Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Corporation, and Warner Brothers.

Singularity: 1. the state, fact, or quality of being singular; a peculiarity

2. a point in space-time in which matter and energy are infinitely compressed to infinitesimal volume; a blackhole

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort's green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air towards the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand, in his free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing, and Harry stood with two wands in his hands, staring down at his enemy's shell. (J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, The Flaw in the Plan)

The golden flames created by the colliding spells remained in the air as the dead man fell. The magical energy emanating from the blindingly bright ball of flames was extremely powerful. More powerful than anything Harry had ever felt, magical or muggle. The flames suddenly flung out toward their source which were the two wands resting in Harry's hands. And in consuming the wands in his hands, the flames consumed the wands' master as well. Harry felt the magic, the energy from the golden flames rush over him and pull him inward. He felt an all consuming pressure on every part of his body. The flames that had consumed Harry then rushed back to the center where they had been born, carrying along Harry and his wands, and then shrunk into an infinitesimal size. The speck of light hovered in the hall for a moment before finally dissipating, leaving nothing but an empty space where something had once been.

Harry opened his eyes and immediately began taking inventory. He was staring at a clear morning sky. He felt the cool of the air and the damp ground against his back. He was alive, and for that moment, it was all that mattered. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and simply laid on the ground.

It was while he was laying there on the ground that the realization struck him. Tom Riddle was dead. He had killed Lord Voldemort. He had avenged them all. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Lupin, Tonks. He had avenged their deaths. He had fulfilled the prophecy and was free to do as he pleased.

But what did he want?

He had never really planned this far ahead because until recently there had not been a future for him to plan. He had never actually expected to survive this war. Since the day he was born, he had been fighting against Voldemort. Every plan he had ever made for the future had been about how to stop Voldemort. Now, he was lying on the ground, he was not certain as to where, and Voldemort was dead. In all honesty, he was at a loss. What was he to do now?

He stayed there on the ground for a time. Whether that time was long or short, he was not quite sure. Lost in his thoughts, he had lost track of time. Eventually he decided that he had laid on the ground for long enough. As much as he enjoyed laying there and letting his mind wander, he had things to do, responsibilities that demanded his attention.

He slowly stood up and as he did so, he winced. The past several days, the past several months, had not been easy and the pain shooting through his muscles was a testament to that adversity.

He pulled out his want to cast the Tempus charm, but before he could determine the time, he was stopped short. For a moment, he stared at the wand in shock. He had forgotten that he was master of the Elder Wand. It was disconcerting to say the least. He shook his head and decided that he would put the wand back where it belonged at the first opportunity. He most certainly did not want the wand. It was much more trouble than it was worth and he had had enough trouble for a lifetime. With a rueful smile and a slight shake of his head, he casted the Tempus charm. And then promptly dropped the wand from his hand and stumbled back.

The date and time revealed to the Master of Death was that of 7:43 am 7 July 1977.

7th of July in 1977. He thought that he must have casted the spell wrong. He lifted the Elder Wand and casted the spell again. The second cast yielded the same result. Perhaps something went wrong with the Elder Wand when Riddle's last curse rebounded. Maybe a different wand will work, he thought.

He picked up the wand that he had taken from Draco Malfoy and performed the charm for a third time. 7 July 1977.

What is going on? This must be a bad joke, he thought. But he could not help but remember that he and Hermione had once travelled back in time. But they had only gone back a couple of hours! This was a couple of decades! It could not be possible. But in all honesty, there were a lot of things that had happen to Harry that he had not thought possible. Becoming a wizard, for example. Or defeating Voldemort. Or surviving the war. Sometimes he thought he might believe in six impossible things before breakfast! Was it really so difficult to believe that he might actually be back in 1977?

It would be just my luck, he thought. And it would indeed be just Harry's luck to have finally defeated Voldemort, only to be sent back to the height of the Dark Lord's reign and be unable to do anything lest he destroy the timeline.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew he needed to stay calm so he could think. If he really was back in time, he had several huge decisions to make and several important questions to answer.

Could he tell anyone? And if he could, who? Could he change the timeline? Did he want to change the timeline? And the most important question: How was he going to get back? (If it's even possible to get back, he thought.)

These questions flooded his brain, one question running into his mind right after another. And he had no answers to the questions. His distress grew greater in greater until he was in a near panic state.

If he were where, or rather, when, he was supposed to be, he would have immediately gone to Hermione. But he was not when he was supposed to be and he could not ask Hermione because she was not there. In fact, she was yet to be born.

That made him pause. Hermione was not born yet. And neither was Ron. Even he himself was not born yet. Harry was lost. Completely and utterly lost. He was once again up against the world, except this time he really was alone. There was no one there to help him. Not even his best friends. It was only recently that he had uncovered the revelation that he could not do it alone, that it was okay to ask for help. And then he was thrown back in time to do just that. Fight it alone.

He must have done something horrible in a past life to be treated this way by fate.

He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. Working himself up would not help the situation. He needed to do something productive, so he began taking inventory of all the things that had been sent back in time with him. The Elder Wand and Draco Malfoy's former wand had both been sent back with him, as were the clothes he was wearing, Fabian Prewett's old watch, and his cloak, or rather, Ignotus Peverell's Cloak. The moleskin pouch that Hagrid had given him for his 17th birthday was still hanging around his neck.

He pulled of the pouch, opened it, and poured out its contents. The two pieces of his Holly wand fell out, followed by the Golden Snitch, the Marauders' Map, the DA Galleon, a chocolate frog, a 3/4 full bottle of Firewhiskey, and several candies from a Skiving Snackbox. After turning out his pockets, 2 galleons, 9 sickles, and a knut had been added to the pile.

What to do? he thought.

He knew he could not stay in the Wizarding World. He looked far too much like a Potter not to raise suspicions. Times were tough in 1977, what with Voldemort and his merry band of murderers gallivanting the country. A strange new arrival garnered enough attention without looking like a long-lost member of a prominent pureblood family.

So it was to the muggle world he would go. At least until he decided what to do about his situation. He would remain inconspicuously in London. He would blend into the crowd and hide away until he made his decision. He gathered up everything he had pulled from his pockets while taking inventory and put it away. He raised his wand and checked the date for one final time before finally apparating away.