The Watch

Harry Potter twitched in his sleep under the single, fat ray of sunlight that poured in from between his parted scarlet curtains. He was having odd dreams, one melting into another until they created a cauldron full of swirling memories, fantasies, and nightmares. Then, suddenly, his family was jumbling into his Gryffindor clad bedroom, belting out a heartfelt chorus of "Happy Birthday". He jolted awake, shocked and pleased.

My family… he thought slowly, the bright grin sliding off his face. Flashes of something rose inside of him. His father, yelling for his mother to hide Harry; his mother screaming; green light everywhere; the underside of a set of stairs and various other things until they disappeared. Harry Potter's family was dead. Harry Potter had two parents, and they were killed by Voldemort. Harry picked up his glasses from his bedside table and hoped that he was just seeing things.

But there they all were. Undeniably there, James and Lily Potter smiled down at him, his father holding a large cake the shape of a snitch, and his mother holding a gold parcel in one hand and a longer red one in the other. On his father's side was a young girl who couldn't have been older than eleven, with coppery red hair and large, excited brown eyes. Closest to Harry was a smug teenage boy who reminded Harry of Sirius, and a sharp pang went through his heart for a reason he had on his fingertips, but it slipped and shattered, and he couldn't remember why he felt sad.

"Well, Harry?" said Lily, her smile faltering. "Ready to open your presents?"

Harry forced a smile back on his face and nodded. "Of course!" said Harry enthusiastically. They beamed down at him, and his mother handed him the slender, red-wrapped gift first.

"This is from Sirius, he's dreadfully sorry that he couldn't be here to wake you up, but he'll be here for dinner later."

Harry unwrapped the present quickly, yanking away the wrapping to find a Firebolt. But I already have one… he contemplated crossly before the thought got away from him again, like a frustrating snitch or something just as small and round, like a glass ball with swirling smoke inside of it, but even that little jewel of a thought slipped away.

He grinned up at his parents. "Fantastic!" exclaimed Harry, ready to get on his new broom and flying in the sparsely wooded area he could see through the window.

"Now, now," said James, with a sliver of pride in his voice. "You have other gifts, Harry, so stay around before you decide to go flying."

Lily gave him the smaller, gold parcel and he handled this one with care. He opened the box inside and found a golden pocket watch cradled in a red draw-string pouch. He fiddled with the clasp for a second and the watch popped open. The face was familiar, scattered with moons and stars and several hands, but the one he had seen before had been scratched and dented. This watch, on the other hand, was brand new.

"From your father and I," gushed Lily, running her fingers through Harry's messy hair.

Harry closed his eyes against unwanted tears, enjoying his mother's touch, one he could not remember enjoying before. "Thanks, Mum." He gave her a fleeting hug and then got off his bed to embrace his father. "Thanks, Dad," mumbled Harry into his James' shirt.

James chuckled and parted from Harry. "Well, let's eat this cake, shall we?"

The family trooped out of the room and Harry followed, still bewildered and slightly frightened, but nonetheless pleased. He pocketed the watch and grabbed the Firebolt from the bed before following. Harry glanced at the mirror that hung on the wall, searching for something on his forehead but found nothing. He felt like this was strange, but shook his head. He looked the same as always, he figured, starting back out the door. As soon as he got into the hall, he was ambushed by the boy that reminded him of Sirius.

"Can I have your Nimbus 2001, Harry?" pleaded the boy, grabbing Harry's arm. With a shock, Harry suddenly knew the boy's name.

"Sure, Charlie," said Harry, smiling down at his younger brother. "But you might have to fight your sister for it."

Charlie narrowed his eyes, bemused. "Why would Rose want it? She doesn't even like Quidditch. You knew that, Harry."

Harry scrambled to make up for his mistake. "Oh yeah, I forgot," he apologized, swinging the Firebolt onto his shoulder. "Come on, let's go eat."

As Harry followed his brother down the stairs, he realized he'd heard the name Rose before. It was familiar to him, but he shook his head and pushed the notion away. Of course he had heard the name Rose before, it was his sister's name! But as Harry laughed and ate cake with the rest of them, he couldn't push the niggling feeling of being in the wrong place at the wrong time away.



"C'mon, Harry, please let me try it out, you've worn this Nimbus down so much!" yelled Charlie from behind Harry as he whipped through the trees.

Harry came to a perfect stop and turned, moving just in time for Charlie to go skidding past on Harry's old broom. "Fine," he said giddily, softly floating down to the grassy clearing below. The Firebolt was a dream, even though it wasn't the newest broom. It moved with ease and followed Harry's thoughts, not his body language. He was delighted with Sirius, and couldn't wait to see him later tonight, more so than anyone else who was coming.

He landed and slid off to let Charlie have a ride on it. "Be careful with it!" Harry shouted after him, chuckling as his brother zoomed out of sight with a cry of delight.

Harry shouldered his old Nimbus and walked back home. He felt odd about the Nimbus. Even though Charlie had said that he had worn it out, he couldn't remember riding it a day of his life. He did remember the Firebolt, though, with its swift movements and excellent precision. He wondered to himself if he had ever taken a ride on one before.

He had barely gotten out of the forest when he saw his little sister, Rose, playing with a carnation in her hand. When he edged closer, he saw that the carnation was changing colors, and Rose's face was set in grim determination.

"Having fun?" asked Harry as he settled himself on the grass next to her.

She looked up, and while she was distracted, the carnation turned back into its original white. "Harry, can you show me some more magic?" Her huge chocolate colored eyes and crimson hair reminded him of someone, and he felt a rush of love for the little girl.

"Oh yeah, I don't have the Trace on me anymore, do I?" realized Harry. He reached into his back pocket for his wand and pulled it out. Just holding it, he knew something was different with it. "Is this my wand?" he mumbled out loud, bewildered by the black wand in his hand.

"Yeah, now show me some magic," demanded Rose with surprising force behind her words. "If I'm going to Hogwarts this year, I want to see some magic!"

Harry glanced up at her eager face and brought a smile back onto his face. Pointing his wand at the closest tree he could find, he turned the green leaves to a sparkling gold.

"Wow!" exclaimed Rose excitedly. "Did you learn that from Hogwarts?"

"No, I learned it from Hermione," responded Harry, gazing at the leaves with glee.

"Who's Hermione?" asked Rose, and Harry stared at her. She had a calm interest in her eyes, and the longer Harry stared at her, the brighter the interest grew. "Is Hermione your girlfriend?" she squealed, jumping up and running around Harry in circles. "Harry's got a girlfriend, Harry's got a girlfriend!"

Harry blushed and wondered how Ron would take it if he saw this. Would he laugh or would his ears turn scarlet? "No, Hermione's not my girlfriend," snapped Harry as he stood up. "Hermione is Ron's girlfriend."

Rose slowed to a stop in front of Harry, a mischievous grin on her face. "Who's Ron, your boyfriend?"

"No, no, of course he's not, he's my best mate!" cried Harry with exasperation. Feeling his temper rise, he stomped back into the house, not bothering to change the leaves back to green.



"Having a problem, son?" asked James from the doorway of Harry's room.

He looked up from the intense inspection of his wand and shook his head. "No, just looking at my wand."

James sat down on the edge of Harry's bed and took the wand from him. "Well, it looks like it's in fine working order, is there something wrong with it?"

"No," said Harry slowly, "but I was trying to remember what the core of it is."

James nodded and handed the wand back to Harry, who continued to stare at it. "It's dragon heartstring. Now, your friends are downstairs and I'm sure they'll want to see your lovely seventeen-year-old face," he joked.

Harry nodded and let his father lead him down to the living room, where an assortment of teens sat, eagerly awaiting Harry's arrival. He was surprised to find Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbott, and Terry Boot, none of which he could remember having a close relationship with.

"Harry!" cried Hannah, the first to see him. She jumped off the couch from between the two boys and attacked Harry with kisses.

Before he could fully respond, Seamus was whacking his hand on Harry's back in a way that he must have thought congenial. "Come off it, Hannah, let the man breathe." Prying Hannah off Harry, Seamus turned to him. "No love for me, Harry?"

After an awkward embrace that involved more back whacking, Terry was next to greet Harry, shoving a large present into Harry's arms.

"Don't open it around here," he muttered into Harry's ear before backing up with a smile dancing on his lips and a roguish wink that made Harry extremely uncomfortable with carrying the heavy gift.

Harry opened his mouth, ready to greet them warmly as he should've done, but all he could manage to get out was, "Where's Ron and Hermione?"

Seamus shrugged, glancing at the other two with amusement. "Well, Ron's probably at home washing the dishes for his mam, and Hermione's probably got her nose stuck in a book for seventh year."

He felt anger and hurt bubble up inside of him. Ron and Hermione, missing his birthday party to do nothing? "But why aren't they here?"

Terry chuckled and Harry turned his gaze to him. "Gotten pen pals over the summer, Potter? I thought you didn't like them much."

"Why wouldn't I like them?" snapped Harry, bewilderment making him irritated. "They've just been my best friends since first year."

Seamus and Terry gave each other a look and shook their heads. "Someone partying early?" asked Seamus, a grin breaking across his face. "Got into the firewhiskey, Harry?" He reached out to slug Harry in the arm, but he backed away.

"Please go home," he muttered, shoving the gift back in Terry's arms.

The three exchanged confused looks. Hannah started forward but Harry had already turned his back on them. A sob broke the silence. "Are you breaking up with me?" wept Hannah, her gaze burning Harry's back.

Shock ran through Harry. He was dating Hannah Abbott? He sniggered involuntarily and a cry of outrage burst from behind him.

"Fine!" cried Hannah, storming out of the house with Terry and Seamus following her.

When Harry was quite sure they were gone, he walked back outside, willing himself to enjoy the outdoors before more surprises came his way later tonight.



"Harry, they're here!" called Lily from the kitchen window.

Harry sighed deeply and forced himself to walk back into that house. When he got inside, he was pleasantly surprised to find a living, breathing, talking Sirius standing in the midst of the room, surrounded by an equally alive Remus and a few other people he didn't recognize too well.

Something was wrong, he knew. He seemed to be under the impression that Sirius and Remus weren't supposed to be here. But they were here, they were happy to see Harry, and they looked more youthful than Harry could remember.

So Harry enjoyed it while he could.



Harry knew that his mother was in the doorway of his room, but he couldn't bring himself to look away from the large assortment of gifts he had received earlier that evening. A box of Honeyduke's from Remus; a new set of Exploding Snap from one of Lily's friends; he had even gotten a broomstick service kit from Sirius. His siblings had made a crown from the gold leaves Harry refused to change back to green, and he put it on with good grace. From Harry's open window, he could hear the squeals of Rose, Charlie, and Sirius' boy, William, who was fourteen and in Charlie's year.

After a long silence that Harry didn't plan to break, Lily spoke up. "Harry, is there something wrong?"

He looked up and opened his mouth, ready to tell the truth. The truth was that Harry didn't feel right in this house, with these people. He kept imagining a green glow around his parents and Remus, or the black veil that seemed to flutter around Sirius. He couldn't help but see a gold hue on Charlie, Rose, and William. He wasn't friends with Seamus or Terry, and he most certainly was not dating Hannah Abbott, no matter how sweet she was. But when he tried to even imagine life without them, like he felt that's how it should've been, it was wrong. He didn't know who to replace Hannah with. He didn't know who his best friends were anymore. He was sure that James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus were still alive. He was positive that Charlie and Rose had always been in his life. He knew his first real broomstick he played Quidditch on was his old Nimbus 2001. So why, why, did he feel like this was a horrible nightmare, or a trick of the eye?

But all the courage Harry had to tell the truth was gone. "Where's Voldemort now?" whispered Harry to his mother's surprise.

"Harry, Voldemort's still out there. You knew that." She cleared a spot on Harry's bed and sat down. "Honey, what's wrong?"

Harry couldn't tell her, but he kept asking her questions. "And what happened to the Longbottoms?"

Lily let out a sigh and patted Harry's knee. "You know what happened to them, Harry. It was terrible," she reminisced, shuddering slightly. "He killed them all. Even the young boy. I can't remember his name, though–"

"Neville," interrupted Harry with a shiver. "He was in the way of Voldemort's rise to power, or at least that's what the prophecy said," he muttered to himself, surprised that he even knew this, and annoyed that he didn't know how he knew it.

"Oh yes. Don't worry, though; the Order is still tracking him down, and I'm sure Dumbledore will finally end this mayhem once and for all." Lily looked out the window with intense longing, like she wished she was out there searching for Voldemort. She sighed heavily. "Well, dear, you're looking very tired. I'll let you go to sleep." She stood up and crossed the room to the door, flicking her wand so that the lights went out.

She was almost out the door when Harry knew he had to say something. "Mum?" he called softly, hoping that she would stop and turn back around.

She did. "Yes, Harry?"

"I love you," said Harry, relishing the feeling of the words on his tongue. The fact that he told his mother this was all the more satisfying, and he slackened with relief from a tension he didn't even realize he had.

"I love you too, Harry," she replied, and even though Harry couldn't see her, he knew she was smiling. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," murmured Harry as he slumped against his pillows. He was almost asleep when he remembered the pocket watch that resided in his pocket still. He took it out of its hiding spot and opened it to check the time. He stared at the stars as they moved, faster and faster around the watch's face. It made Harry dizzy, so he shut it again and set it on his bedside table along with his glasses. No matter, he would ask his parents how to read it in the morning.

As soon as he fell asleep, he was dreaming of flying on his Firebolt through the forest in his backyard, whooping with joy that soon turned into screams of terror and pain as it burst into flame. He tried to let go of it, but he couldn't. Sirius was suddenly holding on to the handle for his life under Harry, until he could not hold on any longer. He fell silently through the air until a black fabric caught him. He disappeared into the folds and Harry had the sickening feeling that the veil had claimed him before.

Wrenching his hands from the handle at last, Harry fell, leaving the broom hovering in midair and engulfed in fire. Harry continued to plummet to earth, but it was nowhere near him, no matter how long he fell. Around him were blurred memories. Lily and James Potter dying with green flashes, along with Remus. Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione, laughing; Harry was snogging Ginny on Hogwarts' grounds; Harry was talking to Luna at Bill and Fleur's wedding; Harry was at Dumbledore's funeral, fighting a smile; Harry was fighting Voldemort, and then arguing with Ginny until they stopped, chests heaving, and then started to laugh. Everything he could remember, and everything he really couldn't. He tried to close his eyes, but the images still burned his eyelids. He wished to land and finally, he came to a bone-jarring stop that made him groan in pain.

Hesitantly, he opened one eye and then the other. He was back at that oddly clean and white King's Cross Station. He stood up and was thankful that this time, he was completely clothed, and there was no disgusting child on the floor making terrifying noises.

"You've been thinking about that often," said a voice from behind Harry, and he turned, surprised to find Dumbledore there with a kind smile and the same half-moon glasses perched on his crooked nose.

"Professor Dumbledore," murmured Harry gratefully, feeling weak at the knees.

"Why have you been thinking of the life that you never had?" questioned Dumbledore, a tinge of sadness coating his words.

Harry looked away. "I was thinking about my sixth year, and something I had thought on the Hogwarts Express. And I was thinking about how different my life could be if Voldemort had gone after Neville's parents instead of my own." He forced his gaze back on Dumbledore and was embarrassed to find that Dumbledore's eyes were brimming with tears.

"And was that life satisfactory?"

"No," replied Harry slowly. "But was that what would've truly happened, if my parents had never died?"

Dumbledore pondered this, his blue eyes twinkling with thought. "Perhaps. Perhaps in reality, though, Mrs. Longbottom would have saved Neville's life the same way your mother saved yours. Perhaps Neville would have had to suffer through the same horrible fate that you had. Perhaps Neville would have died trying to kill Voldemort, or maybe he would have killed Voldemort." Dumbledore let out a great sigh. "There are many things that could've happened in another life, and there are many things that wouldn't have happened in another."

Harry thought this over. Yes, he had known that. That's what had made it so hard to imagine a life with his parents, and why it had been so hard to live like that for just a day. "So why were none of my friends there, sir? Why weren't Ron and Hermione at my birthday party?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "That, Harry, I do not know. But I assume you know why Miss Abbott was your, ahem, girlfriend instead of Miss Weasley."

"Because originally, Ginny fell in love with me for my scar," said Harry, sickened by this knowledge he didn't know he held.

"Yes," replied Dumbledore, "but she ended up falling in love with you, didn't she?"

Harry nodded slowly. "I suppose, sir."

"Ah, young love," said Dumbledore with a cheerless grin. "It always seemed to worm its way into all of my student's hearts at least once. I always thought that it was one of the most frightening and destroying types of love, but nonetheless powerful and beautiful."

Harry shuffled his feet on the floor, feeling uncomfortable. He had a feeling that Dumbledore was talking about his friendship with Gellert Grindelwald. Unable to resist the urge to change the topic, he cleared his throat.

"But sir, how exactly did I get to that dream? It felt so real," said Harry.

Dumbledore held his hand out, beautifully whole again. "If I may have my watch back, Harry," he said.

Harry searched inside his pockets to find the pocket watch his parents had given him. He placed it in Dumbledore's hand and watched with growing interest as the old wizard opened the clasp with still hands. It reminded Harry painfully of when Dumbledore had trouble with the least little thing, such as taking the stopper out of the phials that held many people's memories.

"This, my boy, is one fantastic mechanism that I had no part in making. I did, however, come across it and its owner many decades ago. He was kind enough to give it to me, for he had no use for an old broken wizarding pocket watch. Unfortunately he had never come across its real powers.

"I'm sure you've noticed that the stars, if looked at for a certain amount of time, move quite quickly in an almost dizzying pattern? This is not how most pocket watches work." Dumbledore began to pace, reminding Harry irresistibly of all those nights in the Headmaster's study.

"No, this watch is very unique. This watch has the ability to be put in anyone's dream. Once the dreaming person looks at the watch for a determined amount of time, they are transported to a place where both the dreamer and the watch's owner can meet in a dream-like state. It's been most used as two lovers to meet in secret, but it has been known for conspirators to meet. And, of course, the person in possession of the watch can choose what the dreamer dreams."

Dumbledore stopped in front of Harry and slipped the watch back inside his robes. "I am very sorry to have meddled once again, Harry, but I had noticed that you were dwelling too much on this dream. As I once said, 'it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.'" He beamed and bowed his head. "Now, I must be going. Perhaps I will see you again someday soon."

He started to walk away when something inside of Harry clicked into place.

"Wait, sir!"

Dumbledore paused and turned, his smile widening. "Yes?"

"How did you get the watch in my dream? And how can any of this be happening?" The frustration that bubbled up inside of Harry tinged his words and he gritted his teeth. "I mean, I just don't understand how any of this happened!"

The former Hogwarts Headmaster just grinned. "My dear boy, if I told you everything, there would be nothing left for you to ponder and explore, now would there?"

Harry watched as the scene around him dissolved and his own bedroom – his real bedroom, the one he shared with Ginny – appeared, bit by blurry bit. Ginny was shaking Harry hard and he sat up drenched in a cold sweat.

"Harry, you've been screaming for the past few minutes. What's wrong?" asked Ginny, her face so pale that her freckles stood out more than ever.

He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a shuddering sigh. "Nothing, Ginny," he answered hesitantly. He didn't want Ginny to know about this dream; not when she knew so many of his others. "Just a bad nightmare that I can't even remember now."

Ginny frowned but let Harry escape the confines of the damp bed. It was going to be a busy day and he did, of course, need to get on with his life.