This story is a product of imagination, specualtion, and the desire to answer the burning questions of "What if?" I do not own any copywrited characters from either franchise. The characters who appear here who did not originate in either series, however, are the products of my own imagination and are used to facilitate the story itself.
They say time can be rewritten. That's what we were told in the beginning. But what "they" never seem to mention is whether or not time SHOULD be rewritten, and what happens once it is. I'm Harry Potter. And this is how the future died.
Harry Potter and the Temporal Incursion
Rain poured down from the sky in buckets. Thunder rumbled angrily in the dark clouds oveErind as the wind slashed at his face. Puddles splashed at his ankles, drenching his feet. Cursing under his breath, he pulled his thick wool coat tighter to his body and trudged on.
The dirt road stretched forward into the endless gloom of the storm. Weeds trembled in the wind like saplings in an earthquake. The ditch beside the road churned with muddy water, nearly overflowing its banks. Lightning split the sky ahead for the blink of an eye. Its curved, crooked structure seemed to hold a laughing face, as if the storm itself were mocking him.
Turning off the road, he continued on into a thick wood. Trees cut at him as he forced his way through the thick brush.
Mile after mile lay behind him. Blisters on his feet, having long split open, oozed clear liquid through his socks, mixing with the dirty rainwater. The burn on his side stung from the constant rubbing of his coat. His muscles burned with lactic acid, but still he slogged on.
The hours ticked by. The sky grew darker as the sun set behind the clouds, and he wondered if he had somehow passed his destination in the maelstrom. Then, in a brilliant flash of lightning, he beheld the outline of a small cabin not 50 meters from where he stood.
His knuckles rapped on the hard wood under the deep scratch in the door. A small panel slid open, revealing only darkness.
"Password," a low voice growled.
He glanced around quickly. Then he leaned in close and whispered "A master without his servants is nothing." The panel slid shut for a moment, and the creaky door slid open.
The interior stretched in every direction. He barely noticed, having become accustomed to this bigger-on-the-inside trick over the course of many years. A small group of people gathered around a circular table. The tallest and gauntest of them rose in recognition.
"I apologize for the inconvenience, Magnus. We've been having trouble maintaining the camouflage spells and we felt we couldn't risk lowering them even for a second."
"The exercise did me good," Magnus replied stiffly. "Though I admit I'm a bit out of practice at evading detection on the Network anyway."
The gaunt man nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. Help yourself to some of the refreshments. We have but one more guest to await."
Magnus strode over to a long, rectangular table and poured himself a drink, ignoring the eyes he could feel boring into his back.
"That's a bit strong for so late, wouldn't you agree?" A dark-haired woman suddenly appeared at his side.
Magnus smiled grimly. "I'd say I deserve it after my long walk." He gulped down half of his glass in one swing.
"But not before a meeting so important." She grabbed the glass.
Magnus held on to the glass, his arm barely moving despite her best efforts. "I've had harder than this much earlier and before much more serious business." He downed the last of the glass before releasing it, leaving her with only an empty vessel.
She bit off a half smile. "Magnus Jalekev. How I've missed you."
"I can't say the same for you, Erin." He chewed out her name like an insult.
Erin hesitated for a second. "The years haven't been kind to you, I see."
Magnus turned and faced her. "Kind?" He snorted slightly. "Nothing ever seems kind after you've seen it."
Erin's mind flashed to what he was talking about. "Magnus…"
"Yes?" A small burst of light flashed from the end of a cigar he pulled out of his pocket. He inhaled deeply through the cigar, exhaling a smoke cloud a second later.
A small gasp escaped Erin. "Bloody idiot!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "The spells are fragile enough as it is! Even a tiny burst could-"
"Relax. They won't detect it. Not the way I do it." Magnus took another deep breath. "Besides, there wasn't a 'No Smoking' sign."
Erin opened her mouth, but at that instant, the door creaked open. A tall, bright- redheaded woman stepped in. Her gaunt features rivaled those of the gaunt man, but unlike him, her gauntness betrayed sickness. Her skin was drawn across her bones tauter than a drum. Her eyes were sunk back into her skull, giving her a haunted look. No adipose tissue was visible, and it was a wonder she did not collapse where she stood.
"Inara," Erin whispered. "I thought she died in the Purge."
"Who is she?" The end of Magnus' cigar glowed brightly.
"She's a magic engineer. She creates and repairs magical devices as easily as you and I breathe. One of her inventions must have enabled her to survive." Inara made her way to the round table, a look of pain on her face. "But it can't have been easy for her, given her current… state."
"Hello, Inara," the gaunt man acknowledged. "I trust the journey hasn't been too rough on you?"
Inara removed her outer cloak. A thin weave of glowing fibers was wrapped around her torso. "They can't find me. Not with this." Abruptly she tore off the weave, throwing it to the ground. "It draws on my body energy, so it only works so long as it can power itself with my metabolism." The glowing ceased immediately.
The gaunt man nodded, looking slightly irritated. "Take a seat." The order was addressed to the entire room.
Magnus seated himself on the opposite side of the table from Erin. She shot him an irritated look but said nothing. Inara sat down next to him, not bothering even to give him a side glance.
The gaunt man remained standing. "Thank you all for arriving. I consider your arrivals to be successes in themselves, considering how difficult I made this cabin to reach."
"Quit flattering us, Malfoy, a short, fat man grumbled. "Why have you decided to salt old wounds?"
Malfoy stared coldly at the fat man. "If you will kindly allow me to continue, I will be more than happy to elaborate." The fat man bowed under his gaze. "Now then." He addressed the whole table. "What do you know of the Purge?"
The room was dead silent. Angry glares flashed at Malfoy, but none dared raise their voice.
Malfoy surveyed the room. "Very well. I didn't want to speak of it, but since no one else is willing to…" He cleared his throat authoritatively. "As you are all aware, our circle used to be vastly larger than you see it today. At one point, we spanned nearly all of Europe, and were but a step away from bringing the whole world under our control."
"But then he happened," a long-nosed man growled. His grip shook the mug in his hand, his knuckles white with rage.
Malfoy paused. Then: "Quite so. On the verge of victory, one man stood in our way, snatching triumph from within our grasp."
"We know this already," Magnus stated. His voice was perfectly even, but his eyes were not so concealing. "Never forget that you were there as well, Malfoy, so failure is partly your fault as well."
No one said a word. Magnus saw that, though they dared not speak, many agreed with him.
Malfoy fixed his gaze on Magnus. "Need I remind you of your experience, Magnus? Should we consider that a failure as well?" Magnus held under Malfoy's stare, but stayed his tongue.
"Fear not," Malfoy told the table. "I have not called you here to stir up hard feelings, but to offer hope. Inara." The redheaded woman leaned forward and placed a small device on the table. "Which of you recognizes this device?"
"A simple time-turner," Erin observed.
Malfoy nodded his approval. "Indeed. And now I must ask you to bear this in mind as I once again draw your attention to the Purge. As you know, when our master fell, utter chaos was unleashed. As our enemy claimed success over our lord, he gathered his own forces, proceeding to hunt down our family, until we became all that remain."
"Where are you going with this?" the fat man asked.
"I am saying that now, many years later, with nearly all of our resources depleted or destroyed, our followers abandoned or dead, reclaiming our former glory borders on impossible. But" He held a long, bony finger in the air. "What if our fates could be averted?"