Inspired by I'm Still Here by Kathryn518(fantastic fic). And I do have her permission.
Just a couple of things...
This story is inspired by I'm Still Here over at FF.N. The author, Kathryn518 hasn't continued it...I truly hope they do... in the mean time I have to satisfy my trashy shipper heart and write my own. She is aware of my version and has given me the green light to keep writing.
Next, updates may not be regular. I gotta be real with you guys- full time job, Gf, friends, you know the gist. But I'll try my absolute best to do once a week.
Last, I'm mostly considering the movies, but with some details taken from books 1-7.
In preparation of posting another chapter of this fic, I thought I'd do some revisions-mostly grammar stuff, but also including changing the narrative from present tense to simple past tense. Hopefully, it's a better read this way.
My Name Is
Harry materialized out of warped space and reality, and plummeted to the cold, muddy earth from a height that caused his delicate organs to jerk. The impact wreaked havoc on his already-fried nerves, but that was nothing compared to the burning pain in his eyes and head. The sudden invasion of normal daylight felt like fire to Harry's sensitive eyes, who had not seen light in decades of living in a torture cell on the lowest level of Azkaban prison. Even with his eyes tightly shut, the light was too much to bear. Harry shifted his weak body, trying to shield himself from the painful glare, when he felt something wet on his back.
The dampness reminded him of his impossibly cold and pitch-black crypt of his cell, where no light entered, no wind was felt, and no sound save for his screams and the smacking of meat against stone could be heard. Decades of darkness in Azkaban prison felt nothing like this. The air was fresh instead of stale and decayed. The sun felt like fire on his fragile and sickly skin, but it was countered by the freezing wind. Harry's overwhelmed senses were proof that the horrific parasite in his skull was right…
The Horcrux of Voldemort had brought them back to the past.
Harry was too desensitized to properly take stock of his surroundings. All he knew was that the light was painful, he was in cold mud, and it felt like he was naked. His ears picked up every sound as if they were on maximum volume. Harry needed time to adjust, but more than that, he needed to make sure he was safe. There was no telling if he had actually made it back in time or if he had just managed to apparate out of the prison. As a coping method, Harry's mind absentmindedly reviewed the arithmancy of Horcrux-Voldemort's insane theory.
Harry weakly packed mud over his eyes until all he saw was spots of black and blue under his eyelids rather than the bright orange and red. As his hearing began to adjust, his mind saw no flaws in Voldemort's math. Harry knew he had to check his surroundings to verify they had indeed returned to the past, but at present, he could barely take in any sensory data. Harry wanted nothing more than to retreat from the constant agony of sensory overload when he recalled his mindscape. He withdrew into his mental refuge and immediately started to dial down his perception. Having never done it before, it took him an immeasurable amount of time, minutes or hours he couldn't say, but eventually, the blaring sounds of nature diminished, providing him with some relief.
Using his reconditioned sense of hearing, Harry's mind naturally mapped out his surroundings as accurately as possible. Little by little, grass and dirt patches formed, then trees and rocks, shrubs, many birds, a squirrel and possibly a raccoon or cat. It all shaped an image of a forest in Harry's mind, but it wasn't a dense forest. If he allowed more sounds to add to the rough mental image, he could easily make out sounds of people walking—high heels and flats on concrete—and talking, cars running, doors closing and windows opening from buildings, strollers, dogs, music, and many more sounds that told Harry he was in a metropolitan area.
Harry tried to speak, but his jaw, voice, and mouth all refused to work. From the refuge of his mindscape, he reasoned he'd be weak for some time. So, for the moment, Harry concentrated on his environment. The idea of being in the world outside of a prison cell was a challenge to stay calm and composed. The fact that he could hear people and animals was so good... it was soo... Harry's thoughts felt like they were made of tears. He could feel the swell of emotion gain strength and speed, so with practiced ease, he called on his occlumency to reign in on his overwhelming emotions.
In his mindscape—that looked like his dank cell in Azkaban—Harry called out, 'Did you hear that, you psychotic bastard?' Looking around, there was no reply. Harry wasn't sure what to make of Horcrux-Voldemort's lack of response, but what they did was unprecedented and bound to have unforeseen complications. The parasite's disappearance may be linked to that in some way.
'Maybe he's magically exhausted?' Harry questioned in his mind, though the logic of how a piece of a soul could feel tired didn't make sense. Years spent with that spiritual tumor rooted in his mind told him something either very good had happened, or it was on the loose—which would be very bad. Harry was certain that if the monster were still in his head, it would have assumed full control of his body again, eager to torture him with images of his friends being sexually violated or mercilessly killed—one of its favorite sources of amusement.
That, or mentally dueling Harry in their shared mindscape that it controlled like a God. Towards the end, Harry didn't care how impossible it was to brutally fight Horcrux-Voldemort because any opportunity to momentarily kill, maim, hurt, or even tire the monster was worth it. Of course, no matter how well Harry fought, it was all in the mental space Voldemort ruled—a place, it seemed, it no longer had dominion. Harry couldn't rule anything out, but if the parasite wasn't answering, the most likely reason was that it was gone.
Harry's theorizing was interrupted when he heard a nearby voice, seemingly right above him, say, "Well, will you look at that. She was right."
Harry immediately left his mindscape, recalling that his eyes were caked over with mud. He used the nearby sound of breathing, heartbeats, and tone of voice to quickly learn that there were two people near him, one male, the other unconfirmed. Harry panicked. He didn't know these people. It was likely they wanted to throw him back in prison, Harry reasoned, and his magic raged in panic as well.
"Oh my!" the male voice exclaimed as Harry heard shuffling away. "My, my. Oh, em, one moment, young man," the man said from a bit further away. "We mean you no harm! I repeat, we mean no harm, neither myself nor my wife. So long as you do not attack us, we will not attack you. You have my word."
"It's true," the female voice added in a comforting tone. "We mean you no harm."
They repeated that phrase until Harry's magic reacted less and less to his lowering sense of danger. Harry's breathing panicked, but the words turned over in his mind, simmered a moment, and suggested certain possibilities. Harry hadn't interacted with people in such a long time, replying with his actual voice sounded like crazy talk. His occlumancy had the hardest time keeping his emotions from barreling out of control and reducing him to a weeping mess. Harry desperately held back his magic from accumulating any further, and in his mind, he repeated a question, practicing until he finally asked in a croaky, broken voice, "Who...are...you?"
"My name is Nicolas," the man replied in a comforting tone. "And with me, as I've stated, is my wife, Perenelle."
"Hello," a kind voice emerged from the hazy mass of cloudy shapes in Harry's mind.
"Now, I would like to avoid distressing you further, as you've clearly been through an ordeal," Nicolas said. "So, I'd like to ask you how you want to proceed. Though, I would recommend clothes. It's not quite cold, but being in the buff can still bring a man a rather deep chill."
"Honestly," Perenelle muttered as Harry measured every word he heard and analyzed the threat level.
It was odd. The more they projected safety in their words, the higher his confusion. 'Why do they want me to drop my guard?' he asked himself. 'It can't be anything good.' Harry decided to stall and keep them talking. He asked, "'m...na'ked?" Truthfully, his nudity didn't bother him because, aside from the pain drawn by every breath, he couldn't feel anything else. Still, he needed more time and information.
"Quite," Nicolas stated. "But there's no need to feel embarrassed. I am obviously male, and Perenelle is a healer who has seen thousands of nude forms. If you consent, she can examine you with diagnostic spells. Nothing invasive, of course. You have my word."
The thought of them having wands while he was literally bare filled Harry with steady dread. 'Of course, they would have wands!' He mentally chastised himself for not thinking of something so simple. Not only was it pointless now, but he had no way of defending himself against a witch and a wizard. 'Why hadn't they used their wands against him?' his mind questioned and immediately formulated theories that ranged from rational to outlandish. Assuming the simplest theory was the preferred explanation for an unknown phenomenon, Harry had to believe they actually meant him no harm. But trust was too far a leap for him to make. The only test that would reveal the situation for what it was came out of his croaky, unused voice.
The silence was deafening, but less than a moment later, Nicolas said, "Certainly.' The sliding noise of a wand exiting its holster terrified Harry's magic into briefly flaring, but he tapered it down. He could hear Perenelle move a step forward before saying, "On my magic, I swear to do no harm, intentionally induce pain of any sort, or take advantage of the young man before me in any way he disapproves as I examine him for injuries." A faint thickness seemed to warm the air a moment before disappearing.
Harry tilted his head in the direction of Nicolas' sounds, and a moment later, he too removed his wand and stated his intentions clearly before swearing on his magic. It calmed Harry down dramatically, but not completely. After all, they could've been waving around a regular branch, for all he knew.
"As I've said," Perenelle began. "I will only be using diagnostic spells. Afterward, we can discuss some more about what you'd like to do."
Harry briefly felt a faint and foreign warmth wash over and through him, like stepping out into warm sunlight. While she did her spell, Harry asked, "Why...are you...here?"
"That is a story best left for another time," Perenelle chimed in, her tone very perturbed. "He's incredibly weak. Young man, it won't do your condition any good to hear anything remotely alarming or even mildly stressful. Can you tell me your name? If you like, a nickname is fine."
"...Hedwig," Harry eventually, though, weakly answered.
"Very good name," Perenelle softly complimented.
"Old high German, if I recall correctly," Nicolas added in an attempt to fill the space with conversation. "My old German is quite rusty, I'm afraid. But I believe Hedwig is broken down to two elements: Hed; combat or battle, and Wig; fight or duel."
"You remember Eleonora?" Perenelle asked almost too cheerfully, also assisting in expanding the soothing effect of conversation despite the seriousness of the situation.
"I'd hardly forget the queen of Sweden," Nicolas said before raising his voice in a clear apologetic voice at the speculative eye of his wife. "Not because she was attractive. You have to admit she was a dominating figure. I'd remember her regardless of how she looked."
"Mnhm," Perenelle hummed. Despite the small break, she finished her examination and stated as much. "Young man- Hedwig, I must say... I can hardly understand how you're conscious at the moment. Your condition closely resembles a state of stasis similar to a corpse. Your heart is hardly beating and erratic, you have low blood pressure, you have hypothermia, severe muscular atrophy, bones so weak I thought my diagnostic spell might break them, magical imbalance, and... well, I could go on, but it's a whole host of other ailments."
"I'd also like to know why you have mud on your eyes," Nicolas added, hoping some humor might alleviate the grave atmosphere. "Truthfully, I have a multitude of questions I'd metaphorically die for answers to. However, before we can get to that, we need to restore you to proper health. Hedwig, if we swear to help you regain your strength, will you consent to hospice care in our home?"
Wandless and naked as he was, everyone present knew full well there was little he could do in his condition, yet they asked. As abnormal as they were, Harry had to trust that there was nothing of value for them to hatch an elaborate plan like this in order to manipulate him back into his cell. Though before he agreed, Harry asked, "Wha'... year... s'this?"
"Interesting," Nicolas muttered while Perenelle answered, "1994. June of 94."
'Fourth year,' Harry's mind realized.
They missed. Horcrux-Voldemort calculated for the end of third year, but they were in the beginning of fourth year. The World Cup hadn't happened yet, nor had the Tri-Wizard fiasco. Barty Crouch Jr. impersonating Moody, Cedric's murder, the parasite finally getting a body. Now that it seemed he had complete control of his body, Harry had to stop all of that from happening. His overwhelming need to be ready for it and prevent the deaths of his loved ones had him nodding to Nicolas' offer of assistance. They promptly made their detailed oaths to do him no harm. He knew it was a magical bond when, oddly enough, he faintly felt their magic.
They told him everything they were going to do before they did it, and though it scared him to place himself in the hand of strangers, he had to continuously remind himself the oath was binding. Additionally, this was to kill that bastard, and he had no other choice. Harry didn't return to his mindscape. He instead prioritized his mind, body, and magic to healing. He felt great stretches of blackness between moments of consciousness, but with every moment of lucidity, he felt ever stronger than before.
Harry woke up in the familiar room at Nicolas and Perenelle's home. For the first time since they brought him there, he didn't feel the need to go back to sleep. He felt strong enough to move, even run. However, instead of getting up, he entered his mindscape, which was still his dark, damp cell. He approached a dark gray brick, which he knew represented his body. Placing his palm on the surface, Harry analyzed and enhanced his body's natural recuperation with his magic. He found that his body was healing unexpectedly faster than usual. Although he could do more with his mindscape, he heard the sound of a door opening.
As he returned to reality, Harry saw Perenelle entering the darkened room. She greeted him with a "Good morning," and performed quick diagnostic charms on his body. Harry had an easier time sensing magic now compared to when they first found him. He couldn't recall ever having such sensitivity to magic, which led him to develop more theories about this new world or what Horcrux-Voldemort did to his body.
"I'm ready to talk," Harry announced, feeling less strained than before. Nodding, Perenelle examined him before leaving the room. She returned shortly with Nicolas, and they sat in chairs beside Harry's bed.
Harry had thought about dozens of scenarios, probabilities, and dangerous topics to avoid in his mindscape. His ultimate goal was to kill Voldemort, so he saw every moment as either an opportunity or a setback. He analyzed every possibility, whether with or without help, to achieve his goal in the most efficient way possible. However, excluding assistance of any kind, going alone always had the worst chance of success.
Harry didn't plan to take just anyone with him, but he thought keeping a small and talented network of assistants would be the best case scenario. Depending on how they answered his questions, he might not consider any further help from them, and thus, he began with an easy test topic.
"You're Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel," Harry stated with absolute certainty.
He couldn't remember when they'd first found him, but when he regained his strength, he recalled their heads on the wall of decapitations that Voldemort used to taunt and torment him during his confinement. He remembered Voldemort expressing indignation over his immortality being challenged by the 'Immortal Alchemist.' For more than one immortal to exist was a personal slight to the dark monster. Additionally, the Nicolas of his world refused to give Voldemort his remaining philosopher's stones or the recipe to create it. So the Dark Lord butchered them, and mounted their heads on the wall of Harry's first cell, along with the collection of his friends and family.
The Horcrux lodged within Harry's head postulated that Voldemort had found either the recipe or the stone, which reduced the need to depend solely on Horcruxes, thus forcing the Harry and the Horcrux in his scar into imprisonment. In a way, it was very possible that Nicolas's stone ultimately led to Harry's travel into the past, to then be found by the very man. That seemed far too fortuitous for coincidence, and Harry reasoned that there was something missing.
"Seen my head on a chocolate frog card, have you?" Nicolas easily stated with a smile.
"Something like that," Harry responded in an ominous tone. The room wasn't completely dark. They had been adjusting the lighting little by little, so Harry could get accustomed to it. But it was still dark enough that his response seemed darker, changing the room's impression to something more grim. "How did you find me?" Harry asked—one of his many questions.
Nicolas began, "That's an interesting tale, actually," seemingly brushing away some of the haunting feeling. "As you know our identity, you may also be aware of why we're famous. Even now, coursing through your veins is the famed 'Elixir of Life'," he said, wiggling his fingers sarcastically.
"How I loathe that label," Perenelle groaned with a small hint of irritation. "I'll never forgive that oaf Guillard for betraying our trust."
"Can you blame him?" Nicolas posed to his wife. "We did tell him we were nearing 500 years of age."
The mention of their elixir made Harry come to the realization that was why he was healing much faster than he should've. It didn't seem like the elusive and reclusive couple would go around dosing complete strangers with the famed Elixir of Life. There was no way they could be sure it would be for the betterment of the world. If, for example, they had come across a young Tom Riddle and gave him the Elixir on a whim, they could've helped destroy the future that much faster.
"You wouldn't have given me your Elixir of Immortality so easily," Harry said with some certainty. "My recovery is the only thing that feels different."
Nicolas and Perenelle shared a look of surprise before the older man turned to Harry. "May I have your word that you will not reveal what we share with you to anyone; for profit or recognition of any kind?" Harry nodded easily. He may not know the exact avenues of his immediate plans, but he knew his goals were nowhere near as self-serving as immortality or money.
"It's quite surprising and very perceptive of you to note your recovery. Yes, the 'Elixir of Life' is exaggerated by uneducated rabble... well, to a degree. While it's true the reason Perenelle and I have lived for so long is due to the Elixir, it is not a perpetual remedy. We take it twice a week to continue prolonged life."
"And as you can see, it doesn't make us younger," Perenelle added wistfully. "But it does help our bodies perform to ideal levels. Your condition was as systemic as it was cataclysmic. It wouldn't be a leap to say you were dead for several months before slowly starting to come back to life. As something of a medical professional, your injuries were so extensive—and keeping in mind it's not a permanent remedy—I deemed the Elixir to be the best course of treatment for you, or else we would not have given it to you."
It seemed to Harry that the older couple were hoping he might elaborate on the circumstances of his condition, but he only nodded. When it seemed Harry wouldn't shed any light on the events that led him to his near-death-like state, Nicolas continued.
"So, in the expanse of our time circling the globe, we've seen it all, I'd say. Or heard about something remarkable. Oh, the tales we could tell. The rise and fall of great kingdoms, and in this case, a plethora of characters met along the way. Some were very good, truly heroes of their time. Some, not many, but enough, were quite evil—the 'chaos for chaos' sake' types. But for the most part, everyone was normal. There have been a few special cases. Talented witches and wizards, such as Merlin or the Founders—of Hogwarts, that is—King Oberon, Merwyn the Malicious—"
"Vindictive troll," Perenelle muttered, but was easily heard.
"Herpo the Foul," Nicolas continued, smiling at his wife. "Some of our encounters were with experts in the unconventional practice of divination; Nostradamus, or in this case, the witch that has led us to you, Cassandra Lufugōd."
"Poor girl," Perenelle chimed in sorrow.
Nicolas estimated, "Poor family, more like it." Observing Harry's quiet and curious demeanor, Nicolas continued to explain, "We came across her plight during our travels in Greece. While most seers are born with their ability, Cassandra's ability was the result of a curse placed upon her by something wickedly powerful. We never learned who or what did such a thing, but for the rest of her days, she was cursed to foresee only the bloodiest, most tragic acts of wanton destruction perpetrated by vile and evil men. Naturally, we tried our very best to help the poor girl."
"Even in constant despair, she tried to stop what she could," Perenelle picked up the explanation from her husband. "And we like to think she was successful, but being unable to see positive outcomes, she couldn't ever know for sure if she, in fact, made a difference. What's worse is the curse continues throughout her family line—though only among daughters, if I remember correctly."
"Well, it has weakened," Nicolas added. "We were able to examine a descendant and found it's much weaker now than it was in Cassandra."
"The Lovegoods, I believe their surname has evolved to," Perenelle noted as a matter of fact.
Harry couldn't help but recall memories of being forced to witness his blonde friend's brutal rape and murder before her head was mounted on the wall beside his other friends. Despite his healthy body and clear memory, his spirit was in agony, and his magic responded, like a light blaze within him. Unexpectedly, his body was a poor container for his rage-induced magic, and a flash formed erratically and repeatedly, floating objects, splintering the wood of the bed frame, and blasting window panes.
"Hedwig!" Perenelle called out as Nicolas pulled his wife away before the surge became life-threatening. "What's the matter?! Please calm down! Hedwig!"
"This is a safe place!" Nicolas yelled, trying to shield himself and his wife from all the debris flying around the room. "You're safe here!"
As angry as he was, he could still hear their words, like a distant echo. Harry quickly called on his occlumency to calm down. Almost immediately, the flaring of erratic magic subsided, and everything calmed. After a moment of awkward silence, Harry muttered, "Sorry."
Nicolas regarded the green-eyed boy carefully, nodding, and began replacing or repairing the scattered furnishings of the room. Perenelle moved to Harry to check him over for any injuries or abnormalities. Seemingly content, she lowered her wand around the same time Nicolas finished restoring the room. "You seem to be as normal as any 13-year-old," she stated officially.
"I don't know about that," Nicolas chimed in. "I can't say I've ever come across any children—let alone adults—capable of doing whatever that was. It seemed like a cross between accidental magic and a magical force similar to an Obscurus."
"There isn't any trace of foul magic like that in him," Perenelle remarked. "As unlikely as it is, that was his magic."
"Can you stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Harry asked, preferring to move past this. Truth be told, he was a little embarrassed at having lost control like that. However, he certainly wasn't expecting to hear about Luna's family. The surprise and the sudden flashes of painful memories were something he would have to be more careful with in the future. There was no telling what other triggers he might come across. "So, can I assume Cassandra mentioned me in one of her premonitions?"
Setting their seats in place beside Harry's bed, Nicolas nodded, "Yes. Her only premonition to us. While we were attempting to remove the curse, she told us to be at a Lilly Hill park in Brecknill, UK, June 13th year 94, if we wanted to avoid certain travesties. We may not have taken her seriously but for the fact we never told her we were essentially immortal. That she knew, without being told, gave her the credibility for us to act on her instruction. And low and behold," he gestured at Harry with both hands.
"Can you imagine?" Perenelle asked. "The United Kingdom hadn't even formed until the early 1700's! How could we not take her seriously?"
It was a little jarring to think that an ancestor of Luna's from the distant past would help him on his return from the bleak future. The other nugget tugging at Harry's mind was Lilly Hill park. Harry dove into his Horcrux-Voldemort enhanced, perfect recall, to his childhood with the Dursleys. That park was one of the larger nearby parklands he used to pass on his way to primary school. Why would he return there, and not in his cell in Azkaban?
Sifting through the memories of his youth, Harry noticed there were a set of similar or different occurring memories from the age of four to seven, like images with minor changes. Observing one pair of memories of the same day and event—the day he received his first black eye—he noted that it happened differently. One memory was how he knew it happened in his past-past, while the returned-past was more severe and was administered by a fist from Vernon instead of Dudley, like he remembered.
'One event with two memories,' he bemused in his mind. 'Two different experiences of the same moment in time.'
The Horcrux-Voldemort had postulated that it was possible for a ripple to form upon breaking through the past, which could extend throughout the fabric of space and time, and affect past events differently by a small margin or not at all. That was why the parasite had been so meticulous with his arithmancy. It didn't want to change past events more than would be to its benefit. The numbers, magic, and runes had to be perfect to keep the ripple as small as possible.
That was the only reason Horcrux-Voldemort needed Harry's cooperation. The energy required was astronomical. Not only did they have to remove the magical limiters from his mind, but the parasite would be forced to use the decades of ambient magic soaked in the wards and structure of Azkaban. Otherwise, they couldn't have done it. Harry knew he would need to spend a lot of time going over this slightly altered history.
Harry's deep dive into his memories was interrupted when Perenelle spoke up. "Mr. Hedwig," Perenelle started and continued when Harry opened his eyes. "By helping you, we were hoping you might shed some light on what those travesties we might be avoiding are ."
"We can tell you are... quite a guarded person," Nicolas took over. "And normally we would not pry, but we're almost certain this involves my wife and I. If you can place yourself in our position and imagine, we've come and gone in the affairs of man and wizards for hundreds of years. We've witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, of dark lords, and short-lived peace without the need for much intervention. Having seen and been through so much… What could Cassandra have seen that might make this future so devastating that we would need to be involved? The only outcome that would make the most sense to a couple of immortals is their demise."
"It's why we feel it's in our interest to help you, if we can," Perenelle interjected. "If you need a sworn oath to hold true all you share with us, I am willing to do so."
Harry took a moment for thought before looking at Nicolas for a similar pledge. Understanding what his eyes were asking, Nicolas said, "I would like to make a similar oath. I truly would, but I cannot be certain my silence will aid or hurt us and others in unforeseen ways. You can be a dark lord for all I know."
Harry stamped on his rage with his occlumancy before it could even spark his magic to frantic life. He couldn't exactly blame Nicolas. That was a rational precaution.
"That may leave us in a bit of a conundrum, I think," Nicolas continued. "You may not be willing to share what you know without my oath, and I will not give that oath without knowing more about what you're unwilling to share."
It certainly seemed like a catch 22, but Harry could be sure of one thing, no matter the oath. "I am no dark lord," he said with utter disgust. "Nor will I ever allow myself to come close to being regarded as one. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that my entire existence is for the sole purpose of dismantling and utterly destroying... self-proclaimed dark lords."
The vitriol in his tone alone was more than enough to tell the Flamels that this young man was deathly serious. But the killing-green light illuminating from his angered eyes was the exclamation point of legitimacy. The couple shared a look of concern, then a look of curiosity, and finally acceptance before returning their focus on Harry.
"If you can swear that to us, I'll feel safe in swearing silence on anything you tell us now and in this room," Nicolas said, and Perenelle seemed unified on this, but Harry wasn't sure how much he wanted to say.
They seemed honest in their intentions and they did help him regain his strength without asking for much in return, but was that enough reason to tell them the truth? Harry's mind quickly analyzed the pros and cons of the critical decision before him. Not telling them didn't mean he couldn't do what would need to be done to eliminate Voldemort. The con there was it would take longer, as he'd already learned through simulated scenarios. But if taking longer was the best way, shouldn't he follow that path?
'No,' his mind easily answered.
There was nothing to stop Voldemort from his eventual return because everyone did nothing. In Dumbledore's case, he prepared a child for martyrdom that still ended up failing. Destroying the snake was Harry's sole focus and attention, but he had to consider what telling others about the future might do to change an already bastardized past into something worse.
In either case, telling them might be helpful in ways he hadn't yet considered. Not to mention, they've lived for centuries, so if anyone on the entire planet could handle the responsibility of such a secret, it was the Flamels. They were recluse, observant, intelligent enough to reason, and they promised magically binding oaths.
With his answer, Harry took a deep breath and said, "I can't promise to tell you everything, but I'll say enough for you to grasp the entire situation."
The couple shared a look and with a nod, Nicolas said, "I think that'll be fine."
Nodding, he replied, "First, my name isn't Hedwig. It's Harry."