Author's Note: This is a simple story. It probably won't last that long probably only like 15 chapters or so. I'm not sure how long the chapters are gonna be yet so I guess we'll see. This story will be mature and it will contain adult scenes. This will be purely NON-Canon, it's gonna be a random premise with not too much back story so just enjoy the story and try not to think about how much it doesn't make sense with the Harry Potter Timeline.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. Just trying to make fanfiction for your entertainment.
His face as it fell. Blank, lifeless, betrayed. Dumbledore is dead, and Hogwarts was vulnerable. Harry was seething in anger, confusion, and devastation. Having just returned from the small memorial for the late headmaster, he resided in the old office.
Harry's life didn't have all too much light in it ever since the return of Voldemort. Evil was behind every corner, and Professor Snape, once a harmless Potions master set on deducting points from Gryffindor house, now known as the assassin of Dumbledore. The headmaster was the only thing Harry had left to family since Sirius Black died. Now everyone was dying, those not already dead officially unsafe in the wizarding world. He thought of Hermione, the Weasleys. All the people he cared about in the Gryffindor house were in danger.
Ron and Hermione had already approached him about the three of them continuing the search for the horcruxes, but at what cost. So that Harry could watch everyone he loves die? Not an option. He'd let them know they were in it together, but here inside Dumbledore's office, he knew the only thing he could do was find the rest by himself. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, and he was the center of the prophecy. As much as he wanted help, he couldn't risk his friends.
There was a loud screech, startling him. Whipping his head to the window, hand on his wand, he sighed in relief, spotting only Fawkes the Phoenix by the window. "When did you get here?" Harry said, knowing the bird couldn't understand him.
He attempted to return to his sulking, moving his stare to the desk, studying all the abandoned papers. Fawkes, however, wasn't having it as he swooped down, pecking at Harry's head. "Ow." He winced, rubbing at the sore spot. "What do you want?" He watched the bird fly back to the window, tilting his head down to a strange object.
Harry groaned, getting up to check it out, figuring Fawkes wasn't giving up on him seeing it. Once arriving to the spot in question, the boy pursed his lips. "A candlestick." Fawkes didn't seem phased by his confusion, expecting it almost. The red creature nodded toward it again, insistent on it's importance. Harry raised his brow, reaching out for the thing. Once in contact, the thing immediately retracted, sending Harry back in shock. "What-?"
The wall below the windowsill sunk in, replaced with a great wall of energy. "Fawkes, what is this?" He turned back to the bird, highly unaware of what's going on. The bird only blinked, reaching into his tail feathers, gripping something with his beak. Harry watched in interest, waiting for what's happening next. Fawkes screeched, pulling loose a long red/orange feather and handing it to the boy.
Taking the long feather, Harry stared down at it, watching it transform from the bird's scruff to a worn, scratched up piece of parchment. His green eyes widened, breathing in the discovery. He recognized the handwriting, looking at Fawkes. "This is from Dumbledore." He said, gripping the paper with his life.
Leaving the bird's side, he gave one more thoughtful glance towards the wall of energy before returning to the desk to read the letter.
Harry Potter,
If you are reading this, I have died. And you are grieving. I am sorry to leave you with so little answers, and much more arising questions. You're probably wondering where the other horcruxes are, preparing yourself for the long crucibles ahead of you before your inevitable battle with Tom Riddle.
Without me, you are feeling hopeless, and inept. I know you are scared Harry, you need not fear any longer. Your journey with me is long but over. You see, my boy, I have been prepared in the case of these unfolding events. I have what muggles call, a scapegoat.
Look upon the wall, changed by magic, led to you by Fawkes. There are things in this world capable of many things, Harry. That wall is one of the most powerful objects known by not many wizards. It is called "flumen temporis", or the river of time.
Second year you encountered Tom Ridde, blinded by his hate and lack of morals. He is devoid of love, believing himself incapable. You know the story behind him making his horcruxes during his sixth and seventh year. Now that I am no longer present to aide your journey, we're going to need a different approach.
Harry switched stares back and forth from the wall to the letter. "Dumbledore, what are you gonna get me into?" He continued reading. Eyes widening as he pulled through till the end of the letter. The instructions were straight forward, and as much as Harry didn't approve of the method, Dumbledore stretched the need for this plan.
The boy let out a breath, looking towards the wall, the river of time one last time before leaving the room to gather his things.
"Ron, Hermione, forgive me." Harry gritted his teeth, eyes shut to shield his mind from the fear rushing through his body. He knew what he had to do, but he wasn't looking forward to it. Jumping through the wall, all the luggage in his arms, Hedwig tight in his hand, he was reminded of the feeling of passing through Platform 9 3/4. It was bittersweet.
The initial feeling was over, and Harry was now jolted through what felt like a jet stream of time. Screaming with exhilaration and the slight tingling in his stomach, Harry felt his whole mindset switch as if not even just the physical time was changing, but his mental time was also changing.
When the excitement was over, it was quiet. There as a breeze on his face, Harry's eyes fluttering open. His lips parted, surprise flooding him. Hedwig chirped next to him, the familiar feeling of the place easing the owl.
Harry Potter was standing at the front entrance of Hogwarts, but he knew this wasn't the place he knew or was used to. And to match his suspicion, he knocked on the door, noting that even the wood felt different. Sturdier.
The doors swung open, welcoming warmth rushing to meet the cool air. He was met with the sounds of children in the distance, possibly in the Great Hall for dinner. Looking up the stairs of the castle entrance, his stomach fell at the sight of the very same man he had said goodbye to at the memorial the same day. Only it wasn't the same day, was it?
Professor Albus Dumbledore greeted the young boy with a comfortable smile, looking as though he expected the child. Harry couldn't help but internally praise the man. His backup plan really did seem quite full proof. This facade he was sent to build already surfaced on it's own, as if the flumen temporis preset his new identity for him, unraveling his 'fake life' by the most intricate magic.
"Harry Greyhorn, I assume?" Professor Dumbledore motioned the boy up the stairs.
Harry nodded at once, gathering his things to approach the man on top of the stairs. Noticing the heavy luggage, Dumbledore waved his finger, and Harry's belongings disappeared. "You will be able to retrieve them as soon as your sorting is complete." He met Harry halfway down the steps, "The first years are in the middle of their ceremony right now. The Professors have been informed of your presence." Harry caught the man eyeing his scar.
Everything was going just as the letter said it would. Dumbledore (present day) had explained the flumen temporis has been designed by himself to program Harry Potter into this timeline as Harry Greyhorn, a fourth year transfer from the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Harry looked down to his chest, studying his outfit. A pair of old traditional Hogwarts robes from this time period fit on his body, which felt different than before. He felt his hair, it being longer than how he'd left it in the present day. Harry knew the magical wall of time had transformed him to his fourth year physicality, looking the part as well as acting the part.
"I assure you, live in Hogwarts won't be that much different than your life in Ilvermorny."
Harry gave a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you professor, I'm quite excited."
Professor Dumbledore looked semi surprised. "No American accent I hear?"
"Parents were local around here. I grew up in Godric's Hollow until I was 10, moved to the states till now." Harry explained, feeding the same story given to him by the letter.
Dumbledore thought not to question any further, only bringing him through the doors of the Great Hall, Harry cringing when mass amounts of people turned to stair at him. He pushed his hair down, hiding the lightning scar on his forehead out of insecurity. No one here knows why he has it, so it's extremely out of place. "Right this way." The Professor led him down to the front as the Sorting Hat finished the last first year.
"HUFFLEPUFF." The object said. The house cheered for it's new arrival, the boy taking his seat.
Harry met the eyes of Professor Slughorn, glad to see another familiar face. The Potions teacher checked his list, nodding and then looking back to the boy. "Harry Greyhorn, come on up to be sorted."
He felt eyes in the back of his head, burning through his scalp. The thought of everyone's attention on him, especially the attention of him... Tom Riddle. It sicked the teen to no end. But this was something he had to do.
Reaching the stool, he politely took a seat, closing his eyes as not to see anyone's face in the crowd. He knew what he had to do. Harry Potter didn't exist in this time, and neither do any of his friends or accomplishments in the house of Gryffindor. There was nothing for the boy there, he knew that.
Your mind is complicated, mysterious. You've seen quite a lot, isn't that right, Mr. Potter? It was no surprise that the Sorting Hat saw through his facade. After all, the hat could see into every depths of his mind. You have the heart of a true Gryffindor, but you are dark. You are cunning, ambitious. I still stand by you being in Gryffindor, but I see where you belong. Your place is in-
"SLYTHERIN." There were deep cheers from the table. Harry opened his eyes and straightened his back, strolling over to the table where he would call home. His eyes scanned over the table, waiting to meet the ones of the boy who will soon become the estranged killer Harry knows him to be. Finally, after searching dark eyes, light eyes, dark skin, light skin galore, the boy found his target.
Meeting the crystal blue eyes of his parent's future murderer, Harry Potter found his objective. Tom Marvolo Riddle.