Disclaimer: I do not own anything, except my own storyline and OC's, Just FYI.

Chapter 42: Borrowed Time

In a dark cave lost to the knowledge of man, lay something of great power. It called to the most powerful individual of the time, waiting for a worthy individual to find them. Sadly, none had ever managed to make it the entire journey, losing themselves along the way or dying.

Yet this time would be different. He would come, and in their service they would be unstoppable. Foes would fall in their path, and peace would finally be brought back to a land ravaged by war. Only a bit longer, and he would finally come.

There was a certain beauty about the perfect silence all around. Waiting for thousands of years had at first seemed an impossible task, but now, it was all too easy. Though that he would soon arrive brought a sense of excitement not felt in Millenia.

—

It was odd, for a fundamental force of nature to feel… apprehensive. But there was something about this potential champion that seemed so promising, yet slightly off. Judging by their future, they were not the most benevolent of beings, but they would also be, for the most part, a net positive for the universe.

Then why did that being of raw energy still feel like there was something dangerous about going through with it? About letting him feel the power at their fingertips, access to knowledge beyond comprehension? But in the end, they needed someone to fulfill the role, and they were by far the best candidate.

Hopefully, there would be no regrets to come from this.

—-

Harry walked slowly down the corridors, allowing himself a moment to soak in the peace and beauty of Hogwarts, its warm walls and ambience enticing. Sometimes he found himself questioning everything, whether this was truly worth all the effort it would take. But then, he'd have a moment to allow all his doubts to be silenced by the quiet, absolving him of it all.

Few bothered him anymore; the press had run its course on articles and returned to its regular news, giving him the opportunity to visit the main area of the castle without harassment. Still, that the main source of the country's news was so easily manipulated by the government raised a great many concerns about propaganda, and the easy access Voldemort would have to finding support should he take control of the ministry.

Inevitably though it all came back to the fight between him and his rival, everything else was just an obstacle to get rid of. Sadly, he hadn't heard anything of the monster's actions, hopefully he was still stuck as a free-roaming soul lost to the skies, but he doubted he would be so lucky.

His training under the mysterious figure who opened many eyes, including the fact wizards were from an entirely different world, had been going surprisingly well. They rarely went into such mind-shattering concepts as their first meeting, and since the chamber allowed portkey travel it was trivial to find time to go.

He'd been present to watch as the room had slowly repaired itself, and he suspected it was some sort of manor, but he hadn't had the chance to explore. The study of Occlumency had been their most significant studies; he'd quickly figured out there was far, far more to the subject than the normal books or his innate talent could ever show.

He'd long since abandoned the inefficient castle of before, choosing to favour a simple barrier that revealed an organized mind reminiscent of an ethereal library. He'd been taught the simplicity made it infinitely easier to defend and make sure it was unbreakable, whereas the veritable zoo of before had so many details going on all it would take was a determined legilimens to shake things up a bit and the entire structure would come crashing down.

Beyond the strengthening of the mind, they'd also gone over rituals to some degree. While he'd yet to practice any in fear of what it might do, the subject was slowly beginning to intrigue him, luring him in like a vulture to carrion. The confirmation that only the most unnatural sent one spiraling into the darker depths of Magic eased his conscience quite a bit.

Yet there was still a burden carried on his shoulders alone that weighed him down far more than any could possibly believe. He knew of his seer powers, which only lent more credence to the nightmares. He was doomed to become a Dark Lord.

These unnatural rituals may not even matter, even now his wings displayed prominent physical evidence. The damned Black ring had shown him that image, and it continued haunting his dreams. Now, it appeared to be more akin to a waking nightmare that was inevitable. Like Apollo himself had come down and bestowed him with the gift his ancestors received, then cursed him to become the very thing he fought against.

But what would he do? What act would send him down to the point of no return? Perhaps the murder of his Muggle relatives? Unbeknownst to anyone, even Dumbledore, when he first returned to the Dursleys after his time in the magical world, Vernon had begun following through on his threats.

Before, he never seemed able to lift a hand against him, but whatever force had been holding him back apparently weakened in that time. Thankfully ever since Dudley had actually had a conversation with Harry when they were 8, they'd gotten along civilly, though not as close as they could have been. It meant the only physical violence came from the eldest Dursley, even if the man had the power to make up for it.

If this truly was the case, what would he do? Raze the muggle world to the ground? Kill any in his path? Was that voice that whispered in his darkest moments leading him to this?

Genocide the likes of which hadn't been seen on Earth for millenia all because of his lust for power, barely contained under his urge to protect those he loved? After all, they were a major threat and the government was useless, as evidenced by the Daily Prophet's false reporting about America and Russia destroying each other. It seems the ministry was as shite at controlling their lies as they are good at ensuring character assasination was on every front page. A barely tamed wild beast.

How could they ever dream of ending the Muggles? Would it be on him? Would it mark him permanently as an evil wizard, begin his path to darkness, forever remembered as a killer? Even then, as powerful as he was becoming, how could he ever dream of wiping out an entire species? Especially one as populous as them?

But at the same time… something within was fighting to get out. Something he'd held back since he was a young boy, hiding in the deepest recesses of his mind. It screamed for revenge and death, for peace and freedom from all who would dare manipulate him. Its presence was growing stronger, and he feared what would happen when the door was finally broken.

Feel it… embrace it. Become what you were always meant to be.

'No…' Harry needed this to stop, he needed to know how this would all end. But his powers as a seer were far from reliable, he needed a way to definitively know what would happen. Something… solid. A potion, perhaps? It would be difficult, but not impossible.

Calling for Dobby, they disappeared into the chamber, where he immediately set to work. This wouldn't take long, he had all the ingredients and he'd learned quite a few tricks to speed up the waiting process. The darkness helped quite a bit, allowing him to stew in his emotions as he considered everything going on around him, much like when he walked the halls.

But it also brung a feeling he'd avoided for years now, that he rarely let out. Something he'd only revealed to Dumbledore, who failed to understand. The closest to being in his position, and he still didn't get it. What was he to do?

This hopelessness, this fear… the future was so up in the air, so impossible to grasp, even this potion would only give him a better idea of what may happen. It was suffocating, and at times Harry only wished for freedom. To escape this horrid, destructive land. Meet the peace…

The peace of Death.

Of course he knew these emotions were unhealthy. That he needed to find others, his friends, revel in their happiness and talk with them, enjoy their time together. But… he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was afraid they wouldn't understand, just like Dumbledore, they would just try and fix him, or worse, run away.

He didn't need to be fixed. He just wished for peace and quiet. For a silent life amongst the wild, a humble living with a loving wife and children, no fame, no responsibility, no Voldemort. Could no one see that? They just pushed him to work harder, to see the brighter future, but he didn't want that. Just… silence. A moment with a loving family who cared, no more of this trouble.

With a quick glance to the bottom of his end table by his bed across the room, he closed his eyes, a silent tear slipped out and into the potion, turning it to the desired colour. Wiping away the rest, he carefully moved away, sitting at a nearby table where tea and crumpets had already been laid out to wait for his creation to finish stewing and be ready for him to drink. His sorrows would not disappear with this insight, but perhaps they could be quieted.

Yet it was moments like these where the loneliness he'd felt since childhood truly sunk in. Loneliness all the friends in the world could not satiate, the knowledge his position in the universe was alone, a deafening call. Even if this potion gave him something to grasp onto, his hope was all too small. That was one thing the Dursleys had taught him that stuck. Their one lesson that held true.

He was alone.

No one was coming to save him, his parents were dead, his friends betrayed him, no family willing, and teachers all too happy to let him go on by himself. There was no one else. That was the real reason he wanted someone to love.

Someone to care for him like he did for them. One who would never turn their back on him, who would sooner see the end of the world than give him up, as he would them. A person he could trust with every secret inside, every feeling he felt and each thought that passed. He had buried himself in romance stories, and desperately wished for the time his would finally arrive.

Yet there was nothing. No one was coming. He'd never have his own romance, no one to love and believe in. None of the visions he'd been given by Fate told the absolute truth, they were always changing, the face of his love always shifting. In the end it spoke the one message he dared not speak.

He had no soulmate. There was none in the universe he was meant for, and none meant for him. His hope was scrubbed out like a boot on an ant. Just like everyone else, he was alone and there could never be anyone he could bare his soul to and they would accept him no matter what. Even his brothers in arms would see him dead if necessary. So really, if he had nothing and no one…

What was the point of living?

—-

'Don't make me do this, Harry. Please, stop.' Tom held his hilt gainst his friend's back.

'Never.' Harry steadily raised his wand, cloak flying behind him as his weapon pointed at the crowd in front of them. Slowly a light was let loose, encapsulating the surrounding territory and expanding, consuming all in its path.

'Harry! Please! I don't want to have to do this!' Yet even as he spoke, he knew there was no other choice.

With a silent ignition of his weapon, Harry fell back into his arms, eyes lifeless while his wand slipped away, melting from the energy expended.

Tom held his friend's cold body, surrounded by destroyed terrain and corpses, and a tear quietly fell from his cheek. Rage began building inside, hatred at Fate for making him act such a deed, its cold, pitiless hands creeping their soul away into death.

'GGYYAAAAAAAUUUUGGHH!' A cry of pain, of deep, lamenting, haunting grief escaped his throat while he held his last friend in his arms, overwhelming loss falling over him, gripping his heart in its freezing grasp.

Falling to his knees, Tom hugged the body of his fallen brother, desperately scrounging for the semblance of warmth before it escaped entirely. Gazing into the empty emerald eyes that once blazed in a fire of anger and love, he closed them, salty water dripping onto the floor. He was the last one left, the only one able to carry on the legacy left behind. To repair the damage and help those remaining.

It was Hel.

Tom woke up with a start, sweating profusely in his bed. Throwing his legs over the side, he held his head in his hands, going over the nightmare in his mind's eye before it slipped from his grasp.

'Harry… he'd killed Harry.' It was rather… surprising, to say the least. His friend had always been the strongest of them all, and had recently begun delving into magik's best left alone. How he'd ever accomplish such a feat was beyond him, and more than that, there was something wrong with him.

He'd been… cold. Heartless. Cruel. Even now, Tom could still see the warmth, the light in his friend. Yet if this was his future, was it worth the cost? Could he even see it come true? What he'd seen in his brother's eyes was no way to live, but clearly something had driven the man to it.

No… no, it was just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about. Harry was fine. Besides, it wasn't like Tom was a seer. This dream could hardly be real.

Right?

—

'Well Lord Potter, if you could just sit here we can get this underway.' The goblin sat in front of him looked notably cheerier than the last time he'd seen him, apparently his finances were doing well. The Last Potter had decided to stop in while the potion cooked. It was time to finally, conclusively define his heritage.

'Great, now, if I may, I wished to have an overview of my accounts, titles and responsibilities without the history lesson. Thus far, nothing has proven to be concrete and I find contradictory points of view all the time.' Kragrakk frowned.

'I suppose there is… I mean i'm not sure if…' Harry sighed.

'What is it?'

'Well, much like the inheritance test you took the first time you arrived, we could conduct something similar, only without the internal politics of Gringotts magic. The thing is, it's rather difficult to do so, especially since it may be found to contradict official goblin history. The King does not enjoy his word being proven wrong.' The Ravenclaw just sighed, another complication.

'Well, I'd like to take the test, consequences be damned. Please.' His accountant merely gazed at him shrewdly, before pulling out a piece of parchment, waving a hand over it softly, and retrieving a knife.

'Deep cut, along the top, and allow it to pour openly.' Harry nodded, and slid the silver along his palm, blood dripping in thick lines before words began to shine. Unlike the first round, this was more akin to a family tree, with various titles strewn on the bottom.

Duke of Nightingale, Earl of Ebonmere, Marquess Peverell, Black, Ravenclaw(Adopted), Slytherin, Gryffindor, Baron Umbravictrix.

'What do these first titles mean? Besides the obvious?' The goblin studied it closely.

'Nightingale is undoubtedly from the House of Poterimus, whilst Ebonmere may be from the House of Emrys, your family married into Merlin's ancient line here. Now, don't get too excited, the man's lineage with Morgana belongs to Her Majesty, so lest you were to somehow get her blood, you would not actually be related to the man. No, you're an heir of his uncle, the third born. Rather minor compared to the first.' Harry was stunned.

'Merlin married Morgana?' The goblin nodded.

'They were, how you say, enemies to lovers. A rather romantic tale if I say so myself, filled with bloodshed and death galore. Now then, if that is all, I must file this paperwork. The King will wish to be informed. Once you have decided, send me your official decision on which titles you wish to pursue, then those you wish to be referred to as by the public. I will deal with the Ministry.' The boy thanked the goblin, and left, still slightly off-kilter. With a quick call, he was back in the chamber, stumbling into his bedroom.

Arriving at his desk, he retrieved some parchment and wrote out what he desired, handing it to Dobby and then moved to the bed, sighing deeply. Now, hopefully, he knew his heritage. No bullshite, no politics. There was the slight fear of retribution from the King, but that was inevitable anyway. Better to convene with the goblin sooner rather than later. Honestly all of this was rather overwhelming, so to take his mind off of it all he got up, moving over to the potion.

It was time to finish this.

—

'Professor?'

'Come in, Ms Granger.'

Hermione sat down at the desk, pondering what exactly to say. She had only come here since no one else appeared willing to do anything.

'I-it's about Harry, I'm worried he's going down a dark path. I'm afraid he's going to become a… Dark Lord.' McGonagall frowned.

'Why do you say that? And why come to me, is Professor Dumbledore not a better choice?' The girl sighed.

'He merely left us to our own devices, told us not to worry then gave us a stupid book with a stupid warning not to interfere.' The woman hummed.

'If the Headmaster isn't worried, why are you?' Ignoring the comment about 'them,' her charge's face scrunched in concentration.

'He's… different. I can't quite put my finger on it. Like he's got the weight of the world on his back and is slowly failing to keep it up. He has been using darker spells, isolating himself, rarely speaking whilst managing to ace all the tests, but never appears to interact with any of the teachers. After the school turned on him then flipped quickly, he seemed… angry. And his feathers… they're turning black.' McGonagall's eyes widened.

'May I see one?' Hermione handed the Deputy a feather she'd found on the grounds whilst walking one day. Carefully inspecting it, the woman came to ask the question that was now filling her mind.

'And how long has this been happening?'

'I… don't know. He's been distant for ages now, and he keeps constant care over his wings, never going a day without preening them. I suspect the change has to have been quite dramatic by now, considering he appears to have just given up. I don't think I spotted a single white feather during the second task.' The Professor summoned a House Elf and brought in some tea and biscuits for the two, pondering her response.

'Well… what was the book the Headmaster gave you about?' Hermione appeared to visibly redden with fury.

'It spoke about allowing things to happen, never to attempt to change it. "Follow the flow of Fate," as if that isn't the most bullshite hypocrisy I've ever heard spewed from someone's lips! Honestly! The man constantly interferes in Harry's life, but when it comes time to save the world it's all "Oh no, I can't do anything because I don't believe in it since I think Harry should do what he wants, even though I constantly ensure he doesn't!"' The girl appeared out of breath after that, and McGonagall allowed her to catch it before speaking.

'Well, how exactly is he interfering in Lord Potter's life?'

'There! Right there! I mean really, Lord Potter, as if that isn't a load of dragon dung! Only her majesty appoints Lords, and I've never heard of a Lord Potter throughout the entirety of history! And come on, an apprentice to a world-renowned dueler at 14!? He's good, but he's not THAT good. I'm sure on a good day Trip or Tom could easily clobber him.' Now Minerva feared for the young girl's intelligence.

'Ms Granger, the titles of Lord mean two VERY different things in the Wizarding and Muggle world respectively, here it is merely an unspecific demonstration of respect to one who belongs to an ancient family that committed great feats and often owns sections of the land like in the Muggle world. Beyond that… I mean… you really underestimate Lord Potter so? I was even considering apprenticing him before Albus spoke up that he would do so himself.' THAT appeared to get through to Hermione.

'And? What makes him so special as to earn an apprenticeship under the Headmaster at 14!?' The Head of Gryffindor sighed.

'Not only is he remarkably, prodigiously talented, has tremendously amazing grades, but he is fated to face You-Know-Who, his abilities should not be taken lightly. To create a spell at such a young age requires incredible knowledge and skill, a feat beyond even yourself for the next several years, and certainly not one as versatile as his for the next decade. Do not underestimate him, Ms Granger, that is what Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and even V-Voldemort's fellows did, few survived.' Hermione's eyes widened.

'If Lord Potter wishes to take a path, there is little in this universe that could stop him, even Fate herself. So tread lightly, my dear, for this is a journey few have ever wished to walk, and fewer still have escaped alive. The Headmaster does not mince words nor make threats lightly, so be careful, please.' The girl didn't look convinced, but at least appeared willing to consider it.

'Well… thanks, Professor.' McGonagall nodded, and Hermione left, seemingly focused on something that wasn't there.

—

'Dobby, bring me the potion.' It had finally finished, the eve of that same day, and he was expectant to try it. There was certainly palpable fear, but that was overridden by the excitement at finally getting a glimpse at his true destiny. The potion should theoretically allow one to see the future more clearly than the normal seer abilities.

'Yes, Sir Potter.' With a pop, the elf disappeared and the requested item appeared by his bedside. With this, he'd garner an advantage over all his foes, even those who weren't so yet. Laying down on the soft silk sheets, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The emerald blankets swallowed him up, warming his freezing core as he gathered the strength to dive into this.

With a final breath, he unstoppered the glass, and took a large gulp. Setting his head back, he relaxed, sinking into his bed and allowing Apollo to take him to his realm, giving him the glimpse of what the Fates had planned. What his future would be.

His breathing steadily evened out, and his hand slipped away from his chest, the empty bottle slipping from his grasp and shattering on the floor, as visions slowly sunk into Harry's mind.

—

'Gah!' The Last Potter awoke, shouting. Dobby quickly appeared, wiping away the sweat that had coagulated. He was swiped at, the owner of the bed desperately trying to get the creature away.

'Leave me, Dobby!'

'But sir-'

'NOW!' The elf popped away, leaving him alone, sitting on the edge of his bed in the Chamber of Secrets. Slowly, much like the Yule Ball, he collapsed into quiet sobs, shoving his face in his hands as he began sliding down onto the cold stone floor, broken glass digging into his thighs.

When the strongest emotions had passed, he sniffled and carefully opened the secret compartment in the bottom of his end table, pulling another potion not even Dobby was aware of from a cushioned section. Tears silently fell once more as he swallowed the entire bottle, and when it was finished his hand fell away, throwing the empty glass across the room.

With a final sigh, he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the mattress, and smiled.

And his heart stopped beating.

…