Chapter Text
Harry’s eyes opened first. The motion, methodical and unrelenting, jolted memories of battles long past back into his bones. Beside him, Ron lay curled against the glass, shoulders rising and falling in even, unconscious breaths. Relief fluttered briefly in Harry’s chest—no pain, no screams—but it was gone before he could name it. He glanced at his wristwatch: 11:00 AM.
Ron shifted, sending a light gust of cold air across Harry’s arm.
“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, voice thick with sleep. “Again.”
He tapped his boot against the bench, the hollow thump echoing like the beat of a distant drum. “I’d rather face a Hungarian Horntail than loop again.”
“Careful with what you wish for,” Harry replied, voice low. They sat in silence, shoulders almost touching, haunted by the weight of countless loops. Neither spoke—for now, stillness was easier than naming defeat.
He pressed his palm against the cold iron bench, fingers brushing over a faint dent, an echo of countless loops. Yet the carriage felt impossibly new: the chatter of first years, the clatter of trunks in the corridor, the sweet tang of chocolate frogs. Eleven again and supposed to know nothing beyond this ride’s first thrill.
Harry glanced at Ron, their bodies shrinking into school robes far too big. Ron’s eyes were wide; cheeks flushed with excitement. Normally Ron would be the one to crack a joke about finding a seat, but now he stared at the empty compartment as if discovering it for the first time.
Moments later, Hermione Granger slipped inside, cloak clasped tight, hands clutching her bag’s strap. The compartment door slid shut with a hiss, steam curling like a sharp intake of breath. Harry flinched as if he had heard Hermione’s final gasp before falling under the killing curse, her life snatched away before his own could slip free.
The iron bench beneath him clanged against the carriage frame, a hollow sound that snapped Harry back to the moment Ron’s chest exploded under the Bombarda Curse. He pressed his palm to the metal, feeling the echo of bone fracturing, tasting copper on his tongue.
A sudden shudder rippled through the coach as wheels rattled over a joint in the rail. Each tremor hammered at Harry’s ribs like the pulse of Ron’s last roar, a pain he could not outrun even in a loop. He closed his eyes, breathing through the stench of burning robes that still clung to his memory.
He opened one eye. Across from him, Ron lay curled against the window, oblivious to the past bleeding into the present. A thin wisp of mist trailed from Ron’s lips—a ghost of breath that reminded Harry of frosty air swirling above Hermione’s lips in the courtyard before she fell.
Harry glanced at his wristwatch: 11:05 AM. The same moment, again. Relief flickered briefly, no pain, no final words, only to flare into dread. This loop felt different. This time, they had died first.
Hermione paused, observing Harry then sank opposite. With a quick flick, she opened her satchel and drew out a heavy sheet of parchment and three quills.
Harry and Ron exchanged a brief, knowing glance. Neither spoke. They leaned back against the bench, determination settling over them like a silent pact. They knew Hermione needed this quiet, and neither of them felt like talking yet.
Hermione dipped her quill. The scratch of ink on parchment became the compartment’s only soundtrack. Harry tracked the curl of each letter; Ron watched Hermione’s brow crease in concentration. Not once did either of them break the hush.
Timeline (Years 1–7)
- Y1: Prevent Voldemort from obtaining the Philosopher’s Stone and dispose of the troll.
- Y2: Steal the diary the moment Lucius Malfoy places it in Ginny’s cauldron and slay the basilisk.
- Y3: Capture Peter Pettigrew and free Sirius Black immediately, ensuring a Third Year without Dementor attacks.
- Y4: Let Harry’s name emerge from the Goblet of Fire but devise a way to save Cedric Diggory.
- Y5: Convince the wizarding world that Voldemort has returned and oust Dolores Umbridge.
- Y6: Destroy every Horcrux as soon as possible.
- Y7: End the time loop and defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters for good.
Objectives This Loop
- Safeguard allies at each key time.
- Conceal our true familiarity and ages until necessary.
- Neutralize lethal threats pre-emptively.
- Secure safehouses before major conflict.
- Isolate and extract Horcrux fragments.
Essential Spells & Defenses
- Blood-ward Rune (Hermione’s variant).
- Fiendfyre × Basilisk-venom protocol.
- Enhanced Protego Maxima & Foe-Glass calibration.
Horcrux Strategy
- Combine basilisk venom and fiendfyre on each fragment.
- Get every accessible Horcrux as soon as possible.
- Create a containment box preventing Horcrux contamination.
As Hermione crossed out Y3 with a thick stroke, her brow furrowed. She jotted above it in tighter script: “Do this as soon as possible—no waiting for Year 3.” At Y4, her nib hovered. She circled “Goblet of Fire” and added in the margin: “Should we even let Harry’s name be drawn, or find a way to avoid the Cup entirely?”
When her quill clicked empty, she set the parchment on her lap, pulse throbbing at her throat.
“Why aren’t you two saying anything?” she whispered, voice barely more than breath. Harry’s jaw twitched. His green eyes darkened as he drew in a slow breath. Ron’s fingers curled into a fist at his side, white knuckles in the lamplight.
“What happened this time? How did you die?” Hermione’s voice trembled.
Harry closed his eyes. He pressed a palm to his chest, where his heart pounded like a war drum. “You don’t remember… because you both died before me.”
Hermione’s skin went ashen. “What—?”
He swallowed, voice raw. “I let him kill me. Voldemort. Avada Kedavra. I chose the loop over endless grief.”
Hermione sprang up, quills rattling against the bench. “You—are you insane? You gambled on despair? What if we hadn’t come back?”
Ron reached out, catching her elbow. For a heartbeat, her lip quivered as she met his steady gaze. Then she wrenched free and began to pace, ink-stained fingers twisting at her sleeve. “We still don’t know how to break the loop.”
Harry’s dark humour cut through the tension. “One thing’s certain… I’m a Horcrux. Something in me is tethering us here.”
Hermione sank back down, breath coming in ragged gasps. Her finger traced the tiny infinity loop in the margin of the timeline. “Then the loop must be tied to the Horcrux magic. If we destroy it…”
Ron leaned forward, voice hushed but unwavering. “We’ll get it right this time. We protect everyone first. No one dies this year: first through seventh. Then we find a way to extract or destroy the piece of soul inside Harry.”
Harry turned to the window’s reflection and traced his lightning-bolt scar with a fingertip. A tingle raced up his arm, as if the mark were an unbroken sigil beneath his skin.
Ron grinned, that old spark alight again. “Team Weasley–Granger–Potter?”
Hermione offered a tired but genuine smile. “The famous golden trio.”
A tentative knock rattled the partition. Neville Longbottom’s head poked in, wide-eyed and clutching a toad-sized cage to his chest.
“I—I think Trevor slipped out,” Neville stammered, voice barely above a whisper. “M-my toad… I lost him. Have you seen him?”
Hermione looked up from her parchment, expression softening. “You might try a prefect. They know the train inside out and can even cast a tracking charm on familiars.”
Neville’s shoulders eased a fraction. “Oh—right. Thanks.”
Hermione set her quill aside and gave him a small, friendly nod. “By the way, I’m Hermione Granger.” She nodded toward Harry. “This is Harry Potter…”
Harry lifted a hand in a gentle wave. “Hello.”
Hermione then indicated Ron. “And this is Ron Weasley.”
Ron grinned and gave Neville a quick wave.
Neville blinked, relief and awe mixing on his face. “I’m Neville Longbottom… Nice to meet you all.”
Harry gave him an encouraging smile. “Good luck finding Trevor. Ask a prefect, they’ll point you in the right direction.”
“Thanks,” Neville whispered, and slipped back into the corridor, the door clicking softly behind him.
Moments later, the door swung open again. Draco Malfoy glided in, Crabbe and Goyle looming at his elbows. He cast a calculating glance around the compartment before fixing Harry with a smirk.
“I’m looking for Harry Potter,” Draco announced, voice smooth as silk. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Is the famous Harry Potter here?”
Harry sat up, meeting Draco’s gaze evenly. Before Draco could continue, he added, “Don’t trouble yourself, Malfoy.”
Draco feigned surprise, extending a hand with exaggerated politeness. “Surely you’d like friends of better standing than—well, these,” he said, jerking his chin toward Ron and Hermione. “I could introduce you to a more… exclusive circle.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. He pushed to his feet, robes brushing the floor. “Keep your introductions, and your circle. I know exactly who I’m lucky to have.”
Draco’s smirk faltered. He straightened, eyes flashing. “You’ll regret this insolence, Potter.” With a sharp nod to Crabbe and Goyle, he stormed off, the other two scuttling in his wake.
Silence enveloped the carriage. Ron exhaled, voice low. “First years and already he’s insufferable.”
They sank back against the bench. Hermione’s quill scratched out Year Seven, underlining the words with fierce precision. Outside, rolling fields of green whispered of Hogsmeade’s approach, so familiar, yet tinged with future horrors they dared to prevent.
Ron cracked a grin. “Neville still loses Trevor on the train.”
Hermione tapped her quill twice. “And Draco’s arrogance never pales.”
Harry traced the window frame. “Some things never change.”
The whistle blew, high and hopeful. Steam threaded through the compartment as the train slipped into a tunnel of possibilities. Eleven-year-olds armed with knowledge no first-year should possess, they rose together, ready to rewrite every step of their journey and, at last, break the unyielding rhythm of time.