Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does.

A/N: This is a story from my first account. I abandoned it about a year ago, but decided to give it another shot. Since taking care of my health issues, I've recently regained the momentum to write it. The pairings will be a secret, but Harry will have multiple partners.

Time Begins Again

Chapter One

Harry Potter looked up at Number 4 Privet Drive. Had it really been that long since he had left? Almost a century ago? So much had changed the last time he had looked on the neatly manicured yard and perfectly painted shutters. He had been an exile, an outlaw against the newly established Ministry of Magic led by Lord Voldemort. He had left the only blood family he knew as a burdened and troubled fugitive. He had never looked back. There was no sorrow in his leaving. If anything he had been happy to leave the Dursleys even if it meant abandoning them to their fates against Voldemort. He stood before the house with little doubt that today would be the only time he ever visited Privet Drive again.

"Harry, its time," said a gentle voice behind him.

He turned to look at a smiling Luna Lovegood. She was, as usual, completely stunning. Sometimes when he looked at her, he found himself breathless; though, that reaction had very little to do with her looks. While she was very beautiful with pale blonde hair, crystal clear blue eyes, and flawless ivory skin, the most stunning thing was her raw magical power. The aura around her was enough to make most human witches and wizards dizzy or even unconscious. She was not known as the Fire Princess of Aramoir for nothing.

"Yes," Harry replied. "I suppose we have no choice but to begin this horrid task."

Luna's smile never faltered. "We always have a choice Harry," she countered. "This is just the one we like the best." A grimace flickered across Harry's face. "Ok, fine. This is the choice I like the best. You are just the silly male that came along for the ride."

He rolled his eyes and started walking across the lawn to the front door. Luna was an idealist and her ideals usually clashed with Harry's more negative takes on reality. He didn't consider himself a pessimist really. He was just a realist with an acute connection to death and chaos. That didn't make him negative, just cautious. He laughed a bit to himself; he was very cautious. When you teetered on the brink of death as many times as he had, you either became very cautious or an alcoholic.

Luna caught on to his quiet laugh as she knocked on the door to Number 4. "How many times have I asked you not to laugh to yourself? You will damage your hearing."

He stared back at her incredulously, the door forgotten. "Luna, how does laughing to myself damage my hearing?" he asked, but she did not have a chance to reply.

The door to Number 4 opened slowly. "Yes?" an elderly woman asked, not bothering with a typical greeting. The woman in front of him was tall and held the air of reserved dignity as if Harry and Luna were not worth her time. That dignity faltered when she laid eyes on the tell-tale scar resting on Harry's forehead. "My God," she muttered breathlessly. "Harry?"

Harry was too shocked to respond. Standing in front of him was his Aunt Petunia. Surely he was seeing things. She did not look a day over seventy, but that could not be possible. She would have to be at least 140 by now. The woman, clearly shocked as well, stepped back to allow him and Luna inside. He took the invitation, openly gaping at his aunt.

"Good evening Mrs. Dursley," Luna said as she skipped by unfazed. Harry had never really seen her unfazed. She was always just loony.

Harry walked into the house. It had not changed. Despite all the modern appliances and entertainment items, the house still had the same familiar tidiness. It brought back several unpleasant memories. He closed his eyes, calming himself. He had learned long ago to contain his emotions. His brilliant green eyes looked back at Aunt Petunia. Tears were brimming her eyes.

"How are you Aunt?" he asked not really caring. What he really wanted to ask was not the politest question, and he wanted this to remain as polite and civil as possible. After all, social etiquette, even at the worst of times, must always be observed.

Petunia Dursley stared back at her nephew. Tears were freely flowing down both cheeks despite her eyes being as wide as saucers. Harry was slightly amused. She answered him softly, "I am alive."

"Uncle Vernon and Dudley?" he asked.

"Vernon died eighty years ago," she said with a sad frown. "Dudley is alive and well. He suffers from my condition."

Luna spoke before he could. "What condition?" she asked with as much innocence as a she could manage. When you have wiped out an entire sentient race, there was just not that much innocence left in you. Luna, however, was a refreshing enigma. Even when she faced off against the most horrifying enemies, she appeared ignorantly innocent.

"Come and let's sit," Petunia replied without answering. She led them into the living area where there were two wingback recliners and a large sofa. A coffee table sat between all three pieces of furniture. An ancient LCD flat screen television hung on the far wall. It was clear his aunt enjoyed antiques.

She beckoned for them to sit down as she took a seat in one of the green recliners. They both sat on the similar colored sofa. Aunt Petunia let out a long sigh before speaking. "The condition is that we don't have enough magic. I believe you would call us squibs. We have enough for long lives but not enough to be actual witches and wizards. As you might have guessed, I am 143. I do not feel older than fifty though I look seventy. Dudley is 125; he looks forty. He moved to America when he graduated University."

It made sense to him. He had discovered long ago that his mother's family had actually been a long line of squibs. His mother had been the first full witch in seven generations. "When did you discover this?"

"When Vernon died," she replied. Fresh tears came to her eyes and she shook a little. "Harry, I am so sorry for everything we put you through," she said with a desperate, pleading look.

He stared at his aunt. They had practically tortured him for almost sixteen years. Hogwarts had been his only escape from their emotional and verbal abuse and now she wanted his forgiveness? How could she dare even ask? It had taken him thirty years and painful soul rituals to undo the damage their abuse had done to his magical core. The Dursleys were the closest thing to pure evil in a mortal he had ever encountered. Even Voldemort had not gone after children.

His magic had become visibly noticeable as he glared at Petunia's pleading, guilt-ridden face. Furious sparks of red jumped between his fingers, fueled by his aunt having the audacity to dare and ask for his forgiveness. He felt a hand rub his arm slightly. "Harry," Luna said, sending calming magics through her voice and hand. He looked at her and instantly reigned in the dangerous energy around him. It had been sixty years since he had lost control like that. The last time he did, he burned down half of Knockturn Alley. Luna had not been there to stop him. The consequences had been much worse.

"Had anyone else just tried that, I would have killed them," he told Luna in a low, dangerous voice. It carried the hint of a threat, but his friend ignored it. She knew he would never hurt her.

"Then I guess we are lucky it was me," she replied with a large grin.

He held his glare for a moment but gave up when Luna's grin didn't falter. Harry looked back at his aunt, once again in control of his emotions. "Aunt Petunia, you abused me and mentally tortured me for years. There is no way I could ever forget the damage you did." He sighed and rubbed his face. He could feel a headache starting to grow. "I can, however, forgive you; though, that will take a great deal of work on your part. Even so, we are not here to discuss forgiveness with you."

She nodded her head in acceptance. It had been a long shot to hope for his forgiveness, but she had thought maybe a hundred years had helped to pave the road to redemption. He was offering her more than she had a right to expect. "What is it you need from me?"

"To be honest, nothing. I had no idea that you would be here. I came to visit the cupboard," he said glancing towards the hallway. "We are hoping to discover something that will fix a bit of a problem we are having."

Petunia gave him a puzzled look. He saw something in her eyes that resembled something close to genuine concern. "What kind of problem?" she asked.

The last thing he wanted to do was consult Petunia Dursley on an issue of magical importance. Luna, however, had a way of always doing that exact opposite of what he intended. "We accidentally caused a magical plague that wiped out seventy-five percent of British mortal magic users. Or Harry did at least."

Harry groaned out loud. He really did not want that getting out. They were wanted by the International Crime Task Force. This was not something you broadcast to everyone who asked.

"How did you do that?" his aunt asked. She had completely forgotten their previous conversation.

"He-" Luna started, but Harry cut her off with a wandless silencing charm. She threw it off with barely a thought. "Was that really necessary?"

"I will tell the story," he said with a glare. "It is mine to tell you know. Obviously, you talk too much as it is." He waited for her to say more. She stuck her tongue out at him instead. "Besides, I believe you might lack the maturity for this story."

He did not wait for her reply. "You must understand that there are four kinds of magic. Well, there are theoretically five, but no one has ever been able to actually channel draconic magic. The four known types are natural, demonic, mortal and soul/death magic. An entire different area of power exist known as Holy energy, but to perform that, one can have no connection to any of the magical forms.

"Wizards primarily use mortal magic; it is channeled through the body. Dwarves, Lycans, and goblins use this magic. Its power is restricted to a person's magical core. It is, therefore, considered the weakest form of magic.," he said. He almost laughed at Aunt Petunia's look. To her, there was no such thing as weak magic. In truth, most wizards and witches, much less muggles and squibs, had no their magics were compared to the larger magical community.

"Natural magic is the ability to interact with and meld with the elements. This kind of magic has little boundaries as it is only restricted by which element the being melding with it chooses. Elves and fae are the main users of Natural Magic. Humans usually do not as any non-organic substance in the body seriously disrupts the flow of the element. Luna is one of the few mortals to be able to do it. She is a fire elemental." Luna was grinning ear to ear as Petunia looked at her in awe. She made flames jump between her fingers, and his aunt's eyes almost bulged out of her head.

"Stop showing off," he said only half-caring. He had seen the witch do much more. She allowed the fire to fade away. She rested her hand in her lap and smiled back at him sweetly. "As I was saying," he continued, "elemental magic is on par with demonic magic in raw power, but because of the time the rituals take, it is much more restrictive. Voldemort was an extremely powerful practitioner of demonic sorcery.

"The most powerful form is the rarest and is almost impossible to perform as you have to have died to be able to do so. Vampires and dementors, with one exception, are the only known practitioners of death magic. If one is strong enough, like the older magical vampires are, one can gain immortality through it. Death magic, sometimes called soul magic, literally feeds of the energy of the living and the dead. The potential is almost endless through it is a fairly recent discovery as the Vampire Lords are very secretive about the art," Harry finished. Petunia looked as though she were going to scream every time he said vampire.

"Vampire!" Luna yelled. She burst out in hysterical laughter when Petunia let out a squel of fear. "You should have seen your face!" she managed to get out through the giggles.

Harry glared at her, and she quickly sucked in air, trying to control her laughter. It was useless. "Why do I still take you anywhere?" he asked her, annoyance clear on his face. He was not amused.

Luna spread her hands apart and leaned back in the corner of the sofa. She placed her feet in his lap, making her tight dress appear even tighter. "Because, lover, I am extremely sexy." It was true. Being so strong in natural magic, her body was constantly regenerated, similar to the high elves. She barely looked twenty five.

Harry shoved her legs off him. He stood up and walked to the front window. He peaked around the curtains. Once certain they were not followed, he continued, "Lord Voldemort, as I said, was a powerful practitioner of Demonic magic. He conducted many rituals to gain power and lengthen his life. One of these rituals left a lasting effect. Though I did not know it, his body was a ticking time-bomb. When I killed him, a deadly virus escaped his body that targeted the magical core of mortal wizards. The virus slowly ate away at their cores until there was none left and the user became magicless.

"By this time, the government has become much more organized. The entire magical society has changed over the past several decades. When the Dark Lord Voldemort was defeated, it was clear the wizarding world had to enter into modern times. We left our medieval culture behind to embrace the technologies made popular by you muggles. Our community was suddenly centralized and globally organized into a massive association. While this may seem like a good thing, the public was blaming the new government for the problems it now faced. In order to establish a more perfect union they investigated me," he said with a disgusted look. "Of course it was a sham. From the beginning, it was their intention to make me a scapegoat.

"After the healers found the cure, it was determined I had caused the catastrophe. Despite the fact I had lost my wife and children to the plague, they arrested me and sentenced me to life in Azkaban. In way, they did me a favor. It is there I discovered my unique gift and escaped," he finished. His eyes stared at the wall though they were not looking at anything in particular. He had a faraway look that made Petunia think he was lost in painful memories.

She watched her nephew carefully. How could she have treated him so badly for so many years? She and Vernon had thought they were standing up for what was natural, but it was clear she had been wrong. In front of her, after being out of her life for almost a century, he had returned to her. He was powerful; of that, she had no doubt. "I thought your wizard's prison could not be escaped from."

Harry smiled at the memory. It had been eighty years since he escaped Azkaban and threw the wizarding world into a storm of shock and awe. For seventy years they hunted him to no avail. Thankfully, the elves had welcomed him in their realm. He had lived with them, carefully researching how to solve his problem. He had nothing to lose; he had lost it all. It was in the Elven realm he had reunited with Luna. At first they were mourning lovers comforted by the shelter of each others arms. It was Luna who had helped him restore his dementor ravaged magical core and helped him discover the extent of his new powers.

"I escaped because they did not expect my abilities," he finally answered. It was true. No mortal should have been able to channel the power he could. "I am the only human death mage. Though, at this point you could not accurately call me human. Instead of robbing me of my magic, the souls captured by the dementors only increased it exponentially. Eventually they became my minions instead of the Ministry's. They aided me in my escape."

"So what did you want here?" Petunia asked them.

"Harry has the ability to alter his soul and draw on the energies of both the living and the dead. We hope, through a ritual involving his childhood home, he will be able to move his soul back in time," Luna answered as if time travel and soul magic were two of the most normal things in the world. "We have the power to do it. We just don't know if it's actually possible."

Petunia sighed. She owed him that much; it was the least she could do for them. Maybe Harry could make a difference for everyone. "How far back will you go?" she asked.

Harry answered this time. "We do not know. We only know it should be sometime before I was eleven."

She nodded and stood up. She spread her arms apart. "The house is yours to use it. I wish I could have offered more."

Harry walked over to her. He was not the same boy she had seen leave their house years ago. He had changed everything from his demeanor to the black Armani suit he wore. Everything was different except his eyes. His eyes were still the bright green eyes of Lily Potter. She cried again and pulled him into a tight hug. "I loved your mother you know," she whispered in his ear.

"I know," he said returning the hug.

A loud bang interrupted the tender moment. Harry jerked back from her quickly; Luna was already standing. He beckoned towards the front door, and Luna waved her hands on a complicated pattern. Hot blue flames leaped from her palms and spread over the door, turning it an unnatural pale blue. "That will only hold them for a moment Harry," she warned.

"What's going on?" Petunia asked frantically. Her fear of magic was quickly returning.

Harry ran from the room, pulling his aunt with him. He pushed her towards the stairs. "You must hide. That noise was the Task Force trackers breaking through my wards. You have to hide. When they find you, I will be gone. You should be safe then." She took one last look at the two of them, nodded, and ran up the stairs.

Harry turned back towards the front doors; the fire ward was failing. He closed his eyes and folded his hands together before his chest. His sense extended to the wizards on the other side of the door. Their magic flowed with direction and purpose. Below the blankets of their mortal magic, he could feel the chaos of their magical cores. He latched onto the sensation and opened his body to the sudden influx of power. He allowed the door to break.

Several armored wizards ran into the room, weapons drawn. The black obsidian armor they wore, while completely flexible, negated magical spells. The International Confederation of Magical Peoples had discovered it thirty years earlier while experimenting with magical containment spells. Five years later they had discovered new uses for glass-like obsidian. The result had been highly trained and dangerous magical soldiers defended by pliable, magic resistant armor. They began using reductor spells cased in bullet-like apparatuses for assault rifles and handguns.

One of the trackers had a white star on the forehead of the helmets they all wore. He stepped forward with his assault rifle pointed at Harry's chest. A thick visor covered the front of the helmet and shielded his eyes. They rarely used wands. Some of the soldiers were probably even squibs. "Mr. Potter, you are surrounded. You and Miss Lovegood are under arrest for crimes against the International Confederation of Magical Peoples.," the tracker said. The voice transmitter made his voice deep and scratchy.

The soldier had not lied. They definitely surrounded, but Harry Potter did not have a reputation of giving up easily. His eyes snapped opened; they had turned solid black. Before the trackers could react, he had held his arms straight out. Blue and white streaks of electricity shot from his finger tips and blasted four of the wizards through the wall. There were still two remaining, but a wave of fire from Luna had them slumped against what remained of the wall.

"Not bad," Harry whispered to her. The government had forgotten a few things in their excitement about the obsidian armor. While the main component was magic resistant, it was extremely susceptible to the natural elements as it was a combination of those elements that created it. In addition, soldiers using it tended to become complacent. They forgot that every spell is energy. While they do not feel the effects of spells, they are not prepared for the backlash when the spell breaks. A strong enough spell will throw the soldier off balance or even on their back. This effect would be amplified should the spellcaster be using soul magic to boost the power of his or her spells. Unfortunately for the trackers, no one had told them Harry could use such magic, and they found themselves lying on their backs in Number 4's yard experiencing great deals of pain.

The trackers' reinforcements opened fire on Luna and Harry as soon as the dust cleared enough to get a shot. The problem with new redactor bullets was they were hard to block. Two, the casing was blockable by a shield, but when the spell broke, it, like spells against the armor, had a backlash that weakened the shield spell. While a typical shield could handle several spells, one could handle no more than two or three high speed, blunt impacts plus accompanying spell backlash. So it took all Luna could do to block the incoming bullets. After a few seconds of keeping up two fire wards, she was starting to sweat. She would not be able to hold out against the onslaught very long. It felt as they must have at least twelve guns firing.

"Go," she told Harry through gritted teeth. "Finish this. I will hold them off."

Harry turned and ran down the hallway. He yanked the door to the cupboard open. Of course his old bed was gone, but the drawings he made were still on the wall. He sat down against the boxes and old clothes packed tightly in the room. He closed his eyes and reached out to the traces of his magical signature. Amazingly they were still there though only slightly. It was what he had hoped for. The amount of blood he had shed in this room had conserved his magical presence. He reached up to the many drawings on the wall. He traced the drawings with his fingers while muttering something in ancient Egyptian. When he felt the connection to his younger magic establish, he pulled a knife out with his free hand. Slowly he brought it to his neck. He stopped muttering. The drawings glowed green for a moment. He drove the knife into his neck and pulled. Blood poured from his cut throat.

The pain was unbelievable. Magic seared through his body and from the blood leaving his body. He had to continuously cut with the knife as his soul magic was rapidly healing the open wound. He felt his magic resist, but he pushed against it, overriding the survival instinct. Darkness took over, and he became lost in a rush of magic. His last thought was Luna.

Luna felt the spike in magic, and the new ritual was finished. It had been a long time since she had felt sadness over someone leaving, but it was suddenly there. Exhausted, she allowed the fire wards to drop. The bullets hit her, and she was thrown to the ground, blood flying everywhere. She was comforted when she felt Harry's magic wash over her as her own faded away. Dying didn't seem so bad.

A/N: Enjoy.