A/N: I do enjoy watching Dr. Who every now and then.

The Boy Who Fell through Time and Space

Voldemort was slain. His horcruxes lay in shattered pieces, never again to aid the madman's return. The battle was won.

In an all too familiar hospital ward, a black haired youth lay on a pristine white bed. Next to him, a bushy haired girl sat quietly, stroking the young man's forehead with a loving hand. The streaks of blood and dirt that spattered their skin and clothes were the only indication that they survived what would later be known as the Battle of Hogwarts.

The young man was breathing in labored gasps, physically and mentally worn out from the excruciating final battle with the self-proclaimed Dark Lord.

"You did it, Harry," the girl was saying, "We won."

The resting youth did not looked nearly as pleased given the circumstances.

"We won." She repeated, as if trying to convince herself it was true.

"So why do I feel like everything is ending?" The girl choked out, voice heavy with sorrow.

The young man looked to the girl, hand reaching up to grab hers.

"Hermione . . . " he began.

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand hard, voice cracking slightly in her agony.

"Promise me . . . " she faltered.

Harry looked towards the girl, a worried expression on his face. Hermione took a shuddering breath before forcing herself to continue.

"Promise me you come back. Please. Come back to me."

Harry grimaced, suddenly looking much older than his perceived age. If one looked closely, they would notice a faint glow beginning to envelop the man.

"You know I can't promise you that, Hermione," he whispered. "It doesn't work like that. It's never worked like that."

The girl gave a small, sad smile as she began to fade.

"I know," she said softly. "But I can hope, can't I?"

Harry bit back tears. No matter how many times he went through this, it would always be hard to do. It would always leave a new scar upon his weathered heart. The bushy haired girl now leaned over his fallen body, placing a gentle kiss upon his lips. When she withdrew, her eyes were beginning to mist over.

"I love you, Harry. Through this world and the next."

Harry Potter reached up slowly. His hand trembled, as if the very motion was infinitely exhausting to his weary body. What he would give to just touch her one last time.

He opened parched lips to speak, to tell her.

"I . . . "

But his hands grasped at thin air as his body fell hard onto a dusty wooden floor. Blinking, Harry Potter stared up at the ceiling, trying to focus on his location. Anything to take his mind off that sweet girl who, moments ago, was sitting just an arm's length away.

But it was no use.

The man – the individual whom time herself seemed to have forgotten about – pressed his hands to his eyes and let out a choked sob. It was always like this, but repetition would never stop the pain. No, but he would find the strength to carry on.

He always did.

He cried for a while, unsure of how much time went by. But then again, he stopped caring about time long ago.

No, to Harry Potter, the concept of time was completely foreign, for he would never experience time in all its glory. He would never find someone to spend eternity with, never know the joys and tribulations of marriage, never grow old and die surrounded by a loving family. For whatever reason, Fate made Harry Potter her hero, her champion. And for that reason alone, he no longer knew time as others did.

For when a mission was complete, he would always be whisked away to some other time, some other dimension.

He sometimes wondered if they would simply forget him once he ceased to exist in that dimension . . . it was frightening thought regardless of the outcome. Harry simply learned to remember the various instances of the people he met, if only to stop himself from breaking down and giving up.

Hermione. Sweet, innocent Hermione. She was always friendly to him, no matter the circumstances that led to their meeting. How he hated to leave her broken hearted; her reactions in his the jumps, assuming they met, were never all that different. She really was too good for someone like him.

Finally calming down, he wiped away his tears, took a deep breath, and looked around in earnest. One thing was for certain, events in each timeline seemed to remain mostly consistent, with only oddities and abnormalities here and there.

But the course of history was never majorly altered; sometimes delayed, other times rearranged, but certain outcomes would always remain the same.

This he had long since learned in his travels. This stop was no different than the others. He looked around the room and noticed that it seemed large more so because he was smaller. The dusty floors and sloped ceiling looked incredibly familiar; the broken mattress and moth-eaten blankets only served to confirm his location.

He was back in the cupboard under the stairs.

"Perfect." He said flatly, his voice now distinctly juvenile again.

Feeling around, he pulled out a weathered deck of cards out of his back pocket. This was his only true possession, something he whimsically called the Randomizer. Fate gave it to him after his first jump, after that very first Battle of Hogwarts . . . it felt like an eternity ago. She told him it would at the very least keep things interesting for him.

Whatever card he drew at the start of his mission, something would happen. Whether it was a role change in the scenario, or an actual item for usage, he would come to rely on the card as restricted by the mission itself. Additionally, if it was an item, he'd have to incorporate it into the slaying of Voldemort one way or another.

He idly shuffled it in the semi-darkness of the cupboard, all the while muttering to himself.

"Alright, Fate. What are you gonna throw me next?"

He picked a card from the top of the deck. On it was a picture of a man standing next to a golem-like figure bearing the same features as the man. Harry stared at it, interpreting the card.

"Death doll. Wonderful. No combat ability, only used for escaping." He sighed. "Oh well, might as well get to it."

Experience had told him that staying with his aunt and uncle was a pretty bad idea in most situations.

In fact, the only time in recent memory where staying with them was actually to his benefit was one where Vernon dispatched a highly manipulative Dumbledore with a twelve gauge shotgun when the old fool had tried to use the family as bait. Though even that didn't stop Tom's return and rise to power.

He would have to check a few things before he put his plan into effect. The next morning, he casually walked into the Dursley's kitchen, plopping down in an open chair.

"What are you doing, Freak? Get to cooking!" Vernon shouted.

Ah. Strike one against the family. They were aware and vehemently adverse to his heritage.

"Uncle Vernon, why do I need to cook?"

Vernon looked confused, and then outraged.

"Because that's all a worthless orphan like you should deserve! We feed you, clothe you, you need pull your weight if you don't want to end up on the streets!"

Strike two. They clearly had no qualms about child labor, especially if it was inflicted on him.

"Uncle Vernon, why do you hate me?"

To this, Vernon reached over and lifted Harry by the back of his shirt.

"Because you're a no-good Freak who should be better off dead." Vernon growled. "Now stay in your cupboard! No food for a week!"

Harry was thrown into the cupboard, where he crashed into the opposite wall, sending a twinge of pain across his back. He sat up, rubbing his shoulder gingerly.

'Welp,' he thought. 'That settles it. The Dursleys in this universe hate me as much as fifty-eight of his last sixty jumps.'

The other time the Dursleys didn't hate him was the one where he had died as a child, leaving behind a dystopian Britain on the brink of a civil uprising against Voldemort. Then again, that one didn't really count.

He wondered idly if there was supposed to be some hidden requirement that forced the Dursleys to be nasty on impulse. Drawing the Death Doll card, he activated a rune, causing a replica of himself to appear on the bed, eyes dull and expressionless. Experience told him exactly how to disappear from the world, to gain the advantage of obscurity in death. It was a technique he had found useful several jumps in the past. Harry got to preparing the body, systematically breaking several bones and puncturing a lung with a fractured rib.

Sure it was a rather odd thing to do to a replica of himself, but after fighting for so long, he had long since lost his reservations against violence.

As a parting thought, he removed the horcrux leeching off his juvenile self and shoved it into the death doll, watching with mild interest as the fragment twisted and shriveled at the lack of a nutritious magic source. Finally, the piece dissipated into a fine black mist and vanished.

Shrugging, Harry made his plan and exited Number Four Privet Drive. He left his appearance unchanged, instead changing his own appearance to that of a different child.

'Never know when a good disguise and alibi could come in handy,' he recited.

He then slipped out of the house, unlocking his cupboard door with a bit of wandless magic. Outside, he picked up several small engraved stones, disrupting their function with short bursts of his own magic. The runestones crumbled to dust and the wards around Privet Drive fell shortly thereafter. His task completed, he ran off to the nearest police station. Inside, he found a middle aged man reading the daily newspaper.

Putting on his best 'nervous kid' face, he approached the officer.

"Mr. Policeman . . . ?"

The man looked down and smiled.

"What can I do for ya, kiddo?" He set down his paper.

"I . . . I'm worried about my friend." Harry stammered out.

Interested, the policeman led Harry to a chair to sit down.

"Why don't you tell me what's got you worried, son, and we'll see if we can't do anything about it."

Harry glanced around, as if looking for eavesdroppers.

"See my friend's parents died when he was young so he was taken in by his aunt and uncle . . . "

Harry swallowed before continuing.

"They don't treat him too well, sir. I talked to him on the playground and he said they hit him and that it hurt."

The officer's face was slowly growing stiffer.

"Go on," the man managed to say.

"He . . . I mean . . . his uncle got real mad with him the other day for not cooking something right and beat him pretty badly. He managed to escape for a bit and hid at the school for a while."

Harry managed to eke out a few tears.

"And . . . and that was four days ago . . . I haven't seen him since . . . "

The officer was looking rather alarmed now.

"Where does he live, son?" The officer spoke in a quiet voice.

"N-number four, Privet Drive . . . you won't tell his uncle I told you, right? I don't want him to get hurt anymore."

The officer smiled kindly, though it was slightly forced.

"We will do no such thing. Thank you, young man, for letting us know. We'll have a squad car stop by to check it out."

"Please be careful." Harry said in a small voice. "Last time his uncle got angry, he was locked in the cupboard for days."

The officer nodded curtly. Turning, he made a phone call and began making the report. Harry took this time to slip out of his seat and out of sight of the security camera before apparating away. After a moment, the officer turned back around.

"Son, what did you say your friend's name was?"

He blinked.

"Son?"

The office was empty.

-TBWFTTAS-

Two additional patrol cars pulled up in front of Number Four Privet Drive. Officer Johnson, now the primary investigator on this child abuse case, nodded at his fellow officers and approached the house. He knocked and a narrow-faced woman opened the door.

"Yes?" She asked with some measure of disdain.

"Good afternoon. I'm Officer Johnson." He introduced himself. "We'd like to ask you and your husband a few questions, if you don't mind."

Actually, Petunia did mind, but seeing as there were three officers standing in front of her house, she wisely let them inside instead of making a scene.

"Vernon!" Petunia called out. "The police have some questions!"

Johnson watched as a morbidly obese man waddled out of the kitchen, a look of annoyance on his pudgy face.

"Vernon Dursley, I presume?" Johnson asked.

"Yea, what do you want?" Vernon seemed hardly fazed by the three armed men in front of him.

"We've received some rather disturbing allegations about things going on in this household. Would you care to elaborate?" Officer Johnson spoke carefully, revealing nothing at the moment.

Vernon snorted.

"We're a normal God-loving family. Whatever claims you got was probably some punk trying to get attention."

Johnson nodded idly.

"Do you mind if we take a look around then?"

"You got a warrant for that?" Vernon spat rudely.

The officer frowned.

"No, but under reasonable suspicion, we can at the very least check certain areas, say the cupboard under the stairs."

Petunia froze at this, hardly escaping the eyes of the three officers. Vernon drew himself up to his full height and took a step forward.

"Now see here – "

He stopped as the two officers flanking Johnson reached for their weapons. With a disgusted look, Vernon stepped back, hands raised. Officer Johnson walked over and cautiously opened the cupboard door. Inside he found a small body curled up on a broken mattress. Approaching slowly, he squinted, trying to make out any signs of movement.

"Son, are you alright?" Johnson spoke softly.

He froze when he realized the boy was neither moving nor breathing. Throwing caution to the wind, he quickly approached and checked the boy. What he found made his blood run cold. It was a rather pitiful sight, the small malnourished body was badly beaten and broken. He checked for a pulse and found none. The boy's skin was cold and stiff.

Swallowing hard, Officer Johnson stepped out of the cupboard, not looking at his backup.

"Call for forensics and CSI. We've got a one-eighty-seven at Number Four Privet Drive." His voice was dead and monotonous.

One of the other officers nodded curtly and walked out to his car. Turning back to the Vernon, Johnson spoke in a shaking voice.

"Care to explain?" Johnson stepped aside revealing the dead body.

Petunia gasped and promptly fainted. Vernon purpled as he began to sputter.

"I . . . I didn't! That little Freak must have done this to himself! He's always getting up to no good!"

The officer cocked and eyebrow. Out of all the excuses he had ever heard, this one was hardly spectacular, or the slightest bit convincing.

"Your ten year old nephew beat himself to death, did he?" Johnson asked, voice growing colder as his hand twitched towards his nightstick.

Vernon snarled at the provocation.

"Don't patronize me! I'm telling you I didn't do it!"

Johnson stepped forward menacingly, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

"I'm no coroner, sir, but I can tell you those wounds couldn't have been caused by your wife," his eyes flicked to the pictures on the wall, noticeably devoid of the deceased boy's presence. "One might even think you intentionally kept him hidden so you could abuse him whenever you want . . . "

"Now see here, you cocky son of a b – "

Johnson pushed on, not even caring about Vernon's aggression anymore.

"Did you abuse him sexually, sir?"

"I told you to shut your mouth!" Vernon roared.

True, it might have been baiting, but it had the intended result. The big man lumbered forward, swinging a massive fist at the officer. Johnson dodged easily and whipped out his nightstick, sending it slamming across Vernon's kneecaps. Vernon howled in pain as he fell to his knees before a speeding nightstick to his face sent his vision bursting into light and fading into darkness.

"Murder, abuse, and now assault of an officer," his remaining backup drawled. "He's going away for life."

Petunia was brought along for her testimony. Once both Dursleys were revived, the interrogations and investigation began. Privet Drive was taped off and the entire case became highly publicized thanks to an anonymous tip from a man nicknamed Janus. Officers were on scene for over well over two days, tearing apart the quaint house looking for evidence for Vernon's conviction.

Dudley got off fairly lightly for his participation in the abuse. It was found that he simply copied what his father did, thinking it was alright because his father called the boy a freak and said he was not human. He was only sentenced to community service as well as a correctional class on what normal behavior actually was.

Petunia was the one who shed the most light on the case. As Harry was now dead, she had no obligations to keep any aspect of her situation secret. She told the officers that her sister and her sister's husband had died, leaving Harry in her care. She explained that Vernon didn't take kindly to the child, seeing the boy as a threat to their 'normal' lifestyle. Petunia eventually admitted knowing about the beatings, but being physically unable to do anything about it. When questioned as to why she didn't just leave, she shook her head and said she didn't know. Near the end of the interrogation, she broke down crying, saying that it was all her fault and that she had failed Lily. Petunia was directed to a counselor to deal with her emotions and guilt.

Vernon got off worst of all. Continuing his belligerent streak, he was openly antagonistic and hardly repentant about the boy's death, saying that 'the world was a better place' now that young Harry had died. Not only did this earn him life in prison, the judge made specific restrictions that he was never to be allowed bail or parole. An enraged Vernon screamed profanity at the stunned judge, accusing the jury for working with 'them', and finally growing violent and attempting to escape after shaking off his retainers.

He was caught when he got stuck in the doorway exiting the courtroom.

The case eventually drew to a close. Many mourned the fate of the young boy and others drew together to speak out against child abuse. The gruesome nature of this case opened the public's eye to such a situation and police began cracking down on other similar cases, heightening surveillance for any signs at all schools.

Sadly, Officer Johnson never did find the boy that asked him to look for his friend.

-TBWFTTAS-

July 21, 1991

Quirinus Quirrell writhed in pain as his master's soul thrashed about in the confines of his body.

Voldemort was furious. To think that the lucky brat had managed to take a piece of himself. It explained why, even as a soul, he felt so much weaker even after the life-bolstering effects of unicorn blood. He snarled in frustration that one part of him had actually perished.

But on the other hand, it meant that the stubborn brat of a child was no longer alive to complete the prophecy. As far as he was concerned, it merely meant that he would be taking over the Wizarding World soon enough with only that old fool Dumbledore able to hinder him.

But Dumbledore would never be able to kill him. Now with the horcruxes acting as anchors, and certainly not without the boy destined to defeat him.

Despite his pain, Voldemort smirked with satisfaction.

-TBWFTTAS-

July 24, 1991

Albus Dumbledore placed his face in his hands, letting out a sad sigh.

'What had happened at Privet Drive?' The old man thought miserably.

The police were very thorough in their investigations. They found traces of blood all over that tiny hole of a cupboard. Autopsies showed repeated abuse, wounds that would have easily killed a mature adult, as well as older wounds that suggested Vernon made sure there would never be any visible signs of that abuse.

There was absolutely no place for Magicals in this investigation, not that Albus had any remorse for the fat bastard's fate.

Minerva, the poor woman, was devastated. She hadn't even bother admonishing Albus for his decisions, which only made her scorn hurt all the more. He only barely managed to convince her to continue working with the children at Hogwarts and not rush off to an early retirement. In the end, she had locked herself in her office, only coming out during mealtimes.

Albus hoped that time would at least dull her pain; he wasn't sure if he himself would ever forget this failure.

Tiredly, he turned a letter over in his hands, mind in turmoil at the sudden tragedy that had befallen the young Harry Potter. Albus lamented the fact that he believed that the boy's own relatives simply could not be a greater threat to the boy's wellbeing than the Death Eaters.

How wrong he had been!

Harry was supposed to go to Hogwarts that year; he would have attended classes, made friends, maybe even become a Quidditch player like his father before him. And now, thanks to his own blunders, that would never be.

What would the Wizarding World do if Voldemort came back? Albus was fully aware that the newly hired Professor Quirrell was under Tom's possession and was trying to force a confrontation while the spirit was weak using a fake Sorcerer's Stone as bait. But in the end the still active prophecy had foretold Harry being the one to bring the Dark Lord down. The most Albus could hope to do was stall the spirit's return to power.

Sighing, Albus set the letter in his hands aside. The most important task at hand was to prevent Voldemort from returning within the school year at the least. And with Harry Potter gone, that task might prove more challenging than expected.

The letter that lay forgotten on his desk would never be sent.

-TBWFTTAS-

October 31, 1991

It wasn't fair.

Life was never fair.

No matter what Hermione Granger did, she simply could not connect with the other children at Hogwarts. They ostracized her like any other child she knew, calling her names like bookworm, know-it-all, and Mudblood. Though she was unfamiliar with the last term, the expression on the pale faced boy when he said it was all she needed to know it wasn't a very nice to say the least. Even the red-haired boy from her own house was belligerent to her when she tried to teach him how to do a spell. It was as if he didn't actually want to learn anything about magic!

And she had such high hopes for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

She laughed bitterly. In retrospect, it was a foolish thing to expect that magical children would be any different than non-magical children. After all, the only thing they would ever think about was how they could make themselves feel better by putting someone else down. It didn't help that children practically mirrored their parents with no other role models to look up to.

No, Hermione Granger did not consider herself a child; she had gained far too much knowledge to consider herself as such.

That didn't stop the sting of their comments, however, which was why she was sitting alone in the bathroom feeling generally miserable about her life.

'I wish I could at least have a single friend,' the girl thought miserably. 'Someone nice and who liked to study.'

She wiped her eyes, sniffling, and then froze.

Someone had apparently eaten something rotten, because a horrid smell was now pervading the room. It was quite unbearable and the girl found that she could no longer wallow in misery comfortably. She grabbed her bag, adjusting it on her shoulder, and stepped out the bathroom, intending on finding a different place to mope.

A massive club came crashing down, obliterating the stall and toilet she was just sitting at.

Hermione froze. Towering above her was a massive mountain of pure muscle: a mountain troll. It grunted and snorted, breath washing disgustingly over Hermione's face. Her brain shut down and her body resorted to the obvious automatic response.

She screamed.

This seemed to excite the troll as it lumbered forward, hoisting the club up in the process. Some subconscious instinct seemed to kick into high gear as Hermione flung herself to the side moments before the club came crashing back down, leaving a small crater where she had been standing.

Hermione whimpered in fright. No matter how much she knew, she was nowhere near capable of taking down a mountain troll. Most adult wizards had trouble on their own! Her eyes widened as the troll raised the club once more, seeing that its target was on the ground and immobile.

"Reducto!"

The troll's head exploded into a fine red mist. It's arm fell lifelessly, club thudding against the tile floor. Then the body followed, landing heavily on the floor. Through her shock, Hermione saw a boy standing there, wand drawn. Though Hermione didn't recognize him – but then again, she didn't know many people in Hogwarts – he wasn't wearing the Hogwarts standard robe, which would have confused her had she not been coming off her adrenaline high. One thing stuck with her, though.

The boy's eyes.

Twin orbs flared a bright green in the torchlight, emitting an array of emotions ranging from fear to relief. They stared at her, lessening in intensity when they saw that she was unharmed. The strangest part, though, was the sense of longing she got from the boy. He looked as if he knew her, but before Hermione could say anything, the boy ran off. Hermione remained on the floor, partially in shock until the other teachers arrived.

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall gasped. "What are you doing here?!"

Hermione stared up surprised the teachers' sudden appearance.

"I . . . " Hermione sniffled lightly. "Ronald was making fun of me so . . . "

Snape cut her off.

"Did you do this?" He asked, gesturing at the corpse of the mountain troll.

The girl shook her head.

"There was a boy . . . green eyes and messy black hair . . . I don't think he was a student, he wasn't wearing Hogwarts robes." Hermione thought hard. "He had glasses, too."

Snape froze. Her description sounded unnervingly like a certain bully he had despised back during his years at Hogwarts. It looked like the Headmaster caught onto the same nuances, but said nothing of the matter. Professor McGonagall turned to the others.

"Do either of you know that student? I don't think I've seen anyone around here that resembles that description," she said curiously.

The Headmaster said nothing. Snape sneered, though it looked rather lackluster.

"Looks like we've got another security breech to look out for," he drawled.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said still looking thoughtful. "Miss Granger, are you certain of this boy's appearance?"

Hermione nodded.

"He looked like he knew me, but I don't recall anyone from my childhood that looked like that . . . and was a wizard," Hermione added on helpfully.

'And was actually nice to me,' the lonesome girl thought bitterly.

The Headmaster nodded and turned towards the corpse of the mountain troll.

"Minerva, if you could see Miss Granger to the Hospital Wing. I'd like Poppy to check her for injuries," he paused for a moment. "And any trace of memory charms."

Hermione looked scandalized at this.

"I was not bewitched! I know what I saw!" Hermione shouted, looking rather offended.

The Headmaster nodded gravely.

"Yes, memory alterations can make you believe just about anything, though they'll always leave some trace . . . some mistake . . . no matter how miniscule."

Hermione stomped her foot angrily, insulted that her own nearly eidetic memory was being challenged.

"And why wouldn't I be telling the truth?!" She challenged in a surprising show of defiance.

Albus Dumbledore sighed sadly.

"Because the boy you described died three months ago."

-TBWFTTAS-

An invisible Harry Potter tore his gaze from the shell-shocked girl passing by with the Deputy Headmistress. He shook his head – contact with Hermione had been unavoidable in the last jump after she found him out, mainly due to carelessness on his part. He swore to avoid contact in this jump, if only to stave off the inevitable heartbreak it would cause.

Taking one last look at the nostalgic halls around him, he left the castle, though not before stealing a certain map from two red haired boys – no need to blow his cover for no reason whatsoever.

That had been a right fiasco the first time he tried the whole incognito thing.

Casting all thoughts out of his mind, he focused on his mission. First, though, he needed a base of operations. One of the more obscure Potter residences should do nicely. Now if only he could successfully convince the goblins that he was indeed Harry Potter without the Ministry finding out.

-TBWFTTAS-

Severus Snape sat in a wingback chair by a low fire, sipping on a tumbler full of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. The night's events had shaken him dreadfully.

The girl was not lying, he could tell that much by passive Legilimency; the boy was exactly as she described.

Now Severus Snape was not a particularly superstitious man, but he had to admit that the deceased child of Lily and James Potter showing up on Halloween was creepy at the very least. He had seen the police reports and, unlike many of those under the Dark Lord's employ, was not stupid enough to disregard a thorough investigation. Coupled with Albus's now inactive monitoring devices, there was only one conclusion to be made.

The boy was definitely dead.

Perhaps this was a manifestation of whatever power had allowed the boy to survive that fateful night. Perhaps someone had revived the boy's corpse and was now following some completely agenda that went against everyone's plans. Perhaps it was Lily's punishment on him for being such a terrible friend.

Severus downed his glass and tried not to think about it.

-TBWFTTAS-

August 17, 1992

It had been a miserable year for Ginny Weasley. When she found little over a year ago that her idol had died at the hands of his relatives, she had spent most of her time moping about. Though her mother tried to cheer her up, the woman simply wasn't good at consoling people. Molly Weasley would try to teach Ginny to cook and sew in an attempt to break her funk, but that only drove the girl further into her depression.

And now she was going to Hogwarts; somehow it just didn't seem as exciting anymore.

Ginny watched on in mild disinterest as her mother fawned over the garishly dressed Gilderoy Lockheart. What women saw in that ponce she would never know. The man's smiles were obviously fake and his behavior was borderline sleazy. Perhaps he was using some kind of spell, but that wouldn't explain why Ginny herself wasn't affected by it. That bushy haired student nearby seemed to be under the same delusions.

She was jolted from her musings as her father's fist collided with the pale jaw of Lucious Malfoy. In the resulting tussle, Ginny was knocked to the ground rather suddenly, her cry of pain lost in the noise. The small girl curled up, trying to prevent the larger men from stepping on her and injuring her further. The next thing she knew, a steady hand had lifted her up and away from the commotion.

Looking up at her savior, she noticed she could not see the person's face, which appeared to be concealed by both a hood and charms. That alone sent alarm bells ringing in her head and she quickly tore her hand out of the person's grasp and backed away.

"Who are you?" Ginny asked over the din of the brawl.

The person didn't respond, instead watching the fight with what appeared to be some level of interest.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" The young redhead said hotly.

The cloaked figure turned back.

"Just passing by. Here."

The stranger bent and picked up several of her used textbooks. Ginny frowned, but nodded in thanks. As the fight was broken up by Hagrid, Ginny turned back to speak with the cloaked figure, only to find that he had disappeared.

"Jerk," she mumbled before following her mother down Diagon Alley.

-TBWFTTAS-

March 3, 1993

A lone figure strode through the cold stone corridors of Azkaban. Walking the familiar halls, it approached a lone cell deep in the lowest levels of this godforsaken place.

"Hello?" A thin reedy voice called out. "Is somebody there?"

Upon receiving no response, the voice continued to speak.

"Come play with Bella, she won't bite . . . much. It's been so long since she heard someone scream . . . come here and die for me, please?"

In her madness, she glanced blearily about, eyes unfocused. Her head lolled and she grinned at the ceiling.

"Bitty Bella is waiting, my Lord . . . Bella can feel you getting stronger . . . coming to find the faithful . . . "

She trailed off into incoherent mumbling. As her head tilted back down to stare at the hateful iron bars that kept her delicious powers suppressed, she got a rather nasty shock. The door was opened. But more importantly, there was someone standing barely a meter away. She cringed back into her filthy cot.

"Who's there!" She snarled. "Go away! You're not my Master!"

The figure moved like water, swooping down and touching her once on the neck. A brief pinch of some kind of needle and the person was stepping back before the woman could even lash out. When her brain processed what had happened, she attempted to do so, but found that her limbs were suddenly too heavy to lift.

"Oopsie . . . Bitty Bella sleepy . . . she'll kill you after a little nap . . . "

Her eyes rolled back as her gaunt, sickly head slumped forward. Her body jerked once, twice, before going into full convulsions.

"Lestrange?" A hoarse voice croaked out in the empty silence, echoing eerily off the walls.

The figure paused. The prisoner down the hall had sensed him through the silencing wards, a likely side effect of his animagus form's heightened sense of smell. Casting one last glance at the still convulsing body of Bellatrix Lestrange, the cloaked figure moved out of the cell and continued on his way. After several meters, the figure stopped in front of another cell, this time one that contained a bedraggled looking man. The man gazed at the newcomer.

"You're here to kill me, I suppose?"

The figure chuckled.

"Not quite, Black."

Sirius Black simply stared.

"Who are you?" He asked quietly.

"A friend," was the only response.

Sirius frowned as the stranger entered the room. The person began to speak, turning away in the process.

"This is an international portkey that will transport you to France. There, you will turn yourself in and seek asylum. You'll find the government there to be more accommodating, I expect."

Sirius held tight to the scrap of cloth he was handed.

"But the wards . . . " he began.

"Will fall briefly at midnight. The portkey will activate then."

The falsely accused convict stood shakily.

"Why are you doing this? Who are you really?"

With an unexpected speed, a boney hand shot out and spun the figure around. There was a flash of a familiar face before the person swept out of the room.

"J-James . . . ?" Sirius gasped.

"No. Polyjuice to scare a few enemies."

Sirius frowned, lowering his head as he was caught up in the memories.

"Pettigrew . . . "

"Will be taken care of."

"But . . . What about Harry? Where is he then?" Sirius managed to force out.

"In hiding. He's hunting down the remnants of Voldemort."

Sirius shivered at the name.

"But," he faltered. "But he's too young! He can't be more than thirteen!"

"It's been taken care of. He simply wants you to heal and live your life." The figure began to move again.

Pausing by the door, the person half turned and spoke one last time.

"Rest and recover, Padfoot. You've lost a lot of time in this place."

With that, the stranger vanished, leaving a speechless man holding a worn scrap of cloth.

-TBWFTTAS-

March 23, 1993

Harry kicked a nearby wall in frustration. The hollow thud echoed in the storage space that was the Room of Requirements

Leave it to the French to make a huge deal out of Sirius's lack of trial and innocence. It seemed like they couldn't give up such a perfect opportunity to one-up their British neighbors. He had rushed back to Hogwarts as soon as he caught a glimpse of the headlines, which were boldly proclaiming the news.

Sirius Black Innocent, Pettigrew the Traitor!

Harry scanned the Marauder's Map again, but Peter was still nowhere to be found. Growling, he pushed the thought out of his head. He stuffed Ravenclaw's Diadem into a satchel, disillusioned himself again, and left as quietly as he had arrived.

And to think he was going to let that pathetic coward live.

With the diary, locket, and ring destroyed he just had to destroy this one, get the cup – something he was hoping the goblins would be more willing to help with now that Bellatrix was dead (it was always a tossup for their aid) – and kill that bloody snake before looking for Voldemort himself to end this farce. Three years into his mission and he was getting quite annoyed with sneaking about trying to avoid all human contact, using pseudonyms all the time, and making up progressively more outlandish excuses to explain his actions. It was a close call with Sirius and he wasn't about to get discovered until Voldemort was dead in the ground.

And once everything was set in motion . . . well, maybe there would be time for a little relaxation until the graveyard ritual. After all, Harry had no intention of scouring the entire continent to find the annoying.

Vegas seemed like a good idea this time around.

-TBWFTTAS-

June 24, 1995

Cedric gasped in shock as he fell to the dirt. Instincts immediately on high alert, thinking this was part of the task, his eyes darted this way and that, trying to determine where he was. From the looks of it, he was in a mostly forgotten graveyard with tombstones that looked like nature was trying to reclaim for herself. There was a rustling nearby and he instinctively lowered himself, ready to run.

"Avada Kedavra!" A short, balding man screamed out, jabbing his wand a Cedric.

The young man's seeker reflexes did him good as he flung himself to the right, the powerful green spell demolishing the tombstone behind him.

"You fool!" Another voice hissed out. "I need him alive!"

"Stupefy!" The small man tried again.

Another spell flew out of nowhere at the same time.

"Bombarda!" Cedric's voice cried out.

But Cedric himself was still struggling to his feet and had not cast a spell. The explosion charm hit the ground sending up a cloud of dust which engulfed the bright red beam. Cedric felt someone cover him with a cloak of some kind.

"Stay under this if you want to live." A new voice whispered.

As the smoke cleared, Cedric was treated to a curious sight. On the floor of the graveyard before him, a copy of himself lay, eyes closed as if stunned. It was rather disconcerting, really.

However, he had little time to think of much else as the balding man approached his fallen copy. Cedric froze, barely breathing.

"Good . . . " the hissing voice said. "Let us begin the ritual then. I need to find Nagini . . . she's hasn't been responding to my summons. It is most . . . disquieting."

The small, cringing man tied the Cedric clone to a nearby. He dropped a misshapen cloth bundle into a bubbling pot of potion. Something fell in with a small splash. Then the pudgy man started to chant.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son," the man intoned.

With a flick, a bone rose out of a nearby grave. It fell in and the potion bubbled violently, turning a dark blue. As this happened, the small man continued, this time a bit more hesitatingly.

"Flesh of the servant . . . willingly given . . . you will revive your master . . . " with shaking hands, the man drew a knife.

It trembled violently as he held it up to his own free hand. Then, with a jerking motion, he sliced through flesh and bone all in one stroke. The man fell to his knees howling in pain as the limb fell into the potion with a dull splash, turning it blood red.

Whimpering, the man swayed before forcing himself to stand. Cedric could see the blood dripping freely from the severed stump. It took all his willpower not to vomit.

"B-blood of the enemy, forcibly taken . . . you will resurrect your f-foe . . . " The man stuttered out through his pain as he harvested blood from the simulacrum.

As the droplets of blood hit the surface of the potion, the cauldron flashed a sickly yellow. There was a high pitched scream as a body within the cauldron began to thrash in pain. The cauldron was upended as a rapidly shifting figure spilled out of it. The one-handed man backed up, horrified that he had done something wrong. He seemed to be wracking his memory trying to remember if he had made a mistake in the ritual he had just performed.

Eventually, the thrashing body lay still. Though it was a fully adult body, Cedric could hardly consider it human. It had serpent-like features, complete with slits for a nose and narrow red eyes. But its pale body was still and its eyes wide open, staring at the sky.

"M-my Lord . . . ?" The shaking man approached cautiously, afraid that he might draw his Lord's ire.

There was no response, the body remained still.

Then, there was a low chuckle.

The frightened man whirled frantically, eyes darting around the graveyard.

"W-who's there!"

A voice answered from behind him.

"Interesting effect. It appears he is alive, but locked in the form of a death doll . . . "

The small man turned around and his mind halted. In front of him was the spitting image of James Potter. Except the eyes. Those bright green orbs gazed out at the cowering man, reminding him of one person: Lily Potter. There was only one person the injured man knew who fit that description, and he had died five years ago.

"H-Harry P-Potter . . . ?" a hoarse voice croaked out.

"Indeed, Peter Pettigrew." Harry commented lightly.

Peter was terrified out of his wits.

"N-no . . . it can't be . . . you died! I read about it! You were beaten to death by your uncle!"

Intrigued, Cedric listened in. He had, of course, heard the same story.

"Interesting what people will do if a Death Doll is made well enough, isn't it Wormtail? Padfoot would've been heartbroken if he heard about what had happened . . . then again, they don't really get papers in Azkaban."

"S-Sirius . . . ?" Peter sputtered out.

"Mmm. I imagine he's relaxing in rehab in France. I promised him I'd take care of you, and here I am." Harry spread his arms in a showy gesture.

All of Peter's thoughts halted. The boy knew, knew of everything he had done: the switch, the betrayal, the escape. He started thinking about just that, escaping. His mind was suddenly wracked with pain as he attempted to change into his rat animagus form.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Harry said off-hand. "I've set up anti-animagus wards. I believe Madame Bones of the DMLE would like to speak with you."

"P-please . . . " Peter sputtered as Harry wandered over to the bound figure of Cedric Diggory.

Peter gaped as Harry returned it to its smaller simulacrum form and pocketed it.

"You alright there, Cedric?" Harry called out.

"Y-yeah," came the shaky response as the taller student pulled off the invisibility cloak. "You've got some explaining to do, Potter . . . "

Harry grimaced.

"Sorry, I don't think I'll have the . . . time." Harry chuckled inwardly at his little joke.

Several cracks sounded nearby and Harry turned, wand held at the ready.

"Aurors! Lower your wands!" Amelia Bones called out from between the gravestones.

Harry sighed.

"About time." He grumbled.

Amelia did not look impressed.

"Who . . . James?" The Director of the DMLE blinked. "Who are you and why did you call us here?"

Harry jabbed a thumb at Peter and the still form of Voldemort.

"Caught this little bastard performing a rebirth ritual. Though, there was a little accident as you can see." Harry smirked.

Amelia paled as she recognized Lord Voldemort's body. Several of the aurors scrubbed hard at their eyes, trying to wipe away the image of the Dark Lord's unclothed body to no avail.

"We'll take it from here Mister . . . ?" Amelia began.

"Potter if you will." Harry said, drawing shocked looks from the gathered troops. "Though I'll have you hold on the arrest. How many troops do you have available?"

Amelia gestured behind her at the fifty some aurors.

"You said it was an emergency involving the potential rebirth of You-Know-Who. Brought my best."

Harry nodded, sauntering over to Peter, who cringed as Harry reached out.

"Tell me, Director. Do you know how Tommy summons all his Death Muchies?" He grabbed hold of Peter's arm, ignoring the man's flailing.

"No . . . and is that Peter Pettigrew? He's looking rather healthy for a dead man." Amelia said coldly.

Harry nodded.

"Quite. See all Tommy has to do is have someone with this," he ripped off Peter's sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark branded on the rat's left forearm. "All he has to do is touch it, and everyone loyal to him knows to come scurrying back."

Harry dragged Peter over to Voldemort's prone form. He suddenly grinned up at the fifty or so aurors and their Director.

"So, Madame Bones. Shall we see who's still loyal?"

Amelia gulped and nodded mutely.

"I'll ask you prepare an anti-apparition ward to be put in place once all of his little Muchies arrive."

Amelia gestured and several aurors began preparing to cast wide-field wards. Satisfied, Harry grabbed Voldemort's finger with his free hand and pressed it to Peter's Mark.

There was a pause and nothing happened.

"Well, that was anti-climactic."

Then there was a series of pops as a dozen or so people apparated into the graveyard.

"Now, Director!" Harry roared.

Wands flared as anti-apparition wards were thrown up. The air lit up with more flashes as the aurors fired upon the hapless Death Eaters. One by one, they fell and were soon rounded up by the auror forces. Amelia stood stiffly near Harry.

"So what now?" She asked, as she watched the cleanup.

Harry frowned slightly.

"Here's the hard part, for you at least. You'll have to let me kill Voldemort, rather than take him in or whatever plans you had."

Amelia let out a short laugh.

"You consider that a hard decision? Kill the bastard for all I care. We can't have any risks of him escaping." She thought for a moment before asking, "Why would you think I'd have a problem with it?"

Harry smiled slightly.

"You'd be surprised at how many different scenarios can play out," he said enigmatically.

Amelia stared curiously at the boy as he stood, a silver goblin-forged blade emblazoned with GODRIC GRYFFINDOR emerging from a sack he had by his side. Unhesitatingly, he positioned the blade above the paralyzed Dark Lord and plunged it into Riddle's heart.

A scream erupted, not from Tom's mouth, but from his body. A black wisp emerged, writhing this way and that, before finally fading into nothing.

"That takes care of the last piece of his soul." Harry said with confidence.

Amelia jumped.

"Horcrux?"

"Mmhmm . . . " Harry muttered idly. "Anyway, we'd better get Cedric back to the school, I'm sure the judges are getting frantic."

Cedric, who had watched the entire scene in mute shock was jolted out of his reverie at the mention of his name. He looked over at the Director of the DMLE and the boy – no, young man – who had saved his life.

"Er . . . how do I get back?" He asked with some uncertainty.

"Just grab the Cup, should send you right back." Harry said.

Cedric nodded, handing over Harry's cloak.

"Thanks, for everything." Cedric moved to retrieve the cup.

"Ah, hold up, I'm coming along. Got a bit of unfinished business to take care of before I leave."

To anyone else, his words were benign enough, but he knew that by 'leave' he meant 'jump'. Cedric stood near the cup, waiting on Harry, who was speaking with Amelia one last time.

"Shame I didn't get to know you better this time around. I trust you'll take the utmost care of processing the body and the remainder of this case?"

The Director nodded with some hesitance.

"Good," Harry said moving towards Cedric. "Times will be tough from here on out. Though Voldemort's gone for good, his sentiments remain, and that alone can still bring collapse to your very world."

Amelia began to question the young man, but was quickly cut off.

"Take care, stay strong Director."

Amelia looked rather confused.

"Yes. But where are you going . . . ?"

Harry smiled at the older woman. She could detect a hint of something . . . was it longing? It faded as quickly as it had appeared.

"I'm going away." Harry said as he covered himself with his cloak. "Ready, Cedric?"

Cedric nodded at where he thought Harry was standing.

"Three . . . two . . . one."

They both grasped the cup and were soon whisked away back to Hogwarts, leaving behind Amelia Bones and the empty husk of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The two travelers soon thumped back onto solid ground. Cedric's adrenaline seemed to finally wear off as he stumbled forward and fell to the grass on his hands and knees.

Harry was nowhere to be found.

Soon, several people had rushed up to the champion and began to check him for injuries. Albus Dumbledore approached the young man, a look of concern upon his face.

"Where did you go? Where did that cup take you?" He asked intently.

"Sent to a graveyard," Cedric panted out. "You-Know-Who . . . rebirth . . . "

Dumbledore paled at this.

"Are you sure, Mr. Diggory?" He asked, voice full of concern.

At the same time, Cornelius Fudge stepped forward, face red with anger.

"Preposterous! You-Know-Who died fourteen years ago!" He blustered.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Minister. Old Voldie is dead for good this time." A voice behind him said. "Though I do wonder why you've been rather supportive of his Nibblers."

Fudge felt a sudden jerk on his left sleeve as the fabric was torn wide open.

"Hm," the voice exclaimed, examining the Mark that burned black for everyone present to see. "Well, that sure explains a lot."

Fudge whirled, wand drawn only to be stunned and bound by the individual behind him. Dumbledore now had his wand out, eyes flickering between the Minister and the newcomer.

"Who are you?" Dumbledore queried cautiously.

The young man lifted his head, smiling brightly. Dumbledore thought his heart might stop as he stared into those vivid green eyes.

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter."

-TBWFTTAS-

Harry sat in a comfortable armchair in the office of Albus Dumbledore, eyes half closed and relaxing after all the excitement.

"Mr. Potter. How good to meet you at last. Though I do wonder how you manage to fool all of us into thinking you were dead."

The young man tossed something over to the Headmaster, who caught it and turned it over.

"A Death Doll? Harry, this is some questionable magic. No one's used such a thing in centuries." Albus looked surprised when the small figurine faded from his fingers. "Where did it go?"

Harry showed him the doll, now back in his hands.

"How . . . ? A bound object? How fascinating . . . " Albus murmured.

"Quite." Harry mumbled pocketing the figure.

He opened his eyes fully and regarded the Headmaster.

"Albus, it's nice to finally speak face to face."

The Headmaster looked rather curious as to why Harry was casually referring to him by name.

"We're a little short on time, so I'll give you one bit of advice before we part. Britain's main threat is gone. Give up some of your titles and dedicate yourself to the youths of tomorrow. There are plenty of people more suited to politicking, something no war hero should need to be a part of. Stick to the kids, they need the guidance now more than ever if you ever want to see the ridiculous bigotry problem go away."

Albus peered curiously at the young man who spoke well beyond his apparent age. Then, the phrasing of Harry's advice hit him.

"You won't stay? Your parents went to this school, you know? Hogwarts has been awaiting your arrival for almost five years now." Albus cajoled.

"I won't be long now. Got places to go." The young man looked pensive.

"Where are you off to? We've only just met! I have many questions for you, first and foremost how you are still alive. If Voldemort is truly dead . . . " Albus paused, wondering how much he should reveal to the youth in front of him.

Harry laughed bitterly at the Headmaster's indecision.

"I'm going on the next great adventure, Albus." Harry said blithely.

Albus looked crushed.

"B-But . . . " he stammered. "But you're still so young . . . is it the horcrux?"

Harry let out a bright peal of laughter.

"Oh, Albus. That gets you every time. It's a really funny consistency, you know?" Harry sniggered. "The next great adventure and all that."

"I'm not sure I understand." Albus looked mildly confused.

At this, Harry shrugged.

"Sometimes I wish I could."

The Headmaster looked aghast at this, so Harry threw him a bone and expanded.

"I've been doing this for centuries, Albus. Fate's little game, I guess. Even after all this time, I'm still not completely sure why she has me fighting the same war over and over." Harry explained.

The Headmaster's eyes grew wide with amazement as Harry spoke. There was a moment of silence before Albus collected his thoughts and spoke up again.

"So . . . you've met me? Many times before?" He looked rather guarded, as if he wasn't sure what to think of this revelation.

At this, Harry smiled thinly.

"Surprisingly you deviate a lot from jump to jump . . . I often find myself wondering which is the real you. Sure there are common themes, dedication to the Light, a desire to help people, but the methodology you've employed has ranged from diabolical manipulation, to willful ignorance, to genuine goodness. You're rather confusing to observe."

Albus smiled wryly.

"My apologies."

Harry laughed at this. After a pause, Albus sighed, placing his chin upon intertwined fingers.

"So, it's all over then?" Albus asked.

Harry drew out a card from his pocket.

"Death Doll. My item for this jump. See how the image is fading away? It's a good indication that things are where Fate meant for it to be. I assure you Voldemort is gone."

"Curious." The old man murmured as Harry pocketed the card. "Aren't you afraid someone might take your card? Or attempt to join you?"

Harry smirked challengingly.

"Are you thinking about taking it? It would certainly be an interesting event to occur so close to my jump. But, no, I believe they fade away. After all this," Harry took out the deck of cards tossing it up and watching it spin, "This is really some kind of celestial weapon, I think. Fate made it look like cards out of convenience. I doubt anyone not under her employ could touch them."

For the umpteenth time in their short conversation, Albus reeled at the implications of Harry's words. The young man continued on unconcernedly.

"As for joining me . . . " he paused at this. "I found that it's best they didn't. Humans have a rather short lifespan you know? Even Magicals."

Albus caught a hint of pain in those emerald eyes.

"Someone did?" The Headmaster prodded.

Harry didn't respond. Albus sat there, trying to process everything Harry was telling him.

"Why tell me all this?" He finally choked out.

Harry stared Albus straight in the eyes.

"Because no matter what, insane, manipulative, ignorant or kindly, you've always been the one in every world to accept my tale as it is and not press matters further." The young man said plainly.

Harry leaned back, relaxing in his chair. He was beginning to glow faintly now.

"My guess is that you've always knew that, even if you tried to look for me, it would ultimately be a waste of time and efforts. After all, once I'm done here, I'll no longer be in this existence." He shrugged.

"But what do I tell people? You've been seen by the entirety of the Tri-Wizard Tournament." Albus protested.

Harry shrugged.

"Assuming you all still remember the person known as Harry Potter?" He asked shrewdly.

Albus looked highly uncomfortable with the idea of a part of his memory simply being wiped. Harry continued.

"See that's why I try not to think about it. But I suppose you could concoct some story about me coming back to carry out one last mission in the land of the living. Magicals will believe just about anything if you spin it right."

Albus frowned.

"That sounds a bit . . . disingenuous."

"It's better than telling them I died or something to that effect."

"True . . . " Albus looked pensive. "And you have no control over where you're sent?"

Harry smiled sadly.

"Nope. I'm simply doomed to repeat the same war for the rest of my days. Which, if you think about it, is an eternity as I know it."

Albus looked rather heartbroken at this.

"That must be a lonely existence," the old man mused.

Harry felt his eyes misting slightly and blinked to keep the tears at bay.

"You get used to it." It was a lie and both of them knew it.

The shimmering was more pronounced now. Albus felt like his vision was being distorted, that the light around Harry Potter was being bent.

"Time's up, Albus. Though I am rather glad I didn't form any . . . lasting . . . relationships this time around," he smiled wistfully. "It just isn't worth it, you know?"

Albus watched as the young man faded in and out of focus. A memory came to mind.

"Like young Miss Granger?" Albus asked shrewdly. "Or one Sirius Black?"

Harry merely smiled, but didn't respond.

"Perhaps you will one day come back to this existence. I'd like to have a drink with you, talk about your travels." The Headmaster offered.

The dimension jumper chuckled, voice echoing hollowly in the air.

"It never works like that."

And Harry vanished.

-TBWFTTAS-

A/N: Oops. This one ended up being more of a short story. I actually had this written a month ago, but then I skipped off to Finals-land followed by Taiwan, so I never got around to editing and posting.

I really like this idea of individual adventures. It would actually allow for a Harry/Harem situation in a sense since it would really be relationships in separate realities.

This is one story I might actually continue eventually.