Water Lily, pt. 1

Chapter One 

Water Lily

I’m sorry you don’t remember your mum and dad in person. They’d be very proud of you. You’ll see that you’re a spitting image of James, and you’ve got Lily’s smile. You’re as bright as they were, too. Anyhow, I hope this helps.

Feel better, 

Hagrid.

2 June, 1998. 

Harry closed the photo album and sighed, looking around his room. He felt particularly empty today, more so than he had over the past few weeks. It was understandable; he had killed Voldemort a mere two months ago and was still recovering from the shock of the War and the loss of the people he had grown up with.

His life had jolted in a new direction. He was no longer always bent on killing Voldemort and no longer had his home, Hogwarts, which had taken over such a huge portion of his spirit, and his time.

Harry didn’t have a problem finding other things to do, however. No, that wasn't the issue at all—for the first two weeks after the battle he toured locations around the country that had been devastated by the War. He visited those who struggled the most, distributing food and supplies as well as giving them hope for the future.

Harry managed to avoid the press for the most part, but that didn’t stop him from dominating headlines and news articles about every aspect of his life, which became increasingly dramatized. He got hundreds of letters every day, the thanks of people all over the globe. Some were from girls professing their love, others from children who saw him as their idol. He felt the most heartfelt ones were from those orphaned by Voldemort. From parents whose children fought at the final battle at Hogwarts. Those who lost their homes to Death Eater raids. And Muggle-born witches and wizards who lost their jobs, or had to go into hiding. 

While Harry did appreciate the thanks he received, he didn’t like the attention—just another example of his modesty. The letters and newspapers did give him a larger perspective on the huge role he had in the war, but he always redirected praise to the others who had helped. Everyone from Aberforth to the Weasley family were credited for their contributions, as they should be. Still, Harry was considered the hero of the war; the Boy Who Lived had a whole new meaning, one of victory and peace. His name was everywhere. There had even been a broomstick designed in his honor. 

This renewed popularity easily earned Harry an apprenticeship as an Auror. He could probably even run for the Minister for Magic in fifteen years or so, and win—but that didn’t interest him. For the time being, he had enough money, and wasn’t recovered enough to have a job anyways. On days when he wasn’t traveling, he was up in his room, poring over letters, newspapers, old photographs. Sometimes he would just sit at his desk or lay in bed, turning a childhood possession over and over again in his hands. Harry knew that he wasn’t moving forward, but it was impossible for him to do so. He had been striving for what was normal; a simple life, where every day wasn’t a battle between life and death. But now that he had reached his goal, it seemed as if he was doing nothing fulfilling. 

The bright side of things should’ve compensated, if not overcompensated, for the bad side. Harry was still alive. He had saved many people, wizarding and non-wizarding folk alike. He still had a great deal of friends who survived, including Hermione and Ron. This in particular should’ve been enough for him. Maybe it was the actuality that the three were growing apart that made him more pessimistic than he should be. 

For the first month, the three had remained inseparable, but soon it became clear that it wasn’t the same while Hermione and Ron were together. Harry attempted to bring Ginny into their group, to balance things out, but the dynamics were still different. It was like having a double date, and they would immediately pair off. And just one month after the war, Harry was becoming distant from the new couple. After seven-odd years of being with them constantly, it created a significant gap in Harry’s life.

The Weasleys had moved into a new, much larger home with the help of thousands of gifts from the wizarding community to everyone who now lived there—Harry, Hermione, her parents, Luna, her father, and Neville (and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Ron, of course). It was a temporary home until everyone got back on their feet and provided emotional support to anyone who needed it. 

There was a knock on the door, rousing Harry slightly from his deep thoughts. By now he could recognize who it was just by the simple rhythm. The sound was even more delicate than usual: it was nearly midnight and everyone else was most likely asleep. 

She knew, by now, if Harry didn’t answer, not to enter. Though, currently, he felt like he could use some company.

“Come in,” Harry said, absentmindedly rolling the pencil on his desk with an effortless flick of his wand. He didn’t use the pencil to write with, but kept it to remind him of his Muggle upbringing. He had received it from his Aunt and Uncle for his birthday and it was probably the nicest gift they had ever given him.

Ginny slowly opened the door, hesitating a moment before she closed it carefully behind her. Harry couldn’t tell what she was thinking by her unusually blank expression, but if she had come with good news she would’ve been smiling. What could be so urgent that it couldn’t wait until morning?

Ginny remained unreadable as she walked to his bed and sat down. Harry had the instinct that she was an impostor by the way she was acting, but dismissed the thought. He had problems with being too wary sometimes, the effects of a long time on the run. Even so, he couldn’t help tightening the grip on his wand.

He was just about to ask what it was she had come for when she started shaking and buried her face in her hands. 

“Ginny—” he began, taken aback. Her crying was stifled in the effort she was making to be quiet. 

Harry had rarely seen Ginny cry, even recently with the deaths of her brother and many others she was close to. She was an incredibly strong person. Because of this, Harry felt weakened and thought that if she continued for too long he would also break down with her. But he knew he wasn’t going to cry, he hadn’t done so for weeks now. 

He pulled her in to a firm hug as she continued to cry, wishing he could do more to help, wishing he could say something comforting. Nothing came, so he just patted her on the back, trying to express that he was there for her.

They sat like this for a while—Ginny’s flowery-smelling hair pressed into the side of his face, her shaking hands tightly gripping his shirt—until she had mostly recovered. She moved gingerly out of his arms, and wiped her wet eyes with her sleeve. 

“I know how you can change this,” Ginny said seriously through the aftermath of her tears. Harry froze, chilled by her tone even though he didn’t yet understand what she meant. What does “this” mean? Ginny elaborated before he could ask to explain.

“I mean, I know how you can change how you are. I know you more than you realize, Harry. I can see how lost you are. It’s in your eyes. The way you talk—and move, even. How you’ve become separated from everyone, even when they try to reach out to you. And I’m no exception.” 

Harry was about to comfort her, tell her that wasn’t true, but Ginny stopped him by what she said next: 

“Most of all, though, I know how to make you see how it should be like this.”

“How?” Harry surprised himself at his immediate reaction. Did he know what she was talking about? Who’s to say he wanted things to be different? Voldemort was dead. Things were getting better. Still, he found himself curious to know what she meant.  

“Time travel,” Ginny replied, her brown eyes still trained on his green ones. She searched for a reaction in his frozen face. 

But he didn’t know how to react, what to think. What would time travel possibly do to help him? Was it even possible? What would he do in the past? The Time-Turners he knew only went back an hour at a time. Would he see his parents before they died? If he went to his parent’s time, he might never want to leave. Seeing his parents was such an impossible thought, it wasn’t quite registering in his mind. Through all these years he wanted nothing more than to have them alive. The proof was there in the Mirror of Erised! He could literally get stuck in the past. But would that be that much worse than being stuck in the past as he is now?

“Except, Harry, I wouldn’t be able to come with you,” Ginny added quietly, and he felt a pang in his heart. He didn’t want to lose her, too. They sat in silence as Harry still numbly tried to understand what she was suggesting. 

“Why not?” Harry finally managed to ask. 

“I don’t want to. I’m happy where we’re at now. I think this is something you need to do on your own.” She hesitated. Her hand found Harry’s chest and she leaned in to kiss him. These were times when he really felt, where he remembered love, and it depressed him terribly.

They broke apart and Ginny looked away. She tried to wipe the tears that were running down her face before he noticed. Harry smiled sadly at her courage. Ginny was a remarkably strong person, given the loss of her brother, the fear of losing Harry, and in general what she’s had to face. 

“It won’t be long for me to wait. I’m just worried about you. If you don’t come back in a few minutes I’ll find a way to stop you from leaving in the past, okay?” Ginny looked away again. 

Harry didn’t fully understand the whole time travel thing, and didn’t make an effort to. But, if it followed the theory he already knew of, he’d end up changing nothing. Everything will end up the same, because the past had already happened—he’s already been there. The only question is whether or not he’d survive the outcome of the future. Then again, it would be easy to prevent his death. Just to go back a few minutes and stop him. And maybe, whatever he changed would actually change this reality. Harry didn’t know which would end up being right, but figured he’d be okay either way it turned out. And Ginny must know that. 

“I’ll be fine. I think this is what I need to keep peace with everyone who’s passed. I want to say goodbye.” But Harry was realizing how much more he wanted to do, to say, than to just goodbye. He wanted to change so much. Though he couldn’t see how he could. If he changed one thing, then the world might be too different to fix something else. He could upset the delicate balance they had achieved here.

Ginny pulled her gaze away from him and reached down into her pocket. She pulled out a Time-Turner and handed it to him. It had been a while since he’d seen one. Only, this particular one was different. It had six rings around the center instead of two. Harry, after briefly considering the rare object, could guess why – a regular one could just take him back by hours. This was made for traveling more easily by longer periods of time. The next rings could take allow him to travel by days, then maybe months, then years, then decades…

“How did you get this? I thought all of them were destroyed,” Harry asked as he continued examining it. The sand in the hourglass was a bright red, like manufactured blood. 

“This one’s different. You can go back farther, and go forward, as long as it’s not in the future. I’ll tell you about it when you get back. Just…” For a moment, she seemed to debate what to say. “You owe me.” It wasn’t the best thing Ginny could have said to him, because Harry misinterpreted what hidden meaning it might’ve had. He hugged her tightly. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to pay you back.” Ginny didn’t want anything in return besides his happiness. “I’ll be back before you can miss me,” Harry said softly. She seemed to want to say she already did miss him. He had retreated into the dark recesses of depression and was so unlike his normal self it was like he was gone. Perhaps she hoped within a few seconds or minutes of her time he would be back to his old self.

She gave him a bag that he recognized to be Hermione’s. It was the magical one they had used for their supplies in the woods earlier that year. Ginny cleared her throat. “I—I figured you were going to want to go, so I packed some things for you.” Harry wondered how long she’d been planning this. As she explained how to work the Time-Turner and gave him tips, he grabbed things from his room that he might need. Robes, trousers, books, gloves—pretty much everything he owned. Luckily, he had both a small stack of Muggle money and a good assortment of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. “…and I wrote down the date and time two minutes from now so you can return as close to when you left as possible.” Ginny handed him the note and he dropped it into his bag.

“Anything else?” Harry asked, scanning the room to double check.

“Just this.” She picked up the Time-Turner and handed it to him.

He gave Ginny one last look and put the chain around his head. Before he could start to turn the device, she flung her arms around him.

“Be careful,” she whispered, and released him, blinking rapidly. 

“I will,” he replied, and began turning. Today was August 2nd, 1998. He wanted to go to August 2nd, 1971…