WHIMSY
-a Harry Potter fan-fiction-
TOM/HARRY
Voldemort was a shade, the Magical World destroyed, and Muggles hunting Magic. In a world of topsy-turvy, Harry seeks to go back to where it all started. HPTR
Hi. Um... it's been ages- two months! Can I just say... buh-bye! EDIT: Added a big chunk at the bottom.
STARTED 21ST JUNE 2011
26th June 2011
28th June 2011
1st June 2011
{time is making fools of us again}
We are not all born evil.
We believe in something that society, as a collective whole, judges wrong. And we are condemned.
Ever heard of the saying that one rotten apple ruins the whole barrel? Well, that's exactly what happened to us. One crazy, powerful wizard ruined it for us all; he exposed our existence to a world of the wilfully ignorant and fearful. It was that fear that had lead to the near decimation of our race.
Hundreds, thousands of innocents left in their destructive wake of atomic bombs and nuclear weapons; we never saw them coming.
I am Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, the Conqueror, the Destroyer, the survivor.
I am one of the last magical beings left on planet Earth.
God help us all.
-\
"Harry...Harry! Listen to me!" Hermione yelled at me; face flushed and busy hair escaping its tight bun. Her face was lined and weary; too old for a witch of only twenty-four.
"Harry, this will never work! Listen to me, the calculations alone are enough to punch a hole through the fabric of time but the backlash on the universe will be extraordinary-"
"Look around you, Hermione." I said with dead eyes; this was an argument we had only had several times before. "Our world is dead; the Muggles have taken all that we had once lived for. My way will save the universe before we even knew it was in danger. Have you forgotten what they did to Ron and Ginny and the Weasleys?"
Poor, poor Hermione. And poor Weasleys.
They were celebrating Hermione's and Ron's first anniversary when the Muggles came marching in and launched a full-scale massacre. Ron sacrificed himself. Hermione was the only survivor.
And where was I? I was at the Ministry, going over contingency plans with Shacklebolt (bless his soul) when the Ministry was attacked.
Our defences were rendered useless by latest Muggle technology and their GPS'. Shacklebolt and I survived, only for him to throw himself in the way of a bullet aimed towards my heart. I managed to Disapparate with his body to Godric's Hollow, where I buried him besides Bathilda Bagshot, much like Dobby.
I met up with Hermione using the old DA Galleon, and we managed to find a safe haven in Grimmauld Place, where we housed the other survivors.
Up until now, we hadn't known where we were going and what we were going to do, but then it came to me.
"Hermione, I need to travel back in time," I'd said, and that fired her up, alternating between berating me and researching. Kreacher became an expert at making coffee just the way Hermione liked it, after he had gotten over his 'filthy Mudbloods' stage that he unfortunately managed to retain for a while after the defeat of Voldemort.
Which bought me back to the problem at hand: Voldemort? Or should I say, Tom Riddle.
The plan was ill-conceived, downright insane at worst, but if we had a chance, I knew I was going to take it... and Hermione knew it too.
Sure, the timeline would never emerge the same, but it was a chance that I was willing to take.
And so began the tale of Harry Potter and Tom Marvolo Riddle, chapter two.
Just as fate decreed it.
-\
Despite what Malfoy and his cohorts wanted us to believe, I still didn't regard Muggles to be the root of all evil. Sure, they were the bane of my existence- (and before that, Voldemort, and before that, Malfoy Jnr., and before that the Dursleys) - I still didn't hate them. I don't know why, maybe I'm just a tad bit touched in the head, but I can't help wondering that fear leads to hate, and hate leads to destruction.
The Muggles were only doing what humanity had programmed them to do: to fear and hate which they did not understand. The Magical World fell to those flaws too, what with Voldemort and I being outcasts and scapegoats used for the peace of mind of sly politicians and bleating sheep of the general public.
"You're a soft-hearted fool. You don't understand hate at all." Voldemort had sneered when I'd summoned him using the Resurrection Stone. Voldemort had said that he much rather would suffer through my 'odious presence' than suffer under the bench of the Deathly Hallows train station as a soul never to pass on, suck in limbo for eternity.
The first time I called him up we'd both been shocked; I didn't expect the Dark Bastard to actually turn up when I'd turned the ring in my hand three times, and Voldemort hadn't expected reprieve from eternal torture or me to be the one to summon him from said eternal torture at all.
Needless to say, we had to work together for the sake of Wizardkind. We were shocked, Hermione was shocked, hell even Malfoy- the stoic, unflabbable aristopcrat he fashioned himself to be- was shocked.
And so began the most bizarre and strangely fitting alliance (friendship?) of all time.
-/
"Hate is a powerful emotion," the shade of Voldemort lectured "just as love can be harnessed as your special power"- here he sneered at this- "so can hate. They are sides of a coin, both equally destructive in their potency. All you have to do is feel."
"Like you're one to talk, Mr. Emotions-are-a-weakness." The irony was– not literally- killing me: here Voldemort was, teaching me how to feel.
"You are the pitiful exception." He said, like he wasn't paying me a compliment. I smiled at his attempt. He sneered yet more, and I noticed that his eyes were becoming less snake-like and his skin less inhumanely pale and more human pale and hair growing slowly but surely on his body and face- the man had eyebrows!- as he spent more and more time in our world as a shade.
Maybe in time, he would return as someone solid and real and breathing. But what am I thinking, wishing Voldemort to return to the living world to wreak havoc once more? Not that he could destroy the world anymore when it had already gone to shit but semantics...
"Potter?" His default facial expression was a sneer; I sighed, and told him my observations. He looked shocked for a moment before his features smoothed out and his eyes glazed over slightly, lost in thought. "Curious, very curious."
I snorted. Those were the exact words Ollivander had said after I my wand had chosen me in the dingy little wand shop in Diagon Alley. It seemed a lifetime ago now...
"Curious..." Voldemort repeated once more and his tone was strangely amused. He was staring at the Resurrection Stone in the ring on my middle finger with a look of dawning recognition.
"It remains to be seen, how further you will surprise me with your unnatural, spontaneous and irrational luck."
And then he roared with laughter. I was left wondering what the hell had happened in those few minutes of silence and how it would impact me in the future.
-\
It was only a year later after the Great Plan had been hatched that I realized the way we were going at things, even with Hermione's genius calculations and theories, we wouldn't be able to gather enough power to actually push me back in time. It was time for another branch of magic.
After the War was over, Hermione and I took to training ourselves in all sorts of magic and that involved one thing that Hermione would not condone or do at all: Dark Magic. After learning from Voldemort that Dark magic was only a more potent and concentrated form of magic that didn't addle the senses or turn you into a serpentine beast, and that the authorities and Dumbledore had blown waaay out of proportion, I set out to prove myself. Apparently only Wizards bred into it and/or with a strong enough will and magical core could perform feats of Dark Magic. Hermione had the will and core; she didn't have the will, though. But I did.
I wasn't going to get squeamish over a branch of magic, for Merlin's sake! I was Harry Potter, the one who should've trained his magic in ALL disciples. But one thing was for sure, I wasn't going to start throwing Unforgivables left and right. That Imperio was a one-off thing, okay! Or so I told Voldemort.
And so that brought me to arranging a meeting with Mr. Slytherin-of-the Year Draco Malfoy. We needed Malfoy Junior's library to enact our plan, and Malfoy definitely needed our protection for his wife Astoria and his kid, Scorpius. Astoria and I had formed somewhat of a tentative friendship after the War, when she and her sister Daphne had come to me asking for for amnesty from the Ministry, who were at that time hunting down 'Dark' wizards left and right. I couldn't refuse Draco's offer to protect his family, no matter what.
"Uncle Draco!" Teddy ran up to a warmly smiling Malfoy and hugged him. I was left shell-shocked; how the hell did Teddy- my god-son- get to know Malfoy, of all people? This must've been Andy's work, the old witch was always trying to get me to reconcile with 'old allies'.
Pfft. The day Malfoy and I become best buds is when Merlin himself is reborn. Chances: very unlikely.
"Hey, tyke." The gentle way Malfoy handled Teddy reminded me of his little kid at home: baby Scorpius Draco Malfoy.
"So Potter, what will this entail, exactly?" A now coolly observant Draco asked me. I gave a warm smile to Teddy who had reattached himself to my leg and said briskly:"Well, if you want to know than you better follow me to the meeting room."
I knew that would pique Malfoy's curiosity, so I hefted Teddy into my arms and led Malfoy there, occasionally stopping to greet anyone who went by. There weren't many of us left, magic people.
I nudged open the door and greeted a grim Hermione, who was sitting in front of a gigantic map of the British Isles and explaining to various where to attack Muggle arms bases. Hermione had changed a lot too, from a hopeful and naïve teenage girl to a young and battle hardened, fierce warrior. Hermione was our strategizer, not as good as Ron, but she made for it with her intellect.
Malfoy entered the room behind me and the temperature went down ten degrees. Most wizards send him nervous glances but the others glared at him, still influenced by their upbringing or friends and relatives lost to Voldemort's terrible reign.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Draco Malfoy. Draco here has agreed to help us extensively by lending out Malfoy library to us. Will anybody accompany me there?" Silence. Hermione gave a sniff of disapproval for my new interest in the Dark Arts.
"Nobody? Okay, then. Away, Malfoy!" I gave a warm smile to everyone in the room and swept away dramatically, robes swishing in a manner disturbingly similar to Severus Snape's and Voldemort's, when he was in a huff. Someone took hero worship too far there...
Hermione giggled, and it was Malfoy's turn to sniff in disapproval. When Malfoy and I left the room, I could hear everyone (sans Hermione) give sighs of relief and Hermione went back to lecturing them, viciously stabbing her wand at the little red dots that marked the Muggles' bases.
-\
"Amazing, Potter, what you've made of yourself." Voldemort commented from his resting place on the chaise lounge of the Malfoy library, delicately cradling a book which he assured me was rife with necromancy and destruction. I gave him a wan little smile, staking the books I felt relevant to our situation from the 'Time' section of the library. It truly was a magnificent work of architecture, I mused as I carried the books to the chaise lounge, nudging his foot aside to protest, and then dumped them unceremoniously onto what looked like a coffee table. Voldemort's eyes glittered greedily as he pulled himself up from his lounging place, and I told him to make himself useful.
Two hours, four books, and a heap load of curses from Voldemort (of the verbal kind) later, we found what we were looking for in a relatively new looking tome. "Ahh," Voldemort caressed the book's cover lovingly, the Salvio Tempus spell is what we have been looking for. This spell, ofcourse, must be used in conjunction with its accompanying ritual on the night of Samhain."
I perked up, today's date was the 29th September and we had little over a month to prepare. Hermione would need to be told, obviously, as she would be the one to organize everything. Disapproving as she was about the Dark Arts, she wouldn't argue with me in the fact that in one year, we hadn't managed to find a solution but in a few hours, with the help of Voldemort and Malfoy's library, we had found the answer in a Dark Arts book.
"Everything fine in here?" Astoria Greengrass walked in with baby Scorpius on her hip, looking radiant as usual with her long gold-blond hair and warm emerald-green eyes. She looked around at the pile of books on the table and littering the floor, and then at Voldemort, where she blanched, and then at me, lounging insolently next to the Dark Lord with one hand covering his on the book.
She regained her wits and called a house-elf called Flopsy who offered refreshments. I gladly took a sandwich and a sip of chilled water, relieved to have a break after hours of being cooped up in the library. After finishing it off in a few bites, I set the glass of water next to book with the Malfoy crest on it and silently asked with my eyes if I could hold little Scorpius. She gave him to me, not without a look of reproach and warning to the Dark Lord (brave woman), and I cradled him gently to my chest, marvelling at his small and chubby hands, flaxen locks and bright grey eyes. He drooled a little on my robe, then gurgled and giggled out "Hawwy!"
That boy was a genius prodigy in the making. Voldemort was astounded, and Astoria open-mouthed that Scorpius' first word was my name. What can I say; I had an affinity with young children and babies. It's a gift.
{time is making fools of us again}
More to come later!
~S