A Tale of Twisted Time
Written by Ael L. Bolt and Damos no Yami
Rating: R (mostly for the prologue)
Genre: Drama/Angst
Pairings: R/Hr
Possible Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
Summary: It's the aftermath of the Final Battle. Voldemort is dead, the Ministry in shambles, the Muggles aware of magic, and Hermione Granger has been killed in front of a greviously-wounded Harry Potter. Ron Weasley decides to turn back time to 1981 and stop the destruction from ever starting, but something goes wrong. Terribly wrong.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated paraphenalia belong to JK Rowling and some other people. Ael just owns the idea and the plot, and Damos owns...well, pretty much nothing.
Author's Notes - Ael: I know this sort of thing has been done before, but I've always seen it as Harry going back in time instead. The original script called for Hermione to be a clueless Muggle librarian, Ron to be your run-of-the-mill Death Eater, and Harry to be a homeless thief – as well as Ron's reasoning for using the Time Turner being jealousy of Harry's fame, rather than sympathy towards it. However, with Damos' overactive imagination (just kidding hun!), it has developed into this. And mark me, this is much better. Expect darkness, treachery, posession, prophecies, and much more.
Author's Notes – Damos: ...Yeah, what she said. 'cept for the disclaimer. Oi.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Well who is this angry man I see
In the mirror, looking back at me?
It's a man who's tired, a man who's weak
It's a man who needs a savior."
~Steven Curtis Chapman, "Savior"
~ ~ ~ ~
Prologue: Aftermath
Over.
It was over.
Ron slowly got up from where he'd fallen, gazing over the field of battle. He fought the urge to throw up. Not fifty feet before him lay the Great Dark Lord, master of the Death Eaters and the one who had been the thorn in the side of all wizardry in general, and Ron's best friend specifically. Dead, now, but no less reviled because of it.
Not ten feet before him lay Hermione, equally dead.
He stumbled forward to her, not noticing the things his feet caught and tripped on, the overwhelming heat that surrounded everything, falling to his knees next to her... she lay awkwardly, her limbs bent uncomfortably but not unnaturally... he gently shifted them, lying her straight. No mark showed on her body to hint at her death, as was the way with the killing curse.
It was ironic, somehow... he glanced up at the body of Voldemort, a black shape crumpled on the ground ahead. Ironic, knowing that he would have suffered the same fate. Harry had confessed to using an unforgivable curse once before, to Ron and Hermione. It hadn't worked properly, then. "You needed to mean it, to want it, to enjoy it," had said the Death Eater.
Voldemort was dead. Ron didn't want to think about it.
All around him, healers from St. Mungo's moved between the piles of moaning wizards, some unmoving in death. The field where the Ministry of Magic had once stood lay littered with craters full of the dead and dying, and the healers were too few. Horrified muggle observers watched from the sides, and some of the more compassionate ones lent their meager skills to the healers. A news helicopter hesitatingly flew in circles overhead, taking in the video of the flaming wreckage of a once-proud London. Smoke billowed up from hundreds of burning buildings, and wizards and muggles alike cried out into the unnatural darkness as they died together.
Ron felt a weak hand grip his shoulder, and slowly raised his eyes to meet those of Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived was swaying unsteadily, holding a hand to his side in an attempt to stop liters of precious blood from cascading out of his frail body. Only one of his dulled green eyes focused through shattered, blood-streaked frames, and neither man saw fit to speak as Harry let himself slide awkwardly to his knees at Hermione's side. They sat in silence for long minutes.
"It's over." Harry's voice resonated deep with age and injury, one trail of blood tracing a path from mouth to chin as he coughed, silently enduring an inferno of agony.
Ron's hands tightened around the reddened soil, staring at Hermione's face, peaceful as it was in death. "I should've been faster," he whispered, releasing the dirt as he raised his hand to touch her cheek tenderly. "It should have been me."
Harry said nothing, merely squeezed Ron's shoulder as best he could with his crushed hand. They sat in silence, the only noises the sounds of the dying in the darkness.
Ron finally reached up and removed Harry's injured hand from his shoulder as he stood, looking at Harry but somehow not focusing. Harry merely watched through dark eyes as his best friend vanished into the smoke and ruin.
Ron staggered through what had once been the Ministry of Magic, though he was not really aware of such a thing. The large crater was still scorching to the touch, but Ron didn't care as he fell to his knees and halfheartedly started digging with his bare hands. As if a switch had been flipped, he suddenly began to swipe at the debris with a vengaence until his hands caught on a delicate golden chain, swinging around numb fingers. The small hourglass came to rest against his knuckles, deceptively insignificant against the backdrop of destruction. A small drop of beauty in an ocean of hideousness.
Slowly, as if he were afraid it would crumble to dust at the faintest breath, he placed the chain of the Time-Turner around his neck and stood to face where he knew Hermione's body lay, even though he couldn't see it. "I love you," he whispered as if she could hear him.
He wasn't going to change the battle.
He was going to change the war.
The simple-looking hourglass tumbled between Ron's fingers, and with a dark yanking sensation, the very fabric of time was torn asunder.
Written by Ael L. Bolt and Damos no Yami
Rating: R (mostly for the prologue)
Genre: Drama/Angst
Pairings: R/Hr
Possible Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
Summary: It's the aftermath of the Final Battle. Voldemort is dead, the Ministry in shambles, the Muggles aware of magic, and Hermione Granger has been killed in front of a greviously-wounded Harry Potter. Ron Weasley decides to turn back time to 1981 and stop the destruction from ever starting, but something goes wrong. Terribly wrong.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated paraphenalia belong to JK Rowling and some other people. Ael just owns the idea and the plot, and Damos owns...well, pretty much nothing.
Author's Notes - Ael: I know this sort of thing has been done before, but I've always seen it as Harry going back in time instead. The original script called for Hermione to be a clueless Muggle librarian, Ron to be your run-of-the-mill Death Eater, and Harry to be a homeless thief – as well as Ron's reasoning for using the Time Turner being jealousy of Harry's fame, rather than sympathy towards it. However, with Damos' overactive imagination (just kidding hun!), it has developed into this. And mark me, this is much better. Expect darkness, treachery, posession, prophecies, and much more.
Author's Notes – Damos: ...Yeah, what she said. 'cept for the disclaimer. Oi.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Well who is this angry man I see
In the mirror, looking back at me?
It's a man who's tired, a man who's weak
It's a man who needs a savior."
~Steven Curtis Chapman, "Savior"
~ ~ ~ ~
Prologue: Aftermath
Over.
It was over.
Ron slowly got up from where he'd fallen, gazing over the field of battle. He fought the urge to throw up. Not fifty feet before him lay the Great Dark Lord, master of the Death Eaters and the one who had been the thorn in the side of all wizardry in general, and Ron's best friend specifically. Dead, now, but no less reviled because of it.
Not ten feet before him lay Hermione, equally dead.
He stumbled forward to her, not noticing the things his feet caught and tripped on, the overwhelming heat that surrounded everything, falling to his knees next to her... she lay awkwardly, her limbs bent uncomfortably but not unnaturally... he gently shifted them, lying her straight. No mark showed on her body to hint at her death, as was the way with the killing curse.
It was ironic, somehow... he glanced up at the body of Voldemort, a black shape crumpled on the ground ahead. Ironic, knowing that he would have suffered the same fate. Harry had confessed to using an unforgivable curse once before, to Ron and Hermione. It hadn't worked properly, then. "You needed to mean it, to want it, to enjoy it," had said the Death Eater.
Voldemort was dead. Ron didn't want to think about it.
All around him, healers from St. Mungo's moved between the piles of moaning wizards, some unmoving in death. The field where the Ministry of Magic had once stood lay littered with craters full of the dead and dying, and the healers were too few. Horrified muggle observers watched from the sides, and some of the more compassionate ones lent their meager skills to the healers. A news helicopter hesitatingly flew in circles overhead, taking in the video of the flaming wreckage of a once-proud London. Smoke billowed up from hundreds of burning buildings, and wizards and muggles alike cried out into the unnatural darkness as they died together.
Ron felt a weak hand grip his shoulder, and slowly raised his eyes to meet those of Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived was swaying unsteadily, holding a hand to his side in an attempt to stop liters of precious blood from cascading out of his frail body. Only one of his dulled green eyes focused through shattered, blood-streaked frames, and neither man saw fit to speak as Harry let himself slide awkwardly to his knees at Hermione's side. They sat in silence for long minutes.
"It's over." Harry's voice resonated deep with age and injury, one trail of blood tracing a path from mouth to chin as he coughed, silently enduring an inferno of agony.
Ron's hands tightened around the reddened soil, staring at Hermione's face, peaceful as it was in death. "I should've been faster," he whispered, releasing the dirt as he raised his hand to touch her cheek tenderly. "It should have been me."
Harry said nothing, merely squeezed Ron's shoulder as best he could with his crushed hand. They sat in silence, the only noises the sounds of the dying in the darkness.
Ron finally reached up and removed Harry's injured hand from his shoulder as he stood, looking at Harry but somehow not focusing. Harry merely watched through dark eyes as his best friend vanished into the smoke and ruin.
Ron staggered through what had once been the Ministry of Magic, though he was not really aware of such a thing. The large crater was still scorching to the touch, but Ron didn't care as he fell to his knees and halfheartedly started digging with his bare hands. As if a switch had been flipped, he suddenly began to swipe at the debris with a vengaence until his hands caught on a delicate golden chain, swinging around numb fingers. The small hourglass came to rest against his knuckles, deceptively insignificant against the backdrop of destruction. A small drop of beauty in an ocean of hideousness.
Slowly, as if he were afraid it would crumble to dust at the faintest breath, he placed the chain of the Time-Turner around his neck and stood to face where he knew Hermione's body lay, even though he couldn't see it. "I love you," he whispered as if she could hear him.
He wasn't going to change the battle.
He was going to change the war.
The simple-looking hourglass tumbled between Ron's fingers, and with a dark yanking sensation, the very fabric of time was torn asunder.