Chapter Text
In a rather large number of dimensions, circumstance governs predictability.
The choices we make form diverging paths and choices are as delicate as glass in the hands of a madman. Shatter, and no glue in the world can mold what once was.
On one path, a young woman in love avoided her changed patronus as much as the Werewolf who caused it. When she encountered a Death Eater fumbling with a strange object in Diagon Alley, she attacked without hesitation; the man’s intentions lost before they formed.
During war, such quick instances are denied importance – what is a snowflake to a storm? – but paths are carved with careful tools and life is formed with clay, not glass. On another path, in another time, in another place, be it sentiment or something equally as distracting, the young woman hesitates.
Hesitation during war means death and Nymphadora Tonks faced death with worries of what could have been. Her wand raised but the man was already upon her. She fell to the sight of a gentle face with scars and scruff reflected in the snow; guilt-ridden and hesitant, her foolish crush denying his love for something as unrelated as her safety from him. Like a mockery of what she will never have, his face was certain to be the last thing she ever sees.
Nymphadora Tonks faced death and loved and loved and loved until she was overwhelmed with it. Her mind saw Remus Lupin’s face and her magic, fueled by the most powerful of desires, reached.
She was not ready to relinquish love for rest.
On one path, a snowflake falls and blends with mounds soon to be blood-soaked by war, but on another, it sweeps into blizzards and blood is washed into uncertainty.
Hurled through time and space, the young Order of the Phoenix member and her unwanted companion land outside the warmth of a Weasley Christmas where her foolish crush hides himself. She will live, but this particular dimension has forever diverged from its predetermined path. As such, what was becomes what is not and what is becomes all that now will be.
Lines diverge with little care for who walks them and with the actions of a single snowflake, a boy destined for greatness he does not want is now burdened by knowledge of what could have been.
You will also find that in a rather large number of dimensions, fate is a cruel bitch.
When the crack of Apparition snapped across the Burrow’s lawn, interrupting the peaceful Christmas celebration and Harry’s newest ‘Malfoy is a Death Eater’ theory, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wands were in their hands before the echo cooled. Nothing threatened the door nor announced itself, but Harry’s beating heart threatened to consume him in the silence that followed.
“Stay here,” Remus said, hand brushing Harry’s shoulder.
The adults cast Disillusionment spells and slipped through the front door. Harry heard the heavy breathing of those who remained: Hermione and the Weasleys (minus Percy but with the family’s unwelcome addition of Fleur and all her ‘Frenchy-ness,’ as Ginny put it). The silence was all encompassing and Harry itched with the need to move. It was the tension at the Department of Mysteries all over again.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...
From outside, a man’s voice slipped through the door, “….Lord... here…”
Hermione, mind as sharp as ever, spoke a quiet message to her Patronus and sent it off.
Never one to ignore trouble if it bothered to look for him, Harry turned to Ron to state his intent to investigate when a flash of purple light rattled the windows. There was very little any of the children could do to hold back their worried scramble to the door.
They emerged to a lawn scorched with purple flames licking the edges of a large ring where Nymphadora Tonks – her distinctive bubblegum pink hair leaving no doubt to her identity – collapsed form laid in Remus’ arms. Standing tall, the Weasley parents had their wands pointed at two figures in the center of the fire. When the standing figure turned its head to examine the newcomers, Harry heard Ginny’s breath catch. The figure was young but no less regal (pretentious) as the form from his diary.
Tom Marvolo Riddle met Harry’s eyes. Slowly, as if not wanting to take his sight off Harry, he blinked then looked over the others. When those brown eyes moved away (brown, brown, brown – not red) Harry remembered to breathe.
….born to those who have thrice defied him...
“Place your wands on the ground,” Mr. Weasley demanded.
Harry blinked and the world once again made room for more than just Harry Potter and Tom Riddle.
“Oh, how humbled, how blessed I am,” the other man on the ground wailed, pressing his hands further into what Harry now realized was a bow. “Master, my Lord.”
“Your wand,” Mrs. Weasley reminded. She made no move to fire a spell and Harry wondered if the purple flames prevented it.
Tom Riddle, adorned with a Slytherin scarf and Hogwarts robes – not old enough to be out of school yet – lowered his gaze to the man at his feet.
“Where am I?” the gentle tenor of his voice asked. Harry heard Ginny tighten her grip on her wand. Riddle’s voice was exactly as they remembered: persuasive, soft but demanding; a gentle facade to disguise the blood that stained his hands.
“My Lord, I am but your most humble servant,” the Death Eater said, continuing to prostrate himself. “You have been called upon from another plane to aid Lord Voldemort in his reign over Magical Britain.”
Tom Riddle appeared to weigh each word carefully. “Dimension travel.”
Somewhere to Harry’s left, Ron swore. Not a Horcrux but a person. A young Voldemort. A soul identical to the man that poisoned the Wizarding World housed in child form. Horcruxes would have been easier to kill. They weren’t people.
“Yes! Yes! A most noble partnership. My Lord trusts none other than himself to aid his efforts. My Lord, you become powerful – yes, the most powerful wizard of all!”
Riddle nodded and Harry was struck by the most curious hysteria. Tom Riddle, for all that he was dangerous – a snake will always bite the hand that feeds if it smells of prey – was a child.
“You summoned me,” Riddle said. “How?”
“My master knows magic unlike any mortal man has ever seen! Lord Voldemort rises above mere mortals. Lord Voldemort will bring the end to mudbloods and restore the purity of blood and magic to its rightful hierarchy” – the man eagerly reached forward as if to grab Riddle robes but managed to restrain himself – “Lord Voldemort has conquered death at the hands of Potter and no one, no, not even Dumbledore himself dares to stand in his way!”
Harry must have imagined the way Riddle’s eyes flickered his way for a brief moment. Tom Riddle couldn’t be more than thirteen and Harry Potter wasn’t born yet.
...born as the seventh month dies...
“I see,” Riddle said.
“Place your wands on the ground!” Mrs. Weasley demanded with all the fierceness of a parent protecting their children.
“You have trespassed on our family grounds. Please, lower your wands,” Mr Weasley added.
Following the tone of the Weasley parents, Hermione, Ron, and the others tensed in preparation; their wands at the ready.
Riddle spared them a glance, fingers tightening around the wand at his side. Harry's mind never seemed to work as fast as Hermione’s but he knew the look in Riddle’s eyes well. Riddle may have been tossed into a situation he didn’t plan for, but Voldemort was a survivor. He would not allow things to play out without being a player himself.
....and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…
A second crack of apparition and Dumbledore arrived on the scene mirroring his arrival at the Ministry where everything went wrong. Hermione must have sent her Patronus to Hogwarts. His presence seemed to visibly strengthen the confidence of the Weasleys.
“Tom,” Dumbledore spoke, tone pleasant as if this were a conversation held over afternoon tea. Harry envied the man’s ability to pack everything into tiny boxes and throw away the key.
Riddle made an odd sort of expression with his eyebrows as he stared at Dumbledore, the only man Voldemort had ever feared. (Merlin, eyebrows– and a nose too. Maybe Harry had been too young to think about it in the chamber and too preoccupied while watching the pensive memories with Dumbledore, but seeing young Voldemort now made him extremely aware that he used to be significantly less snakelike.)
“Well, this is an odd situation we find ourselves in, isn’t it?” Dumbledore continued, wand resting at his side. He gently brushed imaginary dust off his robe, further cementing his unbothered image. “I’m afraid that I must ask for you to lay down your wands.”
“My Lord,” the man on the ground urged, holding out an arm towards the young Slytherin. He wore a large smile as he beckoned Riddle to take his hand. They would be gone in a second.
Harry twitched but Dumbledore was already attempting to breach the purple flames. Gusts of protective magic swelled, but Harry knew that even as the ring of purple fought back, Dumbledore’s magic would soon prevail. In his panic, Harry once again looked towards Tom Riddle and the young Dark Lord met his eyes for the second time.
...but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…
Harry absently noticed the Death Eater’s arm straining to remain outward as the seconds stretched on.
The Weasley parents added their magic to the force of Dumbledore’s and the purple flames shattered like glass. The Death Eater was quick to stand, rushing forward to grab Riddle’s robes even as the student made no move to accept the help. Harry raised his wand when the Death Eater countered Dumbledore’s stunning spell with a shield.
The situation felt a bit like trying to catch sand as it slipped through your fingers.
The Death Eater’s fingers had only just brushed the edge of Riddle’s robes – Harry was certain this would be the moment that won the war for Voldemort – when the teenager moved. Eyes leaving Harry’s, he stepped back.
“Evidently, there are a number of differences between your dimension and my own,” Tom Riddle said, backing away from the Death Eater and thoroughly shattering everything Harry Potter thought he knew.
The Death Eater, caught off balance but no less eager to complete his task, quickly lunged forward again before he abruptly collapsed with a pained grunt. Like the air itself was sucked out of the sky, the battle paused.
Dumbledore’s hand stretched out to gently stop the Weasleys approach (Harry was too preoccupied to notice that he’d stopped as well.) In the frozen silence that followed, a quiet voice cursed colorfully, but for the life of him Harry couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Incredible,” Riddle said, staring at the Death Eater collapsed at his feet, “that you forgot you have magic.”
“I didn’t forget!” the unknown voice argued and Harry was having a very hard time putting thoughts together because that was an extremely familiar voice.
“Of course.”
“He needed a good punch.”
“Indeed.”
Riddle raised his wand and hit the unconscious Death Eater with what appeared to be a stunner. The Weasley parents took a step forward at the movement but Dumbledore looked unbothered. Actually, he looked very bothered. Or maybe focused.
“Oh come on, that was a solid hit! My wrist is on fire,” the voice complained.
“The typical consequence of punching someone.”
As the air next to the downed Death Eater shifted, a figure emerged from under a very familiar cloak wearing a very familiar face and speaking with a very familiar voice.
...and either must die at the hand of the other...
“What, no, ‘Thank you, Harry,’ ‘You’re so awesome, Harry,’ ‘You saved my life, Harry’?” a young Harry Potter asked, crossing his arms over a green tie and too big Hogwarts robes. “How about, ‘Thank you for not letting a weird man whisk me away, never to be seen again’?”
Small Harry allowed no time for Riddle to answer and turned to observe the gathered crowd. When he locked eyes with sixteen-year-old Harry across the field, he gasped.
“I'M TALL!” the child exclaimed. Uncaring of the silence that followed, the child grinned and waved at Harry.
Dumbledore made a chuckling sound that transformed into deep, uncontrollable belly laughs until, after a moment, he'd gathered control of himself and lowered his wand. Harry didn’t have to turn to feel the intense stares from Hermione and Ron.
“I must say, magic has a funny way of turning a simple day into something rather complicated, doesn’t it?” Dumbledore said, voice light.
Harry had no idea if he meant to speak to them or their uninvited guests, but small Harry made a pained sound and turned wide eyes to Riddle who had yet to twitch since the battle cooled. Even across the field, Harry heard something that sounded like, “He’s so old!
“Are you going to take our wands from us?” Riddle asked, voice carrying across the space that separated them.
“I believe that would be in our best interest,” Dumbledore answered, casually.
“Unarmed in an unfamiliar world.”
“Not unfamiliar; just different.”
“If we cannot be permitted to use magic then neither should you.”
Remus Lupin, hair loose and expression wild, made an angry sound from his place on the ground holding Tonks. For the first time, Remus took his eyes off Tonks long enough to raise his wand.
“You dare make demands of us?” he snarled.
“Have I misunderstood the situation, or were we torn unwillingly through time and space?”
“I believe we can come to an understanding,” Dumbledore cut in. Even if his back faced Harry, he knew the man was smiling. “No magic for either side seems agreeable.”
Riddle got what he wanted but for some reason his face pinched. “How would that balance the equation? Magic to magic or none to none, we remain equally armed or unarmed. How are we meant to protect ourselves or trust your intentions?”
“Ah, yes, but the level of danger changes, doesn’t it?”
“A mere kitchen knife holds the same capab”––
Riddle was quickly cut off by small Harry’s hands covering his mouth.
“Would you stop being self-destructive for five minutes? Explaining the threat of a kitchen knife––honestly!” the small boy exclaimed.
Tom’s face didn’t twitch from it’s calm appearance behind small Harry’s hands despite his body’s uncomfortable bend sideways to accommodate their heights. It was by far the strangest image Harry had ever seen in his life and by the sound of Ron’s choking, he wasn’t the only one experiencing a bit of hysteria.
Here was maybe an eleven-year-old version of himself covering the mouth of a just-as-young-looking Voldemort as he forced the soon-to-be murderous-Dark-Lord to bend a foot to the left.
Small Harry suddenly shrieked and Harry’s heart leapt to his throat. To his right, the others startled. Clutching his wrist, the child stared at Riddle with a purely aghast expression.
“You licked me,” small Harry said. A pause, then the child slowly brought both palms to his mouth. For the first time, Riddle’s expression conveyed unease.
Palms thoroughly soaked, small Harry thrust them forward with a cry, “These are coming for that bloody perfect hair!”
So thoroughly absorbed in the obvious hallucination before him, Harry almost missed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley lowering their wands after a small flick of their wrists upward. Harry blinked to clear the fog that consumed his mind and sought out Remus. Despite his earlier intervention, the werewolf’s focus remained solely on Tonks, whispering to her as she stirred in his lap. Their expressions conveyed complete dedication to each other's wellbeing. Slowly, Tonks reached a shaking hand up to cup Remus's cheek as he leaned into her comforting gesture.
Feeling a bit like an intruder, Harry turned to his friends. It was like the lot of them couldn’t decide which Harry was more fascinating to stare at.
“Are you alright, dears?” Mrs. Weasley asked. A childlike shout of anger distracted Harry for a moment, but he managed to nod to reassure her.
“I see,” Dumbledore said, having moved closer to the group once more. His blue eyes traced the air above them and Harry half expected another intruder to pop in. “Powerful wards.”
“Family wards, damn strong,” Mr. Weasley said.
“Protection? Is that why you’ve taken your eyes off them?” Hermione asked, uncertain. Her wand was still raised despite the adults' sudden ease.
They had all taken their eyes off the enemy, if only for a second (even if Harry’s eyes couldn’t stop wandering), except Ginny who breathed deeply as she watched the taller figure somewhat gracefully dodge the smaller one.
“Family magic’s strong, so Mum’s got ill intent wards round the house,” Ron answered, looking a little lost. “Once it's activated, anyone who means harm would be forcefully removed from the grounds.”
Harry let that sink in until he felt bathed in it.
The Death Eater that was previously collapsed on the lawn was now chained against a tree at the edge of the surrounding forest, but Tom Marvolo Riddle and the small companion that chased him remained untouched. This wasn’t a situation anyone could be prepared to know how to handle.
(Harry Potter didn’t think he knew how to deal with a Voldemort that didn’t mean him harm).
...for neither can live while the other survives…
“Boys,” Dumbledore’s voice called out. It was his teacher voice, one an adult would use against an unruly child, perhaps.
Riddle looked up even as he leaned slightly to the right and tripped small Harry. His left arm remained slightly behind him in an effort to hide his battle-ready stance clutching his wand. At ease, Riddle was not, even if he meant them no true harm.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore and this is the Weasley family’s home," Dumbledore explained, gesturing to the Burrow. "A few faces here might be familiar, but I rather think a situation like this calls for a warm Christmas fire and hot chocolate, don’t you?”
Still sprawled in the grass where he’d fallen, small Harry laughed. Harry wondered why Hermione made a sudden breathy noise beside him.
“I swear that we mean you no harm,” Dumbledore spoke, swiping his wand in the air. The blue light wrapped around his wrist and settled. Then, he slipped his wand into his pocket and smiled.
Riddle watched the movement as the wand disappeared into Dumbledore’s blue robes. Slowly, the boy brought his hidden arm forward.
“If I am threatened, I will defend myself,” Riddle said as he too placed his wand away. Below Riddle, small Harry rolled to his back and softly kicked his feet against Riddle’s side several times.
“Shut up,” the child groaned, adding a few more shoves in for good measure. Riddle smacked his legs away and small Harry rolled to his side, looking ever so comfortable amongst the dirt and grass.
“I would expect nothing less,” Dumbledore replied, unbothered. “But let’s see if we can’t figure out what situation we’ve found ourselves in. I imagine the two of you are just as startled as we are.”
“Can you send us home?” small Harry asked, propping himself up on his elbows. “I don’t think I very much like this dimension.”
Ginny snorts.
“Dimension magic is complicated, but magic brought you here so it can get you home.”
Small Harry looked reassured and jumped up to grab Riddle’s hand and tug him forward. Riddle appeared unbothered by the touch and the Harry who was sixteen years old and not looking like a Hogwarts first year was confronted with the most startling realization.
As if fate were carved into his very bones, every aspect of his being fit a web so delicately spun that not a single strand was out of place. Not once in Harry Potter’s life had he ever felt like the pilot of his own fate. The web was spun and the pieces were in play long before he’d been born. Each piece weaved into the next, strengthened over and over; built to live, built to last, carrying weight the likes of which only chains were ever tasked with. Nothing could be added that he couldn’t carry.
Harry Potter was a web spun for strength, but the children before him brandished swords.
...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.