A second chance
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry-Potterverse. It belongs to JKR. I'm writing this little piece of art just for fun and do not make any money. In addition this is my English interpretation (englischsprachige Deutung) of "Eine Zweite Chance" – a German story by thales 85.
\ ..\ thoughts
Chapter 1: An end and a beginning
Harry Potter was in a rush. He shrank all his belongings and placed them into his trunk. There were over a thousand books concerning spells, transfiguration, charms and much darker topics. He hadn't even read half of them. They were followed by some finished potions, a large heap of clothes and other things dear to him. He was more careful with his personal equipment. First he packed his dragon hide armour. Waistcoat, trousers, boots and holsters were carefully stored away. A few daggers, his combat staff and his two swords followed. One was Godric Gryffindor's sword. It sparkled dangerously, even in the dim light of his room. He had achieved much with this sword. He had slain a basilisk with it. Many death eaters had found their end on its blade. His other sword had been used at least just as much. It was a black long sword. Blue shining runes were engraved from hilt to tip. They stood for courage, bravery, honour, fate and much more.
\ Perhaps I'll die carrying out my plan. But that's a price I'm willing to pay. I miss you so much Sirius, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna. And Ginny, my love. Everyone died. The war is lost, but maybe I can still change the outcome. Old Tom won, but perhaps the spell I found in Merlin's book can help.\
Hastily he shrank his potions ingredients and put them into the trunk. He checked the empty room one last time before he apparated as fast as possible to No. 12 Grimmauld Place. It was the only place he still called safe. Hogwarts did not exist any more – just as Albus Dumbledore and all the other teachers. The order was smashed, the remaining members scattered over Britain. Just as he had left the house it was destroyed in an enormous explosion. Rubble flew in every direction and many muggles could not escape the deadly fire that spread rapidly. Two miles away stood a large shape and regarded the spectacle of death with satisfaction.
Harry appeared in the abandoned kitchen of the ancient and noble House of Black and allowed himself to rest a moment. They would not find him here without a lot of effort. Then he hastily searched the house for everything that could be of use. In Sirius' old room he found more than 200,000 galleons. He was grateful for Sirius' foresight, shrank them and put them into his trunk. The Black Library, nearly 15,000 books, followed. Then a handful of jewels, some magical artefacts and rare potion ingredients were added. After Snape's death no one had been able to use them.
There was no doubt. He, Harry James Potter, was on the run. Not out of the country. Not into the underground. No, he fled to the only place where perhaps he could make a difference. The past.
He sat down on Sirius' old bed, crossed his legs and began to chant an incantation.
„Vartils en tempus vor nercelatan orda nasrcula perso temporalis porta temputs"
Again and again he repeated the incantation, his wand in one hand his shrunken trunk in the other. Merlin's manuscript was detailed. He had to hold onto the things he wanted to take with him on his journey.
The repeating mantra got louder and louder and a blue flickering aura formed around him. The aura grew even more powerful until it bathed the whole area in an eerie glow.
The enormous magical energy heated the room. Things either started to melt or burst into flame. Harry had to fight the overwhelming pain he was experiencing, but his chanting never stopped until he succumbed to darkness. There was a bright blue flash of light. The old and noble House of Black was no more.