Ghost of My Former Self

A weak smile appeared on Harry’s face when Dumbledore said he knew what happened to cause this. There had been no doubt in Harry’s mind that Dumbledore would know why he was here. Now was his chance to find out. “Sir, what happened then?” Harry asked.

“Mr. Potter, you have been offered a glimpse,” Dumbledore explained. “This is a glimpse of what your life might have been like if Voldemort never existed. For fifteen years, you have dealt with this menace destroying your life. Now is your chance to find out what your life might have been like if Voldemort never stepped in and ruined what you had the chance of getting.”

Harry thought back once again on that last night before stepping into this world. He did vaguely recall thinking about Voldemort, if only for a brief second. A flash of that night came to Harry. What would have happened if Voldemort never existed? What might have happened if Tom Riddle Sr. and Merope Gaunt never had a child together? “Yeah, I remember that. In fact, it was my last thought before drifting to sleep and then waking up here.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled in realization. “Mr. Potter, I believe you may have stumbled upon the very reason for your being here. That was your final thought before going to bed. And, if my calculations are correct, you thought that just as a shooting star went by, thus granting your wish. You were brought here to fulfill said wish. That’s why you’re here.”

“And, if I wanted to get back?” he asked.

“That I cannot be sure of,” Dumbledore stated.

Harry groaned. He was afraid of that. It was not something he wanted to hear. After spending a week in this world without anyone one his side, Harry was a bit wary of accepting any help. Malfoy didn’t seem to care and Dumbledore gave him very little to work with. Then again, Dumbledore never was one to be very forthcoming with any information. “Sir, I need answers; I need to understand exactly what’s been going on around me.”

“And, Mr. Malfoy will be helping you with that,” the Headmaster stated, gesturing to Harry’s companion. “Mr. Malfoy, you may not believe your friend’s story, but he is telling the truth. If you want the friend you remember back, you’ll have to help him recover those memories. He knows nothing of this world, only what’s different about it from his own.”

“But, sir!” Malfoy argued.

“No, Mr. Malfoy. This is nonnegotiable,” the Headmaster intoned. “You must explain everything about your lives from the time Harry was a year-old; he must be re-educated about his own life.”

“Yes, sir,” Malfoy grumbled.

“Good. Now, I will bring you both back in here in ten days time. By then, Harry should be fully aware of the fifteen years he missed. You may go now, boys,” Dumbledore stated.

The two teens emerged from Dumbledore’s office, both for very different reasons. For Harry, he was upset over the fact that he had to continue relying on Malfoy for help with this. For Malfoy, he was pissed about having to re-educate his friend on his entire life. Neither boy would ever admit though, especially when they had no choice in the matter. “Exactly what type of world do you live in?” Malfoy inquired upon emerging from the Headmaster’s office.

Harry glanced over Malfoy. “Oh, so now you believe me?”

Malfoy shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do?” he asked. “Dumbledore’s giving me no choice in the matter. I’m being forced to deal with something I have no patience to spend my time on. Now, exactly what type of world do you live in that makes it so different from this one?”

“I live in a world where a dark wizard named Voldemort wishes to kill all muggleborns and Muggles because his father was a Muggle. Where I come from, Gryffindors and Slytherins don’t ever get along; my best friend is Ronald Weasley and you’re my enemy,” Harry explained. “To wake up in a world where I live a completely different life; well, it confused me. Now, explain.”

For a minute or two, Harry could hear Malfoy muttering something to himself. It was nothing of great importance, so Harry barely paid any attention to what was said. He swore he heard Malfoy mention the words transform, Marauders, and pranks, but he could have been mistaken. One thought immediately came to mind, but he was sure that wouldn’t happen. There was no way that something like that could happen; not ever. It couldn’t be. “How did we become friends?” Harry asked. This was a question that could not wait, a question that bothered him all week. “In my world, we’re enemies. But, how did we become friends?”

“My mother,” Malfoy answered simply.

“Your mother?” Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded. “Surely, in your world, you came to realize something about someone close to you, something you never would have suspected if you weren’t told. I’m sure you know this.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knew that what Malfoy said was true. There was a voice in the back of his head telling him it was the truth. Trust him. Think of Sirius. Harry racked his head and remembered what he needed. “Of course! Black! Your mother is my godfather’s cousin.”

“Now you’re using your head,” Malfoy intoned.

While that explained their friendship—something he should have realized on his own after Sirius showed him the tapestry at Grimmauld Place just before the start of fifth year—Harry knew that there was much more that needed to be told. There was so much more to this story; of that Harry was sure. “You’re not telling me everything,” Harry cautioned. “Now, spill!”

“Everything?” Malfoy asked.

Harry nodded. “Everything.”

Once again, Malfoy began muttering to himself. This time, however, Harry heard nothing of what his friend was saying. “Fine,” Malfoy said. “Follow me.” The pair traversed the emptied corridors before Harry realized where they were: the statue of the one-eyed witch, the very same one that concealed the secret passage into Honeydukes. Before Harry could say a word, Malfoy tapped his wand to the statue. “Dissendium.” He then turned to face Harry. “Come on; let’s go.”

Harry could say nothing; all he could do was stare in wonder. How did Malfoy know of that passageway? No one save Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Weasley twins knew of the secret passageways into Hogsmeade. “How…?”

“Later; now, come on,” Malfoy insisted.

Utterly confused, Harry followed Malfoy down into the Honeydukes basement. Once there, Harry leaned up against a stack of crates, arms crossed. “Okay. Now, I want an explanation. And, tell me everything; leave out no details. You can start with life before Hogwarts.”

Malfoy paled considerably and looked to his feet. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” he said. “There are certain things we don’t speak of, and for good reason. I don’t want it mentioned.”

While he understood that Malfoy wanted some secrets, Harry needed to know what this world was like. “Sorry. I hate to be the one who must resurface old wounds, but it’s for a good cause. If not for my unfamiliarity with this world, you wouldn’t be faced with that. Of course, I can only wonder what might have caused you to repulse your last name so fiercely.”

“I cannot even bring myself to say,” Malfoy retorted.

“Why not?” Harry inquired.

“Because it’s not something I like to speak of,” he muttered.

“Any particular reason for that?” he wondered.

“Of course!” Malfoy yelled. “And, as I said before, I really don’t wish to speak about the matter. It’s my situation to deal with, on my own terms. So, back off, Harry. I don’t want to talk about.”

“Fine; but, I think you’re doing yourself a great disservice in not talking about it,” Harry explained. After seeing the confused look on Malfoy’s face, Harry clarified even further. “I always felt much better after talking to Ron and Hermione about my problems. Surely, there must be someone who you can rely on without hesitation and tell your problems to. You can’t have gone through life without one. In fact, that could be the very reason that the Malfoy of my world turned to darkness like his father; he never had any real friends, only people who could help him.”

“Well, there is, but he can’t help me,” he said.

“Who?” Harry asked.

“I’d normally turn to you,” Malfoy explained.

“Just tell me anyway,” Harry prodded. “It’s not like you have anyone else to talk with about this about. I don’t suppose you’ve ever really talked about it with anyone from Slytherin.”

“Not really; not as in depth as the conversations I’ve had with you,” Malfoy replied. “Not many people even know of what happened anyway, at least not within the school. Family and close friends know what happened; no one else though and I intend to keep it that way.”

“Okay? So, what happened?” Harry inquired.

“When I was five, I went into the parlor to go find my mother. However, just before I could, I spotted something I wish I could reverse; I watched as my father and aunt tortured my mother to death.”