Chapter 72: Self-criticism

June 15th, 1992

6:40 am

The beginning light of morning, the pre-dawn before sunrise, was barely brightening the sky. On a stone terrace, Harry sat cross legged on cushions, surveying the land around him.

The Hogwarts Express had arrived overnight, and all was ready to take the students home after the Leave-Taking Feast in the morning. Everyone except him, that is.

Harry stared south across the lake, at the huge old locomotive, and thought about the rest of his life.

About the Future.

Voldemort forced him to take a vow not to destroy the world, and somehow, within 24 hours, it had already proved its use. There were prophecies spoken of Harry Potter—ones he was never supposed to hear—that told of destruction and chaos at his hand. Dumbledore had done everything in his power to ensure that wouldn't happen, and now he was gone, trapped outside of time. Harry was on his own.

He twisted the Elder Wand in his hand. There had also been prophecies that said the Boy-Who-Lived would save the world, and it was for that reason that Dumbledore had left his greatest weapon in Harry's care. There were a lot of things Harry didn't completely understand about the events of this year, but one thing was for certain…

"You know," said a man's voice behind him. "You really should cut your hair."

Harry whipped around. The place was warded against intruders, so how—

Harry froze, then leapt to his feet.

"Polyfluis!" He shouted. "Hominum revelo! Expelliarmus!"

The man held out his empty hands, a wry smirk on his face. "This is not a drill. The future has arrived. Recognition code 927, I am a potato."

Harry gaped at him. "What?"

"Oh, don't look so surprised," the man replied. "You always knew this might happen."

Harry blinked, and sputtered. "Well, yes…but if I did go back in time to meet myself, then I'd know that I must have really, really—"

"Messed up. Yes, that's right."

The two of them stared at each other for several seconds. Then Harry sighed. "As if this week couldn't get any weirder."

###

Harry continued to stare at his doppleganger, looking for any sign his eyes were deceiving him.

The man wore a flannel shirt that was torn at the cuffs, hanging over a loose gray shirt. He leaned against the crenelated stone battlements, arms folded casually as if relaxed and thoughtful, except everything about his stance betrayed a sense of extreme alertness. Harry had noticed that same tendency in his uncle, who served in the Royal Marines.

His doppleganger also had the muscle tone of someone who might have been a soldier. He was about six feet tall and—aside from being physically fit—had a faint aura of powerful magic. (The only others he'd sensed that with were Dumbledore and Quirrel.) His dark hair was still an unruly mess, but on him it kind of worked. The jagged scar on his cheek could only have come from dark magic, and it left Harry wondering what kinds of terrible adventures he'd survived.

Damn, okay, my doppleganger is pretty impressive. Points towards this being an illusion or elaborate fantasy, rising...

Harry noticed the man observing him in much the same way, taking in every detail that might come in handy later. Neither of them trusted the other yet, and both of them wanted to be prepared. He tapped the Elder wand under his robes, casting a wordless truth telling spell.

"Point of order," said Harry. "As much as I'd enjoy getting a chance to interview my older self, you'll need to provide some proof of your identity."

"Of course," he said, his voice an even tenor. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. First, I need to make sure all my information about your timeline is accurate. You are eleven years old, and you have just defeated Voldemort and his death eaters four days ago. This is your last day of term, and the only creature you've met this morning is a house elf. Sound about right?"

Harry gave him a suspicious look, raising his eyebrows, and the man shrugged. "Fair enough, I wouldn't answer that question either at your age. As for your proof, why don't we start with this?"

The man took out a pouch, drew a wand from it. He passed it to Harry, setting it on the ground before him.

It was the Elder Wand.

Harry stood up, raised his own Elder Wand in the air, and cast several privacy charms. He set up a silent alarm in case the man tried to attack, and he did a few other things that the man seemed to find amusing. Then, Harry slowly picked up the wand.

It reacted instantly, claiming Harry as the true owner.

Harry frowned. A note of skepticism rose from the wand, as if wondering why an unworthy child was holding it again.

"You might also recognize these," said the man, drawing forth the invisibility cloak, the stone of permanency, and the line of Merlin. Already, Harry's mind was working to find alternate interpretations for this proof.

"You could have used Gemelo," said Harry. "A false copy of each of these items would last for several hours, or perhaps even days, before breaking."

"You're not wrong," said the man, his expression unreadable. "Run any tests you want on the objects. You cannot destroy or damage them. If I had several hours, I could prove they are genuine with my own tests. Unfortunately, I'm a bit short on time."

Harry picked up the invisibility cloak. It shone with an unnatural depth of blackness, and felt light as a feather. On the inside seam, he found a special cut he'd left in the material. Six months ago, according to his own timeline, decades according to the man's.

The cloak seemed to vibrate softly at his touch, and he got the sense that wearing it would feel uncomfortable and wrong. He did it anyway, pushing through the discomfort long enough to verify that the cloak worked properly. He felt relief once he put it down again.

To test the stone, he pulled a pack of pencils out of his pouch (from way before he'd discovered he wouldn't need them). He transfigured the pencils into twelve stuffed teddy bears, and used the stone of permanency on one of them. When he stopped sustaining the transfiguration, the pencil remained a bear.

A fake stone might work once or twice, but even the best copy couldn't work properly after multiple uses. It would take about an hour to use the stone on all twelve, with a four minute cool down between. If the stone was the real article, it didn't prove the man was really from the future, but it certainly put points in his favor.

Harry stared at the Line of Merlin a few seconds before handing it back to the man.

"I'm still not convinced," said Harry. "But I don't suppose we can completely trust each other after ten minutes, regardless of the proof you have."

"A pity," said the man, his lips tightening into a line. "Trust but verify can only take you so far, I suppose. Even if I had a mountain of evidence, there are still charms that could deceive you. And if I gave you secret information about yourself, you could argue that I used Legilimency. If I took you into the future—which is impossible, by the way, but even if I could—you could argue it was all an elaborate illusion.

"But tell me: do you remember the way you felt when you first heard that magic was real? Even though it was highly improbable, and forced you to re-examine all your beliefs—you still felt like it was right? I know that you feel something similar right now. Even without conclusive proof, you know that I am who I claim to be."

Harry folded his arms and tried to look impassive, even though his pounding heart betrayed him. The man was right on the money. Even his argument sounded precisely like one that Harry would give. And, if he truly was Harry, then in about five seconds…

The man's voice came out in Parseltongue. "I understand why you are cautiouss, but I promise I am telling the truth and intend you no harm. Even if I wanted to hurt you, I'm not allowed to kill mysself. All I want from you iss to listen to what I have to say. After that, you will have a choice to make. If you wissh, you may call McGonagall, Flitwick, or Hermione to confer with them before deciding."

Harry nodded. "Understood. Then, speak and I will listen."

###

Hermione groaned as she awoke from the deepest exhaustion she'd ever felt in her life.

Get up.

She tried to roll over, but it was no use. She was so tired, she could have slept comfortably on a bed of spikes.

Come on. There's not much time left.

She groaned.

You're the only one who can save them.

She felt something touch her. The barest sliver of energy entered her limbs, but it was enough. She remembered where she was and sat upright.

Dementors. Where…are they?

Her fist closed on a piece of decaying black fabric.

She stared at it, then at the array of identical dark robes around her like a corona.

Oh.

That happened.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement.

"Hermione! Can you hear us?"

She looked out into the dark empty streets, the echo fading into silence as she listened. She almost wondered if she imagined it. That wouldn't be the weirdest thing that happened that night by a long shot.

Hermione stood up, looked at the ruined street, then up at the electric sky. They were still trapped.

It's not over yet.

She felt so, so tired.

Hermione couldn't just stay here, but she also didn't know where to go.

After a few moments' indecision, she saw a soft light in a distant building. It seemed electric, but the power was out. The illumination flickered in and out.

Putting one foot in front of another, she followed the light.

###

June 15th, 6:55 am

"I cannot tell you too much about the future," said the man. "For reasons that will later become obvious, but I will give you a brief overview of what happened." He paused, took in a deep breath, and said in Parseltongue. "In 1993, an organization of pure-blood extremists will come into being. They are called the Undying, and they desire to gain control of the Stone of Permanency and place it in the handss of their organization, ruled by Draco Malfoy and Bellatrix Black. They have a lot of money, power, and connectionss. Their attemptss to assassinate you, your loved ones, and your alliess, will lead to a civil war.

"During the war, you and your followerss work together to outsmart the enemy, and eventually you will succeed. But that victory comess at a very heavy price. Not Pyrrhic, Apocalyptic. Think nuclear winter, but worse."

Harry watched the man's facial expression carefully.

"What was the extent of the destruction? Be specific."

"Billionss of people were killed," said the man. "Both from the war, and from my own effortss to save them. The Source of Magic was destroyed beyond repair, and most formss of magic died with it. The Earth faced a thousand yearss of darkness, if it survived that long. As for the rest, I...do not want to explain. It is better if you do not know. But let me make it perfectly clear: there is no way for you to keep the Stone yourself without this coming to pass."

Harry was very quiet, observing the man's body language. He knew what he expected to see if this were true. Frowning and creases in the forehead. Slumped shoulders, as if carrying the weight of the world. A tremble or crack in his voice.

Harry should see guilt. Even if it wasn't entirely his fault, there was no way Harry wouldn't hate himself for allowing this to happen. But the man stood with hands behind his back, his gaze off towards the lake, barely showing emotion. The entire speech sounded rehearsed.

"In about one year," said the man. "You will have to confront this group of people, and within two, the country will be at war. What will you do about it?"

The man turned back, and Harry stared at him with a perplexed frown.

"So," said Harry. "Based on what you told me, I would ask for the name of everyone that was a member of the Undying. I would put a tracker on them, make sure I know where they are and what they're doing at all times. I would place extra security measures on the Stone of Permanency, including restricting information about it to those who agree to remain in the castle permanently…what?"

The man shook his head. "You still intend to keep the Stone, which means you are thinking of how to win. You need to think about how to lose."

Harry stared at the man for several seconds.

"You…aren't seriously suggesting that I give them the Stone?"

His head tilted slightly. "And if I am?"

"Then we have nothing more to discuss, as clearly you are a fraud. From what little you told me, I'm inferring that the Undying are pure blood extremists who would use the Stone to create a ruling class of corrupt immortals, while killing and silencing their enemies. They would use their power in the political sphere to oppress the entire world, and they would still kill me as a threat to their power. So you tell me, what could possibly motivate me to hand over the Stone?"

"Preventing the apocalypse, for one," said the man. "And preventing the death of magic. In time, it is possible to create a new form of immortality."

"Do you know how?" asked Harry. "Answer in Parseltongue."

"No. Only that it is possible."

Harry folded his arms. "Then my previous objection stands. I cannot give up the Stone to my enemies without a plan that isn't, quite frankly, completely disastrous. Plus, who knows, we may need the stone to jumpstart the invention of a new form of immortality."

The man raised his eyebrows, still leaning casually against the battlements. "Very well then. Do you have any alternative ideas?"

"Alright, first of all, why do you want me to come up with the plan? You're the powerful wizard who folded time and space to save the world, why can't you help me?"

"Because it's your choice, Harry, not mine."

"But you're—" Harry sighed. "Fine. If I can't keep the Stone myself, or give it to the enemy, the next best thing would be to give it to someone else."

"Who?"

"That's the problem. We can take no chances of that secret getting out, so the person would have to be loyal, trustworthy, and allow themselves to be sequestered in this castle. It is exactly what my fate would have been, but since I apparently cannot hold the Stone…what about a natural recluse? Perhaps someone who works in the Department of Mysteries? They don't get out much."

"You're missing the obvious again. There's already someone here."

"What?" Harry paused, realization hitting him. "Wait. You're not thinking…" But Harry could see by the man's expression that he was. "Dumbledore?"

"He fits your profile."

"You...do remember that he's gone, right? He's trapped outside of time in the mirror."

"So we'll release him. All we need is the key."

He gestured to his palm, which held the line of Merlin.

Woah, woah, pause, said Ravenclaw. My bullshit senses are tingling.

"So you're telling me," said Harry slowly. "That the line of Merlin can free Dumbledore from being trapped outside of time, and he just...neglected to tell anyone about this little tidbit of information?"

"Who says he didn't?" said the man, his lips twitching. "You need to take a closer look at the letters he wrote you. Regardless, the line of Merlin will free him."

Harry took a moment to absorb this information.

"Can we free Dumbledore from the mirror completely, with no negative consequences and in a timely manner? Parseltongue, please."

"Within an hour, we can bring him back from being trapped outside of time, but we cannot take him from the mirror. He used magic to enter ssomehow, and I think it's permanent."

"Okay...well, then we ought to go and release Dumbledore post haste, after I take a look at the letters. However, even if we do that, I still have serious reservations about him being my secret keeper."

"Why?"

"Well, he did a pretty terrible job of guarding the Stone of Permanency from Voldemort the first time. Those three tasks—"

"The mirror would have kept Voldemort out if you hadn't helped him," said the man. "And if not, the process of the timeless would have trapped him. You are the reason the Stone was lost."

Harry was quiet for a long moment, then he sighed. "You're right, it was my fault." He thought of Voldemort, laughing as Dumbledore realized that the dark wizard had trapped him, but by then it was too late…

Hufflepuff chimed in. Let's say thathypotheticallywe put our trust in Dumbledore this time, instead of a dark wizard. What would be our next move?

"Okay...so let's say that we make an agreement with Dumbledore," said Harry. "I'll give him the Stone until the threat of a civil war has passed, or until I reach my age of majority. Until then, I will work on preparing the world for immortality. My memories of the Stone and how it works will be sealed, along with its location. After the threat has passed, I will receive the memories back, retrieve the Stone, and we can resume our daily programming."

The man looked at him, a frown of discontent lining his features.

"What's wrong with this plan?" Harry sighed, exasperated.

"Nothing," said the man. "It is exactly the kind of plan an eleven year old version of myself would concoct. It won't work, but I cannot fault you for not knowing why." The man ran a hand through his hair, black but greying slightly in his beard. "Harry, I traveled back in time to be here. Not a time turner, real time travel. I do not remember this conversation with you, because I did not have it. In effect, we are different people on different timelines.

"This action will have grave consequences. We will rewrite thirty years of Earth's history, and Time will not like this. It will rebel against any changes we make. The same events which happened before—the war, the deaths, the suffering—will happen all over again, as sure as water flows downhill. The only thing that can prevent it is a very precise and careful reworking of the past. I am only allowed to change one person's choices in this timeline, and that person is you. So, tell me Harry. If you knew your destiny was to cause the apocalypse, how would you prevent time from destroying everything you love?"

"I…well, I would—"

Harry stopped, a horrible realization dawning on him.

"Your plans to save the world, to make everyone immortal—those days are over now. Your only goal should be to prevent the catastrophe by any means necessary." He paced slowly. "And you must admit to yourself, Tom Riddle, that fate has not cast you as the hero of this story. During this year alone, you have broken Bellatrix Black out of Azkaban and murdered three dozen people. Just think of what you'll be capable of with the Elder Wand and the Stone of Permanency?

The man stopped, turned to face him. "So. This is how we prevent the destruction of the world. You will hand over the Elder Wand and the Stone to Dumbledore. You will also give up your cloak and time turner. Your memories of the last four days will be Obliviated, and you will give up your magic and live as a Muggle. This is how we will save the world."

Harry was silent for a few moments, and then he said. "You know what? Screw you."

"Pardon?" said the man.

"You heard me. I'm not doing it. You've given me precious little evidence that would convince me to trust you, and even less information about the details of this supposed 'Apocalypse.' If you want me to sacrifice my chance at universal immortality, you're going to have to do a much better job of explaining the facts, otherwise we're done here."

The man stared at Harry, disbelief etched across his face. "You have not yet learned to take prophecy seriously. I had forgotten."

"What prophecy? The one about me ripping apart the stars in heaven?" Harry snorted. "Come on, we're scientists. I think that one is clearly open to a more positive interpretation."

"No, it's not." The man folded his arms. "Dumbledore didn't give us the full explanation. It's a lot worse than you could ever imagine."

Harry started to speak—something about prophecies and probabilities—but the man cut him off.

"Before you disregard everything I have to say, dear Tom, remember that I have spent decades analyzing the wreckage of our planet, along with the prophecies that predicted it. There are not one, but thousands of prophecies about the world's destruction. You are mentioned by name in half of them. Every important decision, every threat to humanity's existence, and every terrible mistake is linked inexorably to one Harry James Potter Evans Verres."

Harry felt his mouth go dry. He had been partially aware of this, of course. He'd been worried about what that meant, but it wasn't as if he didn't have a plan. Well, the beginnings of one, anyway.

Harry had made mistakes, it was true. But in spite of his flaws, Dumbledore had staked the future of the world on him. He wasn't about to let this irritating stranger convince him to despair before he'd even started.

The man went on. "Harry, you cannot possibly imagine the crushing weight of responsibility that will be thrust on you, once the war begins. You'll be fourteen years old and sending men to their deaths. While you'll be intellectually capable of the challenge, you will be reckless and impulsive, and that will be your downfall. You won't even realize what you did wrong until it's too late."

"Hang on," said Harry, interrupting the man's speech. "If I'm hearing you correctly, you're saying that I caused the apocalypse due to lack of emotional maturity. That's not some fatal character flaw, it's an area of growth. As you said, I'm inexorably linked to this apocalyptic event by prophecy. So why don't we work with the prophecies to create a better outcome? I mean, you're…older, so why don't you help me learn from your experience, so I don't make the same mistakes?"

The man stared at Harry for a moment.

"Come on, I'm willing to work with you here. Tell me more about what happened in your timeline, and we'll go from there."

"I...did not come back in time to be your new mentor, Harry. The prophecies say that if you come to power you will cause destruction, not that you might, and that should be proof enough. There's nothing you or I can do in one conversation to fix that.

"But let's consider it from a logical standpoint. In a war, the amount of damage you can cause is directly proportional to the amount of power and knowledge you possess. When a leader makes a mistake, it will destroy lives.

"Therefore, the person in charge ought to be of a sufficiently heroic nature. Someone like Hermione, for example, who would be responsible and intelligent, and yet naturally good and courageous, inspiring others and rallying them around her in their time of need.

"Of course, you'll try to be heroic and responsible, and you'll make plans and promises to do better than before. But, your enemies will test you. They will hunt for your weaknesses and attempt to destroy you, just as Voldemort did to Dumbledore, just as evil always tries to destroy the hero. But you have none of their courage, or their patience. Instead, your nature is to grow bitter and reckless, escalating the fight and refusing to back down. Once you amass enough power…"

"Oh my god, shut up."

The man stopped, leveling his gaze on Harry.

He rolled his eyes. "You know, I thought meeting myself would be an interesting experience, but it turns out future me is a pathetic excuse for a wizard."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Oh really?"

"I ask you to do one thing, which is to give me more information about this Apocalypse. But instead, you spew all this nonsense about prophecy and fear mongering. You act as if I'm the villain, when all you've done so far is pontificate and act incredibly suspicious. All of which is leading me to suspect that you're not who you say you are."

"I have given you as much historical evidence as I safely can. What more do you expect me to-"

"Oh, cut the crap. You said you plan on Obliviating me after this conversation anyway, so you have no reason not to give me any and all information I ask for. Why won't you tell me what really happened?"

"I cannot do that."

"No, you won't, because you don't have any evidence. You're lying."

Harry found himself thrown backwards as the man rose to his full height, the world seeming to collapse around him.

In that paralyzing moment, Harry realized three things:

The man had a plan in place for how he would kill Harry before he even got here, or at least soon after arriving. All Harry's protection spells would be disabled or useless by now.

Since these were different timelines, the grandfather paradox might not apply here. Which meant the man did not have to keep Harry healthy or sane to protect his own future.

This man was Master of Death, which meant he was a force of nature and there was absolutely nothing Harry or anyone else could do to stop him.

Harry felt so unbelievably stupid. The man would either kill him or Obliviate him into a living vegetable. All of his precautions were worse than useless.

Lose. Now.

Harry desperately wanted to, but he could not even speak.

"Obliviation is not a cure-all for pesky memories," said the man, the jagged scar pulsing as his voice reverberated with power. "It leaves imprints, tears in the soul that never heal. But you want evidence? Fine."

The rooftop fell away, and Harry stood alone in a decimated city, levitating rocks. Fire fell from the sky, and toxic gases rose from the broken pavement and ruined buildings. He was so exhausted he could barely stand upright, but he couldn't stop digging, not until he found the relic. It was the only thing that would stop her in time.

He hit something metal underground, several meters across. A giant bunker. He ripped off the lid, and saw the liquidated bodies inside. Half of them were children…

The relic, he learned, had been moved hours before his Chaosbringers ever dropped the first bomb…

Mad Eye Moody shook his head. "Son, this won't be easy for you to understand. There are always innocent casualties in war, and you will always be the one killing them. That is the burden of leadership."

It was a lovely spring morning, and again he was in the dirt, only this time to bury his mother. He threw a handful of it on her, while his dad cried. Hermione hugged him, and still Harry didn't cry. His relatives kept calling it a horrible accident, but he knew better. "I will find them," he whispered, his blood boiling with a hate unlike any he'd ever known.

Slughorn's office, late at night. The man's speech was slurred. "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry. If only David Monroe was here, I'm sure he would know what to do. The man was a brilliant strategist, the only one capable of defeating you-know-who. He knew enough ancient magic to rival Dumbledore himself...maybe he could stop the Undying, once and for all."

Harry stared at the ring on his finger, and wondered.

A twelve year old boy clutched a dirty paper in his hand, his eyes wide. "General, we found the bodies of Lavender Brown, Romilda Vane, and Dean Thomas…"

His bathroom mirror was cracked, fracturing his features blurred by tears. "Why is it every time I try to save people, I always lose? I need to be stronger, smarter…"

"Help!" cried Neville's Patronus. "The Ministry, it's collapsing all around us!"

His face was hard and unflinching. "They're cowards, Hermione. They never show their faces, always attacking using unwilling innocents…but tonight, we'll strike a blow they'll never recover from. Say you'll come with me. Please."

The temperature dropped inside him as he faced off against his enemy, eyes burning with cold, calculating rage.

A white laboratory, someone screaming. "You're hurting her, stop! Stop!"

Hermione threw Harry off her, hands clutching her neck as she coughed.

He stared at his hands, unable to believe what he'd done.

"Hermione, wait-"

"You promised me, Harry! You promised you were done with him!"

Years later, a cold, sneering voice. "It would be better for you both if she'd never known you, never loved you. I tried to keep you apart."

"I thought I would be a hero once too."

Harry was plunged back into reality, his body hitting the ground. His heart hammered as existential dread burst out of every pore, and he wanted so badly to scream but couldn't.

The most terrifying thing was that he'd felt it, throughout every memory...the desire to be good. To do what was right. And it was constantly met with horrible failure, like every move he made led to disaster...to relentless suffering and loss...until the only move left was to despair, to flip the board and start over with a new player...

The man hovered, his body glowing with a terrible, dark aura. His magic crept along the ramparts, darkening the sky and dropping the warm summer morning to freezing temperatures.

Without breaking eye contact, the man raised his wand to his temple and pulled a glowing white memory from his mind. "I saved the best for last," he said in a harsh whisper. "Even if you Obliviate yourself afterwards, the scar of this memory will haunt your nightmares. What do you say?"

Harry stared at the memory, white and pale as a ghost, thin and wriggling like a worm that would devour his brain.

No. I don't want it.

"Do you see now?" The memory slowly slid back into the man's mind. "You have always believed you were the hero, because Voldemort believed it. You even succeeded at saving the world for a time, which fed into your delusions. You were convinced you could find a work around to the prophecy, as long as you were strong enough and smart enough.

"Well, it doesn't work out like that for us, Harry. Just look at me! See how much power I have amassed, how dangerous I am! We will always crave power, lying to ourselves that we need it to save others, and refusing to listen when people tell us to stop.

"Since no one else will, let me tell you what you really are. You're an arrogant, foolish, self-centered brat who will grow into a monster. I can't believe the universe fucked up enough to put you in possession of the most dangerous Stone in the universe. Your very existence is a liability, and if I could, I'd be doing you a mercy by erasing you from the timeline entirely."

"So what do you think, Harry?" said the man, his eyes glittering with contempt. "Is that enough proof for you?"

Harry collapsed at the man's feet, heaving great gulps of air, scrambling back away from him. But the man turned away from Harry, as if he was a bug he'd squished under his shoe, a smear you wiped away and forgot about.

He hates himself, Harry realized. He hates me.

Through gasps, Harry finally whispered, "Why…bother with me?"

The man turned, leveling a glare so hateful that Harry didn't know how he managed to speak, but he continued, "You think I'm irredeemable, and clearly you hate me. You're powerful enough, so why not just take what you want by force? Obliviate me, steal my magic and throw me in a pocket dimension. Your goal is to save the world, not me, so...why bother trying to save a monster?"

The man did not answer immediately. "I don't hate you, Harry. I just…" he sighed. "I've made a lot of mistakes. Some of them were my fault, and some of them…were because no one was there to tell me I was wrong. I came back in time to save you, but I find I have even less patience than I once did. I never was very good at diplomacy, and now I just…" He took a deep breath, covering his face in his hands. "You do not want to become me, Harry. I don't know what else to say."

Harry was silent for a long moment. "I'll…umm…I'll do better. I promise, I'll learn from my mistakes. I won't be like…" like you "Like Voldemort."

The man shook his head. "I said the same thing myself, so many, many times. It's a lot harder for us to maintain control than you think. Your dark side, for one thing, will always be a part of you. When you're under stress, it is the imprint of the dark lord who will make your decisions, and you won't even realize until it's too late."

"So…what now?" asked Harry. "Are you going to…erase me?"

"That depends," said the man. "Are you willing to do what it takes to save the world?"

Harry stared at the ground.

Am I truly so evil, he thought. That the only way to save the world, is to destroy my magic? That doesn't make any sense, and I…don't want it to be true. If I give up my destiny and my magic, then I am admitting that I am irredeemably evil.

But he said that time itself will fight against you, said his Ravenclaw side. Do you really want to walk into that battle alone?

Well, I still don't know enough about how time travel works, so maybe there's a way out of this…maybe if we speak to McGonagall or Mad Eye…

"That's what I thought," said the man. "I wanted to give you a choice, because time would be more willing to accept the outcome that way. But there is another option. I could constrain you, make you decide between two options of my choosing. Perhaps that is the only way."

The man's face was very sad, and suddenly Harry felt something click together in his mind.

This ruthless, powerful man from an apocalyptic future...how did he travel twenty years into the past? With the Source of Magic broken...what kind of power would that take?

He is here, the one who will tear apart the very stars in heaven...he is the end of the world...

Harry felt his stomach drop.

They heard feet pattering on the ladder behind them.

"Harry? Who are you talking to?"

###

Harry saw her step off the ladder, hopping lightly onto the stone as if dancing. Her every movement was graceful and fluid, and he couldn't seem to stop staring at her.

A few weeks ago, Hermione had died, killed by a troll sent by Voldemort. Then, four days ago, Harry's Patronus brought her back to life. He'd tried to visit her at St. Mungo's, but they wouldn't let him in. He'd had to wait until now to talk to her about the ramifications of…everything.

They'd planned to meet this morning, so he'd used the time turner to give himself an extra hour to prepare. He'd planned the perfect greeting, but as soon as he saw her, the words flew right out of his head. He just couldn't believe she was here—alive, healthy, with her frizzy curls bouncing behind her.

He gaped at her wordlessly as she stared down at him, frowning. "Is everything okay, Harry?"

Harry realized then that he was still lying on the ground. He scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off. "I'm fine, umm…hi, Hermione. Welcome back."

That's when he remembered his planned greeting—May I have permission to hug you? Of course, he couldn't say that now that the man was here.

"Harry, who's this?" asked Hermione, indicating the interloper. "Is he your uncle, or…?"

"No, he's…well, he's genetically identical and from the future, allegedly."

"Oh," Hermione blinked, examining him with renewed interest. "Oh, wait! Was he the one who brought me back to life?"

"No," said Harry firmly. "That was me. He just got here fifteen minutes ago. He's been going on and on about the apocalypse, or something."

"Apocalypse?" She flinched, glancing from one Harry to the other. "Well…that's not the kind of news I was hoping for, but alright then. Anything I can do to help?"

The man said, in a mild voice, "You're taking this rather well."

She shrugged. "Well, I just died and came back to life with super powers, so nothing really phases me at this point. Speaking of which, I'd eventually like to discuss with you how that happened, Harry."

"Umm," said Harry. "Umm."

"Not that I'm angry, of course. It looks like this actually turned out to be quite providential." She smiled a wistful smile, rocking back on her heels. "This feels like Back to the Future, doesn't it, Harry? We just finished one adventure, and now a new one has dropped into our laps. Except this time, Jennifer gets to save the world instead of staying in the car like a useless lump."

The man chuckled softly, then whispered. "Perhaps you will."

Harry carefully studied the man, whose gaze had never left Hermione since she arrived. This man who usually paced had not moved an inch since her arrival, as if frozen by her presence.

And then, Harry noticed his slumped shoulders, the way he clung to the cobblestone battlements like a lifeline, as if letting go would plunge him into an abyss he couldn't escape. Harry felt a twisting feeling in his stomach, and his eyes narrowed.

"Harry, you both are making such serious faces right now, it's quite funny. Well…I guess you're both Harry. Doesn't that get confusing?"

"Yes," said Harry. "We should call him something else. How about Tom?"

Alright, sooo I know you're upset and all, said his Hufflepuff side. But might I kindly ask you not to poke the bear?

"Err," said Hermione, glancing at the man. "What would you like to be called, sir?"

He didn't say anything for a moment. "Tom is suitable."

"Well, Tom, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Then, Hermione moved towards the stone wall he leaned on.

"Hermione, don't—" Harry said, before realizing that she moved too fast for him to stop. The man froze, cowering back into the wall as she stopped only a few inches from him.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get so close." She stepped back, a flustered expression crossing her face. "Is there some rule about not touching people from the future, or…?"

"No, it's fine," he said softly, eyes wide. "I was…just surprised."

"Sorry, I'm still getting used to this," she said, indicating her new body. "I tried to pull on a door handle this morning, and almost snapped it off." She tugged nervously on her hair. "I'm kind of scared to touch anything else, like a cat or a person."

The man stared at her with an expression Harry couldn't decipher.

"Anyway, umm…" she said. "It's not all that often you get to meet someone from the future. If you have time, I'd love to ask you some questions."

What is this that's happening right now? thought Harry. I don't like it.

"What questions do you have?" he asked.

"Well…I wanted to ask…" She seemed to have trouble speaking. "You've lived quite a bit longer than I have, and I was wondering. Any good books I should read in the future?"

He smiled, crinkling all the way to his eyes. "I'll make you a list. It'll be rather long, you know."

"What, like 100 books?"

"Try adding a few zeros."

"Oh. That's okay, I've got all summer."

"AHEM," said Harry. "Now, if we could get back to the task at hand, I believe you said something about impending doom…"

But to his shock and horror, they ignored him, as if trapped in their own bubble.

"You know, this might seem really strange to say, but I keep staring at your face because you look so different. Harry right now just looks…well, all gangly and short. Like a grasshopper walking around."

"Yeah, I was a geeky kid," he said. "I went through a phase where I wore only black and had a ponytail, which made it even worse." He knelt down to her height. "How do I look now?"

She took a moment to examine his face, too close for Harry's comfort.

"Hmm. I like the beard, but you'd look younger if you shaved."

"Ha. You're just like I remember," he said, grinning. "Frizzy hair, snarky attitude and all."

"Oh, come on," she said, folding her arms. "That's what you remember? You make me sound like a boy."

He laughed like it was a choke coming from deep inside him, and then he was shaking, his hand covering his eyes.

"Oh…" she said. "No, don't cry, Tom."

"I'm sorry," he said, turning his face away. "It will pass."

To his horror, Hermione reached out and hugged him.

After a few moments, his arms wrapped around her, cradling her with infinite tenderness, like she was fragile and might break.

Meanwhile, Harry was seething.

That's not fair! cried Gryffindor. Her first hug was supposed to go to me!

But this is weird, said Ravenclaw. Why are they acting like…oh god no.

You just figured it out? sighed Slytherin. Honestly, just be happy he's distracted and not beating you up and stealing your stuff. We should use this time to plan our escape.

But Harry couldn't think straight, or tear his eyes away. They were having a whispered conversation, too soft for him to hear, and a terrible thought occurred to him.

What if he takes her away?

Why would he…?

Think about it. He hates you. When he leaves, why would he leave her in your care? Especially since he's really…attached to her.

The two of them weren't hugging anymore, but they were still talking, in a soft whispered voice. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

We've got to get her away from him. Think.

Uhh…he might be bluffing about how powerful he is. We would do the same thing if we had no magic, and I haven't actually tested his strength in a duel yet.

That's right, he might not even be able to…

"Hey, Tom," said Harry darkly. "Cast a Patronus."

###

Hermione, Present day

She followed the light for about a mile, walking slowly. When the light flickered out, she was in the dark, the electric storm above her head bringing intermittent sight as it flashed and faded.

Then, all at once, the storm stopped, frozen like a movie in pause.

Hermione stared at it.

That can't be good.

In the eerie, unnatural silence, Hermione walked on.

The light was coming from a warehouse. She passed the loading dock and stepped inside.

The warehouse had been abandoned long ago, and a few aging pallets were the only things left inside from the original owners. Rats and bugs had left a few other gifts.

Hermione felt the spider web on her face before she saw it, covering several poles and hanging off in sheets. A few feet ahead, she saw the dark body of an acromantula thrown against a bunch of boxes. Walking in further, she found Bellatrix's body laying on packing materials.

The graveyard, she wondered. Was it in this warehouse the whole time?

She continued walking inside, apprehension building. Breaking off a piece of wood from an old pallet, she lit it on fire. It gave her enough light to see further into the back of the warehouse.

Hiding behind a few pallets, she spied a pair of white trainers. She walked closer, her entire body trembling.

Harry's body lay still, his eyes open and unseeing. His glasses had been knocked askew, the earpiece brushing his scar.

Gently, she removed the glasses and closed his eyes. Then, she put the glasses back and brushed his hair away from his face.

He looked like he could be sleeping...except his body was cool and beginning to grow stiff. Her hand felt strange on his skin, as if it wasn't really touching him. Nothing in this entire world felt real.

The piece of firewood lay at her side, flickering and dancing, then growing dim.

Harry's Patronus, going dim as its magic faded. "I'm sorry."

Hermione blinked.

Wait...

Grabbing the wood, Hermione searched for five minutes until she found what she was looking for in the far corner: two wands, hers and Harry's, along with their magical pouches and other confiscated items. It was a small miracle Draco hadn't destroyed them...well, then again, maybe he had and time magic brought them back.

She didn't know, and she didn't care. Grabbing her wand, she raced back to Harry's body. Only one thought was on her mind: save Harry.

"Expecto Patronum!"

###

Hogwarts, 1992

7:22 am

The man and the boy stared at each other.

"It's a simple way to prove your identity," said Harry. "You can't steal a Patronus, after all, and pass it off as your own. I'll know right away if it's the same as mine, and I'll be more inclined to trust you. In fact, I'm starting to wonder why you didn't lead by casting that spell."

The man stood up straight, maintaining his stare.

"Tell you what," said Harry. "I'll give up all my items to you and my magic, if you cast your Patronus right now."

Hermione took a step back towards him, and Harry smirked.

"You're not answering," said Harry. "Which means you're trying to find an excuse that isn't actually a lie, but your silence proves everything. See, I've been racking my brain this whole time trying to figure out how you traveled thirty years into the past, breaking the six hour rule by several orders of magnitude. I was worried I'd done something horribly out of character, to be honest. Fortunately, the much less complex and reasonable answer is that you aren't me."

"Harry," said the man, calmly and steadily. "It's possible to lose your Patronus. That is what happened to me."

"Oh, that is such bull—"

"How?" asked Hermione, her voice soft but demanding.

The man rubbed his beard. "I used my Patronus often to bring people back from the dead. My life energy was sacrificed in this exchange, and eventually I didn't have enough left. Other people learned to cast the True Patronus, and they were able to replenish their life energies using certain medicines. But when I tried the same strategies, they were useless. My Patronus never returned."

"What a coincidence," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "I, too, have lost my ability to give a crap."

"How long ago did you lose your Patronus?" asked Hermione.

"Seventeen years," said the man.

"Have you tried recently?" she said. "Maybe it will work now."

The man sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Well," he said. "I'm concerned my happy memory might not be…no, that's an excuse. Besides, the probability of accomplishing something you don't attempt is approximately zero, so..."

She smiled. "You can do it...Harry."

He returned the smile, and Harry was screaming internally.

The man drew his wand, and cried out in a ringing voice, "Expecto Patronum!"

A silver light shot from his wand like a beam of energy, forming the shape of a tall man.

While Harry glowered in disappointment, the Patronus's gaze swept over his surroundings, and then it smiled.

"Knock knock."