A/N Welcome to The Butterflies and the Storm. This is a story about time travel and, as the title suggests, one of the themes is how even small actions can, down the road, have really big consequences. The flapping of a butterfly's wings in Tokyo leads to a tornado in Kansas (so the saying goes), and…

Well, here's another theme: You cannot be an observer without also being a participant. Simply by existing, the protagonists are having an effect on history. Whether it's a stable time loop or not remains to be seen, but the protagonists are still having some kind of effect.

To support these ideas, reviews are going to effect the story. You can suggest actions, whether immediate or down the line, and these will "nudge" the narrative. Based on how in-character the suggestion is and how often it has been suggested (among other factors), the likelihood increases of that suggestion being followed, even if it takes the story down a course that I didn't anticipate. Similarly, there are mysteries to be uncovered, and by presenting your own theories you increase the likelihood that the characters will develop these same theories.

But take caution as you do so! As it stands, three of the protagonists will die and one will be lost to the others forever. It is possible that you could save some of these (maybe even all of them) by suggesting the right actions and proposing the right theories. But a happy ending is not guaranteed, and you could also kill them all.

Chapters will be published every week or two. They'll be on the shorter end of things, probably no longer than a thousand words each.

Chapter one: Harry Potter, Date Unknown

Your name is Harry Potter, and you are having a very bad, no-good, just plain awful day. You've never really believed in gods or fate before, prophecies notwithstanding, but somebody just has to have it out for you.

The day had started off like many others. Breakfast with Ginny and the children— it was difficult to think of what life would be like when they went off to Hogwarts— and then off to the Ministry. To the…office. As much as you enjoyed the greater influence that came with your position at the head of the Auror Department, and the opportunity for reform, it was still a desk job.

You were almost happy when the Ministry was invaded, and you were elated when some of the invaders penetrated the Department of Mysteries. Here was some excitement, finally.

Fighting goes fast, and it was barely ten minutes before one of your spells failed to connect. Behind your target had been a time turner-like device, the product of the Unspeakables' latest research into Time, and…

And now you are standing in a grassy field with a splitting headache, pointing your wand at a young Tom Riddle.

"Professor Evans!" cries someone else, about the same age as Tom . "What are you doing?"

You've beaten Tom before. Several times. You don't have anything to worry about from this one. Slowly, watching for any sign of imminent aggression, you lower your wand. Tom follows suit a moment later.

"Sorry," you say. You've never been a professor, but the kid looks pretty distressed. It would probably be better to kill Tom somewhere else.

They aren't the only ones standing in the field. There are two more adults, one who looks old enough to chat with Dumbledore about the good old days, and another whose age looks to be somewhere between you and Not-Dumbledore. And then there are two more children besides Tom and the shouting kid, all four of them clearly of age to be attending Hogwarts.

"Why do you think I'm your professor?" you ask.

"Because…you are?"

The old man smiles and looks at each person in turn. "Harry, you clearly know young Tom. And I know of you both. Would you care to suggest what's happened?"

"Time travel."

"What?" This comes from a girl, a little younger than Tom and the kid that isn't your student.

"What year is it?" the old man asks.

"1966," she answers promptly. "And I didn't touch a time-turner."

"No. No," the old man repeats. "I suspect that was Harry."

"And why is it my fault all of a sudden?"

"Because I remember you telling me about a very interesting occurrence in the Department of Mysteries, many years ago. Many years ago."

Well, that's good to hear. You…definitely survive and get back home then. You wonder what's going to happen to Tom, though. You think about what the kid shouted, and wonder if that name alone, "Professor Evans," was enough to kill your mother.

You make a mental note to obliviate Tom before this affair is over. Maybe he'll remember again despite that, but you would prefer it if your whole life hadn't been determined just because Voldemort heard the name Evans in his youth and decided to be wary of it in the future.

"Right. And what year do you come from?"

"Lysander Scamander. You knew my parents, Luna and Rolf." Luna's kid. Well, that's fantastic. And apparently you're close enough to the family that he remembers random stories that you had told him. "2110."

Merlin's brown-stained pants.

You don't really know what to say to that.

"And it's 2009 for you," Lysander says.

"Yeah…"

"Let's go around then, all of us. Tom?" Lysander asks.

Tom is unflappable. Now that the wands are down he looks as if he took a wrong turn in Diagon Alley rather than been displaced in time. "1942," he answers, pronouncing each syllable with crispness.

"Filius Flitwick," says the not-student, and you suddenly want to take him aside and have a long conversation. A person that that you not only recognize, but who also never wanted to kill you. "1905."

"D-Dominique Zabini," says the girl. Blaise's mum? "Ah… 1966…"

"Charles Mulciber. 1922." Too early to be either of the Mulcibers that you remember being associated with the Death Eaters. But that didn't mean that this Mulciber wasn't sympathetic. On the other hand, Mulciber can't be more than a Second Year. You find it hard to be frightened of him in that light.

The other man does not answer at all. He simply watches as the conversation unfolds. There is wariness in his eyes and his hand is near his wand. You suspect, by the way that he looks at each person, that it is the presence of the children that is staying his hand.

The more that you look at him, the more that he looks vaguely familiar.

Lysander says something to the man, almost as if he's saying spells to him. But Lysander is not touching his wand and the man is responding in turn. It must be language of some kind, though, because Filius and Tom both seem to be following along.

"Baron Alfred Marley," Lysander finally says. "From the year 1020."

"What was that?" you ask.

"Latin," Lysander answers, and suddenly you feel very stupid for not realizing that. "They stopped teaching it for fluency at Hogwarts early in the Twentieth Century, but Mum insisted on me learning anyway. Marley speaks Old English, which is far enough removed that he can't make out most of what we're saying. But the Latin was the same."

Lysander pauses, and mutters a spell. Something ink-like flows out of his wand, writing numbers on the air. It's the time, the year—2110— down to tenths of a second. "Interesting. But that's not enough to go on," he says, and he nods to Marley, who performs the same spell.

1020, it says.

"So the spell is tied to our personal timelines. That's very interesting," Lysander says.

"It doesn't tell us when we are, though," you say.

"No," Lysander admits. "Filius, you referred to Harry as your professor." Flitwick nods, and he continues. "Would I be right in assuming that you recognize everyone else here?"

"Yes."

"And they came at the same time, I expect."

"Last year. Transfer students." Filius pauses. "They said they were from Canada, but I guess that's not right."

"So it's 1904," Lysander says. "Very interesting..."

It looks like you're going to be teaching after all.