Summary: During his fifth year, Trelawney did a Tarot reading for Harry. She told him he would have to make a choice that could "change the world as we know it." At the beginning of his sixth year, Harry chooses, and the world does change. Does it change for the better? If he wants, can Harry change it back? Or is giving Harry exactly what he wants Voldemort's ultimate revenge?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: WARNING! If you have not read Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent this is your last chance to get out! There is much that will be very confusing if you have not read the first book in the Psychic Serpent Trilogy. Don't say I didn't warn you! It was through reading Italo Calvino's If On a Winter's Night a Traveler that I first learned of books with uncut pages. I highly recommend this book, plus the beautiful Invisible Cities and two of Calvino's novellas: The Nonexistent Knight and The Cloven Viscount.
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Harry Potter and the Time of Good Intentions
by Barb
Chapter One
Sowing the Seeds
He opened his bedroom door cautiously and put his face against the sliver of space between it and the jamb (banging his glasses in the process), surveying the upstairs hall. There was his aunt's and uncle's bedroom door at the other end, still closed. He could hear his uncle's snoring through it, rather like you can hear fireworks if you put your head really close to them.
The early morning sun whispered in through the small window at the top of the stairs. His foreshortened view of the wall to his right meant that he was only able to see the doorknobs for the two bedrooms and the bathroom there. He listened for a sound that wasn't his uncle; otherwise the house seemed to be utterly silent. Of course, the Cold Stream Guards could have been giving a concert in the living room. There was no way of knowing.
Harry Potter opened his bedroom door enough to go through. He was dressed for running except for the fact that his running shoes hung by their laces from his left hand. He crept stealthily toward Aunt Petunia's and Uncle Vernon's room, then turned left to descend the stairs. So far so good. The snoring had made it impossible for him to hear anything else, but he hoped now that it would also conceal any sound he might make. Unfortunately, he knew that no amount of noise could conceal his Harry-scent...
Damn! Harry thought, halfway down the stairs. He looked down to where his new nemesis stood, waiting for him with teeth bared, a very low growl rumbling through his chest, small tail twitching back and forth ominously.
Harry narrowed his eyes, glaring at Dunkirk. This was getting old. He'd been home for almost a week, and rather than improving, his relationship with the little Yorkshire terrier had deteriorated from a high point of Dunkirk failing to sink his teeth into Harry's hand the first time he tried to pet him.
Getting out of the house to go running in the mornings had grown progressively more difficult. Harry had started to wonder what his aunt was doing with the off-white dog while he and his uncle were at their jobs every day. He pictured her giving Dunkirk photos of him and rewarding the dog with love and kibble if he succeeded in thoroughly shredding the images of Harry. Dogs are creatures of conditioning, he knew. Pavlov was hardly the first to discover this.
He considered his options now. He could leap over the banister and sprint toward the kitchen and try to make it out the back door before Dunkirk reached him, or he could try leaping right over him and bolting for the front door, a mere ten feet from the foot of the stairs. What to do, what to do...
