Destiny Reversed

Sirius fell through the veil. He was thrown backwards so slowly, so gracefully that the fall felt like an eternity to Harry's horrified eyes. His gaze locked on the falling figure -

Maybe, just maybe, Harry could reach him before he disappeared forever.

He ran, forgetting his injuries, the surrounding Death Eaters, Aurors, and friends, hurt, perhaps fatally; right now, all he could see was his godfather beginning to vanish from his sight.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he reached Sirius just in time, but was startled when Sirius's hand reached out and pulled Harry in with him. They tumbled through layer after layer of pure white cloth, the silk brushing against Harry's cheek with deceptive gentleness until gradually, the color began darkening. They soon found themselves surrounded by an assortment of grey swirls, the color tone varying the further along they got; eventually, the darkness engulfed them, and the black veil wrapped itself around Harry and Sirius, marking them with its imprint.

As he was being smothered by the cloth, Harry could have sworn he saw a speck of green in front of his eyes. He opened his mouth to demand the reason why Sirius had pulled them in, but his tongue was silenced as a rush of sharp, frigid air assaulted his face. He looked down, and immediately wished he hadn't.

They were falling for an eternity, two figures cloaked by the shadow of night. Below him was a greenish tint in an otherwise dark sky, which puzzled him greatly.

Sirius!

Don't worry, Harry, Sirius's voice echoed in his head, nothing bad will happen while I'm here. Harry bit his lip, disbelieving; but he trusted Sirius.

After all, what could Harry do while falling from the sky? Wind howled in his ears as he sped up, faster and faster they fell into nothingness. The emerald speck grew larger until its eerie brightness presented itself as a looming threat. His stomach sank horribly as he recognized the green symbol of terror, the emblem constantly imprinted in his nightmares-

The Dark Mark.

But they merely passed through the floating green clouds. Involuntary shivers possessed his body for a moment, but he stubbornly fought it off and looked down. Green filled his vision as he neared the highest tower. Wincing, he closed his eyes to block the blinding light out. When he opened them, a terrible sight beheld him.

Albus Dumbledore's limp body fell over the railing, his robes -once magnificent- billowing out behind him, his arms stretched out as if soaring. An eagle. A Phoenix.

No!

He was powerless. Still, he knew he couldn't leave him to die. Now that he was falling level with him, Harry desperately grabbed his mentor by the hand, attempting to yank the Headmaster upright again.

Leave him, Harry, there's nothing you can do.

No. I'm not just going to let him die again!

It's his time.

He looked again at Dumbledore's peaceful eyelids. Why?

Because sometimes you just have to be patient and let things run its course, Sirius said, his fierce gaze upon Harry. Remember that.

Before Harry could answer, they hit the ground.

BEEP! BEEP!

Harry Potter awoke with a start, automatically grabbing his wand and pointing it at the darkness. Groggily, he tried to identify where he was; this didn't look like Privet Drive. He absorbed the Quidditch poster, the bookshelf filled with Wizarding books, and everything came flooding back. Right, so his parents were alive, Sirius was alive, he had a prankster sister, and Neville is "the Chosen One."

Everything makes sense now.

Scowling at the bright green numbers in the darkness, Harry wondered if another prank was in store for him today -it had definitely slowed down his plans yesterday. He frowned.

What had that dream been about? Let things run its course. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Why'd he have to dream about the both of them? It wasn't as if he hadn't been having enough trouble being trapped in an unknown place. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Harry twirled his wand between his fingers before pointing it at the doorframe. He wasn't taking any chances of having paint dumped all over him again -

His door swung open. "Oh, good, you're awake," Violet said. Harry stole an annoyed glance at the glowing "6:33AM," wondering why she was up so early. Violet's eyes followed his, and a slightly concerned look crossed her face. "Don't you remember what today is?"

"No."

Violet hesitated. "It's the anniversary of the Longbottoms' murders," she said quietly. "When Neville defeated Voldemort."

Harry frowned. His parents had been killed on Halloween -why were Frank and Alice Longbottoms' deaths mourned now? But perhaps this, among other things, was just another difference here.

"Mum says to get dressed, so hurry it up."

"Yeah, yeah."

Violet spared a moment to stick her tongue at him before slamming the door shut. Harry scoffed.

Sisters.

* * *

Checking once again to make sure his wand was securely snug inside his jean pocket, Harry descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, where the rest of them were waiting. He noticed that Lily kept on glancing at the clock nervously every few seconds.

"Oh, there you are Harry. We've better go, James, or risk being late."

James nodded and quickly put on his Muggle jacket before reaching into a drawer for a sack of powder. He handed it to Harry and grabbed a fistful of Floo powder, shouting "Mrs. Longbottom's house!" and disappearing a flash of emerald flames.

Harry did not feel comfortable with this. He shifted slightly as he allowed Violet to take some Floo powder of her own. In the world he knew, Harry had yet to visit Godric's Hollow, his parents' graves; he meant to, right after Bill and Fleur's wedding, but -this he wasn't prepared for. The Longbottoms weren't his parents, and it felt strange just thinking about commemorating people who shouldn't have died, who should be insane.

He wondered which scenario was worse. Would the Longbottoms or Neville had preferred it if Frank and Alice had died instead of becoming empty shadows of their old selves? If they had the choice, would they have chosen death?

Would Harry's parents?

Not that it'd matter, since they didn't really have a choice in the matter, they were murdered, murdered so Harry could save the world and be the cursed Boy-Who-Lived. He clenched the Floo powder sack tightly with his fingers, the mere thought of that fateful Halloween night causing his blood to rise. For so long, Harry hadn't known a single truthful fact about his parents or known anybody who actually cared that they had died. Perhaps, Harry thought, deep inside her leather heart, Aunt Petunia did love her sister, did mourn for her internally in the privacy of her heart, but he might be wrong.

Still, this would be a good opportunity to extract more information, learn more about the differences of this place compared to the one Harry knew.

Doesn't hurt to think positively, right?

"Harry?" He turned to his mother. "Are you ready to go?"

"Oh, yeah, right," Harry muttered, walking into the fireplace carefully. Soon, he felt himself yanked in that infernally sickening sensation, spiraling through varied fireplaces before tumbling clumsily into a well lit, clean room, its carpet soon to be smudged with soot from a certain Harry Potter.

A slightly familiar woman came rushing over to him, pushing him away from the carpet and onto the safe marble floor. "Don't ruin the carpet!" she snapped, muttering a cleaning charm on both Harry and her precious rug. Irritably, she adjusted the large black vulture hat on her head, waiting for James's arrival.

Neville's Grams? Harry instantly recognized the vulture hat that Neville had dressed Boggart Snape in during Defense Against the Dark Arts third year. His chuckle was smothered, however, by James Potter's arrival. Luckily for Mrs. Longbottom, he was much better at staying on his feet after Floo travel.

"Where's Neville?" James asked, looking around for him.

Mrs. Longbottom fidgeted slightly. "He couldn't make it today; he's been summoned by the Ministry." She scowled. "Apparently the blasted Ministry hadn't had the heart to leave Neville alone today of all days. Not including you two, of course," she added hastily.

"No problem at all, Augusta." Lily smiled reassuringly. "You know we are not -er-" she glanced suspiciously around the room before lowering her voice, "Are you positive there are no bugs in the room? Have they all been exterminated? If I remember correctly, you had a fairly troublesome pesk problem about a month ago."

Harry looked up, his interest peaked. Surveillance had been placed in Mrs. Longbottom's house? But why? Who would want to spy on an old lady?

Wait. Not Mrs. Longbottom. Neville, or members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Mrs. Longbottom tittered impatiently. "Yes, yes, of course, I had Nymphadora charm the place, make it safe. I would have had you do it, Lily dear, but you are already under suspicion; I did not wish to add to it."

Lily and James both nodded their thanks.

"Wait," Violet interrupted brashly. "What do you mean 'you are already under suspicion'? You told me everything was okay!" she glared accusingly at her father, who did not look guilty in the slightest.

"It's not as bad as it sounds, Vi -"

"How's that?"

Lily sighed. "Everyone knows we have strong ties with Dumbledore, that we have a very personal reason for wanting Voldemort dead and joining the Order. Lots of people are suspected -"

"But 'lots of people' aren't my mum and dad!" she yelled back angrily.

"Excuse me young lady," Mrs. Longbottom snapped. "This is supposed to be a quiet day of remembrance, not of accusations!"

Violet looked down at the rug, ashamed. "I'm sorry."

Harry soaked all of this in with interest. They were all so rigid; there's been a constant intensity and unease that had not been present as often in his world. He observed the family.

Maybe he'd never noticed because he'd never had this before.

He thought about the Weasleys, how good they'd been to him ever since meeting Ron on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. They treated him like a second son, but it wasn't the same; just as each family member had a dynamic with another, Harry found himself understanding these people more every second he spends with them. They already have a previously established relationship, and he's taking advantage of that.

"Well, best we get a move on then," Mrs. Longbottom said gruffly.

"W -why couldn't we have just met there?" Violet asked meekly.

James took her hand as they ventured outside. "The cemetery's really close to Aug -Mrs. Longbottom's house, and we'd felt that this year, we should walk there together."

"Oh."

They walked along the breezy London streets in silence, hugging their scarves closer to their bodies as the howling of the wind grew stronger, as if wailing for the Longbottoms' loss. It was an unusually cold day, Harry noted, fingering his cozy red and gold Gryffindor scarf. He had deliberately stayed in the rear of the group, where he was free to his thoughts without interruption.

This was just so depressing. Harry had an inane urge to kick, fight, do something, take action, act brashly, act upon that Gryffindor recklessness and courage.

But something was holding him back. Perhaps it was that dream, stored in the back of his mind as a red flag of caution. Maybe it was hearing Sirius's voice in his head, warning him against petulant action, advice Sirius himself had not heeded.

Diving straight into action is what cost Sirius his life. Harry was not going to let it take his; no, not before he finished what he started. Not before he defeated Voldemort. Harry blew hot air into his palms, rubbing them together to warm up his hands. Why the hell was it so cold? It's summer; it's supposed to be warm. How strange.

Something caught Harry's eye. A sliver of wood peeked down from underneath James's sleeve. So he has his wand out and ready for an attack, Harry observed. Was the danger even more escalated here?

Must be. As they neared the cemetery, shouts also seemed to be echoing closer. A game of soccer raged, both parents and coaches yelling out encouragement and support for their respective teams. Mrs. Longbottom angrily muttered something about "the nerve -disrespect for the sanctity of the dead -"

Harry couldn't help but agree, just as the soccer players couldn't help that the field had been built next to a cemetery. Blame the politicians.

The old, rusty gate creaked as it swung open of its own accord to meet them, but as he passed through, something got caught in his hair. Frowning, Harry picked it out, and briefly glanced at it. The leaf was rather big, and rather ordinary, if not for the small heart shaped hole in the middle. Shrugging, Harry carelessly tossed it aside, letting it catch a breeze and float away.

The noise coming from the soccer game had quieted, but Harry figured the match must be over. He supposed that was a good thing, considering why they were there. Reverence.

No one else was there. Harry kept on glancing suspiciously behind him or toward every swaying branch, every snap of twigs, and every crunch of gravel beneath their feet. One can never be too careful, especially these days, especially in this place.

Harry never liked cemeteries; he hated them. When he was little, and dragged reluctantly someplace by the Dursleys, they would pass by a little graveyard in Surrey. It had been horrible for little Harry, who couldn't help but wonder if his parents were trapped somewhere, their "revolting corpses decaying into dust" as Uncle Vernon had so eloquently put it. "Good riddance," he had added none too quietly, as if their deaths had merely been an afterthought to him, just one of those anonymous people on the news instead of his sister and brother-in-law. Well, at least for these strangers, most people would feel pity about their situation; not for the Potters, however. No, Uncle Vernon just didn't give a shit about those particular in-laws.

It hadn't helped his fear of cemeteries when Dudley had shoved him, giggling crazily, into an open, unoccupied grave meant for a well loved elderly man, whose coffin would be carried amongst his family and friends hours later. Poor Harry had been so traumatized by that experience, his unheard screaming from beneath the earth, heart thumping out of his chest as he wondered if the high dirt walls would collapse, leaving him to suffocate alone and abandoned.

Would anyone have mourned for him if it had?

Probably not, not by the Muggles he knew. Not by the Dursleys, the only family he had, a family who hated everything about him, from his once crooked glasses to his unruly hair all the way to the stupid scar that had landed him in their custody in the first place.

He vaguely remembered the woman with kind green eyes; not quite as brilliant a green as his own, but a memorable sort of green nonetheless. They had reminded Harry of his mum, whatever memory of her that was etched in his sub-consciousness. He remembered that long stretch of time when they had just stood there, staring at each other. Silence had bridged the distance between the mourners and the boy standing on a mound of dirt that didn't belong to him. To Harry, the woman above had been miles higher than him, perhaps almost stretching to heaven.

For a short, amazing moment, Harry had thought he was staring at his mum, finally here to rescue him from his guardians and bully of a son, the reason why he had been stuck in that grave in the first place.

But the woman had blinked out of her shock at seeing a scrawny little boy standing in a grave and called out to someone. In no time, Harry had been lifted out of the grave, proceeding to be interrogated.

Who are your parents?

Where are they?

What's your name, son?

When -er, I mean, how long were you in there?

Why were you in there?

Harry had sat there in silence, hoping beyond hope that they would never find the Dursleys. If he had been lucky, he probably would have been shipped of to an orphanage. So Harry had kept his silence, keeping his fingers crossed that he'd be able to escape the Dursleys, even if it meant living under the state's care. Alas, no such luck; they had recovered him. Even back then, Harry had not been stupid enough to think that his aunt and uncle had searched for him because they actually cared. No, they just hadn't wanted to have a black smudge on what they considered a perfect parental record, nor did they wish to have the government on their arses for losing him.

C'mere boy, Uncle Vernon had growled, leading Harry away with a disgruntled expression on his face, disgusted that his freakishly abnormal nephew had called the bad sort of attention towards his perfectly normal family again. Of course, typical Uncle Vernon, the porky man had completely ignored the fact that it had been his own equally pig-like son who had pushed Harry into that position in the first place.

Something white was shoved into Harry's face, breaking into his memories.

"Take it, Harry," Violet urged under her breath, waving the white rose between two fingertips.

He took it from her, noticing that everyone was also holding one. They must have conjured it without him noticing. Mrs. Longbottom stepped forward in front of the two graves, the wrinkled creases of her face somber.

"Oh, Frank, Alice."

The wind brushed past her, carrying her voice into the air, perhaps where her son can hear her. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. Instead, she carefully placed the white rose -symbolizing life, instead of death- between the two graves, tucking it in carefully so the wind could not easily misplace it.

This simple, sentimental custom was the best way to remember their lives, instead of mourning their deaths.

He placed his rose between the others. Sinking down to his knees, Harry sharpened his senses for danger but allowed his mind to wander in those precious moments of meditation.

Crack.

Eyes snapping open, Harry realized that the delicate white petals had been frozen into brittle ice sculptures.

Oh no.

He could already feel his insides freezing, his head screaming with voices that weren't his, his heart pumping as both his and the voices' fear seized him. No time to think, he had to act before -

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry shouted on instinct, trying to get his hazy mind to focus on that happy memory, to sift through the darkness and loss to find the light. He didn't even remember reaching for his wand; but there it was, outstretched in front of him as the brilliant glow emitted from it, shaping into a fierce stag, antlers bowed. Prongs charged at the Dementor, sending it spiraling away before it had a chance to get to him.

"Harry, watch out!" James shouted, sounding slightly shocked, as he protected the rest of his family. "Get over here!"

Harry nodded and turned to help them when a cold rattling breath caught him off guard from behind. He tried to fight it, urged Prongs, who was slowly disappearing, to come again, but the stag had faded -Prongs was gone. Pressure began building up in his head as the echoes of the dead increased their assault on his mind.

Pleas, defiance, panic, sorrow, love, cold remorseless laughter -

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl!"

"Your mother need not have died, you know..."

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Gravity.

Cedric fell as the burst of green light struck him, his eyes wide open in shock -

Sirius, caught in mid laugh, disappearing gracefully behind the veil...

Professor Dumbledore, pleading with the Potion' s Master, his eyes no longer twinkling but caught between fear and anticipation for the next journey, his body falling over the edge of the tallest tower to face it before it met the ground -

A single voice broke out amongst the chaos.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Another joined it, making Harry's ears ring as two silver figures plowed down the remaining Dementors.

* * *

He didn't know how much time had passed. Groggily, he registered that someone was shoving something hard and sweet into his mouth.

A chocolate bar.

Harry sat up as soon as he had bitten into the candy, realizing that he was lying on a park bench, still inside the graveyard. Violet sat on the ground cross legged, hugging her knees and shaking. Whatever the Dementors had made her see, it must have been bad -she looked a sickening ashen color, with permanent shock etched on her face.

But he didn't have long to dwell on it, for a pair of long arms had attached themselves around Harry, bringing him into a bone crushing embrace. His own green eyes stared back at him in worry, shock and wonder, filled with unrestrained emotions.

"You had me worried sick!" Lily snapped, her words underlined with a shrillness that echoed Aunt Petunia. "What were you thinking, trying to tackle that -that thing? You could have been killed. You okay?" She added, ruffling his hair affectionately before embracing him again.

"Don't suffocate the boy, Lils," James said. He then turned to Harry, frowning. "Where did you learn to conjure a Patronus? Remus said that'd be a part of this year's curriculum."

Harry couldn't very well say that he'd learned it from said werewolf in his third year; he had to divert the attention from himself. "Where did the Dementors go? Er -and where's Mrs. Longbottom?"

James eyed him suspiciously, clearly noticing that Harry was trying to avoid the question. However, he didn't press the matter further, merely pointing a somber finger in the direction of Frank and Alice Longbottoms' graves.

Mrs. Longbottom was kneeling on the frosty ground, her old, wizened hands carefully chipping ice off the tombstone with tender care. Her face was expressionless, at an impasse between sorrow and fury. But when she briefly directed her face in their direction, Harry could see the old woman's eyes both blazing and watering with tears and anger. In that moment, she looked like a tiger, ready to pounce on anyone at any time in a petulant second.

Harry wondered if that was what Sirius had felt the night Harry's parents died, the same very alive people standing next to him. He wondered if Sirius's heart had been filled with the fresh anguish in Mrs. Longbottom's eyes, and if that anguish had turned to fury, if that fury had mutated into a thirst for revenge, for that bloodshed of whoever had murdered them, or desecrated their memory.

Unfortunately and fortunately for Mrs. Longbottom, the Dementors cannot be easily found or destroyed; like the despicable traitorous rat Peter Pettigrew, they work for Voldemort, and are under his protection. Voldemort definitely would not have spared her, would not haven given a thought to it when he waved his wand at her and lazily uttered the Unforgivable Avada Kedavra.

He has no heart, not even compassion for a woman who's lost her son and daughter-in-law in a horrible way.

And soon, when the time comes, no one will show Voldemort any compassion or mercy. Not that Tom Riddle had ever wanted it.

* * *

"You sure we shouldn't be with Augusta right now?"

James shook his head. "No, I think she wants to be left alone. Don't worry, Lily," he added quickly, noticing Lily about to argue, "if she needs us, she'll fire call us."

Her green eyes narrowed, but after an internal battle, she decided to be reasonable, instead just asking tiredly, "Anyone hungry?"

Three heads confirmed in unison.

"Hot chocolate should do the trick," she murmured to herself. "I think I still have some left over -" She began to take out the hot cocoa packets and a meager bag of marshmallows, but James immediately took the ingredients out of her hand, insisting on making it.

"I'm perfectly capable of brewing hot chocolate, James; I'm not an invalid."

James sighed. "I know, but you really should sit down and rest. You're pregnant, remember?"

"Of course I remember I'm pregnant, James," she snapped, reminding Harry of the tempered argument he had witnessed in Snape's Pensive, when Lily had informed James that she'd rather go out with the giant squid than him any day. "After all, I'm the one who'll has the morning sickness, the nausea, people constantly touching my stomach, invading my personal space -"

James smiled patiently, knowing she hadn't meant it. "And mood swings -I know. But it's been a tough morning, and you really should rest. I insist. I promise I won't poison the hot chocolate, scout's honor." He added lightly, using that Muggle terminology that he'd heard once.

"As long as it's not poisoned." Lily grumbled, but she did sit down with her kids.

A smile stayed on James's lips as he began to make hot chocolate without magic, the Muggle way, allowing the sweet aroma to fill their noses and hearts, battling the lingering coldness that stays in the system after a Dementor attack.

Violet sure looked like she could use some hot cocoa. Despite being indoors again, her face was still abnormally pale, her usually bright, mischievous hazel eyes darkened and dulled by something no one else could see.

"Er -you okay?" Harry asked awkwardly. He felt this inert concern for her, but that may just be because she looked an inch away from death.

She flinched at his words, spooked by something hidden behind the shadows of her eyes. "I -I'm fine," she muttered quickly in a nearly inaudible tone.

Frowning, Harry shook his head; he didn't believe her. Violet ignored him, but didn't shake off her mother's comforting arm around her shoulder, gently stroking her vibrant hair. Lily smiled at Harry, showing him without words that she appreciated him being kind to his sister.

No one has ever looked at him like that. Mrs. Weasley came close, but it wasn't the same, because although in many ways she was a surrogate mother to him, she wasn't his actual mother.

"Drink up."

Harry sipped his hot chocolate, savoring the taste and the warmth that spread all the way down to his toes. "Thanks," he said politely, granted a smile in return as James sat down next to him.

They sat there in comfortable silence, enjoying their company and sipping the drinks. Harry couldn't help but notice that Lily and James kept on glancing worriedly at Violet, who was stubbornly pretending not to notice it, instead staring ahead into space and stirring her cocoa absentmindedly.

"What's wrong, Violet?" Lily finally asked.

Violet froze, letting her spoon clang against the ceramic cup. "Nothing's wrong."

"I don't believe that."

"You don't have to."

"Violet, talk to me; it's no good to pent things up inside."

"Why?"

"It's going to have to come out eventually."

"I don't want it to come out now."

"You really believe that?"

"It's my feelings, Mum. My business."

"I'm just trying to help, Vi."

"Well don't!" Violet shouted, her knuckles white from being clenched so hard.

"Violet." James warned sternly before turning back to his wife. "Lily, let it go."

Lily bit her lip, but did back off reluctantly. Harry noticed the fear reflected in her eyes, though -fear for her daughter, fear for the unknown, fear of the dark.

"Can I go to my room?" Violet asked, her voice strained and tight, trying her very best to keep it even and composed.

"Sure," Both parents said in unison, and both continued to watch her back as she practically sprinted out of the kitchen and listened to her feet as it pounded up the stairs.

Lily put her face in her hands, looking lost. "I shouldn't have interrogated her like that before she was ready -"

"You were worried; we both were," James said firmly. "We're going to have to talk to her about it soon anyway. Do you know what's bothering her, Harry?"

"What?" Harry asked, surprised. "No."

James sighed. "It's probably still the same thing, Lily. And with school looming closer -"

"It gets harder." Lily finished, nodding in understanding.

Harry was confused. What were they talking about?

"Hey, Harry, do you think your mum and I can have a word alone? I know you want to be informed about Order stuff, but this is classified."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Harry said distractedly, quickly getting up to retreat to "his" room. However, before reaching it, he paused at Violet's door, carefully listening for any signs of life inside. It was completely silent. He resisted the urge to go in, and continued on down the hall.

A loud welcoming "HOOT!" when he entered the room made him nearly jump out of his skin in shock, and he had his wand instantly out and pointing at the owl perched on the desk, a roll of parchment tied around its legs. A surge of hope swelled in Harry's heart as he realized that the owl must have brought Ron's answer back. He eagerly relieved the owl of its burden, took a few moments to rummage the drawers for owl treats, and finally unrolled Ron's letter.

Potter,

STAY THE BLOODY HELL AWAY FROM MY SISTER!

Harry reread the letter again and again and didn't find any hidden meaning in it whatsoever, no hint of Ron, his best friend. Sinking into his chair, Harry, in an impulsive act of frustration, tore the parchment to shreds.

He had never felt so alone in his life.