Harry James Potter (swordofgryffin) wrote in ageofdarkness, @ 2010-10-30 18:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | harry potter |
Yay I fit it all in one post :)
Who: OtherSide!Harry, OtherSide!Ginny, OtherSide!Neville, NPC!Death Eater, NPC!Aberforth Dumbedore.
When: October 31, evening
Where: Ministry of Magic, Godric’s Hollow
What: A breakdown between universes
Nearly a year and a half since the war. It seemed simultaneously to be a long time, and no time at all.
It was Halloween, and the annual Ministry of Magic Ball was in full swing. The last two years had been absent of any such celebration, and the organisers clearly felt that such exclusion must be made up for in full and then some. The Atrium of the Ministry, no longer recognisable, transformed into a gigantic ballroom, and shimmering everywhere with brightly coloured, moving decorations. Just as a particularly soaring chord sang from the twenty-piece orchestra, which was playing itself with no need for any human interference, a hundred luminescent birds burst out of the walls and performed a swirling, soaring dance to a hearty round of applause.
The guests themselves were a multitude of eye-strainingly bright dress robes, and hats that defied gravity in their shape and height. It was very loud, as everyone was enjoying to the full extent both the atmosphere and the luscious selection of food and drink that had been provided.
Only one person, perhaps, was not enjoying themselves as much as everyone else. He stood near the back of the room, turning an empty wine glass over in his hand, occasionally nodding to a colleague or acquaintance who walked by. Of these, many were enthusiastic in their greeting, calling out excitedly and waving, before turning to their neighbour to excitedly explain just how they knew him.
Others came right up to him and shook his hand, making an attempt to engage him in conversation, which ranged from the political climate to whether he had tried the pumpkin punch. His increasingly sullen attitude began to convince people to make their visits short, however.
Eventually a young woman with fiery red hair made her way over to him, with neither the bouncing excitement or fidgety nervousness that others around him seemed to radiate. She exchanged his empty wine glass for a full one and looked, inquisitively, into his face. “Someone bother you?” she asked, quietly. By now she was drawing stares and pointing of her own, but she took no notice whatsoever.
“Not in particular,” he said, shrugging. He took a deep gulp of the glass, however. “It’s just... I don’t know. You’d think they’d be used to me, by now.”
She looked around and sighed. “Harry, no one’s ever going to get used to you, not the way you want them to. I’m sorry but it’s what you get for being a big damn hero, and all. Perhaps you should try to get used to the attention, instead. Just pretend as though you don’t notice it.”
“I’m trying,” he muttered, then turned to her. “Where’s Ron? He’s supposed to be fending off these people by showing off his new dress robes whenever they try and ask me what I think of Kingsley’s new transportation laws.”
She shook her head. “Oh, I think he and Hermione went off somewhere,” she said vaguely. “You know, I think Hermione needs an adventure every now and then as much as you and Ron do. Only because she’s shut up in a room full of books all day means there’s no chance of any danger or fighting, so the two of them have... different adventures.”
“Gin, that’s your brother,” Harry pointed out.
“So? I bet they talk about us all the time, and I’m his sister. If he doesn’t have a problem then neither do I, as long as he doesn’t try to interfere.”
Harry sighed. “Bastard was meant to be protecting me,” he muttered.
She laughed, and he smiled. “Aww. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise the saviour of the wizarding world needed protecting from politicians and diplomats,” she chuckled. “For someone who goes looking for and fighting dark wizards on a daily basis, you’re a bit of a coward, you know.”
“I know, I’m just not cut out for it,” he tried to explain. “When I was growing up you’d only get what you wanted if you shut the hell up, and then at Hogwarts everyone thought I was a royal stuck-up prat most of the time. Now everyone wants my opinion on everything, even stuff I’ve never heard about.”
“Well, for your information the transportation law is a bit of a joke,” Ginny said. “I’ve been meaning to talk to Hermione about it for a while, to see if she can work in some kind of loophole...”
“Oh not you too,” Harry groaned. “Oh, hi Neville.”
“Hi,” said the round-faced young man, coming up from their right. “You all right, Harry? You look like a thundercloud. There’s a lot of people here, aren’t there?”
“I understand the guest list was added to considerably at the last minute,” Ginny said, grinning.
“Yeah, and not very carefully either,” Neville said darkly. “Did you know Malfoy was here?”
“He’s not!” Harry exclaimed, quickly looking over to scan the crowd, as though he could spot the signature white-blonde hair amongst it. “I hope Ron doesn’t see him.”
“Yeah, looking particularly smug, too,” Neville sighed. “I’m avoiding him, actually. If he tries to introduce me to one more of his slimy political friends just so he can make sly comments, I shall punch his nose in for him. Anyway, how’s Fleur and the baby?”
“Wonderful,” Ginny said, smiling. Harry suppressed a laugh at the look on her face. Her dislike for Fleur had considerably diminished once she had started babysitting the latest Weasley offspring. The way it made her brood was less amusing, but Harry had countered this so far by reminding her that she couldn’t fly a broomstick while pregnant. “You should see her now. She’s got Fleur’s hair, which Mum was a bit disappointed about, I suppose she thinks she’s not a proper Weasley if she’s not ginger, but I say it’s a blessing. Bill’s hair on that angel face would be a real tragedy. You should come, next time we have a family dinner, and meet her.”
“I’d love to,” Neville said, flushing a little. “If I can get the time off work, that is. Studying and teaching at the same time is proving to be a hassle.”
“I wish you’d pick a career path and just run with it,” Harry said. “Kingsley keeps moaning about how we’re going to lose you to Hogwarts eventually, if you get much better at showing kids how to blow up simulacra.”
“Nah, not me,” Neville said, going even redder but grinning all the same. “Don’t think McGonagall’d have me, even as shortstaffed as they are. Besides, there’s no point in being a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. The curse, remember? Anyway I better get back before Seamus starts dancing and singing on one of the tables.”
“Already?” Ginny winced as Neville hurried off.
“So, have you had enough of this party yet?” Harry asked casually.
She gave him an appraising look. “You’re really hating this, aren’t you?”
“It’s not hate so much,” he insisted. “Just... uncomfortableness. I reckon I’ve shown my face enough to make everyone happy, anyway. And I don’t really have much desire to see Seamus naked on a table.”
“He didn’t say naked.”
“It’s Seamus, Ginny.”
“Good point. All right, well if you’re not tired... I have another idea. How about we go and look at the house?”
He stared at her. She was really brilliant, and he told her so. “You’re brilliant. I love that idea.”
“I thought you might. Let’s go out so we can Apparate.”
They left the Ministry, managing only to encounter a few enthusiastic well-wishers, and made their way out into the cool London street. They slid into an Alley, and moments later, with a muffled Crack, they were both gone.
They appeared again in the lane leading into Godric’s Hollow. It was much colder here away from the traffic and bustle of the city, and Harry conjured up jackets and gloves for the pair of them. They looked a little ridiculous over their dress robes, but they neither of them minded. Holding hands they walked slowly along the lane and descended into the village, the street lit only by the windows and the streetlamps, now that the sun had set completely.
“Oh Harry,” Ginny said breathlessly after a moment. “Look.”
Harry looked. They were approaching the place where he had spent the first year and a half of his life, where his parents had lived when he was a baby, and had died. The house had been left as a ruin for many years, but was now covered over with scaffolding and various building appliances. The lower floor was almost completely restored. It had become visible to the Muggle eye not long before, and had involved several memory charms and other magic on the house itself to convince the inhabitants of the village that it had always been there as an empty plot of land which was only just now being built upon. No one had objected to Harry’s rebuilding the house and taking up residence there. Perhaps they felt, as he did, that his continuing to live in his parents’ home and raising his own family there was a better monument to their memory than a blackened, ruined house.
As they came close to the house, the reason for Ginny’s exclamation became clearer. The queer light that seemed to reflect on the walls was coming from dozens of candles, lit and set in various places around the foot of the house and up and down the fence. There was someone there now, in dark red robes, setting a candle and lighting it. The man stood there a moment before walking away, not looking at them, and the sound of his Disapparition came just moments later. “Oh Harry,” Ginny said again. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
He made no answer. He realised – not in a sudden way, as of course he had known before, just not really considered it – that Halloween was the anniversary of his parents’ deaths. “I suppose they must do it every year,” he said eventually, his voice a little tight in his throat.
She moved close to him and settled into the curve of his arm. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, and meant it this time. He wondered if all the people who came had known his parents, or if he knew any of them, himself. Perhaps Remus had done it, in the sixteen years before his death, without Harry even knowing. Or Dumbledore, or Hagrid. Maybe Hagrid had been here tonight. There weren’t many left who had known his parents personally or well enough that he could think of. So many of these candles must have been left by people who merely honoured their memory, and that touched him.
“Should we go in?” Ginny asked softly. “Do you think they’ll mind?”
Harry was just about to ask whether she meant the builders, or the candle-bearers, the villagers or the ghostly spirits of his own parents, when he felt something shake under his feet, and also, queerly, all around him, as though the air were vibrating. “Did you feel that?” he asked, suddenly on the alert, his hand reaching for his wand, awkwardly tucked up the long sleeve of his dress robes.
“Feel what?”
“That, that... shivering.”
“I don’t feel anything. Are you sure you –”
“Shhh.” He stood still for a moment, then he felt it again, stronger this time, so strong it almost brought him to his knees. Ginny was saying something, concerned, but her voice sounded odd and muffled. “Wait a minute,” he tried to say, his own voice sounding swathed in cotton-wool. “I’m trying to-”
Then everything began to shake so violently that he was surprised the whole house in front of him didn’t immediately come crashing down. He heard a scream and tried to turn, to protect her from whatever was coming, but he couldn’t even see her anymore, it was as though a whirlwind and an earthquake had combined in a tight ball of blindness and noise around him. “GINNY!” he tried to yell. “GINNY!”
He fell, very nearly cracking his head open on the pavement, and tried to grip at the stones with his fingers, but gravity itself seemed to be his enemy, he seemed to be slipping, slipping away....
And then it stopped. Everything went very still and silent. He looked up, his vision hazy and swimming, as though his eyes were continuing to vibrate even though everything else was still. There was no sign of Ginny anywhere.
“Ginny?” he called. “Ginny?”
He grabbed the fence and forced himself to his feet. All his limbs were shaking, but he managed after a moment to keep his balance, and begin looking around in earnest.
Slowly his mind registered that something was wrong. He was in the same place as before, that was certain. The path, the road, the fence were all the same. Even the vegetation bore a resemblance. But the house itself was wrong. It was not the half-broken down shell, half-rebuilt country house that had been there, just seconds ago. It was a complete house. Not a new house, but an old house, covered in vines and complete from the front door to the bedroom windows, to the roof. It was not the house they were building. It looked more like it might had done before it was destroyed, in the vague memory he had of watching Voldemort’s memory of it, the night he had gone to kill James and Lily...
But no one lived here. There was no light coming from the windows, no laughing James Potter in the living room, no baby boy. This was not the past, and it was no memory. It was just an old house, windows cracked and glass misty with dust and grime, the garden overgrown and untended. Harry looked around, double checking, his brain working furiously to figure out what had happened. He had never experienced anything like that strange, stormy vibration that had torn him away from Ginny, as helpless as a leaf in a gale. It was nothing like Apparition, or – he could say from experience – time travel. But then where the hell was he if not in the very spot where he had left?
“You there!”
Harry looked around, startled. A wizard, wearing long dark robes, was moving towards him up the otherwise deserted street. The man had his wand out and was pointing it at Harry, something that hadn’t happened for a while. Slowly he shook his sleeve slightly to loosen his own wand, but it was still awkwardly stuck, probably caught on a loose thread. He could hardly shake it any harder without being suspicious.
“What are you doing?” the man demanded, coming closer. Harry could just see his face, although, he realised, the streetlights were dimmer here, as though the bulbs were going, and there were no lights in any of the windows.
“I don’t really know,” Harry admitted. “One minute I was here... and then I was here again, but alone, and the house...” he shook his head, realising he was making no sense. His ears were still buzzing with the aftermath of... whatever had happened.
“Who are you?” the wizard snapped, rudely.
“I’ll tell you if you stop pointing that at me,” Harry answered. “It’s against the law for you to just go pointing your wand at innocent pedestrians without cause, you know.”
“First I’ve heard of it,” the man sneered. “And anyway I’m in Magical Law Enforcement, so I can bloody well enforce what laws I like, can’t I?”
Harry began to get angry, if he hadn’t been already. He didn’t recognise the man, but then, Law Enforcement was a big department, even if he did try to learn everyone’s names and faces. “I happen to be an Auror, if you must know,” he said shortly. “And I’d like to know what you mean by threatening people in the street on Halloween.”
“Auror?” the man laughed, raising his wand even higher. “There’s been no Aurors for twenty years, which I’m sure you know. There’ll be no tricking me that way. And for your information, I’ve been ordered to bring anyone who shows up here – especially on Halloween – to the Ministry for questioning. So I’d better know your name, Mr Auror, and then you’ll be coming with me to answer to Minister – say, you aren’t – Potter?” the man began to laugh, and when no denial came from Harry, laughed harder still. Harry assumed he was going to apologise for his mistake, but instead his grip on the wand became tighter and his tone more excited. “Potter! On Halloween! At Godric’s Hollow! I’ll be rich! Bounty hunters will be eating their own fists when they find out I’ve captured you! Really Potter, an aging potion is hardly a disguise, how much of an idiot do you have to be to –”
“STUPIFY!”
The shout came from out of the darkness, and was followed by a jet of red light that caught Harry’s aggressor in the small of the back and sent him falling flat forward onto his face. Harry finally got his own wand free and drew it, looking around into the darkness for what could either be his rescuer, or a new threat.
“Get away from there, boy,” hissed a familiar voice, and a man crept out of the shadows and beckoned to him.
“Aberforth?” he asked, astounded.
“You do know me then. Get over here, now, before another one shows up.”
Harry hurried over to the old man. Whatever strange events had just taken place, he knew he could trust Aberforth Dumbledore enough to obey whenever he gave orders. In the darkness, Aberforth’s white hair and beard showed grey, but his blue eyes were wide and staring. “Well I’ll be buggered,” he said, staring at Harry.
“Aberforth,” Harry said, urgently. “What’s going on? I was here with Ginny, and the house was... and then there was this huge... this noise, and then I was here again, only Ginny’s gone, and the house is different. I mean how it used to be, but older. Where’s Ginny?”
Aberforth shook his head. “Never heard of no Ginny, lad,” he said. “You better stay here while I go wipe his memory. Don’t want any word of this getting back to the Ministry, or worse.”
Harry did as he was told, staying hidden in the darkness until the old man had gone out to spell the man and prop him up against the fence. He noticed that Aberforth had a limp on one side that he hadn’t had before. When he came back, he was panting a little. “Conjured a bottle of Ogden’s and let it spill over him,” he explained gruffly. “When he wakes up no doubt he’ll assume he got drunk on duty. Probably won’t surprise him much,” he added.
“Aberforth –” Harry began.
“Hush. Wait till we’re inside, then ask your questions. Though bugger all knows I’ll be able to answer ‘em.”
Harry gave up trying to figure this out as Aberforth led him down the street, sticking to the shadows, and eventually into the back garden of a small house near the edge of the village. This house was much smaller than the Potter house, but clearly lived in, moderately well-kept, although it didn’t have much of a garden. Aberforth ushered Harry in and drew him into the living room, where he lit a gas lamp on low, illuminating his face, which seemed older and more lined than Harry had ever seen it. The old man was still staring at him, seeming much more interested in Harry than he had ever been before. This deviation from his usual indifference was unnerving.
“You’re Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question, but Harry was still confused.
“I know,” he said, lamely.
“And what are you doing here? How did you get here?”
“I told you, we came to look at the house, and then there was this noise, and this shaking, like everything was... was vibrating all at once, and then everything had changed.”
“Changed? Changed how?” Aberforth was looking at him with narrowed eyes.
“The house...” Harry tried to explain. “It was a whole house. Finished.”
“It wasn’t finished before?”
“No of course not. We only just started rebuilding a couple of weeks ago. And we’re using Muggle builders.”
Aberforth snorted. “What the hell for? No never mind, there are more important questions.”
“I’ll say. Who the hell was that man? What was he talking about, hand me over to the Minister? I’m not a criminal. I was just talking to the Minister an hour ago. Was he mad? Why are you here? Do you live here? What happened to the Hogs’ Head? What happened to Ginny? If he’s hurt her - ”
“Enough,” Aberforth said. After a moment he took a deep breath. “I suppose you must be real,” he sighed. “I’m too sober and not quite old enough for you to not be real. I suppose he’s bored with just wreaking pain and misery on our lives in one dimension. Why not create some chaos between universes?”
Harry stared. “What?”
“I had a dream, about eight months ago,” Aberforth said, in what seemed like a totally unnecessary change of subject. “Several dreams, actually. We all did, well, most of us. We dreamed of a place where things were different, where some who were dead were alive, and some who were alive were dead. Some important, some not so important. And some lives had taken wholly different turns to that had happened in real life, and some were less happy, but most were more happy. For most... they were good dreams.”
Harry failed to see the relevance in this revelation. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“In my dream,” Aberforth continued, apparently deaf to Harry’s question, “I saw a young man, with dark hair and green eyes, wearing glasses. He very much resembled his father.” He looked pointedly at Harry, who got the message at once.
“So? You dreamed about me. I dream about people all the time. They’re still just dreams.”
“These were more than dreams,” Aberforth countered, in a manner that reminded Harry very much of the other Dumbledore. “More than dreams, Harry, because you don’t exist here, don’t you see? I – and others like me – were dreaming of a grown-up version of a boy who was killed long ago, who had no future. How then could we all be dreaming of him, and at the same time?”
This was all together too much for Harry to take. “Killed?” he laughed. “Aberforth, maybe you really should lay off the firewhiskey. Of course I exist, look. I’m sitting right here. Dark hair, green eyes, lightning scar and all.” He lifted his fringe to show the faded pale zig-zag that pointed down between his eyebrows.
“Oh yeah, the scar,” Aberforth said. “I remember. And how did you get that, might I ask?”
“Everyone knows,” Harry said, exasperated. “The night Voldemort killed my parents, and tried to kill me.”
“Killed your parents,” Aberforth repeated thoughtfully.
“Yes! Killed my parents, destroyed the house, gave me this scar... ringing any bells at all, Dumbledore?”
“Exactly eighteen years ago today,” Aberforth added. It all seemed to be making sense to him, Harry thought. Too bad he himself was none the wiser. “How poetic... I suppose, if you are the connection, if you are the missing link... then of course, it would be tonight. And why didn’t you die, I wonder?”
“Because my mother died to save me,” Harry explained slowly, sure that Aberforth must know all this already, and was just being unusually tiresome. Although there was something different in his attitude, in his stance, even in his voice. He was much less coarse, and a little more like his brother Albus, than Harry remembered. “Because of the protection of her death...”
“But she didn’t die here, of course,” Aberforth said. He didn’t seem to be speaking to Harry at all, merely to himself, working it out. “It was all away from the house, which would account for the house too... because Pettigrew took you away.”
“Pettigrew?” Harry snarled. “What do you know about Pettigrew?”
Aberforth let out a barking laugh and reached behind him. He handed Harry a newspaper, a little dog-eared and stained with what might have been coffee. He barely noticed the state of the paper, however, because Peter Pettigrew’s round, coldly smiling face was blinking up at him from the front page. The headline read: MINISTER TO HEAD NEW DISPOSAL COMMITTEE.
“Minister for Magic?” Harry breathed. “Wormtail?” It dawned on him, slowly and with a sick finality that caused his breath to catch and his stomach to twist, that the old house was not the only thing that had changed. He put the paper down, and turned, with no trace of laughter in his face, back to Aberforth. “I think,” he said, low. “That you’d better start from the beginning.”
--
Several hours later, when the moon was already getting low in the sky, Harry was wishing he had never said any such thing. As far as he could figure out, he was in hell. Aberforth could not tell him how or why he had come to be here, but could only explain this world to him, and together they speculated about the connection between the dreams and this event. He remembered, as they were talking, the dream he’d had a few months ago about Neville kissing Ginny. It had been disturbing, but Ginny had had a dream the same night about being tortured, so he hadn’t mentioned it.
When Aberforth finally got up and went to the kitchen, leaving him with his thoughts, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He felt very alone. Here he was in a place where he had no friends, no teachers, no Dumbledore’s Army. Voldemort was back – at least, he had never been gone. Perhaps the only good thing – if it could be so described – his parents were alive. So were Sirius and Remus, perhaps even more people he had lost. He hadn’t even dared ask about the Weasleys, or Hermione, and Aberforth didn’t seem to assume that he would want to know. From what he could understand, Muggleborns had no chance of a normal life in this place.
“You’ll have to go,” said a voice from the doorway. Harry looked up in surprise to see Aberforth carrying a tray of tea.
“Go? Go where?” he asked, blinking vaguely.
“I’m leaving tonight,” Aberforth said. “It’s not safe for me here, not now. Fifteen years I’ve lived in this house, where I grew up, right under their noses, and now you pop up and put me on the map again. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave too. Spelling that guard probably won’t protect us for long. They always come by in the end.”
Harry didn’t understand much of this at all. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Away,” Aberforth said shortly. Harry realised that the old man had no intention of taking him with him, and he stared. Why go to all the effort of rescuing him if he was just going to leave him here to be caught and killed? As he watched, Aberforth sipped his tea and grimaced. “Terrible stuff,” he muttered. “I had to give up drinking because of this damn war. More than anyone’s life’s worth to be caught without their full wits intact nowadays.”
“Where am I meant to go?” Harry asked, options going through his mind even as he spoke. His instinct was to go to Hogwarts, or the Burrow, his safe places. But he realised immediately that, since everything was upside down here, the places he thought most safe would probably be the most dangerous to approach.
Aberforth coughed and put down his tea. “I have a contact in the Order,” he said, reluctantly, as though ashamed of such a connection. “He gave me an address.” He pulled a slip of paper from some hidden pocket, and handed it over.
“What’s there?” Harry asked, finding the address wholly unfamiliar.
Aberforth shrugged. “Who knows. But I was told I’d be safe there, so no doubt you’ll be all right. Do you have anything that can prove who you are?”
Harry blinked, and then checked his clothes for identification. He was still wearing his dress robes, the conjured jacket lying on the arm of a nearby chair. He found his Auror’s badge and looked at it warily. “Think this’ll do much good?201D
“Doubt it,” Aberforth said, shrugging. “They’ll probably torture you for a bit, but that’s life.” Harry didn’t even have an answer to that one. “Better go before it gets light,” the old man continued. “We’ve been wasting time.” Harry wished he had some other clothes, and time to change into them, but Aberforth was already moving towards the door.
“Now?”
“Now. You do know how to Apparate, don’t you?”