Title: Not Your Savior

Author: astropixie

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. I wish it did. Oh well.

Full summary: At sixteen, Harry made a terrible mistake that will cost him for the rest of his life. His new necromancer teacher saves him, giving him new abilities and a strange new appearance in the process. Over the course of three years, the war with Voldemort progresses and the Order of the Phoenix is losing. Even their most powerful Auror, Harry Potter, cannot stop the newly-immortal Dark Lord. Nineteen-year-old Harry decides to return to a time when he could. His sixteen-year-old self must take his place in the grim future. AU, time travel, themes of suicide/depression.

A/N: This is my first HP fanfic. I usually dwell in the sci-fi realm. Thus, I like the idea of alternate realities and time travel. It's my thing.

I really disliked HBP, so I'm kind of ignoring everything that happened in it and starting off right after OotP. I will use some things from the sixth book, but not often. For one thing, I despise Harry/Ginny. (Actually, I just despise romance). For another, it needed way more angst after the events of the fifth book. Whatever happened to continuity?

I recently edited much of this, because I started writing Not Your Savior in high school, and after several college English classes my writing has blossomed into something less sucktastic than before. This first chapter is short, but most are around 8 to 12 pages. Please enjoy and review.

1. Betrayal and Visits

Harry Potter's sixteenth birthday was coming up in two days. Never had he looked forward to it less.

He wasn't even at the Dursleys', his typical summer haunt at Dumbledore's request. He was with his friends at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. And all he could do was hide in Sirius's room, snooping the corners for anything that could bring him back, until guilt at going through his godfather's things forced him back to the harsh-backed wooden chair in the musty corner. Guilt consumed him, irradiated him, poisoned him. Many times, he thought he wanted to die.

Everyone else did. First his parents, then Cedric, and now the only adult who had ever cared about him like a son that he could view like a father was gone. Everyone always died for him.

I'm not worth dying for, Harry thought. I can't kill Voldemort. I can't come close. I'm not their savior.

"Harry?"

Harry turned around in his seat to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the threshold. He straightened.

"Sir?" Harry said quietly.

Dumbledore entered the room—Sirius's room—slowly, the floorboards creaking as he stepped over to Harry's chair.

"I thought I would find you here," the old wizard said. "Molly is quite upset that you've missed two meals today."

Harry shrugged in response.

Dumbledore seated himself on Sirius's old bed, the springs protesting with "ping, poing" snapping noises as he did. "Well, I'll leave you to your quiet afternoon in a moment, but I wanted to discuss something with you."

Harry waited for him to continue.

"I wish for you to have private lessons," Dumbledore said.

"Not Occlumency?" Harry asked, horrified. Those lessons hadn't gone well.

"Possibly," Dumbledore admitted. "However, these lessons will be more general, with a focus on dueling."

There was a long pause. "You want me to be trained so I can kill Voldemort," Harry said quietly.

"Yes."

Harry sighed and looked away. That was all Dumbledore wanted. He wanted to use Harry as a weapon. I'm not your savior, Harry thought bitterly.

Instead of saying this aloud, he asked, "Who's going to teach me? You?"

Dumbledore shook his head, and his customary tall wizard's hat drooped slightly. "I want you to be instructed by the best."

"Aren't…aren't you the best, sir?" Harry asked, confused.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled slightly at this. "As flattering as it is to hear you say that, Harry, I must shelve my ego for a moment and admit that I am not."

"Okay," Harry said, still confused. "So who is?"

"A former student of mine," Dumbledore answered vaguely, and Harry knew no straight answers were coming. "He memorized the entire Hogwarts library by the time he was thirteen years old. I daresay his knowledge of magic far outstrips that of anyone else alive."

"Sounds like someone Hermione should meet," Harry muttered. Dumbledore smiled.

"I'm sure you two will get along just fine as well," he said, standing up to leave. "You have much in common."

Dumbledore walked toward the door, and then paused. "You should get some fresh air, Harry. This room is stuffy."

Harry stared, and Dumbledore reached the door. It was halfway open when a loud wind and stomping noise filled the room. Both wizards, young and old, whirled in their spots to view the source.

A wizard with untamed black hair and eerie silver eyes stood in the middle of the room, clutching a fist to his chest. He looked up from the ground and a small smile lit his familiar face. Haunted silver eyes met shadowed green ones.

"Hello, Harry," Harry Potter said.