The End of an Era
The black doors opened, the silver runes engraved in the surface flashing in the light. The torches embedded on either side of the enormous archway crackled. Allowing the shadows splayed on the wall to dance erratically. The group of men allowed through this entrance were on edge. They would start and jump every time the troches spat out an errant ember.
One among the men however seemed almost at ease among the dank foreboding corridor. He stood tall with almost military attentiveness, his long dark hair secured in a leather tie. The other man beside him led the group further into the gloomy room.
"Well Potter, I guess we may as well get this farce over with. That is, if you're still willing to go through with this?" The leader of this procession said quietly to the confident young man beside him.
"Who do you think you're talking to Scrimgeour? I have the most involved in this matter. Or are you having second thoughts? After all once I'm gone the 'Boy-who-lived' will be out of the equation." Potter's green eyes flashed his conviction before he strode away and headed towards the second set of doors. These doors were made of an ivory and had scenery picked out in gold leaf. The scene right in front of the man named Potter was that of a baby.
The baby was still in its swaddle and was opposite a skeletal figure with a wand drawn on the child.
"Really now, you have a picture of me defeating Voldemort on these? How ironic, because behind these doors leads to Voldemort's second defeat." Potter's eyes had hardened with the amount of hate that had spilled from that one sentence.
"Let's get this 'farce' as you called it over with Scrimgeour. I'm going back in time to kill him correct?"
"Yes."
"Before, Voldemort got too powerful for the Ministry to deal with. Specifically with the way Fudge handled it this time round." Potter's voice cooled when it came to the previous Minister's name
"If you mast put it that way, yes." Scrimgeour looked about to make sure none of his underlings heard any of this conversation.
"Well then, let's get this show on the road! I don't want to catch the Dark Lord while he is taking an evil bubble-bath now do we? " Potter chuckled as he pushed open the smaller white doors.
The room he entered was covered in small golden pocket watches. They covered the entirety of the walls and were stored in shelves through out. But the focal point of the room was the single watch placed on a pedestal in the center of the room. It was roughly the size of a baseball and had three hands. Potter walked up to the pocket-watch with no hesitation.
"Well, how do we start this off? I mean, you took me from my house in the middle of the night." He picked up the watch with both hands after a bit of effort. Scrimgeour and a few of the other men rushed forward to take it from Potter's hands.
"That you stupid boy is the only time-turner capable of going back far enough for you to take care of Voldemort. If you were to break it, all our hard work would be lost! And you would be with out the chance to avenge your friends' deaths. Do you want that to happen?" Scrimgeour shouted, spittle flying from his purple face.
"You just remember to kill that bastard and that you won't be able to come back. You'll get the peace you want, and we get the credit for killing him."
Potter looked down his nose at the Minister and sneered.
"You remember your side of the deal and I'll remember mine. You don't have to worry about anything. Now shut up and get this thing ready. I've waited for this moment for two years, ever since he killed Hermione and Ron." When Harry had seated himself Scrimgeour motioned forward one of the men from the group that had followed through the set of white doors.
The young man walked nervously forward, holding the large time-turner before him. Harry waited for the boy to reach him before he grabbed the time-turner.
"Okay, now what do I do?"
"Potter you have to set the three hands to the date you wish to go to. The longest hand is the day, the shortest is the year. I'm sure you can go on from there." Scrimgeour backed away from the pedestal and chair. And the entire room held its breath as the clicking of the hands grew louder.
Harry had just placed the longest arm into position for the year of 1942 when a tremor resonated throughout the department of mysteries. And the white door was thrown open by Voldemort himself in all his terrible glory.
"Harry Potter, you hole yourself in the same room with your would be compatriots. But you will not have the chance to complete this foolish task. You will die boy!" Harry clicked the hand into position and felt a tug around his navel, as well as a warmth rushing past his left temple. His last glimpse was that of a venom green light completely filling the room before every thing blurred together.
Harry was falling backwards. He couldn't find anything to break his fall. It's a strange feeling to know that you'll never reach the ground from your fall, almost peaceful. But the interlude was quick and was interrupted by a jarring crunch and a flood of warmth. Harry looked upwards to catch sight of the sky and instead saw the silhouette of a person with the sun behind them. And finally Harry drifted off to sleep.