Chapter Text
I
Harry thought the nightmares would stop after the worst summer of his life.
That the nights of tossing and turning in bed, remembering what happened at the graveyard, waking up with a start, his heart racing and tears streaming down his face, would end.
That he would return to Hogwarts and everything would be back to normal…
Normality no longer existed. It never existed, anyway.
He thought he could stop thinking about how many things he could have done differently to save a life. That he would no longer feel like that night when he won the tournament and lost so much more.
As muggles say, time heals all wounds.
Maybe even a broken heart.
And Harry waited…
Harry got out of bed every morning and walked the same halls he… Cedric used to walk with that charming smile of his, and it never seemed fair. Harry went to classes and it never got better. He knew a new level of torture in his fifth year, and just before he broke, Harry decided it. In a hasty manner. Without stopping to think. Because he couldn't live like this anymore. Because mistakes had to be righted.
He found a way to infiltrate Dumbledore's office.
It was empty.
“Accio,” he whispered, trying to visualize what he was looking for.
Trying to feel it.
He remembered Hermione's sad expression when, the day after the tragedy, in the hospital, he told her how much he wished to go back in time and act differently. Like that time in third year , Harry had said.
"We wouldn't know where it happened," she replied. "Sometimes, Harry, there's nothing you can do. I'm so sorry."
No one knew he'd tried. He'd walked into McGonagall's office on the last day of fourth year, grabbed the time-turner, spun it as far as he could, and it was too late. If she found out, she didn't say anything.
He was under the illusion that perhaps there was another option…
That time was not only cruel but also the answer.
Still, Harry waited for disappointment like a little boy on Christmas morning when no present had his name on it. Like feeling alone in a huge castle. Like thinking you had just seen a familiar face in a crowd and being wrong.
Against all odds, a box found its way into his hands.
Metallic blue with a heavy padlock that the simplest spell opened.
Inside was a device that resembled in structure the time-turner he had used before. Except it was silver, of medium size that covered the entire palm of his hand and weighed like a flat stone, with three rings surrounding it and a clock in the center.
Under his invisibility cloak he spun the hoops, over and over, over and over…
He needed to fix things.
Cedric Diggory should not have died. Perhaps time could correct that.
Change the moment when everything had fallen apart…
II
He didn't remember the way his stomach flipped, his head ached like it had been hit and his balance felt like someone had been shaking him by the shoulders incessantly. Harry landed on the ground, feeling like he had been kicked all over.
Fortunately, the office was deserted.
Dark, very dark.
He managed to get out, and it wasn't the only uninhabited place. The castle was completely clear of students. Absolute silence filled the corridors. He took his map out of his pocket and found that there was no one there. Gryffindor Tower was closed and he had to go into an office to find a calendar. August 16, 1993.
Third year.
The holidays before his third year…
He had gone overboard with the turns.
Taking refuge in one of the secret passageways, he inspected the time-turner. He tried to spin it in the opposite direction. This time he felt as if everything around him was moving… His hands shook and he needed a moment to stand up, holding on to the stone wall.
The afternoon light blinded him as he emerged from his hiding place.
Dozens of students walked through the halls and he took special care to stay to the side and avoid them. The noise filled his ears and was so familiar and yet the castle no longer looked that way where he had come from. Students laughing, chatting in groups.
Walking without any worries other than getting to the next class.
He turned left, away from the crowd, and recognized him.
His golden hair shining in the sun.
Harry took a step ahead as if he couldn't help himself, as if he wanted to run towards him, and stopped immediately, his heart beating so fast it burned. And Cedric, as if he knew he was there, turned around.
Grey eyes watching him…
But he couldn't see Harry under the cloak.
Harry held his breath, careful to remain silent.
Cedric came back to the front and Harry noticed himself in the distance, at the end of the corridor. He hurried away and in a deserted corner used a spell to mask his footsteps and any sound he might make.
He leaned against the wall until he fell to the ground.
Seeing Cedric again…
It hurt like a stab in the chest and it felt like catching his breath after months of running aimlessly. Here Cedric was. Alive. Not knowing where and how he would do this, Harry didn't care. At first, nothing mattered more than knowing he was here and the possibility of existing together in the same world.
III
Because he was still in 1993, he turned the time-turner around again.
And he spun the rings again.
By the time he arrived in late 1994, he had been ensconced for a few days in any hidden room at the edges of the castle, stealing food from the kitchen at odd hours and borrowing clothes from his wardrobe in his Gryffindor room when no one was there. And suddenly as he walked down a secret passage, he felt the world shift beneath him.
He had returned to the past, according to his calendar.
To the summer of 1994.
The deserted castle again.
Harry wandered through the dark hallways at night, wondering if he should use the time-turner again. Something was wrong. The hand of the clock in the center didn't work with the same regularity at each time interval. As if it was broken. He figured his best option was to let time pass without intervention, and he didn't know if that scared him more than he could bear.
In a way, loneliness led him to walk to calm his mind.
There was no one to crash into.
Sometimes he heard the murmurs in the paintings, as if they could sense he was there when he passed by. He kept the silencing spell on himself active. That was why he was surprised by the soft, feminine voice that spoke to him as he walked down a narrow corridor.
“The ghosts are aware that you are lurking around like a bad omen. To tell the truth, they are afraid of what kind of entity you might be. They are looking for a way to get rid of you. As far as I am concerned, there is nothing that I haven’t…”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said, removing the spell. “I didn't…”
“Oh!” she cried. “My dear, I’m glad you decided to answer. Come here, let me see you.”
“I don't think I should…”
“Don’t feel bad if there isn’t much to see,” she said in a careful tone. “Some ghosts feel insecure about their own image and prefer to let themselves fade away… until very little of them is left. In most cases, it’s a real shame.”
Harry looked ahead, debating whether he should continue on.
He searched for the only painting that covered the wide wall.
Towards the woman with the giant flowery dress and long curly brown hair.
“I’m not a ghost,” Harry clarified, having lost count of how long it had been since he’d spoken to another human being. While this interaction didn’t qualify, it was the closest thing. “I didn't mean to scare them.”
“My dear, they find ways to scare themselves. You don't have to worry. Tell me, will you? What brings you here and what are you if not a ghost?”
In the brief silence that followed, Harry began to walk.
“I won’t tell anyone,” the woman continued. “My name is Heidi, Heidi Helena, and I know how to keep secrets. If only you knew…”
Harry took three steps back. “How can I know that you will keep your word?”
“You can't know for sure. Absolute certainty doesn't exist, my dear. But I promise to keep it to myself. There are no other paintings here besides my own. I enjoy solitude and only exceptional rumors reach my ears.”
For a moment he allowed himself to believe that woman.
He imagined himself talking… telling, having someone, anyone…
“Just tell the ghosts that I'm not trying to hurt anyone.” Harry intended to continue on his way. Despite not knowing how he could cause them any harm, he wanted to reassure them. “They're safe from me.”
“I can trust you with one of my secrets in exchange.”
That caught his attention.
"If that would make you feel comfortable," Heidi continued.
Harry pretended not to hear her.
IV
He spent his time wandering around the castle, exploring every nook and cranny designated by the lines on the parchment. He needed to find the best hiding places for the school year. He couldn't afford to be discovered by himself. He wondered how his father and his friends had created the map, and at night Harry failed to say the correct password just to chat with them through their witty responses.
«Boy, you've been trying too many times.»
«Moony wonders if you're okay, Padfoot wonders how many more times you're going to try, Prongs thinks you're determined, and Wormtail wonders why you won't give up today.»
“I’m alone,” Harry explained quietly. “I have nothing to do and I…”
He looked down at his hands, at the floor he was sitting on.
He missed his friends.
It wasn't like he regretted his decision. Harry wanted to change what had happened and he was willing to do anything for it. It was going to be harder than he had anticipated… for one thing, because he hadn't planned it. He had just acted. Hermione would have her opinions and would never have let him do it this way.
«That is how we felt before we met…»
«Moony says that someone who tries so hard to figure it out must have equally amazing friends and…»
“I have them,” he murmured, closing the scroll and leaning back against the pillows he had arranged. Harry placed the map on his chest and sighed. “I still have them. I will go back to them one day.”
V
He wasn't accomplishing much on his own.
So he began visiting the library, seeking to learn new spells that could serve him. Time passed slowly, day after day. Harry spent entire afternoons and nights staring at the ceiling remembering…
The first time he had spoken to Cedric. He had learned of his existence in his third year: another seeker and captain of Hufflepuff, whom he never held a grudge against for having beaten them, despite the particular circumstances. Especially when he received the news that the captain of the opposing team had asked, in vain, for a replay of that unfortunate match that ended with Harry in the hospital wing.
And although they were introduced at the Quidditch World Cup, it was not until after being selected for the Triwizard Tournament that he exchanged his first words with that boy.
"How did you do it?" he asked Harry as he left the room where every possibility of getting out of this situation had been evaluated and discarded. "How did you get your name into the Goblet?"
"I didn't do it," Harry said simply, without expecting anything.
Although Cedric didn't seem to believe him, he didn't insist. They began to walk down the halls in a silence that couldn't bother Harry, who was struggling to feel something and not feel everything at the same time.
Anger. Frustration. Headache.
“Looks like it'll be the two of us.”
"It seems so," Harry agreed.
Cedric looked thoughtful as if he wanted to say something more, but he stopped. "I have to get going. Good luck, Harry," he smiled at him, and it didn't even sound malicious.
Harry didn't understand it.
He stood there, wondering how genuine he could be and knowing in advance that he wouldn't have it.
VI
He had been wrong.
Every few days, memories would attack him. Flashes of green. His pale, distant body. Eyes he knew so well, closed. Never to open again. He couldn't…
He couldn't save him .
Harry would wake up in the middle of the night, feeling just as paralyzed as he had the moment he returned from the graveyard without him. No one could lift him this time, carry him to a gurney and heal what little was left that could be saved. No one could take away the emptiness inside him, the desperation, the pain.
A part of Harry died with him.
And he had been wrong. There was no way to stop the nightmares.