It's No Great Mystery (Drarry)

Chapter Three

25th December, 1998, #6

When Harry woke the next day, he slipped out of the room before Ron had managed to sit up and ran back to the classroom, his heart pounding in his throat. Barely anyone was awake in the castle, the corridors eerily empty among the twinkling decorations and distant music of professors setting up for the Ball.

He skidded around the corner, catching himself before he fell, and stared at the portrait. Henry slept on, oblivious to any changes, but there were changes, indeed. The Pensieve shone with the faint light of memory, its waters gently swirling. Harry stepped closer and closer, barely daring to hope, but as he brushed his finger across it, he was catapulted back into the memory of last night, exactly as he'd left it.

Even his ecstatic whoop of delight didn't wake the old wizard, although it did startle the children in the next portrait, who immediately went back to opening their presents and playing.

Harry's immediate thought was, of course, to get Ron and Hermione. With access to their memories through the loop, now, they could research this in earnest. Hermione would be able to build upon her complicated and nuanced knowledge every day, and they'd solve this, just as they always did.

But then he stopped.

He hadn't even begun to leave yet, but already the days stretched before him—hours spent in the library, everyone around them eyeing them strangely when they skipped the Ball. In his mind's eye, he saw Ron and Hermione's disappointment as they missed out on the event they'd looked forward to for months, not remembering that they'd already lived it once. And he saw, again and again, the mornings he would have to spend explaining this to them and dealing with their disappointment in him as he relayed their argument that first day.

It was all in the name of strategy and solutions, of course, but Merlin Harry was sick of that.

Everything was always in the name of strategy and solutions for him. When was it not about that?

He just wanted a life where no one needed anything from him. Where he didn't have to save the fucking world, from Dark Lords and invisible time loops alike.

Before he knew it, he was marching in the other direction down the corridor, away from Gryffindor Tower and down to the front doors. He cast a Warming Charm on himself, ignoring the strange look two older students gave him as he passed them in his brightly coloured Snitch pyjamas and slippers—his exit had not been well thought out—and walked onto the grounds, towards Hagrid's hut.

He had all the time in the world to solve the time loop, right? It wasn't fucking going anywhere; that was the whole point.

He wanted to see Hagrid.

Freshly falling snow kicked up around his ankles, not yet the strong drifts that would come later in the day, but enough to make him shiver despite the Warming Charm. He really should have grabbed some clothing before he left, but he hadn't wanted to run into Luna. It would have meant he felt bad and stayed to chat, and then had to slip away somehow to check the portrait... All in all, he'd take the slippers and Snitch pyjamas.

Smoke curled from the chimney of the little hut, bringing with it the faint scent of pine and something hearty—maybe a stew. Harry's stomach grumbled, reminding him that he was very ready for breakfast, and he hurried down the last few steps to the hut and knocked on the door.

Some shuffling sounds came from within, coupled with the squeak of a chair across floorboards and a faint groan.

"Jus' a minute!" Hagrid's voice called, and Harry felt an unexpected warm twinge of affection for the man who had brought him into this magical world.