Chapter 1

23rd June, 2367
London, England

It took them well over a century to accomplish, but the muggles had finally done it. They'd finally found a way to defeat their long-standing enemy. Unfortunately, it wasn't only the muggles' enemies that were about to be destroyed.

The muggles, due to their profound lack of understanding of how the world works, had unwittingly ensured the end of the world at large.

Yes, the apocalypse was nigh, and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do to stop it.

Well, perhaps there was one person that could prevent the inevitable from happening, but his intervention was yet to be determined.

In case you were wondering, the muggles were at war with the magicals, which consisted of all magic wielders—creatures and humans alike—along with all their sympathizers.

One hundred and thirty-eight years ago, muggles, in a series of very unfortunate events, found out about the magical world. It was a discovery which led to worldwide panic and chaos, and it was also a discovery which plunged the world into the most vicious war of all time.

With the Statute of Secrecy shattered, muggles around the whole globe became terrified and untrusting, caging themselves inside their homes for fear of their shadows. But they didn't stay hidden forever. No, it didn't take much time at all for their paranoia to fester and grow to the point where they decided that they needed to unite and strike.

No amount of diplomacy could make the muggle masses understand that they had been living in coexistence with the magicals for centuries, even if the muggles themselves had been largely unaware of it.

The muggles had been afraid of the unknown and what they couldn't understand, and never stopped being afraid. That fear of the unknown fueled their hatred and their agenda to destroy anything magical in the world—anything they weren't able to control.

That is how the war between the two worlds began, and it hadn't stopped since.

Once the muggles had officially declared war against the magical world, everything started changing at a very rapid pace. Nothing was as it had been, and in a few, short months it became apparent to both sides that circumstances wouldn't ever be returning to the status quo.

Many things that had made the world bearable to live in, like laughter and joy, had been the first to leave those old enough to understand just how severely the world was changing. But it didn't take long for the children to learn that there was nothing in the world left to laugh about—that fun and games were a thing of the past. Then, one day, all the children were gone, replaced by young soldiers trained to fight for their survival.

Disputes between the Dark and Light faction had also become a distant thing of the past as wizards and creatures alike united on a single front to ensure their continued existence.

Hope was the next to vanish off the face of the earth. After decades of never-ending battles, bloodshed, and loss, there seemed to be no escaping the nightmare that had become everyone's life.

There was no peace, not even amongst allies, because by then the hunger took over, that unquenchable and blood searing hunger to survive. The hunger took over, and there was nothing left but a need to devour.

These days no one knew what it felt like to be at peace. Peace was so far removed from the scopes of reality that it had long since become a forgotten concept, one that was not even whispered to the scared babes at night.

No, regrettably, peace hadn't held reign over the world for far too many years. Instead, the world was ruled by conflict, hostility, and fear, creating an age of war the likes of which had never been seen before.

The world as it once was ceased to exist and was replaced by a hellish domain that served nothing but misery.

With each advancement the muggles made, they managed to break the world some more, forever incapable of learning to share the world as they were meant to—never understanding that magic was the sole reason for their existence.

For over a century, absolute destruction and incomprehensible mayhem plagued the world, with no cure for the deeply rooted disease that brought the world to its shattered knees.

One hundred and thirty-eight years of war, and it was all coming to a painful and deadly end because the muggles found a way to destroy her—the mother of all that walks the earth. They managed to create an abomination that, unbeknown to them, was going to destroy everything in its path, and Britain was the first the feel its wrath.

Two hours ago, London was fatally struck, leaving it to bleed out and drive the whole country into decay. No witch, wizard, muggle, or creature that had stayed was left alive. Ashes and a pungent smell of death and toxins were all that remained.

A thick cloud of smoke and dirt covered the ruins of the city, and it was still growing larger, fed by every last building that was collapsing and burning.

Among the chaos and rubble, there was a lone surviving tower atop which a raven-haired man silently appeared out of thin air. He stood completely still while his wary and saddened eyes roamed over the debris, his dark emerald cloak billowing wildly behind him in the wind. His broad-looking shoulders immediately sagged as he took in the destruction that spread out in each direction.

To the raven-haired man's left, another figure appeared. This figure wore a long, black robe with a hood that concealed his whole face. As he appeared, this dark-hooded man stumbled and almost collapsed to his knees, but the raven-haired man was quick to grab him by his shoulder to steady him.

"Too ma-many souls," rasped the black-robed man before bending over in unbearable pain.

The raven-haired man winced and waited for his longtime companion to push through the pain and regain his bearings.

"This is the end, isn't it?" the raven-haired man asked him once his friend's breathing evened out, his voice raw with distress and disbelief.

The dark-hooded man groaned as he straightened his back and did his best to ignore the pain resonating within his very being.

"They have chosen," he confirmed, still somewhat breathless, not bothering to feign the same surprise and incredulity his friend felt.

"I didn't think…" the raven-haired man trailed off, at a loss for words. "I honestly thought-" he started again, but choked and shook his head disappointedly. "I thought it would get better," he finally whispered. "I never imagined that they could be so…"

"Unreasonable? Spiteful? Ignorant? Blind?" supplied his companion rather testily as he curiously peeked at the fiery pits below them.

"Yes," he agreed with a slight frown. "And so unbelievably cruel," he added as he felt another agonized magical pulse vibrating up his limbs. These pulses were his mothers' tortured, dying cries. "How could they do this to her?" he questioned distraughtly, desperate to understand how it could have all gone so wrong. "Mother Magic is dying—poisoned by these ungrateful non-magicals. How- How dare they?!" he roared into the raging storm.

Fed by his anger, the fires burning around them blazed even higher and started dancing ferociously to the beat of his unsettled heart. Then, the raven-haired man's green eyes took on a dangerous shine to them, glowing unnaturally bright amidst the darkness around him, and suddenly, his all-consuming fury made the earth beneath them shake violently.

"Calm yourself," snapped the dark-hooded man commandingly while warily eyeing the destruction his friend was causing. "It would do no good for you to exhaust or injure yourself right now."

The raven-haired man huffed but took in a deep breath and composed himself. With his Occlumency shield fortified the flames receded, but his eyes didn't lose any of their unnatural brightness.

"I could've prevented this, couldn't I?" he asked him in a barely-there whisper, his previous rage extinguished by the wave of guilt that suddenly came crashing over him.

The dark-hooded man looked away from him and out towards the sea of fire that reached as far as the eye could see. "It wasn't your responsibility to prevent this from happening," he answered evasively.

"That's not what I asked," the raven-haired man shot back sharply, momentarily unable to see past the haze of guilt that clouded his mind.

"Maybe you could have stopped this, or perhaps you couldn't," he shrugged. "You, beyond anyone else traipsing the mortal realm, should know this," he told him calmly, unbothered by his friend's temper.

"I swore to myself, long ago, that I would never meddle with the affairs of mortals again," the green-eyed man mumbled, trying to block out the sudden onslaught of nightmarish memories.

His friend sighed. "I remember," he hissed as he bit back another scream that wanted to tear out of him.

The muggles' blast reached beyond the British Isles and had started seeping into the rest of Europe, taking with it every last soul in its path.

"You and I both know what happened the last time I tried to change things," the green-eyed man pointed out somewhat defensively.

His dark-hooded companion inwardly winced at the reminder.

The last time his friend had tried to make some significant changes to the time-line, it had turned into an absolute fiasco that had left the wizarding world in a worse state than it had been in before. And as a slightly lesser consequence, his friend's heart had been reduced to shambles.

That particular experience was the reason why his friend had decided to never time-jump again, preferring not to meddle with time or the human populous in general.

"But I can't just stand here and watch the world burn," he heard his raven-haired friend whisper to himself, causing the dark-hooded man to refrain from rolling his eyes.

The world they were both bound to was about to be destroyed. So yes, they definitely couldn't just stand here and watch the world burn.

"We're going to have to go back," the raven-haired man concluded, voice flat and devoid of any emotion.

At that moment, a fresh wave of pain washed over the dark-hooded man. "What do you have in mind?" he asked him through gritted teeth.

"We're going to save the bloody world, what else?'' came his glib reply.

Right. Of course. What else?

"When exactly would you like to go?" he asked him while doing his best to ignore the tortured screams of the recently deceased.

The raven-haired man deliberated for a moment and shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Couldn't you pinpoint a time in history when we could have prevented this mess?" he asked him while gesturing towards the burning and crumbling buildings around them.

"I can only guess,'' his companion replied, but a plan was already forming in his mind.

There were about a few hundred possible time-periods which they could go back to, but there is one specific decade which his friend would preferably not visit. Thinking about it, he'd probably want to skip that whole century altogether, which made it the absolute perfect time for them to jump back to.

You see, one hundred and sixty-seven years ago his green-eyed friend played a prank on him, one he didn't find particularly amusing, and he'd been biding his time for a very long while to execute the ideal revenge. The apocalypse seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally retaliate.

While it might seem a bit harsh of him, in the end, after his friend has sufficiently suffered, he might finally get to have the happiness that he deserved.

During the heartwarming process of that happily ever after, this whole mess they were currently living in could be prevented, and the world and Mother Magic saved.

Truly a win-win scenario.

Hopefully, his friend had learned something over their centuries together, and everything would work out as it should. If it didn't, well if he didn't, then at least he would have gotten his revenge for that prank. Besides, they could always go back again, maybe a bit further this time, far enough to prevent the existence of humans altogether. Magical and non-magical alike.

"Then give it your best guess. Anywhere is going to be better than here," the green-eyed man told him, completely unaware of the mischief his companion was planning.

"I'll give it my best guess," he promised, pushing back his glee.

"I'll see you at the veil then," was all the green-eyed man said before he vanished into thin air.

As soon as he was gone, a wicked smirk appeared on the dark-hooded man's handsome face.

They were heading into a particularly exciting couple of decades. He almost felt something akin to excitement stirring in his dead heart.

June 23rd, 1941
Ministry of Magic
London, England

Harry Potter stumbled out of the other side of the veil, just barely able to avoid his face from ungracefully greeting the floor.

"There was no need for you to push me," he grumbled as he straightened out his black, silk shirt and emerald cloak. "I wouldn't have taken so long if you had just told me when exactly it was that you were sending me to."

As he said this, Harry was taking in his new but very familiar surroundings, and for some reason, a deep sense of foreboding started settling over him.

He subtly sniffed the air and frowned.

"Did you just sniff the air?" his intimidating companion asked him in a flat tone, appearing behind him with his dark hood still in place, as always.

Harry ignored him as he stepped off the dais and away from the veil, further into the chamber. He sniffed the air again and his frown twisted into a repulsed grimace.

The air smelled like ashes, dirt, pollution, and death.

It stank like the war they had just escaped from—only less toxic.

"You took me away from one war zone only to drop me into another? Why would you do that?" he asked him, his tone bordering on a whine.

"You never specified that it was a time of peace you wanted to go back to," Death shrugged nonchalantly, successfully hiding his devious glee.

"I would assume that since we were fleeing Doomsday, it was bloody well implied that we wanted some damn peace! Tell me we didn't land in the middle of Riddle's uprising or something as ridiculous as that,'' he pleaded, suspicion and panic already rising in his chest.

"We didn't," Death said, but before Harry could release a relieved breath, he added, "Not exactly."

Harry groaned and ran his fingers through his wind-swept hair. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"We're not technically during his uprising in the way that you mean," came another cryptic reply.

Instead of asking Death to clarify and risk getting another one of those cryptic replies, he mulled over his words a bit. After all, no one reaches his ancient age without learning how to crack a few riddles.

'Not in the way that you mean', he said, and however he turned that around the implication was there, but he couldn't possibly...

Death was his friend, his comrade, his best mate forever—literally.

He wouldn't do this to him, not after the last time they came back around to that decade.

Harry scoffed. Who exactly was he trying to kid?

As soon as he finished that last thought he blinked and was gone from sight.

The next second, Harry silently appeared in an alley a few blocks away from the Ministry of Magic.

Harry quickly took in his surroundings and immediately felt like crying.

So maybe Death was more treacherous than he thought.

He saw a newspaper flying his way and quickly reached out to snatch it. As he flipped it around, he noticed that it was a fairly clean copy, so it had to be recent.

He searched the corner for a date and cursed.

23rd June 1941.

Bugger.

"This is retaliation for that prank I pulled on you some hundred and fifty years ago, isn't it?"

The next second Death was standing next to him, practically buzzing with excitement.

"It was one hundred and sixty-seven years ago, to be precise," smirked a very smug Death. At least it sounded like he was smirking. Wretched hood. Bastard.

"We've been here before, Death. I've already tried this route and failed, or do you not recall?" Harry asked him in a dangerously calm tone.

Harry's body was rigid as he tried to contain the rage and fear that started to bubble up inside him, but his emerald eyes gave him away, unable to hide the multitude of different emotions that were wreaking havoc inside him.

"You're older now, Harry. You will not repeat the same mistakes you made before," Death tried to reassure his friend.

"Older does not necessarily mean wiser, Death!" he exclaimed with a dramatic wave of his hand. "Especially not when it comes to him," he spat, imploring his friend to understand.

This couldn't possibly end in anything but a disaster.

"He's younger this time," Death pointed out, but Harry just shook his head.

"He's fourteen! He's already been through every horror imaginable, and he's already committed atrocities that no child his age should be capable of. He's already him," Harry insisted.

"He's yet to spill any blood," Death reminded him, but Harry just glared at him.

"You forget that I value each life, however insignificant they may be to you. Creatures have already bled and died under his hands, minds have been tortured, and souls seduced," he said, trying to make his friend see what a horrible mistake this was.

"You know that he's not yet the devil you paint him out to be," Death persisted, growing increasingly irate with his friend. Why did he choose someone so stubborn to be his companion?

"Then why didn't you send me back to when he was a babe? Why not let me try and raise him to be better? Instead, you chose to torture me," he snapped accusingly.

The air around them chilled as Death tried and failed to contain his irritation.

"And what of the balance?" he growled. "He might not have committed those crimes just yet, but his soul is tainted by the heinous act of its defiling. Tearing your soul in such a grotesque manner—" he paused and released a disgusted chortle. "No, such magic isn't simply reversed and ignored, as you very well know, Harry. He felt no remorse for his actions, and so he must suffer the consequences. Magic demands balance."

Fearing an oncoming snowstorm, Harry decided not to argue with him.

"So, I'm to go to Hogwarts then." It wasn't really a question. Harry could try and avoid Hogwarts and Riddle all he liked, Death would find a way to push them together.

"You think that by saving Riddle, I'll save the world." Again, not really a question, and he reluctantly agreed.

If Riddle had been slightly less unhinged, he might have led the world into greatness. If Riddle hadn't been such a psychopathic, treacherous, genocidal, cheating, megalomaniac... Erm- right, anyway, but he was- is all those things and much more.

"It might be a step in the right direction," Death agreed, sounding more chipper than he had in decades.

"Right," Harry sighed and slumped against the wall behind him, unbothered by the dirt and grime that covered every inch of the alley he was hidden in.

"If I have to kill him again, it's over. I want them all gone. Every single undeserving human on this earth. We'll wipe it clean and start over."

"Sounds like we have a plan B, my friend," Death readily agreed, already knowing what their next course of action would have to be if they failed.

"I can't allow them to hurt her again. She won't survive it," Harry said as he knelt and placed his palm on the ground.

"So you feel it?" Death asked him, sounding uncharacteristically concerned and sombre.

Harry gave him a curt nod and sighed. "She's still in pain. Mother will need to recuperate her energy, and it's going to take some time. Sending us here in the state she was in took a lot out of her."

"The echo of that devastation will never fully leave her," Death agreed. "But fear not, she will thrive again," he consoled him but refrained from patting his shoulder reassuringly.

"I'm undeserving of being her chosen son. Look what I allowed to happen to her," he mumbled, voice brimming with self-loathing.

"It's not our place to meddle with the choices of mortals, Harry. Every soul must be tested. But we're here now, and that's all that matters."

"And am I not here to meddle with the choices of mortals?" he asked darkly with misdirected venom.

"Yes, you are," he said naturally, ignoring his friend's acidity. "Because we've clearly seen what leaving them to their own devices will lead to. They need all the help they can get if they are to be saved."

Harry chuckled humorlessly. "And I'm supposed to start with Riddle?" he asked him dubiously. "He's obviously the easiest person to turn to our side," he grumbled.

"Indeed," Death said, completely ignoring Harry's sarcasm. "We're going to have to start small, Harry, and young Riddle is just the perfect place to start."

Harry decided not to say anything at all and just closed his eyes.

This was all a very bad dream. He would soon wake up in his comfortable bed, which was located deep in the African continent.

"Don't fret, young Harry," Death encouraged, then he pinched him, thus ruining Harry's last shred of hope that this was all a nightmare.

He groaned and rubbed the spot Death had just pinched. "Not dreaming then," he sighed and opened his eyes.

"We have two months to get your affairs in order."

"Priorities, Death. Priorities," he deadpanned. "I'll go ahead and assume that you won't be so kind as to pick another point in history where I can start stopping the world from being burned to ashes? You know, for instance, any point before Riddle's existence?"

Death didn't think that he needed to dignify that with an answer. There was a prank. There were female demons involved. And that was all he would add to that.

"Well, if that's settled," Harry snapped. "Welcome to the 1940s, Potter."

"You're going to have to change your name."

"Will you please not start acting like this is my first trip through time! I'll have you know that I was-"

"-only thirteen when I took my first trip into the past. I know. I was witness to the fiasco that was you helping your godfather escape."

"It was not a fiasco," Harry cried, vehemently defending his early adventures in the wizarding world.

"It could have gone more smoothly," teased Death.

"I was thirteen."

"Closer to fourteen, really."

"You mentioned something about getting my affairs in order?"