The graveyard. The scene was far too familiar for Harry's liking. Lord Voldemort stood before him, tall, pale, and malevolent, wand steady on his heart and red eyes sparking with confidence and rage. Harry was on his knees, broken and dejected, too tired to raise his wand, panting and drenched in sweat. Masked Death Eaters ringed them, their hands wrapped firmly around the wands in their pockets.

The stars in the sky sparked and twittered just as they had for millennia, oblivious to the heat of the battle below them. The moon was a thin sliver in the sky, lighting the scene with a lethargic sort of glow. A breeze whispered through the bare trees, whistling through the tiny canyons between the tombstones. And the chill in the air was deadening, kissing the skin of everyone on the scene like a corpse's fingers...

But there were differences, too. This time Harry didn't have to worry about Cedric's dead body, or indeed anyone else's. He had come alone. Ron and Hermione had protested, and Ginny had tried talking him out of it, but the prophecy had to be fulfilled. The final Horcrux had been destroyed and now it was time. One way or another, someone was going to die tonight. Sadly, it looked as if it might be himself.

"Tired, Harry?" Voldemort asked in a calm, degrading tone. His high pitched voice bored through Harry's throbbing skull. He stared at Harry over his wand, but he received no answer. He continued. "Nineteen years ago, I made a mistake." He spat venomously, filling the silence. "This was the first and last time that was ever to happen. I will rectify this mistake tonight. But, be consoled. I don't have time to kill you slowly, and you'll soon be with your dirty-blooded muggle mother again."

Harry's head rose very slowly at this, and he made eye-contact with his soon-to-be murder. He was surprised to find that he felt... happy? Yes happy. The hard road that had been his life would soon come to an end. No more suffering, no more pain, no more betrayal or suspicion or fighting. Just a chance to see those he loved again and sleep in peace... Sirius, his parents, Cedric, Lupin, Dumbledore, they would all be waiting for him. Too bad he couldn't have stopped this maniac, but they would understand... It was a reassuring thought and it gave him some strength. He clambered shakily to his feet, weary from the fight. Voldemort laughed cruelly.

"So you choose to die standing. How noble. I shall make sure no one knows. Good-bye, Harry Potter."

But Harry didn't hear him. He didn't hear anything. He didn't see the green light streaking towards him; he didn't see the Death Eaters lean in, holding their breath. He didn't know that nearby, Hermione and Ron, betraying their promises to stay away, were fumbling with the gate, trying desperately to force their way in, trying to save him. No, he saw nothing, heard nothing, and knew nothing but himself. He heard his heart beat, the blood gurgling beneath his skin. He saw only the sweaty hair hanging in his eyes, the frames of his glasses, skewed on the edges of his vision. He felt the ground under his feet and the clothes rubbing his skin. All else ceased to exist.

Perhaps everyone experiences this intense self-awareness just before they die. Or perhaps some part of his brain, the deepest, most raw and instinctive part of his brain, was simply trying to protect him from the reality of his own death. Or make him realize what he was losing. Perhaps he was enchanted. But no matter what was happening to him or the reason for it, it was for the best. Because as his mind and soul was suspended in time and space, it was completely unaware of the body. His limbs moved on their own, raising his wand for the last time, his mouth and voice acted of their own accord, and in the split second before the green light blossomed across his chest he managed to thrust his last words into the world, loud and clear.

"Avada Kedavera!"


And then he fell.

But his incantation, his last act of heroism, lived on. And Voldemort didn't see it coming. In his final moments, Harry had unknowingly performed advanced Occlumency, shielding his intentions from Voldemort's prying mind. The curse came at him so fast and so unexpectedly, that he had no time to react. He raised his wand in an attempt to block it, but light is much faster than any human can ever hope to be when caught off guard. And after all, much as he loathed to admit it, he was only human.

And so the most feared wizard of all time fell to an enemy he had created himself, those nineteen years ago...

The shock that permeated the scene was almost tangible. The ring of Death Eaters watched, open-mouthed. Most were so numb that they didn't even notice when their ranks were breached. Ron and Hermione, having finally tracked Harry down and gotten past the obstacles left for them, rushed to see. Tears were streaking down Hermione's face, and Ron looked sick. They slowly knelt, still and silent. Hermione then broke into weak sobs. Ron simply stared.

No one grieved the second body. Indeed, Ron and Hermione didn't even acknowledge the dead monster with his wide red eyes. His servants didn't move. They seemed unsure; as if they weren't sure he was actually dead. He had come back once before, hadn't he?

The scene was still for a few minutes. The Death Eaters stared, Ron and Hermione grieved, and the wind died down. Even the stars seemed to stop twinkling. The air seemed so much colder now... Finally, the first Death Eater left. His fear of the authorities caught up with the initial shock. He was gone with a simple popping noise. Startled out of their shocked silence, countless others followed suit. Several remained rooted to the spot, still in shock, afraid to leave their master's side, even in death. A few remained, but looked around as if they were lost. These were the ones who had been placed under the Imperius curse. Now, seeing as their warden was dead, they were freed from the curse, and clueless as to where they were.

Only one person seemed unsurprised, and seemed to have their wits about them. A shorter Death Eater, whose mask still covered her face, slowly backed away from the scene. She turned, striding away with a purposeful gait, and before she was missed, she had apparated with a snap.

12 Grimmauld place. It had been secured after the secret keeper's death and had been the Dark Lord's hiding place for four years now. The security and stylishly gloomy decor made it perfect for conducting his shady business. Bellatrix Lestrange strode swiftly up the steps and into the house, careful not to wake anything up. She made barely more sound than a spider sliding across its web as she slinked up the padded stairs.

She had a purpose here. A very important one. The Dark Lord may be gone, but he never gave up. Even now, there was a plan in place. This was Voldemort's last act, carried out through her. She could not fail him in this...

Two years ago, there had been a siege on the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort, at the time, was growing worrisome. Having finally learned the full contents of the prophecy, he had learned that the odds were stacked less in his favor than he had thought. It was kill Harry Potter, or be killed by him, and he never was one to take chances. So, when the department was breached, there was only one thing that he wanted.

Time. It was something that wizard kind had worked for millennia to harness, fight, and understand. Time turners were a relatively recent invention, and they were only being improved upon. Nowadays, Wizards could safely travel backwards in time anywhere up to a week. But that simply wasn't enough. A week could not allow the Dark Lord to triumph over his most dangerous enemy, no. Even if he had gone back to the boy's childhood he could not touch him. There was no time in Harry Potter's life when he could be vulnerable without upsetting the delicate balance of time and ruining his own plans of the time. He would have to go back further.

And so, using stolen ministry magic and knowledge, the Dark Lord had toiled for hours, given of his own time and energy and boundless knowledge, to create something new. Using his own hands, he had created an object which would allow one person to travel safely backwards in time precisely 30 years. Accurate to the minute.

But it was risky. This was magic that had never been tested before. To dapple in the very mechanics of the universe like this was dangerous. The person using the object would be ripping the fabric of time and trying to step through it and come out whole. There was a very likely possibility that the traveler would never reach the past, or would be dead when they did. Voldemort had explained this to Bella when he had given her the task.

Upon his death, should he fall, Bella's task was to travel to the past, using this new object, and eliminate Harry Potter from existence. It was the most important task any of his followers had ever been given, and he had been loathe to trust anyone but his best with the task. Bella could not fail him.

Now Bellatrix entered the master's lair cautiously. The enchantments he had put on the room for safety would undoubtedly still be active. But she needn't have worried. The Dark Mark on her arm protected her from the enchantments. In the center of the room, where it could be seen from all corners and therefore was always in sight, stood a chest. It had many locks on it, like the one Mad-eye Moody had at Hogwarts. Bella, being the only person aside from the Dark Lord himself with the key, unlocked the third lock from the left without hesitation and hefted the lid open. Inside was a cushion, and on the cushion was a small blue orb the size of a marble. It was smooth and polished, pretty to look at and more valuable than the sapphire stone it was made from.

This was the time orb, and she picked it up gingerly, as if afraid it might break. The incantation was simple, and she did not want to waste time. Even the thought of the danger of time travel couldn't quell her impatience. She wanted to go, and nothing would stop her.

"Kintiscus moralus" she whispered to the blue orb, smiling as it began to hum. It grew warm in her hands and began to glow with a light like a star radiating from the center. The light spread to the farthest corners of the room and seemed to pass through the walls. The air around Bella vibrated and wavered, making it look as though she were looking through a heat haze.

Then the room began to twist inward towards the center point of the orb, as if it were sucking everything inwards. Bella felt herself being pulled and warped, too, and she began to be afraid. Her grip on the stone tightened and she felt herself go taut, but she stopped spinning. The light from the orb was now so bright she couldn't look at it, she clenched her eyes shut and waited for it to end. There was a rushing sound, as if things were flying past her, but the light was still too bright, she couldn't open her eyes.

And just when she thought it would go on forever... it stopped. Slowly, she cracked one eye open, then the other. She was still in the same room, but it was quite obvious that the stone had worked perfectly well, because it was no longer the damp, gloomy, and mould-ridden room it had been moments before. The room was now immaculately clean, with oil lamps all along the wall (they were unlit, as it was very late), and decorated with deep green shag and dark paneling. The furniture was all dark green in color, Victorian in style, and looked brand-new. All around were shelves piled with rare and expensive intricacies and knickknacks. Artifacts from the ancient past and the close present shared a spot in this room.

A smile split Bella's face and she stood, shaky from her journey. She knew this room... She knew this place. And why shouldn't she? It was, after all, her cousin's house. The same place she had left. But in this time, the house was inhabited by her relatives, the Blacks. And if the little orb was as accurate as the Dark Lord had said, the year was exactly 1978, two years after Sirius had moved out and thirty years preceding her own time. She would have been in the seventh year at Hogwarts by now, but of course she hadn't come her seventh year. She had dropped out and become a Death Eater.

Well then, it wouldn't be difficult to pose as a student...

She stood up and dusted herself off. She still wore her Death Eater mask and her long black cloak; she didn't bother taking them off. She didn't want to be recognized until she could brew up a De-Aging Potion. She would have to look 17 again in order to pass without suspicion at Hogwarts...

She crept from the room, careful not to wake her aunt, uncle, or cousin, Regulus. Down the stairs and out the door, she managed to creep. She managed to slip silently out the door without so much as a peep and descended the stoop to the familiar street below. She hadn't even run into Kreacher. She didn't have time to revel in her luck, however, as there were important things to do. Plans to make.

She cast one a look up and down the dirty muggle street on which she stood, and disappeared with a pop.