Team Cauldron Entry (FIC): "Time Again" By MistressMaraj Title: Time Again Author:mistressmaraj Team: Cauldron Genre(s): Time Travel Prompt(s): Death Shall Have No Dominion, Coming Home Rating/Warning/Kinks: PG-13, Highlight if you wish to see: * Minor character death. Torture. Implied torture or non-con (off screen)* Word Count: ~3700 Author’s Note: Canon-compliant through book 6. Many many thanks to Team Cauldron for their assistance especially to shadowess, eeyore9990, and ivylady for helping me throw around ideas at the last minute, and to my lovely betas: my sister, starcrossdkayla, and eeyore9990. And finally, special thanks to DJ for her infinite patience with me and to all of the mods for running yet another fantastic Snarry Games. I would like to dedicate this story to the laptop that was sacrificed during the writing of this story. R.I.P. Toshiba, you piece of crap.
Summary: What if Voldemort had known Harry was a Horcrux? Would he have been as eager to kill him?
Time Again
When Harry departed from the Burrow after the Order meeting there were two things he did not expect:
First, the crack of Apparition that interrupted the sounds of crickets as he approached Hogwart's gates. And second, that it was Snape's voice calling out "Potter!" before a bolt of red caught him from behind.
He hit the ground hard.
Harry awakened, unsurprisingly, in a dank dungeon. Water dripped in the background, irritating the throbbing of his skull. His glasses had been taken from him, making the blurry cell seem both claustrophobically enclosed and nebulously vast. Light diffused through the cell leaving a gloomy haze whose source Harry could not locate. He first tried the bars with his hands, followed by a few vicious kicks delivered by his worn sneakers. He knew better than to scream for help here; he knew better than to attract the Death Eaters' attention.
He learned he could take ten steps, heel-to-toe, across the length of the cell before he was forced to turn around and walk back. Repetition made him dizzy.
Had anyone noticed that he was missing yet? He honestly had no idea how much time had passed. The Order constantly kept tabs on him, but they believed he had headed back to Hogwarts where he would be safe under protective wards. Unfortunately, the castle had been mostly abandoned since last spring, when the Death Eaters made it policy to target the families of those who continued to attend a "Mudblood-friendly" establishment. So far they hadn't had the courage to attack the castle directly. Ron and Hermione had wanted to stay with him, but the farther they were from Harry, the safer they and their families were.
At lunchtime, Fenrir brought Harry dog food but was unable to keep himself from dining on the hapless prisoner. “Your fear tastes delicious, pup,” he growled as he gnawed on the tender skin at the junction of Harry’s neck and shoulder.
It was a long time before he left.
Time crawled by. Harry alternated leaning against the wall with sitting on the chilled and grimy stone flooring, careful of his now-damaged body. He was unsure which position was more disgusting as he attempted to get comfortable. His legs were tired, his arse cold. Now that the cold had taken root, it seeded throughout his body until his teeth were chattering.
At least the only remaining Horcrux was Nagini, and he was now closer to her than he had been in the last two years.
Some time much later, Harry was startled from a doze as a hooded Death Eater opened the cell door with a creak. His captor, clearly deciding the better part of valor was caution, put him in a body bind before he had a chance to try anything. He was forced to watch the ceiling as he was floated along. Too soon they came to a stop and a Finite Incantatem allowed him to drop painfully to the ground.
"Harry. So nice of you to join us," Voldemort said cordially, his snake-like face twisted into what he must imagine was a smile.
"Hallo Tom." Harry spat defiantly, though his back was somewhat stooped from pain.
Voldemort looked like he had swallowed something sour for a second before he brought his expression under control.
"I'm glad we can be friends, Harry. You see, you’re going to play a very important role today.”
Harry shuddered and tried to pull away, but he was surrounded, and there was no Portkey to escape this time. A swift movement from Voldemort and he found himself in invisible bonds. Harry's thoughts were racing. How would he get out of it this time? He knew he was not an exceptional wizard; he was lucky and he'd had a lot of help. He wondered if his luck had finally run out.
"You're crazy!" Harry shouted. "Why does anyone follow a filthy murderer like you? Do your Death Eaters even know about your Muggle father?"
The "Crucio!" was not unexpected, but the sharp agony was worse than he remembered. He lay panting for a moment before picking himself up off the floor so that he might meet his death while standing, as long as he was able. He had hoped that things would not end this way—at the end of Voldemort’s wand—and tried to make his peace despite feeling his teeth chatter. Did he deserve peace if he left his friends and supporters on their own, to endure Voldemort’s mercy?
“Tie him down,” Voldemort ordered lazily.
The Death Eaters dragged Harry to a stone table, inscribed with dark Runes that Harry couldn’t make out without his glasses. The rope they used was rough, the knots tight enough to cut into his skin.
“Today, we are both going to achieve immortality together." Voldemort walked toward Harry and leaned over him, his whisper caressing the shell of Harry's ear. "And I could not achieve that without you.
“A piece of my soul resides in you." Voldemort brushed the hair away from Harry’s forehead, exposing his scar. “So I’m going to freeze you in a moment of time. You and my soul will be preserved…forever.
“Of course, like all strong magic, it requires a sacrifice—something your mother knew all too well.” Harry stiffened. “Don’t worry, Harry. You aren’t the sacrifice this time. You have a long existence ahead of you. I daresay you’ll outlive all your little friends.”
They brought out a child, trembling, dirty, but as of yet unharmed. Perhaps Harry would have recognized the face from his common room or dining in the Great Hall if he’d had his glasses. The boy cried out, “Harry Potter!” in a voice both tremulous and hopeful and Harry looked down. He didn’t recognize the voice and didn’t want to. Thank Merlin it wasn’t Ron or Hermione, he thought guiltily.
The boy screamed and red splashed across Harry’s face. Voldemort began chanting and painting symbols onto Harry’s skin, the still-warm blood running in soft rivulets, the scream fading into choked silence.
“Your next thought will stay with you for eternity, Harry Potter.” Voldemort extended his wand. “What will you regret the most?”
Harry felt magic wash over him, its potent flames roaring up inside his mind in contrast to his expectation of being literally frozen in time. His last thought was a fervent wish that he had never been captured.
“Potter!” Harry heard his name, as though through a great distance, the sound muffled as Harry fought the disorientation of suddenly standing upright. Hogwart’s gates loomed before him, the most welcome sight in ages. Snape…that was Snape’s voice, Harry thought, realizing Dumbledore’s murderer stood a few feet away. He was so lost in fury, that the bolt of red took him by surprise. Again.
As he regained consciousness, Harry found himself in the dungeon cell, the same as the day before. What on earth was happening?
He took to exploring every inch of his cell, looking for clues. He didn’t understand. What had he been doing at Hogwarts? It was almost as if the day were repeating but that was impossible…None of this made sense.
When Fenrir repeated his visit, using the same line, calling Harry ‘pup,’ and carrying the same nasty bowl of dog food, Harry was no longer so sure of what was impossible.
Voldemort and the as-of-yet un-sacrificed boy merely confirmed his suspicions. Harry again felt magic wash over him, tearing him from his present reality into dreams of regret.
The same day repeated. Harry started daily at the gates of Hogwarts—mercilessly teased by the proximity to safety—and ended with Voldemort freezing him in time. Clearly, something had gone terribly wrong. Or perhaps, this was how the spell was meant to work? With Harry trapped in one very long moment, but one moment, regardless. However, Harry could change what happened to a degree. Shouting different insults at Voldemort could get him to respond with slight variations in his torture and self-congratulatory exposition. Did that mean the moment occurred in his mind, and like a dream, he was imagining any change?
Fenrir never changed, was never deterred. Harry wanted to retch at the stench of unwashed man and something a little more animal that Greyback brought into his cell. That Greyback would touch him, would curse and hex him was foul enough to force Harry’s Gryffindor courage to flee from this underground chamber. Courage belonged in towers, on battlefields; there was none left here.
He could not bear to have Fenrir hurt him one more day, one more second. Or let Voldemort murder that child or use the Cruciatus on him, or threaten his friends. He could not stand one more night of failure or fruitless struggles, of leaving the world in Voldemort’s hands.
And yet he did in fact bear all of it, time and again.
Harry had plenty of time to think of new lines and insults for all of the Death Eaters he encountered. But when Harry was more defiant toward Voldemort, the unknown boy suffered torture before being sacrificed. And Greyback liked the show of ‘spirit’ as he called it.
Harry spent what he imagined must be years inside that cell—though admittedly may have been weeks—and yet he never grew older, never lost body weight from refusing food, never kept a single mark inflicted upon him (though oftentimes the memory remained like a scar). He doubted he would ever see Hogwarts or his friends again.
“What will you regret the most?” What wouldn’t he regret? Home. Family. A chance for happiness. An end to war. Harry could never quite let go of the wish that he had never left Hogwarts for that Order meeting.
Whether these days were just in his head or the entire world was ensnared in a time loop, none of this was real to anyone but Harry. Since no one else remembered anything, he was alone.
He had achieved immortality, just not in the way Voldemort had boasted.
Harry awoke in the cell, the same terrible headache greeting him. He would wait and then Fenrir would come. And he would be stuck in this hellhole forever and no one would even know that the same goddamn day kept repeating. If it really was repeating for the rest of the world, and Harry wasn’t just experiencing everything inside his own head.
He wouldn’t let that happen. Today, he would kill Greyback if he touched him, would tear him limb from limb if he had to and Voldemort would be next. He was so angry his hands were clenched into fists and he was screaming, gurgling in the back of his throat in incoherent rage. No, he wasn’t just angry, he was ready. Something would change today; what did he have to lose?
“Where are you, you stupid fucker?” Harry yelled. “Someone HELP ME already. HELP!” He pounded on the bars, bruising his knuckles. Then footsteps sounded down the corridor, getting louder and closer but still Harry did not stop.
“Potter! Cease your caterwauling this instant!” a familiar and welcome voice sounded amidst a swirl of black cloak and heavy boots.
Snape.
Snape.
“You!” Harry yelled. “Cowardly murderer! He trusted you. I always knew you were just like the rest of them.”
Snape appeared angry, as if he had any right. His eyes narrowed and his lank hair swept across his face and that vein in his forehead pulsed with his words. “Foolish boy,” he commanded, in marginal control of his voice and temper. “You understand nothing. You dare to call me coward. You refuse to learn or observe or PAY ATTENTION.”
The next day, or rather the subsequent repetition of the same day, Harry did pay attention.
He listened to Snape, whilst fighting the disorientation of the abrupt time change, and heard this:
“Potter! Get down!” said Snape, who was standing in front of him, his last words nearly lost in the battle, the stupefy coming from behind.
As always, Harry didn’t have nearly the time nor the reflexes to do anything to prevent being captured. But the rest of the day could prove interesting.
He was calling for Snape, banging on the bars, yelling for help for several minutes before those swift footsteps descended.
“Potter! Cease your caterwauling this instant!” Harry snickered although not much was amusing these days. For some reason, it was funny to see that Snape said the same exact thing when he was annoyed and it wasn’t just random. Voldemort was different; he probably practiced his speeches for Harry in advance in front of the mirror. Harry wondered how many days Snape’s line would last before something was different enough to modify Snape’s rebuke.
“Who cast the stupefy?” Harry asked as an opening, to let Snape know Harry didn’t blame him for the capture, but without revealing them to any monitoring spells.
Snape looked wary at the lack of verbal attack. “Does it really matter? You’re here now; any one of the Death Eaters would have been happy to have brought you in.”
And no, it didn’t really matter. He had so many questions for Snape that did matter and none which he felt comfortable or safe enough to ask. Why did you kill Dumbledore? was foremost on his mind. He didn’t dare voice his other pressing questions: Are you trying to help me? Whose side are you really on?
Harry stared at Snape and Snape stared right back at Harry; Snape arched an eyebrow in inquiry. “Is there something you needed, Potter? Are the accommodations not up to your standards?” Snape could really be a bastard when he tried considering the ‘accommodations’ had dried blood between the stonework and grime everywhere, although his snide classroom demeanor reminded Harry of Hogwarts, of home. Which of course also reminded Harry of how long he had been trapped in this dungeon.
“Professor, you’ve got to help me,” Harry hissed urgently.
“Potter, you do realize that I’m a Death Eater, do you not? Do you think I would risk the Dark Lord’s wrath for whatever you think you may be able to offer me?” With this, Snape dropped his gaze, his eyes trailing along Harry’s body; Snape jerked his head up guiltily a moment later. He couldn’t mean to imply…
There was something about Snape’s intense, focused gaze that made Harry shiver.
“I know what Voldemort has planned.”
“Do not say his name!”
“He intends to freeze me in time, to protect the Horcrux he mistakenly made me into.”
“Who told you that?” Snape demanded.
“Voldemort did—” Snape grabbed Harry through the bars, startling him into silence. He then proceeded to cast an awe-inspiring wordless Imperturbable, while his other hand remained clasping Harry’s shirt.
“Do not move, Potter. If you back up and anyone sees your mouth moving without sound being picked up by the monitoring spell, we are both in trouble.”
“Listen, something’s gone wrong with the spell he uses. This day—it keeps repeating. That’s how I know about the sacrifice, the runes, the Time Spell…all of it!” Harry was so close to Snape they were practically breathing into each other’s mouths.
Snape appeared deep in thought. “Perhaps someone has been ill-advisedly attempting to break the spell to give you a second chance.”
“It’s been going on forever. I…I don’t think it’s ever going to stop!” Harry thought for a moment. “Wait, how would that even work? Voldemort froze me in time, someone breaks the spell, and I just go back to some random point in time? Or is this the time that I’m trapped in? How do I know this is even real?”
“I suppose you don’t, Potter. Though I doubt you could actually be trapped in time and have active hallucinations. I would picture it as a more static state of being.”
“But your idea doesn’t make sense.”
“What are you thinking when the Dark Lord casts the spell?”
“How unhappy I am to be here. How I wish I had never been captured.”
“And the day repeats with you captured, waking up in the cell?” Snape sounded satisfied, as if he had figured something out.
“No, before. I start out seconds before being captured.”
“So you start the cycle at exactly the point at which you were thinking about? The Dark Lord stops time for you—and time is suspended at your wish to avoid being captured. Once you are freed from the Dark Lord’s spells, you are transported to that singular moment in time.”
“Why are you so certain that someone has been trying to free me from the spell?”
“Why do you think, Potter?” Snape said scornfully, canceling the Imperturbable, and turning to leave. The entire hushed conversation must have lasted less than two minutes.
“Wait!” Harry hissed desperately, grabbing onto Snape’s cloak. “Don’t go!” He would not let go if it meant letting Snape leave. Greyback arrived around this time.
Snape must have seen the panic in Harry’s eyes because he cast Legilimens.
Snape stayed a really long time after that. Even if he had spent most of the time pretending to torture Harry.
Harry sat on the floor of his cell holding his knees to his chest and trying not to vomit, the moldy rank wetness beginning to seep through the seat of his pants. He was so dizzy and nauseated that he could barely think through the pounding of his head. He had dived away from the spell the moment he was transported back to Hogwarts, but fighting against the initial disorientation was difficult and he only had a few seconds to react. Had he landed badly? Hit his head?
Days blurred together in an endless haze as he tried to remember if he’d seen Greyback today, but he didn’t ache nearly enough.
Harry didn’t think he could do this much longer. Every attempt he’d made to free himself had only worsened his situation with the exception of Snape. Once he’d managed to get the man to actually stay for a while, Snape’s presence had scared off the werewolf.
Except today…he hadn’t yelled for help, had he? The very thought of shouting sent creeping tendrils of pain throughout his head, darkening his vision for a moment.
“Snape,” he croaked out desperately, gasping against the sharp throbbing. If that animal touched him in this condition, he didn’t know what might happen. Maybe he wouldn’t survive. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. All the Horcruxes had to be destroyed after all.
The sound of footsteps brought him to his knees, and he was heaving what little food he had left in his stomach from the distant night before as someone entered his cell. Only Greyback ever came inside so Harry cringed without looking up.
“Drink this,” Snape’s oh-so-welcome voice said. He held out a dark amber vial.
“What is it?”
“For your head injury.”
“That doesn’t look like anything Madame Pomfrey ever gave me!” Harry said, highly suspicious.
“Head injuries require more delicate attention than general healing potions. I doubt you had regained consciousness for any of the times you received a Concussion Potion in hospital.”
Harry’s first thought was it could be anything: aphrodisiac, poison, even a legitimate cure laced with Veritaserum. Would it even matter? Would any of those potions change the final outcome of today, since tomorrow would never be realized?
And that was when Harry truly realized and understood that, for once, the Death Eaters and Voldemort didn’t want him dead. Voldemort had gone through all this trouble to ensure his extended survival. He could do anything he wanted in the pursuit of breaking free, attack Death Eaters left and right, with nothing to lose—at least, nothing that he hadn’t already lost.
Snape kneeled, and helped administer the potion, holding Harry’s neck in place with surprisingly gentle fingers. The potion sent relief coursing through his veins, relaxing the tension that had built up, subtly loosening his tongue.
“I should have died that night in Godric’s Hollow. Now I’m… Is there a potion that will, I don’t know, get rid of a certain fragment of yourself?”
“Like a fragment of the Dark Lord?” Snape traced the scar on Harry’s forehead.
Harry looked down. “That obvious, huh?”
“There is one way for a Horcrux to be destroyed, that I know of. And that is to destroy its vessel.”
Harry knew that. But it still hurt to hear it from someone else. Would he ever escape to see his friends again? Or was this the end, if he ever managed the unpleasant but necessary task of getting himself killed?
“Potter, we will find a way to end this time loop.”
“What! How do you know about that?” Harry wondered if his concussion had been worse than he’d thought if he couldn’t remember having that conversation again.
“You don’t honestly believe that I would learn of a time loop and then simply allow it to continue, so that on a daily basis, I would continue to become unaware of the problem? I made sure that I would follow you along your time frame.”
He wasn’t alone. Ron and Hermione would never have imagined he would be relieved to have Snape. “Oh god,” he gasped. “The wards! Aren’t we being monitored?”
“Of course not. I used Imperturbable the moment I entered your cell. You were still clutching your head.”
“Oh,” Harry laughed. “I guess that’s why you’re so close to me, still. Are we going to do something then?” Harry turned red. “I mean, about the spell. Or do I need a Horcrux-destroying potion first? That would solve the time loop, I suppose.”
“What makes you think I haven’t already given you such a potion?”
Harry gasped. “Did you?”
“That would be telling.” At Harry’s look of horror, Snape relented. “We shall talk Temporal Magic theory for a while. There is much to plan.”
As Harry stared into Voldemort’s cold eyes, he realized he didn’t regret being captured, not the way he used to. The knowledge that he was a Horcrux weighed heavily upon him, but at least he finally knew the truth.
“Your next thought will stay with you for eternity, Harry Potter.” Voldemort extended his wand. “What will you regret the most?”
This time, Harry dreamed of home.
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