protected by mum's love, her sacrifice. I suppose then, if I'm not dead now, it's also protecting me during the ritual."
Older Harry's face scrunched up.
"The ritual?"
Young Harry nodded. He went on to explain about Riddle's diary, the soul possession, his fight with the Basilisk, and the ritual being performed by Dumbledore and Madam Accola at St. Mungo's. When he finished, his older self slowly paced back and forth in deep thought, appearing astonished.
"Amazing. He was right. It's happening much sooner..." the man said out loud to himself. He then stopped and gazed at young Harry.
"Do you know what this means, Harry?" he asked, "do you realize how significant what you've told me is?"
Harry's brow furrowed and he shook his head.
"No," he replied. The older one went on.
"It means...that..." he said while pointing a finger at Harry's scar, "...will no longer cause you pain. No more burning, no more nightmares, no visions. He won't be able to see inside your head, but neither can you see inside his. You are free, Harry. Wholly and totally your own without any hindrance, without its influence over your mind."
"You mean the soul shard inside the scar?"
Older Harry nodded.
"Yes. But it's far more significant even than that. With two Horcruxes destroyed, Voldemort's already more vulnerable than when I was your age."
Now young Harry's face scrunched up.
"What's a...Horcrux?" he asked.
Older Harry grinned.
"Ask Professor Dumbledore when you get back. I think he's best qualified to explain it to you."
But young Harry was still curious.
"So...if I'm still physically at St. Mungo's, then where are you and why did you appear here?"
Older Harry thought for a moment then looked up at him.
"I'm not exactly sure. I was...we were, that is, passing through...the alley outside, heading back, when everything went blank. Then I found myself here and saw you," he said enigmatically, as though careful not to tell his younger self too much. He continued.
"When I think about it, we were moving...forward," older Harry spoke as though talking to himself, "and that explains it!"
Older Harry looked at the younger.
"I told you how mysterious our universe is, Harry. For you, it's been a year and a half since we met, right here, between platforms nine and ten. But for me, it was only a half hour ago."
Young Harry was blown away.
"But...how is that possible?"
Older Harry laughed.
"I stopped asking that question a long time ago, after what I've witnessed. As I mentioned, it's rather complicated and probably best you don't know. You have enough to deal with as it is, Harry. I wouldn't worry about all this 'time' or 'reality' strangeness. What's important right now is that our...'soul' connection brought us here, together. Even if only for a moment."
Young Harry nodded.
"What is this place, exactly?" he asked.
Older Harry threw a glance around.
"What does it look like?"
Harry gazed about once more, this time noticing the entrance into a station hall ahead from which emanated a bright, white light.
"It looks like...King's Cross station, except completely white and empty."
He turned and looked at the barrier.
"And that looks like the barrier to Platform 9 3/4."
He turned back to his older self who nodded.
"It does indeed. Though this station is a bit less crowded and certainly much cleaner, don't you think?" he said with a chuckle. He continued.
"My guess is that it's a sort of...junction, if you will, between the world of the living and the dead. A place between realities. At least, our realities, Harry."
"But...why King's Cross?" Harry wondered, looking at the train tracks and then the barrier.
"I wondered that myself, the first time I came here."
Young Harry was astonished.
"You've been here before?"
"Oh yes. After Voldemort struck me with the killing curse in the Forbidden Forest," older Harry said rather nonchalantly. But his younger self was stunned.
"Struck you?! You mean, Voldemort came back, you fought him, and he...killed you?!"
"Well, came back he did, in my fourth year, in fact. And yes, we fought. But he didn't kill me. He couldn't for the same reason you yourself mentioned earlier."
"Mum's blood."
Older Harry nodded.
"Yes. Though I hope your encounter with him turns out much better than mine."
"But you defeated him, right?"
"Of course. But in hindsight, it was all done rather...clumsily, I must say. My path to destiny was somewhat convoluted and we succeeded, as Professor McGonagall would say, mostly through sheer dumb luck. I wasn't the most astute person, Harry. Not a good listener, and it took me too long to figure things out. Had I not wasted so much time on frivolous nonsense, being distracted by this and that, things might have gone smoother, Voldemort's defeat might have come sooner, more lives might have been...saved."
Older Harry gazed at the platform floor, sadness appearing on his visage. But he looked at his young self and seemed to snap out of whatever sorrowful thoughts possessed him.
"Anyway, as to your question of why King's Cross. If you think about it, some of the most important events in our lives occurred right here: discovering the barrier between the muggle and magical world, our first time boarding the Hogwarts Express, meeting fellow pupils who would become...dear friends. This place holds important memories for us, Harry. Some for you and many for me. King's Cross was the real beginning our of journey. The beginning of both our destinies. It's been a place of hope, but also...tragedy. At least, that's what I gather."
Young Harry nodded, still perplexed and not understanding all this. Older Harry went on.
"By the way, Harry, how is...Hermione?" he asked with a look suggesting he was concerned about the response - that it might be bad. This made the twelve-year-old curious.
"She's good. She's my best friend."
Older Harry breathed out in relief, giving him a nod and smile.
"I'm glad to hear it. Stick with her, Harry, and never let her go, if you can help it. One day you'll find she's the most important person in your life."
Younger Harry smiled.
"She already is. I can't imagine my life without her."
Older Harry seemed on the verge of tears at these words.
"That's good to know. It took me way too long to figure that out."
Silence came between them as older Harry was again lost in thought. Then a cheery expression appeared on his face.
"Well, I guess it's time you went back, then. I imagine Hermione and the others are waiting for you," he said.
Young Harry nodded at him.
"So, how do I go back?" the twelve-year-old asked.
"Quite simple. Walk through the barrier," he replied while pointing behind young Harry.
The twelve-year old looked at it, then looked at the light coming from the station hall.
"And where does that go?"
"On, Harry. That doorway will take you to where mum and dad are. But it isn't time for that yet. Your journey isn't over. You still have much to do."
"Right," the boy said with a grimace.
"But a piece of advice: focus on what's important. Don't waste time like I did, fumbling around like a fool until it was too late. Learn as much as you can. And I dare say you have a very bright friend who's already helped you in that way and can help you more."
Young Harry nodded with a smile. Older Harry continued.
"From what I can tell, you're already leaps ahead of where I was at your age. Don't squander it. It will make the fight ahead so much easier. And remember, you're the son of a great wizard and great witch. Their blood, their magic, Harry, flows in your veins. You have more talent, more power than you might realize."
"Right," the twelve-year old uttered.
They stared at one another for a moment.
"Will we see each other again?" the younger one asked.
The older smiled.
"I'm sure of it. And hopefully, back in the real world someday, where we can look back on our crazy lives and laugh about all this."
The twelve-year-old smiled and nodded one last time. He then turned to face the barrier.
"Harry," the older one spoke before the younger could take a step toward it. The boy turned around.
"Can you do something for me?" the older asked.
"What's that?"
Older Harry pursed his lips in thought.
"Tell...Dumbledore he can find the ring at the Gaunt ruins. And tell him, no matter what he does, not to wear it."
Young Harry's face scrunched up at this, but he nodded, nevertheless.
"Okay," he replied, turning back toward the barrier.
"Oh, and Harry..." the older said quickly. The twelve-year-old faced him once more.
"...tell Dumbledore that...Nagini is the sixth."
Young Harry nodded. He was curious at this, remembering Professor Snape mentioning that name in the discussion with Dumbledore about Harry's nightmare, in particular the snake that attacked him. But it seemed best to wait and ask the headmaster himself.
"Okay. I will."
The older one gazed at his young self with emotion.
"Good luck, Harry."
The boy stared at him momentarily.
"You too," he replied.
Harry then turned, took a deep breath, and disappeared through the white-brick barrier.