[harry potter] history
Title: History
Genre: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,045
Written for another RCR challenge--a character gets a chance to change a mistake they made in the past. I chose Dumbledore. The story is set just as Voldemort is beginning to gain real power. It is before Harry was born.
The Time Turner in Albus’ hands is close to what he expected: too big and awkward to be worn on a chain like its weaker predecessors--but necessarily so because of the added rings around the central hourglass. There are four of them; moving from the inner to the outermost, they are labeled days, months, years, and decades.
What he hadn’t expected was the torturous swell of grief, guilt, and longing that fills his chest in response to the powerful instrument in his hands. His presence here is for one purpose only: to determine whether this new Time Turner should be used to rewind time and remove young Tom Riddle from history before he can wreak the havoc he and his Death Eaters are inflicting on the Wizarding world. He finds, though, that he can’t turn his mind away from the painful memory of the jarring crash of spells broken by one soft grunt that is followed by silence. Ariana’s crumpled body lies on the floor of his mind, but the Time Turner in his hands could change her fate.
He clears his throat and tries to focus on the true purpose of his visit to the Ministry Department of Mysteries. “How would it work, precisely?” he asks; his question breaks the expectant silence of the wizards behind him.
“You understand the mechanics of ordinary Time Turners, of course,” one of the wizards says. He doesn’t pause for an answer. “In essence, this is the same, but on a larger scale. However, we suspect that going so far back in time will create extreme differences in the effects of using the Time Turner.”
“Anyone using the Time Turner to travel years or more will age significantly before they return to the time they left, of course--”
“If he returns at all,” one of the wizards interjects.
Albus turns and forces his gaze away from the instrument in his hands, listening carefully to their theories.
“Some of us believe that by traveling back such a great distance in time, a wizard will inevitably create such ripples in history that they erase the self they originally became--the self who went back in time--and so he fades into nonexistence after a time.”
“Either way, traveling back to stop Voldemort would be a great sacrifice for the wizard who chooses to do it.” The other two Ministry wizards wince at his use of Voldemort’s name, but Albus is glad to hear that there are still some wizards who aren’t yet afraid enough to call him nonsense like ‘He Who Must Not Be Named.’ True, it’s best not to speak the name ‘Voldemort’ in the open, but the Ministry is still safe. Tom can hear them here because of the jinx on his chosen name, but he doesn’t dare enter the Ministry to do anything about it. Not yet.
He grows more powerful every day, though. Which is why the potential to wipe him from history before he can become Lord Voldemort is so tempting. “What are you hoping to do to young Tom Riddle?” he asks the wizards.
The youngest of them flinches under his gaze, but the other two look hardened. “Keep him from going to Hogwarts,” one of them suggests. He has a short blond beard to match his shaggy hair, but there are the beginnings of gray disguised in the light strands of hair on his head. “You were the one who brought him his letter, correct? What if you could have known what he would be even then? What if you didn’t tell him about the Wizarding world? If he’d never gone to school, he never would have mastered his powers to become the threat he is today.”
Albus knows this better than anyone. He did see some of the evil in Tom when he was just a child of eleven. But.... “And unleash him on the Muggle world? He had surprising control of his magic even then. For all we know, he could destroy more as an untrained but powerful wizard.”
“Then we kill him, if need be,” the older balding wizard says.
They are trying to turn down a frightening road. A world without Tom Riddle is almost too powerful a temptation to resist. But where will that path lead? “You would kill a child?”
“The child who will become Voldemort,” the balding man replies.
Albus sighs and turns, glancing back down at the Time Turner. “Even accepting this,” he says, “and even if it works out exactly as you wish--no Lord Voldemort, no Death Eaters, but otherwise the present we know now....” He looks back, catching each of their eyes in turn. “Where does it stop? If it is acceptable to murder the child Tom Riddle, then will it become acceptable to murder all of the prisoners in Azkaban before they can commit the crimes they were imprisoned for? When faced with any new delinquent, will time travel become your solution?”
He faces the Time Turner’s pedestal again. “No, I think not. Time travel of this scale is best left in theory.” He replaces the instrument on its pedestal; the ache in his chest has nothing to do with the potential to rid the world of Lord Voldemort that he is denying these men. “We cannot know what things we will change even by a small alteration in history. Killing young Tom Riddle could do much worse to our present than Voldemort has. And, even given perfect certainty of the results of our actions, there is no morality in such a measure.” He turns back to face the Ministry wizards, eyeing them over his glasses. “After all, would we be much better than Lord Voldemort ourselves if we started murdering children?”
***
The ache he feels when he returns to his office at Hogwarts is surprising. He knows he made the right decision--but the grief and guilt and sorrow he feels have nothing to do with Tom Riddle. It is the anniversary of Ariana’s death... and the Time Turner could easily have changed that fate. He could have gone back, stopped the stray curse that hit Ariana.
He tries to dismiss it. He knows time travel theory quite well. Even if paradox would permit such a thing, the ripples caused by such a change could be devastating.
But they also might not. It might simply change the present to one in which Aberforth does not, whether he wills it or not, hold Albus to blame for Ariana’s death... because Ariana is alive. Perhaps by this time they would have found a way to help her control her magic. Maybe she would have been... normal.
He tries to sleep. But the thoughts of what could have been taunt him.
Finally he admits to himself that it is no use. He gets up. He returns to his office, sits at his desk, and twirls his wand between his fingertips. The Elder Wand. Won from Gellert. That memory stings, as well.
There is a spell. One of those spells of little practical use, but which magical theorists, in their curiosity to learn anything new about magic, discovered anyway. Albus sighs, hesitating, but he knows that it is the only thing that will quiet his whirling mind now. He does not need to speak the words. He extends his wand, envisions the spell, and casts it.
The shower of gold thread that flows from his wand tip coalesces into a tall shape in front of his desk. The shape solidifies; it only takes a moment, and then the man standing across from Albus is clear. He is very tall and thin, his face clean-shaven, his hair streaked white and gray. His long nose is straight in stark contrast to Albus’ own, but the blue eyes are the same--if devoid of the spark of light usually present in Albus’ eyes.
The stranger is, in fact, Albus. An Albus that might have been. And just from the stark contrast in their appearances, Albus can tell that the present that might have been if not for Ariana’s death is something very different from the one he knows now.
“What is the world like where you come from?” Albus asks his conjured other-self.
The figure’s clean-shaven face darkens with bitterness. “Torn. Gellert Grindelwald and Voldemort spend as much time fighting for power as terrorizing Muggles and anyone associated with them.”
This can only mean one thing. “Gellert still has the Elder Wand? How?”
The phantom’s expression is quizzical. “Who could challenge him with it?”
Albus shakes his head. He already doesn’t like what he’s hearing. “Is Ariana alive?”
“I think so.” He frowns. “Aberforth took her into hiding. We haven’t spoken in... decades.”
He isn’t sure he wants to hear more, but he thinks it is best. Get it all out there. Make sure he knows just how bad things could have gotten. How much changing one event can alter history as a whole. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning. What happened, that day you, Gellert, and Aberforth fought?”
“Little of note,” the phantom says. “Aberforth insisted on caring for Ariana after that. The fighting made her anxious... she could have hurt someone. I tried to convince Aberforth to let me take Ariana with Gellert and me so I could continue to look after her, but he refused. So Gellert and I left.”
“After... after that fight? After the sort of spells he cast at your brother?”
“He didn’t mean any real harm. He lost his temper. I forgave him for it.”
The bottom of Albus’ stomach drops out. He thinks he can see where this will go.
“What did you and Gellert do?”
“We rallied the Ministry to our goal. It took decades, but we convinced them that Muggles needed our protection. We were just beginning to convince the Ministry that we should stop hiding our magic and use it to help the Muggles, to bring them under our government so that we could help them lead better lives, when--”
“But Gellert--”
“His methods were questionable at times,” phantom-Albus admits. “But he always had good intentions. We both wanted to help the Muggles.”
He is so... ignorant in love. Albus remembers it. It’s the part that aches the greatest. He loved Gellert, and the betrayal aches almost as much as the loss of Ariana because of his own blindness. He knows better now than to trust his judgment in love. But this other-self... he never learned that lesson.
The conjured other-self continues, “But then a powerful wizard who called himself Voldemort allied with Gellert. I didn’t trust him, but Gellert was blind to the way he clearly sought power more than our goals. For a time we were allied; he was very helpful to Gellert. Extremely gifted. But very dangerous.” Pain grows very evident in his eyes. “Somehow he convinced Gellert that Muggles are inferior, and that we should subjugate them. He even convinced him that Muggle-blooded wizards should be weeded out. I couldn’t take the changes in Gellert, and I didn’t agree with their ideas anymore. I left them, but I could do little to stop them advancing their new government--or tyranny.
“And eventually they began to fight amongst themselves. Voldemort believes himself the more powerful wizard. He thinks that without the Elder Wand, Gellert would be nothing, and he wants the wand for himself.”
Albus puts his face in his hands. He can feel moisture on his cheeks. After a moment spent composing himself, he looks back up at his conjured possible self. “The world.... It must be devastated. Does anyone know anything but war and loss?”
The phantom-self doesn’t speak, but his expression is answer enough. A wave of Albus’ wand banishes the conjuration.
For a time, he just sits. Sleep will come no easier, now. Not tonight, at least. But in time he will heal. At least now he knows.... Tragic as Ariana’s death was, as much sorrow as it still brings him, without it Albus would have been forever blind to Gellert’s true nature. He would have helped horrible things to pass. Perhaps everything did happen for a reason. Ariana’s fate was terrible, and he wishes there had been another way.
But you can’t change the past. It just isn’t a risk worth taking.
Genre: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,045
Written for another RCR challenge--a character gets a chance to change a mistake they made in the past. I chose Dumbledore. The story is set just as Voldemort is beginning to gain real power. It is before Harry was born.
The Time Turner in Albus’ hands is close to what he expected: too big and awkward to be worn on a chain like its weaker predecessors--but necessarily so because of the added rings around the central hourglass. There are four of them; moving from the inner to the outermost, they are labeled days, months, years, and decades.
What he hadn’t expected was the torturous swell of grief, guilt, and longing that fills his chest in response to the powerful instrument in his hands. His presence here is for one purpose only: to determine whether this new Time Turner should be used to rewind time and remove young Tom Riddle from history before he can wreak the havoc he and his Death Eaters are inflicting on the Wizarding world. He finds, though, that he can’t turn his mind away from the painful memory of the jarring crash of spells broken by one soft grunt that is followed by silence. Ariana’s crumpled body lies on the floor of his mind, but the Time Turner in his hands could change her fate.
He clears his throat and tries to focus on the true purpose of his visit to the Ministry Department of Mysteries. “How would it work, precisely?” he asks; his question breaks the expectant silence of the wizards behind him.
“You understand the mechanics of ordinary Time Turners, of course,” one of the wizards says. He doesn’t pause for an answer. “In essence, this is the same, but on a larger scale. However, we suspect that going so far back in time will create extreme differences in the effects of using the Time Turner.”
“Anyone using the Time Turner to travel years or more will age significantly before they return to the time they left, of course--”
“If he returns at all,” one of the wizards interjects.
Albus turns and forces his gaze away from the instrument in his hands, listening carefully to their theories.
“Some of us believe that by traveling back such a great distance in time, a wizard will inevitably create such ripples in history that they erase the self they originally became--the self who went back in time--and so he fades into nonexistence after a time.”
“Either way, traveling back to stop Voldemort would be a great sacrifice for the wizard who chooses to do it.” The other two Ministry wizards wince at his use of Voldemort’s name, but Albus is glad to hear that there are still some wizards who aren’t yet afraid enough to call him nonsense like ‘He Who Must Not Be Named.’ True, it’s best not to speak the name ‘Voldemort’ in the open, but the Ministry is still safe. Tom can hear them here because of the jinx on his chosen name, but he doesn’t dare enter the Ministry to do anything about it. Not yet.
He grows more powerful every day, though. Which is why the potential to wipe him from history before he can become Lord Voldemort is so tempting. “What are you hoping to do to young Tom Riddle?” he asks the wizards.
The youngest of them flinches under his gaze, but the other two look hardened. “Keep him from going to Hogwarts,” one of them suggests. He has a short blond beard to match his shaggy hair, but there are the beginnings of gray disguised in the light strands of hair on his head. “You were the one who brought him his letter, correct? What if you could have known what he would be even then? What if you didn’t tell him about the Wizarding world? If he’d never gone to school, he never would have mastered his powers to become the threat he is today.”
Albus knows this better than anyone. He did see some of the evil in Tom when he was just a child of eleven. But.... “And unleash him on the Muggle world? He had surprising control of his magic even then. For all we know, he could destroy more as an untrained but powerful wizard.”
“Then we kill him, if need be,” the older balding wizard says.
They are trying to turn down a frightening road. A world without Tom Riddle is almost too powerful a temptation to resist. But where will that path lead? “You would kill a child?”
“The child who will become Voldemort,” the balding man replies.
Albus sighs and turns, glancing back down at the Time Turner. “Even accepting this,” he says, “and even if it works out exactly as you wish--no Lord Voldemort, no Death Eaters, but otherwise the present we know now....” He looks back, catching each of their eyes in turn. “Where does it stop? If it is acceptable to murder the child Tom Riddle, then will it become acceptable to murder all of the prisoners in Azkaban before they can commit the crimes they were imprisoned for? When faced with any new delinquent, will time travel become your solution?”
He faces the Time Turner’s pedestal again. “No, I think not. Time travel of this scale is best left in theory.” He replaces the instrument on its pedestal; the ache in his chest has nothing to do with the potential to rid the world of Lord Voldemort that he is denying these men. “We cannot know what things we will change even by a small alteration in history. Killing young Tom Riddle could do much worse to our present than Voldemort has. And, even given perfect certainty of the results of our actions, there is no morality in such a measure.” He turns back to face the Ministry wizards, eyeing them over his glasses. “After all, would we be much better than Lord Voldemort ourselves if we started murdering children?”
***
The ache he feels when he returns to his office at Hogwarts is surprising. He knows he made the right decision--but the grief and guilt and sorrow he feels have nothing to do with Tom Riddle. It is the anniversary of Ariana’s death... and the Time Turner could easily have changed that fate. He could have gone back, stopped the stray curse that hit Ariana.
He tries to dismiss it. He knows time travel theory quite well. Even if paradox would permit such a thing, the ripples caused by such a change could be devastating.
But they also might not. It might simply change the present to one in which Aberforth does not, whether he wills it or not, hold Albus to blame for Ariana’s death... because Ariana is alive. Perhaps by this time they would have found a way to help her control her magic. Maybe she would have been... normal.
He tries to sleep. But the thoughts of what could have been taunt him.
Finally he admits to himself that it is no use. He gets up. He returns to his office, sits at his desk, and twirls his wand between his fingertips. The Elder Wand. Won from Gellert. That memory stings, as well.
There is a spell. One of those spells of little practical use, but which magical theorists, in their curiosity to learn anything new about magic, discovered anyway. Albus sighs, hesitating, but he knows that it is the only thing that will quiet his whirling mind now. He does not need to speak the words. He extends his wand, envisions the spell, and casts it.
The shower of gold thread that flows from his wand tip coalesces into a tall shape in front of his desk. The shape solidifies; it only takes a moment, and then the man standing across from Albus is clear. He is very tall and thin, his face clean-shaven, his hair streaked white and gray. His long nose is straight in stark contrast to Albus’ own, but the blue eyes are the same--if devoid of the spark of light usually present in Albus’ eyes.
The stranger is, in fact, Albus. An Albus that might have been. And just from the stark contrast in their appearances, Albus can tell that the present that might have been if not for Ariana’s death is something very different from the one he knows now.
“What is the world like where you come from?” Albus asks his conjured other-self.
The figure’s clean-shaven face darkens with bitterness. “Torn. Gellert Grindelwald and Voldemort spend as much time fighting for power as terrorizing Muggles and anyone associated with them.”
This can only mean one thing. “Gellert still has the Elder Wand? How?”
The phantom’s expression is quizzical. “Who could challenge him with it?”
Albus shakes his head. He already doesn’t like what he’s hearing. “Is Ariana alive?”
“I think so.” He frowns. “Aberforth took her into hiding. We haven’t spoken in... decades.”
He isn’t sure he wants to hear more, but he thinks it is best. Get it all out there. Make sure he knows just how bad things could have gotten. How much changing one event can alter history as a whole. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning. What happened, that day you, Gellert, and Aberforth fought?”
“Little of note,” the phantom says. “Aberforth insisted on caring for Ariana after that. The fighting made her anxious... she could have hurt someone. I tried to convince Aberforth to let me take Ariana with Gellert and me so I could continue to look after her, but he refused. So Gellert and I left.”
“After... after that fight? After the sort of spells he cast at your brother?”
“He didn’t mean any real harm. He lost his temper. I forgave him for it.”
The bottom of Albus’ stomach drops out. He thinks he can see where this will go.
“What did you and Gellert do?”
“We rallied the Ministry to our goal. It took decades, but we convinced them that Muggles needed our protection. We were just beginning to convince the Ministry that we should stop hiding our magic and use it to help the Muggles, to bring them under our government so that we could help them lead better lives, when--”
“But Gellert--”
“His methods were questionable at times,” phantom-Albus admits. “But he always had good intentions. We both wanted to help the Muggles.”
He is so... ignorant in love. Albus remembers it. It’s the part that aches the greatest. He loved Gellert, and the betrayal aches almost as much as the loss of Ariana because of his own blindness. He knows better now than to trust his judgment in love. But this other-self... he never learned that lesson.
The conjured other-self continues, “But then a powerful wizard who called himself Voldemort allied with Gellert. I didn’t trust him, but Gellert was blind to the way he clearly sought power more than our goals. For a time we were allied; he was very helpful to Gellert. Extremely gifted. But very dangerous.” Pain grows very evident in his eyes. “Somehow he convinced Gellert that Muggles are inferior, and that we should subjugate them. He even convinced him that Muggle-blooded wizards should be weeded out. I couldn’t take the changes in Gellert, and I didn’t agree with their ideas anymore. I left them, but I could do little to stop them advancing their new government--or tyranny.
“And eventually they began to fight amongst themselves. Voldemort believes himself the more powerful wizard. He thinks that without the Elder Wand, Gellert would be nothing, and he wants the wand for himself.”
Albus puts his face in his hands. He can feel moisture on his cheeks. After a moment spent composing himself, he looks back up at his conjured possible self. “The world.... It must be devastated. Does anyone know anything but war and loss?”
The phantom-self doesn’t speak, but his expression is answer enough. A wave of Albus’ wand banishes the conjuration.
For a time, he just sits. Sleep will come no easier, now. Not tonight, at least. But in time he will heal. At least now he knows.... Tragic as Ariana’s death was, as much sorrow as it still brings him, without it Albus would have been forever blind to Gellert’s true nature. He would have helped horrible things to pass. Perhaps everything did happen for a reason. Ariana’s fate was terrible, and he wishes there had been another way.
But you can’t change the past. It just isn’t a risk worth taking.