Harry Potter and the World Anew

Harry looked into the fire, and sighed heavily. He, Ron and Hermione had been on the run for most of the last year or so, and the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix had crumbled very quickly after the death of Dumbledore, and the subsequent surprise attack during Bill and Fleur's wedding.

Not much was left now. A couple of months ago, there had still been Neville, along with several unfamiliar faces from the Order, and a pair of Ministry security guards that had escaped the massacre. But they had all been picked off, one by one, every other week.

"Ron, don't do that, please," came Hermione's voice from the far corner of the living room in the old House of Gaunt.

Ron had been playing with the Deluminator again, plunging them all into darkness periodically, and then producing a near-blinding spark. Harry decided now was the time to intervene, lest his two friends began arguing again, as they had done with increasing frequency and venom ever since the wedding.

"Look, you two," he began, then faltered upon seeing the look on Ron's face.

"How did this happen?" Ron wailed.

"Ron, stop it, you're not helping," Hermione said. "We need to figure out what to do."

Even Hermione had become irritable and strangely immune to the misery that the trio slipped in and out of. Ron, however, was perfectly oblivious to this fact, and resumed toying with the Deluminator. However, his hands shook, and the gadget slipped and clattered to the floor.

Several things happened in quick succession.

The lights in the hovel went out for an instant, and then were reproduced in the form of a large, glowing sphere in the center of the room. It began expanding slowly; within a minute, the trio was backed upon against a filthy wall, as the sphere threatened to engulf them.

Inside its fiery depths, they could scarcely make out the image of a desk, and of a window behind it, which seemed awfully familiar to Harry.

"I think it looks a bit like Dumbledore's office. Anyway, there's no way out," Hermione pointed out. "Maybe we should just try going through it?"

"Yeah," came Harry's hoarse reply from an adjacent spot. Although torn between fear of the mysterious object, and a desire to explore its power, his Gryffindor courage won out. There may have been little choice in the matter anyway.

"On three then," began Ron, sounding equally nervous. "One, two - and ..."

Harry, Ron and Hermione had stepped forth. A flash of white light, a whispered oath, and they were transported to another place, far, far away.

* * *

Harry felt his feet hit the ground, but was not quite sure as to where he was; the intensity of the light had left him with a sizeable blindspot, and he was loath to strain his eyes for a few seconds.

When he did come to, he realised that they were indeed in Dumbledore's office, which looked like it had not been disturbed since that fateful night almost a whole year ago, thus confirming its inaccessibility to the new authorities at Hogwarts. All the portraits were snoozing gently and a wide array of delicate instruments were scattered about the room.

There was utter silence, as Harry, Ron and Hermione pondered this turn of events.

"Harry, Ron, this has to mean something," Hermione said. "Let's look around."

She approached the window cautiously, as though half expecting to have walked into a kind of trap. Ron, meanwhile, was looking around in a bewildered manner, having never taken the time to look around Dumbledore's exquisite office. Harry, who was all too familiar with his surroundings, simply stared ahead. He could not yet comprehend what had happened, never mind how and why.

Hermione shook them all out of their reverie.

"Come on! We may not have much time," she said.

However, they did not have to search very hard. Harry was studying the items on Dumbledore's desk, and came across a thin envelope, labeled "To HP, RW and HG".

"Hey, I've found something," Harry whispered. "Take a look at this."

The trio huddled around the desk, and proceeded to quickly tear open the envelope, dumping its contents unceremoniously. The parchment therein, however, was blank.

"Specialis Revelio!" Hermione said, pointing her wand at the parchment.

Nothing happened.

"Perfect," Harry snarled. "Just what we need right now. Another one of Dumbledore's stupid riddles."

Hermione, however, was looking thoughtful. Then, slowly, a small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"Think this is funny? Yeah, I know, Dumbledore was a humorous guy!" Ron said darkly, hardly daring to believe the brunette witch next to him could perceive any hilarity in their situation.

"Calm down, you two," Hermione replied. "The parchment is charmed so that only Harry can cast the revealing spell on it. Think about it - Dumbledore must have used some method of secrecy, else anyone who raided his office could've found whatever message it is he left us!"

Harry looked doubtful. But, since he could think of nothing else, there was little to do but appease Hermione on this matter.

He cleared his throat, pointed his wand at the immaculate parchment, and said, a little forcefully:

"Specialis Revelio!"

For an instant, Harry thought that it had failed. However, less than a second had passed, before the parchment started quivering lightly, and revealed a long, slanted handwriting on the pages before them.

As the trio looked on in awe, a flash outside the window caught their eye. Death Eaters (who had run Hogwarts for the past year), were marching towards the vacated castle at an alarming pace, as though aware of the intruders.

"Oh, no!" Hermione cried.

For a moment, it seemed as though time itself had stopped; even more worryingly, it then seemed to have decided to speed up, so that every passing instant was strangely compressed.

"Let's read this letter, see what Dumbledore wanted," Harry said hurriedly.

Hermione snatched the parchment, scanned it briefly, and began to intone:

"Dear Harry, Ron and Hermione,

By the time you three get to read this, it is highly likely that I will have been killed by Severus Snape, and that the Order has crumbled. I have made many mistakes in this war and in many other matters, as well. Therefore, I see it fit to attempt a large-scale rectification. You three will have to trust me once again; however, I am of the belief that my plan has a high chance of working, and of giving you three another shot at a more peaceful life.

"I have been doing extensive research on the matters of propulsion across a space-time spectrum, and have come up with a multitude of theories as to how one can travel across the face of time.

"I cannot say any more here, in case this letter falls into the wrong hands. However, I strongly urge you to follow the instructions outlined in my personal library, which is situated behind my wardrobe. The password of the inner chamber is the last line of the Prophecy.

"Know that, once inside my personal library, you are safe from any sort of attack, as neither Death Eaters nor Voldemort himself can breach the magic I have sealed it with. Good luck, and hurry. We may not have much time.

Yours truly,

Albus Dumbledore" she finished.

Harry sat there, stunned.

How could Dumbledore ask for his trust again? There was little time to ponder this turn of events, as several explosions rocked the castle, causing Harry to temporarily lose his balance. The three then decided to make haste to Dumbledore's wardrobe.

Although there had not been much time to look around Dumbledore's private quarters, Harry caught a glimpse of a magnificent four-poster bed in one corner, in Gryffindor colours, an exquisite Axminster by the fireplace, and lavish furnishings in virtually every open space in the room. Before he could take in any of these things, however, he was being prodded by Ron for the password.

"Come on mate, we don't want You-Know-Who's goons to catch up with us," he said.

"Right, right," Harry murmured. Looking at the wardrobe, he then whispered: "For neither can live while the other survives."

For the second time that night, Harry had been sure that he had failed, that the letter from Dumbledore had been a hoax, or a trap set by someone else. And for the second time, he was wrong.

The wardrobe glowed an ominous blue, before sinking into the wall, in order to allow barely enough space for a human figure to fit through into the chamber beyond. Hermione went in first, followed by Ron, and finally Harry. As though on command, it sealed itself shut just as the latter had stepped in.

Once in the library, Harry realised that all outside noise had been sealed, and that the secret room had a very serene air to it, as though it knew none of the concerns of the outer world, where Voldemort ruled unopposed, and Muggles and Muggle-borns were being murdered everyday.

A brief glance into the room painted a very modest picture when compared to Dumbledore's private quarters. The "personal" library was made up of only one room, consisting of little more than a desk (upon which a Pensieve had been rather obviously placed) and a single shelf of books, which looked as though it housed no more than twenty volumes.

"Right. I'm thinking that Dumbledore would have wanted us to study whatever is in this Pensieve very carefully," Hermione said.

Harry agreed, and approached the table cautiously, thoughts of an ambush still lingering at the forefront of his mind.

Ron was looking strangely serene, as though impervious to Harry's nervousness and Hermione's frantic logic. Upon sensing this newfound attention from his companions, he said:

"Look, we're safe here, for the first time in more than a year, and Dumbledore's telling us he's got a plan. Let's not scare ourselves half to death, and then panic and do something stupid, OK?"

Both Harry and Hermione were surprised. Ordinarily, it had been Ron who would complain and become impulsive when faced with danger. Perhaps it was because Ron still regarded their late Headmaster as infallible, or because he had finally been given some semblance of a goal, that was the source of this newfound inner peace.

Long may it last, Harry and Hermione thought simultaneously.

Harry approached the Pensieve, and looked into its depths. The contents looked the same as always, neither liquid nor gas, swirling about haphazardly, offering split-second glances as to their contents. Sensing nothing wrong with this, Harry said: "On the count of three again. One. Two. Three"

Harry felt himself being sucked into the Pensieve, whirling through a storm of colours. Barely a second later, he landed on his feet in the midst of the library which he had just left. Glancing to his side, he noticed Ron and Hermione looking just as perplexed as him. Before he could utter anything, Dumbledore walked in through the same gap which the trio had used not a minute ago. The Headmaster, Harry noticed, sported the blackened arm and looked as old as ever, making the memory relatively recent.

Dumbledore sat down and looked straight ahead. He began talking in a fast, rehearsed tone.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione, I hope this message finds you well. For a long time now, I have realised that I will either be killed by my friend Severus, so that he may continue to spy on Voldemort, or die due to the injuries in my right hand.

"As such, I have begun researching a way to repeat the war and make the correct decisions. And I have found a way."

Here, Dumbledore bowed his head as though in prayer; Harry knew that this was his way of collecting his thoughts. He took a deep breath before continuing:

"I am intending to send the three of you back in time. Rather, I will be sending your magical signatures, complete with memories and your current consciousness, to the past to inhabit your eleven year old bodies and change the course of the war as you grow up."

"I would have gladly done this to myself, or some other Order members. But in order for this to work, the signature must be less than twenty years old; beyond that, chances of success decrease dramatically. You three, of course, I trust more than I can express in this mere memory."

Here Dumbledore stopped again, drawing a collective sigh as he did so. Before long, he started talking again. Harry, however, began to tune him out as the Headmaster explained the exact mechanism (he could see Hermione's brain working furiously) and the manner in which three people should be sent, both for the emotional integrity of all involved, and for a greater ability to think with good reasoning in the future. At the next silence, Harry drew himself together to listen to what he knew would be Dumbledore's concluding spiel.

"And so, I leave you to send yourselves back. I have detailed the relatively facile process in the book on my shelf, called Magical Transport across an ST Spectrum. Before I take my leave, let me tell the three of you how proud I am of you. It is because of you that the world will get another chance at redemption, and countless millions will live because you made the right choice."

On that note, Dumbledore swept his tall hat off his head, took a bow in their imaginary direction, and departed.

Harry felt himself being pulled out of the Pensieve.

It was surreal to look around the room which they had apparently just left,

knowing that within an hour, they would be hurtling across time, back to where

it all began, or else floating about in limbo for the rest of eternity.

Supposing it even worked, he reminded himself.

"Alright. Let's get to work," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "This place is giving me the creeps."

Harry ambled to the book in question, pulling it gently off its shelf, as though afraid of losing the only hope of stopping Voldemort. He then delivered it to Hermione, who, by default, would decipher all of the important instructions and delegate the simpler tasks to Harry and Ron.

Harry found that he could still not fully comprehend the magnitude of what they were about to attempt, but also recognised that he had excruciatingly little choice in the matter, thus rendering his own opinion of their current operations rather useless. He figured that the easiest thing to do would be to give Dumbledore the trust he had asked for just one final time.

With nary a hasty shuffle and a scraping chair, they sat down to work to save the world.

* * *

"Alright," Harry started. "Let's go through the motions just this one more time, please."

"Well. We start by enchanting the Pensieve to strip magical signatures from physical bodies," Ron began earnestly. "Then we apply three drops of the potion Dumbledore left us in the book ..."

"... which serve to propagate said signatures backwards in time," Hermione supplied.

"And the three drops are repeated before every member goes into the Pensieve," Harry finished rather more nervously than he had anticipated.

It had been several hours since they had set to work, and although there were only two steps that needed to be followed, and a set of instructions as to what to do once back in time, the trio ran over the situation meticulously, so as to ensure maximum focus on the problem.

Harry and Ron were looking over the last letter by Dumbledore (addressed to them, and found at the relevant section of his book) which talked about what was in store for them once they had arrived back in time. It read:

Once you are transported to the past, your signatures will exit through this Pensieve (my personal one), which will be located in my office; from there, you can guide your own signatures onto your eleven year old bodies. A full merger can be expected immediately, and without major problems. Long-term effects include a mild form of amnesia, and momentary confusion during early morning hours. Other than that, however, I anticipate no physical symptoms. Your own psychological well-being, of course, is also highly important, which is why I suggest you three support each other as much as possible, and avoid interfering too much.

Interference is another topic on which I wish to instruct you here. By being completely passive, the timeline in your newfound world will mimic the one in this. Therefore, it is advisable that you act as you remember yourselves acting at the corresponding ages. However, be advised that it would be wise to alter some stances which could prevent the development of negative events (such as Quirrel attempting to Steal the Stone) if you can do so without raising suspicion. It is imperative that no-one know of your time-travel, not even myself.

Harry - make every attempt to keep a low profile during your early years; do not use your foreknowledge excessively, as this will alter the new timeline to a state where you may no longer be able to predict events. Make sure to capture Pettigrew in your third year, and do not fall for Voldemort's attempts to hoodwink you in the future. Build relationships with those around you, and act as a figurehead and a role model for those who will come to Hogwarts after you. And enjoy your Quidditch as much as you did the first time around!

Ronald - make sure that Harry stays true to his goals, and that your own family does not endure the pain inflicted by the Second War, or the Chamber of Secrets. It is a huge burden to place on anybody, but your courageous and loyal nature has me convinced that you are capable of acting as the dynamo that keeps the three of you going, and that will ultimately save the world!

Hermione - I would very much like you to ponder causality, and all of the temporal paradoxes associated with time travel. In this way, you will know what to avoid and which events to allow to pass without interference. And, just as you have the first time, make sure that your intellect serves as a guide to your companions, and to those around you who may one day be able to fight against injustice.

I now leave you to send yourselves back with only one more note. Upon entering the Pensieve, your current bodies will vanish magically, thus entering into nothingness, or in everything. As such, you will not necessarily have committed suicide in order to go back in time; you will merely have evaporated your current substance in order to travel in an unconventional manner. I thought that his would ease one of the many burdens that you will have to endure from hereon in.

The best of luck to you three.

AD.

"Brilliant, but barmy," said Ron.

"Yeah. Good instructions though; I don't even know what causality is!" Harry replied.

"I know, mate. It's right funny, in a weird way. You done with the notes yet, 'Mione?"

"Yes," came her reply. "I'm just left wondering about the problems we could encounter. I mean, amnesia! That could ..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Ron impatiently. "We could feel a little iffy upon return! Now can we go through with this? It can't be any worse where we're going than it is here!"

Harry could see another conflict brewing here, so he decided to intervene.

"Alright, stop, just stop!" he ordered, as Hermione was opening her mouth for another volley of words at Ron. "We've enough on our plates without you two bickering."

To his surprise, both had the grace to look a bit sheepish.

"Oh. Sorry Hermione. You were saying..." said Ron, with genuine interest.

"It's really not that much. Simply that we might wake up some days and act like eleven year olds for a couple of hours, or else have a fit during class, and forget bits and pieces. We'll just have to be careful, that's all."

"Alright. Now, let's plan for how to get in touch when we get there," said Harry.

"IF we get there ..." started Ron, but quelled under Hermione's outraged glare.

"Yes Ron, IF we get there," Harry agreed darkly.

"Well, what would the date of our arrival be?" asked Ron.

"August fifteenth," Hermione replied instantly, glancing at the tome in front of her to double check Dumbledore's calculations.

"But it doesn't matter. Maybe we should just head for the Leaky Cauldron if we already have wands and everything," Harry suggested.

"That would be dodgy. Three midgets walk into a pub. Sounds like a cheap joke!" Ron said in mock indignation.

Amazingly, this was met with laughter. The first real laugh Harry had uttered in more than a month. Perhaps it was the beginning of something better, or else a last joke shared amongst lifetime friends.

"Yes, actually," Hermione said thoughtfully. "So long as we don't walk in at the very same time, and meet out in the back by the dustbins, we should be fine."

"Yeah," Harry supplied. "Let's just make sure not to be missed at home or something. Can we all make up excuses or pretend to visit friends on our first day back?"

"Sounds like an easy job for me. Are we agreed then?" Ron asked tentatively, as though suddenly afraid.

"Yes," Harry and Hermione said in unison.

The rest of the time was spent planning minor details of pre-Hogwarts excursions, but all of it done halfheartedly, as though nobody wanted to get their hopes up.

Before long, however, the time had come to enchant the Pensieve. The task was complex, and thus delegated to Hermione, while Harry and Ron sat and silently pondered the implications of time travel, and potentially, and impending death.

Harry found thinking about the possibility of dying within a few minutes somewhat overwhelming. Suddenly, his mind was working overtime, and his senses had started registering every minute detail in the spartan chamber, and flooding his already numb brain with useless stimuli. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest, and the blood rushing to his head and every extremity, in the hope of prolonging life. Ironic it was that now, perhaps more than ever, Harry's life was no longer in his hands.

He started shuddering occasionally, in short violent spasms. Next to him, Ron appeared to be undergoing the same mental processes, as he, too, was involuntarily twitching at random intervals.

But soon (far too soon, in Harry's mind), Hermione was calling them forward. Ron would be the first in the Pensieve, they had decided earlier.

Harry watched on as Hermione carefully measured out three drops from the small vial Dumbledore had left behind. One moment, Ron was talking to them, eyes darting between Harry and Hermione frantically, as though the inescapable reality had dawned on him. Then he took turns in hugging them and whispered something in Harry's ear.

Harry, however, was oddly detached and unfeeling by this time. He was very afraid, and understandingly anxious as to what the future held (or was it the past?), if anything.

And then Ron was leaning over the Pensieve, knees slightly bent, clutching the desk tightly as though reticent. He lowered his face and broke the surface of the substance therein. Without so much as a slight pop, Ronald Weasley vanished from the face of the Earth.

Hermione was talking fast now. Harry was not hearing. Slowly, she shook the vial before his eyes, and asked him something uncertainly. Then, as though through a mere desire to be there for Hermione as she prepared for her journey, Harry forced his mind back into the present, where it was once again flooded full of light and sound.

"Yeah, Harry? Three drops, right?" she was reminding him.

"What? Yes, yes. I know," he replied unsteadily.

"OK then. I'll see you ... in a bit. Wherever it is that you inhabit your body, make for Diagon Alley the very next day. We'll start from there."

"Yes. Yes, I know," he said again.

"OK," she whispered fearfully, getting up on her toes as she did so and giving Harry a quick kiss on the cheek. "We'll be alright. I know it."

Apparently, Hermione had run out of things to say. She turned around, fighting back tears, and walked to the Pensieve. She stared into its depths for a full minute, contemplating the magnitude of what they were about to attempt, the consequences of failure, and the psychological implications of living the same life twice.

But there was no reassurance to be found. There were only more questions. With that final thought, Hermione took the plunge and was immediately consumed by the Pensieve.

Harry was alone. Suddenly, he was serene once more. Recognising this as a mere stage in a larger cycle of emotions, he quickly uncorked the vial and poured out a careful measure of three drops. As instructed, he then smashed the bottle, so as to make sure that no unwanted visitors from the future would come back to haunt him.

He licked his painfully parched lips. He was now acutely aware that he had been unable to go to the restroom for six or seven hours, creating an unpleasant pressure in his lower abdomen. He also realised that he was hungry, thirsty and sleepy.

Well, this is not how I imagined tonight would turn out, he thought dryly.

Knowing there was precious little time to linger, and that Ron might already have been inside his eleven year old body, Harry decided that it was time to get going, and meet whatever he would have to face, as Hagrid had always told him, up until their final days together six or seven months ago.

Thinking of all the people that had died at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Harry made a pledge to stop it from happening and to kill the Dark Lord at any cost. He began to understand full well the concept of the "greater good" that had nearly caused Dumbledore to turn dark. And maybe even that was not too high a price in exchange for all the lives that may yet be saved!

With this fiery promise of retribution, Harry strode forward purposefully, barely pausing to look around him. In another second, he would be gone.

And before even that instant was up, Harry had driven his face into the Pensieve, splashing its contents on the table. He felt himself being sucked in, and suddenly wished he had taken a deeper breath.

For the third time that night, Harry was sure that failure was at hand, and that he was going to die in the senseless depths of time.