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Chapter Text

His magic surrounded him, comforting him from the torture that he goes through. The area around him was dark, so very dark. With the lights out, he couldn’t see his own hand. What’s in this void of darkness? It didn’t take long for his eyes to get used to the darkness, as it’s where he lived for the first eleven years of his life.

(He sees his malnourished body and his mattress under his stairs.)

Laughing with hysteria, he looked around once more. His friends were here with him, covered in grime and blood. Their tired eyes showed the hardships they’ve gone through. This group has been with him for years, running for their life and sanity.

A guard entered the cell he resided in. With armor on and wand in hand, muggles would think it was cosplay.

“You’ve been designated to a new room,” The guard said, their eyes glaring at him. The guard pushed him to the halls of the dungeons. Screams filled his ears while people clawed the ground, searching for an escape. Too soon, he was thrown into a new cell, this one worse than the other. It has no bed, only a bucket to pee in. 

He frowned, his new cellmates finally noticing him. A laugh echoed out his mouth from the insanity of this all.  He was their savior, now he’s their enemy. The laugh turned into sobs, but no tears escaped his eyes.  It was too late for tears - his dehydrated body trying to save all the water it can.

The cell was filled with the friends that stayed with him through thick and thin. They were the ones who ran with him - the ones that fought with him. Was this a new torture? Why did he have to see his friends fall slowly to their death and insanity?

Dead bodies filled the cell, the guards not caring about the cleanliness of the prison. Their only reason they were there was to keep the traitors from escaping.

Unfocused eyes turned to the sound of heels clapping against the ground. A laugh escaped the person.

“So pathetic,” The woman said, “A traitor to the light. You deserve to be here with your fellow cohorts.”

His eyes focused for the first time in a long time.

“Ginny?” He rasped out.

“Don’t call me that. I’m Ginerva to you,” Ginerva said. Her red hair was messy, exactly like Bellatrix Lestrange’s hair.

“You are a monster,” He said, noticing the blood on her clothes.

“No, you are the monster, Harry Potter. We could’ve been happy together, but you betrayed us.” Ginerva said. 

(What happened to the girl he loved?)

A woman next to Ginerva stepped forward. She looked the same as Ginerva, but older.

“I hope you rot in hell, Ronald,” Molly Weasley spat. The boy next to Harry seemed to freeze up in shock.

“Why?” Ronald said so quietly that only those next to him heard.

“Speak up, No-Name,” Molly said.

“Why?” Ronald asked.

“You betrayed us in thinking that you hated Potter the same as us,” She said.

Words of taunting spilled out of the two mouths. Slowly, their fragile sanity broke with each word. The golden trio, Dumbledore’s pets. Ron Weasley next to the boy-who-lived, hugging close, crying tears of clear depression. His red hair seemed to cover his eyes. Hermione Granger next to the red-headed boy, screaming with all she had into his shoulder. Her hair was flattened against her face, hiding it from view. Harry Potter, the boy-who-was-betrayed, sat next to Ron with a blank stare. His black hair was red from blood.

(Aren’t they so broken?)

Ron Weasley once was a jealous prat, once was a betrayer. Once he was like all the others outside of their cell. Then he started to think, which their ruler, Albus Dumbledore, did not want. He thought as to why he betrayed his best friend, his first friend. Why did he abandon Harry when the cup spilled his name out? Thoughts floated in his head. This is when he started to oppose Dumbledore, the Lord of the Light. Started to oppose those he once called mother and father. The one he’d once called sister. 

His opposition got him thrown in a cell. Ron was tortured for being a betrayer . Wasn’t he broken enough? They used only light spells, but it hurt so much . How could good spells hurt more than evil spells? He again wondered if there was even a line between good and evil. Ron had all the time in the world, so he started to find a way out of his cell, a way to apologize to those he betrayed. He just needed to find a way . When he thought he’d found a way out, he was thrown into another cell. A cell where others were. Where the people he betrayed were. Tears flooded his eyes and he hugged his friends; he said sorry.

(He’s so sorry. Forgive him.)

Hermione Granger once was a bossy know-it-all. Once she was a girl that wanted to learn everything she could get her hands on. Once she was a girl who looked up to authority figures like they were gods. Soon, her brain became too fast, became too big. It started to learn things that others labeled dark . Those around her started to become scared of her. Scared of her potential . Her potential to be the strongest witch of the 20th and 21st centuries.

They betrayed her for her smarts. Betrayed her for her thinking ability, her big brain. Those outside her cell, outside in the real world, feared her. They feared her potential to be a threat, a leader stronger than Lord Voldemort . 

They could’ve had her as an ally. Had her as a researcher. Yet, they decided to act on their fear and banished her to a cell with others. Others that seemed so broken. So betrayed .

(She is smart. Defeat her.)

Harry Potter once was a naive little boy. So naive of how people act. How people could betray you for the smallest thing. He once wanted recognition, wanted to have somebody want him. He thought he’d finally had his dreams fulfilled when a half-giant burst through his relative's door. Finally, Harry would be loved after his savior took him away from his own personal hell. There, he thought, he would finally get positive love. Positive love for who he was: the-boy-who-lived. Yet, the boy-who-lived was a lie. A bedtime story created for small children.

Years passed and challenges were conquered. He was still so happy about having a family. That all disappeared when they threw him away. They called him a dark lord. They called him evil . He finally decided that if they wanted a dark lord, they were going to get it. He was done with this game of chess. They had thrown him in a cell where he was slowly going insane with those that joined him in this hell. He decided he was going to come out. He was going to kill . Nobody was allowed to stop him from taking his revenge.

(He is powerful. Fear him.)

(The Golden Trio)

Draco Malfoy seemed to stay in the corner, staring into space with his silver eyes. His blond hair was a mess rather than its usual slicked-back look. Luna Lovegood smiled with her wispy look, insanity clear for those around to see. Clouded eyes seemed to look through the souls of the trio; hope in her eyes. Susan Bones seemed to shine with betrayal at the wall. Her own auntie betrayed her for the ‘law’. Neville Longbottom stared at the floor blankly. His mind ran miles per minute, thinking of a way to get out of here. That was all he’d been doing for years. 

It was not time yet.

(How would they get out of here?)

Draco Malfoy once was a pompous brat . Once he was spoiled beyond belief . Once he was privileged . Used to join a dark lord, one of the greatest dark lords of the century. Draco Malfoy once was a Death Eater. A brand on his arm as he called a filthy half-breed my lord . He was ashamed of himself. Now, however, he was proud. He was proud that he used to not like the light side . Proud that he hated those disgusting muggles, ants to his superior status.

He was sent here because once, he was a death eater. He was branded as a slave . Even when he turned spy for all things good and light . He hated himself. He questioned all his life decisions.

(He is proud. Discard him.)

“Luna Lovegood is crazy,” others said. “She makes up imaginary creatures,” everyone but this group said. “Everything she says is all made up. Everyone she talks to is insane. Every creature she talks to is imaginary.” 

Yet, what if it was all a mask? A mask that hid her ability. Her ability made her insane. An ability that made everyone fear her and want to use her . 

Her childhood friend betrayed her . A childhood friend that never saw through the mask. The childhood friend tossed her aside like a broken object. The childhood friend that never saw her coming. It was all planned. Getting tossed in this invisible cage of her visions. It was all planned.

(She is crazy. Taunt her.)

Susan Bones didn’t deserve this fate. She once was a lowly Hufflepuff . Once she was a peaceful person. She was a beautiful girl that all the purebloods wanted, for her connections to the corrupted Ministry of Magic were great. She once blushed at the simplest compliments. Now, she was full of revenge. Full of hate.

She was betrayed by the one she trusted the most. Her auntie. For those stupid, insane, corrupt, laws .

(She is vengeful. Hate her.)

Neville Longbottom was believed to be a squib. A creature without magic. Not human or sentient. Just a mindless monster. He had no feelings. He had no life. He just was. When he started to show magic, it was believed to be weak. He might’ve been the boy-who-lived if he were a half-blood. Might’ve been manipulated if he had been born a day later. 

Then, as Harry Potter was thrown into jail, he was declared the savior. He couldn’t hold this untold weight. The weight of the world. He wished and he wished he could join his friends in the depths of hell. He got his wish to come true when he refused to follow the Old Man. The Manipulative Man. The Person Behind The Scenes. Albus Dumbledore.

(What did they do to get this horrible fate?)

(There once was a normal house in a very normal neighborhood. This house was like every other house on the street. Row after row they stood, uniform and identical in every feature. It was very normal. Well, to them it was. To others, the sameness was bothersome. 

“Look at the lines of houses that are exactly the same,” they whispered. “How could you find your own house?” 

However, this house was not the same as others. It had one different thing. This house had a very freaky nephew. A nephew that did very Strange Things. So, whenever a Strange Thing happened, they blamed it on this nephew. That’s if anyone knew he existed. The only time people could see this nephew was in the backyard. He didn’t go to school. Didn’t learn anything. Yet, he could do math equations like a math genius.

(Yet, he could read as fast as a falcon dives.)

So, we zoomed into this little boy, that seemed about eight years old, and we observed. Who knew that he could be so interesting? This boy was special.

(What is his name?)

( Harry Potter )

Harry Potter, famous for something he didn’t do. Famous for something he didn’t remember. Something he didn’t want to remember. He didn’t know his fame. He didn’t know Magic. Just that he did Strange Things. Strange Things like making his relatives hurt. Making his relatives follow his orders. He was famous for something that his mother did. Something that the wizarding world viewed as dark magic. Evil magic. Things that they didn’t understand.)

Luna, once again with her all-seeing eyes, came up with a plan. Her wispy smile shined in the cell. Hope glowed, making her ethereal beauty seem more godly. Luna revealed herself to be a seer.

“There is still hope in the world,” She said with finality. The solution was to pray to the deity of magic. So, for every day of every month of every year, they hoped and prayed. They loved the deity like a child to their parents. The plan succeeded and they traveled back in time with those they trust. 

(Six heroes who were betrayed by those they protect.)

(One villain with manipulation in his mind that made him so.)

Welcome to the World of Chaos.

Chapter Text

What does the marigold flower symbolize?  

• His despair and grief over his parents.
• His love of warmth and beauty of the rising sun.
• His hard work of getting the affections of his family.
• His creativity and drive to succeed.
• His desire of wealth so he can leave this place.
• His cruelty and coldness due to the jealousy of his family.
• His celebrating and remembering of the dead.
• His need for a good relationship, either romantically or platonically.

What does the petunia flower symbolize?

• Her anger at her sister.
• Her resentment at the unnatural.

What does the narcissus flower symbolize?

• His crazy luck and opportunities.
• His rebirth into the past.
• His wealth and prosperity.
• His bad luck in bad times.

       Laugh all you want. Cry all you want. Lie all you want. Do you think I would forgive you for your misdeeds? You aren't as good as others make you out to be. You aren't as light as everyone thinks you are.  The world isn't as black and white as you think. It's full of grey and awful things. Appearances can be deceiving. The person over there with the smile to light up the world is a murderer. They just killed someone with the same smile. Their hands are stained with blood. Yet, are they bad people? The girl over there in fancy clothing is poor as can be and an information broker. Her hands are just as stained as a murderer’s. Yet, is she a bad person? The guy talked to a girl politely and is a rapist. His hands are just as stained as a murderer’s. Yet, is he a bad person?

        It depends on why they are doing it. The murderer is doing it for fun. The information broker is doing it for money. The rapist is doing it by force from their parents. Yet, are they bad? Are they horrible awful people? Reasons change the punishment. They are tortured by the victim. She died from old age. He killed his parents and lived a fulfilling life; not committing any more crimes.

What about you? What are your reasons for your offense? How can you stand there and still manipulate? Even when confronted by your sins? The world doesn't revolve around you. Nobody has to bow down to you. Everyone has a choice to betray you. Yet, you believe you can do no wrong. That nobody could stand a chance against you.

Now, I say to you and anybody out there. Everyone has a choice . Everyone has done something wrong . Everyone has lied . Is everyone a bad person? No, no. Only the ones who never learn from their mistakes. Now, now ...You have a choice to continue your way of life or not.

        Should you control the pawns on the chessboard?

        Should you become a fair king ?

        Should you become a corrupt queen ?

        Choose wisely, for you will never know what the choice will do.

     November 1st, 1981

    Harry's Age: 1

    A flower, an ugly, disgusting, furious flower, walked out the front door. Her resentment and anger overpower all other emotions as she looks at the bundle underneath her. Another flower, a marigold, was in this bundle full of sadness. This flower was just a baby boy, nothing to be angry at. Yet, the petunia looked at the marigold with that emotion. The marigold was the spawn of what she couldn't have. He was the spawn of the unnatural.

    The petunia looked at the letter in front of her and scowled. She threw it away as she walked inside. The petunia would take care of the spawn, but with minimal effort. The marigold would be her slave.  A family slave that nobody would know of. Cackling followed her through the house as she told the good news to her husband.

     March 20th, 1988

    Harry's Age: 7

He looked at the sky with his eyes. Eyes that were like cats yet still so dull. The torture he went through every day was too much for his weak mind. Punch after punch. Life was meaningless. Everything was monotone. Nothing had emotion.

And so, the marigold broke.

Again

And

Again.

    Midnight passed as he got no sleep.

    The flowers around the weeds were sprouting as the new day started. Bags under his eyes were pronounced as he kept the garden tended. The red roses and petunias were common as rats in it. Lavenders made all the conflicting aromas smell better. The Hydrangea signals the narcissism the owners have.

    Aunt said that he shouldn't water the red lilies and let them die. Yet, even when he never even touched them, they keep growing. Never dying like the other flowers he couldn't keep track of. Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin always blame him for that.

    So, as he picks the weeds and waters his flowers, he thinks. Thinking a million thoughts per minute. How can he go out there and let others see him? See him as he is and not the delinquent the neighbors think he is? Time is not on his side, for when would his relatives turn on him even more?

    The sun started rising. How long has he been outside? An hour or ten? He didn't know, he was kept busy all night long. The outside chores are always done during the night. Washing the car takes a while, so does mowing the lawn. All of these chores have to be done before his relatives wake up. If not, something might happen.

    The houses that reside there looked exactly the same, as the residents like them to look. Clouds floated in the sky, leaving only little blue spots of the sky visible. It was as normal as always.

The young boy of eight weeded the garden with great skill, despite his age. This boy had eyes that seem older than they should be. He was abnormal as he seemed, abnormal as his fellow magicals.

Hurt seemed to seep out of the scars on his back. Every sound he made was followed by a whimper, his throat hurting even from making the smallest of sounds. He screamed so much from beatings that talking hurts as though someone slashed his throat.

This routine was normal for him, but the bright light that surrounded him wasn’t. Anyone that looked at him was quickly blinded.

His hair floated up and a white dot went to him. With curious eyes, he wondered what was happening.

“W-who,” He coughed, “are you?”

The dot laughed at the boy; a sad laugh. “ I am you, but not. I am you but from the future. I am you but from a world very different from your normal one.” The dot said with an air of mystery. 

“What do you mean?” The boy asked, his throat feeling better.

“Let us join souls,” The dot avoided the question.

“How do we do that? How do we join our souls? Aren’t they the same?” The boy questioned, his head tilting as he tried to comprehend the white dot’s words.  The dot laughed a second time at the curious boy. 

“No, we are not the same. I am you but older. So, I have more experience; my soul is stronger, bigger.” The white dot said through the light. 

The boy nodded in understanding and held the dot in his tiny hands. A gasp escaped the boy’s mouth as the dot entered his chest.

A beam of light escaped his body as he closed his emerald eyes. The light disappeared when he opened them, now the color of Avada Kedavra green death. 

“It worked!” He yelled in his mind, and his face split open into a manic, insane, too-wide grin. “Oh Merlin, it actually worked.” He could hardly believe it. How could he when he tried again and again? How could he when it failed multiple times? He should’ve trusted his friend's word and waited. Oh, but he isn’t a patient person. He is temperamental and stubborn. Everything about him burns with fire. A fire so hot the sun is jealous.

He looked around at the garden. It was beautiful, that was true, but it seemed so fake. Exactly like the others in the neighborhood. He shouldn’t be a gardener if this is what it produces. Laughing at this thought, he continued to pull weeds. Even if it’s been a long time since he pulled weeds; he did it expertly. He grabbed a flower from the garden and smelled it. It's a dead marigold. Almost like it died as the other Harry did. Picking another flower that just bloomed, a narcissus, he laughed. Ah, life was just perfect. Magic gave him a second chance and he was going to use it to the best of his ability.

Once done, he turned around to the house. As usual, it’s plain as the others. No creativity whatsoever. He walked into the house and explored it. After all, it’s been a long time since he was in this house.

 His heartbeat beat over and over again as reality hit him. Manipulation wasn’t going to mess his destiny up again. He was ready to face the world.

 He entered his room after he entered the house - well, more like a cupboard under the stairs. He whistled as he entered the treasure trove of blood. He smiled as he looked at the blood, his mind whirring about how he could use it to his advantage. Excitement shined in his eyes at all the possibilities; blood rituals to blood magic. Blood was his lifeline. It allowed him to do the magic he loved.

With a wave of his hand, he gathered the blood up in a jar while liquefying it. A manic smile graced his face. He was ready for the world. The world wasn’t ready for him.

Holding the jar up, he banished it to someplace new. Walking out of the cupboard, he looked around the living room. His smile turned into a frown at the surrounding view. The plain normality kind of freaked him out, ironically. Finally, he looked at the fire in the fireplace, a plan forming in his shattered mind. Then a realization went across his brain: he had no floo powder.

 He had no wand, so couldn’t use magic; he even forgot some of the commonly used spells. How do you apparate? He wondered. What are the words to go with the movement (if there even is one)?

He couldn’t apparate (or cast the Unforgivable) wandlessly, that had proven to be impossible. Well, he was proven to do the impossible. With a thought, he tried to wandlessly apparate. A second passed, nothing happened.

“Damn it.” He said with an irritated frown. Time was ticking and he needed to contact his fellow time travelers, but how? Dobby doesn't know about him, so he couldn't use him. Apparating is proving to be impossible.

Tick, tock, the clock hands move. The door was pushed hard, abusing the already abused hinges.

BOOM… Nostalgia filled him.

BOOM… His eyes widened and he smiled.

BOOM… A man with a seemingly godly presence entered. Lightning sparkled beneath the man.

---

Ron was like a white tulip. It might seem weird at first. But, why would it symbolize forgiveness if he was not in mind? It signals new beginnings and a sense of worthiness. His best mate made him feel worthy for once in his life. For not being left out and hidden from the world. He wants his relationships to be pure and free from arguments. Yet, is that possible with all the stress that follows him?

Ron was also like a purple Hyacinth. The sorrow of his betrayal and his misguided deeds. This flower also signals forgiveness, for he will forever want forgiveness from all those around him.

After all...

He’s touch-starved in the worst way.

He’s carved into the world in the worst places.

He’s soon to be uncarved.

He’s soon to love the feeling of his friends and lovers' hugs.

He’s soon to be nonesuch in a way that is good.

(To his friends anyway, but who else really matters?)

March 1st, 1980

Ron’s Age: 1 hour

“Another boy?” Molly asked, disappointed

“Yes,” The medi-witch said with exasperation. She had to deliver 6 boys from one mother. It’s exhausting.

“Give him to his brothers to take care of,” Molly dismissed the medi-witch with a flip of her hand. The medi-witch left with a glare and took the boy to his eagerly awaiting brothers.

“Here you go,” She put the baby in the oldest boy's hands.

“Another boy!” The oldest boy, Bill, said. This time with happiness. He always loved having another brother to take care of!

March 20th, 1988

Ron’s Age: 8

Ron looked at the sunset with glazed eyes. His mind focused on Harry Potter; the boy from all those storybooks. He would finally be able to be useful to his family! He just has to befriend Harry and get his money. He would finally be approved! Not ignored and taunted. He was finally going to be acknowledged; that’s all he wanted in life.

Slowly, the sun went under the ground and his grin spread bigger. His eyes seemed to freshen up from their glazed state as a light came to view.

Freeze… Everything was frozen.

Red Light… He stood still.

Green Light…. Everything seemed to go back to normal besides Ron. He seemed to look at the world in a new way; with darkened eyes and twisted smiles. A mischievous spark appeared in his eyes like a firefly.

“Well, well. This was unexpected, right?” Ron said while looking behind him. Standing there was a man with a horned helmet and green eyes that seemed to spread laughter through Ron’s veins.

⇉⇄⇈⇅⇊⇆⇇

Hermione is a Begonias. She gives her knowledge out like a person gives out chocolate on Halloween. She hopes her friends will grow their knowledge to her level of intellect. Begonias are the ones you give to people that hope they will grow their knowledge or recognition to their intelligence.

Hermione was also like a Lilac. Memory is like second nature to her. She knows something that another asks as quickly as a snap. Lilacs symbolize memory and what better flower is connected to her?

Memories, memories… What are memories?

Knowledge, knowledge… What is knowledge?

Memories are true at first, then you add details that weren’t there. You remember what you remembered the last time you remembered it. That is a memory. It’s a copy. You copy that copy and then you get a worse copy than the original.

Knowledge is ever-growing. Even when your mind is mature, you are still learning. You are learning how to walk, how to become friends with someone, how to love, and how to take care of your children. Learning is an everyday thing.

September 19th, 1982

Hermione’s Age: 3

Hermione was very smart; even strangers could tell. She talked at the age of one and walked at the age of two. Now, on her third birthday, she learned how to read. She loved to learn and get all the knowledge she could get her hands on.

“She's a prodigy!” Some said to her mother with awe.

“She’s a spoiled brat,” Others whispered behind her back.

March 20th, 1988

Hermione’s Age: 8

Bullies filled her whole childhood; her feeling of proving herself seemed to grow year by year. She was always in the spotlight for being a genius. Her IQ was higher than any in recorded history, well, at her age anyway.

Celebrities greeted her when they met her, for her intelligence greatly surpassed theirs. Those who specialize in math or science looked at her as a project.

Now, she stood here at eight years old, a book in hand at her house. Her eyes seemed to be focused on the pages.

She suddenly looked up, sensing a disturbance in the usually quiet environment. Behind her, a newly turned adult smirked. His hands were behind his head and he walked closer.

“Boo,” He whispered into her ear.

Familiar… The voice was very familiar.

Shock… Her body went into shock for a quick second.

Smile… A genuine smile lit up her face.

“Oh god, we’re back!” Hermione exclaimed.

“I missed you too, little sis,” The adult laughed.

⇉⇄⇈⇅⇊⇆⇇

Once upon a time, there were creatures that dreamed. Those dreams soon became true and life sprouted from the ground. Most might say Earth – Terra – Midgard was the last planet to be created. Only a few knew the truth. This world was the first to be created, because why did it have so many names if it was created last? It wouldn’t have been as known as it was if it was created only a million years ago. The gods wouldn’t include Midgard in the planets they rule if it didn’t benefit them somehow.

Yet, the knowledge of why Earth – Terra – Midgard was so threatening was lost as most things are in history. The only ones that know the true nature of Terra are living planets nearby it. They could feel its power. They created a pact to never mention it to anyone other than themselves. After all, the power must have been a secret if no one knows of it? They don’t want that power against them.

Earth – Terra – Midgard was a mystery to most. The people who live on Earth are the ones with the most will, the most strength. It just takes a million years to unlock this power. The power to create deities from imagination and faith.

Trillions of years ago, the universe always lived forever. Death wasn’t a thing, then the first human thought about killing for food, for they wanted the animal to not suffer. They couldn’t eat meat or plants without the animal to continue to live, even if they aren’t moving. They would know all the pain they feel through the eating process. Who wants to feel that?

So, death was created with a thought.

So, a million years before, life was created.

So, in another million years, magic was created.

So, the universe started moving.

Chapter Text

Draco couldn’t be easily described. His life was full of twists and turns. Full of complications and sadness. In the end, betrayal was the least of his worries and the only thing he had in mind was repentance.

He was diligent with a bunch of envy. Virtue and a sin. When young, he didn’t know much about consequences. When old, he was sad about the choices of his younger self.  He was a bitter man.

As Draco’s parents died, so did his naive self - as the horrors that his family protected him from came with a vengeance.

June 5th, 1980

Draco’s Age: 5 hours

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Lucius bowed, his knees shaking from a cruciatus curse that was delivered.

“Why were you late, Luciusss?” Voldemort hissed.

“My wife delivered a baby,” Lucius said.

“That is no excuse!” Voldemort sent another torture curse to the blond male.

“I’m sorry, my lord!” Lucius screamed.

“Now, what has the minister been doing?” Voldemort asked as the spell ended.

While the report was given, a mother cried for her child that was sure to follow in his father’s steps.

March 20th, 1988

Draco’s Age: 7

Draco had his head in a book - the title, Time Travel , piqued his curiosity.

“Chapter 5: Reactions to Time Travel”
“Many people have different reactions than others to time travel. As every person's magical core is different - like a snowflake or fingerprint, time travel could very well kill one person or make another successfully go years in the past. Unspeakable Evening had tried to time travel to the Hogwarts Founder’s time (reference History of Hogwarts by Bathilda Bagshot). As she came back, she grew old rapidly to the age she would’ve been if she lived for a thousand years. Many wonders if she actually went to the founder's age or just cast an aging spell but the Unspeakables refuse to speak about it.”

As he finished the paragraph, wind swept through the room and surrounded him. Draco eagerly wondered if this was his reaction to time travel.

He closed his eyes - the wind stopped. When Draco finally opened his eyes, they flashed gold and he smirked.

One more gust of wind came by and a woman appeared.

“You’re here, Natasha?” Draco asked.

“Always.”

⇉⇄⇈⇅⇊⇆⇇

Luna Lovegood was the epitome of temperance; of self-control. She does not take out of her anger (her ferocious wrath) onto the world. Her seer ability helps with her restraint. 

(The butterfly effect can change the smallest of things - even the death of a mother.)

February 13th, 1981

Luna’s Age: 2 hours

“My little moon, I believe you are going to change the world,” Pandora said, her eyes slightly clouded from exhaustion.

“Of course! She’s our daughter!” Xenophilius said.

“Take care of her - Xenophilius,” Pandora coughed. The healer next to her panicked, noticing her heartbeat slowly going down.

“Dora? Dora! Don’t leave me…” He cried, looking down at his wife and daughter - the soon-to-be the only reminder of his wife. “I swear I will take care of you. For Pandora.”

“Thank you, my dear husband,” Pandora said as the life faded from her.

“I love you, my dear seer,” Xenophilius said as tears fell from his lonely eyes, “I love you so very much.”

March 20th, 1988

Luna’s Age: 7

Luna was a strange child. Sometimes she fades away from view, even if someone could swear she was there a second ago. Sometimes she knew things she shouldn’t. People learned to listen to her as the things she tells are usually true.

So, when today passed, she knew what was happening and smiled. For once, her future wasn’t filled with dread. There was a chance of survival and happiness. Finally! There were future strands that are filled with happiness!

“Hello, Luna,” She said to seemingly thin air, “Welcome back.”

A wind passed by and a different person appeared in Luna Lovegoods body. A smirk crossed her face as another chance appeared. A hand ruffled her hair.

“I missed you when you were small,” Bruce Banner said, toning down the green coloring he had in the future.

“I didn’t miss your self-despair,” Luna snarked.

⇉⇄⇈⇅⇊⇆⇇

Susan Bones had a lot of pride in herself. She took pride in her justice, in her aunt (though maybe not anymore, she thinks as an innocent man goes to Azkaban) , and in her life goal. She tried to be fair as not everyone is doing something bad because of fun.

September 3rd, 1979

Susan’s Age: 30 Minutes

The birth of the heir to the Bones family was a happy affair. Every family member came to see.

“What should we name her?” The father of the child asked his wife. The wife seemed to contemplate before deciding.

“Susan Bones, she looks like a Susan,” The wife said, making silly faces at the child.

“A good name,” Edgar Bones nodded, holding his own children in his arms. His wife stood by him. 

Amelia Bones looked at the scene with a neutral face, not knowing how to feel about the child.

March 20th, 1988

Susan’s Age: 8

Susan looked at the scene, the man on trial trying to explain why he was innocent, how he was framed for something that he didn’t do. Tears came out of her eyes as the sentencing declared him guilty. She thought it was obvious how innocent he was, with the defeated look in his eyes. Her aunt looked happy at this...this injustice happening. As though, the man was guilty!

“Auntie, I think the man is innocent,” Susan said when the trial ended. Amelia looked down at her niece. A flash of disgust went through her eyes before it disappeared.

“You can’t believe what everyone says, Susan.”

“But I know he’s innocent!” She said, as though her opinion would make a difference. Her aunt shook her head before taking her home. Susan left her aunt to her study before going to the library. 

A glow encompassed her once she was away from a view. Her eyes sharpened. Someone jumped out of the rafters.

“Hello, Susan,” A man appeared with a shield with the American flag on it.

“How did you get in?” Susan asked, rolling her eyes. The man smiled.

⇉⇄⇈⇅⇊⇆⇇

Neville Longbottom loved to give. His charity was second to none; his fortitude to do what was right was right along with it. These combined seemed to make people think he was weak. That giving was a weakness that should be smothered. (When did people start to hate his love?)

July 30, 1980

Neville’s Age: 3 Hours

“Alice, dear, please stop crying,” Frank Longbottom begged. His wife just kept on crying.

“But he’s so beautiful!” Alice Longbottom sobbed. The baby was in her arms, looking about to cry with her. A signal second passed before the cry of the baby started.

“Um, what would you like the name him?” The medi-witch asked, looking amused at the scene.

“Just put down Neville. We were thinking of calling him that,” Frank said, exhausted.

March 20th, 1988

Neville’s Age: 7

Neville looked around, the plants blooming in the temperature-controlled greenhouse. He smiled, the scene making him at peace. He’s always loved taking care of plants, the love he puts into it makes him happy.

“Come in, boy!” His uncle growled. Neville shot out of the greenhouse, hoping that his uncle wasn’t mad. Right before he entered, a sound crossed his ears. He looked around and notices an arrow in a tree. His eyes narrowed and sudden knowledge entered his mind.

“Come out, Clint,” Neville called out.

“Aww, I was hoping I could have more fun before you came back,” Clint Barton pouted.