Harry Potter-A New Future

I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.

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Chapter 6: The Shadows of Memory

Dorea Potter sat silently in the warmth of her home, watching the faint flicker of firelight dance across the room. Charlus lay in peaceful slumber nearby, his chest rising and falling steadily. His injuries—grievous and once thought impossible to fully heal—were gone as if they'd never existed. Yet her heart was heavy.

The attack had been brutal, the Death Eaters and Dementors relentless in their pursuit to destroy them. But it wasn't the attack that lingered in her thoughts—it was the young wizard who had come to their rescue. His raw power, the brilliance of his magic, the massive silver serpent that had scattered the Dementors… and his face. A face that haunted her, strikingly familiar yet undeniably foreign.

She couldn't share her suspicions, not even with Charlus. If she voiced them, they would become real, and with that reality came questions she wasn't ready to answer.

For now, she could only wonder.

Deep Within Nurmengard

The air was damp and heavy in the depths of Nurmengard's cellblock, the silence broken only by the faint drip of water echoing from the stone walls. Gellert Grindelwald stirred on his cot, his eyes snapping open as a disturbance prickled his senses.

He sat up, his sharp gaze locking onto the figure standing in the shadows beyond the bars.

"You," Grindelwald said, his voice hoarse but sharp with curiosity. "You are no guard."

The figure stepped closer, the faint glow of the enchanted wards illuminating a young man with unruly black hair and striking green eyes. His face was calm, his expression unreadable, but the air around him buzzed with an almost tangible power.

"I have a question," the young man said simply, his voice even but unyielding.

Grindelwald tilted his head, intrigued. "And what makes you think I will answer?"

"You will."

Grindelwald chuckled softly, leaning back against the cold stone wall. "Very well. Ask your question, boy."

"Is it possible to travel decades into the past?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. Grindelwald's eyes narrowed slightly, the weight of the inquiry stirring memories of his own pursuits.

"An audacious question," Grindelwald said slowly, his voice laced with amusement. "Many dream of bending time, but few have dared to ask what lies beyond its fragile boundaries. What you propose is no mere manipulation—it is a violation of the natural order."

"Is it possible?" the young man pressed.

Grindelwald's smirk faded, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "Possible? Perhaps. But such forces are beyond comprehension. Time resists interference, boy. Even the smallest ripple can cascade into chaos."

Harry's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing.

"Yet you sought it," he said, his tone sharper now.

Grindelwald's pale eyes gleamed with interest. "You know much for one so young. Yes, I explored such realms in my time, but even I was bound by its limits. Time is a force greater than magic, greater than any wizard."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Grindelwald spoke again, his voice quieter, almost reverent.

"There is one theory," he said. "An unlikely one. If there exists a connection—something that defies time itself—then perhaps the boundaries could be breached. Blood, love, hatred, prophecy… such forces may anchor a soul across the void."

Harry froze at the words. Prophecy.

His thoughts swirled as realization struck him like a lightning bolt.

The connection is Voldemort.

As long as Tom Riddle lived, so did Harry. The prophecy that bound them—"neither can live while the other survives"—was as eternal as the stars. It transcended time itself, tethering them together across all realities. No matter where or when Harry was, the prophecy's power endured. It was a bond neither could escape.

Grindelwald watched the flicker of understanding cross the young man's face and leaned forward slightly. "You know something," he said, his voice cutting through the silence. "What is it?"

Harry's gaze snapped back to Grindelwald, sharp and piercing. His realization hardened into resolve. Whatever this timeline brought, the prophecy remained. One of them had to die at the hand of the other.

Without a word, Harry raised his wand. Grindelwald stiffened, his keen mind already suspecting what was to come.

"You've said enough," Harry said quietly, his voice cold as steel.

Before Grindelwald could react, Harry's wand tip glowed faintly. The old wizard's expression shifted from defiance to blankness as Harry reached into his mind with practiced precision. He sifted through the memories of their conversation, isolating the moments they had shared, and carefully removed them, leaving Grindelwald none the wiser.

As Grindelwald's head slumped forward, his memory wiped clean, Harry stepped back into the shadows, his face grim.

The connection between him and Voldemort could not be severed. He was trapped in this timeline, bound by the prophecy that had defined his life. But if he was to live in this world, he would forge a future on his own terms.

And Voldemort would fall.