Harry Potter and the Wand of Gryffindor

Book One of an ongoing 'Gambit in Time' Saga.

Chapter 1: The Gift

Halloween had never been the happiest of holidays for Harry Potter. During his early years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the date had often brought ill omens with it. A mountain troll had broken into the castle in his first year. A murderous basilisk let loose in his second, not to mention the memories that day conjured up for his wife, Ginny, who had been possessed during the incident. It also marked the day his name had been drawn from the Goblet of Fire in his fourth year, creating a magical contract which had obliged him to enter the Triwizard Tournament, to the ire of the majority of the school, and which had ended tragically with Cedric Diggory's death.

Of course, all of these events paled in comparison to the night of Halloween, 1981, when the dark wizard Lord Voldemort had murdered Harry's parents, and then attempted to murder an infant Harry Potter in his crib. That one action, failed as it had been, was the single most influential moment of Harry Potter's life, and the one that caused him the most pain to think about.

Without the events of that one day, he often decided when he forced himself to consider it, none of the other events that came after would have happened. His life would have been boring, but happy.

Probably.

All in all, whenever the 31st of October came around, Harry Potter was thankful for an excuse to distract himself, if only to avoid dwelling on the past too much.

This year was no different, and as evening came, Harry was safely engrossed in a task that he normally put off at long as possible – paperwork. Tucked up in his home office, on the topmost floor of Grimmauld Place, he diligently worked through a pile of parchments which had been sitting on his desk for more than a month. As the recently promoted head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry's workload had increased significantly and the in-tray on his desk, magically linked to a similar one on his desk within the Ministry, had grown steadily to the point that even Harry had acknowledged needed dealing with.

And what better opportunity to do so would there be than the one day each year that Harry Potter needed busywork to distract him.

The room in which he sat had once belonged to a young Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. In Sirius's youth it had been his bedroom, festooned with the bright red and gold banners of the boy's school house, in direct defiance of his family's traditional Slytherin sensibilities. It had been for that feeling of warmth and rebellion, along with the close connection to his godfather, that Harry had decided to convert the room into the finely appointed office it was today. It was a comfortable size for a home office, with an oversized oak desk, and a large window that Harry had enchanted to show a picturesque view out of Gryffindor tower. One entire wall was taken up by a massive bookshelf that housed books that Harry never intended to read, whilst the wall opposite his desk was mostly taken up by a large sofa that his children had made more use of over the years than he had. The office was probably much grander than it truly needed to be, but the Potters had never been short on Galleons, especially given his position within the Ministry of Magic, and Ginny's former profession as a professional Quidditch player.

With a flourish, Harry signed off on the latest series of bills sent to him by Hermione for approval. He smiled as he considered how well his friend had done for herself. Born to non-magical parents, Hermione Granger had been the poster-witch for what Muggleborns could achieve. Then again, with the drive that she had, coupled with her thirst for knowledge, perhaps it wasn't all that surprising that she had become the Minister for Magic eventually. That accomplishment, coming only a mere ten years after the campaign of fear and misinformation that had perforated the magical community during what people were now calling the Second Wizarding War, was a testament to her passion for justice, and her commitment to the magical community.

Harry hoped, as did Hermione, that her tenure could usher in a new way of thinking into magical Britain, where the old ideals of blood purity could finally be put behind them, and the country could start to heal properly. It wasn't going to be an easy task, many of the old families that thought this way were still powerful and influential, but if anyone could do it, it would be Hermione.

Somewhere in the house, a clock struck the hour. Harry put down his quill and rubbed his eyes with ink-stained fingers. Perhaps he was working a little too hard. It was meant to be a holiday, after all.

The door to his office opened, revealing the visage of his wife. Not exactly tall, she maintained an athletic figure, a hangover from her days as a professional quidditch player, whilst her features, which Harry had always found extremely pleasant to look at, had matured well with age. Her freckles had sadly faded, and her once wildly orange hair had darkened, either with age or by more magical means, to an auburn shade, but Ginny wore both changes well, and Harry was just as enamoured with Ginny the mother and reporter as he had ever been with Ginny the girl.

'Hey, you.' she said, backing her way into the room, a tray laden with two steaming cups of tea and a plate of biscuits in her hands. 'It's late. I thought you might like a snack.'

'Gin, you're an angel.'

Placing the tray down on his desk, Ginny picked up her own cup and cradled it in her hands, breathing deeply into the steam. It swirled in magically emphasised spirals around her face, framing it prettily. 'How are you doing, Harry?' she asked, the tone of her voice clearly signalling her concern for her husband. 'Only, I hate to think of you holing yourself away up here in the dark.'

'It's not dark.' Harry countered. Indeed, light shone through the enchanted window as if it were midday, despite the late hour. 'And I had some work to be getting on with. You know me, Gin. I can't settle if there's work to be done.'

Ginny shot him a withering look. 'Maybe not if it means waving your wand about like a child, but I can count on one had the times you've spent your personal time doing paperwork.' Her expression softened. 'Normally, I wouldn't mind this change in behaviour, but given the occasion…' she trailed off.

With a sigh of resignation, Harry picked up his own cup of tea and took a sip. It was hot, and tasted mildly of cinnamon. 'Fine.' he said, 'Point taken. It's just-'

'I know, Harry.' Ginny said. 'Of all people, trust me. I know.'

Harry smiled at his wife of twenty years, thanking his lucky stars that things had turned out as they had. As much as he often fantasised about the different decisions he could have made in his youth, he was painfully aware of how often he and his friends had survived by the skin of their teeth. Even small changes here and there might have upset that delicate balance, and doomed them all to a life under Lord Voldemort, assuming they survived at all.

'Right.' he said eventually, once they had chatted amiably about nothing at all for a couple of minutes, 'Enough work. Let's do something fun! Fancy a game of gobstones? I think Lily might have forgotten to take her set to Hogwarts. It should be in her room.'

Ginny scoffed. 'Now you really are being a child.' she said, heading to the door. 'When you're feeling more grown up, come down to the living room and sit by the fire with me. Oh, and bring that tray with you too.'

'How about exploding snap?' Harry called out as his wife departed. 'Hide and seek?'

He grinned. Winding Ginny up had never gotten old. Chuckling to himself, he started to tidy his desk of the parchments, self-inking quills and other paraphernalia that had collected over the past couple of hours, setting them back into their designated stacks, drawer or locations around his desk by hand. He could have used magic, it would have been quicker, but Harry found something soothing about organising his desk manually, and he hadn't used magic to do so for years.

Once everything was tidy, Harry quickly checked his in-tray before leaving, a habit from his Auror days where interesting cases might well move themselves to a less busy desk if they sensed their current assignee was ignoring them. He thumbed quickly through the stack, groaning at the sight of a number of reports from the Department of Magical Weights and Measures that needed review, until he came upon a small package, wrapped in plain brown paper.

Curious, Harry pulled the parcel out. It was weighty, definitely not just another stationary delivery, but otherwise entirely benign looking. Turning it over in his hands, Harry could see no identifying marks except for where his name was written out in a neat, compact script, not even a return address. Something about the hand writing seemed familiar to Harry. He'd definitely seen it before, but couldn't recall where, or who it belonged to.

It would soon become apparent, Harry reasoned, when he opened it in front of the fire. He placed it on the tray and departed the room with it.

Hopefully, what was inside would be more interesting than the packaging.

Grimmauld Place had changed drastically over the years that the Potters had inhabited it. The ancestral home of the 'Most Ancient and Noble House of Black' – now extinct except for Narcissa Malfoy (nee Black) – the entire building had once encapsulated what that family had stood for. Expensive ornaments and materials had been everywhere, most entirely excessive for their actual purpose. Floorboards of the darkest and rarest woods, picture frames made of solid gold or silver, silk hangings of exceptional quality used to such an excess that muggles might mistake them for wallpaper.

All of that might not have been an issue for a new family moving in, except that the subject nature of all these things, the pictures, the ornaments, the shrunken heads of former house elves, was all so dark and contrary to both Harry and Ginny's personal values. From the aforementioned house elf heads and the cursed 'heirlooms' that would strangle, maim or otherwise attack any muggle within reach, to the many scenes of witches and wizards embroidered on the silken hangings, mostly showing them cursing, catching or wielding power over muggles and magical creatures. It was a temple to the superiority of magical blood, to 'purity', and that was a message that neither Harry nor Ginny, not to mention their friends and family, wanted to live in the midst of.

Having made the decision to move into Grimmauld Place soon after leaving school, it was clear that they would have to completely strip out the old Black-family decorations if they were ever going to make it into a home fit for a family. The day they had finally gotten rid of the portrait of old Walburga Black from the entrance hallway had been particularly memorable. The old hag had been one of the Black household's most offensive hangovers, a very loud and brash blood-suprematist that had had the forethought to have her portrait stuck to the wall with a permanent sticking charm before her death. With the prospect of removing the portrait from the wall an imposable one, it had instead necessitated demolishing the entire wall to remover her presence from the building.

Once she was gone, the rest of the process went rather more smoothly. The hangings were removed and either sold or put into deep storage, some of the more dangerous heirlooms safely destroyed. The issue of what exactly to do with the preserved house elf heads had been more problematic. Ginny's brother, Ron, had been of the opinion that they should be burnt along with some of the more offensive hangings, which had naturally outraged his wife, Hermione, who had been working at the Ministry specifically to further the cause for house elf rights at the time. At her insistence, the heads had instead been buried beneath a tree in the communal garden in front of the house.

Over the next few years Harry and Ginny, with the assistance of their friends and family, had slowly renovated the Black residence, turning it instead into a proper home for a new generation of Potters. Dark wood had made way to lighter materials, oppressive wall hangings replaced with cheerfully painted walls, and loud and obnoxious portraits changed out with friendlier ones that didn't scream obscenities at you as you passed. By the time the Potters' first child came around, the building was almost unrecognisable.

Those days seemed like ancient history now, given that their eldest child, James, would be graduating from Hogwarts later this year. Time, it seemed, marched ever onwards at such a relentless pace.

As Harry reached the first floor landing he took out his wand and tapped the tray, sending it floating down towards the kitchen. He often told his children off for such a flippant use of magic, but what they didn't know wouldn't kill them. Package in hand, he entered the much improved space that was the living room.

In the old Black household, the space had been a rather formal drawing room, housing some of the more valuable of the family heirlooms. Notably, one entire wall of the room had been taken up by an extravagantly detailed silk tapestry that depicted the Black family tree. Impressively, it had been charmed to update in real time, creating an accurate and supposedly permanent depiction of the Black family's magnificence. Notably, however, a couple of the faces had been burned away in retribution for sons, cousins and other disgraced members of the family who had the nerve to associate, or even marry, muggles. These holes somewhat diminished the impact of the tapestry, and demonstrated quite accurately, in Harry's opinion, the folly that it was to try and follow so strictly to the ideals of blood purity.

Naturally, that had been the first thing to go from the room. Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, had been one of those scorched faces, and had confided in Harry that he would have liked nothing less than to see the tapestry gone before his untimely death. Harry had been more than happy to fulfil his late godfather's wishes. After that, stripping the room of all the other Black paraphernalia had been simple, and in its place the Potters had created a room full of warmth and easy comfort.

Gone were the greens and silvers, replaced with golds and reds. The stiff furniture, designed to not be too comfortable lest the Blacks and their guests forget themselves, were exchanged for deep, plush sofas that a person could happily fall asleep in. Over time, their children had added their own touches to the room too, a wizards chess set here, a toy broomstick there, and Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes strewn all over the place. It was a room for laughter and family, only accentuated by the roaring fire that could be lit at all times of year without ever overheating the room.

Harry sunk into the sofa beside his wife. She looked up over the brim of her book, giving him a searching look, but said nothing. She had forgiven him for his childishness, then.

'What's that you're reading?' Harry asked, settling into the cushions. 'Would I like it?'

Ginny lowered the book and smiled. 'James's girlfriend left it here the last time she visited.' she said, regarding the book's cover. 'It's not bad, but I doubt you'd enjoy it. A little bit too much romance for Harry Potter. Not enough duels.'

Harry bristled. 'I like a bit of romance!' he said defensively, 'I just prefer if it's interspaced with a good duel or two.'

Ginny patted him on the hand. 'Of course you do, dear.' she said. 'That's why it's been three years since you've bought me flowers…'

'I buy you chocolate!' Harry countered, but that only made Ginny scoff.

'You buy yourself chocolate.' she said with a grin. 'It's just a happy coincidence that I like chocolate too.'

Harry shrugged. 'Yeah, I suppose. But, I mean well.'

'You do.' Ginny conceded. She brought up her book and looked to return to reading, but she caught sight of the parcel tucked under Harry's arm. 'What's that?'

'This?' Harry had almost forgotten he was carrying it. 'Oh, I don't actually know.' he admitted. 'It was buried at the bottom of my in-tray. No note, no name, except mine of course.' he handed it to his wife to look at.

'A mystery package?' she said, turning it over. She peered at the script. 'The writing is very neat. Looks like a girl's hand writing to me. A present, perhaps?' she glanced up at Harry, 'Should I be worried about some younger witch trying to steal you away from me?'

Her words were accusatory, but her eyes were sparkling with a mischievous glint.

'You're hilarious.' Harry said, deadpan, snatching the package back. 'But why don't we find out? It could just as easily be a prank from Ron.'

'It's a bit heavy for a pair of his old socks.' Ginny said with a grin, 'but you're right. That is more likely than you having a secret admirer.'

Harry grinned at the in-joke. In actual fact, both Harry and Ginny were famous enough, Harry because of the war and Ginny because of her former career as a professional quidditch player, that for a large period of their lives they were both regularly inundated with letters and 'gifts' from admires and fans. In recent times these incidents were becoming much more rare as people found others to be enamoured by, but it didn't stop the odd letter or two sneaking through. Fortunately, Harry's work correspondence was heavily filtered by his secretary, so there was little chance of fan mail getting through that way.

Summoning the coffee table closer to him, Harry placed the parcel down on top of it. With a practised hand he waved a complicated pattern with his wand over the top of the package, weaving a spell designed to detect any malicious jinxes or curses within. Ron would have accused him of being over-cautious if he had been there, but that was only because Harry had discovered a number of booby-trapped packages from Ron over the years via this very method. Somewhat unsurprisingly, many products from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, the business that Ron ran with his brother George, were malicious in nature, even if they were mostly only intended as pranks.

'Anything?' Ginny asked, leaning in at Harry's shoulder.

Harry ended the spell. 'There's some magic there, for sure, strong too.' he said, 'But I can't detect any actual curses. Perhaps a charm?'

Ginny frowned. 'Maybe you should leave it be then.' she said. 'You don't know who sent it, do you?'

'No,' Harry conceded, 'but it's already been vetted by the Ministry. If I started second guessing everything in my in-tray, I'd never get any work done!'

'Uh-huh. And those morons in the owlrey have never gotten anything wrong.' Ginny said, 'Fine. Get it open so I can get back to my book.'

Harry chuckled and waved his wand, cutting the packing paper in a neat line down the centre of the package. Another flick of his wand and the paper slipped from under the package and rose into the air, folding itself into the form of a small bird. It flew around Ginny's head for a few moments before gliding into the fire.

'Show off.' Ginny said.

They regarded the object that had been left behind on the table. It was a low square box, about a foot in length and breadth, and just over an inch high. It appeared to be made of an aged hardwood of dark colouring, with the golden insignia of a stylised lion inlaid into the lid. On top of the box, however, was a note. Written in the same neat, compact script, on fine quality parchment, the message contained was succinct.

'For all that you have done.

You truly deserve this.

D'

'Well, that's cryptic.' Harry said, puzzled. 'Who's 'D'?'

Ginny shrugged. 'Draco? After that thing with Albus and Scorpius, he might feel that he owes you one.'

'Unlikely,' Harry countered, 'It doesn't sound like him, plus that's definitely not his hand writing. Maybe a Dumbledore? Aberforth is still alive, isn't he?

'Maybe,' Ginny said, 'But I always imagined that his handwriting was more agricultural than that.' she shrugged again. 'But, he was a Dumbledore, and that family were all extremely academic. There's a chance that their parents drilled handwriting into them at an early age.'

'Perhaps,' Harry said, picking the note up and inspecting the back, but nothing was written there. He handed it to Ginny for her to inspect too. 'Maybe whatever is inside the box will help us work out who it might be.'

'Careful, Harry.' Ginny cautioned.

With his wand, Harry levitated the lid of the box off. It didn't come easily, the tolerances of the box were so fine that there was little space for air to get under the lid as it was lifted, but with a little encouragement it finally came free. Laying the lid down, Harry poked his wand under the protective cloth that covered the box's contents, and felt his breath catch as he pulled it aside.

Set into an oval of finely wrought gold, creating a kind of frame, and captured in some sort of forcefield, a wand slowly spun in place. It was an old wand, very old, to judge by the fine cracks and worn grip, but it was the placard below, a silver plate set into the golden ring, that truly marked the wand as ancient.

'this beest the wand of godric griffid'r – c.993 – 1097'

Harry barely noticed the gasp that sounded at his shoulder. 'You've got to be kidding me.' Ginny said, breathless.

'I can barely believe it myself.' Harry said, feeling a little light-headed. The wand of Godric Gryffindor? If true, it was incredible. Most of the man's life was surrounded in myth and fable, meaning that very little was actually known about the Hogwarts Founder, including the characterises of his wand. Could this really be it? If so, the value of it was incalculable.

To think that this package might have been sitting at the bottom of his in-tray for months, that Harry might have put a cup of tea on top of it a couple of times without knowing!

Incredible!

Harry felt an urge to reach out and hold this piece of history in his own hands.

'Can we even accept it?'

The question brought Harry out of his euphoria with a bump. That was a good question. The wand of Godric Gryffindor. It was an object of national significance, of international significance. It belonged in a museum, or perhaps at Hogwarts where students could take ownership of it. To keep it for themselves? It was almost unthinkable.

'Oh, Gin. If only we could.' Harry said wistfully. He turned back to the wand, over 1000 years old, rotating it its stasis field. The fact that it wasn't dust already was testament to the strength of the magic holding it in place. No wonder he had detected strong magic within the package.

Once again, the urge to reach out and hold the wand himself was strong. The wand of Godric Gryffindor!

'Maybe we should give it to McGonagall?' Harry suggested, fighting the urge best he could. 'She could keep it alongside the sorting hat, or put it on display in the Great Hall?'

'And suffer the wrath of Hermione?' Ginny countered. 'She's going to want the Ministry to have it, you know. She loves Hogwarts, but she has grander ideas than that now.'

'So, a rock and a hard place.' Harry sighed and leant back into the cushions of the sofa, still staring wide-eyed at the rotating wand before him. 'Still, I don't suppose we have to make a decision right away.'

'Harry!'

'What?' Harry said, grinning sheepishly. 'We're the only ones that know we've got it, apart from this mysterious 'D'. All I'm saying is that we have some time to make a decision. Maybe we can feel both McGonagall and Hermione out to see which would be least likely to skin me alive.'

Ginny seemed uncertain. 'I don't know, Harry. If we keep it for a few days, who's to say that it won't stretch to a month, then a year. Suddenly, the Potters are the family that hoarded Gryffindor's wand for themselves.'

'Come on, Gin. We're not like that.' Harry countered. 'Plus, the moment one of the kids sees this at Christmas, half the students on the Hogwarts Express will know we have it before they make it back to Hogsmeade. That gives us two months at most.'

Ginny gave a grand sigh, and Harry knew he had convinced her, for now at least.

'So, what do we do with it in the meantime?' she asked. 'We can't exactly put it on the mantle.'

Harry nodded. 'Agreed,' he said, 'but it seems such a shame to put it in a drawer too.'

'Then make a decision about who to give it to, and it can go on display properly!' Ginny countered.

'Fine!' Harry relented. 'In a drawer it goes.' he leant forward to regard the wand one last time. It was just so incredible. The real, honest-to-god, wand of Godric Gryffindor. It was right there before him. Impulsively, he reached out a hand, the urge to hold it returning stronger than ever.

'Harry!' Ginny said, alarmed. She placed a hand on his arm, as if to restrain him. 'What are you doing!'

He paused, 'Just for a second, Gin.' he said, guiltily. 'Once we give it away, you know that I'll never have another chance.' he pleaded. 'Gin! It's the wand of Godric Gryffindor!'

'It's just a wand, Harry.' she replied. 'You've already been in contact with more legendary items than almost any other person in history! Hufflepuff's cup. Gryffindor's sword.' she listed them off on her fingers, 'The Philosopher's Stone. The Tri-Wizard Cup. All of the Deathly Hallows! Do you really need to hold this wand too?'

Harry considered her words. She was correct, of course. He'd been uncommonly lucky in life, in a way, to have come into contact with so many unique and special items of note. The fact that he'd undergone a lot of suffering during the events that had led up to these encounters did little to balance it out, although it did at least it mean than people couldn't begrudge him that luck either.

And yet… And yet…

'I see what you're saying.' he acknowledged, 'but it's right there, Gin! Right there!'

'You're an idiot, Harry Potter.' she said, 'And if Hermione were here, she'd say so too.'

'But I bet that Ron would agree with me.' Harry countered. 'George too.'

Ginny nodded. 'Well, that's true enough. If either of them were here, the wand would have been passed around the three of you like a bottle of firewhiskey by now.' She sighed, 'Fine, do what you want, Harry. You're certainly old enough and ugly enough to make your own mistakes. Just don't come crying to me if, the moment you take it out of that stasis field, the entire wand starts to fall apart in your hands.'

Harry bristled, uncomfortable with the fact that his wife had a point. He didn't know if the wand could survive handling. It certainly was extremely selfish to test it. There was something drawing him in, though. Some primal urge that made holding that wand suddenly extremely important to him.

Taking a deep breath, he reached into the golden frame that supported the field, and closed his hand around the wand's handle.

Almost immediately, he knew something was wrong. The world around him seemed to slow, and the next few moments, although they probably only took seconds, seemed to stretch to twice, three times, four times that length. He tried to remove his hand, to let go of the wand, but his fingers seemed fixed, almost glued to the object. In panic, Harry tried to call out, but his voice came out low and distorted.

Time seemed to be slowing further. The next moments stretched to minutes, whilst Harry's thoughts raced on at normal speed. He watched as, in slow motion, his wife's eyes widened in surprise. She reached out a hand, her movements seemed impeded by the very air, as if moving through treacle. She blinked, and Harry watched almost in fascination at how her eyelids moved, the eyelashes wobbling as the lids opened once more in a way that was simply imperceptible at normal speeds.

After an age, Ginny's hand touched the skin of his arm. The action was so slow that Harry was able to marvel at the warmth of her skin, the firmness of her touch. It seemed that she was attempting to pull his hand physically off the wand.

Then time stopped. For a while, Harry wasn't sure if the time distortion had simply grown so large that movement was simply imperceptible. The living room, the furniture, his wife, the entire world was stationary like a muggle picture. He couldn't even move his eyes any more.

How long would this last? Would he be stuck here like this forever? Was Ginny experiencing all this too, or was it just him? In which case, he wondered what had happened next. Was Ginny now shouting at him for being so foolish? Or, was the entire world experiencing this too?

He seemed to stay like that, frozen in space and time, for hours. It started to dawn on him that he might very well die like this, never to move again. But, he reasoned as time inexorably went on inside the confines of his mind, if his body wasn't ageing, or using energy, he would never grow old. Nor would he die of hunger, nor thirst. He might be trapped here, in this moment, for eternity.

Harry never knew how long he waited, as hours stretched potentially into days, then weeks. He didn't sleep, he didn't need to, nor could he even close his eyes. Instead he stared onwards, his focus on a singular spot on Ginny's concerned face. He could switch his attention briefly to other parts of his peripheral view, but sooner or later it would always come back to that one focal point. Emotionally, he went through a number of stages, from fear, to resignation, through boredom. He convinced himself on a number of occasions that he had gone mad, only for his mind to get lost in a memory of his life – his wife, their wedding, their kids, his friends, his godson and his children – and he would realise that he still retained a semblance of humanity.

When it eventually happened, Harry almost didn't notice. He had been lost in thought, pondering whether or not he could have made it as a professional quidditch player as his wife had, when a flicker of movement caught his eye.

He immediately dismissed it. His mind had tricked him into seeing movement before, and it didn't pay to start entertaining such notions. It would only lead to disappointment and emotional pain in the end. So, he went back to his pondering.

The Chudley Cannons would have taken him, surely. What possible harm could giving Harry Potter a fly do to their record? Then again, Harry would then be on the receiving end of a mountain of abuse from Ron if he failed to succeed. And, he would have been compared unfavourably to his extremely successful wife much too often. He loved Ginny, but the thought of losing every game of quidditch he ever played against her was a step too far.

He glanced up at Ginny's eyes, beautiful, and stuck in their perpetual state of concern. He had been lucky, really, hadn't he.

Then he realised what he'd just done. He'd glanced. Glanced! He hadn't been able to move his eyes to glance at anything for… well, he didn't truly know. Time had kind of lost all meaning.

He tried again, and was thrilled at his ability to glance at other objects too. The wand, he'd forgotten almost what it had looked like. The clock on the mantle, it had been a few minutes past ten at night. The point at which Ginny's hand was resting on his arm. Being able to change his focus was incredible!

Soon he was noting other changes too. Ginny's hair was moving, but something was strange about it. Not only that it was moving in slow motion, that much was granted, but the motion itself seemed unusual. Ginny blinked again, taking an age to do so, but the motion kept Harry's rapt attention. He wasn't imagining it. The world was speeding up again. Very slowly, but it was progress.

It was perhaps another day, or week, or hour, before Harry realised what had been bugging him about the movement. It had started with Ginny's hair, flowing in an odd way, but as things started to speed up, other motions had cashed in on this weirdness too. Ginny's eyelids seemed to accelerate and decelerate strangely, as did the waves his hand had caused in the status field. It wasn't until he had glanced again at the mantle clock that he saw why.

Time was flowing backwards. Suddenly the weirdness in the movements made sense. Start slow, end fast and abruptly, rather than the normal fast to slow that was usual for motion at small timescales. What did it mean though? How far would it reverse?

Harry barely had time to contemplate this thought before events started to cascade. Time was speeding up exponentially now, albeit in the wrong direction. Harry watched as Ginny's hand lifted off his arm and lunged back across his field of vision, still through treacle, but now in reverse. He heard himself shout, the sound low, but distorted and backwards and it made no sense to him. Time was almost at normal speed now, seeming ridiculously fast compared to the eons of stillness he had just endured, but still it ploughed onwards, backwards.

Harry braced himself for the moment that he would let go of the wand. He had known this moment would come ever since he had discovered that time was flowing backwards, but as it approached he found himself unprepared. What would happen? Would all this simply end, and he would be able to make the choice 'not' to grasp at the wand? He had been moving forward when he had grabbed the wand, he thought, probably. It had been such a long time ago now, he could barely remember. If time did restart the instant that his skin left the wand, would he even have time to stop himself from grabbing it all over again?

Would he be stuck in an infinite loop for the rest of eternity? Somehow, that seemed even worse than being frozen in time.

The moment came, and in the blink of an eye it had passed by as time continued to speed up, but in the wrong direction. Harry watched, baffled as he had a sped up and entirely unintelligible conversation with his wife. He could feel his lips moving, hear the backwards words, but as time continued faster and faster, it only confused him further.

What was going on? He hadn't been prepared for this. Suddenly he was carrying the tray back up the stairs and into his study, messed up his desk, sat down and had another garbled conversation with his wife. Their words were little more than squeaks now, sounding like a badly damaged muggle tape being rewound too fast.

Harry watched as Ginny seemed to disappear into thin air, only to realise that she had moved too fast for his eyes to comprehend. He was barely able to register the movement of parchments in the blur of white on the desk before him, then time became so fast that he only managed snippets of information, like brief glances at still photos through the window of a speeding train.

He saw the Ministry, and a woman who might have been Hermione, but there was no time to put effort into recognising her, because suddenly he was walking down a street with muggles passing by. Now he was at a quidditch match, probably. He saw the bright lights of spells, curses, frozen in the snapshot of time that he had glimpsed. Hogwarts loomed large. A dragon, flame spewing from its mouth, dove at him. An internal hallway at Hogwarts this time. He was flying a broom, now back on the ground. Images flew past faster and faster until it became impossible to even glimpse them. The noise of all these events seemed to grow into a crescendo until at last…

It ended.

Author's Note: I've not written or uploaded a fic for a very long time, and this project has been on my back-burner for a number of years. However, during the recent human-malware situation we've all found ourselves in, I've had some extra time on my hands, and I managed to get the first book of this story polished off. Right now, my intention is to release a chapter or two every week, whilst I work on the second book in the series.

I hope you enjoy it, and I welcome any thoughts that you might have.

Stay safe out there - Chris