Chapter Text
He didn’t deflect it.
That was what got him, in the end - not a lack of ability, not a cosmic mistake, not anything that had been speculated would one day be the death of the great Harry Potter.
No - in the end, he saw it coming, looked into a face he recognized…
...And he didn’t deflect it.
He let it come.
“An auror, not blocking a curse?” A familiar, if long-forgotten voice sneered. “The initial hit wasn’t even fatal, Potter. You had plenty of time to retaliate.”
Harry turned around. In the whited-out columns of Kings Cross Station, Severus Snape stood, watching him with open contempt.
“You?” Harry asked, incredulous. “I expected-...”
Well...anyone else, really.
“I was the last left,” Snape said. “Everyone else was more than happy to move along.”
Harry blinked. “Move along…?”
“Move on, go forth,” Snape said, waving a hand dismissively through the air. “Whatever you want to call it, Potter. Every soul was at peace, and all that rubbish. They’re gone.”
“Then why did you stay?” Harry asked. “You’re not waiting for me, certainly.”
“You?” Snape scoffed. “No. I’m waiting for it.”
Harry blinked. “It?”
“Honestly, are you just going to stand there gaping at me, repeating everything I say?” Snape asked.
Harry had forgotten, somewhere over the years, what an asshole Snape was. “Well, if you start making sense, I’ll stop questioning it.”
“You threw away your tokens,” Snape said, “but it’s still bound to you. Death.”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “That’s just a story, though. And, anyway, you just said it - I threw those things away. The wand’s buried, the stone is lost in the woods-...”
“And they’re bound to you,” Snape said. “Death will come to reclaim them.”
Harry threw his hands out, gesturing to the station around them. “Is this not that? Am I still not dead?”
“Don’t sound disappointed, Potter.”
The air around them started to get cold. Harry shivered, turning his head, watching as mist spread over the train tracks.
“Dementors?” Harry asked, bewildered.
“Don’t be stupid,” Snape said. “It’s their master.”
The mist darkened into thick black fog, blocking the tracks from view entirely. In the distance, he heard the distinctive sound of a train, but also another sound - like horses running.
“What’s happening?” Harry asked, looking to Snape. “What is..?”
The horses’ hooves sound grew louder and louder, until it was near deafening.
“Here he comes,” Snape said, turning to face the far wall of the station, in the direction the sounds came from.
Harry, however, looked to the side, as the mist was split by the arrival of a sleek white train, its details done in trims of gold and silver, a faint light spilling from its many windows.
There it is, he thought. That’s the end. That’s-...
A sound like an avalanche had him jerking his head to where Snape had been looking, as the wall caved in. Thestrals emerged from the hole, six of them, absolutely massive and with glowing red eyes. Behind them they pulled a cart, ornate and jet black. As the thestrals reached where he and Snape stood, they came to a stop, the cart rolling into place behind them, though no strings were visible to tie them together.
The second it was still, the doors on either side of the cart swung open. It had no bench on the front for a driver, and no windows - this was a cart propelled entirely by reliance on the thestrals knowing where they were going, with no way to even check that they are still attached, or to watch to be certain they were going in the correct direction.
To get into it, you had to trust that you would get where you were going because of something stronger than your own eyes.
“What...is that?”
“What I’ve waited for,” Snape said. “Notice, Potter, that it faces the opposite direction of the train?”
Harry looked between the glowing eyes of the thestrals and the gleaming metallics of the train - it was true. The train faced the other end of the tunnel, ready to barrel ahead to better things...but the coach faced the wall on the other end. A glance at it proved that they were not simply intending to smash through it, as they’d done the other - the black mist that had parted for the train had gathered there, growing denser and denser until nothing could be seen but black, entirely hiding the wall from view.
“...Where does it go?”
“That’s up to you, I would imagine,” Snape said. “He’s tamed to your hand.”
“But-...I don’t understand.”
“It goes backward,” Snape said, irritably. “The train moves ahead, brighter and better things and the finality of moving on, all that. But this coach answers to him , and he answers to you . You could return. Defy the natural end, take your rightful mantle as Master of Death.”
Harry looked to the coach, then back to Snape. “You...you waited here, for this?”
“In theory,” Snape said, slowly, “Death’s power lies innate within all things. There is the possibility that its strength is higher than that of magic, which has proven to be stronger than time, when tested. It is possible that if there were someplace you wished to return to...it would find it. Regardless of when it was.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “I...You’re saying I could go back in time? More than a few hours?”
“Is that not what I just said?”
Harry looked at the coach again...then back to Snape, finally putting it together. “You want to go back, too,” he said. “You want to do it better.”
“To finish things a bit less abysmally?” Snape said. “Of course.”
Harry frowned. “I could go anywhere?” he asked. “I could- Would I be able to stop my parents dying?”
“Ideally,” Snape said. “But, unfortunately...to do so would require you go back long enough to find and destroy every horcrux in time to defeat Voldemort, and you were only a baby at the time of the attack. Your lifespan is most likely your limit - there’s little you can do for them.”
Harry’s heart clenched. “Then...where?” he asked. “Where would I go?”
“Before disaster, one would assume.”
Harry stepped forward, reaching out, laying a hand against the flank of one of the thestrals. It turned a gleaming red eye on Harry, leaning into his touch.
“Would you take me back?” he asked it, quietly. “To wherever I wanted to go? Let me..fix things?”
“The horse doesn’t have your answers, Potter,” Snape said. “You have to find them for yourself.”
Harry took a deep breath.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
“Finally,” Snape said, turning and going to the coach, climbing into it.
Harry stopped short of following him, looking past the thestrals, into the black fog they faced.
“Let me save as many people as I can,” he said, quietly. “I don’t care where, or when. Even one life- let me try.”
He wasn’t sure who the prayer was to, but he had the feeling he’d been heard. That in mind, he stepped away from the thestral he’d been petting, and went to the door of the coach as well, climbing in himself.
As soon as he’d taken a seat - sitting across from Snape, rather than beside him - the doors slammed shut, the cold air peaked, and he felt the cart start moving as though launched like a rocket.
His hands slammed down at his sides, gripping the seat. “Where are we going?!”
Snape looked at him, furious. “You don’t know? You’re meant to be guiding it!”
Harry shook his head, harshly. “No, I’m not!” he said. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew it to be true as he said it. “They knew where they were going! I’m just meant to follow.”
The coach lurched, pitching hard forward and then snapping back, tossing both Snape and Harry from their seats, sending them collapsing onto each other on the floor-
-And then falling again, crashing hard against wet grass, rocks and sticks pressing painfully into Harry’s back where he hit the ground.
“Ouch,” he groaned. “Where are we?”
He received no answer. Carefully, he reached up, adjusting his glasses, before sitting upright. “Snape?”
Still no answer. The night around him was almost pitch black, but he could see just enough to know that Snape wasn’t anywhere near him.
Frowning, he looked down, picking up his hands to examine them.
They looked the same. Same size, same color, same calluses. He wasn’t younger at all- was it possible he’d dropped himself somewhere recent, instead? Or simply resumed where he’d left off?
It would explain Snape’s absence, but his gut churned at the thought. Especially if Snape had been caught somewhere in the void because of it - he’d been in the coach, too, so he couldn’t have moved on properly, could he? Would he be stuck as a ghost?
He put his hands against the ground to brace himself to stand, only to pause as his hand settled on the shape of a wand.
A new wand - not his own.
Frowning, he shifted again, lifting the wand up to his face. After a moment of frustrated squinting, he huffed, simply turning it over and whispering, “Lumos.”
The wand responded beautifully, even more readily than his own wand, and illuminated in a brilliant white light at its tip.
The wand was...familiar.
It was smooth, polished, and rather long - well over the standard length for a wand. Its based was two conjoined spheres, and that was the extent of the physical shape of it, the length nothing but a perfectly straight line.
Holding it felt natural, strong - he twisted his hand around, holding the wand out experimentally, and it felt like an extension of his arm, rather than a tool held within it.
He brought it forward again, looking along the body of it. At several points on the polished wood, there were discolorations - smears of darkened wood, like it had been burned, but each flecked with gold.
They formed distinctive marks along the length of it, every few inches. Staring at it, Harry could almost see a new shape to it - extra knots, twisted at the point of each mark.
Dumbledore’s wand, he realized. It’s…
It had to be.
He was holding the Elder Wand, again, new and improved and every bit as powerful as he recalled.
This is back, he thought. But why’s it different?
In the distance, he heard something rushing through the forest.
“Nox,” he breathed, extinguishing his light. The air around him grew cold again, and he stiffened, slowly raising the wand, then moving to get to his feet, ready to react.
Screaming filled his ears, familiar even after all the years since he'd heard it properly. He pointed the wand into the dark, waiting - any moment, he would see them.
And then he did.
Swarms of dementors - more of them than he could count, all gathering together, moving as one.
It's like…
A sudden thought came to him.
It can't be..?
The dementors moved past him without even taking notice, too intent on their prey, and Harry rushed to follow them, finding himself on the edge of a lake.
Across from him, on the other side, he could see distant, familiar figures.
This is my third year, Harry realized. This is when…
He looked around, searching for himself as the dementors grew closer to his youngest form, to the long-dead Sirius and the child versions of his two greatest friends.
No one was there.
I should be here now, Harry thought. Me and Hermione….
No one was hiding in the wood line, though, and a glance back showed the dementors descending on the party on the other side.
He didn't have time to wonder what had gone wrong. He just acted, pulling forth his wand, casting the patronus charm on instinct.
Except, it wasn't a stag that came from the end of his wand. In a swirl of silver light emerged a thestral, as massive as the ones from the coach, spreading its wide silver wings, launching itself fearlessly across the water, barreling through the dementors without hesitation.
The creatures fled, there was no other word for it. They did not simply retreat from the patronus, but ran from it, streaming off into the night as though pursued by something horrible.
Thestrals scare them?
But, no, that wasn't it. He'd have to ask-...
...Hermione.
Harry's eyes lowered, to the figure of the girl on the beach, hunched over but not unconscious.
It's different, he realized. I changed it.
That meant…
Movement on the other side came again, and a moment later, a new figure emerged from behind the others on the shore.
Snape, Harry realized. He was going to take them to the medical wing-
-Except they were still awake, and scrambling to their feet, wands at the ready, blocking Sirius from Snape.
He pointed his wand down at the surface of the water, casting, "Glacius!"
The water froze, a jet of ice spreading across its surface in a line, which Harry stepped onto, rushing across the surface of it, leaving it to melt behind him as he moved further.
Within moments, he was at the other side, coming up behind the group- unseen to Harry and Hermione, but very visible to Snape, whose eyes darted to him immediately.
"Ah, that explains it," Snape said. "And here I thought you'd merged, as well."
Both kids turned to look, their eyes widening as they landed on him, Hermione letting out a shriek in surprise before smacking her hands over her mouth to stifle it.
Harry raised his wand, pointing it at Snape. "Which one are you?"
"The only one, idiot," Snape snapped. "I merged. Why there's two of you...I have a few ideas, but little worth mentioning. Less complicated, though. You'd make a dreadful teenager. Not that you didn't before."
"What's going on?" The younger Harry demanded, looking between them before settling on his older form. "Who are you?"
Harry stared, unsure how to respond.
The younger Harry looked behind him, across the water, than back to the elder again. "It was you. You saved us. That was your patronus."
"A Thestral," Snape said. "I was surprised to see it had changed, Potter."
Both Harrys looked to Snape. Hermione looked between them, gaping.
"Y-you," she stuttered, looking to the older Harry. "You're a Potter, too?"
Harry winced, looking to Snape. "Look what you've done," he said. "I'm pretty sure the last thing they need to know about is me ."
"But how else do you intend to save your precious dog?"
Harry looked to the unconscious Sirius, heart clenching. Seeing him alive, if knocked out….
Harry looked back up, aiming his wand again. "By not letting you lie," Harry snapped. "You know who he is. How important he becomes. You know he's innocent."
"Innocent?" Snape exclaimed. "He may not have killed those muggles-..."
"Oh, so he was a bully," Harry snapped. "So was Malfoy, and I got over it. People can improve, you know."
"And does he?" Snape spat. "Does he ever? Because I recall him being beastly every waking moment up until-..."
"Shut up!" Harry snapped. "Don't talk about him like that! And they shouldn't know this, anyway."
"Know what ?" Younger Harry cut in abruptly.
Harry spared the teen a glance, before looking back to Snape, focused on fixing the mess they'd created as quickly as possible. "Snape. Please. We can fix everything...but it has to start here. Testify. Tell them the truth. "
"And what if that makes it worse?" Snape replied. "What if he removes him from the sacrificial protection, hm? What if he breaks the spell keeping you alive?"
"What if he gets arrested?" Harry countered. "I was in the woods, Snape. No one came. No one is going to come. If you turn him in, he dies. There's no one out here to stop it."
Snape lowered his eyes to the wand trained on him. "Save you, I suppose," he sneered. "Is that what I think it is?"
"I think so," Harry said. "Looks a bit different, but it feels the same."
"It's distinguishing copies," Snape said. "The wand and the man, both extras. Trying to balance there being multiples of the same thing in the same place."
"Same thing?" Hermione asked. "What-...?"
"Oh, for the love of-.." Snape snarled, raising his wand, pointing it to Hermione.
"Don't you dare!" Harry warned.
"Obliviate!"
Hermione stumbled back as the spell hit her, dropping to her knees, blinking bleary at Snape for a moment before pitching forward, collapsing on the ground.
"Hermione!" The young Harry yelled, fearful, before turning his attention back to Snape, aiming his wand.
Harry was going to kill Snape, if the younger version of him didn't do it first. Still…
Harry lowered his wand, pointing it at the back of the younger Harry's head. "Obliviate."
Harry swayed on the spot, then dropped, just as Hermione had.
"You have some sense, I see," Snape said.
"Shut up," Harry told him. "It was that, or give you an excuse to hurt him."
Snape drew up, looking affronted.
"Don't act like you wouldn't," Harry spat, moving forward, crouching down to inspect the now unconscious teens. "You've hated me since before I was even born."
"I am the only reason you are still alive," Snape reminded him.
"And you made sure of that out of sheer spite," Harry said. "How much did you erase?"
"Your arrival," Snape said.
"Oh, good," he said. "I was thinking we'd make them think they'd simply passed out as the patronus came in - leave them enough solid memory to acquit Sirius."
"Presuming I do not counter their claims?"
"Presuming that, yes," Harry said, returning to his feet and glaring at Snape. "You want to do things better, right? Well, this is where we start. We'll need every ally."
"You intend us to be some kind of team?"
Harry raised the Elder Wand, swirling it in the air pointedly. "You aren't doing it without me."
"I beg to differ."
Harry rolled his eyes, looking down at the others again. "Come on, help me, then," he said. "Levitate everyone back to the castle, 'Sorry, Minister, he was actually framed,' a nice pardon and a pat on the shoulder. Agreed?"
Snape came closer, stopping beside Hermione's form, stooping down to join Harry in inspecting them.
"And just how do you intend to explain yourself?"
Harry faltered. "....Hm."
"So I thought," Snape said. "Luckily, letting yourself get blasted with a malicious spell did you a favor."
Harry blinked at him, confused, until Snape waved his wand, conjuring a mirror, which he handed over.
Harry's robes had changed, pitch black with gold and silver threading. A choker around his neck bore a metal symbol of the Deathly Hallows, pressed just under his Adam's apple.
But, what Snape had been referring to was his face.
His forehead, and its distinctive lightning mark, were impossible to be seen. Instead, sprawling across it, and down the side of his face, curving along his cheekbone to almost engulf his eye, was a wild and ugly scar, like a fierce burn.
"That looks...ancient," Harry said, raising his fingers to press on it, amazed that it didn't hurt in the slightest. "I just got it, didn't I?"
"You didn't get it for twenty more years," Snape corrected. "It killed you, Potter, I think its work was done well enough."
"If I'm hiding, I can't be 'Potter,'" Harry said.
"And what do you suggest?"
Harry looked down, at the scar warping his face, then at the Elder Wand in his hand.
"...Peverell," he said. "I'll use Peverell."