Harry James Potter, famously known as The-Boy-Who-Lived but was now just The-Boy-Who-Lost, hobbled down a rocky path with a cane supporting his weight, a tired eye constantly scanning his surroundings with well reasoned paranoia.
His left leg was ruined worse than Dumbledore's arm had, Dark veins and dried crust growing along the shin and thigh. Even a single twitch sent shivers of biting cold pain through the cursed leg, but he simply gritted his teeths and kept moving.
He cannot afford to miss this. Innocent lives depended on it.
Of course, his cursed fate just had to make his already miserably life more difficult.
He lost his balance, the single good feet slipping upon a smooth rock. The cane dropped first before he fell on his back with a thud, his flailing hands unable to find purchase anywhere.
Pain lit up through his back like a lightning bolt, zigzagging throughout his spine and making him arch back in agony.
"Fuck's sake." Harry cursed, pushing himself up with a groan and ignoring the cracks coming from his back. "Always a bloody rock..."
He sat cross-legged in the middle of the road, taking a quick break to gather his breath. A part of his mind wandered, remembering the painful journey that his life was on right now.
4 years it has been. 4 years since the death of Albus Dumbledore. 4 years since he'd first undertaken this worthless mission, trusting his mentor's plan without a moment of doubt. And where did that bring him? In the middle of fucking nowhere, hobbling around like a one-legged troll.
The war had started fine, with the order making their stand in Hogwarts while Harry and his friends went along with their quest to hunt down horcruxes.
Things were difficult. Oh yes, very difficult. But atleast they had some vague hope that perhaps once the horcruxes were destroyed, Voldemort would just fall flat on his face and die.
Well, he'd destroyed the horcruxes. All six of them, including nagini. It took a lot of time and blood, but they'd done it.
The thing was...nothing happened. Oh sure, tommy got a bit more cautious, a bit more paranoid, and a bit more hurried...but so what? There was no one to take him down, no one to take advantage of his brief moments of weakness.
People thought Harry could defeat him, but the simple words always made him crack up. Three times he'd dueled the man after destroying his horcruxes, only to get his arse handed to him like a fucking child. No matter what Harry did, no matter how ruthless he got, no matter what preparation he made for the pale bastard... Voldemort always came out on top. Every single time. Perhaps a little injured sometimes, but always alive. And even with his friends help, Harry barely got away with his life.
They must have defended the castle for over a year before his death eaters finally broke in, while he and his friends tried to think up a solution. Dumbledore's portrait had been as useless as the real man, speaking in riddles and vagueness.
'Neither can die while the other survives.' These were the only words the old bastard was willing to offer.
But what the bloody hell did they mean? That Harry must die? But then who would kill voldemort?
He didn't know. Though he'd tried his best, even willing to give up his life, but his army wouldn't let him. His friends, his people, they convinced him otherwise. To keep fighting on, to keep leading them forward.
Well, he'd done that. And look where they were now.
Hogwarts was conquered, and the order killed off, along with all of his friends. The ministry belonged to Voldemort completely, and right now the man didn't even care about Harry too much, preferring to expand his rule globally.
And Harry could do nothing to stop him. An injured rat he was, nothing more. All that chosen one nonsense was just that. Nonsense.
When the castle fell, they'd run away; Him, Ron, and Hermoine. Along with half a dozen DA. And to be honest, the first year that they'd been on the run were perhaps some of the best moments of his life. With Ginny in his arms and his friends by his side. Sure, they had to run like cowards, but so what? Atleast they'd been alive.
Not for long though.
Ginny was the first to go; killed by Alecto Carrow's killing curse. They'd been ambushed out of nowhere, a betrayer amongst their number.
The rest followed soon– Dean, Ron, Neville...all gone. Finnigan had turned out to be the traitor, and for the first time in his life, Harry had successfully cast the killing curse, putting down one of his own.
He never regretted it.
With only Hermoine by his side, they'd left the country, intending to never look back.
Clearly, the fate had other plans for him, because the death eaters found them merely a year later.
Hermoine's death had hit the hardest. Some would think after losing so many people he would've grown used to it, but the truth was– You can never get used to losing your loved ones. They'd grown close, Hermoine and him. On the run with no hope of survival, and knowing the time was ticking, they'd grown close. Closer than they'd ever been.
And he had hoped, just for a moment, that perhaps things weren't over yet. Maybe he and Hermoine could settle down in the muggle world. Just forget about the prophecy and let Voldemort be other's problem. The worst thing was, he knew Hermoine wanted the same. He knew she was just waiting for him to say it.
And he would've too...Had Bellatrix Lestrange not found them first. He could've taken Bellatrix anyday, and with a bit of luck may have even killed her. Especially with Hermoine at his side.
But she hadn't come alone. Emperor Voldemort had come to tie up the lose ends.
That night he had well and truly lost for the final time. Voldemort just played around with them, before finally, agonisingly slowly, he killed Hermoine.
With her death, all of his resistance had gone out like a light. But Voldemort didn't want to end his opponent; apparently he'd learned some secret, making him hesitant to kill Harry. Instead, he'd let Bellatrix ruin him with a terrible dark curse and let him run away.
And he had run away. With tears rolling down his cheeks, he'd run away promising vengeance.
A promise he'd come to realise that he would never successfully keep.
Voldemort was simply too strong for Harry to do anything.
At his peak, Harry could've held his own against the best of death-eaters. Now? A couple of grunts were enough to bring him down.
A drop of rain broke him out of his reverie, and he stared at the suddenly darkening sky tiredly.
With a sigh, he removed the holly wand from his torn down holster and a quick wave later, his cane jumped back in his hands. His speed and dexterity may have gone to shit, but his magic was as powerful as ever.
He pushed himself up to his feets, starting his way down the rocky path again as the rain picked up pace.
His destination was Hogwarts courtyard.
While the man didn't wish to kill him, Voldemort still found other ways to torture Harry. One of his most favourite one was to execute Harry's former friends in front of the castle grounds, making it a public spectacle. Every weekend, right at 6'o clock in the evening, an innocent died on the grounds amidst a mocking and taunting crowd of spectators.
Of course, Harry was always given a special invitation to watch. In fact, his presence was mandatory or else the madman would do worse.
You'd think someone as broken as Harry could just shrug off such empty threats but apparently not. His 'saving people' thing just couldn't stomach the idea of his friends dying because of him. Had they been strangers, he
Honestly? He couldn't care less. His 'Saving people thing' had died 3 years ago alongside Hermoine. Such empty threats were easily shrugged off by him nowadays. But still, he followed the Dark douchebag's orders because there was nothing else to do. He couldn't hide, he couldn't run, he couldn't fight... there's nothing to do for him but die.
So he dragged himself through the dusty trail, because Voldemort wasn't kind enough to give him permission to apparate inside the wards.
Halfway through the trail road, his cane slipped off a wet rock again and he fell down once more. Only a grunt left him as his glasses slipped from his face and were crushed under his butt while he tried to get up.
With a long sigh, he sat back down as the rain really started hollering down the street, his already blurry eyesight now becoming totally useless.
Taking a seat on one of the drier rocks, he absently Transfigured a piece of trash into a functional umbrella and huddled under its shade.
Sometimes he wondered why he was still going on. Even Voldemort didn't want him to die, surely he couldn't find a more better reason to off himself now. The smoldering embers of vengeance were drenched up and gone a long time ago. Surely a quick Avada Kedavra would finally give him some rest? And who knows, Perhaps there actually was an afterlife waiting for him, and by some miracle he might not go to hell and be reunited with Moine' again?
...Yeah, right.
Harry sighed again, leaning back to rest against a concrete pillar while letting the umbrella hang in the air with a bit of Wandless magic.
Now freed, his hand wandered up to his neck, removing the locket that he'd so carefully kept safe and hidden.
It was a time-turner. Something 'Moine had picked up back in their adventure through the ministry. Ever since dumbledore's death, she'd been working on the thing to try and change its properties. This was supposed to be their back-up plan if all else failed, meant to take any one person almost a decade back in time.
Unfortunately, she'd never managed to finish it. Time was something that even she cannot understand, even with all her brilliance and genius. Harry had simply been carrying the locket with him as a lucky charm, never intending to use the thing. Especially because 'Moine specifically warned him never to use it. It was too unstable, and too unpredictable, with potential to tear up their entire world.
But now he found himself wondering...why not? Sure, there was a chance that the world might get destroyed, but strangely he found himself simply not caring enough to give a rats arse about it. Or well, not so strange really. When was the last time he cared about another life? The thought of causing the world's destruction put absolutely no pressure on his conscience.
And as another spasm of pain wrecked across his body, Harry Potter came upon a reckless decision all of a sudden in the middle of a rocky trail. He'd never planned to do this, never even dreamt of doing this before.
But he just couldn't take this anymore. Plus, most of his life-changing decisions came as a spur of the moment thing, even if they didn't always work out in his favour...and this time the stacks were even higher.
Harry was risking the entire world on his decision.
"Eh, whatever." He shrugged, muttering softly through the rain. "Better the world burn rather than be under Tommy's rule."
And then, before his sane part could talk him out of it, he twisted the time-turner three times Anti-clockwise.
Nothing happened.
"Oh for Merlin's sake..." Harry groaned. He hadn't even considered the possibility that the thing might not be working anymore.
"Bloody bullocks...why can't the fate ju–" His cursing came to an abrupt end when all of a sudden a chasm opened up under him.
There was no time to do anything. No time to make sense of things, no time to resist...the chasm just opened up and swallowed him whole.
And then Harry Potter found his eyes getting heavy, his mind stretching to impossible limits as he felt himself become undone.
The last thing he thought before the darkness took him was; 'Time-travelling is bloody painful.'
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Harry Potter opened his eyes, emerald green eyes staring at the dusty old ceiling in confusion before lighting up in recognition.
He was currently in private drive, Surrey. A place he hadn't seen in over 3-4 years.
"It worked." He whispered, a flicker of incredulity breaking through the cold wall that he'd built around himself. "Hermoine, you bloody genius. It worked."
Who could've thought? Even he had his moments of doubt. Time-travel could make the most jaded being balk. But clearly, his doubts were unfounded.
Even through her grave, his best friend turned lover never failed to surprise him.
For the first time in a long long while, Harry Potter dared to hope. Just a flickering sense of excitement and relief, that perhaps he may yet have a chance to salvage his world.
If everything worked out like it was meant to, then he was currently 6 years in the past, just before the return of his most hated enemy. All those dead and forgotten in the war were now alive and well. What a shame though, knowing these people wouldn't even know him. The men and women who he'd bled for and fought with, who he'd led through the toughest of times, would see him as a complete stranger.
But that was life. Nothing ever worked out perfectly.
And loneliness was something that he'd become accustomed to over his years on the run.
But that wasn't important. The vital point was that he had a chance now. A chance to change everything. A change to rewrite history. And most importantly, a chance to bury voldemort before he even came into power.
How many days had he spent cursing all those missed opportunities? Cursing himself for being such a fool, as he sat alone regretting his life choices. If only he could've killed Pettigrew before he had a chance to revive voldemort, if only he could've saved Cedric...and Sirius...and tonks, and Ron, and lupin, and luna, and Ginny...and Hermoine... If only he'd been better, been stronger and smarter...if only he'd done countless little things that could've changed the face of war. There were days when he did nothing except regret his past as he ran from Tom like a coward, too weak to put any kind of resistance, too late to change things...
Well, now he had the chance. And there was no god or mortal alive who could stop him from using it.
Harry Potter was now willing to do whatever it takes. He knew exactly what was in the future, so he needed no more motivation to do his absolute best.
But first, he needed a solid plan. The times where he jumped into danger half-arsed were long gone. And for a solid plan, he needed information.
His mind set, and fire coursing through his viens, Harry quickly got up from the bed, ready to start his mission...which came to a quick stop when he actually took a look around.
This wasn't his room.
Oh sure, the house was definitely the Dursley residence, and this room's ceiling was quite similar to his old room, and even the outside view was exactly the same...it just wasn't his room. This massive thing was easily twice as big as any room in the Dursley house. Or atleast, the house that he remembered.
But the biggest difference wasn't the size. It was the absurdly large Slytherin posters and magical items spread around the room. There was even a moving picture of a female quidditch player zooming through the air.
There was no bloody way the Dursleys were ever going to let their little 'freak' keep something magical so openly.
What does that conclude? Harry didn't know for certain. But he had some very disturbing ideas what it could be.
Suddenly it began dawning on Harry that he might've celebrated a little too early.
Time-travel has always been an obscure paradoxical concept, way out of any Wizard's imagination, maybe save for those unspeakables who made it their life's goal to understand the mysteries of their world. Certainly outside of Harry's understanding, who hadn't even completed his 7th year in Hogwarts.
So was it truly surprising that something had gone wrong? Well, no, he wasn't surprised. Hermoine had literally warned something could go wrong, and he was ready for it. But that didn't mean he liked these changes.
And as his eyes took in every small detail, confirming the fact that this was indeed his old room in the Dursley house, only changed to an absurd degree...he began to grow tired.
Just...why can't things go according to plan for once?
'This isn't the time for self-pity, Harry.' He scolded himself, taking a deep breath while pushing down the growing sense of urgency with his rudimentary skills in occlumency...only to receive another surprise when he was able to completely control his emotions to a degree he had never been able to achieve before. The surprise was pushed down instantly; the panic, the fear of unknown, the anxiety... everything was reduced behind a curtain of silent logic.
Cool and calm, his mind analysised the situation with a speed and accuracy he'd never experienced. And while his mind worked in an overdrive, he searched the room for any possible explanation.
A small part of his mind wondered if this was how it felt to be a genius, before being pushed aside as the situation became clear.
He was not in his own past.
Why? Because first, and the most obvious reason, the Slytherin posters. Harry Potter was not, and never will be, a fan of the house of snakes.
Second, the room he was currently residing in was much more luxurious than anything he'd ever lived in. And there was simply no way the Dursleys would be kind enough to let him have anything nice. Plus, there was literally no room this luxurious in Dursley house to begin with.
Third, and perhaps the most disturbing one, was his thoughts. The way he was currently thinking inside his mind was just too well organised, and too... fast.
Harry would never call himself a genius. Oh sure, he wasn't as dumb as say, Crabbe or Goyle. But neither was he anywhere near Hermoine when it came to processing information. And the way his mind was working right now...yeah. He felt like a bloody genius.
The daily prophet suggested the date to be 5th of July, 1994. Which meant the summer holidays had just started.
And his mind quickly connected the dots. Harry Potter had come back in time just before the year of Voldemort's return, which meant that the timing of his jump was correct...just that his destination was fucked.
The question was, did it truly matter?
Sure, the situation may not be the ideal one he'd been imagining, but just because he was in a different past didn't mean his goals changed. Voldemort was no doubt still the big bad dark lord with wet dreams of world domination.
And now, Harry was in a position to stop the–
His thoughts were cut off as a sudden flash of pain assulted him out of nowhere.
"Fuck..." He clutched his head in a tight vase, pushing in down on the soft pillows. "What in Morgana's accursed name..."
But it didn't stop there.
Very quickly, the pain lit up his entire head like a firework, his viens pounding inside like a drum.
"Blood hell..." He gasped, the constant pounding forcing him to tunnel down in the bed further.
The headache was unnaturally strong, making him writhe helplessly, unable to call for help and unable to think clearly... until atlast his body simply couldn't take it anymore and he let loose a scream of pure agony.
The world grew darker, shadows tricking his vision as his reality shifted from the bleary view that his half-closed eyes could make out.
And just a few minutes into his new life, Harry James potter dropped on the floor, unconscious.
His last thought simply cursing the fate for whatever new shit it was about to throw at him.