[From Litha to Lammas]: An Altar to an Unknown God, Harry/many, PG-13
Title: An Altar to an Unknown God
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Harry/Draco, Harry/Hermione, Harry/George, Harry/Snape, Harry/Tom Riddle
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, divination, present tense, angst, Hogwarts eighth year, Master of Death Harry Potter, ambiguous ending, mental instability, internalized homophobia, discussion of infidelity and character death
Wordcount: 9600
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Harry is restless and dissatisfied with his life as he nears the end of his repeated seventh year at Hogwarts. He doesn’t know if he should continue dating Ginny or not, if he should become an Auror or not, if he should listen to the voice that whispers on the edge of his sleep or not. When Hermione tells him a story about an altar in the Forbidden Forest that’s supposed to show possible visions of the future, Harry can’t resist approaching it.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Litha to Lammas” fics for this summer, fics posted between the summer solstice and the first of August.
An Altar to an Unknown God
Harry hesitates, the crunching of leaves under his feet coming to a halt. He’s been following the directions in the story Hermione told them in the Gryffindor common room a few nights ago, heading arrow-straight into the Forest, along the path indicated by the setting sun. He’s charmed tree branches out of the way and cut holes in rocks when he had to.
And just as she said, the trees have drawn back so that Harry never had to actually cut one of them. They arch overhead now in a silence unbroken except for the passage of his feet through the leaves. They’re all tall, straight, slender trees with utterly black bark that makes them look carved of obsidian, and they’re all bare, despite the spring flourishing outside the forest.
And the fading light of sunset has been replaced by the strong golden glow of a summer’s afternoon.
Hesitantly, Harry tucks his wand into the holster along his right arm. He certainly doesn’t need it to cast Lumos right now. He heads down the path that is clear except for the leaves, and in a few minutes, even the leaves draw away, and Harry is walking along a path of marble fused together so that it looks as if one huge piece was just dropped here, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.
Harry shivers.
The path appears to bend, and Harry wonders if he should bend with it or keep going straight ahead, the way the story says. But a second later, he sees that he doesn’t need to make the choice. This isn’t a bend; it’s the path widening out in a brilliant, white-glowing circle that surrounds what he’s come seeking.
An altar to an unknown god.
Harry licks his lips and continues walking slowly forwards. He really can’t show any hesitation now. He has to finish this. He came this far.
And if he turns around and goes back to Hogwarts, then he’ll just continue to feel the same nagging dissatisfaction that he has for the last nine months. Should he go on dating Ginny when it’s pleasant but not deep? Should he become an Auror when it was based on a choice he made in fifth year, before-half of everything? Should he listen to the voice that’s been whispering to him in dreams, trying to pull him towards a specific area of Hogwarts?
(Harry pretends he doesn’t know who that voice belongs to, but he’s lying).
The story Hermione told him said that the altar can present different possible visions of the future to the person who comes seeking it just right. Those visions won’t necessarily come true, but all Harry needs right now is some kind of clarification. Something to work towards.
He hopes that he’ll see himself married to Ginny, different versions of how that could work out, and he’ll know some of the mistakes they need to avoid. And he should be able to see whether he’ll actually like working as an Auror or not.
The voice…
He’s not sure what vision he’ll see of it, but at least whatever bad outcomes he sees should make it easier to ignore.
The altar is a small, blocky thing, made of brilliant red stone. It doesn’t have any runes on it or signs that someone has splashed blood on it, ever.
Unless the blood has managed to dye the stone that color, of course.
Harry sighs, wishing he hadn’t thought of that, and moves forwards, drawing his wand to cut his hand, the way Hermione said he had to. He holds it out, prepared to smear it in a long line down the side of the altar and onto the marble.
But the minute he gets close to the altar, before he can touch it, the air around him blazes crystalline. Harry freezes. The blood on his hand crawls back into the cut, which seals itself, and the forest around him seems to pulsate with the noise of an enormous chime.
The chime and the light continue for long moments, buzzing in Harry’s bones, and then fade. Harry stares at the altar. Nothing has appeared on it-
No, wait.
There’s a spark of crystalline light there, and it widens and broadens as Harry watches it, spreading out like a bird hatching from an egg. When it fades, it’s formed the shape of a doorway as tall as he is. Taller, in fact, since it’s standing on the altar instead of rising from the ground.
Harry walks a little closer, feeling baffled. Will he look through the doorway and see the vision as in a crystal ball? The story Hermione told him had nothing like this. It was just supposed to be visions appearing in his head, once he smeared the blood on the altar. But the altar hasn’t even accepted his blood.
The doorway seems to extend back a long way when Harry comes to a halt in front of it, forming a corridor. As he stares down it, Harry realizes he can hear footsteps. Someone walks briskly up to the edge of the doorway and stands there, staring at him.
Dad?
But even as Harry’s heart gives that painful jump, he realizes it isn’t true. The figure is taller and older than him, yes, with a beard that partially obscures his face, and he has dark hair and glasses. But he has Harry’s eyes, and Harry’s faded scar.
Harry licks his lips. He thinks the older version of himself is going to do something, perhaps turn and hold out his hand to Ginny when she appears, but instead, he studies Harry and then nods a little.
“So something pulled me here,” he says, his voice deep and confident in a way Harry never imagined his own could be. “You look like you’re a lot younger than me. Do you want me to tell me what year you’re going into?”
“Finishing up my seventh year,” Harry says. “I mean, after the defeat of Voldemort.”
He’s grateful to note that even though this man obviously comes from a different world, he doesn’t flinch at the mention of Voldemort’s name. At least some things are identical, no matter how much stronger and more sure of himself this man looks.
Older Harry smiles at him. “All right. What did you want to know?”
“I want to know what my future is going to be like. A future,” Harry tacks on, remembering that there will be other versions of the future coming. “Who do I marry? What do I become? I don’t really know if I’m making the best decisions.”
“You marry Ginny,” Older Harry says instantly. “The best thing that ever happened to me, besides my kids.”
Harry feels a deep, warm relaxation in the middle of his stomach, as if a belt that was tied too tightly is loosening. “Oh,” he breathes. “Will you tell me a little about it? How many kids do you have? What’s your marriage like?”
Older Harry laughs, sounding a little bewildered. “It’s hard to describe a marriage from the outside,” he says. “And some things, you’re too young to know.”
Harry flushes, but his other self is going on in a musing tone. “But there’s plenty I could tell you. Ginny and I got married a few years out of Hogwarts. She played for the Holyhead Harpies for a while, and quit to become a Quidditch writer for the Daily Prophet. We have three kids. Jamie, Al, and Lily.”
Harry swallows. He’s always secretly thought that he’d like to name his kids after his parents. To meet someone who’s done it… “Wait. Al? Albus?”
“Yeah.” Older Harry winks at him. “Albus Severus.”
“The fuck?” Harry blurts, but laughter echoes back at him from the other side of the crystalline doorway.
“You’re going to feel differently about him later than you do now,” Older Harry says, and for a second, his eyes become piercing. “And even now, I think your feelings about him are more complicated than you want anyone to know.”
Harry sighs. It’s not like Snape is a popular topic of discussion in Gryffindor, and Harry hasn’t been in the Headmaster’s office since he repaired his holly wand. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. What do you do?”
“What do you think?”
“Auror?” That is what goes along with his choice to date Ginny, at least in his mind.
“Head Auror, no less.” Older Harry pulls his robe aside a little to reveal a gleaming badge with what looks like a pair of crossed wands above a hound’s head. “Used to show that I’m hunting down justice, you see.”
Harry watches him hungrily. “You can’t be that old, right? And you’re Head Auror?”
“I’m thirty-eight. Youngest Head Auror in history.” Older Harry lets the fold of his robe fall back again and grins at Harry. “I won’t pretend that it’s all fun and games. Sometimes the politics in the Ministry drive me mental. And not all the evil died with Voldemort, you know? But it’s the best place for me. The place I know I’m meant for.”
Harry nods. Now that he’s seen this, he wonders whether he really needs to see the other visions the altar might show him. Surely this is enough? This is the answer to every question. The assurance that he’ll have a happy life if he just keeps dating Ginny and pursues Auror training like he really intended all along, anyway.
But, no. Not every question.
“What about the voice that whispers to me in the night?” Harry asks. “Did you ever follow it?”
Older Harry’s eyes widen a little. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean. The voice. The voice that promises you ultimate power if you just do what it wants.”
Older Harry actually falls back a step. He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“What wand do you carry now?”
Older Harry turns and walks away, with a lengthening stride that carries him down the crystalline corridor before Harry can stop him. He does call out, but the door swings to, and the light dims, and the chance to speak with that version of his future self is gone.
*
Is that it? Harry thinks, in the mere moment before another spark of light begins to shine. This one is brilliant gold.
Harry absently rubs his hand against his rapidly beating heart. Older Harry didn’t answer the question. But Harry doesn’t know whether he was afraid of being asked, or if he was afraid of Harry. Afraid of the voice and what it promises? Did he suddenly realize that Harry wasn’t really a younger version of himself after all, that their worlds are too different?
Does that mean that Harry can’t live that wonderful life with Ginny and three kids and being Head Auror?
But the next door opens before he can worry too much about that. This really is just a door, not a corridor, and his older self is waiting expectantly on the other side, as if he walked up before Harry got done talking to the other one.
Harry relaxes a little when he realizes this version of himself is wearing Auror robes. It’s starting to look like he really will be choosing that career, and if it’s worked out well for him in two worlds, it’ll work out in this one.
“Hello?” The older version of himself smiles at him a little quizzically. He doesn’t have a beard, but he does have a scar on his cheek that looks like something with claws got him. Harry’s stomach tightens a little. Does that mean he gets attacked by a werewolf? On the other hand, he’s seen Remus’s scars, and this one doesn’t look like them.
“Hi,” Harry said, and licked his lips. “I’m-I’m seeking guidance on my future, and Hermione told me that I could find it here. Can you tell me what you’re like?”
“I should have thought the whole world knew that.”
There’s a softly mocking tone in Older Harry’s voice that definitely wasn’t there with the first one. Harry shakes his head a little. “I mean, you must have recognized me, right? I’m your younger self.”
“From another world?”
The man’s voice is slow and reluctant, but Harry doesn’t know why. The version of himself in the crystal doorway seemed to believe him instinctively. He nods, a little wary now. “Yeah. And I don’t know whether I should keep dating Ginny or not. And whether I should become an Auror or not.” He eyes Older Harry’s robes. “But it seems like you made the right decision?”
“Being an Auror has been great,” Older Harry says. “Although not always easy physically.” His hand wanders up to the scar on his face. “Not that this doesn’t have its advantages for distracting people’s attention from the one on my forehead.”
Harry grimaces. “Oh, are people still going on about that?”
Older Harry appears to relax finally, and smiles at him. “Yes, they are. It’s the worst, isn’t it? And I’m afraid that if your future’s like mine, you’ll have to weather a storm in the papers, oh, about six years from now.”
“Why?” Harry demands.
“Hmmm. I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re still in the middle of dating Ginny Weasley right now, and not seeing why that won’t work.”
The doubt in Older Harry’s voice makes Harry bristle a little. “Why wouldn’t it? The first version of myself I saw said that he married Ginny and had three kids and it worked out just fine for him!”
“And named them James and Lily and Sirius, I suppose?”
“James and Lily and Albus, actually.”
Older Harry’s face is unsettlingly blank for a second. Then he mutters something and shakes his head.
Harry stares at him. “Did you really just say fuck that old bastard?”
Older Harry sighs and lounges for a moment against the side of the golden doorway. The gleam of the light picks up something on his finger that looks like a heavy ring. Harry blinks. Married, then. Is that why he’s saying dating Ginny was a mistake? Because he ended up getting married to someone else?
But Harry is more interested in the answer to another question right now, even if he thinks Older Harry is being sort of unfair. Just because he married someone else doesn’t mean that he made a mistake by dating Ginny. “Why do you hate Dumbledore? Or why are you acting like you do?”
“I have a complicated relationship with him.” Older Harry runs his fingers over the ring as though he’s used to touching it while he thinks. “I talk to his portrait on the regular, and I accept that he had to make decisions that no one else could have made unless they had the same knowledge he did.
“But he also could have shared that knowledge. I think, from some things he’s said, that he was always paranoid that someone who knew the same things might end up like Grindelwald did when he went seeking the Hallows. Albus blames himself for screwing up the situation with Grindelwald, and he decided to make it better by basically never trusting anyone again, so no one else could run off with knowledge he thought was dangerous.”
“That’s kind of a twisted way to think of it.”
Older Harry shrugs dismissively. “Maybe. I don’t agree with everything Draco says about him. But talking to both of them, Draco and Dumbledore, helps me keep things in perspective.”
Harry feels as if he’s tried to swallow a whole glass of Firewhisky at once. “Draco? Draco Malfoy?”
“Sure,” Older Harry says. His voice is bland, but his eyes have started to dance with mockery that Harry doesn’t think he’s ever worn.
“Why would you be talking to him? I mean, are you friends? Auror partners?” That makes a ghastly amount of sense. Harry did read one pamphlet about the Aurors that says they assign people to be partners who might not get along and demand they work together, because the goal of defeating Dark wizards is more important than whatever arguments people have.
“Partners,” Older Harry says, and a wicked smile that Harry doesn’t recognize widens across his face. “Not Auror ones.”
“You-you can’t be married to him.”
“Why not?” Older Harry still has that smile, and Harry has to wonder if it’s something he’s adopted from his-partner. Husband? Ew.
“I’m not gay!”
“That was the source of the press debacle that I mentioned a minute ago. You didn’t know you were gay. Neither did anyone else. I would just relax and try not to worry about it too much. Maybe you’ll marry Ginny Weasley after all and endure years of a horrific, stifling marriage where you try to keep what you’re sexually interested in shoved into a box because you think you should please everyone except yourself. Merlin knows that would fit with the way Dumbledore raised you.”
Harry finds himself staring at this man, who keeps grinning at him. It feels alien to consider that this man is, well, himself. The first Harry Potter he saw looked kind of strange with that beard, but this one feels much stranger.
“The first one of you I saw was married to Ginny,” Harry insists. “And he said she was the best thing that happened to him, except his kids.”
“Well, there’s two possibilities there.” Older Harry touches his ring again. “One is that different visions are really different worlds, and he’s not gay. The other one is that he’s lying.” The heavy emphasis in Older Harry’s voice leaves no doubt about what he believes.
“How can you say that?”
“By moving my lips and letting breath come out of my lungs.”
Harry glares at him for a second. Older Harry just looks back, unrepentant. Harry finally shakes his head. “I had one more question to ask, about whether you ever answered the voice coming from Hogwarts grounds.”
“Yes, the first time it called. You mean you haven’t?”
Now Older Harry looks as if he thinks Harry is the one who’s lying. Harry shakes his head impatiently. “Okay, fine, you can go. I think I’ve heard all the answers I want to from you.”
Older Harry clicks his heels together and bows while grinning like an arsehole. “All right. But one piece of advice, before you dismiss me altogether. Remember when you were looking at those Pensieve memories Dumbledore was showing you of Riddle’s life?”
“What about them?” Harry asks warily.
“Remember how handsome you thought he was? Again and again. That’s what you thought when you saw him, at least when he was younger. And you thought the same about the diary shade. And you thought the same thing about Cedric. And when you started seeing the memories that involved an older Tom Riddle who’d already started to make Horcruxes, one of the first things you regretted was the loss of his good looks-”
“Shut up!”
Older Harry gives him a little bow, and the golden doorway swings shut.
*
Harry stands there, shaking, and wonders what in the world happened in-that world. How could he decide he was gay? Why could he decide that he could marry and love Draco Malfoy, of all people? Did whatever fight tore up his face addle his brains, too?
But he doesn’t have the chance to ask himself a lot of questions, because there’s an orb of dark green light rising from the center of the altar, swirling back and forth as it grows like a tree. And it forms the shape of a tree, in fact, although it seems to be a door like the others, given that the light collapses away from the front of it and leaves it glowing the green color of a Slytherin tie.
Harry grimaces at the thought. He hopes he’s not about to see a world where he was Sorted into Slytherin or something.
But the man who peers out at him seems like the first Harry who visited him. He has a beard, at least, although his hair is longer, thicker and shaggier. Harry notices in interest that it looks straighter when it’s that long. His eyes are cold and hard, though, and that draws Harry’s attention away from his hairstyle.
“Um, hi,” Harry says, his voice rushing a little. “I’m a version of you from the past-I mean, the end of your repeated seventh year-and Hermione told me that I could come to this altar and ask to see some visions of my future to help me decide what I wanted to do next.”
“Hermione told you?” Older Harry smiles. It softens all the sharp corners of his face, and Harry relaxes. This seems like a normal person, at least, or a version of himself that might be normal. “Then I’ll be happy to answer your questions. Hermione is very dear to me.”
Harry nods, happy that he’s seeing a normal future where he’s remained best friends with his best friends. He can’t imagine that Older Harry from the golden doorway got along with his friends anymore, not if he’s married to bloody Malfoy. “Okay. I want to know if I should become an Auror, and if I should keep dating Ginny Weasley-”
“No. And no.”
Harry pauses. That was…decisive. He assumed that this Older Harry had to be like the first one because of how similar he looked, but maybe that was silly to assume. “Um. Why not?”
“The war didn’t cure the Ministry’s corruption. I assume that even in your world, most of the Voldemort collaborations weren’t punished?”
Older Harry eyes him, and Harry finds himself telling the truth to that sharp, piercing gaze before he even thinks about it. “Well, no, they weren’t. But I thought that was because the Ministry had a hard time telling the difference between real collaborators like Umbridge and the people who just went along with it because they were scared.”
Older Harry snorts. “Yes, that’s the excuse they gave here, too. But they could have done it if they’d cared to use Veritaserum and Pensieve memories and listen to the victims. No, they just wanted to forget the war and go back to being comfortable. Don’t become an Auror. You’ll only work for that corrupt system, and it won’t benefit you or make you happy to be there.”
“Huh,” Harry says, and tries to reconcile that with the first two visions he saw, and fails. Even that arsehole from last time seemed happy being an Auror. “That’s not what the others said.”
“They had to have had different experiences.” Older Harry shrugs, his expression dark. “I, on the other hand, have had the experience of my colleagues trying to kill me because they believed that stupid nonsense about how I was a Dark Lord out to take over the world.”
“So what do you do now?”
“I work for the International Confederation of Wizards as a judge on crimes involving magical creatures.”
Harry feels his jaw dangling a little. He closes it. Then he clears his throat. “Well, I bet that makes Hermione happy.”
“Yes, it does.” Older Harry’s smile still has a dark tinge, but it’s softer than his scowl was. “We make each other very happy.”
“Wait. You and Hermione?”
“Yes.” Older Harry lifts his head, looking for a second like a knight about to face down a dragon-and not a chained one like the one Harry outflew in the Triwizard Tournament, either. “That’s why I can tell you conclusively that marrying Ginny Weasley is a mistake. I did get married to Ginny, and we made each other miserable. We argued about everything from what we should name our kids to me quitting the Ministry. And I saw how miserable Ron was making Hermione. He expected her to have as many kids as Molly and stay at home with them for at least the first few years of each child’s life. There’s no way she would have agreed to that.”
Harry feels as if someone’s slapped him. This is more shocking than learning that one version of himself thinks he’s gay. “So you got divorced from Ginny and married Hermione? And she divorced Ron and got married to you?”
“We should have done that. But we did it afterwards.”
“You’re saying you cheated. On Ginny and Ron. With Hermione.”
“It was the only thing to do.” Older Harry’s eyes are dark, much like the green of the tree-shaped doorway framing him, and impossibly determined. “Ron wasn’t going to agree to a divorce. And Ginny fell in love with the Boy-Who-Lived mystique. She loved it far more than she ever loved me. I knew the only way she would ever divorce me was if I did something she couldn’t forgive. Insult her pride, namely.”
“Ginny’s not like that,” Harry whispers.
“Maybe not now. Maybe not if you don’t marry her. You should spare her as well as yourself, and never give her the chance to grow in that direction. Go right back to the Tower and tell her that you’re breaking up with her, and take Hermione out on a date.”
Harry shakes his head, feeling denial and confusion move through him like a wind. “I can’t-she’s dating Ron.”
“And you think she’s happy with him?” Older Harry sneers, and it makes him look more alien than the mocking smile made Draco’s husband look. “Of course she’s not. She’s concealing her unhappiness because she thinks that you’ll never like her and she’s resigned to putting up with what she’s got.”
Harry stares at him, appalled. “Resigned to putting up with-that’s not Hermione!”
Older Harry rolls his eyes a little. “I don’t think you deserve her,” he says, and turns his back. The tree-shaped door at once seals with a growth that looks like leaves, and then the green light falls and crumbles away.
*
Harry stands there, rubbing his hand over his face, and feels old, although perhaps not as aged as the last version of himself he saw. Will he ever stand there, someday, and be like that? Old, hardened, harsh?
He looks up, wondering if everything’s done, but it’s not; there’s a spiral of orange light dancing back and forth on the altar. It curls in on itself, and then springs out again, and multiple prongs uncurl like blinds.
Through them, Harry looks at the youngest version of himself that he’s seen yet. This man looks to be only a few years older than him, maybe in his mid-twenties. He grins at Harry with an unfelt wind ruffling his hair back and tosses a Quaffle into the air.
“This feels like a dream,” he muses.
Harry shakes his head and reminds himself that he doesn’t know what it feels like for the other versions of himself from the other side. “It’s not,” he says. “I found an altar in the forest and called you for advice. I want to know what kind of future I should have, who I should marry, that kind of thing.”
For some reason, he doesn’t think he needs to explain it further than that. This Harry seems like the closest person to him, other than maybe the first one.
Older Harry lays the Quaffle down beside him on what might be the grass of a Quidditch pitch-the odd shape of the door keeps Harry from seeing more-and blinks at him. “All right. You have my attention.”
“Should I marry Ginny? Should I become an Auror?”
Older Harry grins at him. “Well, I didn’t.”
Harry blinks in turn. “You didn’t? What did you-are you a Quidditch player?”
“Got it in one.” Older Harry winks and then laughs. “Well, I suppose it wasn’t that hard, right? Since I have a Quaffle right here.” He collapses back onto what does look like a pitch. Luckily, the odd-shaped windows follow him down. “I thought about being an Auror, but in the end, it was too much responsibility for me.”
“Too much-responsibility?”
“You hesitate a lot when you talk, did you know that?” Older Harry tucks his hands behind his head and beams at the sky in a way that makes him seem both younger than Harry himself is, and a bit simple. “Of course, I used to be like that myself. I used to be so afraid that some choice I was going to make was the wrong one, and I’d hurt someone even though the people all around me said worse things and did worse things all the time. But I get rid of that load at last. George helped.”
“You’re together with George,” Harry says flatly. Why does he keep finding universes where he’s gay?
“Yes.” Older Harry smiles at him smugly, as though he knows exactly what Harry is thinking and has decided it’s funny. “It took him a long time for him to accept that he wasn’t betraying Fred in some obscure way.”
“Please tell me he and Fred never-”
“Of course not! But he always thought Fred would be the closest person in his life, no matter what, so it was hard for him to adjust. We won’t get married. George says he doesn’t want to, that it would be too close a bond, and I agreed.”
Harry just stares at Older Harry and feels as if someone has clubbed him over the head repeatedly. Why is the universe so weird? Why does the altar think he needs to see futures that are never going to happen?
“You can’t play Quidditch forever,” Harry finally says, an argument Hermione has made when Ron’s said he’d like to play for the Chudley Cannons. “What’re you going to do when you get too old?”
“Probably help George in the joke shop. Maybe just live off my money. I saved the world, I deserve a holiday, don’t you think?”
“But you don’t have that much money in your vault!”
“You think that was the only money there? It renews thanks to an enchantment Dad set up.” Older Harry shrugs. “I’m not sure where it pulls money from, but so far, no one has complained, so I don’t think I’m stealing from anyone who’ll notice.”
Harry licks his dry lips. He can see the appeal in this kind of life, just lounging around and doing what he wants. Quidditch was always what he loved most at Hogwarts, more than even Defense.
But does he have to do it with George?
“How did you get together with George?” Harry asks, because he’s determined to understand all the weird dynamics that this vision throws at him.
Older Harry smiles. “Well, you know, Ron was pretty worried about George right after the war, with Fred being gone and everything, and George didn’t want to come back to the Burrow. So Ron asked me to go check in on him now and then. Thought George would take it better coming from me than his annoying baby brother. And George was willing to show me new pranks and the like that he wouldn’t have shown other people until they were on the market, because I’d helped them invest to start their shop.
“One night, George was showing me a cube that would unfold into a spider that brought insects into the house instead of eating them. And he said he was going to use it on Ron, and I laughed. And he put down the spider, and stared at me. I thought I’d done something wrong, but instead, he reached out, and he put one arm around my waist, and he pulled me in close…”
Harry discovers that he’s blushing. The expression on Older Harry’s face is gentle and a bit wistful. Harry thinks it’s also intensely private. He’s starting to think he shouldn’t have asked about this.
“George said that I was the only one he wanted to hear laugh lately.” Older Harry’s voice is soft. “That he used to think it wouldn’t be worth staying in the world after Fred died, and now he knew it was. He said he would let me go if I didn’t feel the same, but he’d really like to kiss me.
“And I kissed him because I wanted to know what would happen next. And I stayed the night.”
Harry’s relieved that he won’t be getting any more details than that. “So he’s the one who encouraged you to just play Quidditch and live off your money?”
Older Harry scoffs a little. “You don’t need to sound as though that’s some moral failing. I saved the bloody world. And Britain had turned on me again, because supposedly I was sleeping with Fleur and Hermione and Ginny all at once, and they believed the scandal. I decided that I didn’t owe them one more drop of my blood or self-respect. Fuck all of ‘em. No one was happy about me dating George, but they didn’t have to be.”
“You’re not worried that something will happen you could only prevent if you were in the Aurors?”
Older Harry gives him a long, steady look, and Harry isn’t pleased to realize that it’s one of pity. “Wow, they’ve really done a number on your head, huh. Had any long talks with Dumbledore’s portrait lately?”
Harry’s annoyed to realize he’s blushing, and not because of thinking about what Older Harry and George might have got up to in the shop that night. “None of your business.”
“Right.” Older Harry stands up, and again the window moves with him. He grabs the Quaffle and tosses it into the air again. “It’s been fun, but I do need to get back home. George said he was going to make coq au vin tonight, and honestly, that’s not to be missed.”
“Wait!” Harry blurts, as he remembers the question he forgot to ask. Older Harry glances at him. “Did you ever answer the voice that called on the edge of your dreams from the Hogwarts grounds? That’s my third question.”
Older Harry looks completely perplexed. “What voice?”
Harry stares at him, and the door closes.
*
But I thought they all heard it. What would be the point of them being me if they didn’t hear it? Or did they answer it and they don’t want to admit it?
Harry sighs. He’d like to think the last one is true, because that might mean that he isn’t gay and he’s not going to be in love with Malfoy someday and that he’ll succeed as an Auror, but he doesn’t think he can just refuse to trust what they say.
The next door starts as triangular points of light, all dark blue, and all separated by enough space that Harry doesn’t understand how they’re going to join together. But in the end, light blows from them into the middle, above the center of the altar, and then coalesces into an image of his older self in dark blue robes.
Harry catches his breath. This version of himself is the one that looks as if it’s standing the closest to him of any so far, without a doorway between them. He also looks older than even the judge who was married to Hermione, with silver at his temples. He doesn’t have a beard, or a scar on his face, and his eyes are calm and assessing as they rest on Harry. Harry glances up, but any trace of the scar on his forehead is hidden by his long fringe.
“Who calls me?” Older Harry shifts a little, and slips a hand down the side of his robes as if to grip his wand. The robes stir, and they have silver on the cuffs and edges. It makes Harry a little nervous. He never pictured himself wearing anything so rich.
“Um. A younger version of you who wants to know what he should do in the future.”
Older Harry goes back to standing with his arms folded, instead of reaching for a weapon. “Interesting,” he murmurs, staring so intently at Harry that Harry has to fight the temptation to fidget. “You are-what, seventeen? Eighteen?”
“Eighteen,” Harry says. Defensiveness and perhaps some tightening of the lines around Older Harry’s mouth make him add, “Nineteen in a few months.”
“Just at the beginning of the path,” Older Harry says, and tilts his head. “What advice did you want from me?”
“Um, about whether I should marry Ginny and become an Auror,” Harry says hurriedly. He just manages to chew down an apology about wasting this man’s time. He’s intimidating in a way that not many people Harry has ever met are. “I don’t really know what I want to do with my life, and I’ve been speaking to various versions of myself to find out.”
“Was I ever that young?” Older Harry whispers to himself, but he continues before Harry can make any response. “Well. My life has led me to marriage, but not with Ginny. Not with any woman.”
Harry barely holds backs a groan. Older Harry still looks at him as if he heard it, so Harry feels compelled to explain. “Why do I keep finding universes where I’m married to men?” he complains. “Or together with men, anyway,” he feels compelled to add, since the last Harry and George weren’t actually married. “I’m not gay!”
“Neither am I.”
“You’re with-”
“There’s such a thing as being bisexual.”
Merlin, his voice is clipped and cold. Harry cringes and glares at the same time. Older Harry looks back at him with the same calm demeanor, profoundly unimpressed.
“Right,” Harry says. “So, what are you if not an Auror?”
Older Harry blinks. “I thought you knew, and were asking if you could add a part-time Auror career on top of everything else. I am a necromancer, and have been so since I answered the Elder Wand’s calling from Dumbledore’s tomb.”
Harry gags. It’s partially the shock of the revelation, and partially the shock of hearing someone name what he’s heard calling. He swallows, and shakes his head. “I don’t know if I should answer it,” he whispers.
“You should,” Older Harry says instantly. “Of course you should. It offers you untold power, and since you united it with the other Hallows and have become a necromancer of a kind the world has never seen before, you have the power to return the dead. Truly return them, to life. Without them being vampires or mindless Inferi.”
Harry clenches his hands. He hasn’t felt tempted this way since Voldemort made that offer in first year to bring back his parents. And even then, he knew Voldemort was lying. He doesn’t think Older Harry is. He looks as if he thinks it would be beneath him to lie.
“Who did you bring back?” he whispers.
“Sirius. My parents.” Older Harry’s mask slips a little, and his eyes glow with a deep-down light that Harry thinks is buried joy. “Severus Snape.”
“Why would you bring back that bastard?”
And he stops, because Older Harry is definitely pointing what is definitely the Elder Wand at him now, and there isn’t a doorway between them, or doesn’t appear to be, that might stop the curse.
“Have a care how you speak of my husband,” Older Harry hisses.
Harry stares at him, and shakes his head and says, “No. I can accept the universe where I was married to Draco Malfoy more easily than this.”
“Draco is a prat,” Older Harry says, although with a tone marring the smoothness of his voice that Harry thinks means he probably sees the “prat” pretty regularly. “Severus is fond of him, and I tolerate him for Severus’s sake.”
“But why?”
“I brought him back because it wasn’t fair that he died for the Elder Wand,” Older Harry says simply. “And after that, after I brought Sirius and my parents back…well, there were several difficult years when they had a rough time accepting what I’d done. They were utterly opposed to me learning necromancy, or the Dark Arts. Severus wasn’t. He’d created spells that were powerful Dark Arts, after all, as well as fairly nasty hexes and jinxes. He found the idea of infuriating my father by teaching me Dark Arts amusing.”
“What about Mum?” Harry still hasn’t told a lot of people about the fact that his mum and Snape were friends. He still doesn’t really know how to react to it.
“Well, they have a friendship now.” Older Harry shrugs a little. “You have to realize, I brought my parents back as the age they were when they died, not the age they would have been if they had kept on living. I can grant life to the dead, but not years they should have spent in this world. So for Severus, it was rather like having one of his students or an Auror trainee who was capable and brilliant and…loved.”
“So you have some issues!”
“Our issues could fill our house, and often do. There are nights I spend in my own cottage, or with my parents, and Severus spends in the house I resurrected for him.” Older Harry goes on before Harry can ask how you resurrect a house. “But Severus’s feelings for her did change once she was alive again, and so much younger. They argued and screamed a lot, but it healed an old wound in him, too. And he was more open to me after that.”
“So you seduced him?”
“The Dark Arts seduced him,” Older Harry says without a trace of shame, as if that was a normal thing to say. “Dark Arts can be cast collaboratively, and they bind the people who cast them deeply together. Severus was astonished by my magic as a necromancer, and told me early on that he would give a lot to spend more time with me. A few months and rituals later, we were sharing a bed.”
Harry shakes his head. “But-he isn’t attractive.” No matter what Draco’s husband said about Harry sometimes fancying boys, he’s certain he never fancied Snape.
“You haven’t seen him casting Dark Arts, then.” Older Harry’s eyes are half-lidded, and he seems to be staring past Harry into a private world of his own. “It’s a magnificent sight. And you know full well we found his mind attractive as the Half-Blood Prince.”
“There’s no we. I’m not you. I’m not mental like you.”
“And yet you’ve heard the Wand singing to you.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to pick it up!”
Older Harry laughs softly at him, a chilling sound that spirals down Harry’s spine and makes his muscles shake. “Oh? I think after you heard me say that I could resurrect my parents and Sirius, your temptation is going to be too strong to resist.”
Harry closes his eyes and breathes through his fury. Then he says, “Go away. You haven’t given me any useful answers.”
“I’ve given you the ones you needed to hear, if not wanted.” Older Harry turns a little to the side, watching Harry intently. “And you’re already a necromancer, you know. The moment you became the Master of Death, you were one. It’s only waiting on you.”
“Shut up! Go away! Go fuck Snape!”
“Bold of you to assume I’m always the one with my dick up his arse,” Older Harry says, a moment before he dissolves into dark blue sparks.
Harry stands there with his hands over his face, and ignores the voice softly speaking on the edges of his mind.
*
He thinks it might be the end of the visions because of how quiet the forest’s got, but when he drops his hands from his face and looks again, there’s a spark of violet light on the altar.
Harry watches as it extends backwards and around, and then outlines two figures this time. Harry blinks, with only a dull edge of surprise. He wonders if he’s about to see a version of himself with a twin brother he didn’t know about. Hell, nothing would surprise him at this point.
But only one of the figures that appears is him-looking no older than he actually is, which is a surprise. And the other figure is Tom Riddle, Jr., draped over Older, or Same-Age, Harry, with his chin on that Harry’s shoulder and a smug smile on his face.
“No,” Harry declares. “I’m hallucinating.”
“Are you?” Riddle asks, with what seems like sharp interest. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind plucking-”
The Harry next to him nudges him with an elbow and shakes his head. “Shut up, Tom,” he says, and focuses on Harry. “I know why you’re here. I came to the altar in the forest in my time and asked my questions, too.”
“And what kinds of answers did you get, that made you wind up like this?” Harry gestures wildly at the two of them. “For that matter, how? I know all the Horcruxes were destroyed.”
“All but that crying child I left in King’s Cross,” Same-Age Harry says softly.
Harry blinks, and blinks again. Sometimes, he hears the baby’s crying in his dreams, too, when he isn’t listening to the low, insistent singing of the Elder Wand.
“You went back and found him?” he whispers.
Same-Age Harry nods. “And it wasn’t easy, but I had the Elder Wand, and the power it gave me. It took a few years, but we made him another homunculus, and then we grew it to an appropriate age.” He gives Riddle a soppy look that Harry does not approve of. “He was bound to my soul.”
“What does that have to do with it? Did you find your world lacking in immortal genocidal psychopaths or something?” Harry can hear his voice rising, but honestly, he doesn’t care. As far as he’s concerned, Same-Age Harry has turned his back on his parents’ sacrifice and Snape’s and Dumbledore’s and Sirius’s deaths and his own sacrifice.
“I mean that he knows me better than anyone else ever has.” Same-Age Harry leans into Riddle, who embraces him and smirks at Harry over his shoulder. Harry wants to shout for his other self to turn around and look at who he’s bound himself to, but Same-Age Harry just keeps speaking. “And I needed that, in the wake of the war. Things didn’t turn out like I thought they would at all.”
“I’m sure you could put up with a few negative stories in the press,” Harry snipes.
“What about the squads of Hit Wizards out to kill me?”
Harry just stares at his future self, too appalled to speak.
Same-Age Harry nods, reaching back to let his fingers close over one of Riddle’s wrists. “Somehow, the news got out that I’d been a Horcrux. Some people decided that I was still one and I could be used to bring Voldemort back. And they decided that killing me to prevent that was the best thing to do.
“So I went and found an ally. A lover. All I need.” He leans back against Riddle almost enough to force the other young man from his feet, and this time, they’re both smiling like wolves. Maybe they are well-matched.
“Why am I gay in four of these worlds and only straight in two of them?” Harry complains. He thinks back to what Necromancer Harry said about being bisexual, but then forces the thought away. He’s still with a man in that world, not a woman.
“Well, maybe that tells you something you should think about,” Riddle pipes up.
“The altar offers you a vision,” Same-Age Harry says, shaking his head. “A possibility. A choice. That’s all. No one can make you do anything. But I’d watch out, if I were you. It was just about the end of my real seventh year at Hogwarts that the first Hit Wizard squad came for me.”
“You say that it took you a few years to-bring him back,” Harry says, flailing around to grasp for a different topic. This can’t be his future. It simply cannot. There is no universe where there is even a choice for him. “But you look the same age as me. Did you travel back in time? Or did this start happening during your fifth year?”
Same-Age Harry blinks, then says, “Oh, I see. No, I’m thirty.”
“There’s no way!”
“The Master of Death is immortal,” Riddle murmurs, his voice sounding like Harry remembers from the diary, his smirk wide and dark. “And this was the age at which Harry found the Hallows. So he shall remain this age forever.”
“You’re not immortal, though.”
Riddle gives him a sidelong look, but Same-Age Harry-or maybe he’s really Older Harry-says, “Of course he is. Why would I bother seeking out someone who would die and leave me alone?”
“You must have friends. They wouldn’t leave you alone.” Even if they would age and die. Harry wonders uneasily if he’s also immortal and if he’ll leave Ron and Hermione behind. And Ginny, because he’s still determined to marry her, because that seems like the sanest universe.
“They abandoned me after I brought Tom back.”
“But not before! Doesn’t that say to you that it was the wrong decision? That you shouldn’t have done it in the first place?”
“It’s useless to argue with him, darling,” Riddle says, and caresses Older Harry’s chest while raising an eyebrow at Harry, as if to dare him to keep the argument going.
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Older Harry gives Harry a scathing look that makes him flush. “Remember me and what I told you you could have when the first Hit Wizard squad comes for you. Or ask the Elder Wand. It’s panting to do whatever you desire.”
“It’s not the only one,” Riddle hisses. In Parseltongue, Harry realizes, which is like a blow. He thought he lost that bloody language!
“This is a conversation perhaps best had out of sight of that failed version of myself,” Older Harry says, and shakes his head in Harry’s direction before the purple sparks cloak them and they fade out of sight.
*
Harry wishes he had never come to the altar.
It wasn’t worth knowing what a horrible person he could become. A necromancer? Tom Riddle’s lover?
Being married to Draco Malfoy is nothing, compared to that. Even tearing apart his friendship with Ron over Hermione is nothing.
Harry sighs and starts to turn away from the altar to walk back to Hogwarts.
And then he realizes that a black glow has spread over the altar, forming an arched entrance like the curtains over a stage. Harry turns back around to stare at it, tensing his muscles. Is something going to come out of it and demand a price from him? If so, it isn’t worth paying. He learned nothing from all this, certainly not which path is best for him, or if he and Ginny are going to have a happy marriage in this world.
The black glow flares in the middle and seems to shine for a second like an enormous, faceted piece of onyx. Then the shine spins out, and Harry is looking at a landscape that’s cracked and seamed and quiet.
Black earth, he thinks, staring. Or a black desert? It looks like some images of deserts that he’s seen, where the earth is so dry that it can split like this. Or maybe he’s looking at some dark side of the moon.
He wonders why he’s being shown this. How can this be a vision of his future when he can’t even see his dead body in it?
A sharp giggle cuts across the scene, and someone leaps over one of the motionless dark mounds and lands at the front of the scene as if in front of a camera.
Harry recoils. The figure staring at him is him, but only in the way Nagini was him when Harry dreamed her attacking Mr. Weasley. Ragged black hair hangs around his face, looking as if he’s torn chunks out of it. His eyes seems to have cracks in their glaze. His glasses are gone. His scar is a dark, bleeding line on his forehead. In one hand, he clutches the blazing Elder Wand.
Harry has no idea if he actually is an older Harry. His face is so different that it’s impossible to tell his age.
But Harry does want to know what the hell he’s being shown, so he whispers, “Who are you?”
“Allow me to introduce myself.” The voice puts the emphasis in the wrong places on the words, and he laughs for a long second before he focuses on Harry, his eyes suddenly and disturbingly sane. “I’m the Master of Death!”
Harry glances past him at the quiet scene. Lifeless. “Did you-are you in the land of the dead? Are you dead?”
“What is dead is immortal,” the Master of Death half-sings. “No! I made sure that everything was as immortal as I am. Now everything is safe. Now everyone is at peace.”
Harry feels bile trying to crawl up his throat, and swallows it back down with an effort. It makes his voice hoarse and croaking when he does speak. “You killed everyone? You killed the world? How?”
“It’s simple when you put out the sun!”
Harry just stares at him. He’d like to say that the Master of Death is mad, and that this won’t actually happen. But Harry doesn’t know for sure. When he stares at the seamed black earth, it does seem like what might have happened if the sun was dead…
“Not even the Elder Wand could have that power.”
He whispers it, but the Master of Death hears him. He begins to leap up and down, laughing. “Yes, it could! Yes, it does! You’ll see when you follow the song and take up the wand!”
Harry passes his hand over his face, well aware that he’s trembling violently. “What happened? Why did you do it?”
The Master of Death clucks his tongue. “Now, why would I tell you that? You’d probably do something to prevent it, and I want you to come here! I want you to make this happen, and exist forever in the middle of all this desolation!”
“Why?”
The Master of Death leans forwards until his face seems to project beyond the edge of the arched doorway, and whispers, “Because you deserve it.”
And the vision sheets into black light, and dissolves.
*
This time, it really does seem to be done. When no light of any kind appears above the altar for five minutes in a row, Harry shudders with relief and turns away, staggering back through the Forest to the school.
He doesn’t follow the same path he did before, and is unsurprised to see that the altar has vanished when he looks over his shoulder. Night is coming on fast. Harry lights his wand-his holly wand, not the one that whispers to him-with a Lumos and lifts a portable shield around his body and walks on.
He comes out at the edge of the lake and stands there, shivering and staring into the water. His head whirls with so many thoughts that it actually hurts.
He didn’t think he was an evil person. But that last vision-well, the last two-seem to suggest that he is. Or was he justified in resurrecting Tom Riddle because Hit Wizards were hunting for him? What went through that Harry’s head?
There’s no justification for that last vision, so Harry doesn’t think about what the Master of Death was thinking. He doesn’t want to know.
Why would he want to become a necromancer? Why would he decide that cheating on Ginny was the only thing he could do? Why would he marry Draco Malfoy? Why would he become an irresponsible Quidditch player and nothing else?
No, the best thing to do is follow the first path that showed itself to him, marry Ginny, have three great kids, and become Head Auror. It ought to be easy. He knows what to avoid. He just has to make sure to marry Ginny instead of Malfoy, never look at Hermione in a sexual way or accept Ron’s plea to check up on George, and, well, to avoid the last three visions, all he has to do is not take up the Elder Wand.
Harry shivers as the night wind curls itself around him, and starts trudging back to Hogwarts. He does pause, though, to glance at the white gleam of Dumbledore’s tomb, like a fallen star in the night.
The singing in his head rises to a questioning note.
“No,” Harry whispers. “I reject you. Do you hear me? I’ll take those visions as a warning, not bloody advice. I’ll never wield you.”
The song pauses for a moment. Harry smiles grimly. He’ll be happy if he never hears it again.
But then it comes back. And there’s a smug tone to it now. Harry narrows his eyes. What the fuck-
And then he remembers. When he asked the first Harry, the one married to Ginny, the one who is everything he wants to be, what wand he carried, he turned and left.
He didn’t answer.
Harry shivers again, and this time, it’s not the wind. He turns and swallows and drives himself towards the waiting warmth of Hogwarts.
Behind him, there’s a low chuckle.
The End.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Harry/Draco, Harry/Hermione, Harry/George, Harry/Snape, Harry/Tom Riddle
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, divination, present tense, angst, Hogwarts eighth year, Master of Death Harry Potter, ambiguous ending, mental instability, internalized homophobia, discussion of infidelity and character death
Wordcount: 9600
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Harry is restless and dissatisfied with his life as he nears the end of his repeated seventh year at Hogwarts. He doesn’t know if he should continue dating Ginny or not, if he should become an Auror or not, if he should listen to the voice that whispers on the edge of his sleep or not. When Hermione tells him a story about an altar in the Forbidden Forest that’s supposed to show possible visions of the future, Harry can’t resist approaching it.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Litha to Lammas” fics for this summer, fics posted between the summer solstice and the first of August.
An Altar to an Unknown God
Harry hesitates, the crunching of leaves under his feet coming to a halt. He’s been following the directions in the story Hermione told them in the Gryffindor common room a few nights ago, heading arrow-straight into the Forest, along the path indicated by the setting sun. He’s charmed tree branches out of the way and cut holes in rocks when he had to.
And just as she said, the trees have drawn back so that Harry never had to actually cut one of them. They arch overhead now in a silence unbroken except for the passage of his feet through the leaves. They’re all tall, straight, slender trees with utterly black bark that makes them look carved of obsidian, and they’re all bare, despite the spring flourishing outside the forest.
And the fading light of sunset has been replaced by the strong golden glow of a summer’s afternoon.
Hesitantly, Harry tucks his wand into the holster along his right arm. He certainly doesn’t need it to cast Lumos right now. He heads down the path that is clear except for the leaves, and in a few minutes, even the leaves draw away, and Harry is walking along a path of marble fused together so that it looks as if one huge piece was just dropped here, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.
Harry shivers.
The path appears to bend, and Harry wonders if he should bend with it or keep going straight ahead, the way the story says. But a second later, he sees that he doesn’t need to make the choice. This isn’t a bend; it’s the path widening out in a brilliant, white-glowing circle that surrounds what he’s come seeking.
An altar to an unknown god.
Harry licks his lips and continues walking slowly forwards. He really can’t show any hesitation now. He has to finish this. He came this far.
And if he turns around and goes back to Hogwarts, then he’ll just continue to feel the same nagging dissatisfaction that he has for the last nine months. Should he go on dating Ginny when it’s pleasant but not deep? Should he become an Auror when it was based on a choice he made in fifth year, before-half of everything? Should he listen to the voice that’s been whispering to him in dreams, trying to pull him towards a specific area of Hogwarts?
(Harry pretends he doesn’t know who that voice belongs to, but he’s lying).
The story Hermione told him said that the altar can present different possible visions of the future to the person who comes seeking it just right. Those visions won’t necessarily come true, but all Harry needs right now is some kind of clarification. Something to work towards.
He hopes that he’ll see himself married to Ginny, different versions of how that could work out, and he’ll know some of the mistakes they need to avoid. And he should be able to see whether he’ll actually like working as an Auror or not.
The voice…
He’s not sure what vision he’ll see of it, but at least whatever bad outcomes he sees should make it easier to ignore.
The altar is a small, blocky thing, made of brilliant red stone. It doesn’t have any runes on it or signs that someone has splashed blood on it, ever.
Unless the blood has managed to dye the stone that color, of course.
Harry sighs, wishing he hadn’t thought of that, and moves forwards, drawing his wand to cut his hand, the way Hermione said he had to. He holds it out, prepared to smear it in a long line down the side of the altar and onto the marble.
But the minute he gets close to the altar, before he can touch it, the air around him blazes crystalline. Harry freezes. The blood on his hand crawls back into the cut, which seals itself, and the forest around him seems to pulsate with the noise of an enormous chime.
The chime and the light continue for long moments, buzzing in Harry’s bones, and then fade. Harry stares at the altar. Nothing has appeared on it-
No, wait.
There’s a spark of crystalline light there, and it widens and broadens as Harry watches it, spreading out like a bird hatching from an egg. When it fades, it’s formed the shape of a doorway as tall as he is. Taller, in fact, since it’s standing on the altar instead of rising from the ground.
Harry walks a little closer, feeling baffled. Will he look through the doorway and see the vision as in a crystal ball? The story Hermione told him had nothing like this. It was just supposed to be visions appearing in his head, once he smeared the blood on the altar. But the altar hasn’t even accepted his blood.
The doorway seems to extend back a long way when Harry comes to a halt in front of it, forming a corridor. As he stares down it, Harry realizes he can hear footsteps. Someone walks briskly up to the edge of the doorway and stands there, staring at him.
Dad?
But even as Harry’s heart gives that painful jump, he realizes it isn’t true. The figure is taller and older than him, yes, with a beard that partially obscures his face, and he has dark hair and glasses. But he has Harry’s eyes, and Harry’s faded scar.
Harry licks his lips. He thinks the older version of himself is going to do something, perhaps turn and hold out his hand to Ginny when she appears, but instead, he studies Harry and then nods a little.
“So something pulled me here,” he says, his voice deep and confident in a way Harry never imagined his own could be. “You look like you’re a lot younger than me. Do you want me to tell me what year you’re going into?”
“Finishing up my seventh year,” Harry says. “I mean, after the defeat of Voldemort.”
He’s grateful to note that even though this man obviously comes from a different world, he doesn’t flinch at the mention of Voldemort’s name. At least some things are identical, no matter how much stronger and more sure of himself this man looks.
Older Harry smiles at him. “All right. What did you want to know?”
“I want to know what my future is going to be like. A future,” Harry tacks on, remembering that there will be other versions of the future coming. “Who do I marry? What do I become? I don’t really know if I’m making the best decisions.”
“You marry Ginny,” Older Harry says instantly. “The best thing that ever happened to me, besides my kids.”
Harry feels a deep, warm relaxation in the middle of his stomach, as if a belt that was tied too tightly is loosening. “Oh,” he breathes. “Will you tell me a little about it? How many kids do you have? What’s your marriage like?”
Older Harry laughs, sounding a little bewildered. “It’s hard to describe a marriage from the outside,” he says. “And some things, you’re too young to know.”
Harry flushes, but his other self is going on in a musing tone. “But there’s plenty I could tell you. Ginny and I got married a few years out of Hogwarts. She played for the Holyhead Harpies for a while, and quit to become a Quidditch writer for the Daily Prophet. We have three kids. Jamie, Al, and Lily.”
Harry swallows. He’s always secretly thought that he’d like to name his kids after his parents. To meet someone who’s done it… “Wait. Al? Albus?”
“Yeah.” Older Harry winks at him. “Albus Severus.”
“The fuck?” Harry blurts, but laughter echoes back at him from the other side of the crystalline doorway.
“You’re going to feel differently about him later than you do now,” Older Harry says, and for a second, his eyes become piercing. “And even now, I think your feelings about him are more complicated than you want anyone to know.”
Harry sighs. It’s not like Snape is a popular topic of discussion in Gryffindor, and Harry hasn’t been in the Headmaster’s office since he repaired his holly wand. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. What do you do?”
“What do you think?”
“Auror?” That is what goes along with his choice to date Ginny, at least in his mind.
“Head Auror, no less.” Older Harry pulls his robe aside a little to reveal a gleaming badge with what looks like a pair of crossed wands above a hound’s head. “Used to show that I’m hunting down justice, you see.”
Harry watches him hungrily. “You can’t be that old, right? And you’re Head Auror?”
“I’m thirty-eight. Youngest Head Auror in history.” Older Harry lets the fold of his robe fall back again and grins at Harry. “I won’t pretend that it’s all fun and games. Sometimes the politics in the Ministry drive me mental. And not all the evil died with Voldemort, you know? But it’s the best place for me. The place I know I’m meant for.”
Harry nods. Now that he’s seen this, he wonders whether he really needs to see the other visions the altar might show him. Surely this is enough? This is the answer to every question. The assurance that he’ll have a happy life if he just keeps dating Ginny and pursues Auror training like he really intended all along, anyway.
But, no. Not every question.
“What about the voice that whispers to me in the night?” Harry asks. “Did you ever follow it?”
Older Harry’s eyes widen a little. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean. The voice. The voice that promises you ultimate power if you just do what it wants.”
Older Harry actually falls back a step. He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“What wand do you carry now?”
Older Harry turns and walks away, with a lengthening stride that carries him down the crystalline corridor before Harry can stop him. He does call out, but the door swings to, and the light dims, and the chance to speak with that version of his future self is gone.
*
Is that it? Harry thinks, in the mere moment before another spark of light begins to shine. This one is brilliant gold.
Harry absently rubs his hand against his rapidly beating heart. Older Harry didn’t answer the question. But Harry doesn’t know whether he was afraid of being asked, or if he was afraid of Harry. Afraid of the voice and what it promises? Did he suddenly realize that Harry wasn’t really a younger version of himself after all, that their worlds are too different?
Does that mean that Harry can’t live that wonderful life with Ginny and three kids and being Head Auror?
But the next door opens before he can worry too much about that. This really is just a door, not a corridor, and his older self is waiting expectantly on the other side, as if he walked up before Harry got done talking to the other one.
Harry relaxes a little when he realizes this version of himself is wearing Auror robes. It’s starting to look like he really will be choosing that career, and if it’s worked out well for him in two worlds, it’ll work out in this one.
“Hello?” The older version of himself smiles at him a little quizzically. He doesn’t have a beard, but he does have a scar on his cheek that looks like something with claws got him. Harry’s stomach tightens a little. Does that mean he gets attacked by a werewolf? On the other hand, he’s seen Remus’s scars, and this one doesn’t look like them.
“Hi,” Harry said, and licked his lips. “I’m-I’m seeking guidance on my future, and Hermione told me that I could find it here. Can you tell me what you’re like?”
“I should have thought the whole world knew that.”
There’s a softly mocking tone in Older Harry’s voice that definitely wasn’t there with the first one. Harry shakes his head a little. “I mean, you must have recognized me, right? I’m your younger self.”
“From another world?”
The man’s voice is slow and reluctant, but Harry doesn’t know why. The version of himself in the crystal doorway seemed to believe him instinctively. He nods, a little wary now. “Yeah. And I don’t know whether I should keep dating Ginny or not. And whether I should become an Auror or not.” He eyes Older Harry’s robes. “But it seems like you made the right decision?”
“Being an Auror has been great,” Older Harry says. “Although not always easy physically.” His hand wanders up to the scar on his face. “Not that this doesn’t have its advantages for distracting people’s attention from the one on my forehead.”
Harry grimaces. “Oh, are people still going on about that?”
Older Harry appears to relax finally, and smiles at him. “Yes, they are. It’s the worst, isn’t it? And I’m afraid that if your future’s like mine, you’ll have to weather a storm in the papers, oh, about six years from now.”
“Why?” Harry demands.
“Hmmm. I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re still in the middle of dating Ginny Weasley right now, and not seeing why that won’t work.”
The doubt in Older Harry’s voice makes Harry bristle a little. “Why wouldn’t it? The first version of myself I saw said that he married Ginny and had three kids and it worked out just fine for him!”
“And named them James and Lily and Sirius, I suppose?”
“James and Lily and Albus, actually.”
Older Harry’s face is unsettlingly blank for a second. Then he mutters something and shakes his head.
Harry stares at him. “Did you really just say fuck that old bastard?”
Older Harry sighs and lounges for a moment against the side of the golden doorway. The gleam of the light picks up something on his finger that looks like a heavy ring. Harry blinks. Married, then. Is that why he’s saying dating Ginny was a mistake? Because he ended up getting married to someone else?
But Harry is more interested in the answer to another question right now, even if he thinks Older Harry is being sort of unfair. Just because he married someone else doesn’t mean that he made a mistake by dating Ginny. “Why do you hate Dumbledore? Or why are you acting like you do?”
“I have a complicated relationship with him.” Older Harry runs his fingers over the ring as though he’s used to touching it while he thinks. “I talk to his portrait on the regular, and I accept that he had to make decisions that no one else could have made unless they had the same knowledge he did.
“But he also could have shared that knowledge. I think, from some things he’s said, that he was always paranoid that someone who knew the same things might end up like Grindelwald did when he went seeking the Hallows. Albus blames himself for screwing up the situation with Grindelwald, and he decided to make it better by basically never trusting anyone again, so no one else could run off with knowledge he thought was dangerous.”
“That’s kind of a twisted way to think of it.”
Older Harry shrugs dismissively. “Maybe. I don’t agree with everything Draco says about him. But talking to both of them, Draco and Dumbledore, helps me keep things in perspective.”
Harry feels as if he’s tried to swallow a whole glass of Firewhisky at once. “Draco? Draco Malfoy?”
“Sure,” Older Harry says. His voice is bland, but his eyes have started to dance with mockery that Harry doesn’t think he’s ever worn.
“Why would you be talking to him? I mean, are you friends? Auror partners?” That makes a ghastly amount of sense. Harry did read one pamphlet about the Aurors that says they assign people to be partners who might not get along and demand they work together, because the goal of defeating Dark wizards is more important than whatever arguments people have.
“Partners,” Older Harry says, and a wicked smile that Harry doesn’t recognize widens across his face. “Not Auror ones.”
“You-you can’t be married to him.”
“Why not?” Older Harry still has that smile, and Harry has to wonder if it’s something he’s adopted from his-partner. Husband? Ew.
“I’m not gay!”
“That was the source of the press debacle that I mentioned a minute ago. You didn’t know you were gay. Neither did anyone else. I would just relax and try not to worry about it too much. Maybe you’ll marry Ginny Weasley after all and endure years of a horrific, stifling marriage where you try to keep what you’re sexually interested in shoved into a box because you think you should please everyone except yourself. Merlin knows that would fit with the way Dumbledore raised you.”
Harry finds himself staring at this man, who keeps grinning at him. It feels alien to consider that this man is, well, himself. The first Harry Potter he saw looked kind of strange with that beard, but this one feels much stranger.
“The first one of you I saw was married to Ginny,” Harry insists. “And he said she was the best thing that happened to him, except his kids.”
“Well, there’s two possibilities there.” Older Harry touches his ring again. “One is that different visions are really different worlds, and he’s not gay. The other one is that he’s lying.” The heavy emphasis in Older Harry’s voice leaves no doubt about what he believes.
“How can you say that?”
“By moving my lips and letting breath come out of my lungs.”
Harry glares at him for a second. Older Harry just looks back, unrepentant. Harry finally shakes his head. “I had one more question to ask, about whether you ever answered the voice coming from Hogwarts grounds.”
“Yes, the first time it called. You mean you haven’t?”
Now Older Harry looks as if he thinks Harry is the one who’s lying. Harry shakes his head impatiently. “Okay, fine, you can go. I think I’ve heard all the answers I want to from you.”
Older Harry clicks his heels together and bows while grinning like an arsehole. “All right. But one piece of advice, before you dismiss me altogether. Remember when you were looking at those Pensieve memories Dumbledore was showing you of Riddle’s life?”
“What about them?” Harry asks warily.
“Remember how handsome you thought he was? Again and again. That’s what you thought when you saw him, at least when he was younger. And you thought the same about the diary shade. And you thought the same thing about Cedric. And when you started seeing the memories that involved an older Tom Riddle who’d already started to make Horcruxes, one of the first things you regretted was the loss of his good looks-”
“Shut up!”
Older Harry gives him a little bow, and the golden doorway swings shut.
*
Harry stands there, shaking, and wonders what in the world happened in-that world. How could he decide he was gay? Why could he decide that he could marry and love Draco Malfoy, of all people? Did whatever fight tore up his face addle his brains, too?
But he doesn’t have the chance to ask himself a lot of questions, because there’s an orb of dark green light rising from the center of the altar, swirling back and forth as it grows like a tree. And it forms the shape of a tree, in fact, although it seems to be a door like the others, given that the light collapses away from the front of it and leaves it glowing the green color of a Slytherin tie.
Harry grimaces at the thought. He hopes he’s not about to see a world where he was Sorted into Slytherin or something.
But the man who peers out at him seems like the first Harry who visited him. He has a beard, at least, although his hair is longer, thicker and shaggier. Harry notices in interest that it looks straighter when it’s that long. His eyes are cold and hard, though, and that draws Harry’s attention away from his hairstyle.
“Um, hi,” Harry says, his voice rushing a little. “I’m a version of you from the past-I mean, the end of your repeated seventh year-and Hermione told me that I could come to this altar and ask to see some visions of my future to help me decide what I wanted to do next.”
“Hermione told you?” Older Harry smiles. It softens all the sharp corners of his face, and Harry relaxes. This seems like a normal person, at least, or a version of himself that might be normal. “Then I’ll be happy to answer your questions. Hermione is very dear to me.”
Harry nods, happy that he’s seeing a normal future where he’s remained best friends with his best friends. He can’t imagine that Older Harry from the golden doorway got along with his friends anymore, not if he’s married to bloody Malfoy. “Okay. I want to know if I should become an Auror, and if I should keep dating Ginny Weasley-”
“No. And no.”
Harry pauses. That was…decisive. He assumed that this Older Harry had to be like the first one because of how similar he looked, but maybe that was silly to assume. “Um. Why not?”
“The war didn’t cure the Ministry’s corruption. I assume that even in your world, most of the Voldemort collaborations weren’t punished?”
Older Harry eyes him, and Harry finds himself telling the truth to that sharp, piercing gaze before he even thinks about it. “Well, no, they weren’t. But I thought that was because the Ministry had a hard time telling the difference between real collaborators like Umbridge and the people who just went along with it because they were scared.”
Older Harry snorts. “Yes, that’s the excuse they gave here, too. But they could have done it if they’d cared to use Veritaserum and Pensieve memories and listen to the victims. No, they just wanted to forget the war and go back to being comfortable. Don’t become an Auror. You’ll only work for that corrupt system, and it won’t benefit you or make you happy to be there.”
“Huh,” Harry says, and tries to reconcile that with the first two visions he saw, and fails. Even that arsehole from last time seemed happy being an Auror. “That’s not what the others said.”
“They had to have had different experiences.” Older Harry shrugs, his expression dark. “I, on the other hand, have had the experience of my colleagues trying to kill me because they believed that stupid nonsense about how I was a Dark Lord out to take over the world.”
“So what do you do now?”
“I work for the International Confederation of Wizards as a judge on crimes involving magical creatures.”
Harry feels his jaw dangling a little. He closes it. Then he clears his throat. “Well, I bet that makes Hermione happy.”
“Yes, it does.” Older Harry’s smile still has a dark tinge, but it’s softer than his scowl was. “We make each other very happy.”
“Wait. You and Hermione?”
“Yes.” Older Harry lifts his head, looking for a second like a knight about to face down a dragon-and not a chained one like the one Harry outflew in the Triwizard Tournament, either. “That’s why I can tell you conclusively that marrying Ginny Weasley is a mistake. I did get married to Ginny, and we made each other miserable. We argued about everything from what we should name our kids to me quitting the Ministry. And I saw how miserable Ron was making Hermione. He expected her to have as many kids as Molly and stay at home with them for at least the first few years of each child’s life. There’s no way she would have agreed to that.”
Harry feels as if someone’s slapped him. This is more shocking than learning that one version of himself thinks he’s gay. “So you got divorced from Ginny and married Hermione? And she divorced Ron and got married to you?”
“We should have done that. But we did it afterwards.”
“You’re saying you cheated. On Ginny and Ron. With Hermione.”
“It was the only thing to do.” Older Harry’s eyes are dark, much like the green of the tree-shaped doorway framing him, and impossibly determined. “Ron wasn’t going to agree to a divorce. And Ginny fell in love with the Boy-Who-Lived mystique. She loved it far more than she ever loved me. I knew the only way she would ever divorce me was if I did something she couldn’t forgive. Insult her pride, namely.”
“Ginny’s not like that,” Harry whispers.
“Maybe not now. Maybe not if you don’t marry her. You should spare her as well as yourself, and never give her the chance to grow in that direction. Go right back to the Tower and tell her that you’re breaking up with her, and take Hermione out on a date.”
Harry shakes his head, feeling denial and confusion move through him like a wind. “I can’t-she’s dating Ron.”
“And you think she’s happy with him?” Older Harry sneers, and it makes him look more alien than the mocking smile made Draco’s husband look. “Of course she’s not. She’s concealing her unhappiness because she thinks that you’ll never like her and she’s resigned to putting up with what she’s got.”
Harry stares at him, appalled. “Resigned to putting up with-that’s not Hermione!”
Older Harry rolls his eyes a little. “I don’t think you deserve her,” he says, and turns his back. The tree-shaped door at once seals with a growth that looks like leaves, and then the green light falls and crumbles away.
*
Harry stands there, rubbing his hand over his face, and feels old, although perhaps not as aged as the last version of himself he saw. Will he ever stand there, someday, and be like that? Old, hardened, harsh?
He looks up, wondering if everything’s done, but it’s not; there’s a spiral of orange light dancing back and forth on the altar. It curls in on itself, and then springs out again, and multiple prongs uncurl like blinds.
Through them, Harry looks at the youngest version of himself that he’s seen yet. This man looks to be only a few years older than him, maybe in his mid-twenties. He grins at Harry with an unfelt wind ruffling his hair back and tosses a Quaffle into the air.
“This feels like a dream,” he muses.
Harry shakes his head and reminds himself that he doesn’t know what it feels like for the other versions of himself from the other side. “It’s not,” he says. “I found an altar in the forest and called you for advice. I want to know what kind of future I should have, who I should marry, that kind of thing.”
For some reason, he doesn’t think he needs to explain it further than that. This Harry seems like the closest person to him, other than maybe the first one.
Older Harry lays the Quaffle down beside him on what might be the grass of a Quidditch pitch-the odd shape of the door keeps Harry from seeing more-and blinks at him. “All right. You have my attention.”
“Should I marry Ginny? Should I become an Auror?”
Older Harry grins at him. “Well, I didn’t.”
Harry blinks in turn. “You didn’t? What did you-are you a Quidditch player?”
“Got it in one.” Older Harry winks and then laughs. “Well, I suppose it wasn’t that hard, right? Since I have a Quaffle right here.” He collapses back onto what does look like a pitch. Luckily, the odd-shaped windows follow him down. “I thought about being an Auror, but in the end, it was too much responsibility for me.”
“Too much-responsibility?”
“You hesitate a lot when you talk, did you know that?” Older Harry tucks his hands behind his head and beams at the sky in a way that makes him seem both younger than Harry himself is, and a bit simple. “Of course, I used to be like that myself. I used to be so afraid that some choice I was going to make was the wrong one, and I’d hurt someone even though the people all around me said worse things and did worse things all the time. But I get rid of that load at last. George helped.”
“You’re together with George,” Harry says flatly. Why does he keep finding universes where he’s gay?
“Yes.” Older Harry smiles at him smugly, as though he knows exactly what Harry is thinking and has decided it’s funny. “It took him a long time for him to accept that he wasn’t betraying Fred in some obscure way.”
“Please tell me he and Fred never-”
“Of course not! But he always thought Fred would be the closest person in his life, no matter what, so it was hard for him to adjust. We won’t get married. George says he doesn’t want to, that it would be too close a bond, and I agreed.”
Harry just stares at Older Harry and feels as if someone has clubbed him over the head repeatedly. Why is the universe so weird? Why does the altar think he needs to see futures that are never going to happen?
“You can’t play Quidditch forever,” Harry finally says, an argument Hermione has made when Ron’s said he’d like to play for the Chudley Cannons. “What’re you going to do when you get too old?”
“Probably help George in the joke shop. Maybe just live off my money. I saved the world, I deserve a holiday, don’t you think?”
“But you don’t have that much money in your vault!”
“You think that was the only money there? It renews thanks to an enchantment Dad set up.” Older Harry shrugs. “I’m not sure where it pulls money from, but so far, no one has complained, so I don’t think I’m stealing from anyone who’ll notice.”
Harry licks his dry lips. He can see the appeal in this kind of life, just lounging around and doing what he wants. Quidditch was always what he loved most at Hogwarts, more than even Defense.
But does he have to do it with George?
“How did you get together with George?” Harry asks, because he’s determined to understand all the weird dynamics that this vision throws at him.
Older Harry smiles. “Well, you know, Ron was pretty worried about George right after the war, with Fred being gone and everything, and George didn’t want to come back to the Burrow. So Ron asked me to go check in on him now and then. Thought George would take it better coming from me than his annoying baby brother. And George was willing to show me new pranks and the like that he wouldn’t have shown other people until they were on the market, because I’d helped them invest to start their shop.
“One night, George was showing me a cube that would unfold into a spider that brought insects into the house instead of eating them. And he said he was going to use it on Ron, and I laughed. And he put down the spider, and stared at me. I thought I’d done something wrong, but instead, he reached out, and he put one arm around my waist, and he pulled me in close…”
Harry discovers that he’s blushing. The expression on Older Harry’s face is gentle and a bit wistful. Harry thinks it’s also intensely private. He’s starting to think he shouldn’t have asked about this.
“George said that I was the only one he wanted to hear laugh lately.” Older Harry’s voice is soft. “That he used to think it wouldn’t be worth staying in the world after Fred died, and now he knew it was. He said he would let me go if I didn’t feel the same, but he’d really like to kiss me.
“And I kissed him because I wanted to know what would happen next. And I stayed the night.”
Harry’s relieved that he won’t be getting any more details than that. “So he’s the one who encouraged you to just play Quidditch and live off your money?”
Older Harry scoffs a little. “You don’t need to sound as though that’s some moral failing. I saved the bloody world. And Britain had turned on me again, because supposedly I was sleeping with Fleur and Hermione and Ginny all at once, and they believed the scandal. I decided that I didn’t owe them one more drop of my blood or self-respect. Fuck all of ‘em. No one was happy about me dating George, but they didn’t have to be.”
“You’re not worried that something will happen you could only prevent if you were in the Aurors?”
Older Harry gives him a long, steady look, and Harry isn’t pleased to realize that it’s one of pity. “Wow, they’ve really done a number on your head, huh. Had any long talks with Dumbledore’s portrait lately?”
Harry’s annoyed to realize he’s blushing, and not because of thinking about what Older Harry and George might have got up to in the shop that night. “None of your business.”
“Right.” Older Harry stands up, and again the window moves with him. He grabs the Quaffle and tosses it into the air again. “It’s been fun, but I do need to get back home. George said he was going to make coq au vin tonight, and honestly, that’s not to be missed.”
“Wait!” Harry blurts, as he remembers the question he forgot to ask. Older Harry glances at him. “Did you ever answer the voice that called on the edge of your dreams from the Hogwarts grounds? That’s my third question.”
Older Harry looks completely perplexed. “What voice?”
Harry stares at him, and the door closes.
*
But I thought they all heard it. What would be the point of them being me if they didn’t hear it? Or did they answer it and they don’t want to admit it?
Harry sighs. He’d like to think the last one is true, because that might mean that he isn’t gay and he’s not going to be in love with Malfoy someday and that he’ll succeed as an Auror, but he doesn’t think he can just refuse to trust what they say.
The next door starts as triangular points of light, all dark blue, and all separated by enough space that Harry doesn’t understand how they’re going to join together. But in the end, light blows from them into the middle, above the center of the altar, and then coalesces into an image of his older self in dark blue robes.
Harry catches his breath. This version of himself is the one that looks as if it’s standing the closest to him of any so far, without a doorway between them. He also looks older than even the judge who was married to Hermione, with silver at his temples. He doesn’t have a beard, or a scar on his face, and his eyes are calm and assessing as they rest on Harry. Harry glances up, but any trace of the scar on his forehead is hidden by his long fringe.
“Who calls me?” Older Harry shifts a little, and slips a hand down the side of his robes as if to grip his wand. The robes stir, and they have silver on the cuffs and edges. It makes Harry a little nervous. He never pictured himself wearing anything so rich.
“Um. A younger version of you who wants to know what he should do in the future.”
Older Harry goes back to standing with his arms folded, instead of reaching for a weapon. “Interesting,” he murmurs, staring so intently at Harry that Harry has to fight the temptation to fidget. “You are-what, seventeen? Eighteen?”
“Eighteen,” Harry says. Defensiveness and perhaps some tightening of the lines around Older Harry’s mouth make him add, “Nineteen in a few months.”
“Just at the beginning of the path,” Older Harry says, and tilts his head. “What advice did you want from me?”
“Um, about whether I should marry Ginny and become an Auror,” Harry says hurriedly. He just manages to chew down an apology about wasting this man’s time. He’s intimidating in a way that not many people Harry has ever met are. “I don’t really know what I want to do with my life, and I’ve been speaking to various versions of myself to find out.”
“Was I ever that young?” Older Harry whispers to himself, but he continues before Harry can make any response. “Well. My life has led me to marriage, but not with Ginny. Not with any woman.”
Harry barely holds backs a groan. Older Harry still looks at him as if he heard it, so Harry feels compelled to explain. “Why do I keep finding universes where I’m married to men?” he complains. “Or together with men, anyway,” he feels compelled to add, since the last Harry and George weren’t actually married. “I’m not gay!”
“Neither am I.”
“You’re with-”
“There’s such a thing as being bisexual.”
Merlin, his voice is clipped and cold. Harry cringes and glares at the same time. Older Harry looks back at him with the same calm demeanor, profoundly unimpressed.
“Right,” Harry says. “So, what are you if not an Auror?”
Older Harry blinks. “I thought you knew, and were asking if you could add a part-time Auror career on top of everything else. I am a necromancer, and have been so since I answered the Elder Wand’s calling from Dumbledore’s tomb.”
Harry gags. It’s partially the shock of the revelation, and partially the shock of hearing someone name what he’s heard calling. He swallows, and shakes his head. “I don’t know if I should answer it,” he whispers.
“You should,” Older Harry says instantly. “Of course you should. It offers you untold power, and since you united it with the other Hallows and have become a necromancer of a kind the world has never seen before, you have the power to return the dead. Truly return them, to life. Without them being vampires or mindless Inferi.”
Harry clenches his hands. He hasn’t felt tempted this way since Voldemort made that offer in first year to bring back his parents. And even then, he knew Voldemort was lying. He doesn’t think Older Harry is. He looks as if he thinks it would be beneath him to lie.
“Who did you bring back?” he whispers.
“Sirius. My parents.” Older Harry’s mask slips a little, and his eyes glow with a deep-down light that Harry thinks is buried joy. “Severus Snape.”
“Why would you bring back that bastard?”
And he stops, because Older Harry is definitely pointing what is definitely the Elder Wand at him now, and there isn’t a doorway between them, or doesn’t appear to be, that might stop the curse.
“Have a care how you speak of my husband,” Older Harry hisses.
Harry stares at him, and shakes his head and says, “No. I can accept the universe where I was married to Draco Malfoy more easily than this.”
“Draco is a prat,” Older Harry says, although with a tone marring the smoothness of his voice that Harry thinks means he probably sees the “prat” pretty regularly. “Severus is fond of him, and I tolerate him for Severus’s sake.”
“But why?”
“I brought him back because it wasn’t fair that he died for the Elder Wand,” Older Harry says simply. “And after that, after I brought Sirius and my parents back…well, there were several difficult years when they had a rough time accepting what I’d done. They were utterly opposed to me learning necromancy, or the Dark Arts. Severus wasn’t. He’d created spells that were powerful Dark Arts, after all, as well as fairly nasty hexes and jinxes. He found the idea of infuriating my father by teaching me Dark Arts amusing.”
“What about Mum?” Harry still hasn’t told a lot of people about the fact that his mum and Snape were friends. He still doesn’t really know how to react to it.
“Well, they have a friendship now.” Older Harry shrugs a little. “You have to realize, I brought my parents back as the age they were when they died, not the age they would have been if they had kept on living. I can grant life to the dead, but not years they should have spent in this world. So for Severus, it was rather like having one of his students or an Auror trainee who was capable and brilliant and…loved.”
“So you have some issues!”
“Our issues could fill our house, and often do. There are nights I spend in my own cottage, or with my parents, and Severus spends in the house I resurrected for him.” Older Harry goes on before Harry can ask how you resurrect a house. “But Severus’s feelings for her did change once she was alive again, and so much younger. They argued and screamed a lot, but it healed an old wound in him, too. And he was more open to me after that.”
“So you seduced him?”
“The Dark Arts seduced him,” Older Harry says without a trace of shame, as if that was a normal thing to say. “Dark Arts can be cast collaboratively, and they bind the people who cast them deeply together. Severus was astonished by my magic as a necromancer, and told me early on that he would give a lot to spend more time with me. A few months and rituals later, we were sharing a bed.”
Harry shakes his head. “But-he isn’t attractive.” No matter what Draco’s husband said about Harry sometimes fancying boys, he’s certain he never fancied Snape.
“You haven’t seen him casting Dark Arts, then.” Older Harry’s eyes are half-lidded, and he seems to be staring past Harry into a private world of his own. “It’s a magnificent sight. And you know full well we found his mind attractive as the Half-Blood Prince.”
“There’s no we. I’m not you. I’m not mental like you.”
“And yet you’ve heard the Wand singing to you.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to pick it up!”
Older Harry laughs softly at him, a chilling sound that spirals down Harry’s spine and makes his muscles shake. “Oh? I think after you heard me say that I could resurrect my parents and Sirius, your temptation is going to be too strong to resist.”
Harry closes his eyes and breathes through his fury. Then he says, “Go away. You haven’t given me any useful answers.”
“I’ve given you the ones you needed to hear, if not wanted.” Older Harry turns a little to the side, watching Harry intently. “And you’re already a necromancer, you know. The moment you became the Master of Death, you were one. It’s only waiting on you.”
“Shut up! Go away! Go fuck Snape!”
“Bold of you to assume I’m always the one with my dick up his arse,” Older Harry says, a moment before he dissolves into dark blue sparks.
Harry stands there with his hands over his face, and ignores the voice softly speaking on the edges of his mind.
*
He thinks it might be the end of the visions because of how quiet the forest’s got, but when he drops his hands from his face and looks again, there’s a spark of violet light on the altar.
Harry watches as it extends backwards and around, and then outlines two figures this time. Harry blinks, with only a dull edge of surprise. He wonders if he’s about to see a version of himself with a twin brother he didn’t know about. Hell, nothing would surprise him at this point.
But only one of the figures that appears is him-looking no older than he actually is, which is a surprise. And the other figure is Tom Riddle, Jr., draped over Older, or Same-Age, Harry, with his chin on that Harry’s shoulder and a smug smile on his face.
“No,” Harry declares. “I’m hallucinating.”
“Are you?” Riddle asks, with what seems like sharp interest. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind plucking-”
The Harry next to him nudges him with an elbow and shakes his head. “Shut up, Tom,” he says, and focuses on Harry. “I know why you’re here. I came to the altar in the forest in my time and asked my questions, too.”
“And what kinds of answers did you get, that made you wind up like this?” Harry gestures wildly at the two of them. “For that matter, how? I know all the Horcruxes were destroyed.”
“All but that crying child I left in King’s Cross,” Same-Age Harry says softly.
Harry blinks, and blinks again. Sometimes, he hears the baby’s crying in his dreams, too, when he isn’t listening to the low, insistent singing of the Elder Wand.
“You went back and found him?” he whispers.
Same-Age Harry nods. “And it wasn’t easy, but I had the Elder Wand, and the power it gave me. It took a few years, but we made him another homunculus, and then we grew it to an appropriate age.” He gives Riddle a soppy look that Harry does not approve of. “He was bound to my soul.”
“What does that have to do with it? Did you find your world lacking in immortal genocidal psychopaths or something?” Harry can hear his voice rising, but honestly, he doesn’t care. As far as he’s concerned, Same-Age Harry has turned his back on his parents’ sacrifice and Snape’s and Dumbledore’s and Sirius’s deaths and his own sacrifice.
“I mean that he knows me better than anyone else ever has.” Same-Age Harry leans into Riddle, who embraces him and smirks at Harry over his shoulder. Harry wants to shout for his other self to turn around and look at who he’s bound himself to, but Same-Age Harry just keeps speaking. “And I needed that, in the wake of the war. Things didn’t turn out like I thought they would at all.”
“I’m sure you could put up with a few negative stories in the press,” Harry snipes.
“What about the squads of Hit Wizards out to kill me?”
Harry just stares at his future self, too appalled to speak.
Same-Age Harry nods, reaching back to let his fingers close over one of Riddle’s wrists. “Somehow, the news got out that I’d been a Horcrux. Some people decided that I was still one and I could be used to bring Voldemort back. And they decided that killing me to prevent that was the best thing to do.
“So I went and found an ally. A lover. All I need.” He leans back against Riddle almost enough to force the other young man from his feet, and this time, they’re both smiling like wolves. Maybe they are well-matched.
“Why am I gay in four of these worlds and only straight in two of them?” Harry complains. He thinks back to what Necromancer Harry said about being bisexual, but then forces the thought away. He’s still with a man in that world, not a woman.
“Well, maybe that tells you something you should think about,” Riddle pipes up.
“The altar offers you a vision,” Same-Age Harry says, shaking his head. “A possibility. A choice. That’s all. No one can make you do anything. But I’d watch out, if I were you. It was just about the end of my real seventh year at Hogwarts that the first Hit Wizard squad came for me.”
“You say that it took you a few years to-bring him back,” Harry says, flailing around to grasp for a different topic. This can’t be his future. It simply cannot. There is no universe where there is even a choice for him. “But you look the same age as me. Did you travel back in time? Or did this start happening during your fifth year?”
Same-Age Harry blinks, then says, “Oh, I see. No, I’m thirty.”
“There’s no way!”
“The Master of Death is immortal,” Riddle murmurs, his voice sounding like Harry remembers from the diary, his smirk wide and dark. “And this was the age at which Harry found the Hallows. So he shall remain this age forever.”
“You’re not immortal, though.”
Riddle gives him a sidelong look, but Same-Age Harry-or maybe he’s really Older Harry-says, “Of course he is. Why would I bother seeking out someone who would die and leave me alone?”
“You must have friends. They wouldn’t leave you alone.” Even if they would age and die. Harry wonders uneasily if he’s also immortal and if he’ll leave Ron and Hermione behind. And Ginny, because he’s still determined to marry her, because that seems like the sanest universe.
“They abandoned me after I brought Tom back.”
“But not before! Doesn’t that say to you that it was the wrong decision? That you shouldn’t have done it in the first place?”
“It’s useless to argue with him, darling,” Riddle says, and caresses Older Harry’s chest while raising an eyebrow at Harry, as if to dare him to keep the argument going.
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Older Harry gives Harry a scathing look that makes him flush. “Remember me and what I told you you could have when the first Hit Wizard squad comes for you. Or ask the Elder Wand. It’s panting to do whatever you desire.”
“It’s not the only one,” Riddle hisses. In Parseltongue, Harry realizes, which is like a blow. He thought he lost that bloody language!
“This is a conversation perhaps best had out of sight of that failed version of myself,” Older Harry says, and shakes his head in Harry’s direction before the purple sparks cloak them and they fade out of sight.
*
Harry wishes he had never come to the altar.
It wasn’t worth knowing what a horrible person he could become. A necromancer? Tom Riddle’s lover?
Being married to Draco Malfoy is nothing, compared to that. Even tearing apart his friendship with Ron over Hermione is nothing.
Harry sighs and starts to turn away from the altar to walk back to Hogwarts.
And then he realizes that a black glow has spread over the altar, forming an arched entrance like the curtains over a stage. Harry turns back around to stare at it, tensing his muscles. Is something going to come out of it and demand a price from him? If so, it isn’t worth paying. He learned nothing from all this, certainly not which path is best for him, or if he and Ginny are going to have a happy marriage in this world.
The black glow flares in the middle and seems to shine for a second like an enormous, faceted piece of onyx. Then the shine spins out, and Harry is looking at a landscape that’s cracked and seamed and quiet.
Black earth, he thinks, staring. Or a black desert? It looks like some images of deserts that he’s seen, where the earth is so dry that it can split like this. Or maybe he’s looking at some dark side of the moon.
He wonders why he’s being shown this. How can this be a vision of his future when he can’t even see his dead body in it?
A sharp giggle cuts across the scene, and someone leaps over one of the motionless dark mounds and lands at the front of the scene as if in front of a camera.
Harry recoils. The figure staring at him is him, but only in the way Nagini was him when Harry dreamed her attacking Mr. Weasley. Ragged black hair hangs around his face, looking as if he’s torn chunks out of it. His eyes seems to have cracks in their glaze. His glasses are gone. His scar is a dark, bleeding line on his forehead. In one hand, he clutches the blazing Elder Wand.
Harry has no idea if he actually is an older Harry. His face is so different that it’s impossible to tell his age.
But Harry does want to know what the hell he’s being shown, so he whispers, “Who are you?”
“Allow me to introduce myself.” The voice puts the emphasis in the wrong places on the words, and he laughs for a long second before he focuses on Harry, his eyes suddenly and disturbingly sane. “I’m the Master of Death!”
Harry glances past him at the quiet scene. Lifeless. “Did you-are you in the land of the dead? Are you dead?”
“What is dead is immortal,” the Master of Death half-sings. “No! I made sure that everything was as immortal as I am. Now everything is safe. Now everyone is at peace.”
Harry feels bile trying to crawl up his throat, and swallows it back down with an effort. It makes his voice hoarse and croaking when he does speak. “You killed everyone? You killed the world? How?”
“It’s simple when you put out the sun!”
Harry just stares at him. He’d like to say that the Master of Death is mad, and that this won’t actually happen. But Harry doesn’t know for sure. When he stares at the seamed black earth, it does seem like what might have happened if the sun was dead…
“Not even the Elder Wand could have that power.”
He whispers it, but the Master of Death hears him. He begins to leap up and down, laughing. “Yes, it could! Yes, it does! You’ll see when you follow the song and take up the wand!”
Harry passes his hand over his face, well aware that he’s trembling violently. “What happened? Why did you do it?”
The Master of Death clucks his tongue. “Now, why would I tell you that? You’d probably do something to prevent it, and I want you to come here! I want you to make this happen, and exist forever in the middle of all this desolation!”
“Why?”
The Master of Death leans forwards until his face seems to project beyond the edge of the arched doorway, and whispers, “Because you deserve it.”
And the vision sheets into black light, and dissolves.
*
This time, it really does seem to be done. When no light of any kind appears above the altar for five minutes in a row, Harry shudders with relief and turns away, staggering back through the Forest to the school.
He doesn’t follow the same path he did before, and is unsurprised to see that the altar has vanished when he looks over his shoulder. Night is coming on fast. Harry lights his wand-his holly wand, not the one that whispers to him-with a Lumos and lifts a portable shield around his body and walks on.
He comes out at the edge of the lake and stands there, shivering and staring into the water. His head whirls with so many thoughts that it actually hurts.
He didn’t think he was an evil person. But that last vision-well, the last two-seem to suggest that he is. Or was he justified in resurrecting Tom Riddle because Hit Wizards were hunting for him? What went through that Harry’s head?
There’s no justification for that last vision, so Harry doesn’t think about what the Master of Death was thinking. He doesn’t want to know.
Why would he want to become a necromancer? Why would he decide that cheating on Ginny was the only thing he could do? Why would he marry Draco Malfoy? Why would he become an irresponsible Quidditch player and nothing else?
No, the best thing to do is follow the first path that showed itself to him, marry Ginny, have three great kids, and become Head Auror. It ought to be easy. He knows what to avoid. He just has to make sure to marry Ginny instead of Malfoy, never look at Hermione in a sexual way or accept Ron’s plea to check up on George, and, well, to avoid the last three visions, all he has to do is not take up the Elder Wand.
Harry shivers as the night wind curls itself around him, and starts trudging back to Hogwarts. He does pause, though, to glance at the white gleam of Dumbledore’s tomb, like a fallen star in the night.
The singing in his head rises to a questioning note.
“No,” Harry whispers. “I reject you. Do you hear me? I’ll take those visions as a warning, not bloody advice. I’ll never wield you.”
The song pauses for a moment. Harry smiles grimly. He’ll be happy if he never hears it again.
But then it comes back. And there’s a smug tone to it now. Harry narrows his eyes. What the fuck-
And then he remembers. When he asked the first Harry, the one married to Ginny, the one who is everything he wants to be, what wand he carried, he turned and left.
He didn’t answer.
Harry shivers again, and this time, it’s not the wind. He turns and swallows and drives himself towards the waiting warmth of Hogwarts.
Behind him, there’s a low chuckle.
The End.