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Journey back To The Past and his Prime CH.3
🕑 Added 2025-02-19 10:14:35 +0000 UTCTwo weeks later
"...36, 37, 38, 39, 40," Harry counted with gritted teeth as he finished performing the last set of push-ups, completing his daily task of regular exercises before collapsing on the floor, panting. He stayed there for a few moments catching his breath before rising to his feet. Harry stretched his arms up in the air, sighing in satisfaction as he felt the burning sensation in his muscles. Already, his body felt stronger; two weeks of disciplined workouts and proper meals had already started to reshape his wiry frame. The first hints of muscle definition were emerging, subtle but promising. Harry knew his body was nowhere near as strong as it would be in the future. But it was progress—a small victory. A part of him though just wished his body could recover faster. It was always a shock whenever he looked down at himself and saw just how scrawny his limbs were at this point in his life.
Harry shook his head, silently chiding himself for his impatience. You can't rush this, Potter, he reminded himself again. Getting back to form will take time. He let out a resigned sigh, picking up a towel to dab away the sheen of sweat trickling down his neck. Just as the fabric touched his skin, a high-pitched, eager voice piped up near his knees, jolting him from his brooding thoughts.
"Here you go, Mr. Harry Potter, sir!"
Startled, Harry glanced down and is face broke into a genuine smile. Dobby, the house-elf, stood before him in a snappy butler's outfit, clutching a silver goblet in his hands.
It still boggled Harry's mind that in the previous timeline, he had never thought to hire Dobby to come work for him. House-elves were dead useful beings to any witch or wizard out there, and here was one who was absolutely devoted to him. How had he overlooked such an advantage before? Luckily, Harry wasn't about to repeat his past mistakes. The moment he regained his bearings in this new timeline, his first order of business had been to ask Dobby to work for him—and the elf had eagerly accepted.
In the end, Harry's decision was already paying huge dividends. No longer he had to worry any sort of mundane tasks like - food or laundry, as Dobby took care of all of that for him. The elf also made regular trips to the Diagon Alley to procure potions Harry required to improve his malnourished body, saving him from the trouble of going himself. As a result, Harry could just focus solely on improving himself and making a detailed timeline of the upcoming events in the second wizarding world.
Finally, Harry snapped out of his thoughts, his face twisted into a grimace as he reluctantly accepted the large goblet from Dobby. A silvery mist rose from its surface, which was filled to the brim with a thick purple nutrient potion.
"Ugh, this thing is the worst," Harry's nose scrunched in disgust as he raised the goblet to his lips and chugged down its foul-smelling contents in one go.
Harry gagged, struggling to keep down the potion as it went down his throat. The thing tasted like a vile mixture of old socks and rotten eggs, and every instinct screamed at him to spit it out. But Harry knew better—if he wanted to mend his years of malnourished body, this was necessary. Determined, he gripped the goblet tighter and made sure to finish the drink down to the last drop.
Once he was finished, Harry handed the goblet back to Dobby, the elf shooting him a bright smile before disappearing with a loud crack.
Left alone in the room, Harry smacked his lips together a few times, grimacing as the bitter taste clung stubbornly to his tongue. He shuddered, a full-body cringe of disgust, but shook it off. It was only for a month, he reminded himself—a month of enduring this awful potion. After that, his body would finally be healed of any damage sustained from his childhood, and he'd never have to drink the vile stuff again.
Later that night -
As the sky outside his window turned dark and the streetlights blinked on, Harry stared at the wall in front of him. It was completely covered in scribbled names and dates—each one tied to events he knew were coming in the second wizarding war against Voldemort.
Since the fight at the Ministry last month, Voldemort wasn't hiding anymore. He was fully out in the open now, and his followers—Death Eaters and all sorts of dark creatures—didn't have to sneak around anymore either. They were wreaking havoc everywhere, spreading fear and destruction across Wizarding and muggle Britain without a care.
Every day, the Daily Prophet reported more deaths and disappearances as the Dark Lord's forces targeted Muggle-borns and non-magical folks in their own homes. Already, the Dark Mark becoming a terrifyingly normal sight in the sky, hovering over scenes of tragedy. It felt like the bad news would never stop. And Harry knew things were only going to get worse from here on now as the Dark Lord's forces would only become more brazen with each passing day.
In fact, according to the timeline in front of him, Harry could see that at this very moment, a group of Death Eaters were about to capture a member of the Order of the Phoenix, resulting in the first significant loss to Dumbledore's small group of fighters in the second war.
It was this event that Harry had decided he was going to change from the previous timeline. Emmeline Vance — one of the more outspoken members of the Order from the first war— was about to be ambushed by a number of dark wizards near Backmuir Woods and Harry had decided he was going to prevent that from happening.
From the reports Harry had read in the previous timeline, Vance had been trailing Ambrosius Nott — one of the several escapees from a recent Azkaban breakout — against Dumbledore's orders when she had been ambushed by him and two other dark wizards, resulting in her capture and subsequent death. Apparently, Nott had killed some of her friends in the first war and now that he was out in the open, she had decided to take her revenge. Unfortunately, her plan backfired in the original timeline and she ended up dying by his hands.
This time, however, things were going to be different. Harry knew what was going to happen and it would be a child's play for him to prevent Vance's death. Apart from Mad-eye Moody, Emmeline was one of the very few Order members who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, as a result, it would be a shame for her to die at the beginning of the war. 'Not to mention she might help out with some of the crazy schemes that I have cooking up in my brain' Harry thought to himself, smirking.
His decision made, Harry gave a firm nod to Dobby, emerald green eyes shining with anticipation. "So, I'll see you in a couple of hours then," he informed the house elf, receiving an energetic nod in return.
"Alright then, let's do this," Harry murmured to himself, drawing his Holly and Phoenix feather wand from the dragonhide holster on his wrist. A wry grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he gripped the wand firmly. "It should be pretty fun at least."
oo0oo
Emmeline Vance couldn't help but curse herself for her impulsive actions as she found herself in her current predicament.
The chains binding her wrists and ankles were enchanted, tightening whenever she moved. She was forced to her knees against the cold, damp earth, her breath visible in the frigid night air. The forest around them was dense, the towering trees casting long, jagged shadows under the pale light of the moon. In the distance, she could also hear the sounds of wolves howling, their eerie cries echoing through the night, sending a shiver down her spine, though she refused to let her captors see her fear.
In the end, Emmeline had no choice but to admit defeat. She stopped struggling against her bonds and glanced up, her eyes landing on the three figures standing before her. However, only one truly mattered to Emmeline.
Ambrosius Nott— the youngest brother of Lord Thaddeus Nott was in his late 40s. After spending the last sixteen years in Azkaban, his once gleaming black hair had faded to a stark mix of white and grey, and the sharp, handsome features of his youth were now now marred with deep wrinkles.
Emmeline remembered the last time she had seen this man, his face had been twisted in a cruel sneer as he slaughtered her friends, their screams still haunting her nightmares even now years later. He should have rotted in Azkaban, left to decay in the cold and the dark until he died. Yet here he was, standing before her, out in the world once more because of the Dark Lord, his wand idly twirling between his fingers.
"Emmeline Vance," Nott mused, his tone smooth and unhurried. "What a wonderful surprise, my dear. It's been a long time since we last met, hasn't it?"
Emmeline glared up at him, hate burning in her chest. "Not long enough," she hissed.
Nott chuckled, stepping closer. His aristocratic features, pale and sharp, were illuminated by the faint glow of his wand. "I must admit, I'm flattered. Tracking me down after all these years? I'd almost think you missed me." He crouched slightly, his piercing blue eyes glinting with amusement. "Or was it revenge you were after?"
Emmeline didn't answer, but her silence spoke volumes.
"Ah," Nott smirked, straightening with an air of lazy confidence. "That's touching, truly. A pity you failed so spectacularly."
As Nott turned his back on Emmeline, the two beside him shifted, their presence a stark contrast to his refined menace. They weren't Death Eaters—just hired scum, the kind that sold their loyalty to the highest bidder, drawn by the promise of gold and bloodshed.
The first, a burly man with a patchy beard, let out a gravelly chuckle. "She thought you were all alone, my Lord. Been tailing you for hours, thinking she was so clever." He smirked, shaking his head. "Poor girl had no clue that while she was watching you, we were watching her." He let out a booming guffaw, clearly enjoying the irony.
His companion, a woman with sharp features and wild auburn hair, flashed a wolfish grin. "Foolish thing, this one." Her Irish lilt made the words almost teasing as she twirled Emmeline's wand between her fingers, slow and deliberate, like a cat batting at a trapped mouse. "Didn't account for us at all, did you, love? Bet you're regrettin' it now."
The burly man scratched his beard, glancing over his shoulder at Nott's back. "So, my Lord, what's the plan here? Kill her quick, or keep her breathing a little longer? Maybe she's got something worth hearin'."
Nott—Ambrosius to those who knew him well—tilted his head, considering. His smirk deepened, cold amusement dancing in his eyes. "Hmm. That's a good question, Lawrence. On one hand, it would be a shame to waste such a rare opportunity. The Order is so terribly secretive, after all. On the other..." He sighed theatrically. "Well, she did try to kill me. That sort of thing rarely deserves mercy."
He turned around and took a few slow steps towards Emmeline until he was looming over her, studying her like one might a wounded animal. "So, what do you think? Are you feeling cooperative, dear? Or should we save ourselves the trouble?"
Emmeline didn't hesitate. With a slow, deliberate movement, she turned her head and spat, the glob landing just shy of his polished boot. Her eyes burned with defiance.
"Go to hell."
For a moment, there was silence. Then the auburn-haired woman let out a low whistle. "Fiery little thing, isn't she?"
Lawrence, meanwhile, scowled, his lips curling into a sneer. "Filthy little bitch!"
Before Emmeline could brace herself, his heavy boot drove into her stomach with brutal force. Pain exploded through her ribs as the impact sent her toppling onto her side, the breath torn from her lungs in a ragged gasp. The damp earth was cold against her cheek, but it barely registered through the sharp, burning ache that spread through her abdomen.
Emmeline forced herself to swallow down the pain, biting back the urge to groan. She refused to give them that satisfaction. Instead, she lifted her gaze, locking eyes with Nott, who merely watched the scene unfold with mild amusement as if he were observing a particularly interesting play.
"That was for your manners, girl," Lawrence spat, shaking out his leg as if kicking her had been nothing more than an inconvenience.
"Now, now, Lawrence," Ambrosius chided, though there was no real reprimand in his voice—only mild amusement. "Let's not break her just yet. She might still be useful."
The man rolled his shoulders with a grunt. "Just remindin' her of her place, my Lord."
Emmeline coughed, tasting blood. Slowly, she lifted her head, glaring up at them with a smirk of her own, teeth tinged red. "That all you've got?" she rasped.
The woman with the auburn hair chuckled. "Oh, I like her," she said, smiling gleefully. "Shame she's not on our side. We could've had some fun."
She then crouched beside Emmeline and tilted her head. "Still got some fight left in you, eh, love?" She tapped Emmeline's wand thoughtfully against her chin before smirking. "Maybe we should break her in a bit, my Lord? Teach her some manners before we decide her fate, hm?"
Ambrosius looked thoughtful, running a hand through his white goatee. After a beat, however, he exhaled, almost regretfully. "That's enough, Yasmine."
The woman - now named Yasmine - clicked her tongue in disappointment but rose to her feet nonetheless, tossing Emmeline's wand into the air and catching it with an easy flick of her wrist.
Lawrence, however, looked less eager to obey. "Come on, my Lord," he grumbled. "She's Order. You know their kind. Soft as daisies they all are. You just bleed 'em a little and they sing easy enough—"
Nott's wand flicked before Lawrence could finish, and the man doubled over with a strangled grunt, his hand flying to his throat as though he were suddenly struggling to breathe. Nott arched a brow, his smirk never faltering.
"Do you presume to instruct me, Lawrence?" he asked coolly. "Think you know better than I do?"
Lawrence wheezed but shook his head, his hand clawing at his collar as if invisible fingers were squeezing the air from his lungs.
"Good, remember your place," said Nott as he lazily released the spell, letting Lawrence stumble back, coughing. He barely spared him another glance before returning his attention to Emmeline.
"Besides, I don't need her to sing just yet. If I did, I would handle it myself." His expression then darkened slightly mixed with a hint of sick amusement. "No, no… I think I have a much better idea."
His cohorts exchanged curious glances, waiting.
Nott's smirk widened. "Yes, I think the wiser course of action would be to deliver Ms. Vance here to the Malfoy Manor. If I recall correctly, our Lord has been planning an attack on Amelia Bones for some time now. Perhaps he'd appreciate the chance to question an Order member—see if Dumbledore has his people guarding the woman most likely to be our next Minister of Magic."
A chill crept up Emmeline's spine at Nott's words, her breath catching in her throat. They were going to take her to the Malfoy Manor... to the Dark Lord. Ever since she had decided to go against Dumbledore's orders, Emmeline had prepared herself for capture, for pain, even for death—but not for that. If Lord Voldemort got his hands on her, he wouldn't just find out about Amelia Bones' security detail—he'd see everything. Every mission. Every safe house. Every friend that she was aware of. As one of the Order members from the first Wizarding war, Emmeline was privy to a number of important secrets. All of that would be in the Dark Lord's hands unless she managed to free herself.
Apparently, Emmeline wasn't the only one thinking along the same track. Lawrence who had stopped wheezing by now managed a hoarse chuckle, still rubbing at his throat. "That's a great idea, my Lord," he rasped, straightening slightly. "Who knows? The Dark Lord might find more than just Order secrets in her mind. She could have all sorts of useful little tidbits tucked away."
"That's a good point, Lawrence," Ambrosius replied, smirking before turning his attention to Emmeline. "So, Ms. Vance, are you ready to meet the Dark Lord?"
Emmeline felt a spark of fear course through her body. She clenched her jaw, trying to mask her reaction, but she knew it was too late. They had seen it. They knew.
Lawrence—the burly man chuckled. "Thought you were all fire and steel a minute ago." He leaned in slightly, voice dripping with mockery. "Still so brave, sweetheart?"
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Brave enough," she said, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Nott sighed, almost indulgent at her attempt at bravado. "Well, no sense wasting time, then." With a flick of his wand, the chains around Emmeline's ankles vanished. Before she could even think of running, he yanked her to her feet with a rough jerk, his grip unrelenting.
As Ambrosius seized her arms, Emmeline thrashed against him, struggling to wrench herself free. "Let me go, you arsehole," she growled angrily, trying to push back against him. Unfortunately, it was of no use. Ambrosius' grip was far too strong and with her hands tied behind her back, Emmeline couldn't find the purchase to push him away.
Her struggles seemed to amuse her captors. As Lawrence let out a barking laugh, nudging the red-head woman with his elbow. "Look at her squirm," he jeered, pointing at Emmeline. "Got some fight left in her after all."
His words seemed to irritate Ambrosius who tightened his grip, his fingers digging into her arms as he leaned in close. "You really should save your strength, Vance," he murmured, his breath cold against her ear. "You'll need it much more when you meet my master."
Emmeline snarled, desperation and fear driving her body. Without hesitation, she snapped her head back, putting every ounce of force she had into the blow.
A sickening crunch filled the air.
Nott reeled back with a sharp curse, blood gushing from his now-broken nose. His grip faltered, just for a second—but it was all Emmeline needed.
She threw her weight sideways, twisting free from his grasp and stumbled a step forward—
Only for the redhead woman —Yasmine— to grab her by the hair and yank her back.
Pain exploded across Emmeline's scalp as she gasped, her head snapping backwards. "Not so fast, sweetheart," Yasmine purred, her grip tightening in her hair. With a savage pull, she flung Emmeline to the ground, sending her sprawling in the dirt.
Pain jolted through Emmeline's body as her left knee hit a jagged rock, but she barely had time to register it before a heavy boot pinned her shoulder down. Lawrence loomed over her, grinning like a wolf.
"That was a mistake, love," he drawled, pressing down just enough to make her wince. "Now, I think boss is going to make sure you don't forget it."
At his words, Emmeline glanced to her left. Nearby, Nott stood rigid, his hand clamped over his broken nose. Blood dripped between his fingers, staining the pristine fabric of his grey robes. He tapped his wand twice on the broken bone, mending it. Once it was reset, he wiped the blood from his face and turned to face who Emmeline felt a shiver ran down her spine upon seeing his murderous expression .
"You filthy, half-blood bitch, how dare you put your hands on me?" Nott asked Emmeline as he stalked towards her, his eyes ablaze with fury. "I'm going to break every bone in your worthless body for that little stunt, you whore. And that's just the beginning," he continued, his voice cold as ice. "After I'm done with you—after I've wrung every last scream from your lips—I'll take you to the Dark Lord and ask him to give you the most painful death imaginable. And he will do it, the gracious lord that he is. You think you know pain, Vance? You think your friends suffered at my hands?" His smirk deepened, cold and knowing. "You have no idea what I have in store for you."
As Emmeline's face turned ashen in terror, Ambrosius grinned. "The Dark Lord will peel back every layer of your mind, break you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but a hollow shell," he murmured. "And when he's satisfied—when he's taken everything—you'll beg for death. And he'll grant it."
With his threat delivered, Nott lowered his wand and pointed it at the downed witch. "Now, to get things started," he said, eyes glinting with cruelty. "Confringo!"
Emmeline closed her eyes in fear as the sparkling red jet of light rushed towards her. She knew she was going to die now. There was no way for her to escape from Nott's clutches. He was going to torture her until she was a broken mess before leaving her for Lord Voldemort to play with. Still, a part of her wished someone would save her before it was too late.
Please. Someone. Anyone. Find me before it's too late.
Comments
Race
Can’t wait for more!
Rix
Brilliant!!! Welcome back
