It was an exhausting day for Astoria Greengrass. The Wizengamot was being particularly stubborn today, and Astoria would have loved to do nothing more than flay the flesh from their feet and leave them naked in the desert to die. Alas, such things would remain merely fantasies for the foreseeable future. If she had any say in the matter, the law she was pushing would not be fantasy.

Harry's Law was quite simple in theory. Educational reform after some of the worst years in magical Britain was something that was desired by a great many people after all. Unfortunately, theory met reality and got along about as well as Slytherins and Gryffindors in Snape's potions class.

Astoria was convinced that the stick up the arse of so many positively ancient Wizengamot members granted them extended life. The old fucks just wouldn't die. Neither would they let any new laws be passed. It mattered not if they were championed by the remnants of Voldemort's followers like Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson, or if they were from the late Harry and Dumbledore's faction. Nothing made it through, no matter how beneficial.

Late Harry. Even now, years later it was still a vile pill to swallow as the muggle saying went.

In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts and the Second Blood War overall, people found that enemies were destroyed when they made friends with them. A somewhat uneasy peace descended over the country as light and dark vowed to never again to wage war and kill so senselessly. The amount of magical blood that was spilled effortlessly dwarfed the war with Gellert Grindelwald. Such disagreements should be confined to the halls of the ministry, the weapons politics rather than wands. For the sake of the future generations, war could never be allowed to occur in the British Isles ever again. The cost was simply too high. Thusly, the Warlord Act was passed into law. It was also the only law to go through the ancients since then.

For a time after, things were good. Wounds healed and people rebuilt. Astoria briefly dated Draco Malfoy during the mandated repeat year at Hogwarts, but it was mutually agreed that they were not right for each other. Draco wanted children, but the ancient blood curse on the Greengrass family reared its ugly head and left Astoria weak and frail. Birth would kill her.

From stage right, enter Harry Potter. His own relationship with Ginevra Weasley had soured and they too had parted ways. Astoria wished she had seen the signs then. It would have saved so many people the heartbreak. He was kind, gallant, noble, brave, and so many other things, all to a fault. He could also be the densest moron anyone had ever met. Regardless, he wanted to help people. If he could give people happiness, he would do so at the cost of his own. Astoria knew this from the way he would look at Hermione Weasley. She knew that Harry pined for the girl back then, but he was not one to wreck a relationship for his own benefit. The love he gave his friends was unparalleled, but the amount he received appeared to Astoria's eyes as positively negligible. Had years of being his friends blinded them to his needs? Did he really value himself so little?

This was the observation that began their friendship. When Harry graduated from Hogwarts, it was one of the greatest days in his life. Similarly, it was one of Astoria's as well. It was that day that she realized she had fallen in love with Harry Potter. Naturally, he did not reciprocate. He did not want to ruin the relationship they had for his own selfish wants. After all, he like Draco wanted kids if the way he treated his godson Teddy in the rare moments he was free from his grandmother Andromeda was any indication. More than anything, Astoria wanted to be free of the wretched curse so that she could help give him the family that he was owed. When she graduated the next year, there was tension in their friendship. Harry was not willing to give up his desire for children, and she was wallowing in self-pity wishing for the ability to raise children of her own.

Astoria wished she had phrased her own desires better. Maybe then she wouldn't feel guilty about Harry's death.

Upon graduation, he had been employed by the Department of Mysteries. By Astoria's graduation, he was an Unspeakable specializing in the breaking of ancient and powerful curses. That should have also been a clue she noted furiously.

Another year passed and things seemed to be on the mend. Harry was no longer holding his own desire for children as a priority, but neither was he committing to a relationship with Astoria. He knew it made her uncomfortable, but he was asking her about her curse with some regularity. She let him have it. Maybe if he realized that her family had tried anything and everything for generations to rid themselves of it, he would finally start dating her she rationalized.

And that, was Astoria's big mistake.

She had just flooed home after a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt when she felt the curse lift.

She felt stronger than she ever had before. No longer were basic physical activities winding her. It was a miracle! She could have children! Now he would have to date her!

She found him at the center of a ritual circle drained of his own blood.

It did not take a genius to understand just what he had done. He had yet again willingly sacrificed his life for those he loved.

"Not for me!" Astoria had screamed.

But for her he had, and nothing could change that now.

Harry had left everything he had to Teddy. His earthly possessions were not insubstantial. The little metamorph looked far too old as the will was read. Even in death, he would make sure his godson was cared for. Ronald and Hermione Weasley did not take it well. Claims that Astoria had bewitched him had fallen on deaf ears. Utter tripe.

Astoria supposed that she was a tad obsessed now. She lived in the shadow of Harry's memory, working tirelessly to support the causes he had wanted. She never felt worthy of his sacrifice. No man could ever match up to what he had done, so if they weren't him, she was content to live without them.

Every night, she would dream of him, of them.

Arm in arm she strolled with her boyfriend in the snow on Christmas morning. She put on the engagement ring that fell out of his pocket when he tripped on an errant branch while they hiked in the woods. She walked down the aisle to a husband who wept tears of joy upon seeing his bride. She made love to him on their wedding night trying desperately for the first of many children. She clenched down hard on his hand as she pushed out their first child, then their second. They called the two James and Lily. She would scold a black haired green eyed gremlin as six others raced through the house. She looked at the scarlet train that was the Hogwarts Express as it departed platform 9 ¾ with their twins aboard. She watched the train come into the station with their final child having graduated. She welcomed all her grandchildren into their house where fresh cookies and treacle tart sat cooling on the countertop. She grew old with Harry, and he grew old with her. She was happy. Truly happy.

And every time, she would wake up.

And. He. Was. Not. There.

He would never be there. So she must make certain that her life had meaning.

Harry's Law was only the latest of her endeavors to pay him back.

Astoria would be certain of this.

Or she would have been, had she not woken up. Except this time, it was different. She was not in some small, sad, single woman's flat. She was in her childhood bedroom. She instinctively knew that this was not a dream. She cast a tempus charm. It was a week before her birthday, a week before she would leave for Hogwarts again.

Astoria felt strong, she felt motivated, but critically, she felt hope.

The year was 1994. She would not miss this new chance.

She would be happy.

XXXXX

Millicent Bulstrode glared at Blaise Zabini through the bars of the jail cell in the Ministry detention center, "You really cocked that up Hampton."

"The bastard deserved it," Blaise spat.

Millicent sighed, "All you needed to do-

"You don't tell me what I can and can't do slag!"

"Nothing! All you needed to do was nothing! But no. You just had to go off on his trouble and strife!"

"Nobody can understand what the fuck you're talking about when you go Cockney on us Bulstrode. Why don't you speak like normal people and insult us to our face! Oh yeah, because you are a coward!"

"I'll take that coward title proudly then. Won't change tom tit how I speak you lunatic."

"Coward and a blood traitor then. I see how it is."

"Harry Potter is the only reason any of us are alive right now. If being civil with him is all it takes to be a "blood traitor", then I will gladly take that title too."

Blaise laughed like a madman. He looked it too. "I remember a Millicent who would have done anything to kill Harry fucking Potter back when we were at Hogwarts. I do wonder what happened to her?"

"She grew up you Khyber. She realized that following in the footsteps of a genocidal maniac was actually a bad thing. She learned that she was not all that different compared to his victims. She had a butch at her life and found that she didn't want to be the monster she saw in the mirror."

"Do you not see Bulstrode? Potter has ensnared you in his web of lies! He would have us think that the filthy mudbloods don't actually steal their magic from us purebloods! The Dark Lord was our savior! He would have brought us retribution! He was the savior of our magic!"

"First off, us purebloods? I'm a half blood you twit. Secondly, savior? Tom Marvolo Riddle? Our savior? Heresy!"

"You dare speak that false name? I should rend you down to the bone where you stand!"

"I speak the truth. Harry Potter speaks the truth."

"Harry Potter is a liar!"

"Harry Potter is our messiah!"

That shut Blaise up quite nicely.

Millicent looked all too pleased at his puckered face, "He is the one to save us from the darkness. Kicking and screaming our society was dragged from the precipice of ruin. We do not deserve him, but we have him anyway. To not see that is heresy."

"And you claim I joined a cult," Blaise deadpanned.

"I have seen the face of god. And he is beautiful. Do you know why you cannot see him for what he is old friend?"

"God? Potter is god now?"

Millicent ignored the non-believers words, "You lack faith. Faith in him, and faith in yourself."

Blaise was still clearly stuck on the god comment, "When did this happen? How? What? Why?"

"Faith is the key. All it costs to see him, is a little faith."

"I can't believe this is happening. Milly, you need to snap out of this fantasy! It isn't real! He isn't what you think he is!"

"Do not cry out for me Blaise. I have seen his beauty. I have seen that which is unattainable."

"You've gone nuts Milly! You need help!"

"I have seen something so pure, that my heart can no longer turn back. He is perfection! He will bring us to paradise! Do you not see Blaise? All it costs is faith."

"Was my faith in the Dark Lord so much different to what you feel now?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle was a false idol. God does not accept false idols."

"Your "God" is as much a false idol-

Something sinister appeared in Millicent's expression shutting Blaise up, but it softened to that of pity, "I implore you Blaise, do not be afraid. Enjoy these final moments. Life in God's light is so much more vibrant than the darkness that awaits heretics."

Millicent pulled out her wand.

It was at this moment that Blaise started to panic, "Back! Stay back! You devil! You whore! You consort with him and let him have his wicked way with you! Guards!"

"There is no one here to hear you Blaise. They are blinded as am I by his light! You still wallow in the darkness. You are swine."

"Somebody help me, please!" Blaise pounded on the stone wall in a futile attempt at escape.

"Existence is behind you now Blaise. Enjoy the silence."

Blaise held his hands in a guarded position as he bent forward. It did not matter. The sickly green light of the killing curse impacted him and he collapsed to the floor with a crack. His neck was bent at an odd angle and blood began to form a pool around his head.

"For the messiah, there is nothing I won't do," Millicent said, tears falling down her face, "I'm sorry china."

The moment did not last. A bright white light began to shine brilliantly with the cell block. She turned to look and saw the idol, a stag majestic and glorious as could be. A gasp escaped her lips as she wept tears of joy. The messiah had seen her! He approved her actions!

Millicent reached to the stag. Her large hands cupped its head with an unearthly reverence. Slowly, the stag changed form. Its abdomen grew and grew as the head, neck, and legs retracted into its body. The heavenly light grew almost flat in a way.

The stag was no more. It took the shape of a round top door, its brilliance never ceasing. The messiah had crafted a door! For her! There was only one thing she could do. The door swung open at her call. A recreation of her old life greeted her enlightened eyes. It had been years since she had been to her childhood home. Yet in perfect detail, there it was, waiting for her like an old friend. Whatever could the messiah intend with this vision he showed her she wondered. The bed was still against the window. Her oak desk stood tall and strong on the other end of the room near the door into the hall. A calendar hung on the wall below a clock. The year was 1994.

Her eyes widened with realization. She knew now what the messiah wanted. She knew what she wanted. All that was required was the first big step.

Millicent walked into the light. Paradise awaited.

XXXXX

Pansy Parkinson heard the distant muffle of a man calling from the floo.

"Coming!" she shouted from the loo.

A brief wash of her hands and she made her way into the sitting room of her ancestral home, "Fort Parkinson". The face of Harry Potter was visible in the fire.

"Took you long enough Parkinson," he quipped.

That wasn't even a school child level comeback. Pansy giggled, "You are such a prat."

"So the wife tells me," he grinned.

"So what can I do for you?"

"It's the second Wednesday of the month. Gin is making her turkey gumbo."

Pansy palmed her face, "Daft idiot. I totally forgot."

She looked at her clothes for a moment, "This won't do. And I need to whip up a side or something nice and quick. Oh dear."

"Nonsense Pansy, we have it covered. Besides, the kids are raising hell. They want to see "Aunty Pansy" now."

She rolled her eyes with an exasperated but light hearted expression, "At least let me change out of my sweats."

"Oh fine," he said, "Floo'll be open for you so don't be a stranger. Al might take offense."

"Five minutes Potter," she responded already half way up the stairs to the master bedroom.

His head disappeared leaving orange fire in its place.

Pansy burst into the closet like a mad woman. She grabbed a couple blouses off the rack and matching short skirts. Standing in front of the mirror, her nose wrinkled at the sight of wet spots near her arm pits. That simply wouldn't do. Some quick wand work after removing her tracksuit would prevent any undesired perspiration.

She brought a blouse/skirt pair up to the mirror. Immediately it was discarded for being too much like a "bimbo swot". Another pair came up. It was put aside as a maybe. Her last pair was displayed. She tossed the skirt aside and grabbed the previous one. Red and white. Harry rather liked that color combination. Pansy liked what Harry liked. This would do nicely. The set wouldn't win any awards, but it would suffice for a short visit away from home. Her wand waved and the unchosen shot back to where they once were.

A minute later and she was tossing floo powder saying Harry's address.

Not even a step out of the fireplace, Pansy felt the limpet that was Albus Potter hug her fiercely. His mouth started moving a mile a minute as talked about everything and nothing at all. James and Lily looked at their brother annoyed. They wanted turns with Aunty Pansy too.

"Why hello to you too Albus," Pansy greeted.

Cute kids she thought. Harry and Ginny did good work.

"That you Pans?" a female hollered from the kitchen.

Pansy didn't answer the question, "Smells heavenly Ginny!"

"It's mum's recipe. They all do."

"And don't we know it!"

A toilet flushed followed by the running of water from a sink. Harry emerged from around a corner of a hallway.

"Nice of you to show up," he said.

Before she could respond, he addressed his crotch goblins, "Now kids, let her sit down at least."

"Oh its fine Harry," Pansy replied.

"Nonsense. Now, can I get you a cuppa?"

"Earl grey, as is."

"Coming up."

Pansy navigated the sea of toddlers to the loveseat. The kids who were no less clingy now than when she arrived started asking about her work.

It was a conversation she'd had multiple times with them, but they loved to hear the tale all the same.

Auror work as Harry Potter's partner was as exhausting as it was fulfilling. It was characterized by long periods of boredom (Harry insisted that was called "investigation") followed by brief but intense moments of spell fire. Ridding the streets of particularly nasty criminals was what they were primarily assigned to.

Of course, when they were rookie trainees, the pair had hated each other's guts. The whole being enemies in school followed by Pansy's desire to toss him to Voldemort before the final battle had been a contentious topic at best. Regardless, they were aurors in the DMLE. They were expected to act like adults. Professionalism was the name of the game, and they were rather good at playing it.

Five years and a tremendous amount of personal growth later, they were best friends. Ron and Hermione were a bit standoffish when it came to her, but they simply did not have the sheer amount of time spent with her that Harry did. Not to mention her partner was a very forgiving sort. He simply did not hold her accountable for being raised to believe in the might of a magical fascist demagogue.

She lost track of the time, being absorbed as she was with the kids. Before long, the announcement that food was ready came from the kitchen. Pansy finished her tea and set it down on the coffee table. James, Albus, and Lily abandoned her at the mention of soup. Little traitors.

Not that Pansy blamed the hellions. Ginny's food was to die for. Soon, all were gathered at the table eating and laughing the evening away.

Harry and Pansy talked about how they nabbed a time turner thief today. Harry produced the object from his sweater vest pocket and dangled it in front of the kids who all commented on how shiny it was. Pansy always thought it odd that the DMLE required paperwork before evidence could be submitted, but nobody ever claimed the Ministry was a logical place. Harry stuck the device back in his pocket.

Then something in the once jovial atmosphere changed.

Harry noticed it first. Ginny started acting a bit strangely. His wife brushed it off as just being tired and scatterbrained. He accepted the answer, but only just. She was clutching her head and muttering to herself, and it only escalated.

"Are you certain you're alright?" Pansy asked, "This seems to be fairly serious pain."

Ginny's eyes were concealed by her long red bangs. Immediately, something in the air felt off. Very, very off. Enough to stand up the hair on the back of their necks. Harry and Pansy palmed their wands subtly exchanging worried eyes.

The voice that emerged from Ginny's lips was not her own. It was high pitched and raspy. It was familiar.

And for everyone in the dining room, it was too late.

"Did you think me defeated?" Voldemort mocked.

The aurors were slower on the draw than the Dark Lord was. A flurry of binding jinxes flew from the possessed Ginny's wand.

The children were screaming in terror and Harry and Pansy desperately attempted to free themselves.

"Let them go you bastard!" Harry roared.

"Now why would I do that Potter? You are all of you right where I want you. No more games. No more tricks. Just you and your pathetic family dead at my feet; where you belong," Voldemort drawled.

Pansy knew appealing to his inner humanity was futile, but she was incapable of doing much else, "They're just children. Barely out of the crib."

Voldemort's laughter was cruel and full of malice. He raised Ginny's wand and pointed it at James.

"No, no! Please!" Harry begged.

Red eyes looked straight into Harry's own.

"Stop!" Pansy pleaded.

"Avada Kedavra."

Sickly green light burst from the wand and hit James in the head. The boy slumped over. Drool escaped his open mouth.

Harry's howl of agony was terrible to hear. Even worse were the screams of terror from Albus and Lily.

Voldemort bent his wrist just slightly.

"Avada Kedavra."

Albus was murdered.

Harry's encore performance was even worse than the first. Lily begged for "mummy" to stop.

He didn't stop.

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry didn't scream this time as the last of his babies fell to the enemy he thought vanquished so long ago. There was no doubt in Pansy's mind that Harry was at a total loss. She needed to do something, anything.

She only barely caught Voldemort's eyes turn brown for a fraction of a second. There was one person left who could fight.

"Ginny! Break his hold!" Pansy yelled.

Voldemort's attention instantly snapped to her. The crucio was expected, but Pansy hoped that Ginny could pull through.

Sheer agony flowed through Pansy's veins. It was as though they were being pulled from her body to be doused in lava. She didn't even know she was screaming.

The pain ceased. Ginny was screaming. Voldemort was screaming. The two were clutching her/his head.

The binding jinx relaxed enough that Pansy was able to pulse her magic and break its hold. Movement though was beyond her. It was as though red hot knives were piercing her skin and muscle when she tried to go for her wand.

Harry was near catatonic. His brilliant eyes seemed dead. Only the movement of his chest let Pansy know he still lived.

Ginny won, then dashed their hopes immediately.

"Harry, look at me love, please," she croaked, "Its Tom. Our Tom. I can't keep him back forever. He's so strong!"

Ginny canceled Harry's binding jinx with tremendous effort.

Pansy felt able enough to sit up.

Ginny looked at Pansy with tear soaked eyes, "You need to end me."

Pansy retorted, "I can't!"

Harry managed to stagger to his feet, "Gin, no. This isn't the end of the road for us!"

Red eyes flashed before returning to brown, "It's the only way to be sure!"

"We were supposed to grow old together!"

"We'll have our time Harry," Ginny cried. Her eyes once again turned to Pansy. The implication was devastating.

Pansy sobbed, "I'm sorry."

She fired a piercing hex.

Harry moved in front of the spell.

It hit the time turner in his pocket.

Like a geyser, the sand in the turner burst from the hole in the brass and glass ball. The back of Pansy's mouth burned as the sand flew into her mouth in less than a second. The force of the jet knocked her on her back again and she gasped in pain. The breath was knocked out of her and the sand pooled in her gullet. Her attempts to reflate her lungs were interrupted by the need to swallow to get the sand out of the way of the air pipe.

The scent of blood hit Pansy's nose as she realized that she couldn't move her legs or arms. Somehow, she knew that she had broken something very bad.

The sounds of Harry and Voldemort dueling in the background became faint. Her vision started to fade.

Pansy thought that she had made peace with the idea of death when she was inducted into the aurors after graduating from being a trainee. It seemed now that she hadn't. Panic set in. Her vision was completely gone now, and Harry and Voldemort had gone silent.

She waited there for an eternity. She wondered if she had died and this was "The Next Great Adventure". It frightened her, thinking that death meant you were aware of every agonizing second you could feel nothing.

Then, salvation was at hand. The sound of loafers coming toward her let her know that one of them had won.

The loafers stopped next to her before the person to whom they belonged sat down.

"She's gone."

"I'm sorry Harry," Pansy managed to croak out.

She felt so incredibly weak.

"I knew what I had to do. But I didn't have the strength to do it."

"But you did."

"Really?" Harry grunted.

"You are the best of us for a reason."

He didn't comment on that.

Pansy could feel death approaching.

"I'm scared."

Honesty was perhaps not the best policy in that moment, for Harry said, "It looks bad. I can't move you."

Pansy whimpered, "It hurts."

Harry tried to say something. He started and stopped talking several times. Eventually he settled on something, his words heaving but chosen with care.

"It's like falling asleep."

He had died before hadn't he? Even with that reminder, Pansy still wept.

She felt his hands on the sides of her head. Without warning, she was brought to his chest. It was warm and comforting.

Death was here. She needed to say something. Anything.

Pansy settled on stupid.

"I love you."

Nothingness.

Then a bed.

Pansy's eyes were closed. Several minutes of whimpering occurred before she dared open them.

Pansy's old room in "Fort Parkinson" was undecorated when she became mistress of the manse. In her Hogwarts years, this was not the case. She sat up not believing what she was seeing. The stupid dress she had worn to the Yule Ball and discarded immediately after hung on the closet door.

The year was 1994.

If this was the afterlife, maybe things would not be so bad.

Maybe she could see three little limpets in her future once again.

XXXXX

Tracey Davis flinched at the sound of clattering keys. The door of the dungeon was thin enough to let its occupants know when one of their jailers would arrive. They only came down for an interrogation and torture session. Tracey did not think it terribly selfish of her to hope it would be someone else's turn under Bellatrix's blade. The crazy sot had been going ham on her lately.

Especially in her nightmares.

A dim orange light flooded the dungeon. Tracey closed her eyes and withheld a near involuntary gasp of pain. They loved to work on the ones who cried out in pain. After being in the darkness of the dungeon for so long, the light was painful.

"Get off me you tosser!" a male voice grunted.

"Silence Weasley!" sounded the voice of Pettigrew.

Tracey relaxed slightly. New prisoners meant that Bellatrix would have new toys. The rancid cunt loved breaking in her new playthings. On the other hand, the name Weasley meant that things were going very, very bad outside. That did not bode well. Her momentary relaxation turned to dread.

The keys sounded again and a cell door creaked and moaned against its own weight as it opened. Three distinct thumps of flesh against stone echoed in the dungeon. The cell door scraped closed and keys jingled.

Tracey opened her eyes. The light was still harsh and her eyes watered, but she could see for the first time in a while. Three figures got up from the floor where they were violently thrown. Orange haired Weasley the sixth was easy enough to identify, as was the Granger girl, but the third remained a mystery with his swollen and broken face. Although, it did not take a tremendous leap in logic to hypothesize just who he was.

A crash was heard near the dungeon door. All heads swiveled to look at Pettigrew who had dropped his lantern.

"Bollocking hell," the pudgy man muttered. He took out his wand to vanish the mess, but before he incanted anything, he paused and slowly lifted his head to look at the prisoners.

He didn't say another word as he turned around and locked the dungeon door behind him leaving the room lit by the oil fire of the broken lantern. The light made Tracey nearly sob with a feeling of hope she had long ago abandoned.

"Harry, are you alright mate?" Weasley asked.

The voice that responded sounded as swollen as he looked, "It smarts."

"Harry Potter? Is that you?" asked the lilting voice of Luna Lovegood from their neighboring cell.

"Luna?" responded Granger, "What happened?"

"I think it fairly obvious. The deatheaters have us all captured here. Their hospitality needs work. I'm certain The Quibbler will have a strongly worded review of the accommodations here when we leave."

"Leave?"

"Are you not already working on an escape plan Hermione?"

"I mean, yes I am but…"

Swollen Harry interjected, "It's good to see you Luna. Your dad is worried sick."

"That does sound like him," Luna said.

"Who else is here?" Ronald wondered aloud, "Can't see shit in this light."

"You can if you're a goblin," the goblin Griphook announced from his cell in one of the far corners, "Living in caves and all that."

"That's Griphook. Mr. Ollivander is here too, but he's very weak," said Dean Thomas to Tracey's right.

"Welcome to the slammer you lot," Tracey jested.

"Tracey Davis," Dean filled in intercepting Hermione's oncoming question.

Tracey waved before clutching the stump that was once her right hand.

Hours passed as the group shared minds to plan a breakout. Harry unintentionally saved them all with a single word.

"Wishing I'd asked Dobby about this place right about now. I'm sure he'd know something."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when the excitable little house elf appeared inches from his face asking how he could be of help.

The former Malfoy employed elf was more than happy to spring the prisoners from the dungeons. It took three trips for him to bring them all to safety and a fourth one to retrieve their wands.

Several days of rest occurred at Bill and Fleur Weasley's "Shell Cottage". The respite was sorely needed. Thankfully, the French witch was good at healing their various injuries. Tracey's hand however was unsalvageable. The mangled mess needed to be amputated.

Fleur could do nothing about her nightmares.

On the anniversary of their first week at the safe house, Tracey bulldozed her way into a conversation Harry was having with Ron and Hermione.

"I want in."

"Beg your pardon?" Harry asked.

"Snake for brains killed my parents and my baby brother. I'd be daft to think you lot aren't trying to murder the shit out of him. I. Want. In."

An unspoken conversation was held between the three. Tracey knew that she'd need to provide some form of assurance. The trio was unlikely to trust a Slytherin given her house's reputation both back in school and now especially.

Luckily, there was a method to her madness, "You need an unbreakable vow?"

The unspoken conversation continued. At one point, Ron looked somewhat distressed, but a glare from Harry removed whatever argument he had.

Harry bored into her eyes looking for any form of deception. He found none.

"Welcome to Dumbledore's Army Davis," he said with a cheeky grin, sticking out his left hand. Tracey spat in her palm and took it, a savage smile on her face.

The Gringotts heist was a hell of a way to start their partnership. Tracey couldn't give a shit. It felt great to strike back at the Dark Lord. Admittedly, it was difficult to hang onto the back of the Ukrainian Ironbelly with two hands, let alone one. Harry had her robes in a white knuckle grip the entire ride. She thought it all rather gentlemanly.

The lead up to the Battle of Hogwarts blurred together. Even the battle itself seemed a wild fever dream at times.

It was not too different compared to her nightmares.

Fleeing a room full of fiendfyre on broomstick, kicking in the teeth of her once head of house now first on her shit list, and sighing in relief when the ceasefire was declared, it all seemed so meaningful at the time.

Then Harry disappeared into the Forbidden Forest and emerged dead in Hagrid's arms.

Snake for brains really had it coming now.

During their brief travels, Harry mentioned he thought Voldemort had acquired the Elder Wand of myth. And how he believed Draco Malfoy to be its master. So when Harry defeated the little cunt in the Room of Requirement, things suddenly became very interesting indeed. For Harry had not actually died in the forest. He had lived and played dead to fool him.

Harry leapt from Hagrid's arms, but his attack was intercepted. The Dark Lord cast his spell at his greatest foe and was himself slain when the wand refused to kill its own master.

It didn't stop one of the deatheaters from replying with a retaliatory strike.

Tracey buried Harry's murderer so completely that the earth would be turned over a thousand times before any trace of her was found. That it was Bellatrix fucking Lestrange who Tracey savaged was entirely coincidental.

She collected the Hallows of legend. She brought them to his grave, his monument. She hoped that this would bring her peace. That it would end her nightmares.

It ended nothing.

For the last enemy to be destroyed is death.

And she was its master.

Tracey cast herself through the Veil of Death with the cursed objects in hand.

She landed on her bed in her Scottish home.

The Hallows were nowhere to be seen.

Tracey laughed at the sight of her hand restored.

She laughed at her unscarred fourteen year old body in the mirror.

She laughed when the nightmares did not return.

The year was 1994.

And Tracey Davis would have the last laugh.

XXXXX

Daphne Greengrass was a confident woman. She knew what she wanted, and she was not afraid to go to whatever lengths were required to achieve her goal.

What Daphne did not like was that it took her so long to find out what goal it was that she really wanted to achieve. She was not ashamed to admit that she was naturally a cautious person. This caution had saved her from a number of potentially dangerous or absurd situations. What it did mean however is that she was often a bit slow on the uptake once she finally decided to commit. In this case, it also meant that she was not able to act upon her goal in ways considered socially acceptable or legal.

She had briefly considered such stigmas and legalities as merely guidelines, but if she were to ignore such basic decorum in the public space, then her goal would be forever lost to her. Luckily, Daphne was not interacting with the public space. What good were laws when nobody watched after all?

Besides, it's not like anybody would care if a few petty thieves and prostitutes went missing. The scum should be so incredibly grateful that they became part of something much greater.

The ritual was likely something that had never before been attempted in magical history, or if it had then those who had conducted them had passed beyond myth. The casual manipulation of reality itself was not something you would find in a textbook's footnotes.

Daphne had crafted a shrine both beautiful and terrible as the dawn. The more that the ritual itself could divine about its subject, the greater its chances to succeed. The stronger the willpower and conviction of the ritual master, the more accurate the final product would be compared to their original desires.

And Daphne had collected much for the ritual to divine about Harry Potter. Her will and conviction as sure as the rising of the sun.

Reality was hers to control.

She was to be his wife, his lover, his confidant, the mother of his children. In the face of this, what then were the lives of Ginevra and Ronald and Hermione Weasley?

Daphne hated just how long it took for her to realize what she wanted. Had she known while the two of them were in school, than there would be no question that she and he were destined to be together. He would not have an unworthy, orange haired wife who probably just lies there like a limp fish whenever they couple. Daphne would let him do anything he wished. It takes two to tango as the muggle saying went. By god would she tango.

Daphne lost herself in the fantasy that was soon to be reality. Their children were smart and beautiful and plentiful. He had love only for her. She had love only for him. Ok, the kids could have a little bit, but they better not hog it all or there would be consequences.

The brief delusion was interrupted by the panicked cries for help from one of the whores. Daphne turned murderous. How dare this slag intrude on her precious dreams! She would suffer!

Daphne dragged the carving knife across the throat and let the lifeblood pour into the simmering cauldron. A cleaver was then used to hack the still living body to pieces. All the while the prostitute screamed, unable to die. The sound was even more irritating now, so she plugged the airway with intestines. She considered the matter closed when the next scream was muffled.

Satisfied, she continued to work. Soon, the ritual would be ready to commence! The time manipulation portion was ready to go, and the space manipulation portion was hours away from completion!

Daphne would never get the chance to enjoy the fruits of her labor. The aurors came knocking.

"Wand on the ground! Hands where we can see them!" The Patil twins screamed at her.

Really the only thing worse than the impeccably bad timing the Indian siblings shared was just how clumsy the Parvati bint was when she spilled the space cauldron all over the ritual space.

The carvings on the ground glowed and all smoke in the room vanished as an invisible pressure formed around the three occupants of the room.

Daphne's distressed gaze lingered on the glowing symbols as she spoke, "Oh bother."

The explosion sent Daphne flying until for reasons known only to magic itself, she landed on a bed in a room she had not been in in years.

Caution was thrown to the wind. She paced around the room wondering what exactly had happened. Mutterings and writings spawned of a single minded focus allowed her to piece together the effects of the ritual exploding in her face.

The time manipulation had activated largely as intended, that much was clear. It was on a far grander scale than what was needed though. The space manipulation however being incomplete and sabotaged by buffoons as it was had acted in manner unintended. She now knew that she had been blown into another universe and backwards in the flow of time.

The ritual may not have gone as Daphne initially desired, but she was not about to sit around with her thumb up her arse while unworthy slags attempted to claim her man.

The year was 1994.

Daphne's ambition would be fulfilled.

XXXXX

Harry Potter felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

For some inexplicable reason, he felt hunted.

He bemoaned his luck and grimly wondered what manner of horrifying death he would be facing at school this year.

Anyway, he didn't yet know it, but its death by snu-snu.

XXXXX

Author's Note: Today's theme boys and girls is unreliable narrators and people with variable levels of mental stability!

Featuring in order of appearance:

Survivor's Guilt Astoria!

Cockney Cultist Millicent!

Envious Best Friend Pansy!

Hardcore PTSD Tracey!

Yandere Daphne!

If you caught the Jawbreaker 1 and 2 references, they really weren't that hard to spot. I had meatcanyon on in the background at just the right time it seems.

Regarding Daphne specifically, her segment was longer at one point, but it became too truthful for the whole unreliable narrator angle I was going for with her. There was a fine line of not enough and too much detail with her that was a hard balance to strike.

This work directly leads into six other stories, the 5 solo adventures of each Slytherin, and the "harem" timeline. I trust you can see how that last one in particular can lead to a great many hijinks and shenanigans.

Currently, Astoria's solo work is being written, so it's very likely that one will be the first "sequel" posted.

Lastly, if you arrived here by way of "The Wandering Tree", I've hit one very essential scene that is currently kicking my ass hard. Once I manage to bulldoze my way through that, there will be three uploads for it.