An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
SUMMARY:
They lost the battle of Hogwarts. All that stands on the grounds of its hallowed foundation is its grave.
For over a decade, Harry has fought to defeat Voldemort, but with the death of each horcrux, Voldemort grew worse, more monstrous, more terrible and cruel than before. With no one left to save, Harry’s last chance is to go back in time and change the course of history altogether.
But such travelers are forbidden and the anomaly in time must be removed.
As unspeakables hunt the time traveler, as Grindelwald seeks to regain ownership of the elder wand, and as nature itself attempts to reorient the proper order of time, Harry struggles to survive in the past and to be a father to the young Tom Riddle.
Until, that is, Harry finds unlikely shelter with one Newt Scamander.
—
ONE EXCERPT:
“You’re weak, Harry,” whispered Voldemort. “Why must you fight me so? You have nothing left. Aren’t you tired? Come, rest in my embrace.”
Harry met his words with silence.
“You couldn’t save them, your friends, all those pitiful people you worked so diligently to keep alive, yet… couldn’t.” Voldemort’s tone was icy soft; his lips curled in mockery. “I still remember their screams, how they twisted beneath my wand in agony, how their tears soaked the hem of my robes—how they beggedme for mercy, for the sweet relief of death. I denied them for hours, of course. That mudblood girl… Hermione, I believe? She lasted a very long time, but eventually… she, too, succumbed to death.”
Harry’s jaw twitched; he blinked rapidly, his eyes burning.
Voldemort grinned wickedly. “I’ve caught you, Harry,” he hissed, a condescending whisper. “And I won’t be merciful. It’s too late for my mercy. I have waited decades for this day and I’m going to enjoy myself when I take you apart so very slowly. Piece by piece. But, again and again, I will rebuild you. You will beg for death and I shan’t give it to you.”
I will never beg.
“You’re finally mine, Harry Potter, and I will do with you what I will. For a decade more, I will make you suffer.”
You already have.
You’ve taken everything from me. There’s nothing left, yet you want more.
His greed would be his undoing.
Voldemort stepped forward, his foot squelching in blood. Harry’s gaze slipped downward; it lifted and Harry met those eyes one final time. Voldemort smiled, victorious, as he pointed his wand at Harry.
He stood within the array circle.
Parseltongue slipped from Voldemort’s lips. “It’s over, boy.”
“No,” breathed Harry. “It’s only just begun.”
Red light flared to life at the end of Voldemort’s wand; Harry threw the object in his hand upwards. The spell caught the time turner midair and it shattered, golden dust scattering throughout the array. The blood soaked runes glowed. Roots burst from the central circle, wrapping around Voldemort. He let out a fierce roar, dark magic bursting out, but the roots jerked him to his knees—brought him to kneel before Harry.
“Ecce sacrificium tuum sanguinis.”
Voldemort’s head whipped up, eyes widening. Horror, rage, despair—a flood of emotions rushed through his twisted features. But it was too late. Harry threw out his arm, slashed it with his wand, and sprayed blood onto the roots.
“Tempus vicissitudinem!”
Voldemort screamed.
Light burst from the array, shooting upwards into the night sky. Power rushed outwards and decimated what remained of the forest. Magic curled around Harry’s neck; it boiled his blood. Voldemort thrashed, but the roots dragged him down, drank him dry, greedy for his magic. All of the blood soaked into the ground burned away, leaving beneath the sparkling golden dust.
And then, the magic blasted apart, the boom echoing for hundreds of miles.
Harry Potter disappeared from a dying world.
And all that remained of Voldemort were his bloodied ashes.
