Harry Potter Male Reader Insert - Book 3

chapter 16.

*

They said it was a matter of vaulting over the progressing line of time. Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind, he said, quoting from literature. Seeing them aging and dying. Yet he unappalled and unshook. Reality didn't really much seem to be true no more. How cruel time, to take again remaining sons and fathers. That it has taken away every ounce of joy he'd once cherished. He couldn't buy more time because he's got it all. An observer of every universe, he hops about. An invention that nobody had the brains to replicate. It doesn't turn the time. It creates time. It inspires balance to collapse. A single man, everyman yet instead of being everyone he encounters everyone.

So again when he met again his son, he properly smiled a smile he sought. A smile of a father he'd once was. But in truth it was not his son. Or even a relative. But this was a mere resurrection of his idea of being a father. He didn't know what killed himself here. Nor what killed him there. A twirl of a knife, blood spilling snow, in the darkness of winter night. And here he met the son and it seemed he was an image of his own child he'd been fathering for years eight. Another confirmed theory. Could it be? Infinity always shall provide an exception. He didn't intend to travel for eternities, searching the sea of whiteness for a black sheep.

Sadly no one would remember him nor what he'd done and after everything dies he'd once again departure and disembark on some green Scottish mountain.

1

The night depended and none of the quotes had withdrawn yet. There was something truly absurd in this visage. And while it was not seldom around at least they were not faced with sinners' underground. Those the days. Creaking loud approaching. Attributes of nature. Paperwork. No one spoke for ten to perhaps twenty seconds while thinking everything through. Harry and Ron looked at each other. And Hermione and Y/N studied themselves each. You could almost see all their schemes.

"You're both sick," Ron said, revolving his eyes between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

"Sick?"

"Sick."

"Peter Pettigrew has died," Harry said. "He has killed him twelve years ago."

Sirius' face twitched convulsively and he bared his teeth like an authentic canid and his eyebrows lowered in his face. "I did not. I meant to but I didn't. This time I'll do what I was meaning forever."

Two cats on the floor. Black lunged at scabbers. Ron yelled in pain, his broken leg underwhelmed with Black's weight. Lupin screamed and launched himself ahead toward the two of them and began dragging Black away from Ron.

Lupin called after Black: "Wait. You can't just kill him yet. They need to understand."

"Later." He tried to throw Lupin off of him. A hand still clawing at the air, trying to reach the rat. The rat was squealing like a piglet and scratching Ron's face and neck, yet he managed not to escape.

"They've got a right to know. Ron's kept him as a pet. Some thing even I don't understand. And you owe Harry the truth, Sirius."

Black did stop struggling but eyes hollow and glaring at Scabbers. Scabbers clamped tightly under Ron's hands slick of blood.

"All right. Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick. I want to murder a person for murdering whom I was imprisoned."

"I've had enough," Ron said. "I'm off." He tried to heave himself up on his fine leg.

Lupin raised his wand up at the rat. "You're going to hear me out, Ron," he said. "Keep a tight hold on the rat and listen."

Ron tried to shove the rat inside his front pocket but the rat was struggling against him and with his wet hands he couldn't manage to imprison the rat and Ron swayed and overbalanced and Harry caught him and pushed him down to the bed.