Temporal Transference

The dust settled around Harry as Voldemort's body hit the floor with finality. The Great Hall erupted around him with cries of jubilation; their echoes resounded through the ancient walls of Hogwarts. Cheers reverberated off the walls as people laughed and cried together.

Harry heaved a sigh. It was over. He won. Voldemort lost. The terms of the prophecy were fulfilled. In the end, he was the one who survived.

But as he looked around at the faces of his friends and fellow students, he couldn't shake the feeling of loss that gnawed at him from within. This victory was burdened by the loss of too many.

Too many people who should have been celebrating right now are gone. He could almost hear Fred's infectious laugh as he cracked a joke at the expense of Voldemort.

He thought of Teddy, who was now doomed to a life without his parents. And of Charlie, who took the Sectumsempra curse meant for Percy. Percy had killed Rabastan Lestrange and immediately tried to Heal Charlie, but the damage was done. The curse had hit Charlie very close to the heart. He looked around the Great Hall, and his heart clenched at the sight of the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He didn't know how they died, but it didn't matter, did it? The fact was that the people who loved him like his own parents were dead.

And then there was Ginny. Guilt gnawed at him. Why had he allowed her to join the fight? He should have ensured someone was always by her side. Unbidden, a memory surfaced. It was an evening in spring 1997, just after Quidditch practice had ended. Harry had lingered on the pitch, relishing the soothing sensation of flying. He was thrilled when Ginny joined him.

"Ew Potter, why are you looking at me like that?" Ginny laughed as she teased him. "What's with that sappy look? It doesn't suit the battle-rugged Harry Potter."

Harry laughed, playing along. "Let the Chosen one catch a break, will you? There are few things he can do without being told off for it."

"Well, makes me wonder if you will keep looking at me like that sixty years later," Ginny said with a mischievous grin.

"Was that a proposal, Ginevra Molly Weasley?" Harry said, trying to keep his voice cool, even though he could feel his ears burning.

"Depends. Do you want it to?"

Harry didn't look at her. He looked straight ahead where the sun had almost disappeared behind the hills. The sky was turning purple, and the first stars could be seen in the sky.

"I just might."

The future that he envisioned for themselves as a naive 16-year-old in love... A future that was now in shambles.

He pulled on his invisibility cloak and moved with purpose, slipping through the throngs of people unnoticed. He made his way toward the exit, his steps silent against the stone floor, wishing he could block out the sights of both people celebrating and grieving. He caught glimpses of the bodies of Collin, Neville, Cho, Lavender, Professor Flitwick... and wasn't that Seamus' mum? His heart sank with each step he took.

He saw the remaining Weasleys huddled around their fallen members. Bill had a hand wrapped around George's shoulders, who was sitting with his face in his hands. Tears were sliding down Bill's face. He could see Fleur sobbing quietly into a handkerchief. Percy looked like he had aged twenty years in the last few hours, and his eyes looked haunted. Ron was sobbing, and Hermione stroked his hair lightly.

Harry felt a pressure behind his eyes. One that he associated with crying but one that he rarely experienced. He wanted to join them, but he knew if he did, he would never be able to leave them, and he still had some things that he had to do, so grieving must wait.

He walked out of the hall; the castle was eerily quiet now, the echoes of battle fading into the shadows. He walked slowly, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls, each step a painful reminder of the losses they had suffered. To his surprise, he felt Ron and Hermione slip beside him under the cloak with practiced ease.

"How did you notice me?" Harry asked.

Despite the situation, Ron let out a little laugh and said, "After seven years, mate, we've gotten pretty good at spotting you when you're trying to disappear."

"You guys don't have to come with me. I don't want to interrupt your grieving. Ron, in fact, I will be joining you shortly."

"I know, mate. You have always been there for us no matter. So let us be there for you now."

"But-" Harry was cut off by Hermione, "Ron is right, Harry, we want to be with you. We know you are hurting too, so please let us be by your side."

Harry was grateful to them for their presence. He really did get lucky with having such wonderful friends, who always put him before themselves.

They walked along the corridors of Hogwarts, littered with broken debris. The sunlight filtered through in some places where the roof had broken down. Broken armors, tattered paintings were everywhere. Harry hoped the owners of the destroyed paintings were able to make it to some other paintings which were untouched.

"I still can't believe they are gone; it just doesn't seem real," Ron muttered. "That I would never see them again." His voice broke at the last word.

"I know, it's like living in a constant nightmare," Harry said, his throat feeling tight. "This victory doesn't feel like a victory. The price we had to pay was too high. I couldn't save them... if only I had surrendered myself before things might have been different."

Harry felt Hermione grasp his hand as she said, "It's not your fault, Harry, we did what we could, you tried your level best to win this for the sake of others... it's just the other side was very strong too."

"And Snape! that bastard was on our side all along! Damn it! Every time we suspected him, every time we were proven wrong. How could I not realize that Dumbledore could not be killed in any way except for his own terms? We didn't even try to stop his bleeding! Fuck! I just let him die in front of me when this whole time he has been trying to protect us," Harry said bitterly. He kicked at the ground and felt something skid in front of him. On picking it up, he realized that it was one of the fake wands that the twins sold. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He felt Hermione's hand tighten in his and was glad for her silent support.

Ron nodded solemnly, "I understand Harry... how you must be feeling. But you couldn't possibly have known that the greasy git was on our side. He killed Dumbledore for fuck's sake. I couldn't believe myself when I heard you telling Voldemort that he was on our side. But Hermione's right about one thing, mate, no one blames you for what happened, no one. In fact, I think the reason we incurred such huge losses was that others took too long to act up.They left all the responsibility to you and Dumbledore. Is that where we are going? His office?" Ron asked as they took a familiar turn.

Harry nodded, and the rest of the walk to the stone Gargoyle proceeded in silence. The Gargoyle had been knocked over at some point after he left last night.

"Can we go in?" he asked.

"Feel free," the Gargoyle grumbled.

When they entered the office, there was a huge roar of noise which made Harry jump. Voldemort's return was the first thought that came to him, but a moment later, he realized it was just the portraits cheering.

"Well done, Mr. Potter!" Armando Dippet exclaimed, his portrait beaming with admiration.

"Not bad, brat, but remember the contribution of Slytherin House in your victory."

But Harry's eyes only searched for one person. He stood in front of Dumbledore's portrait, who looked at him with a mixture of pride and empathy.

"The thing that was in the Snitch," Harry began, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "I dropped it in the forest. I don't think I'll be looking for it again. I don't think anyone can find it again."

Dumbledore's portrait regarded him with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of pride and understanding. "A brave and wise decision, my boy," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "I have no doubt that you made the right choice." Harry felt a sense of relief wash over him at Dumbledore's words, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he let go of the burden he had been carrying for so long.

"And I am going to return the Elder Wand to your tomb," Harry continued, his voice tinged with regret. "If I die a normal death, the power of the wand dies with me."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Ron asked, looking bewildered. "It's the most powerful wand to exist."

Harry nodded, "The wand is much more trouble than it's worth. Besides..." he fished out his broken Phoenix wand from his pocket, "I was happier with mine."

He pointed the Elder wand at his broken wand, knowing that if this didn't work, nothing would.

"Reparo."

The room fell silent as Harry watched, his breath caught in his throat, as the broken pieces of his wand began to mend themselves before his eyes. Sparks of magic danced along its surface, illuminating the room with their ethereal glow. And when the spell was complete, Harry felt a sense of relief wash over him as he grasped his mended wand once more. It felt right in his hand, as if it had never been broken at all.

But as he looked at the Elder Wand, now lying dormant on the desk before him, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. It was a powerful tool, capable of great good or great evil, and he knew that he had made the right choice in relinquishing its power.

"I wish this wand could fix everything," Harry said, his voice filled with sadness. "All these losses we've incurred... if only it were that simple.I wish I knew what to do earlier."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione hugged him. "It's really not your fault. Besides, you can only safely go back in time for 3 to 4 hours."

"Yeah, mate, if I learned one thing throughout our seven years, it's how much things depend on chance. Us being there out in the open with our other selves can ruin everything. In a way, things did work out... things could have been worse..." Ron trailed off, and Harry knew it caused him a lot of pain to say it, seeing as how he had lost most of his family overnight.

"I know, I just wish we knew what was going to come a lot earlier," Harry sighed.

He was grateful for their words of reassurance. But deep down, he knew that the wounds left by the war would never fully heal, that the scars they bore would serve as a constant reminder of the sacrifices that had been made.

And as he looked around at the portraits that lined the walls of Dumbledore's office, their faces frozen in time, he couldn't help but wonder what the future held in store.

"Harry, my boy..."

All three of them started,having forgotten Dumbledore's presence.

"...there might be a way to accomplish what you want to..."

"WHAT?!" The three of them exclaimed together.

"But, Professor, the only known way to travel back in time is by the means of the time turner," said Hermione, who was the first to recover among them.

Dumbledore nodded, "That is what I used to believe as well, Miss Granger... before I stumbled upon this curious piece of magic." He paused for a moment, then continued, "A potion, if you will, known as Temporal Transference."

"Temporal Transference?" Hermione repeated, her brow furrowed in confusion. "I've never heard of it. What does it do?"

"To answer your question, Miss Granger," Dumbledore interjected, addressing Hermione directly, "Temporal Transference is a rare and powerful form of magic. It allows one to send their memories back in time, to their past selves."

Hermione's eyes widened in understanding as she processed Dumbledore's words. "So, it's like sending a message to your past self?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Dumbledore nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Precisely, Miss Granger. However, you must understand that Temporal Transference is not without its risks. The memories are not sent in a linear fashion but in bits and pieces, scattered across time and not in the correct order of sequence."

"But then, Professor, why didn't you use it yourself?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "We could have defeated Voldemort a lot earlier that way."

"My boy, I did use it. Surely you and many other students wondered how I always seemed to know more than I should." Dumbledore gave them a smile.

Ron looked a bit sheepish, Hermione looked as if someone flipped a switch in her head and suddenly everything made sense. Harry, however, had other questions in his mind.

"But why didn't it work?" Hermione asked, her voice filled with disbelief. "If you had the power to change the past, why didn't you stop Voldemort before he gained control?"

Dumbledore hesitated, his eyes clouded with regret. "I believed that by altering the past, I could prevent the war from ever happening," he admitted. "And in some ways, I succeeded. Voldemort was defeated, and the future was saved."

Dumbledore's expression grew solemn, his gaze filled with sorrow. "There were still losses," he confessed, his voice heavy with regret. "But they were fewer than they would have been otherwise. And for that, I am grateful."

"How bad was it?" Harry asked, his voice barely over a whisper. "How bad was it last time, Professor?"

Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking every bit a man of his age should, and began, "Voldemort got to the Philosopher's Stone. He won the war by your 3rd year. Before he took over Hogwarts, however, I moved about the castle casting protective enchantments in a last-ditch effort to protect the students. Thinking along the same lines as you, Harry... if only I had known what to do before and... and suddenly I found myself standing before a door which I knew was not there before. That day I discovered the room which tries to provide someone whatever they need."

"You mean the Room of Requirement?!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, I discovered the room which many people before as well as after me had. Entering the room, I found myself in a very cluttered space. Piles of every kind of thing spread here and there. It almost felt like a maze as if you can lose your way in there and never find the exit..." Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances, no doubt recognizing which room Dumbledore had found.

Dumbledore continued, "...But as if magically my eyes were drawn to a small, very worn old book on top of a pile as if the room was trying to point me in that direction. Maybe it was. And there, on page 250, was it. The thing that I needed the most at that time. The 'TEMPORAL TRANSFERENCE.'"

There was a moment of quiet as they processed Dumbledore's story.

"Needless to say, Harry, it is very dangerous. As Mr. Weasley pointed out, A LOT DEPENDS ON CHANCE; what worked out this time might not the next if done even slightly differently. Especially taking into account the special nature of 'Temporal Transference.' BUT--" Dumbledore stated, seeing the mutinous look on Harry's face, "I am aware that the three of you have accomplished a lot of impossible tasks before, especially in the potions department, seeing as that's what Temporal Transference is - a potion. But no, Harry, I think the biggest challenge you will face here is to restore the room, from the pile of ashes it currently is," he finished gravely.

"That's... right. The room was burned completely by Crabbe last night. Harry isn't sure if even a single piece of anything that was there remains. He could see that Ron and Hermione had reached similar conclusions from the hopeless look in their eyes. Even if they set out to restore it, if at all such a thing was possible, how long will it take? It could take years. Harry had one last thing to ask Dumbledore, however, before he gave up, 'But you can tell us how to do it, Professor!'"

Dumbledore shook his head sorrowfully, "I am only a portrait, my boy, I don't have the capacity to remember the nuances of the entire procedure. I can guide you, of course, if I have the instructions, but not without them."

Harry sighed, that's it then. It's next to impossible.

"It indeed would have been a challenge in normal circumstances, but Harry, did you really forget so quickly the powers of the wand that now answers you?" Dumbledore asked, and he was smiling. Ron slapped a hand on his forehead, while Hermione looked like she had been slapped across the face.

Harry looked at the wand in his left hand; he could feel the power it emanated. Maybe they still have a chance.