Hireath
hiraeth (Hi-ya-ray-th);
a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the places of your past.
The silence in the room was prickling and Harry could feel the glaring eyes. The bright blue hue from the aqua water was illuminating his face, making the look of pure horror on his features dreadfully clear. Albus Dumbledore sighed wearily and sat down shakily, every second Harry didn’t answer was every second he was closer to death. Of course, Harry didn’t know this. Which is why he, if needed, planned to show him.
The bespectacled boy was already in turmoil.
The portraits were watching him, eyes wide like owls, unblinking and eerily still. Harry swallowed thickly and went through what the headmaster had told him seconds prior.
"...Harry," Albus Dumbledore whispered, hand covering his features as though he was ashamed. Good, Harry thought bitterly.
"I can't.." He choked, eyes suddenly over-bright, cheeks red and glowing. What about Hermione and Ron? What about his life now?
Just moments before Dumbledore replayed the memory of young Tom Riddle asking and prodding Slughorn for answers about Horcruxes, a memory that made Harry want to crawl into a shell until everything made sense.
Just moments before Dumbledore told him about his idea, his idea of sending Harry back in time to stop young Lord Voldemort. Just moments before had Harry been at momentarily peace. It seems it had all been ripped apart from him, torn to shreds in a new option. It was clear this was the most effective way, the most chances they had at a different outcome. Deep down Harry knew he would never have the chance of defeating Voldemort.
It was a cruel whisper that no matter what his title was, Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour of the wizarding world, he was still and always would be, Harry Potter. An insolent child.
A teenager destined to defeat a man who has had years of learning, plotting, and experience. Against him, young, pitiful, Harry Potter. How, at any time, could he defeat a dark lord?
He wanted to yell suddenly. No, scream. He wanted to scream until his throat was raw and throbbing, throw something at the man in front of him, do something. He couldn’t. He sat and watched as the memories swirled around in the white bowl. He felt tears of frustration welling.
"I understand what you are feeling Harry," No you don’t, "I understand what I am asking is a big decision, one that I understand you do not want to take, but do know Harry that I am proud of you,"
Harry felt his head snap upwards, looking the old man in the eyes. His chest hurt, he realized.
"Risks need to be taken and-" Harry suddenly stood, cutting his words off. He felt himself buzzing, as though his magic had suddenly thrummed to life.
Albus faltered in his words. Gone was the spark in his eyes, disappeared was the liveliness that he once had. Now, all that was left was a shell of the man Harry had once admired.
He looks pathetic. He is pathetic.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly.
"Why- How, how would we even-" Harry couldn’t finish, his words coming out in chunks. The headmaster seemed to understand and stood, moving to the draw behind his large, oak desk. Fawkes squawked at Harry, almost sadly. It was getting closer and closer until he erupted into flames, his appearance weak and tired.
Dumbledore brought out a chain connected to a round piece of gold, and suddenly Harry pieced together that this was a time-turner, just like the one in the third year. Except this one was larger, rougher looking as though it was pieced together.
"For a while, I have been trying to find a way to turn back time in years, instead of hours at a time." He said.
Harry watched in awe as Dumbledore placed the necklace in his hand, the coldness made him have to fight off the urge to curl his hand. Dumbledore watched him closely as he looked at the detailed engravings. It didn’t occur to him why Dumbledore would have the thought of a time-turner, especially one that would take him so far back.
"It will take you as far as you want, Harry. Changing the past, however, is no easy feat. Tom Riddle in his adolescence had everyone fooled by the end of his third year. Charming in a way that no normal person could and should be."
"Riddle was not a normal person though sir?"
"Indeed Harry. This is why I am entrusting this with you, this will not be simple I’m afraid. Tom Riddle was not one to bend at anyone’s whim, he was perfect." Dumbledore whispered gravely. "It is my greatest regret that I did not concern others with my thoughts, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He had the whole of Hogwarts wrapped around his fingers, not a single soul would have guessed the darkness that pooled around him."
Harry listened with rapt attention, ignoring the sick feeling creeping up on him.
"I am not entirely sure of the consequences of going back in time as far as I am planning on sending you."
"How do I know it won’t just send me to a completely different time?"
Dumbledore looked him in the eye, "Faith."
Harry scoffed internally. Faith, what a silly thing.
"You must trust me, Harry. Trust me to aid you."
Dumbledore met his eyes again and Harry sucked in a breath at the electric blue of his eyes.
"The question now, Harry, is will you?"
Harry swallowed again, eyes going round, hands clutching the fabric of his robes, palms sweaty. All his memories came flooding through. Sirius was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort’s orders. Cedric, was dead before he could leave Hogwarts, and was killed by Voldemort’s orders again. His parents. His young, caring parents were killed mercilessly by a man who was hungry for power. Because after all, that was all Voldemort was, a man. He would forever, and always, he swore, hate that man until his last breath. But now, it was his chance.
"I will."
..
Harry raced back to the Gryffindor common room, shoes clicking on the stone floor noisily. His head was whirring painfully and he couldn’t focus on one thought for too long. His mouth was clenched shut, teeth together so tightly he believed his jaw might crack. He hurried through the steps on the moving staircases, not thinking twice when he jumped from one to another. Dumbledore told him he had as long as he needed to say his goodbyes, but Harry wanted to go as quickly as possible in hopes he wouldn’t change his mind.
He yelled the password before the fat lady could even open her mouth, scowling as she turned. Harry rushed through the passageway, seeing his friends on the couches in front of the fire. He could hear Ron complaining about his Potions essay, and Harry felt his shoulders slowly start to unclench.
He rushed up to the boy’s dormitory, seeing Neville looking out the window and Harry felt a pang against his heart.
“Hello Neville,” Greeted Harry softly and Neville whirled around as though he had never been addressed before.
“Oh, Hello Harry.” He replied, sounding sheepish.
Harry lingered there, in the doorway. Neville turned back around and Harry blinked, rushing to his trunk.
Dumbledore told Harry to only bring limited items, only ones of the utmost importance.
Harry brought out a small bag he used for carrying his books from class to class. He folded his invisibility cloak tightly and placed it on the bottom. Next, he grabbed his potions book, the one by the Half-Blood Prince. Harry placed it on top, feeling a sort of smugness at all the times the book had saved his potion already.
He went through his draws as his mind worked out every situation this could go. Every word he may need to speak, how he would introduce himself, how he may cover up any lies. He found a picture on his bedside table of him, Hermione, and Ron, putting it on top. He considered taking the picture of his parents and decided to place it in the side pocket. His wand was in his cloak pocket, he lay on the floor, grabbing a bag out from under his bed.
He opened his bag and came face to face with golden, glittering coins. He grabbed two handfuls, hoping it would be enough. He stood then, feeling how heavy his bag was.
He closed his eyes, feeling dizziness overcome him.
Now was the hard part, the goodbyes. Harry told himself he would come back, that he could make it and save the wizarding world.
He made his way to the door, stopping and looking at Neville’s still figure.
“Neville…” Harry spoke, Neville turned slowly, eyes glued to the darkness of the sky.
“Yes, Harry?” He asked.
Harry blinked, what was he supposed to say?
“I’ll see you later.” He said hurriedly and Neville looked confused before smiling slightly.
“…You too Harry.”
Harry nodded and made his way down the stairs. He could see Hermione’s bushy hair pulled back into a ponytail, Ron’s red hair was a messy mop. They were bickering over something and Harry felt a wave of fondness.
“Merlin, Mate. You look like you’re about to go off to war,” Ron joked, looking at Harry’s prepared figure. Hermione too looked him up and down, albeit worryingly when she noticed the paleness.
“Are you alright, Harry?” She asked, chewing her bottom lip.
“I have to go,” He said, hand clutching the strap of the bag. He was at a loss for words.
“Where?” Hermione frowned, but Ron seemed like he didn’t care, going back to his writing.
Harry looked around the room, “I have a mission, from Dumbledore.”
Hermione stood up abruptly, Ron’s eyes were focused on him now as well, an unrecognizable emotion swimming in them. Was it worry? Contempt? Harry didn’t think so, yet he couldn’t tell very well.
“When will you be back?” Ron asked, putting down his quill.
Harry felt something round form in his throat, gutting his words.
“I’m not sure,”
Hermione let out a noise, and it was heart-quenching to hear.
“I know, I know,” Seeing Ron open his mouth.
“I can’t- He said I can’t,”
“We understand Harry,” Hermione said, slowly sitting down. Yet, there was a wild look in her eyes, as though she was calculating a problem. Harry bit his cheek.
“I will see you both again, don’t worry,” He reassured, but it was himself he was telling it to.
“Of course, do you want us to tell…?” Ron asked, leaving the end of the question hanging. Harry thought that right there Ron looked rather grown up.
“No.” Harry replied quickly before adding, “No, that’s okay. Let them wonder,”
Hermione smiled but Ron seemed in deep thought, which seemed quite odd.
“I have to go now,” He said, breaking the comforting air around him. When he was around Ron and Hermione he felt peaceful, as though nothing in the world could deter him. The roaring fire blew to life and Harry was reminded of Sirius again.
Hermione got up immediately and hugged him tightly, letting him smell the raspberry scent in her hair. Ron himself got up slowly, as though he was cautious. He pat Harry on the back, and, even though it was weird, he wished Ron hugged him.
Hermione let go and whispered a quiet, “Be safe.”
He nodded and withdrew, drinking in their expressions, and them themselves.
“Alright, alright,”
He said their goodbyes and Harry hurried through the hole, out the portrait. He could feel their heavy stares burning through his back. When they were out of sight the weight settled itself on him again. He kept going, not looking back.
It was immensely late and there was no one around, even the patrolling prefects had gone to sleep. He heard soft yet alarming footsteps coming his way, not wanting to be caught, he hid behind a pillar, watching Draco Malfoy make his way past him.
Malfoy was pasty-looking, sweating, and rushing towards what he assumed was the Slytherin common rooms.
He didn’t have time to ponder and kept going, shoving Malfoy to the back of his mind. He was still clutching his bag tightly.
“Sugar Quills!” He yelled, standing impatiently as the gargoyle turned with a groan. He took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to knock as he rushed inside. Dumbledore was facing him, yet his eyes were glued on the time turner. If one had known the situation, they would say he looked quite ill.
“Sit down first, Harry,” Dumbledore told him, standing up straighter.
Harry’s chest was heaving and already he felt exhausted. He propped himself in the chair, shoulders slumping.
The room was silent for a few seconds.
Harry watched Dumbledore intently but the old man seemed to be avoiding his eyes; It was a rather contrite action and Harry sucked the inside of his cheek after realizing so.
“I believe the time I will be sending you to will be Tom’s fourth year, before the death of Myrtle Warren, before his limited family’s untimely deaths,” He said gravely. “You must get close to the boy. As a sixth year, you can provide yourself with a facade of purely wanting to help him, Tom did surround himself with people he knew could benefit him in the future.”
Harry listened with rapt attention, taking mental notes.
“You must be interesting; appealing. Do not act as though you wish for his attention. You must try your best Harry to change his views, change him Harry so he no longer becomes Lord Voldemort.”
Dumbledore looks him in the eye eventually, searching his face; gorging it for a reaction.
Harry gave him none.
“By fourth year Tom had surrounded himself…a group of…lackies. As much as it looked like, Tom did not care much for people around him, and, the more you look closely you will realize this.” The headmaster paused and closed his eyes with a sigh, hand over his features.
Harry’s eyes darted to the darkening of his hand and felt his heart surge uncomfortably. It was as though his hand would crumble into ashes under too much pressure. He wondered but did not ask.
“As I said before, trust is something you should earn from him, but never give back,” Harry opened his mouth and Dumbledore held up a hand, “He cannot be trusted, Harry. He is deceitful, manipulative, and will use any chance he has to get ahead.”
He must have seen the look on Harry’s face and changed the topic.
“When you go back in time you will be placed wherever you turn the switch. Turn the switch in here, and you will be in the headmaster’s office, turn it in the lake and that is where you will appear. I believe the best thing for you to do is to turn back time in Hogsmeade where you shall stay until you are ready,” A flash of amusement crossed his face, “I believe the vast change of time may be a tad unsettling.”
Harry nodded, a small smile gracing his features.
“I have transfigured a few files you can use to prove your birthright. When you arrive in the past you must send a letter to the headmaster requesting and offering your spot in the Hogwarts student body. Dippet will allow you, I am sure of it. Your new identity will be Harry Potter, pure-blood wizard…very distant relative of Fleamont Potter,”
“He was my…”
“Grandfather, yes.”
Harry swallowed, throat dry and eyes watery. He didn’t understand how he was going to be able to do this.
“He would be around 10 when you go I beleive,” Dumbledore said, smile turning warm again.
“As for your parents, do you want their names to be…”
“Yes,” Harry replied easily.
Dumbledore nodded, waving his wand, and the names James and Lily Potter appeared on the paper.
“You must hand them to the headmaster, you must tell him that your parents were murdered by the dark lord at the time, Grindelwald.”
Harry restrained himself from snorting at the irony, watching closely as a dark look overcame the other man’s face.
“Harry…In no way should you trust my past self,”
Harry cocked his head to the side, truly not understanding.
“I am a different person I was then compared to now,” He said, bordering sternly.
Harry nodded quickly, understanding. Yet, not really.
“After being enrolled it is all up to you, Harry. Gain Riddle’s trust, try your best to guide his views away from what they are, and then return. It should already be set to this time. If you fail to gain his trust, Harry, you must do whatever you can to stop him.”
He didn’t need to say it. Harry didn’t need to say it.
It was spoken clearly without saying it out loud and Harry felt tears stinging his eyes, frustratingly.
Dumbledore had a pitying look in his eyes and Harry screwed his hands up. Ho- How dare he? How dare he make Harry do this?
He let his hands go, not feeling the stinging in his palms. The tension melted, and so did the nasty thoughts. This was Dumbledore, he trusted Dumbledore.
“I believe that is all then.”
Dumbledore walked around the desk and passed the time turner into Harry’s hand, curling his fingers around the metal. All Harry could focus on was the fading and dead look in the older man’s hand, the color was draining out of them.
The man swished his wand and the papers all neatly placed themselves in his bag. He cast another spell muttering, “A weightless charm.”
“Take your time Harry,” The man patted his shoulder, where Ron had not long ago. His voice sounded as if he were underwater. Harry stood slowly and clenched his teeth, muscles tightening and neck cracking.
Harry walked to the door and looked at the man, one last glance.
Dumbledore nodded and Harry walked away.
..
The inn was shabby and smelt musty. Already he was feeling hiraeth. He was in an upstairs room that was unoccupied at some random pub. He hoped the place was the same as a few decades ago. Harry sneezed again and opened the bag, admiring the contents.
He grabbed the time turner, admiring it for a bit, sending mental goodbyes to everyone in the castle. He had his faith in Dumbledore for this to work. That thought alone made doubts flood in. What if Dumbledore wanted to get rid of me? Send me to the past and not allow me to return? You’re being silly, Harry, he spat to himself.
Stop being insecure, whispered a voice. Harry shivered and held the time-turner in his hand. The single, creaky bed was the last thing he saw when he shut his eyes. Breathe in, breathe out.
He threw the chain around the neck, fingers subconsciously finding the metal ring around the hourglass. He used one hand to clutch the bag, double-checking, and then he flicked the ring. For a few milliseconds, nothing happened, he opened his eyes and looked around, settling on the spinning hourglass.
His eyes widened and suddenly an imaginary hook settled in his gut and yanked.
He flew in a circle, yelling at the top of his lungs.
His body felt as though he was getting squashed slowly, his cheeks shoved. His limbs found the side of his shirt and he gripped tightly, this was taking longer than it did in the third year. His body seemed to shrink the walls before it popped up again. He was on the wooden floor when he mustered the courage to open his eyes, he seemed to have landed on a rock or something of the sort as his backside was throbbing.
Wait, wooden floors? Before there had been rugs covering every inch of the room. He was on his back, he turned, and he puked. It slid across the floor and he clenched his teeth, feeling the burning at the back of his throat very unpleasant.
The single bed was still there yet it looked more like it was from a hospital. It had white blankets, a white pillow, and a singular grey towel sprawled across it. The wooden floors had nails sticking out of them, Harry realized when he managed to pull himself into a sitting position.
He skipped past where ‘I must not tell lies’ was sprawled into his skin, instead looking at where a new pain had blossomed. He swore under his breath, he had pushed his hand slightly into a nail.
He shoved himself on the bed, about to suck on where he cut himself.
Can you contract diseases by licking the blood drawn from a rusty nail?
He most definitely didn’t want to chance it, wiping his hand on the towel until it stopped bleeding.
Harry was breathing harshly, chest heaving. He was sweating severely.
He dragged a finger down his arm and felt it slick with sweat. He grimaced and stood, making his way over to the mirror. He most definitely didn’t look like he did a few seconds ago. There were rings under his eyes that were very dark, his skin was pale instead of the tan it had been before. His mouth was dry, painfully so.
He cringed again, feeling tired and drowsy. His joints ached and the bed looked very enticing.
A small nap wouldn’t hurt, would it? He just hoped no one came into the room.
Harry realized then he wouldn’t have the trace on him because he technically wasn’t registered yet. He grabbed his wand, placing a silencing charm on the room as well as one to clean up the vomit. He would have to learn about wards when he went back to Hogwarts, not realizing how important they were until now.
Harry undid his shoes and his body swayed with sickness.
His eyelids were shut before his head hit the pillow.