Points to Note: Once upon a time, this fic was entitled, 'Saving the Crystal of Time'. Then the authoress reread it and fainted from horror. Once she regained conscious, she edited, rewrote, and rethought everything and ended up with this.

Also, this fic doesn't pay much attention to the sixth and seventh book, mainly because I wrote the first version of this before either came out.

Title comes from the song It's Not My Time by 3 Doors Down. Check it out, it's a great song. ^^

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, though admittedly, it would be quite nice if I did.

It's Not My Time

Chapter 1: Fame and Necklaces, Both Quite Deadly

When Harry grudgingly woke that day, it felt as though someone had been using his head as a Bludger, for a very long and brutal Quidditch game. He tried to lift one arm to make sure that that was not why his head was pounding only to discover that overnight, his arms had acquired the weight of several sacks of flour. Deciding it was not worth it to stay conscious and deal with the headache, he gave up and sank back into his dreams.

Some days one simply sprung out of bed, ready to take on the world and more. Other days, one took their sweet time waking up and facing the world. Eighteen-year-old Harry Potter had a category all his own. Most days, he did his upmost best to stay in bed and, well, sleep. And sleep. And then, perhaps sleep some more. If he was lucky, he'd manage to sleep the entire day away. Hopefully today would be one of those days. No, he was going to sleep through the entire bloody bright and sunny day.

The fourth, or perhaps fifth, time he woke up, sunlight had overtaken a majority of his bed room, making it near impossible to stay asleep. Harry groaned as he attempted to bury himself deeper into the gold and green pillows in a futile attempt to hide from the increasing amount of golden rays that filtered into the room. His bed was so warm, so comfortable, he just didn't want to leave it. He was pleased to note that his headache had dimmed to just a faint pounding, easily ignorable if he focused on other things. Such as not giving into the sun's efforts to get him out of bed.

He kept his eyes clenched shut but hints of light still found their way past his eyelids, reminding him that it was the time when most people his age would be out, working or socializing or something. He held out for another half hour before surrendering to the light. The wizard rolled over and squinted at the window and groaned again. It was clear from the high position of the sun in the annoying clear blue sky, it was way past noon.

"Why couldn't it be raining?" Harry grumbled to himself as he attempted to block out the bright sunlight by shoving his face into one of his many pillows. If it'd been raining, he'd at least have an excuse not to get up.

He kept his head buried until the need for air became too great. Raising his head, he winced at the brutal sunlight once again pierced his eyes. He really wished he had remembered to draw the curtains before going to bed. It was so bloody hard to sleep when there was sunlight pounding down on your eyelids.

Then he remembered that this bedroom no longer possessed curtains as they had been confiscated by Hermione after he had slept for three days straight, only getting up long enough to eat and use the restroom. Speaking of which, Hermione was going to murder him. He'd promised to come and help her and Ron clean out the attic of their newly bought little cottage, Crystal Falls. He was supposed to be there, he peered at the sun again, maybe five hours ago. Yup, Hermione was going to kill him.

It didn't matter that he, like the rest of the wizarding world, was still recovering from the war. It didn't matter that he and Ron were legally adults. It didn't even matter that they both had played crucial and nearly fatal roles in the Final Battle. Hermione would still lecture him to death. Maybe it was the fact that they both acted like children at times which motivated her to treat them as though they were merely first years.

Harry sat up and stretched, suppressing a wince as his cramped muscles stretched. He had hoped that perhaps marriage would help her mellow out a bit, but no such luck. If anything, getting married to Ron had led her to only become more obsessed with the health of her friends, particularly Harry's. Though, in the end, no one really blamed her for being overprotective. Each of them dealt with the loss and pain inflicted by the war in their own unique way.

Hermione dealt with it by taking a great interest in the health of all her friends and family. Ron dealt by finding humor in everything around him. And Harry, he dealt by sleeping and, on the occasion when Hermione refused to let him sleep, flying. Lately though, he too had taken up Ron's method of healing by making a joke of everything, hence, why Hermione insisted on treating them as children. Though, as the new owners of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, having a sense of humor was a necessity.

A humorless smile found its way to his lips as he remembered the fate of the shop's previous owners. Neither of the twins had lived through the war, both had gone down fighting side by side to the bitter end.

Before his thoughts could get any gloomier, Harry stood up and left the welcoming comfort of his bed. Ignoring the whining protests of his muscles, he made his way to the bathroom to get ready to head for the newest Weasly couple. There was time enough to get depressed about the aftermath of the war later.

He dressed and freshened up as quickly has his aching muscles would allow him. An hour and a half later, he grabbed the bag of books which Hermione had asked to borrow from the library of Sirius's, now Harry's, family home. Since he had regrettably discovered that morning just how fine the weather was, he grabbed his Firebolt and opened the front door, thinking that he could at the very least fly there. He took one look outside and promptly shut it again.

"Harry Potter!"

"Did you see him?!"

"Did you see his scar?!"

"He's so cute!"

He winched as the cries penetrated his eardrums. Darn it, it was too early to deal with this. It was at times like these that he really regretted his decision to not live in Sirius's house. It might be gloomy, huge, and decidedly depressing, but at least it offered privacy. But no, he just had to go and rent a house near Hogsmeade. What had he been thinking?

Harry groaned, pressing one hand to his aching forehead as he stubbornly ignored the shouts. The Last Battle had been weeks ago, yet there was still an adoring crowd of fans who stalked his every move. There was no way that he was going to risk going through the crowd. He was flattered and all, but did they have to camp out on his front lawn every day until they caught a glimpse of him?

He raised a corner for his curtains; Hermione had yet to confiscate those. He could see hundreds of witches and wizards standing outside. Some had dyed their hair black and drawn a lightning bolt star on their foreheads. Others preferred to hold signs proclaiming their love and devotion.

Harry could see one witch with black hair jumping up and down, holding a sign, which proclaimed I Love U Harry,and was wearing a robe that seemed to be made entirely of cutout pictures of himself. Alright. That was rather creepy.

He let the curtain drop again as he slid to the floor. He couldn't go out there, they'd eat him alive.

It might have been a bit stupid of him, but he honestly had not expected his popularly to rise to such heights after the Final Battle. Considering his luck, it had seemed more feasible for the entire wizarding world to decide that he was too powerful and attempt to get rid of him. He still half expected to be thrown in Azkaban for some false charge any day now. He had never imagined having a fan base, especially not one as…enthusiastic as this one.

Pushing the frightening fans out of his mind, Harry turned his attention on getting to Ron's and Hermione's home. Flying was definitely out. He scanned the small, but comfortable room His gaze fell on the fireplace. Great. Just great. Unless he was willing to make an illegal Portkey, attempt Apperation despite his condition, or wade through the fans, he had no choice but to Floo there.

Why is there never a choice that doesn't involve potential injury, he wondered as he walked to the fireplace. Grabbing a handful of the powder, he threw it into the fireplace.

"Crystal Falls!" he shouted, stepping into the emerald-green flames.

Harry kept his eyes shut firmly as he felt himself spinning faster and faster. Just as he was beginning to feel ill, he felt himself slowing down. Before he had a chance to brace himself, he landed face first onto the cold hard kitchen floor at Crystal Falls, the bag of books not far behind. The wizard sat up rubbing his nose and holding his now bent glasses. He really hated Floo traveling.

"You're late, mate," said a familiar voice. Ron Weasly appeared from the doorway into the kitchen, grinning at Harry.

"Yeah, well." Harry said sheepishly as he ran a hand through his hair. "I sort of lost track of time…"

"You mean you fell asleep." Ron interrupted, his grin taking on a devious edge. "Oh, you are so in for it when Hermione gets here."

Harry winced. "Is she that mad?"

Ron snorted. "Mate, if I were you, I'd be turning around and Flooing away from here."

"Good idea." Harry turned around intending to do just that. He never got the chance.

"Harry James Potter!"

He turned around to see an extremely livid Hermione glaring at him. He couldn't help but sigh. Oh, he was in for it now.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? It's three, you're six bloody hours late. Did you even listen to the healers? You—"

Poor Harry had no choice but to listen to Hermione rant on and on about responsibilities and the importance of keeping promises. Judging from the way she went on and on, one would think that Harry had used an Unforgivable Curse instead of overslept a few…some…a lot hours.

Harry looked at Ron, hoping for some support, but the redhead was too busy trying to keep himself from bursting into laughter. He was actually clutching the side of the doorway in an effort to stay upright.

Okay, Harry thought thoroughly annoyed with Ron's behavior. It's not that funny…

He turned back to Hermione who was still lecturing.

Actually, this was downright terrifying.

At that moment, Harry would have chosen facing those crazy fans instead of being in this room with Hermione. Heck, he'd even face Voldemort again than stand here before the angry witch. Hermione lectured on, unaware for the moment at least, of Harry's drifting mind. On the bright side, Hermione seemed to have frightened his headache away.

"Harry!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Harry quickly focused his attention on Hermione, who glaring down at him, her bushy brown hair flying everywhere.

"Have you even heard a word of what I've said, Harry?" she demanded, glaring.

"Of course I have," Harry immediately replied, attempting to grin disarmingly. It came out more like a grimace of pain.

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Oh really?" she said coolly. "Then what was I just saying?"

Harry put on his brightest, phoniest grin he could muster on before answering. "You just asked me if I've heard anything you've said."

The silence that followed this statement was so thick that one could not make a dent in it even if they used the sword of Gryffindor itself.

"Wahahahahaha!"

Apparently Harry's answer was too much for Ron. Unable to contain his laughter any longer, the red head had fallen to the floor, clutching his stomach

Harry's lip twitched but he quickly halted the smile that was threatening to pop up. The last thing he wanted to do was give Hermione the impression that he had not paid any attention to her lecture of maturity. He contented himself with pasting an innocent expression on his face, ignoring the wizard who had started to roll around in his mirth, while mentally bracing himself for the storm that he was certain would arrive.

It never came.

Rather than blowing up like Harry was expecting her to, Hermione merely sighed and shook her head resignedly.

"Why do I even bother with you two?" she asked the fireplace.

"Because you love us!" Harry and Ron replied with large grins.

"I must be mental." Hermione said, but she was unable to stop a small smile from forming on her face.

"I've been saying that since third year." Ron said, grinning from his position on the floor.

Ignoring Harry and Ron, Hermione turned around, stepped over Ron, and proceeded into the kitchen without another word.

"Thanks so much for your help back there," Harry said sarcastically to Ron. Really, was it too much to ask that a best friend save him from the wrath of pissed off witches every now and then?

Ron just grinned up at him, unaffected by the sarcasm. "Mate, I may be a Gryffindor, but I'm not suicidal."

Rolling his eyes, but unable to argue with that logic, Harry started after Hermione. The bag of books lay forgotten where it had fallen haphazardly in from of the fireplace.

"Do you think she's still mad at me?" he asked as he stepped over Ron and proceeded into the kitchen.

Ron got up smirking. "Don't know, why don't you ask her?" he said, taking care to stay as least five steps behind Harry. Just in case.

Hermione was busy slamming every pot and pan she could get her hands on onto the kitchen counter when the two entered. The two wizards watched her silently for a few minutes; one wondering if he should retreat, the other wondering just how much his friend would be chewed out before the day was over.

Deciding to take the chance, Harry opened his mouth and began to ask. "Hermione, are…"

But the glare Hermione sent his way murdered the words in Harry's throat even before they had had a chance to fully form.

He heard Ron chuckle and mutter under his breath, "Guess she's still mad."

"Of course I'm still mad, Ronald!" Hermione snapped having also heard Ron's remark. She took another pot form a cupboard, slammed it onto the counter, picked up a different pot, and slammed it onto the stove.

Unnoticed by Harry and Hermione, Ron silently made his way to a remote corner of the kitchen where he could watch the drama unfold safely out of the way.

"C'mon Hermione," Harry said, his voice betraying slight guilt. "I'm sorry all right, I swear not to oversleep again."

Temporarily ceasing her banging and slamming of the innocent, and now badly dented, pots and pans, Hermione turned around and sent another glare at Harry. However, this one wasn't nearly as bad as the previous one. "Harry, you always say that and then you always show up late. You need to understand that sleeping all day isn't healthy!"

"I can't help it," Harry protested, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. "I'm still recovering from the last battle. I can't help being so exhausted."

Hermione's glare softened a bit more at this. Not by much, but it definitely wasn't as murderous and terror striking as it had been before.

She couldn't deny what Harry had said. Though the last battle had been weeks ago, the Boy-Who-Lived had yet to recover fully from it. According to the Healers at St. Mungo's, Harry had completely exhausted his magical core. Exhaustion was to be expected, they said. Most died from suffering from such an ailment. The Healers, still trying to get over the fact that the boy had lived, really had no idea how long it would be before the simplest of tasks ceased to exhaust him.

They had little idea of how to treat him as well. All they could say was that Harry practice as little magic as possible and not give into the temptation to sleep all day. He would be in danger of falling into self induced coma if he committed either act. This diagnosis did not go over very well with the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Defeated-the-Dark-Lord. It was bloody hard to just ignore his exhaustion and the intense need to just fall on the nearest comfortable piece of furniture and simply pass out.

And to make matters worse, Harry had made the mistake of confiding in Hermione and Ron about everything that the Healers had said. Since then, Hermione had done all in her power to get Harry to follow the Healer's simple, albeit vague treatment plan. She even managed to coerce Ron into helping out every now and then while she researched for more cures, though the boy was more likely let Harry get away with sneaking in a few extra minutes of sleep.

"Harry," Hermione began, no doubt ready to launch into another lecture about what the Healers had said.

Luckily for Harry, Ron decided that it was time for him to interfere.

"C'mon Harry, the attic's upstairs." He interrupted, ignoring the look his wife sent him. "We'd better start cleaning now if we want to finish before dinner. Hermione probably won't feed us if the attic isn't sparkling by then."

And with that said, Ron practically ran out of the kitchen, closely followed by a very relieved Harry.

"Thanks Ron" Harry said as they climbed up a set of stairs. Both could still hear Hermione's indignant voice saying something about "boys" and "shirking".

"No problem," Ron replied cheerfully. "Reckon you've been told off enough times by her today already."

"Yeah." Harry agreed whole-heartedly, as they reached the door to the attic. "I don't know how you survive being married to her." He added as Ron opened the door.

Ron grinned smugly. "I manage."

Harry's first impression of the attic was that it was large. His second was that he had never seen anything so messy before in his entire life. Everywhere he turned he saw were either spider webs, boxes, or both. There was one brown colored chest stuffed away in one corner, particularly entombed in webs. Had the attic ever been cleared out anytime this century?

Harry looked hopelessly at Ron who was smirking at Harry's expression.

"Well, we'd better get started." Ron said cheerfully as he proceeded into the room and began a futile attempt to open one of the few web-free boxes.

"Can't we use just magic?" Harry asked hopefully, pulling out his wand, still standing in the doorway.

Ron snorted as he ripped off the lid. "And risk Hermione's fury? Do you want to live to see tomorrow or not?"

Resigning himself to his fate, Harry put away his wand and grabbed a broom that had been left near the doorway. Armed with the broom, he began to attack any spider webs in his way. Harry could not help noticing that Ron had chosen the side of the room that was not overtaken with spider webs and resolved to find a way to get revenge for that later.

He continued with his battle with the webs in silence and eventually reached the web-buried trunk that he had noticed earlier. Curiosity getting the better of him, he took out the most of the spider webs with one swift sweep and began attempting to unlock the chest.

"So, Harry," Ron said suddenly as he viciously lifted the lid off another web-free box and peered inside. "Speaking of marriage, when are you finally going to ask Ginny to marry you?"

Harry was so startled by this unexpected question that he somehow managed to whack himself on the head with the broom. Rubbing the emerging bruises and ignoring Ron's snickering, Harry dropped the broom, fell onto his knees, and aggressively began trying to open the chest.

"Well?" Ron prodded, pulling a very old fashioned jacket out of the box and staring at it, before flinging it carelessly behind him. "Merlin, the lot who lived here before sure were pack rats. That must be from the, what, fourteenth century?"

"What makes you think I'm going to ask her?" Harry muttered, hitting the top of the chest. It still didn't open.

"Well, you'd better." Ron said, suddenly stern and serious. "She's madly in love with you and I know you fancy her as well."

Glaring as the chest and trying hard not to blush, Harry said, "It's not like before was a good time to ask."

He tried once again to open the chest, and this time, to his slight surprise, it opened. Peering curiously inside, Harry missed Ron's reply. What he saw inside the chest intrigued him even more.

That huge chest was just for this, he wondered as he reached inside and pulled the object out. He'd been expecting something a bit more sinister.

In his hands, Harry held a strange necklace that appeared to be made entirely of crystal. It consisted of seven large different colored crystals strung together with a chain that also appeared to be made of crystal, but was far too flexible.

"What's that?" Ron said, tentatively walking up to Harry, his eyes scanning everything for spiders.

"Not sure," Harry replied inspecting the necklace. "It's a necklace."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's obvious, but it doesn't look like any I've ever seen before."

Harry didn't answer. He simply stared as the necklace in his hands. He had the strangest desire to put on.

"Harry, be careful," Ron said, eyeing the necklace distrustfully. "It may be full of dark magic."

Harry couldn't help snorting at this. "What's it going to do, make the wearer ugly?"

"No," Ron replied, flushing to the tips of his ears. "It could be cursed or something. Remember the necklace that Katie Bell got a hold of in sixth year?"

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely, still staring at the necklace. There was something odd about it, but it didn't seem to be dangerous.

"Harry, you'd better just put it back," Ron said worried, but unwilling to touch the necklace himself. Unconsciously he began edging away from it. "Harry, I'm serious…"

But Harry was no longer listening. He was so entranced by the necklace that he didn't even realize that something was wrong. If he had been in his right mind, he would have wondered why he was caring so much about this necklace when he had never shown any interest in any sort of jewelry before.

But Ron was in his right mind and was currently, fighting down the beginnings of panic. There was something wrong about the necklace, but Harry wasn't listening. He had to do something, fast. He had just made up his mind to knock the necklace out of his friend's hands, when Harry suddenly slipped it over his neck.

The second the necklace touched the skin on his neck, chaos struck.

Horrified, Ron could only watch, as a whirlwind formed around Harry, moving faster and growing strong every second. Shielding his eyes from the wind that was growing harsher with every passing second, Ron shouted his best friend's name as he fumbled for his wand.

"Harry!"

But Harry stood motionless in the middle of the disarray, his hands still clutching the necklace, his face expressionless, but his eyes wide and fearful. Harry could only watch as Ron took a step too close and was thrown clear into the wall across the room. He tried to shout, to see if Ron was harmed, but his throat had ceased to function, as had his feet.

The wind grew stronger and fiercer, picking up dust and cobwebs along the way, obscuring the attic from Harry's view. Unable to see and unable to move, Harry was at the complete mercy of the wind. It tore at his clothes and hair, and, to his utter amazement and fear, began to lift him off the ground.

Throughout this entire ordeal, Harry attempting to force himself to tear the necklace off, but his arms refused to listen. Gritting his teeth and mentally cursing himself for his foolishness, he forced his hands which were still stuck to the necklace to close upon it. Praying desperately that it would work, he summoned all his willpower and jerked his hands away.

The chain snapped, sending the seven crystals it held tumbling into the wind which promptly sent them spinning in different directions. But Harry had a different problem to deal. Either the strain of breaking the chain had been too much for Harry or snapping the chain had activated another curse, but he could feel the blackness clawing at the edges of his brain. He blinked his eyes frantically, trying to see but he couldn't resist the pull for long. Why in Merlin's name had he put on the bloody necklace?

Reluctantly letting his fall close, he was only vaguely aware that the wind was slowing down.

And then the darkness claimed him.

END CHAPTER ONE

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