January 4, 1945

Harry sat at the table, holding a postcard in his hands, and smiled scoffingly.

"Harry…" Joan didn't know why he suddenly fell apart, much less how to comfort him.

"I'm fine, Joan." Harry didn't even look up; he just looked at the postcard in his hands, as if admiring an expensive artwork.

Joan knew who sent it.

Sitting not too far away, Joan's sharp eyes could see the signature on the corner of the postcard - Tom Riddle.

"...Tom went to travel?" Joan finally found a topic to try and slightly divert Harry's tight focus.

Harry smiled. "Yeah - travel."

He was still capable of answering this calmly.

The postcard was pinched by him, his thumb and index fingers pressed tightly, the cardboard already creased into small folds.

The postcard seemed to be written two days ago; the owl probably flew to Hogwarts before returning to Germany, so it was only two days late.

Harry chewed every word on the postcard, their flavour bitter and spicy.

Harry, I've arrived at the Black Forest; it's a very suitable place for collecting magic medicinal materials. Well, I can only say that the Black Forest cakes are too sweet - Kasia likes them very much. Kasia was the name of the girl who went away with him.

Such vivid words; if Harry had read it two days ago he would have smiled. But now, two days later, it was a clear indication of his stupidity.

He thought he'd be travelling with the girl, talking and laughing; instead, he was putting on Voldemort's robe as he chased his desire for power and strength?

Don't kid yourself, Harry Potter, he said to himself.

Tom Riddle is Voldemort.

From beginning to end, they were always the same person!

"Joan, I'm sorry I can't complete this mission. I'd like to go back first…" This was the first time Harry gave up a task he had already accepted.

Sorry, he couldn't do what was expected of him. This was the first time Harry ever thought of giving up the task he had persisted for 14 years.

Perhaps you'd want to grab his shoulder, shake it hard, and ask fiercely, "Aren't you a Gryffindor? Aren't you the best at looking at things with optimism? Aren't you a persistent, fearless knight?"

No knight could live if a sword pierces through their heart, just like there's no sun that never sets.

There is no Gryffindor who could always rush forward as if they didn't know pain; they also learn from pain and fear, and eventually 'learn to be smart' - it's just that the process of understanding pain for them is slightly longer and more stubborn.

It was night and chaos was before him; Harry desperately ran, just like Prometheus' stubbornness to fire, with all of his enthusiasm, chasing the dawn of the night and sunrise in the East. What was the result?

Hugo's 'Notre-Dame de Paris' already made a prediction - the night ebb and rises, yet ushered in is the eclipse.


Tom stared at the man lying on the floor, his face cloudy and uncertain.

Harry knows.

The extremely wise Slytherin was unable to sort out his thoughts at this moment; his brain was filled with these words, like a water-absorbing sponge leaving no room for thinking, making him slightly dizzy.

He forced himself to suppress his emotions, but there seemed to be something burning in his chest; trepidation changed into a ferocious hostility that almost broke through his chest.

"...The person who caught you, who was it?"

Karkaroff sat stiffly on the cold floor. He heard the seemingly peaceful voice with clarity. When the other breathed, even the sound of airflow from his tongue pressed against his teeth could be heard clearly; the hissing sound like a viper slithering out of a hole, capable of leaving teeth marks on his aorta and injecting venom at any time.

Karkaroff gritted his teeth. "It was… Harry Potter."

What came to him was a dazzling red light.

"Ah!" He yelled heartbreakingly, looking extremely unsightly as he rolled on the floor like a dehydrated fish; the visceral spasms were caused by the Cruciatus Curse, but the nerves connecting his arms to his brain were torn.

The illusion of splitting was caused by the imprint on his arm.

Karkaroff was not a strong and resolute person, how could he bear the double pain?

"Spare me… Spare me- AH AH!"

The Slytherin didn't stop.

Punish him! Punish him! Kill him! Make him pay for his mistakes! The dormant nature of his soul clamoured as if that was the only way to calm the anger that almost broke through the top of his head.

Harry knew! That meant he would deliberately avoid him, alienate him, face him with the same almost-broken expression he made when he opened the Chamber of Secrets, and look at him with eyes that have completely lost their gentle luster.

Tom liked the negative expressions of fear, hate and resentment that humans would make on the verge of despair; but all of that was meant to be under his control, driven by his desire for darkness.

And this wasn't! This was completely beyond his control!

Tom clutched his wand so tightly his knuckles began to whiten, and the Cruciatus Curse continued.

Or maybe he'd leave? As he had done countless times…

Tom suddenly fell into a daze. It was like he was back in his childhood again, anxious about Harry's departure and abandonment; his emotions all over the place because of that person's actions; humbly, sorrowfully and uselessly praying for that man to stay.

No, that state, he had vowed to change that humble attitude!

He once vowed to be strong enough to determine the life and death of that person, and block the passage of time; to obtain enough power to control the world, and reverse the past and future!

As long as he was strong enough, that person would only be able to tremble and creep under his feet instead of giving up!

He was only afraid of his departure still because he didn't have the power to keep him here…

"Karkaroff."

Karkaroff, who was painfully tortured into a cold sweat, raised his head; he watched the man in control of his life and death standing not too far away smiling strangely and eyes widened.

"I need an alliance, a powerful alliance…" The handsome, young Devil tilted his head from side to side, his delicate and exquisite facial features appearing slightly scary because of the twisted meaning behind his smile. "Well… What about Dementors?"

"No! Lord, you cannot…" Karkaroff seemed to have predicted something. He cried in a high-pitched voice. No, he didn't want his soul sucked out by those cold, terrible creatures!

"No, I can." That person's eyes were like the blood-red setting sun. "I've said it before, Karkaroff - I want not for your loyalty, but for you to give me your life."

I've already bought your life, the Devil said cruelly.

"...There are more powerful alliances than Dementors!" He quibbled, "Like giants…" Compared to Dementors, who relied on instinct and (1) **, stupid giants were better to coax and easier to survive against.

"Then why are you so afraid?" That person asked rhetorically, mockingly seeing through his attempts, "Do not try to question me, Karkaroff."

"I need you to go to England, Azkaban. After all, sending a person for an alliance shows sincerity, doesn't it?"

"Yes…" Karkaroff was pale.

Tom spurned this person's courage and ability, which were disproportional to their (2) *, and looked away.

Harry, what you're most afraid of are… Dementors, right?

See how well I remembered.

The young Devil laughed proudly and simply, like a child eager to reward his parents.


Harry suddenly began to miss 2001; or rather, he had always missed it, but his repressed emotions suddenly chose to erupt at this moment. He began to miss the feeling of being surrounded by friends, missed the hugs filled with the scent of sweat and smoke, and even started to miss the boldness of running freely when the war started.

But he couldn't go back.

He still had a mission, the original purpose of him being here.

Harry even discovered with some panic that Tom's pretended peace had gradually eroded his determination for the war; it was only after all of this had happened, did he dazedly think of his original purpose.

Harry Potter, your friends and classmates are fighting for you over there. What have you been doing?

One more year, at most two years. Five days in 2001, two years here.

He could complete what he couldn't complete over there.

Two years; enough to double his abilities, to sharpen him into a warrior, to improve his chances of surviving; maybe not enough for winning the war, but enough to give him the ability to protect Hermione and the others!

And Tom? He grew up and didn't need Harry Potter anymore.

So, the first thing Harry did when he returned to Hogwarts was to hand his resignation letter over to the Headmaster's office.

"Harry, Christmas just passed, and the semester isn't over yet." It was the slightly older Dumbledore who knocked on his door. "What about the children's lessons?"

"I'm very sorry, Professor Dumbledore." Harry lowered his eyes; all of his luggage was under the effect of magic, neatly arranged by the corner of the table, ready to leave with their owner at any time. He didn't have much luggage. Except for a few sets of clothing and theory books he brought in, he didn't have many things.

"There's not enough time."

Harry wanted to blurt out all the secrets and talk to the wise elder who still existed and let him, who had always been his mentor, guide him in the right direction.

But when he wanted to speak, something choked his throat, itching it and making him cough violently. This was the first time Fate warned him so clearly and directly, reaching out her hands to strangle the neck of a person who tried to subvert history.

Once leaked, they must be immediately obliterated.

In the face of established historical trends, the protection around time regulations was also fragile.

As said a long time ago, this was a game with no hope of success. The rules of the game were set by Fate.

"..." Dumbledore stood aside, quietly watching as he carefully filled out the lesson plans so that the next professor could quickly adapt to the schedule. After a moment of silence, the old man spoke, "Have you told Tom?"

Harry's quill paused.

The elder blinked. "Same words - Tom cares about you."

"I… Will tell him."

Dumbledore fixedly looked at the young man he had been acquainted with for more than a decade, and whose appearance was unchanged. Perhaps he already found a clue but chose to remain silent. The old man smiled and comforted the young man, seemingly comforting himself as well.

"Harry, if you're sad, try eating candy." He looked at him with a smile, his blue eyes making Harry think he was looking up at the sky.

Dumbledore took a handful of candies from his pocket and shoved them into Harry's hands.

Harry learnt that the old man would peel off the sugar paper and put the beans, their colours unnoticeable, in his mouth.

"Sweet, right?" Dumbledore smiled kindly.

Harry waited until the elder left before spitting out the jelly bean between his teeth. His tongue to his throat was bitter to the point of numbness; so bitter it made one nauseous. He turned over the sugar paper, it's corners crooked, and mischievously written with a child-like font was (3) 'Chinese goldthread flavour'.

Harry laughed.


(1) ** - I genuinely don't understand what it's trying to imply here... Do Dementors also rely on lust lmao?
(2) * - I feel like fear fits best here, but then there'd be no need for an asterisk- Could it be that Tom's comparing Karkaroff's courage and ability to his *pa pa pa* skills?
(3) Chinese Goldthread - A plant native to China; used in traditional Chinese medicine.