When We Were Young

C H A P T E R S E V E N

August 24th, 1943

"Dumbledore!" Harry groaned, face planting onto Tom's bed. The old wanker had the nerve to try to request for their blood tests from the goblins. The goblins refused, of course, and contacted Tom and Harry right away about what happened. Harry guessed that the meddling fool wanted to somehow control their lives as he had did to Harry in the past (future?). Harry hadn't even known that he had more than a trust fund from the Potters in his first life, for Merlin's sake!

"Why do you always drag out the o's in his name, Harry?" Tom asked nonchalantly, his expressions and actions calm, but the burning rage in his eyes giving his mood away.

Harry sighed, scooting over so that Tom could actually lay down in his own bed. "Because of the way his name's spelled."

Tom raised an eyebrow at Harry, some of his rage simmering down as he looked at his pouting best friend, propped up by his elbow while Harry didn't even bother lifting himself up.

Seeing the skeptic look, Harry started to spell Dumbledoor's name. "D-u-m-b-l-e-d-o-o-r. See? Dooooor."

Tom snorted, rolling on his back and throwing an arm over his eyes, trying prevent the little chuckles that tried to escape from his mouth.

Harry scowled at Tom, not understanding what was so funny.

When Tom fully got under control of his small laughs, he told Harry that the spelling was wrong, although, it would be nice if Dumbles fumbled onto a door.

The boys managed to keep a straight face for approximately 3 seconds before they burst onto little giggles, trying to shush each other since it was well over their bed-time at the orphanage.

When they finally quieted down, they gave each other another smile before their eyes closed for the day.

Tom still got stunned every time Harry gave him that smile, the one he knew Harry gave to no one else that made him feel. . .

Loved.

Even if Tom thought that it was only a platonic love, he accepted it without complaint, holding Harry's hand to his chest, right over his heart, as he drifted off to sleep, knowing fully well that the way he felt for Harry was anything but platonic.

In Harry's dream/memory for the night, he saw a familiar giant man (literally) barge into the Dursleys house with his pink umbrella (Harry loved seeing Dudley run around with a pig-tail when he first met Hagrid), and then Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley, vaguely explaining things to him as he went. Harry had no doubt that Hagrid was a good person, but he absolutely sucked at explaining the wizarding world to someone who had zilch information on what it was. Harry quite liked the mini-giant, but he didn't like that he was all pro-Gryffindor and pro-light, giving only the bad information on the other houses and the Dark and Grey magics. In fact, Harry was certain that Hagrid pulled the "your dead parents" card to push him into liking Gryffindor best, too.

While Harry knew that the man had meant no ill intent (with someone like Hagrid, why was it even a thought?), but the information given was biased and leaned extremely to the light side. Harry had no doubt that Hagrid had been influenced by Dumbledore, but when? Was there a chance that he could meet Hagrid in this timeline?

Harry tried to ask Death about it when he woke up, but the entity remained annoyingly silent.

Harry and Death didn't really talk a lot anymore, and Harry was starting to miss his supposed servant.

Harry got bored as he watched himself shop, so he detached away from himself, testing the boundaries of his dream.

After 3 years of dreaming of his memories and a few trails and errors, Harry realized that he could go where ever he wanted as long as his past self had already been there in the memory. He couldn't go down Knockturn alley (Tom explained Knockturn Alley to Harry the day before they went shopping, telling him not to go in with so many people to see him enter and promising to take him some other time) because his past self hadn't been there in the dream, but he could go into Flourish and Blotts to check out what books would be released in the future. Even then, Harry didn't stay away from his past self for too long because he wanted to see if he meet Dumbledore on the trip.

The dream went on and on, and every boring second made him more irritated. What was the point of having all these dreams for the past 11 years if he didn't get anything useful out of them?! What was the point of having him remember everyday of his past life if he really only needed the memories of the important Hogwarts years and what happened during them?!?

When the scene started to turn grey and faded, Harry knew that the memory was over and that he was about to wake up.

So, Harry wrenched his eyes open and detangled himself from Tom, telling the older boy that he was going to the bathroom when he stirred. Tom hummed and his body relaxed again as he went back to sleep.

It was 5 o' clock in the morning, a time Harry somehow always managed to get up at, as if he had an internal alarm clock. Harry usually woke Tom up around 6 or 6:30, which gave Tom enough time to be a diva about his appearance (don't tell Tom that Harry had thought that) and be able to eat breakfast, which was served to everyone at 7 am.

Harry jogged to the nearest bathroom and locked the door behind him, his actions jerky in his frustration.

"Death, come," Harry said, his tone commanding and stern.

Behind Harry, Death materialized out of the shadows, his bone fingers clicking against his scythe. For once in a few thousand years, Death felt a bit worried. He sensed his Master's vast frustration at him, but what for, he didn't know.

"You called, Master?" Death asked, his dry, monotone voice echoing through the bathroom.

Harry turned around and faced Death, scowling up at the tall entity. "Why do I remember everything from my past life instead of the really important memories?"

Death stayed silent, now understanding what Harry was so put-off about. "You're frustrated that your memories aren't showing you anything you want to know."

Harry huffed and crossed his arms. "I know 11 unnecessary years of my past life. Why not just start off my memories at the Hogwarts years, Death?"

"Because it is beyond my power."

Harry through Death a curious glance, frowning a bit.

"I did not watch you grow up, Master. I only started to watch over you after you became my master. I don't know what memories of your childhood would be important to you, although I do think that the memory of your first parents would be important, no?"

Harry's frustration at Death deflated and his shoulders sagged as a pang of loss went through him. He remembered his mother's red hair and his father's silliness.

Oh how he missed them.

"Yeah, some memories were important to me. I'm sorry that I was snappy," Harry said, breathing out a sigh. "I just have to be patient, I guess."

Death brushed a finger against Harry's cheek tenderly. He had been telling his Master that very thing for a while, now. "I'll see you later, Master."

And with that, Death walked back into a shadow and faded into his side of the realm, icicles and frost trimming the counters and walls from Death's presence despite the summer heat.

"See you later, Death."