Lose Heart and Gain Wisdom

See this story with images and without ANs in my Ao3 account: Td03.

I took ten seconds to stare sadly at that "Tom Riddle[20] (distant cousin) *cross*". I feel so sad about it.

BloodiedCoreOfHope and Kimera20 contributed a LOT on this story.

Disclaimer : Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling to which we all owe so much of our childhoods. Danny Phantom belongs to Butch Hartman to which I owe a large part of my prepubescent teenhood.

Tags : World Building. Leadership. The Golden Trio. Dumbledore's Army. Time Travel. The Ability to Manipulate Time, not a Go Back in Time and Fix-It Fic. Soul Magic. Mystery. Not Angsty, Never Angsty. Pairings? Danny and a nap.

During their duel at the graveyard, the Priori Incantatem spat out a boy who looks similar to Harry, but was obviously not human and doesn't seem to be a wizard either. Danny had just been through a hurricane of fear from Dan so… he's not exactly in his right mind…

There's gotta be another way out

.

I was born tomorrow.

Today I live

Yesterday killed me

.

Danny tried to keep his face blank. Wary green eyes met intense red.

"The timelines are infinite, my child," Clockwork said, "One branches out and merges with another. All natural, all as they are supposed to be." Clockwork explained and Danny listened tentatively. Desperately. He wanted to understand, and needed to understand, if he was really going with this. "My purpose is to make sure one dying timeline does not affect others to the point it can destroy it and leave a large gap that will prevent the universe's survival. I might set up several circumstances to make sure the best possible outcome to happen, and ensure the survival of important lives in another timeline."

Danny hesitated. He wanted to ask. But he wasn't sure if it was allowed. To be spoken or to be thought of. Clockwork smiled genially and gestured him to speak. "If you set them up — then, were they fated? Was it... was I, were we all manipulated to?"

"Of course," Clockwork answered in honesty, dark purple cloak billowing. "But the choice is always theirs, always yours. Free will is not something I, or Time, or Fate can control."

The truth made him relieved. "But you can set me up to make the choices you want me to choose." It also made him bitter.

"I can give them a little push here and there. I can speak to you, reveal about something, but I am not supposed to interfere directly between matters of life of death," the Time Master inclined his head. His tone took a grim turn. Danny felt bad for pushing.

But Clockwork knew he would keep pushing it, and Danny knew Clockwork was still humoring him. This timeline him. "You're not supposed to." He parroted, licking his lip nervously. "You've said as much when we first met at your citadel. But you can, right?"

The Master of Time tilted his head, and his form shifted into an adult. "Samantha Manson, one. Tucker Foley, two. Jasmine Isla Fenton, three. Maddeline Vögel-Fenton, four. Jackson Fenton, five. Edward Todd Lancer, six. And yourself, if you insist on leaving this timeline for the sake of your loved ones, seven. Danny, it will come at a price. And you will have to pay 7 times." His red eyes glowed and darkened as he counted. "If I save you... It is not an easy matter."

"I... you already know I will accept no matter what, don't you?"Clockwork gave him a wry smile which he mimicked. "So, 7 times, 7 favors you mean?"

"Seven... did you know? It is the most powerful number in magic."

"Um," Danny blinked, "meaning?"

The time master put a hand on his shoulders. And Danny saw his eyes glowing white. "Time Out."

. o . 1 . o .

"Kill the spare."

"NO!"

Too late or just in time, his cry didn't matter as Cedric was caught completely off guard. The Killing Curse's flash of bright green was always accompanied with a subdued explosive sound Harry resented, along with the thud of the Unforgivable's victim.

It was so quick. The friend he had made was gone as if he didn't mean anything to—

Harry's body seized up and he tore his gaze onto Wormtail, who was holding his wand at him. He tried to move his legs but they won't move a long with his hands. He heard rubble grinding behind him and in no time, his chest was pressed againsts a scythe and his legs was seized by sharp-thorned vines.

Wormtail said some words – of praising and mocking which he ignored in favor of making sure the point end of the stone sytche didn't pierce the back of his neck. The place was foreign and at the same time familiar. The whole thing had a dreamlike quality to Harry.

He had envisioned the place over and over for an entire year. But this time he won't be waking up in whatever surface he had claimed to sleep on.

Now, Voldemort was really, actually looking at him.

Harry lost sight of him when Voldemort's frail, pathetic, homunculus body was plunged inside the heating cauldron. Punishment? Karma? Impossible. Harry had no idea what was happening but the manic gleam in Wormtail's eyes can't be anything good for him.

The short man roughly pointed his wand at something below Harry. It was long, and old, and – Harry glanced – it floated in front of a tomb with the name Thomas Riddle engraved on the slab.

1880-1913. "Bone of the father unwillingly given." The bone was set aflame once it entered the cauldron and the grayish liquid inside boiled.

"Flesh… from the servant…" Wormtail walked forward, turning his back on Harry to face the cauldron. What Harry would give to be able to reach the wand strapped on his lower arm and send the traitor's face burning on the fire. "Willingly given!" The knife on his other hand swooped down and cut his hand off, eliciting a scream from the rat animagi. It was his right hand. He was in pain. If Harry can get out from the scythe's hold he'd be at an advantage.

But his feet didn't budge one bit. And a jolt of fear ran down Harry's spine when Wormtail ceased his screaming and – with a silent scourgify – turned his knife on Harry.

"Blood from the enemy…" The knife grazed Harry's wrist vertically and he screamed. It wasn't a regular kitchen knife his aunt would threaten him with – it was a ritual knife, as hot as a dragon's breath and as sharp as the thinnest razor steel. "Forcibly taken!" Pain gripped his voice when he felt Wormtail carving vertical lines three times on top of the fresh wound.

The man backed away and flicked a drop of his blood on the cauldron, and Harry instantly felt a torrent of energy pressuring his entire body each time Wormtail dropped more.

"The Dark Lord… shall rise," the third drop incited needle-like shots on his forehead, "Again."

A thunder rumbled and the cauldron was caught on flaming fire. The rotten steel melted with the reddish water and slowly, excruciatingly for him – it morphed into a small embryo that grew larger, bigger. Black mist formed around it and the entire thing looked like some sort of distorted Patronus charm. Bones were forming as the thing skinned itself.

His loss of blood was making him delirious. It had to be. Let this be a dream, a vision, a foresight even not a reality. He just felt malaise all around.

He blinked. And the resurrected man was standing in front of him, his yew wand in a loose grip that will tighten in an instant when given a reason.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered. His tone sounded as if he was hissing – and Harry would have mistaken it for parseltongue had he not watched the man's lips move like a human and not the reptile. Harry was close enough to see his eyes slitted like a snake's. Harry was close enough to notice that his skin took a reptilian sheen almost like scales.

The man looked down and waited patiently for Harry to follow his gaze. Yellow. Once Harry saw the shock of yellow that were so odd in the murky graveyard his eyes watered at the blank face gazing on to the dark sky.

Cedric looked awake – if petrified for no reason.

"He won't wake." He put his feet on one of Cedric's cheek to turn the boy's head away from them. "Not even if I want him to. Shame, isn't it H—"

Harry snarled. "Don't touch him."

"Or what? You could not do anything, boy. You should feel grateful I did not subject him to torture and gave him a merciful death – One I am still deciding if you are deserving of such."

His face was so close Harry wished he could slam something – a Troll's club preferably – to his face. He could see his own reflection on the glassy red eyes. His parasitic form on Quirrell was blurry and fictional. Tom Riddle was too angelic. This man before him was like every horror stories he had ever heard given form.

You're not Tom.

Harry clamped on the foul words just waiting to spill at the tip of his tongue.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Now, whatever would you mean by that? Nevermind, the whole point of this event, is it not? To lure you and decide." He turned his wand to his side. "Wormtail!"

"Y-Yes, Master!" Wormtail stopped hiding behind a headstone – Mary Riddle – and bent down to grovel on the ground. How pitiful. So pitiful that Voldemort had always called him with his silly moniker – Wormtail – a name that symbolized how much of a coward he is and how little he can be of use.

"Give me your hand." When Voldemort caught a tight grip of Peter's recently amputated hand, he formed the necessary wand movement and watched as the spell he had created worked its magic. A body part cannot be conjured; there were too many things involved in its cellular level that Voldemort had never taken much interest in because he can simply heal his own wounds with his magic.

Yet he had invented a spell that can make a conjured hand of wood or steel to be able to function like a normal hand. It had to be connected to the recipient's own magic – so Wormtail's whimpering was another proof of how little magic he possessed.

There were nails scratching a chalkboard beside Harry's ear. To see Wormtail rewarded and the grateful look in his eyes – there was nothing more that he wished except to sic his godfather at the rat.

Disgusting.

"Cease your sniveling, Wormtail. This is your reward," before Wormtail can launch into another tirade of gratitude he had no patients for, Voldemort took his other forearm.

The Dark Mark was faded, it was barely there and only one who is familiar with it can recognize it. Voldemort pitied himself for letting it fade. But no matter, he thought, jabbing his yew wand at the skull and watched it darkens. The mark was not a simple tattoo, it was what linked him to his followers.

Let's hear what they'll say.

Voldemort placed the tip of his wand on his Dark Mark.

Harry jerked when he accidentally pricked his neck with the stone scythe.

Not seconds later his inner circle came one by one, donning their uniforms and masks. Do they think they still maintain their privilege? How arrogant, and presumptuous.

"…My followers," his statement caused them to cower. He liked to indulge their little delusion to thinking he trusted them enough to call them his 'friends' but after all these years… "Thirteen years, and I confess myself disappointed."

"My Lord, if I – if we had known—"

"There were more than whispers, there were signs I gave you to seek me and you are admitting that you are too foolish to work them out and needed it to be spelled out?!" He summoned their masks, ripping them from their faces one by one. "I gave you all the hints to bring me back should there something had happened – Lucius!"

The Malfoy patriarch tensed. "Forgive me—"

"Forgive you? You who instead of remembering the task I trusted you with, decided to claim being influenced under the Imperius? How many of your wealth did you throw for the ministry to accept such a claim – for them to believe I can maintain the Unforgivable for decades despite the very nature of the curse? Tell me, Crabbe! Goyle! Macnair!"

Second target.

He called the three of them but only turned towards Macnair. Then without further ado he subjected him under the Cruciatus, the bright red glow erupting from his white wand. Macnair screamed loudly when it hit him on the chest, his entire body writhing. "You were with dear Bellatrix, were you not? That night at the Longbottom family. Tell me, did you follow Lucius' example?"

He broke off the connection for him to answer. "I-I did, My Lord, but—"

"No original thoughts! No initiative! One word of my regrettable lost and you chose to hide instead of keep up the fight – even letting my most prized fighter captured by the aurors. Crucio!"

Hot knives burned Macnair from the inside out because the Crucio was filled with rage. It was not satisfying. It was not pleasurable at all to punish someone who will only be a coward once again. Not that there will be a next time.

No, he had been pulled by a major setback. He needed to recuperate. Rushing in to continue the war would not do him any favor. He must keep quiet and make sure they won't spill anything.

Blood trickled down the man's nose so Voldemort raised his hand, breaking the connection before rendering the man braindead. Macnair stumbled down onto the ground and twitched violently. None helped. All of them knew to let him suffer in silence.

He contemplated in punishing the other three (and how pathetic that is – for only four of his inner circle managed to escape Azkaban and answered his summon) but decided to leave them be. He does not forgive, but they had children had they not? All were born around the year he had perished. Macnair, however, had no such excuse.

The Killing Curse would suffice.

You never do keep your word.

Voldemort turned to look at the boy who was brave and foolish enough to look at him in the eye. He could make out the fear, not needing to use Legilimency to know what his thoughts were at the moment. Jumbled, enraged, despaired.

But not desperate.

Voldemort sneered at the apparent confidence the boy have in himself, and he had the stone angel move its scythe to let the boy fell.

"Don't keep my word, do I? I see you are not cowering in fear, such confidence must be put to test." He ignored his Death Eaters. They weren't important for now, no use other than witnessing the boy's punishment.

"We will duel," he said aloud, pointing his wand at the boy and forcing his body to move to his will.

. o . 1 . o .

To be subjected to the same spell twice irked him, but Wormtail's felt more like lead ropes; Voldemort's felt like stones molding around him as if he was going to go through a mummification. It's not a simple Immobili corpus and Leviosa chained together, Harry can still move his head, but the rest of his body was paralyzed.

What kind of spell is this?

"It's pure magic, 'condensing' like boulders to pressure you. Only one with great amount of control can do this. Unless you regularly lift giant stones manually like a silly giant, I don't think you can resist it," Voldemort said.

I never said anything, Harry thought furiously. But I keep getting verbal answers from him. Why?

Your blood.

No. Harry's body seemed to freeze and his eyes widened. It can't be.

We're connected.

"We're connected," Voldemort echoed. Harry was too stunned to take advantage when the man released the spell. The Death Eaters shifted uneasily, confused, but knew not to interfere or voice anything. "I had suspected that the ritual would result with a strong connection between us. It is not something I am sure both of us would stand to live with." He smirked. So, pick up your wand.

His heart was pounding against his ribcage. He flexed his fingers and his holly wand fell within his grasp from its holster inside his sleeves. It was something Professor Moody taught him. Always have your wand. But don't forget to assess your surroundings.

He'd been familiar with this environment for almost all year already. Now his eyes were only on Voldemort, who lets his own wand hang loosely between his index and middle finger. His entire posture was inviting Harry to attack.

The instant Harry whispered Muffliato – a spell he had mastered till he need no intricate wand movements involved – Voldemort shot a dark orange curse Harry couldn't recognize, wouldn't have been able to anyway as Voldemort cast it silently.

Harry remembered the jealousy he felt every time Tom Riddle showed how much he have had mastered wandless magic and silent casting. Things Harry couldn't do without intense concentration which he sadly lacked. So to cover it up he always used the muffliato spell so his opponents would only hear unidentifiable buzzing. And it can't be countered with an eavesdropping charm like the silencing charm.

Just don't use it every darn time, Potter! Being predictable leads to death!

"Not even going to start with a bow? It is a duel."

Lectured by a terrorist. "I must have lost my manners somewhere that night." Without waiting for another bloody scolding, Harry sprinted after Voldemort, a move that was never recommended or even thought of for a wizard and it paid off as always so far, catching his opponents off guard. Harry slashed his wand upwards, casting an expelliarmus. A bull headed spell done right in the face like that was predictably blocked by a shield but Harry had casted it at an angle that it won't bounce off towards him, but instead it flew off and, as predicted, slammed into Senior Nott — old, probably the oldest, and most likely even more dangerous than Lucius Malfoy. The Death Eater was immediately knocked out backwards, his head hitting a headstone.

Nott's knock out startled the other Death Eaters to brandish their wands but a sharp glance from Voldemort prevented them from casting any spells.

Voldemort's shield was went to waste and Harry took advantage of his occupied wand hand. Harry cast Praemium but the awkward angle to maneuver around the shield made Harry miss Voldemort by inches.

Damn wrist.

"Can you even aim properly?"

"I can't use this wand properly with you here. Your face annoys me," Harry said bluntly, his wrist straining from the last hit it took.

Voldemort's next spell was as fast as lightning and grabbed his ankle. It slammed Harry to the ground. A great ball of fire formed right above him and Harry was forced to turn on his back on the ground to avoid it from scorching his head off. He pushed up his knee and jumped, and when he saw a flash or an angry green curse flying straight at him, he shouted the spell at the forefront of his mind. "Trabem!"

Voldemort's jet of green light was stopped from its trajectory by the red light that blasted from Harry's wand — they met in midair — and suddenly Harry's wand was vibrating as though an electric charge were surging through it, his hand seized up around it — he couldn't have released it if he'd wanted to — and a narrow beam of light connected the two wands, neither red nor green, but bright, deep gold.

The golden thread connecting Harry's and Voldemort's splintered; though the wands remained connected, and a thousand more beams arced high over Harry and Voldemort, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web – like a cage of light.

Heavy. That was all Harry could get from Voldemort. That was probably all Voldemort could get from his mind too. His – their wands felt heavy. It was a miracle he could even keep his body upright. Not just his wand, his bloody head too. It felt like someone was kneading his scalp and they don't know their own strength. He's having headaches. The scar isn't burning but the cage of light was blinding and the transparent beams felt as heavy as iron beams.

His feet dragged backwards for an inch and it hit a rock. He can't fall. If he fail, if he fall down now just because it's heavy Voldemort's killing curse will go straight to his heart. And he had a strong feeling he can't afford to break this cage. He just can't. It's important! It's important for… for…

A fuzzy blackness was creeping into Harry's vision and his shoulders shook in pain. He felt like passing out due to lacking oxygen. Help me. He screamed silently. To someone. Anyone. Himself. Magic. His—

Darling, you can win!

Harry's eyes snapped open and his magic pulsed, and then some kind of blur regurgitated from the point of their spells' connection and the magic blew Harry and Voldemort and the Death Eaters off of their feet. The dome broke and the graveyard was once again plunged into darkness.

Cedric. His hand touched a frozen face, and Harry knew it was Cedric because of the yellow uniform. My glasses! It must have fallen somewhere. He didn't have time to look around like one of the blind mice. He thrust out his wand and yelled "Accio Goblet of Fire!"

When his hand connected with it, he only had a single thought – Free.

"NO!" Voldemort yelled, but it was too late. Harry had apparated away along with Cedric.

"My Lord!"

"He's gone—"

"Idiots!" The Dark Lord hissed in anger and created a small gust of wind to banish the mist-like light fragments of the dome that had trapped him and the boy. The nerve — it was just a foolish Priori incantatem! He had researched that wands of the same core can produce a priori incantatem when the two cast a spell against each other but he had not known that side-effect would nearly kill the casters! He needed to—

"There's a boy!"

Shoving Goyle aside with his magic, he saw a boy lying unconscious on the ground, his features very familiar with the Boy Who Lived.

. o . 1 . o .

Recommendations (Awesome fictions I've read while editing this chapter)!

Marvel Phantom written by Slayer Anderson. So… the Fentons punch a hole through the afterlife in their basement, develop unparalleled hover technology and harness energy using a new substance previously deemed useless called ectoplasm and… they're crackpots? No, they're dangerous, and they're attracting the notice of Howard Stark, S.H.I.E.L.D., A.I.M., and a host of other agencies. Genius Fenton Family.

Forging the Sword written by Myst Shadow. My fantasies for Harry Potter Book 2 came true~