Summary: Reincarnation fic. In his dreams he remembers a time when the Hunt scoured the land, a time when the Magical races fled before the might of Muggle kind. A time when all those who practiced the ancient traditions fled before the sworn champions of a new young god. Considering all that, he is rather glad that his relatives are so insistent that Magic isn't real.

Warning: Non-graphic mentions of suicide, mentions of abuse/neglect

Why Clocks Are Round

By Azadrie

Based on and inspired by the works of J.K Rowling and various fan-fiction authors. No profit is being made.

Tile quoted from 'Red vs Blue'

Ch1: Dream of a dream

-"It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream." -Edgar Allan Poe -

Darkness. Trees flying past. Stumbling, falling over roots that seemed determined he shouldn't rise. A woman screamed for mercy. Tree branches reached for him, tried to block his way. Light flared ahead in the clearing at the edge of town. A column of smoke rose high into the sky. Laughter, cruel laughter, floated past mixing with the agonized screams. He froze at the edge of the wood. There stood the woman he had been searching for chained to the tree that had grounded her magic for longer than he had been alive, both of them wreathed in flames. His eyes couldn't leave her form even as the menacing figures around her took note of his presence and began to stalk toward him. A tree finally managed to bend near enough to grasp him and pulled him away, obeying the last command of its dying mistress. Green light filled his eyes as cruel laughter and agonized screams mixed in the wind…

…and he awoke, choking down his own sobs, desperately trying to quiet his breath as he stared fearfully at the ceiling. Did they hear? Did they wake? Silence greeted his ears as he finally calmed.

After several long moments of quite he released a shaky sigh of relief and turned to dig his journal out from the furthest nook back beneath the stairs, where his uncle and cousin couldn't reach and his aunt never bothered to look. This wasn't quite a new dream, he had dreamt it several times before, but he still needed to record the fact that it had come again as well as the few new details that he had noticed. For example, he had never noticed before that the trees were pulling him away from danger, nor that he knew the woman tied to the burning willow had commanded it.

Finished with his entry he took a moment to skim back through the journal and bask in the images they called up. His dream world could be as bad as or worse than the real world he actually lived in, but, overall, it was a haven in comparison. In the Dream world there were entire years of happiness in between the times of pain, hardness, and betrayal; while in the real world he was lucky if he managed to find individual moments. It was his dearest wish to leave behind this life for the one he dreamt of, where he escaped the forest where the woman burned to find sanctuary and friendship in a little village hidden away in the same forest that so determinedly protected him. That life might have ended in a betrayal so horrible he couldn't bear to continue living, but it was still a more worthy and fulfilling life than the slavery he currently endured.

He looked up as quiet movements sounded above him, and quickly moved to conceal his journal once again, dismissing the fairy light he had summoned as he did so.

Approximately 2 years latter

He pumped he fist in the air silently as he finally managed to pick the cupboard lock. A rare happy smile stretched over his face as he paused to listen for his relatives, before he moved slipping the willow and elm 'lock pick' into his waistband as he did so. He wasn't willing to risk losing the little woven twigs, it had taken him most of a year to even find twigs that were awake enough to respond to his request for help, and even longer than that for him to figure out how to bend his magic to guide them in opening the lock.

He had to keep himself from dancing or jumping or something equally ridiculous as he crept quietly into the kitchen to raid the pantry for less noticeable foods. This was the fourth of the little magics he had managed to complete, quite an accomplishment for a ten year old even if he couldn't quite remember what order they were supposed to be completed in. First he had managed to summon a little fairy light that would follow him around, then to direct a small breeze and mold a stone, and now he could direct a waking twig.

Hearing a noise he eased the pantry closed again and retreated to his cupboard, managing to lock it again after just a few tries. Still grinning with the successful glow of accomplishment he carefully stored his raided food and slipped back down into Dream.

Approximately 1 year latter

Back in the cupboard after finishing his tasks for the day, he stared down at the letter apprehensively, running his eyes over the elegant script over and over again.

Harry Potter

Cupboard Under The Stairs

4 Privet Drive, Surry

Harry was what his relatives called him whenever there were guests over, or on the rare occasions that they were forced to take him with them when they left the house. It was also the name he was ordered to answer with if anyone ever asked for it for any reason. But… this letter was not the sort of thing that he would expect to be addressed to Harry Potter. For one, Harry Potter didn't receive any mail, for second, this letter looked like something straight out of Dream; written on parchment rather than paper, with no postage and a super detailed address in beautiful calligraphy.

He stroked the letter gently with wondering finger tips, before lifting the letter and opening it with just as much care, half worried that it would disappear back into Dream if he handled it too harshly. The crisp pages were lifted almost reverently from the envelope, which was set gently aside. Leaf green eyes flitted across the page before widening and repeating the journey. Hogwarts… that sounds so familiar, like a dream of Dream. Did I know it then? He continued to the other pages contained in the envelope, a more personal letter promising that someone would be by to pick him up for a shopping trip in a few weeks, a train ticket for September 1 at Platform 9 ¾ , a list of necessary school supplies. That was it, no further explanation, no mention of where this school was, though the ticket suggested that it would be reached by train. The letter about the shopping trip mentioned a Diagon Ally, and he presumed that the guide Professor McGonagall promised would know where to go.

The biggest problem though… He glanced at the ceiling, where his relatives lay sleeping above him, then down again at the papers spread out around him. He had tried once before to run away and find Dream, the kindly officer who had picked him up and brought him back had explained that he needed his Aunt and Uncle's permission for such a trip until he turned 18, his Uncle on the other hand had threatened to kill him if he did that again and proceeded to beat him until he passed out. He glanced back down at the letters. I've thought it before and I still think it, it would be worth dying to live that life. So, I've got to either run away or convince Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to let me go, and since that guide is coming here… He glanced up at the ceiling again then pushed his face flat against the floor, trying to judge how bright it was outside the cupboard, seeing nothing, he then pushed an ear against the wall to see if he could hear any movement. Convinced that it was safe for the moment to slip out into the house, he pulled out his lock pick and slipped it through the crack in the door jam. A moment later he had made it to the office, gabbed a single sheet of stationary and a pen and settled back in the cupboard, where he set about writing a letter to the Deputy Headmistress.

Deputy Headmistress McGonagall

Thank you for your letter. I would love to attend Hogwarts School, however I don't know how to convince my Aunt and Uncle that magic is real so that they would allow me to. Do you know any way that I could convince them?

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

He looked over the letter a few times, trying to see if there was anything he needed to add. It didn't sound quite right, not as formal as the letters he vaguely remembered from Dream, but those were in a different language and he didn't know how he could make this letter any better. Deciding that it was good enough, it explained the problem and stated his opinion on the matter, he grabbed a string from his stash and headed outside. It was only as he gently closed the back door behind him that he realized that he didn't know where to find an owl. If one had brought the letter this morning then surely it was gone by now. He hesitated a moment, cursing his own stupidity, before deciding to just give it a go and see if the owl had hung around for a reply.

Decided, he glanced nervously at the second floor of the house behind him to check for open windows then whistled lowly. A moment later, to his immense relief an owl glided silently into the yard and landed on a post. He quickly rolled the letter and tied it to the owl's leg, "To Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, please, at Hogwarts." The owl hooted once then took off, he watched till the bird faded into the night.

I guess this means I have to start thinking of myself as Harry now, he pondered as he made his way carefully back to bed, I can't be Salazar anymore.