Jily Oneshots (pt2)

A Trip in Time

"What?" he asked finally, still staring at the girl's face.

She smiled sadly, meeting his gaze.

"It won't be easy of course," she told him. "You will not be able to change any of the events that must unfold. But you will learn things…things that will help you bring your parent's murderer to justice."

"What do you mean I won't be able to change anything?" Harry asked indignantly. "You're sending me back…why can't I save my parents?" It seemed almost cruel, to get to meet his parents but be unable to lift a finger to save them.

"It is not that simple," the girl answered sadly. "The events that unfurled made you, you. To change them would create a paradox that could destroy the universe and everyone in it. Is that what you want?"

Harry shook his head quickly, understanding dawning on him.

"It's not fair," he murmured. There was nothing he wouldn't give to have his parents back. But perhaps the universe was too high a price. After all, what was the point in saving them if everything got destroyed in the process? Harry couldn't even comprehend the idea of a world not existing.

"No it's not," the girl agreed. "Most do not get the chance to go this far back in time Harry," she added. "It is your choice. If it is your wish, I can send you back to the moment I took you from your time. But if you choose this, I can give you a week with your parents. To get to know them, and gather information from the end of the last war…such knowledge could help you win the next one."

Harry thought it over carefully. Meeting his parents was his one true wish…he couldn't save them, but at least he would know them a little bit. Get a glimpse of what could have been.

"I'd like to meet them," he said longingly. "Please."

The girl nodded, and soon Harry felt that same whooshing sensation as he was magically transported back to the land of the living, around thirteen years into the past.

_

When the whooshing feeling ended, Harry found himself lying on a carpeted floor in a comfortably sized lounge area. Pushing his glasses up his nose, Harry examined his new surroundings. He was right next to a large fireplace. There was a pot of floo powder next on the mantelpiece, and moving pictures of a red headed woman, and a man with glasses and a messy haircut. Harry recognised several of the pictures, but one caught his eye almost immediately. It was the same one he had in his photo album of his parent's wedding. He'd never focused on the third person before, too enamoured with his parents, but next to James was another dark haired man. His arm over James' shoulder, laughing. If Harry hadn't known better, he'd never have guessed this was the same man in all the newspapers, wanted for thirteen counts of murder.

Any other time, Harry would have felt angry…but this must be his parent's house. Looking around the room more intently, he was surprised to see Muggle things around as well. A television in the corner…a telephone on the mantelpiece. Then he remembered that his mother had been Muggleborn. A window leading to a small, well-kept garden. It looked normal, but Harry spotted two brooms leaning against a shed. One adult sized…the other tiny, as though for a child. On the walls, there were more wizarding pictures, but these contained pictures of a toddler with messy black hair. In some, he was alone, in others, one of his parents was there as well. Harry stared at one with his baby-self zooming around the frame, with his mother laughing and watching. There was so much love in these images.

There were noises upstairs…voices. A baby cry…footsteps down the stairs.

Harry stood up straight, suddenly nervous. They didn't know him…he was practically trespassing! The door to the living room opened, leaving Harry staring face to face with the red haired witch from the photo. His mother.