Present Mixed in the Past

Chapter 1| Talking with Gods

Harry opened his eyes to find himself in his old office. He was sitting in his swirly chair, looking out onto New York. Harry had moved there along with Ginny when they were in their sixties. Both of them had earned enough money to make it to the city, even enough to last them a few years to find something else to do with their time.

Ginny had been so different then, Dumbledore had died around that time, if the dark-haired man remembered correctly. She was oddly distant, but so clingy. She had made him refuse any invitations if they were by Draco or the pureblood's own wife. It was strange. She was starting a fight with him about everything, wanting him to eat what she had made, despite that the powerful wizard could tell the other had done something horrible to it. Some spell or potion was mixed in with it. He could sense it.

Some years later, she had got some virus. It was a bad one that took out her immune system. He had tried to be a good husband and stay by her side, even till death, but she... She refused, calling him many names, horrible names. Oddly, he found himself in love with her still, her words held no effect to him or his want of staying near her. Till the doctor told him how she got this horrible virus.

"The only way to get this virus... Is through sexual intercourse." The doctor held a sobering look.

Harry blinked in surprise, his old face contorting into confusion. He clearly wasn't sick, in fact, neither of them had sex in nearly two years. He had also made sure to get tested every once in a while, especially after she had gotten sick. He wasn't sick...

"G-Ginny?" He muttered, looking over to her with confused green eyes. Her face was twisted in rage and hatred.

"You... You were supposed to be dead." She hissed. "I was supposed to be the only one here. Not you! I hate you; you damn Potter! Does Death not want you!" She screamed, bearing her teeth at him like an animal.

The doctor gave a low sigh, looking at Harry with pity. The doctor had seen many cases like these, and he could tell with one look, that Mr. Potter, was a good husband. A husband that didn't deserve an unfaithful wife.

The old man pulled his hand away from hers. Her grip was so tight, her so desperate to cling to him still, scratched his hand.

He then left her side, he took care of her still as a loyal husband should, but... She died in a sad room, with only monitors there to keep her company.

The dark-haired man hummed softly, lightly tracing where Ginny's claw marks were. They were deep enough to have cause scarring, not that was anything new to his old body. Yet, as he traced that area, he came to find something perplexing.

There was no scar.

Confused, the old wizard summoned a mirror, a spell Draco had learned or created if his memory served correct. Standing in front of the mirror was the two hundred forty-year-old, but a young, scrawny eleven year-old wearing crooked, broken glasses and clothes far too big stared back.

"I do hope you don't mind..." A breathy voice hummed behind the old wizard.

Breaking his concentration caused the mirror to vanish, but the new voice had also caused him to jolt, whirling around with his hands open. Over the years, the legendary Potter had learned how to use Wandless Magic, he was very good at it thanks to an equally talented teacher and an enemy who wanted to know more.

Sitting on the other side of his desk, right where his clients used to sit, was a strange man. He had long Viking braided hair the color of snow, his face was elvish, and his eyes narrowed in a soft look a parent would give while consoling a child. He wore a soft dress, maybe a toga, that shifted in all shades of black and grey. It was a subtle shift that was elegant to watch.