Chapter Text
Harry was so tired. Tired of years running, tired of years hiding, tired of watching his friends fight for him for years, and each one dying one by one.
First it was the war, the war that they had lost. No matter how much Harry tried to fight, Neville couldn’t kill Nagini, losing the sword of Gryffindor in a battle against Bellatrix Lestrange, and suffering the same fate as his parents by the same wand.
Then it was the Weasleys. Even if they weren’t in harm, not as much as Harry at least, they promised to not hand him over, even if Voldemort was on a head hunt for him, stopping at nothing until Harry Potter was dead.
George put himself out first, protecting Harry from the death eaters when they first attacked the burrow, throwing himself in front of a killing curse for Harry as they escaped, apparating away. It was too much for Charlie, who fled soon after back to Romania, escaping on a small muggle ferry out of Britain, needing to go anywhere but stay in the country. Soon enough Percy handed himself over, revealing the hideout in which Harry was staying, in turn for his own safety during the purges of Light Followers. Then Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were found as they had traveled from the new hideaway to scavenge for any form of food for the group. Fleur and Bill left one night, and never returned, the group not being able to find where they had gone, especially with apparating being strict, so who knows what happened to them in the cold dark woods.
Then it was only Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron, moving every two days, trying not to leave too much of a footprint in where they traveled, but even with as cautious as they were, they still were found.
One by one the group dwindled down until it was just Harry, like it had been in the beginning back when he still lived in the cupboard under the stairs in house no. 4 on Privet Drive. Harry was sure his relatives had been found, Voldemort likely trying to find out if they knew anything about his whereabouts, and he was sure they had been tortured, unlucky karma for the torture Harry was put through as a child.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could live like this. Running away like a coward, fearing every noise around him was the end to his sorry existence.
Harry was drained, and he was ready to be laid to rest, his mind and body frayed to their very last breath. He wasn’t sure where Voldemort was, wasn’t sure if the man knew where Harry was, and was simply enjoying this game of cat and mouse, but Harry knew that there was one place that Harry could go to that would turn him in without a second glance.
Malfoy Manor.
It was still as sprawling as ever, and as dark as ever as Harry walked up the drive. He was unsure if he’d be struck down before he even reached the house, the wards likely alerting someone of his entrance through them, but he knew this walk along the cobble stones was a death march, his death march.
Harry barely controlled the stumble in his legs up the steps and to the door, his hand twitching as he knocked on the door, being even so gracious to use the knocker handle.
What he didn’t expect to happen was to be greeted by Draco Malfoy of all people, the boy, now man, quickly pulled him inside, uncaring of the grim state Harry was in, a look of downright horror spreading on his face as he knew just why Harry was here.
To surrender.
“Potter,” Draco stated, his voice tight as he spoke, but only dead truth in it, no more games like back at Hogwarts. “I’m not sure what madness has taken over your brain, but you must snap out of it,” He spoke, his sharp, pale finger pointing into Harry’s chest, pressing against the slow and steady beat of Harry’s heart, unscared of what he would face soon.
“Malfoy,” Harry replied, meeting the others grey eyes with his own dark green ones, having lost the bright spark in them long ago, “I simply wish to meet my maker, finally after all these years,” He stated, the fight and drive lost behind his voice, only left with a hollow acceptance that today would be his end.
Draco shook his head, as if he could have never imagined this moment happening. This was Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the boy who was blinded by his drive of self-righteousness, more sure in his ability than anyone else, even when all the cards were stacked to fall against him. The Harry Potter he knew, before and during the war, would have never done something like the Harry Potter who now stood in his parlour, with simple acceptance that he lost.
“Call him, Draco,” Harry stated, waving for him to do just that, to press the tip of his wand to his Dark Mark, and not too long after would Harry be stood face to face with Voldemort, just like he had been not even 10 years ago.
“No, I can’t, no.” He muttered, shaking his head in disbelief, only to receive a chuckle from Harry, the sound of a man who wanted to get something over with, as if he wasn’t staring death straight in the eye. “Yes you can.”
But Draco stepped back, giving Harry another look, a hard stare. “You’re a bloody idiot, Potter, if you think I’m doing that.” He spoke, his brows furrowing together shaking his head, “Where is that bloody Gryffindor in you, Harry Potter? Huh? Where’d he go?” He barked, wanting a reason as to why Harry was doing this.
But Harry stared back, unashamed of the person he was rotting into, “He died alongside Ron and Hermione.” He spoke, his face blank as he spoke, as if he lived separate from such atrocities, as if he couldn’t bear to fully face them himself, even now, almost a full year since the brutal attack.
Draco shook his head once more, trying to think of something, anything, to get Harry to stop walking into this suicide he planned at the hands of the most crazed man, a man who wouldn’t let him die to a simple Avada Kedavra. “You’re not doing this.” Draco said, shaking his head, moving like a man on a mission, walking past Harry, confusing the other man.
“You can’t stop this Draco.” Harry stated, simply tailing the blonde. If he thought running would work like it had before for him, Harry would make him think twice. He wasn’t going to let Malfoy prevent him from reaching eternal peace, finally being able to face the ones he loved once again.
He followed Draco, even as he retreated up the steps and into his office, the eyes of the Malfoys ancestors trailing after the two, obviously intrigued by the appearance of a guest chasing the newest owner of the Manor. “It’s inevitable, so let it happen,” Harry stated, watching as Draco scavenged through the bookshelf.
Harry let out a grumble, forced to watch as Draco pulled book after book off the wall, pulling them out, switching them around, placating Harry’s time and patience. “Malfoy.” He stated gruffly, over the games the blonde was playing with him, placating his time.
Yet that placating revealed something intriguing. A hidden time turner, tucked behind the most unsuspecting bookshelf.
Now why would Draco Malfoy own one of those? The Ministry, or more so, Voldemort's political figure heads, had clearly instructed the destruction of any sort of time bending items, likely to prevent the meddling of Voldemort's success. Yet Draco owned one, someone who was in a family that well and truly followed Voldemort.
“This,” Draco said, holding out the time turner for Harry to see, “Is your key to get out,” He spoke, placing the item in Harry’s hand.
Unlike Hermione's time turner, this one was much more bulky. It was not as small as the golden one the girl had worn around her neck in their third year, no, it seemed like it was possibly one of the first ever made, likely accounting for why it was to be held in two hands.
“What? Is this some sort of heirloom peace offering?” Harry remarked as he looked from the time turner to Draco, the blonde glaring at him for such an idea. “No. This is your escape, and escape from whatever dreadful plan you had when you stepped foot in my home.”
“My plan was to die,” Harry stated, “Yes, and it’s idiotic,” Draco replied as he took hold of the device, trying to figure out just which knob would send Harry tumbling back in time. “I’m not sure how this works, but I’m sure any time is better than the time we live in as of now,” He spoke, being able to agree that their future as of now was grim, and not seeming to grow any brighter.
“So what? I’m supposed to use this,” Harry spoke, motioning to the device in his hands as Draco returned it to him, “And travel to a time that neither you or myself can figure out to set and control?”
“This is the one time I wish Granger was here,” Draco muttered as he could only sigh, giving a look, one that was drained, like Harry’s. “Maybe you’ll end up traveling back to a time with Godric Gryffindor, maybe you’ll be back in your childhood,” Draco stated, giving him a shrug “We both have no clue, but would you rather have a choice in living, or simply giving up to death, Harry Potter?”
Harry listened, reluctant to have to agree with Draco Malfoy. He didn’t exactly want to die, nobody did. Only those crazed enough, or lacking any will to live did. And even now, Harry was not in either camp, surprisingly enough. He still had life in him, even as little as it may be, but he had enough that he wanted to escape alive rather than be buried in the decaying grounds of Malfoy Manor.
“So what? I just crank these knobs, and press the red button?” Harry remarked, glancing down at the contraption in his hands, the gold hourglass encased in this machinery waiting to spin, and travel Harry back in time. “It seems to be so,” Draco replied, giving Harry a nod of his head, taking a step back from the other man.
“I wish you luck on this new adventure, Harry,” Draco stated, only being able to watch as Harry cranked the two handles, neither of them sure where Harry would be heading, but knowing it was out of this misery. “Who knows,” Harry remarked, “Maybe we’ll meet again?”
And soon enough Harry pressed the button, the machine starting up, the hourglass spinning and alongside it the world spun too.
Harry wasn’t sure when it stopped, but soon enough he gripped onto the desk, feeling the machine spark out, done from one use. The world was no longer spinning, but his body was thoroughly upset. “Merlin, that was worse than apparating.” He muttered, giving himself a moment's rest against the desk so as to not hurl instead.
Once he collected himself, becoming more adjusted than he had before, he was greeted by a relatively same looking office, albeit the portraits were different, along with some of the items displayed around the room. But it was good to know he was in a time where the Malfoy Manor was still standing and not in the process of being built.
So he wasn’t super far off from his time, great.
Harry walked softly across the room, his hand grasping onto the door handle, coaxing the door open and peaking his head out. Unlike the time from where he traveled from, the hallways were not as bleak and barren as they had been before. Instead people could actually be seen roaming, even if the numbers were small, likely strays from whatever was taking place in the Manor at this time.
And that startled Harry enough, as he quickly shut the door, trying not to draw attention to himself, who was out of place.
“Bloody hell,” He mumbled, raking a hand through his hair as he thought of what to do now. Honestly, in the back of his mind, a tiny voice had been saying that his whole conversation was simply a dream, a hallucination of sorts that his mind had played in hopes to prevent the raw honest truth from fully breaking him. Yet here he was, standing in a whole different place of time.
He tried to school himself back, trying to calm his nerves, once dead, now sparked alive, and peaked the door open a crack.
He took a glance at the small gaggle of people in his line of sight, taking in mostly how they dressed. It was obvious enough that they were purebloods, likely high society like the Malfoys, but they didn’t look as if they had stepped out of A Hogwarts History. In all actuality they looked not far off from Harry’s time, just a bit more conservative, likely only a few decades short of when Harry grew up.
Harry shut the door not too long after, not needing more information then he had already taken in. He could blend in at least, and from then on, he had to hope he didn’t run into anyone too polarizing that it would throw him off.
He glanced around, transfiguring a picture frame into a mirror, and then he got to work on transfiguring his own clothes. His sweat ridden, dirtied, and stained clothing turned into a simple set of traditional wizard robes, not a thread sewed out of line. Harry then used his wand to style his hair, trying his best to work it into some form of hold, using a freezing spell to work as some form of gel, knowing that his loose hair would make him stick out like a sore thumb from the look of the other men in the hallway. He coiled it into a sideswept look, but his hair always had a mind of its own, a single curl falling on his forehead, not wanting to fall into line with his other hairs.
He let out a sigh as he glanced in the mirror, thinking about covering his scar, but nothing would come from it being covered or not, deeming himself as good enough. The worst that could happen to him was dying, and he was more than ready to face such a creature if need be today.
Slowly, he stepped out of the office, careful to not draw attention to himself under a notice-me-not charm. He only lifted it when he was walking down the steps, into the larger crowd.
Harry’s suspicion was right when he glanced around, knowing this was definitely some form of Pureblood gathering. It was likely one of the many galas or parties they all seemed to like to attend and host. He easily passed by, not many people questioning his presence, the most he got was a sly eye landing on him, followed by either an evenly sly smirk, or their pair of eyes drifting away.
He made his way into the main hall, the glittering decor was almost like a refresher to life. The glitz and glam was so starkly different to the environment Harry had been living in since the end of the war, and the beginning of the purge of anyone remotely Light. It was a breath of fresh air, even if it was still Malfoy Manor.
Harry wandered, and landed himself up at the drink table. Waiters had been strolling about, carrying either refreshments or entrees, but Harry hadn’t been in a rush to simply grab something and drown his feelings with alcohol. He grabbed himself a glass of water, something that most people weren’t gravitating towards, as the waiter behind the table gave him a weird stare, but nothing more than that.
Harry let out a scoff, before taking a sip. Gods, he already felt at home, getting a weird stare, just like he had been at the beginning of his life. Weird stares were the most natural and at home reaction Harry could receive from anyone.
“Charlus, I didn’t expect to see you here,” A voice called, seeming to be speaking to Harry, but calling him Charlus? He glanced up, only to be met with the face of none other then Tom Riddle.
Harry felt his face drop at the appearance of this man. It was as if Lady Fate was taunting him alongside Death. Harry had escaped his present, or now the future, yet Lady Fate wouldn’t let him escape Voldemort or Tom Riddle even now.
Neither can live while the other survives.
Tom only tilted his head, obviously not liking the way Harry looked at him, or as he thought, Charlus, but Harry quickly recovered, letting out a somewhat strained chuckle, before his face turned into something more pleasant. “Well, I couldn’t miss a gala hosted by the Malfoys,” He stated, having to take on the role of his ancestor Charlus Potter.
Thank god for all the time he spent cooped up in Grimmaulds place, as this ancestor had been on the wall, married to one Dorea Black. At least he knew of his great uncle, meaning he was just before the time of his own father's birth, and way before his own birth as Harry Potter.
Tom hummed, “Most don’t appear after declining an invitation, the very same one for tonight, and still somehow get inside this Manor,” He remarked, a chuckle falling from his lips as he took a sip from his glass, seeming to be drinking water just like Harry. Probably for clarity of his own mind, Harry thought, knowing how manipulative one Tom Riddle could be, suspecting no less of the man he knew from Dumbledore's own memories during Tom’s days at Hogwarts.
“I suppose I’m lucky, aren’t I?” Harry replied, only to get a smile in return from Tom, likely agreeing in his own demented way. “I’m sure Abraxas would love to talk to you after you resisted the passing of his bill in Wizengamot,” Tom stated, seeming to speak lightly, but his eyes told a different story, more so one of annoyance due to Charlus’ actions that Harry had no sway over.
“I’ll be sure to speak with him then,” Harry replied, not planning on following through with his statement. He had no need to speak to Draco’s grandfather, not when he knew he was closely tied to this version of Voldemort. He planned to cut his conversation there with Tom, knowing enough information on what type of time he was in, but Tom seemed to not be keen on letting Harry slip away.
“You seem different today,” He stated, giving Harry a once over, obviously trying to push for something out of him. But Harry only curled a brow up in return, revealing no sort of nervousness on his features, “Whatever do you mean, Tom?” Harry returned, staring back at Tom, feeling the press of the man trying to use legilimency on him, but Harry easily kept him at bay enough for the man to pull away, barely giving Harry another glance before leaving the conversation without another word.
Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as he downed the rest of his glass of water, quickly switching it for an alcoholic option. Maybe time traveling had not been the move, maybe he should have thought a second longer before pressing that button and simply disappearing away from his original timeline. Disappearing from his dead friends and family like it was nothing, and now being stuck in their past, in a time where he would watch them begin to grow as he hit old age.
Now such a thought depressed Harry, so he pushed it from his brain, taking a sip of alcohol, letting it burn the back of his throat. He didn’t need to think much more on something he couldn’t change. The time turner was broken, and Harry didn’t even know how to use it if it did even work. There was no way to fix his mistakes, especially after being seen by Voldemort. This interaction could have changed anything if he did return to his present time.
So in theory, he was stuck, well and truly.
Harry hovered for the rest of the party, hugging to the wall like your average wallflower, unless people approached him, taking him for Charlus. Likely, Tom spread the word to Abarxas, and if the man was anything like his grandson, he grumbled about the appearance of Harry showing up unannounced, and from then on, the name Charlus Potter spread like wildfire.
He let out a sigh, after being captured and seized into another dance with one of Charlus’ wife, Dorea, friends, only escaping because the woman's husband wished to have her returned, and Harry was more than willing to hand over a drunk woman to her husband, rather than keeping her in his company. He slinked around the crowd once more, easily sidestepping people until he felt a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his path.
“Charlus, you seem to be having fun,” Tom remarked, chuckling at Harry’s misfortune as he met Tom’s eye. Since his last interaction with Tom, and all the mindless conversations and dancing he had done, Harry was able to think more on just the timeplace he was in.
From the look of it, Harry was somewhere before the true rise of Voldemort before the first wizarding war. Alongside that, Grindelwald was no threat, such conversation Harry had overheard of people's opinions on the matter. Tom at this point had killed his father, and his mothers side of the family, he had also killed Myrtle too. Harry wasn’t sure if he had killed anyone else beyond that, but from his age seeming to be unknown by appearance, but said to be in his 30s, it was likely that he hadn’t finished all his horcruxes yet, which was good and bad.
“Quite so, Tom,” Harry replied, giving the man a smile as he glanced over at his company. Harry could easily pick out Abraxas Malfoy, the blonde hair giving him away. He also recognised Orion Black, Sirius’ father, a man from the family tree in Grimmauld's place. Other than that, Harry wasn’t too sure who the other men were, but it didn’t matter. Soon enough, once this party ended, Harry would drop the cover of Charlus Potter, and simply live out as Harry, with a new not so known last name.
“It’s nice to see you've made an appearance tonight,” Abraxas remarked, giving him a haughty look, which Harry knew meant that he meant quite the opposite of what he stated. “My schedule seemed to change,” Harry stated, giving a shrug as he didn’t take any offense to what Abraxas said, “It seemed better to attend tonight's event rather than waste away at home.”
Abraxas hummed, giving a glance over at Orion, who met his look, glancing back over at Harry, taking his turn to speak, “I hope Dorea is well,” He remarked, as Harry was Harry, not Charlus, and therefore not Dorea’s husband, so obviously the woman would not be with Harry. He hummed, albeit now his senses were ticked by such a question, “She is well, I would have asked her to attend but you know how she is somedays.”
Orion agreed, giving a shrug of his shoulder, “I’m simply just surprised to know she let you attend with how your two lives have been,” He stated, seeming to be hinting at something.
In all honesty, it seemed like they were all hinting at something, especially after Tom tried to invade Harry’s mind. Was Charlus some pushover or something to Tom and his lackeys?
Obviously not if he had enough guts to oppose Abraxas’ bill. Or maybe that was his first time standing up against Tom’s group? Maybe his appearance tonight under Charlus as a pseudonym seemed to tick off the group, and now they were just picking fun at Harry. But it didn’t feel like simple backhanded banter.
“You know Charlus,” Tom stated, dragging Harry’s attention back onto him, “You seem more than just different today,” He remarked, as he locked eyes with Harry, not trying to force entry like he had during their last conversation, simply baiting Harry’s eyes to stay fixed onto him.
“However do you mean, Tom?” Harry stated, simply beckoning the man once more, just like how he had in the ending of their last conversation. “Well since our last conversation, I think I found out just why you seem off,” Tom stated, as his eyes sharpened, and Harry knew well enough that meant nothing good from a man like him.
Harry quirked his head to the side, as if his interest was peak, but his hand was already ready to snap his wand out from the holster on his forearm if need be, “Your hair,” Tom stated, as he reached a hand up, sweeping the stray curl of Harry’s hair off his forehead, and with Tom’s luck, it seemed to stick with the rest of his hair, “It seems even your brother’s hair products can’t contain your locks,” He remarked, gaining a chuckle from the company around them.
Harry hummed, a smile quirking on his lips, although it was more so to blend in with the rest of the group, rather than out of true feeling, “I didn’t have much time to tame it before tonight's event,” He answered, which wasn’t a lie, as his whole appearance had been made in under ten minutes.
“You should put more focus on it next time,” Tom simply stated, his eyes catching Harry’s before the subject pointed away from Harry, and onto a more conversational topic that all of the men could comment on, Harry somewhat included if he acted well enough under the guise of Charlus.