Rose Potter was seated at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, sandwiched between Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger as had been the norm since her first year. The Hall echoed loudly with the excited chatter of the students of the three schools, as the evening meal drew to a close. Students at each table claimed who they thought would end up being chosen as champion, and Rose could see coins exchanging hands as students made bets on the possible champions.
In the center of the room, the Goblet of Fire burned with an ethereal blue fire from when it had been lit the day before, ornate runes covering every inch of the carved wooden goblet. The Goblet stood almost half as tall as Rose herself, placed on top of a normal wooden table.
Rose had heard from other students who had put themselves in from the various houses; Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff was currently the rumored favorite from Hogwarts. Angelica Johnson from Gryffindor had also entered her name, as did Cassius Warrington from Slytherin. Rose had seen an older male, dressed in the blue of Ravenclaw, put his name in before Fred and George Weasley had made their disastrous attempt with an age potion.
She was sure that there were many others that put their name in, the appeal of a thousand galleon reward being too much to pass up. The publicity that would be attached to their name from winning the Triwizard Tournament would practically guarantee a job whenever they left Hogwarts.
Rose didn't really care who was chosen, she was actually looking forward to finally having a normal year at Hogwarts. The mess in her first year with the Philosopher's Stone, Hagrid's dragon, the possessed Professor Quirrell, and struggling to learn about an entirely new world of magic. The attacks caused by Voldemort's diary throughout her second year, filling the students at the school with fear and distrust, and her ostracization by a large number of the students who believed her to be the Heir of Slytherin. The constant draining presence of the Dementors in her third year, dragging up the horrifying memory of that awful laughter and her mother's dying pleas. All of which ended in the rescue of her godfather Sirius Black through time-travel of all things.
No, Rose had thought, she was looking forward to other students having the excitement all to themselves. All she wanted was a normal school year, where she could focus on learning magic, exploring the new relationship with her godfather Sirius, and not being forced to fight for her life.
Yet, even as she thought this, she couldn't shake the sinking feeling in her stomach that something was about to go wrong. Rose had heard somewhere that once is chance, twice is coincidence, and third time is enemy action. If you followed the pattern from her years at Hogwarts, something connected to Voldemort would throw her fourth year into chaos and danger.
The Headmaster stood up from his seat at the staff table, the students quickly falling silent in anticipation of what was to come. A single wave of his wand cleared the remaining food and drinks from the long tables, as the light from the floating lights seemed to dim.
Rose could see the headmasters of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons waiting expectantly, a tense expression on their faces. Next to them, Ludo Bagman was practically bouncing in his seat, an excited expression plastered on his face as he beamed around at the students in the hall. In contrast, Mr. Crouch remained as stern as ever, his eyebrows furrowed like every time Rose had seen him.
"The goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "When the champions names are called, I would ask that you please come to the top of the hall and enter the next chamber," gesturing to a door behind the staff table. "There you will receive the first instructions."
The lights in the hall continued to dim, until the Goblet of Fire was the primary source of light, the flickering blue flames casting shadows across the faces of all of the students in the hall.
Rose spared a glance around, seeing the eyes of everyone fixed firmly on the almost blinding flames from the goblet, barely looking back in time to catch the flames turn a deep crimson.
Sparks began to emit from the goblet, a tongue of red flame shooting up into the air, revealing a piece of parchment, which was snatched out of the air by Dumbledore.
A moment of silence was suspended throughout the hall, the students almost vibrating with barely restrained excitement, nobody willing to break the hush.
"The Champion for Durmstrang," said Dumbledore, his voice reaching all corners of the hall. "Viktor Krum!"
A storm of cheering and applause shattered the silence, as Rose saw Viktor Krum rise from his place at the Slytherin table, his figure standing tall yet seeming to still maintain his constant slouch.
"No surprises there!" Ron yelled practically into her ear, as she watched the Durmstrang Headmaster Karkaroff clap and cheer loudly, applauding Krum as he stalked towards the staff table.
Krum trudged into the door behind the staff table, the cheering slowly dying down as the eyes of everyone once again turned towards the once-again blue goblet of fire.
Seconds passed as the flames in the goblet began to rise higher, transitioning into scarlet, sparks once again flying out from the goblet. Red flames spit into the air, another piece of parchment rising from the flames to fall into Dumbledore's waiting grasp.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore boomed, as he stood in front of the goblet. "Fleur Delacour!"
Cheering once again erupted in the hall, as Rose watched the newly christened Beauxbatons champion rise from the Ravenclaw table, gracefully tossing her hair over her shoulder. Her allure began radiating across the nearby tables, more than she had emitted yet. The nearby boys, and not a small amount of girls, Rose quickly noticed, began to gape openly as the French girl began elegantly walking up to the staff table.
As the applause began to fade, Rose could see several of the other French students comforting two girls who had begun crying when Fleur's name was called.
Silence reigned once more as Fleur disappeared into the champions chamber. The excitement had reached a fervor pitch without a single word being spoken, as the hundreds of students of Hogwarts, thick enough that Rose could almost feel the anticipation.
Finally, the flames turned red for the third time, a gout of crimson spitting out a piece of parchment. Dumbledore's thin fingers snatched it from the air, holding it in front of his face.
And the Hogwarts champion is-" Dumbledore said, the students practically vibrating with suspense, "Cedric Diggory!"
Cheers erupted throughout the hall, nowhere louder than from the Hufflepuff table. The table of badgers clapped as hard as their hands could stand, feet stomping on the ground, and fists banging on the table.
Cedric Diggory stood up with a wide smile splitting his face, his fellow badgers grasping at his robes as he began making his way up to the champions chamber. The applause did not fade even when he disappeared, going on for close to thirty seconds before Dumbledore was able to regain control of the Hall.
Rose could not even cheer, the relief she felt in the heart causing her to slump in her seat, her wish of a normal school year seeming to be granted. The pit that had been forming in her stomach disappeared, a breath she didn't even realize she had been holding was released.
"Wonderful!" Dumbledore called out happily, the last remnant of the applause fading away. "We now have our three champions, each representing their own schools. They will need your support in the coming months as their mettle is tested-"
Dumbledore paused mid-sentence, shock etched onto his features as the goblet of fire in front of him once more began spitting sparks, flames turning blood red. The students in the call all held their breath, as a tongue of flame shot into the air, spitting out a piece of parchment, before the flames snuffed out completely, leaving an empty goblet.
By reflex it seemed, Dumbledore reached out and grabbed the parchment, his eyes staring at the paper in front of him. Every eye in the hall was on him as he cleared his throat, staring at the parchment in his hand.
"Rose Potter". He read out quietly, disbelief in his tone. Dumbledore cleared his throat again, repeating himself louder, "Rose Potter!".
Rose felt numb, like she was in a dream. Dumbledore had called her name. Her name came out of the goblet of fire.
She was aware that every head in the hall had turned to her, angry muttering beginning to fill the air like a swarm of hornets. There was no cheering, no applause, just whispers between students as they all stared at her.
Blankly, Rose watched as a stern-faced Professor McGonagall strode over and began whispering urgently to the headmaster, who listened intently.
Glancing around her, Rose saw the faces of her fellow Gryffindors staring intently at her. "I didn't put my name in." She said weakly to Ron and Hermione next to her. "I promise I didn't."
Silence greeted her weak protests, as murmurs continued to spread throughout the hall. She could feel despair rising in her chest, threatening to swallow her whole.
"Rose Potter!" said Dumbledore loudly, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. "Rose Potter, please come to the champion's chamber."
Rose could feel Hermione squeeze her hand, before giving her a slight push forward. She stood up on shaking legs, threatening to give away, her stomach feeling like it had dropped to her ankles. The walk up to the staff table seemed miles long, the judging gazes of her fellow students like lasers on her skin.
Rose began her path forward, each foot feeling like lead as she walked towards Dumbledore. The angry muttering of the crowd seemed to grow louder and louder with each step, before she stopped in shock.
The goblet of fire, which had been extinguished after spitting her name out, had once more filled with flames. The blue flames began rising higher and higher, passing the rim of the goblet as Rose could hear shocked conversations erupted around the hall.
The flames continued reaching into the air, far higher than when it had been lit before. The flames started to grow brighter and brighter, sparks began flying from the cup, causing Rose to step back to avoid them.
Past the rising inferno of the cup, Rose could see Dumbledore holding his wand, a mixed expression of shock, disbelief, and perhaps fear on his face.
The fire began shifting colors, from the sky blue to a deep purple, to a forest green, to a blood red crimson, cycling faster and faster before settling on a solid gold, the edges of the fire almost reaching the candles floating above.
Rose stepped back even further, the despair from her name being drawn being replaced by fear. She could see as an outline began taking shape in the flames, a jagged circle forming in the heart of the fire, the edges forming a thin line of the darkest black she had ever seen.
A bang like a cannon blast echoed throughout the hall, the flames flashing brighter than anything she had ever seen. Rose stumbled backward, blindly grasping for her wand as she tripped and fell to the ground, and she heard what sounded like a thousand pieces of cloth tearing at once as her head struck the stone floor, bringing even more spots to her vision.
Rose could hear students screaming and yelling, the voice of Dumbledore booming over them as he tried to establish calm. Blinking to clear the spots from her vision, Rose could see a figure kneeling above her, a wand brandished as he looked around.
Messy black hair sat atop a face that she had only seen from a photograph, wearing dark robes made of some kind of leather.
Hope soared faintly in her chest, her heart aching as she stared upward from her place on the floor, whispering out a word she had never called anyone before.
"Dad?"
If someone asked Harry how long he had been in that hole of reality for, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. As he had been sucked in, he took a deep breath, made sure he had a tight grip on his wands and pistol, and curled himself into a ball.
What had followed was one of the most unpleasant experiences he had ever had. He felt the powerful tugging in his stomach like a portkey, the squeezing sensation of going through a tube from apparition, combined with feeling extreme heat and cold on his exposed skin where he alternated between feeling like an ice cube and that he was standing in a fire.
Finally, after an unknown amount of time, he could feel the uncomfortable sensations begin to lessen. Harry made sure he had his trusty holly and ash wand out, while his left hand prepared to wandlessly cast a shield.
With a loud blast of noise and the brightest flash of light, blinding him even through his closed eyelids, Harry felt himself ejected through the air. He felt himself striking a hard stone floor, rolling with the impact even while blinded.
As he rolled onto one knee, he was already fast at work casting protective spells. His left hand waved around him, creating a three layers of shield, one for physical projectiles, one for purely elemental spells, and one for purely magical spells and curses.
With his right hand, he jabbed rapidly, feeling his surroundings with his magic. Pulling from the material around him, he began blindly transfiguring several wolves and creating a floating ring of material to use as projectiles or shields.
As his vision began to restore, Harry could hear panicked screaming and talking, his gaze searching around as he tried to regain his sight. He could feel the presence of hundreds of other wizards and witches, several with notable power.
If Harry had not just fought against a rising dark lord in almost constant magical combat for the last hour, and then thrown through some sort of tear in reality, he would have been able to recognize the familiarity of the magical presences around him.
Finally, after a few seconds, his eyesight was returning, and as he looked around, shock quickly replacing the adrenaline pumping through him.
He could see familiar stone walls surrounding him, flags and banners with the symbols of the four Hogwarts houses adorning them. Seated at the tables surrounding him were dozens of students wearing familiar black robes, all gazing at him with fear and disbelief on his face.
Harry's mind raced to figure out the situation around him. How was he in Hogwarts? He had just been hundreds of miles away in Greece!
A loud cannon blast echoed throughout the hall, Harry almost double taking as he looked at the familiar white beard, garishly bright robes, bright blue eyes set within a pair of half-moon glasses.
Albus Dumbledore was dead, killed in front of him on that night in his sixth year on the Astronomy tower! Next to him, Harry could see even more familiar figures, the hooked nose of Severus Snape set in a face framed by greasy long black hair, the stern and serious expression of Professor McGonagall, and the rest of the Hogwarts professors.
"What the hell is going on, " he breathed out, desperately trying to make sense of what had happened, before a whisper from in front of him caught his attention.
"Dad?"
Harry looked down, seeing the same emerald eyes that he looks at in a mirror. Black hair fell messily around a face wearing a worn pair of round rimmed glasses.
He stared in shock, looking at almost a mirror reflection of his mother Lily Potter's face, except for the tousled black hair, green eyes shining with emotion, hope, and shock.
His eyes raked over her face, before locking onto her forehead, where a lightning-bolt shaped scar was located. He could feel his jaw drop in shock, an expression he could see mirrored on the female version of himself.
Glancing around, he saw faces from his past staring back at him. Neville Longbottom, baby fat still clinging to his face, yet to become the tall and confident Neville that he knew. Twin redheads looked at him with shock and excitement, smiles persistently tugging at their lips. A heartachingly familiar head of bushy brown hair, Hermione Granger's face twisted in disbelief.
"Dad, is it really you? Came the voice again, desperate longing in the tone.
Harry shook his head as he stood up from his kneeling position, slowly lowering his wand but still keeping it out. "I'm not James."
"But you are a Potter." Dumbledore said, one hand held closely to his side. Harry could hear the steel in his tone, his genial grandfather persona being pushed to the side in the face of potential danger, with his blue eyes locked firmly onto Harry's forehead, where the faded lines of his scar still remained.
"Yes," he said, a pit beginning to form in his stomach as the events of his fourth year began to rise in his mind. "My name is Harry Potter".
"Perhaps then, Mr. Potter, we should talk in private?" Harry recognized the subtle threat in the sentence, dismissing his shields with a flick of his fingers, the summoned material floating back to the tables it had been ripped from.
"Rose Potter, it would be beneficial if you joined us."
Rose, Harry thought, must be the name of the female version of him, watching in fascination as she clambered to her feet. While she shared the same color scheme as he did in the hair and eyes, her face resembled Lily Potter far more than his did.
Harry began walking towards the familiar staff table, returning his wand to his holster but keeping his hand ready, Rose walking in front of him. He could see Snape staring at him with undisguised loathing as he passed him, a sneer ever present on his face as the professors began following behind the headmaster, with Mad-Eye Moody taking the rear.
Or rather, he remembered, Bartemius Crouch Jr. disguised as Moody, barely restraining himself from blasting him through the wall. While the Triwizard Tournament was obviously going on, he would have to confirm if the events in Rose Potter's life matched his.
Harry followed the headmaster, along with his alternate self and the staff, hearing the hall erupting in excited chatter as they entered the room with the other waiting champions. He almost stumbled when he caught sight of Cedric Diggory, passing in the chamber with a nervous expression on his face.
Harry had never been close to Cedric Diggory, only becoming acquainted with him through the Triwizard Tournament, yet his death had stuck with him throughout the years. Maybe it was because he was completely undeserving of death, an innocent bystander caught in a madman's rampage, maybe it was because it was the first person he had really seen die in front of him. Whatever the reason, he had vowed, following the events in Paris, that he would do all he could to prevent someone from taking an innocent life in front of him again.
Catching sight of Fleur pacing anxiously on the far side of the room gave him a sense of warmth and ease; while she wasn't the Fleur he had come to view as an older sister, she was still Fleur. She still had her fierce loyalty to her family, her protective side, and her wrathful anger towards those who wronged her.
Maybe he would try and set her up with Bill Weasley sooner, Harry mused, as he met her curious stare. Their daughter Victoire had been an adorable child, and he frequently brought his godson Teddy over to play with her.
Harry stood by the entrance, watching in fascination as an almost mirror event of when his name was drawn played out. Ludo Bagman made an ass of himself introducing Rose, the other headmasters protested Rose's name coming out, claiming that Hogwarts was cheating, while Victor and Cedric stood by and watched. One minor difference he noted was how Fleur treated Rose; rather than the contempt and "little boy" comment he had been greeted with, she seemed more pitying and concerned.
Snape was strangely silent, not making any of the snide comments towards Rose that he had made towards Harry in his time. Most likely because he was too busy pouring as much hatred as he could into staring at him.
The discussion in front of him drew to a close, as it had in his time, with Rose being told she would have to compete in the Triwizard Tournament or she would lose her magic.
Which was completely false, Harry thought, staring at the pale face of his younger female self, fear and despair shining through in her eyes. The goblet of fire required a consensual magical connection.
When someone wrote their name onto a piece of parchment, they were putting a small piece of their magic, a little bit of their desire to compete, their resolve, all of that was imbued into the parchment. The goblet of fire then judged that intent and magic, and chose its champions.
Although it had been Rose's name that had come out, it was the fake Moody that was actually the contestant. His overwhelming desire for Rose to compete in the tournament so he could revive Voldemort was what resulted in his name being chosen. It was an enchanted cup, albeit heavily enchanted, but it couldn't read writing, it "read" the magical imprint.
He could take Rose away from Britain, away from the madness that would come in the future. He could probably persuade Hermione, Neville, Luna, Fleur, all the people he had come to care about in his time to leave Britain to self destruct.
The discrimination and prejudice in the magical society didn't just go away with the fall of Voldemort. The same biased laws were still in place, the same distrust towards werewolves and vampires and other magical beings still there. It had taken several years of further fighting in the shadows and removing problematic people to even start rolling the metaphorical ball of equality.
However, the desire to get away from Britain was vastly overshadowed by the rage growing in his heart. Voldemort was still alive, Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Peter Pettigrew, all the other Death Eaters were still alive, plotting the next chance to harm people.
This was an opportunity that was too good to pass up. He had the chance to annihilate Voldemort, annihilate the Death Eaters, grind the pureblood supremacy into dust, and create a future where his other self wouldn't have to look at the dead bodies of their classmates.
Harry could already feel his magic becoming riled up in response, aching to be unleashed on any of the people that had been the cause of so much misery in his and others lives.
As the conversations, mirroring the ones in his time including fake Moody's remarks about Confunding the goblet, came to an end, the three real champions left the room while staring curiously at him, while the two foreign Headmasters remained.
"Now, Harry Potter." Dumbledore began, the steel in his voice having lessened, "Perhaps you could tell us what happened before you came here."
"I was caught in a cascading magical ritual that was interrupted, powered by two ley lines." He said, as the weariness set into his bones as his adrenaline faded. "There was a time-turner involved also." He added with a frown, the pieces starting to slot together.
Magical rituals were some of the most dangerous feats of magic that could be performed, part of the reason why they were incredibly regulated or outlawed. Magic rituals were nothing like casting a spell, as there were dozens of factors involved; the state of the natural magic around you, the number of people involved, the intent behind it, and any outside influences could drastically affect the outcome. In his case, killing the caster via an extremely concentrated magical projectile that shattered the wardstone resting on two ley lines. That didn't even take into account the Time Turner he saw the other wizard wearing.
Harry was certainly no expert on magical time-travel; he had used Time Turners twice more since leaving Hogwarts and he still wasn't sure exactly how they worked. Dozens of wizards and witches had disappeared while mucking about with time travel, and that was in controlled experiments, to say nothing of the circumstances he had been in.
"And how old are you now?" said Professor McGonagall, her lips pursed as she stared at him.
"I am twenty four. It was the year 2004, but it wasn't anywhere near Halloween. And I was in Greece at the time of my ah...departure."
"What were you doing in Greece that involved a magical ritual?" came from the familiar face of Professor Flitwick, his normally squeaky and cheery voice as serious as it could be.
"I work as a contractor with the ICW." He stated simply, giving no further information.
"And what are your intentions now that you are here? I cannot say if I have ever heard of somebody time-traveling without the use of a Time Turner, and especially not six years into the past in a different world." Dumbledore said, his tone betraying none of his inner thoughts.
"I have no idea." He said honestly. "I don't even know if this world is anything like my own, besides the fact that we also hosted the Triwizard Tournament."
"Until then, you are welcome to stay at Hogwarts. I'm sure there is much for us to discuss about the future." Dumbledore said, his eyes once more flicking to Harry's forehead.
"If possible, could we finish this discussion tomorrow?" Harry offered. "I was not in the most pleasant circumstances before my unfortunate trip."
"Yes of course, and perhaps a visit to Madam Pomphrey is in order."
Harry nodded gratefully, the events of the last few hours had caused no small amount of weariness. While he had avoided any real injuries, he was still grazed by spellfire and shrapnel during the almost two hours of constant magical warfare.
He may be many times more powerful than almost every other wizard, but he did not have eyes in the back of his head. A spell would inevitably slip through his guard somewhere, or he would be caught by the shrapnel of an explosion.
"We can discuss this further in the morning. I'm sure the students are eagerly awaiting the arrival of their champions to celebrate," said Dumbledore, drawing the line of conversation to a close.
Maxine and Karkaroff each left the room, Maxine with remarkable grace for such a large figure, and Karkaroff rather stiffly. The other teachers followed them out as well, each casting lingering gazes on Harry, until only Harry, the Headmaster, the fake Moody, and Severus Snape remained, with the female version of Harry lingering by the door.
"If I may, Mr. Potter" Dumbledore began, "What became of Voldemort in your time?"
"Voldemort was defeated when I was a baby, I imagine in a similar fashion to how he was defeated here. Harry said, one hand reaching up to trace the faded line of his scar. "He returned publicly at the end of my fifth year when he was caught attempting to break into the Department of Mysteries." Harry finished, making sure to not glance towards Fake Moody.
"And judging by your presence here, he was defeated somehow?"
"He was hit by a lucky Killing Curse at the end of my seventh year, when he attacked Hogwarts." responded Harry. "After that, he was never seen again."
"Do you have any idea how he returned?" Dumbledore pressed, his normally cheerful eyes laced with deadly seriousness.
"I have no idea." He said honestly. "Nobody was able to find out how he came back or was alive in the first place after the events in 1981."
Everything he said had been true; the public most certainly did not know how Voldemort survived that fateful night. They didn't know about the magical ritual he performed at the end of Harry's fourth year using his blood to create a new body, and even Harry wasn't even sure how that one worked either.
They definitely didn't know about his Horcruxes, that Voldemort had mutilated his soul and defiled powerful magical artifacts to cling to existence.
Horcruxes, Harry realized, his eyes drawn to Rose Potter's forehead, where her own identical scar was still red and raised from her skin, that once more existed. The cup, the locket, the diadem, the ring, and Nagini the snake which was created at the start of the year. All of these tethers to life existed again.
"This is ridiculous Albus!" Snape burst out as soon as the door closed behind the two headmasters, glaring hatefully at Harry. "You cannot possibly believe this nonsense!"
"Typical arrogant Potter, expecting to come in here and-" was all he managed to say before he was thrown into the wall where he was stuck above the ground, fingers grasping at the invisible hand holding him by the throat.
"Severus, Severus, Severus." Harry tutted, an empty smile on his face, one hand outstretched in a grabbing motion. "You should watch your tongue, lest something happens to it."
Initially after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had formed a profound respect for Severus Snape when he unraveled the layers behind his character, being a spy for Dumbledore, his love for Harry's mother.
That had been promptly wiped away and replaced with contempt and disgust when he discovered how a Death Eater earned the Dark Mark. Torture, rape, murder, all performed in front of the Dark Lord and his inner circle, where they were then granted a Dark Mark.
Severus Snape did not care about muggles or muggleborns, did not care about the innocent lives lost during the war. He participated in several raids before turning over the prophecy, and only turned spy for Dumbledore after learning it involved Lily Potter, and that he would be kept out of Azkaban.
Snape cared only about himself, and Harry's mother Lily Potter. Even then it was a twisted love, seething with jealousy and rage as she became closer with his father before their marriage.
"You've gotten far too used to bullying school children, Death Eater." said Harry, watching as Snape grasped feebly for his wand. "I will say this one time, and one time only."
"I despise you. I would gladly throw you in prison to rot for the rest of your miserable life. You are a shallow, petty, despicable human being, and I wouldn't even lift my wand if you were cursed in front of me. You will keep your mouth shut, and stay away. If you raise your wand to me, I will end you."
Harry said all this with deadly seriousness, and truly meant all of it. Whatever innocence he had was long wiped away by the cruelty of mankind. He had seen far too many innocent people, magical and non magical, be killed over pointless reasons or purely for human cruelty to retain his naivety.
Making eye contact with Snape, whose legs still thrashed while he was suspended in the air, he felt the feeling of a legilimency probe knocking at his mind. Rather than tightening his mental shields to rebuff, he metaphorically grabbed it and sank it into his memories.
A bright green flash, his mother's pleading voice and scream, the nerve frying agony of the Cruciatus curse from Voldemort's wand, Snape himself bleeding from the wound on his neck. All memories that he thrust into Snape's mind, who began screaming in agony.
"Mr. Potter that is enough!" boomed Dumbledore, his own Elder Wand drawn in his hand, his magic rising to blanket the room.
Harry made eye contact with the headmaster, daring him to attempt to read his mind, his own magic battling for dominance in the room, before releasing Snape from the wall, who immediately began gasping for air.
Harry could see Rose standing in the corner, emerald eyes wide with fear and shock as she watched the events in front of him.
Harry felt a twinge of guilt in his chest. He had only been in the world for about thirty minutes, and he was already causing havoc. His younger self was far too innocent to be exposed to the horrors of war like he had been at the end of this fourth year.
"If that is all Headmaster," Harry ground out, regaining control of his emotion. "It has been a trying day, and I could use some rest. Any further discussion can wait for the morning." And he meant it; every part of his body hurt in some way, and he was just about ready to fall asleep on his feet.
Dumbledore continued staring at him for a few seconds, blue eyes relentlessly gazing into his, before he nodded. "Very well. I will have a house elf prepare you a room on the fifth floor. Breakfast will be brought to you, and we will have a further discussion then." His tone left no room for argument.
Recognizing the futility of arguing, Harry agreed. "I would like Rose to be present, so we may compare memories."
"Uh, sure!" Rose squeaked out, ducking her head as both Harry and Dumbledore turned to her.
Harry frowned, trying to remember if he had been that timid when he was in his fourth year, before dismissing the train of thought. He had no idea if he was stuck in this timeline permanently, but until he left he had every intention of making life for his other self and the people he cared about better.
"Then we shall meet in the morning. I believe we have kept Ms. Potter from her housemates for far too long." Dumbledore said, in an attempt that Harry recognized to relieve the tense atmosphere in the room. "I'm sure the Gryffindor tower is ready to burst at the seams."
Rose quickly left the room with a whispered goodbye, staring over her shoulder at Harry, her green eyes mixed with a variety of emotions.
"I'll be leaving as well, Albus." Moody announced. "I'll take a look at the goblet, see if I can find anything from it." His magical eye spinning as he spoke, before turning and leaving, wooden leg clunking as he left the room.
Harry would have to remove fake Moody tomorrow, the next day at the very latest. Real Moody wouldn't be too hurt from his imprisonment in his magical trunk, far less than the months he had been trapped there in his timeline.
Snape stared with eyes filled with loathing and hatred at Harry as he left the room, his black cloak swirling around him.
"Now, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore said, his hands clasped together on the desk in front of him. "You certainly left out a great deal earlier."
"I did," he admitted shamelessly. "But for good reason. Voldemort actually returns at the end of this year, and I know completely how he survived, and plan on preventing it from happening again."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed over his half-moon spectacles. "And you believe you can beat him?"
"One hundred percent." Harry said without hesitation. "But it will have to wait until the end of the year. If this timeline is the same as mine, he should be occupying a small homunculus body in the Riddle manor in Little Hangleton. I need him to gain a proper body so I can kill him, otherwise his soul will become a wraith again."
Harry meant every word; he completely believed he could kill Voldemort. While he was extremely magically powerful, equal to Harry himself, Voldemort was little more than a rabid dog with a wand. His dueling strategy consisted of throwing as many powerful curses as he could and overwhelming enemies with his unrivaled power, with a small amount of transfiguration mixed in.
"You know how he survived." Dumbledore stated, leaving no room for debate.
If you mean I know that he created Horcruxes, plural, by mutilating his own soul, then yes I know how he survived." Harry said dismissively. "But if everything goes right, then I will have those taken care of in the next few months, before killing the old snake-face himself." Harry took some delight in the slack-jawed look that Dumbledore was sporting.
By fracturing his soul so many times, Voldemort had thrown away his sanity and very being in pursuit of immortality. The soul was simply not meant to be torn apart like he had. It was a miracle that Voldemort could even speak and had self awareness, Harry had seen other wizards lose their entire sense of self by messing with soul magic.
"I also know about the prophecy." Harry added as an afterthought, watching as Dumbledore clasped his hands so tightly the knuckles turned white.
"Then surely you must know that Voldemort would take measures to guard his soul once he learns of your arrival from your time."
"I'm not worried about that." Harry said, shaking his head. "Voldemort will hear what he wants to hear; nobody knows how he survived, and he was defeated again through chance. He won't consider that anyone could have found his horcruxes, and that he was only defeated by a lucky curse."
"But like I said Albus," he said, stretching from his seat as his back popped. "This can wait for the morning."
"Very well then." Dumbledore acquiesced. "Teeny!"
A muffled pop signaled the arrival of a house-elf wearing a simple white toga embroidered with the Hogwarts logo. "Headmaster be calling Teeny?"
"Please take Mr. Potter to his room on the fifth floor."
Teeny nodded vigorously, long ears flapping against the side of his head, before taking Harry's hand. One quiet pop, and Harry found himself standing in front of a door on the fifth floor, where Harry recognized was close by the Prefect bathroom.
Entering, Harry barely looked around the comfortably furnished living room, making his way straight into a spacious bathroom, stripping his gear and armor off before stepping into the shower.
One gloriously hot shower later, after the accumulated blood and dirt had been washed away, he collapsed onto the almost sinfully comfy bed. He could feel soreness in every limb, and a few flicks of his wand conjured bandages that could cover the few exposed cuts and scrapes.
Settling in under the sheets, exhaustion in every part of his body, Harry put the events of the last three hours out of his head. He could think of the future in the morning.
"So," a serpentine voice hissed out. "Another Potter has appeared, claiming I was defeated."
"Yes, my lord." A floating head said, suspended in green fire, eyes cast towards the floor. "He said that you returned almost two years from now, and nobody knows how you returned. He said you were struck by a lucky killing curse."
"Very good Barty." Voldemort mused from his place on the armchair, his temporary magical body swaddled in blankets, turning over what he had been told in his head.
So this other Potter claimed he was beaten, struck down by a stray curse, and nobody knew how he survived? It seemed that nobody had discovered how far the great Lord Voldemort had traveled down the path of magic.
"One more thing my lord." Barty Crouch Jr. said, tone wavering with nervousness. "He bore the same scar that the Girl-Who-Lived did."
Voldemort hummed aimlessly, his small fingers slowly twirling his wand. A male version of Rose Potter, the cause of his downfall on that fateful Halloween, and an adult no less?
"Keep an eye on this other Potter, but do not antagonize him. Find out as much as you can. If he is magically powerful, he could be used to make my return even greater."
"The Girl-Who-Lived, and the Boy-Who-Lived, both dead at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Their death shall mark my rise once more." Voldemort hissed out, red eyes shining malevolently.
"Of course, my lord." Crouch said, his tone filled with reverence, fanaticism shining in his eyes. "I must go now my lord, lest Dumbledore become suspicious."
"Follow the plan, Barty, and you will be rewarded far behind your wildest dreams. Lord Voldemort rewards the loyalty of those who follow him. Now return to Hogwarts."
"At once my lord". The floating head said, before disappearing from the flames.
"Wormtail! Bring me my potion!"