A/N: Well, I guess you could say that this is somewhat overdue… No excuses, I've just had priorities a lot greater than finishing fanfiction last few years. I'm something of a published author, these days. Still, I keep my promises. Here's an update!


Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time

Chapter Thirteen – Ships That Are Passing

Perfect endings… they don't exist, 'Phie. Only in stories,
where nothing ever really changes. Here, right now, isn't a story.
There is no happy ending, because it's not the end.
Do you understand?

- Joe Ducie (Distant Star)

A lot of hearts in this world are scared and alone.

I could have done anything with my life. My lives. All twenty-odd thousand of 'em. And, indeed, I spent entire centuries just wandering the earth, caught within that eight year cycle—Voldemort's end of the world countdown, if I didn't interfere. My interference often brought about the end that much quicker…

I saw some sights. A lot of those sights worth seeing.

I met Tessa.


Certain people resonate in our lives, Harry. And something as abstract as Time cannot stand in the way of those people. How we feel about them. A weak sort of fate, magnets at the right polarity, but years and distance and even death are no match to the near-inconceivable force that ties you to your mother, and thus the Dark Lord.

"About six, seven hundred years into this game I… I kind of lost sight of anything that mattered." A bitter laugh. "I mean, after all that time, how could any of this seem important? How could it all matter when I'd seen it swept away so many times? Obviously, it couldn't."

"You became Voldemort," Hermione said, her hands shaking on the table. "Or something very similar."

I thought about that for a moment and then shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Something similar. I didn't care who lived or who died – except him. That son of a bitch would never die. Atlantis ensured that. Still, I wasn't the good guy anymore, if that makes sense. I was as feared as the Dark Lord and then some…"

"And you're alright now?" Ron asked. "I mean, you've not gone bonkers, have you, mate?"

Hermione shushed him. "How did you pull yourself back, Harry?" she asked. "If you became so lost, how did you keep going?"

"Not a how, but a who…" I sighed. "Her name was Tessa."


Wicked wand light: bruised purple, sordid crimson, sickly green, criss-crossed the sky at sunset over the island prison Azkaban.

Death Eaters, Dementors, dark creatures, and all manner of damned and dreary disasters had spewed forth from the ancient and rusted gates of the prison.

With my friends at my back, Ron, Hermione, and Neville, I watched the wave of light roll towards us like a tsunami of malcontent and vicious intent… and found it lacking. The surge was like the tide coming in, aiming to wash us away.

I flicked my wand and dozens of counter lights, all white and shining because wasn't I just the poster boy for the light in this world, spun from my wand in a tangled mess of thin beams. Thing about truly appreciating the light, I thought, is you have to have steeped yourself in the dark. And I'd swam in those murky waters, won the gold medal, you might say. Had my time in the sun at midnight.

Voldemort was darkness. I was his shadow. Pale, in that regard, but also unseen and unfound. I don't know why that felt important, but it was. A handful of centuries playing this game and losing, each and every time, and now I'd learnt something new. That desire and intent were not enough to banish the dark. No, no, no. Beep, motherfuckin', beep. Desire and intent were mere candles next to the ferocity of belief.

I'd grown too old and bitter, to sure that the world was ready to spit in my face and grind my nose into the gravel, because Time and the universe itself were bullies. Bullies just like Voldemort. I'd been scarred with that knowledge the night my parents rode the green rollercoaster down, down to Deadtown.

But some days, perhaps a day just like today bathed in ethereal and fetid light alike, some days could be kind. I could believe that flowers will grow in spoiled soil, that chaos won't swallow the world whole, warmth from the hearth will keep the cold at bay, and the crust on my apple pie will be fit to burst with sugar and sweetness.

Belief… I'd never honestly believed I could win, even in those first few resets where I had the advantage. Because there's no winning without loss, without defeat. No one's really died this time around, though… If belief couldn't shape the world, it could at least support the best of my good intentions.

I'd built highways to hell with my good intentions in the past. An entire interstate network, bridges spanning continents and forgotten decades. Perhaps the path less trodden, this time around.

Perhaps I needed to take a step back and play this game from the start…

Anyway, a whole lot of batshit insane magic and menace was bearing down on us, on our cruel spit of land on the very outskirts of Azkaban's island. The beams of my belief, bursting from my wand in pulsating bands, dozens after dozens, intercepted the waves of negative spell light and a tremendous splash of colour and sound, like a can of paint thrown against a canvas, and surged up into the air, towards the sky. High above my battleship, set to autopilot, weaved through the deflected spells and—the intuitive interface linked to my thoughts—rained magical cannon fire down upon Azkaban.

I'd say it sounded like the world ending, but I'd heard that happen far too many times. The world doesn't end in light and sound. It bleeds out slow, festers like an infected wound leaking pus, and in the end it's me and him, the Dark Lord, left standing over the ashes.

"I'm going to win," I said, throwing my friends a wink over my shoulder. They couldn't hear me. They held their wands at the ready, but this magical mayhem wasn't a tune they could dance to. This game needed less spellslingers, not more.

Harry…

Voldemort.

In my head.

I almost laughed. That wasn't supposed to happen. My scar burnt hot and heavy and split along its seam, bleeding once more.

Hello, Tom, I thought-said.

You have come for my Horcrux.

I nodded. One of seven.

The crashing spells fell back on the Death Eaters and Dementors, obliterating the former and scattering the latter. Craters the size of minivans punched into the hard basalt rock, formed in explosions and boiling pools of hybrid magic falling from the sky. The dark creatures, of shapes and size too many to name, but there were some spider bastards in there, took the brunt of the deadly rainfall. Ash and less than ash. So it goes. I could destroy swaths of these creatures, but there were always more.

It wasn't about being the best or the fastest, the most powerful—it couldn't be, otherwise I would have won before now. Winning wasn't how much of the sky we set on fire, but had to be won on more moral grounds—ethical balance. I had to be better.

You destroy this island and you bury the Horcrux shield under a mountain of rock and an ocean of water. You will hide it better than even I, in my youth. Voldemort's laughter echoed across my mind.

We should talk, I agreed. Face to face.

You're an old man, Harry. An old man who has known nothing but defeat. Come to me and you die—for the last time.

I snorted. Sure of that, are you? I felt the line of ropy scar tissue running across my neck, from where Voldemort had slit my throat in Atlantis. I don't die easy, you son of a bitch.

No… would that it were so. I believe you even want it now, after so long, do you not? Let me end your existence, Harry. A thousand years and countless deaths must have taught you one thing—this world is mine.

I'd made a promise a few days ago, no more than a week, not to be responsible for another genocide. But as I spoke to Voldemort, and as the scattered Dementors regrouped and nightmares echoed swift and sure through my mind, I realised I was going to break that promise.

And that I'd have to retreat from this battle, if I was going to have any chance of winning. So soon after believing I could do it, I felt myself faltering—not because I was unsure, but because this path, throwing entire continents of power at the Dark Lord, had never worked. I had to be better.

We're leaving, I said to Voldemort. Sorry to have bothered you.

An unspoken command shivered across the ruined and melting island of Azkaban. The prison itself shook in its foundations, centuries of dust and loose rock falling from the dark structure. Voldemort's forces lowered their wands, the Dementors gathered but paused just on the edge of attack, and those creatures remaining that hadn't been turned to soup growled but held.

The spells rang in my ears, as I turned to my friends.

"Not happening today, after all," I said and clapped Neville on the shoulder. "I'm hungry. Let's go to Hogwarts for dinner."

With a flick of my wand I disbanded the spells I'd cast across the northern hemisphere restricting apparation and portkey travel. I reconnected the floo network. The magic fell across the horizon as if someone had set snowfall on fire.

"That… was anticlimactic," Hermione said. "Harry, your scar is bleeding."

"I need to calm down," I said and held my forearm against the scar. It was red hot, scorching. The blood falling down my face tasted bitter. "I'm too… too noisy, you know? There's nothing subtle anymore. I miss that."

"What are you talking about, mate?"

I shrugged. "Voldemort's afforded us safe passage off the island. Neither of us wants this today, not really." I barked a rough laugh. "Even after all this time I still make the same old mistakes. It was wrong to come here like this, to burn through such pure magic. It's loud and ugly."

"What about the… Horcrux?" Hermione asked.

I licked my lips, spat out some blood, and sighed. "It'll keep. I'm not sure…" The necklace my maybe-future-granddaughter had given me in a dream felt cool against my chest. I took that as a good sign. "I'm not sure how important that is, anymore. Now hold on tight."

I zipped my friends back up to the battleship, on a magical wing and an unhappy prayer, and put Azkaban at our backs.

I shall see you soon, Harry Potter, Voldemort whispered. Confident. Sure. For the last time.

Immortal.


The light was dim, as in all good whiskey lounges, and Tessa sat on the stool next to me, smiling around lipstick as dark and red as the dress she wore.

"So what's your turn on?" I asked. "Say, what clothes work for you on a guy?"

"A man in a fine suit. And you, Harry?"

"I'm partial to girls in knee-high socks or boots. Something about that does it for me."

"Really?" Tessa winked. "I'll remember that. Anything else?"

"There's nothing more enticing than a woman whispering something."

Tessa bit her lip and gave me a wicked smile. She leaned in close "Like this?" I tried not to shiver as she rested her hand just above my knee. "Or more like… this?" she whispered and blew cool air against my ear as her hand moved up my thigh. "You smell good, Harry."


"I need to step back and reassess the end of this long, oh so long, game," I told my friends over dinner that night, under a torch of dim light casting us in a warm glow. "Can't afford to make the same old mistakes—not again, not this time. There are no second chances any longer."

"But, you've known that for some time, haven't you?" Hermione asked.

I nodded slowly and helped myself to a few fluffy Yorkshire puddings and slices of roast beef from the impressive spread. We were eating at a round table in a small private room, not at Hogwarts, as I couldn't be bothered with the gasps and whispers, but at a tiny restaurant bar off the main drag of Hogsmeade called, simply, Cauldron.

Ron was digging into some candied carrots, spooning the delish orange and purple vegetables from a self-replenishing bowl onto his plate. Neville picked at his food sparingly, deep in thought.

I considered Hermione's question, then nodded. "I've known it the same way you know you should eat healthier, or exercise more. Everyone knows it, and occasionally you'll even quit the fizzy pop and hit the gym for a few days, but it's hard to break the habits of a life time." I chuckled. "And I've lived enough life to have some fairly ingrained, unhealthy habits. Thinking I had an infinite number of lives was just one, perhaps the least, of my bad habits."

So much had changed in this iteration. Saturnia, Chronos, to name just two new pieces on the chessboard. Despite that, I had to believe that my lives had been building toward this end, this goal. That I was ready, perhaps even deserved, to win.

And that meant some significant changes. Least of all, I needed to quit drinking, which after a thousand years of knocking back the same bottle of scotch again and again felt like heresy. My mind was that of a hopeless alcoholic, even if my body was young and vital.

"I can no longer live without consequence," I told my friends—Hermione in particular. I saw the love in her eyes, and felt unworthy. I was a mess. "That's why I didn't storm Azkaban today, why that wasn't the right move. Do you see what I mean? It was not only a foolish risk, but sloppy. Cavalier. The move of a man who doesn't care if he wins." I fell into my thoughts, playing out the scenarios as I saw them, and shook my head. "We may have taken the island, even destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul, but it's ugly, uncouth, without style. I need to be better than that."

Neville cleared his throat. "Why?" I stared at him hard. "I'm not being difficult or even disagreeing," he said quickly, "but why? Why is it important to do it this way, instead of the other?"

"Do you know what the definition of insanity is, Neville?" I asked, knowing the topic was a sore subject. I wasn't referring to the mindless oblivion his parents had been tortured into, however. "It's doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I am trying very hard, right now, not to order a drink. I have been doing the same thing for countless lives and endless years. It's time I tried something different."

"But yoof tried before?" Ron said around a mouthful of carrots. He swallowed. "I mean, you've tried doing things differently before, right? Learning what worked and what didn't."

I nodded. "True, but I'm talking more about a change here," I held a hand over my heart, "and here." I moved my hand to my forehead and tapped my scar. "An attitude adjustment, a new way of thinking. Wise instead of smart, you know. For centuries now I've carried all of this alone. My choice, and I've no right to complain about that. Merlin knows I've suffered for my choices. Last time will count for all, my friends. This is, I think, the beginning of the end."

And I found that thought more than a little relieving. I was ready to move on, into death (so be it, after so long), and into the future. I didn't want these years any longer. I wanted new years, new fears—to cry new tears. I played with the necklace given to me in a dream. Perhaps there was a future where I pulled this off—perhaps this reality was now.

"Anyway, enough work talk, let's eat—this place does a stupidly awesome chocolate and brandy snap basket." I raised a glass to my friends. A glass of sparkling water, flavoured lightly with honey berry syrup. "To days to come," I said. "Good times in good company."

We stepped out into the cool night air an hour later on the cusp of nine o'clock, a thousand million stars blazing overhead in soft constellations, meandering in a slow arm of interstellar dust and light. It was one of those still nights, in which the entire world seemed to be holdings its breath, patiently, for winter and snowfall. Late autumn was the final breath of dying things.

"Safe walk back to the castle, okay," I told my friends. "I'll see you in a few days, after I've made some arrangements. You're going to have to decide whether or not you want to follow me, in the weeks to come. I know you've already made your decisions, and I thank you." I hugged them each in turn. "But things are going to get nasty. Some of us will die, we always do…"

"You be safe, Harry," Hermione said. "And… don't be alone, okay. I think you've been alone too long."

I gave her a kiss on her forehead and then sent them on their way. Kids, just kids, and me an old, tired man. Kids I would use to fight a war. My change of heart hadn't changed what needed to be done. We would still have to stand. My friends would still have to fight. I was feeling my age more these days. Perhaps because I'd made a conscious decision to quit drinking, which already felt like a shackle around my neck. I'd need a plan, need to keep busy. Everything I did in the days and weeks to come had to be with purpose—to stop Voldemort.

I'd parked the battleship above the field out front of the Shrieking Shack, and I headed that way now. At the end of the curved laneway I reached the main street of Hogsmeade, well lit and a few dozen folk walking the streets.

An Auror, just one, was waiting for me on the corner of the cobblestoned road. Word of my arrival in Hogsmeade had spread quickly. She held no wand, but was dressed in her formal robes. Her brunette hair was tied back in a firm ponytail and she smiled in greeting when our eyes connected.

"Mr. Potter," she said. "I'm Auror Helms—"

"Serena Helms, yes," I said, and returned her smile gently. "We died together once, in the ruins of the Ministry. You were very brave and I was very drunk."

Serena's smiled faltered. She handed me a scroll of parchment bearing the Ministry's seal. "A summons?" I guessed. "And not at wand point? Are we all growing up, after so long? I shudder to think so."

I cracked the seal and scanned the document. Not a trial, but in the courtrooms nevertheless. A hearing on all that happened involving me in the last few months, and a requirement to testify under penalty of blah-blah-blah and risk of fines and/or imprisonment. When was I expected? Ah, tomorrow morning.

I thought on my promise to be better, stronger, and to perhaps not carry all the weight of the world on my shoulders. I'd need Ministry resources, particularly the cache of ancient weaponry in the Department of Mysteries, for the fight to come. Not that I couldn't steal what I needed, but I wanted them on my side. To minimise the casualties, I'd need the manpower.

Very well.

"Tell them I'll be there," I said. "In good faith, Serena Helms. I will be there in good faith."

I left the subtle warning unspoken—should the Ministry betray that faith, I would not be so reasonable.


A/N: I'll spare you the details, but I'm going to try and update again soon. This and An Unfound Door. Consider this chapter sort of a foundation, after a few shaky years, upon which the rest of the story will be built and concluded. I foresee about a 15 chapter arc to finish Heartlands. Time it was put to bed, wouldn't you say? Thanks for reading – leave me a review!

Best,

Joe