A quick note before beginning this story. A lot of stories involve hand-holding; the reader is always aware of exactly what's going on, with no mystery as to the plot or transpirings. This isn't one of those stories. Enjoy!

Harry Potter and the Fractured Apocalypse


Chapter 1 - A Five Year Old God

Harry casually looked around the landscape. It was as if the world couldn't decide whether it wanted to be a prairie or a forest or a lowland marsh - so it blended the three together in a hodge-podge of mismatched terra.

A classic sign of disorganization.

At least it was sunny out. Thank heavens for small favors. He hated depressed people.

The only denizens of the strange world were Harry and... hmm. He hadn't even bothered asking her name earlier. Understandable - since when he first met the woman, she seemed rather standoffish.

Now, though? This may be her world, but he was in charge.

"Hello?" the woman asked uncertainly, the tenor of a small confused child, not sure what to do.

"Hello," Harry said confidently. "You really want to follow me back to my place."

"I do," she replied - half in question, half in statement. She clearly wanted to say something, but she couldn't quite decide what; she merely stood quietly, blinking uncertainly.

"That's because you find me irresistably attractive," Harry supplied effortlessly.

"I do."

Harry still discerned a note of uncertainty.

"Oh, absolutely. So much so, that you have to hold yourself back from losing control of your passion."

The woman nodded; Harry smirked, judging his job complete. The landscape and the stranger dissolved into black as the real world slowly swam into focus. The woman next to him at the bar, who up to a few seconds ago, had looked at him with a mixture of pity and condension. Now, though, naked desire lit her eyes.

Harry felt himself waking up, stretching his 14-year-old body.

And a few seconds later, became aware of the 21-year-old blonde snoring on the bed beside him, her body tangled up in the bedsheets.

Harry frowned, trying to fight a feeling of hollowness as memories of yet another meaningless romp washed over him. Oh sure, using his powers to seduce beautiful vivacious women gave him wonderful sensations in the evening... but the next morning, it left him feeling pointless.

No... it wasn't just that.

Godhood felt hollow, felt pointless.

He yawned, not bothering to muffle the sound. This woke the woman, but Harry didn't care in the slightest. He'd already lived through this scene enough times. The woman would see him, realize that she'd bedded a way-too-young teenager and quickly find her own way out of the place. It's not like she'd want to spend time around a 14-year-old bean pole, at least not of her own free will.

Harry didn't even need to look at the nameless woman to know that her face was probably trying to hide a sense of self-shame; honestly, moments like this almost made him wonder if he should use his divine manipulations to bed girls his own age but... honestly, what 14 year old would pass on getting to sleep with 20-somethings? The fun in the evenings was easily worth the guilt in the mornings.

Harry absently waved his wrist; all of a sudden, the boy's rumpled clothes lifted off the ground and began folding themselves.

He idly twisted a finger; a new set of clothes zoomed into his hand from a nearby dresser.

"I... should be going... have you seen my... things?"

Harry didn't even look at the older woman. Instead, he twisted his wrist again; a bra disentagled itself from beneath the blankets and zoomed into her hand.

"Oh," she said with an embarassed look, "I had it in my hand and didn't even realize it."

That, the teen-god had to admit, was the weirdest thing about his divinity: nobody remembered afterwards when he performed celestial acts; they thought whatever he did had been that way all along. Harry knew if he asked the woman, she'd insist that her bra must've been in her hand the entire time, despite her clearly seeing exactly what he did.

The woman dressed hastily, clearly embarassed by how young of a boy she had bedded. Amusingly, she thought he was merely 14, while Harry believed himself to only be 5 - after all, the teenaged boy remembered himself springing into existance from nothingness roughly a half decade earlier (and in the approximate body of a 9 year old.) Hey, nobody said godhood was normal.

Harry shrugged, trying to shake off his mental funk while the woman departed. He began poking around the house - which he was technically "borrowing" (from whom, he had no idea.) Might as well look around and see if there were any novelties to distract him.

However, ten minutes into his exploration, he was getting confused. Something was... off.

At a cursory glance, it would seem like the house was normally occupied. It had beds with sheets, running appliances, scattered everyday items, and was actually pretty darned clean. But something didn't seem right.

And Harry then slowly noticed... it was 1994, but nothing he could see was dated past the late 80's, and most things looked closer to early-to-mid-80's. Granted, having a 10-year-old tv wasn't unusual (most people didn't have brand new appliances), but... nothing at all bought within the last decade or so? That seemed almost excessively frugal.

Curious, Harry peeked into one of the small bedrooms. It looked to be the former room of a teenager, and it was starting to convince Harry that something was definitely odd here. There were posters on the wall - but of bands and movies that didn't quite fit, highlighting flash-in-the-pans and "upcoming" movies that had already faded to obscurity. The clothes looked equally out of place for a modern male teenager. The thing that sealed the deal was a pair of gray Parachute Pants. Those were already going out of style 5 years ago - nobody would be caught dead wearing them in 1994.

"Huh," Harry said to himself. "Guess the house must have been abandoned years ago."

But he realized, that didn't make sense, either. Why wouldn't the place have been packed up? Why wouldn't it have been sold? Or reposessed? This was a house in the suburbs - it couldn't just sit out there, unnoticed and unclaimed for years on end.

Harry noticed a small leather book in the dresser; curious, he pulled it out.

"Samwell," he said, reading the cover.

He opened it and quickly saw that it was a diary. He casually tossed it back into the dresser and took a few steps as if to leave the room...

And then smiled. No reason he couldn't use this diary to figure out what happened with the house, right?

He went back to the dresser, grabbed the diary, and flipped to find the last entry.

'2/15/88 - Slipping Back'

Harry looked up from the book, going a bit pale. The date was a really worrying coincidence. Harry emerged into existance on Feburary 19th; what are the odds that the last diary snippet happened to be written 4 days earlier?

He quickly read the entry.

'It was worth it, sneaking out of the castle for valentine's day with Eliza.'

"Castle?" Harry asked himself, raising an eyebrow. What, the kid that wrote this is royalty? Or just someone with an over-active imagination?

'Problem was, King's Cross won't open until 6 AM, which meant we can't sneak through Platform 9 3/4's until then. Once we get there, the public floo can take us to the Hogwarts receiving area... but there will probably already be students up and about. If word gets back to Flitwick, we'll end up with detention, especially if the castle's on warning lockdown again. Still, it'll be worth it, considering what we did yesterday...'

Harry frowned. A lot of that entry didn't make sense. He was willing to guess that a "Public Floo" was some sort of train (why else would it be at King's Cross?) - maybe some sort of luxury mini-train that castle-dwellers used? But the part that flummoxed him the most was... Harry had actually been to King's Cross three times, and he could swear that the platforms were labeled with simple numbers - certainly not with fractions.

Harry started skimming earlier entries in Samwell's diary... blinking in disbelief at places when the author had described some of their past deeds.

One thing was certain.

Samwell was also a god.

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