A/N - Apologies to those who liked my old story, but after reading it multiple times, I was forced to conclude that it was pure shite. So, I am rewriting it, and it will be a totally different story with a totally new premise. Basically, the old story is deleted. This is a new story. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause you. I was greatly inspired by both The Skitterleap and Harry Potter and the Wastelands of Time, but my story is my own, and I have yet to see this plot anywhere else. I just thought I'd give credit where credit is due - check those stories out if you haven't already.
Harry sprinted across the field, flashes of the wasted landscape invading his blurring eyes.
I never wanted it to come to this, thought Harry. This isn't what I wanted. But it doesn't matter what I want. It never has. I used to think the world had some sort of order to it. We're all Time's bitches.
Running was so second nature to him that his thoughts drifted vaguely to contemplating how he had even got into this fucked up situation. The moment when the world went insane. It started when the time turners, at least the ones on record, had been seized and used by the Ministry in a last ditch effort to turn the tide of the war. Unluckily for them, there were just as many turners off record than there were on, and what ensued was a bloody struggle is/has/will strained the very fabric of Time. The scene rushing past him looked was one of the latest results of this struggle.
All over the hill that had once been lush and green were now thousands of bodies, splayed and contorted into every shape imaginable, like some monstrous homage to death. Everywhere he looked, Harry saw friends and enemies alike, their last expressions of life frozen onto their faces. Most sported a scowl, snarl, or other gruesome face, making them all look like tortured wax sculptures. Limbs lay on the ground, severed from their bodies, oozing out blood and spell-damaged bone. The results of the battle were everywhere; sticky blood covered the grass, and turned the dirt into sickly-looking mud. Smoke filled the air from the fires caused by the spells of both armies. Charred plant life turned to ash as Harry stepped on it in his departure, sending puffs of dust up into the air to settle over the fresh corpses.
Basically, it's nothing new. Or is it nothing old?
The air was completely silent. No birds or insects hovered over the battlefield; they were smart enough to sense the inherent wrongness of the place. The feel of dark magic and pissed-off Time seeped through the air, subconsciously warning life in general to stay away. The sun was high in the sky, but the night would never come for these bodies. These bodies wouldn't even be here.
It was enough to drive you crazy, if you let it. Even now, leaders from both sides were making floo calls and sending a Patronus to the correct people, and soon the battle would have never occurred. People would use their turners to go back in time and inform the future casualties of the coming slaughter, and say how the battle was a failure. The result would be that if he didn't get out of there in time, Harry would be trapped in what had come to be known as a Flush.
A Flush. A giant vortex in time. Like Time got disgusted of smelling the stinking shit of the war and flushed it down the toilet, only to see a nice clean sparkling bowl. It was Time's reset, when it decided that the time line was getting too fucked up. If you were caught in a Flush, you were swallowed up. They called the casualties Nothings. Flushing was too much for the human mind to comprehend, and you would just snap. It was worse than a Kiss, so much worse. Your mind was spread over the infinity of time, your soul was halved again and again as it attempted to keep up with your mind, and your body was atomized and vanished. It was like you never existed. Even worse, they say you stayed conscious, for eternity, trapped in an infinite number of dimensions that didn't exist without an identity or even a concept of existence. Just awareness of nothingness. It was scary shit.
Harry wrinkled his nose at the taste and smell of death that invaded his mouth and nostrils. He truly needed to use all of his battle-hardened resolve not to start retching. He compromised by running faster, as if he could escape the smell. The extra speed couldn't hurt, as it would only get him to the portkey faster. He had to reach the top of the hill before the portkey was activated. A portkey was the only way to get out of a Flush Zone. Something about the time distortion that went with a portkey created a hole through the Flush. If you apparated, you went crazy. If you tried to fly or run away, you went crazy. If you were in a building and tried to Floo away, you went crazy. Harry only knew the basic theory behind it, but even that was enough to tell him not to fuck with it. There always had to be a portkey ready, because you couldn't just make a portkey and portkey out - it had to be premade. Otherwise the portkey would get Flushed too, and your body parts would be strewn all over the Flush Zone before they were lost in some space-time continuum. There were horror stories, enough to fuck you up for life. The ones who were still alive, or at least in this current time loop, had long ago learned that being early was surviving.
Harry reached the portkey a couple of minutes later, with a minute to spare. It had been close, much too close. The portkey was a long silver chain, with loops for securing the handholds placed periodically throughout the chain. Harry instinctively put each of his hands through a loop, tightened the loops, and got a firm hold on the chain. It was a product of hard-learned lessons on the battlefield. In the Time Wars, waiting too long could cost you more than your life. After raping Time multiples times every second, Time was more than willing to dish out a little revenge to those who dicked around.
Harry breathed deeply, aware of the growing thickness of the air and the heaviness of the turner chain around his neck. He could tell that the Flush would be coming in a couple minutes, but he'd be out of there momentarily.
With a quick burst of sparks, the portkey signaled it was going to activate in 30 seconds. During those few seconds, Harry looked around the battlefield, trying to find some shred of remorse, some amount of pity, some indicator that he felt anything for the people who he had grown up with, laughed with, loved.
He felt nothing. Death wasn't the same as it used to be, as in a few minutes, these people wouldn't be dead. Of course, some say Flushing back was worse than dying, but he wouldn't know. The people who died would remember the battle, and remember themselves dying, and in some small part of their minds still think that they were dead. But they aren't - they're alive and the battle never happened, and they'll live to un-die another day. They could un-die again tomorrow, or yesterday, or be killed and unkilled years ago, and still keep on fighting.
Most people tried to kill themselves, but after they did, someone was sent back to inform someone else of the suicide, and to make sure it didn't happen.
The leaders need their little soldiers.
As the portkey began to rotate, an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu came over him. He remembered with striking clarity back to the time when, arguably, this whole thing started. Back to when he had been so naïve. Back when the world was sane and life was worth living. With a final spin, he disappeared in a violent swirl of black fabric, leaving behind death for more madness.
Harry Potter left Stoatshead hill, near Ottery St. Catchpole, as the sole survivor of a battle that never happened.
A/N - Sorry if it's a little vague on some aspects, but I can't cram every detail of the backstory into a prologue. The war Harry is now in will be explained in later chapters, same as how this Time War works. I hope to have a very comprehensive backstory behind this, which will gradually be built up.