Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.


Choose from the Three

by Ydream08


Summary: Time-travelling more than an hour had never crossed Hermione's mind. It was dangerous, more so 'cause the future was bound to be altered. Also, it was illegal. But, being sent back in time by someone else shouldn't get her carted off to Azkaban, should it? That aside, she didn't like the effect of his eyes on her. Riddle Sr. was at best distant to strangers in his house, wasn't he?


Prologue

"Silence!" Headmaster Dippet's huff was clearly heard by every student.

Without the aid of the Sonorous charm Dippet doubted those insolent children would have given him any mind. They were a bunch of hooligans lacking in respect, obviously many of their parents have failed giving them proper upbringing. New times, indeed, Dippet thought, and for the first time in many years, retirement crossed his mind. He was getting too old for this.

"Yes, finally," Dippet drawled out. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I'll remind the first years, as we do every year, that…

"...And there is a new addition to our staff. Our old potions professor, Horace Slughorn, has decided to take a break. Professor Alfred Stern will be filling in for him this year, let's give him a warm welcome. Yes, yes, enough. That's all."

o

"That's all! You would have expected more from the introduction of fifth year Defense Against Dark Arts class. Merrythought has lost her game, I'm telling you, Donna. What did you think about Alfy?"

"Professor Stern's class? Not worse than Slughorn's, I guess," the blond Gryffindor said while her spoon stirred the soup.

"Donna, you're always so dramatic," remarked the boy sitting next to Donnatella Abbott. He had just removed his red and gold tie through his head, his raven hair getting even the messier in the process. "The first class, Stern asked us which of the ingredients of the Burn Salve were edible. Goyle thought slug extract would be it, the oaf is in the hospital wing now."

"Charlus, we were there," protested another boy sitting across from Donna. He threw an olive at his friend. "Go tell that story to the Puffs, although I doubt even they will laugh."

"Shut up, Eddie. I was just being kind to Janet. She has missed the first week of school, you know," Charlus Potter shot back at Edward Macmillan before smiling to the girl at his other side. She was a Muggle-born with flaming red hair and brown eyes. Janet Martin.

"Thank you, Charlus. I appreciate it. With OWLs this year, I shouldn't be skipping class at all," Janet Martin said, with a soft smile on her beautiful lips. Charlus Potter had a slight crush on the petite witch ever since their third year. It was fifth year and nothing had happened. Yet.

Janet continued, "Donna, you know how well I take care of myself. I don't even know how I got sick…"

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"Sick? Her?" shrieked the black haired Ravenclaw, her laughter quite the contrast with the chorus' entrancing and soft Christmas song. "You had a doubt? But, if you're really concerned about her health…"

"You made her cry, again, Hornby, huh?" It was a sixth year Ravenclaw boy who had butted in, dismissing Melanthios LeStrange's cackle, and firing his question directly at Olive Hornby.

The brunette in question threw her hair over her shoulder, then shrugged.

"It's not my fault the pathetic Mudblood is sensitive to friendly advice," Hornby explained. "She would have listened to my advice if she had any piece of mind, anyway. Seriously, Rowena Ravenclaw must be ashamed to have poor Myrtle in her House. She refuses to change!"

o

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"Change is inevitable, Albus. You, as the Transfiguration professor, must know this the best!" exclaimed the Potions Professor Alfred Stern. The ghost of a German accent in his speech was noticed by Albus Dumbledore, but the bespectacled man felt no need to mention it.

"Yes, yes, Alfred, I'm familiar with your concept," Dumbledore explained, but in order to have a Sherbet Lemon, he gave a pause. Dumbledore had offered one to Stern the moment he came into Dumbledore's office, and the contents of the serving bowl had been dwindling ever since. Feeling the sour taste dissolving on his tongue, Dumbledore nodded with delight, now ready to continue, "Yet, I strongly support the idea that the change is actually a repeat of the past, only with a fancier cover if I dare say. It's the same with Transfiguration. You change a rat into a goblet, but it is still a rat. It only looks shinier."

"That is a very narrow definition of change, Albus," Stern objected. "...And the failure of noticing the real change, when it is right in front of our eyes, would be a mistake. You wouldn't be clever, but dead."

o

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"Dead?" whispered Janet Martin. She had missed dinner, opting to retire early, but in the end she was unable to sleep. Close to midnight she had gone downstairs to the Gryffindor's common room, and found everyone from first to seventh years wide awake. The uneasy atmosphere aside, everyone was whispering one thing or the other. When she joined her friends, Janet's horror upon hearing the news was no surprise to the three Gryffindors. They all felt the same.

"Yes, they say that Hornby found her in the girl's lavatory. Second floor," provided Donna.

"You can't be serious!" Janet whispered. She shook her head in denial, the lone Ravenclaw couldn't have died. Being a Muggle-born herself, Janet had conversed with Myrtle Warren from time to time. She was a quiet and sweet girl, however awkward. Had been, Janet corrected herself.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes. Why had Warren died? She would never hurt even a fly! She and Janet endured similar jabs from purebloods of Hogwarts, mostly Slytherins. On top of that, Warren had Hornby to worry about. She had no friends to help her through those hardships, unlike Janet herself.

Perhaps if Janet had been more approachable, Warren wouldn't have… Oh, God...

"Who did it? How did it happen? Was it… suicide?" Janet asked finally, having composed herself. She would not cry, not here. In the privacy of her room though? She knew herself very well.

"Rumours say it is suicide, but there is no official information. Dippet hasn't made any announcements, not even about her death. Aurors are collecting teachers and students left and right." Charlus joined the conversation now that it was more about the event rather than the involved parties. He would make a good Auror one day, that was what he aimed at.

"You know, Hornby hasn't been around since lunch," Edward Macmillan added. "She wasn't at Ravens' table during dinner either."

"She must be a suspect. And even if what she has done to Warren till now is not anything to go by, she must be held longer as her interrogation is vital in this case. She found the body, you know."

"Charlus, please…" Janet pleaded him to stop, she realized that she didn't want to listen to this talk right now.

"Okay," Charlus hushed, feeling a bit disappointed that he didn't get to share his speculations. It wasn't as though Warren had been a stranger. He had partnered with her last year in potions class for a whole term.

Charlus had always been like this, more analytical and level-headed. He knew how to extract his emotions in such dreadful events. He shared this trait with his mother, Sheena Potter nee Rosier. It had made it easier for her to teach him Occlumency.

"For the time being," Charlus decided to wrap up the conversation. Janet would get what she wanted. Right now, unfortunately, that didn't happen to be what he would have wanted. "They're keeping it a secret."

o

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Secrets he had many. More than a few of them could get himself killed, yet the new potions professor of Hogwarts couldn't care less. He had struck a deal that could give him an early retirement.

Had it not been for the crumpled letter in his hand, Alfred Stern would never have thought about retiring.

Picking up a rhythm with his fingers on his desk, he skimmed the letter with which he was well acquainted.

To Domnall Prince,

Wherever you may be,

I had informed you that since she has manifested her powers, I've been teaching your granddaughter in every field of magic I know. She is more than worthy to be a Prince, regardless of her thinned blood I dare to say. It is with great sadness that I must tell you that she has lost both of her parents during one of the protests here in Greece. Although the Italian invasion of Greece has been deflected, those protests prevent any claim of peace. As such, your granddaughter Eileen's future stands obscure. Last I had heard of her, she had been moved into an orphanage.

She needs you, Domnall. She has no one left.

Your dear old friend,

Sameer Shafiq

He shouldn't have had the letter around, his real name signed in it, as it posed a great danger to his mission. However, he had little interest in anything else than reading the letter repeatedly. Nearly three years ago it had came into his possession. It had taken him a year to decide on his course of action.

When his uncle's heir died, his aunts incapable of giving an heir to the House of Prince with all of them bearing new names, it was in Domnall's rights as the heir-in-line to pass the the privilege of House of Prince onto his own child. Robert could have been the Lord Prince, had he not been born a Squib. Anger and disappointment flared in his heart even now when Domnall thought back to the child's eleventh birthday. He had disowned him. Robert had not deserved being a Prince.

On the other hand, Robert's daughter, Eileen…? A magical child born to a Squib and a Muggle? Domnall had been blessed, given a second chance.

The day his uncle died, a year after he received the letter, he decided to claim her. She was the last heir, and if Domnall were to find a pureblood match to her who would accept disrobing of his own name to wear theirs, House of Prince would have a future.

Nobody would know Eileen Prince to be a half-blood.

A sizzle alerted Domnall out of his musings, and he felt the small piece of the mirror heat up against his skin where it rested on his wrist, hidden beneath his watch.

Domnall's magic answered the call and the heat subsided, but it was still there. Only slightly. Once he had retired to his private chambers connected to his office, standing in front of a full-length mirror which was broken at its upper right, the heat vanished.

The surface of the mirror blurred, and when it cleared, a man his own age, with brilliant silvery-blond hair and charismatic smile appeared in it. Domnall would not mistake that smile for something charming, innocent, or loosely benign. The man's air of authority was obvious even though they were not in the same room. Domnall knew him quite well, having served him for thirty years, even before his name became well-known all throughout Europe.

Domnall Prince wished nothing but for Gellert Grindelwald to succeed; although he would be far away from his domain in that case. His Eileen would be in far greater danger in Grindelwald's world.

"Milord," Domnall greeted the Dark Lord Grindelwald. "You've been well, I pray?"

Grindelwald slowly nodded, his smile stuck on his face. "Well. How is your mission coming along? I must say, I'm growing restless."

His last mission… Domnall himself was restless to finish it. At his old age, although sixty felt quite young, he wanted the younger generation to embrace their ideals and himself to only worry about his family. He would take in his Eileen and manage the Prince estates both in England and Germany.

"I've gained his trust, milord," Domnall reported. "It is only a matter of time before I'll capture and bring him to you."

Domnall didn't hear the creak of his office door opening, or the gentle footsteps that proceeded to his chamber.

"I have a few surprises that even Albus Dumbledore can't predict," Domnall continued, but turned around upon hearing a gasp. The first thing he did was to raise his hand over the mirror and end the call. In the meanwhile his left hand grabbed his wand. After a full-body bind, he sifted through the invader's memory to learn how much she had eavesdropped.

The whole conversation. She had heard it all.

The Killing Curse left Domnall's lips as naturally as breathing; he would not endanger his mission by using Memory Charms on her. They were reversible. He had fucked up by not warding his rooms so he would not take a chance again.

The woman fell on the floor with a thud. A few of the herbs in her hand scattered around, her shocked expression frozen on her face as she lied there motionless. Domnall looked over Pomona. The plump woman wore fancier clothes than usual, her makeup carefully applied and curly hair tamed. Domnall tsked; he wouldn't have wished her to perish away like this. She had come to spend the night with him like she did most nights.

Shame, that tonight, she was out of luck.

o

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Luck, he did not need, but he was cursing he ever had any. Because of the luck in question, Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant from fourth year, had been following him around lately.

Tom Riddle wondered for the umptheenth time what the young Slytherin's problem was. Being Slytherin's fifth year Prefect, Hagrid might be trying to confide in Tom about his classes. It was no secret Hagrid barely passed his years. Yet, the jittery giant failed to open up. Whenever Tom attentively listened to him, a patient and encouraging smile stuck on his lips, Rubeus Hagrid stammered and flushed. Each time, he scurried away without saying a word.

Tom sometimes questioned the Sorting Hat's choice of putting the half-giant in Slytherin; there could be no worse example to their noble House. Pathetic, truly.

He tried to dismiss those thoughts; the last thing Tom Riddle needed was to have the pest on his trail.

He descended the stairs, his angry stomping helping him put as much distance as possible between him and Albus Dumbledore. Was there anything Tom wished to tell him? Tom wanted to laugh. Of course, the old fool was on him, rightfully so. Tom Riddle wasn't the murderer, no, but his Basilisk had killed the Mudblood. Tom had appreciated his loyal snake's quick thinking, yet upon conversing with Dumbledore, Tom was worried. Not because he had the Transfiguration teacher breathing down his neck, but for the risk that Hogwarts could be closed.

One week had passed and the investigations were not fruitful. Aurors visited school only sporadically, their questionings not giving them any clues. Not that they were disclosing their progress, but Tom Riddle had his ways to be up to date with their investigation. He was even aware that the Herbology professor Pomona Sprout was one of the suspects, having gone on holiday one day after Warren was found dead. Rubbish, Tom Riddle thought. The Aurors could not be further away from the truth.

Also his intel was enough to deduce that coward Dippet would opt to close the school over fighting for it against the Board of Governors.

Tom Riddle hated the Headmaster, not more than Dumbledore as he was easier to manipulate, but he would not apathetically stand by while Dippet let the Governors close down the only home Tom had. He would not return to Wool's Orphanage and wait for the day they too kicked him out. Without his N.E.W.T.s Tom wouldn't be able to build a new life in the magical world, and he doubted any friends would help him.

Tom Riddle was yet to declare his dominance over Hogwarts, more specifically the Slytherins; Abraxas Malfoy's reign preventing him to do so. The sixth year Slytherin's wealth powered over Tom's magical abilities, unfortunately.

Change the dynamics, he would do, but Tom already had so little time to execute his plans. If Hogwarts were to close, he would lose many opportunities even his eternal life could not provide once again.

Seeking ways out of his mind's prison, Tom Riddle started to even consider those impractical solutions he had once discarded. If catching the culprit would aid in Hogwarts' continuity, Tom found that the most probable turn of events.

As his footsteps echoed for his first few steps to his utter disgust, Tom cast silencing charms to not attract any attention. Even though he was a Prefect, wandering around at these hours was still not favourable.

The chill of the dungeons enveloped him and Tom Riddle felt his fire calming down; he liked the dungeons for this reason precisely. Ever since birth, Tom Riddle had been warring against one thing or the other, that fire within eating him alive. He was no innocent either; practicing dark magic was fuel to those scorching desires.

Sighing, Tom realized he has arrived to the hidden doors of the Slytherin dorms. They were twenty steps afar at most when someone materialized out of those doors, unaware of Tom Riddle's presence.

He would recognize that monstrous hair and gigantic height anywhere.

Rubeus Hagrid was sneaking out of the dorms. How he managed to get out unnoticed with that build, Tom Riddle could not fathom. Useless, Tom thought about the rest of the Prefects. All of them.

How hard could it be to maintain order?

Tom Riddle refrained from an uncouth huff and closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself. Anger didn't suit the most remarkable wizard of Hogwarts.

Tom's urge to call out Hagrid halted the moment he realized that Hagrid was up to something. He checked the corridors before rushing to Salazar knows where, and his head jolted at every sound, from the water running in the pipes to the echo of his own steps.

Following him, Tom felt his anticipation rise. What was the giant up to? Surely… it couldn't be something against the rules… well, truthfully, Hagrid would have been the last person Tom would have expected of sneaking out of the dorms. He was awkward, yes, and incompetent, very much, but he followed rules admirably. Tom Riddle had always thought him to be a good foot soldier, not that he ever made the effort of gaining his loyalty. He needed influential and rich purebloods in his circle, not daft and gullible creatures.

The half-giant stood in front of a heavy, sealed door, and after casting an unlocking spell, he went inside. Riddle waited a few moments, eavesdropping to figure out whether the giant was alone…

"...You look fine….hungry?...here you go, Aragog…"

Tom looked through the crack of the door, and saw Hagrid bent over, gazing inside an iron chest. Tom was unsure what was happening, but he had a hunch that this was the reason Hagrid had been following him around for the past couple of days.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, wand raised.

"Hagrid?"

Tom Riddle's presence made the giant jump, and his confused mind failed to form a coherent sentence for some time.

"What are you doing, up at this hour?" Riddle continued, "Are you…?"

He peeked inside the chest and saw his way out of this huge mess. There, inside the old rusty chest, sat an Acromantula the size of a Quaffle. It looked murderous enough.

"...pleased that you were able to hide it this long?" Tom Riddle adapted his sentence right away. "This is the end, Hagrid. That family deserve to see the murderer of their daughter punished."

Hagrid stepped up between the chest and Tom.

"Aragog murdered no one!" he protested, yet the guilt plastered all over his face told Tom otherwise. It was odd, knowing that the spider was indeed innocent. Why had Hagrid felt so cornered if that was the case?

"LIAR!" Riddle shouted, his curiosity quieted down by his desperation. Hogwarts would not be closed down. "This is a delicate situation, Hagrid. Step aside and let me handle it."

Just when Tom Riddle was about to knock out the giant, and get his hands on the spider, Hagrid told the most astonishing confession.

"I killed her!" he conceded. "I killed her. That night, I killed Professor Sprout."

It was quite a shock, Tom had to admit. His left hand holding his wand had slacked even.

"Professor Sprout? She is on holi-"

"NO! I did it, kill her, I mean. I buried her by the Weeping Willow. It was an accident, I didn't know what to do. Have been trying to tell you for the past few days…"

Hagrid's head fell down, his eyes locked on his shoes with shame. For a short moment that felt like years to Hagrid, Tom Riddle stayed silent. His calculating mind find the optimum solution when the spider restlessly moved inside the strait chest.

"First make your monster murder Warren, then kill Sprout yourself. Tell me Hagrid, did the Professor witness it? Your monster killing the poor girl?"

After that everything happened in the blink of an eye. Tom Riddle flicked his wand in the acromantula's direction, Hagrid screamed in fright, and to his luck, the creature escaped from Tom Riddle's clutches.

Hagrid took the fall for both deaths and was sentenced to Azkaban. If it were not for Albus Dumbledore, the giant would have spent the rest of his life in that prison.

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"Prison? Well, yeah. There is Azkaban; you'd never want to give there a visit," Ron was saying. "When they find who is behind all those petrifications, he better be tucked away in there."

"It might be too late, he wants blood," Harry countered. Both of the kids were unable to eat much, but the prospect of the culprit getting their deserved punishment had lightened Ronald Weasley at least.

Professor McGonagall had pulled the two of them away, and dragged them to the hospital a week ago. Hermione Granger had been petrified; as her friends, McGonagall had thought that they would want to know.

Harry had cried, unknown to Ron, once the ginger was fast asleep in their dorms.

Ever since Mrs. Norris' petrification many more of the Muggleborns were petrified. Harry had eavesdropped on the night that Colin Creevey was petrified and heard Dumbledore say that there was a cure, but the potion's ingredients were lacking in Hogwarts. The Herbology professor Augusta Longbottom had not planted Mandrakes this season.

Sending the petrified students to St. Mungo's wasn't giving results, though. None of them were returning. They hadn't heard of Hermione ever since.

"Harry, are you sure you are not hearing wrong?" Ron said, sounding concerned. "How come only you can hear this voice, anyway? I mean, I wouldn't be deaf to some murderer craving to kill!"

Harry shrugged, not knowing the answer to that question.

Harry Potter knew so much less, more so back then. How could he know? How could he know that Ginny Weasley would be kidnapped, taken to the Chamber of Secrets?

How could he have known that Voldemort would rise, as Harry Potter lacked the solution to the riddle of these petrifications: A Basilisk travelling in the pipes.

Inside Hermione Granger's petrified fist, that solution had vanished alongside with her.

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"Her success is not yours, Potter. Please try not to take credit from your partner," Snape spitted.

"But, professor-" Harry's protest was utterly ignored when Snape turned away from the bubbling potion which had the accurate density and clarity. He continued on to check other students' potions, but before removing himself from Potter and Abbot's bench, he didn't miss the way Abbot consoled the little fool.

He had his father's incompetence when it came to the art of potion making. Snape didn't want to believe Lily's son could ruin a potion with a single touch, as she had had a knack for excelling at anything that came to her attention, but truth was clear: Harry Potter and Lily's similarities ended at their striking green eyes.

Such a shame, Snape couldn't help but think as he stirred Neville Longbottom's Shrinking Potion. He marred his brows when smoke came where the stirring rod met the potion. He slowly raised the rod, and saw that the portion of it which had been dipped inside the potion had melted.

"Longbottom," Snape drawled, a dangerous edge to his tone. "Haven't you read the instructions on how much you should put in of salamander's gizzard? Or how to cut it, for that matter?"

"I-I-w-well…" the boy stammered as if that wouldn't grate Snape's nerves further. He could swear that riddance of this boy would do good to this world; sincerely, having Potter alive was comparatively the favourable option.

"I doubt you listened, but I had instructed at the start of the lecture," Snape hissed while dropping one belonging of Longbottom after another into the destructive potion. "That you'd try this potion on your familiar. I said, repeatedly, to not mess this up."

In went Longbottom's quill to dissociate in bubbles and smoke.

"Yes?" Snape pressed on, watching the boy squirm in front of him. The boy flushed and tears trickled down his plump cheeks. However, just when he was about to give some lame excuse to Severus Snape, the door to the potions class opened.

There stood two acquaintances; both dimwitted and useless in Snape's opinion, yet the Dark Lord always insisted on… variety in his ranks. We need even those outside of my inner circle, Voldemort had said to Snape in a private conversation.

Snape left Longbottom to his own devices, noting down his sigh of relief so that Snape would be sure to take that in consideration during the next exam, then he greeted both man.

"Avery, Carrow," Snape nodded. "I'll be thrilled to hear your pathetic excuse to interrupt my class."

Avery smirked, holding out a piece of paper to Snape.

"Boy, show more respect to your elders," Avery called, shouldering Snape while passing him by. Snape narrowed his eyes and watched as Avery scanned the room. Once his cold black eyes stopped at Potter, Avery clicked his tongue. "Oh, here the lad is!"

Snape quickly removed his eyes from a confused and frightful Harry Potter, and skimmed the parchment in his hands.

Dumbledore's dead… As the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, the objective of this magical school… Muggle-borns will be expelled, Half-bloods will be selectively chosen for enrollment… new order, new curriculum...The new era will begin with a show that will give example to those who wish to defy this order… Next month… Fountain Courtyard… Harry Potter will be put to an end.

"We'll take the boy, Severus," drawled out the emotionless voice of Amycus Carrow from the doorway.

Snape's eyes shot to Potter's. His emerald eyes- Lily's eyes- pleaded him to do something as Avery acted to reach out for the boy.

"Severus!" Lily had yelled, those same green eyes, sparkling with unshed tears. "We are friends. I know why you are doing all of this, I'm not sure if I'll ever forgive you, but we are friends."

"Lily don't waste your breath for the slimy git," Sirius Black had interfered.

"Shut it, Black!" Lily had silenced Black and indirectly his whole crew. It was the middle of the Great Hall, at the end of fifth year. "You will always be my dearest friend!" Lily called out to him. Such determination and finality to her voice that Severus was taken aback. Her tears had fallen just then, the last time Lily Evans had cried for Severus Snape, or talked with him for that matter.

"Avada Kedavra."

The curse had left his lips easily. Snape watched as Avery's limp body fell just below Potter's feet, his stretched-out hand brushing the boy's red and gold jumper.

His mother's colours, Snape thought and their eyes met.

The gratefulness reflected in those shining green eyes behind the round glasses was what Snape had wished to see ever since confiding with Dumbledore about Voldemort's plan regarding the prophecy. He had never got to see his Lily since that day- he had lost her. She had been unaware of the risk he took for her. She had known nothing. She was dead.

She would never forgive him; she would never be grateful for him; she would never look at him with those beautiful green eyes.

She looked at him now, though.

Severus Snape, trapped in his sorrowful memories, finding solace in the eyes of his deceased love's son, lost himself to his overpowering emotions and forgot Carrow standing behind him.

The green light hit him square in the back, and the man fell without much sound.

Carrow captured Harry Potter with little hardship, and soon enough the unconscious boy levitated behind him as they journeyed to the dungeons where Voldemort had ordered Potter to be kept.

"Good riddance," Draco Malfoy declared smugly. "Father had said this would happen. First Mudblood Granger, then half-blood scarhead. Say, Weasley, aren't the blood-traitors next?"

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Next to the courtyard by the Foot Bridge, the the big clock tower hit twelve, scaring the dormant crows and seagulls. Some of their upset cries were swallowed by the thick clouds through which they flew away, however a few crows remained. They circled above the wooden platform built in the middle of the Fountain Courtyard of Hogwarts castle.

Domnall Prince watched the hideous creatures behind a column, its shadow effectively hid him from the prying eyes. He pulled down the hood of his cloak for better measure, but he knew that people would give him little attention.

People had crowded the courtyard, mostly older children from year four and above, but Death Eaters were persistently bringing in the younger ones as well, regardless of their cries or protests. Professors were scattered throughout the crowd, their expressions full of fright and helplessness that were identical to those of a young second year's. How they let this terror reign in their sacred castle, Domnall couldn't fathom. None of them made a sound, let alone a spark from their wands.

They watched, their unchained hands at either of their sides, their wands safely away in their pockets, as Harry Potter was made to kneel on the wooden platform.

The young boy- Domnall knew he was merely thirteen- struggled while two masked Death Eaters held him down. Even from this distance, Domnall could see the trails of dried tears on his thin face. His glasses were crooked, the left side broken. His clothes hung loosely around his lanky frame. His chapped lips seemed to be untouched by water for some time now; in that case, Domnall thought, the boy hardly would have been fed at all.

Domnall skimmed the crowd, then looked back at the boy. He noticed now that unlike his peers, the boy was stripped away from his house colours. He wore dirty black trousers, and a shirt that might have been white some long time ago. He looked as pale as a ghost, his existence worryingly doubtful. Yet, no tie was needed to distinguish the boy as a Gryffindor. He put up a fight, his hard glare never leaving the tall charismatic man who staggered on the platform while giving his speech.

Yes, all the colour Harry Potter needed was the fierce emerald colour of his eyes.

"You're wrong! My mother was more a witch than anyone! Hermione too! You killed both of them! Hermione should have come back from St. Mungo's last year; Dumbledore had said that there had to be a cure to the petrification.

"Your cronies killed her. None of the Muggle-born patients survived from that hospital. You killed her like you did others! She was the smartest and most capable witch I'd ever seen- being Muggle-born doesn't change that!"

Domnall only watched as Lord Voldemort cast a spell that robbed the boy off his breath. He wheezed and thrashed, unable to even claw his throat since the Death Eaters had firmly restrained him.

Lord Voldemort continued to pace the platform, explaining to the spectators- or rather his students, as Lord Voldemort had declared himself the Headmaster after the murder of Albus Dumbledore- that Harry Potter's punishment was a mild one. People with sullied blood, and even poorer manners, would face worse punishments.

Domnall didn't listen to the English Dark Lord further. His gaze drifted to the crows which still circled up in the air.

Domnall Prince had thought that he had severed ties with Dark Lords long ago. The one in Germany, Gellert Grindelwald, had set him free after that one last mission over twenty years ago. He was given the task to kidnap the Transfiguration Professor, Albus Dumbledore, while he was undercover in Hogwarts as the Potions Professor; his colleague. It had been a cowardly tactic. However, Grindelwald hadn't been known to prefer fair confrontations, opting to have Dumbledore kneeling in front of him in chains rather than both of them yielding wands.

Domnall had nearly jeopardized that mission: another professor had walked in during his report to the German Dark Lord before his mission would take action. Getting rid of that Herbology Professor -something Sprout, Domnall couldn't remember her name today- had saved his undercover mission in England. With the mission done, Domnall had separated his path from Grindelwald's shortly before the Dark Lord's fall.

After that, Domnall had fled Germany. Grindelwald was dead, but Domnall Prince needed somewhere else where he could safely raise his granddaughter Eileen. His squib son had done the right thing for once, and given Domnall Prince a magical grandchild.

With a few well kept secrets, Eileen Prince was known to be a pureblood of the noble and ancient house of Prince, and together with her grandfather they lived in England. Domnall had chosen to move there as his uncles already resided in the island-country, also, the most powerful wizard of all times who had defeated Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore, protected the nation and its famous school, Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Domnall had been ignorant to the snake that lived among the British. He had heard whispers, of course. High-standing purebloods spitting their hatred of Muggles had become more open since then, their confidence had been backed up by no other than the Dark Lord Voldemort himself. Nevertheless, Domnall chose to be blissfully ignorant. The wind carried those whispers that called for blood and war, but Domnall Prince had been unwavering regarding his neutral stance. It would stay that way.

He had been wrong. His Eileen had grown up and married that Muggle Snape guy after her graduation.

It had been quite a scandal. His girl was betrothed to the heir to the Nott line, Thoros was his name. She hadn't even called off the contract. She had simply vanished. That night Domnall had last seen her, she had hugged him and said, "I love you regardless."

Domnall played his cards right that time just as his Eileen. He disowned her, and forbid anyone to speak her name; she disappeared with her husband. The Snape name was forgotten during the days that led to the First Wizarding War. Their boy Severus had chosen to side with the Dark Lord, but Domnall's girl had never been targeted. Not until a year ago. They were killed in a raid; Voldemort had specifically asked for their corpses. Domnall had been too naïve to think it would be fine.

Back at the time, as the Prince family was declared to be sympathizer of Lord Voldemort, Domnall had found his relatively neutral stance by presenting himself as a shut-in, senile old man who served the Dark cause by financially aiding them. It worked. Domnall had even gathered favourable nods from the Malfoys, anything to lighten their load was welcomed it seemed.

Domnall had even protected Severus as much as he could. He never claimed him as a Prince even when the English Dark Lord was defeated by infant Potter, no, that would have awakened the old gossips of the boy's Muggle father. But he called in a favour from acquaintances that were in the inner circle of the Dark Lord. Abraxas Malfoy had been even pleasant with further urging his son to be friends with Severus.

However, Domnall Prince's protection ended the moment Severus Snape stood up for the Potter boy.

It happened two weeks prior, or so his owl had informed him as such. Domnall had asked a few people upon his arrival to Hogwarts, but the story changed only little: "Death Eaters attempted to capture Harry Potter in Professor Snape's potions class, he intervened and got himself killed."

That had been the last straw.

A heart wrenching scream startled Domnall, and he refocused to the platform he had been gazing at without attention.

It was colder than Domnall remembered. A cold that sent shivers down your spine, made you regret ever wearing your skin, and it sliced your bones with clattering yet persistent teeth. Not a single warm memory came to the forth of your mind in this kind of cold. This kind of cold was what Dementors brought.

The black cloaked figures roamed above the platform, slowly descending towards Harry Potter, they occupied the exact place where the crows had been, circling their prey.

The crows were gone. Their croaks were replaced with the cackling of the madman.

Domnall hated him, the sight of him, the sound of him. Voldemort had taken too much from him. His grand-daughter and her husband were killed; his grand-grandson was killed. For what? Nothing.

With his past, Domnall could oversee the fate Voldemort had laid out for Harry Potter. The boy was prophesied to be Voldemort's end—Domnall thought that was utter bullshite, yet if that was what Voldemort believed to be true, he could understand why the boy must die. His own kin, on the other hand, had no excuse to give Voldemort a motive.

Another scream of the poor boy resonated in the crowd, and this time, girls and younger students broke down in tears. There were a few that cried out his name too, "Harry!"

Still, no one was helping. Dementors were feeding on the Potter kid, one after another, each came to suck the boy's soul.

Domnall shook his head. Whatever the madman could rationalize for taking the boy's life, it was bloody nonsense.

Domnall Prince did not want any of this. He wanted his grand-grandson alive. He wanted his granddaughter alive.

He wanted a different fate for the Potter boy, he had not deserved this.

Prince took a last look at the boy and apologized under his breath. The boy would be killed today. However, yesterday he had been alive, and yesterday was in Domnall Prince's hands to save.

Among the many artifacts passed down from generation to generation in the ancient House of Prince, was a time-turner. There were many related books that could help as well and Domnall Prince needed every piece of information possible if he wanted to better the future.

He would not be content with another world similar and scarcely fortunate.


Hi there!

So here is another new story... This will be a long WIP, with an unknown end and no definite end date. I want to remind you that I will be writing only during summers, and since I won't regularly update this, I have to say this will take long. But still, please give it a chance. I'll do my best to make it worth your time!

I'm sending big thanks and hugs to my beta, Irish Thorn. This chapter would be VERY different if it were not for her, not in a good way. Thank you so much again :D

I hope you've liked it! Let me know what you think ;)

~Ydream08