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Silent Guardian

Chapter I: Second Chance

Friday, October 30th

Grimmauld Place

A lone figure stood in the darkened bedroom, a figure with untamable black hair and lifeless green eyes. He was leaning against the wall, trembling as one wrenching sob after another wracked his thin frame. Slowly, he raised his head with what appeared to be a tremendous effort to look through a curtain of long dark locks. Beyond the broad window an inky night sky met his gaze.

Even the heavens seemed to be mourning. A silver orb was conspicuously absent from those fathomless black depths.

An all too familiar glint caught his eye. Turning, he saw Wormtail's silver hand raised in the air, a matching crescent moon glittering above him. A flare of violent rage churned in the pit of his stomach, only to dissolve into horror as he noticed the crumpled body at the traitor's feet.

Remus Lupin...his werewolf vulnerability to silver...

He forgot everything around him, did not even notice when a Killing Curse from behind missed him by mere centimeters, and watched, helplessly paralyzed as the rat delivered a horrible blow with that inhumanly strong hand. Moony cried out once, and did not move.

Harry Potter dropped to his knees, face contorting in anguish. Remus...he did not deserve such an end. He knew that the werewolf had been looking forward to a quiet, peaceful life when the war was over. Who would have guessed that Wormtail would have stolen all that away? Harry seethed at the thought of the traitorous bastard. Had his parents not been enough? Did the rat have to take Moony too?

He swept the skies again, searching for Sirius. He released a shaky sigh as he located a blue pinprick, the Dog Star. No longer the brightest star in the sky, but there nevertheless.

The second jet of light hit him squarely in the chest.

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

Harry released Neville, though he was unsure of what he was doing. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore turned to the dais too.

It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch...

And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, one-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as if in a high wind then fell back into place...

"I'm sorry, Sirius," he whispered hoarsely, breathing as though he had run a marathon. "If I had...listened to Hermione--if I hadn't fallen for that trap...practiced Occlumency harder, maybe you wouldn't have..."

He staggered upright, grabbing a chair for support. He looked away from the night outside and found himself staring into the full-length mirror beside Hedwig's painfully empty cage.

What he saw reflected a week of grief, sleep deprivation, and poor eating. His face was drawn and pale, not unlike Sirius's when he had first escaped Azkaban. Dull green eyes stared back at him, framed by tangles of long dark tresses in need of a well overdue haircut. He was dressed in some of Sirius's old robes, which still harbored a faint scent of his godfather, a comforting reminder of the only father figure he had known.

It had been a week since the final battle, one long agonizing week of memories replaying over and over like a broken record in his head, and nightmares plaguing him at night. One week since the Prophecy had finally been fulfilled and Voldemort had fallen to the Avada Kedavra cast by Harry's wand.

The wizarding world was free, but Harry could not bring himself to join the celebrations. Sirius was gone, lost behind the veil. Remus too, had fallen to the silver hand of his former friend and fellow Marauder. Hermione murdered by Lucius Malfoy, Ron Avada Kedavra'd by a Ginny under the Imperius. Hagrid, Kissed by the Dementors sent by the half-breed hater Dolores Umbridge. The list went on, casualties too numerous to count.

Harry did not even realize he had slammed his fist into the mirror until the sharp stings on his hand snapped him back to reality. Crimson dripped onto the glass shards scattered at his feet, dozens of miniature reflections staring up at him.

"That wasn't a very smart thing to do," said a soft voice behind him.

Harry's heart jumped, and he whirled around, gripping his wand in his good hand.

What he saw was tall man, thin but strong-looking. Long black hair tapered off to a point between his shoulder blades, and soft grey eyes watched him with an expression Harry couldn't quite understand. He was draped in long, flowing dark robes and had his arms crossed in front of him. His features weren't particularly striking, but he held himself with a stance of power and authority that commanded respect.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" demanded Harry. How could a stranger have gotten into Grimmauld Place?

Before he could react, the man reached forward and cupped the injured hand in his own.

"Hey, what are you--" Harry wretched himself free and almost gasped when he saw the skin smooth and unmarred.

The man spoke again, but curiously enough, his lips did not move as he did so. "My name is Julian. I am here to give you a choice."

"A choice? Of what? It doesn't matter anymore," he spat bitterly.

"Would it matter if you could take back what you have lost?"

That caught Harry's attention. "That's impossible," he said sharply, even though the question sparked a tiny glimmer of hope that he quickly extinguished. What he lost--Remus, Sirius, his friends--were gone without the faintest possibility of return. Who was this bastard to come storming in on his grief and play with his mind like this?

"I can tell you that my parents were married for several years before I was born." The man's lips twitched in amusement. "And I am by no means playing with your mind."

Harry's eyes widened and he took a step back, throwing up the strongest Occlumency shields he could manage.

Julian ignored his reaction and went on. "I have been watching you for some time, young Harry Potter. Normally, I do not interfere in the lives of mortals but in your case, I shall make an exception."

Watching him? Mortals? "What can you do? It's too late to change what has happened."

Julian shook his head slowly, and walked closer to the young man, who did not back away this time. Harry could feel the magic swirling thickly around him; it was as if he was literally saturated with magic. With a sudden certainty, he realized that this man was not human.

"Correct, I am not a human, or at least not anymore. But that is beside the point." Julian's habit of mind reading was getting quite annoying... "And I apologize for reading your mind, but you do broadcast your thoughts rather loudly--" Harry snorted. "I digress. I am giving you a chance, Mr. Potter." Those disconcerting grey eyes bored into him like drills. "A chance that no mortal has had for centuries."

"What can you--what can I do?" Harry's throat was constricting painfully, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his voice even.

"You can go back and guide history along a different path. What if Cedric had been delayed a minute or two in the maze and only you reached the portkey?"

"Kill the spare."

A flash of green light, and Harry heard Cedric crumple beside him...

Cedric would still be alive; an innocent bystander could have been saved.

"What if you had been less merciful that night in the Shrieking Shack?"

Wormtail wouldn't have escaped, Sirius could have been cleared...Perhaps Voldemort wouldn't have been resurrected without Pettigrew to perform the ritual.

"What if, Mr. Potter, Voldemort never killed your parents?"

Harry staggered. Thos words hit harder than a punch in the gut. He could only stare as Julian shook his head ruefully.

"I know you have asked yourself these questions more times than you can count. Second-guessing yourself." He let the words sink in. "So many 'what ifs,' Harry. A myriad of possibilities, a shame that your current situation was the one that played out."

A joke, he thought skeptically. This is some sort of twisted joke. Even so, Harry had to take several steadying breaths before he trusted himself to speak. "So what you're saying is...is that I--can change everything that went wrong?" At Julian's affirmative nod, he demanded, "How?"

The Avatar reached inside his robes and produced a delicate hourglass the size of an egg hanging on a simple silver chain. "Do you know what this is?"

Harry stared at it, and was suddenly reminded of the end of his third year, when Hermione had finally revealed how she had been managing all her classes. "A Time-Turner?" he whispered breathlessly.

"In a fashion. It works much the same as wizarding Time-Turners, but far more powerful. This was forged with the magic of my kind. With this, you have the power to rewrite history."

Impossible, Harry thought, almost as if to convince himself. Julian had heard this, because the man shook his head, almost imperceptibly. And for reasons unknown, Harry could not bring himself to argue.

Somewhere downstairs, the ancient Black grandfather clock tolled midnight in its fine brass baritone.

"Tonight is All Hollow's Eve, night of the thinnest veil. Tonight you can transcend any magical barrier," said Julian in an almost reverent tone. "Sixteen years ago to the day Voldemort attacked Godric's Hollow." He held out the Time-Turner to Harry, who accepted it with trembling hands. "Sixteen turns of this hourglass will take you back to that night."

"Th--thank you," said Harry, holding the glass object as if it were a priceless gem. The cynical part of his mind screamed in denial, but Harry was not listening.

But the other shook his head. "Do not thank me yet. Nothing comes without a price."

Harry tensed. He should have known there'd be a catch. "What is it?"

"If you succeed if your task, you cannot remain in this world."

His heart sank. Even if he could bring back the people he loved, he could not be there with them. But then again, what was his life without them? "My life for theirs...I accept."

Julian smiled at him. "You misunderstand me, Mr. Potter. I do not ask for your life. If you choose to go back and change the past, there will be no room for you in the future you have created. Instead, I--that is, we--ask you to become one of us."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Become one of you?"

"Yes. Leave your mortal life here and join us. We can teach you great things, Mr. Potter."

At the moment, Harry could not care less about learning 'great things,' as Julian so eloquently put it. But if this could save Sirius and the others, then it was well worth it. He looked down at the hourglass in his hand. "All right. I'll agree to your terms."

Although he could not see him, Harry had the distinct impression that Julian smiled. "Very well, Harry Potter. Good luck."

When the Boy-Who-Lived looked up again, he was alone. A few moments passed, and he sank down onto his bed, a queasy feeling in his stomach. He held up the Time-Turner to eye level, and his breath caught in his throat as Julian's words echoed in his mind.

With this, you have the power to rewrite history.

His hand moved on its own to flip the hourglass upside-down. He watched, entranced, as the fine gold dust trickled down. He waited with bated breath until the upper compartment was empty.

Right now, at this moment, Remus, Ron, Hermione and so many others were still alive. It was only by sheer willpower that he forced himself to sit still and continue.

He turned the hourglass again.

It was now his sixth year, the year that Snape killed Dumbledore.

He turned it again.

The year that Sirius fell through the veil.

Another turn.

The year that Voldemort was resurrected and Cedric had been murdered.

Sixteen times Harry turned the hourglass, until finally, he stopped. Dazed, he stood up, still holding the Time-Turner. The first thing he noticed was that it was still nighttime. He looked outside the window and almost smiled when he saw a luminous sickle moon flanked by stars in the sky, most prominently a brilliant blue one that outshone all the others.

The room was virtually unchanged, except for a few articles of furniture that hadn't been there before and the mirror he had smashed just a few moments ago was in one piece.

Had it all been real? Or was this all some sort of sick prank?

You idiot, growled a pessimistic voice in his mind. That man--Julian or whatever--obviously took advantage of your emotional instability to have a laugh at the oh-so-famous Boy-Who-Lived.

That was certainly a possibility, he mused glumly. Far more likely than the ridiculous notion that he had traveled sixteen years into the past. Julian was probably somewhere laughing at his idiocy.

"Lumos," he mumbled, and the tip of his wand flared to light. He pointed it at the magical desk calendar on the nightstand.

12:30 A.M. October 31st, 1981

He stared at it, as if glaring hard enough would make the date change back into 1997. But it didn't. This was insane, absolutely impossible.

Tonight is All Hollow's Eve, night of the thinnest veil. Tonight you can transcend any magical barrier.

Including the border between the past and present? Harry wondered. Of course, nobody answered. He chuckled bitterly and looked back at the date, which still had not changed despite the intensity of his glowering. He would play along for a while, to see how this would turn out. Okay, Harry, he thought to himself. Let's pretend I'm sixteen years in the past... For some reason, he did not feel as if he were pretending.

He took a moment to assess his situation. Lily and James Potter should be still alive, but not for long if he didn't do anything. Sirius wasn't in Azkaban, but Wormtail had probably already betrayed the Potters to Voldemort, who was in full power.

He knew that Voldemort arrived at Godric's Hollow sometime at night, when exactly, he was not sure. That would give him less than a day to get ready.

Harry fingered his wand nervously. His last encounter with the Dark Lord had been a nightmare. The thought of reliving that horror... He shook his head angrily. He had not (supposedly) traveled back in time sixteen years to abandon his family now.

A quiet shuffling from the corridor outside his open door jolted him out of his musings. Wand in one hand and hourglass in the other, he stayed as motionless as possible, mind racing.

In the present-day world, no one stayed in the Black Manor besides him. But had the place been inhabited before Voldemort's fall? Or perhaps it was Julian?

A shaft of moonlight illuminated the doorway, and he saw a shadow edging closer. A diminutive figure, far too small to be an adult toddled in, mumbling under its breath.

A figure with long pointed ears and wearing what looked to be a filthy old pillowcase.

It took a second for his mind to catch up to what he was seeing. Kreacher? thought Harry incredulously. He clenched his fists as a hot surge of rage flooded him when he remembered his fifth year. How he would love to curse the treacherous little monster to seventh hell right there and then.

The old house elf had not gone far when he suddenly took notice of Harry. For a moment, the two of them stared at each other in stunned silence, before Kreacher bristled and hissed, "You is not Master! What is the filthy stranger doing in Master's house? Master will be very displeased, Kreacher should--"

What Kreacher should have done Harry would never know, because he whipped out his wand and murmured "Silencio!"

The house elf's ranting was cut off immediately, and he glared at Harry murderously.

"Petrificus Totalus," Harry added for good measure, just in case the elf was starting to get ideas of running off and alerting someone.

Kreacher's arms and legs snapped together and he fell facedown into the floor with a small thud, as stiff as a board. Harry moved carefully out of his line of vision, wondering what to do next. He needed someplace to stay for the night, and since Kreacher apparently had a 'Master' living in the house, Grimmauld Place was out of the question. Not to mention he didn't want his presence in this world known yet, especially to a traitorous little bastard like Kreacher.

Carefully, he slipped the silver chain of the Time-Turner around his neck and pointed his wand at the back of the elf's head. "Finite Incantatem. Obliviate. Slumbero."

Kreacher went limp and began to snore as the Sleeping Charm took effect. Harry cast him one last loathing look before he Apparated out of Grimmauld Place.

He reappeared in an old alleyway in downtown London. A stray tomcat hissed at his sudden appearance and melted away into the shadows. Harry walked out into the streets, which were desolate in this hour of night.

Kreacher hadn't recognized him. That didn't make sense unless...A piece of the doubt about Julian and the Time-Turner fell away.

He passed the various Muggle stores, shivering as a chill wind made his hair dance and his robes flutter, and kept going until he reached a small shabby-looking pub at the end of the line of shops.

Harry wondered vaguely if whoever owned the Leakey Cauldron now would allow customers this late at night. He hoped so; he certainly did not fancy the idea of sleeping in the park for the night. The door was closed, so he knocked on it sharply. When no one answered, he took a deep breath and took out his wand.

"Alohomora."

He heard a soft click as the door unlocked and pushed it open slowly.

Faint smells of tobacco and butterbeer greeted his senses as he entered the pub. The place was deserted and in neat order, cleaned up after the day's visitors.

"Hello?"

Silence answered his call.

He gripped his wand tighter. "Anyone awake?" He thought he heard a creaking sound to his right. From his memory of the Leakey Cauldron, that was where the stairs leading up to the bedrooms would be. Someone must have woken up and was coming down.

"Lumos." He held up the wand and saw the dim outline of a man who froze standing halfway up the staircase.

"Stupefy!"

"What the--" And that was all Harry had time for before he dodged the beam of red light. He shot up and saw the man raising a trembling hand to cast another spell, but not before Harry cast one of his own.

"Petrificus Totalis." The spell hit dead on and the man dropped.

Harry made his way over to the stairs, fully aware of the man's eyes that followed him as he approached.

"Tom?" he gasped as the light from his wand illuminated his face.

Indeed, it was Tom the bartender, dressed in his nightclothes and all. He looked quite a bit younger than when Harry had remembered him--which made sense, since he had supposedly traveled backwards in time--but dark bags hung under his eyes, and his face was creased with premature lines.

"Finite."

Tom scrambled up and fumbled for his wand nervously, but did not fire.

"You tried to stupefy me," said Harry.

"My apologies," said the barkeeper hastily. He looked the stranger over warily. He certainly didn't look like any Death Eater, just a teenager, albeit a rather thin and tired-looking one. Tom felt a pang of guilt for attacking earlier, but better safe than sorry, in these dark times. "You never can tell who is and isn't the enemy these days."

Harry nodded slowly. Of course. These were the days that Voldemort had been in power. Everyone was afraid for their lives, and Harry had come barging in in the middle of the night. "Terribly sorry for coming at this hour, but I do need a room for the night. Here--" He dug into his pocket and shoved a handful of coins into Tom's hand.

Irritation at being woken up so late dissolved when Tom saw the sizeable amount of money the boy offered. "Upstairs, the second room to the right is empty," he said gruffly.

Relieved that he had not been questioned, Harry followed Tom upstairs to his room and all but collapsed onto the bed, falling asleep in his clothes.

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Harry awoke late the next morning and was about ready to go back to sleep when he noticed that the bed he was in wasn't his own. In a flash, everything came flooding back to him: Julian, the Time-Turner, Kreacher... He sat up quickly and felt a heavy object thump against his chest as he did so. Looking down, he remembered he had gone to bed wearing the hourglass.

So it hadn't all been a dream...

Harry felt an inexplicable shiver course down his spine as he considered the immensity of the opportunity he had been given. He knew what was going to happen in the next day; he had the power to interfere and make it so that his parents had never died.

Kicking off the covers, he got up and realized how hungry he was. He hadn't been eating much in the past week, and if he was to face Voldemort tonight, he needed his strength.

With that thought in mind, Harry left his bedroom and headed downstairs.

The pub was already half full with morning customers, and Tom was busy delivering orders. Harry did not miss the suspicious glance thrown his way as the owner of the Leakey Cauldron handed two glasses of Fire Whiskey to a middle-aged couple sitting in the corner. Tom wasn't the only one. Several witches and wizards were pinning him with wary, calculating looks as he came down the stairs.

He recalled a time in his fourth year when Mr. Weasley had told Harry and his friends how nobody trusted anybody when Voldemort was in power. Didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards and witches, Arthur had said. How right he was.

"Good morning, Tom," he said amicably, placing a handful of Knuts on the counter. The bartender hesitated but returned the greeting. He took Harry's breakfast order, and the boy found a seat in a corner isolated from most of the other customers.

It was probably the first decent meal he had had in a week. He shoveled a piece of scrambled eggs into his mouth and looked around as he ate.

There wasn't much of interest. The other wizards and witches sat in pairs or groups, conversing in hushed voices. Everyone seemed rather tense, and the occasional laughter was nervous and false. Harry's eyes passed over an old witch smoking a pipe and settled on the figures of two men sitting with mugs of butterbeer.

The food turned to ashes in his mouth.

The first man was rather handsome, a well-defined face with sharp blue eyes and shoulder-length black hair. His companion, tired-looking and grim, was dressed in shabby robes.

A leaden lump forming in his throat, Harry stared at those two painfully familiar people, though quite younger than when he had known them.

"A pity that Prongs and Wormtail can't be here with us, eh Moony?" asked the man with black hair. The roguish grin on his face contrasted sharply with the subdued atmosphere of the rest of the pub.

Harry strained to catch the conversation, heart thumping wildly in his chest. He tried not to look too obvious, but Merlin! Sirius and Remus, here, alive!

Neither could have been older than the present-day Percy Weasley. Sirius looked virtually the same as he had in the photo of James and Lily's wedding, and his face lacked the hollow, haunted look that Harry had come to identify with his godfather. No sign of gray showed in Remus' rich brown hair, but even this younger, healthier Remus seemed tired, worn down with burdens.

Moony sighed wearily and sipped his butterbeer. "You know, Sirius, I can't help but worry."

His fellow Marauder's despondent tone did not seem to put Sirius out a bit. "Aw, c'mon Remus. James and Lily will be fine. Just because there's a war going on doesn't mean we can't have some fun."

Harry's grip on his fork tightened, and he began chugging his butterbeer in an attempt to make himself calm down.

"Do you really think it was a good idea..." Remus paused a moment, and continued delicately, "to make Peter the Secret Keeper?"

Sirius sat up straighter and said, a bit sharply, "Peter's perfectly trustworthy, Remus."

At this point, Harry choked audibly on his drink, spewing the liquid all over his table and effectively attracting Sirius and Remus' attention. He cursed under his breath and cleaned the mess up with a Scourgify.

"James?" asked Sirius's voice.

Harry froze and did not dare lift his gaze to meet those of the Marauders. He pretended not to hear, at the same time rising from his table and abandoning his breakfast.

"James, what are you doing here?" whispered Remus urgently.

Harry made a beeline for the door, just as Sirius and Remus got up and started after him. He was almost at the brick wall behind the pub when he felt a viselike grip on his arm.

"James, wait!"

He turned, and saw their expressions change from concerned, to surprised, to confused. "I'm not James." Just his son...

His godfather was gaping like a fish, but Remus eyed him shrewdly. Sirius released him, stammering, "Oh--sorry. We...ah--thought you were someone else."

Harry nodded, trying to keep his face neutral. "I see. Well then, have a nice day." He tapped his wand on the bricks and watched the blocks shifting to reveal Diagon Alley. He stepped through and was lost in the crowds, leaving behind a shell-shocked werewolf and dog Animagus.

Remus was the first to speak. "I could have sworn that was James," he murmured with a frown.

"He did look remarkably like Prongs. Except for the eyes," added Sirius as an afterthought. "They were a bit like Lily's, come to think of it."

"There is one other thing about him though," said the werewolf musingly "I know this must sound strange, but his robes...smelled like yours."

Sirius stared at his friend for a moment with an eyebrow raised. "Are you sure? I think I might've lent James robes at one time or another, but then, that wasn't James."

"Are you questioning my werewolf sense of smell?"

Padfoot held his hands up in a placating gesture, feigning fear. "No, no, of course not, Mr. Moony."

They shared a brief laugh and went back inside, although the incident was still far from forgotten.