Student Au

student au

Reading amazing fanfiction, then forgetting to bookmark it

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freezingflames7

9 months ago

happy birthday voldemort :3

Temporus Secare

Summary: When Harry accidentally travels to the past, he takes up the alias Henry Dursley, parading as a squib employed at an enchanted machinery shop. There he keeps himself out of trouble and stays in the shadows, all while working on a device that will take him home. Sometimes he struggles with the pureblood patrons but Harry is quick to apologize and nothing comes of it in the end. A year into his struggle, and he's completed the necklace. But when an unexpected visitor appears, someone that's been watching from the shadows, Harry has no choice other than to fight and irrevocably change the future.

The peat and dirt below Harry chilled his knee, bringing frost to his skin. All of this…. His chest heaved, fatigue from the day baring down on him in chains. Laboured breaths fogged the air. He felt hopeless, desolate.

Happiness was elusive. A thing that could never be tangible, leaving it to slip through his fingers. He’d had it back home, back years—decades—into the future. Picturing nights at the Burrow or evenings at Grimmauld place surrounded by Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys came easily and accompanied by infinite warmth. Yet now, all that happiness—love and family—was gone.

All of this…. Harry’s fist tightened. He ground his shoe down. The tissue beneath gave until he felt the harsh grind of bone. The man under him grunted, his eyes glinting dangerously in the dark of night.

‘You already have me at your mercy, Dursley. I did not take you for a man of violence,’ the other said.

Black hair that mirrored the surrounding night, pale skin, and eyes akin to blood reflected. On his face, flaunted smug satisfaction. Harry felt anger rise, noxious and acidic. The man beneath was human—enough to make his hand twitch with the killing curse—and yet not. A wax doll with no heart. A monster that had split his soul thrice. He wanted to purge this vile man. Rid the world of him, if only to prevent what was to come. But killing him wouldn’t accomplish anything. It couldn’t bring Harry back home, and Voldemort would rise again.

Harry looked away. On his neck, the iridescent gemstone dimmed to a dull grey. The luminosity, the pathway, lost. Above, the moonlight shone red like Voldemort’s eyes. He shut away the sight, taking in the dead silence of winter’s end.

All of this…for nothing.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

Harry had planned everything, had his movements down to a bulleted list that would make Hermione proud. There were rules. Stay quiet. Don’t involve yourself in raids, attacks, murders. Anything brash, Gryffindor, could change the timeline irrevocably. Past that, find a way home. And he did. Not through Albus Dumbledore, not through the Ministry and the unspeakables, but through the author of an informative research parchment on time travel and time rifts.

Evan Nerian Prewett had been integral in the development of the Temporus Secare. A time turner of sort. One that, rather than turning time backward, created a rift to an exact point in the future. A fickle device that could posit multiple realities but only allowed passage to one through a series of rituals, star alignments, and lunar cycles.And there was but one future that Harry was interested in.

‘An interesting necklace. Prewett holds a rather brilliant mind. A pity he’s been diagnosed with a terminal ailment,’ Voldemort continued.

Something sick roiled in Harry’s stomach. Prewett lying on the bed at St. Mungo’s, there to stay as his illness progressed, flashed in his mind. The man had little more than weeks left, but he’d poured all the effort he could into helping Harry get here.

Harry ground his heel into Voldemort’s shoulder. ‘Shut it,’ Harry hissed, still not meeting the other’s eyes.

‘Touchy,’ Voldemort said.

What a bastard. But Harry didn’t snap back. Silence sunk back in as he scrambled to think. Options. Plans. He could play it by ear. It wasn’t far from the usual, after all. They’d ended up improvising time and time again, as things had tended to go awry. This wasn’t any different. Harry took a calming breath. He could Obliviate him and—

‘I’m guessing that rather dull colour it has transitioned to isn’t what you’re looking for,’ Voldemort continued.

Harry bit his lip.

‘Thought not,’ he said.

Harry could hear the sly smile in his tone. Resentment prompted him. He dug his wand into Voldemort’s chest, sneering down.

‘One more word and I’ll split you sternum to hip,’ Harry spat.

‘Promises, promises. However, if you were going to kill me, I imagine you’d have done it earlier,’ Voldemort smiled, cruel and manic.

‘Who’d have thought the quiet, bumbling clerk at Le Voile was such a cold-hearted sadist? So clumsy in the store, but here you’ve bested me. Did you have fun hiding in plain sight? Did you enjoy acting as if you were nothing but a worthless squib, catering to the most arrogant of purebloods?’

His wand dug into the other’s chest, the tip sparking noxious green flecks across clothing.

Harry didn’t hate working for Le Voile. It was a tiny establishment, quaint and filled with magic. The owner—a Soul Seer—had taken up the obscure business of attaching the departed souls of familiars to mechanical bodies. The work performed was worth it. But there was some truth to what Voldemort said. Harry hated working the counters, being subjected to scrutiny day in and day out. He’d tuck his magic tight to his chest, smothering his power so it couldn’t stretch, breathe. Dimming it day after day. But the small shop checked off his list. A business that didn’t exist in the future, that wasn’t in Knockturn Alley, and that was niche enough that few customers stopped in.

‘The fire in your eyes speaks for itself. But you certainly fooled Malfoy. Grovelling with your head to the floor, murmuring apologies in that obedient tone. A talented actor. I wonder, is Henry Dursley even your real name?’

Harry flinched at the accusation.

‘Such an accomplished liar. Possibly even better than I, but the cracks are there. Bowing like you’ve been cowed since birth, but you fight like you have been fighting all your life. I do love that undaunted bravery. However, I must say the sight of your submission was quite...enticing. How I’d love to see it, you, kneeling between my knees.’ Voldemort smirk turned salacious.

Harry reeled back. His stomach turned and twisted. What the fuck?

‘D-do you ever shut up, you psycho?’ Harry cursed his stutter, cheeks both pinking and paling at the thought.

Voldemort laughed. It was loud, not nearly as high and shrill as he knew from before. Harry blinked, stunned. Then, as fast as a snake, Voldemort struck.

A red curse spelled from his wand. Rouge rolled over Harry’s skin. He felt his muscles tense. Immobile from the stunner, Voldemort flipped them round. His tall, lean body loomed over Harry. The expression on his face was obscured by the night’s shadow. Light from the moon lay hidden behind clouds.

Harry cursed and writhed but was bound from inside his mind.

A hand, much too cold to be human, hovered over his brow, touching his scar and sliding to his cheek. Dabbling in dark magic had already made its mark. Red eyes glinted in the dark of his face. They looked hungry, ravenous. Harry would’ve shivered if not for the binds that held him.

‘You’re an enigma, Henry,’ Voldemort said almost playfully. ‘To others, you seem to be nothing but a pebble in a river of gold, but I can see it. I’ve known since the moment your eyes met mine. Your value, your power. It calls out to me as if an old friend. I feel it’s warmth, it’s raw strength, and I know you can’t be anything further from ordinary.’

His thumb trailed down Harry’s face and to the hollow of his neck. Sharp nails cut against the buttons of Harry’s shirt, tearing it open and allowing in the cold. Gooseflesh rose on his skin, either from the winter air or Voldemort’s icy touch. Harry couldn’t tell. But the hand continued on its path, sloping over his collar and to his chest. Trepidation filled him with a terror he’d never felt.

What was Voldemort doing? Why was his hand on Harry’s chest?

Its slow drag came to a pause above his heart. On his core.

Harry’s body resisted the cold of Voldemort’s touch. It felt stomach-churning, disgusting, yet at the same time, Harry felt oversensitive, vulnerable to its lazy movements. But then, something sparked. A magic unlike his own reached through the tips of those fingers to Harry’s core and caught fire.

The air escaped his lungs, everything coming into picture. Colours flared to life, bright and vibrant. Sounds heightened, sharp and full. Harry could feel the trickle of sweat drip down his nape. He could hear the ragged breaths of Voldemort above him. Senses heightened to overstimulation. It was too much and too little at the same time. Pain and pleasure. A wholeness to Harry’s soul that he didn’t know he was missing settled in. His finger twitched.

The stunning spell was coming loose.

Voldemort moaned to the sensation. Above Harry, the man’s eyes were blown in arousal. Harry’s breathing caught. The moon shone through the clouds, illuminating them. Red painted Voldemort’s face in a flush, melting waxy features to something much too human.

Harry shivered, trying to move, but was still bound by magic.

Voldemort laughed again. This time low and deep, a strange sort of mania rolling with every hitched chuckle. He leaned into Harry’s space; face much too close for comfort. Hot breaths ghosted Harry’s cheek. The hand on his chest rose to his nape. Fingers toyed with the chain of the artefact, teasing it forward.

‘What a precious thing. One that I almost let slip by,’ Voldemort whispered.

Then tugged.

The chain snapped. Links broke. Golden rings rained down in the dark. Voldemort rose from him. He held the item—Harry’s only way home—and inspected it. Would he take it, steal it away? No. Harry wouldn’t let him. This was something much too dangerous to let fall into Voldemort’s hands.

‘Ut te ad mundum,’ he read the words carved into metal.

To take you to your world. The golden bands around the greyed gem glinted. Harry’s heart pounded. His wrist twitched. The magic binding on him loosened further.

Voldemort took one look at Harry, rose his wand. But not towards him, and spelled.

‘Deletrius.’

His yew wand pointed to the device. The Temporus Secare shown one last flaxen gleam before it turned to dust, the gem falling inert to the ground.

Harry howled. A raw scream tore from his chest as magic flared from his core. A scorching wind rose and tossed Voldemort off him. He stood. Voldemort grunted from the burns on his hands. Harry towered over him once more. His wand aimed at the other’s chest, heel digging into his clavicle.

‘Why? Why did you destroy it!?’ Harry demanded.

Voldemort smiled, that manic expression still on his face despite his palms—red and blistered from burns.

‘I won’t let something of such value slip past my grasp,’ Voldemort said.

Harry stared at him in confusion. Valuable? He’d destroyed the device. It wasn’t a vanishing charm or a displacement spell.

‘What are you talking about? You destroyed the necklace. You aren’t making any sense,’ Harry said.

‘Yes. A steep price. But it’s worth nothing in compare to you.’

His brows furrowed. He observed the blood red that tracked his every move, twitch, and the dark glint of his eyes that seemed to look with… with....

The burned, blistered hand snaked out to grab his ankle. Fingernails dug into his flesh.

‘ “You.” You’re referring to me?’ Harry said in a breathy voice, like it had been punched out of him.

‘Yes,’ Voldemort said, his voice sibilant as if speaking parseltongue. ‘I’m drawn to you. I won’t let you go.’

Harry’s heart dropped. His hopes trickled away—sand between his fingers. Eyes that darkened with obsession bore into him.

‘My magic sings to yours. My soul longs for you.’ Such horrible promise lingered in the air. ‘Your mine as much as I’m yours.’