Chapter Text
Once, in a hidden seam between worlds, there lived a boy marked by a curse and chosen by fate. His name was Harry Potter. Though he began his life unloved in a cupboard beneath the stairs, he would become a central figure upon which the fate of the magical world turned.
He was born in the twilight of a war—the final cry of a resistance crushed beneath the weight of a name too feared to speak: Voldemort. The Dark Lord, in his pursuit of immortality, cursed the child destined to undo him. But the curse failed. The boy lived. And the wizarding world whispered of a prophecy, and a scar shaped like lightning.
At eleven, the boy stepped through the doors of Hogwarts—a castle steeped in secrets and ancient sorcery, where portraits whispered, ghosts wandered, and destinies quietly unfurled. There, Harry found something he had never known: friendship, loyalty, and a spark within himself that no adult had ever cared to see.
With Ron Weasley—humble, unwavering—and Hermione Granger—brilliant and indomitable—Harry faced marvels and nightmares: a mirror that revealed forgotten longing, a serpent bred for murder, a prisoner who was kin, and a tournament that demanded blood.
But beyond the castle walls, the world grew darker with each passing year. Voldemort returned—reborn not by magic alone, but by cruelty, fear, and betrayal. The Ministry closed its eyes. The truth was smothered. And Harry, still only a boy, bore burdens no child should ever carry.
He came to understand that his scar was more than a wound—it was a tether: to the mind of a killer, to the broken past of a frightened orphan who became a monster, and to a prophecy that promised only sacrifice. He learned of Horcruxes, vessels of fractured soul, and took upon himself the grave duty of destroying them.
In time, he stood beneath the shattered roof of the place he once called home and chose to die—not in surrender, but in defiance. And in that selfless act, he severed the last hold of the Dark Lord’s magic.
The final battle came at dawn. Spells cracked like thunder. The dead walked briefly among the living. And Harry—not as a boy, but as a man who had walked through death and returned—put an end to the shadow that had long haunted his world.
In the years that followed, he became a symbol of triumph—a man who had faced death and conquered it.
And yet, the story of Harry Potter was never meant to end with a happily ever after.
"Let me get this straight," Harry voiced flatly. "The Unspeakables want to kidnap me for something I have absolutely no control over, and don't really even know what it does except apparently giving me bloody immortality. And you want me to use this," he held up a silver pendant. "To run away."
"It's the only way."
Harry kept his attention on the small, metallic trinket cradled in his hands, instead. He knew his best friends were exchanging nervous looks across from him. But when he glanced up, both Ron and Hermione quickly focused their attention on the piece of jewelry, as well.
It was no surprise. These days, he tried not to look at them, either. He couldn't blame them for doing the same. Not when their visible age differed so obviously from his.
When the war had ended, it had left the wizarding world in pieces. Still, life went on, and had, slowly but surely, been rebuilt when Britain had done what they always did best—carry on with life. And things began drifting back to normal.
Both Harry and Ron became Aurors. He was able to join the program on the recommendation of Kingsley, and had been fully qualified before he turned eighteen; a record-breaking age in the wizarding world. He was great at it, too, and was promoted to Head Auror by the time he was twenty-six, while Ron became their head tactician. This had resulted in a stream of applications for the Auror program from all over Europe, and Harry had more than enough work to do to occupy his time.
Hermione, on the other hand, decided to enter the Ministry, quickly ascending through the ranks in, to their surprise, the Department of Mysteries, until she had become an Unspeakable at twenty-seven.
As hectic as it was, life was peaceful and normal and Harry found himself content. Even happy at times.
But fate and luck had never favored him. So it was inevitable that the simple life he had made for himself would never last, when Harry had woken at the age of thirty, looked into a mirror, and wondered why he still looked seventeen, maybe twenty at most. With dawning horror, the pieces had started coming together.
After a few years since that realization, and another two years after, Harry retired from the Auror Department.
He wasn't planning on staying idle, though. He had enough money in his vaults to live comfortably for at least another generation or so, but he wasn't the type to sit around doing nothing.
With both the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone now in his possession—quite literally—as they had fused into his magic soon after he had thrown them away, performing wandless magic was no longer as difficult for him. So he had turned to other branches of magic to study that he never had the chance to before.
However, Harry had underestimated his unwanted celebrity status within the wizarding world, and his abrupt resignation had shocked practically all of Britain. And this had caused more and more people to begin asking questions.
At three in the morning, Hermione had suddenly Flooed to his flat with Ron in tow, both breathless and still wearing their work robes, with a terrified expression on both faces.
According to Hermione, the Unspeakables had become suspicious of Harry's noticeable lack of physical growth and she had heard whispers of plans to interrogate him. After becoming the fabled Master of Death, they had wondered if there were consequences to gathering the three Hallows. After all, while Harry still had the Cloak of Invisibility, the wand had refused to be left behind, and the stone had magically returned to him, both of which were now part of his magic, contributing quite a bit to Harry's power.
Tonight, the Unspeakables in charge of Harry Potter's case had finalized their plans at last.
"You can't stay here, mate," Ron heaved an anxious sigh. "It's the Unspeakables. You and I both know they can find almost anybody."
"Let me try this again—you want me to run away," he stressed again. "To a different dimension."
"It might not be another dimension," Hermione offered, hurrying on when Harry gave her an unimpressed look. "It's still a prototype, so I haven't really tested it thoroughly. But it's meant to take you elsewhere. Just imagine; other dimensions, times, maybe even worlds! And while exploring, you can look for something to remove your immortality."
"Hermione, have you completely lost your mind?!" Harry snapped. "Why would you even make something like this? Why would you think I would want to travel to other worlds, or into the future or something? What if I wouldn't even be able to come back?"
"Would you really want to?" Ron asked quietly, looking uncharacteristically solemn.
Harry stared.
"It's not that we don't want you around," The redhead explained, running his hand through his hair. Clear misery was etched onto his face. "You're our best friend and life won't be the same without you around. Not to mention a hell of a lot more boring. No more wild adventures of chasing after wayward trolls and sticking wands into their nose, for one," Ron let out a small chuckle, and even Hermione managed a weak smile from the memory.
"But you've been withdrawn for a while now. You're not happy here—not truly. I know you tried with Ginny, but that was over before it started. Even mum admits it. You've spent a decade pretty much married to your job, and now the last two years as a shut in. You can't do this forever."
"Technically, I can," Harry shot back bitterly, reminding everyone of the Deathly Hallows that were fused within him.
"But there's no cure here, Harry," Hermione took over. "I've looked. We both have," she glanced towards Ron, who nodded in confirmation.
"We've researched everything we could get our hands on since you became the Master of Death. There's nothing. Maybe, in the future, or in another dimension, or in a different world, there might be a solution. But there isn't one here and we've run out of time."
Harry's jaw clenched.
"I could move to a different country," he tried resisting. The idea of being sent to unknown worlds or to some distant times, weighed his stomach down with more than just apprehension.
"That's not going to work," Hermione interjected. "The Department of Mysteries have a device to track any magical signature in the world. Even behind a Fidelius Charm, they can still find you if they have a sample of your magical signature. And they have yours. Do you remember the Hall of Prophecy? Your prophecy may have been broken, but you still touched it, and that had left traces of your magic on it.
"You could move to the most remote places of the world and live underground, but they'll be knocking down your front door within a month. There's nowhere you can go on Earth that they won't find you. Not this Earth. And once they get their hands on you, you can kiss your freedom goodbye."
Ron was gaping, even as Harry closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands.
He didn't know where to begin. This was insane! What if he ended up on another planet entirely with little green aliens who definitely wouldn't speak English, let alone any human language?
And there was only one device. He would be going alone.
Harry painfully swallowed down his resentment.
He hated this. He had never asked to become the Master of Death, and be cursed with immortality for it. All he ever wanted was a simple, normal life that he never had the chance to experience growing up. Not with the Dursleys, and not during his seven years in Hogwarts, with the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
And just when he was starting to believe he had finally achieved this dream, in reality, he never had one from the beginning.
"How would I go traveling from one place to another?" Harry finally asked, defeated.
Both Hermione and Ron gave a look of relief.
"Just put a little of your magic into that and it'll take you away," Hermione explained, gesturing the small pendant. "You won't know where you'll end up, but at least you'll be able to look in each world before you decide taking off again. And don't lose it or you'll be stuck. Anything you want to bring with you just has to be on your person."
Harry nodded, his mind still trying to wrap around the situation as Hermione pulled out a holdall and pushed it in his direction.
"I've cast all sorts of charms on it to keep it from tearing," she explained in a rush. "It's waterproof and fireproof, too, and it's got a permanent Undetectable Extension Charm on it. There's already some food in there, hygiene utensils, and some books-"
"What about money? Clothes?" Harry rose to his feet, as Ron took a bundle of clothes from his closet and Hermione grabbed his coin purse from the kitchen counter. It had quite a bit of money in it, but it was nowhere near the amount in his vaults. Certainly not enough for an indefinite trip to the unknown.
"There's no time!" Hermione hissed. "They are coming right now! I'm surprised that they're not here already, but if you stay here any longer, you won't be able to leave at all. Here, don't forget your cloak."
Harry numbly accepted his invisibility cloak from the brunette, shoving it into the holdall after the clothes.
"What about my disappearance? As idiotic as Britain can be, telling them that I'm on vacation or a honeymoon with my secret wife is hardly going to be believed."
"We'll tell them you've gone missing," Ron shrugged, glancing nervously at the door. "People love that stuff. I can see the headline for the Daily Prophet, now—'Harry Potter: Missing Victim or Scandalous Elopement?' It'll make their day."
Hermione slapped him upside the head.
"Don't be tactless, Ronald! Just ignore him, Harry. We'll take care of everything here." Tears began to well up from her eyes. "Make new friends while you're at it. They might even be able to help you."
"Apparently there are alternate versions of ourselves in different dimensions," Ron added, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder. "No matter where or what time, we'll always help you. Look us up if you ever need us."
Harry didn't know what to say as he stared from one face to the other, slowly putting on the pendant. He wouldn't deny that he had drifted from these two ever since the physical difference of their age started to show. Even before that, to be honest. The war had made him more reclusive than ever and sometimes, he had to force himself to go to work, instead of shutting himself away from the world. The last two years without needing to go to work anymore, hadn't helped matters.
But they were his friends. Yes, he could take care of himself, and had been doing exactly that for as long as he could remember. But they were the closest thing he had to a family.
For the first time since he had turned eleven and entered Hogwarts, he would be completely, utterly, alone.
Perhaps they caught sight of the despair that gripped his heart, because Hermione had thrown her arms around him, as fat drops of tears streamed down her face. The grip Ron had on his shoulder tightened almost painfully.
The three felt an abrupt force of magic. The activation of Anti-Apparition Charm surrounded around Harry's flat.
Time was up.
With a fierce hug in return, Harry pushed Hermione away and nodded at Ron as the redhead let go. The brunette started sobbing now, and Harry's vision began to blur, feeling a burning sensation in his eyes. Letting go had never felt so physically painful.
"Go," he said firmly. "Or they'll shut down the Floo Network and you'll both be caught."
"Be careful, Harry!"
"Good luck, mate."
He looked at them one last time, etching their faces into his memory. He knew he would never see them again. Not here, not in this world and time.
"... Goodbye."
Sending a small stream of magic into the device, Harry felt an odd tugging sensation as the pendant began to glow. He saw the world dissolve around him, as Ron and Hermione's faces began to blur.
And then he was gone.
The first world Harry landed in was jarring in its unfamiliarity. The sky held two moons, and the people spoke in melodic tones he couldn't understand. He stayed only long enough to confirm there was no trace of the magic he sought before moving on.
The years passed as he traveled from world to world, time to time, dimension to dimension.
Thankfully, he usually found himself on Earth, in random locations such as Iraq, Greece, to China. But it was always different timelines. He'd been to distant pasts when the gods once walked the earth alongside men, to alternate future events that never took place in his own.
And always, he would make his way back to Britain. And every time when he did, the disappointment he would feel upon the realization that it wasn't his own world, was always crushing.
The feeling lessened over time, but it never went away. After several decades, he eventually gave up on the notion of ever returning.
He looked into his immortality, trying to find out everything he could about the Hallows and Death, but nothing significant ever came up.
He had learned one lesson, however. To never become invested in a world he was always bound to leave, as it was not worth the pain it inevitably brought to everyone involved. He still interacted and helped out with small things. He needed to work, after all. Not all worlds valued the silvers and golds of Sickles and Galleons. But that was the extent of his involvement.
Being alone, and dependent on no one but himself, was what he did best. He worked hard to keep it that way, ignoring the people who tried to befriend him in each world. And after a while, they would all feel discouraged, and eventually left him alone.
Not this one, however.
"I watch everything in this world from an island in the furthest land. Yes, I watch everything. That's the important point. I am but an observer, simply observing... And I can see what you seek is, while not here, closer to you than you may think."
Harry paused skinning the rabbit meat that he had caught for dinner to look up at Mari's serene expression. Keeping his features blank, he waited for Mari to continue, ignoring the hopeful anticipation that swelled in his chest at the man's words.
It had been seven years since he first arrived in Westminster, a region in London. He was currently in the seventh century; well after the final battle of Salisbury Plain, and the end of the Arthurian legend. It was in the churchyard of the famous stone which once held Caliburn, when Harry first met him.
"Oh my! How wonderful. Dozing off as I stroll along, I didn't expect to find myself back in the British Isles with you so close by," he exclaimed on that day. "Is this the dream continued, or merely an illusion? Well, not that it matters. This appearance is a special service, an incognito visit totally on a whim."
The person before him was very beautiful. He wore a robe woven with fine fabrics, while looking modest. His long hair appeared with the colors of the rainbow under the sunlight.
He explained that he was actually shut inside a tower, and was stranded in his dream. So he would follow Harry even if he were to refuse to let him.
"But, hmm... Tagging along with someone when I don't know their name is unsettling," he murmured to himself. "Can you tell me your name? Oh, but I'm afraid I can't tell you mine. I suppose you can just call me, Mari."
It was the most bizarre and suspicious introduction he had experienced.
It was obvious that Mari wasn't completely human, and Harry later discovered that he was a mischievous con man. But despite being a hybrid being, he had never hated humans. Rather, he was fond of them to such a degree that it was beyond natural. So, if one was looking only at the end result, Mari was a good man, and a wise one.
Most importantly, he possessed an outstanding Clairvoyance: "The Eyes Which See through the World". If Mari claimed that he was close to reaching his goal, then it had to be true.
What surprised Harry most was how easily Mari had wormed his way past his carefully constructed walls. Perhaps it was because Mari never pushed, never demanded explanations for Harry's reticence or his obvious immortality. He simply accepted Harry as he was, offering companionship without expectation. For seven years, Mari had been a constant presence—sometimes physically there, sometimes only in dreams, but always understanding in a way that reminded Harry painfully of the friendship he'd lost.
"Okay," Harry found himself saying, rising to his feet. "I'll go pack my things."
Before he could take more than a few steps, Mari's hand gently came down on his shoulder.
"Now, now. I don't mean right at this moment," he said with a calm smile. "At least finish dinner and wait until tomorrow. And I would like to enjoy your company before you go. I will miss you, Harry."
Harry stopped and stared into the otherworldly eyes, contemplating his next words.
"I'm sure it's obvious by now. I'm a human that doesn't age," he finally said. "Doesn't that bother you?"
"I'm a being very far apart from humans. I consume dreams, and can essentially understand human emotions, but cannot truly sympathize with them," Mari shrugged. "Besides, I should think it bothers you more."
"... You really are strange."
Mari let out a small laugh. "Aren't we all? Otherwise, the world wouldn't be fun or as beautiful."
Six months later in a different world, Harry was settled in a semi-rural town near Wiltshire, and had opened a small coffee shop. Coffee-making and baking pastries had been one of the random skills he picked up over the years, and he was pretty good at it if all the customers he received every day was anything to go by.
It was a decent life, though Harry found it slightly odd in the first few weeks when he turned to say something to Mari, only to find himself alone once more. The silence felt heavier after years of companionship, but he pushed through it as he always did.
It was nearing the end of September as autumn kicked in, when Harry peered out his window and saw a strange individual who stood out from the rest of the locals like a sore thumb. He was dressed as an aristocrat, clad in nearly all black, with a demeanor that could be called old, but not.
Almost as if he had sensed him, the man glanced up and caught Harry's gaze. To his surprise, the man flashed a roguish grin, waved at Harry's currently closed cafe, and made a pleading gesture, complete with puppy-dog eyes that looked completely ridiculous on him considering the fact that he looked to be in his fifties.
Harry couldn't quite hold back a snort as he moved away from the window, grabbing his work clothes. Technically, he didn't open for another hour. But he might as well start the day.
Of course, Harry had no idea just how much his life would change in his decision to open the door to one Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg.