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Chapter 38: The Scythe of Kronos

A grey hare hurried up the hill away from him. Summer would soon be on the Scottish Highlands. It was warm and windless, quiet save for chirping crickets and the rumbling of engines. Clouds obscured the stars from sight as dusk swept over the darkening horizon, though the city of Hogsmeade threw ample light over the surrounding lands.

Harry checked his left and right, then looked over both shoulders. Nerves were prickling inside him. Although trusting his instincts had always kept him alive, lately he felt as paranoid as Moody. Everything seemed to set him on the edge of startling; the shuffling homeless in Parisian alleyways, the eager shouts of rowdy children, diners' chiming bells, the knowing quality in Narcissa's smile during their most recent meeting.

That prickling began to needle him with the last thought. Why could he not rid himself of the way she had smiled at him and the unease it curdled in his breast?

Sensing a presence appear as if from nowhere, Harry turned to his right and peered at the approaching shadow from underneath his hood.

"Harry!" Relief was prevalent in Pettigrew's shrill greeting as he crept close enough to be seen clearly. It must have worried him, wondering where I'd gone. If Harry disappeared, the rat would have to find a new chief candidate to be his future meal ticket. "I'm so glad you're all right."

"All right's certainly one way of saying it."

The rat shuffled through the gravel and craned his neck to peer past Harry's cowl. "Where have you been? What's happened?"

"It's a long story. I'm all right for now, but things are changing fast and I can't come back yet."

It was too dim to see for certain, but he was pretty sure Pettigrew drew in a long swallow. "Are you sure?"

The uneasy feeling in Harry's gut redoubled. "What's happened?"

Gravel grated under the rat's fidgeting feet. "It could be nothing—"

"You wouldn't have owled me if it were nothing." Harry's patience was too near threadbare for a drawn-out game of cat and mouse played with wary words.

Pettigrew was looking anywhere except at him. "Things have been weird since you left."

"What do you mean weird? What's changed?"

"It's… James and Lily."

Whispers curled from the wand holstered to Harry's right arm, rising through him like dark smoke wafting off an open fire. "What about them?"

"James and Lily are dating. It happened the day after you left. It's like… like Lily just started falling all over herself any time James is around."

The Elder Wand truly was an inferno now, burning like a short sword fresh out of the forge.

Or was that Harry's blood?

Breathe. Emotion could not rule him. Dumbledore's deadline meant he would have one chance at breaching Hogwarts and uncovering the horcrux. An attempt could not be made in rageful haste, no matter how hard he yearned to tear the bastard's life apart, to rend him limb from limb.

For there was no doubt Riddle was behind the sudden change in Lily's attitude.

The question was what Riddle hoped to gain from forcing her on James. Revenge against Charlus? Plausible, except the madman could not possibly still think the Lord Potter was behind any of the events that had been ailing him for months.

It's power, then. It was always revenge or power where Riddle was concerned.

But how did forcing Lily upon James help gain Riddle any power? Did he plan to have her kidnap James and hold him for ransom?

No. That would be throwing away his cover with both hands. Whatever the madman's aims, they were subtler than that.

An odd piece of dialogue Dorea had inserted into a recent conversation came back to Harry then.

"One detail I thought interesting was that soon after the attack last winter, Riddle asked her about the limitations of enchantments placed on something like a ring."

When Harry had pressed her, Dorea had made an offhand comment about Charlus owning a ring possessed with grand power.

"What do the others think?" he asked Pettigrew before silence could stretch too long between them.

Pettigrew twisted the front of his robes between thumb and forefinger. "Sirius tried explaining to James that he was being used, or that something must be off. James wouldn't listen, though. Worst tiff I've ever seen them have. They haven't talked to each other once since then. Sirius says if James wants to learn the hard way, that's his problem."

Harry felt a stab of guilt for Sirius and wished his warning on the edge of the Forbidden Forest had not so promptly proved prophetic. "Has anyone tried talking to Lily?"

"She won't talk to any of us," said Pettigrew. "James says she forgives him because they hashed it out, but that she thinks there was no reason for all of us to harass her with him all those years."

That's not like her. "It's like Sirius said, James will have to learn the hard way." More was the pity. It would be a rude awakening for James when Riddle was unmasked and when the spell he had over Lily broke.

If it breaks.

The words came unbidden from the dark recesses of his mind, dragging up a dreary basement strewn with bushy hair, Hermione's shaking shoulders, her tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes.

Pettigrew was finally looking at him. "I was hoping you could…" his voice trailed off.

"Hoping I could what? Talk sense into James?" Harry shook his hooded head. "James hasn't spoken to me in more than two months, and it sounds like he's past reason." Pettigrew's downcast eyes were affirmation. "I should go. I'm sorry, Peter. I wish there was more I could do."

Harry disapparated before any expression might wind its way across his face. When his feet next touched solid ground, Hogsmeade was still visible, though it spread out far below and there was a wind on his high perch. Untouched were his blood wards, and unmoved the gleaming sword of Godric Gryffindor beside his bags of aurums.

I have to keep moving, he told himself, unwilling to let worry gnaw at him too long. Plunging a hand beneath his cloak, he pulled out the raven-shaped pin that functioned as a portkey. "Corvus."

Black manor's long entrance hall with its smooth granite and sculpted ravens was becoming a common place of passage for him. Beyond it was a wide corridor opening into a circular hall filled with branching pathways and a steep staircase whose railings glittered with an overlay of gold. Up those stairs was an overhanging balcony that looked down on the ground level. It was on that second floor, at the end of a narrow corridor lined in stone likenesses of past lords, that Arcturus's study could be found.

A crack echoed in the vaulted entryway before Harry could retrace that path. "I beg your pardon, young master," squeaked the hunched house elf who always greeted him, bowing so low, its nose hovered inches from the floor, "Hermes has not been being told young master would be here tonight."

"That's all right." Deathly calm leant Harry's words a commanding quality. "I need to speak with the First Lady and Lord Black. Tell them it's about Tom Riddle."

An hour later he was outdoors once more, weaving between wobbly young men who reeked of sweat and drink. Harry had hated the smell of alcohol since he was a boy, thanks in large part to his uncle's appetites, but on that night it was a welcome thing. Not long ago there had been few willing to walk the streets of Paris.

For all that, it was a relief to find his hotel's lobby empty except for the receptionist and a marble fountain gurgling halfway across the room.

"Monsieur Kalloway," the receptionist called after him as he made toward the lifts. "I have a letter for you."

Harry paused. "A letter for me?"

"An urgent one, I'd guess. The bird was pecking at your window for five full minutes before it flapped into the lobby and almost took my hand off." The young man showed off a layer of bandages wrapped around his right palm.

"I'm sorry," Harry said a bit distractedly, wondering who would so badly want to owl him. All he could think was that something must have gone wrong. "Can I see the letter?"

"Bien sûr, monsieur." The receptionist reached beneath his desk with his uninjured hand and drew out an envelope that was bound in silver ribbon. Six petals unfurling from a trumpet-shaped corona composed its unbroken seal.

Harry snatched it from the man's hand with a muttered thanks and too much force before tearing into it.

Harry,

I have diagnosed the diadem's enchantments. You will want to see this. Come urgently.

Narcissa

Many of the rustic buildings surrounding L'Artificier had been mended over the previous two weeks. The artificery's worn face, glass door, and wide window filled with the reflection of lapping, sun-kissed waves was entirely unchanged. Somehow Harry had the impression it had been such for almost the entire five centuries it had been in business.

The front door did not budge when he tried to push inside. Magic murmured in the air around him, an elegant ward scheme issuing a gentle warning.

Harry stepped back out of range and withdrew the Elder Wand. "Alohomora." The augmented unlocking charm elicited a soft click. Pausing just long enough to probe the wards and ensure there was no malice in them, he pushed the door ajar and stepped inside.

"You took your time."

"Fucking hell!" he cursed as the wand seared white-hot. With the lobby shrouded in a darkness black as pitch and with his senses focused on the wards, he had not known anyone was waiting just over the threshold.

Out of the dark came bright laughter, soft and soothing as a caress compared against the sharp slap that had been its like the last time he was here. "Jumpy, are we?"

"You'd do well to remember it," Harry muttered. "Forgetting's a good way to get cursed around me."

"Oh, I don't think you'll be cursing me. Not after I show you this." All he could see of Narcissa was the silver halo of her hair. His stomach stumbled nonetheless, so surprised he was to hear her… happy, he supposed. There was no other way of saying it.

Narcissa lit her wand and led him through the cluttered lobby, into the narrow corridor beyond, and through the fifth of its seven doors. There were four wide bookshelves along one wall, though they were at best half-full. Opposite them was a plush sofa. Narcissa passed both these by, strolling to a long, low desk of polished hardwood. The diadem glittered underneath a bright lamp in the second before it was snatched up and held out to him. "Put it on."

Harry blinked at her. "What?"

"You heard me." Narcissa nudged his shoulder with the diadem. "Take it and put it on."

"That's usually not—"

"Just do it!"

Harry found himself obeying. Odd, that. Usually he balked when addressed so…

"Fuck me…"

Narcissa laughed again; that same, warm laugh, like a slow stream flowing over flat stones. "Your expression is all the payment I could ever want, though I appreciate the offer."

"Is that—"

"Magic? Yes. Yes it is."

The world was aglow with golden ambiance, as if he were peering through a set of tinted lenses. "Cast a spell. Something subtle."

Narcissa's flourish was glass-smooth, langerous and nonchalant as a lounging cat at ease.

Harry paid it less than a passing glance, transfixed by what it caused; he could actually see that golden shroud shimmer and stream into Narcissa's wand, then emerge more solid and with subtle undertones undulating just beneath the surface of the dome it formed. "You cast a ward," he said. "Anyone who crosses it will feel like they're being held down and tickled."

Another chiming laugh. "Do you see now?" He could see — see the ward disperse and see strands of magic trail her as she stepped up close to him. It was so entrancing that when she took his hands in hers, the gesture was a complete surprise despite the slow care she had reached out with. "Do you understand what can be done with this?"

Harry was a moment late in responding, so fast his mind was whirling. Or maybe it was how close she was. Her breath fanned out across his face and he could smell the fruity scent of wine each time she breathed. Her fingers trembled as they held his hands in place. He was sure his own hands had never been so soft; not before the war, not before he'd ever held a wand, not the day he had been born.

"Harry? Do you see?"

"Yes." He had not meant to whisper. "This changes everything."

"You can go now." Narcissa squeezed his hands. "Use this. Sneak past his wards and kill him in his sleep."

Harry opened his mouth to utter his agreement, then faltered. Once more his mind was moving at its proper pace. "No."

The room appeared to darken as Narcissa frowned. "What do you mean no?" Her nails dug into the backs of Harry's hands. "Do you not understand? You can kill him. You can save your friends. You can have revenge." It was a marvel how much strength those soft hands held. "I can have my revenge!"

Harry shook his head. "Tomorrow."

"What—"

"Tomorrow."

"Tonight!" Narcissa stepped forward suddenly and he lost his balance. Before he knew it she had his back against the door. "I did not slave away for weeks so you could spoil your best chance." She pressed their clasped hands against his chest. "You will go tonight, or I will do it myself!"

Panic pressed in close around him. "You have to trust me."

"Like hell I do!" Harry prepared to snatch her wrists if she released his hands and made a grab for the diadem. The prospect filled him with a foul dread. "You promised me you'd kill him!"

"My best friend is dating the boy she has spent six years hating, all because Riddle has been pulling strings." Harry's voice was as deathly calm as it had been in Black manor's entrance hall despite how hard his heart was beating. "The boy she's been forced to date is James Potter." Narcissa stilled. "Riddle wants to use her to get close to him. He wants the governor's ring. I don't know what it does, but if Riddle wants it it's not good."

"Which is just another reason—"

Harry matched her grip and then some. "Attacking him tonight will do no good."

"His wards—"

"Are not the problem. Not the wards you're thinking of, at least." Harry's mind was racing as he looked into her face. She would never let him go. He could stun her, but… no. The idea of it sickened him, and she was a valuable ally whom he did not wish to anger.

"There is no problem!" Her nails had gnawed a line of blood along the back of his left hand. "Listen to me, you—"

"Enough."

Narcissa's grip went slack. She swayed. Her eyes were wide and wild. "You're—"

"A parselmouth? Observant as ever, princess." Using his grip on her hands, he steadied her until she was once more standing square in front of him. "Do I have your attention now?" Narcissa nodded. "The Chamber of Secrets exists, and so does Slytherin's monster. That monster is a basilisk."

"You're—"

"I'm not mad! I hear it in the pipes. I hear the Parseltongue." Harry leant forward until their foreheads met. "Do I look like I'm joking, or like I'm anything short of certain?"

"No." He felt the word against his lips more than he heard it with his ears.

"If I kill Riddle, that snake will massacre the castle." The lie would have to do, since there was no way he could tell her about horcruxes.

Narcissa took a step away from him but did not release his hands. "So you're killing it tonight? All right, fine, but why not kill Riddle after? Why wait until tomorrow?"

"There are wards around that chamber unlike anything I've ever seen." Harry peered into her eyes, willing her to understand the peril he would have to grapple with. "That will not be the first ward scheme I attack with the diadem."

Understanding settled over Narcissa's visage. "You're going to take a dry run? Where? Which wards are you testing yourself against?"

It was so absurd, even to him, that he could not help but smile. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

A large force of guards formed a tight ring around the mass of marble he was targeting. There were at least two of them flanking every entrance he could see, and more stationed along the stretches of wall connecting them. They all wore the dark red robes that marked them as being aurors.

Security had been tightened since his last visit. No mere confundus charm would get him inside this time.

What he would have given for a bag of decoy detonators. They would have been a better distraction than anything he could come up with. All his plans had problems.

Harry let out a long sigh and aimed the Elder Wand up into the cloud-filled sky. "Morsmordre." The green skull uncoiled like a waking snake, striking out across the heavens.

Shouts went up from the gathered guards. Many broke off from their posts and pursued the mark and whoever may have cast it, though just as many called for reinforcements or remained in their positions.

It would have to do. There were at least some small gaps in the defence now, and if he was quick enough and raised no alarm, he could escape before support arrived and the scene was locked down.

Bracing himself for the backlash of his next spell, Harry struck while disarray still reigned around the ministry's perimeter. "Spreadhadh Talammh."

The ground rumbled hard enough to send men toppling. Forcing it to shake no harder brought him to his knees. Few feats had ever strained him half as much as commanding such tight mastery over one of his weakest elements. Grey was blotting out his sight when he scrambled up and stumbled past a pair of guards, just managing to slip soundlessly inside while they were lying face down and struggling to rise.

Harry snuffed out the spell the second he was inside. Although strain released its hold on him, it was a small relief; fatigue already had a foothold in his legs and its echo shuddered in his arms. His head was in revolt as well; the world around him had gone bright as the sun when he commanded earth while wearing the diadem. There had been so many pieces of that spell. Trying to discern them had been akin to picking out each flame amid a wildfire.

He pocketed the diadem and paused to catch his breath. There would be no using it in duels. He had hoped being able to see the shape of each spell cast would grant him an advantage. In reality, the sensory overload would most likely give him seizures.

Guards pelted 'round a bend and pounded down the hall toward the door he had come through. Disillusioned and scentless thanks to a host of charms, he pressed himself against the wall and let them hurtle past, then hurried on ahead.

Harry lowered the Elder Wand when he saw the lift was empty and hoped no one heard it chime when he stepped inside. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," the familiar female voice piped in. "Please state your name and business."

"Malcolm Renn," he said, just like last time. "Doing what I must."

That first lift served only as an entry point and admitted him into the atrium. The fireplaces on its walls were dark, the gurgle of its fountain unopposed by other sounds, though the room was not abandoned this time. A hard-faced man at the security desk was on his feet with a wand trained toward the lift as his eyes roamed for whoever had just used it.

Harry fired four stunners in the time it took to blink. Two sparked against the man's quick shield. The third punched through and the fourth felled him.

Harry hurried for the line of lifts against the atrium's far wall. Whoever entered next would see the security guard slumped unconscious on the floor.

Briefly he considered turning back, of sneaking out before the security outside tightened like a vice, before the stunned man woke and raised any alarms.

I can't. This would be his only chance; there would be no more sneaking in — if one breach had heightened security, two would see that it was nigh infallible. After tonight, venators would join the aurors manning the external entrances.

Almost without realizing, Harry stepped into a lift and the door slid shut behind him.

If there had been any chance of turning back, there was none now.

He pressed the number eight and the lift descended smoothly.

"Level One, Chancellor and Support Staff."

Harry held the Elder Wand. In a defensive posture, ready for the lift to halt and for guards to pour in after him.

"Level Two, Department of Imperial Affairs."

The wand shook in his white-knuckled grasp. This was really it. Soon he would have answers.

"Level Three, Department of Domestic Affairs."

Tomorrow he would destroy both Riddle's body and his horcrux. Then he would hunt down the other and return back from whence he'd come.

"Level Four, Department of Interspecies Relations."

If they have the answers…

"Level Five, Department of National Defence."

This was the place. There would be answers here. There had to be!

"Level Six, Department of Wizarding Heritage."

But what if there were no answers? Hermione once said no one had tried travelling far back through time without disastrous results. What would he do if there was no way home?

"Level Seven, Department of Censure and Circenses."

Except that was untrue. Harry himself was here. It could be done, which meant it must be reversible.

The lift rattled to a halt. Seconds stretched over the span of hours, or so it felt.

Then the lift opened with a faint ding.

"Level Eight, Department of Mysteries."

The calm swept back in as he stepped from the lift and withdrew the diadem from underneath his cloak.

The corridor outside was hauntingly familiar. Torches flickered in stone brackets hanging from the smooth, stone walls. Those flames did not cast as much light as they ought to have, he thought. Or maybe it was just that all the light was being drunk by the plain, black door with its brass handle waiting for him dead ahead.

Goosebumps crawled along his arms and a shiver knifed down his spine. A faint tremor snaked up his legs.

Breathe. Harry exhaled a long breath and squared his shoulders before donning the diadem.

The corridor burst into golden brilliance, a grid of shining strands tied so tightly, they were nigh impossible to tell apart. Looking into that web of wards was almost dizzying. All of a sudden he wondered whether he had bit off more than he could chew.

It doesn't matter. There was no turning back now, and there would be no turning back when he launched his assault against Riddle's ward scheme.

Sweat beaded Harry's brow while he got to work. The sheen deepened each time he peeled back another layer of wards. They just kept going and going, each one a tapestry of terrors. One of the hardest parts was not letting his hand shake. His heart was hammering and adrenaline was racing in his veins. It was as though every fibre of him knew a single misstep would likely mean their end.

Relief blossomed in his chest when he finally saw an end in sight. There were just two layers left.

That split-second shift in concentration cost him.

Alarms blared through the ministry loud enough to make his ears ring. The corridor around him trembled from their thunder and his face contorted into a grimace. "Fuck!" Ripping away the final layers, he wrenched open the door and raced into the room beyond.

Its round walls and plain doors started spinning past his eyes at once. While they did, he cast his back to the night Sirius had died and tried remembering any detail that might help him discern one door from another.

There were none.

Worse was that the diadem had no insight for him as the torches whirled past his eyes like a rope of orange fire.

The motion halted all at once. Though the alarms must surely have been blaring, he could no longer hear them. All was quiet in that house of mirrors save the sound of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears.

Harry picked a door at random and slid into the room beyond with the Elder Wand upraised and ready.

Whispers wafted from a pool of shadow yawning wide as if to swallow all. Circular rows of empty seats plunged down into that darkness. There was a bottom to that deep bowl, though not one he could see.

The whispers rasped from everywhere. If they were all he had to go by, he would never have known if the dark pit's floor was twenty or two hundred feet below.

Least of all as they grew louder, rising from a faint rasp to a cacophony of cruelty, to a symphony of sorrows, to a sinful song of shattered dreams.

Harry's lips peeled back from his clenched teeth. Both hands went up to his ears in hopes of blocking out the whispers. Anything but those damned whispers!

The death room answered his unspoken pleas, projecting fresh torments up from that pit as black as hell in the form of old sounds as familiar to him as his scarred brow; the spells, the screams, the smacks of bodies against hard stones — all of it a counterpoint to the melody of Sirius's mocking laughter in the moment before he fell back through the veil.

Sirius...

Old wounds reopened as if parted with a paring knife. Despair deep as the darkness yawning in that damn room's heart surged up to drown him. His eyes pressed shut, his face scrunched up, his head went back to shout his godfather's name into the pit where he'd been swallowed.

No.

The whispers fell away, banished back into the hell from whence they'd come.

Harry's next breath rattled like a dementor's. The one after clawed from him like inferi rising from black water. I need to be hard. Breath by breath he calmed himself until the only remnant of his despair was a dreadful anger. Almost he cleaved the Elder Wand and claimed vengeance upon that foul place, bringing forth fire that would burn it to the ground.

Almost.

Too much was at stake for him to waste more time than he already had.

Returning to the round room with its doors and torches tugged his stomach into uneasy twirls. Closing his eyes kept nausea at bay until he sensed the shift in his surroundings and knew they had ceased spinning.

The next door he tried was locked. Harry's hand froze upon its brass knob.

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature."

Fear and curiosity warred for dominance. The lock had melted Sirius's knife, but would it stand up against the Elder Wand?

There's no time, Harry reminded himself, ripping his hand back as if the doorknob had been white-hot. This fucking place. It was playing games with him.

The room he entered next was new to him. Given how different everything else in this world was, he supposed stumbling upon surprises ought to have been something he'd expected, yet it wasn't.

"Lumos." Harry looked around and frowned. It was several moments before he realized what the dark spire rising like a silo some twenty feet ahead of him actually was.

It's just like the schematics I stole for Riddle, he remembered with a chill so cold, it turned his blood to ice. Except…

Except this was no mere launch device — this one was armed!

A dreadful tingle spread through his limbs, past his neck, and up into his face. Was that a real warhead, or only a replica meant to simulate necessary adjustments and their applications? Was it explosive?

Was it nuclear?

The Elder Wand whispered to him — of life and death, of murder and survival, of salvation and of ruin.

Shut up! No matter how hard his heart was pounding, there was no time for this. The security guard must have been discovered by now, and that was to say nothing of the alarm he had set off. The aurors must be hot behind him.

Back into the round room on shaky legs, eyes closed as the doors and torches whizzed around him, then through the first door he glimpsed and into total darkness. It was not like the death chamber with its dark pit and dim surroundings — wherever he looked, blackness deep enough to hide his upraised fingers greeted him.

Homenum Revelio. The probe found nothing. Harry was alone.

"I thought you might come."

Lights blazed, so bright and sudden he was forced to shut his eyes and rely upon his silver shield to ward off any curses.

None came.

Harry's heart was in his throat. "Who are you?" he asked that blinding light.

Once adjusted to the light, he dropped his shield and watched the stranger who had startled him. Grey eyes watched him in return, hollow underneath a head of like-coloured hair. Odd the man should be so grey yet lack any other signs of age. Stranger still, he should not have looked young despite his glass-smooth skin and spry physique.

The longer Harry looked, the more uneasy he became. The man made no move to answer or to draw a wand, he just sat behind a plain desk piled high with heaps of parchment and watched him blankly.

Harry took his eyes off the stranger long enough to look around. There was the bell jar he remembered, encasing the egg that hatched into a chirping chick, aged into a full-grown bird, then died and was reborn again.

His heart soared at the sight. This was it! This was where the Unspeakables slaved away and studied time.

Except it couldn't be; the room was empty save the stranger's desk, the bell jar, and…

The scythe...

Harry looked from the glamoured Elder Wand to the golden stitching done along the curved blade's leather grip.

"Curious." The odd man's eyes mirrored Harry's own in moving back and forth between wand and scythe. "Curious."

Harry levelled the Elder Wand at him. "Where are the time turners?"

"Was there such a thing where you came from?"

Harry's next breath got lost somewhere in his throat. "What did you just say?"

"What year was it?" the odd man asked as if he hadn't heard. "2000? 2020?"

Harry stood stock-still and did his best not to look rod-stiff. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You can't really be surprised." Harry had never heard a voice so flat and dry. "You arrived clutching what appears to be the scythe of Kronos, a being who has been associated with the force of time for more than two millennia."

"What does Kronos have to do with anything?" Harry asked. "Kronos is just a myth."

"Just like the wand you're holding?" Harry's grip around the Elder Wand grew tight as any vice. "It is fitting the Death Stick would take on the appearance of that scythe. You are fortunate your emperors dismissed the likeness out of hand."

Harry's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Who are you?"

"Here, I am called Saul Croaker, though I have been called many things and am named differently elsewhere." Croaker's cold, grey eyes watched him; they had not blinked once. "Have you any interest in a trade? My true name for yours?"

Harry sneered at him. "Get fucked."

"You will kill me any minute," Croaker said as if that meant nothing to him. "Does it really matter?"

"The time turners!" Harry growled, twitching the Elder Wand. "Where are they?"

Croaker did not move, did not blink. "I am afraid no devices capable of traversing time have ever been created."

Ice froze Harry's breath, then trickled through his blood. "You're lying!"

"Your emperors forbade research of time following their conquest. It was one force they thought should not be trifled with."

Harry took a step forward. "But this room exists."

"They did not want our research destroyed," Croaker clarified. "They only demanded that it was discontinued."

Harry's breaths were coming short and shallow. No… "How do I get back? How do I reverse what happened?"

"You will have no luck utilizing the scythe. Both your emperors as well as those few qualified Unspeakables and myself have tried."

Harry's nostrils flared. "You just said—"

"There was an exception made for the scythe. Grindelwald was most interested in this." Croaker reached out and ran a hand along the blade.

"You called it the scythe of Kronos." It had to take him back! If there were no time turners, then it had to work. No response came from Croaker, who sat patient and implacable as a mountain. "Why call it that?"

"The title is not official, it is simply how I name it, for I am as close to certain as any in this age can be that there was once a being named Kronos, and there are very real links between that being and the force of time. Whether this being really was a god or titan…" Croaker shrugged. "Who is to say?"

Harry dismissed all this with a toss of his head. "How do I get back?" he asked again.

"I am aware of no way, which almost certainly means it does not exist." The Elder Wand vibrated between Harry's fingers. Green light flickered at its tip. "Do it." Croaker sounded like he was asking him to pass the tea. "The aurors draw near and your time is short. Just be sure to take the scythe after you are finished killing me. There is no use for it in a place like this."

Banging boomed beyond the door. This can't be happening. There had to be a way! "Last chance!"

Croaker merely held out his arms until the burst of green light took him.

"The Golden Age was that first age which unconstrained, with heart and soul, obedient to no law, gave honour to good faith and righteousness. No punishment they knew, no fear; they read no penalties engraved on plates of bronze; no suppliant throng with dread beheld their judge; no judges had they then, but lived secure."

— Ovid

A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.

PS: The next chapter will be out in one week. Remember that chapters can be read early on Discord, YouTube, and P*T*E*N! All those links are on my profile, and if any give you trouble, use my website's homepage. That site can be found via a generic Google search of my pen name.