“And once the storm is over you won’t remember you how made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what the storm’s all about.”
— Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
______________________________________________________________________________
James Potter knew one thing–well, he knew quite a few things, but he knew this very well. He loved mischief. Mischief is what he was born for, really. So, what else would he do when he was asked to sit and wait in Dumbledore’s office? Mischief was the only answer.
Just think of how many possibilities there were! Old Alby had to have some interesting things up here.
James held his hands behind his back and feigned basic curiosity, whistling a tune as he paced through the circular office. Already, he could see so many things that he wanted to look into. Oh, Padfoot would go crazy if he was in here. But alas, James was the one who got caught for this prank. And apparently, it required Albus Dumbledore’s discipline. But well, if James’ got his hands on something here it was their fault for leaving him alone, really.
James walked up to one of the many shelves that lined the walls, leaning to peer closer at the myriads of objects. There was some type of floating quill, a glass bowl filled with –are those lemon drops? – some sort of glowing crystal, and, oh holy merlin, that was a time turner.
James had only briefly read about those. He thought they didn’t actually exist. As he gingerly lifted the golden necklace, he heard his beloved Lily’s voice in his head.
I sure hope they don’t truly exist. As marvelous as it is, messing with time can greatly screw things up.
James took her words to heart, really, he did, but would Dumbledore keep something so dangerous in his office? And in such easy reach? Surely it wasn’t that bad.
James gently lowered the necklace over his head and held the small golden hourglass in his palm. It was simply curiosity that had him turning it. Curiosity and the desire for mischief. Why James turned it twenty times, he’ll never know. Maybe it was divine intervention. Maybe it was just instinct. Maybe it was simple coincidence.
But those twenty turns suddenly sent his world spinning, pulling, tugging, until it felt like his heart was dropping from his chest and switching places with his stomach. Seconds that felt like years passed and then James was stumbling forward, his hands dropping to his knees as he heaved for breath. James thumped his own chest with his fist as he fought for air.
“Are–are you alright?”
James cleared his throat and rose to his full height before looking around for the source of the voice. His eyes fell upon a boy that stood quite a few inches shorter than him with eyes he knew like the back of hand. The boy had James’ dark skin and wild brown curls. But those eyes… those were Lily’s eyes, and they were wide with shock. James’ own eyes widened, and he stumbled back. He cleared his throat, taking in the dried blood and gashes all over the other boy.
“Yeah, I- I’m alright. I think I should be asking you that, mate.” James took a hesitant step closer and stopped when the other boy flinched. He cleared his throat again. “Are you? Alright, I mean.”
He gave a depressed chuckle and looked around. “As alright as one could be in this situation, I suppose.” James followed the boys lead and looked around. That’s when he realized that the once opulent office was reduced to rubble. One of the walls was collapsed and he looked out in shock to see that half of Hogwarts was completely and utterly destroyed. All of the air that James just inhaled left his lungs in a rush.
“Holy Merlin, what happened?”
The boy looked back to him. Well, James figured boy wasn’t the proper term. They looked to be around the same age.
His green eyes were dull as he responded, “A war.” He made a weird nose in between a sob and a chuckle. “A war that apparently made me crazy because you look exactly like my dad.” James rose a brow but figured this was a conversation best had sitting down. So, he found a pretty hefty chunk of rock and took a seat. He gestured for the boy to do the same.
“Well, who’s your dad? Maybe I know him.” James gave him a cheeky wink that had him simply staring at him strangely. “And by the way, what’s your name?”
That had the boy’s eyes widening once more. Reluctantly, he took a seat. “My name is Harry. And my father was James. James Potter.”
Well, that answered his question. This was his son. And he looked more traumatized than James ever wanted him to look. There was no way he would let his son fight in a war. It was stupid, really. To even fathom the idea of people his age or younger fighting.
But then his brain processed the sentence.
“Was?”
The boy, Harry, looked away. There was a sadness in his eyes that seemed to punch James in the gut. “He died when I was one.”
James’ mouth dropped. “What? That’s– I’m so sorry, Harry.” James simply had no other words. How does one even face the knowledge of their own upcoming death? How does one comfort the child he’ll never get a chance to know?
Harry made another weak sounding laugh, “Yeah, me too.”
“How old are you now?”
“17.”
Merlin, Harry was James’ age. And he’s fought in a war. Maybe won it, by the looks of it.
“What about your mom?”
“She died, too. She saved me, actually.”
And that was his heart being torn up. Ripped into shreds, actually. Because James couldn’t imagine himself with anyone other than Lily, and Harry had her eyes. Which meant she would die too.
Harry continued, “They both died the same night. It was on Halloween.” Well, his heart simply no longer existed. His heart was torn up into tiny pieces and scattered onto the winds like ash. Before James could process, or think up something to say, Harry turned back to him. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Tell me whatever you need to.”
“But who are you?”
James swallowed hard. Desperation to tell him who he was, to walk over and wrap Harry in his arms and tell him he’ll protect him, tried to drag him under like a raging current. But something told James that he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t say a word. Let Harry believe he was some figment of his imagination, because the thought of Harry facing the fact that he told his own father about his future death was even more devastating. “Does it matter who or what I am?” James shrugged and pulled up that mask of jokes and mischief and joy. He rested his head on his palms, his elbows resting on his knees, as he leaned toward Harry. “Say what’s on your mind.”
It was like whatever force was holding Harry up severed and his knees buckled beneath him. James was too slow to catch him and Harry landed on the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest and James figured the best option was to mirror his position.
Harry held his head in his hands and James waited.
“I hate it, I think.” James feared for a moment that Harry would stay quiet, his gut in his throat as the silence fell. But then Harry continued, “I hate that I lived.”
James furrowed his brow as he watched Harry curl into himself. “The battle has only been over for a few hours, and I already hate that I lived.” He turned his bright green eyes to focus on James and the silver that lined them had James’ own throat tightening. “There’s so much loss. And I don’t know how I can live with it.” James gripped onto his knees so hard that it hurt.
“Harry…”
“I was meant to die, you know? I went willingly, too. I knew that Voldemort was going to kill me. And when he pointed his wand,” Harry lifted his own hand, “And he said the words, I was ready. I said my goodbyes. I was prepared. And I was so… tired.” Harry wiped at his face, dried flakes of blood coming off of his cheeks. But the tears in his eyes didn’t fall. “I was so tired.”
“Tired of what?” James nearly regretted the words as they fell from his mouth.
“Everything. Of waking up and having to light my wand to remind myself I’m not trapped in my aunt’s cupboard, of spending day after day waiting for when Voldemort would come after me. Of knowing that had it not been for me, my parents would be alive. And Merlin knows-”
“No.”
Harry’s head snapped toward James. “What?”
“I mean, no. It is not your fault that your parents are dead.”
“Yes, it is.” Harry said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I was a part of the prophecy; I was why they went into hiding; they died protecting me.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t have to.” Harry reared back as if struck. “Your parents could have handed you over. They could have given up, gave in.”
Harry’s shocked look morphed into a glare. “Don’t talk about my parents that way.”
“Then don’t blame yourself for their choices.” James rose a brow and waited for the return argument. Harry said nothing. “Your parents were given the facts; what they did with them is their own choice. Not yours.”
At this, Harry’s eyes welled once more, and he turned his face away. “What do you know?”
“Not much, but I know that. Other people’s choices are not your responsibility.”
Harry curled into himself even more and his shoulder’s started to shake. James hesitantly laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He let him have a few minutes of silence. Moments passed before Harry raised his head and wiped at his face, keeping his eyes averted from James. “I don’t– I don’t know what to do.” James waited, not yet removing his hand. “I don’t know how to live without them. I already lost my parents, Sirius– and now Remus. Fred is dead, too, and I can’t help but hold their deaths on my shoulders. Maybe if I had defeated Voldemort sooner then–”
James squeezed Harry’s shoulder, “Harry, you’re seventeen.” So fucking young. “You’re a still a kid. None of this should have been your responsibility.”
Sirius. Remus. James could face that grief later. That knowledge that Harry has lost everyone, except maybe Peter, was tearing James apart. “Harry, you were put into something out of your control, and you did the best that you could. That’s all you need to do.”
“But what do I do now?”
James gave him a shaky smile, “You just keep moving. You go by, step by step, no matter how small those steps are.” Harry’s head bowed and James’ grip on his shoulder tightened. “Just keep going, Harry. Keep moving.”
James didn’t get a chance to say anything else as his hands started to flicker out of view. Harry looked up, his brow creased in concern.
“What’s happening?”
“I’m sorry, Harry. It seems I’m heading back to my own time.” The words slipped before he could stop them, and he felt his heart drop as Harry’s eyes widened.
“Dad?” The pure unadulterated grief in that single syllable had tears welling in James’ eyes.
“Don’t worry, Harry. You’ll make it through this, alright?”
James’ whole body flickered out of view. Harry scrambled forward, throwing his arms around James’ shoulders. James gripped him back, holding on with his waning strength. “You’re strong, Harry. Just hold on.”
The sound of his following sob ripped through James and he knew it would haunt him. He felt that tugging in his stomach and knew he didn’t have much time left. “I love you, Harry.” Because that was love that James was already feeling. Love for the son he’d one day have. Love for the son that he wanted to save from the anguish that filled his features.
James didn’t get to say anything else as the world went in and out of focus, and he was tugged right through time.
He landed on his knees in Dumbledore’s once more opulent office. The man himself was seated in the chair behind the desk, the light blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles sparkling.
“Did you have a pleasant time in the future, James?”
James just curled into himself and sobbed.