Falling Through Time
Harry’s mind was swimming, overloaded with information. How could this be? Lily Evans was’t his mother? The more Harry read, the more more his stomach churned. He had been dumped on the doorstep of relatives he hadn’t even shared blood witht, had they known that he wasn’t really their nephew? Perhaps that was why they had treated him the way they had. Harry then thought about Dumbledore and the Weasley’s, Ron had been his first ever friend, someone he had trusted through and through and it had been a lie. They had been to hell and back together and for what? Then there was Dumbledore…. Harry’s eyes scanned over the list of spells and curses again, How could he have done this? Bound his magical core, forced him to hate all things dark, Dumbledore used him like a pawn in a game of chess. Harry had looked up to the old wizard, trusted he always knew what was best for Harry, had even even truely cared for him?
Forcing his eyes away he looked up at Death, questions swam in his mind but all Harry could do was open and close his mouth. Could dead people throw up? Because Harry felt as if he mind hurl at any given second.
“Let me tell you a story Harry” Death said, using Harry’s name instead of ‘Master’ for the first time. “When you were conceived, Destiny and Lady Magick marked you as their champion. To be born with the gifts of two goddesses, destined to become great, to change the fundamentals of the Wizarding world. However, a man who was driven by greed saw your conception as an opportunity to force fate into his own hands. He sought to use your power and the gifts you had been given for his own agenda, he kept you from being who you were meant to be. He held you lordship seats by proxy and used them to pass the laws he wanted. He played god with your life when he did not have the right to do so.”
“I trusted him” Harry whispered harshly after a moment of silence, trying to swallow his hurt and anger. “I trusted him and he did this to me!”
Death let out a rattle that Harry could only describe as agreeable anger. He glanced down at the scroll again, eyes flittering over his titles. Under all of his lordships there is sat, written in golden cursive ‘Master Of Death’
“What does it mean? The Master of Death?”
“You are the last in the line of Peverells and have collected all three deathly hallows. From the moment you held all three, you became the Master of Death, and I your servant.” Death explained softly. Harry thought back to the tale of the three brothers. “You have the power to go back, name a time and place and I can send you. I only wish that the first thing you do is visit gringotts and ask for an inheritance test, they’ll be able to help you from there.”
Suddenly it was as if every thought he had, stopped. Harry could go back, he could change what happened. Sirius, Remus, and ever other person he lost during the second war… he could save them. It didn’t take long for Harry to think it over, he would go back. He would get all the spells and curses removed, he would no longer be a pawn to be played with. He would save those he loved, protect them. And he would have his revenge on those who wronged him.
“Will I see you again?” Harry asked softly.
“Of course Master, you need only call and I will come.”
Harry nodded, determination settling over his features. “Very well, I want to go back to just before my third year, before I called the knight bus”
It happened in a split second, a twisting sensation behind his navel and then he was falling through time. Harry slammed his eyes closed and counted. Ten seconds later he landed in a heap, damp grass underneath him. Taking a deep breath Harry cracked his eyes open and took in his surroundings. It was dark out and he was undeniably sitting on the grass patch in Magnolia Crescent, Little Whinging, his Hogwarts trunk beside him. Only this time around he wasn’t panicking about behind stranded out in the muggle world, or being expelled from school. He was unusually calm.
Across the road, at the entrance of an alley way Harry spotted the outline of a large dog with wide gleaming eyes. Air whooshed from his lungs and all he could manage was a small whisper, “Padfoot.”