An Ancient Time-Turner
Harry hadn’t moved from the chair since the Weasleys and Hermione left Grimmauld Place. The silence in the house felt heavier than ever, as if the walls were closing in around him. He could still feel the weight of their betrayal, their complicity in Dumbledore’s schemes. No matter how many times they said they didn’t know, or that they were only following orders, it didn’t make the hurt go away.
The truth was, Harry didn’t know who to trust anymore. His entire life had been a lie, and the people he’d once thought of as family had been part of the problem, whether they realized it or not. The betrayal cut deep, and Harry didn’t think he could forgive them. Not yet, maybe not ever.
As the hours ticked by, Harry felt an unsettling restlessness growing inside him. He couldn’t just sit here, drowning in anger and grief. He had to do something. He had to take control of his life, of his future, before someone else did it for him.
His eyes fell on the letters again—the letters from James to Regulus that had started this whole mess. The words blurred as he stared at them, his mind racing. His father had hidden so much from him, but not out of malice. He could see that now. James had loved him. Regulus had loved him. They had tried to protect him, but they hadn’t lived long enough to make sure he knew the truth.
Harry felt a surge of anger rise in his chest again. Dumbledore. The man who had orchestrated every part of his life, who had twisted the truth and hidden Harry’s real family from him. Harry’s fingers curled into fists. He couldn’t change what Dumbledore had done, but maybe—maybe—there was a way to rewrite his own story.
The thought hit him like a lightning bolt: Time travel.
Harry knew it was dangerous, almost impossible to change things without causing disastrous consequences, but what if there was a way to do it right? A way to go back, change the smallest things that would shift his entire future without breaking the timeline?
He stood up suddenly, the chair scraping against the floor as he paced the room. His mind was racing, recalling every scrap of information he had about time travel. The only Time-Turner he had ever known about was the one Hermione had used in third year, but surely, the Blacks—one of the oldest wizarding families in existence—would have access to powerful magic, magic that the Ministry had long since lost or forbidden.
Harry’s gaze shot to the staircase that led down to the Black family’s library, the place where countless dark artifacts and hidden secrets were buried. If there was any family who would have hidden away a Time-Turner, it was the Blacks.
Without wasting another second, Harry grabbed his wand and rushed downstairs, making his way to the room that had become almost like a sanctuary for him in recent weeks. The Black family library was massive, its shelves filled with dusty old tomes, artifacts, and enchanted objects that had been forgotten for generations. Harry had only scratched the surface of what was hidden here.
He lit the sconces on the walls with a flick of his wand, casting a warm glow over the room. The air smelled of old parchment and ink, mingled with the faint metallic tang of magic. Harry took a deep breath and began searching, his eyes scanning the shelves for anything that looked out of place or hidden by enchantments.
Hours passed, but Harry didn’t stop. He rummaged through cabinets, opened ancient chests, and cast revealing charms over the shelves. It felt like a hopeless task, but he wasn’t going to give up. Not when there was a chance he could fix everything.
Just as he was about to give up for the night, Harry’s fingers brushed against something cold and metallic hidden behind a row of old books. His heart skipped a beat. Carefully, he pulled the object free, revealing a small, ornate hourglass on a delicate chain.
A Time-Turner.
But this wasn’t like the one Hermione had used. This was far older, its hourglass made of crystal, its frame engraved with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. The magic radiating from it was strong—much stronger than any Time-Turner he had ever heard of.
Harry’s hands trembled slightly as he held the device. This was it. This was his chance.
He sat down at the desk in the center of the library, placing the Time-Turner carefully on the surface. His mind raced as he considered the possibilities. He couldn’t go too far back—he didn’t want to rewrite everything, just enough to change the course of his fate. He thought about the pivotal moments in his life, the times when everything had spiraled out of control, and one stood out above the rest: his fourth year, the Triwizard Tournament.
That was when it had all started. The tournament had been rigged, and Voldemort had returned, setting off the chain of events that had led to countless deaths and betrayals. If he could stop himself from entering the tournament, if he could figure out who had placed his name in the Goblet of Fire, maybe he could stop it all before it began.
His mind was made up.
With a deep breath, Harry reached for the Time-Turner and carefully placed the chain around his neck. He hesitated for just a moment, wondering if he was truly ready for this. But the thought of living in a world where Dumbledore’s lies controlled his every move spurred him forward.
He grasped the hourglass and turned it slowly, feeling the magic thrum through the device. The room around him began to blur, the shelves and walls warping as time bent to his will. He turned it again and again, counting the rotations in his mind, setting the date in his head: October 31st, the night of the Goblet of Fire selection.
Time rushed past him, a whirlwind of images and sensations that made Harry’s head spin. He clenched his jaw, fighting the disorientation as the world around him shifted and settled.
Suddenly, everything stopped.
The air was cool, and the sound of crackling fires and distant voices filled his ears. Harry blinked, his vision clearing as he found himself standing in the Gryffindor common room. It was late, the fire in the hearth burning low, casting flickering shadows across the familiar room. His heart raced as he realized it had worked.
He was back.
He was a fourteen-year-old boy again, standing in the middle of the common room on the night of the Goblet of Fire’s selections. He could hear distant laughter coming from the Great Hall as students celebrated the Halloween feast, unaware of the chaos that was about to unfold.
Harry glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers to make sure he was really here. Everything felt real, solid. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the Time-Turner still heavy around his neck. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. This was it. He had a chance to change everything.
But where to start?
He knew he couldn’t just rush into things. He had to be careful, strategic. If he made too many changes too quickly, he could unravel the timeline completely. He needed to find out who had put his name in the Goblet and stop them before it was too late.
His mind raced through the possibilities. The night his name was selected was crucial. Someone had placed it there without his knowledge—someone who had wanted him to compete. If he could find that person and stop them, the entire course of his life could change.
Harry glanced around the common room one more time before making his way to the portrait hole. He had no idea what kind of ripple effect his presence would cause, but he couldn’t just sit and wait for things to happen. He needed answers, and he needed them now.
The corridors were quiet as Harry made his way toward the Great Hall, the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation growing louder as he approached. His heart pounded in his chest as he reached the entrance. The doors were slightly ajar, and he could see students mingling and enjoying the feast inside.
But Harry didn’t go in. Instead, he lingered in the shadows, watching, waiting. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of who might be responsible for tampering with the Goblet. He didn’t have much time—the names would be called soon.
Just as he was about to give up and enter the hall, he spotted a figure standing near the entrance to the antechamber where the Goblet of Fire was kept. A shadowy figure that seemed oddly familiar, yet out of place.
Barty Crouch Jr.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat as recognition hit him like a bolt of lightning. He had been disguised as Mad-Eye Moody all year, subtly guiding Harry through the tasks, but now, he was slipping out of the hall unnoticed.
Harry’s heart pounded. He knew what he had to do.
Without a second thought, Harry turned and followed him, the weight of his decision settling heavily on his shoulders. He would stop Crouch, stop the Goblet from choosing him, and in doing so, rewrite the future.
He was about to change everything.