Decades by gryffins_door



Summary: Trapped in a world where my ex-girlfriend thinks the irony is bloody hilarious, I have foreknowledge - a powerful (and dangerous) tool that should help me win the fight before the enemy knows what hit them. Little did I know that the fight was not only with the enemy.

Pre-seventh year, canon ships, celebrating the 10th anniversary of the Deathly Hallows release.
Rating: PG-13 starstarstarstarhalf-star
Categories: Alternate Universe, Post-HBP
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2017.07.21
Updated: 2018.04.28


Decades by gryffins_door
Chapter 1: Evidence & Conviction
Author's Notes:

"To think of all the times I've wished I could slip right into one of my favorite books. But that's the advantage of reading — you can shut the book whenever you want."
- Cornelia Funke, Inkheart


Decades: Trials and Tribulations

1. Evidence and Conviction


o o o


1.01

0710 WEDNESDAY

I was barely awake when I realized something was wrong. Forcing my eyes open, I could make out an unfamiliar bedroom from the lumpy twin bed I occupied. The ceiling and walls were bare and furnishings were sparse — a small cluttered desk and chair were adjacent to the bed, and I could make out some shelves on the far wall.

I blinked once, twice, trying to make out details, only to become frustrated and concerned — everything was blurry and my eyes would not clear. I had a splitting headache and I prayed that I hadn't suffered a concussion… or something worse.

I struggled out of the bed, stepping carefully to avoid the scattered articles on the floor, and made my way to the window. It was open, something I would never do in July, but the air was refreshingly spring-like. I tried to think as I squinted down upon what I decided was a neighborhood street — a swath of gray separated mottled patches of green yards between the building I was in and the rough shapes beyond that looked to be other houses.

What in the name of everything holy was going on? Where was I and how did I get here? And what was wrong with my eyesight? Searching my memory, I recalled a party the night before. There had been lots of food, but I couldn't remember people drinking much, mostly just lively discussion. Surely I had not gotten drunk — I had sworn off the hard stuff since that night when… well, back when I was known to do some pretty stupid things.

My thoughts were interrupted by a light chilling breeze across my mostly bare skin, directing my attention to a very pressing need to heed nature's call. I fumbled toward the bedroom door, working around an open trunk that appeared to have regurgitated much of its contents onto the bare wood floor.

I managed to find a toilet across the hall and had just finished when I jumped and swore at the sight of a stranger, standing there in the bathroom with me.

I swore again as I realized that the stranger wasn't with me — he was me.

I was looking in the mirror.

Fully awake now, I touched a wary hand to the thick crop of black hair — nothing like my erstwhile thinning fair strands — and slowly looked down at the foreign wiry frame, hesitantly pulling my fingers along to confirm with touch what my eyes were trying to see and my brain was refusing to admit — that this strange body was somehow my own.

I turned this way and that, staring uncomprehending at this reflection of… whoever I was. Compared to my former familiar body I was thin and a bit shorter, with the well-defined musculature of a distance runner in training. Even in my army days I was not like this - not an ounce of extra fat, I thought, pressing along the plainly visible ribs. As if on cue, I felt a substantial rumble in my abdomen. I would have to do something about breakfast soon. Ignoring the still present headache, I tried the left leg and had a full range of motion without pain. This was definitely not my knee.

My mind was a maelstrom of confusion. Was I dreaming? I was tempted to try the silly pinch test, but I knew it would tell me nothing I hadn't already sensed. This was unlike any dream I'd ever had; everything felt so excruciatingly normal — everything and nothing at the same time. My dreams rarely stayed in a particular scene for long, but this reflection, blurred as it was, never wavered in the slightest.

Still bewildered but becoming cautiously curious, I leaned in for a closer inspection of the face in the mirror and it finally came into focus. Not bad looking, rather thin with reasonably strong jaw and cheekbones, normal nose, slight dark patches under those almond-shaped bright green eyes… his mother's eyes… no, it couldn't possibly be…

I whipped up my forehead's fringe, and there it was — the unique lightning bolt scar known to readers around the globe.

I was staring at Harry Potter.

I was Harry Potter.

Pain exploded in my head, and a torrent of images, feelings and sensations crashed over me like ocean waves and I was gasping for breath, struggling to reach the surface of whatever was drowning me, tossing me wildly. I vainly grasped for something — anything — that could return my sense of equilibrium. I was floundering on the edge of consciousness when the roiling storm in my head finally calmed, and I recognized that this raging flood represented the life experience of the young wizard alternatively known as the Boy Who Lived. Now I knew what that life was really about. His life was now my life.

It was too much. I lost what little I had in my stomach.

Several minutes later I was finally able to regain my feet and clean up. My mind was still a jumbled mess and would take a while to sort out, especially with two sets of memories, one of which I had thought only existed between the author's imagination and those seven books, but that was the set that was now confronting me as reality. I shook my head in bewilderment and resigned to finding some clothes.

I opened the door to confront a blockade in the form of a very bulky human. I could only groan inwardly, remembering where I was.

I looked up and gave him a nod. "Dudley."

He furrowed his brow in something that could have been concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I certainly had that line down.

"What happened to your glasses?"

Glasses! How could I have been so stupid?

"Erm… I forgot them. Probably why I keep bumping into the walls, yeah?"

I could feel him staring as I stumbled back into what I now knew was Harry's bedroom at number four Privet Drive, a.k.a. the Dursley residence — wait, that wasn't right. Their name wasn't Dursley and that wasn't the right address. I thought I knew all this, but I was at a loss to explain the conflicting memories. At least I could confirm that this was the magically protected home of my only blood relatives where I was safe from homicidal dark wizards until I became of age. Speaking of which, exactly when would that be? How old was I? What day was it here? This trans-whatever that landed me in this situation had obviously brought me back in time, but how far? Did I really need to worry whether this truly was fiction, as I had always assumed? Exactly what does one do when finding himself the primary character in a story already written?

Considering all this, I located my glasses and felt tremendous relief as the world came into focus, including a cage housing a beautiful snowy owl.

"Hedwig?"

She gave me a pleasant hoot in greeting.

I stroked her soft plumage. "Am I really here, Hedwig? Am I really Harry Potter?"

She gave me a look that implied I was some kind of idiot and followed with a brief nip at my fingers, apparently aware that I had forgone the pinch test earlier.

I chuckled for the first time since awakening. "Okay, I get your point. I don't suppose you could tell me what today is?"

She actually rolled her eyes — very impressive on an owl, I must say — and scratched at the bottom of her cage. Of course, the newspaper!

An untouched Daily Prophet lay at the foot of the bed. It must have been delivered while I was having my self-awareness crisis in the loo. So the Prophet was useful for something besides lining owl cages.

I grinned up at Hedwig. "Thanks girl." She assumed a proud indifferent stance that I took as acceptance that we were okay.

It didn't occur to me that I was much more acquiescent than I would have imagined, given the radical changes thrown upon me so suddenly. Of course, it was very hard to deny this full-sensory immersion experience, and I was just dealing with it the best I could.

I checked the date on the paper's masthead — Wednesday, 23 July, 1997. For me, last night was Sunday, 22 July, 2007, exactly ten years to the day — an entire decade. Concentrating on that part of my memory, I recalled that party again — of course! It had been a gathering of devoted Harry Potter fans, some forty hours after the release of the final seventh volume, and we had commandeered the back room of a local restaurant for spirited discussions about plotlines, characters, themes — you name it. I had participated in one particular debate that involved strategizing Harry's moves if he could go back in time to various points in his life, retaining full knowledge of what happened the first time around.

Silly fantasizing — or so I thought.

Now I was living that fantasy.

Had I wished myself into a book and made it real? Was such a thing even possible?

I sat on the bed and tried to reconcile what I remembered reading in the seven books with what my other set of memories contained. There were a few inconsistencies regarding names and places, but mostly it was like having a sketch of a life that had suddenly come alive in full color, texture, sound and smell, but even that didn't really convey the full impact; it was more than I could possibly form into words.

Confirming the date in the Prophet, I could recall no "real-life Harry" experiences that corresponded with what I had read in the seventh book. I thought more about it — the dark, emotional trek in the coming months — so many killings, broken lives, impossible trials and suffering throughout — and only vague references to the worst of it, which thankfully happened off-page. The fully inked events were bad enough; the very first chapter told of the sickening murder of the Muggle Studies professor, which I assumed had already taken place.

I shuddered. The Order of the Phoenix would be here this Saturday to escort me away — I could almost see Voldemort and his Death Eaters hovering overhead, waiting in ambush. I looked over at Hedwig, preening in her cage, innocent and unaware of the horrible fate awaiting her. If I accomplished nothing else, I would make sure that disaster never happened.

I focused on Harry's memories of recent events, working backward: the monotony of avoiding my relatives this summer… before that a somber, lonely trip on the Hogwarts Express… the crushing hopelessness as I recalled Dumbledore's funeral, knowing that I had a monumental task ahead, but at least Ron and Hermione would help. Their steadfastness warmed my heart.

And then I thought of Ginny, and my insides burned shamefully. That had accounted for much of my loneliness on the train — I had found a compartment with Ron and Hermione but silently blocked Ginny from entering. The pained expression on her face as she turned away would haunt me forever.

Ah, you bollixed that one, didn't you? I told myself.

But I can't be her boyfriend right now, she'll be in danger! I answered back.

She's in danger anyway, you twit, and people remember that you were together. Look at how hard it will be for her this next year — torture in detention — and you thought Umbridge was bad!

But if she tells them we broke up, and it's true, they can't keep after her for information.

Okay, plausible deniability may be of some benefit. I'll concede that point.

And people close to me always end up…

No! That is not a valid argument. You don't get to take credit for what Voldemort and Fate have done. No more wallowing in self-imposed guilt, pity and delusions of martyrdom! You've been hearing too much of your uncle and Snape over the years and ignoring everything else, including your own heart, which is big enough to save the world, but too thick-skinned to see things objectively.

But the prophecy! I've got to…

Yeah, so what? Get over yourself! Do you honestly think you're the first person that was given a nasty job to do? Or had a target painted on his back? Or people surrounding him sworn to lay down their lives for that person, if not the cause he represents? Let's see, how about almost every head of state in the history of the world, just for starters? And it's not like you actually have to kill the bastard yourself — you trick him into doing his own dirty deed.

Doesn't it still feel like murder?

In case you haven't heard it before, war is hell, and this is a war. All those who wage it and anyone that survives it are affected with an ugly stain on the soul. However horrible it is, such an experience manages to carve away all the pettiness, vanity and other irrelevant crap that we usually pad around ourselves, revealing essential truths, such as that some things exist in this world that cannot be allowed to stand.

Meaning Voldemort's brand of evil must be eliminated, whatever the cost?

Yes, for as its time increases, so does the cost. But remember that you are not alone in your task. Think of it as a Quidditch match — you're the Seeker and you have to catch the Snitch to end the game, but it's not your job to hit the Bludgers or shoot the Quaffle. Let your team do their jobs.

But I can't let them keep putting their lives on the line for me. The Order…

Would you not put your life on the line for any of them?

Yeah, of course!

Then stop being a hypocrite trying to deny them the same opportunity. They have already made a pledge to help you to their last breath, so get used to it and accept it. To do otherwise insults them. And a little forgiveness all around goes a long way, yourself included. Let's hope Ginny forgives as well. She's miserable about all this, you know.

You're okay with Ginny?

Why wouldn't I be? It's not like I had any current emotional attachments. I'm part of you now, and you are head over arse crazy about the girl whether you admit it or not. I'm certainly not going to let you drop her because you want to be stupidly noble.

Ouch — using her words against me… that's cruel.

No, just being a good conscience. Once we decide how to deal with Tom, we've got to figure out this thing about having a real love life.

In some ways that scares me more than Tom…

As it should. Tom is temporary, after all.

Exactly. However, your level of… experience… doesn't really boost my confidence, you know?

Hey, we are not talking about me here! This is all about Harry, who is now both of us…


The voices in my head bantered back and forth over love, life, war, tactics, and a few less serious topics for some time. As common ground and understanding was reached, the two minds gradually merged together.

Given the situation and knowledge available at the time, separating from Ginny was warranted, but it was handled very poorly. Hopefully she won't curse me too severely when I get to the Burrow… I've certainly got a lot of explaining to do… enough groveling may spare me from her Bat Bogey hex if I'm lucky... Ron won't be much better, but Hermione can be distracted with the revelations I have… but how much to tell them?

I would no longer see myself as two distinct persons. From that point on the two sets of life experience were merely two facets of what I now claimed as my own. "We" had become just "me."

Assuming that the seventh book does describe actual events, I have an incredible amount of foreknowledge — Voldemort's strategies, what objects and where the pieces of his soul are stored, his current hideout… I just have to be able to act on it before variations in the flow of events render most of my knowledge to be of no practical use…

It hit me like a troll's club — I had the opportunity… no, the responsibility to change things. With a new conviction, I knew that I could employ those strategies from last night's discussion and avoid the senseless deaths, the debacle at the ministry, the misery of the whole following year as wizarding Britain cowered under Voldemort and his blood-purist zealots.

At least I hoped I could. It seemed so easy when it was simply entertainment.

Well, there was only one way to find out, and it wasn't going to happen if I sat on my arse brooding all day.

"Kreacher!"

A sudden crack heralded the arrival of the aptly named house-elf that I had inherited from Sirius Black, my Godfather, who had died in that nightmarish mission to rescue me from my attempt to rescue him at the Ministry over a year earlier.

His voice was hoarse and oddly deep for such a small being. "The half-blood master calls Kreacher?" he grunted, none too happy to be summoned.

"Kreacher, I have not been a very good master to you, and for that I wish to apologize. I have heard about your former master, Regulus, and I know he was very appreciative of you."

His bulbous bloodshot eyes became even larger, if that was possible. "Master Harry knows of Master Regulus?"

"Yes, Kreacher, I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but I know that he did some very brave things. Would you do me the favor of telling me about him?"

Expected as it was, the sudden transformation in the elf's demeanor was remarkable. His expression brightened as he began the tale of who had obviously been his favorite of all the Blacks. Unfortunately for Sirius, Regulus was also favored by their parents, a situation I knew well. I had obviously never been a father, but it vexed me to know that so many adults played their kids against each other, and I could not recall a single instance where at least one of the parties involved had not suffered for it. Aunt Petunia hated my mom because of jealousy and what appeared to her as favoritism, and she responded by carrying the practice to new heights with her "Ickle Dinky Duddikins" over the nephew unworthy to see the light of day outside his tiny cupboard under the damned spider-ridden stairs. I vowed that I would do my best to avoid such favoritism should I ever be blessed with children of my own — they would all be equally loved.

Kreacher's tale also gave me considerable insight into the workings of a well-placed pure-blood wizarding family. There were responsibilities to society, which meant participating not only in government but serving as a lynchpin in the upper class social network, all the while maintaining a host of protocols and a respectable image. I could easily see why Sirius sought the escape offered by my dad and his family. He was an independent who would not bow to tradition simply because it was tradition.

Regulus, on the other hand, was a conformist, eager to please, and would act in a role whenever asked. He apparently became a Death Eater without considering the full ramifications of what he had gotten into until it was too late. But he had ultimately defined his life with an unheralded selfless act of defiance against Voldemort, even sacrificing himself to protect the pitiful house-elf who was now beside himself with grief, for Kreacher was unable to fulfill his master's final order to destroy the soul-imbedded locket that they had recovered from that horrid cave by the sea, the same cave where Dumbledore and I barely survived our attempt to recover that same locket. Regulus had gotten there first, leaving a note in a fake replacement locket. Dumbledore died later that same evening, never knowing that we had failed.

Kreacher had finally run out of steam and stood sobbing with his head hanging almost to the floor.

I knelt down in front of him. "Regulus would be extremely proud for all you have done, Kreacher. I found something of his that I know he would want you to have." I held out the locket Regulus had left in the cave.

He stared at it in shock, before bursting into a horrible wail. "Kreacher failed his master! Kreacher is a bad elf!"

He turned to fling himself at the wall, but I had anticipated this and caught his arms. "Stop, Kreacher! You are not to punish yourself for any reason. Regulus would not think you a failure, because you tried to complete his task with everything you had. He did not know that the enchantments were beyond the knowledge of house-elves, and he would want you to have this as a reward for your excellent efforts."

He finally calmed somewhat and reverently took the Black locket in his hands. "Kreacher does not know what to say. Master is too kind to Kreacher, to give him something of good Master Regulus."

I spoke more quietly. "I want to see Regulus' task completed as well. I know how to destroy the Dark Lord's locket from the cave, if you can help me find it."

"Master Harry will help Kreacher if Kreacher helps Master Harry?" he croaked.

"Yes, Kreacher, you are indeed a worthy elf."

He gave a long sniff and swiped his arm across his face before bowing to the floor. "Kreacher is ready to serve."

"Thank you, Kreacher; you honor the Ancient and Noble House of Black." I was laying it on a bit heavily, but I really needed to get this done, and I couldn't very well take the time to plan an infiltration of the Ministry of Magic as told in the book. I was in a hurry.

"I know the locket was once at Grimmauld Place, but I believe Mundungus Fletcher stole it. He might still have it, but he was going to sell it to Madame Delores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. She probably has it by now. I need you to retrieve it without getting caught. Create a fake one to replace it if necessary. Bring the locket to me when I am alone. I repeat — you must do this without getting caught. Let no one see you."

Determination covered his features. "Kreacher will do it."

I nodded with a smile, and he disappeared with another loud crack.

Operation Locket was underway.

o o o


1.02

0805 WEDNESDAY

"Put that back, boy! That's more than you're allowed!"

I'm embarrassed to know that I am the same species as this man. Honestly, it was one fried egg on toast.

"Uncle Vernon, I cooked the same amount for you that I always do. I'm hungry and I have a lot to do today if my idea is going to have a chance."

The redirection seemed to work. "So we won't have to leave after all? We can stay here and you'll be gone with those freakish friends of yours and leave us alone?"

"No guarantees, but I feel pretty good about it." I took a bite before he could yank away my meager rations.

Aunt Petunia and Dudley stared as if they never seen me eating a real breakfast. Come to think of it, they probably hadn't.

I swallowed before continuing, "You need to proceed with the original plan, just in case the mission isn't completed fully. If everything goes as I hope, unpacking will be no big deal. In the event I fail miserably, then you can probably stay anyway. It's unlikely they'll come after you once I'm dead."

Aunt Petunia recoiled. "That… man… who killed Lily?"

I looked at her and nodded. "Some stupid prophecy made before I was born said I'm the one that punches his ticket. Ironically, he's set himself up so I can. And I plan on making it happen."

Talk of confrontation piqued Dudley's interest. "You can really take this guy? Isn't he supposed to be like super powerful?"

"Yeah, he's powerful, but your Aunt Lily did something really amazing by giving up her life for me, bestowing upon me a power greater than he will ever know — the power of love. It sounds corny, but it was the reason I beat him as a baby and again in my first year at school. And it's kept me alive the other times we've met. It's also what has protected all of us here in this house, because Professor Dumbledore made sure that power would work through her blood relative, your mum. Unfortunately, that protection expires next week as soon as I come of age in our world, which is why all the escape planning."

The light seemed to come on in Dudley's eyes, but Uncle Vernon remained unconvinced.

"Pure stuff and nonsense," he muttered.

o o o


1.A

A/N: This all began when I read a "Harry Potter goes back in time" mirror moment, and I tried my hand at the same thing except that the character was instead a Harry Potter fan, and I apologize in advance if you dislike interweaving real-world references into the HP world. I wrote half the story and left it for several years on my laptop; deciding that the 10th anniversary of the DH release was as good as opportunity as any to finally get the full version of this fic out to you readers. I plan on publishing 10 chapters over the next 10 weeks. I hope you enjoy.

o


Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

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