Title: The Silent Spectre

Summary: Harry Potter was abducted in his seventeenth year, cursed, and thrown viciously back in time with numerous wounds that can't be healed. Terrified of being seen in the time of his parents, he attempts to stay hidden in Hogwarts underground secret passages, but not even the famous Potter can be continuously hidden from a school full of mischievous students, and every once in a while he's spotted. His bloody appearance and silent ways give him a ghostly name.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any other characters, and I make no profit in the creation of this story.


When Harry Potter was seventeen years old, he was abducted from Hogwarts by a man named Adenlin Rolingat while out on the Quidditch Pitch after hours in a classic stupid stunt that he was famous for, and in a classic maneuver he was snatched quickly and silently from the safety of the school grounds.

Not to say that he didn't put up a horrendous fight, but a quick and effortless silencing spell from Rolingat rendered him silent, and therefore spell-less.

He nearly made up for it with his fists, but he was simply no match for a man twice his size and armed with two wands, and while he was silenced.

Harry fought ruthlessly, kicking, biting, punching, and thrashing wildly, fiercely, and desperately, garnering injuries of his own. Several bleeding scraped adorned his body, bruised and cut, he bled slowly but freely. He was rendered unconscious after fighting for nearly thirty minutes, and taken to a small castle in the midst of an icy field in Scotland, where he was held prisoner for several days.

During this miserable time, he was cursed only once in his entire stay, a spell that he'd never heard of. And he wouldn't have, as Rolingat had invented it himself, a mix between a spell and a potion that made wounds impossible to heal. So Harry spent three miserable days in an old, freezing dungeon without food or water, while he bled freely and without respite.

Every four hours or so, Rolingat would enter his cell with a potion that he periodically forced down Harry's throat. He'd had enough of it over his seven years at Hogwarts to recognize one of the most potent blood-replenishing potions, which kept him from bleeding to death.

So Harry ached and bled for three days, until one day Rolingat, with his shoulder-length reddish hair, mustache, and enormous frame, and slipped a silver chain around his neck. On the chain was a smallish vial that slid into Harry's bloodied shirt, hiding it from view, a vial that was filled with hundreds of little tiny pellets. Rolingat spoke for the first time and explained them.

"These are dehydrated blood-pellets." He had said, his voice deep and husky and all too normal. "Take one every hour, and it will keep your blood levels up until you learn to make the blood-replenishing potion."

Harry, still silenced, merely stared, his mouth closed and his eyes wide, his mind whirring rapidly at just how this man did not fit the criteria of a murderous fiend, in the fact that he was giving him this.

And then Rolingat raised his wand, and Harry stiffened instinctively, expecting the worst but not expecting it either. With a mere flick of the wand and a spell that Harry didn't understand, the huge man slid a bit of wood into Harry's pocket just as the world slid away from him, leaving him with his wand in his pocket, a body covered in aches and blood, and a chain full of blood-pellets.

When the world rematerialized, he found himself mute, bloodied, and in front of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry just as dinner appeared on the plates.

Grateful beyond imagination, he dragged himself up the stairs to the entrance hall, stumbling and staggering and swaying…and eventually ending up on his belly, dragging himself weakly along, leaving bloody streaks on the stone.

He realized as he managed to face the doors to the Great Hall that it was rather strange that he felt so weak, such as his wounds had long ago stopped hurting him, and he'd been bleeding for three days without feeling this weak.

Well then of course he felt quite stupid, and feeling along with weak and stiff fingers, he managed to pop open the lid to the tiny glass vial and tip three tiny pellets into his mouth, where they instantly melted.

Revitalized, he staggered weakly to his feet and taking a deep breath, slid the door open to the Great Hall.

Oddly, nobody seemed to notice him at first, hidden in the long shadows from the dying sunlight shining in the windows as he was. He blearily stared for a moment around, searching vaguely for his two best friends, knowing that they had to be worried for him. But there was no boy with red hair at Gryffindor table; the only redhead was a girl about Harry's age that he didn't recognize. And there was no girl with brown bushy hair, either. In fact, he thought as he swept his gaze again over the table, he recognized nobody sitting there. The girl did look familiar, but he was sure he'd never seen that particular shade of dark red before, or that striking color green of her eyes…

Tearing his bleary mind from the problem, he searched with his eyes the staff table, recognizing Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and Vector. Other than that, however, no face jumped out at him, and searching a second time, Harry realized that the faces he did know were different…strange somehow. Feeling befuddled and hungry, he stepped quietly forward, opening his mouth to speak and shutting it again when no sound emerged.

In fact, no sound at all reigned in the Great Hall, silent as the grave. Every single person was staring at him with shocked and horrified eyes, which he understood, he supposed, to some extent. However, this was ridiculous, he'd thought that with his adventures every year that the school, especially Dumbledore, would be rather used to things like this…for Dumbledore was just as flabbergasted as everyone else, sitting with a rather stunned look on his face.

Frowning, Harry stepped forward between the tables of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, growing more bewildered when several students screamed in terror and stumbled and clawed their way away from him. Well, perhaps he did look like something from a horror movie, but this was ridiculous, surely someone would recognize him?

He dragged his feet slowly, trailing blood with each step. Midway past the terrified tables, he stretched one hand out in silent entreaty, mouthing the words that he knew would help them, even if they couldn't be said.

Nothing. The Headmaster rose to his feet, looking rather scared, and confused, and ill, raising his wand and pointing it straight at Harry.

"Who are you?" He said, his voice reverberating in the silent room. Harry mouthed his name, mute. Confusion was strong, particularly since they didn't seem to recognize him. And with a jolt, Harry realized that he didn't recognize any student in the entire hall, nor most of the teachers either.

Bewildered and beginning to be frightened, he stared bleakly around himself, searching for something…anything.

And he found it, silent, expressionless, fearless. A boy at the Slytherin table, sitting still in his seat with his hands folded loosely over his lap, his dark hair and eyes jumping out at Harry from a blurred sea of indistinct faces.

Faltering then, Harry turned and dragged himself forward, towards the fierce, dark eyes that bored into his own cloudy green. The entire hall was silent, save for the panicked rustling of the students as they scrambled away from him, terror written in their faces…in their very beings.

Even the Slytherins backed rapidly away as he slid by, and no one was willing to help him. Why? He wondered. Why were they doing this?

But the one didn't. He stood, his hands by his side, staring down at Harry from his impressive height when he stopped beside him, smaller and slighter than the other. Once more he mouthed a question, stretching out a hand but not touching him…afraid, although he wasn't sure why, to get blood on the immaculate black robes.

Who are you? He asked silently. What's going on? But the boy only furrowed his brow in confusion, frowning. Harry patiently repeated himself, his hand stretched out about an inch from the smooth black robes, not touching, not moving, hovering silently until something pierced his fuzzy, whirling mind.

Nothing did, and Harry blankly lowered his fingers, staring up at the taller boy, confused and beginning to get rather scared. The entire thing was surreal, waveringly unreal to him.

Looking around in bewilderment, Harry spotted a door about fifty feet in front of him, seeming to beckon to him. Forgetting completely about the other boy, he concentrated on putting one silent foot in front of the other, making his slow, careful way towards the door. He should have been surprised, he really should have, that the Headmaster simply let him go, but he was dazed and his mind was hazy, and he could only think of going through that door and to whatever lay beyond. He left a trail of blood behind him from his soaked, sodden robes that hung on him limply.

The door opened quietly at the mere touch of his fingers, and he slid himself through it, finding himself in the dungeons a moment later. He blearily remembered a door with a Parseltongue password, and hazily guided his feet towards it, staring blearily at the snake when he found it, and then hissing the password to open it. He found himself in a series of passages under the school, built by Slytherin himself, which no person had ever found before him. He dragged himself to a spacious room, and collapsed on the rug. He had the bare presence of mind to swallow several pellets, about seven, and fall asleep instantly, bleeding slowly, continuously, and freely onto the rich green rug, creating a bloodstain that he would find twenty years into the future.


A/N: So, what do you think? I know it's really strange, but I was hoping it's kind of different. If you guys like it, I would really like to update it again. I'll probably update it soon anyways, because often stories don't get reviews until the third chapter or so. Harry won't be a student here, and no, this will not be slash. I have nothing against it, but this will be a friendship fic with Harry and Severus.