"Shut it Harry, this is madness! You cannot just go ahead with it."
"Do you have a better idea? Look at where we stand, this is the precipice." Harry snarled, the cut across his right cheek glistening with the blood trickling down from his forehead. Theo looked away, unable to face his friend. A few years ago, he would have laughed at the idea of being a brother in all but blood to Harry Potter. Now though...
"Even if this... rendezvous of yours should succeed... you know what is at stake. The dark Lord-"
"Theo!" Harry snapped almost automatically.
"Yes, Voldemort! Sheesh! Voldy will return. You of all people should know how dangerous a bet it is. It took us everything to defeat the wanker."
"That bastard has taken more than that, Theo. I very well know what I am doing. However, this world... it is at an end. Our back has touched the wall. They have pushed us one too many times."
"And you are trying to convince me to deal with the devil, only in hopes of pushing back!" Theo snapped. "And I don't bloody well believe it, but I am almost letting you convince me. Bloody contagious Gryffindorish mentality." He muttered something incoherent, but Harry could not make heads or tails out of that. With a sigh, he looked up at the emerald-green eyes of his brother in all but blood, and asked.
"What's the plan?"
Harry grinned from ear to ear.
May 7, 1992.
"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrel lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands around Harry's neck — Harry's scar was almost
blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrel howling in agony.
"Master, I cannot hold him — my hands — my hands!" Quirrel, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms — Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.
"Then kill him, fool, and be done with it!" screeched Voldemort. Quirrel raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrel's face —
Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell could not touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain — his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep
him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse. Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry
off — the pain in Harry's head was building — he could not see — he could only hear Quirrel's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry! Harry!"
He felt Quirrel's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness.
Light. Dazzling light. Something tried to enter into his body, something that felt both strange and familiar at the same time- he opened his eyes- a green light- a dark substance- and then pain engulfed him, making the light disappear away.
May 2, 1993.
"You're dead, Harry Potter," said Riddle's voice above him. "Dead. Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he is doing, Potter? He's crying."
Harry blinked. Fawkes's head slid in and out of focus. Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers.
"I'm going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time. I'm in no hurry."
Harry felt drowsy. Everything around him seemed to be spinning. "So ends the famous Harry Potter," said Riddle's distant voice. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You will be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry... She bought you twelve years of borrowed time, but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must..."
If this is dying, thought Harry, it is not so bad. Even the pain was leaving him.
Then it happened again. The dazzling light- something he knew he had seen for some tiny moments there during the fight with Quirrel in front of the Mirror-it was the same feeling- but then, he felt Fawkes' tears stop that feeling, and the light diminished again.
That is two times that it has happened. I wonder if it meant that I was close to dying or something.
The Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus. Harry gave his head a little shake and
there was Fawkes, still resting his head on Harry's arm. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound — except there was no wound —
"Get away, bird," said Riddle's voice suddenly, rising in panic. "Get away from him — I said, get away."
May 19, 1994.
Harry looked desperately around. Black and Lupin both gone. They had only Snape for company, still hanging, unconscious, in midair.
"We'd better get them up to the castle and tell someone," said Harry, pushing his hair out of his eyes, trying to think straight. "Come —"
But then, from beyond the range of their vision, they heard a yelping, a whining: a dog in pain. "Sirius," Harry muttered, staring into the darkness. He had a moment's indecision, there was nothing they could do for Ron at the moment and by the sound of it, Black was in trouble —
Harry set off at a run, Hermione right behind him. The yelping seemed to be coming from the ground near the edge of the lake. They pelted toward it, and Harry, running flat out, felt the cold without realizing what it must mean —
The yelping stopped abruptly. As they reached the lakeshore, they saw why — Sirius had turned back into a man. He was crouched on all fours, his hands over his head. "No!" he moaned. "Noooo ... please..."
And then Harry saw them. Dementors, at least a hundred of them, gliding in a black mass around the lake toward them. He spun around, the familiar, icy cold penetrating his insides, fog starting to obscure his vision; more were appearing out of the darkness on every side; they were encircling them.
"Hermione, think of something happy!" Harry yelled, raising his wand, blinking furiously to try to clear his vision, shaking his head to rid it of the faint screaming that had started inside it.
I am going to live with my godfather. I'm leaving the Dursleys.
He forced himself to think of Black, and only Black, and began to chant. "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!" Black gave a shudder, rolled over, and lay motionless on the ground, pale as death.
He will be all right. I am going to go and live with him.
"Expecto Patronum! Hermione, help me! Expecto Patronum!"
"Expecto —" Hermione whispered, "Expecto — Expecto —"
However, she could not do it. The Dementors were closing in, barely ten feet from them. They formed a solid wall around Harry and Hermione, and were getting closer...
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry yelled, trying to blot the screaming from his ears. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
A thin wisp of silver escaped his wand and hovered like mist before him. At the same moment, Harry felt Hermione collapse next to him. He was alone... completely alone. "Expecto — Expecto Patronum —" Harry felt his knees hit the cold grass. Fog was clouding his eyes.
By the feeble light of his formless Patronus, he saw a Dementor halt, very close to him. It could not walk through the cloud of silver mist Harry had conjured. A dead, slimy hand slid out from under the cloak. It made a gesture as though to sweep the Patronus aside.
"No — no —" Harry gasped. "He's innocent . . . Expecto —Expecto Patronum —"
He could feel them watching him; hear their rattling breath like an evil wind around him. The nearest Dementor seemed to be considering him. Then it raised both its rotting hands — and lowered its hood. Where there should have been eyes, there was only thin, gray-scabbed skin, stretched blankly over empty sockets. However, there was a mouth- a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the sound of a death rattle. A paralyzing terror filled Harry so that he couldn't move or
speak. His Patronus flickered and died.
And then, dazzling white light blinded him.
For a moment, there was nothing. Harry wondered once again, if this was Death. If it was so, then it wasn't bad—after all, it was painless. However, as Albus Dumbledore was so fond of saying- sometimes the best of us need to eat our words, and so did the thirteen-year-old Harry Potter.
Pain. Agonizing pain seemed to fill in deep into his soul. A soul-wrenching scream let out from the depths and Harry felt himself be torn from deep within.
A scream... An oily liquid seemed to lick his skin as it almost crawled down his forehead, and a certain light-headedness seemed to swim into him- something he had never felt before. The pain receded for a moment, and then, it was back with a vengeance.
Something foreign... yet so similar...
It dove into him.
He let out a shriek of pain. A shriek, which got lost in the depths of his own soul.
Then, his eyes snapped open. In the Dementor-induced darkness, his eyes glowed a brilliant emerald green.
The Dementor seemed a little confused for some reason, and it slowly drifted back, gradually-as Harry felt the ever-enclosing darkness drift way-slowly... slowly. A smirk formed on his bloodied lips, his wand twirling in his fingers-with a sharp whip, he shoved it into the cloak of the Dementor in front of him- snarling as he yelled-
A huge shaft of silver light hurled out of his wand, as it formed a golden dome inside the Dementor's body. The Dementor seemed confused for a moment, and then it let out a shriek of pain- the golden dome suddenly sprung out two wide wings and four limbs- then the head formed out- tearing the Dementor into shreds as the thestral Patronus stood out in all its glory.
The other Dementors witnessed the obliteration of one of their own, and let out a shriek of pain themselves. It was a dazzling sight- the thestral glowing in the center with the Dementors crying out in agony surrounding it.
Hermione was right. These things have some kind of hive-mind or something.
The smirk played on his lips as he swished his wand into circular arcs, and then forwarded the wand with a powerful thrust. Eldritch energies manifested around the wand and formed a shade of deep glowing crimson- the cursed fire from the depths of Hell manifesting in front of the Dark Lake.
"FIENDFYRE!" Harry roared.
The eldritch energies transformed into the cursed fire and surged forward- the massive shaft of fire swirling all over- phoenixes, basilisks, chimeras and dragons all forming in and out of the massive flames and obliterating the Dementors—burning them left, right and center.
Now the rest of them shall come to the aid of the ones present here. Voldemort will have to do with less servants this time.
And indeed, it was. Hundreds of Dementors glided across the sky, shrieking in pain and anger as they circled all around him, trying to break in and suck his soul-but the blazing flames stopped them—the black cloaks of the beasts burning on contact with the cursed flames and then there was that damned silvery creature radiating like the sun—it was overwhelming.
The head of the Dementor herd seemed to give the order, and the remaining ones accepted it immediately. After all, vengeance while important, was not more important than survival. Moreover, right then—inside the deadly dance of the flames of Death- survival was a difficult thing to have. A resounding shriek- the Dementors glided away as swiftly as they could- the remaining ones anyway.
The flames died down and finally the ethereal creature stood in front of him in all its elegance- its power radiating in its very stance- what with the way it stood proudly—wings stretched to the maximum and prowling silently. The darkness receded allowing the moonlight to trace its way back into the realms of the forbidden forest.
One last thing remaining.
He whipped his wand towards the fallen body of his emaciated godfather and whispered something incoherent- it was some sort of spell as his godfather's body glowed with a purple sheen.
A single pop, a burst of light and a hyperactive and excited elf popped into existence in front of him. "Harry Potter sir calls for Dobby?"
This needs to be done quickly.
"Dobby. This is urgent. I need help. Do you want to bond with me and become a Potter elf?"
Dobby's eyes watered—it was a dream come true. It was true that he had wanted to become a free elf, but that was the half-truth- he wanted to be free of the Malfoys and then serve Harry Potter—the greatest wizard in the world. Now however, it seemed that Magic had deemed to fulfill his wish.
"Of course Harry Potter sir! Dobby wants to be your elf!" Dobby was about to jump and hug the legs of his soon-to-be-master when Harry spoke out—his voice lined with urgency.
"I take Dobby in as my House-elf!" he intoned, extending his hand towards the elf who beamed with delight and held his palm tightly. "Dobby agrees." The magic reacted, the oath took place and a sheen settles all around Dobby, marking him as a Potter elf.
"Can you feel the location of any of the Potter properties, Dobby?"
Dobby bobbed his head extravagantly. "Yes, Dobby does. Master."
Pointing towards the fallen body of his Godfather, he spoke. "This is my godfather—Sirius Black. I want you to take him to one of my family houses and bring him back to health. This is a direct order, and unless I say otherwise, Sirius Black does not leave the property, no matter what happens. Is that clear?"
Dobby looked at his new master with eager, adoring eyes. "Yes, master." With a leap, he held on to the fallen body of Sirius Black as the duo disappeared with a pop.
First step. Success.
Harry Potter looked at himself. It surprised him how very scrawny he was- then again, it was only after Voldemort was dead that Harry had come in face to face with his true magic- magic that was secluded away from him because of the horcrux- magic that had been forced away from him because one wily old man had feared that he would become dark and twisted. Then again, he was kind of, twisted in his own queer way—after all, Tom Riddle had been right all long.
There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both halfbloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike...
Harry laughed mirthlessly. It was ironic how the words of the sixteen-year-old wannabe-dark-lord's words were true, much truer than even the dark lord would have thought possible.
This time, you aren't getting to kill everyone Voldemort. Because this time, I am coming for you.
He looked down. The unconscious body of Hermione Granger lay in front of him. Harry pondered over the situation. How easy it would be to...
He shook his head. No, that would complicate things. Not at the given moment though. Later perhaps?
The sound of a loud clear howl of the werewolf was audible. Moony was close, and as happy as he was on wanting to meet him- meeting Moony in all his glory was not something he was looking forward to.
Only one way.
His features shifted, feathers grew all over his body and in less than three seconds, a golden eagle perched on the ground-the very same ground on which Harry Potter was standing a moment ago. The green eyes- still present in this form, looked oddly at the fallen body of the girl beside him- and felt an odd emotion.
Flapping its large wings, it captured the lithe body of the fallen Hermione Granger and soared up into the clear moonlit sky- its wings flapping as it glided across the Quidditch pitch, right beside the Astronomy tower- there on one end, he could see Snape struggling to get up, binding up Ron Weasley and levitating him—walking towards the grounds. He could see Minerva Mcgonagall darting out- her movement defying her age- then again, she was a frisky little tabby cat after all.
The eagle dropped the fallen body of Hermione Granger slowly in the center of the Quidditch pitch, making sure she was unhurt-and soared above into the heavens. He had to get himself into the Room of Requirement immediately-what with his senses warning him that his magic was about to send out a powerful backlash.
Just five more seconds- his core stirred violently- four seconds- he was nearly on the seventh floor, thank Merlin the window was open- three seconds- reached, now the three turns- two seconds-"Come now! Open!" he wanted to shout, but what came out was an angry screech- one- the door opened and he flew in, closing the door hard and fast as he transformed in a flash.
His core shook violently, giving him a feeling of Deja-vu.
Fuck it, do your worst.
#### AUTHORS' NOTE: Yeah I got another epiphany, which coupled with the lack of muse over my existing stories for the moment as well as my inability to get them beta'd... this new fanciful idea came into my mind and as always, I started writing it down. Hopefully this will garner as much 'following' as my other stories have done so far. And as always, your reviews work wonders for my muse.
Now, this story is going to be centered around fourth year. Now I assume you have many questions about the mention of the three different fights and all. All I can say is, they have their reason. Now this will be a monogamous story, though I haven't really decided the pairing as of yet at the moment. Your suggestions regarding the pairing are most welcome. It goes without saying that this is a time-travel story, and I really wanted to do one of those. Hence... please don't cringe in frustration when you find Harry demonstrating his magical prowess. There are many other factors that need to be taken into account, but hang on to the story till the reasons are revealed.
Also, thanks to Lady Edgecombe for her wonderful dedication in editing and beta-ing the chapter.