AN: At last, after writing fanfics for close to 15 years, I am finally here with a story that combines my personal two favourite tropes: soul mate AU's and do-over fics ^^
I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I'm having fun writing it!

Prologue

On the 2nd of May 1998, Britain was freed from its tyrant. Dozens fell in the fight for equality, justice and freedom. Dozens died in vain.

The one who had made it all possible was hailed for one and a half years. It might have been longer, if not for one little fact: Muggles were dangerous creatures, exactly as the Dark Lord had foretold. With his views and opinions cast aside, it didn't take long before the Wizarding World was discovered. At the turn of the new millennium, groups of mages across the world were careless in their celebration. New technology enabled Muggles to capture and spread the displays so fast, all across world, that no Obliviator Squad could have stopped it. The damage had been done, starting a wave of ever-more aggressive attempts to uncover the secrets of wizardkind.

Six years later, numbers won over power. Technology triumphed with the creation of a device that generated magic-cancelling fields.

On the 4th of March 2007, Magical Britain ceased to exist.

Chapter 1: On the run

3rd of October, 2013

Harry's feet land softly on leaf-covered ground when jumping off his broom. Instantly, he is surrounded by the few friends he has left. ''It doesn't look good,'' he speaks in a tired tone. ''The fields are growing and a new one has been planted up the river. I couldn't fly over it anymore. The only way to counter it might be to widen our Muggle-repelling wards.'' He looks over to Hermione and Bill, who are responsible for warding. Bill mutters something and shakes his head. Harry winces. If their wards are at maximum strength now, he isn't sure if they'll survive here for much longer. ''A few days ago, the government revealed that they will double down to find remaining mages in hiding. Expensive though it may be, they're not limiting their cancellation fields to populated areas anymore. Plus, our current wards won't hold off drones or persistent groups of hunters with portable devices,'' he presses.

''No wards hold off drones, Harry,'' Bill speaks, sounding just as tired as Harry denies feeling. ''No spell like that has been invented. If we're lucky, the hunters might be confused early enough that their devices do not actually touch our wards. Either way, strengthening them won't help. They'll either be deterred or rip through with those things.''

''We can't just wait here like sitting ducks,'' he angrily replies, looking at everyone's defeated faces. ''You all sound like you've given up!''

Ron, perhaps in a bad attempt to lighten the mood, throws in: ''Mate, we've been eating mushroom stew for six years now.''

Anger rising, Harry turns around to face him. ''Oh, is the food not of high enough quality? Would you rather march down to the next Muggle village so they can come pick you up? I can't imagine what delicacies they're feeding their pet mages in the camps!''

''Harry, calm down,'' Hermione sighs, taking his hand. ''Getting angry at each other will not do us any good.'' She throws a look at Ron, who just opened his mouth, and reluctantly closed it again. ''We're too little left.'' Something in her voice, a trembling that she tries very hard to hide, has Harry freezing up. Once more, he looks at each and every face that surrounds him.

''Where's Neville?'' he asks with a suddenly very dry mouth. His friend had stood guard during the night, patrolling their border. He should have returned to base shortly after Harry had left, a few hours ago. He receives no answer, only trounced looks. Their reactions are understandable now, although the passivity still leaves him feeling irate. At the beginning, when Muggles first started making moves against magical folks, they'd travelled across the country with about half of the original D. A. and some extended family in tow. A decade later, they are left with eight people, including himself. Seven now, with Neville gone missing.

The worst thing about it is that their situation is so endless. When hiding in this very forest from Voldemort, they'd had clues to follow, plans to make, Horcruxes to destroy one by one. A goal. At first, they had been optimistic about this fading too, enslaved wizards and witches perhaps rising up or finding spells to counter the devices that left them squibs. Those dreams had been shattered years ago. There were too many Muggles and they'd caught the Wizarding world by utter surprise.

The one man who had predicted this was dead, by Harry's doing.

He knows that many of their kind blame him for the situation they are in now, but what could he have done? He hadn't chosen to be prophesized to defeat Voldemort, nor could he have foreseen what was to come. The rest of the Wizarding World wanted him to succeed just as badly back then.

''This can't go on,'' he rasps. ''They're picking us off one by one. We need reinforcements if we want to have any hope of survival. Surely, we can't be the only group in hiding still.''

Ron and Hermione exchange glances, then look at Molly. The eldest at sixty-three years old, she looks just as fierce as she had during the battle of Hogwarts when blasting Bellatrix to the afterlife. The only difference: with each child she lost, her wrinkles deepen and her eyes harden just a tad more. Both Percy and Charlie are held in camps according to their latest intel, while Fred, George and Ginny all passed away. Harry's heart still aches as he thinks of the day they caught Ginny. She'd fought off the hunters with such fierce magic that they had not bothered to capture her, shooting her down like an animal. George had thrown himself on the hunter after, enabling the rest of them to escape as he pummelled the woman's face in as an act of vengeance. That had been a dark day for their group.

Molly speaks up: ''Anyone in hiding will not have left open channels for communication. Our only chance is to break into a camp in an attempt to free those who are captured if we wish to bolster our numbers. Harry, I'll be frank: that is a suicide mission.''

''So is staying here, living like this,'' he answers, shaking his head.

2nd of May, 2014

Nathan looks down at the working crowd beneath. It is hard to imagine that these are people who had supernatural powers at their fingertips from birth. They look dusty, defeated, and he shudders uncomfortably as one of them looks up with hollow eyes. He jumps as the other guard claps a hand on his shoulder.

''Hey newbie, don't faint on me now.''

''They… they look so human,'' he whispers. Nathan always imagined witches to look like the evil creatures in fairy tales, and wizards to perhaps also look a lot less humane. The topic of magic is something he tried his best to avoid before today, skipping over any news articles that touched on the uncomfortable facts about the paranormal. ''I've never seen one in real life before.'' He also wouldn't have, had he not been demoted for smuggling in weed to a few fellow soldiers. He wonders if Dave has been in the army before too, and if so, why he is here now.

''There's nothin human about 'em,'' Dave scoffs. ''All tricks to gain sympathy. They've waged wars right beneath our noses for centuries, dragging us down with 'em. Mysterious explosions, kidnappings, all their doin'.''

''I suppose…''

''Hey, you're in luck for havin' been transferred today.''

''It's true then?'' Nathan isn't entirely sure if he feels lucky. He tried to distance these creatures from humans in his mind, hearing them lament is unlikely to make that any easier. Dave answers with a grin that Nathan hopes is supposed to make him feel better. The day passes without incidents; most of these mages have given up trying to escape long ago. Even if they could free themselves from their shackles, there are still walls, doors, guards and the cancellation field that covers a few miles in diameter here.

Dave pops open a couple of beer cans and hands them out to the other guards. It appears to be a regular occurrence, as no-one scolds them for drinking on the job. Even the officer just holds out a hand to receive one of the cans. Not everyone stays for the 'spectacle' as Dave put it, but Nathan doesn't feel like blowing it with his direct co-worker on the first day and thus sits down next to the other man. As the sun sets behind the horizon, a few minutes before the usual time the workers are allowed to stop, the first notes fill the air. It starts as a low humming that comes from dozens of throats at once, then strengthens as the mages huddle together.

In a distorted way, it reminds of Christmas, strangers forming groups on the streets to sing their carols. There is no joy in this song though, and as Nathan sips his beer, he dearly hopes that he won't be sitting here again next year today.

Hear our plea, Immortal Lord
Grant us mercy, our wands restored
If you can hear our desperate cries
Forgive us, we apologise
For the time we all believed the lies
that led to your demise

Nathan casts a sideway glance at Dave, who hangs over the railing with a look on his face as if he is watching a particularly interesting wrestling match. The song continues, and he quietly asks: ''Who are they singing to? I thought they don't believe in God?''

''Some radical Dark Lord who rallied their kind to commit genocide on normal folks. Didn' work out, one of their own killed 'im, late nineties. See? If they'd get the chance again, they'd murder us in our sleep, the bastards.''

Privately, Nathan thinks that he too would probably want to murder those holding him and his family captive. He sighs, leaning back. That isn't the attitude he should have; he serves his country by keeping these dangerous individuals locked up. Birds can sing too, that is not enough to earn freedom.

3rd of July, 2014

''I'm ready.''

It is too late already, far too late, and Harry can see in his friends' eyes that they are very aware of it. They are left with no other choice, however, no alternatives to try. The newly implemented governmental policies are no joke, and they had to leave their last base in Dean's Forest behind in a chaotic hurry when drones flew over, dropping the cursed devices that activated anti-magic shields. The trio barely managed to apparate away in the nick of time, split off from the rest. They have no idea what became of the others... During the previous two months, they just tried their hardest to survive.

His plan to infiltrate one of the camps a few weeks ago has not worked either. They'd thoroughly explored the area around it before, mapping out the few places they could still pass by magical travel and going the rest on foot while praying that no hunters would snatch them in a moment they could not use magic. Walking through a cancellation field had felt awful, as if Harry's soul was tearing itself apart. Daggers had stung his chest as he'd breached one and marched towards the camp. They'd been badly disguised too. Magical stocks ran out years ago with no way to replenish vital ingredients to make useful potions such as Polyjuice. The only artefact that still holds up against most wards is his invisibility cloak, sadly too small to fit even two grown adults.

All in all, it ended badly, with them running for dear life, injured and weak. They weren't even able to speak to a single mage. It is a miracle that all three of them escaped alive.

So now this is it: a last, desperate attempt to find freedom. Hermione was the one to come up with the plan, Ron worked out the practical details and Harry will put it into action. There is no need to risk all of their necks again this time. None of them know if his friend's theories are correct, but this last gamble is all they have left.

Azkaban.

The idea is simple: while the government hunted down all mages in their country, Azkaban is an island on its own of which no record should exist in Muggle literature. After the second wizarding war, the Dementors were removed, but it had still served as a prison for Voldemort's surviving Death Eaters and other war criminals. None of those made it into any news Harry had seen after the witch hunts began. Thus, there is still a chance, a tiny chance, that Azkaban has remained undiscovered. The only problem of course, is that it might be chockfull of Death Eaters who will no doubt want the murderer of their Lord dead. Harry is prepared to bow down to them if it means having a safe haven for his friends, although he hasn't told Hermione and Ron about that detail.

''Good luck,'' Ron says, giving him a hug. ''Harry… if you don't make it back, or if we are forced to move from this spot before you return… sharing that first ride to Hogwarts was one of the best moments of my life, one that shaped my future. You've been a great friend for putting up with me through all of this.''

Hermione doesn't manage to be as eloquent this time, trying to hold back tears as she too hugs Harry tightly. If only he could give them encouraging words or a promise that he'll come back...

He can't do it, too afraid it will be a lie. With all the power he can muster, Harry apparates, forcing his magic to take him where he wants to go despite never having visited or even seen the place other than on black and white photographs.

The smell of brine hits before he can register anything else. Upon opening his eyes, Harry looks around in astonishment. Gone is the barren rock that Azkaban is supposed to be built on. The imposing building stands amidst fields and gardens in which two dozen people are at work. With shock, Harry realises that he recognises quite a few of them. One blond man in particular.

Draco Malfoy drops the bucket he's been holding and storms over. ''What do you think you are doing here?'' he shouts, none too happily. Others look up at the commotion, and Harry can feel their burning stares as they take him in.

''I… we… my friends and I figured that this might be a place the Muggles haven't found yet,'' he replies. To his dismay, Malfoy still stands taller than him, even if the other looks nothing like the arrogant aristocrat he used to, dirt stains on tattered robes and scratches on his face now Malfoy's only adornments.

''Took you long enough to use your brains then,'' Malfoy bitingly retorts.

''It looks good here,'' he weakly says, letting his gaze wander across the gardens. There is more food than he's allowed himself to dream of the past couple of years, and a few of the people here even have wands despite most of them being former inmates. Malfoy gives him a one-over, then turns on his heel, gesturing for Harry to follow. Looks filled with hatred are glued to his back as he walks over to the fortress.

''It's not as good as it seems,'' Malfoy mutters once they are inside, a shadow crossing his face. ''We're stuck here, shut off from the outside world. Parties we send out rarely return. This island was never meant to be self-sufficient, not even with magic. And so few of us have access to magic. We're not even sure for how long, wands won't last generations…''

''It beats the camps,'' Harry mumbles. ''Or being on the run forever.''

''We still have no future.''

Harry gulps at that harsh truth. ''Look, Malfoy-''

''Draco,'' the man interrupts as they enter a small cell that has been redecorated into a living space. Inside sits Narcissa, who looks up in surprise. ''Call me Draco, scarhead. You've saved my life twice, you earned it.'' Never in his life would Harry have thought to receive a wry smirk from a Malfoy, yet there it is. Amicable, even.

Harry politely greets Draco's mother, whom he sort of owes a life-debt to for not instantly ratting him out to Voldemort when he'd played dead. It is strange to think about… she too had a role in Voldemort's demise by that very act. A role in the dystopian future that unfolded as a result. ''I'm only searching for a place where I don't have to be on the run anymore,'' Harry tiredly explains. ''Only Ron and Hermione are left from the original group we started with. I want them to be safe.'' His face falls when Draco shakes his head.

''I personally don't have a grudge or prejudices against them anymore, not after that whole battle. But almost everyone here is a Pureblood, trying to cling onto the beliefs of the Dark Lord. While Weasley might find a spot of his own here, the others would never allow a Mudblood on the island. Not after all the grief Muggles have given us. Can't she go back to her parents?''

''And live in a cancellation field for the rest of her life while trying to deny she is a witch? It makes one ill Draco. I've experienced the feeling first-hand, as if something is being constantly ripped from your chest. It's no wonder that those in the camps give up so soon. Living without one's magic is unhealthy, deadly so.''

Narcissa clears her throat, drawing his attention: ''The truth of the matter is, this is still a prison. Whether a single cell or a tiny island, we are not free and will never be. For this to work, all those who are cooped up together need to be on the same foot, not least of all because many here felt the effects of Dementors for years and aren't completely sane. We are the last remains of the Dark Lord's forces and try to live by his word. I admit that my family hesitated in following him as we suffered from his cruelty, but we've worked to regain our position. Neither you nor your friends would be able to fit in here. I am sorry, there is no place for you here unless you are willing to mend this all.''

''Mother…'' Draco groans for reasons that escape Harry's comprehension.

''I am open to trying any ideas,'' he vows, feeling desperate. They can't go back to the way they were living before, jumping up each hour of every night because they heard sounds, scavenging nuts and berries. The winters are especially harsh, and with only three people left, they barely survived the last one.

Draco sighs and gives another shake of his head. ''Humour him if you will, mother, I'm going back to work. Either way, this is goodbye, Scarhead.''

Harry is left sitting in the cramped space with only Narcissa, who offers a weak smile. ''I know that your opinion on Divination must be rather low due to the Prophecy between you and the Dark Lord.''

''That's an understatement,'' he warily mutters, although a hint of curiosity is sparked at the words.

''Wizards and witches are not the only ones who inhabit this island. Three centaurs have settled here and help us see both past and future in the stars, to warn of any events that might harm our community. They predicted your arrival, and a choice you can face.''

''What sort of choice?''

The woman bows her head. ''For years, we hoped that our Lord would return, that his immortality had not been completely reversed. We devised a ritual to resurrect him once more... so far, it was in vain, as we could not find his soul. Our last glimmer of hope is you, Harry Potter. You were killed by his hand yet survived. You were bound to him in prophecy and rumour has it that you even shared wand cores. If anyone can reach through time and space to find our Lord, to warn him, it is you. According to the centaurs, you are the one who can prevent all this from happening.''

''You're talking about time magic,'' Harry protests in disbelief. ''A branch even generations of Unforgivables could not master beyond crafting basic time-turners!''

''We have his wand,'' Narcissa stubbornly replies. ''There is still a connection between the two of you, I am sure of it. You know as well as I do that at this rate, our kind will cease to exist. Even this island will thrive no more than a few generations until either our wands cease functioning or Muggles invent new methods to unravel the wards surrounding this island. We're on the brink of extinction and the only man who could have stopped it is dead,'' she desperately tells him, grabbing hold of Harry's hands. ''Please, this might be our last chance at survival.'' At Harry's prolonged silence, she whispers: ''Unlike so many others, I don't blame you for what you did. You were pushed by people close to you whom you trusted, and a Prophecy that maybe could not have been avoided no matter your actions. I know that I have no right to ask this of you, that you did enough already for an unthankful world, but you are our only hope. Go back in time, find him, and make sure that he succeeds.''

When he apparates away from the island, it is with the yew wand that slaughtered hundreds and a detailed list of instructions. Maybe he hasn't found the sanctuary they sought, but he does not return with empty hands. As he's been wishing for a while now, he has a plan. A goal.

31st of July, 2014

Never in his life has Harry been so nervous for his birthday to arrive. Hermione theorised it to be the most likely date for any of this to succeed, bar perhaps Voldemort's own date of birth, which is still five months away, months they cannot afford to wait.

The ritual they received was not, as originally thought, an attempt to travel time in the way time-turners transported one. Instead, the Death Eaters had attempted to craft a rudimentary body for Voldemort to temporarily use and then activate time magic to transport the Dark Lord's consciousness from a previous point in time to the future. It failed due to there being no trace of Voldemort left anymore in this world, nothing to establish a connection. Time travel only works when it can fluctuate between two fixed states, Hermione patiently explained to him and Ron.

Without the ability to reach Voldemort here, they will attempt to reverse the process as per Narcissa's instructions: returning Harry to a previous point in time in his own body, eliminating the risk of running into another version of himself. Hermione calls it a form of past reincarnation. Harry refuses to give it a name other than 'their last option'.

So much can go wrong that he gets a headache even thinking about the discussions they had about it. Hermione is admittedly brilliant, but she still had little experience with practical magic in these areas. If everything goes well, he'll be transported back to the body of an eleven-year-old to try and establish a connection with Voldemort at Hogwarts. It is the only point in time where he will have multiple opportunities to speak to the Dark Lord, while also not having been branded as a definite enemy yet. That only happened once he'd refused Voldemort's offer to join the man's side.

From experience, these kinds of plans do not go well, so he is prepared for any setbacks. Harry may end up in the future with no way out, or perhaps in the body of someone else. It might not work at all or kill him on the spot. So many unpleasant possibilities.

''At least we tried,'' Ron reminds him once again, wringing clammy hands while eyeing the circle Harry stands in. ''Whatever the outcome, we tried.''

Harry only nods. His tongue feels like sandpaper.

''It will work,'' Hermione snaps at them both, hands planted in her sides. ''I haven't studied this ritual for weeks just for you guys to be negative about it. This will undoubtedly transport Harry's consciousness to a past self. We merely are not completely certain about the details… such as which point in time… or which world.''

''What do you mean, which world?'' Harry asks, panicking even more. This is not an option that had ever come up in conversation.

Hermione shrugs helplessly. ''Some Muggles have this theory about a multiverse… That the universe we live in is only one of many different dimensions that are all layered atop each other. Each choice that is made symbolises two different universes, in which one or the other happens. It is only a theory, of course, it hasn't proven to be true…''

''But if it is?''

''Then you might not end up in the exact same universe as we are in,'' Hermione sombrely admits. ''And for us, nothing will change. However, Harry, it would not mean that your chance is wasted. The events that transpired here were of such a massive scale that I doubt individual choices mattered much. Even if you end up in a place where all Weasleys are somehow blonde, or Lupin didn't get bitten as a child, it would not impact the grander picture. You'd still be saving an entire world for the magical population.'' She smiles in what is surely meant to be encouraging. ''Plus, you will get to live in freedom again,'' she wistfully adds.

''I want freedom for you,'' Harry exclaims, feeling tears sting. ''Come with me, then!''

''You know we can't. We're using Voldemort's wand as a channeler for your soul to have guidance. It would not have an effect for either Ron or me. Only you can go, Harry.''

It sounds so sensible that Harry can't protest any further. The day is drawing to a close and they still have a long chant ahead. He clenches his jaw a few times and blinks traitorous tears away.

''Let's do this.''

31st of July, 1980

Cold envelops his body. Blinding light makes Harry screw his eyes shut. A wailing sound starts, his throat hurts badly... He is grabbed with coarse hands and held upside down.

''Snape, if you are already treating my child so roughly now, I will not have you be his personal healer!'' a male voice cuts through all of Harry's disoriented senses.

''James!'' another, tired, voice scolds. Harry's heart stutters as he realises who is speaking, and goes deadly still. ''Severus is doing what every Healer does to a baby. Come here and hand me some of those potions.''

Unable to do anything besides trying to pry his own eyes open, Harry is carried over and deposited in a pair of warm arms. ''He looks so much like you already,'' Lily murmurs. ''Don't you, little Harrison?''

''We're not calling him Harrison like a posh Pure-blood,'' James protests. ''We agreed on Harry!''

''You and Sirius agreed on Harry,'' Lily answers, clearly amused. ''Fine, I will just call him Harrison if he's been bad. If he has as much of your personality as your looks, I'll be calling him that often. Very often.''

With far more effort than it should have taken, Harry finally blinks blearily, colours coming into view. Wondrous, green eyes look down at him and for one precious moment, Harry does not care that the ritual clearly did not work as intended. His mother's face is as bright and lovely as he always imagined it to be, and he does not even attempt to stop the ugly sobbing hiccups that come from his new-born lungs now. He reaches out to touch her face, and then…

''NO!'' he hears the anguished cry of his father. Bewildered, Harry tries to struggle as his right hand is snatched rather roughly and follows James' gaze to the back of his own hand. What Harry sees there makes his blood freeze even if he does not grasp entirely what the sight means just yet. On his skin, the newly formed skin that he has just been born with, is a mark.

A tattoo of a crimson eye.