The Möbius
Description: Harry is sent back in time to the year 1944. With a fake name and no memories he is sorted into Slytherin and shares a dorm with Tom Riddle. Whilst trying to regain his past, he risks subsequently changing the future. (HP/TMR)
Summary: AU DH Ignores HBP (SLASH) On Halloween Harry Potter is sent back in time to the year 1944. With no memories, he is sorted into Slytherin under the alias of Robert Salvatore and shares a dorm with the Head Boy. When he becomes the lover of a young Tom Riddle the wheel of fate is spun and history rewrites itself. Whilst trying to regain his past, he risks subsequently changing the future. When the time to return home is upon him will Salvatore be able to leave it all behind? And what future will await him in the altered year of 1998?
Warnings: Language, violence, slash (malemale), het. (malefemale), supernatural themes, mild to explicit torture scenes, gore, mature content, child abuse and character death/murder.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This story is AU of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. The Möbius has been under construction since May 2009. It ignores Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince.
NON-FICTION REFERENCE: August Ferdinand Möbius was a 19th century German mathematician and astronomer who found that by joining the two ends of a piece of paper together to form a loop BUT twisting the ends before they were joined a continuous loop of only one side was formed.
Source: www. compulink. co. uk / ~antcom/mtl. html
FOR MORE INFORMATION ABOUT THE MÖBIUS TIME LOOP PLEASE VISIT THE LINK ABOVE; remember to remove the spaces.
Chapter 1 - The Witching Hour
The corridor, in which Sir August Ferdinand Möbius of Saxony-Anhalt's portrait hung, was silent and deserted. This in itself should not be mistaken as an unusual occurrence for this particular part of the castle. In fact, it was a very rare day indeed if the corridor was visited by any soul but the house-elves who saw to its upkeep. Not even the ghosts wandered it. And why would they? It was barren with the exception of Sir August and the door that stood opposite his canvas, which, by all appearances, led to nothing more than a forgotten broom cupboard.
On All Hallows' Eve, it was of no surprise that the sound of footsteps nearing Sir August's bleak corridor aroused him from his slumber. The footsteps were rushed and the heavy breathing that accompanied them soon reached the ears of the aged portrait.
Let it not be said that Sir August was in any form a nosey man. In fact, during his life (as many centuries ago as that was) Sir August kept to himself, never disturbing or inconveniencing a single person. It could be said that he had possessed little interest in the comings and goings of the world around him. But that was many years ago and after not experiencing the companionship of another human for several decades it was understandable that the footsteps of an invisible being intrigued him.
Harry Potter was at this moment cursing his dismal luck.
There are many who would say that he had no right to do so. That the predicament he had fallen into was entirely his fault in the first place. That he shouldn't have been sneaking about the castle after curfew. He should most definitely know by now that trouble seemed to find him no matter what the circumstance and it was usually the foreseeable result of him poking his nose into where it shouldn't be. Tonight however, Harry could honestly state that trouble had quite literally stumbled in his lap without him needing to go look for it.
Just a few minutes prior, Mr Filch, Hogwarts' most diligent and – much to the students relief – only caretaker had understandably tripped over what appeared to be nothing more than some very solid thin air. In actual fact, this had been Harry's leg hidden beneath the folds of his Invisibility Cloak whilst he lay dozing against the cold stonewall. After a moment of confusion followed by a frantic scramble to free himself from under the gaunt man, Harry had charged off down the hallway, desperately fleeing from his would-be-pursuer with a throbbing left foot. His father's cloak was still pulled tightly across his shoulders and caused him to stumble more than once but Harry dared not remove it in fear of Mr Filch discovering his identify. If caught, he would unquestionably earn a week's worth of detention and his position of Head Boy would most definitely be under scrutiny.
Dashing blindly down the darkened corridors, taking corner after corner, Harry fled deeper into a part of the castle seldom used by its inhabitants. The stones beneath his feet were rough from lack of use. The usual portraits hanging from the walls and the silent presence of the sturdy suits of armour were absent. The steady echo of the caretaker's leather-clad feet continuing his pursuit urged Harry onwards past unfamiliar oak doors - hinges and locks rusted from immobility. The wind's eerie whistle which seeped through the cracks in the stone walls filled Harry's ears and sent shivers down his spine. This part of the castle was foreboding, but Harry hobbled on.
Gooseflesh had spread down his bare arms and the cold was now grasping at his chest. He could clearly hear the laboured breathing of the caretaker, still diligent in his pursuit and with a silent groan, Harry urged his weary body on despite limping heavily. The corridor in front of him veered to the left and with a silent curse, Harry hastened towards it. As he rounded the corner, Harry could do nothing but stop and stare at what lay before him.
A dead end.
The chase had cornered him in a deserted corridor where a single portrait of an old and slumbering man hung. Harry stood at the entrance, gawking in horror at what lay before him. Spinning on his heel, he made to head back the way he came but the sound of Filch's approaching footsteps were a fast reminder of Harry's current predicament. Glancing around frantically under his Invisibility Cloak, Harry's eyes landed on an obscure doorway hidden in the shadows. Lunging towards it, Harry grasped the rusted doorknob and heaved.
The cupboard door didn't budge and Harry once again cursed his dismal luck.
Bracing his weight, Harry tried the doorhandle once more, pulling desperately while silently begging for the rusted hinges to move. With a resounding creak the door edged open, its oak frame scrapping along the stone floor with every inch. Once it was open far enough for Harry to slip through he ducked in tugging the door close behind him. Just as the door clicked back into place, the corridor became a light as Filch's grimy face peered around the corner.
Crouched close by the keyhole, Harry squinted through the minute opening as Filch's bulging eyes peered beadily about the small space. Mrs Norris slinked through the caretaker's feet, her ears twitching as they strained to listen for a clue as to Harry's whereabouts. Desperately trying to muffle his erratic breathing, Harry watched on with dread as the dastardly duo's search brought them closer to his cupboard. As Head Boy, Professor McGonagall would never forgive him for being caught out after curfew.
When the caretaker's lamp-like gaze invariably landed on the cupboard tucked away in the shadows, Harry felt his heart pound loudly against his chest. Holding his breath, Harry eased slowly back into the depths of the tiny cupboard in one last desperate attempt to avoid discovery. The soft taps of Filch's feet tread closer and Harry could practically feel his wheezing breaths through the oak door. Rising slowly, Harry stepped back with his right foot. After a moment, he slowly eased back onto his left and then promptly tripped over a bucket that had been hidden in the corner.
For the third time that night Harry cursed his miserable luck.
As he fell, Harry's cloak slipped from his grip and his head cracked harshly against the wall behind him. In a moment of comprehension, Harry realized that the part of the castle he was forced to flee through was located beneath the large clock situated on one of the castle turrets. As it chimed twelve above him, his thoughts consisted of nothing as darkness overtook him.
Sir August watched curiously as the caretaker wrenched open the cupboard door after hearing the startled cry from within. It was deserted save for a small metal bucket that rattled innocently across the floor stopping short of Mr Filch's leather-clad feet. Sir August peered intently into the cupboard over the caretaker's hunched shoulders. He could no longer detect the invisible presence.
Staring bewilderedly into the empty cupboard, Mr Filch gave a small shake off his head before tugging the door closed once more, grimacing as its metal hinges creaked with rust and age. Muttering under his breath about troublesome poltergeists, Mr Filch hobbled away from the small corridor, dismissing the mayhap as another ghostly prank. Mrs Norris trotted along closely at his heels as her tail twitched side to side. The light slowly faded from the hallway and Sir August's portrait was once again shrouded in silence.
It was curious that just before the oak door had clicked closed, Sir August had caught a glimpse of a bundle of shimmering material tucked away in the shadows of the little room. Something was tugging insistently at the back of his mind, marking this as significant. But try as he might, Sir August could not seize the stray thought. Settling further back into his portrait, Sir August prepared himself for a restless night filled with dreams of cupboards and invisible footsteps.
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