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Summary
Harry leaned his head back against the worn leather of his armchair, watching a stray speck of dust drift through a shaft of warm, dim light. His mind, always hyper-active these days, systematically dismantled his current situation.
He parsed the variables carefully. In this timeline, the names were different, the faces subtler, but the underlying threat remained entirely identical. Malfoy had been circling his perimeter for days. They wanted his specific skill set, assuming an archivist or an independent researcher with an unnatural knack for finding hidden truths would make the perfect subservient tool. They didn't realize he wasn't built for a desk. He was entirely unsuitable for the Ministry's neat little boxes.
A sudden, sharp thud against his front door broke his train of thought, followed instantly by the scraping sound of a heavy cloak brushing against stone.Or, the one where Death after seeing all the tragic things Harry went through sends him into a different time line where he could experience peaceful life.. or so we thought.