Time Warp - Chapter 1

Summary: An incident with the Time Turners during the Battle of the Ministry sends Harry hurtling through time. Lost in a world that is no longer his own, he's forced to turn to the most unlikely of places for help…

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Chapter 1: Adrift

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When people think of ‘the Void’ they picture this empty black expanse that goes on for an eternity. They assume if one were to fall in, they’d be floating adrift in this sea of darkness forever. The reality, however, was slightly different.

Light, time, matter, existence itself–everything that made up the material was absent in the Void. If a living being were to find themselves within this realm of nonexistence it would be both catastrophic and incredibly tame at the same time. They could not hope to behold the darkness around them for there wasn’t any darkness at all. It would be as if their very eyes were plucked from their skull, unseeing as they fell. Breath would not leave their lips either for air could not hope to exist in this place nor even the very matter that made up their lungs. Worse yet was the effects on the mind. Something as feeble as a human brain could never hope to understand such an extreme tangle of paradoxes that make up the Void. Comprehension would fail them, their mind protecting itself by turning inwards and refusing to realize their surroundings for fear of shattering into madness.

The Void was no place for creatures of substance. It was no place for anything. Not even Death. If some poor unfortunate soul somehow found themselves trapped within this primordial realm, they would simply be driven to madness through the hell of their new existence before they ceased to exist altogether. Such was the way of the Void.

So why then was Harry Potter still here?

He couldn’t keep track of how long he’d been here–stuck in this sarcophagus of nothing. Days? Years? There was no real answer. He’d been here for an eternity yet only mere moments all at the same time. His thoughts were slow and groggy. He could barely even remember his name or how he got here. A brief flicker of something in the back of his head was his only clue. The sound of glass breaking, of a hurricane of dust surrounded him, of a scream. His scream? No. No, he was fairly certain someone else had cried out his name. But who?

He tried to shake his head to clear out the fuzziness within, but the very nerves in his body would not respond.

What had he been thinking about?

…

He could not recall. Where was he again?

It all felt wrong. As if he was stuck between a dream and wakefulness. Trapped within a Limbo of uncertainty. The fuzziness in his head was only growing worse, as did the uncomfortable feeling gnawing inside his chest.

He was…Scared? Angry? Confused?

He could not remember what those words even meant but they felt wrong all the same. The fuzziness was thunderous in his ears now, a loud buzzing that threatened to shatter his eardrums. If he could move his arms he’d cover his ears to block out the noise but no matter what he tried that just wouldn’t move! Even his vocal cords remained still, ignoring his desperate need to scream in agony as the noise grew louder and louder and louder…

And then it stopped.

Harry blinked his eyes open. The noise was gone as was the pain, though his ears rang irritably. He took a breath in an attempt to steel his nerves. Wait… Harry took another breath, slowly this time. He could breathe? That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Without warning, the nothingness around him split like an axe tearing through the fabric of reality. Murky grey light bled through, dim and dark, but light all the same.

“You do not belong here Peverell.”

The voice came from everywhere around him. It was like a whisper in his ears yet as loud as a roaring inferno.

“Reality is a fickle thing–Life and its foundations so…troublesome.” The voice seemed to almost sigh before it continued. “You do not belong here and yet we cannot send you back from whence you came. Perhaps an alternative is in order…”

Harry winced as a sourceless voice stabbed into his mind. It sounded old–rasping, yet incomprehensibly powerful at the same time. Before he could even hope to form a reply his entire being was suddenly yanked forward. Harry clamped his eyes shut as he was dragged towards the murky grey light at blinding speeds.

Nothingness gave way to creation, and Harry fell once more.

-

Narcissa Black stretched her back with a wince. A sharp crack reverberated up her spine as the day’s work fully settled into her bones, and yet she was barely halfway through her first shift. She sighed to herself and turned back to the pile of charts in front of her. As a Student Healer, she was given the brunt of the hospital's grunt work. From cleaning bedpans, spreading salve over pustulous boils and oozing wounds, to even scut like this–notating the charts of all her Resident Healer’s morning patients. 

19 hours she’s been here. 19 consecutive hours into her first ever shift and Narcissa was already sick of charting. If she never had to see another chart in her life she’d be a bloody happy witch!

Still, she thought with a sigh, she supposed she ought to be happy. Not many witches or wizards still in Hogwarts get the chance she has in this moment. Saint Mungo’s was notorious for only accepting the best NEWT students on as potential healers. The fact that she was here now was only because of her exceptional OWL results…

…Okay, perhaps her OWLs and her family name. Loathe as she was to admit it, being a Black had a bit more to do with her early acceptance than most realised. Narcissa was well aware of the unfairness of the situation. After all, most didn’t have the title of ‘Most Ancient and Noble” attached to their last name. But Narcissa wasn’t some oafish pureblood scion that had more ego than brains! She actually had the intellect to back up her skill! She’d have gotten in on her own merit regardless! What was a little headstart if she was still going to put in just as much work as everyone else?!

…Perhaps it was time for a break, she thought glumly. All this charting had her hands aching and the dark circles under her eyes told her it was about time for a cup of coffee.

Marking her place in the patient chart, Narcissa stood and made her way down the hall to the closest break area. Other Student and Junior Healers passed her as she went, each appearing just as tired and frazzled as she felt. Long shifts were a common occurrence in the Emergency Ward. 

She entered the employee breakroom, giving a polite nod to the other two occupants within. They responded in kind, the older Medi-Witch even going so far as to give Narcissa a polite, if strained, smile while the younger wizard quickly returned to cupping his steaming cup of coffee. As she began to pour her own mug of cheap caffeine-infused liquid, the other two individuals returned to their conversation.

“...I’m tellin’ you, Doreen! It’s getting serious out there! If the rumours are true ‘bout someone goin’ around and murderin’ muggles all willynilly, then what’s to stop ‘em from comin’ after people like me?!”

The younger man did his best to whisper, but the fearful tone in his voice was just loud enough for Narcissa to overhear his words. Pouring a perhaps overly sweet amount of sugar into her coffee, the young blonde listened closer.

“Don’t be paranoid Nigel!” The Medi-Witch scoffed. “Incidents like this happen all the time. Some group of drunken Grindewald purists pop up and murder a few muggles, the aurors catch on, and the buffoons either get hauled away to Azkaban or run away with their tails between their legs. Just because this round of bigots managed to get away with it for a bit longer than most doesn’t mean it’ll end any different!”

“But what about the whispers?!” Nigel hissed. “Of the supposed descendent of Slytherin?! Rumour is he’s been rounding up followers left and right! He could be the one doin’ all the killings!”

Doreen scoffed once more and waved the younger man off. “Rumours are just that Nigel- Rumours! There’s a new bloody Heir of Slytherin every other week. Even if this one is gathering followers, he wouldn’t be doing it by killing muggles!” The Medi-Witch sighed and placed a hand on her colleague's arm. “Look, I know this is all scary with you being a muggle-born and all, but trust me, things like this happen all the time. It’s a right shame that people died and whoever killed them should be brought to justice, but just because a few muggles were killed doesn’t mean there’s another war on the horizon.” 

The younger wizard nodded with a shaky sigh. As the two began to move on to other topics, Narcissa quietly took her leave, not wanting them to realize she’d been there listening the entire time.

Coffee in hand, Narcissa made her way back to the front desk to finish her charts. It was a quiet night tonight, as far as the Emergency Room was concerned. A few beds contained the odd patient or two, but so far nothing extraordinary had occurred–the perfect time to finish her busy work.

Yet as she sat and picked up her quill once more, Narcissa found her thoughts clouded by the conversation she eavesdropped on minutes prior. It was true that there’d been an uptick in reported muggle deaths. That itself was odd. Muggle deaths were only ever reported when magic was involved in one way or another, usually when a muggle had somehow wandered into a protected creature reserve or happened upon a cursed object lying about somewhere. These were usually joined by a notice from the Ministry reminding everyone to keep track of their dangerous artefacts. 

However, as the Medi-Witch had said, occasionally a group of blood purists would get brave after a pint or two and go out terrorizing the first muggle they found. These incidents usually always ended with the muggle being tortured for a few hours and then killed, worse if the muggle was a woman. Rape was, unfortunately, a very common crime committed against those without magic. Sometimes the women assaulted wouldn’t even be killed afterwards. Their attacker would simply wipe their memories and move on, never being caught or convicted.

Narcissa wasn’t sure if that outcome was better or worse.

However, these killings would, as the older witch said, occur sporadically and were usually dealt with quietly by the aurors. Yet these recent killings were different. They occurred almost routinely, sometimes with only one victim–other times three or four. What was worse were the markings. The public at large wasn’t aware but her Grandfather had told her of the markings burned into each of the victim's chests. It had been a topic of quiet concern within the Wizengamot. After all, a skull with a serpent coiled out from its mouth sent a pretty clear message about the type of person committing these acts. The only question was, were they just another upstart Serial Killer…or something else?

Narcissa bit her lip anxiously as she poured over these thoughts. She didn’t know why these murders bothered her so much. After all, she was a pureblood of the most powerful Ancient House in all of Magical Britain! Why should she be worried about some random muggle killer?!

Yet she couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. Some piece of the puzzle the Wizengamor, aurors, even she hadn’t considered. But what?

She groaned and slammed her quill down. There was no way she was going to finish these charts with her head so tangled up. Perhaps she should do a few rounds? There weren’t many patients needing to be monitored but a walk around the floor might be just what she needs to clear her head.

After checking on Mr Rowfield’s apparition splinch in Bed 6, Mrs Goldhew’s Midus Curse infection in Bed 12, and giving the alcoholic in Bed 14 another dose of Skelegrow for the femur he drunkenly vanished, Narcissa found herself walking back to the front desk with a much clearer head.

At least until the ringing started.

It began softly at first. The hum was so low in her ears that she truthfully didn’t even notice it for several seconds. But as those seconds passed, the ringing grew. Narcissa furrowed her brow in confusion when she first noticed. Looking around, she thought that perhaps it was a monitoring rune outside a patient’s room alerting her of a medical crisis, but it couldn’t be. The runes would glow a bright obnoxious red in such a situation and yet all the doors around her remained dark and unblinking.

She winced as the ringing suddenly spiked in intensity. A headache almost immediately began to bloom between her temples and Narcissa stumbled a bit from the discombobulation. Around her, medical devices began to tremble. The glowing mage lights flickered and popped. A deep rumble even began to shake its way through the entire floor, knocking Narcissa to her knees. It would be truly terrifying if it weren’t for the painful ringing threatening to pound her skull in. Narcissa cried out and clutched her ears. She thought she heard others, patients and Healers alike doing the same, but the ringing was far too loud to be sure. She forced herself to open her eyes despite the splitting headache. Her wand. Where was her wand? She looked around frantically. If she could find her wand then she could do…something? Who cares! Whatever was happening couldn’t be good and she’d be damned if she was gonna sit here defenseless! She was forced to abandon her search when the ringing gave way quite suddenly to a loud ‘CRACK!’. 

Narcissa watched astonished as, not ten feet in front of her, reality seemed to split apart with a blinding flash of light. A few people screamed in surprise, obviously having witnessed the same flash, but before anyone could panic everything suddenly stopped…

…Including the breathing of the man who appeared on the ground before her, right after that bright flash of light.

-

“Do we frighten you?”

Harry blinked open his eyes. The world around him felt…viscous…as if he were suspended in a pool of oil. His limbs floated around him, yet he could not find the strength to move them as he blearily looked around. Someone had asked him a question hadn’t they?

“S-Sorry?” He croaked, voice cracked and laced with exhaustion. 

The world came to focus around him, if you could even call it that. 

The sky itself was pitch black. Not a single star broke through the inky blackness. Far off he could just make out the sound of thunder, yet like the stars he could see no lighting streak its way across the sky. A haze clung to the air, like an early morning fog but thicker and tinged with a scent of staleness. He stood atop a hill. The oily feeling of the air still clung to him yet he could slowly feel his strength returning, albeit very little of it. A tall, leafless, white oak stood next to him, its branches gnarled and twisted high into the air, yet it was completely unblemished from the scratches of animals or wounds of time–Save for one single branch that hung low with its end snapped off.

“Do we frighten you?” The voice whispered again, and suddenly there was a figure standing before him.

The figure stood tall–its limbs pencil-thin and stretched like a spindly spider beneath its dark grey cloak. It stood hunched before him, where its face was supposed to be was a void of darkness between the rags of its hood as it peered into the very core of Harry’s being. He couldn’t help but shiver in discomfort and take a half step back.

“Should I be?” He asked warily, hand reaching for his wand. But it found nothing but bare skin. Harry blinked and looked down in surprise, finding himself not fully clothed like he expected but completely bare to the world around him.

The figure leaned even closer, its head tilting as if pondering his answer.

“It is unknown.” The figure hummed, the sound akin to wind sweeping over fall leaves. “Many throughout time have tried to thwart us out of fear. Fear of what we bring. Fear of what we give.” The figure turned, looking out into the thick grey mist in contemplation. “Some seek to conquer us through power and bravado. Others wish to cheat our gift and perverse it’s meaning. There are even a few who would hide away–abscond themselves from our gaze as if our eyes do not pierce into their very hearts.” The figure turned back to Harry. He had the distinct feeling it was smirking at him. “They all fail. We cannot be conquered. We cannot be twisted. We cannot be blinded.”

“Why do they try then?” Harry asked.

“Ignorance.” The figure explained simply. “Or perhaps the lack of it. Our gift we give out of love. We were created to cherish humanity–to shepherd them and we are nothing if not a dutiful child. But humanity’s folly is that of freedom. They reject their purpose because they were made to reject it. They believe that life is their gift–their reward, but life was never the reward. It was the trial.” The figure cast its gaze back into the fog, its emotions just as unreadable as they’d been from the start. “Humanity knows what waits for them at the end of their trial. They know WE wait for them. Yet you abhor us instead of rejoicing our arrival when your time of turmoil has ended. We do not understand this.”

Harry felt the realization hit him like a sack of bricks. He knew who this figure was…but he also really hoped he was wrong.

“You’re death?” Harry whispered.

The figure snapped its gaze back to him, its faceless hood twisting from side to side.

“We are the halting of hearts and the ceasing of breath. We are the final words spoken and the eyes of the unblinking. We are the End. We are…the Beginning.” 

The figure stood to its full height as a crack of thunder lashed out through the air. A single bolt of lightning lit up the sky, revealing the figure’s full form. Wings of oily black stretched out high above the fog and Harry couldn’t help but unconsciously take a step back. 

“We are Death and you are not deserving of our gift just yet, Peverell.”

-

The first thing Harry felt as life returned to him was something prodding against his chest. The slight pokes sent little pangs of soreness throughout his diaphragm. He groaned against the discomfort, the noise coming out hoarse and hallow.

“Oh!” A feminine voice exclaimed. “Healer Abbott, he’s awake!”

Harry blearily opened his eyes, wincing as the bright lights stung his corneas and forced him to clamp them back shut. The sound of hurried footsteps met his ears as another voice joined the fray.

“Check his core levels again. Sir?” The voice was addressing him now, Harry was sure of it. He pried open his eyes once more, barely more than a slit. The blurry image of a balding blonde man stood over him, his wand tip shining with a light as he passed it over Harry’s eyes. Without his glasses, he wasn't able to make out the finer details of who he assumed to be Healer Abbott.

“Sir can you hear me?” Healer Abbott asked again.

Harry groaned and did his best to nod. The muscles in his neck hissed in protest but he managed a small gesture.

“Excellent! Sir you need to listen to me. You’re at Saint Mungo’s Hospital in the intensive care ward. When you- ahem- arrived here, your magical core was completely depleted and your body was reeling from the aftereffects of severe magical exhaustion. The pain throughout your body will fade but please you’ll need to tell us what happened in case there’s anything else we missed.” The Healer explained.

Harry groaned and swatted at the annoying light the man was flashing in his face. The move took more effort than he wished and it hurt like hell, but the Healer got the message. Once the light was no longer shining into his eyes he was able to crack them open a bit more. The world was still a blurry mess but he could see enough to know he was indeed in a hospital. Another fuzzy figure moved into his field of view and gently pushed something against his face. Harry flinched at first, but as his vision cleared and the world came into focus, he realized they had placed his glasses onto his face.

“Thanks.” He muttered, wincing as more raw pain reverberated through his throat.

“Of course sir.” The feminine voice from earlier replied. “Now back to Healer Abbott's questions…”
Harry shook his head. With his glasses now on his vision was a lot clearer but the wooziness he felt still made it hard to get a solid grasp on everything. 

“Sorry, could you repeat the question Miss…?” Harry trailed off as he looked up, finally getting his first real look at who he was talking to.

Blonde hair, striking and familiar. Her features were softer than last he saw her, more youthful and absent of wear of time. She’d been beautiful then, even he wasn’t ashamed to admit it, but standing before him now she was absolutely breathtaking. Her lilac-coloured eyes bored into him, not with disgust or contempt as they had many times before, but with an empathetic yet professional softness that someone of her profession would normally wear…but then why the hell was she dressed as a bloody Healer?? After all she was-

“Narcissa Black. Healer Narcissa Black at your service Mr…?”

Harry could feel the world spin as his vision went black once more.

-

Author’s Note

New story! Woohoo, always excited to venture into a new project! I was really stoked when this one won the poll cause I’ve got some awesome plans for this fic! As I had sorta mentioned in my end-of-year update back in December, I want to start exploring some more plot-focused, less smut-heavy works and I feel like this is the perfect opportunity for it! There will still be plenty of spice so don’t worry! 

Thanks for reading!