Chapter Text
PROLOGUE: YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS
*
The cool, dark water of the lake lapped at the shore, and Harry felt true peace for what seemed like the first time.
A familiar presence stood beside him and Harry looked up at the large, hooded figure.
"Is it meant to feel this way?" Harry asked, hugging himself tightly. "Killing someone? Shouldn't I feel…dirty?"
"You have done everything in your power to protect the ones you love, young master. I do not believe that would leave such a stain upon your soul," Death replied.
Harry nodded, crouching down to touch the surface of the lake. He watched as the water rippled at his finger, echoing across the water seemingly forever.
"Is it worth it then? Everything we did?"
Death passed a large, skeletal hand over Harry's hair, a warm comfort sinking into him at the contact. "That is for you to decide, Harry. Your life waits in front of you, ready for you to receive it."
Harry smiled. "You're never going to give me a clear answer, are you?"
"On that, young master, we can agree."
The ripples continued outward, and Harry watched as something else touched the water, adding its own ripples to his. They warped and changed as they made contact and Harry sighed.
Time…was a funny thing.
*
Traveling in time has consequences.
Deaths that had never happened, entire bloodlines erased, the very fabric of reality threatening to tear at the seams.
Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time.
And yet, Harry stood in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, his hand wrapped around a large golden instrument. It was near the size of his head, and inscribed on every overlapping band with more runes than he thought he had ever seen in his life. The weight of it strained his arm, and Harry knew it was more than physical, magic thrumming under his fingers.
A Time Turner.
An experimental form of magic that was never intended for what he was about to use it for. It was against the laws of time travel, of magic, of humanity, to go back to before one was born. To change the past, to make a new timeline. Against everything they stood for. Everything they’d fought for.
And yet.
*
The war had taken its toll.
The Wizarding population of Great Britain was demolished. Magical blood had nearly been wiped out across the entire continent, friends and family were murdered on the whims of a madman. A long line of funerals that Harry never wanted to experience again.
He didn’t want to experience them at all.
It was Ron who convinced him, pulled him from the ruins of Grimmauld Place, and dragged him to stand beside those who remained. Beside him and Hermione, and the remaining Weasleys. Beside Andromeda and Teddy. Beside everyone who survived, who lived to see the funerals of the ones they loved, to mourn all those they lost.
So Harry stood. He listened to their stories, the memories of laughter and joy, felt the magic fill the air as everyone mourned together.
And he couldn’t take it.
He wished he could…
No.
Despite it all, he would not. That wasn’t a route he would take, not after everything they’d lost. All they fought for. They had won.
But it did not feel like winning.
He wouldn’t do it. Despite all those they had lost. Despite the friends he had buried.
Despite the children who would never know their parents, those killed in their fight for what was right. The way he hadn’t known his.
He wouldn’t.
He…
*
The restricted section at Hogwarts was barred to students who did not have permission. Luckily for Harry, he was no longer a student. And with the castle in ruins, it was easier than it should have been to sneak his way into the Library. The hardest part was entering without being bombarded with questions by those helping rebuild, but Harry hadn’t Mastered Death for nothing.
He slipped the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, ducking his head into the hood and...something changed as the fabric shifted against his skin. Every time he’d put on the cloak in the seven years he'd had it, that was all it was. While it’s invisibility was near impenetrable, it had always been a cloak and the risk of his foot exposing as he walked had grown more and more as he aged.
It was only now, the first time he had put the cloak on after coming back from the dead, that he felt it was…different. Harry could feel the magic imbued in the fabric, and how it extended to him, coating him in it’s power.
Harry was sure even if he ran no one would even catch a glimpse.
He moved through Hogwarts like a spectre, even the ghosts unaware of his presence, and slipped into the Library unnoticed.
Harry searched, piling books into his arms that were even slightly relevant to his mission, and left without a backward glance. He hid away in an unused classroom, coating the walls in wards so no one would find him, and shed the cloak. It clung to his skin, as if it could not stand to be away.
Harry set it down. He stared at it for a moment, vaguely unsettled, and shook his head.
And he read.
*
The potions were the hardest part. Specific cook times and flame temperatures, making sure to stir in the correct direction and the right amount of times. He had never been very good at it, not with Snape breathing down his neck. Even with the man’s true intentions revealed, Harry could not shake the feeling. The Half-Blood Prince’s book not helpful in the least, containing no information the potions he needed to brew, giving Harry just another reason to curse the old potions master.
The small room he’d rented in the Leaky Cauldron the week before was thick with a light purple smoke that swirled and glimmered as it moved through the air. The instructions Harry read hadn’t mentioned this reaction at all, so either he had bungled it up or had done something so right even the creator of the potion had never gotten this reaction.
Harry covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve as the fumes began to burn his throat.
Okay, it probably wasn’t the latter.
He waved his wand, vanishing the smoke and wiping the strange, glittering condensation off his glasses. Peering down at the neon pink potion in the cauldron, Harry consulted the book again.
Blinking in surprise, Harry dipped the golden ladle in and let the potion slowly spill out, watching for the telltale leaps the falling potion was meant to make.
He huffed out a breath.
Maybe he was better at this than he thought.
*
A loud knock echoed through the small room, jerking Harry awake. He was on his feet, wand in hand, before he even registered what was happening, and let out a quiet sigh.
The war was over.
The knock sounded again, followed by heated bickering on the other side of the door.
That, Harry recognized.
He waved a quick disillusionment charm over his books and potions supplies before moving to open the door.
Hermione’s fist was raised to knock again when Harry pulled the door open and Ron shook his head behind her.
“Mate, what in Merlin’s name are you doing here?” He said, putting his hands on Hermione’s shoulders and shuffling them both into Harry’s room.
“Yes, do come in,” Harry deadpanned.
“Thank you, we will,” Ron replied. “And that doesn’t answer my question.”
“A better question is why you’ve been avoiding us ever since the funeral,” Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her stance was stern, but Harry knew her well enough to see the concern radiating off her.
“I didn’t mean to worry you, ‘Mione,” Harry said, closing the door and reapplying his wards. “I just…needed some time alone.”
She closed the distance and took his hand in hers. “Please talk to us, Harry. After everything we’ve been through, you must know we’re here for you.”
“Hermione’s right. Don’t shut yourself off again,” Ron said, plopping down on the edge of Harry’s bed. “You look exhausted, let us help.”
“Have you been having nightmares?” Hermione asked.
“You should come stay with us,” Ron said.
“Guys-”
“I can make you some Dreamless Sleep, I think I found an improved recipe-”
“We have plenty of room, and it’ll get Mum off our backs, since she keeps asking after you and we haven’t got a thing to tell her-”
“GUYS!” Harry yelled. “I’m fine. I don’t need…an intervention, or whatever this is. I’m not fifteen anymore, I can handle it.”
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and Harry felt his heart clench. They weren’t going to let it go. As if there had been any real hope of that in the first place. If they were anything, it was tenacious.
“Handle what, exactly?” Hermione asked, tightening her grip on his hand. “And why does it smell like you’ve been brewing potions in here?”
Harry ran his free hand through his hair, searching for a lie and flinched when Hermione’s nails dug into his skin as she clenched her hand.
“Do not even think of lying to me, Harry James Potter,” She warned. “I’ll know. What have you been brewing?”
“Nothing,” Harry protested, and paled when Ron stood and drew his wand. “Wait, please-”
The wordless finite revealed his stolen library books, the cauldron he hadn’t a chance to wash out, and the vials of fresh potion. Ron stepped over and picked up one of the books.
“You’re researching time travel?” Ron said, looking up at him. “Why?”
Harry forced an easy shrug, avoiding direct eye contact. “Curiosity, nothing more.”
Hermione uncorked the potions and gave them a quick sniff. “Why are you brewing Girding Potion?”
“Why do you know what that smells like?” Ron asked.
“Shut up, Ronald,” Hermione stared at Harry. “What are you planning, Harry?”
He dropped his eyes. “It’s nothing.”
“This doesn’t look like nothing,” Hermione said. “Time travel? Girding potion? Harry, whatever you’re planning, it’s too dangerous.”
“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Harry muttered, moving to sit on his bed. “You can’t stop me, Hermione. I’ve made up my mind.”
“Take us with you.”
Hermione and Harry both looked at Ron, their eyes wide.
“What?” Harry asked.
“Whenever you’re planning on going, take us with you,” Ron said, pulling a piece of paper out of one of the books and squinting at it. “What’s in the seventies?”
“The seventies?” Hermione gasped, snatching the paper from Ron and scanning it quickly. “Harry-”
“You can’t,” Harry said, standing and trying to take the paper from her, but Hermione held on. “You have lives here, you have each other, I’m not going to ruin all of that. This is my thing, I can do it alone.”
“Harry, time travel that far, its purely experimental!” Hermione said, her voice high and panicked. “There is no telling what would happen to you, if you would even survive, or if you could make it back!”
“Its all experimental, Hermione, yet they gave a Time Turner to a third year for her studies, so I think I’ll be okay. Besides, that’s what the potions for,” Harry said. “Now will you let go?”
“Harry-”
“You’re not coming back, are you?”
Ron’s quiet voice pierced his heart, and Harry slowly turned to look at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he walked into the room.
“The time turner only goes back. They haven’t figured out forward yet,” Harry replied, his voice soft. “The only way back is through the linear progression of time. All of the research supports it.”
Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide. “I don’t understand.”
“He’s leaving us,” Ron said, and Harry flinched at the heat in his voice. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? After everything we’ve gone through, and you were just going to disappear and we would never know what happened to you?”
Ron strode closer, his eyes bright and angry. He fisted the front of Harry’s shirt and shook him a little. “Do you have any idea what that would do to me? To Hermione? To lose you?”
“It’s my choice,” Harry said, his own anger building in his chest, and he gripped Ron’s wrist, trying to pull his arm away. “You’d be fine. You have each other, your families. What do I have left, Ron? This war took everything from me.”
“Not everything. You have us.”
“Do I?” Harry asked, voice near hysterical. “Or do you have each other, and I’m just here, alone?”
“No.”
Hermione voice tore their gazes toward the sound, and both men froze when they saw the tears streaming down her face.
Ron dropped his hands and went to her, wrapping his arms around her. Harry stood where Ron left him, watching as they wrapped around each other, and felt his heart burn in his chest.
Hermione’s eyes never left his, even as Ron wiped her tears away with his thumb.
“You have us, Harry,” She whispered. “It’s always been the three of us.”
She moved around Ron, and took his hand again, holding his gaze. “We want to help you, Harry. Where you go, we go. That is the way it has always been and I cannot see it changing anytime soon.”
”Hermione-”
“I don’t care if you think you’re alone. You can think it all you want, but we will never let it be true,” Hermione said, her eyes intense.
Together they stood, forming a little triangle as Harry stared between his two best friends. They’d been through everything together, but it always wound up just him at the end. No matter how hard they tried.
But more than anything, more than he wanted his plan to succeed, more than he wanted everyone they lost back, Harry didn’t want to lose Ron and Hermione.
Dropping his eyes to the floor, Harry whispered one damning word.
“Okay.”
*
And so they stood, deep beneath the Ministry of Magic, in the Time Room of the Department of Mysteries. The three of them, surrounded by ticking clocks and strange magics.
Harry had his Invisibility Cloak tucked into his robes, and Hermione had her magically extended beaded bag that they’d used while on the run tied to her belt.
Ron held the largest time turner any of them had ever seen in his hands apprehensively, and looked up at Harry.
“You sure you don’t want to snag the Elder Wand and Resurrection Stone? Hallows could be useful in this, yeah?” He asked.
Harry shook his head and shuffled closer. “I get the feeling that having two of the most powerful wand in the world in the same place would not end well. Especially with Voldemort still being alive. Its already a risk bringing the Invisibility Cloak, but we need it.”
“And besides,” Hermione said, handing each of them a small vial of potion, “the Wand and the Stone are incredible, magically powerful objects. There is a chance having two of them in the same timeline would fracture reality before we even had a chance to do anything.”
Ron frowned. “And the Cloak?”
“I think the Cloak is a much more passive magic, but really it is all guesswork,” Hermione said. “Either way, we will need the Cloak as soon as we arrive, so we have to take it. Its impenetrable.”
“Especially ever since I joined the Hallows, the Cloak has been…different,” Harry muttered, fiddling with the potion in his hand.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, curiosity shining in her eyes.
“Do you think we could maybe talk about this later, when we’re not standing in the middle of the Ministry that we’ve broken into?” Ron interrupted. “I know I started it, but we are on a bit of a time limit.”
Harry glanced at the time turner and decided against making a time joke. He took a deep breath and said, “Are you two sure about this? This is the last chance you have.”
Ron grinned at him, nudging him with his elbow. “Can’t get rid of us that easily, Potter.”
“We’re with you, Harry,” Hermione said. Determination shone in both their eyes, and Harry had never felt more grateful to have met them eight years before.
He held out the Girding Potion and uncorked it with his thumb. “Ready?”
Ron and Hermione clinked their potions against his, and Ron said, “Bottoms up.”
Tipping the potion down their throats, the change was immediate. Harry could feel strength infusing his muscles and a strange clarity coming over his mind. Merlin, no wonder Girding Potion was a banned substance in Quidditch.
“Wow,” Ron muttered, looking down at his arms as he held the Time Turner more steady. “I feel…weird.”
“Are you sure we even had to take this?” Hermione asked, eyeing the vial in her hand.
“All the books I read, that you also read Hermione, say that it helps with the effects of moving through time. Makes you less disoriented or something,” Harry said.
“Sounds made up.”
“All magical theory sounds made up,” Hermione said. “But we should get going before the potion loses effect.”
“Leave your wand,” Harry said, gently setting his down on a desk nearby. “We’ll have to get new ones.”
“You’re not serious?” Ron said, his eyes wide.
“We discussed this, Ron. We’re less of a threat if we don’t have wands,” Hermione responded, setting her’s next to Harry’s.
“This is insane,” Ron whispered, putting his down. “What if Ollivander hasn’t made our wands yet?”
Harry swallowed. “We’re changing the timeline. We don’t know anything that is going to happen,” He gave Hermione and Ron a grim smile. “What’s one more unknown?”
“Right,” Ron muttered. “And we can’t just put them in Hermione’s bag so they can’t tell that we have them?”
Hermione and Harry looked at each other, and Harry sheepishly picked his wand back up. “Yeah. Yeah we could do that.”
They all slipped their wands into Hermione’s beaded bag and she cinched it shut, stuffing it down into her sock.
“Now are we ready?” Ron asked, grinning smugly.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ronald.”
Ron held the time turner, and Harry and Hermione each held onto a side, forming another triangle. They met each other's eyes with a resolve Harry recalled from the final days of the war. They were three people who would do anything to protect those they loved.
“Two and a half turns, Ron,” Harry whispered, staring at the runes carved into the golden metal. The hourglass in the center was made of thick glass, the sand inside glowing blue. He could feel it humming with magical energy, and felt a thrill go through his heart.
They were doing this.
Ron blew out a breath and gently turned the rings, leaping back decades instead of hours. The world blurred around them, and Harry closed his eyes against the rush of images. His skin buzzed with magic.
And then, everything was quiet.
Harry opened his eyes.
They were still in the time room, and if Harry didn’t know any better, he would think it hadn’t worked.
But when the intruder alarm began to blare, Harry knew.
“We’re in nineteen-fucking-seventy-five?” Ron whispered, holding the time turner uncertainly. “For real?”
Hermione shrugged. “As far as I know.”
“We should go,” Harry said, pulling the Cloak out from his robes as footsteps sounded in the hall adjacent. “Come on, get under.”
Ron and Hermione ducked under the Cloak, and Harry had just dropped the fabric to drape against the floor when the door burst open.
And the face of someone he’d never met but had seen plenty of times in the Mirror of Erised back in his first year at Hogwarts walked into the room, followed by a handful of Aurors. Harry’s heart began to pound against his ribs.
Shit.