Summary: Harry, Hermione and Creacher go back in time to save their loved ones from fate worse than death. The destruction of everything they held dear.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I'm just playing in J.K. Rowling's sandbox.

Do I continue the story or leave it? Do I keep writing or not? What do you think people? Read and review. Thank you.

On with the story…

"It is time my friend. Are you sure you want to come with us?" The middle-aged man whispered to his loyal servant.

"Of course my lord you need all the help you can get." The little creature dragged its feet closer. Creacher might have been old but he still remembered the once young man who took the mantle of the one proud and noble family of Black. At first Creacher was bitter; a half-blood, lord of his beloved mistress house, then it was he who changed the once dreary house of Black to one of true light and acceptance.

"It will hurt Creacher." Harry Potter tried once again to change the mind of his long-time friend.

"As it should, Harry; going back in time it's no small fit," said the translucent figure of Hermione Weasley nee Granger from the door. "We need to do this Harry. Too many died; too many mistakes, my love. We need to do this."

After her death, Hermione appeared to Harry as a spectre leaving him in total disarray for days. When he was ready to hear her out Creacher had to lock the house down to stop him from killing his once best friend,Ronald bloody Weasley, not an easy fit for the aged house-elf, especially since Harry Potter was the strongest wizard since Merlin.

Her words and Creacher's unwavering look of support decided it for Harry.

"Very well; let's do it." His consent was all Creacher needed. With a clap of his fingers, the room was secure with elvish magic. At first, the kitchen table disappeared and in its place, an eight-point star covered the floor of the room. In an intricate writing font, the four points of the compass appeared, over the largest rays of the star. Between the directional points, four other words made their appearance clockwise; time, past, direction and the last one love. According to the ancient text that Hermione found, the last word should represent the reason for your need to travel in time. The stronger the reason the further back you were able to go. As they needed to go 25 years back in time, love seemed appropriate enough.

Harry, Creacher and the spectre form of Hermione, stepped on the base of the star and started chanting. The long-dead musical language gave a haunting sense in the room. Both Harry's and Creacher's magic started pouring out of their very core, enveloping Hermione making her almost tangible. As the chanting grew in intensity and volume the star grew more and more illuminated. At first, it was the four points of the star then the words of direction themselves, then like pouring water the light moved from north to south, from south to west, from west to east, east to north. With the inner cycle alight, the pain in the creature, human and spectre also grew. It started in their hearts then moved to their torsos, their navels felt like they were tiered apart.

Like inter connecting minds all three of them were giving assurance, courage and love. "NO MATTER THE PAIN KEEP CHANTING", they were panting in their heads as they were screaming the ancient words aloud. The inner cycle of the star pulsed with blinding intensity, one, two, three times and the light moved. From direction the light poured to past, and the pain crawled from their navel to the left leg, from past to time, from their left leg to their right. From their legs, the pain literally jumped to their left hand when the light poured from time to love. Then, from love back to time, the pain went straight to their tips of their fingers, down to the tips of their toes; and then the realization. They were burning from inside out.

The outer cycle pulsed once twice the third time the pain exploded in their heads, so blinding that the strength to scream the words left them. The moment they mattered the last ancient syllable, the whole star pulsed for the third and last time. The blinding light and the magic enveloped them completely and they disappeared leaving a crater were the ancestral home of the Most Ancient and Most Noble ancestral home of Black used to be.

Creacher was running. He didn't know why just that he was running with pictures; moving pictures of his 300 years of life. No, it wasn't he who was running it was the pictures. Baffled the house-elf closed his eyes, took a few calming breathes, to slow down his razing little heart and looked again. The pictures had slowed down enough that he was able to discern what he was seeing. Master Harry and Mistress Hermione were talking. They were talking to him and with him.

"What do you thing Creacher. Can this, which Hermione purposing, happen?" His Master was asking him, poor old Creacher for his opinion. Even though, Creacher was looking through some kind of projective pensive, he still felt as much amazement and honour as the first time it happened; and it happened a lot since then. Master Harry and Mistress Hermione taught him reading, writing, arithmancy and runes and in return, he taught them basic elf magic. Neither could do anything really, what with Mistress Hermione being a ghost and Master Harry having lost most of his mobility of his hands since the final battle, but they caught on quickly with the fundamentals of elf-magic.

It took them nine long years but the old elf was able to help them prepare for the ritual. He was who carved the runes in the kitchen's walls, floor and ceiling. He was who helped Hermione with the arithmancy and Harry to find the rest of the ritual, elf-apparating him to every known magical library in the world. The night of "the going back to time business", as Master Harry called it, was to take place on the full moon of the summer solstices. At midnight, the living and the dead should be completely nude with curved runes on their bodies. A few hours earlier, they had to follow another obscure ritual, that they found in the Black library, to give Hermione substance to curve on her the runes.

He pushed himself for years. He should have already died 5 years ago but he persevered for his master and mistress needed him. Now he must choose the right moment in his timeline to reunite with them. Creacher was searching for the wright moment in the moving pictures of his life and he found it.

"Creacher, I need help with this bloody house you filthy old shite!"

Creacher turned around and saw the most magnificent sight with those old eyes of his. Master Serious was alive. His master's house was in disarray and of course, it was his fault.

"Master Serious sir," the old elf said with reverence, "please go to the kitchen, I'll be with you shortly." Then almost in a loud whisper, "you look like death warmed up!" The old elf apparated with a loud pop, to the market in Diagon Alley, leaving behind a very befuddled Serious Black.

Hermione Granger, wistfully soon-to-be Potter, expected anything else but looking at her sleeping 14-year-old self. She was a spectre. Of course, it didn't happen as she expected. When actually thinks happen as you expect. What is that pull in my core? Her panic abating she let the pulling feeling win and felt herself pulled into the younger witches' body. "Why", her younger self muttered. "Harry needs us", the older replied and the two consciousnesses merged to one. Their cores becoming one. Hermione Granger opened her eyes with a start. I'm was back, was running through her mind repeatedly. Even though the first word that left he mouth was Harry's name the second was the one she needed.

"Dobby!"

Harry James Potter was hurting, very much so, but he willed himself to open his eyes. Still a bit disoriented it took him a long minute to realize in what moment of his life he landed. For his thirteen-year-old self it was one of the weirdest days of his life. Thank Merlin for all the planning he and Hermione made, cause that day was one of the pivotal ones. The day of his trial for defending himself and Dudley from the Dementors Dolores Umbridge send.

Hmm, someone is talking, he thought. He turned his gaze to where the sound of the voice was coming and he almost laughed his gorgeous backside of. Hey, according to the woman I love it is gorgeous. It's not my fault if she rubbed off on me, he defended his own thoughts. Minister Fudge was still trying to turn a misdemeanour to a murder. Well, he had enough of this charade. He stood up pulled his beloved holly and phoenix from his pocket, I really need a holster; he thought, pointed it up towards the ceiling and intoned for all to hear, even Dubledork.

"I Harry James Potter the last scion of the Most Ancient and Most Noble house of Potter, accept the mantle of Lord Potter. I swear upon my magic and life to preserve the name of Potter and preserver to uphold my family's vows."

The deathly silence that had fallen after his declaration broke by a torrent of magic cycling him. It was the common magic of the acceptance for the new Lord. As the signet ring of his family appeared in his middle right finger, already resized to fit him, everyone was speechless and some even terrified from the magic displayed from the young wizard. Harry was at awe, with the knowledge of his family swimming in his mind. He didn't take the mantle of Lord Potter last time. He didn't know about it and the ministry under Voldemort's rein confiscated everything that was his by birthright.

"You can't have it both ways Minister. At the one hand me tried as an adult in front of the full Wizengamond and keeping me underage with myriad of restrictions at the same time", he said while he caressed the Potter ring with reverence. Then he turned his eyes to the Undersecretary. His cold gaze, with the magic still twirling around him, pinned the terrified toad to her sit.

"Now I would like to know Madam Bones who in the name of Merlin sent Dementors in Little Winging." With the magic knowledge given to him by the ring, Harry pulled the memory in question from his temple and broadcasted it for all to see. The righteous anger in Madam Bones' face showed Harry that he and Hermione made the right decision to include her in their plans.

"I would also like to know the answer to that question too, Lord Potter." The last two words faded as her gaze turned to the young wizard. He was pale with large bits of sweat pulling on his face. He looked terrified. "Lord Potter, are you well?"

Harry was truly and utterly terrified because he was in pain. He was in tremendous pain and didn't know why. For some reason the magic wasn't absorbed to the earth or the ministry as it supposed to. In the contrary, it started to intensify in the form of strong winds howling like the wolves under the full moon. The stronger the winds got the worst the pain for the newly appointed Lord Potter. The ringing in his ears made it impossible to hear or even think. One conversation with Creacher though came unbitten by any pain be it physical or mental.

"Master Harry, you have millions of blocks on you. You have blocks on your Magic, mental blocks, physical blocks. You should have gone to the healers to remove them before you turned seventeen. If we do it now it will kill you."

His eyes wide in fear and wonderment Harry looked Madam Bones, the woman who was going to become his greatest supporter and allay through the years, in the eyes. "My blocks are braking. Shields up", he screamed and then more forcefully the regret evident everywhere in his face, green, of the emerald, eyes full of remorse. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't know." He whimpered and shot up in the air screaming in pain.

The screams followed a stampede of terrified withes and wizards and then everything stopped by the appearance of an army of house-elves. "Erect shields protect the Wizengamond," Madam Bones' ordered at the same moment.

"What about Lord Potter?" Someone else said over the sounds of Protego Maxima from the Aurors.

"Those are Potter elves," answered Madam Bones in awe. "Good elves please help us protect Lord Potter and the Wizengamond." Everyone present received her plea with astonishment. Who talks to the Elves with such respect? This time, an elf stopped the toady woman from spewing her spiel.

"Madam Bones, I am Charles the head elf of the Potter Family. If you all stay in your sits, our elf magic will protect you. If you move around, the personal shields we have erected will fail," said the elf and turned his attention to his master who was writhing tangled in the air like a puppet in the mercy of a cruel puppeteer.

"You heard him people sit down and be quite", she ordered the dumbfounded and terrified crowd over small explosions that originated in the young wizard. The young wizard in question was fighting for his very life. The agonizing pain was getting greater with every block that broke. As another block left his mind, Harry felt a blackness grabbing his heart and a cruel laughter ringing in his ears. His scream of defiance silenced even more the terrified occupants of the trial chamber.

"You are not going to win Tom, not this time." A blue aura surrounded him. "You are dying Tommie Boy." The howling winds build up even more until a female voice entered the fray.

"Yes Tom, you will die. I'm here my love, hear me." Like a light switch, a blinding smile replaced the terrified grimace on Lord Potter's face. The puppeteer's ropes broke and the young wizard slowly came to the ground.

"I knew you would come." He said breathlessly.

"I will always come." She answered with a blinding smile of her own. "Potter elves no one leaves the chamber no one comes in the inner cycle, until we come around you protect your master," ordered she, her eyes never leaving the man-boy she loved so much. Waiting just a moment for the elves acknowledgement to their Mistress's order, they let their lips to come together with the sole purpose to show their love to one another.

The blue aura of the Boy-Who-Lived changed in an instant to the golden aura of the joining of two souls. For a few moments, the spectators bathed in their love until the unearthly screams started. It wasn't the now bonded teenagers that screamed though, but the black mist that left Harry's scar, took the morph of a human sinister face that hovered over them spitting and cursing.

As the two teenagers kept kissing and the golden aura brighten, another black mist joint the first and then another and another. Eight pieces came together creating the spectre of Lord Voldemort. The most feared dark wizard in all Britain. The quick and decisive move of Creacher and Dobby -who brought Hermione when he felt the distress of his future Master- and the Potter elves contained the black wizard in a net of elvish magic ready to transport to the death chamber and the veil of death.

It took a few more seconds for the couple to leave each other's lips, still bathed in a golden aura they looked up to their nemesis.

"Hello Tom," they said in unison. "It's time for you to go," they continued, "we are sure Death misses you." Then Hurry looked at Hermione and with the most cheerful voice, that caused even more distress to the dark wizard, said, "Are you ready love?" In her affirmative node both took out their wands moved them in a complex way and send every single person of courtroom ten to the Death Chamber where the Unspeakable were waiting to take over from the elves.

What was to be an anticlimactic death for He-Who-Must-Die-From-The-Hands-Of-Time-Travellers became the most gruesome and unanticipated death of the pillars of wisarding Britain. Every marked Death-Eater, in every corner of the world, clutched the right hand and screamed as their magic left them and their marked hand opened wide. Black as coal blood left their open wound pooling around them. Nothing could save them. Twenty people died in the death chamber alone, bled out in front of the astonished eyes of the onlookers. Harry and Hermione, with wide eyes and white as a sheet, transferred the leaving back to the courtroom and collapsed.