Hourglass

The hourglass in his hand was nearly perfect. The sand on its inside shone gold. Its reflection was brilliant in the summer light. He looked across the lake, clutching it in his palm. There was only one way that today could have been perfect - if he had been celebrating it with his parents.

Voldermort was finally gone, destroyed forever just hours before. The entire Wizarding World was celebrating. Everyone was happy. He was too, though there was just a little piece of him that wished for his parents to be there. He longed to hug his mother again, as well as his father. As many times that he had mulled over the thought, he could never remember hugging them.

He heard a bang and looked up to his left. His fellow students and friends, though grieving over the ones that had fallen in the last great battle, were letting off fireworks. He grinned. It had been so long since they had felt this happy and free.

Still something tugged at his heart. He wouldn't truly be happy unless he knew if he could save them, if he could bring them back and celebrate with them now.

It was risky though. He opened his palm and looked at the hourglass again. The sand inside still reflected in the sun. People going back a few hours was one thing; years, however, was another story. Was it worth it? Was it worth his life to save his parents? He knew the answers before he had even asked himself the questions.

Yes, it was.

He looked back at the lake and took a deep breath. He began walking towards Hogsmeade. It was time.

There was a rush of wooziness and he found his feet. Looking up, he was glad to see everything was the same. He just needed the date. The date would be perfect. He walked into The Three Broomsticks. It was nearly empty and Madam Rosmerta looked up at him, surprised.

"Pardon me, but we don't get very many people in here at night," the bar-keep said softly, almost shyly, very unlike the Madam Rosmerta he was used to.

"A butterbeer please," he asked politely. "I'm afraid that I've forgotten my watch. Can you please tell me the date?"

She eyed him cautiously as she pulled a butterbeer from behind the bar.

"October 22," she said, sliding the butterbeer across the bar. "One sickle please."

He handed her the sickle and drank the butterbeer in silence. October 22... that meant he still had time, so long as he could find them. He nodded his head towards Madam Rosmerta, left her a two sickle tip, and headed back out into the soggy weather of Hogsmeade.

Thinking over places his parents could be, friends houses, London...he finally decided on his childhood home. He was pretty sure he knew its whereabouts, well enough at least to Apparate there. He closed his eyes and set his mind on the location. In an instant, he was there.

He opened his eyes slowly. The house was exactly like the picture: two stories, cheerful looking, a white house with green trim. The windows were spaced just evenly, even if the shutters were pulled shut. There was a wood sign on their door, bearing their last name and the doorknob was gold. Gold, the colour of promise, he thought. The same colour as the sand. He smiled. He had enough time. Cautiously, he knocked on the door, unsure as to how to warn his parents. Would they answer? Would they be home? Could he even see them?

Nervous to actually meet his parents for the first time he could remember, he rapped on the door. He could hear hesitant footsteps approach the door, and he sucked in a breath.

"Hullo," said a female voice, a voice he only remembered from memories. She had cracked the door so only a round face peered out.

"Hello," he replied.

"I don't mean to be rude, but now is not a good time for me to have company," she said, almost so softly that he didn't hear her. However, her voice was not something he would have liked to miss. It was just as he remembered: soft, sweet, and motherly.

"I'm sorry, but...but I would like to speak with you."

"I'm sorry, but I will not have company while my husband is out." For the first time ever had he heard his mother's voice sounded less than pleasant.

"I don't mean to harm you," he replied. "I'll leave my wand outside."

She eyed him again, maybe deciding he looked like he wouldn't harm her, or maybe it had something to do with the familiarity of his face, he wasn't sure, but she opened the door and let him in.

"Do I know you?"

"Yes and no." He entered the hallway. The floor was wooden, just as he remembered. Or was it an actual memory so much as just something he knew in his heart? He, like so many children who had lost parents, spent hours thinking about what his parents would have been like the clothes they would wear, the things they would do, and even the friends he might have had. He inhaled. The house smelled exactly as he imagined, with gingerbread and cinnamon, and a faint smell of pine. It was heavenly.

He looked down the hallway. There were pictures hanging up with people smiling at him, looking happy. There were portraits upstairs he could hear talking, and he smiled. The house was exactly as he imagined. The curtains were gingham and the stairs were perfectly polished. His mother kept an immaculate house.

She led him into the sitting room. He sat down on a fluffy blue couch and leaned back. The couch was perfect, just as everything else was. It was perfect.

"What did you want to speak with me about?" his mother asked, still looking skeptical.

"I need to tell you that you are in danger."

She laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. It was a bitter laugh, one he was far too familiar with. "Thank you, sir, but I don't need to be warned. I know that."

"But you...you're going to be attacked."

"How do you know?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "Are you one of them?"

"No," he said, nervous. His palms were sweating and he rubbed them on his trousers.. "I'm not a Death Eater."

She eyed him again. "I know that you are not from the Ministry."

"I'm from the future," he said lamely. "I used a Time Turner." He pulled out the precious hourglass from his robes and showed her.

"Those are by Ministry use only."

"Yes, but you could say that I 'borrowed' this one from a friend?"

"A friend?"

"Someone in my year at Hogwarts. Hermione Granger. She's a Muggle-born."

"Well I know you are not one of them now," she said, laughing. But it was a different laugh, a relieved laugh. "They wouldn't touch anything a Muggle-born had. It would be what they consider 'tainted'."

"That doesn't change," he told her. "You are still in danger, just not from me." As soon as he finished talking, a baby began crying from upstairs. It was him. This was surreal.

His mother stood up, and moved to the hallway. "Well thank you Mr...Mr...whoever you are...I'm not quite sure why you came here, however, my son is crying. I must ask you to leave."

He closed his eyes. She wasn't going to believe him. He stood up. Then, instead of leaving, he hugged her. She was surprised, her body rigid, but then he told her everything. He told her everything that he knew about the night and the events leading up to it, and he held nothing back because he wanted a childhood with his parents more than anything. It was the thing he craved.

When he was done, her face was pale. He hugged her again and left. It was raining now. He just hoped he made a difference.

He fell into the lake. Woozy from the Time Turner, he tripped and fell into the lake. Gasping for air, he surfaced. He treaded water and looked around. People were still on the west shore of the lake celebrating. Slowly, he swam back to shore. His strokes created more of a splash than anything and by the time he made it to shore he was struggling to breath. Finally he reached the shore, his clothes sopping wet.

"There you are!" Surprised, he turned to see Ginny Weasley heading towards him, her hair catching the sunlight as the sand in the Time Turner had. "We've been looking all over for you!"

"Who?" he asked nervously.

She smiled at him. "You know, Hermione, Ron, everyone. We missed you! Fred and George came. They brought fireworks! Let's go see." She reached for his hand and started to lead him away.

"What about my parents?"

"Your parents? Why would your parents be here?" Ginny's brown eyes were full of confusion. "They..."

He pulled out the Time Turner from underneath his clothing. He explained everything to Ginny: what he had done, how he had talked to his mother, and how he had told her everything.

Ginny's eyes filled with tears. "Oh Neville," she finally said. He looked up at her, confused. "You can't change the past. It's already happened. It's unchangeable in the long run."

He looked down at the Time Turner still in his hands, shining brightly. He frowned and walked away from Ginny. He didn't want her to see this. He needed to be alone. Angry, he stalked off. The gold sand had lied to him; it had betrayed him. It hadn't been shining with the promise of a happier childhood, a childhood where he didn't live with his Gran. It hadn't shown him, instead, a childhood with his parents, happy. He wanted to have memories of picnics with his mother and birthday parties surrounded by friends.

His eyes filled with tears. He didn't have anything that the gold sand had promised him. Instead, all he had was the memories of luncheons with his Gran and birthday parties attended by family members.

A tear fell down his cheek when a thought hit him. He didn't have all of that, however, he did have one thing that he hadn't had before. He had half an hour of memory of his mother, feeling her hug him and knowing that the sound of her voice wasn't simply his imagination.

He looked up at the sun. No, he didn't have his parents, but he had a new memory of his mother. The precious hourglass had given him something.