Summary: When Harry Potter's Horcrux-hunting mission goes horribly wrong in Deathly Hallows, he's flung back to 1932 – before Tom Riddle's metamorphosis into Lord Voldemort, before Grindlewald's defeat, and before Dumbledore became Hogwart's Greatest Headmaster. But why is he there? Who sent him? And what role will he play in the genesis of a conflict which would last over half a century?

Note: This is NOT a romance. At this point, no pairings are planned.


Nothing existed save for sound and color.

Harry felt as though he was being pushed, pulled, turned inside and out, all at the same time – it was as though he was simultaneously Apparating and Portkeying across thousands of miles. He could feel his body, but not control it; it seemed, as he hurtled onward, that he was held together by sheer willpower instead of matter.

He could still feel the pain from the last curse Voldemort had inflicted on him


before the Dark Lord's crimson eyes had widened, shocked, as Harry felt his body grow wispier and wispier. Harry had been convinced that he was dead; unfortunately, he thought somewhat bitterly, this scenario was becoming increasingly less likely, unless the afterlife was some kind of never-ending whirlpool of sensation. Not the typical perception of heaven –but then, he reasoned, if there was one thing he had learned, it was that wizards loved to fool themselves. They also tended to do so in spectacular ways.

All thought ended when he suddenly, without warning or ceremony, was dropped out of the maelstrom. He had a brief moment to feel that his body had been


before he collided with something hard. There was a thud – a yelp – and he fell once more, but into blackness and silence.