Entry Three
Prompt: Time Travel
Note: This is an ongoing work, please treat it as such and not a complete story.

Prologue
The pain hit like a blade into the now faded remnants of his scar.

It was instantly familiar, and with it came that uncomfortable feeling of another.It had been decades. This shouldn’t be possible.

The pressure and the pain kept building. It had never been this bad.

Staggering up from his chair, the desk in front of Harry Potter blurred and blackness began to engulf the edges of his vision. He could still make out the framed photos on his desk, but couldn’t focus on their contents, the pictures of his wife and children.

Groaning as the pounding in his skull intensified yet again, he lurched to his left and half leaned and half fell against the wood panelled wall.

Habit kicked in. His right hand touched the hilt of his wand and twisted in a practiced motion, activating his emergency beacon.

What little remained of his vision pulsed, and he tried to take a step forward to steady himself but couldn’t move his leg. He felt more than heard the cracks of apparition nearby, as the soft and scratchy pressure of the well-appointed carpet against the right side of his face made him realise, he’d fallen.

Faint voices were around him now, as were footsteps. He felt sensations of touch against his arms, his neck, and cheek. After a moment, they rolled him over as the last of his vision fled. The final words he heard were an exclamation “…his scar!”

And then blackness.

*****

Gentle golden light enveloped him as he came to. The light was bright, but oddly soothing. Phoenix song echoed faintly.

His right arm was outstretched, familiar wand in hand. A vivid golden thread extended from it, and he traced it, eyes beginning to focus, as it met another just like it. That thread led back to another wand. Thirteen and a half inches long, made of yew, with a core of phoenix feather.

A brother wand.

Ice crawled down the back of his spine, and with some effort, Harry’s eyes made out what he knew they’d see. For the first time in more than half a century, Lord Voldemort stood before him.

Or, rather, floated. And appeared to be going through some kind of convulsion.

His vision finally snapped back into focus, and the rest of the scene around him crystalised. He was standing – rather floating – in the middle of a graveyard – the graveyard – while surrounded by black cloaked and hooded figures. Thirty in total. He knew that from memory, rather than counting.

The memory was sharp as broken glass, and nothing about the scene had changed. They were situated at the top of a hill, weathered headstones – some cracked or tilted – interspersed among the attendees on all sides. The night was black with an oppressive atmosphere and carried the lingering sense of dread just as he remembered.

Though the Death Eaters were masked, the silvery long hair that was Malfoy’s was hard


to mistake. His eyes alighted on Pettigrew, off to the side, silver hand gleaming. Memories of what this man had cost him remained fresh despite everything since.

He picked out a crumpled form in the grass in his peripheral vision. The body lay beside a headstone down a slope and a bit further away from everyone else, and he felt a pang of sadness. Cedric.

Feeling like he was coming out of something of a trance, adrenaline began coursing through his system.

Pettigrew was staring wide-eyed and unblinking at them both. Sensing an opportunity, Harry instinctively took advantage.

Lacking any of the restraint he might have had in a different place and time, he made eye contact and reached out, touching upon what Pettigrew had just seen. He caught a glimpse of both himself and Voldemort, firing those two spells – red and green. Their collision and then the connection. Priori incantatum. Both combatants were then suddenly encased by golden light stemming from that connection.

The detail was blurry, unlike a pensieve memory, but everything seemed as he’d remembered it, until suddenly, Voldemort seemed to convulse. After a slight delay he also began to convulse. Then, moments later, he seemed to regain alertness, and with a start he realised that was now seeing himself.

Merlin, he looked so small.

There was something dark starting to cover the left side of his face, and with a start he realised it was blood. Only now, after witnessing that, did he feel the drying crusting remains of it on himself.

He let the connection to Pettigrew’s mind go, satisfied. Whatever had just happened to him, had happened to both of them. And he had not been first, though he had been the first to recover. Thankfully.

He let his attention return to the scene in front of him only to reel with shock as he came face to face with the spirits of his mother and father. How had he forgotten this part?! He now noticed the other echoes that had and were still coming out of Voldemort’s wand, but his attention was riveted on the two whose attention was riveted on him.

“Harry,” said his father meeting his eyes with an intensity he was not expecting from an incorporeal being “we’ve not much time. Just know that we have faith in you. You’ve done this once and you can do it again.”

“We are so proud of the man you became,” his mother spoke now, meeting his eyes with the same intensity, but softer “and it’s so unfair that you’ve now been thrown into it all again. But we love you, and we know you’ll succeed.”

He almost thought he could feel her touch on his arm and blinked back an unexpected sting at the back of his eyes.

“Just know that it will be different this time around,” James added, “but so are you. Trust yourself, and what you’ve learned. If anyone could manage this, it’s you!”

“Times almost up,” Lily said, her eyes and smile saying more than the limited time she had for words “get ready, we’ll distract him again.”

Harry nodded, feeling completely out of his depth. He wanted to reply, to say something, anything, but no words came. This was not an eventuality he had imagined for so long now.

With his throat dry and voice scratchy, he managed “Thank you. I…” He broke off, frustrated, and shook his head, “I miss you.”

And immediately regretted it. What a stupid thing to say, he’d never met them, how could he miss them? But… they were looking at him with smiles, he could see that they had understood his intent. And was glad. He smiled back. His mother’s voice, though, was urgent. “Be ready, time’s up!”

He nodded and, drinking in their ethereal forms for one last moment, he tore his gaze away as they began to turn.

His attention returned to Voldemort, and he saw that the convulsions had finally ended. His clenched muscles relaxing as control returned to his body. He floated in the air, now unnaturally still. His bowed head slowly began to rise, eyes still closed, until when directly facing Harry, they snapped open, red eyes gleaming. Lord Voldemort stared right at Harry with a triumphant grin beginning to form on his face.

Harry didn’t need legilimency to realise with a single glance that the Lord Voldemort he faced right now, was not the same Lord Voldemort he faced all that time ago. Just as he was not the same Harry Potter that had faced Voldemort all those years ago. Harry stared back at The Dark Lord, curious and searching, meeting his eyes without a flinch.

There was a slight moment of faltering in Voldemort, as he also did not see what he had been expecting, and his grin was suddenly tarnished with a touch of uncertainty.

Right, that was it. This was the best opportunity he was going to get. The spirits of his mother and father seemed to have the same instincts as this was the moment they flashed into existence in front of their slayer.

With the same motion that broke the connection between their wands, he cast a spell. This time he thrust his wand straight up into the sky and manifested his intent.

It was a spell that found its true power in moments of genuinely deep shock and uncertainty. The spell was known for its use as a diversionary response to coming under unexpected attack, though it’s relatively complex casting meant it had never become widely known.

Devastating in the right hands, though.

He paused like that for a moment that seemed to stretch, his right hand grasping his wand pointed straight up into the sky. And then blinding light bloomed, illuminating everything like day, and then grew in intensity. A bolt of lightning crashed into the shield that Lord Voldemort hastily raised. Not a moment later a clap of thunder loud enough to be felt in his bones boomed.

Knowing what had been coming, Harry had protected his eyes and ears and was already beginning to gently lower himself to the ground. He landed and turned towards Cedric and the cup. He felt a momentary pang of disquiet as he saw the Death Eaters in front of him had their hands shielding their eyes, wands clutched uselessly. At the same moment, the bolt that had struck Voldemort’s shield followed his intent and chained straight into them, clearing his way. Not one had even tried to cast shield.

As he looked for both Cedric and the Cup, he saw one of the shapes in the crowd shift into something much smaller in the periphery of his vision. He couldn’t help the predatory grin that came over his face. Perfect.

His next spells were much the same as what he’d done all those years ago, with one additional red coloured one. Three summoning charms whipped out in quick succession, the first brought Cedric to him, and the last the cup.

He turned to glance behind him as the last spell left his wand, one arm outstretched waiting for the cup to fly into it. The second his eyes alighted on Voldemort though, his blood ran cold, and he felt a chill run down his spine. The cup flew into his hand, and he closed his fingers around the handle. He felt the squeeze of the portkey beginning to activate, but it was like the hole the portkey was trying to squeeze him through was too small, and he went nowhere.

So, there he stood in the middle of the graveyard on top of the hill, one hand clutching the non-functional portkey, the other his wand which was extended in front him. Before him floated Lord Voldemort, whose wand was held up in a casting position where he maintained the spell which blocked his portkey. The Dark Lord’s face was expressionless looking down upon him, but his eyes held a sense of hunger, of eagerness, to them.

That was not a simple spell to cast on a dime.

Surrounding Voldemort, and now beginning to close ranks around him, were the remaining Death Eaters.

Dropping his arms to his side, Harry tilted his head slightly as he considered the scene in front of him. None had moved aggressively, and the Death Eaters were now beginning to look to Voldemort for instruction. It gave him time to think.

The situation was not as bad as it appeared at first glance. The hex Voldemort cast to block the portkey only worked if he maintained it, and it was not possible to do much else while maintaining it. He wasn’t facing Voldemort now, just 30 Death Eaters. No, he snorted under his breath, make that 26 Death Eaters.

One lesson he’d had to learn the hard way – more than once at that – was that if you were going to use anti portkey or anti apparition hexes to stop your quarry from fleeing… then you had better be sure that your partners were capable of taking the trapped foe on.

“Restrain the boy and bring him to me. Dead or alive, I don’t care.” Voldemort’s voice was flat, calm.

Alright then, here we go.

Harry couldn’t help the thrill that flowed through his body as he began to act. A grin spread across his face as he looked up at Voldemort. He took an eager step forward, making sure to hook his trailing foot into the lifeless leg of Cedric.

Before any of the Death Eaters could react, he raised his wand perpendicular and facing to the side away from any of the Death Eater’s and spoke the first incantation he had since his arrival.

“Confringo.”

His enunciation was precise, and the wand movements perfect. What was close to the platonic ideal of a blasting curse left his wand, speeding into the night. The second part, which modified the spell by changing its trajectory, remained non-verbal. Few of the Death Eater’s bothered to track the spell once they saw it wasn’t aimed at them. Voldemort’s eyes, however, did not leave it.

The Death Eaters were beginning to cast spells at him now, but it was almost laughable how un-coordinated they were. No one had fought seriously since the war ended, and it showed.

He was almost casual in how he deflected the first few spells cast at him, as his blasting curse reached the peak of its arc and started to descend.

Suddenly Voldemort’s hissing voice called out “You fools! Look up! Shield!”

The next set of events occurred with a rapidity that left little time for thought. Leaning to the side Harry let the next spell, a particularly nasty looking purple hued curse, fly past his left ear and then adjusted again to ensure the next spell would similarly miss. Using this opportunity, he cast a sequence of spells which required precision.

The blasting curse came barrelling down from the heavens and slammed directly into the large sphere of granite that Harry conjured in its path above the Death Eaters and Voldemort. The funnel-like shield he added channelled the resulting shrapnel directly at his targets. He felt the grin on his face widen as he stared directly up at Voldemort, watching as the shrapnel crashed into a shield barely covering the whole group. That shield has been cast by… Voldemort.

Voldemort’s eyes had been locked on his since he called out his warning and was staring back at Harry with now undisguised frustration.

He felt satisfaction flow through him. There was nothing like the feeling of coming out on top in a fight to the death. It had been too long.

With the spell blocking it disrupted; he felt the portkey activate and squeeze him out of existence.

Chapter 1
The walk to Dumbledore’s office from Moody’s chambers did not take long. While it passed in silence, it was not without communication. Ever since Harry had returned to Hogwarts from the graveyard, he hadn’t really asserted himself around others. Moody had corralled him after he returned, and he’d stunned the man in private. And just thinking about attempting a patronus against the dementor Fudge brought had quite literally sent him to his knees. It wasn’t something he’d consciously decided, rather it was something that happened.

No longer.

Now he strode confidently beside Dumbledore, matching his pace, rather than trailing behind as he otherwise might have. He walked with the gait of someone who knew how to fight, though kept his body language accommodating. He did not act the little boy showing deference to the one considered the greatest wizard in the world. Instead, he walked beside the man as if he were an equal. And as if he knew exactly where he was going.

Thankfully he’d found something of a second wind in time for what was a crucial conversation.

There was a balance to be struck here, and he had to be careful. He meant to demonstrate, to confirm to someone with the eyes to see, that he was not what he appeared to be. But at the same time, he did not want to be mistaken for posing an immediate threat.

Thankfully, Dumbledore had always been perceptive and one to wait and consider before acting rashly. Perhaps too much so, but it suited him here.

They came to the gargoyle that marked the entrance to the headmaster’s office, and he stepped to the side and bowed slightly as he waited for Dumbledore to speak the password.

After doing so, the wizard turned to Harry and repeated the same bow. Despite no words being spoken, the meaning was clear.

He let the amusement he felt touch his face with a smile as he deliberately turned his back to the wizard and stepped willingly onto the spiral staircase.

This was a passage he knew well, including the wards that observed all who passed through. Despite the dim lighting he took the stairs with a practiced ease. Reaching the top, he did not hesitate but grasped the handle opening the door and stepped into the old man’s office.

It was at this moment his affected poise slipped for a moment, and he reverted back into the boy enchanted by the wonder surrounding him. The headmaster’s office was as he’d remembered back when he was first at Hogwarts, far different from when he’d last seen it. Odd and rather eccentric magical items decorated the shelves.

A silver fork like object stuck up out of a crystal and was surrounded by balls of light which slowly rotated around the tines. What looked to be metallic rods rose out of a block of wood and twisted around each other before returning back into the wood. Except the metal seemed to be flowing somehow.

On a table to the left sat Dumbledore’s pensieve, silvery liquid ever flowing within. That would be useful later.

His glance shifted as he moved forward. The sorting hat had its usual place on a shelf on the wall behind the desk, and the silver ladder used to access the books higher up was resting beside it. Portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses covered the wall to the right, and the occupants looked curiously back at him.

And then he couldn’t hold back a delighted smile as he noticed the occupant on the perch behind his desk and to the right.

“Fawkes!” He exclaimed without meaning to, as he continued further into the room. Falling into old habits he took the route he’d always taken to his old chair, before realising it wasn’t his chair right now. The route had, however, led him straight to Fawkes.

Stopping in front of the perch, he looked curiously at the phoenix, who was not yet paying attention. He said nothing, but wondered how his old friend would react to him. He wasn’t the same person, but the bird had always been a good judge of character. The phoenix’s attention slid lazily over him before focusing more intently. A small uncertain crooning sound emerged, which, as far as he could tell, didn’t indicate a strong feeling either way.

He raised his hand holding it gently out to the bird, allowing it to choose what came next. Fawkes’s neck extended in greeting and rubbed against his hand, and he in return scratched the back of the neck in just the way he knew Fawkes liked. This elicited a more approving croon and more pressure, and the phoenix pushed its head into his scritches.

After some moments of this, he stepped back in satisfaction, despite a somewhat outraged look from the bird.

“Yes yes, I know. There’ll be more time for that later,” he murmured.

Turning around, he looked back to Dumbledore who had followed him into the office and was watching curiously. The old man’s face betrayed a slight smile, and his eyes twinkled.

Good, he hadn’t raised his suspicions too much it seemed. Even still… better to be careful.

He met the man’s eyes and then slowly and very deliberately drew his wand but immediately slipped his grip from the hilt to the middle of its length. A way of holding it that did not allow for ease of casting. Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose once again, and Harry maintained eye contact as he walked over to the old man’s desk and placed his wand upon it. Breaking the eye contact he then took a seat in the chair across from the desk and waited for Dumbledore to take his own.

As he did so, the old man finally broke the silence. “Well, Harry, I must say, it’s rare that a student has ever managed to say quite as much as you just have without uttering a single word. I commend you and must admit to being extremely curious as to where this conversation will go next.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a small wave of relief and appreciation at Dumbledore’s words. It was one thing to communicate subtly, and another thing entirely to be heard by someone who understood what you were trying to say. To be seen and understood by another was a gift, especially in such a trying circumstance.

He nodded at the wizard sitting across from him “Indeed.”

He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, “What I said before, that bit down below with Moody was all true enough, but there’s more going on. And, I have no certainties about what it is, just suspicions.” He sighed.

He was glad this man was available to place trust in, and it had partly already been re-earned. There was no other like him. Figuring all this out alone would be a nightmare. Besides, his instincts were telling him that he needed to have this conversation now, before he retired for the evening.

No time to waste, so he dove in at the deep end.

“Something happened after the ritual Voldemort used to resurrect himself. We duelled, as I said, and the priori incantatum affect took hold. Brother wands as you know” – he gestured towards Fawkes, looked specifically at his own wand on the table between them, and then spread his palms wide in a shrugging gesture to indicate Voldemort’s wand.

“During that connection, something happened which changed the both of us. I have no idea what it is, I’ve never heard of anything like this before. It was like… something pulled me, a much older and more knowledgeable version of myself, into the body of the Harry Potter who began that duel.”

As he spoke, Dumbledore’s attention shifted from curious to piercing, as he if was weighing the truth of each word as it was spoken.

“But,” and Harry leaned forward intently now, eyes locked on Dumbledore’s, “here’s the thing. I had nothing to do with what happened. When I came to in that graveyard, Voldemort looked like was convulsing in front of me while floating in the air. And just before I broke the connection and left, I saw him come to himself.”

“And Albus, I swear that he was not the Voldemort I faced all those years ago.”

There was a longer pause as he leaned back into his chair, then continued in a calmer tone.

“I am Harry Potter. But I am not the Harry Potter who walked into that maze this morning. Neither am I the Harry Potter who touched that cup. But neither am I the Harry Potter who I was yesterday.”

He smiled wryly at the nonsensical statement this would be in any other circumstance and then gesticulated at this scar.

“This damned scar, the connection it represents between us. I felt it here first, before I ended up in that graveyard. I think he did this, he performed some sort of ritual which brought him back here, and him doing so somehow pulled me back with him. No idea if it was intentional or not, but I doubt it.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Something to do with that Merlin-cursed prophecy – …and neither can live while the other survives…” the last part came out in a mutter.

Dumbledore had been quietly attentive the whole way through letting Harry speak without challenge or reaction. But at the mention of the prophecy, and his recital of that particular part… that garnered a reaction. Subtle, but it was there.

Now, Dumbledore looked as if he had something to say. Harry sighed and added one last thing before holding his peace.

“Of course, none of that makes any fucking sense, because I killed Voldemort in my 7th year. So where did this guy come from? But it’s the best I got.” He shrugged and motioned as if to pass the floor.

Dumbledore took his time to think, letting the silence stretch long, and when he spoke, his words were chosen carefully.

“Well Harry, my boy. And I will call you my boy, as that is what I see sitting in front of me. That is a most remarkable tale.” He paused for a moment and shook his head. “A most remarkable tale indeed.”

“This would normally be the point where I express some form of incredulity and ask for proof or reason to believe to believe your claims… but you spent the whole way here making that case. And… well, you’ve been quite convincing. Aside from everything else, to my knowledge no one else knew that line from the prophecy you just quoted to me.”

At this, Harry smiled and somewhat wistfully remarked “I had it from your lips.”

“I am also quite convinced that you are Harry Potter, whichever Harry Potter that may be. It’s clear that something’s changed, that cannot be denied. At the same time, you are… very much who you should be. There is no deception as to your identity, of that I am certain. The connection you have to Voldemort – yes I can see it – is clearly a lot more active, but it’s not dominant. I am confident of all this.”

There was a quiet conviction to Dumbledore’s words here which made the hairs of the back of Harry’s neck stand up. There had been a test in here somewhere, but it was a test he’d passed it appeared.

“No,” and the old man’s voice was more matter of fact and direct now “instead I would ask to see.” He gestured towards his pensieve, making his meaning clear “For what you describe is most concerning indeed. Voldemort being back is bad enough in and of itself, but this…” He trailed off for a moment, attention elsewhere, and then came back to himself with a shake of his head. “To hear words spoken is one thing, to see what the other saw is another. Words miss much that eyes catch.”

He fixed his eyes on Harry with a note of concern “Though I am unsure as to how your circumstances would affect the process…” His raised eyebrow made the implied question clear.

Harry grimaced, wincing at the thought. He took a moment to carefully consider his reply and then slowly said “I agree that there would be a benefit to seeing what just occurred, but I’m not sure me trying is a good idea.” To be frank, the idea made him feel like throwing up. He’d made it thus far without doing so and would like to continue that.

Then, suddenly remembering, he grinned wolfishly and his manner changed to a more eager cadence. “That being said, I do happen to know the perfect candidate to provide such a memory. More than that, I’ve brought him with me.”

At this, Dumbledore seemed to relax somewhat, which confused Harry until he spoke. “Ah, that then would explain the presence of the Animagus in your breast pocket. Given the size… tell me, is it Pettigrew?”

At this, Harry felt something of a chill run down his spine. Of course, those wards would have picked up Wormtail. That… had to have looked quite suspicious in retrospect. Stupid thing to forget, could have led to some very unfortunate misunderstandings. Thankfully, it was resolved before he even realised it could have been a problem.

“Indeed.” As he said this, he reached into his robes and withdrew the still limp form of Pettigrew by the tail “In fact, he organised the whole party, I can’t think of a better person to give us the rendition of what happened.”

His voice then turned grim and flat “He was also the one who cast the Killing Curse at Cedric.”

*****

Now, there was an air of getting down to business. Another participant was about to take part in the conversation, and an unwilling one at that. Pettigrew had useful information, now they had to ensure they got it.

Feeling a renewed surge of adrenaline, Harry stood up and looked to his wand before pausing and then looking to Dumbledore with a raised eyebrow. A slight nod was all the encouragement he needed, and before the nod ended Harry’s wand leapt wandlessly into his waiting hand and with a complex but effortless wave emitted magic with three different purposes.

The first rearranged the furniture at the front of the office, creating a space for the chair which the next wave of magic conjured. The chair was sized to Wormtail, and came into existence with restraints built in. The third piece of magic deposited the rat form of Wormtail onto the chair itself.

With this outpouring of magic, Harry once again felt a wave of weakness flow through him. His scar throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and he steadied himself with a deep breath. Less is more Harry, he told himself, stop trying to show off.

Dumbledore had risen from his chair, and was now coming around his desk,

“Would you like to do the honours Harry?” Dumbledore offered while gesturing to Pettigrew.

But Harry shook his head and grimly said “All yours.” He folded his arms and stepped back a few paces. Collapsing into a bed was seeming an increasingly inviting prospect.

Dumbledore made to begin but then stopped, glancing at Harry. “Actually, perhaps it would be best if you stood behind him. I’m not sure we want to reveal your presence here just yet.”

Harry wasn’t sure about this, but at this point he didn’t want to argue the point and simply moved.

All it took from Dumbledore was a twitch of his wand and an accompanying prodding gesture, Wormtail slowly and deliberately returned to his human form, though he remained unconscious.

The manacles on the chair came to life with the presence of a human and made clacking and clinking sounds as they sought out and captured Pettigrew’s limbs one by one, including the silvery new hand Voldemort had just given him. There was a brief pause, and then the telltale visible signature of an enervation charm brought him back to consciousness.

Harry had spent a lot of time over the years imagining this particular moment, but he’d never actually found himself in this situation. The way Pettigrew had met his end the first time he went through this had never sat well with him.

Now, he stood behind the friend of his parents who had betrayed them to their deaths at the hands of Lord Voldemort.

He’d been expecting more elation at this moment. But now that it had come, he found he didn’t want anything in particular with this man.

Perhaps it was because he was so tired.

*****

Wormtail had looked terrified as he came to consciousness, finding himself in Dumbledore’s office, shackled to a chair, with only the old man in front of him. He’d been hesitant to part with the memory at first, but all it had taken was a simple question.

“Peter, I must have this memory.” Dumbledore had said in a calm and almost soothing voice “Is there any doubt in your mind that I can compel you to provide it if it comes to it?”

He waited patiently for a response here. And when he got a resigned shake of the head, “I think it would be easier for the both of us if you simply provide the memory.”

Wormtail had never been brave, he’d always been one to follow the lead of whoever was standing in front of him. And so he gave up the memory without much of a fuss.

Dumbledore had teased the silvery threads out of Wormtail’s temple and then prodded them into a shape his wand could move. Once he began to move towards the pensieve, Harry stepped up behind the traitor, levelled his wand at the back of his head, and a flash of red light was accompanied by a thump as he cast a non-verbal stunning charm without any hesitation.

Dumbledore had paused at his motion and turned to look at him as the red light slammed into the back of Pettigrew’s head, rendering him unconscious. The old man’s wand was occupied with the silvery strands of memory, and he would not have been able to be disengage in time to intervene if he’d wanted to. So, he watched Harry’s actions, and then let his gaze linger on him for a moment after with a faint frown on his face, before turning back to the Pensieve without a word.

Harry joined him, staring down into the bowl as Dumbledore began to twirl the memory with his wand. Slowly the scene at the graveyard congealed into existence and the old man turned to him.

“After you, my boy.”

Harry gingerly lowered his head down towards the pensieve and fell into the memory.

Moments after he was in, Dumbledore followed, and both were standing in the graveyard. Harry’s heart began to race as his surroundings took hold and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

Just a memory this time, he reassured himself.

Events proceeded as expected, but he almost missed the exact moment the change happened, even though they were both looking for it. But there was a clear, if subtle, moment of change in Voldemort’s demeanour, and then his hands began to clench and then contort around his wand. Not long after, his whole body started shaking and convulsing, with the wand and his grasp on it being the only stable point remaining. The Death Eater’s surrounding them started shifting uncomfortably on their feet.

Not long after, Harry saw himself beginning to follow the same process. And then, at a moment when it seemed that the convulsions couldn’t possibly get any stronger, there was almost a popping from his scar, which suddenly split open and unexpectedly large amounts of blood ran down the front of his face. His own convulsions then became noticeably less severe and stopped shortly after.

A chill ran down the back of his neck as the version of himself in the memory opened his eyes and looked about him.

“And there I am, the first moments of my now existence.”

There was no response from Dumbledore, who was keenly watching the situation still unfolding in front of them.

Voldemort seemed to recover in the memory much faster than he remembered, had it really only been so short a time? He knew what was about to come, and shifted his attention to Dumbledore.

Until this moment, he was all talk. Well, he’d put on a good show, but it was how you acted in the moment that mattered.

The memory version of him suddenly broke the connection and thrust his wand up towards the sky. Moments later, lightning bloomed, illuminating the scene in front of them, as well as Dumbledore’s arched eyebrows as he belatedly realised just what magic Harry had brought to bear on the situation. This time he had a better view of it as it crashed into Voldemort’s hastily raised shield, then chaining into the assembled death eaters in front of him.

Memory Harry’s predatory eyes alighted on Pettigrew, there was a flash of red, and the scene went abruptly black, the memory ending.

*****

Moments later, they found themselves back in Dumbledore’s office.

They remained silent as they both digested what they had just seen. There was nothing new to Harry, but it was only really now hitting him that he’d just killed four people in that graveyard. Not the kind of thing most 14-year-old kids did.

Harry felt no regret for his actions, he’d been through this particular song and dance about guilt more than enough to have come to terms. Though he perhaps regretted the necessity. Regardless, there would be consequences. Who knew what though.

Pettigrew still sat restrained and stunned in a chair in the middle of the room. He’d pissed himself in the time they’d been gone, and the smell of it wafted slightly through the air.

Ugh.

He turned to Dumbledore, who was studying him intently, and returned his gaze.

“Well, Harry. I asked to see, and you have certainly shown.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know what to say at all anymore.

From the moment this had all started, and he’d escaped the graveyard, he’d had one overriding goal. Get Dumbledore alone in his office and then have this conversation with him.

This had been an instinctive decision, rather than a rational one, and he still wasn’t quite so sure why it had been so urgent and important.

But it was done, and now, so was he. The second wind was fading, and there wasn’t going to be a third.

Getting no response, Dumbledore continued “though I must admit that I would like to see how exactly you got out of there from that position. Yes, you seized the initiative – and that was a brilliant spell I might add, absolutely perfect moment for it – but it’s not like you had a clear path out.”

Which was true.

“Summoning charms,” he replied absently. “The cup was a two-way portkey.”

It was a good question and triggered an even more interesting thought. In the silence that followed, Harry thought back to that moment, and wondered if he would be able to pull a pensieve memory of it out.

Experimentally he started trying to form the process which readied the memory for extraction. Gripping his wand, he began to raise it up to his temp-


Chapter 2
Harry woke up in a familiar place, though he couldn’t quite grasp where he was. Warm sunlight poured in through the tall windows to the right of his bed, framed tastefully by well-appointed white curtains.

Looking out the window, it appeared to be late morning. Rays of sunlight streamed through touching on a table and chair near the window, then onto the dresser and mirror beside it. The light then flowed across the foot of his bed, and onto two doors to his left.

After some moments of thinking – he wasn’t sure how long – he realised that he was in the hospital wing, though not in the general ward he had usually found himself in. Rather, he was in a private room off to the side.

For quite some time he just lay there, taking it all in. Why was he here? How had he gotten here? Everything seemed jumbled, out of place.

Slowly, memory started to come back to him, and he lifted his right hand out from under the covers and stared at it. After some time, he began turning it back and forward as if inspecting it.

It was small and soft. There were some callouses, especially where he gripped his broom. But the scar from the chimaera that ran across the back of his hand was missing. This told him what he needed to know.

He kicked his feet as he slowly put his hand back under the covers, yep. Seemed shorter.

He closed his eyes for a moment as he pondered this.

*****

‘Wait, why is the sun going the wrong way?’ was the first thing that came to mind as he opened his eyes again. He stared perplexed out the window. Yep, it was definitely lower in the sky than it had been just a moment ago.

With something of a mental jerk, he realised that this must be another day. His thoughts were still sluggish apparently.

This time he felt for his wand, but could not find it anywhere.

Starting to feel a creeping sense of panic, Harry quickly took a deep breath bringing it under control. A moment later he closed his eyes and felt.

His eyes then opened and tracked to the drawer in the table across from him. There.

Guess he was going to have to attempt getting up now.

He took his time, feeling unsteady as he slowly lowered his legs over the side of the bed and got into a sitting position.

Why did he feel so weak?

He tentatively stood, then slowly walked over to the table and reclaimed his wand.

That felt better.

He inspected it carefully. It was the exact same wand he’d always had, except… newer. Shinier. Less bangs and scratches. There, the gouge that had come from a Manticore’s stinger was not there. Nor was the long scratch near the tip that came from the claw of one of those Inferi. But there was the slight bump near the hilt that had come from the troll with Hermione.

Oh Merlin. Hermione! Ron! As children! The lives they’d lived were no longer. He was going to have to face them, and soon. What was he meant to say? How was he even supposed to act?

A problem for another time.

Looking up, he found his reflection in the mirror. His black hair was stuck up every which way. It hadn’t been like that for a while, and he smiled at the nostalgic familiarity of it. He did feel a bit chagrined at his baby face, though.

Still feeling weak on his feet, he walked over to the windows and then stepped out onto the small balcony that accompanied this room.

He stood on it for some time, gazing out. Two things came to him.

First, was the obvious and extensive set of protective wards surrounding this room, including the balcony.

Second, was the colour of the leaves on the trees just beginning to change. And the Rowan trees heavy with dark red berries. The purple of the heather on the hills. The dull patchy grass long past the deep green of spring.

It was the second that affected him the most and explained much.

Those changes didn’t happen until the beginning of autumn. If he had to guess, it was sometime in the middle of August.

The final task had been held in early June.

He’d been in that bed for more than two months.

He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

What he was sure about, though, was that it was probably about time to get back into it.

For now.

*****

The next time he awoke he felt refreshed and energised. It was as if he felt the complete opposite of the last two times he’d woken up in this room.

His mind felt sharp, though his body still had some twinges to it. He sat up, and looked out the window to see it was quite early in the morning.

He felt a twinge run up his leg and into his torso, but now that he knew some of what was happening, he recognised it as part of the spell which kept his muscles active during his slumber.

Thank Merlin the magical world had that figured out, he’d have quite the road ahead of him if he’d been looked after in the muggle world.

The most important thing of all though, was that he was famished. And someone had anticipated that and left a large tray of food on the table, preservation charms keeping as if it had just been served.

He snagged a piece of bacon and munched on it as he wandered into the bathroom and performed his morning ablutions. Drawing his wand, he made a momentary effort and drew it along his nails, trimming them. He then raised his wand to his face, looking into the mirror at his face before realising he did not need to shave.

Walking back out, Harry opened the wardrobe and put on the set of school robes that were waiting for him. Then, sitting down, he attended to his breakfast with gusto. Madame Pomfrey was a goddess. Or the house elves. Whichever.

As he ate, he focused some of his attention on the wards surrounding the room. They were decidedly not standard. Competently cast, though.

Heavy duty, focused on vigilant protection from harm.

He wondered at their necessity, as he heard some footsteps outside the door, followed by its opening.

The plump and familiar face of Madame Pomfrey appeared in the doorway as she peered in, and then seeing him up, the rest of her followed with a bright smile that lit up her face.

“Harry! It’s good to finally see you up and about. How are you feeling?”

There was uncharacteristic warmth – and did he detect a hint of relief? – in her usually stern voice and manner. He must have worried her.

He rose as she entered the room, putting down his utensils with a wide smile on his face.

“Madame Pomfrey, how lovely to see you. I take I have you to thank for this excellent breakfast?” seeing her smile and nod, he continued “I am all the better for having been in your splendid care no doubt.”

He made a slight bow.

“Well, I am glad to see you up and eating,” she replied with a note of her usual sternness coming back into her voice in response to the charm he directed her way. “Don’t stop on my account now, you’re going to need all the energy you can get. Dumbledore asked me to alert him once you were up, and he’s on his way.”

She drew her wand, walking over to him as he sat back down to resume eating. Before popping a bit of sausage into his mouth he asked, “Do tell me what’s happened, if you please.”

“I’ll let Dumbledore fill you in on that,” she said as she started casting what he could only presume were diagnostic charms, “he should be along shortly.”

*****

It did not take long for Harry to hear another set of footsteps approaching. They stopped just outside the wards for a moment and then stepped through.

A moment later, the door opened and Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway.

Harry was just finishing a piece of egg on toast with baked beans as Madame Pomfrey looked up and said, “Good timing Albus, I’ve just finished.” She walked over to the old wizard continuing “you’ll be happy to know that everything appears to be as we expected. About as good as can be really.”

She then turned and looked back at Harry, “Well, Mr. Potter, it looks like you’re finally where you need to be. As much as I enjoy seeing you, I do hope not to see you again too soon. I’ll leave you to it, I know the both of you have some things to discuss.”

With thanks from them both echoing, the healer walked out.

Harry, who still had a bit of breakfast left to finish, paused for a moment to look at Dumbledore pointedly.

“Vigilia Magna, really?”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose at that, his lips then quirking into a bit of a pained smile.

“Well… yes, after the second attempt on your life, I decided to take things seriously.”

At that, Harry paused, a slight chill running down the back of his neck.

“Okay, wait, the second?”“Yes, quite.” Dumbledore replied. He paused for a moment and then added, “To be frank, you got quite lucky all things considered. For the first I just happened to be in your room at 3am in the morning when the assailant made his move.”

His lips took on an almost predatory smile.

“He was not expecting to find me in there I dare say.”

“Umm, and why were you in my room at 3am in the morning, Sir?” Harry asked, unsure whether he wanted to know the answer or not. And there was that dratted ‘sir’ again.

“Oh, was testing something ritualistic that required a certain time. You really did have us quite worried there for a bit my boy. To be frank, it wasn’t until we realised that Voldemort was going through a similar process that we relaxed a bit. Seems that there was more to whatever it was you both went through than what happened immediately.”

Harry’s mind was spinning at these revelations. Dumbledore was clearly convinced of his story and was treating him as such. It was what he’d wanted, but now he had to keep up. At the mention of Voldemort, though, his eyes sharpened, and he lent forward.

“Oh? And what news of Voldemort?”

“It appears that he also is in some form of hibernation. It took some time for the news to reach me, but apparently after the graveyard he retreated to a manor, gave out quite a number of instructions, and then retreated to another location with a few from the inner circle. From what I understand, he told them of what was about to happen, and asked them to ensure certain tasks were carried out.”

That… actually made sense. He remembered getting a sensation of the sort when he’d been probing the connection between them when Fudge had brought the dementor. But, that wasn’t the primary thing occupying his attention.

“And I assume” asked Harry in a dry tone, “that attempting to kill me while I was indisposed was one of those tasks?”

“Yes, so we gathered with hindsight.”

“How close did the second attempt get?”

“Much closer than I’m comfortable with. They somehow managed to sneak poison into your medication. Luckily Poppy has quite a sensitive sneakoscope… But after that I took no more chances. Vigilia Magna is not the easiest to work with, but it did suit this specific scenario. The fact that you were bedridden was quite helpful really.”

Harry had lent back in his chair as the conversation went on, thinking. As unsettling as this was, it was unimportant for now. He changed tack.

“Has Voldemort woken up yet?”

Dumbledore took a moment to adjust to the change in subject, then replied, “Not that we’re aware of. Apparently, he told his followers to expect him to wake sometime early next month.”

“Huh…” Harry trailed off in for a moment.

“Thinking about it, I recovered from the convulsions quite a bit earlier too. Maybe there’s a pattern there. Well, I’m glad you’re still well informed at least.”

“I have my sources.”

At that, Harry grinned cheekily and flicked his eyebrows “I know. I assume you’ve activated the order?”

“Quite.”

“And the headquarters…” Harry trailed off as his mind seemed to spasm, he raised his hands protectively over his eyes as if to block out light.

He knew where the order’s headquarters had been located and ‘knew’ the secret. But apparently that didn’t translate to here, and so the fidelius charm was also blocking the information. There was dissonance.

Harry risked a glance, wincing at the light, and saw that Dumbledore was suddenly looking appropriately concerned. Trying to avoid thinking about the topic, he said “can you please give me the secret for the location? Sirius’s home I know.” in a somewhat monotone voice.

There was a moment as Dumbledore considered the request. Then “The headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.”

Suddenly, everything seemed to fall back into place.

Harry held himself for a moment, tentatively making sure everything was back to normal. He then let out an almost explosive sigh, and breathed heavily for a bit.

“Ok, that was just weird as fuck!”

“Please explain, Harry.”

Dumbledore’s tone was serious, and he looked concerned.

“Some weird interaction with the fidelius. I knew the secret, and so where the headquarters was located. But somehow that didn’t translate properly, and I kept thinking about it, but then forgetting about it, then remembering… and it just looped. Felt…. really weird. In a bad way. Getting the secret from you appears to have fixed it though.”

Dumbledore nodded and sat back looking satisfied.

The next 15 minutes of conversation were less exciting, and they covered a lot of basics as Harry polished off what remained of his breakfast. As he was getting near the end of it, Dumbledore asked the next big question.

“So, where next Harry?”

“I’m sure you have something in mind, do spill.”

“Well, yes, I thought you might like to visit headquarters and see Sirius? And then after you’ve gotten settled, I’m sure your friends will be delighted to see you at the Burrow.”

Harry felt a bit still at this. “Do they know I’m awake?”

“Not yet. No one does.” Dumbledore’s eyes were kind.

“Yes well, I’m going to have to get that over with sooner than later I suppose.”

“They will be delighted to see you, Harry.”

“Yes, of course.” It didn’t cover everything, of course. But he didn’t know how to say it.

There was, however, one issue remaining before he had to go and meet people.

“Before we go see Sirius, there is one other thing that needs must be done.”

At this, Dumbledore perked up “Oh?”

“Yes, a bit of a detour. Shouldn’t take long.” He didn’t really know how to say it, so he just erred on the side of being blunt.

“You are aware that Voldemort made horcruxes, yes?”

Dumbledore’s face remained impassive at this.

“There is one located in an area quite accessible to one with the right knowledge.” He said this with a bit of a grin. “I’ve been doing a bit of thinking, and this is one thing that really should be done without delay.”


Chapter 3
It didn’t take long for them to make ready, and begin the walk down to the grounds, and then the gates.

“And where will we be going, Harry?”

“Back where this all started.”

“The graveyard?”

“Yes, to begin. Little Hangleton is where Riddle’s family came from. We’ll be looking for a shack.”

They reached the gates of Hogwarts and stepped through. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a spoon that he’d sequestered away for just this purpose while drawing his wand. With a moment of concentration, he then brought it forward and then tapped the spoon once while speaking the accompanying incantation. “Portus.”

The spell took hold, and Harry looked to Dumbledore and held out his hand.

“Shall we?”

His counterpart grasped his hand, they disappeared, and then reappeared in the exact spot the Triwizard Cup had deposited him.

He felt his pulse quicken and senses sharpen at their surroundings, but the area looked far different in daylight. Much less foreboding.

There were not many words between them, as they walked up the hill to the spot where the duel had taken place. The cauldron from the resurrection remained, but the bodies of the fallen Death Eaters had been removed. There was a dark stain on the ground where one of them had lain, though.

They had a better view of the surrounding countryside from up here. He looked around, and thought he saw a likely candidate.

“There.” He indicated with the direction of his eyes.

“Have you not been here before, Harry?” Dumbledore asked as they started forward at a brisk pace.

“No, I was not the one who retrieved this Horcrux initially.”

“Who was?”

“You.”

There were some moments of silence before Harry continued.

“I should probably mention, this is where you were struck a mortal blow. The mortal blow. It did not kill you outright, but it did ultimately result in your death.”

There was no reaction from Dumbledore to these words, apart a single word. “Indeed. Hmm.”

Harry felt compelled to add “It will not occur this time. You told me of what happened, going together should be enough. But this particular horcrux… it is one we should retrieve.”

“How did he get me?”

There was no doubt as to whom ‘he’ was.

“Temptation.”

“Must have been quite the temptation.”

“He offered you Ariana.”

“Ah. Yes, I can see how that would do it.”

Most of the rest of the walk passed in silence, until they neared the shack. Like the graveyard, thin decorative fence made of rusted iron surrounded the property, scraggly vines covered parts of it. The shack itself had seen far better days, and a minor muggle repelling charm surrounded it.

“What do you plan if we find it?”

“The Sword of Gryffindor worked well enough last time.”

“Do you think it still here? If you prioritise it, perhaps he did too.”

“That is what we are here to find out.”

“Do you worry about an ambush?”

“Why do you think I brought you along?”

Harry’s wand had been in his hand for some time as they neared the shack, but they were now close enough that he raised it and cast a wordless charm. A wave of barely noticeable magic buffeted out from his wand, quickly spreading out towards and around the building in front of them, finding its way in through windows and under the doors.

He waited a few moments, then. “No living people, detectable ones at least.”

They let themselves in through the gate, and as they began walking up to the shack a powerful stench of decomposition wafted over them, getting stronger as they got closer.

They both paused and exchanged a glance.

“Looks like it was a priority.” Harry said. And they continued at a slower pace.

The door was slightly ajar and opened easily with a touch of magic. The smell became overpowering, but Harry resisted the urge to cast a charm to mask it. Better not to dull the senses right now.

The first room was clear, but the second contained an unidentifiable decomposing body near what looked to have been a previously hidden compartment under the floor. It lay open, and the contents were gone.

They didn’t leave immediately but stopped to make sure that the ring had not been dropped, or that it was not under the rotting corpse lying in the middle of the room. Thank Merlin magic made that process easier.

He kept a wary eye on Dumbledore as they searched, just in case it was still here, but there was no sign of the ring.

“Well Harry, I think that’s all there is to be done here.”

They were both still in the room, and Harry nodded rather than opening his mouth to the taste in the air. He gestured at the door, and they both left and made some distance before stopping.

After they were out, and had managed to catch their fresh breath, Harry said “Well, looks to me like 2 came, one set off the trap, and the other made off with the prize.” There was a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Yes,” Dumbledore replied, “but it still tells us something. Voldemort had what? A few hours? And he sent people here to do this. He came back with a plan.”

“Yes yes, silver lining on every cloud and all that. I still wanted the ring. But nothing to be done about that I suppose. To Number 12 Grimmauld Place then?”

“Indeed. But don’t forget your promise to show me where that Horcrux in Hogwarts is. I want that taken care of before term starts.”

*****

It was Dumbledore’s Portkey which took them into London, a short walk from their destination.

Harry was a few minutes away from coming face to face with Sirius again, after so long, and his heart felt like it was beating a drum. He’d felt nervous in the graveyard, face to face with Voldemort in the air, but he still knewhow to act in that situation. This… this was different. How often did you get to meet your previously long dead godfather for whom you had such fond memories?

But, there was the door, and Dumbledore was walking up to it just about to knock. Why did he feel like a kid trailing after the old wizard? Apart from the fact that he was one, and doing just that…

At the last moment, far too late, he realised that he should have asked the old man what he’d said to Sirius about him. Did he know about his travel? What –

The door opened, and there stood Sirius. It had happened so fast, it was clear the man had been waiting for them.

It had been a long time since he’d seen him, but he felt immediately familiar. Sirius’ longish dark hair framed his sharp angular face, the high cheekbones and strong jawline prominent. While there was a general unkempt air about him, his clothes modest and subdued, a certain handsome charm remained and showed itself as his expression lit up upon seeing Harry.

Despite all that, the man looked as nervous as Harry felt. So, he said as much.

“Sirius! Good to see you, you look as nervous as I feel.”

His godfather let out a bark of laughter at that, “Harry! So glad you could make it.”

“I do apologise for us being slightly late,” Dumbledore said, “but there was a detour that kept us.”

“Nothing too serious, I hope?”

Harry squinted at his godfather at that, trying and failing to detect a pun.

“Not at all, just a minor errand before we could make it.” Dumbledore then turned to look at Harry, “I’m afraid I won’t be coming in, I’ve another obligation I must attend to.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you for everything, as always.”

“See you in a few days, Harry. Don’t forget.”

The old man turned and began walking back down the path.

“What was that about?” asked Sirius.

“Oh, Dumbledore asked me to come back before term starts to help clear up some stuff from what happened.”

Harry really wasn’t quite sure what to say and kept it vague. How much did Sirius know? How much should he tell him?

“Speaking of…” Sirius’s voice trailed off for a second, then continued “what did happen? All Dumbledore’s told me is that Voldemort came back and somehow you ended up in a coma for 2 months after a duel.”

Well, that answered one question at least.

“Err, I mean… yeah, that about sums it up.”

The silence between them almost became awkward, until Harry added “But you should see the other guy. He’s still in his coma.”

At that, Sirius let out another bark of laughter. “I did hear something about that. Well, come in, come in!”

They both begun moving into the house, walking quietly past the cover over the portrait of Sirius’ mother and towards the kitchen. As they neared, muffled sounds of multiple conversations came through the door and Sirius paused looking a bit chagrined.

“Err… I should warn you, somehow the Weasleys managed to get wind that you were up and about and due here, and well… they couldn’t be kept away. Brought Hermione along with them too.”

Harry didn’t even get the chance to feel overwhelmed before Sirius opened the door and a warmth he didn’t know he’d forgotten overcame him.

The hubbub quietened as the door opened, and Sirius dragged him in with him.

“Harry!”

A brown-haired cannon ball careened into him, engulfing him in a hug. Shedding his surprise, he couldn’t help but smile as he wrapped an arm around Hermione and pulled her close.

“It’s good to see you too, Hermione,” he said as she pulled back to look at him with a smile on her face.

“You’re late.”

He didn’t have time to respond and pulled away as he saw Ron approaching with a nervous look on his face.

“It’s good to see you mate,” he said, extending his hand.

Harry grabbed it and pulled him into a quick hug, with some backslapping. “Good to see you too.”

He looked towards the rest of the room and saw Fred and George watching him with grins on their faces, Sirius had moved to a corner and was now standing with Remus and Arthur Weasley.

For the first time since he’d got here, he finally felt like he was truly home. It wasn’t the place; it was the people.

 

Spoiler

Oh, dear. Extensions not enough, hmm?

This feels a bit undercooked. Not just in the sense that it's incomplete, it feels kinda like the wrong parts are getting emphasized.

The first example: Harry is sent back to the end of fourth year. This is the first moment he sees his parents again. He sees himself. It's highly emotionally charged, but the emphasis is on what's physically happening. Something - it's hard to tell what - happens between Pettigrew and older-Harry. Voldemort also returns, maybe? Hard to say. Harry casts spells but all of it just somehow lacks impact.

The second example: Harry vs all of the Death Eaters. He feels no trepidation at facing a resurrected Voldemort and 26 other people. He stands over Cedric's dead body and doesn't see a reminder of a failure he can now set about fixing: he just feels bloodlust, apparently. There's some neat maneuvres but, for all that he's facing 26 people, it feels like he's maybe facing a couple. Voldemort just kinda stands there doing nothing for undefined reasons. These are the men that had Wizarding Britain in an iron grip?

There's other examples. How he acts towards Dumbledore, how the entirety of the future knowledge plays out, the confrontation with Pettigrew...

It all just kinda feels hollow, really. At about chapter 2 I started skipping. If I found this in the wild I probably wouldn't have waited that long.

2/5.

 

Spoiler

I think this is an interesting concept - Voldemort somehow causing the time travel is an unusual twist, at least in my experience. While it's been a while since I read HP fanfic outside these competitions, from what I remember it's relatively unusual for the time traveller to open up about what's happening so quickly, so that's worth mentioning too. Overall, it's pretty solidly written, if never exactly spectacular; hard to comment on Harry being in character, because he isn't the Harry we know, but Dumbledore feels right in terms of his dialogue at least - he's maybe a bit too accepting of the situation though.

Elsewhere, I think it's a bit more of a mixed bag, even allowing for it being the first two chapters of an ongoing fic. Harry scoffing at the idea of fighting 26 death eaters rather undercuts any tension there might have been, even if Voldemort himself has a bit more about him. For apparently not having been involved in the time travel himself, Harry seems to be pretty accepting of it, other than that brief bit when he wakes up. In addition/because of this, it all feels a little unemotional.

Now, these are all things that can reasonably be fixed over the course of an ongoing story - you don't need to blow your load all at once. But in the context of a competition...

2/5

 

Spoiler

Rating: 3/5
The unique time travel mechanism is this story's greatest strength. Unlike typical "do-over" fics where Harry consciously chooses to go back, here Voldemort somehow triggers the travel from beyond death, mysteriously pulling Harry along. This creates genuine narrative tension—what was Voldemort's plan? How did he manage this while supposedly dead? Why did Harry get dragged back too? The mystery provides compelling forward momentum once the story hits its stride.

Harry's immediate partnership with Dumbledore is refreshing. Too many time travel stories waste chapters on protagonists agonizing over whether to reveal the truth. Here, Harry walks straight to Dumbledore's office and lays everything out, creating an instantly engaging dynamic. The subtle communication—Harry matching Dumbledore's pace, placing his wand on the desk, the casual competence—effectively shows rather than tells us this isn't the same person.

The unconscious months work brilliantly as a plot device. While Harry recovers, Voldemort's followers execute contingency plans, moving horcruxes and consolidating power. This raises stakes immediately and shows consequences for Harry's changed circumstances. The decomposing body at the Gaunt shack suggests Death Eaters died retrieving the ring, effectively demonstrating that the enemy came prepared.

But the pacing problems are severe. The first quarter of the story is genuinely difficult to get through. The graveyard sequence in the prologue rehashes canon events with minor variations that aren't significant enough to justify the extended retread. We're essentially reading about Harry casting a lightning spell and killing some Death Eaters—interesting changes, but not worth the slog.

Chapter 1 compounds this with glacial pacing. The walk to Dumbledore's office, while well-written, moves too slowly. Then the pensieve sequence forces us to rewatch graveyard events we've already seen, adding little beyond confirming both characters changed during the connection. The story would be far stronger starting in medias res with Harry already in Dumbledore's office, revealing what happened through the memory without the redundant real-time narration.

Chapter 3 demonstrates what the story could be throughout. The urgency of horcrux hunting, the discovery that enemies had prepared contingencies, the rising stakes—this is compelling material. Harry and Dumbledore working as experienced partners rather than mentor and student creates interesting possibilities, but readers have to survive a significant slog to reach it.

The mystery elements build effectively once established. Who tried to assassinate unconscious Harry twice? What contingencies did Voldemort establish? How many horcruxes have been moved? These questions create genuine narrative drive, but only after pushing through the opening chapters.

The core concept is strong enough to carry the story, but structural choices actively work against it. Too many readers will abandon the story before reaching genuinely compelling material in Chapter 3. Starting later and using flashbacks would serve this story far better than the current chronological approach that front-loads the weakest material.

 

Spoiler

Thanks for writing! Nice to get a time-travel one.

You wite in a mix of (to me) way too many words and elegance. It’s interesting because it flows really well and at the same time I really wish you’d cut about half the words.

There’s a lot of Harry posturing, he seems to be extremely wrapped up in how he’s carrying himself. I find that to be an annoying element. If it’s an important part of your story to you, I would strip the fic from mentions of Harry thinking about what expressions and stances he’s pulling and instead just describe how he looks or stands or gestures. Leave other (more interesting) things to his inner monologue. Actually, could do with some more inner monologue. More hints of what he’s left behind and maybe some theory on how he’s ended up where he is? What does Harry, this early on in your story, think is happening? Is he worried about it or does he think Voldemort will be no match for him? Easier to hook readers if there is something he’s worried will go badly wrong, maybe some change he makes that fucks something else up that has the potential to escalate?

The story becomes much more interesting when we get to the Gaunt Shack. At that point you raise some stakes and the feeling of Harry powerwalking through his previous life stops. Here it becomes clear that Voldemort too has a plan. I’m sure you have some good things planned for the rest of the story, hope you get round to writing it!

 

Spoiler

The story needs more polish, but I am not capable enough to help you here.

Some of your writing gives the feel of having being written for a first person PoV and translated to a third person PoV.

The little plays of power with Dumbledore are fine in theory, but I didn't like how they turned out in text.

There are some choices to how magic works that feel forced:

These nakedly serve the plot and not much else. I would do away with the coma and get to the real meat of timetravel — reconnecting with the others, here the Weasleys, Sirius and Hermione. I rank this as more important a moment than even the horcrux hunting. Ending with the missing Gaunt ring would serve as an incomplete, yet more fulfilling story.

Dumbledore and Harry's trip to the Gaunt shack is the only arresting piece, but there's no development on this idea.

 

Spoiler

Your writing is a bit crisp, broken, detached. More suitable to action scenes than to first couple of chapters of I don't know how long fic. I honestly cannot tell how long is this supposed to be, and as it's submitted as a prompt, I don't see how you can wrap it to something satisfying in a couple of Ks of words. Even if you manage it, the first part would then be too stretched.

For me this work is at the point where I'd continue reading with skimming until Hogwarts/wherever you send Harry after summer to see if there's enough diversion for me to carry on.

It's not bad, but I don't think there's anything truly substantial here. Voldemort removing horcruxes is a tangled mess that requires a story of its own as well.

 

Spoiler

I wrote this one. It’s the first bit of fiction I’ve ever written.

Not sure how to do these self-reviews, so I’m just gonna give some context and talk a bit about what I was trying to do.

First, this is an idea that’s been percolating in my head for a few years, even though I’ve read at most 1 fic a year for the last decade. Earlier this year I had the muse and the time to make a start. All of what’s there was written before the competition was even announced. When it was announced, I realised that it fit the topic, and it was a good opportunity to get some feedback. I had started to feel stuck. So, I tightened it up and submitted.

When I started, I hadn’t been thinking about writing for an audience. I was mainly just trying to find my voice and experiment with what I was trying to do.

One thing I want to explore, is what this kind of story would look like from the perspective of someone who was thrown into the situation with a lot more maturity and life experience. And power. How does a fundamentally decent and mature person with actual power conduct themselves? I wanted someone who could partner with Dumbledore, rather than be mentored by him.

I’m not really seeing direct conflict with the death eaters as being the tension/challenge here. Well, perhaps some individuals may prove a capable challenge. Rather, the social challenges for Harry and his interactions with his friends, and then the conflict between Harry and Dumbledore, and Voldemort.

As a part of this, I wanted to explore the difference between what Harry was thinking internally, and contrast that with what he does physically. Especially as he tries to balance being a grown adult in a kids body. However, the feedback about being in his head has pretty much been “don’t do this”. Or at least, the way I’ve been approaching it is not working. Which is good feedback.

Frankly I think I’ve falling into the trap of trying to write and describe far too much. Ya’ll said there were too many words as is, and I’d already cut a lot before submitting heh. “You wite in a mix of (to me) way too many words and elegance. It’s interesting because it flows really well and at the same time I really wish you’d cut about half the words.” I liked this way of putting it – I’m gonna think on it some.

Where I’m ending up is that I need to rethink how I approach writing the story in general. Or, I need to think very carefully about what I actually write, and what I hint at/leave to be inferred.

“The story would be far stronger starting in medias res with Harry already in Dumbledore's office, revealing what happened through the memory without the redundant real-time narration.”

I think this is correct, and if/when I come back to it, that’ll be what I do.

Cheers for reading it, and the feedback etc.