AN: This story is based on Harry's perspective, with him passing out and waking up several times, this may be a bit disorientating. If Harry is unaware of the location, date, or time, it will not be shown at the beginning of each scene.
AN: I have read several stories, wherein the main character recovers from injuries within moments. I feel like those stories lack consequences. Actions have repercussions, and sometimes need to be reflected in the story. This chapter is of a weaker Harry recovering, it will not be as flashy as the last chapter.
If you enjoy it; please, provide me with feedback.
Chapter 1 - With a Bang!
Chapter 1
Western Scotland
A deafening bang – volcanic in volume - tore through the tranquil Scottish mountains. Birds were knocked from the sky as the explosive wall of air concussed them, trees were broken before it, the very earth was rent open by the blast. Over mountains, hills, plains and seas the noise rushed, as far away as the continent the deafening noise was heard.
In the following decades, different people would postulate as to the cause of the explosion, from the absurdity of aliens, to shifting tectonic plates, to an air-bursting meteor. A thousand theories would be considered for the origin of the noise.
The magical community also had multiple theories to the origin of the explosion. Each of them more preposterous than the last. Including an attack by the goblins, a government mind control weapon experiment gone awry, to the absurdity of the Peverell brothers returning from the dead.
Regardless of the cause, the reality was that Scotland had a new crater form that day, and the only person who knew the actual cause was presently lying passed out near the middle of said crater.
"Gasp" he wheezed violently, as his lungs fought for air.
Bright lights danced before his eyes. His lungs burning, as his hands blindly grasped at his chest. His body shook with each breath; with his lungs struggling to pull air into his body, he felt like he was trying to suck honey through a straw.
His body racked with coughing as he laid in the cool mud.
Before he even finished catching his breath, a triumphant smile split his face, and he raised a fist to the sky,
"I'm alive!" he declared in a hoarse voice between breaths, cracking with weakness into the cool night air.
His fist collapsed back to the muddy ground as he lost the strength to hold it aloft, his body felt like a massive paperweight.
Through heavy eyelids, he started inspecting the area around him for any trace of Voldemort's remains, the act of twisting his head was exhausting. It proved to be a fruitless endeavor, the magical lights which had been scattered throughout the air had been snuffed out. Which was not extremely odd, as catastrophic magical chain reactions which result in massive explosions tend to destroy weak enchantments quite easily.
The combination of the lack of light, fatigue, and his prone position at the bottom of the crater, made it impossible to judge the dimensions of the missing chunk of earth.
Even a cursory inspection of the immediate area was hampered by his exhaustion, and there not being enough light to make out any major details. He attempted to sit up, but the movement caused his vision to swim.
As vertigo overtook him, he collapsed back onto the ground with a wet thump.
Head still swimming, his eyes darted around in a futile attempt to inspect every shadow, for any of them may hide a dark lord, or the corpse of one. His efforts were hampered by his vision going hazy.
He tried to sit up again, only for his muscles to refuse the task.
As he laid in the mud, he asked the night sky "Did I finally win?" But the sky remained beautifully silently.
Exhaustion claimed him.
Western Scotland
He awoke hours later, still laying in the bottom of that crater, still too weak to move. Mud baked onto his skin beneath the harsh Sun.
He attempted and failed to move his fingers. His body sapped of strength, he felt as though he was made of lead. With no other recourse, he considered what the future may hold, a future without killing, war, and death, a future without Voldemort.
He had not dared entertain these fantasies before, not really. They were such foreign thoughts; Teddy would be able to come home again. Walking outside on a sunny day without being constantly on guard.
"We can be a normal family." He said with a reverence, for what other emotion could describe how he felt?
Without the fear of being attacked, or the worry of looking over his shoulder. The novelty of the idea was intoxicating, as he ignored the problem of the foreign armies presently stationed across Great Britain, and how to go about removing them.
His body was exhausted beyond imagining, but his mind was racing with the dreams of what was to come. For the first time in his life, truly living a life. The dreams followed him as he closed his eyes for the briefest of moments.
Western Scotland
As the Sun started approaching the horizon, his eyes fluttered open once again. He could feel that his face had been badly sunburnt from lying out all day. While he lay there getting his bearings, he could feel the skittering of hundreds of tiny legs upon his flesh, slight movements from him sent the bugs crawling atop him flying off in a frenzy.
As his eyes acclimated to seeing, he looked towards the walls of the crater which he now resided within, around him were walls of bare earth, the crater having torn out a jagged swath through the earth.
Attempting to stand was an enterprise that proved most difficult, as he shifted his weight from side to side before being able to rise.
Insects and worms, dirt and debris fell from him as he swayed dangerously in the light breeze. Looking towards the ground, he could see that the mud had baked into a hard crust.
Vertigo overcame him, as he collapsed to all fours. He felt weak, as just moving his arm up to wipe off some of the mud that had gotten onto his face proved to be taxing.
Looking up the crater wall, he imagined the world being twisted about himself. And with that thought, he apparated to the forest slightly beyond the crater's rim.
Branches snapped beneath him as he collapsed in a heap. Too exhausted to do anything but rest, not even possessing the strength to remove a branch poking into his side.
His mind went back to the addicting dreams of a world without Voldemort, as he closed his eyes once again.
Thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed around Teddy as he ran. Harry tried his best to catch up to the boy.
Through flooded streets and soaked alleyways, he followed the boy. Lightning illuminating his pathway.
He saw the boy duck through a hole in a building. He attempted to follow the boy, but the hole was too small.
With a single motion from his wand, the wall exploded outwards. Rushing through the cloud of dust and splinters leftover from his spell, he saw Teddy cowering against a wall.
"Teddy," Harry panted out, "Why are you running?"
"I'm running from the monster." A terrified Teddy whispered.
Harry was on guard, scanning his surroundings for any threat. After a moment, he turned to the boy and said, "There are no monsters here, Teddy."
Teddy tried to push himself further into the corner he was cowering in, "You're here." He whispered in terror.
Western Scotland
The next time he awoke was to the Sun being shaded by the branches of the forest high above him. He felt like it was midafternoon, as waking up in the morning tended to feel horrible in a different way.
The fatigue which had consumed him for the last several days was diminished, at least slightly. Even now, he could feel disconnected from his magic, a result of exhausting himself too thoroughly. Extreme hunger and thirst were sapping his strength as well.
He cursed as he realized that he would be unable to disapparate until he got his strength back.
Testing his strength, he got to his feet.
Already he could feel his legs failing, as the protested the task of just holding him up. He glanced around for a tree to support his weight before stumbling into it and grasping on for dear life.
Between the trees, he could make out an odd brown stripe that crossed the countryside. It took a moment to realize that the brown stripe was a massive crater in the landscape.
He stood transfixed at the sight of the crater which had torn a deep gash through the Scottish countryside. This explosion had not caused a circular crater, rather it was a jagged line that ran for as far as he could see before disappearing behind a hill.
For the first time, he noticed that the forest he found himself in was destroyed, most of the trees had been toppled over, while a few resistant few stood defiant, but alone.
Surveying as much of the immediate fields and forest as possible through the trees, Harry was unable to see any evidence of the camp that had once populated the now nonexistent meadow. No signs of the massive barrier Voldemort had erected at the beginning of their battle. No indications that a single combatant had survived the cataclysmic misfired spell.
A massive section of mud along the crater wall collapsed into the lower depths of the crater with a meaty thump. Harry paused for a moment, trying to determine if it was possible for every sign of the combatants to have been consumed by the gaping maw in the landscape, and then covered by the unstable walls.
A dark idea passed through his mind,
"What if Voldemort had also survived?" he asked himself, his voice filled with fear.
Without pausing to consider the alternatives, he realized that he had to ensure that Voldemort was truly defeated, and to do that he needed Death Eaters, someone with a mark, like the Malfoys, Addingtons or Everleighs. He would make someone talk. If the snake were still alive, he would track it back to whatever den it had slithered into and kill it while it was still injured.
For now, he was too weak to defend himself, let alone attack someone else. Recuperating would have to be prioritized prior to any attempts at breaking into one of their strongholds. With that important decision made, he concluded that since he couldn't move anymore, sleeping was the best option. Although, his body could have made that decision without his input.
Western Scotland
He was awoken by voices approaching him through the woods.
"Isn't this exciting dear?" a masculine voice asked excitedly, "Just think of the adventure."
"Oh yes, trudging through the woods after we rode an hour, this was how I planned to spend the day." An annoyed feminine voice responded.
The forest was silent for several heartbeats as the pair made their way forward, "Whatever you made smells positively divine." The masculine voice stated, perhaps trying to distract his companion from her obvious annoyance.
"I hope so, I spent all morning working on it." The feminine voice sounded pleased, if Harry had to guess, he would think that she was blushing.
Someone inhaled deeply through their nose.
"What did you make?" the masculine voice asked. Followed by several snorting oinks.
"Honestly Paul, you can be such a piggy." The feminine voice scolded.
"I can't help it!" He defended himself, "You're a wizard when it comes to anything baked, poached, or fried. Just yesterday I was telling Gerald what an excellent apple crisp you made. He was quite jealous that Julia is completely unsuited to even set foot in a kitchen."
"Julia is a lush." The feminine voice stated angrily, "It was her family fortune, not her drunken smile that caught Gerald's eye."
"You truly can't stand the woman, can you?" Paul asked with a smile as he riled up the feminine voice.
"Woman?" The feminine voice asked in a low growl.
"What woman? Julia is a derange harpy. If she…" The feminine voice trailed off suddenly.
Harry's breath caught, as he wondered if they had detected him. He had been confused by their discussion, patrolling soldiers were often trained to make as little noise as possible, were they a distraction?
After a short while, Paul spoke
"What do you think caused this… rift?" Paul asked, his voice filled with awe.
After several moments, the feminine voice replied in wonderment, "Not even going to hazard a guess, some scientist will come up with some barmy theory, then another scientist will come up with another, and another. Not even worth guessing."
There was a pause, Harry tried to hobble towards them slightly without making too much noise but froze once they started speaking again.
"Doc' said that Nan will be passing soon. It's in her bones, they're sick."
For a moment, Harry could hear nothing coming from the pair behind the trees.
"Do… do you think she'd like to see this? I doubt we'll ever see anything like this again." Paul asked quietly, almost quietly enough that the wind drowned it out.
"I'm not even sure where to begin looking, I know your Nan would love to visit, she's always been fascinated by a good mystery, but you'll have to drive the carriage a bit further up. Her legs wouldn't handle the hike very well." The feminine voice said
"Muggles" Harry guessed as they talked about a carriage.
'I'd better see what's happening.' He thought to himself.
With more difficultly than he would have liked, and a pronounced hobble, he started moving towards them once again. He could see them standing in a meadow which looked out upon the crater. By the time he got to the tree line, the couple had eaten from the picnic basket and gotten up again.
From Harry's vantage point, he could see the crater in all of its glory, it was breathtaking. With depths of more than forty meters at points, and with long jagged lines that dug through the countryside the crater seemed like a loch with the water drained from it.
All around the lip he could see people moving about. Apparently, the destruction he had caused was quite the attraction. As he saw other people having picnics around it, he wondered why no one had tried to help him the day before, surely someone had noticed his body lying in the middle of the crater?
As the wind shifted, he could smell the most divine scent of roast chicken on the wind. Paul had not been exaggerating when he spoke about the food in the picnic basket.
With a pronounced "Growl." His stomach informed him that he would need to eat soon. And without magic, his options were limited. Late spring was not the best time to acquire food from a woodland. Without magic, while weakened. The affair would be nearly impossible.
If he could reach a town, getting food without money was a nonexistent possibility, a ragged looking man like him, they would ask for money first, which he did not have.
"Begging again." He said with disgust. 'The last time I had to beg for food I was living with the Dursleys.' He recalled with a faint grimace. The first time he begged was when he had been locked out of the house during one of their extended stays at Marge's. He still had the scars from when they found out that he had been begging.
The memory of scars made him look down at his arms. With a minor shock he noted that his glamour charms had been dispelled. He was so used to having them on, that he could not remember the last time he had seen his bare arms.
Inspecting a silver band on one of his fingers, it took a moment to realize that a tiny fractured had split the band, dispelling whatever magic it had once held. Removing the metal band from his hand and placing it into a pocket. His hand grasped blindly through his pocket until he grabbed what he had been looking for. Withdrawing a new band from his pocket, he placed it upon his finger. A feeling radiated outward from the ring, it felt like spreading a cool cream upon his skin. Slowly, his appearance twisted into a new face, a new body. Formed over his own as the glamour charm affected him. [1]
As he thought upon what his next step should be, an immediate concern was getting something to eat. He would need a good deal of food and rest prior to being able to hunt down Voldemort. Time which would allow Voldemort to lick his wounds. He realized disappointedly.
As he pondered what his future actions should be, the wind picked up, carrying with it the smell of roast chicken. An idea formed as he inhaled the divine aroma. All those people picnicking… He'd stolen food before. There was so much food in the world, it was a crime not to share it he had reasoned.
Squatting in the trees he considered his options, "I doubt I'll be able to apparate to for a few days." He muttered as he poked and prodded the dirt with a stick.
"A nearby Death Eater home would be ideal; I'll have to get through the wards without alerting anyone. I need to figure out what happened to Voldemort, to do that… Who would he have run to?" He sat and mulled over his choices as he chewed the inside of his cheek.
The nearby couple who were eating left their picnic basket as they started to descend into the crater. Harry waited several minutes until he was sure that they would not be back for several minutes.
He slowly walked up to the basket; each step was difficult, with him swaying like a reed in the wind.
He arrived before the basket and attempted to pick it up. His arms shook pitifully with the effort, as the basket remained obstinately rooted to the ground.
With limited options and time, he shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth, and pulled out a loaf of bread and the jar of jelly out of it. It took him a lot longer than he would have cared to admit making his way back into the woods with his prizes, his legs protesting the effort every step of the way.
Nearly collapsing onto log the moment he was back in the forest. He gorged himself upon his feast. The chicken having temped him during the walk was wolfed down within seconds.
Lathering up the bread with jelly, he finished off the loaf with barely half the jar of jelly left, drinking the remaining jelly directly from the glass jar. As soon as he polished off his small feast, he laid down next to the log, prior to falling asleep.
Western Scotland
He awoke slowly the next day and stretched the stiffness out of his muscles before he brushed his tattered robes clean from the debris of the forest floor.
The meal from the day before had restored more strength to his body that he thought it would. With a swish of his wand, his robes were patched up.
This trip was going to take a lot longer than normal, with dozens of short jumps of apparition to make it back to his target, but he could not delay by the crater any longer, someone magical was bound to come snooping around soon, most likely Death Eaters, unless Voldemort had specifically forbidden them from the region.
He surveyed the edge of the crater again, there were several families located on the far side, they still appeared to be asleep in the early morning hours. After a moment of observation, a near silent 'crack' resounded from around the canyon, as he disapparated from the spot, and made his way slowly through several short jumps towards the nearest of Addingtons' manors.
Northwestern Scotland.
Harry apparated into a forest on a hill a short distance away from the Addingtons'. Their home was the closest and best protected in the region for Voldemort to flee to.
From where he landed, he could see the stately grey stone manor that dominated the landscape of a northern Scottish hill, even from the distance he was at, he could make out the three story tall marble statues, and the menagerie of animals that the family kept. The manor itself was from an older era, an era where houses needed to provide protection, part manor home, part castle.
Harry carefully approached trough a well-manicured forest, remembering the approach from several years ago through several of the manor's outermost wards. Something felt horribly off as he vaulted over a short fence which separated the trees from a trail which snaked through the wood. He recalled the last time he had come here to scout out possible locations to attack, the wards around the forest had been strong enough to deter an attack from an entire squad, those which protected the actual manor were so strong that they were visible to the naked eye. Now, the wards around the forest were gone, and those around the manor would barely stop two or three wizards for a handful of hours.
'I don't like this.' He thought to himself. There had been no attack upon the manor that he was aware of, with only himself and one other person on their side being aware of the manor. The only other explanation for the weaker wards would be an invitation to attack, a prepared foe lying in wait.
'A trap.' He spat bitterly, as his hands curled into fists.
Hundreds of curses crossed his mind, 'Voldemort had escaped!' sparks of magic danced from his fingertips as anger clouded his mind.
Leaning against a tree, he took several deep breaths as he revaluated his plan. The clear invitation to attack the manor was too obvious, the past had taught him that the only plans that were easy, were plans which were well laid.
A few more calming breaths and he came up with an alternative theory. Perhaps Voldemort had died, and the Addingtons were trying to trap him to get revenge, or information.
If Voldemort had died, it was possible for the Death Eaters to collapse. The foreign groups backing them would resist only for as long as it was convenient. He would need to plan strikes to capitalize upon the victory before the Death Eaters could rally around a new figure.
As he stared into the closed windows of the manor, he realized how exhausted he still was. His mind feeling more sluggish by the moment, as his body resisted his demands.
Weighing his options, he decided that returning to his home was the best option until he had better information about Voldemort's condition. Voldemort's torn off arm and lack of wand would prove to be a boon in the immediate future. Harry would not have the opportunity to rest for more than a day or two if he wanted to capitalize upon Voldemort's injury. Thought the dark lord himself was most likely already hidden too well to be discovered before he recovered.
Thinking back to the interim between the two Purity Wars, When Voldemort had been temporarily defeated, the dark mark had basically disappeared from those who had been marked, it was part of the reason that many of the Death Eaters had not been tracked down.
If Voldemort had been killed permanently, then the mark would disappear from his followers, including the prisoners which Harry's allies presently held.
Harry took a steadying breath as he realized how exhausted he was. The fact that he had not thought of checking the dark mark of captured death eaters immediately definitely indicated that he needed some sleep.
Harry considered returning to his 'allies' before he reconsidered. The battalions from Saxony were opportunistic, if he returned weakened with news that Voldemort was grievously injured, he doubted he would survive long enough to leave. The Novgorod Legion was likewise unlikely to support him if he showed any sign of weakness.
He looked back towards the manor as he saw movement for the first time from an open window, a curtain was moving softly in the breeze. He stared intently at it, waiting to see if the window had been opened by passive magic that enchanted the house, or if someone was in the room.
A few minutes of inspection with no signs of life turned Harry back towards his thoughts, he wondered if he could blame his allies for wanting to kill him. He was strong, with skills bred from being in countless fights and battles. If Voldemort truly was dead, would his allies believe that he was still necessary?
He needed to be careful to avoid a poisoned dagger slipped between his ribs. He was useful only as long as there was a strong enemy to fight against.[2]
Exhaling deeply, he realized that he would have to stop at one of his safe houses for a few days to recover, he could pass along the information that he had wounded Voldemort through there.
Slowly, he made his way from the manor, creeping silently far past the outermost wards.
With a burst of magic and a loud 'crack', he disapparated from the forest which surrounded the manor house, apparating dozens of times in short jumps before he finally stopped in a field located a short distance from his closest safe house.
His paranoia forcing him to once again ensure that no one had followed him, he stopped apparating and moved a few dozen meters away into a concealed position between several large boulders. A few concealment charms later, and he was ready to ambush whoever was tailing him.
In his concealed position, he waited.
As the dew started to fall, he waited.
As another hour passed, he waited.
The Sun creeped above a ridge, and still Harry waited.
Another hour passed, and finally Harry decided through heavy eyelids that no one had followed him, he disapparated once again.
Something felt off as soon as he landed, he hardly recognizes the field which he found himself in. They had once been a series of large fields which ran uninterrupted for kilometers, now he could see fence row after fence row of trees.
He could feel his strength failing him, so he continued his journey back to his safe house, hoping to inform someone of his near victory.
With his final jump, he appeared in the middle of a woodland.
Around him were unfamiliar trees, older and darker than the ones that had surrounded this house several months ago, they taunted him as they danced in an ill wind. The very magic in the air felt foreign and malicious.
He drew his wand slowly as his eyes twisted around in bewilderment and fear.
Several muttered revealing spells showed nothing of his safe house.
Glancing through the sparse trees, he recognized a hilltop less than a short distance away. With another crack of disapparation he landed atop the rise and surveyed the woodland he had just exited in a panic.
"No, no, no!" he whispered to himself, his voice breaking with fear.
The geographic landmarks were still present, the canyon, a stream, an ancient stone wall, but gone was his home of seven years, gone were the signs of any recent manmade habitation. In their place stood trees, shrubs and vines. He cast revealing charms upon the forest, hoping this was all a trick, but nothing he did revealed his home to him.
In desperation, a blasting spell left his wand, sailing silently through the air before splintering a tree with an ear splitting crack. The tree had grown through the middle of where his house should be, and its collapse was unhampered by the structure which should have existed.
In a moment of desperation, he used the last dregs of his strength to disapparate to the closest town he could.
Scottish Isles – Craignure
Craignure was a small village located on the western isles, the last time Harry had been here it had been a quaint, antiquated place which was stuck in the 1950's.
"Am I dreaming?" he asked aloud, his voice cracking with panic.
He glanced around like a man possessed, his movements erratic. The townsfolk noticing him for the first time.
"This can't be real; this has to be a trick." He continued his voice growing louder with emotions that he could not place.
People sitting on their porches were beginning to look at him as if he were crazy.
Today Craignure took a leap back in time. Collapsing to the ground when he saw the buildings, gone were the buildings that seemed made in the 50's. Now everything seemed much older. With stone buildings that seemed to have been constructed in the 1500's dominating the village.
He started sobbing. There, on the sidewalk of Craignure, He passed out once again.
Scottish Isles
Waking up in a prison cell was almost comforting in a manner.
Without being able to go anywhere quickly, he had time to come to grips with the fact that something was wrong.
The couple discussing riding in a carriage around the crater, their historical clothing.
The fact that his safe house had disappeared
The village of Craignure being completely changed.
The prison cell he was in was a dingy wooden room, anyone magical who had captured him would have killed him without bothering to dig for any information.
Well, the Goblins would not have killed him immediately, but since he had not woken up to being tortured, he felt that it was safe to assume they were not responsible for his imprisonment either.
No one would be willing to cast an illusion strong enough to fool him, the magical cost of doing so was just too great. Not when the alternative was simply killing him and not risking him escaping.
Everything pointed to the fact that he was in the past.
Voldemort had attempted to cut him away from time, and he had simply reconnected a few years earlier, he hypothesized.
Being in this prison cell was good, he tried to tell himself. It gave him time to think, and to organize his thoughts.
Though, the slightly rotten smell which permeated the dark room was rather noxious.
He had concluded that Voldemort had arrived in the past with him, that was the only possible explanation for the Addingtons to have weakened their wards, no family would intentionally have weakened the wards surrounding their home unless they were hoping to trap someone. [3]
The Addingtons could prove to be a source of information, but Voldemort was likely monitoring them, if one disappeared then the dark lord would be on edge, likely guessing that someone was onto him perhaps he might even slip away.
So, he attempted to plot as he sat in his prison cell. His plans were rather useless, as he had no targets that he could kill or interrogate, terror campaigns he could commence, locations he could entrap his enemies within, or mercenaries he could hire. Every possible option required information about the world which he did not possess.
There was only one positive point to this entire situation, Voldemort did not know that they had made the trip back in time together. If Voldemort had seen him passed out at the bottom of the crater, he would certainly not have passed up the opportunity to kill him.
Once Voldemort made any large moves, Harry could determine where Voldemort was precisely and target him, the element of surprise would go a long way to ensuring his success.
But letting Voldemort rampage across the country for months or years was not a great solution to drawing the dark lord out of hiding, Voldemort would have killed hundreds of people prior to Harry even becoming aware that Voldemort was operating.
The million-galleon question was, was it possible to eliminate Voldemort before the dark lord started another war?
Voldemort was unlikely to act for a few months until he recovered and became familiar with the political situation that they had found themselves in. After which he would start recruiting agents to infiltrate the government, from there he would gain allies and power until he had enough strength to topple the government.
Which led back to his initial conundrum, how could he find Voldemort prior to him launching an all-out attack?
Kidnapping an Addington would result in Voldemort knowing that someone was hunting him, and the paranoid dark lord was likely to figure out that Harry was the one behind it soon enough.
Approaching the Potters was a terrible idea, he had no idea who they were. Perhaps they would supported Voldemort… Could he bear to know that?
'No,' He thought bittery, he could not afford to put his trust into people he had never met simply because they shared the same blood.
Besides, Voldemort would likely have spies observing the Potters soon.
His best advantage presently was the fact that Voldemort did not know that he was in the past, but that advantage only lasted for as long as he stayed in the shadows. If he interacted with anyone then he would tip his hand.
Stealth was the best card in his hand right now. If he played his hand right, he could kill Voldemort in his sleep.
For now, he would need to limit the amount of magic he used. Any usage of magic could be noted, could be detected, could be reported upon. The foreseeable future entailed him using little to no magic.
With his skills, and the knowledge he had with him, he could act as a scalpel excising the diseased portions of the world to ensure that Voldemort would have a limited number of allies. That option was only available for as long as no one knew he existed.
If Voldemort realized that Harry was in the past with him, it was likely that the dark lord would disappear for a few years, only to launch a surprise attack when he had overwhelming strength.
His long descent into madness was interrupted by a sharp noise.
Clang! Clang! Clang! A baton sounded as the officer slid it along the bars of the door's window.
"You're awake, aren't you?" The officer asked, the man had his brown hair slicked back, his uniform dark.
"Yeah, I've been awake for a while now." Harry responded evenly, not sure of why he was imprisoned.
The officer pulled a chair up to the cell door, the window was low enough that he could still see in as he sat. "You cry all of the whiskey out yet? You were at it for a while." the office asked.
A tremendous lump formed in Harry's throat, the words he uttered barely made it out. "My son died. How would you take that news?" he asked bitterly.
Saying it aloud gave it a note of finality that Harry instantly regretted as he curled into himself.
The police officer took a moment before he answered, "Terribly. I lost my two youngest sons one after another." His voice was weak, fragile.
Harry's head snapped up, words forming and dying on his lips, but the officer continued before Harry could find anything to say.
"It's rough, but you've got to pull through it for the rest of the kids." The officer softened as he responded, his eyes were glazed over as he was lost in a memory.
His response left Harry feeling hollow. Here he was, one of the strongest wizards alive, and the first person relating to him was a muggle.
"He was my only son." His voice cracked; the world turned blurry as the words escaped. "He was the only family I had left. We were so close; I was going to pick him up from school and…" Hot tears started running down his face. in that moment he realized that every plan he had made for after Voldemort included Teddy. There was nothing that he wanted to do if it didn't include Teddy.
He had promised himself that he would be the perfect father, the kind that he never had. Better than Sirius had been to him. Memories of the thousands of promises he had made with his son came back unbidden as Harry once again lost himself inside of his own mind.
The officer sat there for minutes, not really knowing how to respond to the broken man in the cell. "The only reason you're in that cell is because you were drunk." He explained after several moments, "But in light of your reason for being paralytic…. Well, when you're ready to come out, the door's open." [4]
Getting up, he unlocked the door and walked away, giving Harry some privacy to compose himself.
Harry cried on that cot for a long time, barely recalling the last time he had cried. Maybe it had been the night Sirius had died, he thought morbidly.
It took a monumental amount of willpower to get up from the cot and walk out of the cell. He walked through a short dark hallway with several other cells scattered along the way.
He entered a small room lit by windows and oil lamps, the police officer from earlier was seated behind a desk writing something, while two other men were sitting in chairs across from him near a door.
The two men against the wall were animatedly talking about a girl of well-endowed proportions, they continued their conversation until they noticed Harry entering the room. The police officer looked up when their conversation cut off, beckoning Harry over.
Harry spied his effects behind the desk of the officer, focusing upon the desk, he read a name plate embossed onto a copper plate.
"Sheriff Taylor…" He began shakily, "I'm sorry that you were forced to deal with me through the… situation I found myself in." Sheepishly looking away as he spoke.
"Don't dwell on it, lad. Losing family is a terrible thing, especially a child." Taylor said. The other men were kind enough to act as though the newspapers which they had just started reading were so interesting that they weren't eavesdropping on their conversation.
"We have your things here." He patted the small brown bag which contained all of Harry's possession, his cloak was stuffed inside along with, five books, some pouches, a handful of magical items, and a few dozen potions. There were a series of bite marks in the lower portion of the bag.
Harry chuckled, but it was a wet sound, as a memory of Teddy pretending to be a dog when he was a toddler, complete with dog ears and a tail dragging the leather satchel across the living room floor. Perhaps it was the werewolf blood. Regardless, he never outgrew the fun people would poke at him for acting like a dog.
With a snap, his head turned back to the books. There, on the top lay a journal connected to Teddy, a journal with which he could use to communicate with Teddy's journal through any distance.
With a twist of his hand, his wand flew back to his hand. The officer hadn't a moment to register that anything happened before Harry had stunned the three men.
He grabbed the journal from the top of the pile and opened the book to the last page that they had written to each other on.
"Teddy, fought Voldemort. Almost won, snake slipped away. Can you answer me?"
He wrote quickly. His quill hovering above the book as he eagerly awaited a response.
After several minutes, his back started to hurt from being hunched over the book.
The longer he stayed, the more on edge he became, as his senses told him that he had stayed here for far too long. With a final lingering glance towards the book, he packed his things back into his bag and fled.
As the ferry reached deeper waters Harry reflected as he looked over the back of the boat towards the fading town. He sat down on the edge of the ferry, taking off his sock and shoes before dipping his feet into the chilly waters. Gazing into the depths of the Firth of Lorn.
It seemed as if it was the first time in his life where he didn't have any obligations. Nowhere to be, and no one waiting for him. It was beginning to grow on him, he realized with a lazy smile. The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared, as thoughts of his son retuned. The rest of the trip passing by in a slurry of negative emotions.
A thought colder than the firth crept through his thoughts. What if Voldemort had not come to the past with him?
Harry's teeth clenched as he considered the ramifications. There was no guarantee that his actions would affect whatever future Teddy was in, there was a very real possibility that Voldemort still existed in a world without Harry Potter. A world where Teddy was alone, an orphan twice over.
Voldemort had to be in the past, the ramifications were too horrible for anything other to be true.
With his feet numb from the cold waters, he walked off the ferry and into the town of Oban. It had Harry gaping like a fish. Every sight left his mouth wider than a farm boy who had left his home for the first time. He had not been this shocked since he had gone to Diagon Alley. Here he was, in an unknown time, and they had a factory with smoke pouring out of the smokestack!
His memories drifted back to his youth, trapped in a closet under the stairs, listening to the reporter on the TV talk about another factory shutting down. Here, there was groundwork being done as more and more factories were being built.
'When am I?' He wondered to himself. Not really having a good idea to obtain the date. [3]
He forced his mouth shut and chastised himself. They had smokestacks, which meant it was after 1700ish. While he was pondering how to determine when he was, he walked past restaurants, clothing stores, and a myriad of little shops with anything from porcelain plates to tea pots or watches in their windows. Each of the stores had a fine layer of soot upon every outside surface. The black dirt seemed to cling to the town, being present everywhere he looked.
Remembering his lack of funds almost made him laugh. His magic was restored due to the rest and food he had taken over the last few days. With a flick of his wand he could conjure anything that he needed.
Looking about, he noticed the smokestacks of the factories about him. The air itself felt acidic, this foreign feeling was as intoxicating as the day that he had walked through Diagon Alley. He never had a chance to travel, and he was going to enjoy it if he could. Noticing a moving cloud of smoke had Harry confused, what was causing it? Walking towards the mystery, Harry found the answer in the form of train tracks, as the train pulled into the station. Children had been running along the side of the train, trying to jump onto the slowing vehicle. To Harry it was amazing to see children playing without a worry in the world. No war had touched them, no worries of death, he realized.
Gazing upon the oncoming train, he briefly wondered if the Hogwarts Express existed yet, having no idea of when the train had been installed. The steam engine gave a loud whistle as it passed him by and entered the station.
Walking along the platform took him back, back to when he was a child. Alone on a platform between platforms. Enviously watching other children tell their parents goodbye as they boarded a train for an all too distant school. A utopia from a bygone era to him, darker emotions bubbled beneath the calm surface..
He walked out of a shop with two-pound notes in his pocket after he had sold a rather handsome ring to the proprietor, the ring had come from one of his victims, though he hoped the enchantments on it were insignificant enough to attract attention from the ministry. Not knowing how much goods were worth was going to prove a hazard for traversing this world. Unscrupulous individuals would take advantage of his naivety if he didn't learn the value of money soon.
His wallet felt much lighter as he walked across the platform with a ticket, printed in a small font of the ticket read,
To be given up at gate.
Admit Bearer and Luggage to
Passage aboard
White Star Train
To Edinboro
Second Class
Sleeper Car
18th of May 1898
His eyes widened when he read the date. In scheming to defeat Voldemort, he had forgotten that he had traveled through time.
'I… I…" His train of thought was derailed as he tried to process that he truly was in the past. He really was a man out of time. His next thought was that he had been cheated out of that ring, the shopkeeper must be having quite a laugh at the man who had sold it for a song.
Noticing the distinct lack of passengers on the platform, he wondered if it was a positive, less people would mean that he stood out more, but also less of a chance that someone would notice him.
Boarding the train, he noticed that the lack of people extended to passengers. Which provided him with free reign of an entire room to himself.
His room was soot covered to the point that he honestly considered casting cleaning charms just so that he wouldn't mind lying down on the bunk. His paranoia got the better of him as he collapsed onto the bench seat, watching the celling of the car through tiny spirals of soot which he had displaced when he had collapsed. The soot continued its dance as the world passed by through the window.
He soon found himself staring into the journal, hoping beyond hope that Teddy had written back. After a half hour, he remembered that Voldemort may be out there. He scratched his chin as he considered his options.
"If Voldemort is alive. Where would he be?" He asked himself, as he rose up into a sitting position. Thinking hard about it. He pulled out a piece of paper and drew a rough map of Great Britain with several locations of prominent magical cities marked, before marking locations that he knew were considered important by Voldemort.
"He's slippery and smart." He said. "He'll be wary in the beginning, spend a few months getting a feel for the world before starting to make moves. While he's doing that, he'll be collecting information, contacting families that will support him, and disappearing people who would thwart him." His hands drifted over his make shift map as he marked different locations with familial names.
A feeling of dread filled Harry. 'He won't attack openly this time; it'll be a slow advance. A knife in the darkness here, a failed portkey there, some blackmail or threats on the other side….' With a flash of realization, Harry understood that stopping Voldemort would be nearly impossible. He drew dots on the map representing the known supporters of Voldemort from the last war. "I can probably count them out… He's smart enough to avoid any place that I would know, and paranoid enough to avoid them even if he doesn't think that I traveled through time with him. Crazy old snake."
"A rising threat, muggleborns attacking pure-bloods. False-flag attacks from a movement of 'muggleborns'." Harry whispered; it was what he would do if he were Voldemort.
Play up a sense of fear in his potential allies, while demoralizing the muggleborns, making them question why other muggleborns were so evil. If Voldemort played his cards right, the muggleborns would believe that any strict restrictions being placed upon them were warranted due to the false-flag attacks.
The Godwins and Longbottoms were likely targets, as pureblood families that already had control over the government, they stood to gain nothing from a change in the guard. It was part of the reason that they had stood against Voldemort in the wars. Killing them off and using their deaths to further his cause would kill two birds with one stone.
Harry's thoughts left him with a limited number of avenues, each opportunity for himself led to multiple opportunities for Voldemort to learn that he arrived back in the past with him and for a trap to be set for him. Meanwhile, his ability to lay traps was limited to a stealthy campaign until he lost the element of surprise.
Central Scotland (May 18th)
The following day in the train led Harry to another line of thought, who should he interact with? Any interaction with his ancestors could have negative repercussions. He tried to consider every person that he needed to avoid, every mistake that could prevent his friends from being born.
"I don't even know my grandparent's names." He whispered bleakly. Sure, it would not be hard to determine who his grandfather was. But what if his grandfather was not married yet? 'What happens if I marry my grandmother?' Harry thought as disgusting images formed in his head. Without even knowing her first name, influencing events in Great Britain which could result in his grandparents not meeting was a terrible idea.
Sleep claimed him at the end of the second day in the train car, as he contemplated how to outmaneuver his nemesis. How best to launch an attack against a foe that he could not find.
Southern Scotland (May 19th)
As he departed the train with his satchel, he purchased another ticket for the south. His mind was made up that he would cast as little magic as possible until… well, he hadn't figured that part out yet. His paranoia reaching levels that Moody could only dream of.
With another pound spent on this ticket, he boarded a second-class car. This car was better taken care of than the last, though that may have been due to the increased traffic on the train.
For a moment, his thoughts turned to the Gaunts. Killing them was a real goal. Without Merope, Tom would never even be a figment of a dream. His fingers curled harshly around his wand but slackened after a moment as he dismissed that idea. Reasoning that Tom would be keeping an eye on the Gaunts, and they would likely be monitored to the point that any interference with them would be detected. He paused as he wrote "sterilization." At the top of the map, the outright assassination of Merope may be out of the question, but her ability to have Tom may still be a valid target.
Still, he was at an impasse for how to continue. Revealing information to anyone was tricky. Dumbledore was still four decades away from his infamous duel with Grindelwald. He knew that the prior headmaster of Hogwarts had not been the sharpest knife in the drawer; having trusted Riddle that Hagrid was the heir to the Chamber of Secrets, he didn't know enough about anyone else to trust them with the information.
A sobering thought struck him with the force of a lead brick, "If I stay, it's possible that I will change events. This could lead to someone dying naturally… I wouldn't be able to determine that Voldemort was the cause of their deaths…." Harry finalized his decision to leave the country, but where? A country which didn't speak English would be ideal, but then how would he determine if Voldemort was gathering followers?
He argued with himself that actions taken in a non-English speaking country would be less likely to be reported upon in an English speaking one, thus less changes to the timeline would occur in Great Britain.
Sending a letter to Dumbledore… Harry realized that he did not even know if Dumbledore had been born yet. If Dumbledore was in a position where he could stop Voldemort, then he would hopefully do so. But if he was not… Harry had learned early on that he was unable to protect anything of value.
Looking out of the window of the unmoving train, Harry coldly noted that there was only one option left open to him. He had to leave England without interacting with any witches or wizards. Anyone may one day support Voldemort. Harry's greatest asset was the fact that Voldemort was not sure that he survived the trip. If one of the future Death Eaters noted that someone who looked surprisingly like a Potter walked by them, and then reported that to the hidden dark lord, then Harry would be on the back foot. For now, his best course of action was to leave England, and lay low for a year or two.
The first several days had a routine to them. During the day, his eyes were glued to the window, watching the passing greenery. At night, the books he had managed to bring back with him occupied his time. Two of the books were about potions and herbology. Three of the books were written by him. Rather, they were in the process of being written by him. His thoughts on conjuration and animation, each had their own books. He thought they were quite good, better than the books that he had read in school. Though he was not exactly an unbiased party. The final book was different, more personal. The remainder were books he had read cover to cover several times, mostly dealing with different aspects of transfiguration.
A long stop to get refueled ended when the train hissed loudly as it let out a burst of steam. With a dull thunk, each of the cars began to be pulled ahead, leaving the station of Newcastle behind.
Outside the window, beautiful landscapes passed by so quickly that Harry did not have the time to even grasp what he was viewing. A verdant green valley could be completely altered for the briefest of moments by the shadow of a cloud that empherally passed before the Sun. Travel by train amazed him, perhaps he should have been paying more attention on the Hogwarts Express, but each year it seemed as though some extraordinary situation arose that prevented him from paying attention to the little trip from platform 9 and ¾ to Hogwarts. The steady chugging and clanking lulling him into a thought-filled-daze.
He wondered about the future, he recalled warnings about disturbing the past, about figures who erased themselves from existence, but what could he do now that he was in the past? His very existence in the past likely changed things.
The train passed through a tunnel as a darker thought crossed his mind, if he wished to see Teddy again, the only option was to allow history to play out as it originally had. Everyone he had ever loved, could he sacrifice them again just to see Teddy, what was he willing to force others to suffer if it meant that he could be with Teddy?
Harry curled in on himself as he stared at his hands that refused to get clean regardless of how much he washed them,
"All the world's evils." He whispered.
"Click" the handle of the door rotated, and Harry's eyes shot open, his wand grasped in his hand and pointed towards the door. The words to a spell which would obliterate everything on the other side of the door were on his lips. Just as quickly as he had pulled it out, he returned his wand to its holster. The entire event transpired before the door opened to reveal a shorter man, of slight build.
"Is it fine if I sit here?" He asked with a noticeable accent.
Harry motioned towards the opposing bench. "By all means." Harry replied.
He tried to unobtrusively reach into his bag to withdraw a book, suddenly feeling out of place by just staring out the window.
Without another word, the man put his bags onto the rack above his head and pulled a newspaper out of his case. And just like that, their trip began once again. Every so often Harry would glance over towards the paper, it was written in another language, German, perhaps. The pictures of the pages would pique his interest as the man looked through his paper, but it took Harry awhile to disturb the man.
"Excuse me." Harry spoke up, "Would you mind telling me what the paper says?"
The man looked at Harry for several moments, with an odd look on his face. He reminded Harry of Luna for a second.
"It's talks about small things, back home in Pest." The man said tersely before returning to his paper.
After a minute of the man not adding anything else, Harry spoke again "Perhaps I started this conversation on the wrong foot. Harry Potter." He introduced himself. And stuck out his hand. He realized that he shouldn't have used his real name, but it was too late to change what he said, and killing the man seemed excessive.
The man stared at him appraisingly for a moment before he took Harry's hand. "Lukas Burus." The man replied gruffly.
Perhaps he just felt like annoying the man, but Harry was not going to stop trying to drag a conversation out of him.
"I've never heard of Pest before, where is it?" Harry asked.
The man looked at Harry incredulously, "What did they teach you in school? Pest is capitol of Magyar." His accent becoming more pronounced in his annoyance.
Harry began to get concerned, there was no way a country named Magyar existed back in his world. Did Voldemort's ritual do more than send him through time? He thought as his heart spiked with panic.
"Magyar?" Harry asked.
"Yes, Magyar." Lukas answered tersely.
Realizing that Harry was completely unsure of what he was talking about, he added "Magyar is part of the Habsburg Empire."
A cold chill went up Harry's spine. 'There's a Habsburg Empire?'
What did that even mean, had the past changed?
"Habsburg Empire speaks Deutsch, in the empire you learn to speak and read Deutsch. It is the common tongue there." [6]
It took Harry a moment to understand the accented man. "Ok. Sorry, I didn't pay too close attention in school." Harry responded.
The statement confused him more, he was sure there was no such place as the Habsburg Empire, and no language called Deutsch.
Perhaps Hogwarts should have had a history class about non-magical subjects too. 'Nope, the board of governors would never go for non-magical history, would they? They do have Muggle Studies though.' He pondered.
Harry was bothered though, the existence of an empire that he had never heard of was a major issue. If the world was completely different than his own, his knowledge of the past would be completely useless, he could still determine if someone was acting behind the scenes with assassinations, but if Voldemort made minor changes, he doubted his ability to gauge that and counteract them.
Without knowing too much about the history of his own world besides the World Wars, he knew that he wouldn't be able to compare memories of his world to this new one. 'I won't know what else has changed….' He thought bleakly. Many of the scraps of knowledge that he had would be worthless if there were even slight change.
The man seemed to take pity on Harry. And got up to sit next to Harry. "Move, I show you paper."
"You see." He said, pointing to an article. "Every year, Magyar makes new trains, better than last year. And this causes huge problem, older trains run on different size tracks. Trains can only travel on those tracks. So, Magyar train companies got together, and sent scouts out to many countries, looking for best size to use. That is why I am here." Lukas started to remind Harry of Hermione much more than Luna.
"Why is the size such an issue?" Harry asked. At this point it seemed polite to indulge the man.
"The wider the train, the more stable, but more cost. The narrower track means less weight, less stability, but smore speed. We must make a choice. But which is question. Your country use one size, Prussians another, and French another, we look at which rides best, with sharp turns, and which uses least fuel."
And among the familiar click clacking of the tracks, a little man who loved trains became friends with one of the strongest wizards on the planet.
London (May 22nd)
The days passed in a blur as they traveled to London, Harry was beginning to feel more and more like Mr. Weasley, constantly asking questions of Mr. Burus about odds and ends of trains and their workings.
Harry had seen a map of Europe at one point, most of the countries were where they should be, but the 'Habsburg Empire' existed southeast of Germany. For the life of him, he could not recall if he had ever heard of it before.
Lukas turned towards Harry as the train began to slow, a look of… well, it wasn't sadness, but Harry couldn't think of what other emotion it could be, "This is where you stop, no?"
The air becoming thicker with smoke as the train entered the station.
"Yes, I have business that needs taken care of. Need to find a job to keep me off the streets." Harry joked with an easy grin.
With a joking smile Lukas replied, "Is that not what sidewalks are for?"
Harry laughed before Lukas added, "When your business is done, if you can't find job. You come to Magyar, you get job for me making trains?"
Harry was shocked. He thought he had been annoying Lukas with all his questions for the last several days. As he readied himself to leave the compartment, he turned towards the older man.
"Thank you, Lukas. If I can't find a job, I'll make sure I come work with you." Harry knew he was lying, even if he couldn't find a job, his plans didn't involve him doing anything peaceful, let alone working for a muggle train company.
"You mishear, not work with me, work for me." Lukas replied with a laugh.
Harry shook hands with the man as they parted ways Lukas back to Magyar, and Harry to an unknown future.
His immediate plan was questionable at best, determining if Diagon Alley exists. A task made harder by the fact that he could not physically approach it without potentially being spotted, and not being able to use magic because he was paranoid beyond belief. He considered disguising himself and going to Diagon Alley, but that idea was quickly scuppered. He was not sure if there would be any non-humans in the alley, races that could not be fooled by a simple disguise.
Which left him with determining where it was from a distance and trying to see if people in outlandish clothing entered or exited the building.
Everything led back to his influence on the timeline having far reaching ramifications. Perhaps leaving Britain was the only rational choice…
As he walked the streets of London, he quickly realized that he had a more pressing problem, he had no idea where the entrances were to anything remotely magical. The Blitz in the 1940's had changed vast swaths of the cityscape, that was without considering the one-hundred years which had passed between 'now' and the 'present'.
Streets had been renamed, landmarks would be built and torn down between now and when he was born, buildings which had been destroyed still existed. London was quite figuratively a different city to the one he had known. The façade of the Leaky Cauldron was relatively new, without that entrance, Harry's only options were entrances which had been built into buildings which would not be constructed until after the Second World War.
Perhaps he could walk up to someone and ask, "Excuse me, could you point me towards the imaginary building that people keep disappearing into. Thank you kindly!' he thought.
"If all else fails, look for the crazies." He told himself knowingly. A voice in the back of his head asking him if he was the crazy one, why was he even looking for the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron?
London (May 25th)
At quarter to ten in the morning, he did what any proper British lad would do and sat down at a café for tea. The quaint shop was located at a corner of a busy intersection of three roads. He was pleasantly surprised by the cup of tea the waiter had given to him; it was perhaps the most unique flavor he'd ever experienced.
'Maybe it's the lead in the cup.' He thought jokingly, but this tea was superb, and no amount of joking would change that. Not good enough to warrant spending several days sitting here looking for any sign of anything magical, but maybe an afternoon would suffice.
He had considered surveillance and detection spells, but the remote possibility that he would be detected caused him to hold off.
He purchased a paper from a young boy covered in soot, and with one eye on the road keeping a look out for individuals in robes, he began to read.
Germany Begins Naval Arms Race!
The Kaiser announced that the German Kaiserliche Marine would pursue a policy of Naval Parity with the Royal Navy. The Admiralty of the Navy requested funds from The House of Commons to increase the number of dreadnought class vessels to maintain the balance of power presently held by the Royal Navy. The House of Commons agreed to this request, stating that the funds will be redistributed from funds destined for schools in the southwest to fund the naval arms buildup and further research into naval armaments for as long as the German navy continues to construct ships. Story Continued (Page 4.)
Spanish Civil Unrest Worsens.
The state of civil unrest which has been the status quo on the Iberian peninsula has continued to worsen, with more disappearances continuing.
Man Kills 3!
A miner in Tairgwaith, South Wales killed himself a foreman and two coworkers over a dispute in pay. The miner followed through on a threat made a week prior that he would kill his foreman if said foreman did not provide him with a raise. The owners of Newbottle Colliery have stated that this act will not decrease the output of the mine. (Page 2.)
It was disheartening to read a paper over one hundred years old that read the same way as modern papers.
Harry spent the remainder of the morning watching the street for passing witches and wizards without luck. Something was bugging him, he realized that he had no reason to be sitting here, no reason to be trying to find his way into Diagon Alley. So why was he lingering?
He put down the paper and stared into the smog filled sky. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that he was afraid of leaving. Afraid that if he ran away now, he may never come back.
His entire identity was wrapped up in the war, who was he going to be if he abandoned that?
He sat for a while in the café, looking towards the heavens in the hope that anything could direct him. That he could see a particular course of action which did not involve him turning tail and running.
As he ate a small lunch at the café, he stared at the map of the world on the newspaper, hoping that anything stuck out enough to tell him where he should go, or if he should stay.
Eventual he resigned himself to putting off the decision for another day.
Folding the paper up, he decided to head back to the hotel room he was renting. The streets of London passed slowly beneath his feet, each step he considered a wasted step towards an actual goal.
About a block from the hotel, he snapped open the paper to the article about Spain, he recalled 5000 Spanish soldiers arriving in the nick of time to strengthen the defenses of Voldemort's forces when they had been days away from collapse, could he get revenge for an offense which had not occurred yet?
Looking at the map, he saw a peninsula off the southern coast of the Iberian Peninsula, marked with a British flag, beneath which the words "Gibraltar pene-exclave." written in black ink.
He knew that the British Ministry also had a presence in Gibraltar alongside their muggle counterparts, which meant that they had a staff of aurors, alongside a few hundred support personnel.
A wicked smile split his face as he conceived the dastardliest plan to accomplish his goal. The stones beneath his feet crunched slightly as he turned sharply on his toes, making his way to the port as he continued his crusade.
Spain, he was off to Spain. The country offered him a location with few individuals likely to report back to Voldemort, it offered him a location where he could obtain information about the British Isles from aurors without compromising himself. It offered him a safe base of operations.
Journal Entry 1.
Aunt Fleur gave me this journal today. If I want it to, I can write messages into it that appear in dad's journal, and he can write messages in his that appear in mine. Aunt Fleur still wants me to use this as a journal, only the stuff written on the last page will be sent to dad, anything else written in the book is just like a normal journal. She told me that I should write down what I think and feel. She says it will help me.
So, here goes. I haven't seen Dad in a few days, he got into another argument with Aunt Fleur, lots of screaming and shouting.
I guess I should write what came first. A few days ago, Uncle Jordan took us (The nephews) out to a muggle town to scout around, he told us it was mostly to get us out of the house.
We were attacked.
Everything was…
The next words were crossed out as he attempted to write again.
There was fire, and then…
I froze, Uncle Jordan died, and I froze.
I should have protected him.
I should have done something.
Dad has been training me for years, and I failed…
AN: In case you are concerned that Harry is basing Voldemort's existence upon one manor not having wards being tenuous at best, you are right to be concerned. Please try to see it through Harry's perspective, he has been fighting a guerilla war for over a decade, he has never had a "normal" life, having lived in a warzone for a large portion of his life. From his perspective, Moody's paranoia is not only justified, but is not extreme enough. On top of that, he is exhausted.
The Addingtons' manor most likely did not have strong wards because the world is relatively peaceful compared to the world of the future.
AN: There are several other moments scattered throughout the chapter where Harry is less than coherent in his reasoning. This is partially purposeful, he is stressed out, and exhausted. Mostly it is just a failure on my part to relay how Harry feels, how he acts, and why he is acting the way he does. Harry is still somewhat thoughtless at times, it is in his character to act that way.
The war in Vietnam, the War of Japanese Aggression, or the Spanish Civil War of the 1930's would be similar to how I imagine the war in this world occurring. The two sides fight each other, while foreign powers contribute manpower, equipment, and resources to a side which they believe will benefit them after the war has concluded. An important note, (Assuming that Harry's side are the 'good guys') not all "good" countries would support Harry. They would support the side which they believe would most benefit them. Some "bad" countries would support Harry, because their political opponents are supporting the "bad guys", politics makes strange bedfellows.
AN: So, a friend of mine passed away recently, he was an elderly gentleman who loved train travel. He had ridden on every passenger line in Canada, Great Britain, and the United States of America.
[1] Scars: I'm not trying to make him edge-y. It's a plot point that surfaces later.
[2] This has happened in real life multiple times. Once the war is close to won, the 'allies' of the victor will occasionally try to kill the leader of the country to ensure that it stays weakened/in disarray. They never cared about the country, only about 'beating' their enemies in a proxy war.
[3] This moment is meant to humanize Harry. Harry assumed that Voldemort survived prior to realizing that he had traveled through time, that assumption continued when he learned that he was in the past. This lapse in judgement is a mistake on his part.
[4] Paralytic means drunk, this term was used in the 1850s. I looked this up, only to realized that 'drunk' has been used since the 1300s… Why did I even bother?
[5] So, A LOT of authors use the 'tempus' charm to instantly tell the time and date. The common time traveler trope is the good ol' newspaper snatched from a trash can. These are boring ways of relaying the date. I liked the train ticket, as people would seldom think to look at one, and a ticket would have a date written on it.
[6] The Habsburg empire was Austria Hungary. Inside of the empire, it was referred to as the Habsburg Empire by various groups. I thought that this was a good way of making Harry question whether he was in the past or not, this will be built upon in future chapters. Harry will think that he is in the past, but the idea that he may be in an AU will eventually rear its head, his actions and misinformation present in most schools of the 20th century will convince him of that. For example, the last of the American-Indian 'wars' occurred between 1898-1924. There were "wars" between the Native Americans and the United States after World War One. If you were a time traveler, and you heard that, wouldn't you think that you were in an AU?