Chapter Three
Harry took in his surroundings with confusion. The long, brightly lit hallway; the curtains on the wall hiding Walburga Black; the troll-foot umbrella stand...“Snape, where are we?” he asked carefully, turning about and staring in all directions.
“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,” Snape informed him. “You don't recognise your own home? How utterly pathetic.”
“No”I mean yeah, it's just...” Harry hesitated, looking around at the ivy entwined on the chandelier, the tinsel on the stairway banister, the St. Nicholas hats and beards on the elf heads on the wall. “Snape, when are we?”
“HARRYYY!” came a shrill yell from the basement before Snape could respond. Harry sprinted down the hallway, only to crash headlong into”or rather through”himself, coming down from the upper floors.
“Coming, Ginny!” corporeal Harry called, opening the door to the basement and hurrying down the stairs. Ghostly Harry followed incredulously, staring at the back of his own head”was that a strand of grey hair?
Harry and Harry (with Snape alongside) arrived in the kitchen, where a frazzled-looking Ginny was standing over the stove, stirring four pots at once while an egg timer was ringing insistently on the counter. The room was full of steam”at least, Harry hoped it was steam”and a muffled screaming was coming from somewhere nearby. An auburn-haired boy of about eight or nine was leaning casually against a closed door. “Harry, everyone will be arriving any moment. Hermione, Fleur and Angelina will help me get everything finished and on the table, but if it's not nearly ready by time Mum arrives, she'll jump in and help, and I don't want her lifting a finger; not this year.”
“What can I do to help?” older Harry asked, oblivious to his younger self, who was gawking, open-mouthed, at his surroundings. The basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place of nineteen-ninety-eight had at least been cleaner than in previous years, but it was nothing compared to this. The walls were painted with tasteful but cheerful colours. The long wooden table was still there, but draped with a beautiful red-and-gold tablecloth; a tribute to Gryffindor, Harry assumed. The table was surrounded by a motley of wooden chairs; it looked like the celebrations today would include at least as many guests as at the Burrow. A huge tree stood in the corner. Harry laughed. Aside from the star on top, which had plenty of space beneath the cavernous ceiling of the kitchen, this tree was at least as lopsided and full of character as that at the Burrow. Harry recognised Ginny's glass angel, but many of the ornaments were new. Harry saw a camel that seemed to be comprised entirely of various shapes of pasta, glued together and painted gold. A silver cradle bore the inscription, “JSP, March 2005”. The pictures on the wide mantelpiece showed the growth of a quickly burgeoning family”his family, Harry realised with a start.
“You can take these little devils off my hands,” Ginny answered, turning away from the stove long enough to shout, “James! Let your sister out of the boiler room!”
The boy, whose uncontrollably messy hair looked oddly familiar, stepped away from the door. The door flew opened and a red-headed child of five tumbled out, shrieking at the top of her lungs. “Mum!” the little girl exclaimed tearfully, clinging to her mother's robes. “Does Kreacher's ghost really haunt the boiler room and possess people who go in there? Does it?”
“Oh,” older Harry said in slight bemusement. “That explains the screaming.”
Ginny glared. Harry cringed and took charge. “No, of course Kreacher doesn't possess anyone, Lily. Now, James and Lily, come upstairs with me; let's leave your mother in peace. You want dinner to be ready sooner rather than later, don't you?”
“Race ya!” James shouted, sprinting up the stairs, leaving his sister to scramble after him.
“No fair!” Lily wailed from the staircase. “You got a head start!”
“Where's Albus?” older Harry asked his wife.
“Tucked into a nook somewhere, reading, I expect,” Ginny replied tiredly, opening the oven and removing a casserole. She set it on the counter to cool. “If only they could all be that quiet once in a while. But now that they're up there they'll probably find him in whatever corner he's lodged himself, and there'll be a row when they do.”
Her husband crossed the room and embraced her from behind as she turned back to the stove. She gasped involuntarily and smiled as he held her. “Everything's going to be fine, Ginny,” he told her soothingly. “It's only our family and closest friends. Yes, that's an abnormally large number of people, but you're a wonderful cook, and everyone loves you and will make the best of whatever happens. Besides, cooking the entire dinner and hosting at our house this year was your idea.”
“I know,” Ginny murmured with a sigh. “I just want it to be perfect. Like Mum's Christmases always are.”
“And it will be perfect,” Harry replied. “As perfect as a dinner with the Weasley clan ever is.” Ginny turned from the stove long enough to share a kiss with her husband. Harry the observer glanced sideways at his ghostly companion. Snape was watching the scene with unconcealed disgust. Harry glared at him, and was relieved when his married counterpart broke away from his wife. “I had better make sure the little ruffians aren't maiming one another too badly,” he said. As if on cue, a loud thump and a high-pitched shriek of “Albus!” came from upstairs.
“Albus Severus!” Harry shouted. Apparition Harry started and glanced at Snape, who reacted only by a slight look of surprise, which he quickly rearranged into cynical indifference.
“And off we go again,” Snape drawled, reaching for Harry's hand.
“Not yet,” Harry said, pulling away. He wanted to follow his future self up the stairs, watch him parent his children, see the family arrive, see Bill and Fleur's child, Ron and Hermione”did they have children too?
“Yes, yet, Potter, we are on a schedule, with still one more scene to observe,” Snape reminded him, grabbing Harry's hand roughly. Harry sighed as the room disappeared around them once more.
The darkness resolved this time into a dingy bar, quiet and empty. A thin man with lank, unkempt hair”that still managed to stick up oddly despite its grease and general uncleanliness”sat alone at the bar. A tall glass of some amber liquid was in his hand. He sipped it morosely and stared into space. A slow, blues-y Christmas tune fought through waves of static to bleat feebly from a wireless radio perched on a shelf on the back wall. A small, pitiful looking tree stood in the corner. It had no lights, only a few tarnished baubles and a star with one point broken off. The young barman was wiping out grimy glasses with an even grimier rag. The Hog's Head was slightly cleaner than when Harry had seen it last, but it still smelt faintly of goats.
“Still here, Harry?” the bartender inquired of his middle-aged customer. “You haven't anyplace better to be, on Christmas Eve, no less?”
The dark-haired man”another future self, Harry realised with a stab of horror”shook his head listlessly. “No point. No one there. All dead...so many dead.” He sipped his drink once more and set it down on the counter with a loud clunk.
The bartender regarded him grimly and shook his head, muttering to himself. Young Harry caught a few phrases, among them “too far gone” and “waste of potential”. Harry turned and stared at his guide, who was observing the scene with expressionless eyes that revealed nothing of its truth.
The door jingled and a blast of cold air accompanied a blonde, balding man in a green cloak. “I've done it, Willoughby!” he said with a slight hiccup. “I've left my wife!”
“Again, Draco?” the barkeep inquired drily. “I see you stopped at the Three Broomsticks on the way here. Have they kicked you out already?”
“Didn't “ hic “ much like “ hic “ my singing,” Malfoy explained haltingly, shaking half a drift of snow off his cloak and hanging it on the rack by the door. “But I'm so “ hic “ happy to be free, I just have to celebrate!”
“What's to celebrate?” drunken Harry wanted to know. “Everyone's dead. Even Aberforth's dead. Haven't you scrubbed that goat smell out of these floors yet, Pete?” He drained his glass and examined it glumly, wiping a bit of unidentifiable refuse off of the brim with his finger.
“Nonsense, Potter, old buddy, old nemesis, old pal,” Malfoy exclaimed, approaching the bar and clapping Harry on the shoulder vigourously. “No one's dead. Wish my wife was dead. But she's alive. Everyone's alive! Everyone important, anyhow. Alive and free, free as a hippogriff! Hippogriff! GOD REST YE, MERRY HIPPOGRIFFS”come, Potter, you know the tune””
“Okay, okay, I've seen enough!” young Harry said vehemently, turning and grabbing Snape's hand. “Can we please leave before my ears start bleeding?”
A faint smirk crossed Snape's face fleetingly. “Very well, Potter, if you're quite sure you don't want to stay.” The room blurred into darkness for the last time.
Comfort and Joy by Luna_Lover
Chapter Notes: Thank you to Carole for helping me whip this chapter into shape.