Harry Potter and the Bucket List

Year 6 - 8

Sigh.

Maybe Sirius had the right idea keeping me from dressing too provocatively. He was always so worried how I'd react if catcalled.

I'd have probably been more violent if an adult cat-called me while I was clearly underage, I allowed. Darn teenage hormones and my apparent violent nature.

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

The following evening I got to visit Tom. I hopped out of my chest, eager to spend another lovely night with him, but found that my dear was in a dark mood.

He sat in his recliner, leaning forward as he glared at the Necronomicon. All the curtains were drawn closed, and the only light in the entire house was the crackling fireplace in the den.

"Tom?" I asked uneasily, staring at the Dark book that for some reason made me think of squirming spike-covered tentacles. "Did you—did you figure out what to do for your next body? Is it—is it hard?"

"Oh. I found my answer all right," he chuckled bitterly, throwing the book across the room. "Not that it'll do me any good."

Unease prickled me as I felt his dark anger. His magic was heavy in the room, pressing upon me like a tide of cold bitter fury and regret. Slowly, quietly, I slunk to the floor beside him and placed my hands and chin on his knee. "What's wrong?"

Tom broodily stared into the fire, his jaw clenched tightly in anger.

"Incomplete," he muttered. "It doesn't matter what I place my soul in—because it has been torn apart it's begun a decaying process. No vessel for it will remain impervious to time. Evidently, even the original objects I had placed them inside would have eroded. Immortality is impossible for one with a fractured soul. Isn't that funny?"

He scowled hatefully into the fire, his fingers drumming on the armrest.

He went on, "There is no salvaging the damage done. Even if all the pieces stopped degrading at this instant, the ritual to put it back together would likely shatter the smaller fragments."

I was silent as I digested that information, a pang of sympathy stirring the pit of my stomach.

Unlike me, Tom had a strong fear of death. He had gone to extreme lengths to avoid it, absolutely determined to live as long as he possibly could. He was already greatly perturbed by seeing what Voldemort had become, but now knowing the measures he had taken to avoid death would ultimately condemn him to it...

It was no shock that Tom was upset. Furious, even.

If healing his soul was no longer an option, then that meant there was only one path to take.

I murmured, "Then... the only solution would be to undo what happened."

"Right," he scoffed. "And pray tell, Rosie, how do you suggest such a thing?"

"Time travel."

He gave me a look of utter disbelief, as if I had grown three heads mid-conversation.

I held up my hands. "Not in a linear sense. Rather, I would suggest crossing dimensions and traveling back in time."

Again, he kept staring at me.

"This world carries on, and you send your soul back in time. You fuse with your past self so you've got a complete soul, and I—I don't know."

"You're insane."

"It's not impossible. I can start creating mass amounts of magic stones to use to power it," I pointed out. "We know time travel is possible with magic, and I know with absolute certainty other dimensions of reality exist."