My Favourites BL Novels and Great Stories that I want to Share

A Long Time Ago

HP fanfic by GreyFey on Archive of Our Own (ao3) and Fanfiction.net

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Pursued by Death Eaters while the Wizarding war rages on, Harry is thrown a thousand years into the past, leaving his friends to lead the fight against Voldemort's growing forces. Lost in an unfamiliar world, he meets a legend. He discovers the man behind it. And from there, everything changes.

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The great points of this story are:

1. It's immersive

2. Logical

3. A never been before plot, in a hp age rarely used

4. The main paring is made up of interesting and cool people

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ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780963/chapters/36716025

fanfic: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12078238/1/A-Long-Time-Ago

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Extract from first chapter:

Harry Potter was used to running.

Until his legs burned and shook until his chest was ready to burst with the frenzied beat of his heart, each gasp for air like molten fire down his lungs.

As he understood it, normal people ran to stay fit, to avoid being late, to unwind after a stressful day. They didn't know the gnawing fear of an enemy's breath down their necks, that blind desperation to outrun death, to push past the stabbing pain in their side, the agony that crawled up the spine, to the skull, reverberating in every bone each time their foot hit the ground.

But Harry knew. Oh, did he know.

Running was a constant in his life, something he had learned he needed like food or sleep at the age when children took their first stumbling steps. At the age when they first discovered how to close their hands into fists.

Harry almost missed the bygone days when he ran only to avoid his cousin's beatings.

Especially now.

The sky above his head was filled with dark, angry clouds. It was raining buckets, the downpour blanketing the world, thick and clammy. Rainwater was ice-cold against his flesh, rivulets down his matted hair, blurring his surroundings to a senseless mass of drenched-grey and sogged-green. He could hardly see the slippery ground, wet earth dangerously slick under his used trainers. His jeans were caked with mud and his shirt was so plastered against his body that it felt like a second skin.

He could hear the Death Eaters in the distance, hollering like a pack of rabid dogs closing in on its preys, wild and blood-crazed, loud even over the roaring rain.

Harry didn't know how Voldemort's minions had managed to find them. Not once had they gotten so close to being caught in all their months of Horcrux-hunting. Their frustrating, terrible months living like shadows, like tracked pariahs fighting a war that felt long lost. Success had kept evading them, especially after Ron's departure, but they had found new ways to survive, Hermione and him, to stay out of the Dark Lord's reach, even after the blood-soaked horror that had been Godric's Hollow. Hope was a stubborn, traitorous thing that snarled in defiance and refused to die easily. So they'd kept safe, had kept going, flirting with Voldemort's forces but never touching.

Until now, that is.

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