It's Bloody Better: Harry Snape and the Time Paradox by VerityGrahams
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts is over, and the dust begins to settle. The trio are haunted and not just from the battle. Harry wants to do something about that, something that Hermione doesn’t agree with at all.
Categories: Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape, Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape > Severitus Challenge Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Dumbledore, Hermione, Lily, Neville, Remus, Ron
Snape Flavour: Canon Snape, Snape Comforts
Genres: Action/Adventure
Media Type: None
Tags: Alternate Universe, Deaged!Harry, Deaging, Time Travel
Takes Place: 1st Year
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 2 Completed: No Word count: 7272 Read: 2166 Published: 24 May 2021 Updated: 09 Jun 2021
Story Notes:
Thank you to my Beta Readers: Lun, Hemlock, ClairBear, and my friends in Ilvermorny at IWSC for helping me puzzle over word choices.

Updates will be a while, but once I have finished the last chapter, I will be posting the rest of the story weekly.

1.

If I Could Find A Way
by VerityGrahams

2.

Thirtieth August 1943
by VerityGrahams

If I Could Find A Way
by VerityGrahams
Author's Notes:
I apologise, but there is no Severus in the first or second chapter, but I promise, it's coming and it's good.
Harry, Ron and Hermione stood in front of Albus Dumbledore's desecrated tomb. The thick broken slabs revealed his aged, care-worn face, never at peace, not even in death. The secrets the man had taken to the grave, the mission that he had died for, still seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders.

They stood on a carpet of heather beside the white, marble tomb encircled by magically-grown ebony trees. The eerie silence was as heavy as the dark clouds in the overcast sky, and no one dared to break it.

Harry placed the Elder Wand in Dumbledore’s frail, blackened hand. He would much rather speak to the portrait—a part of Dumbledore that no one could extinguish. Like so many heads before him, it hung in his old office, there to watch over Hogwarts until its end.

‘I thought I would feel better.’ Harry stood over Dumbledore, and like his mentor, his back sagged beneath the pressure of the war and the wizarding world.

The survivors were already watching, wondering how he would rescue them this time.

'Are you really going to pardon the Malfoy’s?' Arthur Weasley had asked.

The words still rang in Harry’s ears. He hadn't even completed his final year at Hogwarts.

‘How can we feel better? I just walked past Tonks…’ Hermione had been transformed when the final wand had been lowered—standing tall and proud one moment, trembling like a leaf in a bitter breeze the next.

Ron walked away from the garden, kicking the grass and leaving divots in his wake. ‘Let's face it; it's just a less crap world now. Some prejudiced arsehole will likely try again.’

Harry and Hermione followed, forcing themselves to see the battleground. Hogwarts, once magnificent, was now blackened and crumbling in the distance, and the sweet smell of smouldering cedar filled the air. Students and teachers stopped, watching their approach.

‘Will we always be expected to fight?’ Harry asked, eyeing the crowd.

Ron turned his back to the strangers, standing between them and Harry. ‘You will be. You’ll always be the Boy Who Lived. There's no undoing it.’

‘I'd give every Galleon I have in Gringotts to change it,’ Harry whispered, but with Ron as a bodyguard, his feet dragged less.

‘Kingsley wanted us to meet him at the Ministry,’ Hermione said. ‘I know it's the last place you want to be, but there’s so much to do. There are still Death Eaters on the loose.’

Harry exhaled as he rubbed his face.

As they got closer to the castle and the crowd, he shrank back, allowing his friends to flank him. They set a course for Hogsmeade.

Hermione dodged all eye contact as she rubbed her arms incessantly. It was self-soothing. Harry knew because he did the same thing.

He gave the burning forest a wide berth. The smoke stung his eyes even at a distance. It had smelt like evergreens when he had explored it with Hagrid. It had been his friend’s domain: dangerous for everyone else but not for Hagrid. Now, Harry smelt the sharp scent of smouldering pine, and the Forbidden Forest had changed forever.

‘HARRY, NO!’

He turned away, but the scene played on.

Hagrid was bound and trussed, tied to a tree. ‘NO, NO, HARRY, WHAT’RE YEH—?’

Their path wound around the hastily dug cemetery for the fallen students and teachers, but they couldn’t ignore the courtyard. Harry closed his eyes to the blurry sight of the cracked, blood-stained slabs and balled his trembling fists. It didn’t stop him from seeing Remus and Tonks. Hand in hand. Stone-cold. Dead.

He choked.

The Whomping Willow loomed over them. The thrum of Snape’s dull, slowing pulse drowned out the crackle of the forest into the distance. It withered against Harry’s palm, the hot blood pouring through his fingers regardless of the pressure he applied.

‘Look at me.’

He shook his head, hating how he had almost ignored Snape’s memories. The potions professor had gotten what he deserved, Harry thought. Neville had changed his mind, though. In so many ways, he had been the real hero today.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus on something else. Oliver Wood, who was carrying the tiny body of Colin Creevey. Lavender, covered in gashes, and Fenrir bent over her, feasting. Fred, laughing one moment and gone the next. All of their faces were imprinted in his mind. There was no escape. The final face to flash before his eyes was Teddy’s. Just like Harry, he was alone.

‘I’m sorry. Right after you’d had your son… Remus, I’m sorry—’

‘I am sorry too,’ said Lupin. ‘Sorry I will never know him… but he will know why I died—’

He cried, his breath coming out in desperate gasps. Finally, they were coming to Hogwarts’ gates, leaving the crowds behind. No one talked. No one mentioned the tears or the sights they had avoided. Instead, they Apparated as soon as they passed through the barrier.

The sudden noise of traffic and road rage blared, loud and brazen after the solemn silence at Hogwarts. A gust of air whipped Harry’s fringe from his face as a large red bus hurtled past, and Ron pulled Harry and Hermione away from the road. They bumped into a businessman, who shoved them aside as a child giggled and pointed at the ragged group of friends.

They had appeared on the London street where they had drugged and kidnapped Ministry workers. This time they wouldn’t need a disguise. Kingsley managed the Ministry after the survivors at Hogwarts had voted him into temporary power. Despite Harry’s apprehension, he took a deep breath and walked towards the toilet entrance.

Harry and Ron left Hermione and walked down the steps to the street-side bathroom. The same sickly, cream tiles covered the walls and floor, and on the left side of the room were five rickety stalls. Last time, there had been a queue of Ministry workers and Muggles, each for very different reasons. Today, Ron and Harry were alone.

Ron peered around the door, scrunching his nose at Harry. ‘Here goes nothing.’

A small laugh managed to find its way out of Harry. Ron nodded, the humour and the disgust wiped from his face as if he knew that they had done their job.

Harry opened his cubicle. The pungent smell came in waves of stale ammonia, and the cistern didn’t look much better. He gagged and placed one tentative foot in the bowl, holding his nose as he climbed in. He pulled the chain quickly, and the smell was gone. The plumbing pulled at his body, stretching it like melted plastic, and he spun through the pipes.

Harry emerged, teetering on the spot. The sound of silence filled the vast, dome-ceilinged atrium. Much like the night he failed to save Sirius, he was practically alone. That night came into focus. It haunted him.

'There’s nothing you can do, Harry—it’s too late, Harry.' Remus’ voice echoed.

It was always too late.

Harry flinched as a hand landed on his shoulder. His knees bent, ready to run.

‘It’s just us, Harry.’ Ron stepped back, looking around the vast chamber. His eyes landed on one spot. Harry followed his friend’s line of sight.

Magic is Might.

They had seen the monstrosity of a monument before. It towered over everything. The dark colours contrasted with the white marble floors, but it was the meaning behind the imagery that made Harry’s stomach turn. Hate pulsated from it. The faces of nameless Muggles cried in agony with unwarranted realism. It demanded attention.

‘C-can we go?’ Hermione’s frail voice broke as she tugged on Harry’s arm.

He tore his attention away and took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers as they turned their backs to the monument and made their way to the front desk.

‘They’re investigating the administration staff?’ Hermione asked.

The witch who usually sat behind the desk was missing. They weren’t as alone as they had thought, though; Aurors stood like sentinels around the foyer. Two guarded the elevators, and Harry, Ron and Hermione didn’t pass without question.

‘Wands.’ The Auror on the left held out his hand, his eyes narrowing on Harry.

Harry handed over his wand, the one made of holly and Fawkes’ feather. The Auror instantly snatched it. They took Ron’s and Hermione’s too, and they were all scrutinised. Finally, the Aurors cast identification charms.

‘Mr Potter,’ said the Auror with kinder eyes, ‘if you will step to the side. We need to check for Polyjuice and any other disillusionment enchantments.’

Harry followed dutifully, his eyes never leaving his wand. The Auror handed him a sweet-smelling liquid, which Harry downed in one. He didn’t hear the incantations or notice Ron and Hermione join him.

‘All clear, Mr Potter,’ said the first, now more relaxed, Auror.

As he accepted his wand back, Harry let out a long-held breath.

Level ten, that was their destination. The elevator doors shut. Harry began pulling on his fingers, tugging and cracking his knuckles one at a time.

‘Ensure the Ministry is secure, catch the Death Eaters, find any hidden spies,’ he thought, his heart thumping harder with every problem to resolve. His foot tapped as they waited for the elevator to stop.

It took them deep into the bowels of the Ministry. As it sank lower and lower, the elevator rattled and jerked, but they didn’t have to wait long. Soon the intricate golden doors opened to a familiar sight.

The Department of Mysteries.

Diamond-sparkling light and clocks filled his mind’s eye, and suddenly, he knew. He saw the green door with a polished, brass handle, and his lip curled. It was as though he had been waiting to see it. As if this had been his plan all along, he grabbed the handle.

‘You're going the wrong way,’ Ron said.

For what felt like the first time, Harry ignored him. He ran through the first door, looking for the spinning room. It would disorient him, and he wouldn’t be able to keep track, but Hermione had given him the answer.

‘He's not lost!’

Harry heard her voice chasing him down the long corridor. Shrill and anxious, she had sounded like that before.

‘Hermione,’ said Harry suddenly, ‘what if we—we just run in there, and grab Pettigrew—’

‘No,’ said Hermione in a terrified whisper. ‘Don’t you understand? We’re breaking one of the most important wizarding laws. Nobody’s supposed to change time, nobody!’

The heavy door was no barrier. Harry pushed through, and there it was: the room of doors. But which one held the answer? They were all identical. The first opened to a dark and endless abyss.

‘Flagrate.’

The footsteps behind him grew louder, moving faster, but Harry simply moved on to the next door. An icy chill escaped. He closed it.

‘Flagrate,’ he said, moving on.

Diamond-sparkling light greeted him. Ron and Hermione had caught up with him, but he was already walking through to the time room.

‘I just want to take something back,’ he said. ‘I just want to save one.’

A hundred mahogany tables lined the room in neat, orderly rows. Harry’s heavy breaths filled the room. The once-packed tables were now empty. On Harry’s last visit, he silenced a thousand timepieces. Not just silenced, he and his friends had destroyed everything the night they had tried to save Sirius.

Every Time-Turner, except one.

‘Harry…’

She said one word, and it suffocated him in ice-cold, mind-numbing reality.

‘You can’t use it,’ she said.

Harry didn’t move, but his shoulders stiffened.

‘Harry,’ Ron said, ‘look at us?’

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the last Time-Turner.

It was bigger than the one that Hermione had during their third year. Two entwined golden oak trees encased the glass bowls, and inside, moving up and down of their own accord, were the glowing sands of time.

‘How far back do you think we can go?’ Harry asked. ‘Six hours? I think that would be enough.’

’Harry, you can't change anything. Surely you know that,’ Hermione said. ‘You know from last time...’

He heard her shuffling about and pictured the restraint she was showing. Breaking the law on this magnitude was not within her comfort zone.

He reached for the golden Timer-Turner. ‘It could fix everything.’

She stepped forward, more sure of herself than before. ‘Harry—‘

‘I need to save… ’ Harry choked.

His hand fell to his side. These sands that trickled back and forth had the power to do the impossible. He spun on his heel, staring at Hermione.

'I could have taken Peter from Ron while he was in Hagrid’s hut. Think about the chain of events: we would have proved Sirius’ innocence. He wouldn’t have trapped in that house, which means he might even have been here today. You wouldn't let me. You wanted to play by the rules.’

‘The rules are there for a reason. Harry…’

He stepped back from her, running his hands through his hair, tugging until he felt a sting at his scalp.

‘Ron, please.’ Hemione took Ron’s hand in both of hers, tugging. ‘Make him see sense.’

‘Ron,’ Harry said, taking his other hand. ‘I know Time-Turners can cause a lot of damage, but they could do so much more. Where has playing by the rules ever gotten anyone? My parents died, Sirius got locked up, and the Longbottoms have been hospitalised—they’re insane. They all fought for what was right, and they all played by the rules. I’m starting to think that maybe getting your hands dirty gets things done.’

Hermione stepped back, shaking her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Harry, it’s wrong. Y-you used to be able to see that.’

‘How high is the death count, Hermione? Do you know? Look to those who don't play by the rules: the Malfoys. Narcissa Malfoy told one lie, and Kingsley might forgive everything she and her family did. Playing by the rules… ’ Harry’s laugh was hollow.

Hermione said with furrowed brows, ‘When you’re on the right side, you don’t have the luxury of doing whatever you want.’

‘Maybe I don’t want to be on the right side anymore. Maybe I want to play by their rules.’

Stepping between them, Ron pulled him into a brotherly embrace. ‘Don’t let them change you, mate. If you spoke to Kingsley about the Malfoys, he’d change his mind.’ He was strangely calm as he backed up. ‘What if we mess things up? What if we turn back time and do more damage?’

Hermione folded her arms, with her chin jutted forward. ‘He’s right, Harry. Don’t—’

‘What if we can save Fred?’ Harry shouted, angry tears finally spilling down his face. ‘Tell me you don't want that. Tell me it isn't worth the risk. I dare you!’

Ron swallowed hard, and he kept turning towards the Time-Turner, staring at it. ‘We can save Fred?’

‘Yes. He’s at the top of the list.’ Harry grinned, slapping Ron on the back. ‘We can do th—’

’You think I don't want Fred back?’ Hermione shouted. ‘Do you think there isn’t a long and extensive list of people that I wish I could save? But I can’t, and neither can you. Please, Harry.'

’You don't understand,’ Ron whispered. ‘Your parents are safe in Australia. How could you possibly understand?’

Harry grabbed the Time-Turner and felt the weight of the gold, the glass, and the sand within. It was cold against his sweaty palm, and he listened to the faint trickling of sand.

‘If you can answer that, I’ll consider not going back a few hours.’ Harry looked at her with wide, crazy eyes and a grin to match.

'Harry’—she looked at her friends, her lip trembling—'you know I can’t possibly understand what you're going through, but this won't bring your parents back. It won’t bring Sirius back. It won’t change anything. Please.’

Ron placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. ’I'll come for the ride.’

‘Come with us?’ Harry looked at Hermione, pleading with his eyes. ‘Please? You're like a sister to me. You're the only family I have.’

‘No,’ said Hermione, her voice breaking. ‘You’re letting them change you. This is wrong, and I can’t watch you give in like this.’

Harry tested the Time-Turner, feeling how smoothly the glass bowls moved. There was so much promise at this moment.

‘Please, Hermione? I’ll go without you if I have to,’ Harry said.

‘Please, don’t do this.’

Harry began his turns, just like he recalled, one for each hour. He turned the glass bowls within the golden casing five perfectly.

‘Stop!’ Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm.

Harry couldn’t complete the sixth turn. For an eternity, her nails bit into him. His eyes flickered to the date and time along the top of the Time-Turner. The numbers changed faster than he could follow, but the year told him everything he needed to know; this Time-Turner’s reach far exceeded that of a clock.
To be continued...
Thirtieth August 1943
by VerityGrahams
Author's Notes:
Last time:

Harry, Ron and Hermione were traumatised by the war, and as the dust settled, Harry made the startling choice to use a Time-Turner. While Ron decided to go along with Harry, Hermione no longer recognised her friend, but she grabbed Harry’s arm to stop him, pulling her along anyway.

Beta Readers: Lun, x Hemlock x,
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood cemented for an eternity, watching the world flash past. The room devolved backwards through time, streaks of colour blurring Harry’s vision, so he no longer knew when he was. The experience was like the Floo Network, Portkeys, and Apparition rolled into one nauseating experience.

They were slowing down. Fuzzy shapes and colours moved, and the sturdier Harry felt, the crisper the colours became. Soon the room came into focus. Devices and Artifacts covered large oak tables, though there was only one time-related experiment on display. It showed mice, running through a tunnelled cage, ageing and de-ageing as they went. However, Hermione’s fury was far more pressing.

Hermione paced before the white-washed walls, glaring at the Time-Turner, yanking it from Harry’s hands. ‘It doesn't go back in hours. Look at the date!’

Thirtieth, August 1943.

‘I know,’ said Harry, rubbing his arm where Hermione had left angry half-moons indented into his skin.

She began marching and mumbling to herself again, tugging on a stray lock of frizzy black hair.

'1943,' Harry whispered to himself.

He closed his eyes and crouched on the floor, leaning against the hard wooden leg of one of the tables, drumming his fingers against the soft carpet.

‘What happened in 1943?’ Harry asked, looking up at Ron.

‘Harry, we can’t change anything,’ Hermione said before Ron could answer. Her words were a whine, high-pitched and annoying as if she knew what his mind was grasping for.

Ron wasn’t backing him up either. He hadn’t moved an inch as though still fixed to the floor.

‘Be quiet, Hermione. I’m thinking.’ Harry clasped his hands over his ears, his fingers catching hold of his hair and pulling hard.

‘No,’ she shouted, kneeling before Harry and prising his hands from his ears. ‘Don’t even think about it. I’m drawing a line; this isn’t something I can sit back and ignore—’

He pulled away from her. ‘But you didn’t ignore us, did you? You decided to shred my arm and come along.’

‘I didn’t want to come!’ Hermione was something to behold. Masses of black hair seemed to expand, and her eyes narrowed. ‘As usual, you leapt into action without a thought for the consequences. You’re crossing a line, Harry. If you go through with this, I’m not sure I’ll know who you are anymore.’ Hermione reached for him again, her hands trembling even as she clasped his.

Harry stood and backed away. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘Messing with time on this scale is ludicrous. It’s insane. It could change the entire course of history.’

‘And? Our history isn’t that great, Hermione.’

He tried to summon the anxiety that should have been bubbling over like an out of control potion, but it wouldn’t come. There was only hope.

She looked at him a moment, then turned her back. Soon, she was pacing once more, her fingers combing through her wilder than usual hair.

‘I’ll figure out what to change to make things better,’ Harry said. ‘Better for everyone.’

‘It's not like anyone will find out,’ said Ron’s sickly green pallor revealed the lack of confidence in his words. ‘And let’s face it, things always work out. Eventually. Hermione,’ he continued, ‘last time you said that people lost it when they saw themselves. It’ll be fine, r-right? W-we're not going to run into ourselves in 1943.’

‘What if Harry accidentally murders his great-grandma Betty? He isn’t even a foetus, Ron. He’ll never be born. And what if someone mistakes you for one of your relatives? What if we get caught? And then there’s Grindelwald. We don’t know what to do, Ron.'

The words tickled the edge of Harry’s mind. There was a hint so close to the answer he was searching for.

Ron pulled Hermione into his arms while he trembled. He rubbed her back, and her shrieks decreased. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘Don’t worry! Really, Ron?’ Hermione said, the banshee-like screams coming back with a vengeance. She descended into mumbled rants about contaminating timelines, paradoxes, and Harry’s ridiculous plan to change reality in its entirety.

‘Hermione’s broken,’ Ron said, turning to face Harry. ‘I get that we travelled decades back in time, and Grindelwald is likely ruling the world while Tom Riddle sits in the Chamber of Secrets taking notes, but I think Hermione is our more pressing concern. I would really appreciate it if you got up off the floor and helped.’

Harry ignored Ron and sprang to his feet, grinning.

’That gives me an idea,’ he said.

He walked over to Hermione, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and smiled at her, his back abnormally straight and his head high. ’I say we get a little help. Hermione, can you come with us? You wouldn’t want anyone to see us. That would break your precious rules.’

‘Harry, you’re being a bit of a git now.’ Ron’s eyebrow was twitching. ‘Given we’re in the forties, I think she has a point.’

‘Sorry. We don’t have loads of time, though. We need help, right, Hermione?’

‘Of course. Harry’s right, Ron.’ Hermione’s tense shoulders relaxed. ‘We need help. Should we go to a library?’

Harry grinned at Ron. ‘If a secluded library is what will help you think, that’s where we should go, right?’

‘Right.’ Hermione beamed at Harry. ‘Where will we find a secluded library?’

‘Hogwarts.’

‘What!’

When they had left Hogwarts, the sky had been gloomy and overcast, the castle burnt and crumbled, but now it stood majestic and whole under pinpricks of starlight which lit their way.

They crossed over the bridge that Seamus Finnegan and Neville Longbottom had blown to smithereens, walking through a landscape of comparisons and absences. Harry kept glancing at the empty spot where the Whomping Willow would stand guard in a few decades.

They followed the familiar path right up to the familiar oak doors.

Their footsteps echoed on the cold, stone floor of the deserted castle. Suits of armour gleamed, portraits slept, and precious stones filled the upper globes of the house hourglasses while the bottoms were empty. It was bittersweet, reminding Harry of the first time he had passed through these doors.

‘What are we going to do if Professor Dumbledore isn’t here?’ Hermione asked, breaking the loud silence. ‘Term starts tomorrow, and it will be far too busy then.’

‘Well, it’s not going to make me change my mind. I’ll go to the Room of Requirement and wait.’ Harry strode through the entrance hall towards the marble staircase.

Hermione and Ron ran after him. ‘He’s not going to agree to your ridiculous plan. He can’t,’ she said, pulling Harry back, but he was always one step ahead. ‘I just hope he’s able to send us back to where we belong.’

‘We had a deal, Hermione. Dumbledore decides. If he wants to send us home, then that’s what we’ll do,’ said Harry. ‘If he agrees to my plan, then we’re doing it!’

‘Can you two stop bickering? Someone’ll hear.’ Ron stepped into the empty Great Hall.

Everything was still and orderly. The smell of polish greeted them, wafting up from the four house tables, and there was only a glimmer of light from the magical ceiling. The candles were all extinguished, just like they had been when they had left their very own Hogwarts the day before.

Ron stood in the shadow of the door, peering into the dark corners of the vast room, but it was as empty as it seemed.

‘Ron’s right. There could be teachers anywhere.’ Hermione’s lips thinned, and she looked at Harry. Despite his being a step or two above her, she still managed to look down her nose at him.

Harry glanced up at the main staircase that led to the headmaster’s office, and it swang to the left, heading in an altogether different direction. He remembered Professor Dumbledore was not the headmaster yet.

’Hermione, what subject did Professor Dumbledore teach before he became Headmaster?’ Harry asked.

Hermione stood there silent, her arms tense at her sides and her fists balled. She looked away, blowing her anger out through her nose.

’If you want him to send us back to our own time, we still need to find him. If you don’t spill, I’ll walk around shouting his name.’

She studied the wooden bannister, feeling the smooth polished grain under her fingertips.

Harry said, ‘I know I’m baiting you, and I’m sorry. You said it yourself once, I have a “saving people thing”, and this could save a lot of people.’

She turned around, looking Harry in the eye.

‘We both know it’s not about that, Harry,’ she said. ‘If it were, I wouldn’t be so angry. You want your own way, to bend and break the rules to get everything Voldemort stole from you. It has nothing to do with saving people.’

‘Hermione—’ Ron began.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Harry, ‘but we can’t stay here. Either way, we need Dumbledore’s help.’

Hermione crossed her arms, and her jaw stiffened. ‘Transfiguration. He was also Head of Gryffindor, so probably Professor McGonagall's office.’

Ron pulled them down a corridor. ‘This way’s quieter. That’d be better, right, Hermione?’

She nodded and followed, barely picking up her feet.

The corridors felt familiar, timeless. They walked down the third-floor hallway, and the same tapestry was in place. They snuck out of an alcove, and there was the door that they needed: “Prof. Dumbledore Dumbledore—Transfiguration."

Ron was the only one brave enough to knock.

‘Come in,’ a voice called from within.

Harry pushed open the door.

The office was different without Professor McGonagall’s familiar touches. He recognised many of the trinkets on the shelves, though, and remembered breaking a few of them after Sirius’s death.

The man behind the desk would have been unrecognisable but for his bright blue eyes.

‘Professor?’ Ron asked.

‘It's him,’ Harry whispered.

Professor Dumbledore was much younger. He had a short ginger beard and cropped hair with copper tones glinting in the candlelight. He still wore bright, plum, figure-fitting robes, and the lining was as decadent as you would expect. There was an air of style that was unfamiliar to their old professor.

Hermione had her head in her hands. ‘Harry, just ask him to help us get home. Please.’

The auburn-haired professor watched, and a faint smile was the only reaction to their unexpected appearance.

‘We said we would let Professor Dumbledore decide.’ Harry looked up at the professor.

‘Maybe if you thought about it, we wouldn’t have to ask him to decide.’

‘I know my students,’ Dumbledore replied with a beaming smile. ‘You have never been to Hogwarts. Are you from another school?’

‘No, we're from another time.’ Harry strode to the professor’s desk. ‘I’m here trying to finish a job you gave me.’

‘Harry.’ Hermione marched after him.

Dumbledore suppressed a smile, but what he found so funny, Harry couldn’t tell.

‘That isn’t true,’ Hermione continued. ‘He never asked us to mess with that Time-Turner,’

‘He did once,’ Harry replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘He only meant that one time.’

‘I don’t think this is any different. Who’s to say that Dumbledore wouldn’t have wanted us to do this too?’

‘The Time-Turner from third-year couldn’t create an alternate timeline, and it couldn’t create a paradox. It just created more time within a specific reality. What you are suggesting is something entirely different and recklessly irresponsible.’

Harry threw his arms up. ‘You don’t understand—’

‘I understand perfectly, thank you very much. I think it’s you that doesn’t understand the gravity of what you’re doing.’

‘Excuse me.’ Dumbledore walked around to sit on the front edge of his desk, crossing his legs at the ankle.

He studied Harry’s eyes. ‘I am convinced you are telling the truth,’ he said. ’You want to change history, which would create an alternate reality and somewhere peaceful for you to live your life. You’—he pointed at Hermione—‘just want to go home. You believe this rule is too big to break.’

‘Yes. I mean, I would love to, but it's against the law. It's irresponsible. We are from so far ahead in time. Even the slightest change would drastically alter reality.'

‘That's kind of the point,’ said Harry

‘You may never be born.’

‘I don't care. I would rather not exist than leave things as they are.’

The words were echoing off the walls. The only sound was Harry’s ragged breathing, his chest heaving with each gasp. All eyes were on him, and Hermione reached out before her hand dropped at her side.

‘I will decide. That does seem to be your original agreement, does it not?’ Dumbledore spoke with the same measured tone that they remembered. He had complete control of what they knew was uncontrollable.

‘He’s definitely Professor Dumbledore.’ Ron grinned at Harry and threw himself in a chair.

Hermione took Harry’s arm and pulled him into a seat beside her and Ron. They were calmer now, but for the first time, Harry realised he was entirely dependent on the headmaster siding with his plan. Dumbledore always had his own agenda, though.

‘Harry, you will tell me your story from the beginning, no embellishments, no details missed.’ He waved his wand, conjuring a teapot and mugs. He summoned tea bags, and soon the smell of earl grey filled the room.

For hours they sat in the office, and Harry told the story of Tom Riddle and The Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore was an attentive listener, even when Ron or Hermione would interrupt with added detail. No aspect of the war was missed, from the first Horcrux to the final battle.

Dumbledore sat in silence when they finished. His fingertips steepled before him, and his expression distant and pensive.

‘I can see why you are against changes of this magnitude. We could do a lot of damage. However, I believe that I can do this brilliantly.’ Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling.

‘Wicked, sir,’ said Ron.

‘We have to go back to our own time first,’ Hermione said, her shoulders slumped. ‘We can’t just live here. We have no identity, no qualifications, no family. We can’t just start attending Hogwarts.’

Dumbledore frowned. ‘Of course, you have to go back, but I don’t see why you have to go to your timeline. I just need the help of a colleague. Wait here.’ Dumbledore got up and glided out of the office.

They were alone for some time, waiting. Harry walked about the office, fiddling with various instruments. With a slight smile, he picked up a delicate silver ornament that puffed smoke. He remembered throwing it in a heartbroken rage. Maybe this time, it would survive.

Hermione was just as impatient, scouring shelves, but she swapped books every minute. Whereas Ron was still reclining in his chair, playing with his Deluminator, the oil lamp on Dumbledore’s desk flickering on and off until Harry and Hermione’s irritated glares got so intense that he pocketed the device.

Dumbledore returned with a very young-looking Horace Slughorn. His straw-like, almost ginger hair framed a much leaner face, complete with a full ginger moustache and the same watery green eyes.

‘This is a bad idea,’ Hermione said, scolding Dumbledore. ‘If he knows too much...’

‘I will Obliviate him myself. In fact, Horace has already agreed to it,’ said Dumbledore. ‘He is going to concoct a potion that will allow you to appreciate the changes. These are the students.’

Horace fiddled with the brass buttons on his dinner jacket, straightening the collar incessantly. His eyes darted around the room, but he never looked at Ron, Harry, or Hermione.

For the first time that evening, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were on the same page. How they would taking a potion give them an appreciation for the absence of Voldemort.

‘Dumbledore, I would rather have less for you to Obliviate. I only just finished my lesson plans for the entire first term.’ Horace fumbled with an ornate pocket watch, his lips pursed.

‘Not to worry, Horace. I will Obliviate you once the potion is complete.’

‘I still don’t want to know why I’m brewing a de-ageing potion. I presume this has something to do with Grindelwald, but I’ve told you before, I’m staying out of it. I will need an assistant, though. Are any of these three good at potions?’

‘I’ll go,' said Hermione. 'This can’t get any more out of hand.’

‘I'll be eleven?’ Harry asked. It seemed as though every worry or stress line on his face faded.

‘In every conceivable way. Emotionally, physically, intellectually, completely eleven,’ Dumbledore said. ‘The potion does play with the chemistry in the brain to make it a truly authentic transformation. Based on your story, I think you can handle the side effects.’

‘Side effects?’ asked Hermione, her face resting in her palm, her fingertips rubbing anxious circles into her cheeks.

‘Nothing in comparison to what you have already dealt with. I have no concerns at all.’

Harry suddenly got lost, daydreaming about what his family life could be like. ‘What will it be like?’

‘What we are doing is highly theoretical, and technically, it will be your subconscious that travels forwards in time. You will pick the date, and when you wake up on that date, you will remember the experiences from your past life and the life you will have enjoyed within this new timeline we will have created. You will never completely forget what happened, Harry, not unless I Obliviate you,’ he explained.

‘I know you don’t want this, Hermione,’ Harry said. ‘But…’

‘This is better for everyone,’ said Ron. ‘There’s no way we can make life worse by dealing with Tom Riddle now. He killed hundreds of witches, wizards, and Muggles. It’s a risk we should take.’

‘I still think that this is wrong—selfish even,’ Hermione said.

‘You’re the only one that hasn’t lost anything. You go home, and you can find your parents, their memories easily brought back. You made a deal, “Dumbledore decides.” You not liking the result doesn’t change things.’

‘It’s just, this is a big deal, just for me?’ Harry said, fidgetting with the edge of his frayed shirt. Everything he had ever wanted was so close, but that meant there was now so much more to lose than ever.

‘Mate, if you think this is about you, you're more self-centred than I gave you credit for.’ Ron frowned. ‘This is for everyone.’

‘Then we are all in agreement.’ Dumbledore looked over to Horace. ‘You have everything you need for the potions, Horace?’

‘No, we aren’t,’ said Hermione. ‘Clearly, you’ll have to know something to stop Tom Riddle, but you can’t just know everything you know now. You would be able to interfere with the timeline too much. The only way I agree is if I Obliviate you.’

The man nodded, and without another word, he stumbled out of the room, bashing his shoulder on the door frame. Hermione held her head high and clutched her handbag close to her chest as she followed him from the room.

‘We need to plan how we're going to stop Tom Riddle.’ Harry leaned forward, his fingers interlaced in front of him, and the ball of his foot bounced beneath his chair. ‘How are we going to give you instructions once Hermione has Obliviated you?’

‘What if you were a student, and you knew what was going to happen. You would tell the professor, right?’ Ron said.

‘I’m not a student, Ron. We can’t stay here until things start to happen. Hermione would never agree to it.’

‘No, of course not. We would write a letter to Professor Dumbledore. It would have everything he needed to look closer at Tom when kids start getting petrified. Once Tom gets caught sending a mad snake around the castle, he’ll get at least some time in Azkaban. If he still manages to murder Myrtle, he might even get the Kiss.’

Harry looked at Ron with a cocked eyebrow. ‘But they’d need to know how to open the Chamber, which means sharing the word in Parseltongue. We’d have to tell them where it is, about the diary, everything. How do we make that believable?’

‘We write that Tom shared the details or that this student overheard. Even if Dumbledore doesn’t check it out right away, once students start getting petrified, he would.’

‘Simple, yet effective.’ Dumbledore pulled out a long violet quill and a roll of parchment.

They worked through many drafts before they had something that covered all the basics but didn’t sound suspicious, which seemed to be a particular concern for Dumbledore. When Hermione and Slughorn arrived back with the potion, crumpled and discarded parchment littered the desk.

‘Hermione, do you have a fresh piece of parchment?’ Harry asked. ‘We ran out. We need to write this letter so Professor Dumbledore can stop Tom.’

Hermione breathed out slowly through her nose, and the glare she had worn all day didn’t relent. She dug around her small but unending bag and placed a single roll on the desk.

‘I'm sorry, Hermione. I know you don't want this to happen.’ Harry looked up at her, and the stern expression softened.

‘We made a deal.’ Hermione rolled her shoulders. ‘It's okay. I-I know it would be a better world, most likely.’

‘But if I changed my mind, that’s what you would prefer?’

‘Of course.’ She laughed.

Horace stood awkwardly in the background, holding three vials. Dumbledore took them and nodded at the professor. ‘Are you ready, Horace?’

The job now being complete had not settled Horace at all. He continued to fidget, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his face. ‘Yes, just be careful.’

‘Obliviate,’ Dumbledore spoke calmly.

A dazed expression came over Slughorn's face, and all signs of fidgeting stopped. His eyes glazed, and a serene smile appeared on his face.

‘I will take Horace back to his office. Finish the letter, and we will have you home before you know it.’ Dumbledore then guided Horace Slughorn from the office.

Harry finished the letter, placed it in an envelope and wrote ‘Albus Dumbledore’ on the front before setting it in front of his chair on the dark, oak desk. When Dumbledore arrived, he took a small instrument from his shelves and pulled the Time-Turner towards him.

‘I am going to make three Portkeys, special Portkeys.’

He looked at the Deluminator with interest, holding his hand out to Ron, who handed it over.

‘Once we send you back through time, they will activate, but they will take you “home ” wherever that may be for you in that time. Even if you don't know where it is.’ With that, Dumbledore muttered and waved his wand over each object, all of them glowing in turn. ‘Now, Miss Granger, you just need to Obliviate me.’

Hermione stood in front of the professor, and her eyes softened. ‘Thank you, Professor. Obliviate.’

The same dazed expression came over Dumbledore’s face, and Harry and Ron settled him into his seat.

They each picked up an object, and Harry set the Time-Turner to the appropriate date: 31st July 1991. His birthday.

‘I guess this is bottoms up?’ Ron said, holding up his vial.

‘Cheers,’ said Harry and Hermione.

They clinked the vials together, and then they were down in one.

Ice-like liquid slid down Harry’s throat, and it spread, creeping to every part of his body. His heart hammered, and he trembled with the bitter cold that filled his insides. Finally, it seemed to read his mind, which throbbed like the worlds worst brain freeze.

‘Everyone, hold on,’ Harry said, and the swirl of colours began.

Much like last time, they were frozen, solid, and time passed through them. The only improvement was Hermione’s nails not digging into his arm for an eternity.

There was the familiar tug behind the belly button when they stopped, dragging each of them to some unknown location. Harry panicked as Ron and Hermione’s hands were pulled from his, and for a moment, he was alone.

He fell with a thump on a soft bed, the Time-Turner still in his hand. It was huge now, or maybe it just seemed that way in his now much smaller hand.

Harry was just about to turn eleven.

As Harry hid the Time-Turner under his bed, he noticed the large bedroom. It was all painted blue, and the stars swirled on his ceiling. At the end of his bed was a trunk spewing out a mess of toys, brooms, and clothes. He had piles around his room, stacks of books, comics, a lush green dressing gown, and there was a desk on the opposite wall. He had Quidditch posters on his wall, along with Gryffindor house banners. Everything was as Harry would have imagined it, except the addition of a Slytherin banner above his bed.

It was late, and he didn’t want to anger his parents the first day he met them, so he curled up in his duvet and tried to get some sleep. But soon, a slither of light invaded his room.

‘Harry,’ a man whispered, having opened the door. ‘I heard a bang.’ The voice sounded concerned, and Harry’s heart swelled. ‘Are you ok?’

‘I’m fine, Dad.’ He yawned as footsteps drew closer, and then soft lips pressed against his forehead.

‘I'll see you in the morning, birthday boy.’

Harry thought he recognised the voice, but maybe he was just happy to hear someone talk to him that way—the way a father speaks to a son.
To be continued...


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