Harry's Spiral

1. Harry's Spiral

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the characters therein were created and written by JK Rowling, this is a non-profit work of fiction.

Okay, here’s something I wrote over the weekend. I thought I’d make it more interesting by writing more than one ending and letting people chose how the story finishes. Don’t expect this to make a lot of sense until you’ve finished it, it’s designed like that. Hope it’s worth your time.

- Ankh

05/03/2005 - Added 'Wind Down' and 'Wake Up'.

06/03/2005 - Made some small changes, a couple of mistakes that I didn't spot before.

Harry woke up slowly, gradually becoming aware of cold air prickling against his skin. He pushed himself to his feet and stretched; wincing as a spark of pain erupted in his forehead. It lingered, but just as he began to feel unsteady, faded into the background; like a fleeting memory. To begin with, he wasn’t sure where he was or why he was there, he felt lethargic and his thoughts were moving painstakingly slowly. He looked around, recognising the surroundings as a small park near Privet Drive. The swings stood eerily still in the total absence of breeze and there wasn’t a singular other person to be seen. He trudged through the bark-chippings that covered the floor and let himself out of the gate.

The sky seemed to glare down at him as he walked the empty pavement; it was a strange oppressive feeling, as though a great blue eye was focused on his every move. He glanced across but the opposite pavement was just as vacant as the one he travelled down. Harry paused, he could have sworn the trees lining the road had just been green, not the assortment of orange, brown and gold they were now. He shivered unable to lift the feeling that something wasn’t quite right with the day.

Two things came to mind as he approached the place he reluctantly called home, firstly the Dursley’s car was missing and secondly he had no way of getting into the house if it was locked. It was. Sighing he made his way to the back garden and slumped on the bench. The only thing he could do was wait for his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin to return and unlock the door. As he sat, he craned his neck to stare up at a couple of bare branches framed against the sky. The odd feeling was still hanging in the air, it felt like the weather was on the verge of changing, only there was no real weather to speak off… odder and odder.

<>

Harry shuffled restlessly; he’d been waiting an hour, maybe more. What time was it anyway? It dawned on him that he didn’t really know. He’d woken up in the park; walked here and then sat down… everything else was a numb kind of blur in his mind. He strained to think back; at first he got nothing… then a brief glimpse of a shadowy image… he pushed harder. Something snapped and a memory took hold.

Pain, pain like he’d never experienced flooded his body. A searing fist of agony, birthed through scar tissue, flailed at his senses. Wind howled around him, screaming and roaring in angry rip tides and whipping up into an impenetrable wall of air. He staggered in all directions; sometimes freezing sometimes burning. There was no way out.

Harry woke up slowly, he was sitting on the floor and utterly breathless. The bench was gone and so was the rest of Privet Drive. He gazed up the stone wall in front of him until it gave way to a strange, but somehow familiar sky. The room he was in was cavernous, it was also utterly empty. It took him a few moments to realise where he was, Hogwart’s great hall. His footsteps echoed as he got up and began to move, he’d only ever been inside Hogwarts during term time, it was different now that no one was living here, like a shell or a ghost. What was he doing here? He’d simply woken up and found himself sprawled on the floor. But for some reason panic or alarm didn’t seem necessary, he was just curious and frustrated at the slowness of his thoughts. His brain felt like a lava-lamp, slowly spinning around in waxy patterns. He poked at his crawling memory a little harder.

Stars, stars exploded before his eyes like shrapnel. The ground beneath his feet was thick tar-filled ooze. It was all he could do to keep above the surface through the crippling pain. What kind of spell was this? He’d won… this shouldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening!

When he woke up, he was in an unfamiliar place, high up and clinging for dear life. The roofing tiles he perched upon felt treacherously slippery. His fingers were gripped around the apex of a small house. He could see the road below him perfectly, but at present, he was more concerned with shifting into a less dangerous position. Eventually he ended up sitting on the roof’s top and supporting himself with his hands, puzzled and wondering how he was going to get down. As far as he could remember he’d opened his eyes to discover he was several feet up, it was odd but, strangely, un-alarming - a part of him seemed to whisper not to worry… just to sit back, enjoy the ride. There was no threat, just a curiosity, restlessness.

A car pulled up to the side of the house. Harry froze, desperately hoping that no one would look up. The front doors opened at more or less the same time and two people got out, a man and a woman. He didn’t recall seeing anyone else recently, strange. He thought he might recognise these two though. The man walked towards the house, fumbling for keys in the pockets of his black suit. The woman stayed by the car and brushed off her dark grey dress as she waited for something. One of the back doors opened and a third passenger climbed out of the car with deliberate slowness. She also wore sombre colours, and didn’t bother to sweep a stray swathe of brown hair from her face as she walked. He needn’t have worried about being seen; they all cast their gazes downwards. Hermione more so than her parents. The family trailed into the house, leaving Harry alone again. He was confused, thoroughly so… he couldn’t begin to fathom what was going on. Screwing up his eyes, he thought hard.

“It’s not fair!” A voice kept roaring in his ears; and shut deep within himself it took him a long time to realise that it was his.

“It’s not fair,” echoed another voice, soft and remorseful with a feminine edge. “Just not fair.”

The carpet beneath his head was old and scratchy, an off-cut perhaps. He sat up and found that it was dark, the only light coming from fifteen of so slats in the cupboard door. He felt about in the gloom, there were clothes and there was the smell of clean washing. He was about to leave but he heard footsteps on the other side of the door, biting his lip to keep from making a sound he pressed an eye to the nearest chink of light.

<>

Hermione swept into her room, she was hot and bothered from the long car journey. But that wasn’t what was eating at her insides like a disease. A year had passed since she’d first heard the news and she’d seen people today she hadn’t talked to for a long time. It was a kind of anniversary she supposed… a coming together of all their hopes and fears - only to find that nothing had changed.

“No.” She said firmly, “I’m over this.” But even as she spoke her fingers clenched and unclenched uneasily. Well, first thing was first, change into something that didn’t look so funereal. She pulled the black blouse over her head, not bothering with the buttons.

<>

Harry looked away and began fiddling with his shoelaces in an attempt to move his mind onto other things. Of all the places he could suddenly appear in this had to be the worst… but then again, it wasn’t that he wasn’t tempted, sorely tempted. He was diverting his attention so hard that he didn’t notice the approaching footsteps or the sudden shadow in front of the door. With a ping the catch sprang open and so did the cupboard. Hermione stared inside, rather less dressed than he was used to seeing her.

“Oh God, I’m sorry I can explain!” Harry spluttered while trying to turn away. She reached in and chose a yellow t-shirt, thought for a second and then changed it for a green one. She then turned back to the centre of the room, shutting the door behind her. Harry’s mouth felt like it had been wedged open. Had she not seen him? Was his luck really that good? He doubted it somehow, but as he waited, it did seem that she really had been too distracted to notice him.

He waited for a good few minutes before he started spying again. Hermione was sitting at a window-side desk with an open book… surprise, surprise. But there was something different. Her eyes were not scanning the page; they were focused into the distance. She murmured to herself quietly, barley audible from his hiding place.

“I should have said something when I had the chance… instead of hiding; behind books, behind Ron; behind grades… what’s the use?” She sighed heavily; he could almost smell the regret in the air. “It’s just not fair.”

Harry staggered back and collided with the back of the cupboard. For a second something filled his head, colours… red, then black… then white. The smell of sulphur heavy in his nose and lungs the burning sensation slowly fading, replaced by bleached clean air. He winced and pushed himself upright. She must have heard him… he’d practically been thrown across the small space by the sudden fit. Sweat trickled down his back as he gazed back out. The room was empty, she must have left. He needed to get out. The soothing lethargy was fading from his mind bit by bit. Something was wrong and he needed to find out what. He slipped out into Hermione’s room. It was neat and ordered. There were a handful of badges reading S.P.E.W pinned to a notice board. There were also a lot of pictures dotted around. A lot of which were of him.

He walked over to the window; the same intensely blue sky still hovered above the horizon. He’d planned to slip out this way but the room was on the second floor. Harry had two more options; he could make a break for the front door - not knowing where it was. Alternatively, he could talk to Hermione, she was sensible and would probably believe his story about appearing out of nowhere, however unlikely it sounded. But she didn’t seem to be very happy at the moment, she’d just got back from a funeral for God‘s sake. He didn’t want to dump his problems on top of her. His mind seemed to be made up for him when the door swung open, but Hermione strode straight past him and collapsed on the bed, pulling a book from under her pillow and thumbing for a page.

“Uh… Hi.” He volunteered. There was no answer; she didn’t even raise her head to acknowledge him. “Look, I’m sorry but I could really do with a hand… if I could just borrow the phone? Or something?” He trailed off when he realised he was still being ignored. Well, he hadn’t expected this.

“I miss him.” Hermione muttered into the pages.

“Oh…” This was getting more and more awkward. “… Who?” Hermione got up and made for the door but he moved to stop her. “Look I’m sorry about all this… please, can you just show me to the door?” She carried on walking, getting closer and closer to him. The world seemed to speed up as she approached, one second she was a footstep in front of him, the next she was standing behind him, still facing towards the exit.

Harry gasped and then sucked in air, he felt like he’d been plunged through miles of icy rapids. This wasn’t happening, she couldn’t have… she didn’t just walk through him? Did she? He looked down at his shaking body and battled back panic.

“Hermione!” He called without turning around. The sound of her walking away was the only reply. “Hermione!” He shouted, spinning on his feet to face her back. “Hermione, tell me what’s going on!” He could feel himself slipping.

He was aware of voices, people near him, but he couldn’t reach them. Dust was settling everywhere, and collapsing masonry creaked and shattered like deadly rain. His breathing was shallow, the coppery taste of blood mixed with the bile in his throat. The haze about him faded away slowly… his body was failing him but his mind still fought…

It was night time, the sky had darkened but its menacing presence still remained. Harry was lying on the threshold between Hermione’s room and a long corridor. He didn’t want to get up. Slowly he brought his hand in front of his face, was it just the gloom? Or did it seem less solid than before, more blurry. The sound of whispering reached him. He pulled himself up and identified the source of the noise. Hermione lay asleep in bed, she was making small uneasy sounds haunted by something he couldn’t see.

He reached out gently, moving away her hair to get a better view of her troubled face. He felt a tingling, a strange affinity building up inside him. Suddenly he was amongst her dreams…

…The wet grass reflected the gigantic moon in a million small ways. In the distance he could see Hogwarts, dark against a mass of angry clouds. The lake shimmered in the night air, picking up every minute sound and cascading it across its opal surface.

“You‘re back… again.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed accusingly as she spoke, she was dressed in the dark clothes from earlier and clearly upset.

“Again?” Harry was confused, but also relived, at least here he was real.

“I’m over you.” She said icily. “Why can’t you just leave it at that?”

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” He looked about him again, it all looked so real.

“I know it’s a dream Harry. It‘s the same dream I have every night.” She was seething.

“What are you talking about Hermione!? I’m confused enough as it is. Can‘t you just tell me what‘s going on?” He stepped closer to her, holding his hands up beseechingly.

“Let’s get it over with then.” She sighed and collapsed into the grass, ignoring the damp. “Harry Potter goes galloping off to kill He Who…. Voldemort… and doesn’t come back... Well not in one piece. I never got to tell him things, important things and now I never can and I’m a victim of these damn dreams.” One minute she was angry the next tearful.

“But I’m the real Harry.”

“… Harry isn’t here anymore.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“I’m over you… today was just upsetting that’s all, you’re gone Harry, gone!”

“What about today?”

“We saw you again, frozen in that damn room… comatose… dead, I don’t know.”

“I’m right here.”

“I loved you! Okay!? And if you’d stayed just one more week, one more day I might have had the sense to tell you.”

“I don’t understand, I never left you! Never.”

“Just go away!”

With a violent whoosh he was propelled back to Hermione’s bed side. Her face was wet with tears, leaking from beneath her closed eyes. He felt the bitter taste of guilt, had he left her? Had he left everyone? He just didn’t know. Why didn’t he know these things!? He spun angrily and punched the nearest wall, his hand slipped through silently and a cold bolt of fear ran up his arm and into his head. He stared at the half-phased limb… Harry Potter was dead.

<>

The sun came up bringing with it the weird blue sky, only it was nowhere to be seen. Instead Harry’s vision was filled with tears. He sat on Hermione’s roof, no longer caring if he fell… what harm could it do him? How could he be dead? How could the Boy Who Lived be dead? He’d left them all behind and now they were picking up the pieces he’d created. He hated himself, despised his mortality. What was the point in existence if you couldn’t change anything. Would he have even bothered if he’d known it would end like this? And then there was Hermione… tormented by words she’d never spoken to him. ‘Yes,’ ‘I could love you,’ ‘I would love you’ such simple sentences, strings of letters he could never tell her, not now… Harry Potter was dead, dead and alone, dead and had failed to make a difference.

The front door swung open below him, Hermione emerged, wrapped up warm against the surprisingly cold summers day. She took a deep breathe and walked down the short garden path towards the road. A faint humming filled the air, Harry could make out a speck approaching in the distance. Hermione reached the pavement, fumbling with her jacket and still looking overcast from her restless sleep. The speck got closer, and the humming louder, now it was punctuated with the undulating growl of a straining engine. Hermione’s hair hung around her face untidily, she stepped off the pavement and swapped her purse from one pocket to another.

The speck became a speeding car, it’s engine revving madly and then changing key as the driver forced the gears. He was drunk and speeding to make it home and then to work on time. His head pounded and his feet were numb on the pedals. Finally Hermione noticed the out of control vehicle, it rose the slight incline further down the road and bore down on her like some urban predator. She froze, her instincts conflicting and legs locking in place. The squeal of breaks filled the air but it was already too late to stop. Hermione’s eyes grew wider, trapped like a rabbit in a spotlight.

Harry rose from his spot and stood against the sky like a tense monolith. His legs moved, one after the other, sprinting, pounding against the sun-warmed tiles. His eyes lowered, glaring at the car as it sped forwards. He snarled and the engine seemed to roar back challengingly. He landed on the grass and rolled forwards rising seamlessly back into the dash he’d started. As he ran he was many things, a silver stag - silent and powerful, a seeker - the best seeker - Hogwarts had ever seen, a friend, a hero and perhaps now a lover too. His eyes flashed dangerously, he wasn’t going to loose. Emotion flooded him, bridging the slender line between life and death, for a few vital seconds he was whole again. Glowing golden in the morning light. He left the curb with a leap, one arm encircling Hermione and pulling her into him. The other reaching out so that he could run his fingers along the car bonnet, the gap between them was so small. As he landed he felt his body leave him. Hermione fell through his grip and tumbled to the tarmac.

“Wait!” He yelled into the air. “Give me one more second.”

…

…

…

... Now choose an ending; wind down or wake up?

2. Ending One - Wind Down

Disclaimer - JK Rowling owns Harry Potter etc. the characters are hers. I’m just using them.

He sank to his knees and knelt over Hermione. The fear in her eyes was slowly replaced by recognition.

“Harry…” Her voice fluttered, she was still in deep shock but, miraculously, her soft eyes focussed on him. Not through or beyond him, but straight at his face. “Harry… there’s so much…”

“I know, I would have loved you Hermione, with all my life I would have loved you… And now you know.” They slowly became aware of the faces peering from behind curtains and around doors. It would soon be time to move on, Harry could feel it in the air, the sky no longer resisted him.

“Don’t go… not now you’ve told me. I can’t let you die again.” She reached up to place a hand alongside his face. Her fingers passed through him effortlessly. “Be whole Harry… be whole!”

“I’ve had my chance… I don’t know if I saved the world, things are strange, blurry, but I saved you. And that’s enough for me.” Tears began to form in her eyes.

“I love you Harry.” He leant to brush his lips over hers, his embrace cold and electric.

“I love you too. Now smile for me.” They stood slowly and walked to the pavement.

Hermione’s neighbours looked on. They watched the bookish girl-next-door hobble to the curb, a mixture of grief and happiness playing across her face. They didn’t see the boy, with his black hair beginning to stir about him of it’s own accord. They didn’t see as he faded in and out of existence like a stuttering flame, gently stroking a translucent hand down Hermione’s shivering body. They could see her though, they watched as she reached into the air to touch the invisible. Some muttered “Poor dear, she’s still in shock,” others said, “She’s had the sense knocked out of her.” None of them would understand the enormity of the ending unfolding in front of them… something that wasn’t meant to be seen, witnessed or understood.

“You saved my life.” Hermione called. Harry smiled tenderly and his green eyes sparkled between appearing and disappearing. “I love you Harry.” A breeze began to whirl around them, the gaps between him being there were getting longer. He mouthed something to her, she managed to make out ‘you too’ on his lips. “Don’t forget me Harry!” He was fading, “Harry!” fading… “Harry.” fading…

As he blinked out he felt a rush, a tenderness and love for Hermione he never knew he could experience. He was one with every tear, every flicker of her shimmering brown eyes, every hope and every aspiration… and she would get them, deserve them and yes, she would live.

The End.

3. Ending Two - Wake Up

Disclaimer: JK Rowling made Harry Potter, owns the characters etc, etc.

“Just one more second!” He roared into the air and at the ever present feeling of otherworldliness in the sky above him. He needed it, one more chance, he had to speak with Hermione. To explain and to say goodbye. His entire body ached with longing but as her eyes opened she did not look at him. She rolled onto her side and coughed heavily. “Hermione!” He held out a shaking hand to pull her upright but it was no use. He was invisible, silent and intangible. She rolled again and pushed against the rough surface of the road until she was standing. Shakily she made her way back towards the house, one foot after the other, one step at a time. Harry followed, he ran around her. Waved his arms in front of her face, screamed madly like a wounded animal but still, nothing.

Something tugged at him, his entire body lurched backwards. No! He had to fight it, he had to make her understand that he felt the same way. That he knew all the things she’d wished him to. She started up the path, dusting loose grit off of her hands. He pulled against the force that held him, gaining inch after inch. He got closer and closer to his goal. She reached the steps but didn’t look back. The door opened, she stepped in, Harry screamed again. The door closed and she was gone.

Harry gave in; there was no fight left inside of him. He felt himself floating away, pulled by an invisible current. It wasn’t a smooth ride, it was punctuated by rhythmic but jarring starts and stops. Start-stop, start-stop, start-stop. He let the beat carry him, it’s canter growing more and more familiar. Something stirred amongst the heartache in his chest. Slow at first, like it had almost forgotten how, but soon it grew stronger. A heart… his heart, began to beat. It pumped in time to the strange journey he was being whisked through. Over trees, between house, around sky scrapers. He found himself at the foot of a strange bed, the room was dark and the silence reverent. He couldn’t quite make out the occupant… He was looking at, looking at… himself?

Sensation flooded his body, he gasped, his lungs drawing in cool sweet air. Life returned to him like a meandering river... Fuller, better and sharper than it had ever been. And somewhere, somewhere outside of this coma sick bed was a girl, a girl who was going to wake up to a hundred roses all freshly delivered as soon as he found the strength to give the order. Light flickered over head, bright and surgical. People began to fill the room… it was a buzz, a buzz that let him know he was alive again.

4. Ending Three - Stop Dead

Note, this a far darker ending than the other two. It deals with the more destructive elements of love and is a lot more angsty… Harry’s quite possible evil. If you want an ending that makes more sense try the other ones… Anyway, on with the show. And thanks to everyone who’s reviewed so far.

- Ankh.

<>

“… One more second.” He remembered begging for it; yelling and screaming for one last spark of totality. But it never came, he’d spent whatever life he had left inside him rescuing Hermione. He’d held her for less than half a second, a number made even smaller by the prospect of eternity as an empty spectre. She was like a drug, and he would sell his soul for one more taste.

Things got worse as time went on, he was fully aware of that, he wasn’t insane - just bitter. Hermione was grown up now. Effortlessly combining success and beauty. But he was still Harry, still the same age as he’d been when he had first realised he was dead. He still had the chance to move on… if he concentrated he could still feel something calling him away. But, no, he would never make that choice. Not while his love remained.

<>

He sat on the couch and glared at the television. Fortunately Hermione had left it on in her rush to leave this morning. It was a rare luxury, almost as good as when she left a newspaper open at the Quiditch section. But today he wasn’t enjoying the flickering pictures… he had increasingly less interest in a world he couldn’t touch or feel. Only Hermione held his attention for long, and something was wrong. Lately she‘d been distracted, paying more attention to her clothes and cutting back on her furious reading. He seethed to himself silently.

Normally the days went by in a blur but today time was moving at a crawl. He watched the little clock in the corner of the TV screen roll over to five-thirty, she’d be home soon. He heard footsteps approaching the door of the small flat, and voices… two voices.

The door swung open and in came Hermione, she was flushed and breathless from conversation. A tall figure entered behind her, he also looked a little out of breath.

“Sorry about that, this place really needs a lift, want a coffee for your troubles?” Hermione asked.

“Don’t worry about it, I enjoyed the walk. Coffee? Yeah sure.” The man Harry didn’t know stood by the door looking lost.

“The living room’s just through there, make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.”

Harry tensed… who was this stranger? Why did Hermione sound so positive all of a sudden? What right did this third party have invading his doldrums?

“Hey the TV’s on.” Called the mystery man as he sat on the sofa.

“She knows it’s on you cretin,” muttered Harry, “She left it on.” Of course they couldn’t hear him but he still felt like saying it.

“Really? Damn, must’ve forgotten it this morning, what a waste.” Hermione’s voice reached them over the scraping of cups and spoons.

“Don’t worry too much, my department should have the ice-cap problem sorted by next year.” The man laughed.

“Sure, and I’m a real boy.” Harry said darkly. He’d moved from his seat and was now inches away from the newcomer, who he suddenly recognised. Ron, Ronald Weasly… his one time best friend. There was a simple explanation for Harry’s surge of dislike, love gone bad. There was so much he couldn’t give to Hermione, so much he wanted to be but couldn’t. He would never compare to a living, breathing partner. She didn’t even know he was there. He was jealous, sick with jealously.

Hermione entered and sat in Harry’s vacated chair. They began to talk pleasantly, with Harry standing unseen between them. He found it excruciating. So much of what Ron said sounded made up on the spot. ‘Oh yeah, I really like them too.’ Or ‘Yeah, I feel the same about that.’ He pocked a ghostly finger through Ron’s waging tongue.

“What’s the matter Ron?” Hermione asked, making Harry‘s non-existent blood boil.

“Nah, nothing… sorry, just felt really cold for a second… You know that saying? Someone walking on your gave.”

“Uh-huh.” She replied. Harry snatched his hand away. He was getting angrier and his bodiless form had zero capacity for catharsis.

“Go away Ron!” He heard himself shouting. “Just get lost! I was happy till you showed up, trying to steal her!”

‘No you weren’t,’ said a voice from the back of his mind. ‘You were miserable then and now,’

“Shut up! I‘m not arguing with you!”

‘I am you,’

“Then help me get rid of this idiot.”

‘He used to be your friend.’

“It doesn’t matter, only she matters.”

‘Watch out Harry, you’re loosing touch again’

He shifted back to reality. It was getting late, night had come and there was a wine bottle on the floor. This wasn’t good… there wasn’t a chance in hell this could be good. He sank to his knees, it was over… she was going to fall in love with Ron and forget about him... Heartache opened up old wounds. How dare she! He’d saved her life! He loved her! He looked up and saw their lips getting closer.

“Hermione!” He threw himself at her feet, dejected and lost.

“Why did we let Harry’s death come between us?” Ron asked, reaching out a hand to push back her hair.

“I…” she suddenly faltered, looking away. He caught her head and kissed her anyway. “I’m going to bed Ron… sorry, maybe this was a bad idea.”

<>

Ron lay asleep on the couch, the alcohol he’d been drinking making strange patterns in his dreams. Suddenly Harry stepped out from nowhere.

“Hello Ronald.”

“Beat it kid, this is my dream and I’m not in a good mood.” A kaleidoscope of colours swirled around them.

“Don’t remember me?” Harry swept away his fringe.

“Harry?!”

“She’s kissing you Ron, and yes, she might even be screwing you… but every time she does, she’s thinking of me… remember that.”

The End.