He was exhausted. His foe was exhausted. They both knew the other was exhausted. The two simultaneously lowered their wands.
"Wanna go grab a bite?"
"...I could do with something to eat, yes."
And so, Harry Potter and the Dark Lord Voldemort wandered over to the nearest McDonalds.
It was surreal. Here he was, sipping on a medium vanilla milkshake, while the one who killed his parents- and just about everyone he'd ever known and loved- was munching on some fries across from him. Harry's straw began slurping loudly, and he sighed in relief, setting down his empty cup and returning to his half-eaten Big Mac.
This was his life now. Fighting a one-man war against a one-man army. The Light had been the first side to be completely killed off, almost three years ago. The last to go had been Neville Longbottom, surprisingly. Then again, it made sense, in a twisted sort of way. Harry had rarely hung out with Neville when they were younger, while Hermione and Ron were basically attached to him at the hip. It was only natural that his best friends were among the first to die. They were skilled, yes, but not as skilled as him, and when there were dozens upon hundreds of foes baring down upon them, only the best could survive.
Harry had become the best.
It was by no means an easy feat. With Hermione gone, Harry had to research ways to make himself stronger alone. A few people tried to help, but his single-minded obsession with revenge had mostly scared them off. Not that Harry could blame them. He'd been a mess after Ginny's death, and all he could think of was ways to make Tom pay. He looked to rituals. He turned to blood magic. Divination, the art of gathering information (not just limited to prophecies) made his head spin. Necromancy made him sick to his stomach. Light, Dark, Grey- classification didn't matter so long as Harry thought it would be useful.
And most of it was useful. Last year, seven after the war had begun, the final Death Eater had been blown to pieces. It was Wormtail, much to his confusion. Harry thought the cowardly rat would've long since fled for the Muggle world, but during one of their lunch breaks, Tom had revealed that the silver hand he'd granted Pettigrew after his resurrection ritual had seized control of his body, forcing it to continue fighting for the Dark Lord even when all the original owner wanted to do was crawl into the sewers. Harry had gotten a good laugh out of that one. It was fitting, for the traitor to be betrayed by his own body. Of course, then he'd been reminded of his parents' death. The resulting fight blew up the Burger King, killing a handful of Muggles, and leaving both wizards with wounds to lick.
These days, though, even remembering the gruesome way in which each of his friends were murdered couldn't do much more than rouse a bit of indignation in Harry's broken heart. He was tired. He didn't want to fight anymore, and neither did Tom. It was only habit that they continued this farce of a war, both men too stubborn, too prideful, to give up.
"Happy birthday, by the way," Tom said suddenly. "It was last week, wasn't it?"
Harry blinked. "Uh… I think? It's August already?" The months tended to blur together when you did nothing except wonder when you would next have to fight for your life.
Tom shrugged. "Perhaps. I've gotten you a present, of sorts." Harry sent him a flat look, and the Dark Lord rolled his red eyes. "No, it's not your death. Even I'm not that cliché," he said, sounding slightly offended. When Harry still didn't look convinced, Tom sighed. "I've devised a ritual, of sorts. I think you'll like this one- it can send a person back in time. Or to another dimension similar to their own. I'm not quite sure."
Harry sent his nemesis a disbelieving look. "Bullshite," he claimed.
"No, it's true," Tom insisted, setting aside his fries and sitting straight, which made Harry straighten up as well. The Dark Lord seriously liked his fries, so for him to just set them down like that…
"Well, how do you know? Have you tested it?"
"...Not exactly," Tom admitted sheepishly. "Although, I used the temporal magic of a Time Turner as the base, so I'm fairly certain about the time travel bit."
Harry nodded slowly, conceding the point. "Okay, then what about the alternate dimension thing?"
"Ah, that comes from the Mirror of Erised. While the Time Turner manipulates time, obviously, the power of the Mirror will adjust where you end up. I think."
"You know, you're not really doing a very good job of selling this," Harry said blandly.
Tom waved his hand, gesturing for the younger man to shut up. "You try fabricating a ritual that rips through the space-time continuum!"
"No, I'm good."
"Then be silent and let me explain! The Mirror is an incredibly powerful artifact, as you well know. My theory is that its ability to show what you most desire will manipulate what variant of the timeline you end up in. For me, my greatest desire is to rule the Wizarding World, so I will probably end up in a world where I succeeded killing you on that Halloween night. You, on the other hand, will most likely end up in a world where I truly died that Halloween night, thus fulfilling the prophecy, and allowing you to live a mostly peaceful life."
"Mostly?"
"You're a Wizard, not a Muggle," Tom said flatly.
"True," Harry said with a nod. "You're sure this isn't an elaborate plot to kill me once and for all?" he asked, just to be sure. Tom rolled his eyes, then raised his wand straight in the air.
"I swear upon my magic that the ritual I have created does what I said it does- as far as I am aware- and is not, in fact, an elaborate plot to kill Harry James Potter once and for all." A moment later, he cast a silent Lumos, the flare thankfully not blinding Harry due to the runes carved into his glasses that blocked out light above a certain intensity- something he'd picked up from Muggle technology.
"Good enough for me," Harry said with a shrug, crumpling up his burger wrapper and standing. He and Tom disposed of their garbage in the proper bins and calmly exited the restaurant. Just before the door closed, Tom slung a Confringo behind his back. It was only Harry's quick reflexes, enhanced by rituals and sharpened by Quidditch and years of bloody battle, that allowed him to toss up a shield charm to intercept. The curse fizzled out against the translucent barrier, and the young man sent the Dark Lord a baleful glare. "Really?" he asked irritatedly.
Tom grinned sheepishly, which was an odd expression on his serpentine face. "Habit," he said apologetically. Harry tilted his head, pondering that. It was true; before today, every single lunch break they had had ended up with the establishment being blown to smithereens. So, to keep up the tradition, he cracked open the door a bit and tossed in a Bombarda Maxima like a grenade, quickly scurrying away with Tom hot on his heels. When the explosions stopped, the two stared at the wreckage for a long moment, before Tom gave Harry a flat look. Harry just grinned.
"Habit."
Everything was finished. The Mirror of Erised sat in the center of an elaborate rune matrix consisting of seven circles, each larger than the last, with the seventh reaching the corners of the sidewalks around the four-way intersection. Thousands of symbols had been engraved into the asphalt, and it took the combined efforts of Harry and Tom to finish in a timely hour. That is, before the six hour mark.
"So, any reason there's specifically seven circles?" Harry asked sarcastically, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. The mental toll of drawing that many runes was starting to catch up to him as he relaxed his Occlumency barriers. Tom narrowed his eyes at the reference to his destroyed Horcruxes.
"No, pure coincidence," the Dark Lord said scathingly, thoroughly unamused. Harry hummed noncommittally.
"Alright. How's this gonna work, then?"
"The setup was the most complicated part," Tom assured him. "We simply stand in front of the Mirror of Erised, stare into it, and focus on the image it shows us. Then, we pour a drop or two of blood onto our modified Time Turners, and wind it back thirteen full rotations. Thankfully, I designed this ritual to be able to sort through multiple people, and send them on their way without interference from each other, so there won't be a need to do this again."
Harry grasped the artifact chained to his neck, fingers tapping anxiously against the glass. "Okay… Okay," he murmured, suddenly nervous. The weight of what he was about to do was finally registering. They were going to perform something that had been proclaimed impossible by every single wizard to have ever lived. Well, desperate times called for desperate measures.
The Boy-Who-Lived planted his feet in front of the Mirror, staring into its familiar, gold-framed glass. His reflection looked younger than his physical body, around the age he'd been when he started Hogwarts. Likely a reference to how he really wanted this time travel thing to work. Behind him stood his mother and father, just like in First Year. Lily had her arms wrapped around her son's neck from behind, while James stood at her side, a hand clasping Mirror-Harry's shoulder. They both wore huge, proud grins. Running around behind them were a few dark forms slightly smaller than Mirror-Harry. Lily and James let go of Harry to corral the shadowy children, only to move back behind him once they'd scooped them up in their arms. Siblings, perhaps? It would make sense- the more he lost, the more he wished he could have. It was quite the paradox, one that had been driving him mad for years. Harry exchanged one final glance with Tom, before Conjuring a needle and pricking his finger. Blood dropped onto the Time Turner, and Harry began winding.
On the thirteenth turn, his gut clenched, and Harry was yanked through what felt like the most violent Portkey in the history of Portkeys.
Harry woke up on what felt like a plush mattress, with a blinding headache. It was only through sheer willpower that he was able to prop himself up on his elbows.
"Bloody fuck," Harry groaned, wanting nothing more than to fall back down and sleep for a week. However, the shriek that pierced his skull forced his eyes open.
"Harry James Potter! Watch your language!"
"...Mum?"
Obligatory Time Travel Fic. Idk how it's gonna go, since this, like most of my other fics, was a spur of the moment kinda thing. However, unlike the others, I have no clue where I want to take this one. No future plans, just something to write whenever my brain juices are rebelling and refusing to work on anything else. A guilty pleasure, a guess.
Basically, don't expect much.
