In precisely thirty seconds, Harry James Potter would die and be reborn again, for the third time in his twenty-five years of life. At thirty seconds till midnight, the sky was pitch black except for the barrage of explosives. Explosions sliced through the air around him like an orchestrated show of fireworks. Riding his broom, Harry glided through them all with the agility of an ethereal ghost. He didn't bother with disillusionment charms. Muggles had built their drones with sensors to capture irregularities in airflow, and Harry was a blazing target for the fleet of attack drones on his tail.
Another bullet exploded dangerously close, fragments splattering and sinking into his side. But the pain he felt was nothing compared to the biting burn in his left chest, where It squirmed impatiently. Harry pressed even more weight onto his Firebolt, driving it faster towards its owner's imminent death. This cycle of his life shall soon conclude the same way it began: with powerful magic and great sacrifice. From his first brush with death, he was marked the Boy who Lived. But while he was shielded from death by his mother's magic of pure love, That which currently resided in his chest reeked of darkness. By his second encounter with death, he had claimed the title of its Master. But while he had walked into the Forbidden forest a sacrificial lamb, the blood he intended to offer today would not be his own.
In the distant horizon, a light twinkled. It gained in size with each passing heartbeat. The missile rapidly approached until it lit up the atmosphere like a torch. Just as Harry expected, the muggles couldn't figure out the exact location he's headed, so instead they decided to blow up the entire region.
But they were too late – already Harry had spotted his final destination – one completely ordinary looking tree amid the mountains. Harry knew every angle and bend of its branches, as well as he knew the most fantastic formation of magic that lied underneath. A high pitched laugh escaped his mouth. In the countdown to death, Harry felt more joyous and free than he had been in a very long time. He flew like a spectacled first year boy again. His heart beat so fast it barely had a pulse. Before he knew it, he was cackling as he dived towards the ground at fast as lightening. Behind his eyelids he could see the Hogwart's Quidditch field. He could smell the fresh cut grass, see his friends cheering, and the golden and crimson banners with his name billowing against the wind. He reached out his hand, like a Seeker towards the snitch. It tore through the prison of flesh. A tiny Shadow crawled out of his thumping heart, squirmed out of his chest, and slithered down the outstretched arm.
There was the sound of thunder. The explosion of the missile lit up the sky bright as day, but the earth below outshone it with a blinding web of patterns. Precisely at midnight, the Shadow burrowed into Its supposed spot next to the tree, into the very center of a rune formation the size of Britain. Dormant magic awakened to Its call. Once invisible rune paths stretched from the tiny tree outwards, north to the Scottish Highlands and south to London, east to Ireland and west to the middle of the North sea, to each of the stations his people had given their lives to erect. Birds started dropping from the sky like drops of water in a rain. Animals and people alike fell. Every living soul enclosed in the web of magic was instantly sucked out of their houses of flesh and into the formation, fueling the magnificence of its magic.
Entire Britain shone like a star around Harry. The heat and light lit his body aflame. It boiled all the water in his eyes, and he went blind instantly. Reflected in those unseeing emerald orbs, a giant Serpent hatched from the whiteness. It's eyes rivaled the size of the moon. Harry didn't look away. Suddenly he could clearly see Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville … everyone. All the wizards and witches he recognized that had been lost had returned to him.
"You did good, Harry." Hermione said, cradling her lopped off head in her arms.
"Go ahead. We'll always have your back." Ron said, putting a blackened hand on his shoulder.
Harry fell to his knees and prayed.
Jǫrmungandr, the Bringer of Ends, He who consumes and makes the world anew.
The Serpent's jaw unhinged. Its body tightened around the world in an unescapable grasp and swallowed the earth whole. It devoured Everything and all the Space in between and drank the river of Time dry. When there was nothing left, it swallowed its own tail and worked Its way up, consuming Itself.
Harry's last conscious thought was falling literally into the Serpent's stomach.
The World Serpent spat him out onto a cold hard surface.
Harry couldn't see a damn thing, nor hear anything over the loud ringing in his ears. He didn't know where he was, or which year he landed in. The only way left for him to sense this world was though touch. Harry felt for the cobbled road below, chilly against his palms. When the loud ringing in his ears finally subsided a little, he heard the threatened hiss of a cat, and soft footsteps as it scurried away.
A deadly cold crept up along his spine. Harry felt he was being watched. He had garnered the attention of the ancient force that some called God, others Fate. The universe watched him through large amble eyes of the stray cat, through every rustle of the leaves, and every atom of the stones beneath him. Even though he was blind, he felt the gaze in his very soul. His magic flowed sluggishly, as if frozen in fear. The universe knew he did not belong here. There was already a Harry Potter in this world, and his presence here alarmed this world's immune system like a foreign germ. It would not take too long for his soul to disintegrate and body to melt away as if he never existed before. Then every trace he left on this world would be scrubbed away with it.
Harry would not have it. For too long he had been a plaything for prophecies and Fate, but that would end right here, right now. If Fate had carved the annihilation of his people in stone, he would shatter it and write his own tale over the debris. Pushing against the ground, Harry pulled himself up with every ounce of strength left in his body. He laughed, a low, rumbling noise in his throat. The weight of the universe's scrutiny pinned him down as if he were a tiny bug to be squashed at whim. But here he was standing!
Harry put one foot before the other and began to walk. His body complained painfully with every contraction of muscles. It was only a matter of days, or even hours, before he would die. He must find the real Harry Potter in this time quickly and possess him, but first, he had things to tend to…
"Ahh!" Frightened screams startled Harry out of his reverie. He reached out his magic tentatively, and "saw" the blurry outlines of a group of children. One was wearing a witch's hat, another wrapped in bandages, and lastly a kid with a giant fish bowl over his head who was supposedly an astronaut.
"You scream like a little girl!" The witch teased the mummy boy.
"You screamed too!"
"I did not!"
"Happy Halloween." The astronaut said to him "Your makeup is sick!"
Of course it would be All Hallows Eve. Harry supposed it made sense since the veil between the Living and the Dead became the filmiest at this time of the year. He hoped this meant his body could last longer and give him enough time to finish the job.
"Which year is it?" Harry asked in a raspy voice "Which city are we in?"
The children looked amongst themselves awkwardly. "Is it a joke?" The witch asked bossily "It's not funny."
Under different circumstances, he might have found the gall of the little Muggle girl refreshing. Harry straightened his corpse-like body and peered at them from under the hooded cloak. Quite the image he made, with skin burnt raw and emotionless eyes that mirrored the gaze of a shark. Worst of all, half of his left cheek and ear were missing like it was chopped off by a jagged saw.
The kids yelped and huddled closer. The mummy boy started sniffling, barely holding back tears.
"It's October 31st 1993 sir." The little astronaut answered shakily "In London England."
Harry was relieved. "Good, good." He muttered. Having gotten what he wanted, he turned away from the Muggle children.
He happened to be in the same city and time as one of his potential targets. This would make apparition much easier on his ragged body. His magic helped navigate him to a nearby uninhabited alley where he took out the Holly wand. It appeared that his old friend was in the same predicament as he was, shivering under the hostility of the universe. Harry forced his magic through it anyway and disappeared with a crack.
Vancer Biomedics was an elegant combination of sleek tinted glasses and red bricks. At the moment, festive lights from the main hall shone like a beacon in this otherwise sparsely populated neighborhood. A gentlemen with silver hair excused himself from the chattering crowd, claiming that he promised to take his wife out for the night. Though not a day over 40, Dr. Martin had greying hair that went hand in hand with steely eyes and a sharp complexion. He was renowned for spearheading advancements including the treatment against HIV virus, but also infamous in the scientific community for his unpopular passion for the supernatural.
After collecting his jacket from the coat check and leaving a generous tip, Dr. Martin finally stepped outside. He breathed a sigh of relief as he loosened his tie. He actually detested socializing with the corporate men and occasionally, politicians, but his ambitions beyond the lab demanded it.
Walking briskly down his usual path home, Dr. Martin was already formulating wild hypothesis in his mind for his most prized project, when a homeless man by the side of the street caught his eye. The man sat slumped against a wall. He was small, but undoubtably male judging by the bone structure. Only the man's hands were visible, while the rest of his body was enveloped by a tattered clock. Under the lamp light, it was clear that every inch of exposed skin, from wrist to fingertips, was horribly burnt and oozing blood.
A mixture of intrigue and sympathy led the doctor to empty his pocket of cash in front of the homeless man. Coins clattered on the ground. To his utter surprise, however, the burnt hand reached out and caught a coin deftly before it hit the ground. Scarred but slender fingers toyed with it with a twirl and a swirl, then made the shiny coin dance over its knuckles. Dr. Martin blinked. The next instant the coin had vanished up the man's sleeve.
"Nice trick." Dr. Martin complimented. His eyes lingered over the now empty hand. The crinkled, raw skin looked decidedly different from any normal burn marks. It almost looked like the effects of exposure to explosion and radiation. Could it be? And why did the dark stains over the man's robe look suspiciously like blood? He must admit, the homeless man had successfully piqued his insatiable appetite for mystery.
As if hearing his thoughts, the mysterious man laughed in a huffing noise. "Would you like to know how I got these scars?"
Dr Martin looked up, and suddenly found himself staring into a pair of soulless green eyes. The lone street light lit up the man's features over a canvas of darkness. Dr. Martin had seen more than the normal share of miseries, but the sight of the man's deformed face made the hair on his neck stand up. It was a miracle the man was still alive from the injuries he suffered. Despite his many years of medical experience, Dr Martin couldn't fathom what had hacked off nearly a third of the man's head.
This alarming observation forced the doctor to notice, to really notice, the blood stained robe. He just assumed that the homeless wore the first thing they could put their hands on in this cold weather, but there could be a whole other set of explanations for the weird style of clothing…
Horror distorted the doctor's face. He took a step back, trying to put distance between himself and the man, but he saw a long wooden stick slip into the man's palm and heard a muttered "Imperio." All of a sudden, all the fear and confusion drained from his body. He felt more relaxed than he had been for ages, like he having a sweet dream on a soft, pillowed bed.
Wand. A voice screamed in the back of his head. Magic. Spells!
Dr. Martin happily ignored it.
A pained look crossed the homeless man's face. His hold on the stick tightened so much that the scars over his knuckles cracked open and oozed blood. Taking in a few shuddering breath, the man eventually calmed himself.
"Let's go home." He said to Dr. Martin.
It sounded like a swell idea. Dr. Martin cheerily turned and led them home. Once they stepped inside his house, it didn't occur to Dr Martin to greet his wife. He suddenly felt compelled to show the mysterious man his most fascinating project, and led them straight to the study.
Harry followed silently like a ghost and closed the door behind them. The doctor's study was spacious and tastefully decorated. Shelves filled with books lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Held at the tip of Harry's wand, Dr. Martin opened a password protected file on his personal computer. Harry walked up for a closer look. It was a clumsy big of metal, nothing like the powerful computers in the future that can fit into a person's palm and project holograms. Still, it held an incredibly large amount of information.
"01/02 mysterious symbol in the air"
"01/02 eyewitness account"
"01/06 unusual animal activities"
"01/10 Blake family disappearance"
…
Even at first glance, the sheer number of incidences shocked Harry and made him seethe in anger. Thanks to the reckless Death Eaters and sloppy Ministry workers, the Muggles had been secretly investigating them all along, while they were embroiled in meaningless civil wars and petty politics.
"Tell me" Harry asked softly "What is a muggle like you looking for chasing after magic like this?"
Dr Martin's eyes glistened through the haze of the Imperious curse. "Power." He answered "The potential to cure diseases, end hunger, harvest undepletable energy, bend the laws of physics."
Harry broke into a fit of laughter like he just heard the funniest joke. "Of course! I expect nothing less from the future head of the Lab."
The irony! Imagine the great lengths that muggles would go to for power, while the ones gifted with magic were so scared of the sparks their own hands made, that they were content to live hiding in the shadows. Harry laughed so hard he felt the prickling of tears around his eyes. Perhaps the wizarding world never stood a chance to begin with.
"Greg, are you home?" A woman's voice asked outside the door "Was that you?"
The ringing laughter died out as Harry shifted his attention to the door, contemplating his next step. A simple spell could do the trick, but he felt that his magic was being slowly drained by this foreign environment. It got weaker and weaker with every spell he uttered, like fresh cut flowers shriveling in a vase. Harry decided that he must save his magical reserve for the difficult ritual to be performed.
Harry mentally suggested the doctor to welcome his wife inside, while he slipped silently beside the door.
"I'm inside, honey."
At the sound of Dr Martin's voice, a women wrapped in a cashmere sweater opened the door.
"What was that unholy laugh about? You scared…"
She didn't get to finish the rest of her sentence. A shadow descended upon her, putting her frail neck into a chokehold. Choked squeals instead of words fell out of her wide open mouth. Manicured fingers clawed fruitlessly at the assailant, whose grip around her neck remained as unyielding as stone.
The woman's frantic eyes found her husband and pleaded wordlessly. Dr Martin watched them silently, like a piece of furniture. Mrs. Martin's eyes swelled with tears, eyeballs bulging out of her sockets, then they rolled into the back of her head and she was no more.
Panting heavily, Harry dropped the lifeless body to the floor. He found Dr Martin standing behind the desk where he left him, but a small river of tears had rolled down his cheeks and drenched the collar of his shirt.
Harry felt nothing when he strangled the woman with his bare hands, except perhaps a discomfort in his arms, but the muggle's tears stirred something in him. Harry walked up to the doctor and wiped away his tears gently with bleeding hands.
"Shhhhh" Harry said soothingly, as if calming a small frightened child. "I wanted to show you that." He explained "Between the monster and the victim, I am the monster now."
The muggle could do nothing but shiver against the grip of the curse.
"I will kill you tonight." Harry leaned closer to taste the sour odor of fear in the air. He whispered against the muggle's face, feeling the shivering grow stronger "There is nothing you can do to change that. Your fate is sealed. But I ought to tell you that it could have gone very differently."
Harry believed that Dr Martin shouldn't die filled with confusion and indignant anger. After all, Harry wasn't some indiscriminate burglar and the muggle wasn't a random target. He would open the muggle's eyes. He'd make him witness to his vengeance and accomplice to his crimes.
"In the not so distant future, a government agent will knock on your door. You'll find that many others have been secretly tracking down magic as well. Secretly compiling unnatural events and sniffing around muggleborn children. They'll give you funding, connections, anything you need, like a dream come true. You join them, of course, and you would have gone on to become co-head of the Center for Supernatural Studies. You'll have labs around the country. You'll kidnap, imprison and conduct human experiments on over 60 wizards and witches. Most of them children below 13, I should mention."
Harry's words grew softer the more he talked, until it was barely more than a hiss.
"You rubbed shoulders with congressman, pushed the boundaries of science, your team even got nominated for a Nobel prize for outstanding contribution in the 'taming' of wizards. Had I not come here today, you would have had all that - "
"How does knowledge of the future make you feel, I wonder? Will you find solace in that as I kill you?"
Harry let the muggle speak, curious how he would react at the intersection of life and death, as the river of time washed over them in reverse.
" " The muggle blurted out "You don't have to do this. I'm so, so sorry for what I've done to you! But I didn't do any of that. That's not me. I never hurt a soul. I promise I'll never go anywhere near magic again please have mercy."
Harry watched as the muggle broke down into a heap of sobbing, pleading mess.
"You are wrong." Harry corrected "I did come from the future - partial credit for getting that right, but you didn't do any of this -" Harry gestured in general at the collection of scars over his body "- to me."
A silver of hope lit up the muggle's eyes.
"You did that to my best friend. Your people took him from me."
Harry felt the dull ache of the wounds along the edges of his face, and ran a reminiscent finger along it. This squashed any remnant of hope the muggle harbored, and he resumed to cry and grovel.
Harry was beginning to find it unenlightening and increasingly annoying. He didn't know what he had hoped to hear, but still felt a dull resentment at the muggle for failing to deliver. Feeling that he had dallied long enough, Harry flicked his wrist and the muggle's lips sealed shut again.
"Now back to business. Do you have a portable hard drive?"
Harry was pleased when the muggle nodded.
"Copy everything you have on magical children on there and hand it to me."
The muggle moved in a way more similar to an Inferi than a man, but still did Harry's bidding obediently. A foreboding silence fell over the room. There was no sound except the muggle's labored breathing and the soft beeping of the computer as it exported data to the drive.
Harry took out the coin the muggle tossed at him earlier, fumbling with it playfully as he waited. It shone brightly wherever it caught the moonlight as it danced across his knuckles. Harry decided that it would make a fine vessel for a piece of his soul.