Chapter I:
He knew his time was coming. He could not say how he knew. He just knew the last few dregs of sand were now beginning to drain from the hourglass of his life. Yet, he ended his day like he did every other, with a shower.
One might think that he should be trying to make the most of his final days. Visiting as many places as he could, and eating as many foods as his stomach would allow. But he made his peace with death some time ago and saw no point in stressing himself over trivial things such as those. For all intents and purposes, he lived a full life. And against all odds, it had been a good one. Longer than anyone in his circumstance had any right to live.
He had survived everything thrown at him. Blood-thirsty professors, basilisks, and dementors, to name a few. He accomplished everything he could have imagined himself doing. Graduating, aurorship, and becoming a professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts. But if there was one facet, one door he never unlocked, it was that of love.
It was ironic. The boy shielded by another's love never managed to find some of his own. Whether it was a product of the war or something else, was up to anybody's interpretation.
Sure, years ago it bothered him. Now, the most it could do was elicit a slight frown as he stood in the shower. It was not so much regret as it was a slight annoyance. But after all he went through, he surmised that this was his spoil of the war he never wished to be a part of. And to all appearances, a war that nobody won.
After the battle for Hogwarts, it took many years for the Wizarding world to return to normalcy. There were injuries, buildings in dire need of repair, and relationships in need of rekindling. Of course, none of these could ever bring back those lost. Those that were gone, were gone for good.
Harry paused, his weathered hands filled with shampoo as an epiphany arrived at the forefront of his mind.
Perhaps that was it. His grief-fueled anger and guilt were why he had been unable to foster the amorousness for somebody else. Resuming the ritual scrubbing of his scalp, his frown deepened at the thought.
Despite what many believed, killing Voldemort had been the farthest thing from satisfying. While it may have granted him relief then, the emotion over time revealed itself to have been a temporary respite. His equal responsibility for the innocent lives lost led to many sleepless nights. Years spent toiling in anguish, barely able to function in private, let alone in the public eye. And when reflecting now, Harry supposed that it was more about him, than it was about those he courted, when it came to his inability to love.
Snorting, he released himself from these flitting thoughts as he turned off the shower and stepped into the bathroom. Drying himself off with his wand, he observed his appearance in the mirror.
For as old as he was, he did not look much different from what he had been in his thirties. His eyes were still the same shade of green. His lips still curled the same way. His scar was still the same shape it had always been.
He liked to think that it came from his mother, who would have aged beautifully if it had not been for the betrayal that started it all. A costly act that sent him down the path to where he was standing today.
The boy-who-lived. The chosen one. And now, an old man.
Setting his wand to rest at the edge of the sink, his eyes trailed to a small trinket that lay beside his toothbrush. It had adorned the edge for as long as he could remember. The years since its acquisition had let it rust. The time-turner was now more like a loose screw, than an object of unquantifiable ability.
For the life of him, he was uncertain of when and where he had managed to stumble upon such a device. His best guess remained that it fell into his robes during the skirmish in the Department of Mysteries, as its discovery occurred not long after. He still remembered staring wide-eyed at the turnstile while he lay in his bed in Gryffindor Tower, and the feelings that had come with it. In his hands was the potential to reverse everything, the chance to save Sirius as he had done so before, and maybe, just maybe, put an end to the entire thing. Yet he managed to not cave in to the temptations of using its magic, and through the whole of the events leading up to his fight with Voldemort as well.
Why?
He was not quite sure.
It would have been to nobody's surprise if he used the time-turner right then and there. But there was something about the idea of time traveling again that had him on a knife's edge. More than likely, it was his fear of failure that had kept him from spinning the device.
Hermione's words regarding the consequences of time travel spoke to him that night.
"Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time…"
Was he willing to tempt fate more than once? To make a bargain with the higher powers? To push his luck one more time?
Back then and up until now, his answer had been a resounding no. But tonight, as he stood here in what were the final days of his life, Harry found himself for the first time thinking otherwise. Was he going to live out the rest of his days and never once use it?
There was nothing that could stop him from doing so now. Not like he was planning on doing anything drastic either. If anything, he would only go back an hour or so, just to feel the rush of excitement that he so often craved when reminiscing about his earlier years.
He laughed out loud, the amusement coming out gravely, at how his resolve crumbled in the span of a few minutes. Funny how insignificant things begin to seem when you know exactly when you are going to die.
With his mind now set, he figured that he might as well get dressed for the occasion. Donning his old Hogwarts robes for the nostalgia, Harry palmed the device. He still felt woefully unprepared for what he was about to do, but when had he ever been prepared?
Never, he imagined.
Using a nearby handkerchief, he did his best to clean it before bringing it up to his face for closer examination. While he remembered the first time-turner he used sent the user back an hour per revolution, he had no idea if this one worked the same way. Time travel was not an exact science, but he guessed that how far he traveled would not matter too much at this point. He would end up back here regardless. And if the time-turner so happened to send him two hundred years into the past, well, Harry would not mind. He had always been curious about what might have been going on during 1700s magical Britain.
"How about we try one, first," he muttered, twisting the centerpiece once over.
He waited, butterflies in his stomach creating a sensation that he had not felt in forever, yet nothing happened.
"Blimey."
Thinking that it might be the leftover rust affecting it, he used a simple scouring charm to clean the metal before turning it again.
This time, it happened almost immediately, and Harry felt the wind leave his lungs as he was ensconced in total darkness. He had forgotten how disorienting an experience traveling time was. His insides churned as he spiraled down what felt like a never-ending chute. And then everything stopped.
The very first thing he noticed when his eyes fluttered open was that he felt… younger, more rejuvenated. Looking down at himself, Harry's brow raised when he realized that yes, he had somehow arrived in a younger version of himself.
"Well, that was certainly unexpected," younger Harry huffed, his voice sounding much stronger than he remembered. "Why didn't I do this before?"
His present consciousness felt pushed off to the side by the maverick of his past, in what he guessed was a late-twenties rendition of himself. Turning to his immediate surroundings, he was administered the second big surprise of what was sure to be an eventful night.
In some such way, he was no longer situated within the confines of his bedroom. In fact, where he was standing was not inside a building at all.
Much to his chagrin, Harry was now standing beside what looked to be a deserted road. There was nothing here, besides him, and the faded asphalt whose markings were almost indiscernible in the dim lighting. A biting wind began blowing, making him shiver.
"Bloody Hell, where am I?"
Another look around did nothing to answer his question.
Nothing was on his feet when he left, leaving him standing barefoot in the rough grass. To remedy this, a transfiguration turned a tumbleweed into a pair of sandals. They were not the most comfortable by any means but were better than nothing.
Much to Harry's relief, the headlights of an approaching car appeared in the distance. Perhaps the muggle driver could tell him where he was and give him a ride to the nearest town. But as the car continued to approach, Harry began to notice that it was driving down the wrong side of the road.
He frowned.
It should have been on the right, but it was coming toward him on the left-hand side.
The car began to slow down, coming to a complete stop right where he stood. The window rolled down, and Harry came face-to-face with the driver, a woman donning a witch's hat, which added to his confusion. In what place in time had he arrived where wizards and witches used muggle forms of transportation?
"Hey honey bunches," an accent that was definitely not British greeted. "Are you lost?"
Going along with it, Harry answered,
"Yes, unfortunately, ma'am."
"On Halloween silly?" The woman laughed obnoxiously. "My oh my, you must've had a lot to drink tonight. But hey! At least you're dressed for the occasion!"
Harry looked down at his robes, and again back at the woman.
Her robes were not authentic by any means. No, they looked to be woven out of cheap material, instead of the hand-crafted silk that his manifested from. The same could also be said for her hat, which up close was clearly made from fake leather. This woman was pretending to be a witch. Did that have something to do with Halloween?
Harry paused for another moment, allowing his brain to catch up to what he was seeing in front of him.
Yes, that would make sense. Halloween. He knew better than most about the holiday, especially when it came to strange and rather unfortunate occurrences.
"What are you waiting for?" Asked the woman with a loud smile, reaching over to open the passenger side door for him. "Hop in, I'll drive you back to town!"
Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he considered the proposal.
"How far away is it?" He asked. "This town?"
The woman squeezed her bushy eyebrows together, and Harry could not help but think that she was not the brightest.
"About a mile or two away, it's just down this road and to the right!" She answered, her smile returning with even more enthusiasm.
Harry sighed and took a step toward the open door. The wind had already gotten more brisk, enticing him to decide to enter the heated cabin. He could have tried apparition, but his curiosity eclipsed that thought. He could stomach a handful of minutes in the car with this certainly… interesting individual.
"My name's Agnes," the woman said as she started the car back up.
"Harry," he felt obligated to respond with, as he settled into his seat.
He did not recall being this tall before. Had he shrunken that much as he aged?
"Your accent, it's so… sexy." Agnes growled, making him feel very uncomfortable. "Where are you from?"
"Surrey, just outside London."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn her head toward him.
"Ooooo, you're a pretty boy, huh? Do you have some more of that British booze?"
Despite himself, his cheeks reddened. Harry had already forgotten that he was supposed to be playing the role of a drunkard.
"Err… no?" He fake-slurred.
Having never been one to drink often, his impression came out terrible. But luckily, it seemed as though Agnes was none the wiser. Which begged the question, what was this foreigner doing as a cab driver in England?
"Honey, you're about to be the most interesting thing that's ever happened to Westview." She proclaimed, slapping the top of her steering wheel with authority. "I can't wait to show you off to my friends!"
Harry's chest constricted.
"West View?" He asked with weakening hope. "Near Hartlepool?"
Agnes took her eyes off the road to look at him again.
"No, silly! Westview, New Jersey." She answered.
Harry blinked.
"I'm sorry, New Jersey?"
Agnes' smile impossibly grew wider, "Man you must have really hit your head on something," she exclaimed. "New Jersey? The state? You're in America, baby!"
Harry's eyes expanded as a green sign appeared in front of them, confirming what the crazy woman had said. There, printed for him in big white capital letters was a sign welcoming him to the town of Westview, New Jersey.
"Bloody hell," he let out. "What year is it?"
"1990," Agnes responded. "We are living in the golden years, I tell ya. What a time to be alive, am I right? Turn of the century, and the millennium!"
Harry swallowed down hard.
He was reckless in the past, impulsive when he should have exercised caution, but how could he have ever expected this? To end up in a different country, half a century in the past, as a younger version of himself.
"Not that much of a talker, are ya?" Agnes assumed, casting him a wink. "That's okay. I still like ya."
Harry could only shake his head in disbelief.
Entering town, they were greeted by a large crowd. Most were in costumes that would have made him chuckle, if he was not in the midst of a silent panic attack.
Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming half-brick house, Agnes twisted her key out of the ignition and patted him on the shoulder.
"Come on! I want you to meet my friend," she insisted.
"I'm good," Harry whispered hoarsely, his body stiff from his startling realization.
"Nah, don't say that!" Agnes gave him an unwanted poke in the ribs. "Look, she's already waving at us!"
Harry's eyes turned towards where Agnes was pointing, and when they landed on the friend in question, he knew he was screwed.
"Bloody hell," he cursed again.
-Ω-
She does not look right standing off to the side. Not too close that she would be noticed, but not too far away that she would not. She should have been having fun, enjoying the festivities, but she was not. In years past, she had done so. In fact, this year marked the very first time that she did not dress up for Halloween, or purchased candy to distribute to the children that came by. Tonight instead, she was wearing a plain leather jacket and jeans that had nothing special about them.
Why?
Because Wanda Maximoff knew it would not matter if she participated or not, as the entire town, state, country, and world, were a ruse. The people, cars, houses, the very ground that they all stood upon, were all a figment of her imagination.
Ten years had passed since the Battle for Earth, the day the Avengers defeated Thanos. The same amount of time since she created the Hex. The Hex being her hyper-realistic alternate reality, where she could choose to exist and create whatever she wanted. In the real world, the world in which she became an Avenger, she was missing without a trace. Gone. Vanished. Hidden here in her land of milk and honey, her pie in the sky, where she would never have to feel the pain of loss ever again.
It was the pain from that day on the battlefield that led to the Hex, her wanting to create a world in the space of her mind.
She had not been aware that she could even do it until it happened. Creating an entire fabricate universe was something that she thought was beyond the scope of her powers. Then again, she did not realize then that she had a piece of an Infinity stone stuck inside of her.
It scared her at first, being that her consciousness was here in this lucid dream of sorts, until she realized that she could create anything. And so she chose to create the place where Vision promised they would build a home. Right here, in this town of Westview, New Jersey, they were free from any form of strife, hidden inside the confines of her mind.
For all intents and purposes, it was their 'Happily Ever After.' And for a time, it was. Vision and her married, had kids, and did everything else a couple did together. But at the end of the day, she knew that he was not real. None of it was. Everything here existed only to fulfill her wishes and nothing else. And the realization left her feeling empty every time she slipped underneath the sheets of her fake bed.
She tried to remedy this, whether it was by having more kids or creating a bigger house. But of all the tangible things that she could blink into existence, there was one that she could not ever hope to replicate: true love. The love one felt from another. The soul-to-soul connection that was impossible to break.
Wanda had hoped that her piece of the Soul stone could recreate the real Vision, but she was wrong. The love from the alternate Vision she constructed felt hollow by no fault of his own. By every mark, he was Vision. But it just… was not the same. This Vision loved her with every fiber of his body, but that was because he was made to do so, just like everything else in this fabricated universe. In this way, it became increasingly hard for her to show emotion back.
She began to lash out at random, mad at nothing in particular, and the fake Vision would come to comfort her, which only made it worse. She could not help but think that the real Vision would have reacted differently. Over time, it got to the point where she could not stand it anymore. She could not bear to lay her eyes upon him and pretend that she loved him back. It was not fair to him or her.
So, almost a year ago to this current date, she said one last final goodbye to the man that she once loved. By the laws of the Hex, Wanda could create, and thus she could also destroy. Everything that they did together, she deleted from existence. Vision himself, the family they raised, the house they lived in, gone with a delicate snap of her fingers. Now and again, she was alone. And for now, all she wanted was to merely exist.
Wanda was unsure if time moved the same way here in the Hex as it did in the real world. Perhaps she had only been absent for a couple of minutes, or maybe she had been gone for entire centuries. It was this particular thought that made certain she was never going to return. What if returned, and things were even worse than when she left? There was no guarantee, but at least here, she could control everything that happened.
Call it a God-complex, call it whatever you want, to her it was a form of therapy, her coping mechanism against a world that robbed her of everything. A world, where she lived her entire life trapped in a web of lies, surrounded by people she could never hope to trust. From people such as Strucker who experimented on her, to Ultron, and everyone in between. All she had been told were dirty, rotten lies. Lies that created irrational childhood fears, and tricked her into fighting for causes that she did not believe in. At least here, nobody could tell her such fiction. She was the end all be all, and nothing could escape her intelligent green eyes.
A car appeared on the street closest to her, and Wanda watched from afar as her neighbor, Agnes, pulled into the adjacent driveway. Feeling obligated, she allowed herself to wave, but stopped when noticing that Agnes was not alone.
"Hey, Wanda dear!" Agnes greeted with a smile.
A fake smile appeared on Wanda's face. "Agnes, how are you?"
"I'm doing more than fine, darling! Forgive me for being late, I had to pick up this dashing, handsome man that was just standing on the side of the road!"
And with that, Wanda was redirected to the man who appeared from the passenger's side. What caught her attention first when she took him in was not any physical feature, rather, it was his voice.
"Hello."
Wanda's eyes widened at the sound,
"Agnes, where did he come from?"
His accent, one that she had not heard in a long time, was distinctively British. Nobody in Westview had an accent other than American. Even Wanda's accent had disappeared, so what made this man so special?
Agnes took him by the arm, which seemed to make him very uncomfortable.
"Just on the road right before town. You know, the one right by the big sign?"
Wanda frowned, her eyes still on the man, who seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here.
"Oh my!" Agnes exclaimed, hands flying to cover her wide mouth. "I've forgotten to introduce you two. Harry, this is Wanda. Wanda, this is Harry."
Agnes nudged Harry towards Wanda, but neither of them were interested in exchanging even basic pleasantries. Wanda herself balked at the notion, still in shock at the man's appearance.
Why? You might ask again.
Because nothing else existed outside the boundaries of Westview. Yet this man, Harry, was standing right in front of her, hailing presumably from England. How? How could that be possible?
His head tilted at her lack of response, exposing a long neck that led up to his sharp features.
In awkwardness, their trio stood in silence, before Agnes interjected,
"Oh Wanda, why aren't you dressed up for tonight? Your costume last year was absolutely adorable!"
"I…didn't feel like it." Wanda responded curtly, unmoving from where she was leaning against the side of her house, eyes still trained on Harry.
His own eyes were flitting, as he stuffed something shiny down the pocket of the robe he was wearing.
"Where are you from?" Wanda asked, speaking to him for the first time.
She watched his eyes dart up to take her appearance in one more time, the confusion on his face palpable.
"England, sorry. I've had a rather mad last couple of minutes to say the least."
Wanda let out a cynical laugh, "Clearly, if you found yourself on the side of a road."
She watched as he pushed his circular glasses up his nose, and could not help but feel like he seemed uncomfortable just being in his skin. It was impossible to get a read on him.
"I guess so, yeah." He answered, scratching the back of his neck as he did so. "My first time in America."
Agnes huffed petulantly, irked that she was no longer the focal point of the conversation.
"Well, dear Harry. You have certainly chosen the right night to visit!" Agnes declared, retaking him by the arm. "How about we go inside and freshen up? Is that okay with you?"
Instead of looking at Agnes, Harry instead kept his gaze directed at Wanda. She tried peering inside his mind but found herself unable to do so, her eyes twitching as a result.
Despite this, she could still sense an overwhelming fetor of death radiating from him, floating above him like a storm cloud. While it was usual to come across people with similar energies in the real world, no such should exist in Hex. Adding to her wariness, there was something else besides that of death hovering around him, that she could not put a finger on yet. Something that verged on the realm of… familiarity.
Harry broke away first, realizing that Agnes was awaiting confirmation,
"Yeah, that's brilliant."
"Brilliant! I like that word!" Agnes exclaimed with a smile. "Wanda, would you like to joi—"
Harry's eyes trailed towards Agnes, who was… frozen in place, her mouth wide open, tongue languishing on the last syllable, eyes unmoving.
The humming chatter was now silent. The nearby children were paused mid-step, their parents frozen in place. The codgy lady handing out candy, now still on the street, her arms full of delicious sweets. Two boys of about ten were currently suspended mid-jump and mid-kick, their laughter petrified in the air. Above them all was a pigeon, wings raised high and feet held straight, close to landing on a roof.
Everyone—everything, was frozen.
A deafening silence permeated.
"Who. Are. You." Wanda demanded, eyes ablaze with a brilliant shade of scarlet, tendrils seeping from out her back in waves.
Harry took a quick stumble backward, face full of surprise.
"What do you mean? What's going on here?" He shouted.
"Stop!" Wanda ordered, her voice amplified tenfold, echoing impossibly around them. "Don't move!"
"Okay, okay," Harry intoned with caution, arms raising.
Alarm bells and sirens were screaming inside Wanda's head, and it was taking every fiber in her living body not to smite him where he stood. When it came to those that intruded on her life, her reality, her world, she spared no expense.
"Did you do this?" Harry asked, motioning to the frozen mass around them.
Wanda stiffened at his conjecture, thinning her lips as she offered him no clear response,
"Who are you?" She repeated.
"I already told you who I am!" The man exclaimed. "Harry!"
Wanda's already creased brow furrowed more, her tendrils of energy increasing in brightness and length,
"You should not be here. How did you do it?"
Harry's mouth moved, and Wanda could tell he was quickly trying to weave a lie.
"Who are you? How are you doing this?" He repeated.
"I ask the questions." Wanda asserted, taking steps forward, but before she could take another, Harry raised his hand,
"Wait."
Despite herself, Wanda paused her stride.
"What?" She growled.
A semblance of a crooked smile appeared on the man's face. Feeling a ploy, Wanda sent her scarlet energy outward like a shot toward him.
There was a bright flash of blue light, followed by another flash of an even brighter red. Two colors battling for dominance, alighting the air with the tingle of electricity. When they at last dissipated, Wanda was left standing, arms extended and hands still burning with energy.
The deafening silence remained.
The man, however, was gone.
Author's Note:
A concept-one shot of a story idea that I may revisit in the future.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.