Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Any characters that you recognize all belong to the beautiful mind of JK Rowling. I do however own Azalea Lupin and a fair amount of people from her time period.
Story Title: Fluminis antiquitas
Summary: In 2038, Azalea Lupin has been raised during a reign of peace. On the first day of her sixth year, she comes across an old bit of parchment that sends her careening ninety-five years into the past, where she has no idea how to address the issue of a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle.
Rated: M, for probable violence and sexual situations
AN: So… Azalea popped into my head one day when I was thinking about how kick-ass Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley's kids would be. I mean seriously, with his Metamorphmagus abilities and her Veela ancestry? Those kids could take over the planet! Also, I love Tom Riddle romance stories so… I present to you the (hopefully) epic romance of Tom Riddle and Azalea Lupin!
PS: The title is Latin for 'The River of Time'. It's probably shitty Latin too, since I got it off Google Translate. Trust me, there's more shitty Latin to come. Praefatio, for instance, means 'Preface'.
Update Schedule: Likely to be unpredictable and sporadic. I may update several days in a row at some points, and at others, not update for months. I start my first year of university on September 22, so I really, really doubt your going to see a schedule that's even remotely reliable.
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Praefatio
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She had ruined everything.
She was supposed to be intelligent. Everyone had always told her how very smart she was, how she was practically a genius, she was a bloody Ravenclaw, for Merlin's sake, but it seemed that when it came to displaying a shred of common sense, she was sorely lacking.
And now the whole world was paying for it.
As she hid herself with a stranger's face, the Metamorphmagus watched the girl before her in horror. She was stunning, even in her obvious misery, and it made for a haunting beauty. Her silver eyes were dull, surrounded by the dark circles of insomnia, and her silver curls were flat, matted, and she looked short and skinny, like she'd spent her whole life undernourished.
The girl was her.
Or, her as she would have been if she had been born into a world where Voldemort had won and she had been raised in a rebel camp. Which was exactly what had happened in this version of the future, the future that she herself had created.
She'd changed too much in the past. She never should have so much as spoken to him, much less taught him how to be a more effective dictator. And that's exactly what she had done. In this version of the timeline, he knew the value of love, what people would do for it, and he had used this knowledge to manipulate more effectively than ever. He used it to win the war.
And it was a lesson that she had taught him, however inadvertently.
She turned away, stumbling into the forest surrounding the rebel camp, morphing back into herself as loud sobs escaped her. She collapsed into the dirt just as freezing cold rain began to fall from the gray sky above. Her silver curls bounced healthily as her knees hit the ground hard, and she could feel the warmth of blood blossoming.
She gathered fistfuls of her long curly hair, inspecting the roundness, the delicacy of each curl. The silver color that she had inherited from her Veela great-great-grandmother seemed to almost glitter with life and vitality. The dirty, matted curls of her other self flashed across her eyes as she reassured herself that no, that wasn't who she was. She had not been raised in a rebel camp, she had not grown up constantly on the move for fear of being captured by Death Eaters. She had grown up during a time of peace.
A time of peace that she had ruined, and all because she fell in love with a boy who liked to play with dark magic.
The most painful part was that that boy was not the monster that her other self was so very afraid of. That boy was beautiful and intelligent, sly and cunning and ambitious. That boy was not the red-eyed demon of every child's worst nightmare. That boy had not succumbed to madness, not the way that the monster had. And even now, she loved that boy.
"I am not that girl, and he is not that monster," she whispered to herself, lying down in the mud, letting the rain soak through her clothes, the cold stinging her skin until she was numb.
"I am not that girl, and he is not that monster," she whispered again, trying desperately to convince herself as hot tears flowed down her temples and into her now muddy hair.
A loud sob escaped her.
"Oh, Tom, what have we become?"
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AN 2: This is so short because it's a little introductory thing. I swear, following chapters will be much longer.