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SIYE Time:10:33 on 28th March 2024
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Decades
By gryffins_door

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-HBP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Action/Adventure, Romance
Warnings: Mild Language, Violence
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 30
Summary: Trapped in a world where my ex-girlfriend thinks the irony is bloody hilarious, I have foreknowledge - a powerful (and dangerous) tool that should help me win the fight before the enemy knows what hit them. Little did I know that the fight was not only with the enemy.

Pre-seventh year, canon ships, celebrating the 10th anniversary of the Deathly Hallows release.
Hitcount: Story Total: 22991; Chapter Total: 2375





Author's Notes:
As a thanks for all the positive reviews wanting to see more, I'm putting this chapter out early; lots of staging and preparations still, and Ginny!




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2. Trial and Error

o o o


2.01

0920 WEDNESDAY LITTLE WHINGING SURREY

“Dobby!”

Another small odd-looking being, much younger than Kreacher, suddenly appeared in my bedroom with a resounding crack.

“The great Harry Potter called Dobby?” he asked eagerly.

I smiled at him. House-elves really needed to get some sense of self. First person pronouns weren’t a regular part of their vocabulary. In fact, they weren’t keen on pronouns at all. I should bring that up with Hermione sometime when I need to keep her occupied.

“Dobby, you don’t have to call me ‘great,’ just Harry is fine.”

He looked up with his green golf-ball eyes. “But Harry Potter is the greatest wizard alive.”

Both Dobby and Kreacher were demonstrative in their own way, but Dobby was a special case. Formerly bound to the Malfoy family, he was the only house-elf I had ever known that expressed a desire to be free, and I, as the “great Harry Potter,” had tricked Lucius Malfoy into making that a reality. I felt I owed it to him, even though he had nearly gotten me killed in the name of protecting me.

“Dobby, you know I am not of age until next week, so I’m not allowed to do magic outside school. However, I need to do some things in the next few days, and I was wondering if you would be available to help me out, especially with getting around.” That was really only the first part of the question, but I hesitated on asking him about what I really needed him for until I had conferred with someone else.

He seemed very pleased that I would even think to ask. “Of course, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will do what whatever is needed!”

“Great! I just need to check something…” I rummaged in my trunk and removed the blank parchment that I knew was the Marauders Map that my father and his friends had created while in school. I touched my wand to it and whispered, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” As I watched the lines depicting the rooms and passages of Hogwarts appear across the paper, I wondered how Fred and George Weasley were able to guess the password when they first acquired the map. Kindred spirits to the Marauders, I supposed.

I found what I was looking for and that the area was deserted at the moment.

“OK, Dobby, first stop is Hogwarts, the seventh floor corridor outside the Room of Requirement.”

We disappeared from my bedroom with another loud crack.

Operation Diadem had commenced.

o o o


2.02

0925 WEDNESDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

I was pleased to easily remember where I had stashed my potions textbook from the previous term, the one written by the Half-Blood Prince, a.k.a. Severus Snape, whose notes had taught me more about the subject than the man himself ever did. It was a shame that he neglected to share that brilliance in the classroom, and the magical education of nearly a generation of Hogwarts students had suffered for it.

I also found the primary target of my visit, but I was going to be very careful handling it, since it had been quickly destroyed during events described in the book before we knew whether or not it had any dark curses protecting it. I found an old scarf nearby and used it to wrap the relic before placing it in my rucksack, marveling that only one other living person knew it still existed.

I left the Room of Requirement and closed the door, and then I walked by it three times wishing for something completely different. I opened the door to a training room similar to what we had used for Dumbledore’s Army in fifth year.

I wanted to get a little practice for what I had planned, and there was still that part of me yet to be convinced that I really could do magic spells.

I trained my wand on a dueling dummy that appeared in front of me and began to fire hexes.

o o o


2.03

1140 WEDNESDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

The headmaster’s office was empty of live humans, as I knew it would be. However, the Marauder’s Map would not show the assembly of past headmasters that resided in their portraits festooning the office walls, as they were not living but merely representations of their memories. All of them were pretending to be snoozing at the moment, but I knew better.

I addressed my diminutive escort. “Thank you very much, Dobby. Could you bring some sandwiches from the kitchens? And bring yourself something as well.”

“Dobby is only too pleased to serve Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter is too kind to ask Dobby to join him.”

“Dobby, you are my friend. Why would I not want to eat with you?”

He looked up with reverence in eyes. “Harry Potter is too good to Dobby.” And with a crack he was off to the kitchens.

I strolled behind the desk to the largest portrait where Albus Dumbledore, with more names and titles than would fit on his chocolate frog card, sat comfortably in the frame with his eyes twinkling merrily.

“Greetings, Harry, this is a most pleasant surprise. I did not expect to see you here for a few weeks yet. And your choice of transportation is most ingenious.”

“Hello, sir,” I returned, nodding. “I truly was not expecting to be here today myself.”

That was the understatement of the year.

“Dobby seems to enjoy helping me,” I continued, “and I need the assistance until next week when I can do magic on my own. I wish I was here merely on a courtesy call, but I must ask you a favor. I need to retrieve Gryffindor’s sword from behind your portrait — the real one. I know you willed it to me.”

The late headmaster sat up straighter. “A most interesting request, Harry. Frankly, I expected the Ministry to delay passing that information to you until the last possible moment, and to refuse honoring my stated wishes even then.”

I couldn’t decide at the moment whether Dumbledore was that good at divination (not likely), that scary smart (possibly), or was up to his painted pointy hat in planning this mischief (probably), so I side-stepped his little trap. “I heard about the will from another source, and I anticipated the same as you. So,” I said with an innocent smile, “I came to get it before they tell me I can’t.”

I heard mutterings of disapproval from other portraits around the room at my brazenness.

“Ah, I wish it was that simple, Harry, but the Sword of Gryffindor must be acquired in a time of need, a time for brave and valiant deed…”

“Sir, are you implying that my killing the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets and destroying that diary to save a young girl’s soul was unworthy? Or should I have just kept it afterward? I was the first to claim it in several hundred years as I recall.”

He had the decency to lower his head, eyes no longer twinkling. “Excellent points, Harry, but there are certain things that must take place in a particular order.”

It was time to play my trump card, even though it would reveal more than I liked. “You mean things like setting up many of my closest friends in an absurdly risky operation that might get any of them killed, just to insure your spy’s place in the enemy camp? I wonder the odds of your portrait remaining intact on this wall if Molly Weasley were to find out the full extent of your involvement, endangering her family…”

Hisses and angry shouts rang out as I faced down the greatest wizard of the age. We ignored them all.

Dumbledore had a blank expression for a moment before smiling and regaining that twinkle in his eyes, an odd effect in a painting.

“You have received foreknowledge in some fashion?”

Maybe wizard paintings can perform Legilimancy, or maybe he is that scary smart. Regardless, I was busted.

I nodded, then I figured — in for a knut, in for a galleon.

“Sir, I don’t know much about the magic involved in creating your portrait, but I get the impression that, in your two-dimensional disembodied state, you may have forgotten that the rest of us out here are still flesh and blood. I understand your motives, but it is an extremely dangerous plan. Casualties are a certainty.”

Dumbledore sank heavily in his chair, looking every bit of his one hundred and fifteen years. “This weekend — it does not go well?”

“No, it doesn’t, not according to my source. Most of us survive, in my case only through a miraculous intervention of my wand, acting of its own accord, something I doubt even you could foresee. Unless, of course, you intend for my wand to be tested against Voldemort, knowing that it will be strengthened that way. After all, assuming my information is accurate, he cannot kill me personally.”

That Dumbledore would knowingly place me in front of the madman just for that purpose seemed ludicrous, but I was not taking anything for granted anymore.

I continued, “But that doesn’t apply to the Order members assigned to protect me, does it? I cannot allow their lives put at such risk unnecessarily.”

“Indeed, you have learned a great deal more than I had expected at this point. You are creating a plan of action?”

“Yes, sir. Instead of tempting fate by following through on this mission, I propose to use it as an opportunity. While most of Voldemort’s forces are gathered over Surrey expecting me, I can make an unannounced visit to Wiltshire. I need the sword to kill Nagini.”

Nagini, Voldemort’s pet snake, was a nasty specimen that was also harboring one of his orphaned soul fragments, and I knew that he was currently staying at Malfoy Manor with his master.

Dobby returned at that moment bearing a platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice for me. I didn’t ask what he had in his pitcher, but it was cloudy with dark wriggling things in suspension — some kind of Elf-ade, I guessed.

Dumbledore gave us a moment to settle in before weighing in. “Harry, I agree that your plan has merit, but timing is important. It would be imprudent to go after Nagini before destroying the others, else Voldemort may suspect…”

He paused at the obvious grin that I was flashing his way. His eyes twinkled madly once more. “Of course, you have discovered them already. Excellent, Harry! Which items have you located?”

“All of them, sir. At least I know what and where they are. In fact, this morning Dobby helped me recover the one we didn’t know from the Room of Lost Things, one of the Room of Requirement’s transfigurations.”

I removed a small bundle from my rucksack and unwrapped it carefully on the headmaster’s desk, revealing an old but beautiful tiara — the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, which was believed lost centuries ago. Dobby watched with a wary expression; I had warned him that it may have dangerous enchantments.

“Incredible!” There was an unmistakable glee in his voice. “This is truly unexpected. I imagine you have quite the story to share…”

“Yes, alas, it is not my story to tell. However, you might be able to tempt it out of a particular ghost here, or you can just read about it like I did, but you will have to wait about ten years.”

“Since you have made the intimation, certainly you will not frustrate me again by not telling how you have managed all this.”

I sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t really know much. I was hoping that you might help explain it. I can tell you what happened…”

I explained my unusual morning and my surprise at being in this world that I had assumed only existed between the pages of a book and the imaginations of its author and readers. I hoped the headmaster would give some sort of rationalization, but he remained evasive.

“Ah, the revelation of that kind of mystery is not my department, Harry. All things have a purpose and a time, and I am sure that the answer will be made known to you quite soon.”

In other words, he knew something, but was not letting on. It was his way, requiring his students to work out solutions on their own, so the lesson would be remembered. It didn’t work both ways, however, as he, the teacher, expected answers to his questions.

Without mentioning the Deathly Hallows specifically, I briefly outlined the tale of the final volume of the story, and how eventually all the pieces of the puzzle were made to fit together to accomplish the defeat of Voldemort after almost a year of frustration, and the painful costs incurred. I said nothing of Dobby’s fate, since he was listening with rapt fascination.

Dumbledore was beside himself as I told of Professor Snape’s final dying act — releasing his memories to me so that I would know that the final sacrifice needed to be mine.

“Harry,” he pleaded, “you cannot imagine my struggle deciding how to break that horrible news to you. My greatest desire for you was to live as much a normal life as possible for as long as you could safely do so. You certainly deserved it, but for all our efforts it remained an elusive goal. You remember my reasons for the delay in sharing the prophecy with you…”

“Yes, sir, I know why you were reluctant, and I understand. I’m not sure how I would have reacted had I known any sooner. At least the way it played out in the book, I didn’t have any time to dwell on it. It had to be done, so I just did it. I hope I can do as well this time.”

“I would expect no less of you, Harry.”

I had to tell him about the Resurrection Stone. “When I got to the forest, sir, apparently all of what had happened before… it just got to me. I didn’t see how I could go in there alone. I opened the snitch — I used the thing inside — I brought my parents back, along with Sirius and Remus, and they walked with me, not that I wanted to keep them here, but they could escort me… onward. It helped give me the strength to reach his camp and stand in front of him. Just before that, I dropped the… thing there, where no one could find it again and it would be buried in debris, hopefully for the rest of time.”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful as he stroked his beard. “Yes, that would be an excellent disposition for it. A similar opportunity may present itself; only time will tell. You mentioned Remus was there?”

“Yes, sir, he was one of the fifty killed in that battle just before. It was horrible…”

“I can understand your desire to prevent those events from occurring in this timeline, Harry.”

Something that had been simmering deep in my thoughts popped to the surface. “Sir, I had always heard about changing things through time travel being impossible because it could create a time paradox. Can I really make things different?”

He smiled, enjoying the opportunity to slip back into professor mode. “You are correct about the impossibility of a time paradox. Repetition of a specific period in time is rife with potential that something may occur the second time around that makes the original sequence impossible to continue. However, magic has some capability to avoid such situations. You are familiar with time turners, I believe?”

I remembered the chaotic events near the end of my third year, when Hermione — carrying an hour-glass shaped device she had been using all year — took us both back in time several hours to use our knowledge of events to save both Sirius and Buckbeak the Hippogriff from certain execution and to fight off the dementors that threatened all of us. The activities of both times were oddly meshed so that one could not have occurred without the other.

“That’s when I learned to do the Patronus Charm properly. I knew I could do it the second time because I had already seen it done during the first time.”

“Exactly!” Dumbledore beamed. “Time turners utilize a very complicated magic that enables — in fact requires — the precise synchronization of two sets of actions from those using it. To the lay person it would seem to predestinate one’s actions, but in fact it allows time to exist multi-dimensionally, rather than as a single-dimensional line, as we typically experience it. There is a limit to its capabilities, as you might imagine.”

I had not the slightest idea of what he was talking about; theory was more Hermione’s thing. I needed practical information. “What happens if its limits are exceeded — or in the odd case like mine — and the timeline diverges?”

“That’s why warnings are included with its use,” Dumbledore chuckled. “However, we have already said that a time paradox is an impossibility; therefore, it would necessitate the creation of an alternate parallel timeline.”

“So… I’m in a parallel timeline? Those things in the book — they actually happen in that timeline?”

“From what little is understood about the workings of time, that can be assumed to be so.”

I shook my head. Somewhere — Remus, Tonks, Fred, Mad-Eye, Snape and all the others — they were still going to die, and I could do nothing to stop it.

“Harry, it does no good to dwell on that we cannot change. You have come here to improve things in this timeline, so we should concentrate on that.”

He was right, of course.

I finished describing the confrontation in the forest and my discussion with the real Albus Dumbledore in the virtual Kings Cross Station.

“It is good to have confirmation that one is enjoying his next great adventure,” chortled the portrait Albus. “Thank you, Harry. Now, I will cease prattling so that you may continue with what I’m certain will be an exciting conclusion to your tale.”

I tried not to disappoint him.

“Excellent!” he proclaimed afterward. “A showdown in the Great Hall, very theatrical — a fine moving picture the Muggles will make of it, no doubt.”

I had to laugh at his exuberance. “Yes, they probably will. But, sir, I don’t want another great showdown if it can be avoided. I don’t want to be the stuff of legends — not for this, anyway. It’s bad enough being the Boy Who Lived. And all the carnage… It may be great for the cinema box office, but these people who fought and died are real people, not actors faking it before a camera. There’s also the misery that happens between now and then…

“Dobby has been helping me in the Room of Requirement, and if you think he can help, I would like to ask his assistance this weekend. I think we can get the drop on them. If we have eliminated all the soul fragments but me, I may be able to force a confrontation with Voldemort. I’ll be vulnerable after his attack, assuming I survive it as before. It leaves a lot more to chance than I like…”

Dumbledore reviewed every detail of our plan, making a number of refinements. Oddly enough, Dobby was more than thrilled to return to Malfoy Manor to cause a little mischief. I just hoped I could keep him safe and out of the path of flying cursed daggers this time. Over the next half hour, he and Dumbledore taught me more about house-elf magic than I ever knew existed. We argued over a few items, but eventually developed a strong plan based on the information we had.

o o o


2.04

1300 WEDNESDAY GRINGOTTS LONDON

The cart skidded to a stop after its dizzying ride into the bowels of the earth under Diagon Alley. I stepped out and joined my escort as he held out his hand for my vault key. We were totally isolated from prying eyes and ears.

“Griphook, may I speak to you of a very sensitive matter?”

The goblin looked up at me quizzically. “Of course, Mr. Potter, especially if it is a Gringotts concern.”

“In a way it is. I’m sure you are aware of the deteriorating situation in the Ministry of Magic these days.”

“Yes, Mr. Potter. We goblins may appear aloof from the politics of humans, but we have an obligation to our clients that requires staying abreast of current events.”

“I have intelligence that a coup is imminent, and you can probably guess that disruption of wizarding society will not be good for Gringotts business. Loyalties will be divided among the goblins, and those who do not agree with procedures established by the new regime will probably have to go into hiding.”

“We have heard rumors of such events, and you are correct in that there is some… disagreement in the Goblin High Council.” He narrowed his eyes. “You are very perceptive — why do you bring this to my attention?”

“Griphook, there is an object hidden in one of the vaults here — a stolen object that has been cursed with very evil dark magic. Its magic is connected with those that seek to control the magical community by force. It is imperative that this object be removed so that it can be destroyed, else it will be impossible to prevent the downfall of the ministry. We need to keep this as quiet as possible. Is there an individual who can authorize such a confiscation who is also against going along with a new regime among wizards?”

He stared at me for several moments, unblinking. “You ask a considerable favor, Mr. Potter. If, however, you are correct in your assessments, this needs to be addressed immediately. I will arrange a meeting as soon as we return.”

Griphook was as good as his word. It wasn’t long before we were seated in a private conference room with Ragnok, one of the senior goblins at this branch, and Bill Weasley, who worked there as a curse breaker. The scars from Greyback’s attack were still raw, but slowly working their way from grotesque to awesomely cool. That was Bill’s way, and it made me a bit envious.

“What is this item, and what proof do you have of its history, Mr. Potter?” Ragnok asked roughly.

“What we discuss here will remain between us?” I asked, trying not to show my nervousness.

Ragnok scowled at my questioning one of Gringotts’ touted guiding principles. “Of course, Mr. Potter. This institution thrives on confidences.”

“Yes, I know, I’m just a bit paranoid about this… There is a golden cup with historical significance as a relic of Helena Hufflepuff, one of the founders of Hogwarts. It was stolen many years ago from one of her descendants by the dark wizard who calls himself Voldemort. He framed one of the owner’s house-elves for the theft. He later put an evil curse on the cup before giving it to Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange for safe-keeping in their vault here at Gringotts. I am here because I know how to remove the curse.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about this cup,” said Bill. “What kind of curse is this that makes it our concern?”

“You must understand that I am going beyond my directive by asking for your help. I prefer not to divulge that if it is not absolutely necessary.”

“This is your mission for Dumbledore?” he said quietly.

I debated internally for a moment, but I really had no choice. The circle of knowledge would have to expand, if only a bit. I let out a long breath. “Yes.”

“Be that as it may,” Ragnok intoned, “confiscation of anything in a depositor’s vault requires more than the word of an individual. You must give us some kind of evidence.”

“I do have an item that has a similar curse. Would that help convince you?”

“Let us see,” Ragnok sneered, “then we decide.”

I slowly brought out the bundle with Ravenclaw’s diadem. Before I unwrapped it, I warned, “Do not touch this or place any destructive spells on it.”

I laid the ancient tiara on the table. As Bill muttered a few diagnostic spells, Ragnok stretched his palm toward it, before snatching it back as if burned.

He leapt from his chair and took an angry step back. “Mr. Potter, you have committed an atrocity against goblin society by bringing that foul object here. The fact that it is an ancient goblin-crafted masterpiece makes the crime even more horrendous. Give me a reason that I should not chain you in a deep cavern and bury you alive.”

I quickly replaced the diadem in my rucksack. “I did not come here to offend you, sir, or the goblin nation. Rather, I have been tasked with eliminating this threat to your society as well as ours. I humbly ask only for your assistance to remove the other cursed item from the premises.”

Ragnok’s eyes bored into me, attempting to gauge my trustworthiness. I stared back, pleading.

His voice, when it came, was low and gravelly. “What would you do if we refused to allow you this golden cup?”

The question took me aback, yet I felt anything other than direct honesty would get me thrown out of the bank faster than I could say “galleon.”

“Sir, I would attempt to break in and remove it illegally.”

He gave a deep rumble that I interpreted as a scoffing laugh. “Even though you know this is impossible…”

“With all respect, sir, it is not impossible. Voldemort himself broke in a few years ago, and I have all confidence that it can be done with a good bit of planning and the help of a resourceful goblin willing to violate his own code of ethics for a greater cause.” I hazarded a glance at Griphook, who appeared disgusted at the thought one of his kind would stoop so low. Hopefully, he would not be confronted with the choice this time around.

“A greater cause?”

“We are talking about survival here, preserving any shred of decency in the magical community, not just for goblins or wizards, but for all magical races.”

Ragnok contemplated for a time before eyeing me once more. “Mr. Potter, you make extremely unusual demands, but we realize that these are unusual times, and I am inclined to grant you a measure of latitude beyond that even warranted by your position.”

“My position?”

“You are regarded by goblins as a wizard worthy of trust, and it is known that you have an essential role to play in settling the current state of unrest. We have our own… methods of prognosticating events. You are also the designated successor to a clan of wizard aristocracy, the so-called Ancient and Noble House of Black. When you obtain majority you will be able to claim the title of Lord Black.”

Stunned, I looked at each of them in turn. “I didn’t know…”

“Dumbledore didn’t tell you?” Bill asked, curious. “It was part your inheritance from Sirius.”

“He mentioned the house and the money, but he was most concerned about their house-elf. Is there anything else I need to know about? Am I a Lord Potter as well?”

“While Potter is a respected name in magical society,” intoned Griphook, picking up a document, “they were not of the noble class. Your parents had all liquid assets placed in trust for you in the vault you currently use. Upon majority you are to receive title to the two properties that are all else that remain of the Potter estate.”

“Properties? Where… what are those?”

“There is, of course, the Godric’s Hollow cottage maintained by the Ministry, as well as another larger rural tract that was your grandparents’ residence. I believe it is also in the West Country, but is currently unplottable so I cannot give you a precise locale. The house was destroyed by fire in the last wizard war, but some outbuildings may remain.”

Holy hippogriffs — counting Grimmauld Place, I owned three properties! None of them were fit for occupation, and I might not ever be able to find the one, but I certainly had options to consider after… assuming I had an after…

“Right, that’s… good to know. I will meet with you later about all that. Mr. Ragnok, what were you about to say about the relic held in the Lestrange vault?”

“You give your assurance that you will remove this abomination from Gringotts and destroy the evil within?” he asked, waving his hand toward my rucksack.

“Of course, sir. Then the cup…?”

“This cup shall be inspected and if it contains this same magic, it will be confiscated and the Lestranges shall be immediately notified of their loss of privilege at Gringotts.”

“No, no! They must not be told! We cannot let them suspect it has been removed.”

“Mr. Potter, this is goblin law, and I am already making concessions for you…”

“Can you at least delay the proceedings for a week?” I desperately needed them to understand. “I must complete the task, and it will be incredibly more difficult if they discover what I am doing.”

Bill had been silent for some time but spoke with a quiet intensity. “Harry, I have only seen this once before, in the tomb of a minor Egyptian pharaoh well known for his depravity. They refer to it as the ‘Shard of Life’ and consider it a madman’s abhorrent imprudence. Fiendfyre was the only remedy we found for it. Surely Dumbledore would not require you to deal with such horrors...”

“No, it is a burden placed upon me by Fate, and Dumbledore would have done anything to lift it from me. In fact, his efforts eventually ended his life.”

Bill was appalled. “Are you saying that You-Know-Who had three of these? Did Dumbledore at least eliminate the one?”

I sighed again. “Dumbledore was successful on that one, and I destroyed another four years ago using the only other known remedy — Basilisk venom.”

Bill looked as if he was about to faint, closing his eyes. “The diary… oh, Ginny…”

He returned his gaze to me. “How many, Harry?”

I cleared my throat. “Seven, altogether.”

Bill shook his head. “Truly a madman...”

“Mad, yes. A man, hardly. Not anymore.”

“We will assist you, Mr. Potter,” said Ragnok, “to attain this cup. Then you must leave here at once. May you find success in your endeavor. We shall not speak of this again.”

I bowed respectfully, and we left for the lower reaches of the wizarding bank.

Operation HuffleCup was finally in motion.

o o o


2.05

1420 WEDNESDAY OTTERY ST CATCHPOLE DEVON

A loud crack found us standing in the shade of an orchard. “Thank you, Dobby. You’ve been brilliant today.”

The little elf was grinning from floppy ear to floppy ear. “Dobby is always glad to help the great Harry Potter. Does Dobby go on his next mission now?”

“Yes, and I’m going to tell you the same thing that I told Kreacher. It’s extremely important that you don’t get caught. Do everything necessary to stay out of sight. Just set the charms that we talked about, and then return to Hogwarts. I’ll need you to take me back to my relatives later tonight.”

Dobby glanced skyward as a flash of red zipped overhead. He grinned at me again as he replied, “Of course, Harry Potter, sir!” before disappearing with another crack.

I followed the blur streaking above the trees, part of me wondering if I was too old for this. The other part of me argued that physically I was only a year older than her; besides, hadn’t I gone back in time, negating that particular issue? And if it was a question of maturity — and I had known lots of teenagers for comparison — she was far beyond her nearly sixteen years. Part of that maturity had been won at a heavy price, however. She was no longer the shy little girl that had fallen prey to Voldemort’s cursed diary. She had grown from that horror and since proved her strength of character many times over.

She spotted me in the orchard and performed a couple of barrel rolls to bleed off speed before descending. I couldn’t help noticing that she had matured physically as well — the little girl I met at King’s Cross was now a striking young woman. Her face was flushed as she strode up and a few of her fiery tresses had come loose from her ponytail, catching the afternoon sun in a radiant halo. Nothing had ever struck me as being more beautiful.

She paused a few feet away, a wary expression on her face. “Harry? I thought you weren’t coming until Saturday.”

My palms were sweaty and my throat had become very dry. I took a deep breath.

“I had to see you.”

She didn’t respond except to tilt her head with an inquisitive expression.

“Erm… maybe you had better ask me a question,” I mused, “that only I would know the answer, so you can be sure it’s really me.”

Smirking, she asked me a very… personal question about one of our private times by the lake before the end of term.

My face heated as I recalled the memory, one that was certainly not in the book.

She laughed as I muttered the response. “Right — now we only have to decide if you are the Harry Potter who’s funny and sweet and snogged me in front of all Gryffindor House, or the moody, serious Harry Potter who feels as if he has the whole world to save.”

“Erm… that’s part of why I wanted to talk to you.”

She paled. “Right… serious Potter.” She took my hand and led me to the edge of the wood, directing me to sit at the base of a large oak. She sank into the grass facing me, but avoiding my eyes.

“First,” I began, “I need to apologize for the way I left you at the funeral. It was inconsiderate of me to just walk away without explanation, not giving you any say at all about our relationship. I can only state in my defense that I was a little distracted, but that doesn’t excuse me from being a total git about it. I hope you can at least forgive me for the way I treated you.”

She looked up, wondering where I was headed. “Okay… apology accepted.”

“Thanks,” I said with a tiny smile. “Now I want to tell you a story, and it may sound a bit odd, but I do have a reason. Once upon a time, there was a bloke in his mid-twenties, an American Muggle named Jimmy, who loved to read adventure tales. One of his very favorites was a multi-volume epic about good versus evil, a reluctant hero who overcomes overwhelming odds to eventually defeat the antagonist while learning loads — both good and bad — about life along this incredible journey. The author spent ten years delivering this remarkable story, and by the time the seventh and final volume was published, the story’s devotees rushed to get a copy, eager to discover how it ended. This bloke read it and had a good chat with his friends about it, but when he woke the next morning, he was shocked beyond belief to discover that he had gone back in time to become part of the story as the main character, and had to re-live that last part of the story, hoping he could do a better job by knowing all the secrets and what was about to happen. Does that make sense so far?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of stories like that, like a fantasy come alive.”

“Exactly! I have here,” I said, reaching into my rucksack, “the first volume of that story. It’s soon to be a best-seller in the Muggle world.”

I handed her the brand new book I had found in a London bookstore that morning, a first printing of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

“Oh, Harry!” she gasped, and tore through the pages, slowing at the Kings Cross scene. “This is incredible! It has all of us in here — do Ron or Mum or Dad know about this?”

She abruptly stopped turning pages. “Harry,” she said anxiously, “what are you saying? What about this American bloke… and going back in time?”

I ran my fingers through the mop on my head. “I… I’m not just Harry anymore.”

“What?” She stared in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m saying that a part of who I am now is this Jimmy bloke from ten years in the future. When that part of me went to bed last night, it was 2007, and I woke up as Harry Potter, here in 1997, complete with all of Harry as well, memories and everything, so now I’m a combination of the two. I’ve already talked to Dumbledore — his new portrait at Hogwarts — and he hinted that there was an explanation, but couldn’t tell me what it was.”

“So… I’m confused… this other part of you… you were somebody named Jimmy and now you’re Harry too, and I guess you’re trying to figure out if this is some kind of dream or something.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how it was this morning.”

She chuckled, and then worked her way to a full-blown howling fit, rolling in the grass with total abandon.

Of all the heroes in literature throughout history, I had to become the scrawny messy-haired teenager whose ex-girlfriend has gone completely round the twist.

“If I may ask,” I said dryly, “what is so bloody hilarious about this?”

She wiped tears from her face, trying to control herself. “Don’t you see? I grew up wanting to be part of the Harry Potter fairy tale, but you’re the one who actually became the fairy tale!”

I didn’t think it quite that funny, but I was glad to see her taking it so well. “There is a good thing about this, Ginny. I know how to end it, now, before all the horrible stuff in that final book happens.”

Her mirth quickly vanished. “It really is that bad?”

“Yeah, it is. When the Order comes to pick me up this Saturday, we’re ambushed by Death Eaters. The night of Bill and Fleur’s wedding, the ministry falls to Voldemort, and Ron, Hermione and I are on the run for months. Muggle-borns are persecuted and sent to prison for ‘stealing’ their magic, of all things. Death Eaters are professors at Hogwarts, teaching the Unforgivables so the next generation can train by torturing those who get detentions… until the worst part…”

“Merlin,” she breathed. “It gets worse?”

“There’s a huge battle at Hogwarts, Ginny, wrecking the castle… so many people lost… until I can finally confront Voldemort, there in the Great Hall, and put an end to it.”

“You… confront…” Her eyes went wide. “That prophecy… the Prophet called you the Chosen One… it’s true, isn’t it?”

No mental slouch, this one. I told her about that night after the ministry raid, in Dumbledore’s office, and what I had learned.

“So a drunken bint is briefly overcome by… something,” she fumed, “and Tom finds out, and your life is buggered for what, sixteen years? That is just so… so… oh, I can’t even think about how unfair that is! At least now you know how to beat him, right? What do you have to do?”

“Dumbledore showed me last year. He let me tell Ron and Hermione, but it’s time you knew as well. I need you to know, Gin.”

I explained the concept of soul splitting and how Tom had done this at least five times before he came for me on Halloween. She was horrified, but not surprised, that Tom’s diary had been the first one discovered, and the key to unraveling the whole mystery. I told her of the others and what was left to do.

“So you know where they are, and you just have to destroy them, right?” she pleaded. “Harry, what aren’t you telling me?”

“There was the one he never meant to make… the night he attacked me, part of him was loosed and left in my scar. I… I’m a container of one of his soul fragments, too.”

“And… how do you get rid of this…”

“We found that Basilisk venom and Fiendfyre both work. The container has to be destroyed beyond magical repair, you see…”

“The container? Harry James Potter!” She was on her knees, outstretched hands clenching my shoulders, her face in mine as she gritted, “You. Did. Not. Come. Here. To. Say. Goodbye! You can’t! There has to be some way… there must!!”

Her defiance for me reminded me just how special this girl was. “Ginny, there is a way. Dumbledore figured it out.”

It nearly broke her to learn that I would have to let him attack me again, but after I explained the plan for this weekend, she was a little reassured.

“Okay, but you have to tell me what happens in this book. I want to know, and I mean everything, Potter.”

So I told her everything, backing up occasionally to previous years when an explanation required. It was a remarkably cleansing experience, to just get it out, to share with someone.

“So Snape is really on our side, Dumbledore died mostly from a moment of weakness, and you’re half someone I don’t know.”

“The Deathly Hallows, Ginny — they’re still very dangerous. If for some reason this weekend goes awry, you need to let Ron and Hermione know. Have Bill and Flitwick put extra enchantments around Dumbledore’s tomb. Put my snitch someplace where it can never be found. And I want you to have my cloak, Gin. It’s a family heirloom, and you’re the closest thing I have to a real family. Promise me, Ginny.”

“You wouldn’t give it to Ron?”

“You guys are like — a part of me, you know? Ron is my best mate and will follow me where angels fear to tread; I reckon he’s like my strength through all this. Hermione is so smart — she’s like my head, sorting it all out. But you, Ginny, are my heart, my hope, my reason for being sure I make it. I didn’t tell you that the book, the end of the story has an epilogue, twenty years from now — we’re at Kings Cross sending two of our kids off to Hogwarts, while the third is complaining about being too young…”

“Twenty years…? Our three children…” She was quiet for a moment. “Harry, how do you feel about that?”

I grinned widely for the first time since arriving. “I think it’d be brilliant.”

Suddenly she was in my arms, kissing me furiously, and I fisted her hair behind, ponytail forgotten, its sweet flowery scent filling my nostrils, holding on to make sure she was real, that she wouldn’t vanish.

It was some time before we broke for air, and I was startled to see that her hair was flowing toward me, enveloping our closely held faces in a curtain of red. Then I realized that it wasn’t the tree pressing against my back, it was the ground. When that happened, I neither knew nor cared. She delved into my eyes, searching, and I felt exposed, laid bare, but at this moment, with this girl, I was good with that, and I willed her to find whatever it was, who I was, that she could reassure me that this was no dream, for I had nothing to hide from her.

“Ginny…”

“Shh, Potter, the way I figure it, you’re still part Harry, and the rest of you I’ll just have to get to know over time. Right now, I’m investigating your snogging abilities for possible improvements.”

“And… have you made any discoveries?”

“Not yet. Need more research. So shut up and kiss me again.”

I had my orders, and I dutifully obeyed.

And this kiss was even better than the last, my senses overwhelmed, lost in her. I thought this must be the kiss she was saving for my birthday, something for me to remember her by… at least this time we would not be interrupted…

“Oi! What’s going on here?” called the familiar voice of my best mate, his footsteps drawing near.

I guess I spoke too soon.

o



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