WARNING: This became an AU in addition to a time travel, because I'm AppoApples, completely incapable of coming close to finishing a simple plotline. I would ask that when it comes up, you stick with it for a few chapters because the entire plot fell into place with this.

KEYnote: I'm loosely following the book, and timeline gets a little looser. We are near the end of September at the end of this chapter. The last four only covered three days ;D

Chapter 5 - Gods Don't Bleed

Harry wasn't a fool, he knew Astoria knew the material.

Still, he sat with her and her friends at the end of the Slytherin table.

"You are at the wrong table," Draco said as he passed.

Harry raised his brow, "You sure about that? Because I heard my potions have been getting grades than yours, not to mention our other classes. You may just need the extra help."

Draco's cheeks turned pink, "You best be careful."

"Meh, careful is for people with long life expectancies," Harry said, waving him off.

Not knowing how to respond to that, Draco moved on.

Daphne sat beside him a minute later, "I thought you joined the Ravenclaws for lunch?"

"Your sister asked for help in Charms," Harry said. He looked at the little sister, "You ready to stop pretending you don't know what you're doing yet?"

"Only if you stay for the meal," Astoria said.

Harry sighed but grabbed a plate and a yoghurt.

Astoria grinned in victory, and spelled the shakers to dance.

Daphne shook her head, "She played you."

"Implying I didn't know?" Harry countered. "I don't mind. I'm waiting for them to ask me to teach them something interesting."

"Interesting like what?" Astoria asked.

Harry snapped his fingers and the salt and pepper burst from the tops of the shakers, they hurricaned together, then fell back into their respective shakers.

"What was that?" Charles, another third year Slytherin demanded.

Harry waggled a finger, "That's for you to discover. I'll teach you if you can find the name of the charm."

"But you did it without a wand or speaking!" Astoria said, outraged.

Harry shrugged, "I would have needed one of those two things if I wanted to do something bigger than a salt shaker."

The third years scowled at Harry as he ate a spoon full of parfait.

Daphne shook her head, "You are a very weird person."

"Thank you," Harry said without missing a beat.

The rest of lunch was spent with the third years guessing potential Charms spells and Daphne leading them on in circles as Harry fought not to laugh. Only Astoria seemed to catch on to the fact that Daphne was having a go at them.

"I'm going to the library," Harry told Ron and Hermione on Saturday.

"I'm going to Quidditch practice," Ron said.

Hermione frowned at Harry, "I thought you already finished this week's homework?"

"I'm studying theory," Harry said. "I suck at it and some of the library books are better than the textbooks, even if I need to read multiple books to cover any given chapter from the textbooks."

"He's going to go see Luna," Ron said with an eye roll.

"Really?" Hermione asked.

"You're welcome to join us," Harry lied.

Hermione shook her head, "No thank you, I think I'll pass on afternoon wondering about how the Nargles are doing."

And that's why Harry didn't love spending time with Hermione and Luna together. In many ways, they were a lot alike.

Oddly, both of them had greeted him the same way, by telling him who he was.

But their similarities only made them seem to butt their heads harder together where they deviated from each other's beliefs. Luna was curious about the world, and sensitive to things that Harry could just barely sense, while Hermione craved truths and facts. If Hermione couldn't understand it, if it wasn't understandable, then she had a hard time dealing with it.

Likewise, Luna had a hard time trusting anything that appeared to have definitive answers.

Still, even knowing Hermione didn't mean to be rude, Harry couldn't hold his tongue, "About the knitting, Hermione."

She stiffened, "The elves want to be free."

"I think you should try unionizing them, like elf rights rather than changing the dynamics of their magic. I'm not saying their lot is fair, or good, or anything like that. But you're basically threatening them with homelessness and shaming them into taking money. Winky made it sound like you are asking her to be a prostitute."

Hermione blinked, "You spoke to Winky about SPEW?"

"I talked to them about the knitting. The other elves have refused to clean Gryffindor Tower, so Dobby is doing it all by himself."

Hermione looked stricken.

"If it makes you feel better," Harry said, swinging his bag over his shoulder. "Dobby really likes the hats, though I think he prefers the socks."

He left before she could reprimand him.

He knew he was being git, but he didn't have a lot of patience for the way people talked about Luna behind her back.

Especially after Flitwick had confided that it was a few of the older girls who had been stealing Luna's things, specifically her shoes, in her dormitory.

By the time Harry reached the library on this rainy Friday afternoon, Luna had gotten their window seats on a small sofa that had a footrest.

She looked up at him with a smile, and he fell into the spot behind her with a smile of his own.

"Look who I found," Luna said, holding out a cupped hand.

Harry held out his palm and smiled anew at the familiar light weight of the Bowtruckle.

"Well, hello there," he greeted the little creature.

"He snuck into my bag during class," Luna said. "I figured he was looking for you considering he didn't make a break for the woods."

Harry hummed, then asked, "Was that true, were you looking for me?"

The Bowtruckle looked down at Harry's fingers, again running it's nails curiously over the groves of his knuckles.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," Harry said. "But if you ever want to return to your family bite or scratch my lower palm." He tapped on the spot. "Okay?"

The Bowtruckle looked up at him and nodded.

Luna giggled, "He really is smarter than Draco."

Harry laughed, reaching into his bag with his free hand for his sketchbook, sixth year Potions book, as well as a pencil he had tracked down in the Room of Requirement.

The Bowtruckle eyes widened and reached for the pencil which Harry gave to him immediately. The Bowtruckle chattered happily, examining the wood.

"Guess you'll need an English name, huh?" Harry asked, his heart melting at the cuteness of the creature.

Maybe becoming a Magizoologist was a better goal than Auror.

"How about Pen?" Luna suggested, leaning against his shoulder, pointing at the pencil.

Harry smiled, feeling the tension in his body ease. "Pen like pencil, how does that sound to you?" he offered the Bowtruckle who was looking between the two humans and the pencil.

He nodded his leafy head.

"Pen the Bowtruckle," Harry declared, pulling out another pencil and sketching the Bowtruckle who was still hugging the first pencil.

His leaves were fan shaped, like that of a ginkgo tree.

When Harry finished the picture half an hour later, Pen chittered happily and held out a hand for the other pencil.

Harry and Luna laughed as he passed over the second pencil.

He cracked open his potion book as Luna kicked off her shoes to curl up on the sofa.

"Been sleeping alright?" he asked as she shut her eyes.

"Sometimes. I keep dreaming of the prophecies falling, the sound is like water, like waves, and then I'm drowning," she said softly.

Harry shivered. Letting the Bowtruckle climb from his hand to sit on the open books, he put an arm around her shoulders, "I'm sorry, Luna."

Luna sank further into his side, so her head was resting on his hip, "Not as bad as yours."

"It's still not okay," he said, rubbing her shoulder.

She exhaled, "I've been through worse."

He sighed.

She opened her eyes to look up at him, "I feel like something is coming."

"Me too," he admitted.

"I like the way things have been," she said.

They had spent nearly every afternoon together and ate at the Ravenclaw table together.

Hermione nor Ron loved it, but Harry had never been so— carefree while being so stressed out before.

Harry was about to respond in kind, but Luna had already closed her eyes again, and was snoring softly, having fallen asleep.

Harry smiled and brushed a lock of her fair hair from her face. Whatever was coming, he was happy for the time they had.

Pen the Bowtruckle began inspecting the erasers at the end of the pencils.

Parvati was about to drop in the next ingredient, but Harry caught her hand.

"Wait," he said and raised his hand.

Parvati gaped.

Had Harry Potter ever raised a hand in Snape's class before?

The other students noticed and instantly fell quiet. That quiet spread outward as people looked round and saw Harry's hand raised high.

No one raised their hand in Snape'sclassroom, especially not when Snape hadn't posed a question to the class.

Snape seemed confused, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk looking for a mouse as searched for the disturbance. He froze when he caught sight of Harry.

Then drawled in a tone that promised pain if this was a joke of some kind, "What is it, Mr. Potter?"

"After you add in the dandelion root, which direction do you stir and when do you turn it to a simmer?"

"If you read the directions—"

Harry interrupted him, "The directions just say, 'Stir until it's dissolved within the simmer.' It doesn't say how fast or what direction nor does it say if you turn it to a simmer before, during, or after adding the root."

Snape let out a long breath, "It does not overly affect this particular potion. But the best results are to turn it to a simmer before adding the dandelion root, and to slowly stir counter-clockwise until you can no longer see it bulge. Dandelion root, as a mundane ingredient, dissolves quickly within a magical solution."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said.

Snape turned on his heel to loom over another student and the room promptly burst into whispers.

Parvati turned down the burner and said, "I don't know why I'm so impressed, but I am."

Harry glanced at Hermione was scowling down at her cauldron, already being several steps ahead, her potion was finished. It was green rather than the flawless turquoise Harry and Parvati's potion had turned into.

Parvati didn't know when Harry Potter had become a better researcher than Hermione Granger, but she wondered if Hermione would overcome her pride to forgive him for it.

Harry had been opening up to everyone who was pleasant to him, even people who verbally spared with him, but he was also beginning to show off that he was more than just the adrenaline junky they had all pegged him as.

Potter was kind, intelligent, and an incredibly powerful wizard. He would have been more attractive if it hadn't been for the rumours, for the knowledge that the Dark Lord really was back.

Harry Potter was a boy with a cause and it was pretty clear to anyone with eyes that Harry was walking on a knife's edge, that he was dancing with disaster as he pushed himself, harder and harder.

He wasn't studying to get good grades like Hermione, he was studying because he believed the world was ending.

He was too glib about comments of his own demise and as a TA, rumour had it he gave extremely practical advice. Defense Against the Dark Arts Charms were starting to come up regularly in Flitwick's class. So far, no one, not even Flitwick, had found a standard DADA spell or charm or countercurse Harry did not know. At some point, knowing that much about self-defence was worrying.

Luna Lovegood was the only person Harry seemed to settle around, everyone else, including Ron and Hermione, he looked restless around.

Parvati was worried, and even Harry's enemies, like Malfoy, seemed worried too.

Because let's face it, Harry Potter had gone against a dragon unafraid, if he was afraid enough to give up Quidditch and be polite to Professor Snape to throw himself into his studies, they were all probably in gravest danger.

Sirius was debating how early he could start drinking without Remus lecturing him when Minerva stepped out of the fireplace.

"Pack," she greeted him, her expression severe. "You too, Remus."

Remus raised a brow but rose from the table to go get his trunk without a word of protest.

"Why?" Sirius asked.

"Now, Sirius," she said sharply.

"Fine," he said, rising to his feet. He didn't have much to pack. He had nothing in this house worth having.

When he tracked back down to the main floor, Minerva held out a tennis ball.

Sirius rolled his eyes, "Ha ha."

Remus's lips twitched, but he didn't surrender to the smile as they reached out together for the portkey.

The three of them were yanked through space.

When they landed, Sirius leaned into Remus's side to keep his feet. His breath caught as he tasted the air.

Clean, crisp, mountainous air.

Sirius looked up at the blue sky, his heart fluttering, as he perused the horizon, mountains, rivers, lakes, and beautiful stone spotted with the greenest grass.

Scotland.

Sirius turned on Minerva who was smiling at him softly, "What is this?"

"You will no longer be staying at Grimmauld Place, save for meetings," Minerva said.

Sirius was so relieved he felt weak in the knees.

"Whose cottage is that?" Remus asked.

Sirius spun to see where Remus was looking as the wind danced around them.

The cottage was a two-story stone building with what appeared to be a forge to the side of it.

"Come," Minerva instructed, striding over the grass.

Sirius flashed a smile at Remus who smiled back, and they walked together to their new hideout.

A tall, well-muscled man, with Minerva's jade green eyes, greeted them with a warm hello, before sweeping Minerva off her feet into a hug.

When she was set back on her feet, she introduced them, "Sirius, Remus, this is my brother, Malcolm McGonagall. Malcolm, this is Sirius Black and Remus Lupin."

Sirius was giddy, holding out his hand to shake the bearded man's hand. He was older than Sirius but unlike his older sister, his hair was still fully black.

"Thank you so much for having us," Sirius said earnestly.

Malcolm smiled, taking Sirius's proffered hand with his own calloused one, "It's my pleasure. I remember hearing about you years ago, you were one of Minerva's favourite students."

Sirius's smile grew, reminded of a time before he had been branded a mass murderer.

Malcolm shook Remus's hand without hesitation.

"I have breakfast ready, Mini, there is enough for everyone if you would like to stay," he offered.

Minerva nodded, Malcolm to the kitchen-joint-dining room, "You both will be staying here, as will Harry."

The room had a large window overlooking the magnificent view.

Sirius felt his excitement rise, "Really!?"

Minerva nodded but it was Malcolm who answered, "Minerva stays with me during the summers, my home has always been open to Mr. Potter."

"What do you do for a living, Malcolm?" Remus asked as he was seated.

"I'm a smith and metal charmer," Malcolm said. "Business is good. My field is specialised enough that there is never a shortest of commissions."

"I don't doubt it," Sirius said, feeling as if nothing could ruin this day as he had breakfast with his best friend and the McGonagalls.

His name wasn't cleared, but this had to be the next best thing.

Harry knew he was dreaming.

As he knew this time it wasn't just his subconscious dragging him over the coals.

He knew these halls, knew that he was terribly, terribly vulnerable as his scar burned noticeably even within the nightmare.

Harry stood in the hall, debating his options.

"Harry!"

Sirius's voice called to him.

Harry sighed, knowing he couldn't do this again.

So he took the direct root; "Hello, Tom."

Anger rose in Harry.

It wasn't his anger, no, Voldemort's anger was a pale flame to his own.

He turned to find Voldemort standing before him.

Not the noseless one, nor the boy from the Diary, but the man handsome man with sickly red eyes who had murdered his parents.

"Harry Potter," the monster crooned.

Harry wanted to hurt him.

Voldemort smiled at him as if reading his thoughts —or exactly like he was reading his thoughts.

"How clearly you see me. Did you have a good summer?"

Harry said nothing, testing the bonds of the dream and of his emotions.

In waking hours, it was a constant effort to not let himself slip into despair, a constant battle to not lash out at anyone and everyone around him.

But Voldemort?

Tom reached out to touch Harry's cheek, "You will obey me."

Fuck restraint.

Harry lunged at Tom like a feral cat.

He went for the bastard's eyes.

This being a dream, this being Harry's head, not Voldemort's, Harry was stronger here, even at his weakest, he was stronger.

Voldemort tried to get away, turning his face away even as they fell to black marbled floor. Harry grappled him, grabbing at Tom's neck.

"You want this!?" Harry screamed, his anger, his pain, his magic, writhing around him. Any semblance of prosperity peeling away. "You want inside!? Take it, you bloody, snake-faced, evil bastard!"

"Get off me!" Voldemort yelled at him, and Harry felt him pull away, the sensation the same as when Snape would pull back from attacking Harry during their Occlumency 'lessons'.

Harry dug his nails into Tom's throat, baring down on him. Harry closed his magic down on Voldemort's presence, on the oppressive weight of the foreign magic. He held on to their connection, so tightly that it burned, and still he did not let go.

"You want pain?" Harry snarled. "You want death? Or are you scared? I'll go with you if you are. Let's go together, you and I."

Tom's eyes went wide as he gasped, as if he truly couldn't breathe, as if he truly couldn't get away.

Harry felt Voldemort's magic yank outward, and Harry focused on it, let himself get mad, let himself rage, and despair; let his self-control go.

Like he had when he had blown up Aunt Marge.

The same vindictive fury and pleasure filling him when the wine glass had shattered in her hand, as she began to inflate.

Tom Riddle did not inflate as Harry attempted to strangle him in the empty halls of the Department of Ministry.

Tom bled.

From beneath Harry's gouging nails. Beneath those red glowing eyes, were shed tears of darkest crimson followed by bleeding from his nose, from his ears, and when his lips parted in a silent scream, his teeth were bloody too.

Bellatrix's voice echoed around them, "You have to mean it, Harry. Righteous anger is not enough to harm me."

Voldemort's eyes widened as he heard and recognised that voice too.

Welcome to my screwed up head.

Harry wasn't feeling righteous now, he felt crazy. He felt like he was losing his mind and any grasp of reason or morality.

He felt like he was dying.

And he shoved that all into Voldemort, who wasn't the sanest cookie himself.

Tom let go of Harry's wrists where he had been unable to force Harry away. Instead, he caught hold of Harry's shoulders, and spun to slam him into a wall so hard, that Harry was left momentarily stunned. He let go and Tom reeled away, leaving Harry collapsed alone on the floor.

Harry's head spun, his vision swimming, but he hissed in Parseltongue, "Gods don't bleed, Mr. Riddle. The gods do not bleed."

There was no response, and exhaustion swept Harry away into true oblivion.

Voldemort scrambled to his feet, the words The gods do not bleed, ringing through his mind.

He hissed at the pain, his head was throbbing with needle-like stings, and he felt as if he had been bodily struck by a train cart.

Potter was no Occlumens, but he had been aware despite how his mind had been fractured, injured, and twisted.

Voldemort had thought it would be a relatively easy thing to seduce Potter's curiosity.

He hadn't expected the boy to recognize that his dreams had been encroached on, much less identify Voldemort so immediately.

Stumbling to the bathroom in the Malfoy manor where he was staying, Voldemort snarled as he looked into the mirror.

Blood pooled in the corners of his eyes. He blinked and his blood spilled like tears down his cheeks. He pulled down the collar of his robes and found claw marks, physical marks.

The implications of this were that he could kill Potter at any time he wanted; at distance, the protections of Hogwarts be damned.

But Voldemort did not know what physically harming Potter while he was present in the boy's mind, would do to his own mind and body.

He was a Master Legilimens, but he had never heard of a connection like this between two wizards.

The only thing that should have happened, should have been possible, was a headache, not physical injuries.

The claw marks on his neck, the taste of blood on the back of his tongue, indicated otherwise, that yes, physical harm was well and truly possible.

He touched one of the scratches and let out a low hiss.

Harry Potter was dangerous, and he was coming into the power Voldemort had been attempting to prevent. He couldn't risk entering the boy's mind again, couldn't risk the boy stumbling into getting the upper hand before Voldemort could learn how to control it to his benefit.

The boy was mad, heedless of any self-harm down to himself.

Watching the blood drip from the fingernail marks on his neck, his head throbbing from the backlash from Potter's raw magical core, Voldemort decided he would act on an old promise sooner than he had ever intended.

It wouldn't be a quick solution, but knowing Harry Potter as Voldemort did, the boy would be on his knees begging for death when all was said and done.

Ron was pretty used to Harry waking up early.

So when he was still in bed Sunday morning, Ron was a bit worried.

Turns out, he should have been a lot worried.

He peeked into Harry's bed and shouted for help.

Harry was so still in bed, blood trailing down from his ears, eyes, and nose.

"Harry!" he shouted, as the others ran for help.

Harry didn't so much as flinch.

He was breathing, but it was too shallow, and not knowing what was wrong, Ron didn't want to move him. He tried pinching his arm, and kept yelling.

But Harry didn't stir, his breathing remained shallow.

Neville had stayed with Ron as Dean and Seamus ran for McGonagall.

"What is taking them so long?" Ron demanded.

Neville just shook his head.

Each minute passed agonizing slowly.

Looking at the clock, it was nearly twenty minutes before help finally arrived.

It wasn't McGonagall.

"Move," Snape commanded, breezing past them to Harry's side.

Where was McGonagall? Ron didn't ask as he got out of Snape's way.

Snape put his ear over Harry's mouth for a moment to make sure he was breathing, then his pulse.

He looked disturbed.

"What's wrong with him?" Neville asked.

"His pulse is thready. Did any of you hear anything?" Snape asked as Dean, Seamus, Fred, and George joined them.

"No, when I checked on him he was like this and he won't wake up," Ron answered.

Snape nodded, and ran an examination spell over Harry that Ron had seen Madame Pomfrey use.

The Professor let out a sigh of relief then cast a spell, "Rennervate."

Harry arched upward off the bed with a gasp, he fell back breathing hard.

"Harry!" Ron called in relief.

Harry laughed, he could hardly breathe, he was still bleeding, but he laughed around it.

"Be still, Potter," Snape instructed.

"I got him," Harry rasped, looking up at Snape with a bloody smile.

"You got who?" Snape asked in a long-suffering tone.

Harry's gaze drooped, "Your Master."

"It was just a nightmare, Potter," Snape sneered.

Harry's eyes flashed, bloodshot and surrounded by macabre tear tracks of crimson blood and focused completely on the Professor. "He's going to kill me…" Harry's voice warbled as if his energy had been suddenly zapped. His eyes fell shut as he whispered, "But I made him bleed."

He slumped back in bed, once more unconscious.

"What the hell is happening?" Fred asked.

With more care than Ron would have predicted, Snape reached under Harry to lift him into his arms.

"That," Snape said in a clipped tone. "Is between Potter and Madame Pomfrey."

Ron felt sick as he followed after the Potions Professor, a gnawing fear settling in his gut that maybe Harry really was ill.

Maybe Harry was facing dangers that no one could help him with. In all their adventures, Ron had never imagined he would lose his best friend in the night while they were all asleep in their beds.

It seemed so mundane, too surreal…

Ron had never felt so helpless.

AN: Thoughts, ginkgo saplings, and feedback on the chapter, pretty please?