Time, Mr. Potter

Godric's Hollow 2125, May 02

Harry Potter stood at the grave site of his departed family. He was the last of the Potter family surrounded by the markers of all those that came before and after him. Despite a typical rainy afternoon, he stood here amidst ghosts of his past, and a constant drizzle of typical English weather.

Harry was alone, and had been so for decades upon decades. He couldn't recall, in fact, when he had last seen another living person. He had taken to simply existing day to day. It was on days like today which called him to reflect upon his distant past.

Honestly, Harry had no concept of how long he had spent standing here. This was a ritual that he performed once a year. Not a ritual of spells, nor incantations, but more so habit of a very old man whom had come to this location only once a year.

It wasn't the memories of his past that haunted him, or the ghosts of the past. There were more his actions that he had taken, and what he had failed to do, mostly for himself. Standing before his wife's tombstone, now, he searched his memory on what had possessed him to do it. To commit a life to her was just what he had done, but he wondered if it were due to love of her or more of a sense that it was something that had been expected.

As their marriage had gone on the excitement of the new faded to routine, and before long they had barely seen each other with the exception of passing one another in route of their daily lives. Absence, he thought may have made the heart grow stronger in storybooks, but to throw oneself into work as he did was more avoidance than anything else.

Stepping away from his wife's grave he moved to the children. He honestly had tried to be a good father in his opinion, at least at first. If he were honest with himself, his avoidance of his wife by burying himself in his work led to avoidance of the children, as well. He was a shite dad, he knew that. He had blatantly favored James as his first born. His treatment of Albus had been the worst. Not that he, himself, had any shining examples of parental figures in his life, but Harry had prime examples of what not to do with raising your children in both Vernon and Petunia. He just chose to ignore that route entirely.

At first, these trips held quite a bit of one sided conversations on his part. Mostly in attempts to unburden his soul of the troubles that had plagued him. When the years turned into decades and then multiplied, the same ritual devolved into silent contemplation. There was sadness, of course. How could there not be when a man outlives his wife and children? However, his focus had changed from the loss that he felt into more remembrance of the better times he had experienced. Quite frankly, there was nothing more for him to say in the matter. In the later years, that ritual had become more a routine in a sense of obligation, and means to mark the passage of…

"Time, Mr. Potter." A young sounding male voice said off in the distance.

Harry Potter had heard the voice from his distant past, turned his head towards the newcomer, and nodded in acknowledgement that he recognized he was no longer alone. He also was no longer the young man he once was. It had been many years since he had heard a voice that wasn't his own, and many more years since he had heard that particular voice. To say that he was shocked to hear that voice, and it sounding exactly as it had nearly 80 years since he had last been in close proximity of its owner would be putting it mildly.

"Wounds all heal, Mr. Yoda. Keep your pants on, and show some respect for the dead!" The aged last Potter scion replied using the counter phrase, as he turned from the grave of his late family, as he turned to take in the interloper.

He was just as he remembered the Unspeakable to be standing at the entry gates of the Godric's Hollow cemetery. Taking a firmer hold of his trusted cane to steady his journey to meet this long awaited guest, he shuffled onward.

"Took you long enough. Wrong turn at Birmingham?" Harry quipped dripping with sarcasm as he made it to the entry gates.

"The last we talked, Mr. Potter, I had assigned you a task. A rather cumbersome one, but it was assigned nonetheless. Have you achieved the desired results?" The Unspeakable inquired from beneath his shadowed hood.

"Much good it'll do me. In case it has escaped your notice, I've long since left my prime years well and truly behind me."

"Your twilight years are not the concern at the moment, only the task that was assigned." The Unspeakable said plainly, walking towards Mr. Potter, and before Harry could retort, he added. "Take my arm, Mr. Potter. As I stated when I arrived, it is time."

It was a familiar squeeze that Harry found himself experiencing when they blinked out of existence. However, he wasn't quite prepared for the added pressure of bullying through very extensive wards, but that is exactly what they did. When they re-appeared, he wasn't expecting to find himself in complete and total darkness having last been in the light of midday.

"Lumos!" The Unspeakable incanted, and the pitch black nothingness was illuminated to reveal the Hall of Prophecies deep within what Harry Potter had assumed was the destroyed Department of Mysteries inside the Ministry of Magic.

"How is this possible?" Harry inquired.

"Level Nine survived. Everything above us was destroyed. Now, don't doddle, Mr. Potter. We've much to cover. Follow me." The Unspeakable said plainly, and with purpose headed towards the door.

Rather than simply walk through the door, the Unspeakable paused at it briefly, raised his hand, and placed his open palm against its frame. Harry was taken aback when he then opened the door to find a small classroom which housed only two desks, one a position for a student, the other at the head of the classroom. The Unspeakable walked quickly to the head of the classroom, with a swish of his robes very reminiscent of the late Severus Snape, sat behind his desk, and pointed towards the other desk clearly indicating to Harry that he should follow the other's example.

"Mr. Potter, you've had approximately eighty years to complete the tasks that I have set for you. This is where I will assess whether or not that assignment was completed to my satisfaction. This will in no way be easy."

"Mr. Yoda…" Harry started, and saw that the Unspeakable wanted to interject, so, he quickly moved on. "I am by no means a young man. I've lived a very long life in pursuit of this task. I've studied in depth on a great many things. I've collected knowledge from a wide variety of sources. There haven't been that many distractions to keep me off task. While there certainly aren't witches or wizards around, their possessions that were left behind did aid me in attaining knowledge that I wouldn't have gained otherwise. I reckon that I have the knowledge, but I don't believe that I am long for this world." Harry said, finally with a rasp in his voice and a deep sigh.

The Unspeakable acknowledged this statement. He took out his wand, and conjured a single glass. He stood, reached for the already prepared pitcher sitting on the edge in the corner of his desk, and filled the glass before standing and carrying it to his guest.

"Drink up, Mr. Potter, testing will commence upon my return." The Unspeakable said, reassuringly.

He crossed the room back to the door, and as he did so he heard the glass crash upon the floor. Turning quickly around he found Harry passed out on the floor, the contents on the glass already starting to work.

Department of Mysteries 2125, May 07

Harry opened his eyes to find himself in a bed with crisp linen sheets. The room was white, and sterile. Obviously it was a medical wing of some sort. He could see the room quite clearly which was odd. There were wires attached to him here and there, keeping a proper record of his vital statistics. The soft beeping of the machine recording his heart rate was sounding regularly indicating no reason for alarm. That alarmed him, but that wasn't the only thing which did.

Harry Potter for as long as he could recall had always required the aid of eyeglasses if he had wanted to see anything at all. The room he was in came to him unaided, and in perfect clarity. Harry, adjusted himself in the bed to sit up, and that is when he received his second shock. His old and quite frail body was lacking his usual aches and pains that he had lived with for the latter forty years of his long life. The age spots that littered his arms and hands were also quite gone. The skin that he could see on his hands and arms was unblemished, and it's once thinness was full once again with vitality, and apparent youth.

Quickly, Harry detached himself from the wires, and rose out of bed. He noticed a full length mirror in the corner of the room, and caught a reflection in it. What he saw there seemed to be a stranger. Staring back from the mirror appeared to be a young man of no more than 25 years of age. He resembled what Harry remembered himself to have looked like only vaguely.

Harry had never had a good child life growing up with his aunt and uncle. The limited and infrequent meals that he received whilst under their tender mercies had stunted his growth. As an adult at the approximate age similar to what the mirror had revealed, Harry was a meager 5'5" tall, and quite rail thin. What he saw, now, was a stark contrast to that. Instead of the short stature, the person in the mirror stood closer to six feet tall, and rather than emaciated, he looked to be closer to nearly 13 stones.

"Ah, I see you've finally awakened, Mr. Potter. Good on you. I think a spot of breakfast is in order, and then perhaps we can resume where we left off. Also, I do believe that we can leave any further excuses of your advanced years behind us. We've much to do, and very soon you've places to be. Come along, now."

"But how?"

"We'll get to your questions soon enough. Just into the next room, now. Come along." The Unspeakable said beneath his cowl before exiting the infirmary.

Harry followed his benefactor into the next room, and it was immediately apparent that he was now standing in a small and comfortable dining hall. Place set for two, and a full English breakfast already hot and ready at the table. Feeling a rumble in his stomach, now, he immediately took a seat, and tucked in voraciously.

When the Unspeakable sat down to eat he reached up and removed the cowl of his grey cloak revealing his appearance for the first time. He appeared to be a young man of 25 years of age, much like Harry himself. He had blonde hair and blue eyes. Were he to be out amongst a crowd, Harry felt that he would very easily blend in with any crowd. He thought that to be a very useful skill considering the cloak-and-dagger associated with the Department of Mysteries. Having pondered this in a split second, Harry once more dove into his breakfast.

Clearing his throat, the Unspeakable spoke up for the first time. "You have questions not pertaining to your assigned task, Mr. Potter. You may ask your questions, now before we adjourn to the classroom following breakfast."

"Okay, who are you? Why am I here? What is the point of this?" Harry rapidly fired off.

"Well, Mr. Potter, as I'm sure that you have guessed, I am quite a bit older than I appear, as are you. As for my name, I've been known by quite a few of them as would anyone who has lived as long as I have. Before the decimation I was last known as Nicholas Flamel. As an Unspeakable, My codename was Croaker. However, my first name; the name that I was born with, was Nicodamus Peverell. I am the patriarch of the Peverell family and the father of the famous three brothers from the children's story. You sir, are my sole remaining descendant. You are here because you asked me to come. You botched up the final line of your prophecy when you decided that existing was a better option. Before you start, the line I am referring to is 'Neither can live while the other survives.' You did not live before you asked for the assistance of the Department of Mysteries. In fact, after the fall of Tom Marvolo Riddle, you did exactly as others expected you to do. You joined the Aurors, married Ginevra Molly Weasley and fathered three children with her. Your existence was rather boring considering. Until the revelation of Delphini's rather odd origin story, subsequent incarceration, and eventually taking of her own life whilst a resident of Azkaban. You are here, Mr. Potter, for another chance at life. You are here to complete your task, be tested, and then we shall move forward by moving back. Now, before you has, there will be no replacing your old self with your current memories. You'll not be going back to be Harry Potter. You've already botched that life up completely and thoroughly. However, you will be tested. The results of those test shall determine the path we take. You may address me as Nick. I am sure that you have many other questions. We can address those after your task evaluation. "

The look of incredulity on Harry's face as he sat across from Nick listening to him raptly. Nick had been correct about his life, albeit succinctly. He really did just go with the flow, and meander through his life until the decimation had occurred. Delphini had truly been a devastating blow to him. To find her name on the tapestry in the Black Ancestral home was expected. What hadn't been expected was to find her name beneath Bellatrix Lestrange and not Tom Marvolo Riddle, but himself. Blood of the enemy forcibly taken had worse consequences than initially thought, retrospectively. His name had been blasted off the tapestry by none other than his wife Ginny without his knowledge. Its discovery had led to their largest rows, and eventually divorce, which was unheard of in the wizarding world.

Having finished his breakfast, Harry waited patiently for Nick to finish his, which didn't take long. That ferocious appetite was something that they had in common, now, it seems. Nick stood up immediately followed by Harry, they walked back into what Harry had assumed to be the classroom only to find that it had been replaced by a room with a couple of rather comfortable looking chairs, a pensieve, and a large display screen.

"Now, Mr. Potter, if you would be so kind as to extract your memory, and place it in the bowl." Nick asked.

Harry walked over to the pensieve, removed his wand, and placed it to his temple before a look of confusion overcame his face. He looked over at Nick, and asked, "Which memory?"

"Why all of them. I'm going to need a full analysis. Place your non-wand hand on the bowl while extracting the memory. It shall assist you in this endeavor. Harry did as he was asked. What he hadn't expected was that once his non-wand hand had touched the bowl, he completely blanked out.

Department of Mysteries 2125, May 31

Harry awoke sitting in the comfortable chair he had noticed what was to him only moments ago. He found himself in what was the very same room although in place of where the displace screen was sat a familiar desk, and behind it sat Nick scribbling furiously.

"It's good to see you finally awake, again, Mr. Potter. We have much to discuss." Nick said, rising from his seat, and taking a seat in an identical comfortable chair to Harry's direct across from him. "As you might have guessed the pensieve that we have used is quite unique. What you may not have known, but I will tell you, now, is that it put you into a stasis of sorts while I reviewed your memories. During that time you were in a dreamless sleep, so; for you it should have felt like no time had passed. Onward, I reviewed your life, fast forwarded to the pertinent parts, ignored the mundane, the banal, and the decided boring x rated. For the record, Mr. Potter, I don't know how you put up with Mrs. Potter for so long. I'm getting off track. The one thing I don't understand with you considering how much that you've thoroughly enjoyed cooking even in times where you loathed those for whom you have been tasked to do so is your complete and total mediocrity in the science of Potions. However, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration are the tasks at hand. Those tasks have been reviewed. Considering the rather large sums of time that you've invested in these crafts, I find you to be completely adequate. Your understanding of Technomancy, while not on the Hogwarts; or any British curriculum, is to be commended."

He weighed the next part of the conversation very heavily. There were things in Harry's past that had been removed, many times. Albus had been rather heavy handed with the obliviations in regards to Harry's upbringing, and his time with the Dursley family was spotty for Harry at best. He was abused. That hadn't been deniable at all. His abuse was abhorrent living conditions when there should have been no need for it. His abuse had been a complete and total lack of affection. He was worked hard and with the minimum amount of care provided. He had been frequently starved. With the exception of only a few beatings, and the lone frying pan incident by his aunt Petunia, physical interaction had been nil. The friendship and initial introduction with the Weasley family at platform 9 ¾ had been an obvious orchestration on the part of Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbledore, as well, and considering where Harry would eventually end up, this is something that he had to consider; but first, best to rip it off quickly like a bandage.

"Mr. Potter, with me if you will." You need to draw your memory back up into yourself, now." Nick said, rising and walking back over to the pensieve. As Harry did as instructed, Nick quickly amended, and added. "However, there made be a slight… side effect."

Pain. It was immense and disorientating as if being born for a second time in drawing this much memory back into himself. It was like reliving his life all over again. Each memory played out in almost an instant, and with that it filled in the blanks. Things that he felt were unimportant, and had chosen to forget had been overlaid, and reinforced. Every thought, every action remembered. Every single thing that Harry had ever experienced had become eidetic including everything that he was ever made to forget. He remembered, now. He remembered it all.

"That was intense!" Harry finally gasped.

"Very rarely had we ever used a pensieve in quite this manner. With this many memories, Mr. Potter, it is a good thing that you're a proficient Occlumens. You'll need some time to re-assimilate the knowledge. We'll reconvene in the morning, and have a planning session on how we shall proceed."

Nick stood and walked towards the only exit. As he had done in previous times, he placed his hand on the doorway briefly before opening, and then left the room.

Department of Mysteries 2125, July 31

Before long nearly two months had passed by. While Harry's body had been de-aged, and healed from the neglect and abuse that he had suffered from all of his long life, he needed time to, both, get used to the changes the Elixir of life had wrought upon his body, and to get into a more active routine. Rule #1, he realized, was that Wizards and Witches always relied heavily upon magic to do almost absolutely everything whereas the normal folks; or Muggles, didn't have the luxury. That luxury over an extended lifetime made for a very out of shape person regardless if the potion's healing properties.

Harry considered the past two months to have been a boot camp like one might experience if you were to sign up to be a member of the military without the usual weapons training. He rose up every morning well before the sun did. He ate a quick and hearty breakfast. He then proceeded to apparate to Hogwarts, or the former site of Hogwarts. The building, of course, was still there, but it had long since been empty of people and as a repository for learning.

Harry stretched before he began his daily calisthenics of pushups, sit ups, and jumping jacks. This was always what he started with and did so until his muscles in his arms, chest, and abdomen were burning with exhaustion. After a brief recovery, Harry then proceeded to run his route around the black lake.

Now, the route around the lake was arduous in and of itself. However, Harry added to it. Having wanted a true military-like experience he added obstacles to this route. Felling and chopping trees was tedious, but not overly difficult. He had the obstacles constructed and ready to go but it took all of the first day, and the magic sufficient left him drained.

For the most part, he ran quite a bit, dodging and leaping things along his path. His sole intent wasn't to gain a large amount of muscle and turn himself into something more cumbersome. This effort was simply to get himself quickly, efficiently, and through effort acclimated to his body. Through hard work and without the aid of magic, his endurance of the physical had increased, both, his strength and time along the path around the lake.

At this very moment, he had just finished his final of five laps around the lake, which found him lying flat on his stomach, breathing deeply. His thoughts drifted towards memories of a very vivid dream he had the night prior.

For the first time in his long life he dreamt of life with his family. Not his wife or children, but his first family. Now, having his memories intact, he remembered his time before that fate filled night of 1981 October 31st. His mum and dad were front and center stage. The Marauders were ever present, as well. What he hadn't expected to remember was a small girl of no more than six or seven years old always present with him as soon as she walked into their house in Godric's Hollow. Harry knew who this little girl was, of course. How could he not recognize her rabidly changing hair or joyous persona.

What he hadn't expected when he had first got his memories back, however, was the frequency by which she had been ever-present. What he hadn't expected was to remember was that as often as she would switch out here hair color that he, too, would mirror her changes just as rapidly. He, too, was a metamorphmagus; an ability to change one's body through force of will. That ability inherited from his father's maternal side of the family,

"I promise, little prince, I'll love you, and take care of you every day. We'll have such fun. Wait and see. You believe me, of course, don't you?" She had whispered into his little ears. While he understood her very well, at fifteen months old his ability to convey that understanding was lacking in communication. So, he simply nodded his little head, reaching out for her and squealed her name in between a fit of giggles, "Nym!"

In a hushed voice barely above that of a whisper Nymphadora Tonks, a young girl of only just eight years old looked lovingly into his wondrous eyes and seriously spoke four words that, both, haunted him and woke him up immediately, "So mote it be."

"Time, Mr. Potter." Nick's voice sounded behind him. Turning his head and looking towards the man, he squinted up at him before lifting himself up off of the ground. "We've spent enough of it in the here, and now. Time to collect your things."