Our Corrupted Souls

Part IV: A Little Deja Vu.

"The timing of death, like the ending of a story, gives a changed meaning to what proceeded it."

                   ~ Mary Catherine Bateson.

With a careful touch, Dumbledore handed young Harry to the half-giant, Hagrid. For the rest off the night, the half-giant stayed with the weeping boy while Dumbledore tried his best to figure out what it was that he had just seen.

"Albus, where're 'is par'nts," Hagrid grumbled as he and Dumbledore walked down the road. There were houses on either side, all with the same infrastructure and neat gardens. Dumbledore ignored him, being far too wrapped up in trying to find the address to the house he saw through Harry's eyes.

It was not until he had found the house that they spoke, "they're in hiding, my boy."

"Why leave 'arry behin'?"

"To keep Tom's attention on them rather than the boy," Dumbledore put it simply. He decided to stick with what he'd told the Potters- the less lies the better, they're better to keep up. Dumbledore hurried Hagrid along to 4 Privet Drive, telling him to leave the boy on the front steps like he'd seen his other self do.

Even though everything was different here.

He saw Harry defeat Voldemort. He saw the boy kill him although he himself was already dead. If Harry stayed with his parents, there was a chance he would not grow to be that courageous Gryffindor. Dumbledore needed for all variables to remain the same, for Harry to grow up just like he had done in his other reality so there was no doubt in the prophecy.

Hagrid reluctantly set the boy on the basket. Harry was in tears, trying his best to crawl out of his sheets, out of the wizard's grasp. Hagrid silently cursed himself. "There, there," he tried to comfort the boy, handing him the note Dumbledore had written. "This, 'arry, is for y'er own good. Please quiet dow'."

The recipients inside the home seemed to have heard the commotion outside, because the lights upstairs flickered on. Upon this, Dumbledore forced Hagrid to let go of Harry and vanished them both out of there.

When they left, Harry's loud and obnoxious crying ended. He wiped away his tears and put an end to his shaking; in a sheepish, yet stern voice, the boy called out for Death. But Death did not show. Harry whimpered, falling back into the mindset of a boy rather than a grown man. "Death," he choked out, feeling his eyes grow heavy. "Death, I'm scared..." Harry crawled out of his basket with his blanket at hand, looking at the empty, dark street.

Dumbledore had not bothered returning light with his deluminator.

Just as Harry tried to use his magic (which was very weak since his soul was still mending itself), the front door creaked open. The lady on the other side gasped upon seeing the boy. "My God..." She covered her mouth with her hand, studying the boy standing wobbly in her front steps.

"Petunia, who's at the door," shouted a man from the stairs with a silly mustache and taupe silk pajamas. Petunia brought her hand to her chest, looking from her husband to the boy with curious emerald eyes- eyes that she could easily recognize. "No one," she shouted back, refusing to break eye contact with the boy. "Just some silly teenagers, go back to bed. I'll be there in a bit."

Vernon grumbled unpleasant things about the pranksters in the neighborhood as he stomped back to his bed, impervious if he were to wake up his son.

Once she'd heard the bedroom door close, Petunia walked out, holding her hand out to Harry, who'd taken a few steps back, afraid of what she might do. Petunia tied her robe around her body to protect herself from the cold, stepping out barefooted. "Harry?" She asked in a tone so sweet, Harry was not sure if this woman was her aunt. "Are you Harry, Lily's son?"