Harry Potter and the Impossibility of Time Travel
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all the other characters of
the Harry Potter Verse belong to J.K. Rowling. I don’t own any of it, and I
won’t make any profit with this story.
A/N: I’m ChibiChibi, and this is my very first Harry Potter fan fiction. If you like it, go on with reading, there are still a couple of other finished chapters just waiting to be posted. Have fun!
Chapter 1: As the Years Passed
It was yet another sultry summer night at the Burrow near the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. The whole day not even the slightest breeze had come over the dry land but now, near midnight, the wind slowly seemed to pick up. The sky was starlit and it was almost completely dark except for the light that shone through the windows of the Burrow. Everyone was inside, having a huge party, but one person sat outside on a trunk and stared into the sky, now
and then taking a drag at his cigarette.
He did not like the taste of it, but still he could not stop. The fags seemed to be the only thing to ease some of the tension that had been built up in his body over the last years. He had started this bad habit some time during his seventh year when the stress with the NEWTs (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests) and the feeling of helplessness because of the looming threat of the Death Eaters had become too much to bear. He had so badly wanted to go out and do something, but he had known that he had not been ready then. Voldemort had gained too much power over the three years since he fully came back at the end of fourth year. Only one person was still able to rival him,
and that person was Albus Dumbledore. But there was a catch. Dumbledore would not be able to kill Voldemort. Killing the Dark Lord -- or still He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in most wizards’ opinion -- was his burden, his alone, and no one could take it from him. It was his destiny, his prophecy.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …
Twenty-one-year-old Harry Potter ran a hand through his long unruly hair. Even after hearing it only once five years ago, he still knew it by heart. He no longer was The Boy Who Lived. Ever since the "incident," as the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, liked to call it, in the Department of Mysteries, The Boy Who Lived had become The Man Who Fought. During his sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts, he had worked harder than ever before, rivalling
even Hermione with the top scores, making his way free to auror training after school. The new look, hair down to his shoulder, though often tied back, black-rimmed spectacles replaced by enchanted contact lenses, and -- through regular
workout sessions -- a lean-but-muscular body had earned him the title heartbreaker. How he had received the title was still a mystery for him, because after Sirius’s death, dating had been the last point on his to-do-list.
If his friends had been worried about him those last two years at Hogwarts, they had not shown it. Instead they had supported him to his fullest, though he had never told them -- never told anyone -- about the prophecy.
He did not want to drag them into his fight. He had already lost his parents and his godfather and he was not ready to lose another one who was close to him.
Much to everyone’s surprise Voldemort himself had been lying low during those two years and had instead only sent his Death Eaters to wreak havoc. Most targeted were muggles or muggle-born witches and wizards, but purebloods who were opposing the Dark Lord had also not been safe from attacks.
Three years ago, during the last Quidditch match (Gryffindor versus Slytherin), shortly before Harry’s seventh year at Hogwarts was over, Voldemort had attacked with a large army. The battle had been ferocious.
Students had died as well as teachers. Minerva McGonagall had gone down facing ten Death Eaters, taking all of them with her. Neville Longbottom, the once so shy and clumsy boy, had died protecting a group of first years who had not been able to make it into the castle in time. Harry had heard it from Hermione after the battle had been over and Voldemort had retreated, though no one had understood why. The Dark Lord had been clearly on the winning side. Harry still
assumed that it had just been a show of his power to humiliate Dumbledore, himself and everyone who followed the old headmaster.
However, during the battle Harry had formed an unlikely alliance. Somehow while warding off Death Eaters, he had lost sight of Hermione and Ron and had been fighting along with some other students through some of
Voldemort’s black-hooded followers. He had only seen out of the corner of his eyes how one of them had raised his wand, but at the same moment he had heard a strangely familiar voice calling out “Expelliarmus!” The wand of that Death Eater had flown out of his hand and Harry had turned around to see Draco Malfoy, still like Harry in his Quidditch gear, running up to him. Harry had eyed him suspiciously, his mistrust having grown even more after having seen the Dark Mark burning through a rip in the silver and green uniform. “Damn it, Potter!
Watch out!” the Slytherin had yelled, just in time for Harry to duck and avoid a killing curse. Draco had pulled his surprised arch-nemesis to his feet and had smirked at the look on his face. “Dumbledore sent me to watch your back.”
“Did he?” Harry had mumbled and had looked around to see his headmaster about fifty yards to his left. Their eyes had met and Dumbledore had nodded, as though knowing the question that had been in Harry Potter’s head. Could he trust Malfoy? He had just saved his life, twice. This had to mean something. But maybe it had just been a trick? "Dumbledore trusts him. Trust Dumbledore’s judgement!" “Fine Malfoy! You watch my back, I watch yours.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” The two young men, once enemies, had nodded at each other and then had stood back-to-back to face yet another wave of Death Eaters.
Harry smiled grimly at this memory. He had survived the battle nearly unscathed as had few others. The hospital wing had been crowded for days after. Many students had to be transferred to St. Mungo’s. Luckily
Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna had only received minor injuries and had been able to leave the hospital wing after a couple days. The day of the battle was the gravest day ever since Voldemort had been defeated the first time. And Harry himself had not even seen him. This only confirmed his assumption that Voldemort had only gone for the humiliation in this battle.
At the last day of the school year, a large ceremony had been held for all those who had lost their lives during the fight. That day, as Harry saw all the pictures of the ones who had died, he swore to himself that he would not rest until Voldemort was dead. Though when he had first heard the prophecy it had been a horrifying thought to kill him, it did not bother him any more -- and only a few days later, Harry had found himself enrolled in Auror training.
He had again been surprised, when he had found out that Draco Malfoy would be in his class. He had also seen some other students from his year and also from years above him. They lived in rooms for four
persons directly on the grounds of the training centre. Training had been hard, harder than he had expected, and some of the others had given up. But he had not. He had learned curses and counter curses, received lessons in hand-to-hand-combat, fighting with swords and other weapons and duelling. Theories and laws had been pumped into their heads until they could not think straight anymore. But Harry had kept going until he and only a handful others had received their diplomas at the end of the two years. And again, after those two years, Harry did not know if fate was for or against him, because he and Draco Malfoy became partners. Most surprisingly for both of them, it actually worked out. They were not friends, but after the Battle of Hogwarts and
later during the training, they formed some kind of truce and tolerated each other.
During his training he had also developed other useful abilities. First he had become an “- registered, of course -“ Animagus. From the moment on, he knew what his Animagus form would be, all the doubts that had been plaguing him since his second year when they had found out about his being a Parselmouth and the rumours about his being the heir of Slytherin had been gone, because his form was the one of a mighty lion, the symbol for Gryffindor. Apparation came to him like a second nature and he found that he sometimes was able to cast spells without using his wand or just by thinking the
spell. He had of course, immediately after discovering this, contacted Hermione, who had told him only a few days later that this was a rare occurrence but possible. In this time, only another wizard was known for those abilities
“- Voldemort. "Figures," Harry
had thought. "The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not."
Harry absentmindedly touched the scar on his right cheek. A reminder from another enclosure with Death Eaters. It had been shortly after the Auror training and he and Draco had been sent out to a "beginner’s mission," as it was called, to catch some minor criminals. However, as they had arrived at the address they were told it had turned out to be an ambush. Several Death Eaters were lurking for them in the shadows and attacked as soon as they arrived. The leader of the attack -- Lucius Malfoy -- stunned his own son, then advanced upon Harry. Before Harry could even react, he had been disarmed, his wand now lingering in the hand of one of the Death Eaters. He had tried to dodge the curse Lucius had sent at him, but barely managed to. He had felt blood trickling down his cheek, as he had tried to sit up again. He could still see the cruel smirk on the elder Malfoy’s face and feel the rage he had felt burning inside. This had been the first time he had
used the wandless magic in public and the first time he had ever killed a human being. After the display of that power, the rest of the Death Eaters had just run. After reviving Draco, Harry had informed his partner that he had killed his
father and that he was not sorry for Lucius but for Draco. His answer had only been a few words. "He was never my father." And for the first time since Harry had known Draco Malfoy, he felt
truly sorry for him.
After their return to the Ministry to report the events, the traitor was exposed (due to the use of Veritaserum on the Aurors), and he was arrested and thrown into Azkaban.
While Harry had been busy with his auror training, Hermione had also decided to do something useful and prepared younger generations in the art of Transfiguration at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had offered her the position on their last day at Hogwarts. Hermione had declined at first, but after she had told Harry and Ron about the proposal, they had persuaded her to accept. Of course she always said that she would never be as good as the deceased Professor McGonagall, but she would do her best.
After her graduation, Ginny had followed in her brother Bill's footsteps as a curse breaker and Luna Lovegood helped her father with The Quibbler. But Ron’s career after Hogwarts had been the most surprising. During his last two-and-a-half years he had finally found something at which he was not just mediocre, but really good. Only one week after his graduation the trainer of the Chudley Cannons, offering him the position as Keeper, had approached Ron. Though he had been excited, his first reaction had been like Hermione’s. He had told him that the wizarding as well as the Muggle worlds were in grave danger and that he did not have time to play on their team, as much as he had wanted to. The trainer had nodded in nderstanding and had given him his card, in case Ron changed his mind. He had, after a lot of talking, fighting and discussing with his family and friends. They had told him that he should do what
he really wanted to as long as it was still possible, but could still be a member of the Order, if he wished to.
Harry was glad that Ron and Hermione and also Ginny and Luna had found what they really wanted to do, while he himself was always thinking if he would have wanted to do something different if the threat of Voldemort had not been ever-present. Hermione was usually practically glowing when she came out of a classroom, having shared her knowledge with her pupils. And Ron, well, Ron was the reason there was this great party at the
Burrow. Today was the day of the Quidditch Championship Finale of Great Britain, and it was the Chudley Cannons versus Puddlemere United, with the Cannons coming out as the winning team. For the first time in years, the Cannons won the title, and that was reason enough to party. The match itself had been really interesting, though most former Hogwarts students -- and especially Gryffindors -- had not known whom to cheer for. On the Puddlemere side, the Keeper
was Oliver Wood, former Gryffindor Team Captain and on the Cannons side it was Ron Weasley, whose reputation as Keeper was rivalling Wood’s at Hogwarts.
“You know, you should give up that bad habit of yours,” the voice of a young woman scolded.
“Should I?” Harry looked at Hermione Granger, who sat down next to him in the grass. In the last years, she had become a throughoughly beautiful young woman. She was thin, but not too thin, and she did not hide her curves anymore when she was not wearing robes. Her once-bushy hair had finally settled down and was now only slightly wavy.
“Yes, you should. They will kill you someday, you know?”
Though the voice was still accusing, he could hear the humour in it and he could also see a small smile playing on her lips. “You should also come inside. It’s not only Ron’s party, but also yours in a couple of minutes.”
In a couple of minutes would be the 31st of July and then he would be twenty-one years old. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month
dies …"
“It’s calm … too calm … for too long. Something will happen soon,” Harry mumbled thoughtfully.
Hermione sighed. “I think so too. It has been a couple of months since the last attack. But let’s go inside now. The others are waiting and only sitting here and waiting for an attack will do no good. You should enjoy yourself from time to time.”
Harry managed a smile as he got up. “You’re right. Let’s go.” He took one last drag from his cigarette and threw it to the ground before squishing it with his boot.
Suddenly, from one second to another, a burning pain shot through his scar. He winced sharply and felt cold sweat on his forehead. An all-too-familiar hissing voice appeared in his mind.
"Morsmordre!"
Harry’s eyes shot to the sky. A nervous Hermione followed his gaze. “Harry, what’s …” Before she could even finish the question, a skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue lit the sky and
nature around them in an emerald green. “The Dark Mark …”
“Hermione! Go, get the others!” When she did not react, his command turned into a yell. “GO! NOW! THEY’RE HERE!”
Their eyes met, and he knew that she understood. Tonight was the night. He watched her run back to the Burrow, before pulling his wand out of his boot, waiting.