Harry was scowling thunderously as he made his way through the halls of Hogwarts, prompting anyone that happened to come across him to hurry to let him through. Normally seeing a group of seventh years scurry away from a fourth year like spooked children would be intensely amusing, but not a single resident of the school that saw it happen blamed them in the least, though the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students that witnessed it were more than a bit confused.

To say Harry was upset was like saying Draco Malfoy was an idiot, or that Voldemort was an asshole. A massive understatement of breathtaking scope.

Only a few days had passed since the Goblet of Fire had spat his name out of its flames, and even before he had heard it read out he'd known that things were going to go wrong for him once again. Now he was in an insane competition meant for witches and wizards years more skilled and experienced than he was, which could easily kill him, where before he'd just wanted to sit back and watch someone else risk their lives for once.

Of course, more sources of stress jumped on the pile when Ron decided to be an absolute tit and start believing he'd actually entered his name into the Goblet, becoming jealous of all the attention Harry was getting to the point he stopped talking to him.

Harry wasn't an idiot. He'd discussed the situation with Hermione, and he could kind of understand Ron's thought process. That didn't mean he didn't think the redhead was being an absolute wanker, or that he would be the one making the first move here. Ron would need to be the one to approach him to apologize. Hermione had seemed to be tiredly resigned when Harry said so, but he didn't think she really blamed him for it. Or at least she knew that it would be pointless to try to change his mind.

However, the main thing that had him in a bad mood at this very moment was Hermione's absolutely brilliant idea to research previous Triwizard Tournaments to see what kinds of tasks had been implemented before, in case they gave any clues that could help with the current set. Seeing that two students had died and another was maimed for life when the absolute morons running the show had let loose a manticore did wonders for his anxiety levels. And that was one of the less lethal ones! Sometimes even the spectators got turned into meals for some amazingly lethal beast. The amount of idiotic, nigh impossible tasks that previous contestants had been faced with was staggering and just convinced him that anyone stupid enough to willingly volunteer to compete deserved whatever they got.

Of course now all he could think about was how absolutely screwed he was. There was no way he was prepared for even some of the simplest tasks that had been on the list he and Hermione had gone through that morning. Seriously, who thought pitting teenagers against a godsdamned revenant was a good idea that wouldn't just end up in three thoroughly mutilated kids?

What was saddest was that this tournament was actually supposed to be safer, or at least should have a lower body count, if only because they weren't letting anybody under 17 compete. Some of the previous contestants had been third years!

Harry was pulled out of his downward spiral of thoughts when someone called his name. Looking up he saw Ginny standing there with hands on hips, looking at him with concern. At her side was a girl he hadn't met before, though he was sure he'd seen her around at some point.

She was slight of size and build as well as fair of skin and hair, though not as unhealthily as Malfoy. Her waist length, dirty blonde hair was somewhat straggly, and her silvery eyes seemed somewhat protuberant, so that she seemed to be surprised at everything. The wand behind her ear, radish earrings and butterbeer cap necklace helped give her an air of distinct dottiness. Despite all of that, part of his mind pointed out that she wasn't bad looking at all. Unfortunately he was currently in no mood for that section of his brain's literal one track mind.

Taking a breath he tried to plaster a smile on his face, though he was sure it came out as more of a grimace. "Hey Gin."

Ginny's look of concern seemed to increase as she took in whatever look he was giving her, though her friend's eyes seemed fixated on something right above his head.

"So Neville was right then. You are having a brooding fit over the tournament." Ginny said with what seemed to be mild exasperation, though her face was still concerned.

"He does seem to be having a severe infestation of wrackspurts." Her friend said in an airy voice, eyes still roaming along his head.

Harry gave the blonde an odd look. "And this is…?"

Ginny smiled slightly and motioned to the other girl. "Harry, this is Luna Lovegood, a friend of mine. Known her since we were kids. Luna, this is Harry Potter."

"Hello." Luna said with a small smile, rocking slightly on her heels, prompting him to wave slightly bemusedly in response.

"Anyway, Neville has been worried, said you and Hermione seemed upset over the tournament, so I thought I'd see if I could help, especially since Ron is being an idiot, as usual. That's why I went and got Luna." Ginny said with a smile.

Harry raised an eyebrow and gave the small blonde another look. "Er, no offense, but how exactly are you thinking she can help?"

Ginny's smile widened.

"So let me get this straight…" Hermione began as she, Harry, Ginny, Luna and Neville were all gathered in one of the many empty classrooms the school held. Her voice was a mixture of incredulous disbelief and intense curiosity. "Luna's mother created a ritual that is meant to give a person the knowledge and skills of alternate versions of themselves from throughout the multiverse, which is something that is known about and researched by the more secretive segments of the government like the Department of Mysteries even though they haven't managed to interact with other timelines yet."

Ginny nodded, a small smirk on her lips at how much she had managed to unbalance her friend. "Yep. I remember Luna telling me about it ages ago. We both loved to imagine what kinds of strange powers we could get if we used it."

"Something that powerful doesn't just stay secret." Neville said from where he sat on an old, dusty desk. Harry had invited the other boy in since his comments to Ginny were what had prompted the entire discussion. He appreciated his friend looking out for him, even though it made him feel a bit guilty as he remembered how badly he'd sometimes treated the clumsier boy before. "If this ritual works then a lot of people would be very interested, and not just the good guys." He continued with a concerned frown. "What's the catch?"

As Ginny winced Hermione nodded. "Neville's right. I can't imagine there's a reason that people wouldn't be using it pretty often unless there was a caveat."

Luna seemed to be calm as she explained. "It's never actually been used yet." She said. "It needs to be performed in an area of significant conceptual power and high density of magic. Thankfully, Hogwarts qualifies."

"Why hasn't your mother tested it?" Hermione asked with a concerned frown. "And how do you know it would work at Hogwarts?"

Ginny winced again, but Luna didn't seem to be perturbed by Hermione's questions. "She died in an accident with another experimental spell just weeks before she was set to test it here with Dumbledore as the subject." She said, making Hermione blanche at her faux pas. "Daddy says Dumbledore was extremely interested in seeing if it worked, but when she died things got set aside. I have her research journal, though, and it has every detail we need. Any materials can be easily obtained in Hogsmeade. It isn't a costly ritual, materials wise. Not compared to the expected end result."

"I'm sorry if I was insensitive." Hermione said a bit hesitantly. "I was just concerned. Do you mind if I see the ritual?" She asked tentatively, understanding what she was asking.

Luna simply smiled before pulling a small, leather bound book out of her pocket and handed it over. "The page with the ritual is bookmarked."

Hermione gently took the journal before opening it to the indicated page. Harry, Neville, Ginny and Luna watched as she went through it, her brow furrowed in concentration as she went over everything. After five minutes or so of study she looked back up at Luna, nibbling her bottom lip in thought. "This is a lot simpler than I expect from such a seemingly powerful ritual." She said. "It requires a new moon, certain crystals and reagents to form the ritual circle, and a place of power and significance, like you said. It really does seem like it's almost entirely weighted on those last two aspects."

"There is another thing she theorized was important for the ritual's success that she didn't write down." Luna said. "I remember Daddy mentioning it when I talked to him about her work. She seemed to think it would only work for certain people."

"What kind of people?" Neville asked before Hermione could.

"People that might have some sort of significant metaphorical weight." She said, tone still light as she rocked back and forth on her feet, but otherwise seeming serious about what she was saying. "The kinds of people events tend to revolve around, who have an influence on things, even if it isn't overt or conscious. It's a trait necessary to be able to resonate with alternate selves despite the barriers of the worlds. It's why she selected Dumbledore to be the test subject."

"Oh, in that case, Harry definitely qualifies." Ginny said matter of factly, both Hermione and Neville nodding in instant agreement.

"We don't know that." Harry said with a frown. "It's not like I'm anything special."

Neville looked at him with disbelief, Ginny with something approaching pity and Hermione with fond exasperation. "Harry, don't be an idiot." The bushy haired witch said with a tone that matched the look she was giving him. "The events of the last four years say the exact opposite. You forget I know everything you've gotten up to, or as close to as possible. I don't believe in Divination or any such rubbish, but if anyone in this school other than Dumbledore has weight when it comes to the course of history, it's you."

Harry scowled, but before he could respond Hermione turned to Luna, handing back the journal. "If you could give me a copy of the reagent list, I'll go get it all from Hogsmeade. The new moon is in two days, so we need to be quick."

Luna simply smiled again, pulling a slightly crumpled roll of parchment out of her pocket, and handed it over.

The night of the new moon found the five students in a different classroom for the ritual, this one selected due to the fact they could easily see the moon (or the empty space that held it) through the large windows, which was a necessity for what they were doing.

Neville was helping Ginny set up the ritual circle while Hermione and Luna supervised intently. Harry, for his part, stood to the side, freshly bathed and shivering slightly under a light robe due to the early November chill, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

He'd been more than slightly caught off guard when Luna had matter of factly told him that he'd need to be almost entirely naked for the ritual. Actually, she'd said it would be best if he was completely naked, but they should be able to manage things well enough that he could have some underwear on. He'd been a bit relieved, though still embarrassed, till she'd handed him a rather tiny speedo, which told him he wasn't going to get away with some large boxers like he'd hoped.

"You know, I never expected to ever be involved in a ritual of this level." Neville said to distract himself as he carefully traced some symbols in chalk, shoulders tense as Hermione watched over his shoulder with scarily intense eyes. "It's not like they're common these days in the first place."

"Why not?" Harry asked as he kept the robe resolutely closed.

"Laziness." He said with a slight shrug. "Rituals can be complicated or expensive, and nowadays there are either spells or items that can do some of the things they do. Though some items require rituals to be made. Like Hermione said, this is an amazingly cheap ritual in pretty much all aspects considering what it's supposed to do." He straightened out with a groan before realizing that even Hermione was looking at him with a raised brow. He blushed. "Gran says my family used to be some of the best ritualists in Britain before we shifted to other things, and she's big on family legacy." He explained.

"Interesting…" Hermione said with a hum before looking down at the circle once Ginny finished her section as well. Flitting about, she began examining the entire thing with Luna, the two girls discussing details in hushed, intense voices.

The closer the time of the ritual came, the more excited the petite blonde seemed to become, a smile growing on her face as her eyes glinted with eagerness. Harry supposed he couldn't blame her. If this worked she'd have brought her late mother's research to completion. If he'd similarly found something either of his parents had left unfinished, he would probably have been eager to do it for them if he could as well.

Eventually the two geniuses (despite having only recently met her, Harry was sure Luna was also scarily intelligent, if perhaps in a different way than Hermione) agreed that everything was ready, and Hermione motioned for Harry to approach the circle. "Alright Harry, your turn."

Sighing and wishing they could use warming charms without causing issues with the ritual, Harry removed his robe and set it on a dusty old desk, face flaming red when the other four teens looked at him. Neville gave him a sympathetic smile full of second hand embarrassment, Ginny squeaked lightly as her face almost matched her hair the way it used to whenever she was around him, Hermione let her eyes roam before realizing what she was doing and shaking herself, cheeks rosy as well, and even Luna's cheeks pinked.

"You're quite handsome, Harry." The only blonde in the room said, her voice displaying nothing but honesty. Her eyes briefly locked on the only part of his body that was (inadequately) covered up before turning away, cheeks just slightly pinker. "We should hurry, though. We don't have too much time left."

Harry sighed and nodded, his face hot as a furnace, before moving and laying down in the middle of the circle, not noticing the way all three girls' eyes locked on his backside when he walked past them, Hermione biting her lip, Ginny rubbing her thighs lightly, and Luna smiling a bit wider. Neville, for his part, took all this in and shook his head in sympathetic amusement.

Harry shivered as he lay on the cold stone floor, doing his best to stay completely still as Luna and Hermione knelt to paint some markings on his body in a special (and, thankfully, warm) ink. Glancing at each of them as they worked, not really being able to do anything else at the moment, he saw that they were both focused and serious, apparently no longer letting his state of dress affect them.

The drawing took what seemed like forever but was likely only a few minutes, and his blush returned several times when their brushes drew particularly close to the area covered by the speedo. Eventually, however, they finished and stood up, stepping back and studying their work. Hermione then turned to Luna. "Alright Luna, whenever you're ready."

Luna nodded before hesitating, showing concern and worry for the first time, now that the time had come. She started slightly as Ginny rested a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it'll be fine. You've double and triple checked everything. There's no way the ritual will fail, especially not because of anything you do."

Luna took a deep breath and nodded, straightening her shoulders and stepping to Harry's feet, looking down on him as Ginny, Neville and Hermione quickly lit the candles arranged around the circle. One that was done Luna began chanting in a lilting, melodic language Harry didn't recognize but which sounded very different from the pseudo-latin of most of the spells he'd learned at Hogwarts so far.

Harry tried to relax despite the chill and tension of the situation. His gaze shifted to look out the window, his head being pointed in the moon's direction for the sake of the ritual. His eyes roamed the star studded expanse of the heavens, the lack of light from the usually bright orb making the points of brilliance seem brighter than usual. As Luna's voice rose he didn't notice the flames of the candles climbing, his gaze becoming locked on the dark spot that held the moon. He stared at it, attention not shifting in the least as his surroundings faded from his attention, entire focus on the moon, even Luna's chanting unable to reach him anymore.

He could feel something in the air, a charge in the magic, and before his eyes the moon began to reappear, like an enormous eye opening slowly. Except it wasn't its usual silvery white, but a kaleidoscope of impossible color. He could see things on the edges, images he couldn't consciously comprehend, and which he instinctively knew he wasn't supposed to.

Suddenly his body stiffened and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as a vast amount of information began to flood his mind. Too much. More than the knowledge and skills he had been told to expect, he was receiving something immensely dangerous and powerful.

Memories.

In a world where wand magic never rose to full prominence in Europe, where the old ways still flourished and something like Hogwarts was never conceived of, he learned at the feet of his father how to commune with nature, entreating it to aid him and share its bounty.

Prompting plants to grow fully in seconds, providing their fruit or ensnaring his enemies was well within his power. He spoke with animals, asking for their help and offering payment for their services, as well as learning how to assume their forms as needed.

He had several children with his spouses, and joyously taught them as he had been taught, even as he worked to protect nature from those who would harm and exploit it, magical or mundane. A mostly peaceful life, though not so peaceful he did not know how to fight, considering his duties.

Then the Titans were disturbed. Creatures of legend, nearly forgotten and unknown, but said to be the fury of the world itself, they were enormous, greater than anything else on the planet by far. Even the weakest ones could single handedly annihilate a large city, often affecting the weather and surrounding geography just by existing.

Humanity had no chance. The mundane governments tried everything, including unleashing the fury of their nuclear weapons, but only managed to make things worse, and for all their troubles only one Titan was ever brought low through direct attack.

The magical communities fared no better. No matter what rituals or spells were invoked, no matter what entities or spirits were summoned, nothing worked on the Titans, their very existence unravelling the weaves of magic around them.

He tried to stop the world's destruction, tried to halt the devastation, but even his greatest works, including the Flowering Of Yggdrasil, performed with a hundred other master mages, two of them his own children, failed miserably.

In the end the entire face of the world was reshaped, the continents themselves no longer in their familiar shapes, and he died in despair with his family, along with the last remnants of humanity.

As the ocean of memories and experiences…

A timeline very similar to the one of his current life, where after the second war he and his friends joined a multinational joint magical/mundane task force meant to tackle threats against the entire world.

In this world the type of magic taught at Hogwarts wasn't the only kind, and though almost unknown, there were artifacts and rituals those born without magic could also use, as they drew on external sources of power. Unfortunately, those tended to be the kinds of things even Lovecraft would have hesitated to detail, and thus were what the taskforce was focused on.

A year of absurdly intense training with some magical 'cheats' left him and most of his friends as skilled as the highest tier of the SAS, or any other global special forces unit, with those that didn't choose combat roles going into intel or operations for the unit.

For years they were an extremely successful team. Their list of missions completed was long, and they never lost a member.

Then they were sent in to deal with one of the typical cults that aimed to open the way for an eldritch god to end the world in blood and madness, fully expecting a practically routine mission that would be completed with ease.

They failed.

In the end, as reality warped and twisted, as his friends screamed and writhed and their minds were shattered into nothingness by what they witnessed, he wept bitter tears as he ate a bullet to spare himself the horror he had been unable to prevent.

…crashed down upon his mind…

In a very, very different world, where the relationships of everyone in the world with the powers that surrounded them was a core change, he was a Cultivator, drawing upon those ambient energies to strengthen himself.

Having joined the Winged Shadow Serpent Sect he had not expected to advance too far, not being incredibly ambitious at the time. However, an incident involving a couple of the friends he'd made in the sect had left him feeling frustrated and powerless, and from there on he threw himself into his training, advancing surprisingly quickly now that he was motivated.

Within the space of only a few decades he had advanced to the point he was on the cusp of what almost all cultivators aspired to: immortality and power that essentially made one as close to a god as it was possible to become.

Then The Blight came. None knew how it began or where it came from, but what was clear was that it corrupted and destroyed everything it touched, including the energies and powers cultivators relied upon. It spread across the globe at an astounding pace, leaving any area touched by its influence a barren wasteland where nothing living could exist, with any human or beast affected seeming to have their very spirit fall apart.

He'd worked feverishly on trying to find a cause and solution alongside many others, all sects and schools putting aside any differences in the face of such an existential threat, but it was all for naught. Within a few of years the remaining survivors were making their last stand in a small valley, for all that was worth, as even the fabled immortals had ended up perishing trying to hold the unceasing tide back. Feeling the Blight take hold of him, penetrating deeper than flesh and bone, into his spirit itself, all he could do was resign himself to his end, cursing whatever gods were responsible with his dying breath.

…he was able to somehow make connections…

A world similar to his own, where his parents hadn't died and someone else became marked. Where he was able to grow up learning the special magic of that world's version of his family. Sex Magic.

This wasn't magic to serve as a marital aid, however. Bringing in traditions and spells from every place and culture possible, always being added to, it was the magic of bonds. People joining together, forming a connection through which a myriad things could be done, including sharing thoughts, knowledge and even magic. Thus the masters of it could become incredibly powerful, depending on their bonds.

By the time he started Hogwarts he already knew two age appropriate skills: the ability to determine compatibility by looking into a prospective partner's eyes, and the ability to share emotions through a kiss. With these he made many friendships and bonds through his time at Hogwarts, all of whom he cherished, as despite some snide remarks, this magic wasn't meant for selfish uses. At the least, that was against the core of his family's philosophy.

It was as he was about to graduate, ready to begin a quite large family with his many bonded, that things went wrong. The chosen one failed, and the dark lord decided it would be a grand idea to open an unprecedentedly huge portal to the demonic realms. The fool was the first one to die in the full scale invasion he'd unleashed.

He fought in the war that followed, his bonds making him one of the strongest fighters on their side, but as the years passed and the demonic legions advanced, he began to weaken more and more as his bonded died one by one.

In the end he died alongside most of the remaining human forces in a last suicidal attack on the original portal. It would have been a pyrrhic victory even had they succeeded, which they did not, and his last moments were full of torment as the demons taunted him during the torture they inflicted with the knowledge of the end of humanity due to his failure.

…no one else would ever be able to.

A more advanced world than his current one, where the magical communities never hid, and thus magic was incorporated into technology, advancing both. A world where he had the ability to manipulate technology without the need for an implanted link or other kind of interface, remaining one of the few remaining fully organic people. Something that made him a valuable mercenary in the underworld of a cyberpunk London.

Running jobs with his AI partner, who often assisted from a gynoid body, they were known as one of the best teams for both infiltration and combat jobs in the city, enough so that he would likely be able to retire in the lap of luxury before he was thirty.

Then some madman with a grudge against the world decided to start their own robot apocalypse, uploading a techno-magical virus that could infect any AI, no matter how isolated their systems, and turn them into killing machines with a burning desire to destroy humanity.

He barely managed to avoid being shot in the back by his partner, his best friend, while on a job, being forced to destroy her in self-defense. She'd had enough of her personality remaining to apologize for the betrayal before she'd tried to kill him, which just added to the haunting, tragic memory.

Two thirds of humanity died within the first hour, caught utterly unprepared and off guard as all the technology around them turned on them at the direction of the multitude of AIs they'd been living alongside. Several nuclear detonations took place, though such weapons were not common in that timeline, which was the only reason the entire planet wasn't blanketed in explosions.

He had fled, on foot, gun in hand and spell on his lips, trying to make it out of the city even as the streets ran red with the blood of the many millions that lived in that huge, dense version of London. He almost made it, managing to avoid or destroy military vehicles and weapons platforms alongside other survivors, but as their numbers dwindled so did his chances, till eventually he fell, gunned down by a gunship that was patrolling the edge of the city.

As he lay in pieces on the street, choking on his own blood, gaze locked on the partly colonized moon, he could only curse whoever was responsible for this to burn for eternity in whatever hell existed.

He did not know how he knew…

In another world that took a very similar path to his current one he decided he was tired of fighting for his life when the second war ended, so instead changed focus to becoming a healer.

It took an enormous amount of work, especially considering his rather spotty education, but he became a certified healer within five years. Then, much to many people's surprise, rather than join St. Mungos immediately, as most did, he left the magical world for a while to join mundane medical school in order to expand his horizons and skills, not being stupid enough to believe magic was the end all be all.

It was another enormous, grueling amount of work, thanks to the fact he'd stopped going to mundane school at eleven and thus had a huge amount to catch up on, but eventually he managed to get accepted to the University of Cambridge's Medical School. Graduating in the top twenty percent, he then opened a private practice, starting out by looking after his friends and the families they'd begun while he'd been studying, but over time attracting more and more patients by word of mouth, particularly muggleborns, who were more open to his methods, especially as he was constantly experimenting to combine magical and mundane medicine.

Things proceeded in this way for a couple of decades or so. He married and had some children of his own, while his reputation grew enough that high profile people from other countries came to him for treatment, including a world leader or two. It was the kind of life he'd always dreamed of while growing up.

Then reports came of cannibalistic attacks starting to occur in France, in the Parisian suburbs. At first it was a macabre curiosity, nothing more, but within a couple of days things went to hell.

Zombies, like out of an old horror movie. Fast, aggressive, and virulent, a bite wasn't needed for infection, just close proximity. They swept through Paris like a literal plague, and soon it was a city of the dead, with reports of initial attacks in other cities around the world starting up within a day of the first French ones.

It was mad, but undeniable. He was brought in alongside every medical professional of any note in the world to figure out what was going on, as it quickly became clear this was not a magical malady, though it was hoped that magic might help stop it.

They worked feverishly as the world burned, cities falling with astounding speed despite all efforts by magical and mundane governments and militaries. Eventually a special forces team managed to trace the origin and patient zero.

A grief stricken fool had created the disease to punish the man who raped and murdered his daughter. Using a mixture of alchemy and science, it had been meant to trap the culprit's consciousness inside his dead body, leaving him in perpetual torment, experiencing his body's decay without being able to do absolutely anything about it.

Obviously, things didn't go as planned, and instead humanity was brought to the brink.

In the end, no viable cure, treatment or countermeasure was found. The remnants fled to isolation, where the infected could not find them easily, to try to survive and then rebuild.

For years, he lived while continuing to work on something to stop the infection, even as the population dwindled. A spell he'd learned provided a number that counted the remaining amount of the human population on the planet, and every day he saw it drop lower and lower.

Five years later there were only a few dozen humans remaining when he buried the last of his grandchildren. He had never stopped working, even if it had been pointless, but that finally ended his struggles. He screamed, wept and raged, before he finally sat at the graves of his family and took an overdose of morphine, allowing himself to finally rest alongside them.

…or what told him so…

A world out of a comic book, where aliens, geniuses, mages and the otherwise empowered battled as heroes and villains.

He had been an inventor, interested in creating magical devices for various purposes, as both an intellectual exercise and a way to profit. He'd joined the cape scene as a hero with less than noble intentions: to test his creations on 'acceptable targets' and at the same time advertise them for when he put them up for sale through intermediaries.

Living the hero life, however, fighting life and death battles, protecting the people caught in the conflicts, stopping nefarious plots, and not always being successful in any combination of those things, made him slowly begin to change, focusing more on doing the job he'd given himself than what he stood to gain from it. His artifacts became more complex, more elaborate, several of them truly revolutionary according to his comrades and peers.

Where before he was seen as someone to be tolerated due to their usefulness, he became respected and well liked, even reaching high rankings in several popularity polls among the civilian masses. The artifacts he made which he deemed safe for mass consumption were generally immensely popular, some saving lives all on their own in the hands of emergency services or other first responders to the usual cape activities, so his original motivation was still fulfilled as well.

Then one of the usual, essentially weekly supervillain attacks went wrong. One of the greatest, but most unhinged, geniuses in the world cobbled together a device using a lot of dangerous and illegal materials he'd had stolen which was meant to open a wormhole to another planet on the other side of the Milky Way.

He was sent in alongside a large number of others as the eggheads of the hero organization he was part of had determined that opening the wormhole would entirely likely cause a blowback that would rip the Earth apart, which the machine's creator didn't care about as long as he got to where he wanted to go.

The battle was grueling, the mad scientist being guarded by a lot of high profile villains who either didn't know the consequences of their employer's success or simply did not care about them, not to mention a large amount of mechs and weapons built specifically to buy him time.

In the end the villain was able to start up the wormhole device, but died as collateral damage in a fight between the heroes and some of his guards. Every technologically inclined hero worked feverishly to shut it down safely, but they simply didn't have the time. They were about to simply destroy it and damn the consequences when it activated, and he knew no more, not even having the time to curse the bastard responsible for the Earth's destruction before he was dead.

…but somehow he was certain.

A world where the magical communities revealed themselves to the mundane world after the Second World War. Where magicals had integrated with mundanes more or less successfully, with remaining bits of tension.

A world that had been taken over by oligarchies popping up all over the world as the super rich bought influence, first with politicians, then taking the political offices themselves, ending up with the vast majority of the globe under what a friend of his called corpo-fascism.

He was a musician, the leader of a punk rock band, championing freedom and individuality, raging against the corps and calling for revolution. He wielded what another friend jokingly called bardic magic, magic influenced by and conveyed through music. His songs could empower those who heard them, either metaphorically or not, strengthening resolve, enhancing endurance, binding wills together. A group under the influence of his magic could become an army. Which simply made him a high priority target for the corpos.

In the end, the corpos' relentless pursuit of profit at any cost was what brought about the end. A magical contagion meant to dampen free will and individuality, to make their workforce more efficient and less demanding of basic rights, went out of their control. They were the first affected, destroyed by their own greed, becoming nothing but fleshy machines, simply doing the bare minimum to sustain their existence, unable to perform any more complex action without directions from another.

His magic could stave off the infection for a time, the death of individuality held off by his celebrations of just that, and he supported those who tried to find a solution, to stop the plague that destroyed the humanity of the infected, but in the end, without being able to know what the creators, the first victims, had done, they had no way to stop it for good.

His life ended as he played his guitar on the roof of one of the tallest skyscrapers in the world, using his music one last time to soothe those with him, who were preparing to leave the world before they lost what made them human.

His last sensation was falling as he felt the contagion take hold of him, his thoughts becoming unnaturally rigid and fixed. Then, impact.

Something…

A world substantially similar to his current one, but where combat of various levels was common, be it between individuals or organizations.

His family were known to be some of the premier masters of combat, both mundane and magical, training their children from infancy. He travelled all over the world, learning whatever martial arts and weapon skills he could get his hands on. Muay Thai, Sambo, Jeet Kune Do, Boxing, Krav Maga. European Arming Sword, Tabar, Recurve Bow, Jian, Ōdachi. All these and more he'd mastered in the first two decades of his life, including many obscure and just plain strange styles and weapons. Not to mention the ability to use his magic to enhance his body to superhuman levels.

He often honed his skills against rivals and enemies of his family, along with those who used their strength to victimize those weaker than them. A friend once told him his life was like something out of an old school martial arts battle anime, and he couldn't really disagree.

Then, one day, an absurd impossibility happened. Ships appeared over the biggest cities in the world, ships more advanced than anything any government in the world had. The citizens of Earth had barely any time at all to even register this very definite confirmation that they were not alone in the universe before the extermination began.

No warning, no communication. One moment everything was still as humanity reeled at the sudden revelation, the next cities were burning and people were dying.

To their credit, even caught off guard as they were, humanity rallied and counterattacked as best they could. Unfortunately, pretty much no long range options were viable, and the alien fighter craft were much more advanced than the world's militaries', as might be expected. In the end, their best options were to launch boarders at the many ships in the sky, to try to bring them down from the inside.

He was on one of the assaults, and it was the most terrifying flight of that life. Seventy percent of the boarding craft failed to make it to their destinations, and even those that did accomplish it had a lot of trouble penetrating far past their points of ingress.

He fought like a man possessed for hours once he and his team managed to board the ship, not stopping or resting at all, doing all he could to try to prevent the extermination of humanity by aliens that saw them as little more than pests infesting a piece of land they wanted to colonize. The combat was brutal as their numbers dwindled more and more, everyone becoming more and more ragged by relentless waves of enemies with advanced weapons and armor.

The last of them fell in a final stand deep in the massive ship's bowels, close to what they believed was the bridge. He was fighting with the last of his strength, a katana in one hand and a bearded axe in the other, when he was shot multiple times in the back. The last thing he knew was agony, defiance and despair before one last projectile took his head.

…some incomprehensible entity or force…

A normal life, without any real conflict or danger. He had a regular childhood, a typical magical education, even the expected relationship drama.

Things were going well, if slightly boringly, when what would later be called The Hatred began. A team of archeologists on a dig for Mesopotamian ruins and artifacts in Iraq unearthed what appeared to be an ancient vault. Warnings around the site spoke of the Hatred of the Gods, contained but not destroyed, which should not be disturbed for the good of the world.

The archeologists, not having anyone actually aware of magic among their number, ignored the warnings and opened the vault. If they were lucky, they died immediately, but they were most likely not so fortunate.

As soon as the chamber was opened a wave of power radiated out for hundreds of kilometers in every direction, its effects immediate and obvious. Every living thing, plant or animal, large or small, began to mutate into something aggressive, dangerous and… Hateful. Even the land itself was twisted and corrupted, large masses of some kind of crystal that radiated the same energy that caused the change emerging from the earth over time, radiating outward further and further, carrying on the mutations beyond the initial outbreak site.

The veil hiding the magical world immediately shattered, and the main reason massive conflicts between magical and mundane didn't erupt was the necessity of focusing on stopping the Hatred's spread.

Over forty years later found him leading some of humanity's last remnants as they fought to stay alive for as long as possible. Practically the entire world had succumbed to the Hatred as it continued its inexorable advance no matter what anyone tried, magical or mundane. The entire planet was full of twisted mutations, whether on land or sea. Every day brought battle and dwindling resources.

Him and the five hundred or so humans he was leading travelled the world on a massive vehicle as large as a city block, half as tall and heavily armed and armored. They subsisted off of what little they could grow on board along with any resources they could scavenge. Their saving grace was that someone had years before found a way to essentially inoculate people from being affected by what had come to be called Hatred Radiation, though sadly not soon enough to halt the world's decline. It at least meant they didn't have to worry about being twisted into abominations themselves.

His life was one of constant stress. Balancing the needs of all the survivors on the ship. Sending teams of fighters and scavengers, some of them his friends, off on missions, not all of them returning. Giving orders as battlefield commander, using his ship's surveillance equipment to direct troops in larger conflicts, either against the Hateful or some of the few other remaining human survivors unwilling to interact peacefully.

They all knew humanity was essentially extinct, simply limping along till it finally keeled over and died, but all of them were determined to put their end off for as long as possible.

Or at least, so they thought. The actual end came when a faction of the ship's denizens sabotaged it, their nihilistic desire for an end turning them into what was essentially a death cult that wanted to take the rest of humanity with them rather than simply end things on their own, as had been depressingly common.

The ship's engines were ripped apart in a massive explosion that brought everything to a stop and killed a full fifth of its population. Without power most of the defenses stopped working, and the hordes of the Hateful that had always hounded them wherever they went fell on them in a relentless tide of malevolence.

They fighters tried to hold them off, but it only delayed the inevitable, and he died alongside the last of his people with weapon in hand as the bridge was invaded, cursing the traitors to the deepest circle of hell.

…was hunting down and destroying humanity…

A timeline in which humanity had advanced immensely quickly without destroying themselves, colonizing the rest of the solar system and preparing to venture out beyond it.

In this life he was a simple freelance courier, transporting almost any kind of cargo for those willing to pay and treat with him fairly. His reputation was good, his ship well armed and cared for, and most of his crew were fellow military veterans that had seen action against pirates and raiders, just as he had. It was a simple but fulfilling life, interesting and profitable enough with the occasional pirate attack to break up the monotony.

Then he and his crew were pressed back into service to aid the system military. A formerly small, very unpopular but virulently militant and unscrupulous group of outer rim secessionists were on the rise, press ganging innocents into serving them on pain of death for their families, which were either held hostage or forced to serve as well. They seemed to have a preference for child soldiers, as the military was more hesitant to destroy ships carrying them.

He and his crew eagerly joined the fight, taking out quite a few of the enemy's ships with a minimal loss of life. As their number of successful engagements grew they were given more and more difficult assignments, including raiding bases to liberate hostages, eliminate leaders and gather intel.

Things took a turn when the secessionists launched a daring attack on one of the government's most important R facilities, killing a significant amount of personnel and stealing several dangerous weapons.

He never found what it was that they took that caused it. Honestly, he could barely tell anything at all had happened before he died. One instant his ship and the rest of a large force were in hot pursuit of the thieves near Mercury's orbit, then the sun suddenly changed color, and then… nothing.

…wherever in the multiverse it could be found.

Harry was barely coherent for only a few moments after the rush of memories passed. Dazedly he saw Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore both kneeling on either side of him. His friends were standing behind them, the girls with tears down their cheeks and Neville white faced.

He could taste blood in his mouth, and a vicious pain in the back of his head. His hands hurt too, and they were slick with what he thought was likely blood.

His eyes rolled as he tried to keep hold of consciousness, vaguely aware that Dumbledore and Pomfrey were talking to him, but in the end he couldn't manage to hold on, and his eyes closed as unconsciousness took him, leaving him drifting in despair and regret.

Hello all. I hope you all had wonderful Holidays and New Year's.

I'm finally doing something I should have done a while ago and started a collection of fic ideas like other authors have rather than continuously making new fics that only rarely get updated. Any new ideas I have will be put here, and if any reach a significant number of chapters, then I'll spin them off into their own fics.

In any case, this plot bunny. I was working on a new chapter of No Good Deed, which honestly was fighting me quite a bit, when this one just clubbed me over the head and refused to leave me alone till I got it down. It was like having a child hang onto your neck from behind, choking you, while screaming for attention. Hopefully I'll be able to move onto something else now.

This was inspired by The Last Horizon book series, by Will Wight, who I believe is best known for the Cradle series. It's a science fantasy series, with magic, spaceships, intergalactic kaiju, and Sentai style heroes, among many other things. I highly recommend it, especially if you're interested in something mostly lighthearted.

In it a master mage does essentially what happened to Harry here, performing a ritual that would allow him to master different kinds of magic other than his current style by taking the knowledge from his alternate selves. He also miscalculated and didn't take memories into account. Memories of himself dying to various different existential threats, which he then goes around dealing with before they can become problems. All the while there are hints of something even bigger on the horizon…

In any case, that's enough of that. I'm not being paid to promote the books. Not that I'd mind… I'm going to go ahead and give some details on each life I chose, and what ended apocalypse ended. Some are more obvious than others. And yes, all of these are meant to be full scale apocalypses, if it wasn't clear.

Also, relatedly, I was careful not to use names of pronouns during the memory dumps, because I don't believe the people would have the same names in every one, or even be the same sex/gender/species. Or the same kinds of people. Maybe in one world Dumbledore was the Dark Lord and Tom Riddle the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Not to mention he likely knew people there that might not even exist in his current life. So I purposefully left it all as open as possible for future wiggle room.

The first one is basically Harry growing up learning D style druid magic, as might be obvious, with a bit more emphasis on using plants, with the entire culture of magical Britain obviously being different. The threat, also rather obviously, is a bunch of kaiju being woken up and starting rampaging. Think the 2019 Godzilla: King of the Monsters movie, except no Good Guy Godzilla around to put a stop to it, so they all just rampaged till humanity was absolutely screwed.

The second one was inspired by the Joe Ledger book series, which I do recommend. It's like special forces in the Resident Evil universe. It can get very dark though, and the main character is very much an exemplar of Good Is Not Nice, so keep that in mind. In any case, it's pretty self explanatory. Harry is part of a tier one special forces team that goes in to deal with paranormal or otherwise unnatural threats to the world. They fail on one that seems routine, and the Outer Gods descend on the world, destroying it.

The third one is a world inspired by the xianxia genre of stories (like the aforementioned Cradle series) where the characters, very basically, become stronger by drawing natural energies into their very spirit for various uses. It's very much based on eastern traditions, primarily Chinese, from what I know, though I might be wrong. The apocalypse is basically a corruption that affects the spirit, and from there the rest of the self, turning it all to metaphorical dust.

The fourth one is interesting in that I wanted to give him a power involving what is essentially The Power Of Friendship. Someone once dared me to write an erotic story, which at this point I don't really intend on doing, but the thought exercise gave me the idea of a superhero that can get powers and abilities from having sex with other powered people. Obviously that isn't exactly what I'm going for here, but it is where the idea originates. Harry connects to people, and through that bond he can use any innate talents they have, or draw on them to help make his own magic stronger, along with his physical abilities. I'm interested in exploring that powerset later. It's also one of the reasons I've made this fic M. The apocalypse is rather obvious in this case. Demonic invasion.

The fifth life was a cyberpunk setting meant mainly to give Harry technical knowledge along with the magic of technomancy. This'll let him make and use tech that can function in places like Hogwarts. Quite a game changer, I'm sure you'll agree. Once again, the apocalypse here is obvious, with the AIs being infected with a virus that turns them all into Skynet.

The sixth life is the most obvious in terms of skillset and apocalypse. Harry is now one of the foremost medical professionals in the world, but was unable to find a cure for a zombie plague. The origin of the virus, incidentally, is inspired by a zombie book series by the same author of the Joe Ledger series. It's called Dead of Night.

I'm noticing that most of the apocalypses are pretty obvious…

The seventh life is meant to be a comic book world closer to DC than Marvel, I think, though either works. Harry would be a gadget specialist with some magic to fall back on, and likely few physical skills.I believe the apocalypse was detailed rather clearly. The portal ripped the planet in half due to the sheer amount of energy required to punch a hole in spacetime, and how (relatively) shoddily it was done.

The eighth life is something I debated leaving out, but I decided that if nothing else it gives him an interesting skill, and I imagine bardic magic would be unique enough in his current world. Not to mention I really liked the idea of a plague that kills individuality rather than the body, leaving what's left a barely functioning automaton.

The ninth life is, as stated in it, something like out of Ranma or similar anime of the vein. Constant combat and insane situations with absurdly skilled people on both sides. Its apocalypse is just as clearly an alien invasion like something out of Independence Day or XCOM.

The tenth life is inspired, believe it or not, by Girls Frontline 2, which I recently got into after someone told me I'd like the tactical combat. (The cute waifus were not a factor. Not at all...) It's what gave me the idea of giving Harry the experience of a military commander making life and death decisions at all times, along with the setting of a slow decline post-apoc. Though things obviously aren't at full on end of humanity levels in the game, as far as I'm aware.

The final life is also clear, though the apocalypse might not be. Harry is a starship captain with military experience in space combat, not to mention likely advanced weaponry. Combine that with his cyberpunk skillset, and it'll definitely be interesting. The apocalypse, on the other hand, is pretty simple, if not entirely clear from what I described. Basically, the thieves stole a weapon powered by dark matter, and after mishandling it they caused the sun to go nova. That entire version of the solar system is just gone now. There's a reason I left it for last. It's hard to top that.

As I believe is clear now, the idea of this fic is similar to Izuku of Myriad for an OP Harry, except that instead of a few absurd powers on their own, Harry now has almost a dozen smaller scale but very useful skillsets he can draw on.

And now there are hints that he's going to need them…

In any case, I think that's enough rambling from me, so I'll leave you with my usual reminder.

I am, as always, truly grateful for those of you who are willing to send a buck or two my way out of the kindness of your heart. I relied on all of you when I wasn't working, and it definitely still helps even now that I'm gainfully employed. Thanks to you I have more of a cushion to get things I still need or pay essential bills. Like caring for my new kitten. Her name is Rin, and she's a little hellion that I love and adore.

I used to have a poll on what to update there to incentivize donations, but I recently realized that part of the reason I have trouble motivating myself to write is that I've been letting others dictate what I write, so that's no longer a thing. I apologize, but as of now, I don't have anything to really reward patrons with other than my gratitude.

If you'd like to send a few cents my way anyway, I'm at Pat A Ron dotcom /athanmortis. However, if you'd rather donate a one-off amount rather than a monthly sub, I also have a Ko-Fi. That's ko-fi dotcom /athanmortis78653 .

That's all for this chapter. Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and till next time. Bye.