Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Let's Try That Again, Shall We?
Prologue, Part 1
4 reviewsSybill Trelawney has nightmares, and goes to talk to a friend about them.
5Original
Hi there. A couple notes before the story begins, more at the end of the chapter. You can safely skip to the story without missing anything!
Three-sentence Summary: This is a complicated time-travel story of the re-do variety, using a lot of original characters and peripheral canon characters. It aspires to poke at the interesting edges of the Harry Potter universe while still remaining fanfiction. It is not a novel, nor is it paced like one!
I can see via site-provided statistics (across multiple sites) that a lot of people drop out of this story in the first three chapters. Those three chapters are an introduction, and are not much like the rest of the story. So, for what it's worth:
To skip the prologue, which I am told is quite different from the rest of the story, go to chapter 4.
To skip past pure set-up, go to chapter 12. I think chapters 12-17 are representative of most of the rest of the story (17 is my favorite of those).
To skip ahead to the first explicit material, go to chapters 42-44. There ought to be something to disturb everyone in there somewhere.
I'm not saying it will make sense if you do this. It just might give you a better feel for the story before dropping it. Also, reviewers seem to think I have improved as a writer over time. :)
If you are considering including this in a list of works somewhere, please actually read the whole thing, because it's actually a rather weird story and might not contain what you think it does.
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The Harry Potter universe is the creation of J.K. Rowling. This is fanfiction. The standard disclaimers apply.
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Chapter 1: Prologue, Part 1
(Introduction)
Saturday, August 26, 1989.
Sybill Trelawney woke up drenched in sweat, heart racing, with her fingers clutching the sheets. Vivid nightmares had plagued her for three nights running, and she was certain they were prophetic. She wasn't ready to talk to Dumbledore about this. In fact, she wasn't sure if she should talk to him at all, since the last time he heard a prophecy of hers, it got leaked to the Death Eaters and an innocent little boy lost his parents. Ugh. She shuddered, finally connecting a boy from the nightmares with Harry. No, best not to tell Dumbledore.
The nightmares, though, were very bad. She had seen dozens of senseless murders at the hands of Death Eaters, watched them gain control of the ministry and of Hogwarts, saw Snape fire a killing curse at a weakened Dumbledore, and most vividly, the Great Hall lined with bodies. The dream had not spared her from seeing the faces of the dead or the tears of the survivors. Throughout it all were poor Harry, seemingly present in nearly everything that went wrong, and the pale, inhuman face of You-Know-Who, gloating.
She dressed and headed out of the castle to Hogsmeade, intending to visit an old family friend. Her mind churned: She knew the future wasn't set in place. But it was awfully hard to change, though—if it were, people would put a lot less stock in prophecies. The dreams hadn't shown her any critical moments—any hooks that anyone could use to try to pull things off course. Even if she did go to Dumbledore, what would she say? "Prepare for war." After eight years of peace, no one would be keen to listen to Sybill Trelawney.
That was the problem, she thought, as she walked into the Hog's Head and waved to Aberforth, with her chosen persona. Stepping up to the fireplace, she tossed in some floo powder and called out "The Leaky Cauldron". After stumbling out the other side, she quickly headed for the door, pocketing her over-sized glasses and transfiguring her clothes before anyone could recognize her. It was perfectly normal for someone to rapidly change their appearance on their way out to the muggle world, so no one even looked up as she disillusioned her jewelry, stuffed her headband into her brightly-colored bag, and then cast a glamour over the bag for good measure. A flick of her wand on the way out the door de-frizzed her hair, and she stepped out into the sunlight on Charing Cross Road.
She had never learned to apparate—too dangerous, and it required a precision she was genuinely not very good at. She had compensated by learning to switch in and out of her persona when traveling in the muggle world; appearances were something she was very good at.
Her meticulously-crafted look and personality in the wizarding world let her avoid the attention and danger that usually came with being a true seeress. Oh, how she had secretly cursed Snape (with foul language, not magic) for leaking to Voldemort her prophecy about Harry. She had worked anxiously since then to appear yet more wifty and fraudulent, hoping everyone would consider her "one true prophecy" a fluke. At least the anxiety was in character.
As it turned out, students and parents had come to expect Hogwarts to have a wifty-looking Divination professor. All the gauze, sequins, and incense satisfied muggleborns' image of a seeress. Purebloods knew how much of the subject required rare natural gifts, of course, but they had their children study it anyway because it perpetuated wizarding culture.
Maybe a few professors saw through her act, but at least a few didn't, and those seemed to find her genuinely irritating. This saddened her, but was better than being a target for Death Eaters. As to Dumbledore himself, she suspected he wouldn't have kept her around out of pity if he thought she were a complete fraud, but then he was so story-driven that he probably would have ordered Snape to grease his hair if the potions professor hadn't done it on his own. Maybe Dumbledore just thought she was doing a nice, workmanlike job of playing her part in his vision of Hogwarts? She wasn't going to ask.
After a few minutes in the muggle world, she felt as if a weight was lifting off of her. Her nightmares still haunted her, but the wizarding world could be set aside for a little while. She started imagining herself as the muggles must see her—a pretty young woman in her twenties, who didn't look out of place among the tourists and shoppers here along Shaftesbury. It was all too soon that she was standing outside the "hotel" entrance on Bloomsbury Street that served as the entrance to the wizarding section of the British Library. Talking to her friend always made her feel better when she had nightmares, but there was still something to be said for simply running away from your problems. She sighed and went in.
The charms on the door ensured no muggles would notice her entering, but she was more concerned about wizards seeing her. Did she really need to wear those glasses here? What were the chances of someone recognizing her? One of the elevators in the hotel lobby dinged, and opened up to let out a woman and her small daughter.
"CAN I TALK LOUD AGAIN MOMMY?"
With a beleaguered look, the woman replied "yes, I suppose you were really good today."
As the doors closed, Sybill heard "CAN WE GO GET ICE CREAM NOW?" followed by a "pop!" from the apparation point in the corner. She had about a minute to change her appearance back, if she were going to do it at all. It wasn't much of a decision—she lacked the nerve to change the way she looked in wizarding society. Even without the threat of Death Eaters, it would just be too much work to be anyone other than the Sybill Trelawney everyone was used to.
So it was the familiar, frizzy-haired and anxious Sybill who stepped into the main atrium a minute later. The architecture was lavish—three stories of white marble, ringed with balconies and halls leading off in every direction. Artificial sunlight streamed down from the dome, feeding huge potted tree ferns and the creeping fig that covered each of the pillars up to the ceiling. In the center was a huge animated statue, "Knowledge", which periodically poured buckets of water into the pool below. Today the pool had a mallard duck swimming in it, which looked at her hopefully, opening and closing its beak; apparently whoever thought it was a good idea to decorate with live animals had used a silencing spell to deal with its incessant quacking. Sybill had nothing to give it, and headed down the corridor to the North Wing.
She was hoping her friend Acamar still worked on Saturdays, only now wondering if she should have owled ahead, and whether an owl would even have gotten here before she could. After going down two flights of stairs, she went around the side of the stacks to a row of office doors, and knocked tentatively on the one labeled "Acamar G. Dunlin, Reference Librarian".
"Come in!"
Relieved, she opened the door and peered around it. Acamar was a portly, cheerful, grey-haired man who might have been in his sixties. He had gone to Hogwarts with her mother, and had been "Uncle Acamar" to her when she was little. His walls and desk were covered with rows and stacks of books, interspersed with loose bits of parchment, giving the appearance of one engaged in Serious Research.
"Sybill! Oh, just come in already."
"You're not busy?"
"Well, that depends on what you think I ought to be doing, I suppose. I think a patron actually asked me a question last Wednesday—no, Tuesday—wait, was it this week? I spent a whole ninety seconds answering it, and I can only assume that was adequate because I never saw the man again. Hm."
He gave the appearance of being deep in thought, and then brightened, smiling.
"Yes, I think I can safely assert that I'm not particularly busy."
Sybill looked suitably concerned, just as she had been the last three dozen times she had visited Uncle Acamar at work and gotten similar answers. The library liked being able to say they had reference librarians on staff, but apparently not so much that it would actually tell patrons about them, or put their offices in particularly discoverable locations. Sybill sighed, walked around the desk to get a hug, and sat down in the chair across from his desk.
"Do muggle libraries have reference librarians?"
"Oh, yes! They do. I went into the muggle section once, back in the seventies before the ministry convinced the museum to kick them out so we'd have more space. Their reference librarians had actual desks you could see from the lobby, and when I talked to one of them, he said someone asked him a question at least once a day! I assume with all the fancy technology muggle libraries have now, they must be getting absolutely pestered with questions.
Enough about my excellent work habits and value to British wizardry. You look like this isn't just a social visit. Have you been having nightmares again?"
Sybill sunk a few inches into the chair, confronting thoughts she had managed to put off for a moment.
She nodded. "Oh. Yes."
Watching her hesitate, Acamar stood up, and waved his wand at the door a few times. "There. No one can hear us in here. Of course, we can still hear out there, in case somebody actually comes knocking." He grinned at that, then quickly looked serious again, and sat back down.
"Thanks." She just sat there, looking into her lap.
"They were prophetic this time, weren't they?"
She nodded.
He sighed. She often needed to be drawn out. He came up with the grimmest thing he could think of, to start out with: "And, let me guess... of course, Voldemort returns, plunges us all back into war for years, finally taking over the ministry, in the process killing everyone you ever knew, ever? Oh, after torturing them first, of course!" he ended, triumphantly, and then realized she was looking up at him and crying.
"Oh Merlin, I'm sorry Sybill! What did I say? It was an awful joke to make, I know, but I thought it would help to give you some perspective. I guess the dreams must have been pretty bad this time." He came around his desk to kneel next to her, and conjured a handkerchief for her. She put her glasses in her lap and blew her nose.
"You . . . it . . . he . . ." She shook her head, not knowing where to begin. "Yes."
"Yes, they were bad?"
"No. Yes. What you said. That . . . that was it. For the last three nights. What do I do? I can't tell Dumbledore; he'll do something crazy!"
"Wait, what was it? What I said? Was that too close to the truth?"
"Yes." She sniffled. "That was basically it. The dreams, that is. For three nights."
"Um . . . So, are you sure you're interpreting the dreams correctly? I know, you're the seer, but prophecies are usually pretty cryptic, right?"
"It wasn't a prophecy. I mean, it was, but not like you mean. I think?"
He raised his eyebrows, baffled. This was pretty normal for Sybill. You just had to wait, and it would all get out in some sort of order.
"A regular prophecy-prophecy is where I go into a trance and say stuff I don't remember later. Then whoever hears it assumes I remember it, and runs away to tell Dumbledore, who doesn't tell me about it but runs off and leaks it to half the world. Then I have to be really, really annoying until Minerva or Filius tells me what it was, just to make me go away. Minerva really thinks I'm like that, you know? At least, I think she does? But then I'm always sorry I asked because it sounds bad and really is cryptic.
That's the kind of prophecy that pretty much always comes true no matter what, although sometimes that's because you can interpret it any which way."
"Right, right, and dreams aren't prophecies. But they're still subject to lots of interpretations, aren't they?"
"Not this kind! Sometimes you get the nice metaphorical kind where you're walking down Diagon Alley and you can't find your shoes, and you're late for class. But sometimes they're clear. I mean, explicit. You see things as they will be, and you know there's nothing metaphorical about it. Or at least, you do if you have the Gift."
"And those are explicit enough that you can change them—prevent the future from the dream from happening, and be sure you did it, without endless reinterpretation? So whatever it was that you saw, there was an implication that somebody was supposed to make it happen differently?"
"Well, that's what my grandmother said. I don't know if I believe it. I haven't had lots of the explicit kind of dream, and I've never tried to change anything. Or tell anyone but you. So nothing ever got changed."
"Oh, that's unfair, remember I bet on that one Quidditch match you predicted once . . ."
Sybill looked confused.
He sighed. "It was a joke, sorry. Those don't seem to be working for me today. Um, but if you ever happen to dream about a Quidditch match . . ."
She managed a faint smile. "I'll tell you right away."
"So what do you think you are supposed to change this time?"
"It's not up to me! Somebody else can . . ."
"Right, sorry. So what is supposed to get changed once you find the right hero and tell them?"
"Everything? Everything you said? You-Know-Who, the war, the ministry, the . . ." She trailed off, thinking of the Great Hall after the battle.
Acamar looked suddenly very concerned. "Wait, you were serious? Those things were really there? Sybill, I'm so sorry. I couldn't have known . . . I didn't mean to suggest something that you might actually have dreamt."
"It's okay." Her tears had been dry for some time now; talking was helping. "Those things were what I dreamed about, though. There was a lot of detail. Just not anything that seems like it would help to tell anyone. I saw . . . You-Know-Who, but not how he managed to come back?"
"Hmh."
"I think . . . if I told Dumbledore, he'd want to make sure it all happened? He'd think that was the only way to get through it all."
"Hah! And then Dumbledore himself would be the one who caused it all! Actually, that sounds plausible. So I agree, don't tell Dumbledore. That narrows our pool of potential heroes down by one. Maybe more if you rule out anyone who would go running to Dumbledore. Could you do something for me? Could you go through everything you remember from the dreams for me, if you can manage it? I think that's the only way to find something to work with."
"Do we have to do that here? Your office is kind of cramped. It isn't comfortable, and I can't think as well."
"I know, I know, it would be better if it were a high tower, with the windows open, and lots of silk. And probably incense too . . ."
"Uncle Acamar!"
"And wizards shouldn't put the reference librarians where no-one can find them, either. I'll take the afternoon off, and we'll go someplace else. Hm. No real point putting a sign on the door, and the head of the reference department isn't in on Saturdays anyway. So we can just go, I think." He smiled, and took her out by the hand, locking the door behind him with his wand.
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Several hours later, they sat in Acamar's living room. Sybill was lying on the couch, staring unhappily at the ceiling; Acamar sat in a large upholstered armchair, shuffling through a stack of notes in his lap. On the coffee table between them were an empty teapot, a pair of cups and saucers, and a plate full of crumbs.
"There really isn't much here to go on, other than convincing people to learn to fight better. I suppose you can work on your aim with those crystal balls."
A faint smile. "I was quite good at it in the dream."
"Well, maybe that's because you practiced."
"Oh. Maybe. I'd have to find a way to practice without anyone noticing."
"I was sort of joking. Honestly, Sybill, I'd prefer it if you weren't there fighting the Death Eaters in the first place. So, you're the seer here. If you were going to get more details, what do you do next?"
"Oh! You mean other divinations. Nothing would be as specific as the dreams. There are a few things I can try. I should have thought of that, but I was too upset. That's okay, they're unlikely to work, after a dream like that. But I'll try them."
"Might I ask what you are planning?"
She smiled. "I have to keep some secrets, don't I?
Uncle Acamar, I really am feeling a lot better. I think I would like to get going now. It was nice to walk around Muggle London this morning—really nice—I think I'll do that again before going back to Hogwarts." She picked up her bag from the floor, and pulled her glasses out.
"I know I keep saying this, but you ought to get some new glasses, Sybill."
"I don't want to change them. And everyone expects me to wear them. Here, give me a hug." She leaned down to him before he could make any order out of the paper in his lap. "I'm off." Then, a warm smile. "You know, you always make me feel better. Thank you." And with that, she was off through the floo for the Leaky Cauldron.
Acamar sighed, left the papers in the chair, and sent the tea set into the kitchen with a swish of his wand.
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Author's notes:
My starting point here is just to write a long, sprawling, complicated time-travel story, which so far it is shaping up to be. Most of the time I've been writing this while maintaining a large buffer of unposted material, as well as page after page of notes, so I know more or less how the plot is going for a ways into the future. As of 8/1, I don't have a multi-chapter buffer, but I do still have lots of notes. I suppose I should find a beta reader, but I don't really know what I'd be asking them to do.
I think I can go on adding chapters for a very long time. I have plans. Sort of a permanent WIP. If that bugs you, sorry. At any rate, it's not supposed to be a novel. I started this as a writing exercise, not as great literature. It is my first attempt at fanfiction. If it makes you happy, awesome. Please tell me! I am especially interested in reviews from people who read the entire thing from start to finish, since I am writing it, and most people are reading it, a chapter at a time.
"Let's Try that Again, Shall We" was the title I made up on the spot when I uploaded the first chapter and realized I needed a title. It has grown on me, and I think I'll stick to it. Many chapters acquired their titles in a similar fashion.
Like all fanfiction authors, I reserve the right to massively edit already-posted chapters.
The best way to read this is probably to put it in your alerts, but then wait an hour or so before going to look at it, so you don't have to look at screwed up formatting and such before I fix it.
To flesh out the summary, this story has a lot of original characters, which some people don't like (if so, here's your warning), and it also uses a lot of peripheral canon characters, which I assume is not much different if you are the sort of person who cares about these things. Some of that is by design, as I try to flesh out what the rest of the Harry Potter universe looks like once you get away from the immediate social circles of Harry and his friends. But a lot of it is just an artifact of starting the story in 1989, before all of Harry's cohort get to Hogwarts in 1991. So, it leans toward the borrowed universe end, but is definitely intended as fanfiction. Don't read too much into this -- as of chapter 48, 3/4 of the characters with either lines or internal monologue-type face time are canon (that is, 58/77, by my count -- I have no idea whether that's a lot or not, given the enormous size of the Harry Potter universe).
After writing 180k words or so [I keep coming back and updating this number in awe that I got that far], it's fair to say this story is slow-paced by some people's standards, at least at first. It would probably be that way even if I hadn't set myself a rule of "This is not a novel! Take advantage of the structural freedoms online fiction allows!"
The characters tend towards scheming and manipulating, so there aren't a lot of flashy action sequences yet. This is deliberate, but not to everyone's tastes. On the other hand, a lot of it is really funny. Some chapters are basically long strings of jokes. Sometimes my threshold for "subtle enough to actually be funny" is below readers' threshold of "overt enough to be recognized as a joke", but I can live with that. Almost everything in the story has a reason for being there. It might be a reason that only I like, but there's usually a reason!
Originally this paragraph started out thusly: "I expect eventually to have written enough that the story will need every single warning flag as well as a NC-17 rating, because normal humans' lives are complicated and ordinarily have NC-17 ratings." After having actually written some of the promised NC-17 material, I think it is fairer to say the story will need every single warning flag because it is bizarre. I also apologize to the many non-human residents of the Harry Potter universe for my thoughtless comment about "normal humans". There are very few normal humans in either the Harry Potter universe or this fanfiction of it.
The story doesn't leap right into sex scenes, partly for pacing, partly because this is my first attempt writing fan fiction and I wanted some practice first, and partly because the story just turned out that way. They show up in chapter 42, and are, more or less, plot-relevant. They're also pretty weird, I think, even by fanfiction standards. You are forewarned.
Along those lines, I'm incredibly grateful to Ficwad for its liberal content policies. I can't stand the thought of looking over my shoulder and trying to figure out if the story I want to tell is unfolding into something I'm not allowed to post. I have no idea how anyone can write fanfiction under those conditions. So, thank you, Ficwad!
Also thank you to my many reviewers and raters. The positive responses I have gotten to this story have gone far, far beyond what I had expected. I doubt I would have had the motivation to keep going for so long without your positive feedback. Again, thank you.
I have answered a bunch of questions in the reviews, btw -- they might be worth looking at, although there might be spoilers in there, too.
Three-sentence Summary: This is a complicated time-travel story of the re-do variety, using a lot of original characters and peripheral canon characters. It aspires to poke at the interesting edges of the Harry Potter universe while still remaining fanfiction. It is not a novel, nor is it paced like one!
I can see via site-provided statistics (across multiple sites) that a lot of people drop out of this story in the first three chapters. Those three chapters are an introduction, and are not much like the rest of the story. So, for what it's worth:
To skip the prologue, which I am told is quite different from the rest of the story, go to chapter 4.
To skip past pure set-up, go to chapter 12. I think chapters 12-17 are representative of most of the rest of the story (17 is my favorite of those).
To skip ahead to the first explicit material, go to chapters 42-44. There ought to be something to disturb everyone in there somewhere.
I'm not saying it will make sense if you do this. It just might give you a better feel for the story before dropping it. Also, reviewers seem to think I have improved as a writer over time. :)
If you are considering including this in a list of works somewhere, please actually read the whole thing, because it's actually a rather weird story and might not contain what you think it does.
❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖
The Harry Potter universe is the creation of J.K. Rowling. This is fanfiction. The standard disclaimers apply.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1: Prologue, Part 1
(Introduction)
Saturday, August 26, 1989.
Sybill Trelawney woke up drenched in sweat, heart racing, with her fingers clutching the sheets. Vivid nightmares had plagued her for three nights running, and she was certain they were prophetic. She wasn't ready to talk to Dumbledore about this. In fact, she wasn't sure if she should talk to him at all, since the last time he heard a prophecy of hers, it got leaked to the Death Eaters and an innocent little boy lost his parents. Ugh. She shuddered, finally connecting a boy from the nightmares with Harry. No, best not to tell Dumbledore.
The nightmares, though, were very bad. She had seen dozens of senseless murders at the hands of Death Eaters, watched them gain control of the ministry and of Hogwarts, saw Snape fire a killing curse at a weakened Dumbledore, and most vividly, the Great Hall lined with bodies. The dream had not spared her from seeing the faces of the dead or the tears of the survivors. Throughout it all were poor Harry, seemingly present in nearly everything that went wrong, and the pale, inhuman face of You-Know-Who, gloating.
She dressed and headed out of the castle to Hogsmeade, intending to visit an old family friend. Her mind churned: She knew the future wasn't set in place. But it was awfully hard to change, though—if it were, people would put a lot less stock in prophecies. The dreams hadn't shown her any critical moments—any hooks that anyone could use to try to pull things off course. Even if she did go to Dumbledore, what would she say? "Prepare for war." After eight years of peace, no one would be keen to listen to Sybill Trelawney.
That was the problem, she thought, as she walked into the Hog's Head and waved to Aberforth, with her chosen persona. Stepping up to the fireplace, she tossed in some floo powder and called out "The Leaky Cauldron". After stumbling out the other side, she quickly headed for the door, pocketing her over-sized glasses and transfiguring her clothes before anyone could recognize her. It was perfectly normal for someone to rapidly change their appearance on their way out to the muggle world, so no one even looked up as she disillusioned her jewelry, stuffed her headband into her brightly-colored bag, and then cast a glamour over the bag for good measure. A flick of her wand on the way out the door de-frizzed her hair, and she stepped out into the sunlight on Charing Cross Road.
She had never learned to apparate—too dangerous, and it required a precision she was genuinely not very good at. She had compensated by learning to switch in and out of her persona when traveling in the muggle world; appearances were something she was very good at.
Her meticulously-crafted look and personality in the wizarding world let her avoid the attention and danger that usually came with being a true seeress. Oh, how she had secretly cursed Snape (with foul language, not magic) for leaking to Voldemort her prophecy about Harry. She had worked anxiously since then to appear yet more wifty and fraudulent, hoping everyone would consider her "one true prophecy" a fluke. At least the anxiety was in character.
As it turned out, students and parents had come to expect Hogwarts to have a wifty-looking Divination professor. All the gauze, sequins, and incense satisfied muggleborns' image of a seeress. Purebloods knew how much of the subject required rare natural gifts, of course, but they had their children study it anyway because it perpetuated wizarding culture.
Maybe a few professors saw through her act, but at least a few didn't, and those seemed to find her genuinely irritating. This saddened her, but was better than being a target for Death Eaters. As to Dumbledore himself, she suspected he wouldn't have kept her around out of pity if he thought she were a complete fraud, but then he was so story-driven that he probably would have ordered Snape to grease his hair if the potions professor hadn't done it on his own. Maybe Dumbledore just thought she was doing a nice, workmanlike job of playing her part in his vision of Hogwarts? She wasn't going to ask.
After a few minutes in the muggle world, she felt as if a weight was lifting off of her. Her nightmares still haunted her, but the wizarding world could be set aside for a little while. She started imagining herself as the muggles must see her—a pretty young woman in her twenties, who didn't look out of place among the tourists and shoppers here along Shaftesbury. It was all too soon that she was standing outside the "hotel" entrance on Bloomsbury Street that served as the entrance to the wizarding section of the British Library. Talking to her friend always made her feel better when she had nightmares, but there was still something to be said for simply running away from your problems. She sighed and went in.
The charms on the door ensured no muggles would notice her entering, but she was more concerned about wizards seeing her. Did she really need to wear those glasses here? What were the chances of someone recognizing her? One of the elevators in the hotel lobby dinged, and opened up to let out a woman and her small daughter.
"CAN I TALK LOUD AGAIN MOMMY?"
With a beleaguered look, the woman replied "yes, I suppose you were really good today."
As the doors closed, Sybill heard "CAN WE GO GET ICE CREAM NOW?" followed by a "pop!" from the apparation point in the corner. She had about a minute to change her appearance back, if she were going to do it at all. It wasn't much of a decision—she lacked the nerve to change the way she looked in wizarding society. Even without the threat of Death Eaters, it would just be too much work to be anyone other than the Sybill Trelawney everyone was used to.
So it was the familiar, frizzy-haired and anxious Sybill who stepped into the main atrium a minute later. The architecture was lavish—three stories of white marble, ringed with balconies and halls leading off in every direction. Artificial sunlight streamed down from the dome, feeding huge potted tree ferns and the creeping fig that covered each of the pillars up to the ceiling. In the center was a huge animated statue, "Knowledge", which periodically poured buckets of water into the pool below. Today the pool had a mallard duck swimming in it, which looked at her hopefully, opening and closing its beak; apparently whoever thought it was a good idea to decorate with live animals had used a silencing spell to deal with its incessant quacking. Sybill had nothing to give it, and headed down the corridor to the North Wing.
She was hoping her friend Acamar still worked on Saturdays, only now wondering if she should have owled ahead, and whether an owl would even have gotten here before she could. After going down two flights of stairs, she went around the side of the stacks to a row of office doors, and knocked tentatively on the one labeled "Acamar G. Dunlin, Reference Librarian".
"Come in!"
Relieved, she opened the door and peered around it. Acamar was a portly, cheerful, grey-haired man who might have been in his sixties. He had gone to Hogwarts with her mother, and had been "Uncle Acamar" to her when she was little. His walls and desk were covered with rows and stacks of books, interspersed with loose bits of parchment, giving the appearance of one engaged in Serious Research.
"Sybill! Oh, just come in already."
"You're not busy?"
"Well, that depends on what you think I ought to be doing, I suppose. I think a patron actually asked me a question last Wednesday—no, Tuesday—wait, was it this week? I spent a whole ninety seconds answering it, and I can only assume that was adequate because I never saw the man again. Hm."
He gave the appearance of being deep in thought, and then brightened, smiling.
"Yes, I think I can safely assert that I'm not particularly busy."
Sybill looked suitably concerned, just as she had been the last three dozen times she had visited Uncle Acamar at work and gotten similar answers. The library liked being able to say they had reference librarians on staff, but apparently not so much that it would actually tell patrons about them, or put their offices in particularly discoverable locations. Sybill sighed, walked around the desk to get a hug, and sat down in the chair across from his desk.
"Do muggle libraries have reference librarians?"
"Oh, yes! They do. I went into the muggle section once, back in the seventies before the ministry convinced the museum to kick them out so we'd have more space. Their reference librarians had actual desks you could see from the lobby, and when I talked to one of them, he said someone asked him a question at least once a day! I assume with all the fancy technology muggle libraries have now, they must be getting absolutely pestered with questions.
Enough about my excellent work habits and value to British wizardry. You look like this isn't just a social visit. Have you been having nightmares again?"
Sybill sunk a few inches into the chair, confronting thoughts she had managed to put off for a moment.
She nodded. "Oh. Yes."
Watching her hesitate, Acamar stood up, and waved his wand at the door a few times. "There. No one can hear us in here. Of course, we can still hear out there, in case somebody actually comes knocking." He grinned at that, then quickly looked serious again, and sat back down.
"Thanks." She just sat there, looking into her lap.
"They were prophetic this time, weren't they?"
She nodded.
He sighed. She often needed to be drawn out. He came up with the grimmest thing he could think of, to start out with: "And, let me guess... of course, Voldemort returns, plunges us all back into war for years, finally taking over the ministry, in the process killing everyone you ever knew, ever? Oh, after torturing them first, of course!" he ended, triumphantly, and then realized she was looking up at him and crying.
"Oh Merlin, I'm sorry Sybill! What did I say? It was an awful joke to make, I know, but I thought it would help to give you some perspective. I guess the dreams must have been pretty bad this time." He came around his desk to kneel next to her, and conjured a handkerchief for her. She put her glasses in her lap and blew her nose.
"You . . . it . . . he . . ." She shook her head, not knowing where to begin. "Yes."
"Yes, they were bad?"
"No. Yes. What you said. That . . . that was it. For the last three nights. What do I do? I can't tell Dumbledore; he'll do something crazy!"
"Wait, what was it? What I said? Was that too close to the truth?"
"Yes." She sniffled. "That was basically it. The dreams, that is. For three nights."
"Um . . . So, are you sure you're interpreting the dreams correctly? I know, you're the seer, but prophecies are usually pretty cryptic, right?"
"It wasn't a prophecy. I mean, it was, but not like you mean. I think?"
He raised his eyebrows, baffled. This was pretty normal for Sybill. You just had to wait, and it would all get out in some sort of order.
"A regular prophecy-prophecy is where I go into a trance and say stuff I don't remember later. Then whoever hears it assumes I remember it, and runs away to tell Dumbledore, who doesn't tell me about it but runs off and leaks it to half the world. Then I have to be really, really annoying until Minerva or Filius tells me what it was, just to make me go away. Minerva really thinks I'm like that, you know? At least, I think she does? But then I'm always sorry I asked because it sounds bad and really is cryptic.
That's the kind of prophecy that pretty much always comes true no matter what, although sometimes that's because you can interpret it any which way."
"Right, right, and dreams aren't prophecies. But they're still subject to lots of interpretations, aren't they?"
"Not this kind! Sometimes you get the nice metaphorical kind where you're walking down Diagon Alley and you can't find your shoes, and you're late for class. But sometimes they're clear. I mean, explicit. You see things as they will be, and you know there's nothing metaphorical about it. Or at least, you do if you have the Gift."
"And those are explicit enough that you can change them—prevent the future from the dream from happening, and be sure you did it, without endless reinterpretation? So whatever it was that you saw, there was an implication that somebody was supposed to make it happen differently?"
"Well, that's what my grandmother said. I don't know if I believe it. I haven't had lots of the explicit kind of dream, and I've never tried to change anything. Or tell anyone but you. So nothing ever got changed."
"Oh, that's unfair, remember I bet on that one Quidditch match you predicted once . . ."
Sybill looked confused.
He sighed. "It was a joke, sorry. Those don't seem to be working for me today. Um, but if you ever happen to dream about a Quidditch match . . ."
She managed a faint smile. "I'll tell you right away."
"So what do you think you are supposed to change this time?"
"It's not up to me! Somebody else can . . ."
"Right, sorry. So what is supposed to get changed once you find the right hero and tell them?"
"Everything? Everything you said? You-Know-Who, the war, the ministry, the . . ." She trailed off, thinking of the Great Hall after the battle.
Acamar looked suddenly very concerned. "Wait, you were serious? Those things were really there? Sybill, I'm so sorry. I couldn't have known . . . I didn't mean to suggest something that you might actually have dreamt."
"It's okay." Her tears had been dry for some time now; talking was helping. "Those things were what I dreamed about, though. There was a lot of detail. Just not anything that seems like it would help to tell anyone. I saw . . . You-Know-Who, but not how he managed to come back?"
"Hmh."
"I think . . . if I told Dumbledore, he'd want to make sure it all happened? He'd think that was the only way to get through it all."
"Hah! And then Dumbledore himself would be the one who caused it all! Actually, that sounds plausible. So I agree, don't tell Dumbledore. That narrows our pool of potential heroes down by one. Maybe more if you rule out anyone who would go running to Dumbledore. Could you do something for me? Could you go through everything you remember from the dreams for me, if you can manage it? I think that's the only way to find something to work with."
"Do we have to do that here? Your office is kind of cramped. It isn't comfortable, and I can't think as well."
"I know, I know, it would be better if it were a high tower, with the windows open, and lots of silk. And probably incense too . . ."
"Uncle Acamar!"
"And wizards shouldn't put the reference librarians where no-one can find them, either. I'll take the afternoon off, and we'll go someplace else. Hm. No real point putting a sign on the door, and the head of the reference department isn't in on Saturdays anyway. So we can just go, I think." He smiled, and took her out by the hand, locking the door behind him with his wand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Several hours later, they sat in Acamar's living room. Sybill was lying on the couch, staring unhappily at the ceiling; Acamar sat in a large upholstered armchair, shuffling through a stack of notes in his lap. On the coffee table between them were an empty teapot, a pair of cups and saucers, and a plate full of crumbs.
"There really isn't much here to go on, other than convincing people to learn to fight better. I suppose you can work on your aim with those crystal balls."
A faint smile. "I was quite good at it in the dream."
"Well, maybe that's because you practiced."
"Oh. Maybe. I'd have to find a way to practice without anyone noticing."
"I was sort of joking. Honestly, Sybill, I'd prefer it if you weren't there fighting the Death Eaters in the first place. So, you're the seer here. If you were going to get more details, what do you do next?"
"Oh! You mean other divinations. Nothing would be as specific as the dreams. There are a few things I can try. I should have thought of that, but I was too upset. That's okay, they're unlikely to work, after a dream like that. But I'll try them."
"Might I ask what you are planning?"
She smiled. "I have to keep some secrets, don't I?
Uncle Acamar, I really am feeling a lot better. I think I would like to get going now. It was nice to walk around Muggle London this morning—really nice—I think I'll do that again before going back to Hogwarts." She picked up her bag from the floor, and pulled her glasses out.
"I know I keep saying this, but you ought to get some new glasses, Sybill."
"I don't want to change them. And everyone expects me to wear them. Here, give me a hug." She leaned down to him before he could make any order out of the paper in his lap. "I'm off." Then, a warm smile. "You know, you always make me feel better. Thank you." And with that, she was off through the floo for the Leaky Cauldron.
Acamar sighed, left the papers in the chair, and sent the tea set into the kitchen with a swish of his wand.
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Author's notes:
My starting point here is just to write a long, sprawling, complicated time-travel story, which so far it is shaping up to be. Most of the time I've been writing this while maintaining a large buffer of unposted material, as well as page after page of notes, so I know more or less how the plot is going for a ways into the future. As of 8/1, I don't have a multi-chapter buffer, but I do still have lots of notes. I suppose I should find a beta reader, but I don't really know what I'd be asking them to do.
I think I can go on adding chapters for a very long time. I have plans. Sort of a permanent WIP. If that bugs you, sorry. At any rate, it's not supposed to be a novel. I started this as a writing exercise, not as great literature. It is my first attempt at fanfiction. If it makes you happy, awesome. Please tell me! I am especially interested in reviews from people who read the entire thing from start to finish, since I am writing it, and most people are reading it, a chapter at a time.
"Let's Try that Again, Shall We" was the title I made up on the spot when I uploaded the first chapter and realized I needed a title. It has grown on me, and I think I'll stick to it. Many chapters acquired their titles in a similar fashion.
Like all fanfiction authors, I reserve the right to massively edit already-posted chapters.
The best way to read this is probably to put it in your alerts, but then wait an hour or so before going to look at it, so you don't have to look at screwed up formatting and such before I fix it.
To flesh out the summary, this story has a lot of original characters, which some people don't like (if so, here's your warning), and it also uses a lot of peripheral canon characters, which I assume is not much different if you are the sort of person who cares about these things. Some of that is by design, as I try to flesh out what the rest of the Harry Potter universe looks like once you get away from the immediate social circles of Harry and his friends. But a lot of it is just an artifact of starting the story in 1989, before all of Harry's cohort get to Hogwarts in 1991. So, it leans toward the borrowed universe end, but is definitely intended as fanfiction. Don't read too much into this -- as of chapter 48, 3/4 of the characters with either lines or internal monologue-type face time are canon (that is, 58/77, by my count -- I have no idea whether that's a lot or not, given the enormous size of the Harry Potter universe).
After writing 180k words or so [I keep coming back and updating this number in awe that I got that far], it's fair to say this story is slow-paced by some people's standards, at least at first. It would probably be that way even if I hadn't set myself a rule of "This is not a novel! Take advantage of the structural freedoms online fiction allows!"
The characters tend towards scheming and manipulating, so there aren't a lot of flashy action sequences yet. This is deliberate, but not to everyone's tastes. On the other hand, a lot of it is really funny. Some chapters are basically long strings of jokes. Sometimes my threshold for "subtle enough to actually be funny" is below readers' threshold of "overt enough to be recognized as a joke", but I can live with that. Almost everything in the story has a reason for being there. It might be a reason that only I like, but there's usually a reason!
Originally this paragraph started out thusly: "I expect eventually to have written enough that the story will need every single warning flag as well as a NC-17 rating, because normal humans' lives are complicated and ordinarily have NC-17 ratings." After having actually written some of the promised NC-17 material, I think it is fairer to say the story will need every single warning flag because it is bizarre. I also apologize to the many non-human residents of the Harry Potter universe for my thoughtless comment about "normal humans". There are very few normal humans in either the Harry Potter universe or this fanfiction of it.
The story doesn't leap right into sex scenes, partly for pacing, partly because this is my first attempt writing fan fiction and I wanted some practice first, and partly because the story just turned out that way. They show up in chapter 42, and are, more or less, plot-relevant. They're also pretty weird, I think, even by fanfiction standards. You are forewarned.
Along those lines, I'm incredibly grateful to Ficwad for its liberal content policies. I can't stand the thought of looking over my shoulder and trying to figure out if the story I want to tell is unfolding into something I'm not allowed to post. I have no idea how anyone can write fanfiction under those conditions. So, thank you, Ficwad!
Also thank you to my many reviewers and raters. The positive responses I have gotten to this story have gone far, far beyond what I had expected. I doubt I would have had the motivation to keep going for so long without your positive feedback. Again, thank you.
I have answered a bunch of questions in the reviews, btw -- they might be worth looking at, although there might be spoilers in there, too.
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