A/N: Oh no! This is another story where the characters read the books, isn't it? Oh yes! I have always been fascinated with this particular plot, though it's been done to death and back. There's just so much potential in this story, for drama and tragedy and what not, so I decided to become the 187th person to attempt such. Hopefully, it won't rot. I actually put some thought into this, so it wouldn't just fall over. Hope you like it. =)
Disclaimer: Credit goes to JK Rowling and Warner Bro's.
The Dark Lord had fallen. His fifty-year reign of terror and fear and death, of broken families and shattered lives, of murder, torture, and disappearances, had now ended. It was a great cause for celebration. Yet, the celebration was short lasted. Doubt started creeping in. How could one be certain that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was truly vanquished? He had risen once before. Who's to say he would never do it again? At this point, his conqueror was forced to reveal the truth. "Voldemort did the unthinkable. In his quest for immortality, Voldemort created a horcrux," Harry Potter declared before all Wizarding folk. "However, it was not enough to murder and destroy his soul once. He did this six times, and his soul was placed in seven separate places. Dumbledore left me the task of finishing off these horcruxes, so that Voldemort could die. I have found all six and destroyed them, as well as Voldemort himself."
The revelation of Voldemort's atrocity shook the Wizarding world. Only a handful of the population even understood the concept of a horcrux. When this information became wide spread, panic ensued. Harry was called upon again and again, giving full accounts of his adventures, reassuring the public repeatedly that Voldemort was defeated once and for all. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were questioned as well, and did their best to reassure the terrified community. The fear only grew.
The dementors, foul, ancient creatures, were now numbering in the thousands. Muggles all over Britain were beginning to notice. Dementors could only be killed off by starving them of victims and of their natural habitat: despair. With sorrow and fear running rampant, the dementors found no shortage of meals. Worse, the remaining Death Eaters had to be imprisoned somehow. Powerful wizards and witches were called in to protect Azkaban with the strongest enchantments and curses known to the Wizarding World. This seemed a good solution, and few escaped. But the few who did were still at large.
The Auror task force was almost completely depleted. All graduates of Hogwarts were almost immediately inducted into Auror training camp to help round up the last Death Eaters, fend off dementors, and provide general stability for the crumbling public. Most completed training, but the Ministry was too disorganized and scattered to send orders. There was an utter distrust of the government from the suppressive regime. Most cried "Impervious Curse," and all were still being questioned, the Ministry trying to sort out the liars from the honest. There was hardly any order, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic walked a delicate line. Though a strong leader, a country recovering from a secret war proposes a challenge. If Shacklebolt extended too much authority, the community cried out, afraid of a new dictatorship. If Shacklebolt drew back, the crime rates soared and the economy started dropping, causing uproar. The Wizarding World rapidly bounced from one extreme to the other. The muggle Prime Minister visited frequently, almost hysterical.
Diagon Alley, once lively and thriving, was now full of trash and boarded up windows. Abandoned shops lined the street, old propaganda floated on the rare breeze, and the few stragglers scurried along. New shops were popping up all across Britain, trying to get a head start and recover from the war. Most families had towering debts, as they had smuggled food and supplies during the war. The shops were scattered, and word was passed around on a local level. The Daily Prophet was discontinued, and the Quibbler the main source of whatever news Xenophilious Lovegood could scrape together.
Hogwarts, a symbol of Wizarding Britain, was in slow and painful reconstruction. Towers were being rebuilt and rooms restored, all with the original enchantments. The emotional wounds mended even more slowly. A memorial stood to those who lost their lives on the grounds, as if anyone needed a reminder. The school will open for its first year since the war this September, in one month. Very few wish to return, and the newly discovered muggle borns will have quite a world to explore.
It was upon these issues that Kingsley Shacklebolt was musing upon. He stood in his office, overlooking the London streets. Muggles strolled with friends and family, only vaguely aware of the world that lay inches from their own. The two rarely collided, such as it was now. The Minister of Magic turned around at the sound of a quiet roar. "You wished to see me, Kingsley?" Harry Potter calmly walked out of a fireplace. The green flames receded only to flare up again and emit two more wizards: Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley. "Yes, Harry. Thank you for joining me, Neville. Ron." The two nodded politely and all sat. Kingsley stared intently at his desk for a few moments, and then drew a deep breath.
"The Wizarding World is struggling to get back onto its feet." He studied the faces of the three leading Auroras in Great Britain. They were only too aware of the situation. "There is no trust in the Ministry, which I understand. The Aurors are trying to recruit and catch the few remaining Death Eaters, who can potentially escape Azkaban now with the dementors gone and only magical protections remaining. The dementors are breeding more than ever, and quite a few attacks have been made on muggles. The economy is sinking, petty and major crimes rising, and the situation has changed seemingly little since Voldemort's rise to power."
Ron, Neville, and Harry watched the Minister quietly. He seemed to have made a decision. "I have been thinking. It's been almost ten years since You-Know-Who's fall. Ten years. Last time he fell, the Wizarding world had been united in ten years, completely recovered. We seem to be slipping backward. We're nowhere near such recovery. There is an atmosphere of hopelessness. The people are grieving, not only for the loved ones had they lost, but the stability and support of the old days. They are terrified that a darker wizard may rise again, or that You-Know-Who will come back, worse than before. It is now time for drastic measures."
He took up a spare piece of parchment that had been lying on his desk and showed it to him. "This," he began, "is the plans for a device you all know of: a time-turner." The Aurors' eyes grew wide and Shacklebolt paused. "You don't seriously mean to go back in time?" asked Ron, disbelief on his face. Shacklebolt rose, and began pacing. "I don't know. I'm desperate. Desperate. Every day that goes by, I feel the weight of troubles pressing down on me, and it's getting worse. There seems to be no way to rectify the situation. If, somehow, we sent some sort of intervention into the past, Voldemort could fall quicker. Fewer people would die, and the Battle of Hogwarts may be avoided completely. It is extremely dangerous, absolutely no doubt about it. There are a million things that could go wrong. However, I feel that a million things have gone on already and a million more may be on their way. What are you thinking?"
"You can't be serious, Kingsley!" Ron cried. "What would we even do? Go back to our seventh year, and let us know exactly where all the horcruxes are? Go to the Order and tell them where Voldemort is? I mean, it sounds nice when you say it, but doing it. . . They wouldn't believe us, Moody would hex the life out of us, and if something deeper than we know happened, we'd all die, or worse! It'd change history, and history is best left alone! The situation is . . . difficult, yes, but we'll get on our feet again!" Harry sat silent, musing. A time turner? He had a vision of Hermione in their third year, pulling him into the bushes. "We mustn't be seen!" Well, we wouldn't be seen. We'd just directly interfere with the course of history as we know it. He followed Shacklebolt's gaze out the window. He just talked to Ginny about it last night.
"It's not getting any better is it, Harry?" Harry looked straight into those fearless brown eyes he had come to know so well, and hugged her tight. "No. It's not. But, one day, it will be." His wife hadn't looked so sure. Harry thought back on all the death he had seen at Voldemort's hands. Lily and James, his parents. Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. Mad-Eye Moody. Fred. Tonks. Lupin. Dobby. Even Snape. They could all be here, right now, standing with him. They could all help with the recovering effort. But, would it just make things worse? Even more people might die. Some might not even be born. His children: James, Albus, and Lily. He reflected upon Teddy Lupin, his godson. He may save the lives of those before him, but was it worth risking his children now?
Neville spoke up. "Kingsley, I understand what you mean. You're not the only one afraid for the Wizarding World right now." Neville had done his share of thinking as well. "However, time is a fickle thing. I'm not sure we could manage to pull it off without disastrous consequences. Have you given this anymore thought besides simply going back in time?" Kingsley ceased pacing, and returned to behind the desk. "I have. I've given this a great deal of thought, believe it or not. My initial idea was to send you three back to the night before Voldemort disappeared. You could supply the Order with the information we have now, and they could defeat Voldemort. That way, we have all the Aurors and citizens from that time forward mostly alive, and ready to help. That includes Lily and James Potter, Alice and Frank Longbottom, Dumbledore, Moody, Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, and the rest. They could all help. Can you imagine? Can you imagine if all those people had their lives spared? We could recover, we could thrive, and we could be growing in leaps and bounds."
Kingsley was right. A million things could go wrong. In fact, all probability was against them. Ron shook his head firmly. "Kingsley, I just don't know." The Minister looked Ron straight in the eye. "You know that I would only do this unless I truly thought this was our last option. It might not be. Go home and think about it. Sit on it for a while, and let me know. I ask just one thing. Don't tell anyone."