Author's Note: This is a twist on the whole Manipulative!Dumbles and Time-travel fic. If you think you know what's going to happen, forget that preconceived notion and you'll be ok. If you decide it's just your typical do-over fic, you'd be wrong. Even I was surprised, I found this on my notes app, and I had totally forgotten about it, since it was on the back-burner while I was writing SoH. Don't worry, SoH and the sequel to Jealousy will both be updated and published etc. etc. That's a wrap! Cheers m8.
P.s. The first line is a reference to On a Pale Horse by Hyliian, go read it!
p.p.s. When I wrote the above suggestion, I forgot that the story is incomplete. It's still worth the read, but you ought to know it's not finished and likely won't be.
WARNING: THIS IS A VERY DARK STORY. IT'S RATED M FOR A REASON. EXPLICIT DESCRIPTIONS OF PAIN AND INJURIES ENSUE IN THIS CHAPTER. ANOTHER WARNING WILL BE GIVEN LATER ON.
FURTHER WARNING WILL BE GIVEN BEFORE EVERY DARK BIT. If you were looking for more kid friendly and less horror, read one of my other stories. If you REALLY want to read this, then just skip the warning bits. I may or may not write a kid friendly version of this after I finish it.
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Harry James Potter, Master of Death, Destroyer of Worlds, Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse, was bored.
Well, actually, Harry James Potter only held one of those titles, and nothing really grand came with it. He was the Master of Death, holder of the Elder Wand, possessor of the resurrection stone, heir of the Cloak of Invisibility, yada yada yada. When he'd realized this,he'd expected a chorus of angels singing and Voldemort the just spontaneously burst into flames. He'd been incredibly disappointed when nothing happened.
In his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry had been entered in the Triwizard Tournament against his will. Long story short, Voldemort had returned, and Dumbledore had decided to "let him have a normal childhood." Barmy old codger. In his fifth year, the Ministry had sent a pink toad to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she'd tortured students with Blood Quills. Later that year, Voldemort had sent Harry a vision of his godfather being held in the Department of Mysteries, and surprise surprise, Harry ran off and found it was a trick, only for Sirius to be killed in the Battle of the Ministry, running to his rescue.
Sixth year, he'd spouted conspiracy theories about Draco Malfoy that turned out to right. After he'd dueled the blonde in the boys bathroom and almost killed him, Harry struggled to come to terms with what he'd done. In the hospital wing that night, Harry snuck in under his Invisibility cloak and checked Malfoy's arm. To his horror and disgust, an inky black mark shone stark against pale, sickly skin. As he was pulling the sleeve back down, long slim fingered wrapped around his wrist and steel grey eyes gave him a penetrating stare.
"Did you choose this of your own free will, no threats or blackmail whatsoever." Harry asked quietly. The blonde took a shuddering breath, and shook his head.
"My family." Were the only words said in the oppressive silence. Harry got the message loud and clear. In his last vision, Lucius Malfoy had been tortured, and looked ragged and frail. The man had been broken out of Azkaban after being caught in the Ministry battle, and was punished for failing to retrieve the prophecy. Those two words told him that the boy's family was being threatened, and he'd been forced to take the Mark to save them. Harry hesitated. He should just keep on hating Malfoy and forget about this. But truth is, he didn't hate Malfoy. He didn't like him, but he sure didn't hate him. Merlin, was he really going to do this? Yes, yes he was.
"If you and your family renounce Voldemort," He said, ignoring the flinch, "I'll offer all three of you asylum in a protected safe house. You can get an Unspeakable or someone to help you remove the Mark." He stated neutrally. This was big. This decision was dangerous, and it could crumble the Light, but he'd made the offer. and there was no turning back.
Silence reigned for minutes on end. Harry could hear the breathing of the other boy, and in the gloom, he could just barely make out the mix of emotions that crossed the blonde's face. Angerhopefearsuspicionreliefwarinessconfusionfearhope. The emotions flashed by in quick order, and Harry wasn't sure what Draco would choose. He wasn't just making a decision for himself, this was his family's lives. He was gambling, and if he made the wrong choice, it could extinguish the Malfoy line, and worse, get his mother killed. Draco cared for his father, yes, but he love his mother. He was betting on her life, and either choice could get her and himself killed. With that in mind, he agreed.
A week later, Draco Malfoy disappeared, and Harry's scar was a vivid red. Voldemort was furious. The day that Draco got out of the hospital wing, he and Harry planned. They didn't like each other, but they would work together. His family would be safe, he was willing to be civil. They figured out a way to sneak him from the castle with his belongings, and for him to contact his mother safely. They both knew it was questionable whether Lucius Malfoy would be able to escape, but his mother would hopefully meet them with Malfoy Sr. in tow. Harry had gone to the bank the summer prior, and had read Sirius' will, and knew what it entailed to be Lord Black. Along with this, his inheritance included four houses owned by the Black family in various countries, warded intensely with dark curses and protective details. The smallest one had been bought by Sirius himself, and was a little cottage near a muggle town in France.
Harry and the three Malfoys entered Gringotts, and the Malfoys were given a portkey to the French cottage. He wasn't feeling very forgiving, considering Narcissa's sister Bellatrix had killed Sirius, and only told the Malfoys that the house was by a muggle town before he sent them off. Draco had an annoyed and disdainful look on his face, but tones it down, since he knew that Potter didn't have to help him. Narcissa's face was blank, and Lucius was ragged and weak enough that he didn't say anything contrary. As the Malfoys were sent off, Harry took the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade under disguise, and sneaked back into Hogwarts through the secret passageway in Honeydukes cellar.
With the Malfoys safely in France with Kreacher taking care of them, (bound not to reveal anything he'd heard at Grimmauld) his last year was much different than the past. Voldemort was constantly torturing his followers, but Draco was no longer there to allow the Death Eaters passage into Hogwarts. This didn't stop Voldemort however, and the Dark Lord himself lay siege on the school. In this battle, Harry was killed by the Dark Tosser himself. He met his mother Lily in a white expanse that mimicked Kings Cross. After a tearful talk with his mother, where she knocked some sense into him, he decided to go back to the land of the living.
In a blur of color and sound, Harry woke up in the middle of a battle between the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. Hogwarts students were fighting, and people were falling all around. Harry stumbled to his feet, and aimed carefully, shooting a Diffindo at the Dark Lord. To the shock of everyone, there was a gruesome fountain of blood spraying everywhere, splashing nearby fighters. Apparently, Harry had hit the carotid and the jugular in on go with his severing charm.
With a quiet plop, the head of Voldemort fell upon the battlefield. On the other side of the castle, Nagini's head was separated from her body.
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Ten months later
To the surprise of everyone who knew otherwise, Albus too-many-middle-names Dumbledore claimed credit for Harry's ability to not die, and for his nonexistent training. Hermione publicly told the newspapers that Harry had never received training, and was subsequently dubbed a liar. When Harry backed up her statement, he was given a patronizing smile, and called modest.
"I honestly didn't get any special training," He told the Quibbler, knowing it'd be the only paper to print the truth. "I got the same Hogwarts education as everyone, and nothing more. I didn't fight through Voldemort's whole army to kill him, there wasn't an epic duel, and I didn't sneak up on him with a sword. I just got in a lucky shot because I was supposed to be dead."
His interview with Luna and her father helped a bit, but a large majority of the public just wanted a hero with an epic story, not a school boy getting in a lucky shot.
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Eight months later
The British population was shrinking. He wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed before, because it was obvious now. Legislations had been passed to restrict the rights of magical beings, and muggleborns. With the tightening hold Magical Britain had on people's rights, suicide rates were rising, and crime rates were through the roof.
During his fifth year, Harry had wanted to be an Auror, a dark wizard catcher. This eager, naive ambition lessened during his sixth year. As he was hiding from the same exact people he wanted to join ranks with, his enthusiasm for the job died. After the war, he'd been swamped with letters sent from schools and jobs. Everyone wanted the Boy-Who-Lived come Man-Who-Vanquished (what was it with wizards and hyphenations?) to work for them. Harry, however, refused them all.
A Howler from Molly Weasley, still as loud as ever despite her grief over her son's death, informed him that he had missed all of his Auror missions. Apparently, Albus Dumbledore, after getting back from a long vacation with a withered, blackened hand as a momentum, had signed him up to be an Auror. The fact that he hadn't been given standard Junior Auror training, or even been asked if that was what he wanted, was not lost on him.
It was under a blisteringly hot sun, that a depressed Harry Potter and his partner, a disgruntled Percy Weasley were on a case. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had turned away his letter of resignation, and the new Head of the DMLE had refused to listen when he said he didn't want to be an Auror.
"Nonsense." The Cornelius Fudge-esque Head had said, waving him away. If only Madam Bones hadn't been murdered, Harry moped.
As for the third eldest Weasley child, Percy had... changed. It wasn't just his arrogance that had changed, no, the man had done a complete 180. He obviously hated his job, but he had also willingly entered the Auror Academy after the Final Battle. Harry had heard rumors that the man had taken Fred's death hard, and blamed himself for it. Apparently, Percy had joined the department as a sort of penance for abandoning his family in favor of the Ministry.
"So," Harry broke the silence. "What're we looking for?" He asked, sweat pouring down his face in the sweltering heat.
"A team. Five men, two women. One is a former Death Eater, two are foreign Dark wizards, and the others are just average wizards." Percy said grimly, in a soft voice.
"Foreign wizards? Do we take them in and give 'em trials?" Harry asked. He was pretty sure this wasn't his jurisdiction.
"Yes. The Head of Foreign Affairs said that Bulgaria and Russia agreed to relinquish them into British control. They withdrew any objections pretty quickly. The DMLE doesn't expect us to find them, so we weren't given the full file. It's technically our case, but in the loosest terms." The redhead informed him, voice low.
"Joy." Harry replied sarcastically.
But then it happened. The ground trembled, and sand flew in the air. Harry coughed and shielded his eyes, squinting. Through the cloud of sand and dust, he could see flashes of green, red, and purple shooting across the expanse. Shouting filled the air
Time slowed to a crawl, and Harry could see easily what would happen next. The world unfroze, and as a jet of violet and a bolt of red shot towards the two Aurors, Harry jumped bodily in front of Percy. The first curse hit him directly in the chest, and the second hit the ground in front of him. His breath caught, and Harry's hands scrabbled around his throat, clawing desperately. As he blocked Percy with his body, the second curse took effect.
WARNING! VERY DARK AND DESCRIPTIVE PAIN FOR HARRY ENSUES. SKIP IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH.
The ground exploded in front of them. First, Harry felt the sharp stones imbedding themselves in his face and hands, cutting him up. A particularly large slab of stone rammed into him with the force of ten bludgers, and with a SNAP! his right leg broke and shattered. His pelvis was knocked out of place, twisting his lower half in directions is wasn't meant to go. His lungs screamed in pain as he tried to breathe, and his mind cried out at the agony in his leg. The overwhelming heat hit him head on, and an audible shriek of pain escaped his closing throat. His body was burning up. Of that, he was sure. His lungs squeezed and gasped, his leg was shot through with pain, and his skin burned, sizzling grotesquely. It burned and bubbled, and his hands blistered, popping within moments, blood weeping from the open wounds. His hair caught fire and the stench of burning flesh and hair filled his nostrils.
Where the femur had poked out from his skin, the muscle and blood had fried and melted. His tibula was shattered, and his fibula wasn't much better. His skin looked like pizza with most of the cheese off, so that the pulpy tomato sauce is messily spread atop the baked dough. But this was no pizza. Third degree burn plagued Harry's body, and you wouldn't have imagined he'd been a normal looking human minutes before. Lacerations covered the rest of his skin, and he looked like he'd been turned inside out. Mouth wide in a silent scream, face contorted in absolute pain and agony, tears streamed down his mottled face and into his bloody wounds, stinging sharply before evaporating in the heat. Shards of glass and metal were lodged in his body, or laying on the ground around him.
Magic whipped through the air in awesome power. Spells shot around the area of destruction, as Aurors Apparated into the war zone, and masked wizards Disapparated. Unholy energy lashed through the heavens with fury and rage. Harry Potter was stuck in a silent scream as he finally fell out of the air onto a lucky uninjured, but unconscious Percy Weasley. The world exploded from within, and Harry passed out from pain and magical exhaustion as his magic destroyed the earth for a mile around, leaving all creatures miraculously unharmed, laying dead to the world in a crater.
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Two Years Later
Swathed in bandages and looking like a mummy, Harry James Potter woke from his coma in a deserted hospital. Groggily, he ripped off his bandages and got up from his bed. He promptly fell flat on his face, and lay sprawled on the cool linoleum. Pain wracked his body, and a light numbness flooded his body as he winced and ignored it as best as he to him sat a small bedside table covered with cards, gifts, and a few dozen vases of dead flowers. Fumbling, Harry crawled to it, and using the bed frame and table leg, heaved himself up. He fell onto the bed with a cry, tears springing to his eyes as he gritted his teeth. His ribs ached from the harsh contact with the bed, and he pulled himself further onto the mattress.
Harry's eyes widened as he heard voices. He quietly, if awkwardly, slipped behind his hospital bed, and crouched defensively. Rationally, he knew he was in no position to fight. Maybe his time asleep had made him less impulsive, he mused.