The spine of the book was embedded with an hourglass, its glass surface shattered, the contents long gone, leaving it hollow and weightless.
A Time-Turner—that name alone captivated Harry. He hadn't expected wizards to have advanced their magical studies to the realm of time itself.
Well, though the book's second sentence noted that the method of creating them had been lost.
At first, Harry assumed this book would be like the last one, filled with records of failed experiments. But as he skimmed through, he was astonished to find that wizards had not only succeeded in studying time but had developed stable, mature methods for time travel.
That was, frankly, a bit staggering.
The hourglass embedded in the spine was the device wizards used for time travel, called a Time-Turner. This one, however, was damaged beyond repair. Harry tried to remove it but found it impossible without destroying the book.
His curiosity surged. In the world of Azeroth, only the Bronze and Infinite Dragons could freely traverse time. Mages, through studying Bronze Dragon magic and temporal rifts, had developed various time-related spells.
For instance, they could manipulate time's flow directly, accelerating local time to enhance their own and their allies' combat prowess with Time Warp, briefly reversing their own state with Rewind Time, or slowing a target's speed with Slow.
But even though Dalaran's mages were beginning to delve deeper into time magic, traveling back to the past remained the exclusive domain of the Bronze Dragons.
His interest in the Time-Turner piqued, Harry flipped through the book rapidly, focusing on the conclusions. It didn't take long for disappointment to set in, and he set the book down.
In Azeroth, history could be altered (based on older lore). Azeroth's timeline was a web, maintained by the Bronze Dragonflight to progress toward the future envisioned by the Titans, known as the "correct" or primary timeline.
Beyond this, countless other timelines existed, influenced by the Infinite Dragons—fallen enemies of the Bronze Dragonflight—or born from inexplicable causes. These were collectively called "incorrect" timelines.
The Bronze Dragonflight permitted positive changes to persist in the correct timeline. Take, for example, Varok Saurfang, the renowned leader of the Kalimdor united forces who fought the Qiraji, respected by both Horde and Alliance, known as High Overlord Saurfang. His brother, Broxigar Saurfang, was another case.
From the secrets Harry had learned, Broxigar, grieving a fallen comrade, sought death in battle. He was transported back to the War of the Ancients, becoming a pivotal figure in that conflict and the first orc to set foot on Azeroth in the timeline.
In the war's final battle, Broxigar leaped into the portal Sargeras had opened at the Well of Eternity, striking the Dark Titan with a single axe blow that forced him back, preventing Azeroth's direct invasion by the Titan.
Broxigar perished in that strike, but he became the only mortal recorded to have wounded Sargeras' true form—a feat that earned him the Titan's attention.
Unfortunately, this led Sargeras to send demons to hunt down the race of this heroic mortal. Eventually, Kil'jaeden arrived on Draenor… and the rest, as they say, is history.
Thus, a new timeline was sealed. Harry wondered if Broxigar, knowing his actions drew Sargeras' gaze to the orcs and shaped their fate millennia later, would still have swung that axe. Probably, he thought. An orc warrior never flees from battle.
In short, Azeroth's timeline could be changed, but only with the Bronze Dragonflight's approval. Or, if your fists were bigger than those of the Bronze Dragons and the mortal heroes they rallied, you could alter it yourself.
But if your strength fell short, malicious changes to the correct timeline would be thwarted, and erroneous ones might be erased entirely, leaving reality untouched.
(This lore was invalidated after the Warlords of Draenor expansion, which introduced parallel worlds that could interact with the correct timeline, shifting from one web to another.)
Harry had hoped this world's wizards could achieve something similar. But the book revealed that wizards couldn't alter major historical events or travel far into the past. They could only make small adjustments near the present, usually measured in hours.
The restrictions were numerous. Beyond the inability to enact long-term historical changes or leap across vast stretches of time, users had to act cautiously to avoid altering established events or interacting directly with their past selves.
Most crucially, the book's title spelled out its core focus: The Curse-Bearing Capacity of the Time-Turner.
According to its records, frequent use of a Time-Turner didn't just cause exhaustion or mental breakdown. Overuse could spawn another timeline, potentially overlapping with the current one.
It was said that the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries had prevented several catastrophes caused by Time-Turner abuse. Once resolved, no one recalled the anomalies from those periods.
The book's author had even risked sneaking into the Department of Mysteries' Time Room to find records, only to be discovered. Thankfully, he escaped—barely. He cheekily suggested that future adventurers trying the same should flee to the Russian Empire (17th century) if caught, as it was safe from the British Ministry's reach.
The author never ceased his research. Like all wizards obsessed with altering time, he had his own fixation. He discovered that each use of a Time-Turner inflicted a curse from time itself, however faint, affecting the user's lifespan and even their luck. Ultimately, those who used it excessively often vanished into the past under bizarre coincidences.
In the book's final pages, the author proposed a bold theory: time itself had a manager. Frequent use of a Time-Turner, leaping outside the timeline, inevitably tainted the user with a curse from time, punishing those who sought to escape its grasp. When this curse accumulated, the time's manager would kill them.
Evidence lay in tales told as fairy stories in wizarding society: a wizard who traveled centuries back, only to wither and die the moment he returned; or another who frequently used a Time-Turner to revisit recent moments, only to vanish without a trace. There were plenty of such stories.
When Time-Turners were first invented, wizards didn't know their taboos. They rejoiced at the chance to undo past tragedies. The rules modern wizards memorized were paid for in blood by their predecessors.
The author mocked his own theory, joking that he must be mad. But to Harry, it didn't seem impossible.
He thought of the Silence of the Elements—not mere slumber but a forced dormancy after severe injury, more akin to a coma.
Wind elementals, with their restless nature, wouldn't willingly sleep. They preferred soaring through the skies, proclaiming their existence—something even fire elementals couldn't match.
The signs Harry had uncovered pointed to an ancient war. If the elements were so wounded they'd only now begun to stir, who had struck them down?
Ancient wizards? Ancient magic?
Could they? Would they win?
Given the magical prowess of modern wizards, Harry could only say they'd be doomed. The wizarding world felt like a society whose magic had regressed severely, sitting atop a gold mine yet clueless about mining it.
Even if Time-Turners couldn't truly change the past, ancient wizards had used magic to travel back, implying a deep understanding of time's intangible nature.
Perhaps strong ancient wizards were rare, with most wielding only basic magic. But the strongest could achieve feats unthinkable to modern wizards—twisting time, reshaping landscapes.
The Hall of Death, the Time Room… Harry couldn't help but think of the Department of Mysteries' parallel chambers. What secrets of ancient wizards and magic did they hold?
He desperately wanted to see for himself.
Harry lingered in the vault for so long he lost track of time. He found many treasures, including a Pensieve—an alchemical device that stored memories, allowing others to enter and witness their details. Its crafting method, too, was lost.
Wizards had lost so much.
Hunger finally roused him. Realizing how much time had passed, he grabbed a few books from the shelves, tucked them into his dragonhide pouch, and headed out.
The books hidden in the Potter vault were immensely valuable, whether about spell analysis, potion brewing, or theoretical studies. They were a goldmine for Harry.
Some couldn't be found in bookstores or Hogwarts' library. This was the legacy of an ancient wizarding family, and Harry was pleased.
Perhaps he should check out the Malfoy family's collection? As a noble wizarding house with a long history, their library must be vast. Well, he'd finish these first.
As Harry left the vault, he heard lively chatter and laughter from the dining room.
Walking toward it, he surveyed the changes to the Potter manor.
Dumbledore had done well. The hole in the roof was repaired, indistinguishable from new. Even the wear and tear from years of neglect had been meticulously restored. The old man was thorough.
Honestly, Harry could hardly reconcile the manor he saw now with the one he'd arrived at that morning.
If the morning's Potter manor felt like an abandoned, dilapidated ruin—dark, shadowy, and eerie, like a haunted house—now it exuded the warmth of a lived-in home.
As long as you ignored the pile in the garden.
"Master Harry! You're finally out!" With a pop, Alfred appeared beside him, beaming. "What would you like to eat? Alfred is at your service!"
"No rush. What's that?" Harry nodded toward the pile in the garden, visible through a freshly cleaned window.
"Items only Master Harry can decide what to do with!" Alfred squeaked. "Your old toy broom, rocking horse, biting doorbell, and other things Alfred doesn't know the names of. Alfred wouldn't dare throw them out!"
"But the rats and other pests that made this place their home? Alfred's dealt with them all! The goblins are gone too!" Alfred boasted. "Poisonous tentacles, biting vines—Master Harry's home is safe now!"
"Any plans for the garden, Master Harry? What flowers or plants do you like?" Alfred thumped his chest. "Alfred will make it beautiful!"
"Good work, Alfred," Harry said, bending slightly to pat his loyal house-elf's shoulder. "No rush on the garden. We'll deal with that stuff tomorrow. For now, get me some food."
"To the dining room, sir!"
Harry hadn't seen a wizard restore a dilapidated house, so he couldn't judge Alfred's speed compared to others. But he suspected it far surpassed most wizards.
House-elves' magic seemed tailored for tending to wizarding households, swift and effective.
While reading, Harry had speculated that house-elves were created by ancient wizards to free them from mundane chores for magical research. Their abilities and mindset aligned perfectly with that purpose. Or perhaps they were a defeated race, cursed to serve.
With so little known about ancient wizards, Harry withheld judgment.
Before he reached the dining room, he heard Dudley's excited shouts.
In the dining room, Dumbledore had conjured four intricate figurines—three women and one man—along with a grassy field, forest, and river. The figures were adventuring in this scene, acting out a sort of play.
Though no rousing music accompanied it, the figurines' cries were spirited enough. Harry's arrival didn't interrupt the performance. Dudley waved him to be quiet and sit down.
Shrugging, Harry took a seat. As he pulled a clean plate toward him, it filled with roast meat and flatbread, looking utterly appetizing.
The play was nearing its end. One witch figurine shouted, "I'm healed! I don't need the Fountain of Good Fortune—let Altheda bathe!"
Another witch, busy gathering herbs into her apron, yelled, "If I can cure this disease, I'll earn heaps of gold! Let Amata bathe!"
But the third witch shook her head, softly saying, "Kind sir, you bathe, as a reward for your chivalry!"
The knight in gleaming armor clanked forward. Beside him, a wooden sun—crafted by Transfiguration—shifted to the side, sprouting stick-like rays in an abstract sunset.
"I'm the luckiest man alive!" the knight bellowed, kneeling to propose to Amata, who blushed and accepted.
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