Stormseeker: Unwanted Destiny

Chapter 12: Coping Poorly

---

"Harry, are you drunk again?" Draco says.

"Ugh," I mutter. "Go 'way, Draco."

"Nuh-huh," Draco says. "I come to collect you for the Boots' New Year's party, and you're sodden like a fish? Quit wallowing like this! What's happened to you that's worth drowning your sorrows?"

"New Year's party..." I mumble. "Gorilla, right there..."

"What are you talking about?" Draco says.

"Go on... leave me here," I say. "Don't feel like any party..."

"Fine," Draco says. "But if you aren't sobered up by the time we get home, I'm going to strip you nude and haul you out in the snow."

"Kinky," I comment.

Draco snorts, and leaves.

I roll over dizzily, and stare at the empty bottle of firewhiskey on the floor beside me. The Dark Lord knows my secret... but he doesn't know that I'm not Harry Potter. I've kept that one carefully under wraps. And yet, if he knew, things probably would be better for me. Ugh. What in the Abyss am I going to do now?

Right now? Nap, I think. Either the Dark Lord will keep his word and leave Hermione alone, or he won't. But it's really disheartening to try to take everyone's lives on my own shoulders. I'll save who I can. I'm sorry, Hermione. I did what I could. I curl up in a fetal position on the floor and close my eyes, and shut out the world.

---

"Happy New Year, Harry," says Draco's voice, and I blink up at him.

"Mrrgh," I murmur.

"Gorilla, Harry?" Draco says. "What the hell?"

"Huh?" I say.

"Before I left for the party, you said gorilla," Draco says. "And we played Boggle. And... there was 'gorilla'! Harry, are you like, a Seer or something?"

"What are you talking about?" I say.

"That's what I said," Draco says. "And then... gorilla!"

I groan softly. I must have said something while drunk earlier. Well, the Dark Lord knows now, so there's really no sense in keeping it from Draco.

"Draco," I say. "There's something I've been keeping from you."

"Wait, what?" Draco says. "You are a Seer?"

"No," I say. "I'm a time traveler."

"Oh," Draco says. "Is that why you've got top marks in every class except for Politics?"

I nod. "Expect that to change come fifth year, provided I survive that long this time. I've studied some stuff beyond that point, but it's spotty at best."

"And you've been keeping something like this a secret from me for three years?" Draco says.

"I didn't want the Dark Lord to find out somehow," I say. "And it was all for nothing, anyway. He found out. He knows. And that... is why I was getting drunk." I sigh.

"Oh..." Draco says, frowning. "Well. How exactly does getting drunk help?"

"It doesn't," I say, kicking the empty bottle aside.

"Maybe you should figure out something that would help, instead of sitting around moping about it," Draco says. "What exactly happened, anyway?"

"He was going to kill Hermione Granger," I say. "I went back to try to prevent it. He Fiendfyred us. I went back again. He killed me again. I went back again, alone this time. He held me at wandpoint and asked me some questions. I answered them. He said he'd spare Hermione and let me go and told me not to interfere with his plans anymore."

"Do you generally die regularly?" Draco asks.

"Sometimes more frequently than others," I say, snorting.

"So, he said he'd leave you alone if you left him alone?" Draco says. I nod. "I don't see what the problem is, then."

"But, what if he does something?" I say. "What if he hurts somebody?"

Draco snorts. "You're too worried about other people. Don't be a Gryffindor that thinks he can save everyone."

"I can't let him get away with hurting anyone I care about," I say.

"The list of people you care about should be somewhat shorter than 'everyone'," Draco says.

"True," I say. "Well, at least you're not just telling me that I'm obviously on the wrong side to begin with."

"I didn't see the need to point out the obvious," Draco says with a smirk. "But it's nice that you can see that, too."

"I'm not going to argue," I say wearily.

---

I return to school and pretend that everything is normal. Hermione was fine, so perhaps I can trust the Dark Lord to keep his word. He said he'd leave me be for now, so I try to relax a bit. There's no sense in worrying about things I can't change.

To distract myself from things, I bring out the Codex Veritatum again and try to delve into it. It's very dense and arcane, difficult to understand. Maybe it would help if I knew more Arithmancy, perhaps? No, I don't think it's Arithmancy that's the problem. And I know Latin well enough to at least read it. It just still doesn't make sense no matter how I look at it.

Omnia semper sunt quae umquam sunt. Omnia sunt quae possunt esse. Omnia possibilia sunt. Ergo omnia sunt. "Everything always is that ever is. Everything is that can be. Everything is possible. Therefore, everything is." How does that even make sense? That hurts my head.

The Book of Truths is so named because all things are true. There is no one, single, universal truth.

"What're you reading?" Cassie asks, coming up to me. Yeah, I'm reading ancient texts in the Ravenclaw common room. And nobody's batting an eye.

I don't answer her. I just close the book again and slide it over to her. Cassie's eyes open wide as she realizes what it is.

"This... this is genuine?" Cassie says. "Where did you get this?"

"Slytherin's secret library," I mutter.

"There was a point when I would have killed to read this," Cassie says.

"Have at it," I say. "It makes no damned sense to me."

Cassie suddenly leans over and gives me a smooch on the lips. "Have I mentioned yet that I love you?"

I blink at her in surprise. But before I can manage to stammer out a response, she grabs the Codex Veritatum and runs off. Well. That's going to start some more rumors. I can see Morag tittering over off to the side.

This term, the Theatre Club is putting on "The Fountain of Fair Fortune". Professor McGonagall makes a point that this time, no Ashwinders will be used in the performance. Who would use an Ashwinder in a stage production?

The Daily Prophet seems to be taking a turn for Muggle hate. It publishes a number of articles discussing how dangerous and violent Muggles are. It discusses the sorts of weapons that they use, like firearms and bombs. Far from being afraid, I find myself interested and excited. I never realized Muggles had come up with such things. I want to learn about them!

I see about owl-ordering some fascinating books on the subject. While the ones I can get my hands on easily are written from the perspective of wizards, there's still some interesting things to be found. Like a comparison with ingredients regularly used in potions with the chemicals used in Muggle explosives. And how to duplicate the effects of Muggle explosives using common, household potions ingredients.

"Potter, what are you reading?" Snape asks, hovering over me suddenly.

I'd brought the book out in Potions class to make some comparisons. Maybe that wasn't such a great idea after all. "A book, sir," I reply.

Snape snatches up my book and looks it over. "While I can appreciate the extra devotion you're putting into studying Potions, I question the direction of your extracurricular studies. See me after class." He carries my book away and puts it on his desk.

After class, Snape drags me into his office and slaps my book down in front of me. "Have I done something wrong, sir?" I ask innocently.

"Potter, are you planning to blow up the school?" Snape wonders.

"If I were intending on doing so, I'd like to think I'd have the common sense to be a little more subtle about it," I say. "And I'd also need to do some serious research into wards, to see what would actually be capable of doing significant structural damage. Regardless, such destruction would be counterproductive. I still have a lot I want to learn here, after all."

Snape gives me a long look, and then throws the book at me. "Since you're so intent upon giving yourself extra work, then I want to see a roll on the material you are studying. Due tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," I say.

"And I don't want to see you letting yourself get distracted in class again," Snape says. "Pay attention to what you're doing."

"Yes, sir," I say. "Sorry, sir."

"Dismissed."

---

Easter at Caer Danas. The place is even more crowded than usual. Tensions are running high, and there's talk of how the Dark Lord might be taking over the Ministry one position at a time. People who disagree with his views too vehemently have a tendancy to just disappear, or to find themselves rapidly reconsidering their options.

"Harry," Dumbledore says. "I've just received a report that a well-respected Ministry official has gone missing. Dirk Cresswell, head of the Goblin Liaison Office. Came to work this morning and never came back from lunch."

I give him a look. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Is there any chance that you could go back and make sure he's alright?" Dumbledore says. "This is a very important position, and if it were to fall into Voldemort's hands--"

"No," I reply firmly.

"Cresswell is Muggleborn," Dumbledore says. "He could be in grave danger."

"Is this really worth it?" I say.

"I believe so, yes," Dumbledore says.

I sigh. "Fine," I say reluctantly, shaking my head a little. I age myself down and blink out of this timeline.

---

I wake, get dressed, and head out to the main hall. Dumbledore is already there. I go up to him and say quietly, "Keep an eye on Dirk Cresswell. He could be in danger. But do it quietly."

Dumbledore gives a nod. "I appreciate the warning."

"You'd better," I say. "These warnings may wind up costing more than you realize."

Before Dumbledore can say another word, I stalk out of the house. I take on an adult form of around twenty years old, and Apparate to Knockturn Alley. I want to be away from all of these people. All of these strangers that I do not know or trust.

I head into my favorite pub and order a firewhiskey. I'm not here to get drunk. I'm not foolish enough to get drunk in public. But it's quiet, and relaxing. I just hope Tom Riddle doesn't show up to interrupt that. Actually, scratch that. I don't really care at the moment.

"Firewhiskey for breakfast?" Tom's voice says, approaching my table. "Not having a good holiday, Lexen?"

"Do you have a contingency spell over that doorway set to go off whenever I pass through it or something?" I wonder.

"It would be a shame to miss a chance to see you drowning your sorrows, as pitiful a sight as that may be," Tom says.

"I'm not drowning my sorrows," I reply. "I'm just relaxing. Getting away from the crowd for a bit. There are way too many people in my house. They're driving me insane."

"Oh?" Tom says. "Who is there?"

"The Order of the Phoenix," I mutter. "A bunch of random people I don't know or trust. I hate holidays. I've taken to warding the hell out of my damned bedroom, or I'd never get any sleep."

"Why do you stay there, then?" Tom wonders.

"It's my house," I say.

"Where is it?" Tom says, grinning. "I could take care of the problem for you."

"I wouldn't tell you even if I could," I say. "It's under the Fidelius Charm, and I'm not the Secret-Keeper. Guess you'll just need to find a rat, then, huh?" I smirk.

"I'm surprised that you'd joke about that," Tom says.

I shrug. "I'm not sure that I care anymore, anyway."

"Tell me," Tom says. "How old are you really?"

"Older than I look, younger than I feel," I say.

"How many times have you done this all?" Tom asks.

"Too many and not enough," I say. "I don't think I want to do this ever again. And if Dumbledore tries to drag me into this shit again, I'll kill him myself. I didn't even want to do this all this time."

"Are you a chatty drunk, Lexen?" Tom says wryly.

"Apparently," I say, emptying another glass of firewhiskey. "And I'm not drunk. Just slightly intoxicated. I'm not stupid enough to get drunk in public."

"How long were you hoping to attend Hogwarts for?" Tom says.

"I was kind of hoping to be able to complete my NEWTs for once," I say. "I've never made it past fourth year before."

"Have another firewhiskey," Tom says. "On me." He gestures for one to be brought over.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking a drink. "Although if you're trying to get me drunk enough to babble out all my secrets, there's some things I'm not silly enough to tell you no matter what."

"Like what?" Tom says, grinning.

I smirk at him. "I'll give you points for trying, not so much for subtlety."

"So, this power of yours," Tom says. "You can clearly go all the way back to the beginning. But other times, you clearly haven't. What's the difference? Can you choose how far back to go?"

I drink my firewhiskey and don't answer.

"Because when I had you in my hands after my resurrection, I was able to capture you then," Tom says. "You didn't avoid that outcome. I would assume if you could have, you would have."

I put down my glass and give him a long, hard look. I've got to admire his intelligence, that's for sure. But that isn't necessarily good for me.

"Don't feel like chatting anymore?" Tom says. "Alright, let me put it this way. Answer my question and I will spare Dirk Cresswell. Acceptable?"

My eyes widen in alarm. Does he know somehow that I came back today? Did he manage to capture Cresswell anyway even with my warning? "Give me a minute, please," I say. "I'll be right back."

"Of course," Tom says. "I'll just warn you that if I don't have an answer by sunset, the Mudblood will die a horrible death."

"Understood," I say, sighing. I step outside into the alley behind the pub. "Expecto Patronum," I say, focusing my thoughts upon the rainbow after the storm. My duck Patronus appears. "Take a message to Dumbledore. Ask him the status of Dirk Cresswell." The duck nods and zips off.

I lean against the wall unsteadily, waiting for a reply. I try to focus upon staying calm. It's probably a good thing that I'm good enough at Occlumency to do it even while drunk. The storm that protects my mind stays up even when I'm not thinking about it or concentrating on it.

After a bit, Dumbledore's phoenix Patronus appears before me and speaks in his voice. "Dirk Cresswell was taken by Death Eaters. We were unable to keep them from getting away with him. I'm sorry."

I sigh, and send my duck to give a reply back, "Thank you. I'll take it from here."

I turn to go back into the pub again. Tom hasn't moved, and is still sitting at the table I'd recently vacated. I go and sit down across from him again.

"So, what'll it be?" Tom asks.

"I'll answer your question," I say. "But this is the last one. No more threatening other people to try to get me to do things. You want something of me, come after me. Alright?"

"Fine, fine," Tom says lightly. "So tell me how your power works. How far back can you go, and under what circumstances?"

"I don't choose how far back to go," I say. "I go back a day at most, under normal circumstances. If I die from the Killing Curse or the gaze of a basilisk, I go back to the summer of 1991."

"Fascinating," Tom says, grinning broadly. "Very well. As per our agreement, I will have Dirk Cresswell released."

"And you won't harm him on another day," I say.

"Certainly not," Tom says. "Farewell, Lexen. It was nice chatting with you." He heads out, whistling to himself.

"I think I need another firewhiskey," I mutter, then shake my head. I've had quite enough as it is. I go to head out myself and Apparate home while I can still Apparate straight.

"Harry, there you are," Dumbledore says as I stumble into the main hall of Caer Danas. "Where did you go? What's the news on Cresswell?"

"He should be alright," I say. "If he's not, I'm going to fucking kill myself and try again."

More importantly, to not have that conversation with the Dark Lord if he's going to start going back on his word. Strangely, however, I think I can trust him. Better than Dumbledore. That's a really depressing thought. Tom's never lied to me or broken his word. Dumbledore has.

"Harry?" Dumbledore says, sniffing at me. "Have you been drinking?"

"Yes," I say, giving him a challenging look, wondering if he's going to make something of it.

"You really shouldn't Apparate while intoxicated," Emmeline says. "It's dangerous."

"I really don't care," I say.

I head into the dining area for some lunch. Dobby gleefully serves up more food than I could possibly eat at the moment. I try anyway. Later, as I'm leaning back in the chair, unable to stomach another bite, Dumbledore comes in.

"Dirk Cresswell has been returned safely," Dumbledore says. "I would ask how you managed to accomplish this."

And I don't care to tell him. "Magic," I reply with a smirk. "I'm just glad that he's safe. Maybe I'll even get a chance to meet him."

"He is here, in fact, wanting to thank you in person," Dumbledore says.

Someone else let in on the secret without my knowledge. "Fine, send him in," I say.

Dumbledore leaves, and a moment later, a man of maybe thirty comes into the room. "Harry Potter?" he says, looking at me in surprise. "I thought you'd be younger."

"Oh, that," I say. I age myself down to thirteen again. "I can change my age at will."

"Oh, really," Dirk says. "That's interesting. Well, I wanted to thank you. You saved my life. I believe I owe you a... life debt?"

"Yes," I say. "You do." I give him a hard look. "You have no idea what this cost me."

"I apologize for any price you may have incurred on my behalf," Dirk says. "I'll do my best to make it up to you, I swear."

"I wouldn't ask for anything else," I say. "Happy Easter, Dirk. Do you have a family?"

"A wife, three sons," Dirk says.

"You won't be in any further danger," I say. "But if you don't feel safe returning home regardless, you are welcome to bring them here." I mutter, "Merlin knows everyone else is here."

"Thank you," Dirk says. "I appreciate it."

---

I'm glad to get back to school after Easter holidays. Even though I'm sleeping in a room with four other boys. Well, I'm sure Draco would never do anything, Michael wouldn't dare, and Stephen just plain doesn't care. And will tell you very loudly and frequently how much he doesn't care.

Tensions are rising about Muggles, but it's just fear and suspicion at the moment. Nothing substantial. And even whatever the Dark Lord was doing with the Ministry has died down. Perhaps he doesn't want to do too much, too fast. I can't just stop caring about what happens to other people, even strangers, although it would make things a lot easier on me if I could. I'm glad that I can spend a while not feeling guilty about people I've never met.

This year's classes have been harder, but I'm still making progress on being able to cast more and more spells wandlessly. I also haven't stinted on learning a few new spells as well, under Cassie's tutelage. She insists on practicing dueling with me when we can spare the time.

"You aren't just doing this for my benefit, are you," I say. "You want practice as well."

Cassie smirks, and gives a nod. "If we're looking to go up against the most powerful dark wizard alive, we'd better both push ourselves as far as we can go."

"I don't know if, no matter what we do, we'll be able to just take him in a straight fight," I say.

"Maybe not," Cassie says. "But I'm not about to give up without trying, not now that I'm in this fight."

When I get back to my dorm later that evening, Draco asks me, "So were you off snogging Cassie again?"

I give him a look. "We were sparring."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Draco says.

I snort softly and go to bed.

---

Summer approaches. I'm not looking foward to it. Two months of being stuck in a house with people I don't know. I'm considering either shutting myself in my room for the duration, or finding someplace else to go. Maybe even Grimmauld Place. Perhaps not the most pleasant place to go, but I'm sure nobody would look for me there, on either side.

I get top marks in all of my classes this year, except for Politics, which is still an acceptable score. I've even managed to keep my Potions grade up.

"I expect your Politics grade to improve next year," Malfoy says to me.

"Yes, sir," I say.

"You have a good deal of natural charisma, but you don't hold well under pressure," Malfoy says.

"I will try to make that better, sir," I say.

"See to it that you do," Malfoy says. "Otherwise, you will find yourself crushed and broken, left whimpering and begging for mercy beneath the heels of those with the will to do harm to you and no compuncture about what they might do to cause it."

"Sir, are we still talking about Politics?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Dismissed, Potter," Malfoy says.

Back at Caer Danas for the summer, there are even more people packed into the place than there were before. A family has even moved into the room I was using as my own. I stare at them in surprise and dismay when I go in looking to be by myself for a bit.

"We're terribly sorry," says the mother. "We didn't realize this was your room. We'll go--"

"No," I interrupt. "Stay. I don't care."

I turn on my heel and leave the room, stride down the hall, and out the back door. This isn't my damned house anymore. I'm getting out of here.

I Apparate to the doorstep of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and step inside. Nothing immediately tries to keep me out or attack me, but the place still feels unpleasant. And yet, for all of that, I'm more comfortable here than among the crowd of strangers back at Caer Danas.

"And who might you be, young man?" says Walburga Black's portrait. "Someone to despoil the house of my fathers with dirty blood?"

"I'm a pureblood, Lady Black," I say. "And I'm looking for refuge here. Dumbledore and his damned Order of the Phoenix have taken over my house."

"Why do you let them?" Walburga wonders.

"Good fucking question," I say, sighing. "It's gotten out of hand now. If I'd known things were going to go this way..." I shake my head. "Lady Black, may I take sanctuary in the noble house of your fathers?"

"Might I ask who you are?" Walburga says.

"I am Harry Potter," I reply.

"Harry Potter?" Walburga says in confusion. "Wait, wasn't your mother a Mudblood?"

"No," I say. "Lily Evans was actually the descendant of an old pureblood line, but nobody realized that until after she was dead."

"Oh!" Walburga says. "I knew she was too good to really be a Mudblood! Very well, Harry Potter. You are welcome within the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

"Thank you, Lady Black," I say, giving a suave bow toward the portrait.

I continue on inside. It doesn't take long before I run across Kreacher as well, the raggedy old house-elf poking about and peering at me suspiciously.

"What's this?" Kreacher says. "Trespasser, in the house of Black?"

"Lady Black's portrait welcomed me in," I say. "Do please go and ask her about it, if you would. I don't really wish to repeat myself right now." I restrain myself from snapping at him too badly. No matter how annoyed I am at the moment, it wouldn't do for a first impression to be rude to him.

Kreacher narrows his eyes at me, then pops away.

I look around the house a bit. I'd forgotten what a terrible state it had been allowed to fall into. Worse than Caer Danas, despite not having been empty for as long. Well, I'd rather deal with doxies than crowds of strangers. The Dark Lord probably already has spies on the inside as it is, what with Dumbledore letting in anyone and everyone.

"So," Kreacher says, appearing again. "You are a guest in the House of Black. I suppose you will be wanting food?"

"I would appreciate it, if it wouldn't be too much trouble," I say. "And if you have a moment, a place where I could sleep where I wouldn't be bitten by doxies would be much welcome as well."

"Of course," Kreacher says reluctantly.

I absently eat the food Kreacher brings to me, and let him lead me off to one of the bedrooms. He's done a quick clean-up of the place while I was eating dinner, so it's at least some definition of livable at the moment.

Before I go to sleep, a phoenix Patronus appears in the room and speaks with Dumbledore's voice. "Harry? Where are you? Are you alright?"

Of course he wouldn't let me out of sight for long without wondering about me. I think wearily of the rainbow and summon a faint Patronus. "I'm fine, Dumbledore. Don't worry about me. Don't send anyone to look for me, please. I just wanted to be by myself for a bit."

With that, I put up some protections around my immediate sleeping area, and go to bed. I think I won't mind spending the summer here.