Death's Recompense

by Mleman1946

Ron and Hermione die at the Battle of Hogwarts, and it leads to a future covered in darkness. Death is unhappy with this future and tasks them with fixing it. Their plans start off with befriending Harry Potter to prepare him better for the rise of the Dark Lord. However, the Harry they find is far different from the one they expected. Unbeknownst to them, he's from the future too.

Author's Notes

This was an idea I got from the reddit post "What are some clever ideas you don't see implemented enough in Time-Travel fixed fics?" by u/BlueAmateur ( r/HPfanfiction/comments/10dbslx/what_are_some_clever_ideas_you_dont_see/)

I made a comment with the basic summary for this story, and a few people said they would be willing to read that story. So naturally, my mind went ape-shit developing plot threads and such for this story.

I need to make a schedule for my stories, it's been nearly 2 months since The Black Phoenix was updated…

Anyways, I enjoyed making this. I hope you enjoy reading!

Chapter 1 – Death's Desperation

Hogwarts, May 2nd, 1998

Harry had left with Luna to get information on Ravenclaw's Diadem, leaving Ron and Hermione to brainstorm what they could do that was useful. Students were fleeing past them, pale, confused, horrified. Hermione nearly broke into tears herself when she saw several First Years pass by who sported bruises on their necks and wrists, even those in Slytherin House.

Recognizing that Hermione was beginning to break down from seeing the aftereffects of Snape's reign over Hogwarts, Ron took hold of Hermione and, in a flash of inspiration, exclaimed, "I know how we'll destroy the cup!"

"What!?" Hermione exclaimed, joyous with no longer having to deal with the hellish energy emanating from Hufflepuff's Cup. "How? We lost the sword!"

"Nevermind that, Hermione!" Ron began to break into a sprint, holding her hand in his, "That sword was infused with basilisk venom, wasn't it?"

"Right, but what does-" Hermione gasped as she recalled the direction that Ron was leading her. Down the hallway was the 2nd Floor Girls Bathroom, occupied by the ghost Moaning Myrtle. She wasn't there in-person when Ron and Harry descended into the Chamber of Secrets – she was petrified after all – but she had heard their retelling of what happened that day.

"Hold on, wait!" Hermione shouted as she and Ron rounded the corner to the bathroom, "The entrance requires a Parselmouth, and Harry's off with Luna!"

For a moment, Ron seemed dumbfounded. Then, a smirk that would have fit on the twins' faces emerged as he said in a conspiratorial tone, "As I recall, Harry said 'open' in Parseltongue. If I can replicate what it sounded like when he said it, I think it'll open for us!"

Hermione's eyes lit up and she practically shoved Ron into the bathroom. Ignoring the startled screeches from Myrtle, Ron stepped to the snake-engraved sink and began to recall what Harry sounded like when he opened the Chamber.

After a moment, Ron breathed in and hissed in a surprisingly accurate mimicry of Parseltongue. Afterwards, Ron stepped back, waiting for the Chamber to open.

Yet, nothing happened. The sink didn't move. No grating of pipes could be heard from the other side. Ron deflated in disappointment, but Hermione offered him a sad smile, saying that the entrance was probably magically enchanted to detect true Parselmouths.

Besides, they could get Harry when he returned from his quick excursion with Luna, and they could all descend into the Chamber together, maybe even destroying the Diadem as well.

It would only take a few more minutes, a slight detour, but it was nothing major. They would be back in time for when Voldemort brought down the wards and the real battle began.

…

Harry, Ron, and Hermione crept along the Shrieking Shack, careful to avoid making any sound. They had seen what seemed to be Voldemort leave here earlier, and Harry saw that Nagini didn't leave with him, potentially making this a good opportunity for them to slay the snake, destroying Voldemort's final horcrux.

Harry put a fist in front of Ron and Hermione, causing them to stop. He heard a small voice in the other room, laughing softly in a manner reminiscent of a hiss. After listening for a few seconds, Harry motioned for the other two to get ready before kicking open the door and firing cutting curse at the snake.

Nagini, who had been picking away at the remains of a rather pale Death Eater, was blindsided as a large gash sliced on her neck. Her magically resistant skin was the only thing that prevented her head from being lopped off, and in her rage she charged at the black-haired boy.

Before she could reach Harry, twin sets of metal chains caught her and brought her to the ground. Ron and Hermione struggled against the beast to keep it contained as Harry readied a cutting curse for her eyes.

As the incantation was on his lips, the snake's eyes met his, and his scar suddenly burst in pain like the Cruciatus, bleeding as if it had been shot. Harry crumpled to the floor, and in their shock, Ron and Hermione lost control of the metal chains, allowing Nagini to attack the one nearest to her, the bushy-haired girl.

Hermione screamed when Nagini bit her arm, sinking her teeth deep into the bone. A moment later, a bellow of rage was heard and the snake was banished to the wall, shattering it. As it reoriented itself, Ron pointed his wand directly at its head and blasted it away, smattering green blood across his face and his clothes.

Harry shakily got up to see Hermione hyperventilating as blood began soaking her robes. She was quickly becoming pale, and the crazed look she wore told Harry all he needed to know.

She was dying.

Harry scrambled to her side with Ron taking the other. They exchanged panicked shouts at each other, both of them frantically checking for bezoars, finding none, before whispering comforting words to Hermione as her breathing began to slow, and stopped. Her last words were, "I love you."

Harry's ears began to ring when Hermione's pulse stopped. He heard in the back of his mind that Ron was weeping, but no tears came from his own eyes. He stared ahead, unblinking, at the crumpled body in the corner.

He stepped to it in a daze, taking in the appearance of the former headmaster he had seen only hours ago. Snape's neck was covered with congealed blood at the point where it seemed Nagini bit him. Harry belatedly wondered whether he should feel vindication for Snape's death, or perhaps sorrow, like Dumbledore probably would. He felt neither of these things, though, instead he felt empty.

Hermione was dead

It was his fault

Harry didn't remember much of what happened afterwards. He and Ron were still in the Shack when Voldemort called the temporary ceasefire. They both carried Hermione's body to the Great Hall to be placed with the rest of the dead.

It was his fault

Voldemort gave him an ultimatum to meet him in the Forbidden Forest. Ron, who was otherwise silent, viciously prevented Harry from doing so. As he and Ron laid Hermione's body down amongst the others who died in the battle, Harry began cataloguing the faces of all of those who had died.

Remus and Tonks Lupin, both laying down as if they were in a peaceful sleep. They had just had a child, and he would never be able to see them again.

Lavender Brown, whose mauled face was nearly unrecognizable.

Colin Creevey, whose chest seemed to have imploded sometime in the battle.

Percy Weasley, who had just reconciled with his family, was now taken away from them forever.

Fred Weasley, one half of the twins, leaving the other behind to pick up the remnants.

Every one of them had died for Harry, and that number was almost certain to increase. Harry desperately used what shreds of Occlumency he had to keep the thought away, but it kept on coming back.

It was his fault

It was his fault

It was his fault

He was nudged to the side by Ron, causing Harry to raise his head to see McGonagall looking grim at him.

"Mister Potter – Harry," McGonagall said in an uncharacteristically small voice, "The hour in almost up. We need to escort you out of the castle-"

"No," Harry interrupted her, "NO! I'm not running away from him!" The silence of the Hall allowed his voice to carry across the room, "I'm not allowing anyone else to sacrifice themselves for me." He pierced McGonagall with a sharp look, "It's not me you should escort out of the castle, it's everyone else. There are still children here who need to get out, and if the Death Eaters are able to breach the castle, they will not survive."

McGonagall was in tears, but she shot a proud look at Harry, "I knew you wouldn't, but Voldemort's forces… they're overwhelming. If you stay here, then I fear you won't live past the battle."

Harry was silent for a moment, before saying in a flat voice, "So be it. I would rather die by my friends' side than run away like a coward."

McGonagall's smile was watery, "So much like James. Your father would have been proud, Harry."

Harry nodded slightly in thanks. The comparison to his father did nothing for him now. He glanced at his watch and saw that there were only a few more minutes until the hour was up. He stood, casting a Sonorus, before speaking to the Hall, "In a few minutes, Voldemort will resume his attack on the castle," Harry ignored the shrieks from the dreaded name, "Anyone who is of age and still wishes to fight, follow Professor McGonagall, Auror Shacklebolt, or myself. Anyone who remains behind, begin to evacuate the premises. There is a clearing between the Forbidden Forest and the lake which will keep you out of sight. Go along there and once you're past the wards, apparate away. Children take first priority, now MOVE!"

As if the amplified bellow had awakened the Hall from a great slumber, everyone within began to move as if their lives depended on it, which, to be fair, it did. The remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, the DA, and other warriors began to split off into three groups, following McGonagall, Shacklebolt, and Harry respectively. Those who remained began rounding up the children and took them away from the Great Hall towards the lake.

Harry was aware that he was unlikely to survive tonight. However, if he was going to die, then he would do so fighting alongside his friends and family.

…

Ron stood alongside Harry as their group, composed primarily of the DA, hid behind the pillars of the courtyard. He could see legions of Death Eaters slowly making their way up from Hogsmeade, followed by a procession of giants and trolls.

Ron gripped his wand in anticipation, a part of him crying for blood since holding Hermione in his arms, dead. Ron glanced at Harry and saw that he was much the same, although he showed it differently. While Ron's emotions continuously bled onto his face, twisting between a scowl to looks of grief, Harry's face had remained almost entirely blank since the Shack. While Ron held his wand in a death grip, Harry's wand, stolen from Malfoy, was held loosely in his fingers, as if he was relaxed. However, Ron knew Harry well enough to understand that it wasn't carelessness that Harry was showing, but rather that he was letting go.

Ron had only ever seen Harry truly mad a small handful of times. Sure, they had a number of smaller squabbles, most of which, Ron was ashamed to admit, were largely his fault, but Harry had never gotten truly mad. Ron had only seen Harry lose all of his control twice, the first when Sirius was killed and Harry tried to torture Bellatrix, and the second when Ron left the horcrux hunt.

Even in these cases, Harry didn't completely lose himself. He was unable to hold Bellatrix under the Cruciatus for more than a second, and Ron knew that, if Harry truly wished to, he could have cursed him far before Hermione intervened with the shield.

Now, though, Ron could see that whatever it was deep within Harry's psyche that prevented him from unleashing all of his hatred was gone. By this point, Harry's eyes, which were always a brilliant shade of green, began to glow in a way that reminded Ron of the killing curse.

Ron looked back to the encroaching army, fingers itching to fire of blasting curses. The mass of Death Eaters approached closer until Ron could see their faces. He recognized a few of them from the Department of Mysteries, though most seemed younger, nearly his age. However, there was one face belonging to the crazed woman who tortured Hermione at Malfoy Manor.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Ron shifted, ready to unleash every deadly curse he knew until Harry held him down with a firm grip. Harry turned to look at the others hidden behind them, and gave them a nod.

All at once, Harry, Ron, and the others shot up from their hiding places and rained down exploding and cutting curses.

From here, all hell broke loose.

Many of the Death Eaters were shocked when their comrades exploded into gore and sliced apart, although a few, including Bellatrix, began to fire killing curses back at them. At the same time, the giants began to hurl boulders into the courtyard, decimating the ornate stone, and scattering the others. The trolls shielded the Death Eaters from the curses as they fired back with equal fervor.

It wasn't long until the Death Eaters broke formation, as they began to splinter into groups as walls of gravel began cascading down upon them.

After severing a nameless Death Eater's neck, Ron saw the source of the transfigured gravel shredding apart the armies, and watched in awe as Harry, seemingly in a trance, conducted his wand in a bloodied symphony of chaos.

Before long, though, a giant lobbed a boulder directly at Ron. He hastily conjured a physical shield that resounded with a loud gong as the boulder was repelled back into the giant's leg. It bellowed and Ron ducked behind one of the pillars as curses rained upon him.

He was beginning to sweat now, and he felt a numb pain in his left leg anytime it moved, but he still fought. Pointing his wand at a cracked boulder that was tossed by another giant, he levitated it before banishing it into the crowd, causing it to barrel through the Death Eaters, crushing them.

He turned around and reflexively shielded himself as a dark curse sailed right at his stomach. It negated most of it, but a lingering feeling of nausea radiated from his center.

He sent an exploding curse to the ground of his assailant, knocking him off his feet. Before Ron could kill him with a cutting curse, however, another exploding curse impacted right in front of him, blasting him away.

He quickly scrambled up to see the figure of Bellatrix descending upon him, covered in the blood of the Death Eater she just blasted away.

Bellatrix's crazed grin caused Ron to snap, as he sent overpowered blasting curses at her. However, she redirected most of them away, not caring where they hit, before she snapped a torture curse at Ron.

For a blessed moment, he felt nothing. Then the pain began. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He felt as if his insides were being torn away by a dragon, its flames bursting his heart as his lungs filled with smoke. He felt as if someone had taken his head and was repeatedly smashing it against the wall multiple times a second. He felt as if someone was carving his arm and writing out 'Mudblood' and -.

Ron gripped his fist in agony, biting his tongue until it bled. He opened his eyes and he saw red. He was unsure if it was blood in his eye or if it was simply the woman who stood in front of him.

He gripped his wand even tighter, his voice no longer capable of vocalizing from all the screaming. His wand began to strain in his hands, but it was still enough to say just one simple spell. Just two words, and it would all be over, and Hermione would be avenged.

Except, she wouldn't

Because Voldemort is still out there

Belatedly, Ron realized that he no longer felt the pain, and was instead spasming due to the aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse. His eyes refocused to see Bellatrix wildly defending herself against a storm of spells and shrapnel from Harry. Ron looked around to see the courtyard utterly ruined, with the bodies of Neville, Luna, and others strewn about.

His mind was in a haze, his wand had slipped from his fingers – how, he did not know – and he looked up in time to see Bellatrix, who was burned, bruised, and bloodied, cast one final curse before being beheaded.

However, instead of aiming it at her attacker, she aimed it at Ron. As the sickly green streak of the killing curse sped towards him, Ron closed his eyes and heard Harry yell out his name and-.

…

The Valley, The In-Between

"Ronald Bilius Weasley."

Ron's eyes shot open, and he shot up in alert. He was surprised for a moment that he didn't feel sore from the exposure to the Cruciatus, but then he noticed where he was.

He was in a valley of dust and bone that cast a lifeless gray all the way to the horizon. On either side of the valley were stone walls with towers that ascended higher than Ron could see.

Ron's mind was beginning to catch up as he wondered why he wasn't at Hogwarts any more. There was the battle at the courtyard, the short battle with Bellatrix, the Cruciatus, then…

Oh, bloody hell.

He was dead, wasn't he?

"Indeed, Ronald Weasley, you are dead."

Ron whirled around, hand going for a wand that wasn't there. In front of him was an ethereal figure that seemed to stand several times taller than Ron. Its appearance was reminiscent of a dementor, though it did seem to stand on two feet, or rather hooves, and in its ring-bearing hand was an obsidian sword with an ornately carved wooden handle.

Ron realized with awe that the figure in front of him was none other than Death itself.

Just like Beetle the Bard

"Yes, young wizard, I am Death, the Apotheosis of Eternity, the Creator of the Hallows, the Destroyer of Worlds," Death intoned in a deep rustic voice.

"Uhhhh," Ron said unintelligently, "Right. Um," Ron thought for a moment of how one would address Death, which he reckoned was akin to addressing a god, and knelt, "I'm – er – honored by your presence… sir."

Merlin, that was terrible. I feel like a right bloody dunce

A sigh emanated from Death, "Rise, young wizard, you do not need to proclaim fealty to me or any such nonsense."

Ron stood back up, "Right, okay," He waited a moment for Death to speak, but it seemed content to watch the clouds of dust rise up to the sky. Ron slowly asked, "Why am I here?"

Death seemed to shake from its reverie, and turned to Ron, who shivered, "I have brought you both here to – how would I say it – do me a favor."

Ron's eyes bugged out, "Do you a favor?!" His eyes went wider, fearing that Death would be angry from his outburst. When Death made no comment, Ron added in a smaller voice, "What could I possibly do to help you? I mean… you're Death."

"I appreciate your regard for me, young wizard," Death seemed amused when it said this, "I am asking you of this because the events that have taken place in the physical world are not to my liking."

Ron nodded slowly, "Okay. Are you not able to intervene directly?"

"I… could. However, that would not be ideal, as my presence would undoubtedly have untold consequences, and I would rather avoid more frivolous destruction than is necessary," Death stated.

"But isn't death supposed to be about destruction?" Ron asked.

"I specified 'frivolous' destruction," Death intoned, "I am the ordered chaos, destruction within limit. I claim those whose lives are forfeit yet leave those who remain to live a while longer."

Ron's brow was furrowed, confused as to how he had ended up having a philosophical discussion with Death. "Alright," Ron tried to think of what Hermione would ask, "What do you need me to do?"

"A moment, young wizard, and I will tell you," noiselessly, Death shifted by Ron and led him along with its hand on his back as if he were a small child, "You must first meet with the other I have chosen."

"The other?" Ron asked, trying to ignore the feelings of ice coming from his back, "Hold on, you said you brought us 'both' here!"

"Indeed, I did," Death remarked drily. He pointed its sword to a speck in the distance, "There is the other. I shall explain what I require then."

Ron looked bemused by the whole situation, until they came closer to the other. He was still far away, but he could make out some basic features: somewhat short, female, frizzled brown-hair…

"HERMIONE!"

"RON!"

Ron raced ahead as he heard Hermione cry his name. When they reached each other, they hugged one another as if they wouldn't let go. Hermione began to sob onto Ron's shoulder, and he began to feel his eyes tear up as well. After a moment, Hermione asked in a shuddering voice, "How are you here?"

"Well," Ron had a feeling that answering that wasn't going to go well, but he knew that Hermione wouldn't rest until she knew the truth, "I died, Hermione."

Her breath hitched, and she burrowed further into Ron's shoulder. He held her for a moment as she resumed crying.

"A heartwarming reunion," Death's sibilant voice echoed around them, causing Hermione to freeze, "However, time is of the essence."

"Right," Hermione sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve, which was no longer bloodied or torn, "You needed us for something."

At Ron's inquiring look, Death answered, "I told you both that I require your assistance in matters… outside of my direct control. To put this is simple terms, I will be giving you two a second chance at life."

Ron and Hermione gaped, before Hermione asked in a small voice, "You still haven't told us what you need us to do."

"Correct," Death hissed in a manner eerily similar to Voldemort, and Harry for that matter, "I am sending you back through time to right the wrongs of the world, and prevent the war that cost you your lives from spreading as far as it did."

"You want us to kill Voldemort?" Ron asked, aghast.

"No," Death drawled, "Only one can truly defeat Tom Riddle. He who has been chosen by Fate. You will aid him so that he can achieve his purpose. However you do this will be up to you."

"Wait," Hermione interrupted, "Does Harry not defeat Voldemort in our… timeline?"

"That is not for you to know, young witch," Death replied, "I shall be sending you back to the beginning of the end, so that you can achieve the will of Fate and myself. Outside of that, you will have an opportunity to live the lives taken away from you prematurely. Do we have an understanding?"

"Wait!" Hermione yelled, "How are we going to do this? How far are we going back? Do we tell anyone we're from the future? What-"

"SILENCE," the roar of the encroaching storm began to surround Ron and Hermione, "We do not have much time. Do you accept, or not?"

Ron and Hermione met each other's eyes and nodded. They stepped forward as Death pulled away his cloak to reveal an archway that was nearly identical to the one found in the Department of Mysteries.

"Go, then," Death intoned as Ron and Hermione headed towards the archway, "There are other worlds than these."

"What does that mea-", before Hermione could finish asking, a strong gust of wind knocked the two into the archway. A moment later, the archway cracked and shattered.

The storm descended upon Death, who began to hear the chimes that it had grown to dread. Death had run away from them before – numerous times – but it knew there was no more running.

It turned to see the source of the storm. Floating in the center was a figure of darkness. Wings of black leather sprouted from his shoulders, like that of a thestral. Atop his head was a broken, charred halo. Within his cloak was a pair of green eyes, akin to twin killing curses.

Death supposed that it was ironic that it was going to die by his own Angel's hand. Though, Death had expected this to happen. Fate, the raving bitch, preordained it to happen after all.

Once a slave to Death was now the Master. The True Master.

Once an Angel, risen above, was now the Fallen.

Death could only hope that the young witch and wizard were able to save their world, before it led to the rise of another Fallen Angel.

One was bad enough already.

The Fallen Angel descended upon the valley, stepping before Death, giving a mocking bow.

"Death," the Fallen spoke, his voice just barely above a whisper, "The time has come for you to pass the mantle."

"I suppose it has," Death spoke, seemingly unconcerned over the implications, "Though I wonder how you intend to fulfill my duties when you plan on slaying the other Elder Gods to steal their power."

"You know I don't intend to 'fulfill your duties'," The Fallen stated, stepping closer to Death before stopping an arm's length away, "You don't fight me. Why?"

Death remained silent for a moment, before saying, "I have done all that I can do. I can only hope that the others may stop you from your foolishness."

The Fallen stood there for a moment, before slowly gripping Death's head, "We shall see if they do," he said in a whimsical tone, before opening his maw to absorb Death's essences, leaving nothing but a cloak and bones in its wake.

The Fallen stared at where the archway had been moments before, wondering in the back of his mind why Death had bothered with something as small as the dealings of a single word. In the end, though, it held no importance to him, and he drifted away, following the storm.

…

The Burrow, July 30th, 1991

Ron blinked awake, rubbing the crust away from his eyes. His mind was still sluggish, given that it was still dark out. Ron never woke up before it was light out, almost always having to be woken up by his mother for breakfast. Looking out of the window, though, he could see the waning moon shining its light into his room.

Ron was still sleepy, but something kept him awake. His head was foggy, as if he was hit by one of the knock-off bludger bats that Fred and George found in a dumpster in Diagon Alley (mum went bonkers when she found out they were dumpster diving). He knew he should probably go back asleep and get some proper rest like the growing boy he was when suddenly the fog lifted.

The clock downstairs struck midnight.

Ron shook as if electrocuted as memories (his?) began to flood his brain. Reliving his life up until it was cut short by Bellatrix, Ron began to hyperventilate, gripping his blanket in a death-grip.

Images began to flash in rapid succession. Deaths and horrors he was unable to fully process during the tide of battle began to sink into his mind as he relived that past (future?) few hours.

Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin, Lavender, Percy, Neville, Luna.

Hermione

His mind skidded to a halt as he thought of the last name. Hermione, who had died in his and Harry's arms. Hermione, who had seen past his faults and loved him despite them. Hermione, who he would willingly die for.

He remembered embracing her after she died.

After she died?

"Oh shit," Ron breathed out in a young voice that really ought to not say such things. He remembered now how and why he came back.

He died

And he met Death

They were given a mission by Death, to prevent what happened in his original life from happening here

Ron gulped as the true weight of what he and Hermione agreed fell upon him. He placed his head in his hands as he began to panic over what they were supposed to do.

It was at this point that he noticed how small his hands were, and by extension his whole body.

Looking up, he clambered out of bed to peer at the calendar on his wall. It showed 'July, 1991', with 29 of the boxes crossed off.

Ron's breath hitched as he thought about what this meant. Voldemort wasn't back yet. Sirius was still alive, though still in Azkaban. Percy hadn't betrayed the family to gallivant away to the Ministry. Percy and Fred weren't dead.

Ron sped to his door. He had to make sure that they actually were alive, and that this wasn't some cruel trick.

Scampering down the hall, he reached the twins' door and pushed it open. Inside, sprawled in highly unusual positions on the bed, were Fred and George, who were both several inches shorter and didn't bear any of the scars from the war.

Ron stood in the doorway in a daze. Fred was alive. He was right there, healthy, living, without the blank look he had in the Great Hall while the rest of the family mourned his and Percy's deaths.

Unbidden, tears began to spring in Ron's eyes. His mental fortitude stood for a long time, but his inner eleven year-old needed comfort. He choked out Fred's name, beginning to cry in earnest. He stood by the twins' bed, grabbing onto Fred, needing to feel him, needing to confirm that he was alive, that they were all alive.

Fred blinked awake, shortly followed by George who mumbled nonsense. "Ron?" Fred whispered, confused by his younger brother being in their room in the middle of the night.

"Fred! You're alive! Oh Merlin - I'm so sorry…" Ron began to devolve into wordless sobs as he held his brother who was dead only hours ago in his arms.

Fred shot George an alarmed look. It seemed like their younger brother had some sort of nightmare, and that it involved Fred in some sort of way. In any other situation, they may have teased him about it, but seeing their younger brother break down in front of them removed any potential humor from the situation.

George began to walk out of the hallway towards their parents' room to get their mother when she appeared around the corner, illuminated by the tip of her wand.

"I hear crying. What's going on?" She asked anxiously.

"It's Ron, he just got in here and began babbling about Fred being alive," George led their mother into the room, showing Ron who was hiccuping while Fred awkwardly held him in a hug, "We think he had some sort of nightmare, mum."

Her face softened as she knelt beside the bed. She slowly wrapped her arms around her youngest son while speaking soothing words. Fred and George watched on in silence wondering what forbidden magic she was using, as Ron quickly began to calm down in his mother's arms.

A minute later, their father appeared in the doorway, who was visibly tired but still alert. "Is everything alright, Molly?"

"It seems like Ron had some night terrors, Arthur," She soothed Ron for a moment longer before asking, "Would you like to sleep with us tonight, dear?"

Ron sniffed and nodded sheepishly, eliciting a warm smile from his mother. "Let's go then, dear," She led Ron to Arthur, who took his hand and led him to their room. Molly trailed back to the twins' bed and hugged them, thanking them for being such good brothers before kissing them both on the forehead before shutting the door.

Fred and George sat there with identical bemused expressions. After a moment, they turned to each other and simply said, "Weird," before slumping back down and falling asleep.

…

Granger Residence

Hermione shot up as if she was struck by lightning. She was wrapped up in a wool blanket - far nicer than anything she had to work with while she was on the run with Ron and Harry - and was sitting on a bed far more comfortable than the cots they had slept in as well.

It was at this point that she recognized why this was the case. Looking down at her small form, and feeling the extra frizziness of her hair, along with prodding her buckteeth with her tongue, she surmised that she was somewhere between 10 to 13.

She felt as if she was floating as she got up and checked her neatly organized planner for the next six months - a habit she hadn't broken even during the last year - and saw that the date had just turned to July 31st, 1991.

Okay then, she could work with this. Death had given her and Ron a mission after all, and the more time to prepare, the better. She began mentally preparing a list of things they needed to do over the course of their first year at Hogwarts. The first of which be to befriend Harry, as he was the crux of this whole thing.

This train of thought invariably made her think of what happened before. Things had been going so well before the Shrieking Shack. They had just traveled to the Chamber to dispose of the cup after Ravenclaw's Diadem was consumed in Fiendfyre. After that, all they had left to dispose of was the snake before they could take down Voldemort himself.

That was when things turned downhill fast. First, they stumbled upon Snape's corpse, and while she had no love for the man who murdered Dumbledore, it was still a sorrowful sight to see someone killed in such a way. Then, just when it seemed like they were about to kill the snake, Harry's scar seemed to revolt against it, leading them to lose control of the snake.

Leading to her getting bitten.

Hermione brought her hands to her neck while imagining the pain she felt. The blood pouring down onto her shirt. Her breath shortening as her lungs fought against the venom. She remembered faintly the voices of Ron and Harry by her side, holding onto her as she passed through the veil.

She had cried when she first landed in the valley of dust and bones. Not out of pain, but of loss. It struck as a sort of whiplash when Ron appeared an hour and a half later, by her count, and things seemed to spiral out of control as Death shepherded them towards the veil and into this new life.

When thinking about this, she remembered the haunted look that Ron had beneath his joy of seeing her again. It seemed as though a part of him had died when she slowly faded away in his arms.

This train of thought - God, she was beginning to fall in a rabbit-hole - brought her back to Harry. Tears anew filled her eyes as she thought of what Harry must be going through after Ron died not long after she did.

'God, he would be devastated.'

It would be the end of 5th Year all over again, except worse. They had been a tight knit group over the past seven years. By this point, they were more like family than mere friends. Knowing Harry, Hermione reckoned that he will probably ended up blaming himself for their deaths.

'No… not "will". That hasn't happened yet… That won't happen. It was erased.'

A small part of her doubted that. She had read up on the multiverse theorem for fun during primary school. She quickly dismissed the thought, though, as it brought up too many painful possibilities.

The first order of business would be to make a plan for what needed to be done. Hermione would need to write out everything she could remember about the next seven years, down to the very last detail. Some may call it too much, but one could never take chances with this type of thing.

She glanced at the calendar again. Okay, she had a month to write it all out and create the beginning stages of a plan. She thought for a moment about getting into contact with Ron, but she didn't have an owl, nor would it have made sense for her to send one, as they hadn't officially met yet in this timeline.

She tried to think of a way around this when a yawn escaped her throat. With a resigned sigh, Hermione decided that perhaps sleep would be a good way to get her head back in the game. Besides, her eleven year old body wasn't equipped yet to handle sleepless nights. That didn't happen until 3rd Year with the time-turner, and since then Hermione pulled all-nighters on a somewhat regular basis for exams.

Crawling back into bed, Hermione went to sleep with her thoughts lingering around Ron, Harry, and Death.

The last thing she saw before succumbing to the darkness was a haunted face with bright green eyes flashing before disappearing into smoke.

…

Kings Cross Station, September 1st, 1991

Ron shuffled alongside the rest of his family as they rushed towards Platform 9¾.

The last month had been somewhat of a harrowing experience. It was… nice. There was horcrux hunting. There was no going on the run. There was no threat of a Dark Lord on the horizon. It was just him and his family.

He was smothered by his mother's affections after the night that he came back due to "nightmares", but Ron felt warm inside when he remembered how his mother doted on him. She had cooked his favorite meals for five days straight, and allowed him to play Quidditch for longer periods of time.

The twins, of course, were ecstatic by this chance to hone their Beating skills. Percy had even tagged along for a few games before going back to his studies. Ron even made sure to include Ginny in the game, which won him a tearful hug from her and confused looks from the twins.

That act alone seemed to have made him Ginny's new favorite brother, at least until Bill came back home from Egypt. She had clung to his side since then and had repeatedly pestered him to write to her when he went away to Hogwarts.

Now, as Ron walked down towards the entrance to Platform 9¾, he held his mother's hand in one hand and Ginny's in the other. Ginny seemed slightly more composed than she was in Ron's original timeline, which Ron thought may have been the result of them getting closer.

The family rounded a corner, and Ron craned his neck for any sign of shaggy black hair and baggy clothes. Harry had told him about his confusion over entering Platform 9¾ and how he learned how to do so after watching Ron and his family doing the same.

However, there was no sign of such. Ron didn't worry too much about it, though, as there was a good possibility that the short black-haired kid was hidden in the crowd.

After his mother quizzed Ginny on how to enter, the Weasley family stepped through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10.

Given that the last time that Ron had seen it was at the end of 6th Year, the Hogwarts Express took his breath away by how pure it seemed. The bright red seemed to gleam in the sunlight even more than it had in his previous life. The atmosphere surrounding the crowds of departing children was one of jubilance rather than fear.

It was times like this that made Ron remember why he came back. He would be damned if he allowed that to happen again.

His mother began to say her goodbyes, which was about how Ron remembered it. She lectured the twins on their pranks, praised Percy for becoming prefect, and wished Ron a wonderful time at the school.

Ginny also pulled Ron aside to hug him before he entered the Hogwarts Express, reminding him to write to her every day. They haggled for a bit over the logistics of going all the way up to the owlery every day before settling on writing twice a week, which Ginny seemed happy with, as if she had planned it from the start.

Muttering to himself about 'bloody Slytherin tendencies', Ron hopped aboard and began to search the compartment that Harry had been in the last time around. He bumped into several students, some of which were familiar faces. He passed by Cedric Diggory, who was discussing with some other 3rd Year Hufflepuffs about their electives. Ron felt his stomach lurch when he passed by an open compartment with Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint posturing to each other about their Quidditch teams, which was laden with sensual overtones that made Ron gag.

Sometimes it was a curse to be an adult and to understand these things.

He passed by the Patil twins, reminding him of the disaster at the Yule Ball. Honestly, that whole year was a disaster from the Goblet onwards. 'Merlin, I was a git that year, wasn't I?' Ron thought to himself as he passed by a compartment with a few first years whose names he didn't quite remember.

It was at this point that Ron felt something was wrong. The walk didn't take this long last time around, didn't it? He doubled back to make sure he didn't miss the compartment, but after a quick glance in each one he confirmed that Harry didn't seem to be here.

'Maybe he's further up the train than he was last time?'

He turned around and came to an abrupt halt as he saw a mane of bushy brown hair enter the train. Hermione didn't seem to recognize him immediately, as she stared at Ron before her mouth formed a surprised O shape.

Time seemed to slow down as they met each other's eyes, before they rushed to one another and hugged. After a few moments, Ron disengaged before their embrace caught the attention of the others in the hall. Picking up his trunk again, he heard Hermione ask, "Have you found Harry yet?"

Ron shook his head, "I've looked in each compartment, except for the back of the train. He wasn't anywhere near where he was last time."

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. This… was concerning. First off, the fact that Harry wasn't in the same compartment told Hermione that something had changed. Whether that meant that this was an alternate universe or if their appearance simply had some sort of butterfly effect was something she would have to confirm at school. Additionally, the back of the train held the most extreme Slytherin contingent, as it was where most of the 5th, 6th, and 7th Year Slytherins congregated. Someone like her might be able to get through with her relative anonymity by this point, but Ron came from a family of 'blood traitors', and would likely get harassed if not outright attacked if he went down there.

Hermione really hoped that Harry wasn't down there, because if Ron would be attacked, then Harry would be slaughtered.

"Ron, will you double-check the front of the train for Harry?" Hermione asked, "I'll check the back."

At Ron's worried expression, Hermione quickly added, "I'll cast the disillusionment charm. If they get knocked around a bit, they'll just assume it's the crowd."

After a moment, Ron relented, though he was clearly unhappy about it. "Fine," he grumbled, "but, please Hermione, stay safe."

"I will be," Hermione promised. As Ron began to double back and check once more for Harry, Hermione entered an empty compartment and cast the disillusionment charm on herself.

Hermione gasped and had to grab onto the seat to prevent from falling. While she felt the sensation of an egg cracking on her head indicative of a successful charm, it took much more effort than it took while horcrux hunting. Hermione wondered if perhaps her magical development had reverted back to the levels it was at when she was eleven years old. It seemed plausible, but, like everything, it would take more research.

She began her trek down towards the back of the train. As she checked through the compartment windows, there was no sign of Harry. Once she reached the Slytherin section, she began to slightly rush through her checks, not wanting to get caught. She neared the end when she heard a commotion behind her, and saw a compartment door open as a first year with strawberry-blonde hair ran away from the compartment with tears in her eyes. Hermione's heart went out to the poor girl, but she was distracted when the door right next to her opened.

Hermione flattened herself against the wall as she saw the head of Draco Malfoy pop out of the compartment and yell out, "What was that about?!"

Stepping out of the compartment the strawberry-blonde ran out of earlier, a blonde-haired girl with blue eyes sneered at Malfoy, "It's none of your business, Malfoy."

Malfoy's ears turned red as he fumed slightly, "You need to get a better handle on that Davis girl, Greengrass. She'll make your life difficult in Slytherin otherwise."

Greengrass raised a single eyebrow in such a way that Hermione earnestly believed she practiced in front of a mirror to perfect, "Why, Malfoy, it's almost as if you're giving me good-natured advice."

Malfoy blinked a few times before pompously saying, "I just don't want to deal with her annoying me, that's all," He turned back towards his compartment where Crabbe and Goyle were dutifully standing. "Say, I've heard that Harry Potter is supposed to be on the train. Why don't we come by and introduce ourselves?"

Crabbe and Goyle grunted and shrugged respectively. Malfoy sauntered out followed by Crabbe and Goyle as they made their way up to the front of the train.

Hermione waited for a few moments before Greengrass rolled her eyes muttering about 'posturing peacocks' before sliding her compartment door close.

Hermione breathed in a few times before realizing that her disillusionment was about to wear off. She quickly checked the final few compartments, none of which housed Harry, and sped after Malfoy towards the front.

When she exited the Slytherin portion of the train, she heard Malfoy taunting Ron, "-Weasels had to dredge out some spare Knuts for you to be able to go here. Your very presence is single-handedly bringing down this school's prestige down to the peasantry."

Hermione sped up, watching how Ron, whose face was getting redder and redder in anger, began twitching his hand towards his wand. While Hermione herself wasn't the biggest fan of Malfoy, she had to stop Ron before he lost control and cast several curses years above their age range.

Casting a silencing spell at Malfoy, Hermione grabbed Ron by the scruff of his robes and led him away, leaving Malfoy behind as he silently blustered in indignation.

Hermione walked out of sight of Malfoy before finding an empty compartment to shove Ron in. Once inside, she began casting the repelling wards they used while horcrux hunting. However, she got tired out rather quickly, leaving Ron to pick up the slack as he finished them up.

Now safely warded away from outside interference for the rest of the train ride, Hermione and Ron sat next to one another as they both confirmed that neither of them had seen Harry.

Hermione was worried about what this meant. Going back to the two possibilities, if this was indeed some sort of alternate reality, then she would likely have to alter their plans depending on the circumstances. Vital information would have to double and triple checked before they acted upon it.

However, the second possibility was somewhat more worrying. If their presence had already had such an effect on the timeline, then Hermione could only theorize the extent to which history would change the longer they stayed. It might make it so that Voldemort resurrects sooner, or vital events such as the Triwizard Tournament never occur, or a number of things that would add new variables to their situation.

Ron soothed her, saying that they may have missed Harry. He thought that there was a possibility that he was hiding out of sight from the windows. He was always a bit reclusive, so Hermione thought it probable.

Eventually, as the scenery began to change from the streets of London to the green fields leading to Hogwarts, Hermione laid down her planner for the next year.

Hogwarts Year 1 (1991 - 1992)

Key Events

Harry befriending me and Ron

Halloween - Professor Quirrel (Voldemort) releases a Troll by the girl's bathroom during the Feast

Flying Practice - Malfoy steals Neville's remembrall; Harry becomes Gryffindor Seeker

1st Quidditch Game - Quirrel curses Harry's broom; Snape applies countercurse

Spring - Hagrid gets a dragon egg; Norbetta is born

Philosopher's Stone - 3rd Floor Corridor: Fluffy, Devil's Snare, Winged Keys, Chessboard, Troll (if Quirrel hasn't killed it), Riddle, Mirror

Plans

Help Harry study so that he is better prepared for the future

Capture Peter Pettigrew and turn him in to the DMLE

Free Sirius Black before 3rd Year

Find the Chamber of Secrets (This requires Harry. Try to introduce it to him before the end of 1st Year)

Kill the Basilisk (Bring Blindfolds and Roosters. Lots of Roosters)

Destroy the Diadem horcrux (must be after killing the basilisk)

"These are some basic notes for the next year," Hermione explained to Ron, "I have some more in-depth ideas, but we'll worry about those once we befriend Harry."

Ron was looking at the list when he pulled out a sleeping Scabbers from his robe pocket. He saw Hermione's hair curl as her eyes narrowed into slits. Before she could say anything, Ron said, "I've already hit him with a sleeping charm. We could turn him in now, Hermione."

Hermione sighed, "We can't, at least not yet. We have to act as if we're eleven years old, Ron, and while it's impressive for 7th Years to know the Animagus-revealing charm, it's plausible. For eleven year olds to know of it is unheard of."

Ron stirred for a bit, "So we're going to have to dumb ourselves down?"

Hermione sighed, "A little bit. We should get on fine for the most part, we should just keep what we show others within the 3rd Year curriculum at the latest. They'll probably see us as prodigies if we do, but it wouldn't attract any suspicion of something greater going on."

Ron snorted, "Right, me, a prodigy," he gave a self-deprecating laugh, "You and Harry were always the prodigies, Hermione. I've always been… well, average."

Hermione smacked his arm, "No, Ron! You are not average, you just didn't apply yourself most of the time!" Her gaze softened, "I think that with this second chance you can discover that you really are a great wizard, Ron, and that we were lucky to have you at our side."

Ron still had a doubtful look, but relented under Hermione's fierce gaze, "Fine, I'll try. I'll miss playing chess and Quidditch, though."

Hermione had a pinched look before sighing, "You can still do those things, Ron," upon seeing Ron's face light up, Hermione quickly added, "As long as you don't let it get in the way of your studies."

Ron had an easy-going smile as he muttered, "Yeah, I can do that." Hermione smiled before tucking her planner away and snuggling against Ron's side as she fell to sleep.

…

The Great Hall

Ron and Hermione walked side by side as Professor McGonagall led the First Years through the doors of the Great Hall. Their train ride had been spent in solitude thanks to the wards. They had shared some kisses, though they were rather awkward given their prepubescent bodies, and generally talked about what they were looking forward to with the upcoming year.

Now, as the sorting hat began its song, Ron gave one last look around trying and failing to spot Harry. As names began to be called for sorting, Ron's heart began to fall thinking that Harry somehow wasn't going to make it.

Before long, Hermione was called up. As opposed to the first time around, when she walked in an anxious gait, she walked up with a confidence born from her experiences.

When the hat came over her eyes, Hermione heard the hat's voice echo in her head.

"Ohohoho, a time-traveler sent by Death itself! You are truly a unique sorting, aren't you lass?"

'You can see that!?' Hermione screamed in her mind.

"Of course! I was created to see the whole person before sorting them, after all. Don't worry, my dear, your secret is safe with me"

Hermione marginally relaxed, though she was still guarded, 'So you can see that I was sorted into Gryffindor last time, right?'

"Of course!" The hat boomed in her mind, "And a mighty fine sorting that was! I'll say, it seems like your inner Gryffindor has truly come out over the past - or shall I say future - few years."

Hermione nodded minutely, 'I suppose it has. Are you going to sort me there again?'

"Well… While I still find Ravenclaw a viable option for you, your purposes require you to go to Gryffindor in order to help a certain green-eyed boy."

'Is he here?' Hermione asked, 'We haven't seen him at all today. We're worried that he may not have made it here.'

"I can assure you, miss, he is here," The hat said before becoming louder, "Though, it's clear to me that you belong back in GRYFFINDOR!"

Ron watched as Hermione slid the hat off of her head after sitting with it for nearly three minutes. It wasn't quite the hat-stall that he remembered Harry being, but it took a longer time than it did for most others.

After a few more names that Ron didn't really care too much about, he heard the shout of "Potter, Harry," and raised his head alongside everyone else in the hall as a small boy with a bird's nest of black hair seemed to materialize from within the group of First Years.

Ron felt a pit begin to form in his stomach as Harry walked up to the hat. While he remembered that Harry seemed to be scared of his own shadow when he first came to Hogwarts, this Harry seemed to move with a grace that made it seem more like he was floating than walking.

It was the type of stride that he had only seen Dumbledore do.

Ron paid close attention to how Harry looked as he put the hat on. He had a small frame, easily making him the smallest boy in his year, and only just barely not the smallest in the year as a whole. His robes were scruffed and dirty, and he looked rather thin. This was all as Ron had remembered it (it was hard not to scowl thinking about how his muggle relatives' treatment led to these features), but there was an air about Harry that made him seem more… determined.

From the small glimpse that Ron had of his eyes, there was a cold steel hidden beneath the unassuming charm of green.

There was obviously something different about this Harry. Whether it was because of this being an alternate universe or it being the result of the butterfly effect Ron had no idea.

Harry's sorting began to drag on for five mintes, then six, then seven, then eight. Just about all of the students in the Hall had begun whispering with eachother about the historic sorting, as there hadn't been a sorting this long since Dumbledore himself. After the eleven minute, some of the teachers began to get up to check whether or not the hat malfunctioned when it suddenly bellowed out, "SLYTHERIN!"

The entirety of the Great Hall sat still in shocked silence. Ron gaped as Harry calmly placed the hat back down on the stool and swiftly walked to the Slytherin table, taking a seat that isolated him somewhat from the rest of the House. Ron was still trying to process what had happened as the Great Hall exploded into noise.

After a few moments, McGonagall fired a blast from her wand, silencing the Hall as she called out the next name.

Ron stared at Harry as the next few students were sorted. While then rest of the occupants at the Slytherin table were shooting covert looks at Boy-Who-Lived, Harry's face was in a perfectly neutral expression that eerily reminded Ron of Snape.

Speaking of, Ron shot Snape a glance and, to his surprise, Snape seemed to be looking more thoughtful than angry.

Ron snapped back to attention as McGonagall called out his name. He rushed to the hat, thoughts caught in a whirlwind as he placed the hat down on his head.

"Another time-traveler? Ah, you have also been tasked by Death to change things"

Ron, who didn't really have experience speaking with the hat given his swift sorting last time, thought meekly, 'Yeah?'

"Mmmm, then I presume you would also like to go to Gryffindor with your friend. You are a Weasley after all," The hat mused.

'Hold on!' Ron exclaimed in his mind, 'What's the deal with Harry going to Slytherin? You sent him to Gryffindor last time!'

"Think for a moment, Weasley. How long was Potter's sorting last time around?"

Ron thought about it for a moment, and remembered that while it wasn't nearly as long as it was this time, it still took significantly longer than anyone else. 'What does that have to do with it?'

"A long sorting is indicative of being suitable for multiple houses," The hat informed, "HOWEVER, I am forbidden from sharing information on other students' sortings with you," The hat stood amused as Ron grumbled, "Now! What house shall I put you in?"

Ron thought about it for a moment, before asking, 'There's a choice?'

"Why, yes! You have qualities of every House, perhaps with the exception of Ravenclaw, as you tend not to pursue knowledge for the sake of knowledge. You have shown yourself to be brave in the face of extreme adversity, even willing to fight against the darkest witch of the age! You have also shown yourself to be loyal. Even in the times you have left your friends in anger, you have invariably come back to them in their time of need," The hat explained.

'Right, those are qualities of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, but how the bloody hell do I have Slytherin qualities?' Ron asked aghast.

"Language! Yes, you have always had a thirst to prove yourself as not being 'just another Weasley'," The hat chuckled as it felt Ron's irritation rise, "One could also say that your goal in saving this world is rather ambitious…"

'But to that end I should end up in Gryffindor, where Hermione is,' Ron exclaimed, trying desperately to steer the hat away from putting him in with the snakes.

"Hmm, but isn't Harry Potter in Slytherin? Doesn't this whole thing revolve around him?"

Ron bit his lip, debating within himself, before deciding that they would just have to adapt to that change. Harry wouldn't become another bloody Malfoy, surely not! 'Put me in Gryffindor. It's where I belong.'

The hat outwardly sighed, alerting those in the Great Hall that a sorting was imminent, "I suppose I can't argue with you any longer. You have chosen your own course. As I have sorted once before, I pronounce you a GRYFFINDOR!"

Ron disregarded decorum and practically flung the hat off of his head, which began to elicit snickers primarily from the twins. He sat down beside Hermione, staying silent in thought as Zabini was sorted into Slytherin.

Dumbledore took the stage afterwards, dressed in a garish purple, and made his opening announcements. It was much the same as the last time around, including the ominous warning about the 3rd floor corridor. Afterwards, the feast appeared and Ron's appetite made itself known with a resounding rumble.

Hermione giggled at this, which caused Ron to chuckle. Before long, they were both hysterically laughing while holding onto each other, much to the confusion and amusement of the others at the table.

They were back. They were back! They had time to change things. Hell, things had already changed (Ron tried and failed to ignore the black mop of hair at the Slytherin table).

They decided that they would worry about such things after the Feast. Some of their plans would have to change, yes, but they still had plenty of time ahead of them.

Plenty of time for them to right the wrongs of the world.

…

The Slytherin Table

Throughout the table clad in green and silver, different cliques and small groups of friends joined together as they ate. They joked with each other, discussed upcoming classes, planned the rudimentary politics of the House, and insulted the other Houses under their breaths.

Though, the source of most of their interest sat amongst them, although he was off on his own. The Slytherins across all seven years didn't quite know what to make of the Boy-Who-Lived. He certainly seemed closed off, not making eye contact with any of them. He was a stark contrast to what many of them expected, which was either a replica of James Potter, pranker extraordinaire, or of Lily Potter, kindhearted with an inner fire.

However, Harry Potter seemed to willingly isolate himself from the rest of the House. He sat alone at the far end of the table, eating slowly and mechanically, as if the act of eating was more of a chore than a delicacy. His face was carefully blank, too blank. Some of the older students wondered if the boy practiced Occlumency and dismissed the idea as absurd, but still, the doubt remained.

Periodically, it seemed his mask would break, and he would grip the table with an intensity that cracked the wood. Some of the closer students would later speak to one another in whispers that they felt the temperature drop and particles of ice began to form by the boy's seat. However, these episodes left as soon as they came, leaving those who witnessed it confused as to what they saw.

There were a few times throughout the Feast that some of the braver, or dumber, Slytherins tried to approach the boy. A few 5th Years were planning on warning him of tainting the pure-blooded reputation of the House, but were halted by a simple flick of the eyes to their direction. Some of the younger years tried to scoot closer to initiate some small talk, but they quickly scooted away after the atmosphere seemed to compress on their skulls. Draco Malfoy and his two goons began to saunter towards him until their eyes met. Draco wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he felt the eyes of Death weigh upon him in the form of twin killing curses.

The boy himself kept his own council. He didn't dare speak. He had spoken no more than three words after Diagon Alley, and they were only out of necessity. This was a world unburned, and he wouldn't allow his actions to spur the flames of war.

His was a charred soul, burned in the ashes of war. As he gazed towards the stone walls of the Great Hall, he could only see the mounds of bodies, friends and foe alike, before they were consumed by hellish flame.

He would live to stop it before it happened, then he would disappear. He knew that his presence equated Death. He was its Master after all.

Indeed, while the boy experienced horror in the form of neglect and abuse, the soul inside was an empty husk that was repeatedly shredded and torched by war, loss, and the ever-present shadow of his own mistakes.

For Harry Potter was not the eleven year old boy that everyone saw him as, at least not entirely. His was an old soul forcibly smashed with a youthful one. Of course, like everything else about being the Master of Death entails, Harry saw this happenstance not as a blessing but as a curse.

It was a humorless thought, yet it brought a cold smile on his lips. He wondered if it was karma that it happened this way. He had lost his humanity long ago in his warpath. He had sold his soul to the darkness, ripping it in ways that would give even Voldemort pause.

His ears began to ring as a flood of images came back to him. Images of the final hour. The end of the beginning. The beginning of the end.

That was the day that Harry Potter was finally torn asunder, and all that was left was the Void.

…

Voldemort's Palace, January 2, 2018

The night sky was smattered with reds and purples. Ancient magics locked away for millenia were torn from the Earth and sent into the sky. The continents of the world had long been torn apart and flung at each other in a bloody mockery of hockey. Volcanic eruptions layered the world in hellfire as a never-ending winter brought forth ice straight from the devil's tomb.

The nations of the world, both magical and muggle, had long since died, leaving husks of civilization to eventually become home to the demonic mutants that littered the world. Only a few pockets of life remained, though they were diminishing by the day. Only a week ago, on what was once celebrated as Christmas day, the Bastion of Amsterdam fell to the demon horde.

Now, on the British Isles, locations once filled with such life and magic were overrun by the fowls of the Beast. Diagon Alley was a wasteland, the skulls of those who once resided there being slowly eaten by the creatures that roamed there. Godric's Hollow, once home of Gryffindor, Dumbledore, and Potter, was host to inferi that scoured the countryside.

The only site untouched by the Beast's forces sat on the ruins of what was once Hogwarts. The flames of hell had burned away two decades ago, allowing the older of the Dark Lords to erect a palace in his name.

Now, Voldemort sat on his throne, looking out into the night sky. By his side were a collection of potions that kept his body healthy, for if he didn't drink it, his skin would flake away. It was a condition that had first appeared seven years ago, and it had nearly led to his demise when it first happened. Thankfully, amongst the many prisoners he held in the dungeons below his palace, there was a potions master almost to the same skill as Snape. Draco Malfoy was more than happy to brew such an exotic potion, after an Imperius of course.

Voldemort had next to no truly loyal followers left. All of them had either defected, such as the Malfoys, or had died at the hands of the Beast's horde, or the other Dark Lord.

Voldemort smiled grimly. Yes, while his war didn't exactly turn out the way he expected, given that he had inadvertently summoned the Beast itself, he could at least pride himself in the knowledge that his actions led to the birth of a Dark Lord that was maybe, just maybe, even greater than himself.

The Void had appeared in Britain over a decade ago now, and by this point of Voldemort's life, he was the only thing that made life worth living. He was the only being that could hope to match Voldemort, as they had leveled cities in their personal war against each other.

On occasion, Voldemort would think about the events of two decades prior. He gave a dry chuckle as he thought of how he would react if he told his past self that Harry Potter would grow into a Dark Lord to rival himself.

But it had happened, and Voldemort felt an odd sort of pride in the knowledge that he had dragged Potter down into the flames of war. There was almost a kinship in their knowledge of the darkest arts. Almost.

Because, even though Voldemort could begrudgingly respect The Void (because, as he said himself, Harry Potter died two decades ago), he would be the one to kill him.

'Yesss,' Voldemort thought while twirling a glass of wine in his hand, 'One must die at the hand of the other.'

His musing was interrupted by the sounds of explosions rocketing at the base of his palace. Voldemort vanished the glass of wine and sped to the window at the top of his tower, his personally crafted wand snapping to his hand.

He stared down to the ground to witness a lone figure, The Void, ripping through the wards as if they were paper. Voldemort gave a manic grin as he leapt out of the window and began to fly to meet his opponent.

As he descended, The Void launched a spell that Voldemort, to his surprise, didn't recognize. However, it was aimed towards him, but rather to the base of the palace.

When Voldemort landed, he stared backwards as veins of black fire began to work themselves around the central structure of the palace. After a moment, the darkness spread until the entire palace was as black as the void, and it crumpled into ash.

"Interesting spell, Potter," Voldemort murmured, not really concerned with the destruction of his palace and the deaths of all those inside, "But now, it's just you and me."

Voldemort knew in the back of his mind that this was going to be his final fight with The Void. One of them was going to die, and the other was going to have to deal with the ruins of the world. Voldemort wondered with a faint amusement as to whether Potter would prefer the former.

Voldemort eyed The Void as he extended the Elder Wand - stolen from him all those years ago - and incanted, "Protego Diabolica Maximus."

A ring of black fire erupted around Voldemort and The Void, standing thirty meters tall, blotting out most of the surroundings. Voldemort, even with all of the rituals tearing apart his body away from humanity, began to sweat from the heat. Across from him, The Void stayed silent as he held the Elder Wand in a lazy grip, reminiscent of how Voldemort himself carried his wand.

They eyed each other for a few seconds before, at a speed quicker than lightning, Voldemort cast a volley of curses that would all kill his opponent in a variety of horrifying ways. The Void batted away these curses just as fast, and commanded two jets of Fiendfyre to erupt from the ground to circle around Voldemort.

The two Dark Lords barely moved their footing as they dueled. Indeed, out of all their battles, this one was easily the least sophisticated, as they both unleashed their raw magical power in an attempt to overwhelm the other.

The duel, if it could even be called that, lasted for only ten seconds. Both Dark Lords had launched over a hundred curses at the other, though in the end it was a simple cutting curse to the heart that ended the exchange.

Voldemort fell back as the curse hit his chest, bursting a sickly green blood with specks of red. His wand, which was blackened by the amount of curses he used in the short time-frame, seemed to wilt away like a flower and blow apart by the wind.

Voldemort said no words as he clutched his dying heart. He had no thoughts, aside from a sick satisfaction at having some sort of victory. He may be dying, but he had killed Harry Potter's soul.

It was a melancholic end to one of the greatest Dark Lords in millenia. He didn't die with a roar, but with a whisper.

AN:

If you can't tell by this point, I'm a BIG fan of Dark Lord Harry.

It might be a bit of an issue

Also, if it wasn't clear, Harry also time traveled from the future. It was just a further future than Ron and Hermione where he became a Dark Lord to surpass Voldemort by the name of The Void.

Harry's past and descent into becoming The Void will be explored in later chapters, along with how he ended up in the past.

This story will have some minor tie-ins with The Impossibility Theorem, specifically in regards to Death as a character. I'm on the fence on whether or not I want to include this Harry in that story as a major player, given that I already have 3+ Harrys that fill the Dark Lord role (of varying degrees), so I'm tentatively planning on two potential endings. I might make a poll when this story begins to wrap up (which will likely be years from now, given my writing efficiency), but we'll see.

Cheers!