Chapter Text
Harry woke up to a harsh rapping somewhere to the left of his head. Aunt Petunia! he thought, and instantly he was more awake, ready to scramble out of bed before he was punished for his lateness- but no, that couldn’t be his aunt. He hadn’t lived at Number 4, Privet drive for… how many years had it been now? It had to be Kreacher, or else some newly animated dark object he’d have to destroy.
“Up! Get up! Now!”
The rapping continued, each abrupt knock slapping the memories loose. That was right- he had dreamed of a motorcycle last night, hadn’t he? But there had also been other dreams… Harry opened his eyes to the dimness of his cupboard and was momentarily confused; had the ceiling always been this close?
He rolled to the side- and hit something hard with a gasp of pain. Harry belatedly realised it was his cupboard door. Dimly, he could hear the footsteps of his aunt as she returned and attempted to get up. He had expected worse than this, Harry thought with something close to optimism, a body which felt alien to him, or worse, yet his 10-year-old body felt as normal as ever.
“Are you up yet?” Aunt Petunia snapped.
“Almost.” he said, scrambling to collect his scattered thoughts. This wasn’t an ordinary day, was it? Something had happened, but what was it? He remembered with a jolt and hurriedly started to dress.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get right on to the bacon and eggs,” he sighed. He had been hoping to end up somewhere -or somewhen- else, but it wasn’t like he could change it now.
“Don’t get smart with me!” she screeched, “And if you dare mess anything up for Duddy’s big day, you’ll be in that cupboard ‘till Christmas!”
Harry resisted the urge to laugh as he stepped out of his cupboard and pulled on a jumper. After everything that had happened (Or would happen, maybe?), threats from his aunt and uncle didn’t bother him much.
Harry briefly thought longingly of how much easier it would be with magic as he mechanically pushed the bacon around the pan with the spatula… not to mention all the spells he could cast on the Dursleys- Ginny’s Bat-bogey hex, for starters, maybe followed by some harmless engorgement charms- before he remembered he didn’t even own a wand, and Ginny’s name triggered an influx of memories he had no desire to relive.
Harry started on the eggs. They sizzled quietly as they hit the pan, a welcome distraction from his aunt’s bustling about the kitchen as she fussed over Dudley’s presents and Uncle Vernon’s sighs as he turned the pages of his newspaper. He felt a momentary flash of anger as he cracked the last egg into the pan- What had he been thinking, leaping irreversibly backwards with nothing more than a hope for change? A conversation that had never happed echoed in Harry’s head.
Harry had been so panicked by the owl she had sent him, (which simply said Come now, IMPORTANT!) that he had Apparated as fast as he could to her little flat. It was the first time she’d even communicated with Harry in months, and that alone was enough to set him on edge. When he arrived though, fearing that she’d been attacked or injured, Harry instead found every surface covered in notes, books littering the furniture, and more time turners than he could count connected to various contraptions
Harry spotted the spindly legs of a dark detector, the mirror of a foe-glass, and various potions in his quick scan of the room, shocked at just how much had changed in the months since he’d been allowed to visit.
Hermione had never gone back to some form of normal after the battle, but then again, neither had Harry. In that moment, he regretted not making more of an effort to stay in touch, seeing her thin body, her untamed, ragged hair, her permanently tear-stained cheeks. Harry still couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing in front of him, but Hermione’s words surprised him more than anything else.
“You’ll have a second chance,” she’d said, her eyes wild and red rimmed.
“What do you mean?”
“To do it right this time, Harry!” she’d groaned. “To go back and do it again so no-one has to lose anyone- at least I think you will…” Hermione started looking for something, pacing around the small room. Harry still couldn’t believe what he had just heard- it had just been an ordinary day only an hour ago…
Harry brought the plate to the table, pushing one of Dudley’s meticulously wrapped presents to the side in the process.
“Don’t touch them!” said Dudley angrily, his piggy little face staring at Harry as he walked in with Aunt Petunia, who glared at him viciously as she moved the present back. Harry sat down in his usual place at the table, barely paying any attention. He crammed down his own breakfast as quickly as possible in anticipation of what would happen next, trying his best to stay focused. The news of Mrs. Figg’s broken leg would arrive, and he would end up going to the zoo with Dudley and his best friend Piers Polkiss. But should that happen? The whole point was to fix things, do everything better, and Harry supposed there was no better time to start than now.
The telephone rang loudly, leaving Harry scrambling to figure out what to do as Aunt Petunia hurried to get to it. He needed a plan, that much was for sure… his three years as an Auror hadn’t prepared Harry for this.
“Bad news, Vernon,” Aunt Petunia said, her hands twitching as though she wanted to grab someone’s neck. “Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” Harry would’ve laughed at Dudley’s horrified expression from across the table if he hadn’t been chilled from how surreal it all was- from the precise arrangement of furniture in the kitchen to the way all the Dursleys looked younger and the older-fashioned clothes they wore. Do things better this time, Hermione’s voice reminded him as panic began to erupt amongst the Dursleys, Dudley pushing his chair back with a clatter in the beginning of a tantrum.
“It’s ok,” muttered Harry grumpily. The Dursleys turned to look at him as though it was the chair itself that had started talking.
“You can leave me here, it’s not as though I’m going to blow up the house.” Harry said, trying to sound reasonable. Uncle Vernon’s face was slowly reddening, which Harry took as his cue to leave.
“Never mind,” he mumbled, dodging around Uncle Vernon as he made his way out of the kitchen and back to his cupboard. Clearly, things weren’t going to be easy (then again, he had known that. Things were never that easy for Harry, were they?)
“No, That’s quite enough, Harry!” Aunt Petunia snapped, tugging him back. Harry resisted the urge to flip her over and pin her to the ground and press his socked foot to her throat (He had the movement practised to the point of perfection -along with various other self-defences- but of course his aunt and uncle couldn’t find that out)
“Yes, boy, you’ve been lippy and smart with us all morning!’ Uncle Vernon added, standing up to his full (rather unimpressive) height. “I think it’s high time you got a warning, disturbing Dudley’s birthday, disrespecting your aunt and uncle.” Uncle Vernon slowly grew louder as he spoke, and Harry instinctively took a step back in trepidation.
“Go to your cupboard!” Harry started in disbelief. Had Uncle Vernon just given Harry exactly what he wanted?
“NOW!” Aunt Petunia screeched, dragging him by the scruff of his neck and bundling him into his cupboard as the doorbell rang. Harry heard the lock click behind him as his uncle whispered menacingly through the door. “No funny business, boy, or else-” Harry never got to find out what else, though, because at that moment the doorbell rang, and he pressed his ear up against the door in time to hear his aunt rushing to answer.
“Oh, good lord, Vernon, they’re here!” she cried. Harry pulled a cord to turn on the lamp that his uncle had reluctantly hung from a wall after… what was it that had happened? It had been a while now.
He ignored the Dursleys as he settled on his bed, thinking. There was a lot to think about, after all. He hadn’t even understood half of what Hermione had told him hurriedly as she adjusted devices and tapped various things with her wand to make them shift about the room.
Harry had told her as much, more exasperated than anything. “I don’t understand any of this, Hermione,” he had said as he rubbed his forehead where a headache was starting to form. Whether it was from the foul odours of some of the potions or the struggle to figure out what Hermione was talking about he wasn’t sure. Surely she couldn’t mean what she had said literally- that kind of time travel was impossible- even Harry knew that.
“You’ll get to go back to- well I don’t know exactly when, but at the start. As yourself.”
Harry had been so confused. Even if it was possible, every book he’d ever read and wizard had ever talked to said the same thing- the risks of meddling with time were far too great for any sane wizard to attempt to tamper with it. “Hermione, I don’t think-"
“Don’t tell me you don’t trust me,” she had snapped suddenly, whipping her head around. Harry noticed how exhausted she looked, but she had a mad spark in her eyes he had never seen before. Harry had wondered what she had been doing, always brushing aside any offers of visits on the rare occasions they met, abruptly asking questions that had made no sense until now. All her hopes from the past four years had clearly culminated in this, and hope had sparked unbidden in Harry too. She kept repeating the same phrases like a mantra; going back, our chance to fix things, we can do things the right way this time. Harry wanted it desperately, too, would face any risks for the slightest chance for any of that.
“Of course I-” he had started, but she cut him off.
“Harry, this is our chance! Our chance to fix it all, save everyone, or at least try.” She resumed her fiddling and Harry could gradually see the finished item- a time turner covered in runes on a long gold chain, suspended on either side by the gadgets as Hermione waved her wand, painting the floor with potions.
“So you want us to go back. Do everything again.”
She had stopped then, turning to face him with a more serious, sad expression in her eyes.
“Just you, Harry, not us.”
Harry’s insides had briefly turned cold. “What do you mean?”
“Only one person, Harry, that’s the only way it’ll work- and someone on the outside has to cast all the spells…” Hermione didn’t need to finish explaining. She had been fidgeting constantly, pacing in circles around the small room, occasionally adjusting some strange device.
“Look Harry, if you don’t want to-”
“Of course I do!” Harry had interjected. And he did; the idea was so tantalising, so incredible, he had never even considered that he’d get the chance. More than that, he could see that Hermione needed him to say yes. She was just as desperate, if not more so, for a way out, a way forward, than him.
“But why not you, Hermione? You could teach me the spells, and you did all this, why don’t you want to be the one to go back?” It was odd how Harry had known, if not consciously, from the instant she explained things that he would be the one to shoulder all this responsibility. There probably wasn’t even a point to asking for things to be different- Harry always ended up with the burden of saving everyone, whether he wanted it or not.
Harry mirrored the sad smile Hermione had given him in response now. He was here for a reason this time: to do things better, to do things the right way this time.
Obviously, Harry had to defeat Voldemort again and destroy all six horcruxes- hopefully he could manage in less than the seven years it had taken him before. Maybe he’d even be able to enjoy Hogwarts this time, without the threat of war looming over the wizarding world. That’s foolishly optimistic, argued the voice in Harry’s head. How could he enjoy things while he knew everything that would happen before it did? And would everything even happen in the same way, allowing him to use his own knowledge to prevent harm? A headache was bursting at Harry’s temples just from thinking about it. Did he need to worry about the butterfly affect? The idea that even the smallest changes could influence major events?
Harry laughed aloud at the idea of him not freeing the Boa constrictor from the Zoo unknowingly causing the results of the election to change, or something. But what if it had? Could it? Harry had never wished more that Hermione was here with him or has at least explained all of this to him. She would’ve known all the answers, Harry was sure of it.
Only the Hermione that had known everything was gone, wasn’t she? Right now, she would just be a girl in some house in Hampstead, not even knowing yet that she was a witch. Ron would be somewhere else too, alive in the Burrow and waiting expectantly for his own letter from Hogwarts. Harry was the only one who knew a potential future, one that would hopefully never happen. One that couldn’t happen.
He snapped himself out of his brooding and tried to refocus on what he needed to do. It was no easy feat, after all, and so what he needed the most was probably… a plan.
An hour later, Harry was still staring at a blank page in his maths exercise book, clicking his biro repetitively and hoping the words would somehow fall off the tip of his pen and smoothly write themselves onto the page. The page stubbornly stayed clean and white. Harry sighed in frustration. Where was he supposed to even begin?
He wrote down the number one, before pausing. What was the first thing he should do?
Do things better was all that came out.
By the time the Dursleys came back from the Zoo, Dudley chattering excitedly to Aunt Petunia about the most interesting animals he had seen (usually the most brute-like and visibly dangerous, from the sound of things), Harry had almost a whole page of notes.
Although the second half of the page was just a list. A list names, of everyone he could save. If Ron were here, he would’ve laughed at it, about Harry’s ‘saving people thing’. Ron was fine, Harry reminded himself, as pain and anger flashed at the name. And he would stay fine. Harry glanced down at the list. It wasn’t even that long, but he was sure that it’d grow with time. After shutting out every memory of the war he could, it was bound to take some time.
He wondered when he would be let out. Harry was rather hungry, but he had been through far worse, he told himself. Even though he hadn’t-not yet. When he was let out after dinner that night, his first thought was of food. It was hard to distinguish between the wants of his ten-year-old body and his own- because there wasn’t a distinction, was there? This was his body now.
Harry kept to himself during the last weeks of school, adeptly avoiding Dudley, Piers, and his gang and occasionally adding to his plan. (He needed to get better at hiding it, though; a girl sitting next to harry had stared at the page in Math, her mouth hanging open, before she turned away and didn’t look at Harry again). The Dursleys hadn’t paid for his graduation ceremony, so instead he had to stay in the library for his final day of year 6, helping the librarian (who reminded him strongly of Madam Pince) chase children from around the school who had dared to not return their books.
Harry soon realised he was some kind of addict, constantly longing to use it magic, and fingers often inadvertently twitching to reach for his non-existent wand. On the second day of the summer holidays, he had been cornered in the Garden by Piers, Dudley, Dennis, Dennis, Malcom and Gordon and had actually waved his pen at them, yelling Impedimenta! confidently. Harry still winced as he felt the bruises they had given him and groaned internally at the ‘magic words’ they were sure to shout at him when they discovered his newest hiding spot. If only they knew they were real magic words. Harry thought every time they did this. Once Dudley did, at least, he’d probably piss his pants when Harry did anything vaguely out-of-the-ordinary. Or cry out for his mother. Dudley was, if nothing else, some source of amusement in Harry’s perpetual boredom at Number 4, Privet Drive.
Harry sighed once again as he stared down at his exercise book, in the same way he always did when he felt his motivation slipping even the slightest. He imagined a future, one where they were all still there, happy and together, triumphant from conquering Voldemort. He just needed to make that happen- he had to. It could all be so much easier, so much better this time around.
For hours, he just remembered, staring at the last name on the list. He’d underlined it, given it more space than the others. It was the most important thing on all of his pages, the one name he’d come back for in the first place.
Ron Weasley.
It hadn’t happened, not anymore, Harry had to remind himself again. Ron was here, and he was fine. He had to be.
Harry watched impassively later that day, as Dudley’s proudly displayed his new Smeltings school uniform, twirling his brand-new Smeltings stick.
Dudley came up to him, grinning idiotically.
“You know, they stuff people’s heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall,” he said. Some things just didn’t change, clearly. Harry wondered how long it had taken Dudley to think up that line. “Want to come upstairs and practice?”
‘No, thanks,” Harry replied. “I’m happy to practice hitting you with that stick, though- you know, they do that every day at Smeltings.”
Dudley stared at Harry for a few seconds before Harry took the opportunity to leave. Only one more day, he reminded himself. One more day before the first letter would come, and he could take it and hide it before his aunt and uncle got their hands on it. (His commitment to keeping as much the same as possible aside, Harry would rather not be faced with the tirades of Uncle Vernon and be dragged out to some rock in the middle of the sea. Even, he thought regretfully- if it meant not getting a bedroom. He’d have to think of some other way to not spend the next six summers in a cupboard)
Harry could barely sleep that night from anticipation. It felt ridiculous- after all, he was a 21-year-old man, unable to stop moving from excitement over a letter when he already knew what it would say. But- he wasn’t 21, was he? He was a 10-year-old boy, and there was no way to go back.
“Won’t I have to be careful? You know, about not being seen?” Harry had asked Hermione, before she’d started setting everything up.
“No,” Hermione had sighed, “It’s not like a regular time turner- you’ll actually be going back- resetting everything back to when it all started” Harry had stared at her, completely dumbfounded. “-or at least I hope so,” she had finished. “It’s not like I can just test it-”
“Bloody Hell, Hermione!” Harry had said. “How on earth-”
Hermione had smiled, a little pink returning to her cheeks. “Well, it wasn’t easy, you know…”
Harry woke up, Hermione and her unfathomable explanations forgotten as he quickly dressed, wishing that he could race to the front door and sit there waiting for the post to arrive. But that would definitely trigger his aunt and uncle’s suspicion. Instead, he went into the kitchen before being assaulted by the smell of his new uniform- not that he’d ever have to wear it, Harry thought smugly, picturing Dudley’s face when he realised that Harry would get to go to school in a castle and learn magic, whilst he spent his high school years hitting and being hit with far less exciting sticks than wands.
He sat down at the table without questioning Aunt Petunia, realising that he’d have to wait until she was done to eat, which he was almost grateful for. He was so nervous, even though it made no sense to be. Harry almost jumped out of his seat when he heard the mail slot clicking, followed by the soft flop as the letters hit the floor. Act normal, he reminded himself.
“Get the post, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
“Make Harry get it.” It was taking so long. Harry was practically bouncing in his seat after waiting almost a whole long, magic-less month…
“Get the post, Harry.”
Harry left the table without a word and went to get the envelopes that had been carefully slotted through the front door. He leaned down, picked up the other two envelopes, then carefully, almost reverentially, held his, staring at the address.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
“Hurry up, boy!’ Uncle Vernon shouted down the hallway.
It was exactly as he’d remembered it. Harry quickly tucked the letter under his shirt, before making his way back into the kitchen and handing the letters to Uncle Vernon. He went back to his cupboard, the parchment envelope weighing as much as a thick book as he held it, staring, heart racing.
Harry opened the envelope, breaking the wax seal as his chest fluttered in a strange way. He was almost hyperventilating in excitement- his breathing hitched as he read the first words, the second slip falling onto his sheets as he clutched the letter.
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He didn’t really look at the rest, just sat there as he read and re-read the lines. It was real. It had started- it was all about to begin again, for the first time. Harry was suddenly, understandably terrified. The fate of everyone- every wizard and muggle who had died because of the war- he was now responsible for saving each and every one of them.
Harry remembered now what Hermione had said in response to his question and held onto the words tightly as he finally read the second part of his short letter.
She had pulled back from their brief hug, looking at him sadly as she answered him.
“You’re the Chosen one, Harry. You’re the Boy who lives.”
“It always has to be you.”