Fanfiction Collection + EPub Links

Plot: Harry is a man broken and weighed down by regrets. He is past the point of caring, until one day he takes the opportunity to change his fate—blast the consequences.

Pairing: H-Hr

NOTE: A in-progress fan-fic. Nearly to the end of the fan-fic, but does not seem like there is going to be any more chapters..... so don't read if you dislike unfinished works (albeit a near completed one)

He was a regular Mad-Eye-Moody.

With the loss of his leg, he was forced to rely heavily on his wooden crutch. He may still have both his eyes, but his eyesight was poor and scars marred his face. The resemblance to his former mentor was uncanny. Much like the Irish wizard, he was responsible for many of the occupied cells in Azkaban.

He sat behind an elegant rosewood desk, feeling rather silly and a bit useless.

There had been no Death Eater activity in quite some time...not since that fateful day.

Auror work was rather tame lately, with his latest case consisting of a pest scam where victims accused pest control companies of purposefully infecting their homes with Chizpurfles so magicfolk would be in desperate need of their services. A rather colossal waste of his time, in the grand scheme of things. But whenever there was something more serious that came up, it was usually Ron or Dean that took the call, making excuses that it would be better for him to stay at the Ministry in case things escalated. He loathed being told he was better staying at the Ministry.

It wasn't as if he was incapable of ȧssisting.

No one had ever left Mad-Eye behind in the office!

There was hardly anything to do anymore, save going home to Ginny. Luckily for him, Ginny had quite the blossoming Quidditch career and could often be found away, but when she was home, she was exceedingly needy. He could do without her whining...her scorn...her revulsion towards him. He knew he was no longer the wizard he used to be, how could he forget when it was forever clear in Ginny's eyes? He didn't need the reminder—he gave himself quite enough grief! She was in need of things, things she no longer felt he could offer her. Because of that, bitterness had begun to permeate their relationship, settling in the pit of his stomach and doused by indifference.

He was beginning to care less and less.

Ever since that day - so long ago - that was when everything had changed, his entire outlook. He'd made a mistake - a terrible mistake! - and there was no way to rectify it.

It had only been three years, but it felt like an eternity. He was twenty-one back then, young and vibrant and still full of life.

Now, Harry lived in a permanent state of regret.

His leg, or rather, the ghost of his leg, throbbed and tingled up his knee and then further up his thɨġh. Taking a card from Malfoy, he took a deep sip of Firewhiskey, relishing in the fiery burn it left whilst sliding down his throat, regardless of being at work. He'd become all too used to the feeling as of late. It was the only thing to numb the constant pain. He missed the feeling of wholeness. These days he felt incomplete and lacking.

Harry ran a hand through unruly black hair. Caramel-colored eyes flashed through his mind.

Her eyes.

They were open and honest and so heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

Hermione... so sweet and so innocent and so gone.

~oOo*oOo~

Sunday found him having dinner at Cauldrons again.

Some of their friends were there, or rather, her friends.

On the rare occasion Harry liked to go out, he would much rather Floo to Wiltshire and catch the Malfoy patriarch for a quiet drink. Somehow, over the past two years, he'd become something close to friends with his former nemesis. They shared the same dry, witty humor and it wasn't so exhausting to endure the Slytherin's company.

Harry's lip curled at the sight of Lavender. Maybe it had been three years, but how could Ron stand being with her when he'd lost Hermione? How did Lavender even begin to compare? The witch was sweet enough, but she was shallow and vapid and she giggled far too much for Harry's liking. It wore on his nerves in the most nails-on-the-chalkboard sort of way. That Ron could move on so effortlessly made Harry want to hurl. Perhaps they deserved one another.

"Did you hear, Harry?" Ginny's voice effectively cut through his private musings. "Marcus' whole team has been outfitted with the newest broom that hasn't even hit stores yet."

"Oh?" Harry couldn't bring himself to be equally as excited.

Marcus nodded smugly. "The Silver Streak. It won't be out to the public until next year."

"Faster than the Firebolt?" Ron inquired, his arm thrown carelessly around Brown's shoulders. "That I'd have to see."

"180 miles an hour," Ginny informed her brother enthusiastically. Then she turned to the rest of the table. "It has an extendable seat for extra cushioning."

"You have to try it out, it's one wild ride." Flint flashed them another smile.

"Would that I could," Harry muttered bitterly. He had tried to mount a broom multiple times since the altercation that had lost him his leg. There was something off with the balance. His left leg was now far too heavy and he had to tense his muscles just so in order to even it out. He hadn't got the hang of it. It was too irritating to be confronted by all he'd lost.

The others exchanged uncomfortable glances, Flint having just realized his error.

Ginny's smile faltered and she cleared her throat loudly. "Yes, well, you'll get the hang of it again, eventually."

Harry nodded. In fairness, she was right. He would simply have to learn how to fly despite his permanent injury. It was just taking longer than he might have liked. But he would probably never be able to ride a broom that went that fast.

Ginny smiled brightly and shifted her attention to Ron. "So what is it you said you wanted to tell us about?"

Ron smiled sheepishly, glancing around the table before ducking his head. "Just got a bit of news to tell you, that's all."

Lavender grinned from ear to ear and Harry became instantly weary.

"I'm expecting." She beamed. "Ron and I are going to be parents!"

For a split second, Harry could swear he saw Ginny's face twist in an expression that could only be described as envy, but it was gone in an instant. She plastered on a sickly sweet smile dripping with happiness for the couple. Harry tried not to scowl. He regretted not getting to know Ginny, truly getting to know her. At the time when they were teenagers, he had seen what he wanted to see, but now the scales had fallen from his eyes and he'd seen the real Ginny, the Ginny that had wanted to be Mrs. Ginevra Potter ever since second year. There had been signs, of course, but Harry had ignored them. It was always supposed to be Ron and Hermione and he and Ginny and now it was too late. Ron had never appreciated Hermione, had never deserved her, and he had moved on so effectively he was already having a kid with Hermione's replacement.

Harry couldn't bring himself to feel joy but mumbled the polite things he was supposed to say anyway.

Table talk resumed and Harry found himself tuning out automatically. It was just more of the same—Ginny and Flint laughing at some shared joke—were they fuċkɨnġ each other? Harry wouldn't be exactly surprised if that was the case. Their own sėx life had been lacking. Ginny had accused him of being too rough during sėx and he couldn't find it in him to fuċk her any longer. The constant complaining had effectively nipped that dėsɨrė in the bud.

The horcrux had warned him. It had told him things from its place around his neck. Harry had thought it evil before, manipulative and wrong, but maybe he had been wrong. The horcrux had whispered vile things, seeing deep into his heart and registering his true feelings about Hermione before even he had admitted them to himself. It made him jealous of Ron and annoyed with Ginny's antics. It had told him he would lose her, and at first he thought the horcrux had meant Ginny, but now he realized he knew the whole time that it had not.

His jaw throbbed painfully when he chewed, a lingering effect of it being broken too many times. His whole body was always so wracked with pain, and he resented the fact that he'd have to endure this for the rest of his life, all because of some prophecy that had sprung up when he was a infant.

It was a dangerous shift in his line of thinking.

It was selfish for him to wish he hadn't been burdened with saving the wizarding world. Things were as they were supposed to be, people had moved on, the Ministry was in better hands, and he should be pleased despite the personal losses he'd sustained. It hadn't been a failure.

"Yes, let's do, Harry!" Ginny pulled him from his thoughts.

"Do what?" he asked irritably.

"Go to the cinema, of course." Her eyes narrowed. "With our friends."

"Oh, I think I'll pass. I actually made plans tonight."

"What plans?" She bȧrėly kept the smile she wore attached to her face. "Plans with Malfoy, again ?"

Her expression suggested an affirmative answer would be an act of aggression in itself.

"Yes, actually. I was going to stop by his manor this evening."

"Harry?" Her bȧrėly there smile was strained, the tips of her ears turning red. "Can we speak privately?"

She hastily got up without looking to see if Harry would follow. His annoyance reaching new heights, he begrudgingly got up from his chair and followed after her, noticing the glances of pity he received from the occupants at the table.

When he hobbled up to her in the mostly vacant hall by the lavatories, he whirled on her. "What is it, Ginny?"

"I just wanted to know what's gotten into you now. Can't you see you're making our friends uncomfortable?"

He scowled. "I'm not trying to."

"Well you are. It's you and this black cloud that's following you."

Harry averted his eyes, too stubborn to admit that Ginny was probably right. He was hardly useful to anyone, and not very good company.

"I just don't get it, Harry." She crossed her arms over her ċhėst. "You always want to stay home or get hammered with Malfoy. And when you are alone with me, you're usually out of it from all the pain potions you take." She paused to gain her breath, her eyes becoming more and more heated. "I do everything around the house. I cook and I clean, and you just want to stare off into space all day."

Irritation flared hotly in his ċhėst and he gestured to his stump. "I suggested we get permanant help after the accident."

"That's not the point!" Her ċhėst was rising and falling in shallow pants. "We used to have fun and we never do anymore. I thought that surely by now we would have children, but it seems like you recoil anytime you brush against me. You blame everything on your accident, but Merlin - that was so long ago! I want someone around me that loves me, and it hardly seems like you do, it hardly seems like you want to even be here anymore."

Perhaps she was right. But the solution was allowing him space, couldn't she see that? "If you'd only let me make my own decision-"

"Why? So you and the ferret can pine after my brother's dead wife some more?"

He recoiled as if he'd been slapped. He may as well have. However trapped it made him feel, he could almost see the point of everything Ginny had to say, but when she'd said that. "What did you say?" His expression turned dark and dangerous.

"You heard me," she said with a snarl. "Do you really think I never knew? Ron and I both knew, and discussed the matter frequently. But you chose someone else, and now you are still thinking about her, even when she is long gone. Everyone else has moved on, and it's time you did."

"I can't just move on when my best friend has died," he stressed, his ire peaked. "Hermione was important to me, to us, and you guys act like she never existed."

"She was just a girl, Harry, a regular girl we grew up with but like many others, died in the war."

"You're not half the witch that she was," he spat cruelly, failing to keep control of his rapidly splintering temper.

Ginny grinned as if she were the cat that got the cream. "I knew you had feelings for her. How pathetic. I wish you would have saved us all trouble and just told her how you felt from the start. Look at you," she motioned to his person, "you're hardly a man anymore. The war has ruined you and now you are trying to bring me down with you."

Harry didn't know what to say. He was broken and decrepit and his heart was in ruins. Ginny was right and she knew it.

"Go ahead and go to Malfoy's," she said, turning away from him. "I'll make excuses for you."

It was too much. He had no control over anything - not over any aspect of his life. He couldn't deal with her incessant screaming, she was driving him stark-raving mad! How could he spend the rest of his life with her? He didn't fancy being talked to in such a way, to have to walk on eggshells in his own house, but it seemed as though he couldn't even act anymore unless he had her permission. He was stuck.

He headed for the sidewalk, Apparating on the spot for the sanctuary of Grimmauld Place. Ginny got her way and he was in no mood to consult with even Malfoy that evening, her permission had effectively destroyed his dėsɨrė to do so.

~oOo*oOo~

He slept in one of the spare rooms on the Third Floor, falling into a deep whiskey-induced sleep.

Like so many nights before, he dreamed of that night in Lestrange Manor.

When he woke up, panting for breath, it was still dark out.

How had everything gone to shit?

Would that he could use a Time-Turner and go back and change things.

The intel they had received, shortly after the war, on Rabastan Lestrange's whereabouts had led them - impossibly - to Lestrange Manor. Harry couldn't believe their good fortune, it was supposed to have been an easy mission.

"Tell me why I can't simply Avada the man on sight, 'Mione?"

She sighed and glanced at him with a half-smirk. "Because, as I've told you, he has an artifact we are quite keen on retrieving, and Aurors are not supposed to use such curses anyhow."

"Must be pretty important if an Unspeakable is worried about it," Ron told her.

"It is, Ronald. If Lestrange activates the chalice, it can have dastardly effects on the world as we know it."

Harry could still remember the way Ron had dismissed Hermione's concerns, ȧssuring her that he and Harry would take care of everything and why didn't she go look for wedding dresses with Ginny? Hurt had flashed through her eyes very briefly, and Harry had considered saying something, but he hadn't. Ron often hurt Hermione by saying such thoughtless things. Harry could kick himself now that he hadn't called the wizard out each and every time he had done so. Hermione was not a witch to be shrugged off.

They had been too pompous, too sure in their own capabilities. Their egos had grown rather large since being heralded heroes of the wizarding world only a few years prior. Lestrange was the last of the Death Eaters, and once they captured him, they could put the miserable war behind them.

But Lestrange had not made the task easy on them.

They were immediately ȧssaulted with traps upon entering his manor. He'd seemed to be expecting intruders, and he was prepared to meet them. Harry was too busy fending off the unexpected attacks to see the onslaught of dark curses coming, to know that this would be the turning point and the day he regretted more than any other. The dark hex severed off his leg, immediately. It stumped him so effectively, his eyes looking on unbelievably to the severed appendage and he only half-heartedly threw up a shield to stave off the rest of the wizard's attack. He cast a tourniquet charm on his knee and absently recalled seeing Hermione run across the room, straight towards Lestrange and deftly evading the traps at the entrance.

Her eyes had been set on the ritual the Death Eater had been about to perform. Lights were lit in sconces lining the platform that housed a goblet of sorts. Lestrange was too busy sending curses sizzling angrily through the air to immediately notice Hermione's slight form as it darted behind him in a blur, her goal set on capturing the cup. When she did get her hands on it, she wrapped it carefully in her jacket, not touching the polished metal with her bȧrė fingers. It was only something Harry recalled vaguely, but then back up had arrived. Ron had signaled reinforcements and Lestrange was becoming overwhelmed.

Harry had crawled across the room, unused to the feeling of being without a leg, and the meaning of the loss not even dawning on him yet. Hermione needed his help and he felt compelled to go to her. She needed him and what she was doing was important. He ducked around curses and hexes that were flying through the air from both sides, his goal only on reaching Hermione.

"Harry!" Her eyes shrilled with terror at the sight of him, momentarily forgetting her precious package wrapped in her arms as she ran towards them. "Oh, gods, what has he done?"

She reached for her wand, flicking a series of spells over him and Harry felt his pain lessen.

"No," he told her decisively, casting a strong shield around them. "I need to get you out of here. You have the cup and we need to get to safety. Ron can handle him with the rest of the Aurors." It was hard to speak, hard to breathe, hard to gain a footing in reality.

With single-minded focus, he reached for Hermione, who looked at him sadly, her eyes holding wisdom that was well beyond both of their years combined. "We need to destroy it. If nothing else, we at least need to do that."

"Vanish it."

"Harry, this is a World Changer , it can't be simply vanished." She swallowed convulsively, honey eyes filled with concern and love. "Harry, I-"

Her words were cut off by a particularly strong series of well-aimed slicing charms that severed through his shield like buŧŧer. Hermione gasped and held up her wrists in confusion, watching in shock as blood curled around her forearms and dripped to her elbows. She was riddled with slices, deep cuts, and when Harry made to raise his wand, he found that he was too. He could no longer see out of one eye.

"Ron," he gurgled, blood clogging his throat. "Get Hermione to St. Mungo's NOW."

She shook her head, grabbing Harry's hand and attempting desperately to speak. "You must promise me something."

Harry could hardly focus on her words, through the pain and the blurred vision and the ringing in his ears. Where had his wand gone? How was Lestrange still upright and dueling four wizards at the same time? He became distantly aware of stone statues - gargoyles - moving along the manor and attacking the four Aurors. They needed more men!

"Promise me, Harry!"

"What!" Anything , he screamed in his mind.

She handed him the wrapped cup, now drenched in her blood. "You must find a way to destroy this, and never use it! I don't care how tempting it is to try, you must never do it!"

His fingers scraped against familiar holly wood. Her words streaked across his brain in a jumbled mess—nothing made sense! "Vulnera Sanentur," he said desperately, swallowing against the pain that was ȧssaulting his body. The healing spell worked slowly to seam together the wounds she had sustained, but there had been so much blood lost! Her eyes fluttered shut before opening and refocusing. So many feelings swam in her eyes as she captured his gaze with hers, weak and sluggish. So many things left unsaid.

"In another life...maybe...but no, Harry...never."

Incoherent ramblings he had initially dismissed, so focused on healing her as he was.

"Please, don't die on me, 'Mione."

But she was wavering and he didn't know the right spells, and his strength was faltering. She was slipping.

"Hermione!"

This time when her eyes closed, they did not reopen.

In a blind rage of fury, he let his magic sizzle through him and focused it angrily on Lestrange. "Avada Kedavra!"

The electrifying green light lit up the dim manor, momentarily surprising the Aurors that stood fighting as it shot past them and straight to his target. His first ever Avada, and it teared at his very soul. Brokenhearted and beyond weak, he had collapsed to the floor, unaware of how changed the world would be when he awoke.

"In another life," he said aloud, getting up and sitting in the chair that stood by a ċhėst. "What did you mean, Hermione?"

He'd replayed the words many times. She had made him promise to destroy the cup, that had seemed to be her life's mission, and he had tried, but damn if it wasn't impossible to do!

He regretted not telling her how he felt, how he'd felt for years, for in the moment that she had faded in his arms, he had realized it beyond a shadow of a doubt—it was only she that caused his heart to stutter in his ċhėst...that caused his lips to twist in a genuine smile...a true laugh to wrench from his throat...love to bloom in his heart. She was the one witch he wanted, and now he couldn't have her, and wasn't that just painfully ironic?

She was all the good in him, and without her there was nothing much left.

His expression turned dark and contemplative.

Moving towards the ċhėst, he cast the unlocking spell and reached in for the jacket that still housed the cup he never destroyed. He pressed the jacket up to his face, even though it was dry and crusted over with blood, trying to recapture the memory of her scent.

"Harry," Ron said with wide eyes. "You're in a bad way."

"Obviously, Ron."

"And Her-," he swallowed rapidly. "'Mione's cup?"

"It's destroyed," he lied.

Though why he had done so alluded him. He had every intention of destroying it as he promised but when he'd failed, what had stopped him from turning it in...concern that he would be held accountable for lying about it in the first place? Still, it had been his duty and he had wanted to take care of it.

But now…

...But now he felt... differently.

"Hermione," he spoke aloud, the dark inflection of his tone sounding unfamiliar on his tongue. "You said it changes worlds...what if I want my world to change?"

He thought back to how Lestrange had set up a ritual before he intended to use the cup. Really, Harry did not know how to use it even if he wanted to. Hermione's research on the subject had vanished from her office upon her death. All he knew was that she was wary of pressing her flesh up against the metal.

The promise he made her streaked across his brain, but the temptation to try and to somehow discover the power of the seemingly harmless cup and learn to harness it was far too great. He was a broken failure, he may as well be an oath-breaker too.

The need for her eclipsed the pain of breaking his promise, and only made the hole in his heart all the more prevalent.

"You made me promise, lovely, but you left me." He ripped the jacket from the cup and stared at the elusive goblet as it sat in his ŀȧp, puzzling over its power. "I'm sorry," he said as he flexed his fingers over the cup - the World Changer - for the first time. "If you're a World Changer," he smirked, the taste of the whiskey he had over-consumed still fresh on his tongue. " Change my world. "

It was instantaneous.

His words coupled with his fingers on the cup seemed to galvanize its power into action, and he was suddenly swept up in a bright, shockingly yellow light. The light was so bright, it shone through his tightly closed eyes, ripping and tearing at his body as a cacophony of sound erupted around him.

He was stunned as he gripped the cup before it flew from his hands and then he was grasping at air. He hadn't expected anything to happen—not really—and here something definitely was. He had a moment of panic as he wondered if he should have tried to research more, find out what exactly he was supposed to do to influence the change instead of letting it take him blindly.

He was helpless and that was bad!

His body shifted through something foreign - like a dimension he couldn't fathom - and then he was catapulting through light and sound. His body felt disconnected from his mind, somehow he was aware of his soul flying, morphing, changing before exploding into something hard and solid and whole.

The ground was spinning impossibly fast and he felt nauseous but he forced his eyes open anyway, his vision clearing sharply as his gaze clashed with honey-colored eyes.

"Harry?"

~oOo*oOo~

Chapter End