To a World Gone Astray

To a World Gone Astray

Chapter 4
A Little Too Far

*****

Do you remember
Look at me
At all the things we said we'd be
We'd beat the house
We'd push the odds
We'd take it all we had the cards

Harry's eyes flickered open. Soft light streamed in through the window, the early morning glow banishing the night from his inn room. His body shuddered involuntarily, as if he'd hit bottom. He rolled over, facing the mirror now, and pulled the covers up to his cheek.

Another dream, another nightmare. They had haunted Harry since he was little, sometimes recurring for nights on end. He'd been locked in a cupboard then, his screams echoing off the walls until Uncle Vernon had come down and threatened to beat the tar out of Harry if he didn't quiet down and let everyone else sleep.

The setting was different now, but the situation remained the same. Here at the Leaky Cauldron, and even at Hogwarts, there was still no one to turn to for comfort. He was freed from his physical prison, but still trapped by the memories of that night twelve years ago.

He sat up and looked into the mirror. His hair was even more untidy than usual, and his pajamas stuck to his body.

But it seemed oddly comforting to gaze into the familiar reflection. Images from the dream poured into his mind, images of a mirror that held more than he wished to see. Did it mean anything? Harry had known that he and Voldemort looked alike - had come face to face with him before, at the end of last year - but he'd always managed to keep a boundary of hate and loathing between them. In the dream, the boundaries had fallen.

Another image flicked into his head - no, it wasn't an image, just voices - but it disappeared before Harry could place it.

Harry shuddered a little, forcing the memory from his thoughts. The innkeeper had left a cup of tea on the nightstand - he must have been in just before Harry woke up. He drank it gratefully - he needed to finish packing for Hogwarts, and the tea would clear his head. He pulled on some clothes and stood in front of the mirror, about to brush his teeth.

His mind retreated to his first year at Hogwarts, to a night under an invisibility cloak and an unused classroom. He'd found another mirror then, magnificent gold frame stretching from floor to ceiling. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. I show not your face but your heart's desire.

He had seen his family, generations of Potters stretching back through the years. His parents, viewed for the first time since that night twelve years ago. Grandparents and uncles and aunts that he'd never met. Moisture gathered in the corner of Harry's eye.

It had seemed so simple then - just a new school and new friends to adjust to. No mass murderers trying to kill him. No evil wizards back from the dead. No scary dreams that left him cold and sweaty in the morning.

He'd been happy then - was he happy now? There was so much more to worry about. Black and Voldemort and the Malfoys. A new year at Hogwarts, with all these new classes. Trips to Hogsmeade that Harry would miss out on. He longed for the days when all he had to worry about was being caught by Snape on an unauthorized midnight outing.

“The past always seems shinier when viewed in a reflection.”

Harry jumped, and then glared at the mirror when he finally realized who had spoken. “Is it just you, or are all mirrors incapable of keeping their mouths shut?” he asked.

“We don't have mouths,” it replied, and then went on in a more serious tone of voice. “Harry, you can't stop time from flowing. You do things, but you can't go back and undo them. You learn things, and then can't go back and unlearn them. That's what growing up is. You didn't expect to remain a kid forever, did you?”

“It would certainly be nice if I could just fly away to Never-Never Land and forget all this.”

“But then you'd never have met Ron and Hermione, or found out you're a wizard, or exposed Gilderoy Lockhart. There're good parts to life too - it's not just one stressful revelation after another. You just have to put the bad stuff in perspective.”

“Easy for you to say. Nobody's ever tried to kill a mirror,” Harry replied, a little annoyed by the mirror's sickly sweet philosophy.

“So you've got a convicted mass murderer after you? Big deal. You ain't going to stop him by worrying about it, so why not think about something else? There's Hogwarts, and Quidditch, and your friends…”

“That works real well right up until he kills me,” Harry interrupted.

“We all die - well, except for us mirrors. The important thing is that you live first. Now why don't you finish packing for Hogwarts? The Weasleys should be up and about any minute now.”

As if on cue, Harry heard Percy's booming voice from the room next door. “You careless oaf! Ten points from Gryffindor!”

And then Ron's calmer but still loud reply: “Percy, we're not even at Hogwarts yet. It's not my fault if her face is all blotchy.” Harry smiled slightly, all the while trying to get a rather uncooperative Hedwig into her cage. Back to normal already. He headed downstairs, to what would hopefully be an uneventful ride to the King's Cross station.

*****

Got to get back
Got to get back
Got to get back
I never meant to take it this far
Got to get back
Got to get back
Got to get back

Uneventful it was not. Between Crookshanks and a somewhat addled chauffeur, Harry was amazed he ever managed to survive the car ride. He'd heard all the statistics about death by car accidents vs. death by mass murderers, but it was quite another thing to experience it himself.

The trouble started even before they entered the car. Crookshanks had been rather spoiled the whole morning - even eating at the breakfast table with everyone else - and was now acting downright petulant. Hermione had insisted that he be able to sit on her lap in the car, but Crookshanks evidently had other ideas. He refused to go anywhere near Ron.

“Look, Hermione, why can't you just stow the cat till we get to Hogwarts?” Ron asked.

“He's not a cat, he's a very intelligent feline being, and he has rights too!” Hermione objected. “Besides, it's not his fault that you're no fun to sit next to.”

Ron's freckled complexion was beginning to turn a very interesting shade of red.

“Hermione,” said Harry, “how about we compromise? Crookshanks can sit on your lap, but he stays in his cage.”

“But Harry -” Hermione began.

Mr. Weasley cut her off. “No buts. We can't have the cat running lose in the car.”

Grudgingly, Hermione began coaxing Crookshanks into his wickerwork basket. “It's all right, Crookshanks,” she cooed, “I'll let you out on the train.”

“You won't,” snapped Ron. “What about poor scabbers, eh?”

Hermione muttered something that Harry didn't quite catch. Neither did Ron, apparently. Just as well; it probably didn't deserve to be heard.

The three of them, plus Percy and Mr. Weasley, piled into one of the waiting Ministry of Magic cars. Harry was all set for a quiet, peaceful ride to King's Cross - until the driver opened his mouth.

“How do you fly this thing?” he asked.

Harry exchanged a look with his friends. Could the Ministry drivers really be that stupid?

Ron winked at him. He seemed to know what Harry was thinking, for he leaned over and whispered, “You don't wanna know.”

Harry didn't - but he did want to get to Hogwarts in one piece. “Ermm…” he began.

Mr. Weasley cut in. “No worries,” he said, while indicating to the driver that his seat was not on top of the gearshift. Somehow, this didn't make Harry less worried.

After much explaining, they finally got on the road. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Considering the driver's inexperience, he was doing a fair job keeping the car on the road.

That is, until Hermione decided Crookshanks needed to stretch a bit and released the latch on his cage. In a flash, he was bounding about the passenger compartment. Despite Hermione's continued pleas to come cuddle with her, he eventually ended up on the driver's head.

“Oh, how nice,” he said. “I always wanted a fur cap. Little low over the eyes though. Do I really need to see to be able to drive?”

Harry hung on tight to his seat.

Mr. Weasley was now valiantly trying to remove Crookshanks from the driver's head, without much success. The overgrown cat had dug in tight, and seemed to be quite enjoying his new perch. Even Hermione's continued calls had no effect on him.

A loud blaring horn interrupted the commotion. Their car had crossed into the other lane, and only Mr. Weasley's quick action saved them from a most ignoble death.

“Hermione, do something about your cat!” Ron shouted. Harry was about to echo the sentiment when Crookshanks voiced his own thoughts.

“Rreeeoowww!” he meowed.

This was going nowhere. Desperate for ideas, Harry leaned over to Ron. “Give me Scabbers for a moment,” he said. Ron looked wary, but pulled the rat out of his shirt pocket.

Careful not to attract Crookshanks' attention prematurely, Harry moved the rat to just in front of the wickerwork basket. He let out a quick cat call.

Crookshanks pounced. Harry barely had time to lift Scabbers out of the way before Crookshanks flew by him and into the cage.

Crisis averted, Harry sat back to enjoy the rest of the ride. It had, after all, been less stressful than his trip on the Knight Bus. At least he didn't have to deal with homicidal maniacs and death omens.

With any luck, he'd be able to avoid the crowd in Kings Cross and have some quiet time to himself on the train.

*****

When everything you touch turns gold
Can weigh you down, can make you old
When metal doesn't ring the same
Reaction from inside your brain

Harry's hopes were dashed as soon as he walked through the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. People swarmed around the platform, and it seemed as if they all recognized Harry. He had to hold on tight to Mr. Weasley to avoid being swept away.

Hushed whispers surrounded him:

“Look mum, it's Harry Potter!”

“See the boy with the scar?”

“I heard he's defeated You-Know-Who three times already!”

Harry felt like a caged animal on display. Nobody was talking to him; they were all talking about him. He wished he could just toss his invisibility cloak over his head and disappear.

He moved closer to the Weasleys, away from prying eyes and prodding hands. Ginny and Percy had appeared now, and Percy was doing his best to steal the spotlight. “Prefect here, make way, make way,” he said. He had his chest puffed out so everyone could see his badge.

The crowd would not be distracted. Their eyes wandered past Percy, and were still locked firmly on The Boy Who Lived. Percy shifted slightly, looking uncomfortable. “Ah, there's Penelope!” He made his way over to his girlfriend.

Harry's eyes met Ginny's, and they both laughed silently. Maybe Percy actually valued something more than prestige - or maybe he just wanted to hide the fact that he wasn't the center of attention for once. Either way, it was amusing, and with any luck, some of the crowd would rather gossip about the new prefect and his girlfriend.

“I heard Harry's got a thing going on with the Weasley girl.” The whisper cut through the buzz of the platform. Harry chuckled inwardly - it was a ridiculous notion, but some people just had to mentally pair up everyone. It could be worse. At least nobody was gossiping about him and Hedwig.

But he couldn't help but notice that Ginny's cheeks had gone scarlet. Well, maybe there was something there - on her part, not his. Still, as long as it remained unspoken, he and Ginny could remain friends, regardless of what she felt.

The rest of their party had arrived on the platform now, and they were faced with the task of finding an empty compartment. They ploughed their way to the end of the train, making their way through throngs of people eager to get a glimpse of The Wondrous Harry Potter.

Harry accidentally knocked one second-year boy's broom to the ground. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Harry Potter touched my broomstick!” its owner exclaimed. Harry just rolled his eyes.

At last they found an empty carriage. Harry was all set to go, when Mr. Weasley called him aside for a short chat.

“There's something I've got to tell you before you leave -” Mr. Weasley said.

Oh. Right. Sirius Black. Harry expected this, remembering the conversation he had overheard - was it only last night? But he would rather not have been reminded. The dream had subsided slightly, but some parts were still all too vivid.

“It's all right, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry, wanting to get this over with quickly. “I already know.”

“You know? How could you know?”

Oops. He wasn't supposed to eavesdrop. “I - er - I heard you and Mrs. Weasley talking last night.” He blushed a little. “I couldn't help hearing. Sorry -”

“That's not the way I'd have chosen for you to find out,” said Mr. Weasley.

“No - honestly, it's OK.” Couldn't they get on with it? The train would be leaving soon, and this certainly wasn't the most enjoyable subject to discuss. “This way, you haven't broken your word to Fudge and I know what's going on.”

“Harry, you must be very scared - ”

“I'm not.” Well, it was true. He wasn't scared - of Sirius Black, at least. He had so many other things to worry about that he couldn't spare the effort. “Really,” he added. “I'm not trying to be a hero, but seriously, Sirius Black can't be worse than Voldemort, can he?”

Mr. Weasley's response was cut off sharply by Mrs. Weasley. Grateful for the interruption, Harry said a quick good-bye and pulled away. Steam billowed from the train - it would be leaving soon. Thankful to be out of the spotlight, he climbed aboard.

*****

And all the years we offered up
To gods who couldn't get enough
Though we still stay up all night
The mornings aren't quite as bright

Several hours later, Harry sat staring out of the window at the passing English countryside. It was just about dusk, and soon the view outside would become the solid black of night time. The only other occupant of the compartment - the new DADA professor, Hermione said - had slept the whole way, leaving them free to talk amongst themselves. Harry had spent the first hour of the train ride convincing his friends that Sirius Black was not going to murder him - no matter how he tried to change the subject, it always seemed to drift back to that. Then discussion died down, and they were each left to their own thoughts.

Quite honestly, Harry hadn't convinced himself. He kept repeating “I'm not going to be murdered” to himself, but saying it didn't make it true. There was still that nagging fear that somewhere, out there, Black was waiting.

And Harry certainly couldn't hide. Judging from the scene on the platform, the entire wizarding world must know that he was at Hogwarts. True, that in itself provided some protection, but Harry wasn't all that confident that the wards surrounding Hogwarts would keep out Black. After all, he'd broken out of Azkaban. What was to keep him from breaking into Hogwarts?

If only Voldemort had never risen. If only Harry's parents had never died. If only Sirius Black had been a common criminal, rounded up by the Ministry and put away for life. If only. If only. Destiny weighed heavily on Harry, and he found himself wishing that he could go back and change the past.

“Do you ever wish that you could be a completely different person?” he asked his friends, breaking the silence.

They looked up, startled. The question was an unusual one, not the sort one normally asks on a train ride.

Ron shrugged. “I never really thought much about it. Why would you want to change your life, though? You've got everything - money, fame, friends.”

“Everything except parents,” Harry said.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Ron looked abashed; this wasn't an easy subject for any of them.

“Look, Harry,” Ron responded, “they've been gone for twelve years.”

“They aren't gone,” Harry interrupted. How could he tell them about the dreams, the nightmares, the memories? His parents still haunted him, every moment of his life.

Hermione glanced over at him with a concerned look. “Harry, Ron's right. Wizards have gone mad brooding over the past.”

“Sometimes I feel like I'm going mad already.”

The sentence hung in the air. Hermione was the first to break the silence.

“Don't worry about it, Harry. If you spend all your brainpower fretting over something that might happen, you'll just end up making it come true.”

“So I'm just supposed to act all shiny and happy and pretend I'm a normal kid? Ever think that that might not be so easy?”

Hermione squirmed. “You don't have to be happy all the time,” she said - backtracking a little, Harry thought. “But life's not one catastrophe after another. You've had some good times with us - why not remember them instead of brooding over what you've lost.”

“Yeah,” Ron chimed in. “And think of all the fun times we'll be having this year. Look - we must be nearly there.”

Sure enough, the train was slowing down now. Harry heard the pitter-patter of rain on the train roof, and strained his eyes to see through the pitch-darkness outside his window. Ron evidently had the same idea - he got up and pushed his way past the professor whom they were sharing a compartment with. “Brilliant,” he said. “I'm starving, I want to get to the feast…”

Hermione checked her watch. “We can't be there yet.”

A disappointed look fell across Ron's face. “So why're we stopping?” he asked.

Harry poked his head out into the corridor, trying to find the answer to Ron's question. Evidently other people had the same idea - all along the corridor, people's heads poked out of their compartments.

The train stopped abruptly, almost throwing Harry off his feet.

And then the lights went out.

*****

Got to get back
Got to get back
Got to get back
I never meant to take it this far
Got to get back
Got to get back
Got to get back

The next few moments would have been quite amusing, if Harry hadn't been scared out of his wits. Amidst all the bumping and jostling, he managed to find his way back to his seat.

He sat there, worrying, while the others in the compartment tried to avoid breaking each other. Could Black have found him and stopped the train? Or was this one of Voldemort's schemes, some elaborate plan to get at Harry?

The door opened.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Standing outside the doorway was a hooded figure, a wraith out of some nightmare. The mere sight of it turned Harry's stomach, and filled his heart with cold dread.

The creature extended a slimy, decaying hand towards Harry, beckoning him towards its living death.

And then it withdrew it, as if it had realized that Harry would not be joining it today. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back into his seat.

The room suddenly went cold. Bitter, freezing cold, as if all energy had been sucked out of the air. Not just the air; Harry felt something crucial being ripped out of his chest, as if the creature was pulling on his life-strings.

He felt himself falling, sucked down into some inner abyss. The outside world faded before his eyes, leaving him swimming in grey. He felt himself being pulled under, and tried to claw his way back to the surface. His arms wouldn't move; he was being sucked under.

The grey turned to white, a blank nothingness.

He heard screaming.

A scene formed before his eyes, a scene from a long-ago memory. He lay curled up in his mother's arms, feeling the warmth of her against him. Feeling the tension, too. She was crying, and held onto him tightly, as if she was afraid of losing him forever.

Footsteps. The creak of a floorboard. The turn of a door handle.

A stranger entered the room, a man who might once have been handsome, but who had been hideously deformed by his lust for power. He spoke.

“Step aside woman! I shall have the boy!”

Harry's mother hugged him tighter. He felt her heart beat against his. “No,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “You won't touch him as long as I live.” She backed up against Harry's crib, holding him with one arm.

The stranger's lips contorted into a sneer. “Then you will die.” He raised his wand and pointed it at Harry's mother. “Avada -” he began.

Harry heard his mother utter some words under her breath. They were unintelligible to his untrained ears, but they suffused his body with warmth.

“- Kedavra.” There was a flash of green light, and Harry's mother slumped down, dropping Harry into the crib. He bounced a bit, and ended up on his side facing the stranger.

The stranger walked over to him.

“You would have made a good Slytherin,” he said. “Too bad your parents were so dead-set against me. If only I'd been able to bend them to my will.  Alas, I can't let such a powerful rival live.”

He raised his wand again, pointing it straight at Harry's forehead. “Avada Kedavra.”

The scene faded to black, and Harry woke to find Ron slapping his face.