Wuthering Heights

"You're acting kind of off," Ron said over the bustling noises in the bar.

Did he? Harry frowned. He doesn't recall being out of the ordinary.

"You're like, forgetting a bunch of stuff. And Ginny and 'Mione are worried. You know how they are."

Harry just huffed a sigh. He and Ron were in a muggle bar, a bar that definitely has been visited by them often, trying to avoid the press.

When the war finally ended, everyone was after Harry. He did kill the darkest wizard of all time, didn’t he? While he was only seventeen too. His birthday was months away by that time.

He had already applied to an auror training program and as stuck up as it sounds, he knew that out of everyone who participated in the wizarding war, Harry was guaranteed to be accepted.

Everything felt surreal. Harry had spent years of his life surviving, worrying, and being careful. Suddenly the world went quiet. It was uncomfortably peaceful. 

The forgetting that Ron was so concerned about kept following him everywhere. When he entered the training program, when he became an auror, it was like the world was after him.

Even after the many screwups, the most Harry got was a reprimand. They couldn't fire Harry, not after all of those years of the war, a veteran by the age of seventeen. They couldn't fire the Harry Potter.

From themoment he entered the wizarding world, a place Harry dreamed of as an escape from his miserable life with the Durselys, death trailed him. It craved for him. It desired him. Fame, danger, loss. It was around Harry at all times.

He thought… He thought if he did what he deemed was the 'right thing,' he could leave it all behind, in peace. Be happy.

Sure, it was perfect. He had a lovely girlfriend, an engagement ring hidden in a drawer of the messiness of his room, a striving career and his friends.

He loved everyone in his life. He truly did. But as time went on, everyone just left his grasp, and he could not recall why.

He could not recall anything at all.

Suddenly he was alone.

And he dreamt.

He dreamt of the war, often waking up in a cold sweat, yet nobody to confide in. He dreamt of the cupboard under the stairs, the sawdust putting him in a coughing fit as Dudley relentlessly stomped on the stairs to annoy him. He dreamt of his loved ones, whose faces he could not remember, just their laughter and the nostalgia. He dreamt of dropping his sandwich on his way to Potions; he dreamt of the mundane.

Then he dreamt of him.

At first, it was just the memories flooding in. The 16-year-old boy, who had somehow able to fit a part of his soul in a humble diary, in the chamber of secrets, sneering at him.

He did not notice Ginny in those dreams. After all, he could not remember her face anymore.

However, his face was as clear as day.

Harry desperately tried to reach his hand and touch the only face he could see. He craved for his past—he suddenly missed the war, the struggles, the fame. He missed everything.

He wished he was dead. But that wasn't possible.

He then dreamt of the memories in the Pensieve—the familiar face, carefully and charismatically getting information out of a potions professor Harry struggled to remember the name of. But he was now used to forgetting everything at this point. Except his face.

What did this mean? Harry hadn't thought of this man in years. He was so ready to move on from this point. But he was apart of Harry's past, a part of his life, as Harry was a part of him.

Then it was just him. Alone with Harry, in an unfamiliar place. His face being the only thing Harry recognized. The only thing he wanted to see. He did not care for anything else anymore.

He would vary. From a young, unknowing boy from the orphanage to the teenage student Harry was all too familiar with to the scary monster he turned out to be.

Harry loved—wanted—it all.

Eventually Harry dreamt of Death.

How does one explain what Death looks like? Death is a figure, a being, a concept, a piece of living flesh... it is everything. And everywhere. It has been following Harry for as long as he could remember. And he meets death in his mind for the first time of many.

Death is near, but never there. Death is something that will never attack Harry; just silently watch as the Boy Who Lived slowly detrioritates into a piece of living, rotting flesh.

He has to go back. He needs to go back. He needs his humanity back. Harry needs to see him to feel whole again. His last thread.

So he did. But he forgot.

***

By the time Harry sent Tom Riddle out to Hogwarts, that was when Harry properly remembered why he was here in the first place. But for some reason he felt split. Probably because he doesn't belong in this timeline, he supposed.

Spending many days alone, working and living like he usually would, Harry picked up old habits from way back, way back when he had the privilege to live.

Sometimes, Harry would be frustrated with himself. Why did he let Tom Riddle into his life? Why did he take in the boy that would ruin him forever?

Harry already told himself to be warm, be nice, and treat Tom with respect and care he lacked in his youth, much like Harry himself did. But he would keep his distance. He'd be like a brother to Tom. Someone Tom could rely on and learn from. But he'd still keep away, away from Tom.

When winter break came and Harry was late, seeing Tom in such a panic, cautiously sliding his small, pale hand into Harry's own scuffed, bruised ones, he felt his sense of self fly away. He started to forget things again, and he could not hold a steady poise anymore.

Suddenly, Tom was the face that Harry saw in his dreams. The face that he was so, so desperate to hold in the palm of his hands.

Harry couldn't do that. Not yet. So he simply leaned closer to Tom and let their shoulders gently brush against eachother, wearing jumpers that reminded him of Ron, and he was at peace. His past, a past he destested, was now right beside him. And Harry was happy.

Christmas passed and Harry was at a loss. He didn't know what to get for Tom's birthday; it was on the upcoming 31st. Tom was also telling Harry of things he has no recollection of doing. He did not remember asking 'especially' Tom to call him by his first name just.

Harry, although on a mission to free himself (of what was remaining)  and change the future, was also somehow vicariously living a life he wished he had through Tom's gifts.

He remembers getting a gift at Hogwarts every now and then, but the memories were too far behind for him to remember. Ironically, he remembers not getting any gifts at all during his earliest times with the Dursleys. No Christmas or birthday gift. Just glasses too broken and clothes too big—not even 'gifted' on those occasions.

He's seen Tom carry around a book, tucked carefully in his arm. He's seen Tom read it before Hogwarts too. Probably taking his time and enjoying it. The doggy ears that he saw on the edges of the pages didn't do any good.

Then Harry had an idea.

Harry had succumbed to his desire of reconnecting with something he had lost a long, long time ago. He left himself get too comfortable with Tom. So right after Christmas, Harry was immediately back on his feet. A warm guy, a nice guy, still keeping his distance, making sure Tom grows right.

It's how everything will be saved, after all.

He will get something Tom simple. Harry was too vulnerable and let himself get carried away with the jumper. No, this time, he will get Tom a humble bookmark.

"Hey Tom. Good morning!" Harry said in a bright cheer. He watched Tom come down the stairs, rubbing his eyes as the bright winter sun hit his eyes.

Tom had changed out of his pyjamas and freshened up already. Harry has taken notice that Tom had a habit of calling his nightwear 'jammies' but often corrected himself. It was crazy to think about how this boy, who still called pyjamas jammies and panicked if Harry wasn't on time or didn't act exactly as planned, was the man who changed Harry's life forever.

"I can't bake. But I can get you a cupcake on my way back home from work. How does that sound?" Harry simply smiled, stopping himself from speaking too nicely, patting Tom's head, or anything else was too gentle. What was wrong with him?

"Oh right, it's a Tuesday." Tom looked up at the calendar hanging on the wall. He simply nodded. "Do as you please."

Harry was concerned. Tom had a habit of simply not caring if it wasn't insinuated with him. Today was his birthday, but it seemed like Tom could care less.

He sighed. It was expected. Harry often had the same reaction and only started to expect to be gifted something by the time he turned fifteen. And he still wasn't used to it.

"And…" Harry pulled out a piece of paper from behind. "Happy twelfth birthday!"

It was a strip of very firm, thick paper with a white lotus pressed onto it.

Tom took the small article and stared at it. "Is this a bookmark?"

"Smart. And yeah, it is."

"How'd you get something like this? Lotuses aren't quite accessible in Britain."

Harry frowned. Tom was too calculating sometimes and only thought to ask questions.

"A thank you would be nice. And apparition can do a lot of things."

Apparition was very restrictive. It was a skill given to well-versed witches and wizards and could only travel certain distances until it affected one person physically. You also need to be able to be aware of your surroundings. But for a man like Harry Potter, who travelled through time, it wasn't so difficult. Death followed but never attacked. Apparition hasn't affected Harry negatively in a long time.

Tom coughed. almost as if it brought him into character.

"T-thank you."

Harry rolled his hands to a fist to resist the urge to reach out his hand. He smiled pleasantly again. "No problem."

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon head empty, trying to shake his mind. Day after day, he feels even more lost. He wonders if travelling back in time wasn't a good idea.

When Harry got home, the bookmark was in between the pages snugly of Tom's copy of... Wuthering Heights? Huh.

That night, Death visited him again.

What a predicament, sir. Having to go back to the man who ruined it all, just to reach for your bit of humanity, eh?

You don't know anything.

It's no biggie. Do what you want. You have all the time in the world anyway.

You took away everything from me. You took everything in my life except for me. Leave me alone.

Alright. But I just came to warn you.

Warn me?

Yes. I took everything from you. Being here means retribution on you both.

Okay.

Okay.

Alright.

Harry Potter does not belong in this timeline.

But he must change the future.

It will start with Tom Riddle.