Hello! This is the first time I'm writing a Harry Potter Fanfic so Feedback is most welcome!
I do not own anything related to Harry Potter.
Death had never frightened Harry Potter.
He had walked into it willingly once, and since then, it had lingered at the edge of his life like an old, familiar companion. The Deathly Hallows pulsed faintly against his body—ancient and patient, like they knew this moment would come. The Elder Wand tucked into the sleeve of his jacket, the Resurrection Stone set into a ring on his finger, and the Cloak of Invisibility billowing gently in the midnight wind.
He had become the Master of Death not by choice, but by consequence. And now, he was about to do what Death rarely allowed: go back.
A silver veil shimmered in the clearing of the Forbidden Forest, the Temporal Gate humming with power drawn from the Hallows themselves. Magic of this kind was dangerous. Illicit. Unforgiving. But Harry wasn't afraid. Not anymore.
Behind him, the world he knew was crumbling. The war had ended years ago, but the scars had never truly healed. His victories felt hollow. Teddy was grown now—brave, kind, and carrying a sadness that mirrored Harry's own.
He had always told himself he couldn't change the past.
Until he found her name again.
Andromeda Black.
Before she was a Tonks. Before she was a widow, a mother, a casualty of a war she never asked for. Before the world forgot what she had once been—brilliant, fierce, and defiant.
Harry didn't know when the memories of her had begun to haunt him. Maybe it was in the quiet after the final battle. Maybe it was when Teddy asked about her and he didn't know what to say. Maybe it was something deeper—something written into the Hallows themselves. An echo of a soul unfulfilled.
He stepped through the veil. The air shifted around him with a silent snap, and he landed with a soft thud on damp grass. Hogwarts towered above him, lit by the warm glow of torches and untouched by decades of blood and loss. The year was 1975.
The world was different. Cleaner. On the brink of the first war, but not yet consumed.
He pulled the Cloak of Invisibility tighter around him and made his way through familiar corridors that suddenly felt strange again. He remembered these halls in ruins, remembered the echo of battle and the cries of the fallen. But now they held laughter, whispered secrets, and the rustle of parchment.
Andromeda would be in the library. She always sought silence over spectacle.
He found her alone at a back table, surrounded by stacks of books and old parchment, her ink-stained fingers threading absentmindedly through her dark hair. No one else in the room. Just her and the flicker of candlelight.
She looked so young. He hesitated before stepping out from the shadows.
"Who's there?" Her voice was sharp, steady, wand already in hand.
"Someone who remembers you," Harry said softly.
She stood slowly, wand pointed straight at his heart. "That's not ominous at all."
He removed the Cloak, letting her see him.
She stared. Not at the wand in his sleeve or the faint glow of the Resurrection Stone. She looked into his eyes. Green like fresh leaves. Old like worn glass.
"Who are you?" she asked, something flickering in her voice. Curiosity. Wariness. A whisper of recognition.
"Harry Potter. From the future."
Her brow furrowed. "Potter? Like Charlus?"
"In a way," he said with a small, tired smile. "But I didn't come here to talk about bloodlines."
He conjured a Pensieve with a flick of his wand and offered it to her. No tricks. Just truth.
She stepped forward slowly, peering into the swirling silver. Images rose—faster than thought, deeper than dreams. The war. Her defiance. Her exile. Her love. Her death. The child she left behind. The pain Harry carried. The man he became.
When she pulled away, her breath was shallow, her eyes glassy.
"You came back to fix all this?"
He shook his head. "I came back because I couldn't forget you. Not your strength. Not your sacrifice. Not how much you meant… even when no one remembered."
She stared at him, lips parted, shaking her head. "You're insane."
"Probably," he said, stepping closer. "But I have one chance. One chance to do this right. To save you. To give us a future neither of us had."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile.
Then, her fingers brushed his.
"Then let's break time together."