Chapter 12: The Choices We Make
Alex held his wand low, his sharp eyes locked on Sirius as the tension in the Shrieking Shack thickened like a storm cloud. The air crackled with unspoken accusations, the silence broken only by Ron's shaky breaths as he clutched the trembling rat. Sirius edged closer, his gaze searing with a decade's worth of fury, grief and a burning hunger for justice, a quiet determination that radiated from him like an invisible force. He had waited too long for this moment—too long for the truth to finally come to light.
"Let's get this over with," Alex murmured, his voice cutting through the thick tension hanging in the room.
Severus Snape stood rigid at the far end of the room, his face twisted in fury, his wand trained squarely on Sirius Black's heart. His hatred for the man was palpable, almost suffocating. "I will not let this criminal escape," Snape hissed, his voice venomous, his black eyes gleaming with something far darker than just anger. "Not again."
Alex stepped into the fray, his movements calm but deliberate, placing himself squarely between Snape and Sirius. He didn't raise his wand, but his posture was electric with tension. "Severus, stand down," he said, his tone sharp and commanding. "You're letting your hatred blind you to the bigger picture."
Snape's eyes narrowed into slits, his wand unwavering. "And why should I listen to you, Mercer?" he spat. "You know nothing of the kind of man Black is."
"I know enough to recognize when someone's chasing revenge instead of the truth." Alex's voice cut through the room like a blade. "If you want justice, you'll have it—but not like this. Look closer. The answers are right in front of you."
Snape's wand remained pointed at Sirius, but there was something in the calm steadiness of Alex's voice that made him hesitate, just for a fraction of a second. Alex could see the momentary flicker of doubt in Snape's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Snape's grip tightened on his wand, but he made no move to strike.
Lupin stepped forward, his face pale but resolute. "Severus, listen to him. This isn't about Sirius. It's about the rat." He nodded toward Scabbers, still writhing in Ron's grip.
"The rat?" Snape repeated, his sneer growing deeper.
"Yes, the rat," Alex confirmed, his voice sharp. "The one you all think is just an innocent pet."
Lupin stepped forward, his expression grim but determined. "Give me five minutes," he said, his eyes flicking to Snape, then back to Ron. "If you're not convinced, I'll hand myself and Sirius over to the Aurors. But just hear us out. Please."
Snape's lips curled into a snarl, but the fire in his eyes dimmed just enough to show that he was considering it. With a furious growl, he lowered his wand slightly, though it remained aimed at Sirius.
"Get on with it, then," Snape muttered.
Alex gave him a curt nod, then turned to Ron. "Ron, let him go."
"What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?" Ron asked, his voice filled with uncertainty and fear.
"Force him to show himself," Lupin replied, his tone steady. "If he really is a rat, it won't hurt him."
After a long moment of hesitation, Ron's hand loosened, and with a reluctant glance toward the others, he let Scabbers fall from his grip. The rat landed on the floor with a soft thud, still squirming in a panic.
"Ready, Severus?" Lupin asked, his voice low.
Snape gave a sharp nod, his eyes burning with anger, but there was also a flicker of doubt. He moved toward the rat, his eyes never leaving it, his posture rigid with anticipation.
"On the count of three," Lupin instructed, his wand raised. "One—two—THREE!"
A brilliant flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands, enveloping the rat in a shimmering glow. For a split second, Scabbers was frozen in mid-air, his small, gray body twisting wildly as he tried to escape the magic. Ron yelled in alarm, but the rat dropped to the floor with a soft thud, and before anyone could react, the transformation began.
It was as if they were watching time accelerate before their very eyes. The rat's body expanded rapidly, its bones shifting beneath the skin, a grotesque and unnatural distortion. A head shot upward from the ground, limbs sprouted, and a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing, clutching at his chest, and wringing his hands.
The figure before them was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry or Hermione. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt, a large bald patch gleaming on top of his head. He looked sickly, shrunken, the pallid skin of a once-plump man who had lost a great deal of weight far too quickly. His face was covered in the same scruffy, rat-like features—pointed nose, small, watery eyes, and a look of frantic terror that matched his rodent form.
Pettigrew.
"Well, hello, Peter," Lupin said with a sickly-sweet calm, stepping forward as the man continued to tremble on the floor. "Long time, no see."
"No!" Pettigrew squealed, his voice high-pitched and desperate. He crawled backward, his hands scrambling against the wooden floor. "Please! I didn't mean for it to happen! Voldemort—he would have killed me! I had no choice!"
"You sold them out," Sirius growled, his voice low and dangerous, filled with a decade of betrayal and grief. "Lily and James—because you were too cowardly to stand with us."
Pettigrew whimpered, reaching out to clutch at Sirius's robes, his eyes wide with pleading. "Sirius, please! It wasn't my fault! I was—"
"You were their Secret Keeper," Lupin interjected, his voice sharp and filled with years of pain. He advanced on Pettigrew, his wand raised. "You were supposed to protect them!"
The two men loomed over Pettigrew, their wands trembling in their hands, their faces twisted with grief and rage. "This ends tonight," Sirius whispered through clenched teeth, his voice barely audible as it rattled with emotion.
"Stop!"
Sirius and Lupin froze, both men staring at Harry as if they had been struck by a physical blow. The room fell silent, save for Pettigrew's frantic whimpers.
Sirius's hand shook, his rage still simmering beneath the surface. "Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents!"
Harry stepped forward, his wand held tightly in his hand, but his face was resolute. "I know," he said softly, his voice steady, though the emotion in his eyes was undeniable. "We'll take him to the Aurors... He can go to Azkaban."
Sirius's hand trembled, but his fury didn't fade. "Harry—"
"They wouldn't want their friends to become killers," Harry interrupted, his voice cracking with emotion. "You both loved them. They wouldn't want you to throw everything away for revenge."
For a long moment, the room was silent except for Pettigrew's frantic sobs. Alex stood quietly, watching as Sirius's anger wavered, then faltered. Lupin, too, seemed to be struggling with the decision, his wand shaking slightly in his hand.
With a deep, shaky breath, Lupin lowered his wand, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight had been lifted from him. Slowly, he flicked his wand, and thick ropes shot from the tip, binding Pettigrew tightly. The rat-like man struggled and twisted, but the ropes held fast.
"We'll get him to the castle," Lupin said quietly, his voice resigned. "He'll face justice there."
They left the Shrieking Shack in silence, the cold night air biting at their skin. Snape followed them, his face a mask of disbelief as he tried to process what had just happened. Sirius, in his Animagus form once again, padded protectively beside Harry, casting wary glances toward the darkened forest.
But as they moved toward the castle, the first change hit. Lupin stumbled, clutching his side, his face contorting in agony.
"No," Hermione whispered, her voice filled with dread. "The moon—it's too late."
Before anyone could react, Lupin's transformation began. His bones shifted beneath his skin, his hands contorting into massive, clawed paws, and a guttural growl escaped his throat as the werewolf fully emerged. His amber eyes glowed with feral rage.
Without thinking, Sirius lunged at the werewolf, his body a blur of black fur and teeth. The two beasts collided, rolling across the ground, locked in a desperate struggle.
"Run!" Alex shouted, pulling Harry, Ron, and Hermione toward the castle. "We have to move!"
They sprinted through the darkened forest, dragging Pettigrew with them. Snape, trailing behind, fired spells toward the shadows as they ran, his expression grim and tight. But it wasn't just the werewolf they had to fear.
The air grew colder, and a suffocating sense of dread flooded the area. Dementors emerged from the darkness, their skeletal hands reaching for them, their presence so overpowering that it felt like the very air was being sucked from their lungs. The chill was unbearable, a deep, suffocating cold that made their very souls tremble with despair.
"Expecto Patronum!" Snape shouted, his voice strained, his wand a flash of silver light as a smoky Patronus burst from the tip of his wand. It surged forward, a large, serpentine creature of mist, its form writhing and shifting in the air. It struck at the Dementors, pushing them back for a moment, but there were too many of them. Their icy presence pressed forward, relentless and determined.
Alex's chest tightened as he fought against the overwhelming darkness, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His wand was still raised, but despite all his effort, the Patronus was slow in coming. He felt the suffocating weight of despair creeping in, the shadows pressing against his mind, making it harder and harder to focus.
"Come on..." he muttered to himself, forcing his mind to center, to push against the encroaching darkness. He could feel the cold seeping into his very bones, but he couldn't let it consume him. He had to protect them.
Harry, running beside him, suddenly stopped, his eyes wide with disbelief as a stag—bright and brilliant—burst from the tip of his wand. It was magnificent, its form radiating warmth and light that pushed the Dementors back in waves. The dark creatures shrieked and recoiled, their skeletal hands pulling back as the stag's glow pushed them into retreat.
Alex barely had a moment to process the sight when Harry spoke, his voice trembling with awe. "It's him... It's my dad."
The stag turned, its gaze locking with Harry's for a brief, haunting moment before it veered off into the trees, scattering the remaining Dementors with its sheer light. The air felt warmer, the dread lifting, but only for a moment.
Before anyone could speak, a figure moved out from the shadows. It was fast, silent, and deadly, its shape blurring as it rushed toward them with terrifying speed. The figure lunged toward Harry, its motion like lightning.
"Harry, down!" Alex shouted, his heart racing.
He didn't think—he simply acted. With all his strength, he shoved Harry to the ground, throwing himself on top of him just in time. The shadow figure slashed through the air with deadly precision, its long, curved blade missing them by mere inches. The force of the strike left a bitter gust in the air, the smell of death lingering in its wake.
Alex rolled off of Harry, pushing him out of harm's way, scanning the treeline. The figure had already vanished into the darkness, its presence gone as swiftly as it had come. The white stag, now flickering and fading, had disappeared along with it, leaving the forest once again shrouded in an oppressive, cold silence.
"What—what was that?" Hermione gasped, her voice strained as she helped Harry to his feet. She looked around nervously, her wand still tightly gripped in her hand.
"I don't know," Alex muttered, wiping the cold sweat from his brow as he scanned the trees, his senses heightened. "But we can't wait to find out. We need to move—now."
Alex's lungs burned, his grip firm on Harry's arm as he practically dragged the boy forward. "Faster!" he barked, his voice sharp with urgency. Behind them, Snape's shouts of "Expecto Patronum!" reverberated through the trees, silver light streaking from his wand but faltering against the relentless tide of Dementors.
Ron stumbled, clutching his side, and Hermione pulled him upright, her face pale but determined. "I can't keep this pace!" Ron wheezed.
"You will!" Alex snapped, eyes darting between the looming shadows and the group. "Or you'll die here."
Suddenly, the shadows coalesced, and the forest seemed to hold its breath. From the treeline emerged the figure again, silent and predatory, its movements eerily fluid. A chill settled over Alex, colder than even the Dementors.
Snape wheeled around, planting himself between the group and the shadow. His voice was a whip-crack. "Who are you?! Show yourself, coward!"
The figure didn't answer. It surged forward, faster than a human could move. Before anyone could react, Alex was slammed to the ground, his breath driven out in a painful rush.
Pinned beneath the weight of the assailant, Alex squinted up—and his blood turned to ice.
It was Harry.
But not the boy beside him. This Harry was older—his wild black hair streaked with silver, his face gaunt, as though carved from stone. His green eyes blazed with a mixture of fury and something darker: despair. Madness. A haunted soul.
"Harry?" Ron's voice broke the stunned silence, disbelieving and horrified.
The older Harry's lips twisted into a grin that sent a shiver down Alex's spine. "Surprised, are we?" His voice was rough, weathered by years of anguish. "Not every day you meet yourself from the future."
"Future?" Hermione gasped, her hand trembling on her wand.
Alex gritted his teeth, shoving against the older Harry's unyielding grip. "Whoa are you? Why are you here?" he demanded, his voice taut with tension.
Future Harry's grin faded, replaced by a chilling calm. "To fix your mess." He looked at Alex with an intensity that felt like a blade pressed to his throat. "You weren't supposed to be here. You've destroyed everything."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Alex demanded, stepping in front of the younger Harry, who was still frozen in shock.
Future Harry barked a hollow laugh. "Fix? FIX?!" His voice cracked with bitterness. "You don't understand. Every choice you've made has unraveled the future. Sirius, Pettigrew... even the Dementors. None of this was meant to happen this way."
His accusing gaze locked onto Alex, and the madness flickered in his eyes like a flame about to consume him. "You... You changed the timeline."
Alex's heart raced, but he kept his voice steady. "So what? You're saying the future changed because of me?"
"Yes," the older Harry hissed, stepping closer, his wand twitching in his hand. "You threw off the balance. Every small choice, every little act—it ripples through time. And now the future is... wrong."
The younger Harry found his voice, though it was trembling. "What—what's gone wrong? What happens?"
The older Harry turned to his younger self, his expression softening for a brief moment—but the kindness was twisted with pain. "The world falls apart, little me. Everything falls apart. Voldemort wins... and worse things follow." His voice dropped to a whisper, haunted and cracked. "People die. Everyone dies."
Hermione gasped, clutching her hands over her mouth. Ron took a step back, shaking his head as if trying to wake from a nightmare.
"I tried to fix it," the older Harry continued, his gaze distant, as though seeing something far away. "I had to come back... back to when everything started to change." He turned his gaze back to Alex, and his grin reappeared—wild and dangerous. "And here you are. The butterfly that flapped its wings."
Alex took a step forward, his wand at the ready. "So you're saying all of this—is because of me?"
"Yes!" Future Harry snapped, regaining his composure. He fixed Alex with a steely glare. "Unless I erase the variable. You."
Alex's mind raced. He knew time was fragile, knew every action had consequences, but how could he have predicted this—a deranged version of Harry Potter, broken and bitter, arriving from a future gone wrong?
"Look," Alex said, his voice calm but firm. "We can fix this. If we catch Pettigrew and clear Sirius's name—"
"It's not enough!" the older Harry roared, his voice rising in fury. "Don't you get it? It's already broken! The only way to fix it..." His eyes gleamed with madness. "...is to remove the problem This is mercy. The only way to save the world... is to destroy what broke it."
Alex pushed himself up, his legs trembling as he faced the man who once symbolized hope and courage. "You're wrong," he said, his voice rising over the cacophony. "This isn't mercy—it's madness. You think fixing one mistake will undo all the others? That's not how it works!"
The older Harry's face twisted into something between rage and sorrow. "Spoken like someone who hasn't lived it. You don't know what it's like to watch everything you love crumble because of one person." His gaze bore into Alex. "You."
Alex's jaw tightened. "Maybe I made mistakes. Maybe I changed things. But I didn't do it alone. Every choice—every decision—we make them together. That's what makes us human." He gestured toward the younger Harry, Hermione, Ron, and even Snape. "You think you're fixing the future by erasing the past? You're not saving anyone. You're just running from your pain."
And with that, the older Harry raised his wand and fired. "Sectumsempra!"
Alex dove to the side, dragging the younger Harry with him as the red light of the Stunning Spell shot past them. Snape snarled, stepping between the two Harrys, his wand flashing as he sent a curse back at the older version.
"Enough!" Snape bellowed, his voice filled with fury and confusion. "What madness is this?"
Snape's face twisted with fury as he stepped forward. "I don't know what madness this is," he snarled, "but you will not interfere with my students."
Future Harry sneered. "Still playing teacher, Snivellus? You were never good at it." With a sharp twist of his wand, a barrage of hexes flew toward Snape.
Snape was ready. His wand moved with fluid grace, countering the curses and sending his own back in a rapid volley. Alex stayed low, watching the two duel with precision and skill—Snape's technique sharp and cold, while Future Harry's attacks were wild and unpredictable, like someone who had nothing left to lose.
lex scrambled to his feet, dragging the younger Harry back. "We need to move—now!"
"Stop!" the younger Harry shouted, his voice desperate. "If we fight each other, we're no better than Voldemort!"
The older Harry froze, his wand still raised, his eyes wide with a flicker of doubt—but it was fleeting. His grin returned, sharp and dangerous.
"I already am," he whispered.
Without warning, Future Harry flicked his wand in a blur, sending a red bolt screaming toward Alex.
"Expelliarmus!"
Alex barely dodged, the spell missing by inches and scorching a nearby tree. Before Alex could react, Snape moved with surprising speed, stepping between them.
"Protego!" Snape's voice thundered as a shimmering shield erupted between them, deflecting the curse. He advanced on Future Harry with measured fury, his wand raised.
Alex scrambled to his feet, dragging the younger Harry back. "Harry!" Alex yelled, his voice sharp. "You can't help here—go!"
Reluctantly, Harry turned and ran after the others, leaving Alex and Snape to fight the older Harry.
Amid the chaos, Alex noticed the opportunity he needed. Harry was strong—too strong for a straight fight. But Alex wasn't limited to magic. He was used to finding creative solutions, even in impossible situations.
While the two wizards exchanged spells, Alex pulled a flashbang from his jacket. One of the few muggle tools he'd stashed, just in case.
"Cover your eyes!" Alex barked, and without waiting for an answer, he yanked the pin and hurled the flashbang between Future Harry and Snape.
There was a deafening crack as the device detonated, filling the clearing with an intense burst of white light and sound. Snape and Future Harry, both caught off-guard, staggered back, momentarily blinded and disoriented.
Alex exploded forward, slamming his shoulder into Future Harry's chest with every ounce of strength he had. The impact hit like a freight train, sending both of them crashing to the ground. Future Harry's wand flew from his grip, spinning through the air before landing with a dull thud in the dirt. Alex rolled to his feet in one swift motion, his wand already trained on Future Harry before he could recover.
It's over," Alex panted, his heart pounding. "You've lost."
For a moment, Future Harry lay still, his breath ragged. But then the wild grin returned, and with it, something dangerous—something Alex hadn't expected.
"You still don't get it," Future Harry whispered, his voice laced with dark amusement. "This fight doesn't end here."
And before Alex could react, Future Harry propelled himself upward in a blur of movement, disappearing into the shadows of the night like a wraith on the wind.
Alex staggered to his feet, panting, the fight was over—for now.
"Where's Pettigrew?" Hermione cried.
Alex spun around, scanning the dark forest. The ropes that had bound Pettigrew lay slack on the ground. He was gone.
Snape, still catching his breath, sneered. "Brilliant, Mercer. You let the most important piece of this puzzle escape."
Alex ignored him. "We have to go back to the castle. Now."
They set off toward the castle, moving quickly through the dark forest. The chill from the Dementors still clung to the air, but the immediate threat had passed.
As they neared the warm lights of Hogwarts, Alex slowed, glancing over his shoulder. Somewhere out there, Future Harry was still lurking, waiting for his next move. And Pettigrew—key to everything—was free once again.
Alex clenched his fists. He'd won the battle, but the war for the timeline was just beginning. And if Future Harry was right, every decision from here on out could make or break the future.
In the dim light of the disused classroom, the atmosphere was heavy with tension. Dust motes swirled lazily in the air as the group settled into the room, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and unease. Alex leaned against a desk, arms crossed, while Harry paced near the boarded-up window. Hermione sat at one of the desks, biting her lip in thought, while Ron slouched beside her, still looking pale. Snape stood apart, arms folded, his dark gaze fixed on Alex.
Harry broke the silence. "You knew," he said, his voice quiet but sharp. "You knew Sirius was here. That he was after me."
Alex let out a long sigh. "Yeah, I knew. But not everything, and definitely not like this."
Harry stopped pacing, his green eyes narrowing. "What did you know?"
Alex uncrossed his arms, his expression serious. "I knew Sirius was around, and that the story about him didn't quite add up. The evidence—it's dodgy at best. I couldn't find any trial records for him, and from what I can tell, he was sent straight to Azkaban without one. That alone set off alarm bells."
Hermione gasped. "No trial? But... that's not how it works, is it? Even in the wizarding world?"
"No", Snape interjected.
Alex shook his head. "It shouldn't be. But it happened. As for Pettigrew..." He hesitated, glancing at Ron, whose face was now tinged with confusion and a bit of fear. "The story of him being blown to bits in the middle of a street always felt... off. It's too neat. And the fact that Sirius managed to break into Hogwarts without actually hurting anyone—especially you or Ron—tells me there's more going on here."
Ron frowned, his voice uncertain. "But he's dangerous, isn't he? He did kill all those people."
"Maybe," Alex said carefully. "Or maybe not. What I'm saying is, the official story doesn't hold up under scrutiny. That doesn't mean Sirius is innocent, but it does mean there's something we're missing."
"And Lupin?" Harry asked, his voice tight.
Alex sighed again. "I didn't know about him being a werewolf, not until tonight. But looking back, it makes sense. The absences, the tired look... the signs were there. I just didn't connect the dots." He glanced at Snape, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Harry's fists clenched at his sides. "And what about the other... the older me? The one who's trying to destroy everything. What do you know about him?"
Alex's jaw tightened. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Whatever's happening there—it's new to me. I've never seen or heard anything like it. A future version of you trying to rewrite time? That's... not something I can explain."
The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of Harry resuming his pacing. Alex watched him for a moment before stepping closer.
"Harry," Alex said gently, his voice quiet but laced with concern. "Are you okay?"
Harry looked up, meeting his gaze for the briefest of moments before quickly looking away. "I'm fine," he muttered, his voice tight.
lex didn't buy it. Not for a second. He crossed his arms and studied Harry carefully, seeing the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the way his hands trembled slightly at his sides. He could sense the weight of everything Harry was carrying. "That's unlikely," he said softly. "But I'll give you this—you're strong. Strong in magic, in willpower, in internal strength. You've already proved that time and again. And I'm sure, when it really counts, you'll rise to the occasion. You always do."
Harry remained silent for a long moment, staring down at the floor. His lips pressed into a thin line, a faint line of tension etched between his brows. "I'm not so sure," he muttered. "This whole thing's bigger than I thought. More dangerous. More... twisted. And sometimes, it just feels like I'm going to fail everyone."
Alex took a step closer, his expression softening. "No one's perfect, Harry. Not me, not you, not anyone. The difference is—when things get tough, when everything feels like it's falling apart, you push through. You fight. And that's what matters."
Harry let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of those words were too much to bear. "But how? How do I fight something I can barely understand? How do I keep everyone safe when I don't even know what's going on?"
Alex leaned against the desk, meeting Harry's eyes with steady conviction. "You don't need to have all the answers right now. You just need to keep moving forward. And you won't have to do it alone. Not if you can trust those around you. You're stronger with them. With us."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping again. "I don't know if I'm good at trusting people... or letting them in. I've never really been good at that."
Alex nodded slowly, understanding the pain that lay beneath those words. "I know it's hard. It's easier to push people away than it is to open up. Believe me, I've been there. But you've already taken the first step. You've already let people in, even if you don't realize it. You've got Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Snape... they all care about you in their own way, even if it doesn't always look like it."
Harry's eyes flickered over to Snape, who was standing stiffly by the door, watching them with his usual skepticism. "Snape?" Harry said, incredulous. "You think he cares about me?"
Alex's lips quirked in the faintest of smiles. "Maybe not in the way you'd like. But trust me—he's on your side. And you'll need him, just like you'll need Ron, Hermione, and everyone else you can rely on. It's the only way forward."
Harry looked doubtful, but there was a slight shift in his posture, something that suggested he was starting to believe it, just a little. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation but unable to escape it. "I don't know if I can do this, Alex. I've always been alone, always thought I was supposed to handle it all myself. It feels like the world's getting heavier by the day."
Alex placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, his voice firm but filled with reassurance. "You're not alone, Harry. You've got more people than you realize who want to help, who want to fight alongside you. It's not about doing it all by yourself. It's about finding the strength to rely on others, to trust that they'll have your back. And they will."
Harry glanced at him, his expression softening slightly, a mix of vulnerability and gratitude in his eyes. "I have you," he said quietly, almost as if it were a question.
Alex's chest tightened at the simple statement. "You do," he confirmed, his voice steady and filled with warmth. "I'm not going anywhere, Harry. I promise you that."
Harry nodded, though there was still a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "I'll try," he said, his voice a little steadier than before. "But... it's hard."
"I know it is," Alex said, his tone softening. "But nothing worth doing is ever easy. And in the end, when it's all said and done, you'll be glad you had the people who stood by you."
Harry looked at him for a long moment, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Finally, he gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Thanks, Alex. I don't know if I'd be able to keep going without you."
Alex smiled back, squeezing Harry's shoulder once more. "Anytime, Harry. Anytime. But we've got work to do. And we don't have much time."
Alex sat in the dim confines of his quarters, the flickering candlelight casting jagged shadows across the room. His thoughts were a maelstrom, supercharged by the relentless clarity of NZT-48 coursing through his veins. Each path of logic, each sequence of possibilities, played out before him with vivid precision. And every path ended the same way: he had royally, catastrophically screwed up.
This was not how it was supposed to go.
He hadn't risked crossing dimensions to get tangled up in wizarding politics. He hadn't sought out this world to play hero or to become an unwitting participant in a war that had nothing to do with him. He'd come here for a single, pragmatic purpose: magic. Magic was the key to unlocking his true ambitions. It was a tool—no different from a hammer or a scalpel—that would elevate him beyond the limits of the mundane and prepare him for something far greater.
The Stargate Universe.
Alex clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he forced his thoughts back into focus. That had always been the goal: to leave behind the petty, small-scale conflicts of Earth and set his sights on a realm of ancient technology, alien warfare, and godlike domination. Magic was only ever meant to be the first step in that journey—a means to survive and thrive in the unforgiving landscapes of interstellar conquest.
But somewhere along the way, the plan had unraveled.
Peter Pettigrew had slipped through their fingers. Voldemort was stirring from the shadows, his presence an ominous weight that hung over every moment. And, most unsettling of all, Alex had drawn the attention of someone far more dangerous: an unhinged, future version of Harry Potter. That Harry, wild-eyed and broken, was hunting him with an obsession that sent shivers down Alex's spine.
Future Harry's words echoed in his mind, jagged and sharp: "You twisted the narrative."
Alex slammed a fist against the wooden desk, the sharp crack of impact cutting through the stillness of the room. How had it all spiraled so far out of control?
The answer was both simple and damning. He had gotten involved.
At first, Alex had been cautious, careful not to disturb the delicate balance of this world. He'd observed from the shadows, using NZT to analyze Hogwarts and its magic from every angle. But then Harry happened.
Harry.
The boy was a vortex of chaos and courage, drawing Alex into conflicts that weren't his. There was something infuriatingly magnetic about him—his raw determination, his stubborn loyalty, his quiet grief. Harry was a kid bearing the weight of a world that seemed intent on breaking him, and despite himself, Alex had started to care.
That was the root of the problem. Caring.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The memory of Future Harry's gaunt face and burning eyes clawed at his mind. That version of Harry had lived through unimaginable horrors, and Alex couldn't shake the feeling that he was at the center of it. His very presence here had altered the timeline, derailing events in ways he hadn't foreseen.
For a moment, the temptation to walk away tugged at him. He could still cut ties, leave this world behind before it dragged him down any further. The Stargate Universe was waiting for him—vast, untamed, and brimming with potential. But as quickly as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it.
Walking away wasn't an option anymore. Not with the stakes this high.
Alex's jaw tightened as his thoughts shifted back to Harry. The boy didn't deserve this—not the constant danger, not the endless weight of expectation. He deserved better. And maybe—just maybe—Alex could give him that.
But how?
The answer came to him in a flash of clarity, NZT amplifying his thought processes to a razor's edge. Knowledge. That was the key. To fix this mess, he needed a complete understanding of the timeline—every event, every choice, every consequence. Only then could he navigate the chaos and make the moves necessary to stabilize the future.
He rose abruptly, a plan already forming in his mind.
The next morning, Alex found himself walking the bustling streets of a mundane, modern universe. The sounds of honking cars and snippets of conversation filled the air as people hurried past, heads bowed over their phones. The sheer normalcy of it all was almost jarring after the magical intensity of Hogwarts.
He moved quickly, scanning the street signs until he found what he was looking for: a bookstore.
Inside, the familiar smell of paper and ink enveloped him. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, crammed with novels, biographies, and brightly colored children's books. And there, in the corner of the shop, he found his prize: the complete Harry Potter series—books and films.
The cashier raised an eyebrow as Alex dumped the stack onto the counter, but he ignored her, sliding cash across the counter and grabbing the bag of books and DVDs. Minutes later, he stepped back through the portal, returning to his quarters in Diagon Alley.
The room transformed into a chaotic study as Alex tore into the material. Books lay open across the desk, some with dog-eared corners, others covered in scrawled notes written in a rushed hand. Parchments borrowed from Hogwarts were layered haphazardly among the modern paperbacks and glossy DVDs. A makeshift projector lit up one wall, where scenes from the Harry Potter films played in relentless succession, each moment dissected by Alex's piercing gaze.
The laptop whirred softly, a second source of illumination against the dim light of the candles. Spreadsheets of timelines and flowcharts filled the screen, each meticulously annotated, with potential outcomes branching out like fractal patterns. Strings of predictive algorithms and probability analyses ran alongside the narrative beats of the books, NZT amplifying Alex's comprehension to almost superhuman levels.
Every detail of Harry's life was being cataloged with ruthless efficiency: the prophecy that marked him as Voldemort's equal, the loss of his parents, the friendships and betrayals, and the ultimate, inevitable confrontation with death itself.
And yet, it wasn't just data. As Alex watched Harry's story unfold, he felt something unexpected—a gnawing discomfort, almost like guilt.
Harry wasn't just a player in this cosmic game; he was a kid. A kid who'd been thrust into circumstances so horrifying, Alex could hardly fathom surviving them. The boy had lost everything—his family, his childhood, his sense of safety—and still he fought. Still he hoped.
Alex rubbed his temple as emotions bubbled to the surface, unfamiliar and unwelcome. He'd always prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize, to stay detached. But watching Harry's journey—the weight he carried, the sacrifices he made—stirred something he couldn't quite push away.
The boy's life wasn't just a tale of triumphs and losses. It was a delicate chain of cause and effect, each moment balanced precariously on the actions of those around him. And Alex had disrupted it.
He leaned back, his chair creaking as the enormity of his impact hit him.
The timeline was fragile. Every action, every deviation, sent ripples outward. Future Harry's existence was proof of that—a distorted reflection of what could happen if the chain was broken too far. Alex's presence in this world, his interference in its events, had already set things off-kilter.
"Damn it," Alex muttered under his breath, standing abruptly and pacing the room.
His mind raced, NZT firing on all cylinders. He couldn't just leave—not when the timeline was already unraveling. But fixing it wasn't enough. He had to find a way to manipulate it, to control its trajectory without losing sight of his ultimate goal.
As the hours stretched on, his plan began to crystallize.
He flipped through the pages of Deathly Hallows again, this time lingering on the description of the Elder Wand. The Deathly Hallows weren't just relics of magical folklore—they were powerful tools, each with the potential to tip the scales in unimaginable ways.
The Resurrection Stone, capable of summoning echoes of the dead. The Invisibility Cloak, more than just a tool of stealth. And the Elder Wand, the most dangerous of them all—a wand that answered only to power.
Alex paused, his fingers brushing against the text as an idea began to take root.
What if he didn't just restore the timeline? What if he strengthened it? What if he used its tools—the artifacts, the prophecies, the very fabric of this universe—not just to stabilize the story but to bend it to his will?
He would need to move quickly. Voldemort's rise was inevitable, and Future Harry's warnings hung over him like a storm cloud. But Alex had never shied away from impossible odds. If anything, he thrived on them.
The flickering candlelight reflected in his eyes as he stood before the projector, watching Harry duel Voldemort in the Great Hall. The sequence played out in slow motion, every movement analyzed, every weakness cataloged.
The timeline was a puzzle, one he was beginning to understand in its entirety. But it wasn't just the timeline that was fragile. People were fragile too—easy to manipulate, easy to mold. Harry, Dumbledore, Voldemort—they all had their roles to play, but Alex held the advantage. He had foresight. He had knowledge.
And knowledge, he thought with a faint smirk, was the purest form of power.
"I can do this," he murmured, his voice steady. "I can fix this... and still win."
Alex stood straighter, his resolve solidifying. The timeline was his to control. The people were his to manipulate. And the power he sought was no longer just a distant dream. It was here, within reach.
The question wasn't whether he could do it.
The question was how much he could take before the timelines cracked under the weight of his ambition.
