Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter
AN: By the way…umm… this will be VERY fast paced. Yeah.
Chapter 2 of Time and Fate
Harry glanced about nervously as he stepped off the knight bus just a few blocks down from Godric's Hollow. He knew he needed to act fast. Rain began to descend from the cloudy night as Harry picked up his pace. His hand-me-down sneakers served as little protection as he splashed through puddles forming on the asphalt. Fog came up every time he exhaled and his now saturated socks left his toes numb with cold. Thankfully, Harry knew what he was doing. He knew where he was going. He'd checked a map before leaving. He knew where his old home was. He had everything under control. Everything was planned out to perfection. After he reached his house, he would take care of Voldemort. Yes, kill him. Simple enough. He was, after all, only the most powerful wizard in a century, Slytherin's heir, and leader of a terrorist organization.
That, believe it or not, had not been Harry's original plan. His first thought had been to simply warn the Potters of the attack tonight and of Peter's lack of loyalty. But there were a few problems with this plan. Harry had some doubts that the Potters would believe a random stranger running into their hideout, spouting that they'd been betrayed by one of their closest friends. Hmmmm… Raving lunatic/possible Death Eater or my one year old son come from the future to warn me someone I've trusted since I was eleven is about to betray me. Harry knew which one he'd pick.
The other problem is that there would be no guarantee that Voldemort wouldn't find a way to kill the Potters at a latter date. This would be something of a draw back for Harry.
That left the question of how to kill Voldemort. After much internal debate, Harry had smuggled his uncles had gun from it's locked drawer. It was fast, lethal, easy to use and- Harry felt a small smirk of satisfaction form on his lips- DELICIOUSLY ironic. Imagine the look on the face of Malfoy Sr. and all his Death Eater buddies when they discover their master was killed by a nine millimeter hunk of lead.
Harry came to an abrupt halt before Godric's Hollow. The house was unremarkable in and of it's self. The red brick structure was admirably sturdy, and a few rose gardens decorating the lawn were lovely, if modest, decorations to the house. What Harry found stunning about the house was the love he could almost feel blossoming from the home. This was a home, not a housing facility of the type he saw to often on his own street. This place radiated warmth, love, and joy as opposed to the plain, identical, normal, boxes he grew up in. Harry felt his heart lurch in longing.
The boy shook his head violently. Just do this right, Potter. Harry cast a disillusionment charm on himself and hunkered down in the bushes to wait.
About an hour passed and still nothing happened. Harry squirmed in his spot, shook his arms a bit to get his blood circulating again, and shifted to wait longer when a sudden crack announced the arrival of what he'd been waiting for. Harry peered out of the bushes.
The first thing that Harry noticed about the figure moving slowly toward the house was the grace and fluid like way with which the person moved. The strides were smooth, purposeful. The head was erect, the back straight, and the eyes focused on a single intent. Harry grinned. It seemed Voldemort had a tendency to lapse into tunnel vision in moments he felt assured of victory. That mistake was about to cost him his life.
Harry leveled his nine millimeter at Voldemort's head. This was going to feel good. His finger slipped into the trigger guard and began to slowly squeeze the trigger. He'd read somewhere, damned if he could remember just where, not to jerk his finger against the trigger but to gradually add pressure. He only had one shot. Better make it count. Time to die, Tommy.
A sudden weight tackled him to the ground. A muffled voice on him whispered the silencing charm, disabling him from crying out a warning to the people inside the house of their impending doom. No! Harry struggled frantically at the arms pinning him to the ground. Inside, he could hear a man yell.
"Lily, take Harry and run!" Green light flashed in the darkness.
His father. HIS FATHER! Harry thrashed, his mind in a frenzy. His thoughts were a jumble. His father was dead. Tears of anguish leaked at the corners of his eyes. With a silent scream of rage, Harry lashed out. His head connected with a face and the hold on him was removed. Harry struggled to his feet and ran towards the house.
Inside Harry heard his mother begging for his life. Harry reached the porch, leaping onto it… then tumbling to the ground as his limbs seized up in a body bind. Laying helpless on the threshold, he could only watch helplessly as green light once again filled the night.
Harry's vision swam. Spittle flowed from his mouth and rage and sorrow shook his body. Then, the world came apart.
Harry dragged himself off the ground. The magical backlash from Voldemort's disembodiment had torn apart the body binding spell.
The bodies of his parents lay out before him in the ruins of a home. Harry stared a the prone form of his father. James Richard Potter. This man had loved him. This man had been proud of him. This man was going to raise Harry up to be brave, strong, and confident. Hopefully, to be a prankster. This dream had been shattered, rent to pieces by fate.
His gaze shifted to his mother. Harry's legs gave out from under him and he went to his knees. Lily Evans Potter. Harry raised a shaky hand to her face, and rested it there, feeling the heat leaving her skin. A sob escaped his lips. This woman had loved him. This woman had cherished him. Cherished the breath in his lungs. Cherished the life in his eyes. This woman was going to raise Harry up to be wise, compassionate, intelligent. Hopefully, to be a bookworm. This dream had been shattered, rent to pieces by fate.
Harry didn't know how long he'd sat there, staring at what could have been, but it couldn't have been more than ten minuets. Harry felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. Harry spun and backed away as if burned. They were all there in front of him. Eyes full of grief, remorse, and sorrow. Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. His parents murderers.
Dumbledore spoke, his voice sorrowful. "Things in life happen, Harry, that we don't understand. Terrible things that hurt us, yes, but also shape us. Suffering that makes us who we are. Pain that molds us into what we are. Sorrow that makes us wonder why we exist also often gives us reason to exist. Fate has chosen this night to be full of sorrow. But it gives us reason."
Harry could find no words. Emotions warred inside him. Powerful emotions, almost to much for his heart to bear. Acceptance was not one of them.
"It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live."
"If we have no dreams." Harry spoke in barely a whisper. "Then why live?" Harry's eyes focused. "Sorrow molds us, shapes us, hardens us, true, but dreams, not sorrow give us purpose."
"Harry…" Dumbledore began.
Harry stepped back and reached deep into his robe, removing the time turner once more. "Good-bye Dumbledore. Keep your sorrow. I'll keep my dreams."
The last thing Harry saw was Dumbledore reaching at him, then he was gone.
AN: Well, what did you think. Please tell me. I'm a little worried Harry didn't lash out enough at Dumbledore, but I like the dialog on this approach more. Give me your opinions.
The Laughing Man mocks you