HP one shots

Relativity. // Tomarry

Summary:

"We would like to give you a chance."

"A chance?"

"That's right."

"A chance at what?"

"Why, at living, Mr Potter."

-

When Harry Potter is approached by a mysterious third party organisation that offers him the chance of a lifetime, he finds himself flung five decades into the past with a new name, new parents, and one hell of a mission.
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Fate - the entity or the concept, Harry didn't much care which - had been screwing him over for as long as he could remember. In fact, even longer than that - it was probably giving him grief even in the womb.

He was accustomed, by now, to bad fortune. Good things very rarely happened to him, and when they did, it was always preceded with something equally, if not more, terrible. He'd thought, rather naively, he'll admit, that Cedric was as bad as it would get.

Watching an innocent, a good man that he'd actually started to really like, die in front of him. To watch him be killed for absolutely no reason at all. It had been hard - almost devastating.

But Harry had pulled through. He'd survived the Dursley's, he'd survived Quirrell, and a basilisk, and Voldemort himself. He could survive this, if only to kill the deranged bastard who'd ended Cedric's life.

And then fifth year came and went - he'd been subjected to humiliation, a smear campaign, and mild torture - with his godfathers death as a morbid grand finale.

Harry snorted to himself, and it was a harsh sound, not even a hint of a genuine laugh.

He didn't laugh much these days.

Dead parents, a brain dead godmother and a dead dead godfather. He was cursed.

Someone ought to warn Remus away, lest it decide to spread to honorary uncles too.

He'd experienced all of that, and the worst part - truly - was the way he'd been shipped back off to his relatives when it was all over. He should have known, after fourth year, but he'd just expected the people he almost died for to give a damn after he'd witnessed his godfather's death.

Instead he'd been shunned, for lack of a better word. Out of sight, and clearly out of mind. Like a toy soldier who'd served his purpose, packed away until he could be used once more.

Most of the time Harry just felt hollow.

Everything - Petunia's shrieks, Dudley's gibes, his grief and sorrow and fury, his life - it just flowed through him like wind in tattered sails; enough to disturb him, but he was too damaged for it to have any great effect. Whenever it got too bad he'd come here, to the rackety old swing set in the park, gently swaying until his thoughts stopped slipping through his fingers.

It was effective. The firm metal under his finger and the continuous motion serving as a way to anchor him. He could almost pretend to be content.

Then the air changed.

Harry had his wand in his hand before he could take his next breath. He got to his feet slowly, carefully, making sure his base of support was stable and balanced. The swing set was built in an open clearing, no places to hide beside the line of tall shrubs; after checking behind him Harry allowed himself to slowly examine the shrubs.

All the while, the air pressure dropped, ever so slightly, and the wind picked up.

There.

Directly in front of him, the plants shimmered. No, it wasn't the plants, but the shadows. Moving and twisting like they were somehow folding inwards despite being two dimensional.