Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6714151.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Tom_Riddle_|_Voldemort
  Additional Tags:
      Time_Travel_Fix-It, Do-Over, Rewrite, Dark_Harry_Potter, Dark_Lord_Harry
      Potter, Necromancer_Harry_Potter, Magically_Powerful_Harry_Potter, Harry
      Potter_is_a_Horcrux, Animagus_Harry_Potter, Rise_of_Voldemort, Second_War
      with_Voldemort, Sane_Voldemort, Possessive_Voldemort, Good_Voldemort,
      Intelligent_Harry_Potter, Magical_Tattoos, Probably_a_Little_Cliche, BAMF
      Harry, Tattooed_Harry, Don't_Feed_Owls_Cooked_Food_You_Idiots!,
      Hufflepuff_Harry_Potter, House_Hopping, Creepy_Mother-Fucking_Harry
      Potter, Master_of_Death_Harry_Potter, Not_HP:_Epilogue_Compliant
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-05-01 Updated: 2016-05-02 Chapters: 2/? Words: 4121
****** Funeral March Of The Marionette ******
by VultureLovesong
Summary
     The future brings nothing but agony, prejudiced, and a war spanning
     over four and a half decades. Harry Potter dies at nearly seventy
     years old, in a place of powerful magic unknown to his attackers, and
     he is given the choice to be reborn on the night of his parents'
     deaths. Armed with the knowledge and power of the future, Harry has
     but one goal. Stop the muggles from discovering magic and, in the
     process, prevent the coming apocalypse before it happens, saving the
     entire world from a future of war, pain, and fear. But he only has a
     small amount of time to do it in.
     Edit: Damned A/N Didn't show up in notes. I fixed it.
Notes
     Rating: Nc-16, Explicit, MA-16+, R
     Themes: Necromancy, Dark Magic, Soul Magic, Dark Harry, Time Travel,
     Rebirth
     Warnings: Bloody Violence, Necromancy, Sexual Content, Underage in
     Body
     DISCLAIMER: This Is A Work Of Fanfiction Based On The Works And World
     Of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter Saga. I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! All
     Rights To Harry Potter And His World Go To J. K. Rowling And Her
     Associates. Thank You! ~ V
     A/N: This Fic is Inspired By "Harry Potter and the Descent into
     Darkness" by Athy, "Xerosis" by Batsutousai, and "FeS2" by Shivani.
     Yes There will be similarities. I highly recommend these three works
     and the authors behind them. No, you don't have to read them before
     reading mine. It isn't that inspired... ~V
***** Forever Skeletons *****
[Skeleton Trees]
                  ***** Funeral March Of The Marionette *****
                         Prologue - Forever Skeletons
          May 02, 1998 - July 07, 2047 | The Timeless Realm of Death
===============================================================================
On the second of May, the year 1998, Harry James Potter kills Voldemort, but
the second Blood War doesn’t end until the twenty-seventh of April two years
later, when the last of the death eaters and dark sympathizers are captured.
Those were dark times. The Death Eaters and their following do not sit back and
relax after their Lord's seemingly second defeat at the hands of the Boy-Who-
Lived. They take up arms on his behalf, not wanting to face his wrath again for
renouncing him, convinced that He will one day make another miraculous return.
Harry Potter stands at the front of every battle, a child born to be a warrior,
while his friends and family settle down into a life away from the battlefield.
By the time the war is finally over, everyone else has a steady life, and Harry
has no clue what to do with himself.
He thrives on the battlefield.  He exists for the thrill of the fight. He has
no clue what to do without war, but he does not have to wait long.
Not even two months later, on the first of June, the Muggles find out about
magic, when a couple of careless witches decide to broom race over London. With
new technology, the news spreads worldwide before the Aurors can get their
hands on those who saw, and knowledge of the magical world becomes public. At
first, it is a mix of people awed and filled with wonderment at the concept of
magic, and those trying to convince the world that they are dangerous. The
first three years, the only battles are small attacks by radicals as they work
on the new treaty. The first public treaty between the magical and non-magical
worlds is signed on July 31, 2004, just in time to prevent an all out war from
forming.
A tentative peace forms, but on the fifth of January, the year 2007, a new
threat comes in the form of a Dark Lord by the name Diablos, sending the Light
and Dark into discord and threatening the shaky serenity between the magical
and non-magical worlds. That March, only two months into the newest wizarding
war, Diablos is bold enough to break everyone out of Azkaban, and they take the
war to the non-magical world. That same month, a scare week later, the Muggles
join the war as a third side to the fight.
For ten years it is a mix of Light fighting Dark, and Dark fighting Light, and
Muggles fighting both their own wars and the two sides of the magical war, with
some from both dark and light on their side, and others just trying to survive
against the sheer numbers the muggles possess. The Magical world wises up on
December 13, 2015, when the Muggles bomb the ten elite magical schools, only
days before the children were supposed to be sent home for winter break.
Diablos died five years earlier, and without his words to guide their actions,
the Dark side and the Light side form an alliance. This is the year they
practically beg the Muggles to stop the war, and the second treaty is written
and signed on February 14, 2017.
For a single year, to the very date, they have peace, but then the war starts
again when the Treaty is broken by a wayward Muggle, who bombs the American
Magical Embassy that Valentine's day, on the anniversary of the war's end.
The war after that is one that does not care for the planet beneath them. The
Muggles invent new and worse weapons, until magic is rendered all but useless.
It is a war that is only a war in name, but is more of a massacre. The
magical's only hope lies in the defeater of two dark lords, Harry Potter, who
stands as the most powerful warrior of the Magical World. The fighting never
seems to end. They run, and scramble, but one by one, or in massive groups,
both muggle and magical are picked off in the war, until all that is left is a
small population still fighting to win on a poisoned planet.
And now we come to this point. July 07, 2047.
It is a cold moonless night, although maybe the moon is shining, but like the
stars it is hidden behind thick clouds of poison and smoke. All around small
fires burn across the smoldering blackened ground, a wasteland of blackened
mountains and scorched earth as far as the eyes can see. Ripped apart corpses,
both new and old, cover the ground like a morbid parody of confetti. The last
magical being lies bleeding in the middle of this field of fire and death,
chuckling softly as a chokes on his own blood. He is the oldest and most
powerful being of all time, reduced to a frail withered ghost of himself on
this nearly magicless poisoned planet, the only thing keeping the planet still
alive unknown to his attackers. Though this is not why he laughs.
Through a birds eye view, if one could look beyond the smoke and fog, it would
be easy to see that the grooves and cracks along the blackened rock he is lying
upon form a ritualistic circle, like a labyrinth drawn out beneath him. The
lines are slowly filling up with the fresh blood pouring from the hole in his
chest. This was his plan all along. He planned to die on this day, in this
spot, and his attackers fell right along with his plans like puppets pulled by
strings. This is Helga's Labyrinth, a place of magic beyond knowledge, a place
once buried beneath Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It sits upon a
magical ley line, the last magical ley line, and he knows his death will feed
it power. maybe it will be enough to save the planet, but it is doubtful.
In the Labyrinth of Helga Hufflepuff, Harry James Potter welcomes death like an
old friend.
                                 ~*~[hell]~*~
The Master Of Death is not just a fancy title. A long time ago, three
necromancers created three powerful objects that could help them hide from
Death and, if all three were collected by one, that person would have power to
make a request of their choosing from Death, as well as some boons. But this
person would have to be willing to face death, they would have to be selfless,
they would have to be of those necromancers' bloodline, and they would have to
be powerful enough to accept the burden and the gift such a title would offer.
Before Harry Potter, not one person met the criteria, so combined with the
powerful place and date of his death, of course Death itself would notice.
The second Harry Potter enters the timeless realm, Death is there to greet him.
Death is quite surprised at the man before him, for he is nothing like Death
was expecting of a sixty-seven year old man. He looks fifteen, but as frail as
if he were in his hundreds. Stranger still, his soul is incomplete, a small
sliver has been in Death's realm for nearly as long as he has been living.
Death knows this is because Tom Riddle once housed a Horcrux inside him, but
Death had not realized that the child's soul had not healed once the shard was
ripped out of him. he should have died long ago of a broken soul bond, one
couldn't survive another's soul touching their own if one of those souls was
dead. He must be truly powerful to have survived a broken soul bond intact for
such a long time.
"So," The man in the child's body begins, "I suppose you must be Death." There
is no question in his voice or eyes, but the great skeletal being still nods in
answer. "Is there any truth to the legend? Do I get to request something of
you?"
"Yes." Death affirms, admiring the fact that he is not beating around the bush.
"You have one question, one gift I must give you. Tell me, Harry James Potter,
what is it you desire?"
The green eyed man smirks. "I want magic in the world again. I wish to give
magic one last chance to flourish, to fix the planet the war destroyed. This
can not be the end." Death blinks. Of all the things he could have asked for,
revenge, eternal life in a new realm, complete power over life and death, and
he chooses such a small thing. Magic in a destroyed world. It's funny, such a
small request, and the only one Death can not meet. Death says as much, and the
boy sighs. "Then I need nothing. Thank you. I am ready."
Death knows that sending Harry Potter to meet his parents in the afterlife is
what he should do, but he is bored, and this shows promise. "I can send you
back to the first time you touched my realm, the night your parents died, and
give you the power to prevent the End of Magic and the World yourself." Wide
interested eyes snap up to stare at Death, and the primordial being knows that
Harry Potter shall agree. "Of course, you will always have one foot in the
realm of death, but you will have your memories, and you will have your power,
which will only grow with you. Not to mention that I'll be sending back the
billions of souls that died because of this war and before it, and I will
expect you to meet that number before you can die, but you can take as long as
you'd like to do so. I'll also request that you fix up Tom Riddle's soul. You
will have a larger part of his soul inside you, but considering you will be
immortal until you meet the number, I'm sure you can convince him that you are
enough of a life line. He has a bigger roll to play than you would expect."
"Send me back." Harry says decidedly. "But first, tell me how always having a
part of myself in the realm of death will effect me. What roll does Tom have to
play? What number am I to meet?"
Death smirks. "Now, where would the fun in that be?" He asks, then pushes Harry
backwards into his younger body and conjures a bowl of popcorn. This should be
very amusing.
                                 ~*~[hell]~*~
On October 31, 1981, Harry James Potter wakes up. His first memory is
of the green light of the killing curse. On his left wrist is a small black
tattoo of a number. 8,725,613,477.
***** Bone of the Father, Blood of the Ally *****
                               [Skeleton Trees]
                  ***** Funeral March Of The Marionette *****
              Chapter One - Bone of the Father, Blood of the Ally
            Prior to 1991 - 1992 School Year | Prior To First Year
===============================================================================
He is six years old when he finally makes his first move.
Up until then, his life is a slow crawl, a test to his patience as he slowly
gathered all he would need for this day. It is Yule today, the beginning of the
Pagan wheel of the year, the sacred day the Sun god dies and is reborn. Harry
choose this day because it is so fitting, seeing as he plans to put to rest the
insanity of Voldemort, and resurrect Tom Riddle to become the Dark Lord he was
always meant to be. He has spent all day practically vibrating with excitement
as he did the chores the Dursley's assigned him. With any luck, he won't have
to come back here after tonight, but if he does, he can always arrange for an
accident.
It is just past ten pm in Albania, nine pm in the UK, the sun has long since
set over the snow covered forest. The moon is just larger than a half moon in
the cloudless starry sky, just nine short days prior to the new moon, a few
short days after the full. Harry almost set the ritual date for the full or new
moon, but in the end, Yule was the more powerful date, despite the new moon
being set on Tom Riddle's birth date. Harry stands in a clearing, with a
bubbling cauldron of black liquid like tar centered on a ritual circle. The
forest is lit with candles and the bonfire the cauldron sits upon. All that is
left is to add his own blood, and to throw Voldemort and his horcruxes into the
cauldron. From the corner of his eyes, Harry can see Voldemort struggling
inside the snake he is possessing as he throws each of his horcruxes in. Harry
tries not to chuckle, the ritual he is using requires him to be silent as the
grave. He picks up the large jug holding his blood. The benefit of being
immortal, is that he could drain his entire body of blood for this ritual, and
Death just resurrected him with a sour faced expression. The cauldron is now
filled with smoking crimson liquid like blood poured on dry ice, and Harry uses
his new found magic to rip Voldemort's soul from the snake's body, and he
pushes it down into the cauldron as the snake falls dead to the ground.
The potion turns dark amethyst, and sparks like lava fly every which way,
setting the surrounding forest alight with purple flames. Harry isn't
concerned. This is meant to happen, and when the magic is done creating a body,
the fire will die out until all that is left is ash and scorch marks. It will
not go farther than the ritual circle, and the animals all left the second he
arrived. The cauldron melts onto the ground like tar, and Harry watches
fascinated as the slimy potion turns black once again, forming itself into a
shape like a human skeleton slowly from a blob of slimy black. As soon as the
bones are formed, muscles, and tissues, and blood, and organs, and skin all
form in the correct order. At some point, before the skin, but after the brain
was formed, Tom Riddle started screaming like he was in the worst agony anyone
could ever be in. Harry supposes having your body formed cell by cell must
hurt. In the end, he is sitting shivering with pain on the ground amidst the
scorched ground and trees, looking much like his sixteen year old self, but
closer to twenty five.
Harry gives him as much time as he needs to get his head about him, and he
crouches down so that his bum touches the heels of his tip-toed feet, with
his hands and chin rested on his knee caps, so that he can admire his work.
Tom's silky ink black hair is currently choppy, some chunks as short as his
shoulders, and others long enough to touch his ankles and hips. He'll need to
cut that, and probably shave the inexplicable beard on his face. His finer and
toe nails are pretty long too. He has a nice face, with his partially hidden
roman lips, slender strait upturned nose, sharp cheekbones, and sharp eyes.
Those are different from his sixteen year old self's eyes. They are the the
color of rubies or blood, like his eyes are filled with fire in a way, but not
serpentine like his Voldemort eyes were. His skin is nice and winter pale, a
perfect contrast to his black hair, and Harry can tell that when he stands he
will be tall, thin, and muscular. His hair is pooled into his lap, the only
cover for his naked body. As soon as Harry remembers that he is probably
uncomfortable nude, he digs the robes out of his backpack, and sets them down
next to the recently resurrected Dark Lord, and then goes back to sitting in
his previous position.
                                 ~*~[hell]~*~
Eventually, Tom grabs the robes, pulls them on, and stands shakily. He looks at
Harry like he is a puzzle to approach, but Harry supposes that if he were
resurrected by a tiny toddler, he would probably be confused and curious too,
and that isn't accounting for the fact that he is disproportionately powerful
for his size and age. "Who are you?" Tom asks, and his voice is scratchy and
gravelly, but Harry can tell it will be deep and smooth when he gets used to
speaking again, and maybe drinks a lot of tea.
"Eh." Harry isn't exactly sure how to approach this, but he specifically came
looking like this so that he could wander about in this form near the dark
lord, and not worry about Voldemort killing him. "That is a long story,
involving a strange sort of time travel. I'm not your enemy. I feel like that
should be said before hand." He stands up and swipes his bangs off his
forehead.
His eyes go wide. "Harry Potter." Tom Riddle whispers.
"That's my name." He chirps. He twists the wand he stole from the ruins of his
house around in his hand, and then holds it out to him. "This is yours. I
suppose you could kill me with it, but I should warn you that I cannot die, and
I am your last and only horcrux, so I wouldn't suggest it, but it is your
call." Tom casts a silent spell at him, his face slightly alight with wonder,
no doubt because he has not been this powerful since the creation of his third
Horcrux. Harry's scar glows blue. "Ooo! Horcrux detection spell?"
"Yes." Tom says softly. His voice is already getting smoother. "You aren't
really six, are you?" He asks, and Harry chuckles and shakes his head. "How-?"
He doesn't seem to know how to continue.
"That's a long story." Harry sighs. "I'll tell you the whole story later, with
memories to prove it, but the short version is that I died, spoke to death, and
had him send my soul, magic, and memories into my body just after you cast the
killing curse at me. That hurt, by the way. And then, it took a while to get
everything I needed for the ritual to resurrect you, considering I first had to
get my hands on the items to create an alternate older personality so that I
could get my hands on the more ludicrous ingredients. Do you even know how hard
it is to purchase three basilisk eyes and a pint of unicorn blood? Not an easy
task! Oh, don't worry about the unicorn blood, it was willingly given, so you
won't have that cursed life thing to worry about."
To his relief, Tom seems to accept this pretty easily, though Harry doesn't
need him to say it to know that he will have to show his memories later. "I
confess I am still a bit lost, but I will leave this conversation for later. I
must call my followers to me."
"Considering how you look, I suggest you put on the snake face." Harry says,
and he tosses the dark lord a Claddagh ring with an emerald heart in silver.
"What's this?" he asks.
"It's a glamour ring of sorts." he says. "I don't know how you did the snake
face thing before, but considering how many followers you are likely to torture
tonight, I wouldn't suggest magically applying it. You're likely to get
magically exhausted quite easily."
Tom nods and conjures a mirror. He grimaces. "By the grace of Morgana." he
whispers horrified.
"Yeah, I know." Harry tries not to snicker. "Depending on how you wear it,
the Claddagh ring has four different meanings. Likewise, depending on how you
wear it, each way has a different glamour. Right now you only have one keyed
in, your serpentine form at the single position, but you can change that and
key in your own later. I have own of my own which I'll wear when you introduce
me to the Death Eaters. I'm not ready for anyone else to know about Harry
Potter being on your side."
Tom nods and slips the ring onto his right hand's ring finger with the heart's
point facing outward, and Harry removes his own gold and ruby one from the
chain on his neck and does the same. Immediately after putting on his ring, Tom
is replaced by Voldemort at his finest, a bone pale serpentine monster. He is
bald, with scaled skin, pointed teeth, a forked tongue, and sharp black nails
on his fingers. His eyes turn to a slightly darker shade and his pupils become
snake-like slits. He has a lip less mouth and two slits for nostrils on his
nose-less face. Harry let's out a low whistle, and he turns to him. Voldemort's
hairless brow raises.
"Nice, I suppose, but you look fifteen." He says.
Harry pouts petulantly. "I'll have you know I am seventeen." He says, and his
voice is slightly deeper than it would have been at that age. "I have a young
face."
"Does this form have a name?" Voldemort asks.
"Nyctalus Noire." He answers. At the curious glance he grins. "Nyctalus
lasiopterus is the scientific name of the Greater Noctule Bat, my animagus
form. Noir is French for Black, my Godfather's name. Beneficially, Noir with an
e at the end like I spelled it is a lesser but still prominent French cousin to
our Black family, and it is difficult to prove or disprove my relation to them.
Besides, they are known to have necromancers in their family lines, which is
helpful to me, as I am also a necromancer."
"Clever." Voldemort allows, and Harry unabashedly preens as he puts on a
black Venetian mask with subtle glittering black decorations. Voldemort gives
his mask a narrow eyed look of disapproval, but he says nothing. Harry still
understands.
"Look, I'm not going to be some simple follower." He says. "I will be your
ally. I will accept the position as your second, rather than your equal, if I
must, but I am no mere follower. I'm older than you."
"I'm nearly sixty years old." Voldemort deadpans.
"I'm seventy two." He grins wickedly, triumphantly. "I win."
The dark lord sighs. "I would prefer to introduce you as my second, or my
protegee." he finally agrees. "My followers would not believe me capable of
sharing power with anyone, especially not a teenager."
Harry smiles. "Alright." he says. "Let's do this."
Voldemort pushes magic into his mark mentally, not having any marked followers
nearby to call them with.
                                 ~*~[hell]~*~
In a private meeting concerning a trouble student, Severus Snape curses as his
dark mark turns red and pain shoots up his arm, causing him to drop the teacup
he'd been holding in his lap, dumping scalding earl grey down his front before
it rolls down his legs and breaks in half on the ground. At the other side of
the desk, Dumbledore gives him a concerned look. "My boy?" He asks.
"He's back." Severus pales. He had no warning for this. "And he's calling."
Dumbledore turns white as his beard. "Go to him." he orders. "Tell me
everything when you get back, but for your own good you must not keep him
waiting."
Snape nods, casting a quick cleaning charm, and transfiguring his robes and the
broken tea cup into his proper mask and death eater garb. He hops into the floo
to the apparition point in the Hog's head, and Apparates to the snowy fire
scorched forest clearing his mark is projecting in his head. There are
only few other followers already there, and Severus kisses the Dark Lord's
robes and takes his place next to the one with the familiar platinum blonde
hair and mask of Lucius Malfoy. He counts. He counts and and he sees only
three, but more are likely to arrive. Standing next to the Dark Lord is a tall
man in robes closer in style to the Dark Lord's own than a Death Eater's, and
he isn't wearing a full faced bone white mask, but a black Venetian half mask.
Severus can not see much of him, but his lower face has caramel tan skin and a
young look to it, and his hair is waist length and snow white. He catches the
man's eye, pale green like mint ice cream, and the man winks and smirks at
him. Soon, it is apparent that no one will be joining them, and Severus counts
again. Nine, including himself, the dark lord, and the stranger.
                                 ~*~[hell]~*~
Harry smirks at the small group of select Death Eater's Voldemort decided to
call. He scratches at his wrist absently, where the unseen number
sits. 8,725,613,459.
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