Not Your Savior

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, otherwise I wouldn't have to worry about where the money for college is coming from.

A/N: The first chapter of my first HP fic. I'm actually a sci-fi writer by trade, but I think I know this world well enough to have a crack at it. I'll admit that this first chapter needs work, but later on all is awesome.

Harry Potter narrowed his gleaming silver eyes in hatred of the wizard before him. Voldemort was laughing at him. The high, cold tones ripped through Harry's skin, chilled his bones and fried his nerves. He had heard that laugh too many times in his short lifetime. It never meant anything good.

"Avada Kedavra," Harry said quietly. Hatred would do him no good. Hatred only clouded his mind, and made his reaction time slower. He knew this spell would not find its mark.

Voldemort sent the jet of green light back to Harry with an outstretched palm, snakelike eyes still smiling. Harry dodged, tossing himself to the ground and standing up after a messy roll. Shea would be ashamed of his lack of grace.

Shea. Harry's tiny necromancer mentor was unconscious, chained to the alter in the center of the room. Blood trickled down his face from a gash across his forehead. He looked even more pale than normal. Harry had to get to him, they had to Apparate out of this nightmare....

He ran, knowing that fighting Voldemort was useless. He was immortal now. There was simply no point.

"You are so predictable, Potter," Voldemort hissed, appearing ahead of him. Harry performed a flip over his head and landed, running, before a spell knocked him over. He hit the floor and was about to roll out of it again when a second spell pounded into his back, keeping him pinned.

"You don't have any actual goals in life, do you, my young foe?" Voldemort asked, almost as if he was a concerned teacher. Harry felt a rib crack as his torso was pressed into the ground. "An Auror of nineteen, you just live to kill me and my followers. Pathetic," Voldemort whispered the last word.

Harry ignored the words and the physical pain, concentrating on sending a magical shockwave through Voldemort's body using necromancy. The Dark wizard shrieked and fell back, his spell forgotten, and Harry sprang up to continue running as if he hadn't been stopped.

"You can't stop me, Potter!" Voldemort appeared in front of the alter, blocking Harry from reaching Shea. "I have achieved my goal! Oh yes...and now, it is time for you to give up on yours..."

Harry raised his wand and opened his mouth to fire the killing curse again, even in vain, but his wand was carried away to Voldemort's waiting hand before the words escaped. Voldemort began to laugh again. Harry was about to try a wandless spell when he found himself flying through the air. He landed roughly on the stone alter next to his mentor. All of this happened in about two seconds.

"Avada-" Voldemort started to shout. But Harry had Summoned his wand and grabbed Shea's arm before Disapparating to safety.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry Apparated into the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He looked down to his hand, clasping...nothing. Shea wasn't there.

Anti-apparition charm, Harry thought to himself in a rising panic. He had left Shea behind by accident. How could he have forgotten to check for that?

"Harry!" Hermione's shrill voice reached his sensitive ears. "You shouldn't have stayed there! You should have retreated with us-"

She stopped speaking as Harry turned to face her, looking livid.

"You left us," he said in a deadly calm voice. It was not a question or even an accusation. It was merely a statement of fact. Hermione's expression changed from one of worry to fear.

"Well, yes," she said quietly. "Harry, it was bad, we couldn't-"

"Don't talk to me," Harry snapped, uncharacteristically angry. He had done away with extreme emotions long ago, and outbursts were rare. He dropped into a chair by the table and buried his face in his hands.

"Is Harry back yet?" Lupin's voice came from the threshold. Harry heard Hermione's retreating footsteps and the brush of Lupin's robes on the floor as he came closer.

Neither spoke for several tense moments. Finally, Lupin sat down across from him and broke the silence.

"Everyone did all that they could, Harry. Including you."

Harry looked up, silver eyes glistening. "You always say that," he said softly. "And yet nothing ever changes. We never win."

"No," Lupin admitted. "But we haven't lost yet, either."

"We will," Harry said.

"You don't know that-"

"I do," Harry interrupted. His tone left no room for argument. "I can't kill someone who has achieved immortality. All we can do is kill his followers, but they just keep coming. He's already in control of all of Britain, and he's spreading. The next great plague," Harry finished his rant bitterly.

Lupin was quiet.

"Why did you leave us?" Harry asked suddenly. Lupin shifted uncomfortably.

"We were overrun, Harry. There was no way to win that fight."

Harry searched his former professor's gaze. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied.

"I don't think I need to go back for him," Harry said, calmer now. "He's powerful enough to get out of this mess."

"I agree," Lupin said, thankful Harry wasn't about to embark on another suicidal mission. "We should call the Order for a meeting on what to do next. If we can't destroy him, we can at least slow him down."

Harry stared into space, not listening to the werewolf. There was a way to accomplish his goal.

Voldemort was right. He needed to accomplish his goal.

He stood up abruptly, not bothering to look at Lupin again as he sprinted to his room. The pain in his ribs, forgotten in the pain of the moment, returned and went ignored again. He locked his door, sealing it with a charm, and rummaged through his desk for parchment and a quill.

Harry scribbled down a hasty note to Lupin and the rest of the Order members, then focused on other matters. He was going to attempt a spell that Shea had mentioned to him once and he had read about, fascinated. After the destruction of most of the Time Turners in existence in his fifth year, the subject of alternate methods of time travel had been on many minds.

Harry had never been into the scientific aspects of magic like his teacher, but Shea had managed to engrain an appreciation for them nonetheless. Harry struggled to remember the bits about physics and time as he pulled a dusty book off of the shelf.

"Harry?" Lupin's worried tones sounded from behind the door. "Harry, what's going on? You know you can talk to me at any time."

Harry smiled grimly at his former professor's appropriate use of words. "Yes, I expect I'll be doing that," he said aloud as he found the page he was looking for.

"What was that? What are you talking about?" Lupin's muffled voice demanded. The doorknob rattled. "Harry, let me in!"

Harry didn't bother to respond. He was beginning the spell and too deep in thought to be bothered. This would be the first time he had attempted the complex spell, but after years of instruction with Shea, he was a pro at casting new spells correctly on the first time. According to the little necromancer, spell work is like music, and learning new spells is like sight-reading. The more you do, the better you become.

Harry had done a lot and was one of the best. He concentrated now.

How many times in the past few years had he desperately wished he could turn back time? Too many, Harry thought to himself. Sirius's death. Neville's death. Arthur Weasley's death. Snape's death. His own attempted suicide....

Harry wondered how much of that could actually be changed. What could be changed, and how would it affect things? On the grand scale, did any of it matter when it came to accomplishing his one goal?

Harry thought carefully and quickly. Coming to a decision, he thought of the time he needed to visit in order to make the best possible changes. He drew his wand and lightly tapped a stray button lying on the desk.

"Portus preteritus portinus," he said firmly, keeping his destination in mind. The button glowed blue for a moment before returning to its normal appearance.

"Harry! What are you doing? Did you make a Portkey?" Lupin's voice was growing more frantic and angry.

"I left you a note on the desk," Harry said in response. He touched the button and disappeared.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry Potter's sixteenth birthday was coming up in two days. Never had he looked forward to it less.

He wasn't even at the Dursley's, his typical summer haunt at Dumbledore's request. He was with his friends at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. And he wanted to die.

Everyone else did. First his parents, then Cedric, and now the only adult who had ever cared about him like a son that he could view like a father was gone. Everyone always died for him.

I'm not worth dying for, Harry thought. I can't kill Voldemort. I can't come close. I'm not their savior.

People need to stop dying for me. I'm just going to die anyway.

"Harry?"

Harry turned around in his seat to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the threshold. He straightened slightly.

"Sir?" Harry said quietly.

Dumbledore entered the room--Sirius's room--slowly, walking to stand next to the forlorn chair where Harry was seated.

"I thought I would find you here," the old wizard said gently. "Molly is quite upset that you've missed two meals today."

Harry shrugged in response. Dumbledore continued.

"I wish for you to have private lessons, Harry," he said bluntly, correctly sensing that Harry was not in the mood for the usual verbal dance of avoidance.

"Not Occlumency?" Harry asked, horrified. Those lessons hadn't gone well.

"Possibly," Dumbledore admitted. "However, these lessons will be more general, with a focus on dueling."

There was a long pause. "You want me to be trained so I can kill Voldemort," Harry said quietly.

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply.

Harry sighed and looked away. That was all Dumbledore wanted. He wanted to use Harry as a weapon. I'm not your savior, Harry thought bitterly.

Instead of saying this aloud, he asked, "Who's going to teach me? You?"

Dumbledore shook his head, and his customary tall wizard's hat drooped slightly. "I want you to be instructed by the best."

"Aren't...aren't you the best, sir?" Harry asked, confused.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled slightly at this, and he sat down in the other chair in the room. "As flattering as it is to hear you say that, Harry, I must shelve my ego for a moment and admit that I am not."

"Okay," Harry said, still confused. "So who is?"

"A former student of mine by the name of Shea Quin," Dumbledore answered. "He memorized the entire Hogwarts library by the time he was thirteen years old. I daresay his knowledge of magic far outstrips that of anyone else alive."

"Sounds like someone Hermione should meet," Harry muttered. Dumbledore smiled.

"I'm sure you two will get along just fine as well," he said, standing up to leave. "You have much in common."

Dumbledore walked toward the door, then paused. "You should get some fresh air, Harry. This room is stuffy."

Harry stared, and Dumbledore reached the door. It was halfway open when a loud wind and stomping noise filled the room. Both the young and old wizards whirled in their spots to view the source.

A wizard with untamed black hair and eerie silver eyes stood in the middle of the room, clutching a button to his chest. He looked up from the ground and a small smile lit his familiar face. Haunted silver eyes met shadowed green ones.

"Hello, Harry," Harry Potter said.