There was an article in The Quibbler the very next morning. It bore an arresting headline written in big, bold letters and was accompanied by a menacing looking photo of Harry; the same photo, he realized, that had been used on his Undesirable No. 1 posters. The article itself was pretty much what Harry had expected (though it was wildly different from the few articles he had seen in The Quibbler back when he was still in Hogwarts) it revealed Harry's status as 'Master of Death' and carefully listed all that Xenophilius knew about Harry and his quest for the Hallows. There wasn't much, honestly, but what little he had was damning. The article then went on to explain how and why the Hallows meant the end of them all. Or, at least, all but Harry. It was clear and well written, completely devoid of Xenophilius' mad ravings; even if didn't immediately succeed in convincing those who read it of the wizarding world's fall, it would eventually and it would bring trouble right to Harry's front door.

"So we're back to this," Ron noted angrily as he tossed The Quibbler aside with a sneer of disgust, "having your name slandered in the papers."

"Xenophilius was actually pretty good about not slandering my name," Harry pointed out. "He didn't blame any of this on my greed or my hunger for power as the Prophet would have. But it was inevitable that I would come off looking like the bad guy, the wizarding world is dying because of me."

"It's not because of you," Hermione snapped. "If you hadn't united the Hallows someone else would have eventually and this same thing would be happening then. So quit trying to beat yourself about it, we need you focused."

"Focused on what?"

"Finding some way to stop this." Harry had returned to Grimmauld Place after his discussion with Death the previous night and grimly informed his two friends that all that Luna had said was true, they were coasting towards extinction and the brakes had been cut. There'd been horror and more than a small bit of fear, but then Hermione had declared his lamentations of hopelessness as bullshit and locked herself in the library for the rest of the night. When Harry had shuffled down to the kitchen after a night of fitful sleeping, she was already up and poring over a large book while she sipped at a mug of tea. Seeing her so calm and assured allowed the smallest bit of hope to nip at Harry, if anyone could prove Death himself wrong, it would be Hermione.

"Have you found anything?"

"No, not to stop it." Hermione spared Harry a quick glance while she turned to the next page in her book. "But there is a way we can prevent this whole mess from happening. It'll be just like third year."

Just like third year? It took only a second for Harry to process the statement, his jaw dropped. "You want to go back in time?"

Hermione nodded. "If we can go back to before the war ended and stop you from uniting the Hallows, maybe even find some way to destroy them, then this whole mess would be stopped before it could even start."

"But how would we go back?" Ron wondered. "All of the time turners were destroyed our fifth year, and even if they weren't, they only go back a few hours, right? Not the weeks and months we'd need."

"You're right," Hermione smiled at her boyfriend approvingly. "But we won't be using a time turner." She tapped the spine of her book. "There is a ritual, it's old and powerful and probably really, really dangerous, but it can send us as far back as we need."

"How dangerous."

"If done wrong, best case scenario you're displaced in time, worst case scenario your magic is drained and you die."

"Then we'll just have to make sure we do it right. What do you know about this ritual?"

"Other than that it's incredibly high risk? It's not like time turner travel, when you go back, you replace the you that exists, they're gone so you have to live from that point on. There's no traveling back, we'll have to relive every moment."

Ron didn't seem at all upset by this. "That's a small price to pay. How far back do you intend to send us?"

"I was thinking Christmas of last year," Hermione suggested. "That was only a few days before we made the mistake of visiting Xenophilius."

Harry hummed contemplatively. "At that point I had both the stone and the cloak, but I hadn't actually physically touched the stone and the wand was still with Voldemort. I like it, we should do it. What will it take?"

Hermione sighed heavily. "A lot. The ingredients we need are obscure, I'm not even sure where we can find some of these things, and they're bound to be incredibly expensive. Not to mention it needs to be done in a specific order at a specific time of the year."

"When?"

"Mid-November, I think." Hermione consulted her book. "It has something to do with moon magics and such, that specific time of the year is when the spell will be most effective. If we have everything we need when the time comes around, actually performing the ritual won't be all that hard. It requires a basic knowledge of runes and a fair bit of magic, but it can be done."

What Hermione was saying was all good news, but something about her delivery indicated that there was more to what she was saying. Ron seemed to sense it too as he immediately pressed her to go on. "But…?"

"But," Hermione sighed, "all three of us won't be able to go back. One of us will have to remain behind to perform the ritual."

"And you think it should be you," Harry guessed.

"Well, yes actually. Of the three of us, I would be the easiest to convince that the two of you were from the future, I've dealt with this sort of thing before. Not to mention, I'm the only on with experience in ancient runes, I should be the one to perform the ritual."

"What will happen to you when we change the past?" Ron frowned. "Will you remember what we've done or will you just be gone?"

Hermione shrugged. "I honestly don't know. But no matter which way it goes, you'll still have me. It'd be a slightly different version is all."

"It's the best option we have," Harry was speaking directly to Ron, who didn't seem entirely convinced. "I think we should do it."

"It's risky."

"But it's worth it. Think all of the people we'll save, not just those who will die, but those we already have."

Realization slowly dawned. "Fred?"

Harry nodded. "And Remus and Tonks and anyone else that we can save."

Ron still looked uncertain but his jaw no longer held that stubborn set that signified that he was completely against the idea. "What are we waiting for then? Let's get started."


Hermione had said that some of the ingredients would be obscure, that, in any ordinary situation, the items they were in need of would be near impossible to get their hands, but of course neither Harry nor Ron had really paid much mind to her warning until they saw the actual list of ingredients.

Most of it was easy enough, basic supplies that could be found at just about any apothecary; feathers of a diricawl, dried forsythia petals, the liver of a tawny eagle, the root of an Angel's Trumpet soaked in the brine of the Dead Sea. But then there were a handful of ingredients that weren't so simple.

"Unicorn blood willingly given," Ron read incredulously, "the skull of a girtablilu, the fingerprint of the gods. The hell does that even mean?"

"Unicorn blood actually shouldn't be that big of a problem for us," Hermione soothed, having already gotten over how difficult it would be to procure those final objects. "Hagrid has quite the way with unicorns, I'm sure he'll be willing to give us a hand with that. The latter two are what may give us some issues."

"Well, yeah," Harry agreed cynically. "The skull of gerty-whatever and a god's fingerprints? What's a gerty-thing and how do we get a god's fingerprint?"

"A girtablilu is a sort of man, scorpion hybrid," Hermione explained, "they're ancient creatures, I don't even know if they still exist or where we could find their remains. The fingerprint of the gods is just a fancy way of saying fulgurite, sand that's been crystalized by a lightning strike. Our only problem is the amount and quality of fulgurite that will be needed to perform the ritual will be expensive. Really expensive."

"But you know where to find it, yeah?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Not specifically, but I know that if I looked I'll eventually find somewhere that sells it."

"Then don't worry about it. Our main focus right now needs to be figuring out where we can find that girtablilu."

"I did a bit of research on them last night, they supposedly originate from the Mesopotamic region, but," Hermione shrugged, "it doesn't get more specific than that."

"If these creatures really do or did exist, an apothecary in that region might have something," Ron suggested. "And even if they don't, maybe they could point us in the right direction."

Hermione nodded. "I'll look into it a bit more, see if I can't find something a little more specific."

Harry granted Hermione a reassuring smile. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. You said the ritual had to be performed mid-November? That's six months from now."

"In the meantime, I'll get started on getting the rest of these," Ron waved the list of ingredients about, "I should be able to find most of what we need in Diagon Alley. And Harry will…Harry what will you be doing?"

"I've got some research of my own to do," Harry nodded toward the Occlumency texts stacked on the counter. "I've got six months to keep whatever abilities may come under control, then I'll be free of them."

"All right." Hermione nodded decisively. "We've all got our tasks. Let's hop to it."


There was a wizard enclave, a small but prosperous farming community just within the border of England. Within it were only a few hundred wizards, witches, and their families, but with a little help from their magic, they were able to provide farmed goods, meats, dairies, fresh vegetables, to nearly every wizarding establishment and quite a few homes in the United Kingdom.

They were a peaceful people, if not a bit introverted. None of their children attended Hogwarts, choosing to be taught within their small community, and none of them played any part in the war, choosing to remain neutral in regards to that particular conflict. Most of the population of wizarding Britain didn't realize the importance of these people, they kept a portion of the European wizarding world fed and happy and thriving. But then, one evening in the middle of the month of May, only weeks after the defeat of the dark lord Voldemort, they were attacked. They were destroyed.

It started in the dead of the night with a shiver, then a quake, then a fall. Their wards fell with absolutely no warning before or after, the wizards within had no reason to believe they were no longer safe behind the privacy of their wards until the muggles began showing up, curious as to what this strange place was, this community that had most certainly not been there the previous day.

They were only curious at first, if not confused, they didn't wish to do any harm, only to find some answers. But the members of the wizard community were taken off guard and just the slightest bit frightened, they attempted to use their magic to drive the intruders away and for a short period of time, it worked, but then they returned with more. More people and more guns and things turned violent.

There were less than one hundred muggles in comparison to the two hundred wizards, but the muggles were armed with weapons that could fire and kill five wizards in the time it took to cast one spell. They didn't fight for long only because they didn't survive for long. When the Aurors finally arrived only three wizards, all gravely injured, and twelve muggles remained.

The acting Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, oversaw the interment of the dozen muggles into the Ministry's temporary holding cells with a disbelieving horror.

"This is the second incident this week." His tone belied his overwhelming concern. "What is the cause of this?"

A navy adorned Unspeakable immediately stepped forward to answer the Minister. "Since the breach in the Leaky Cauldron, we've been tracking the strength of wards across the region, from what we've seen so far, their strength have dramatically decreased. The larger the area cloaked in wards, the more dramatic the decrease. Establishments such as Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, St. Mungo's, Diagon Alley are seeing the worst of it."

"But why?" Kingsley pressed. "What is causing the wards to fail? And why are the wards around some falling altogether while the wards around Hogwarts and the like remain?"

"We believe it's due to the strength of the wards. The protections surrounding the enclave were weak and hadn't been renewed in years, whereas those around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade are restored every month. As for why this is happening," the Unspeakable shook her head, "we've yet to pinpoint the source."

"All right," Kingsley sighed, "well keep working on that. Meanwhile, I've got to deal with this mess."

"Reporters from the Prophet were already on the scene when we left," Gawain Robards, the new head auror stepped in, "a few followed us and the muggles here so we can expect the mob to be on our doorstep no later than this evening. They'll want blood."

"More than enough has been spilled already. I've already arranged a meeting with the muggle prime minister, I'll be heading that way once the muggles are settled in. I'm hoping we can at least begin sorting this out before the news is released to the masses."

"Go on then," Robards urged. "I'll keep an eye on them, they're no longer much of a danger to us."

Kingsley sighed again, not at all looking forward to the coming meeting, he was eager to just get it out of the way already. "I'll leave them under your capable supervision then." He clasped Robards on the shoulder then turned to leave.

When he stepped through the floo, the prime minister was already waiting for him, seated comfortably behind his desk with an expression of deep weariness that matched Kingsley's own exactly.

"What a mess this is, isn't?" the man lamented, startling a rueful laugh from Kingsley.

"That it is," he agreed as he settled in the seat across from him. "One that I wish to sort out as quickly and quietly as possible."

"Quickly I can do," the prime minister nodded, "however, I'm not sure about quietly. I don't know how I can cover this one up, eighty-nine of my men were killed."

"Two hundred and thirty seven of mine were, children included. And all because your men were a little spooked."

"And don't you think they had a right to be? After all those unexplained killings."

"Unexplained killings that have ended and been ended for nearly a month now," Kingsley interjected testily. "And whether they had a reason to be spooked or not, that does not justify their attack on my people."

"What would you have me do? They can't be punished, not without revealing your existence to them and others."

"I don't know," Kingsley growled in frustration. "But I can't just let them walk, not unless I wish to have a riot on my hands."

"Surely if you explain it was only an accident, one performed out of fear and a belief that they were defending themselves," the prime minister implored.

Kingsley shook his head. "It won't be had. Those who were killed were important, they provided a large portion of our food, this will have a far reaching impact on our world, one that cannot be so easily forgiven."

"Then perhaps a trade? We, the muggle world, will provide your people meats, dairy, crops and whatever else was lost in the attack for as long as is needed, but only if our men are returned whole and healthy."

Kingsley took a long moment to consider the proposal, it would not completely quell the outrage that would spark when the wizarding world was informed of the massacre, but it would do well to dampen it if only slightly. "Their memories would have to be altered," he countered. "Looters killed your men, a posse of young gang members strung out on drugs went from farm to farm and killed those people."

"That's a lot of damage done by one group of kids," the prime minister pointed out.

"Change it around as much as you like, just make it work." Kingsley rose to his feet. "I'll return in a few hours with a proper agreement worked out."

With that, he stepped into the fire and disappeared once again.


The article detailing the attack on the farming enclave was released that evening, just as Robards predicted, and it shook the wizarding world to its core. They had only just rid themselves of Voldemort and already they were dealing with a new threat. Only this threat had always been there, surrounding them, outnumbering them one to one hundred million. They'd lulled themselves into believing that they were protected from this threat, their wards were supposed to keep them safe, but they were falling and people had died because of it.

But if the Daily Prophet article had been bad, the Quibbler was worse because they had predicted this, they had said that Harry and the Hallows would be the end of them, and it would start with their magic failing. But no one had listened, or at least not enough people had listened, assuming Xenophilius was back to his usual mad ravings now that the war had passed. Xenophilius had nothing new to say, he had poured every bit of proof into his last article, so he reprinted it, and this time, people listened.

"I think maybe we should leave," Ron suggested the night the article was rereleased. "The three of us and all of our family. Just until November when we can get this all sorted out."

Hermione looked up from her reading to fix Ron with a contemplative frown. "You want to leave? And go where?"

Ron shrugged. "Somewhere far from here. Far from muggles. If the wards around this place falls, people will notice, there's never been a Number Thirteen and they know it. Same goes for the Burrow. And even if the muggles don't get us, the wizarding world certainly will. If any more wizards are attacked, and I have a feeling they will be, people will really start listening to Lovegood, they'll want to bring Harry in and they'll come for my family to find him. That's a lot of enemies, our best bet would be to, ah…tactically retreat."

"Where?" Hermione repeated.

"I have a few properties," Harry spoke up. "The Potters have a home somewhere in Scotland, far from both wizards and muggles. Its location has always been a pretty big secret, I don't think even the Ministry knows where it is."

"Your parents are muggles, Hermione, so they'd be all right if they decided they didn't want to move again. My family might be a bit harder to convince, Dad's got work, Ginny has school in the fall, Bill has the cottage, but I think they'll come around once things start getting worse."

"If," Hermione corrected firmly. "Things only might get worse. The Prophet said that Kingsley has already been working with the muggle Prime Minister to address this issue and make sure it never happens again. It seems as if he has everything well in hand."


Things were not well in hand. Three days after their imprisonment, only hours before their memory was to be wiped and they were to be set free, the twelve muggles who had survived the massacre were found dead in their cells. They showed no sign of poisoning nor did any of them have any sort of injuries, which led those who were investigating the deaths to believe that they had each found themselves to the recipient of a killing curse.

The muggle prime minister was furious, he had upheld his end of the bargain, he'd pinned the slew of deaths in the countryside on a fanatic cult and he had sent his first shipment of perishable goods to all the right people only just that morning. And all he had asked in return was the safe return of his men. He demanded answers, he wanted to see those responsible punished, but Kingsley had nothing to offer him, he too had been blindsided by the murders. And so, until he could provide the prime minister with some proof that the situation was being handled, their deal was off.

In the wake of this newest complication, it took no effort at all to persuade Ron's family to take some time off of work to spend a few months away from the wizarding world. They were just as eager to be away from the growing danger in their world as Harry, Ron, and Hermione were, even if it meant putting their careers on hold. Mrs. Weasley was especially pleased with the idea, she loved the Burrow, nowhere else could be home, but it held so many painful memories, it would do her and her family well to get away for a while.

The morning of their departure, everyone gathered in the Burrow to ensure last minute details were in order and to share one more meal around the well-worn table for what was sure to be a long while. It was loud and hectic, but there was a palpable air of excitement throughout the entire house. Their reason for leaving to the country certainly wasn't the greatest; fleeing ones homes to escape the angry mob sure to descend upon them at any given time would leave a bitter taste in anyone's mouth, but their place of refuge was to be one of the Potter family's more resplendent manors located in the secluded highlands. With all of the amenities the manor was sure to boast, they would be hard pressed not to view their temporary stay as a vacation of sorts. One that they had most certainly earned.

"Good morning, Harry." Mrs. Weasley reached out to run a gentle hand across his cheek when Harry entered the kitchen she'd been working away in and leaned against the counter beside her. "Decide to take a break from the madness?"

"I don't want to be in the way of Fleur and Ron and they're numerous trunks. I don't have much so it didn't take long to give it one last check. Do you need any help in here?"

"I've just about finished actually. But if you don't mind, could you go and find Ginny for me? Knowing that girl she's probably still asleep."

Ginny's room was only one floor up from the ground level, but the tossing about of trunks and bickering voices couldn't be heard once he climbed the staircase. No doubt through the use of a handy charm. In the ensuing quiet, Harry could hear the absolute silence coming from Ginny's room and could only find himself agreeing with Mr. Weasleys assumption, in all the years he'd known her, he'd come to know that Ginny was a late riser.

"Hey, Gin. Your mum's got breakfast that'll be gone quicker than you can breathe if you don't hurry and grab some now."

With his head leaning against the wall, ear fairly close to the space between the frame and door, Harry was just able to catch the creak of a dried out throat attempting to speak.

"Ginny? Are you awake?"

There was nothing this time, the noise, faint as it had been before, had now fallen completely silent.

"I'm coming in, okay?"

The first thing Harry noted when he entered Ginny's room, was that it was stiflingly hot. Both the windows and the door had been shut, preventing the proper circulation of air and trapping the body heat Ginny was letting off. And she was letting it off in waves. Her thick comforter had been thrown to the floor, discarded in a sad little heap at the foot of her bed, while she remained tangled in her sheets, the thin fabric of which clung to her sweat soaked skin. At first glance she looked asleep, but when Harry approached and crouched beside her bed, a thin line of white between her barely open eyelids became visible.

"Gin?"

And there was the noise again, a pitiful groan of exhaustion and discomfort, forcing its way from Ginny's chest.

"Merlin, you're burning. But you were fine last night." Harry gently tucked a strand of red hair behind his friend's ear, the only form of comfort he could relay in that moment. "All right, I'm going to get your mum, she should have something in her potions cabinet to help."

Ginny murmured something he couldn't understand, but the trembling hands she brought up to weakly pat at his own conveyed her thanks just as well.

"Did you manage to rouse the beast, for me?" Mrs. Weasley smiled when Harry came bounding down the stairs.

He shook his head, a concerned frowned taking over his face. "I couldn't get her out of bed, she's sick, I think. Running a high fever."

Mrs. Weasley set aside the pot she'd been transferring to the table, her brow furrowed in concern. "A fever? How can you tell?"

"I could feel it, once I walked into her room."

"Oh dear, she must have caught something from Diagon yesterday. I told her that little sandwich shop she likes is just no good. Let me gather a few things."

Several potions were gathered from a cabinet above the sink and a handful of herbs tossed into the kettle before Mrs. Weasley followed Harry up to the second floor. Ginny had managed to prop herself up on a few pillows in his absence as well as arrange the sheets around her legs a little neater than they had been earlier, but now that she sat a little straighter, the dark growths ringed in an inflamed purple that clung to her neck and disappeared beneath the neckline of her shirt became painfully obvious.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Weasley set the potions to the side and used her wand to cast a bubblehead charm over both herself and Harry.

"What is it?" Harry asked, words the slightest bit distorted due to the charm.

"The growths along her neck, it's not just a fever she has, but scrofungulus."

"That's a wizarding disease, right? Is it dangerous?"

"It won't kill her, fatal cases of scrofungulus are rare. But she'll need to be taken to St. Mungo's if she's to be treated properly, we'll have to put our plans on hold for the moment."

"Seeing her well is more important. Besides, the manor isn't going anywhere and things have been pretty quiet as of late, we shouldn't be in any danger if we hold off on our retreat for a few more weeks."

When the others were informed of Ginny's sudden illness, they all wanted to sit with her and offer whatever comfort they could, but due to the contagious nature of the sickness, they were firmly told to keep their distance by Mrs. Weasley. Harry, who had already been exposed to the virus was the only one allowed to remain with Ginny, offering his companionship and distractions in the form of stories of when Dudley had been sick as a child. And it was him who carried her through the floo, with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley just a few steps behind her.

The healers took one look at the boils that had begun creeping up Ginny's throat and across her chin, before encapsulating their entire group in some modified version of a bubble charm and herding them up to the second floor. They were taken to their own room, private from any other patients in the ward and Harry was finally able to set Ginny down (she really was quite heavy) on a small cot.

A healer was at her side immediately, casting a diagnostic over her while simultaneously looking her over from top to toe with her own two eyes. "Mark this down as one more scrofungulus case," the healer ordered one of the two medi-wizards observing the procedure before turning to Harry and the two Weasley's. "When did she begin showing symptoms?"

"Sometime in the night, I would think. She went to sleep fine, but when Harry went to wake her this morning she was already sporting the growths." Mrs. Weasley wrung her hands worriedly. "Is there something else wrong with her? It doesn't usually come on this quickly, does it?"

"Not normally, but we've seen a few cases of quick onset scrofungulus these past few days, it may be a new strain. Any idea where she may have caught it?"

"She visited Diagon Alley with a few friends yesterday afternoon, it could have been from anyone there."

"Medi-wizard Prudence will take the name of those friends if you have them. He'll then have a few forms for you to fill out. Were bubble-head charms worn throughout the duration or, at least, the majority of your time with her?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded.

"Did any of you have physical contact with her?"

Harry stepped forward. "I did, before I knew what it was she had."

"I'm afraid that means you're ours for the next twenty-four hours. We'll need to keep you quarantined to make sure whatever you may have caught from her doesn't get passed on to others."

"You said this isn't your first case of scrofungulus this week," Mr. Weasley spoke up. "But it's not usually so commonly occurring. Should we be worried?"

"No. At the moment there is no cause for concern." The healer tucked away her wand, done examining Ginny. "You said she was at Diagon Alley yesterday, such places are where one is most likely to pick up any sort of sickness, especially one as contagious as this."

"And how quickly it set in?"

"We see mutated viruses and new strains of sickness all of the time. So far it has shown no sign of being any more fatal than the previous strain."

"But it must be more aggressive if the symptoms have begun showing much sooner than usual."

The healer shrugged. "Or perhaps it just has a shorter lifespan now. But it is not our job to research the disease, only ensure your daughter is well treated for it. Now, if you don't mind getting those names to Prudence. And we'll need a bit more information from you sir, once we have you settled in a room of your own."

The last thing Harry wanted was to be stuck in quarantine for the next twenty-four hours, not when he had far better things he could be doing, but the healer allowed him no option. She guided him into a separate room with the skill of a woman used to dealing with stubborn patients and set him up with a clipboard and quill to fill out his personal information. Mrs. And Mr. Weasley paid him one last visit with an update on Ginny before they returned home, she was still having trouble remaining conscious for more than a few minutes at a time, but the healers were already plying her with the necessary potions and salves to see her better.

"It shouldn't be more than a week before the worst of it has passed," Mr. Weasley explained. "Once she's no longer contagious we can take her home, you'll be out of here by then and we can be on our way."

A week's postponement wasn't much of a setback, the muggles had been quiet and with those responsible for the farm town's massacre dead the wizarding world had settled down if only slightly and focused their energy on finding some way to rebuild their food stores rather than fruitless attempts at revenge. They could wait a week.

But then it passed, a full seven days, and Ginny wasn't better. Harry had been released after twenty-four hours, miraculously having avoided catching the illness in the short time he'd spent exposed to Ginny, he returned to the Burrow where the rest of the Weasleys remained gathered, waiting for the news that the treatments were beginning to take effect. But the news never came, she got worse. The pustules spread across her entire body, covering every patch of skin with painful blisters that burst when they grew too swollen and excreted a foul smelling pus that seemed to burn at what little skin of hers hadn't been covered by the boils.

All of the cases that had come before hers and the multiple more that had come after were just as awful, the healers cited them as being far more aggressive than any strain they had seen before. And it was incredibly contagious, of the five friends Ginny had been with when she'd likely been exposed to the virus, four of them had fallen ill with is a well. An entire corridor of the magical bugs floor had been taken up by those suffering from scrofungulus and another one was being cleared to prepare for the continued influx of infected.

"This is it, he said this would happen." Harry set aside his copy of the Prophet. The front page bore an article pondering over this curious spread of this magical bug. It was worded with concern, but no one had yet died from it so fear had not yet set in. He knew it would only be a matter of time. "The Ministry is doing their best to keep it quiet, but we're already beginning to see the start of another war, we're already beginning to see the effects of famine, and now this, now pestilence."

A heavy look was exchanged between Ron and Hermione, one that they assumed he couldn't see because of the way his gaze still lingered on the Prophet even though he really could.

"How do you know?" Hermione spoke softly, gently, as if afraid of spooking him.

"I can sense it."

"Sense it how? What does it feel like? How do you know?"

And for a moment, Harry had no answer. There were no words that could wholly encompass the magnitude of what Death and his Heart had done to him. "If I was born without sight, how would you describe its existence to me?" His head tilted curiously to the side as he waited for a response, when it was evident there would be none, he answered for his two friends. "You couldn't. There is no way to describe it, explain it. It just…is. I can't tell you how I know, I just do, the same way that you can look at this horrible bedspread and tell me that it's orange. People are going to die, a lot of people."

Hermione's hand trembled when she reached out to place it atop his knee. Harry's was steady when he allowed his fingers to trace along her knuckles before twining them together. "We have a way to stop it."

"We haven't touched the ritual since we got here. We don't know how to perform it and we don't have the items necessary to perform it."

"We will though; we'll learn how to perform it and we'll find everything we need to perform it."

Harry smiled, unable to do anything else when Ron was so confident in himself and the words he spoke. He wished desperately for a bit of that confidence for himself, because now, when Ginny's life was quite possibly on the line, he couldn't afford not to be.

"And you're wrong for that matter about us not having worked at all on the ritual since we arrived here." Hermione's tone had taken on the lofty pitch of the know-it-all schoolgirl he'd once found to be dreadfully grating but now only felt an unparalleled affection for. "I never stopped working on it."

"What have you got for us then?"

"I owled Hagrid about the unicorn blood, he was understandably curious about what we would need it for, but he agreed to collect a vial or two for us."

"Which leaves only the fulgurite and the skull."

"There are places that sell it here in Europe, but it's pricey. As in tens of thousands of galleons."

Harry didn't even flinch. "We have that. So the skull is really all that's left."

Hermione nodded. "I've been in contact with a few vendors in the Mesopotamic region, I'm just waiting on a response now."

"You know, when we first started all this hero-ing, no one told me there would be quite this much waiting." Ron sighed and sprawled out across his bed. "It's not nearly as glamorous as the stories would lead you to believe."

Hermione laughed and reached for a book she'd been perusing in her spare time while Harry settled down on his own cot. "I don't much mind waiting," he mused. "The moments in-between are nice."

There would no doubt be a half-hearted scolding from Mrs. Weasley waiting for them in the morning, she'd never condoned Hermione spending the night in the attic with Ron and Harry but since she and Ron had officially begun their relationship she'd been even more adamant about sticking to boundaries. But Harry knew she didn't like sleeping in the twins' old bedroom, George still slept in his own apartment above the joke shop, but the room still had too much of his and his passed twin's personality's in it for her to truly be comfortable, and Harry was suddenly and inexplicably too tired to care.

He fell asleep to Hermione's soft voice reading aloud for both his and Ron's benefit, expecting dreams of the white ravens and encroaching winters she spoke of and instead falling into something entirely different.


It was exactly like every Voldemort induced nightmare that had been forced upon him before the dark lord had met his final end. He was in someone else's body, experiencing all that they could but unable to influence any form of movement. He was outside, the sharp fabric and plastic mesh of a dog's lead cutting into his hand while a massive mastiff bounded several yards ahead. This wasn't just a leisurely stroll to enjoy before the late of the night really set in though, Harry, or whoever he was meant to be, his dog, and two others, young men, no older than Harry himself by the look of them, were trudging through the woods, whispering and laughing with each other as they snuck to whatever destination they undoubtedly had no business being at.

"What're we even looking for?" the voice that came from Harry's mouth had a distinctive cadence to it, as if they were somewhere in Wales. Though Harry couldn't for the life of him imagine why his dream would lead him to Wales of all places.

"I told you, I don't know what I saw," one of the others panted as the ground began to incline, "I veered off the trail this morning and saw it taking off with a sheep."

"What did it look like, at least?"

"Green and huge….and I think it had wings. It was through here."

The trio broke free from the trees into an expanse of open land nestled between the bases of two low reaching mountains. It was almost entirely barren, not even a lost sheep in sight, and dark, barely lit by the half moon.

"Something doesn't feel right," Harry felt his hijacked body shiver in something deeper than cold. "We shouldn't be here."

"No, I know what you mean," the third member of the group said. "Feels like we forgot something, you cook anything before we left? Accidentally leave the stove going?"

Harry shook his head.

"Then don't worry."

The first friend, the one leading the strange search, began jogging in the direction of the closest mountain. "I saw it by there. But it disappeared around the mountain when I tried to take a closer look."

The three boys and lone dog picked their way across the open field, slipping in the ankle high grass that had been muddied by an earlier rain shower. It took nearly half an hour to reach the first mountain, though it shouldn't have even taken half that in the right conditions. The boys were filthy and exhausted, but their spirits remained unflagged in the face of their childish curiosity as they split up to search the area around the mountain.

"There's bones here!" one of Harry's companions shouted after a little over five minutes of searching. "Picked apart and all bloody, I think it belonged to a sheep."

Harry's meat-suit headed in the direction of the shout, he could just see his two friends bent over the gnawed on remains of some poor animal's bones, but then the dog who had, until then, been happily trotting along at his side, dug his clawed feet into the ground and let out a high pitched sound of primal terror.

"There's something else here. Ellian, come take a look! There's a whole bunch of them."

"Hang on, something's got Alwyn scared." Harry gave a sharp tug to the leash, still wrapped around his hand, but the dog remained put.

"They look like some kind of egg, but I don't know what kind of bird they could belong to. These things are bigger than my head!"

"Alwyn, come on! Bring one here, he won't move."

The two boys tripped over to Harry, one was cradling an egg that truly was the size of his head, if not bigger, in his arms. It was a rich brown interspersed with a deep, earthy green. It was a handsome egg, one that Harry recognized all too well. He had seen a whole cluster of the things surrounding a solitary golden egg of the same size, while its mother fiercely protected the whole bunch from the beautiful french woman who had gone on to marry his best friend's brother.

He wanted to speak, to warn the three idiots and their dog of the danger, but this wasn't his body to pilot, he could only watch as his host did when the dog, Alwyn, screeched on last final yelp of fear before racing off with such speed and force he tore the lead from his hand. And when the boy turned back to his friends confused and preparing to chase after the loosed canine, he saw through eyes that weren't his own as something enormous and straight from his nightmare slunk from around the mountain, blending in frighteningly well despite its size with the lush green landscape. The other two saw it the same time he did, the egg fell from suddenly nerveless fingers and cracked open on one unfortunately placed rock. Thick, slimy liquid and the fetus of a not yet fully developed Welsh Green dragon spilled across the ground.

Its mother roared.


Harry woke violently, hands clutching at a shoulder that, only moments earlier, he'd felt talons impossibly long and fatally sharp tearing into. He rolled out of bed, panting and struggling to reorient himself. Somewhere above he could hear concerned voices and hands trying to pull him upright, but he shook them off and leaned himself heavily against the wall.

"Ron, get your dad….I need your dad."

"What?"

Harry forced himself to open his eyes as he gulped in heavy breaths. "I need to talk to your dad."

Ron's lips pressed into a tight, worried line, but he nodded and stepped quickly from the room. Hermione reached out as if to touch him, but then reconsidered her action, clearly remembering the last time Harry had been overwhelmed by some force she couldn't understand. He laughed, a tad breathlessly, and reached out to take her hand, finding some comfort in her grounding presence.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Don't worry about me," Hermione snorted. "Is everything all right? What happened?"

"I saw something…in my dream."

"Another attack?"

"Not exactly."

It had to be well past midnight by this point, as evidenced by the sleep heavy glaze over Mr. Weasley's eyes and the wrinkled pajamas he wore, but Ron's father, when he arrived, showed a great amount of concern for Harry's tale and agreed to help him get in contact with those capable of finding out if what he'd seen had really come to pass. Kingsley would be the best person for that, and thanks to the fact that the Weasleys and the acting Minister of Magic were still on close terms, that proved to be much easier than it would be for just about any other wizard. The Burrow's floo network was connected with Kingsley's own and so Harry was able to establish contact with the man almost immediately.

"I had a dream."

Kingsley's entire face darkened. Those four words had grown to be a source of dread for the Order during the war as what succeeded them was rarely ever good news.

"You-Know-Who?"

"No, something else. I don't know how I saw it, but the reserve-the dragon reserve in Wales I think, muggles got into it, three boys."

"You saw them?"

Harry nodded. "It was just like it was with him. I could see it through their eyes, the whole thing. They found a dragon, or rather it found them, and it's furious, I think it's going to kill them if it hasn't already. One of its eggs was broken."

"And you're certain it was real? Not just a dream?"

"I've learned to tell the difference."

Kingsley sat back on his haunches, releasing a heavy sigh. "There are two reserves in Wales, one is much closer to muggle population than the other. Did you-"

Behind Kingsley, a portrait whose frame had previously been empty burst to life, it was a stately looking man whose ridiculously coiffed, powdered wig sat askew on his head. The acting Minister gestured for Harry to wait as he rose from in front of the fireplace to greet the portrait. Words were exchanged and grimaces had before Kingsley returned with news that he would have to end their call as he was needed immediately at the Ministry.

"Is it the dragon?" Harry asked before the call could be ended. "Did it kill them?"

"It didn't just kill them." A tired hand ran over a bald head. "It escaped."


Fifteen muggles were killed during the dragon's rampage and over thirty others seriously injured. The Welsh Green species wasn't known for being particularly violent, they preferred to keep away from muggles, but her territory had been intruded upon and a hatchling killed, such a crime would send even the most peaceful of creatures into a rage. A rage that was ended only when the mother dragon was put down by the handlers who had cared for her from her hatching.

It was worse than the Ilfracombe Incident had ever been, the Prophet claimed, because the attack didn't occur in just one centralized point, farms and homesteads across the countryside were hit. Too many to properly account for. Perhaps if they had had the full cooperation of the muggle government it would be different, but they had already been on shaky grounds with them since the still unsolved murder of the survivors of the farm massacre, the dragon's violent spree across the country only aggravated the unhealed wound of their relationship. The First Minister of Wales point blank refused to aid in the cleanup of the attack, he would have no hand in concocting another fairy tale to help mask the wizarding world's blunders, not when it had turned out so badly for his counterpart in the United Kingdom. If his people were in danger of being attacked and killed by mythical creatures then they had a right to know. He couldn't outright expose the wizarding world, he'd formed an agreement when first learning of their existence to do no such thing, but it was not his obligation to help account for their mistakes.

The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, more specifically the Obliviator Divison, worked in conjunction with the Auror Corps and the Muggle Worthy-Excuse Committee to cover up the catastrophe with the liberal utilization of memory charms and crafty cover stories. But without the backing of the muggle governments, their cover story was not quite as solid as it could have been and more than a few muggles remained unaccounted for, and so, unobliviated.

Harry was certain that, sometime in the future, those very muggles would be giving them a hell of a lot of trouble.

The indefinable sensation of encroaching death buzzed beneath Harry's skin, he was consistently on knife's edge, waiting for the day where one disaster too many struck and the wizarding world began looking for someone to pin the blame on. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that it would be him, Xenophilius had set him up to be the perfect scapegoat. So he moved on to Potter Manor, Ginny was still sick and growing worse with each day, but Harry couldn't risk his pseudo-family's safety by remaining in the Burrow. Hermione joined him in the manor and while Ron remained at the Burrow to be close to his sister and family, he visited nearly every day to help in preparing for the ritual that would fix everything.

Cut off as they were from the rest of the world, there was very little to distract them from fully devoting themselves to gathering the last of the required ingredients. The fulgurite came first, Harry had to fork over nearly a quarter of the Black family's fortune, but the hunk of fulgurite as long as his forearm was well worth the cost. Unicorn blood, gathered with no trouble by Hagrid arrived via owl post only days later. Third and finally was the skull of the creature whose name Harry still couldn't pronounce, it took the better part of two months communicating back and forth with different vendors in the eastern Mediterranean region before one contact finally pointed them in the right direction. One day trip to Khaitan, Kuwait later and they possessed the skull of the half-man, half-scorpion who would send Harry back in time.

With no more ingredients to gather, all there was left to do was wait. November was the ideal time to perform the ritual, it was then that it would be at its most effective. But November was still four months away, a long time to sit back and watch as the world outside their door burned.

There were no more rampaging dragons or muggle on wizard massacres in the countryside and wizards and witches were continuously charging the wards around their homes and business with an almost religious tenacity, even the slightest falter was dealt with swiftly and efficiently. But the scrofungulus pandemic was growing to be an enormous cause for concern, the virus remained completely undeterred by the treatments that usually worked so well in ridding its host of it and it was still spreading with alarming alacrity. So far three of the original patients had passed from the disease and another two were in critical condition. Ginny continued to doggedly fight not to succumb but with the influx of patients all suffering from the same affliction as her, the healers were no longer able to provide her with the same focus they had been in the early days and it was beginning to reflect on her health. Mrs. Weasley had seriously considered pulling Ginny from the hospital and caring for her herself, it was only the fear of contaminating the rest of her family that stayed her hand.

By the time August rolled around, Mr. Weasley reported that the muggle prime minister and his counterparts had cut all ties with the wizarding world, the alliance the two worlds had held for centuries was well and truly broken. Most wouldn't even give such an occurrence a second thought, but that was because most didn't truly understand how important that alliance had been. It was from the prime minister and his men that the wizarding word received most of its tips on muggles who were getting just a touch to close to cottoning on to their existence. It was their papers that printed articles to explain away strange deaths and unusual occurrences spilling over from the magical world. Without them, speculation on what had really happened in the countryside fostered. Were the twelve men who had mysteriously disappeared and the dozens of others that had been brutally murdered really the work of a group of cultists high on drugs? Had it really been a natural gas leak that had wreaked havoc in southern Wales, seeing several homesteads burned to the ground and countless dead or severely injured?

The Weasley patriarch regretfully relayed the news that those within the Ministry were beginning talk of bringing Harry in for questioning. The Quibbler had not yet ceased publishing articles exposing just what Harry's part in all of this was, and with each disaster that struck their world more people were listening. It was the consensus throughout the entire Ministry that Xenophilius had proven that he had the ability to set aside his mad beliefs and report the real, important news when it was needed, he'd done it for majority of Voldemort's reign (short as it may have been). Who's to say he wasn't telling the truth now? Using his daughter's friendship with Harry and his unique knowledge of the Hallows to see what the other news outlets couldn't? It was best to be safe, bring Harry in, and find out what he knows, what part he plays in all of this, and whether he has the ability to fix it.

It took only one more incident, an incredibly close call with a wizarding family living among muggles, for that talk around the Ministry to be pushed into real action. The wizarding family hadn't been keeping up with their wards quite as strictly as the rest of their peers, they didn't have the funds for it, and as a result the wards failed in the middle of the day and a townhome that had not been there the day previous was suddenly wedged between numbers six and eight Strickfadden Drive. It was only the quick thinking of the mother of the small family and a particularly powerful incendiary charm that saw the entire home, and the two homes on either side of it, burned to the ground and the family free from discovery.

No one had been hurt or killed, but the incident turned out to be the one disaster too many that Harry had been waiting for.

The Ministry reached out to Mr. Weasley first, he and his family were the only ones they knew of that might have continued contact with him. When Mr. Weasley denied having seen or heard from Harry in several weeks the Burrow was raided, searched top to bottom for any sign of him. Of course they found nothing, but the search didn't stop there, they couldn't afford to end it prematurely.

Harry and Hermione were supremely well hidden, so well hidden that they had fooled themselves into believing that the manor was completely untraceable. But those looking for Harry had the backing of the Ministry and they were desperate. Kingsley threw every ounce of his considerable clout into stalling the search if not stopping it altogether, but those orchestrating it only went underground with it; they were of the belief that Kingsley was compromised, he was allowing his friendship with Harry to influence his judgment, and so his orders must be ignored, they couldn't afford not to. It took time, time that saw several more dead from the virus and even more in danger from their rapidly declining relationship with the muggle world, but the disasters only saw their resolve to do what they were doing, illegal as it was, strengthened. Countless lives depended on their ability to make the hard decision.

They found what they needed in the Administrative Registration Department through the highly illegal exchange of what was meant to be a secure and private dossier of the Potter family holdings, it was a list of every property and business that had ever belonged to the once well respected family and it was just the thing they needed. The list was long, and the specific locations of each property were not on the list, but, with the finish line so close in reach, those gathered to bring Harry in threw every last resource and connection they had available and they found what they were looking for.


There was no warning from Kingsley or Mr. Weasley or any of their connections in the Ministry, the night the wizarding world came for Harry he and Hermione were caught utterly off guard.

Ron was away, visiting Ginny and helping his family in whatever way he could, Harry and Hermione were resting in Harry's bedroom, having just finished a meal and decided to spend a quiet evening reading on Hermione's part and doodling on an old sheet of parchment on Harry's. The atmosphere throughout the manor was quiet, content even, which is why the sudden piercing shriek of the wards nearly saw the both of them dead from sudden hear failure. Harry and Hermione were on their feet in an instant and at the closest window, they were half expecting to see the crackling glow of failing wards and a hoard of muggles descending upon the house, but the wards were still intact, their protection had not yet failed. But they wouldn't be able to stand for much longer, because surrounding the property in an unbreakable chain were not muggles but Harry's own people, not only Aurors and ministry workers, but everyday witches and wizards all attempting to break through the protections surrounding the home. Some of them he recognized, some of them he had fought Voldemort with, gone to school with.

Hermione reached for Harry, the sharp crescent of her nails dug into the inside of his wrist. "How did they find us?" she whispered tremulously.

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter, they're here. Grab everything, grab our research and our ingredients and let's go."

Together they stumbled down the stairs and to the study where they haphazardly threw anything pertaining to their time ritual into a conjured satchel. When every item had been collected, Hermione grabbed a pinch of floo, tossed it into the fire as she named Grimmauld Place, and almost set her pants alight when the flames remained their customary hue instead of flaring an emerald green.

Their floo connection had been cut, and failed attempts at both apparating and creating portkeys confirmed that wards had been erected to stop them from fleeing via magical means.

"Okay, so we can't run, there's far too many of them for that," Hermione thought aloud, striving to remain calm even as the intensity of the alarms increased. There wouldn't be much time before the wards failed. "There are no brooms, so flying isn't an option. All we can do is hide."

"Or fight."

"No," Hermione snapped. "There are dozens of them, if we fight, we'll die."

"I can't die." Harry grabbed his best friend's shoulders. "You can hide, I'll engage them and, when they're occupied you run, get Ron, bring help."

Hermione shook her head. "I wouldn't make it out the door before they caught me."

"Then let them take you, they don't want you, only me. You'll be safe."

"That's such a stupid fucking idea," Hermione growled. "I'm not going to hide, I'm not going to run and leave you here."

"Hermione-"

"Shut up," she barked. "That's a stupid plan and we're not doing it. But you are right about one thing. They're not here for me."

"Yeah, which is why you should just leave."

"If they find me here without you, they'll do nothing, I'll be safe."

"But, I can't leave, otherwise we would both would be gone already."

Hermione ignored him. She snatched the satchel that hung from his shoulders and rapidly began to unpack it.

"What are you doing?"

Hermione shoved the jar of runespoor eggs, a mortar and a pestle into his hands with the instructions to, "Grind them to dust, and quickly."

"Are you trying to perform the ritual?" Harry gaped. "The time isn't right! We can't do it for another two weeks."

"That timeline was more of a guideline than anything." Hermione shoved the rug set before the fireplace to the side, then quickly began etching an enormous runic pentagon onto the hardwood. "We're close enough that it should work."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then you die, but you've assured me that you're immune to such unpleasantness, so it's worth a shot. Grind the eggs, Harry. When they're powder, pluck the down from the diricawl feathers and mix it in."

"This is insane," Harry muttered, but quickly got to work.

Together, they silently prepared the ritual. As Hermione drew Harry mashed, mixed, and combined their numerous and expensive ingredients into one enormous stone pestle, the sound of the wizards steadily and efficiently breaking through the wards played on their ears.

"Put the pestle in the middle of the pentagon then grab the girtablilu skull," Hermione ordered. When both tasks had been performed, Hermione slashed the inside of Harry's wrist with a weak cutting curse and smeared his blood across the forehead of the skull. "I'm going to light the mortar on fire and you're going to stand above it," she instructed briskly. "Once you're in place I'll recite the incantation and you'll be sent back. Go on, move. We don't have any time left."

"Hermione." Harry grabbed her wrist to hold her still for a moment. "Wait, just…when I'm gone, you run and you hide in the highest room. And if they find you, tell them I ran, I apparated and you were only a moment behind me when the anti-apparation wards went up. Tell them that, do you hear me?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course."

"Okay." Harry took a shuddering breath, he looked back at the hastily scrawled pentagon then reached out to envelope Hermione in a hug. "I love you so much, and-and I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Don't worry about me," Hermione whispered, "you go back and do what needs to be done, and I'll be fine."

Harry nodded and exhaled heavily. "I will, you're right. All right, let's do this."

The ground ingredients went up in a burst of curling white smoke, Harry stood just behind the fire, holding the bloodied skull in his left hand. Hermione inhaled deeply, then began to chant. The Latin she'd practiced for hours and hours rolled off of her tongue in a smooth cadence, her voice betrayed none of the fear and anguish that wet her eyes.

Harry smiled, so overwhelmingly proud to have this strong, beautiful woman in his corner, the confident set to her shoulders and her unwavering gaze helped him wrangle his nerves and stand steady as the incantation slowly came to a close.

Outside, there was a rippling breeze as the wards fell, and Harry was gone.


A/N: And there's the time travel! Oh what fun is in store for Harry and his crew. I'm over on both Facebook and Tumblr under my penname (AnarchicMuse), so please, stop by, say hi! Updates on the progress of this story and any other stories I may be working on can be found there.