A Drift in Time

Harry's eyes darted around as he took in the dirty, muddy surroundings he found himself in, confusion visibly etched on his face. A pounding headache forced him to wince and he grabbed his head firmly, his eyes squeezing shut. He desperately sought to remember how he had come here in the middle of a filthy swamp.

His head felt fuzzy, as if he had dived in head-first into something hard. It did not bother him as much though, no headache did ever since that accursed incident in the graveyard of Little Hangleton.

The snake bastard had used his blood in that graveyard to give himself a body, but he left something more inside his head. A gate. It had taken him the entire summer to realize that he was being constantly blasted by a lifetime's worth of memories belonging to the vilest wizard he had ever encountered.

Throughout the next year, the asshole made great use of this gate to intrude in his mind whenever he could, and although his motive was to manipulate the fuck out of him, he inadvertently left traces of himself that were recognized by the Horcrux that lived inside of him.

That was the year when Harry started feeling changes within himself. His behavior changed significantly to the point where everyone in his life noticed it. He started having more visions—flashes of violence, murder, and mayhem. Magic of the foulest kind. Cruelty that knew no bounds. Witches and wizards begging for their lives, throwing themselves in the line of spellfire to save their loved ones, only to fail. The cruelty carried with itself an addictive rush of adrenaline, always waking him up with his heart racing.

Things truly came to a head when Voldemort gave up all pretenses and forcibly intruded into his mind at the end of the year in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Harry could not recall ever feeling so much strain on both his mind and magic as he did everything in his power to push him out. He succeeded, but the connection deepened.

The memories were bound to have an impact and they changed him beyond recognition. Gone was the young lad who put himself above others, striving to help anyone in need. He became more observant and apathetic, recognizing things for how they were.

Hermione Granger—the witch who loved to always be in the right and who was always vying for intellectual superiority as if that was all life was about.

Ronald Weasley—a slacker and a dimwit whom he started to relate less and less with.

Albus Dumbledore—the master manipulator who wanted to control every aspect of his life because of that goddamned prophecy.

Harry was finally done playing the good, people-pleaser. He knew what truly mattered to him now.

He had potential, and lots of it. Coupled with the memories he had been assaulted with for the past year–memories that he had no shame in using to further his own ends, he knew he could forge his own destiny. He always felt Voldemort's rush at the sight of those mighty purebloods kneeling at his feet and kissing his robes fanatically as they worshipped him, and he started craving it.

Power… was power. It had taken him years, but he now realized it. There was only power and those who were too weak to seek it. If you had power, no one could fuck with you.

The bitch Pansy Parkinson had been his first and only conquest, but she had been enough. He had always hated that bastard Malfoy and it was what motivated him to go after the brunette. Funnily enough, it was the bastard himself who had done him a solid. The cunt tried to whore her out to his pals, to her sheer outrage. Cornered, she had no hope, and only when she felt the walls start closing around her did he deem it the time for him to step in and save her.

Grateful beyond measure, she had been easy to conquer after that, and he had loved using her whenever and however he could. He relished the way she stared up at him through her thick eyelashes with those eyes full of lust and fanaticism, her black hair firmly gripped in his fist as he used her. She was always eager to please, bobbing her head on his cock as she gagged and spluttered lewdly, and although the sexual stimulation was tremendous, it was that look of utter devotion, worship, and sheer delight in her eyes that always made him spurt his load down her throat. She used to be bitchy with him, but ever since he conquered her, she had been happier than ever before.

Harry began craving that feeling and she made sure to always service him to the best of her abilities. He knew it was Voldemort's influence to a large extent, but his cravings were drastically different from that monster's desires. He might have his memories, but he was not entirely Voldemort himself.

That mad bastard ruled by fear. He craved domination of another kind and Harry did not relate with him in the slightest. He wanted adoration, worship, and submission by love. As Dumbledore always said, it was the most powerful magic there was, and fear didn't even compare.

Pansy had become utterly devoted to him and the rush Harry felt whenever she pleasured him with such motivation was incomparable.

Soon, things took a turn for the worse as the war escalated. By the time Dumbledore died, Harry was already by his lonesome, having slowly drifted away from all his friends. He took up arms against Voldemort and used the bastard's knowledge against him and his forces, much to his former friends' shock and disbelief. Everyone had publicly derided him and his methods, but he could not care less for their approval, not when things had gone so dire. The war meant he no longer had Pansy to service him and although he did derive sexual pleasure from the whores he fucked, something felt missing. The fanaticism and adoration were what he truly craved.

For months, he hunted down Voldemort's Horcruxes on his own, torturing and killing any death eater or snatcher he encountered without any mercy until it was the day of the final battle.

Hogwarts was all but destroyed as the two sides fought against each other. No one was happy to see him, aware of the reputation he had earned for himself. Harry did not care. He had come for Voldemort, not their approval.

He battled Voldemort himself who had by then realized that his Horcruxes were all gone. However, his skill and his powers did not waver in the slightest. For hours, they battled until Harry truly grasped it.

Voldemort was a genius. He had devoted decades to studying various mysterious and dangerous magical arts from across the world. He had split his soul multiple times to prevent his death and he had conducted numerous rituals to enhance his abilities. However, his true genius lay in something that had enabled him to become the most powerful wizard there was.

His Death Eaters, and consequently, the Dark Mark. Only the truly worthy ones were bestowed with that brand of slavery, and it was decided by Voldemort and no one else. It allowed him to command them, it was a sign of their servitude, and the magic linking them allowed Voldemort to draw power from them without any restraints. In a battle of attrition, defeating him without an entire army attacking him at once was impossible.

Harry fought bravely. Harry used whatever magic he had at his disposal. Harry abused the boon Voldemort had inadvertently granted him. And Harry failed.

The Killing Curse hit him squarely in the chest and Voldemort let out a roar of triumph. Everyone watched as the only person who could go toe-to-toe with this monster crumpled in a heap.

Assured of his victory, an elated Voldemort gloated over his adversary's death, lauding him with insincere platitudes when a sharp intake of breath made him whirl around in abject shock.

Harry had a feral smile on his face as he stood, his eyes firmly locked with stunned crimson slits. A wand could never kill its master. Harry knew it, but Voldemort remained oblivious. The Elder Wand belonged to him, and Harry knew he would not die at the hands of Voldemort as long as the monster wielded it.

Their battle began anew and what Harry had been counting on finally happened. Their killing curses met in an explosive collision, emerald streaks of beams enveloping their surroundings, and Voldemort looked assured of his victory until he didn't. The Elder Wand decided to betray its wielder, staying loyal to its true master, as Voldemort's body crumpled and withered away.

His victory did not dawn on him until much later but Harry could not celebrate. A grunt forced its way out of him and he glanced down at his chest. A massive spike protruded out right where his heart was and he fell over before he could even see who had dealt him the fatal blow.

Coming out of his reminiscing, Harry shook his head and grunted as he pushed himself to his feet and apparated over to the hard ground a few yards away. He discovered he did not have a wand and quickly cast a wandless cleaning charm all over himself, conjuring some clothes to wear until he had a permanent fix. He was confused as to what was going on. He had been dumped in a filthy swamp, naked, with no wound on his person. He had no recollection of how he had arrived here, nor did he know where he was.

The confusion was followed by rage. He seethed as he patted his chest right over his heart. He did not know who it was that had killed him, but he would find out and once he did, they would wish Voldemort had killed them.

He was somehow alive. That was a relief. He was not done with his life, not by a long shot. Voldemort had been taken care of, but his destiny remained.

He gazed around as he wondered what he should do when his stomach rumbled. It made sense for him to be hungry. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd last eaten something. He almost apparated away when he suddenly recalled that he was supposed to be dead. Sighing, he cast a wandless glamor charm on himself and apparated away with a soft crack.

XXXXX​

Harry decided to avoid wizarding areas for the time being. He grabbed a quick meal from a modest muggle eatery and ventured out, easily snatching some money from a particularly nasty customer to pay.

As he walked along the side of the road, Harry pondered on what he had on his plate now. Voldemort was dead, which meant the Death Eaters would run away with their tails tucked between their legs while the Order would assume power and start prosecuting them. It was bound to be a tense environment with a power vacuum that would probably be filled by a higher-ranked Order member alive. It wasn't something that concerned him.

There was the matter of his bloody killer to think about as well. He could easily pay a visit to someone who had been on the field of battle and extract the answer from them, so that was not an issue either.

He had no assets as such to concern himself with either, having withdrawn and utilized all his money for the Horcrux hunt long ago, and Harry realized that apart from his ambition, nothing was keeping him in Wizarding Britain. But his ambition counted. He wanted power, he wanted conquest, and he wanted the pleasure that the worship, love, and adoration of those women brought him.

But first, he needed a wand. Wandless magic might be convenient but it was taxing, and he was not going to show himself in Diagon Alley so soon after his supposed death. Knockturn Alley it was.

Harry briskly walked into an alley and extended his senses, checking for people nearby. Feeling no presence, he twisted on the spot and apparated away.

His glamor still in place, Harry appeared in the middle of Knockturn Alley and immediately paused. Last he had heard, this place had become even more of a shithole than it usually was, with wanted posters of himself and several others scattered throughout the alley. However, the place seemed alright to him, at least by Knockturn's standards. There were no posters to be found either, and the shops seemed to be operating as usual.

The new administration was hard at work, it seemed. But then, Harry had no idea how much time had passed since the battle and when he woke up in that swamp, so he could not make an accurate judgment.

Suddenly, he sidestepped as a filthy mugger jumped him, a dagger in his hand. It missed his face by inches and Harry glared.

"You dare!" He growled and waved his hand. A silent cutting curse took the mugger's fingers off and he let out a shrill cry. Harry gazed at him in disdain, ignoring the multiple passers-by who expertly ignored the spectacle in a manner typical of Knockturn Alley.

"That's for jumping me," he hissed before he cast a silent summoning spell. "And what do we have here? An enchanted dagger? Must've killed some assholes with this one."

Harry pocketed the dagger and turned on his heel, leaving the mewling mugger on the dirty street. He glared at the others who shrank away from his presence and walked into the most famous establishment in the alley. The bell clanged as he entered and Harry immediately spotted the man tending the counter glance up at him.

"A bit young to venture down here, aren't ya?"

Harry paid the man no heed and walked over to where he saw the wand boxes were. He did not think any of these would be a perfect match but he would take a manageable one until he found better opportunities.

"Careful with those, lad. Blow something and you'll have to pay up," the man called out, making Harry breathe in irritation.

"Shut your trap or you'll be cleaning something else up," he replied with a glare. The man immediately shut his mouth, his hands held up in surrender.

"Take your time," he replied, uneasy. Decades in this business had made him experienced enough to know when he was with someone who shouldn't be crossed, and this young lad in front of him had some of the most dangerous vibes he had ever come across.

Harry ignored the man as he kept trying various wands out, and the man winced whenever he blew a lamp or a piece of furniture.

"This one," he remarked, twirling a pale white wand. "How much?"

"Ten galleons, twelve if you want a holster. And the damages would take it to—"

Harry waved the wand in an arc and the man immediately shut up as all the damage was repaired. His eyes widened at the casual display of silent casting and he gulped when faced with those malicious grey eyes that he swore flashed a chilling emerald green, oddly resembling the Killing Curse.

"I can do it all in ten," he said shakily.

Harry pulled out the dagger from his pocket and placed it on the counter.

"How much?"

The man quickly went to work, pulling a monocle and some apparatus out from under the counter. Harry twirled the wand as he watched him go about his work.

"I can do twenty-five galleons," the man said once he was done evaluating, and Harry raised an eyebrow. "The enchantments are not strong enough. This would've been worth nothing if not for those runes all over it."

Lips pursed, Harry pocketed the fifteen galleons the man handed over. He grabbed the dragonhide wand holster and fastened it properly, trying it out.

"Made of the finest hide from a Ukrainian Ironbelly, the same one as that wand's core. All from the new stock, arrived just a week ago."

"I'll be back if I need something, and I hope it goes without saying that I was never here," Harry said firmly.

"I don't even know who you are," the man said with a shaky smile.

"That's right," Harry smirked and walked out of the shop. He leisurely strolled down Knockturn Alley and he found things most peculiar around him. He expected a sense of unease around him considering how they had been embroiled in a war that had ended not too long ago, yet it seemed as if no war had taken place.

The alley branched out to the left and he recognized it as the black market. He paused and thought about it for a moment, shrugging as he walked over. Perhaps he could find something interesting.

There were multiple stalls lined about a small courtyard and Harry began browsing the wares. Nothing seemed interesting to him and he was about to turn around and leave when something caught his eye. He walked over, his eyebrow raised.

"You know, you could do a much better job even if you're an amateur," he remarked, staring the man down disdainfully.

"What'cha yappin' 'bout, prick?" The man tending the stall snapped.

Harry sneered, "What fool sells tickets for something that doesn't exist? Or are you targeting drunkards to scam them?"

"Again, what'cha yappin' 'bout?"

"Those tickets that you're selling in black, dumbass," Harry replied. "Your father's holding a World Cup in '97?"

"It is World Cup year, shithead. Ireland-Bulgaria final."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, you're a scammer alright."

"Listen, prick. You wanna buy? Stay. Or else, fuck off right where ya came from."

Harry glared at the man who stared back irately. Scoffing, he walked away without a backward glance, smirking when he heard a loud yelp behind him.

XXXXX​

Harry appeared in an alley near the park opposite 12 Grimmauld Place. Casting a disillusionment charm over himself, he walked out and started making his way over to the Black townhouse. His cloak was another thing he needed to recover, wherever it was.

Death Eaters had broken into the house when Dumbledore died and the Fidelius failed. He was curious as to what had happened to the house and whether anyone had bothered with it now that he was gone. He did not think anyone would care about a dark and dusty house belonging to the Blacks, particularly when there was nothing of worth to be found inside.

Still, caution was warranted and Harry slowly made his way over. He reached out and twisted the doorknob, frowning when it didn't open. Whipping his wand out, he pointed it against the door, checking for possible enchantments. His eyes widened when he discovered some of the most powerful wards weaved around the property. Instead of giving up, he doubled down, trying to discern the nature of the wards.

His eyes narrowed at his findings. The wards were to keep everyone but a direct descendent of the main line out. No one could cast those wards around the ancestral property of the Blacks, and yet here he was, with the proof right in front of him. He could not make sense of it.

His confusion did not last long as memories of his past self, familiar and yet not, slowly returned, and he could only shake his head at the absurdity of it all.

Beyond all possibilities, he was thrown three years back in time to the summer before his fourth year. As if that was not enough, things were somehow different as well.

Hogwarts started at 14 in this new timeline which meant as a 17-year-old, he was still going to be a fourth-year student. Furthermore, everything seemed to be three years in the future. It felt as if someone had dragged an entire timeline by three years and thrown him right in the mixer. Apart from that, everything was the same—his life, his experiences, and his relationships.

Harry paced around in the middle of the living room of #4 Privet Drive, ignoring the bound and gagged forms of the Dursleys as they stared at him fearfully, shivering after the vicious torture he had put them through. They thought they'd get away scot-free after their dear little Dudders drugged and threw him away in a bloody sewer to teach him a lesson? Bullshit. He was Harry Potter, but he was no longer a dumbass who'd let anyone walk all over him just like that. He glanced at the Dursleys and gave them a look of disgust.

"I can always cut your throats if you find being silent so challenging," he said curtly as he swirled both the wands around. With his knowledge, the trace had been child's play to take care of.

His holly and phoenix feather wand felt brilliant back in his grasp. He had indeed missed her. The other was yew with the core of dragon heartstring and although not a perfect match, it was close enough to come in handy.

The Dursleys immediately shut up, earning a smirk from Harry. He gazed far away in the distance, his mind hard at work. He could not understand just why and how this had happened. However, he did not waste too much time worrying about what was beyond his control. He was in this situation now and he could use it to his advantage. He had power, he had knowledge, and he had the conviction to do whatever he wanted.

His goals were clear in his mind. He wanted power, adoration, and worship; his desire to make women submit to him being prominent. After all, he was going to emulate Voldemort in a few ways. That mad bastard wanted to conquer purebloods, and he wanted to conquer the fair sex. That was all, and if he was going to mark someone anyway, he'd be damned if he wasted it on those who could not pleasure him.

"Like this one," he muttered disdainfully, sneering at a shivering Petunia. This was a different world for all that mattered, which meant he had no family and everything was fair game. However, the horse bitch could only wish.

Ignoring her, he thought about potential candidates. The Wizarding World had a shit load of them, but he did not have any leverage over anyone. He was friends with quite a few of them but he didn't think any of them would submit herself to him right now. He could play the game and something might happen though, who knew?

His musings were interrupted by a familiar owl that flew in and almost collided with the wall. Harry immediately recognized the owl as Ron's new pet Pigwidgeon, a gift from Sirius. He retrieved the letter from the owl, raking his eyes over the parchment.

"So it's that day, hmm?" Harry muttered to himself. Glancing over at the Dursleys, he waved his wand and freed them. Another wave of his wand rendered them unconscious. He was quick to modify their memories to make them believe that he had left for the rest of the summer to visit friends.

"Now then," Harry smirked as he gazed at the letter. "Let's see how far her hero worship can go."

XXXXX​

Half an hour later, Harry appeared in the middle of a clearing in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, gazing at the familiar house in the distance. It was getting dark already and he was sure Mrs. Weasley must be getting things ready for dinner.

His arrival went as expected. The Weasleys were elated at his early arrival. He told them how he could not wait to come over, having missed everyone over the past month or so, and had taken the initiative to arrive on his own. Mrs. Weasley was concerned as usual but nothing much happened.

Harry set his sights on his target early on. That was the reason why he had arrived early, after all. He knew Hermione would arrive the next day which meant he would have trouble gaining an all-exclusive private access to the delight that he knew Ginny Weasley could be. There was a reason Dean looked so happy during that year, after all.

The boy was a bastard though. He loved to brag and although he had not been interested, Harry had heard enough to know how kinky Ginny could be. She was a shy wallflower in front of him, but soon, she would bloom into a sultry redheaded slut.

Throughout the evening as dinner was being prepared, Harry kept taking glances at Ginny, making sure she noticed him checking her out. She was as beautiful as he remembered her being. Her clothing was modest but no less form-fitting. Her tits, high and proud, pushed against her casual top and her tight jeans hugged her long legs, straining against her nice rump.

As he chatted casually with Ron and the twins, he made sure to address her frequently, ensuring she had her input as well. She smiled whenever he addressed her, happy with the attention she was receiving.

He wondered how to escalate things even further when Ron came clutch with a blessing.

"How about a broom race until dinner gets done?" He suggested. Before he could respond, he and the twins bolted outside to the shed, leaving him alone with Ginny.

"Well then, let's go, shall we?" He asked, holding his arm out. Surprised for a moment, Ginny smiled brightly and threaded her arm through his, allowing him to escort her out. He picked his broom up as they crossed his trunk near the exit and slung it over his shoulder.

"That top really suits you," he complimented, eyeing her out of the corner of his eyes as they walked out on the grounds. Ginny was already flushed slightly from how closely they were walking and her blush intensified. She blinked, gazing at him.

"T-Thanks," she replied softly, smiling. "You look really good too."

"I've been working out," he chuckled.

"I can see that," she whispered, biting her lower lip softly as she gazed at the way his shirt fit him.

"Hmm? What was that?"

"Oh, nothing. I said it's good for you," she covered up quickly. Harry merely glanced at her in amusement.

He did not need to use Legilimency to discern what was going on in her mind. Indeed, her hero worship was still very strong. The girl would have slowly started to get over it during the upcoming year but now that he had his sights set on her, he was going to make sure she kept worshipping him.

They reached the shed just as the boys emerged, their brooms held aloft in their hands. Fred and George quickly shot high in the air.

"What about you, Gin?" He asked, glancing at the redhead. Ginny flushed slightly at the way he addressed her.

"What'd you mean, mate? Ginny doesn't fly," Ron laughed. The pretty redhead glared at her brother.

"Look at her, Ron. She's so lithe, like a ballerina. She'd make a perfect chaser, maybe a seeker too," Harry remarked, eyeing her up meaningfully right in front of her brother who seemed entirely oblivious. His eyes seemed to pause at certain spots and he smirked when he saw her squirming in place. The girl was loving it.

"Hah, whatever you say, mate. Come on, let's go."

Ginny gritted her teeth as she glared at her brother who ascended high in the air, joining the twins.

"Here, show him," Harry said, holding out his broom for her. Ginny blinked, gazing at him. Harry smirked. "You can ride my broom. I know you'd be brilliant at it."

Ginny blushed heavily at his wording, not sure whether he was truly insinuating something. With how he was treating and ogling her today, she had a feeling that he was. Her hands shaking, she reached out and grabbed hold of his broomstick. Their fingers brushed and a shiver coursed through Ginny as his magic, potent and dominating, wafted over her. Her breathing escalated, her pupils dilating, and her toes curled. She desperately tried to control herself as she swung her leg over the broomstick, slowly rising high in the air.

On the ground, Harry smirked.

XXXXX​

He kept at it throughout dinner, making sure to gaze at her meaningfully as they ate. Ginny's heart was beating furiously, hammering away, as her eyes made contact with Harry once again. She was sure about it now. Her crush was interested in her as well and she could feel her excitement coiling in her lower belly. Her hands shook as she ate, almost spilling her food a few times, but she did not pull her gaze off him. She was brave and she wanted him to see her that way, not as Ron's little sister.

She loved how simply exchanging those heated looks made her feel and she almost groaned when dinner ended and they were all sent to sleep.

"Harry dear, your things are up in Ron's room," Mrs. Weasley told him. Harry nodded and with a meaningful glance toward Ginny, he followed Ron up the stairs. Once she was done helping her mother in the kitchen, Ginny followed suit. She shut the door to her room behind her and quickly started to undress. Her top and jeans pooled by her feet and she stepped over to her wardrobe clad in a modest set of underwear. Her breath hitched when she touched her panties, finding them entirely soaked and all it did was further intensify her arousal.

"Ah, fuck it," she threw herself on the bed and pulled her undergarments off herself, spreading her legs wide apart and pressing her fingers against her hot, virgin entrance. She rubbed her womanhood, groping her breast with the other hand as she leaned back and closed her eyes.

"Ahh Harry…" she moaned, parting her folds and running her finger over her wet, pink slit. "Oh I want you so bad!"

"You called me, Gin?"

Ginny yelped, her eyes wide as she gazed at a smirking Harry who stood, leaning against the wall right in front of her. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she gazed at him in sheer disbelief.

"H-Harry!?"

"Ah, I guess it's not fair that I'm wearing clothes, right?" He remarked and waved his hand over himself. Ginny's eyes bugged out as Harry's clothes vanished.

"I must say, I love what I see, Gin," Harry said, openly running his eyes over her delectable naked frame. He stood calmly in front of her, naked, with his cock, hard and huge, jutting out at her. "Do you love what you see, Gin?"

Ginny could only nod absently, her eyes firmly trained on his massive rod, and Harry smirked as he began walking closer. He slowly climbed onto the bed, stalking her as if she was his prey (which she was) until he was hovering over her, their faces mere inches apart.

Her heartbeat skyrocketed and she could feel his heat all over her naked front.

"H-Harry," she whispered.

"Yeah, Gin?" He asked, leaning closer.

"W-What if someone comes?"

Harry smirked, amused with her concern. She had accepted this so willingly. Her legs had automatically parted, almost in subservience, and she was ready to give herself to him. Her body language screamed her acceptance.

"Don't worry, Ron fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed, and I've already cast the necessary charms around us," he whispered. "And if someone comes anyway, we're both above the age of consent. That's all that matters. Right, Gin?"

"Y-Yeah," Ginny whispered, shutting her eyes as she felt him leaning closer.

"Gin," he whispered, his hot breath ghosting over her lips. "This might do for now, but I like my women when they dress to impress. I want to look at my women and feel the desire to rip their clothes off. Take care next time onwards, 'kay?"

"I'll do better, Harry," she whispered obediently, her eyes still closed. Harry smirked and closed the distance between them, pressing his chest flush against her breasts as he smashed his lips against her.

To be continued...

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